Magdalena O!

Receiving the unsuccessful doctoral SSHRC (Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council) letter in the mail yesterday felt like the first professional 200m race I ran after I just joined the track club. The memory came up instantly. I had been a sprinter for years and had placed top 3, if not 1st in almost every race up to that point. I was the star sprinter, and was “discovered” by a coach in grade 9 who insisted I train with him. I wish I could remember whether the excitement was to be distracted from the angst of teenage-hood or if I really cared about being on the track. Maybe both? I spent most of my days either training in Nike cleats or slitting my wrists in my bedroom listening to Hole and ripping my black pantyhose arm sleeves. Ugh. I had a couple of training sessions with the group before my once-lauded hubris quickly disappeared. The runners were straight-faced and had been trained privately for years. I was the new girl that didn’t fit into their sprinter mold. Although this was probably all in my head because I was just used to being the best without much thought. Running came so naturally to me. I didn’t have to fight my body to get ahead and now my body and its movements didn’t make sense anymore. The first race came upon us really quickly, and I ran my distance – the 200m. This was not a high school track meet, this was a real track meet, with runners and their coaches pouring water into their mouths just like they do on TV. I don’t think I even ran in cleats yet, I was probably one of the few that still ran in running shoes. How embarrassing. Of course, what happened? I came in last. I mean, dead last. Imagine 200 meters is not a lot of distance, and it was noticeable how dead last I stumbled past the finish line. So there I was – a loser. The girl who took her inept relay teams to regional school championships died. Although I did run the 100m and didn’t do too poorly, it didn’t even matter, my distance was the 200m. My coach was ecstatic that my time was so bad, because to him, this meant he had a clean slate to teach me how to be a champion – and as typical as stories go, he did manage quite well. I was ready to learn everything. I think that’s when I started understanding what running was about and what it was doing to me. It’s funny how few people know this about me (…other than those who point out my legs. I’m not trying to to be cocky, but legs get sculpted with sport, especially sprinting). It came up in my therapy session two weeks ago and my therapist was pleasantly surprised because she would have never guessed it knowing me. I don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean, considering I was also a lifeguard and swimming instructor for six years until I bleached my hair and had to give up.

I guess what I wanted to say is that the score I received on my appraisal, which I can’t even mention here or to anyone in hopes of forgetting it, felt like that race. I am a strong student but I was unprepared at that point to take on the race. Even if many say luck has a lot to do with it, because even within the categories you are never really sure how they’re tabulated, there’s still the past you have to learn how to negotiate for the present. It  also doesn’t help that I frequent this obsessive-compulsive graduate student forum in which a disproportionate amount of posters got the SSHRC Grant that, by the way, is either $85,000 or $105,000 over a course of 3/4 years. My supervisor’s terse answer was, “You’ve been lucky enough this year,” which is perhaps akin to the answer my old running coach had. I did at least get passed onto the national competition, whereas some others I know didn’t even pass the university-wide competition to get carried forward to SSHRC. I also got accepted to the school of my choice with a fellowship even though I applied after the deadline and a guaranteed researcher position on an incredible mobile cinema project.

For my Process Cinema class with film-maker Phil Hoffman, he’s pushed us to explore shooting in 16mm, more specifically with the Bolex and hand-processing our own film. There’s an added warmth and depth to the 16mm that even a 35mm shot can’t get. I’m still learning how to use it. My first day out with it on my own last month was exciting, except I forgot to wind the lever to wind the film each time, so I only shout about 30 feet of tape. Even though I walked  the clunker and my tripod all the way to the lake and back, even getting a few seconds of film was so rewarding. I expected nothing to come out, but the fast shots were beautiful and I used the light meter correctly (!). The Bolex needs a lot of light, because it’s 12 ASA so one of the most common mistakes is underexposing the film. Although you can dip the film in bleach, that creates a certain effect that you might not want. I did a reversal process with mine rather than a negative process for higher contrast and better image quality even though it takes much longer. But I love the patience and focus of working in analog. I don’t do it often. If you have a chance to use one, do it. I’ve been getting quite addicted the past few months. Watching Kelly O’Brien’s work-in-progress about her son has also shifted my understanding of cinema and production. Kelly is film-maker and the co-founder of Splice This! Toronto’s annual super-8 film festival. I wanted to link the festival website, but it’s gone as is any coherent information on it. I remember the festival because my old boss Christina Zeidler showed her films at it. In a strange way, not being able to find something online kind of feels like it never existed. Further search brings that Christina is on the Board of Directors of a new 8mm/Super 8 festival called The 8 Fest that started in 2008, two years after Splice This! finished. I must say considering some of the cross-over of people, that it’s surprising they don’t make a mention of Splice This! as a precursor to what they’re doing, because they obviously started the new festival to fill in the gap after Splice This! finished.

