Right now just happens to be one of those times that I need more love than usual. Someone in my immediate family is having open heart surgery next week, so I’m a bit concerned and kind of consumed.

When I’m consumed, it’s hard for me to write long, insightful narratives. So instead, I’m going to write short, snapshot-like paragraphs about things that have captivated or inspired me lately, since my life has certainly not been dull over the past few months. Oh, and feel free to send me some lovin’. You can never get enough of that.

Beauty in unusual places
I pulled down a guy’s underwear recently and a pink cloud of cherry blossom petals floated out of them, landing all around me. It felt like I was in an anime cartoon. It was beautiful and a complete contrast to the rest of the evening, which was the polar opposite of clean. (He’s way too famous to read this blog, so this isn’t technically kiss-and-telling.) Spring is in the air —  or at least in my immediate air space.

Grampa Happy
This guy is always at the one dog park that I visit with my dog Dutchie. He arrives with his granddaughters’ dog in tow and giddily tosses the ball for her. He smiles his toothless smile as his lil’ buddy runs into the water to retrieve the ball and he gently pats her when she comes back to him panting and soaking wet. I told him that it’s nice to see him so happy at the park, staying active and engaged.
“What else am I going to do?” he asked me in a voice that sounds eerily similar to that elder perv character in Family Guy. “I’d be wasting away alone if it weren’t for her.”

I learned how to do fishtails and turn off my brain
Last week, I bought a gorgeous APC blouse that’s got a virginal, fancy-French-tablecloth, running-barefoot-in-a-field vibe to it. I figured it would look really good with fishtail braids. I put it out on the Internet that I wanted to learn how to do them and a few people sent me the above video.

Sure, it was super informative and now I know how to braid my hair into fishtails. But the best part of this video is that it shows Lauran Conrad endlessly brushing and braiding her hair.
There’s something about watching a vapid Californian girl, playing with her beautiful, shiny hair, that’s hypnotic. At one point she says: “It’s important not to overthink the fishtail braid. Once you cross a piece over, let it go and just focus on the next piece.”
I’ve decided to apply this wise advice to many aspects of my life.

Some guy fell in love with me at first sight
There’s no way to tell the following story without sounding like I’m conceited, so just let me have my moment.

I was at an Afro disco DJ thing recently when a guy stopped me and asked me what colour my tights were. I was wearing a grey dress, grey boots and bright yellow tights that my friend had picked up for me in Paris. He brought me over to the bar so he could see them better.
“You’re the girl in the yellow tights!” he said. “My friends and I saw you cross the street earlier today. You really left an impression on us.”
He lives in Seattle and was the opening DJ for the main DJ we were there to see. He looked at me with wide eyes and told me that if I needed a dance partner, he’d be happy to fill the role.

It was sweet and flattering. I’d been with four different (and completely unavailable) guys in the past two weeks, but none of them had been so sincere, sweet and genuinely enthusiastic towards me. It’s too bad I’d reached my guy quota at that point, because otherwise I’d have been pretty open to his offer.
I gave him my card and he emailed me the very next day, telling me how nice it was to meet me. I thanked him for making me feel so beautiful. I meant it.

You’re reading this
While we’re on the conceited path… At least once every few days, acquaintances go out of their way to tell me how much they love this blog. I never feel shy when I get these compliments, since they’re always so nice to hear.

I love that you read this blog and I love that most of you really enjoy it. It makes me feel like my time, effort and brain-power aren’t just disappearing into a void.
So keep sending me love. I want to blow my head up to the size of a hot-air balloon.

Thanks for reading, dear reader. I love you. Now show me some love. Send me email love at write@eliannalev.com or like love  on Facebook . Barely anyone’s clicked on that shit. If everyone who read this Liked me on Facebook, there’d be, like, 1000 likes. 

Recently, I experienced one of the highlights of my year when I attended the Vancouver book launch for Buffy Cram’s Radio Belly. Buffy is my former UVic creative writing classmate and someone who has always intrigued and wowed me. She was this supremely talented, wise and quiet girl with beautiful bouncy curls and a cherub face. I had always wanted to know more about her. So it was really thrilling to see her accomplish something so grand – a fancily designed published book of fiction with her name on it! How many of your peers who are writers have published works of fiction? I’ll answer that for you: Not many. I recently asked her to answer some questions about writing, life and inspiration to get a sense of how the girl does it. She was nice enough to write back.

 What did you think about the UVic writing program?

