Lauren Pincente is an amateur writer who is devoted to sarcastic and satirical cultural criticisms. A University of Toronto Cinema Studies student, she has been published in several school papers and is an active contributor to MartiniBoys.com doing restaurant and club reviews. While she one day hopes to be a published writer (preferably in the film genre), her interests currently lie in finishing up her Honours and pursuing a Masters degree, all the while stirring up a little bit of harmless trouble through the written word.

Musings on Various Topics:

Craigslistomaniac

You know you've gotten pretty damn broke when you barely paid your monthly bills and are left with nothing. You also know you're pretty damn broke when you're willing to sell everything you own and your soul on Craigslist.com just so that you can eat this week.

I recently decided to start posting things on Craigslist to earn myself some money since it seems I may not have a job after all (even though I know my parents will flip out when they realize it). It started out with my CD player because I figured, hell, I've got an iPod, might as well sell it. Then next thing I knew I was making a posting for my Ikea armchair (already sold and I'm sad to see it go though I have a second just like it). Then it was my old cell phone, my Laguna Beach DVDs and now, the kicker, my deceased great aunt's ski jacket. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. Apparently she bought this red pro ski jacket from her son's ski shop up in Barrie and never wore it. It's a gorgeous jacket (worth about $400) and I'm selling it on Craigslist for food. She's probably rolling in her grave, yelling, "You got that because it was too nice to throw away! Soul stealer!" Well, not really because Barbara was a great lady and she loved me too much to ever accuse me of that but I still feel guilt for doing it, somehow.

This Saturday I'll be delivering the Ikea armchair, my precious gift from my parent's when I moved into my condo. My father will probably scream at me when he comes over and notices it's missing and then tell me to stop being so dramatic when he could've easily given me the money. Am I the only person who feels bad accepting money to survive from my parents? When they want to send me to Europe, I'm game but when it comes to living I can't seem to take money from them. Perhaps it's because I'm afraid I'm squandering it away like I've squander away the gifts I've been given all to an imaginary man named Craig and his list of soul-stealers. I really need a job.

A “Rear Window” View: Brad Davidson

Writing this blog may prove to be difficult because I have been having trouble remaining focused all day. I woke up late and feeling like a slob, prepared myself to do nothing with my day. I started watching "Last Tango in Paris" for a paper due next week and found myself wandering my apartment after about ten minutes. After chugging a bottle of water, I sat back down and began to watch it again only to realize I felt like writing a script for a film I'm going to be making for my submission in the Super 8 FilmFest (shameless self-promotion: March 3rd at Hart House, come see!).

I sat down at the computer and managed to write a three page script and it was very good, if I may say so myself, then sent it off to the advisor to get his opinion. After I sent it, I had planned to read it over but could not seem to focus (yet again) so I went back to the movie. I made it through about another hour and somehow managed to develop my ideas for my paper and write them down then sent them to my professor, hoping for some advice. Next, I started laundry and I just realized as I wrote that that I actually had forgotten that a load of darks are still sitting in the washer, probably wrinkled and dried and by now. I have been so out of focus today that I did not even realize that I had accomplished some tasks. How sad and ironic. I'm so unfocused that I can't focus long enough to realize I had focused enough to finish some things. Shoot, I forgot about the laundry again. I will go take care of the darks right now.

(I just went to do it and as I loaded the clothes into the dryer I found a red shirt with all my black clothing. Awesome.)

I became so restless about half an hour ago that I went to hang out on my balcony for awhile. Going outside in a small sweater means that I can get cold so I have something new to do asides from wander my apartment (think about how cold I am, find ways to warm up, etc.). While I was out on the balcony, I noticed a really dangerously good-looking guy in the apartment building across the street. I named him Brad Davidson. (His original name was Michael Johnson but I didn't really like that one very much. Brad Davidson is more fitting for his WASP look.) Allow me to describe Brad Davidson.