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Today I had two rolls (200′), unloaded and loaded them all myself. I hope it turned out. A Bolex only takes 100′ of film at a time because of its size, which translates to about 2.5 minutes each at 24 fps. It also only shoots about 30′ of film  at a time with the spring motor.  It’s incredibly impractical and necessities constant creative negotiation. I brought a field recorder with me to record the sound as I was shooting, but it’s best to just apprehend the images for now. Taking it slow is all I want right now.

Do I look like I’m trying to walk in Jane Goodall’s footsteps in the top shot? I feel it (quite abstractly of course). I’d love to shoot a color 16mm one day soon! Maybe even Super 16 if I have the chops. Super 16 is 16mm film “but extends the image into what was formerly the soundtrack area of the original negative. This provides not only a larger image, but one that is already in wide-screen ratio. Thus, Super 16 requires less magnification when blowing up to 35mm, and hence there is a much smaller loss in quality.” link

Some films I love shot in Super 16: Clerks, Chasing Amy, Party Girl, Raising Victor Vargas. The Ballad of Jack and Rose, The Squid and the Whale, The Constant Gardener.

A day after I received my first PhD acceptance in the mail, I was working late in the library with my two colleagues Claudia and Dave, when an email from Concordia showed up. I didn’t even hesitate, clicking and seeing that THEY MOTHERFUKING ACCEPTED ME !!!! for their Joint Doctorate in Communication and I received an entrance Fellowship (even tho I applied after the funding deadline!) and a job offer on an amazing locative media/mobile cinema project. I hugged Dave and Claudia for about two minutes and had tears in my eyes.

All the people in my life know how I spent all my energy day and night working on these applications, but especially this one, because it was the most exhaustive and demanding, and my first choice. Not to sound like some cheezy awards speech but I had an incredible support network that helped me in so many ways, and I really couldn’t have done this without them. J cooking me meals and taking care of my day-to-day, my parents bringing me meals from the ‘burbs, my friends (esp J.O, Tobias, Danielle and Dave, but there are so many of you! shit! i’m the luckiest!) keeping me in check making sure I don’t have a panic attack and blow it while giving me informal tips about the application and my area of study and understanding why I can’t hang out with them, Jovana Jankovic (my editor who stuck by my manias), Jason Nolan (my supervisor, who at one point said, “I’ve never had such a demanding grad student”), Jason Hockman (who gave me the tip to discuss my PhD plans as if I was talking to 50 Cent), Claudia Sicondolfo (the emotional and intellectual support goddess), Mitsu Hadeishi, Sara Udow, Andrew Bieler, Janine Marchessault and Kim Sawchuk who all helped edit and revise my statements over and over again. So much thanks to my letters of recommendation writers: Deborah Barndt, Janine Marchessault, Barry Wellman and Jason Nolan.

I feel so lucky, and an infinite amount of gratitude towards these people because if you’ve ever had to engage in the sort of linguistic acrobatics that a PhD Application (and a SSHRC Scholarship Application worth 35K a year two months prior) entails you will know how taxing it is on you but also on those around you. I’m quite aware that I’ve learned to be demanding in the last few years because I want things… I want life! I am so hungry! There’s no time to pussyfoot around! If you want things ask, what’s the worst that can happen? Someone says no?  I think people get way too wrapped up in ego insecurity and rejection to be assertive. I admit I have a tendency to be aggressive at times, but I’d rather be aware of my agression and work through it than to be docile and uncertain how to get what I want/need.

Yesterday my ex, Jordan, came to have lunch with me in the Lab and as we were finishing I said, “Hey, tell your mom I got into the Concordia PhD and tell her I accepted.”

“Yeah, I will, I’m always telling my mom how proud of you I am,” he starts welling up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I brag about you all the time. You’re so driven and motivated. It’s great.”

“Wow! Are you gonna cry?” I go over and give him a big bear hug with a huge grin on my face because as intense as our relationship was and as much as we love each other, this type of genuine sincerity wasn’t always on the top of our interactions.

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HOLLA AT ME MONTREAL!

Complete disconnect between my eyes, the page, the words on the page, the meaning of the words, and the networks that would carry this to my brain to understand and interpret their meaning. It’s like the words are there, I know they are there and I know they are connected, but the more I look at them in relation to each other and to me, the less sense they make. If visual neuroscience theorizes that the cerebral cortex can adapt its circuitry and learn a new task, creating a plasticity in the perceptual apparatus, then why does it seem the more I study the less anything makes sense? Shouldn’t these physiological and psychological changes be a progression towards, rather than a blunting of my sensorium?!

I literally just look and cannot engage in an active relationship with the texts. I physically feel as if the parts of my brain that should be connected are peeling away – as if the information is so close to the container it needs to enter, but just as it’s about to push through it slides off the sides like an oil slick, unable to be turned into knowledge.