I started at UVic when I was 18. I had just come back from my “Australia -trip”—you know, the one most people do in their early 20s where they go wild, learn to surf and/or scuba dive and find themselves. I entered university thinking I was all worldly and unique—I wanted to be a journalist for National Geographic. Then, in my first journalism class, I met a whole bunch of other kids who had also just gotten back from Australia (or Thailand, Mexico, whatever) and also wanted to write for National Geographic. I recall our professor standing up at the front of class and explaining how hard it would be to get published in that kind of magazine. She tried her hardest to get us excited about writing for community newspapers and campus publications that term but I could already feel myself backing away from journalism. Over the next few years I found my way, slowly but surely, into fiction. UVic was a great place to be because there were courses situated all along the way between journalism and fiction. I ended up finding a home for a long time in creative non-fiction, which is how I first got published.

What were your impressions of me from writing class?

I remember sensing the east in you. I knew you were a Toronto girl and that always intimidated me a bit. You were pretty and blonde and smart and infinitely likeable. I remember wanting to hang out with you more but I was insanely busy  those days, holding down three jobs in addition to studying. I often felt like I was missing out back then—like everyone else was having the quintessential “college experience” while I was at work. Is it true? Were you having more fun than me?

(Eds note: I had fun sometimes but I was actually jealous that you had all these jobs and were making money.) 

Tell me about your journey after you were done Uvic. You’ve seemed to have gone all over the place.

After UVic I taught ESL in Vancouver and then Montreal. I had students from all over the world and that made me want to travel again. My boyfriend at the time was from Boston and since it wasn’t easy to live and work in each other’s countries, so we decided to travel and teach. We spent the next few years in Europe, Asia and South America. At some point during my travels I decided to start my MFA with UBC’s optional residency program, which meant I could do my course work from anywhere the world. My MFA luckily led to publication.

Where are you currently based?

After many years away, I’m back in Victoria. I plan on doing a lot of writing at the UVic library this summer. When I meet our doppelgangers I will befriend them!

Tell me about your writing process. I picked your brain a bunch at your book launch and you seem to have a similar process to me. Like you, I can’t write more than four hours at a time. You also said you do freestyle writing. How much of your work comes out of that? I write 1000 words before I get out of bed, morning-page style, but it’s more diary stuff than stuff I’d be able to use in my work.

Wow, I admire you for writing in bed every day! I try to write first thing when I get up too but most of the time I fail. I usually aim for an hour or two of “free writing” at some point before noon. This is the fun stuff, the thing that keeps me going and makes it all worthwhile. Then, later, I might go out to a library or coffee shop and work for another couple of hours on a specific project. Getting out of the house to write helps me feel like I’m a real person doing actual work rather than a monster who wears pajamas all day. (Eds note: Yoga wear softens the blow…highly recommend it.) Sometimes if I’m in a really good phase (and if I don’t have to go to work-work) I’ll do another 1-2 hour shift at night with a glass of wine. But there are many, many days where I’m lucky if I can just get one hour of freewriting done in the morning. I try to hold myself to at least that. As long as I do my one hour of freewriting I’m still allowed to call myself a writer, plus I’m a much nicer person to be around.

How did you become an author? How was your work first published? Do you just write and send it out? I want to be a published author one day…tell me everything there is to know!

I don’t think any writer ever knows what they’re doing or where they’re going when they start out writing their first book. Even at the story level, I never once sat down to “write a story.” All along it’s been one slow sentence at a time. All along there has been uncertainty and self-doubt. Being in school helped ease some of that uncertainty because at least I knew I would get a degree at the end of it all. And being in school, going through the workshop process on specific pieces is what gave me the confidence to send stuff out. As for publishing…my first published piece was a memoir piece I wrote in my UVic days called “Man Hands.” Much later, when I was at UBC I sent it out to Prairie Fire’s annual writing contest. It won third place and then went on to win a National Magazine Award. From then on I was a contest junkie. I kept submitting and racked up some wins and some honourable mentions. This gave me the courage to keep writing. I knew eventually it would amount to something, I just didn’t know when. I was prepared to keep writing stories and submitting for the next ten years if that’s what it took. I recommend every aspiring writer does the same: find a good writing group, rework and rework your stuff, and then send it out to contests.

How’s it been since the book was launched? I was certainly impressed at your Vancouver reading. It was so inspiring to see you so accomplished. You fit right in there with the other authors and read so well. It was like you were born to be there. How have you felt about this press tour?