Brad Davidson looks about one centimetre tall (but then again, this is my view from about 100 metres away). Close up, he may be around 5''9-6''0 tall (really, it's anyone's guess). He wears t-shirts and jeans and lives in a nice Yorkville condo similar to mine except that he actually has money (his furniture is really nice and he has a plasma flat screen TV). I can't really tell what the rest of his apartment looks like because my view is a little altered because I'm on the second floor of my building and he's on the fifth or sixth of his. I imagine it's nice though. He doesn't look like he'd be a fancy businessman by day like most Yorkville yuppies but rather someone who works in the arts. Maybe he's a musician who is somewhat successful or an Assistant Producer or a television show. I'd like to think that he's a cameraman at CityTV because I'd like to think that Brad Davidson is a real Torontonian. I like that about Brad Davidson.

I noticed Brad Davidson in his apartment of all the other people in my "Rear Window" view of the building because he always has the most action going on (not literal as in "gettin' down with the ladies" kind of action but movement). Not so much action as the people one floor up and a little to the left ("Club Collier" I like to call them though they live directly on Yorkville and not on my street. I have witnessed these people, on more than one occasion, actually dancing around their apartment with their friends in a circle.) Brad is always wandering around his apartment, walking back and forth into different rooms, always picking something up and moving it. I really don't understand how much he could possibly have to do in his apartment but I'm guessing it's a lot given the amount of times he gets up and moves in the few minutes that I've watched him. (Before you question it, no I am not creepy, this is only the second time I've noticed him and I watched him for about five minutes before I got bored.) Maybe Brad Davidson is so busy with the strange hours that his life must revolve around, what with being a CityTV news cameraman (he does the 6pm news). His apartment is probably a disaster because he doesn't have a set schedule like most 9-5ers. Anyway, today, Brad Davidson started walking in and out of another room constantly before kneeling down at the TV. It looked like he was fixing the flat screen so I got bored.

I think Brad Davidson and I have a lot in common. Maybe CityTV is giving him the run-around and he's actually not getting a lot of hours at work which is why he's getting as restless as I am. I should go over to the building and search for Brad Davidson like the episode of "Friends" when Joey went to go find "Hot Girl" in Ross' building. It could be a really funny episode of real life (some might call it a funny moment but I'd like to think from here on in, that my real life is a television show because that's how bored I am). I just want Brad Davidson to know that he's not alone and that he doesn't need to wander and pretend he's doing stuff because eventually, he'll get a better job and he'll be making lots of money and be so busy he won't have time to get bored. I'd also need to inform Brad Davidson that he should really find ways to be productive with his time, like REALLY productive, not just fake productivity by moving stuff around. Productive like I was today with my half-done laundry, half-watched movie and half-edited film script.

I should keep observing Brad Davidson and writing about him. Then one day, I can surprise him on the street and be like "Yo! Brad Davidson! I wrote a blog about you!" He'd probably be so scared. It'd be really funny if Brad Davidson had a really thick accent. I wouldn't see that one coming at all (does that make me an ethnocentric bastard?). Enough with this character tonight. Maybe I'll think about Brad Davidson again in a few weeks and write another blog about him. I am already restless with this blog. Now, where are my binoculars?

Damn Saddam!

Well, the day has finally arrived. Late last night, Saddam Hussein "allegedly" was executed by hanging. I'm not really THAT into politics but hearing the news, I actually felt the need to cry. I don't know if it's the fact that I find it sad that so many people wanted this one person dead (I know he completely deserved it because he's killed so many Iraqis but that doesn't make the whole thing any less depressing) or if it's the fact that it's finally over and we can breathe a sigh of relief only knowing that the problems of the world will still continue on as they have since he's been captured and on trial. (Darfur?)