I am freaking out.

Film theory. Why is this happening to me? Is this some sort of (reverse) subjugation of knowledge?

How could I have thought I am ready for a PhD?

This sucks.

(also the previous entries are private for a while due to some privacy issues, i will restore it and post properly soon)

The last several days have gone from excitement beyond reproach about academia and my future in pedagogy to paralyzing anxiety when forced to sit in front of Microsoft Word projecting how amazing, influential and worthy of lots of government money my future PhD project will be. I came in with a tangential draft to a Uni workshop session on Friday, to a somewhat legible second draft to send off to a peer tonight. In between I’ve watched a lot of bad TV and tried to muster up the energy to see more places in hopes of finding one Anna and I could rent. You would not believe how incredibly over-priced and competitive the renters market it is in Toronto right now unless you know someone looking for a place. It’s fucking brutal. Between trying to find a place to live and starting 2nd year, teaching and throwing my whole self into these SSHRC and OGS Scholarship Applications (of which the rule of thumb is five significant draft changes before it’s ready for submission), what’s happening? Oh yeah, gotta then start on PhD applications. Everything in academia is so consequential – like my marks in 2nd year undergrad still matter for a PhD scholarship application? Yea, really. But whatever, I’m not complaining, it’s ALL I want to do right now, is be part of it, and co-teach and be excited by students and try in subtle ways to do those great things inspiring professors do – reframe knowledge production.

Oh hey, so wish me luck on the applications, they are due October 4. And also pray, dance, eat or whatever you can so that I can find a decent place to live for October 1! THANK YOU!

taken at the shitty Museum of Modern Art in Paris before we got kicked out for “taking photos not of the art”

On the 501 Neville Park Queen Streetcar I’m clutching onto the tiny copy of The Metamorphosis. I’m nearly done, it’s the moment where I know that Gregor is most likely going to die. “Excuse me,” the guy behind me, donned in a leather jacket and a drunk lisp says, holding his deli plastic wrapped meat, “Is this meat Kafka-esque?”

I turn around wondering how he managed to sneak such a glance at the back cover to realize it’s Kafka.

“Are you trying to imitate the Squid and the Whale?”

“No, it’s from this TV show, Mission Hill, some guy points to a piece of meat and says, Is that Kafka-esque?”

We chit chatted and he confessed he didn’t know what that even meant but he’s been waiting for a moment to repeat the phrase. Most of what I knew about Kafka until yesterday was the references of things being just that, Kafka-esque. The strange drunk viking revealed to me he was from Moldavia, which I questioned because it seemed too clever, but he seemed to know a lot of details that only someone either really interested in Moldavia or a citizen would know. Have you ever meet anyone from Moldavia?! This was my first time. Maybe I should engage in more conversations with strangers.

Reading Kafka in between getting back to Murakami. I feel unease with my body, with everything around me. Where is the deep well? I need to find one, a deeper one this time, one that I can scurry across and leave my sticky mess all around. My body, the structure holding it, has been turning to jelly, soft, tender and unable to hold itself in.

I am still homeless with no prospects of finding a home for October 1. Why is it so difficult? And then there is those deadlines for scholarships, you know, to apply for PhD’s because I see nothing but black outside this tunnel vision of academia. I accept it, I need to hold onto this tenaciously to pull me through, to get me there. Because academia is the best thing in my life, the bringer of happiness, yo!!

While I was in Brighton at the end of April I sent off a three page application to the Digital Methods Program Summer School at the University of Amsterdam. Earlier this week I washed my hair and put on my freshly dry cleaned blue Maje dress shirt for a Skype interview with the program after I got shortlisted! The peeps emailed me back less than an hour later saying I GOT IT. I am totally making the biggest deal out of this. I’ll be leaving at the end of June to study and work alongside researchers and designers for two months until end of August. I have a break in July in between and I might go WWOOF again. I was wanting to go to Europe this summer, for various exciting projects but knew I could not justify the expense without a concrete need and then it happened! I’ve been going to Europe a lot because I want to move there, but like with everything I dance around on the edges of committing and think and think about it until I believe it to be actually happening even though it totally hasn’t. When you think about something so much, you get exhausted before you even begin. I hope that this program will give me what I need and push me to apply for a PhD for September 2011. University of Bergen and University of Edinburgh are top contenders. They both have really well funded and serious digital culture PhD’s.

Although I wasn’t fond of Amsterdam when I first visited, I’m excited to re-live it. I was 19 and missing my boyfriend at the time way too much. I’m mostly excited because I know people in many big European cities, I know no one in Amsterdam. This makes it way more difficult to find a place and have help adjusting but that’s what I want. To just be alone.

Have you ever lived somewhere for a short time?

Now comes the great apartment hunt. If possible I want to live in a box, but live alone.

I am so excited here.