Wow, thanks! To be honest—and I want to be honest here because it’s one of the things I admire most about your blog—getting published has been a pretty anxious and emotional thing. It’s strange going from being a reclusive pajama-wearing writer to being on stage. It’s strange to have my writing—such a private thing—become suddenly public. I feel like I’ve always written for my own mental and emotional well-being. Having readers is something I never really thought about until it was upon me. I was terrified for about six months leading up to the publication of the book. But now that I’m out there meeting readers, I’m overwhelmed by how wonderful they are. Readers are such warm and smart and compassionate people. I’d like to live the rest of my life in the company of readers!

What’s it like getting reviewed?

It’s a very weird experience. It’s a lot like a total stranger coming up to you at a party and psychoanalysing you based on your clothing or hair. Actually, it’s like having a whole bunch of strangers come up and do this one after another. One says your hair is funny. Another says it’s too serious. One says your clothes are cliche. Another says they’re quirky and alienating. But in the end, a lot of these different opinions cancel each other out. Besides, it’s just my clothing and hair they’re talking about.

Are you a full-time writer? Do you do other stuff to support yourself? Can you afford peanut butter AND jelly?

I always thought it would be dreamy to be a full-time writer but this past year when I was finishing up the book I became one by default and, actually, it turned me into a total weirdo. I stopped brushing my hair and started playing games on my phone. I couldn’t afford peanut butter or jelly. It made me realize that those other things I “have” to do to survive—like teaching, bartending, sewing—actually keep me sane. For the next year or so, while working on my upcoming novel, I’m going to be (re)launching a small line of handbags that I make from repurposed leather jackets. It’s fun and I can do it from home. This means I might become a weirdo again, but I suspect that’s what it takes to write a novel.

What’s inspiring you these days?

I’m so thrilled to be back in Canada where I speak the language. I love going to flea markets and asking people where they got the stuff they’re selling. I love talking to old people on busses. I like observing people at Bingo halls and breakfast buffets. And I like being able to talk to kids again.

Are you still writing while this is happening?

No and it’s killing me. It’s such an odd thing—I’ve done all this work to get recognized as a writer and now that it’s happening, I can’t get to the writing.

On my personal website, I sometimes write updates about my actual, non-blog life and post photos of my friends and sometimes if they’re famous or niche famous, I’ll tag them. One friend in particular that gets more Google hits on my site than any other is Ali Liebert. She’s a Canadian actress who just scored a Leo nomination for her role as the butchy lesbo on the show Bomb Girls, which is one of the highest rated dramas in Canadian TV history. She also just launched a production company and is generally owning life in so many ways. People from all over the world want to know about Ali so they Google her name and wind up on my site. I thought I’d exploit her internet popularity and the fact that she’s my friend and catch up with her to share in the excitement of her life.

It should be known that a few years ago, Ali and I were part of this organically formed support group, for lack of a better word, called The Blazing Pussies (she came up with the name). It consisted of three actors and two writers, all female, who’d meet up weekly and talk about goals and struggles and everything else that we were going through. So basically, I’m really proud to know where Ali once was in her life and see her come so darn far. Without further adieu, here are the best parts of a chat we recently had.

Ali Liebert on her newly launched production company, Sociable Films.

Michelle Ouellet, Nicholas Carellastarted and I started it over a year ago. Everything’s coming together. I went to Elton John’s Oscar party two years ago with Cory (Monteith from Glee), I was sitting next to S. Epatha Merkerson, from Law and Order. Embarrassingly enough I didn’t know who she was. She asked me if I was an actress. And I asked if she was too. We get chatting and she grasped my hand like she was grasping the younger generation and she was like “Don’t just be an actress. Make your own work.” And I was like “Bing!”

We’re going to be in the business section of the Sun this week and we had an article in Playback online. It’s a trio. We’re all producers, co-owners, co-creators. Our roles are going to be shifting project per project. We started an improv feature called Afterparty and we’re going to be shooting on weekends in June. It’s like a big co-operative. The three of us are unbreakable. We’ll read anyone’s script, anyone who wants to work with us, we’re open. It’s a group collaborative program.

Ali Liebert on people Googling her name.

I’m happy people are looking on your site although I think you told me once that people were looking for naked photos of me. And that’s weird. And no one’s going to find shit.

Ali Liebert on the last time I saw her, in New York, and we went to Hannibal Buress’s night at the Knitting Factory and we were sexy dancing after the show. (I was sexy dancing because I wanted to attract the attention of Aziz Ansari, which didn’t work.)