The first thing I did when 20/20 was interrupted with the breaking news was go to Google.ca (my favourite) and type in Saddam Hussein. The first link I found was as follows:

"Saddam dead! Saddam dead! Saddam dead! 
And his sadist sons, too! 
Free world rejoices! 
Liberals, 'anti-war' useful fools, French, Germans, and Russians flood 
support hotlines! 
The weapon: B-1B bombers and four bunker-busting bombs dropped on a house. 
Allied troops and weapons: the best in the world! 
Who's next?! Who else wants a piece of the United States?! 
Come get some!!!! 
 
Stupendous Man-Enemy of Totalitarianism 
Persian Gulf War II over! We Win Again!!!!" 
 

Now, I understand that some people are celebrating the death of Saddam because he is the most horrendous dictator of the 21st century but seriously, who is this person that wrote this? I was raised Roman Catholic and while I don't practice it anymore, I still believe in many of the things I was taught because they do follow into Buddhism, my new religion of choice. Yes, Saddam deserved to pay for his crimes and his death probably wasn't enough of a payment but this is still the death of a human being. The person that wrote this is just as bad as any dictator, in my opinion.

Whatever happened to forgiveness?

I know, he may not deserve it (I know a lot of Americans feel this way because it has been their mission to destroy him for years now) but Christianity (and Catholicism, alike) teaches that forgiveness is the most important thing to carry around with you in your back pocket daily. Is there anyway that we can forgive a person without having to kill them off? Can't we trust that jailtime will be repentance for his sins? I hate to sound all preachy because I am the last person on this Earth who should be saying these things and I shouldn't be defending Hussein at all but I just feel like people need to start practicing what they preach. I was raised with these types of values being beaten into my head and I think part of the reason I lost faith in my religion was because I saw so many people preaching this but deserting their beliefs at the hardest times, when they are needed most.

I have mixed feelings on this topic. I know someone is going to comment on this, completely misinterpreting what I'm saying but I don't care. This world is really disgusting. Saddam Hussein's actions, his execution, the U.S. government, military-obsessed Americans and people like the guy who wrote that little excerpt all sicken me. Death is death, it's a sad event no matter who it happens to, deserved or undeserved. Killing Saddam is one thing, celebrating a human being's death, some mother's baby, is just plain wrong.

You Lika Da Film?

I'm currently studying for an Italian Cinema test that I have to write tomorrow morning, 9am sharp in Elmsley Hall (stalkers, please, appease me this one time). I'm not so worried about this test because the outline seems fairly simple, I've seen all the films and have done the majority of the readings despite my lack of attendance in lectures (Wednesday's are 11 hour days for me, no need to expand on my defense). I am always neglecting to reach the usual pinnacle of breakdown that I have on the night before a test for a class I've rarely gone to because it's a test, not an exam. (Prof. Coen, the rotund little Italian man who teaches this course, explicitly stated it was a test, NOT an exam; he was far too unorganized to actually schedule it during class time. In fact, I think he just ran out of time and that is why it was pushed into the exam period.) The thing that kills me is that every person I talk to about this test laughs it off. For example:

Lauren: I'd love to work the lunch shift tomorrow but I have a test I'd like to study for.

Big Boss China Leon/Suppressor of Students/Sleazeball Businessman: You have a test?! Oh noooooo, why?

Lauren: Um, because I have a test. I booked off Monday so I could study. I'm not too worried about it though, it's for my Italian film course and--

Big Boss China Leon: FILM?! What you gonna be, film critic?

Lauren: No, actually I want to be--

Big Boss China Leon: Ohhhh, that's so stupid. It's so easy to watch movie. How lovely. *smiles*

Obviously, this is the BEST possible example of Leon's stupidity (I'm very bitter about my shift yesterday). But it's also a good, albeit, slightly distracted, sample of how people react to the fact that I am a film major. I actually want to slaughter the next person who tells me "film? That's gotta be so easy.... so you just watch movies all the time?" Or, I'd like to zoom my zoom lens all the way into their eye and film it as some sort of disturbing, psychothriller, documentary-style torture film. Everyone has a bit of ignorance in them but it's actually dumb how many people think of film studies as a flat, monotonous concept of watching movies and then critiquing themes. (Contrary to popular belief, film students do not discuss the themes of good versus evil or freedom versus conformity as is taught in many of my English courses.) I can't believe that people who even think that are even admitted into universities-- talk about a lack of critical thinking if you're that one-dimensional and shallow. It's actually funny how closely tied to the fine arts film is, yet is receives zero recognition as anything more than entertainment. I'll spare readers (if any) my film snobbery because I admit, I have bad taste in film sometimes just as much as the next "Joe" (wool over the eyes there, non-cinephiles). But just know this all you idiots out there, majoring in Engineering or Computer Science or Political Science who are judging film students for taking what you call, "the easy route": if we want to, we can torture and kill you in ways that will disturb you so much, you'd vomit at just the thought. You may be taught by some of the most brilliant engineers or computer nerds in the world, but we've got Tarantino on our side.

Ancestry or Incest-ry?

Last night was a bad night. I couldn't sleep because I was having the night sweats. Not just regular night sweats but those drenched-in-sweat-can't-sleep-all-I-feel-is-pain-and-tomorrow-I'm-expecting-to-wake-up-with-the-flu night sweats. Let's just say, it was bad. In order to distract myself, I began to theorize. I started thinking about all the different races in the world. I wondered, was there an original race that all the other races evolved from? Asians, blacks and whites are all distinctively different so they must be independent of one another. What about Mediterraneans? They are certainly different from Icelandic peoples. And as I was wondering and questioning the history of the world from the uninformed, unanthropological basis I have, I began to wonder if one day humans would evolve into one species. Naturally, it would be billions of years in the future by the time we all become one race and the next ice age would probably happen before we even had a chance to keep mating with other races to get far enough, but could it happen? I'd like to think so. I also think we'd all be brown. Any kid who has ever played with finger paints knows that when you mix the red, yellow, black,and white together, you always end up with brown. (I've had experience. In the second grade, we took used baby jars and filled them with different coloured sand- a popular craft in elementary school- and myteacher, Mrs. Stuart, warned us not to shake them and, of course, I shook mine just because she said not to and the sand turned all brown. My poor mother. That was her mother's day gift. I always had a problem with authority figures telling me what not to do.) So, now that I had concluded that I was almost 100% sure that humans would evolve into a new hybrid brown-skinned race, I couldn't help but wonder what next popped into my mind: if our ancestors are our relatives from our past, what would one call the relatives of our future? I've developed a few ideas.

Procestors; it only makes sense. An antagonist is the negative of the protagonist, so why not make a procestor the positive of the ancestor? It makes the future seem more ambitious and optimistic. The City of Toronto would eat that shit up in their next marketing campaign.

Incestors. Why not? When we're so far in the future, sleeping around and baby-making within our new hybrid brown-skinned race, there is a chance that we'll be with someone whose ancestors were the same as our own. Chances are some of you are doing it right now. Hell, I'm against one night stands for that reason-- you never know if you could be sleeping with a distant cousin. And that's just gross. Might as well acknowledge our grossness by calling them our incestors.

I proceeded to check Dictionary.com's thesauras on the matter and there is no exact opposite for ancestor. The only antonyms given were "descendant" and "progeny". I think it's time I create a new word. I'm going to work so hard with the word "incestor", my personal favourite, until Webster's recognizes it as meaning "future descendant". If Beyonce Knowles can get bootylicious in the dictionary..

Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz, Andre Philippe Gagnon it is!

Does anyone else have a problem with random words popping into their heads? Because sometimes, I'll just be sitting at home doing something innocently like reading or writing or watching television or blowdrying my hair when suddenly a word that I've heard before but didn't know the definition of (or what exactly it was) will POP! right into my head.

This has happened to me many times. Sometimes, it's a word that I remember my OAC English teacher, Mr. Virgilio, yelling at the class ("INNOCUOUS!"). Other times, it's a poignant historical time or situation (when I was preparing to go to Cuba, it was "Cuban Missile Crisis!"). Either way, it's a very interesting trait I have; it happens frequently, too. I think has something to do with the memory part of my brain. (Wow, that sounded scientific) Either way, every time it does happen, the pop explodes in my brain so fast that I can't help but think of it having an exclamation point on the end. Sometimes even all in capital letters.

Today's word wasn't so much a word as it was a name. I was sitting here, writing up my test coverage for my internship and I was trying to think of another way of writing "says" or "states" or "recalls" before inserting a quote into my synopsis of the film script. I guess it was because I was thinking about movies and actors (though the actress saying the line I just found out will be played by Demi Moore) but the name of an actor suddenly popped into my head. I think it was because I had heard the name a few days ago somewhere. So, all of a sudden, here I am, imagining Demi Moore playing the role of Det. Atwood in "Mr. Brooks" and BAM! (not Margera), all of a sudden, the name "Andre Philip Gagnon!" pops into my head. Andre Philipe Gagnon. Putting two and two together, I'd say this guy was French. And a guy. But I really don't know who this Andre Philip Gagnon is, and, is it "Philip" or "Philipe"? I know it's pronounced "Awn-dray Phil-eeep Gannn-Yon" but how do you spell Phil-eeep?

So now, here I am, at 12:17am, on Facebook, while writing a test write-up about a film and researching the spelling of Andre Philipe Gagnon's name as well as who he is. I'm thinking he's the fat Frenchman from that movie "My Father The Hero", which, by the way, starred a young actress named Katherine Heigl who is now on one of those crappy hospital shows. (I saw her on television the other night and all I could think was "My Father The Hero!") I'm glad she finally got a job because, God knows, that film could've ruined her career with it's creepy incestuous undertones. (Remember the part where she tries to impress the older guy she meets on vacation by pretending her father is her older, mature boyfriend? Reverse Oedpial tendencies, ew.) After researching that though, it turns out that jolly old fat Frenchman is actually Gerard Depardieu. So, I'm continuing on my search for Andre Philipe Gagnon.

If it weren't for Google's pretentious "Didn't you mean 'Andre Philippe Gagnon', idiot?" tagline above my search options, I would have never been able to guess. 2 P's. How French-ish. Anyways, after being corrected by Lord Highness of Google, I'm led to my second favourite website in the world (first being Facebook, of course). Wikipedia tells me this:

"André-Philippe Gagnon (born 1962 in Quebec City, Quebec) is a Quebecois comedian and impressionist.

His impressionist act is unique for his specialized talent in impersonating the singing voices of celebrities as opposed to his contemporaries who typically can do only the speaking voices. He is best known for duplicating We Are the World.

He gained widespread recognition in North America after a 1985 appearance on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson and went on to play a regular act at The Venetian in Las Vegas and other venues around the world."

Apart from the poor grammar in this piece, I must say I was aghast. This led me even further from my search! Here I was, expecting the talents of Gerard Depardieu and I'm given Quebecois impressionist (though, I must admit, at first I thought they meant Impressionist artist, like it was an art movement like avant-garde, cubism or German expressionism). What's even more disappointing is that someone in this world is actually famous, like, REALLY famous, for being good at impersonating celebrities singing voices. Still a bit distanced, I stepped back into the world of Google and hit "images" (God, I love that website). My findings?

I don't recognize Andre Philippe Gagnon. But he looks like a real tool. Or a 90s sitcom dad. That and someone in this world thinks that Olivia Newton John is Mr. Gagnon because her face was tagged with his name somewhere in the World Wide Web. I also realized that I don't ever want to be an Andre Philippe Gagnon. I'm sure his mother and father are proud. I'm sure that someone I know in Canada gets really excited saying, "I went to school with Andre Philippe Gagnon!" But I don't want to be the random name that pops into some unimportant person's head on any given day only to still be unrecognized. Maybe Andre Philippe Gagnon isn't too great of an Impressionist after all if nobody knows him. Or, maybe Andre Philippe Gagnon is just TOO good of an Impressionist...

Have Your “Fake” and Eat It, Too.

I saw a Toronto Star ad that was all about how fake the world has become. This is nothing new because we are always ambushed with the idea that we live in "a plastic world" from our credit cards to our bodies to our belongings. Though stating the obvious, the Star ad, which has now had significant screentime on television, was eye-opening. We eat fake food, wear fake materials and believe fake headlines. In a world where everything around us has become known as 'fake', we, too, have become such. The word 'fake' is now being tossed around as an inarticulate way of defining even people-- and I'm not just talking about external features.

A more than self-conscious former co-worker of mine once told me that it was unanimous amongst some of my fellow employees that I was "fake". The second the words slipped out of her mouth (or as I always thought of it, the revolving-door-of-gossip), I looked her in the eyes and responded with, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm just being courteous to people I don't like?" I don't remember her response because, frankly, I didn't care, considering it was her, a fairweather friend and centre of attention wannabe, speaking to me. Smart the girl was not so I didn't think it was necessary to continue the conversation because she obviously had trouble holding her own. In the aftermath, however, I found myself so angry that she had the nerve to say what she had said, considering her own less-than-remarkable character. Why is it that when you are nice to people you don't like, you are branded as "fake"?

I was raised on the mantra, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" and while it is difficult to maintain this in most areas of my life (I was a waitress, after all), I find in most situations, I make a conscious effort not to be directly mean to people who aren't mean themselves. Essentially, I'll be polite or quiet despite how messed up I think a person is. My facial expressions or reactions may be telltale signs that I don't like a person but the point is that I at least attempt not to create new enemies where I previously had none because, really, I don't need anymore than the amount I already have. I try to be courteous to most people, particularly the ones I have a complete hatred for, because I don't care enough to be mean to most of them-- how does this make me fake?

Imagine a world where we were all upfront and honest about our feelings towards others, especially those who we don't necessarily need to interact with regularly. Say it's someone from high school that you were never fond of-- would anyone really want to go up to them, after years of having not seen them, and be rude for absolutely no reason? It doesn't make sense to do that because you're causing yourself more harm than anyone. So, why, if you go up to the person and smile nicely, exchanging pleasantries, are you some sort of fraud? Is it that the other party is just angry that you had the guts to be a bigger person or that you are just, simply put, nicer? Perhaps, you were so untouched by whatever grudge they have against you that you completely forgot about any animosity between the two of you? I can't comprehend why, after someone reaches out in a nice gesture to seize any sort of hatred from continuing, another person could have the audacity to brand one so negatively, as if they are at fault for their peacemaking gesture.

Whenever I think of people calling other people "fake" I think of a girl I went to high school with. A lot of people I know do not like this person because they think she is, well, do I really need to say it at this point? I never understood this. It's easy to sit and say, "She has always been nice to me," because she has.

Even in looking at how she treats other people, however, I have never heard her be verbally abusive nor have I ever seen her acting rudely or snobby. She is well-rounded, polite, funny, sweet, extremely intelligent and most noticeably, gorgeous. I think her biggest problem is that people despise her because she's pretty and because she's always been a straight A student. Whether it's the reputation of the company she has kept or her refusal to be pressured into doing anything, she has been called every name in the book but most prominently, fake, and I know, for a fact, that none of those names here apply. She is merely diplomatic because she is smart enough to know better. Somehow, this doesn't seem to be the bad character trait that everyone seems to have stigmatized her with.

Being nice to someone you dislike, no matter what the degree of hatred, does not make you a fake, it makes you a nice person. If it meant somehow that you were a lesser person than you would have more than enough motivation to be emotionless and deadpan towards everyone else you met. It would mean you don't have to thank the lady at Tim Horton's for serving you your coffee every morning. It would also mean that you would never have to smile unless someone made you laugh. It would also mean that you would probably end up with a dead soul and one of those sagging jawlines when you're 80. It's your choice-- are you "fake" or are you just being real?