Sometimes I dance when I feel awkward. It’s just that awkward time after the show, and you make me dance. I can dance anywhere. I wasn’t trying to attract suitors because I was already in love with my boyfriend.

Ali Liebert on being in a relationship when she’s clearly desired by fans, based on the amount of people who Google her name looking for photos of her. Also, Ali Liebert on playing a butch lesbian with a rabid internet following.

I was doing an interview with After Ellen. The interviewer knew I was straight, she’d done her detective work. She knew I was just another straight girl playing a lesbian. I have never had the type of fan base that I’ve had with Betty McCrae  (her character on Bomb Girls). There’s a Fuck Yeah Betty McCrae Tumblr site. All the videos to songs and gifs. It’s so crazy. It’s never happened to me before. It’s exciting. I don’t look at too much stuff because it’s me, but it’s not me. I have a detachment when I look at it. It’s like I’m looking at someone else in a weird way. I’ve seen naked sketches of my character Betty and the character Kate. And there’s full on fan fiction. It’s flattering that people are spending time thinking about it. It’s wonderful for the show, and it’s also really important and amazing to have a visually butch lesbian on TV. Just to represent a more masculine, butchy lesbian is great. I’m really glad to portray her and I don’t know what’s up for next season.

Ali Liebert on having a really top notch year as an actor.

Two thousand eleven was amazing for me because it was all dramatic roles in really legit, dramatic pieces. Considering I almost quit acting in 2010, it’s crazy that I hit a wall, didn’t want to do the grind anymore and then I had the best year of my career. I did a Robert Townsend film, and Foxfire (based on the novel) and then Bomb Girls. Then this year is blossoming into a kick-ass year too. I have a Leo nomination, production company, a second season of Bomb Girls. I’m fucking really happy dude.

Hi reader(s). Could you do me a favor and Like me on Facebook. Popularity means a lot to me. Or share this with your friends. I’d like to get the good word out on this blog. Also, it’s really nice to hear from you and I’ve been hearing from quite a few of you lately, which seriosuly makes my day, so don’t stop. Send all love or whatever else to write@eliannalev.com, yay!

I recently listened to an interview with Stephen Merchant, the tall, spectacled, less-famous co-creator of The Office. The original one. At one point he was talking about dealing with fans and I felt like he was speaking directly to me.

“I get people come up to me and sometimes it’s a hassle, sometimes it’s charming and quick…lingering with cameras is a problem,” he said.

Stephen Merchant is the only celebrity I’ve gone out of my way to stop and say hello to, but it was something I had very little control over.*

During a particularly bad breakup, I spent a lot of time watching the British Office. It was one of the only things that made me feel better. It got to the point where I recited lines from the show while I’d watch. If there were some sort of Office trivia game, I’d have mastered it.

I also have a thing for extraordinarily tall men with glasses. So it was natural for me to develop a thing for Stephen Merchant, when I’d watch the DVD extras over and over and over again.

While I have a bored fascination for celebrities and fame, I’m not that bowled over by it. I think having dated someone who went through the cycle of fame, I was able to have a unique perspective into what it’s all about. (To give you an idea, he was playing Coachella and gracing the cover of NME while we were together.)  Sure, if I’m dining with someone who’s considered famous and they get recognized, I certainly get a kick out of it, and I’m not going to deny that when I saw Jay Z last time I was in New York, I got a bit of a thrill. But in a time where degenerate teenaged moms are gracing the same newsstands as glamorous movies stars, fame has lost its luster.

But back to Stephen Merchant. It was about four years ago, around the last time I had an actual boyfriend. I was over at his house when I got a voicemail from my good friend, um, we’ll call her Merida. Unlike me, Merida grew up in a small town that didn’t have celebrities around for many miles. As a result, when she’d see someone around town in Vancouver who’d been on the ol’ TV box, like Owen Wilson or the guy from Swollen Members, she had no shame to go out of her way to say something and then call and text all her friends about it. Let’s just say she wasn’t terribly smooth.

I’d cottoned Merida on to the Office and my love of Stephen Merchant. So when I got a brains-blown-out excited message from her telling me he was having breakfast next to her, I couldn’t help but scream. My boyfriend at the time thought I was a piece of shit.

In her detailed message, she described what he was wearing (jeans, a green t-shirt and a baseball cap), and what he was doing (reading the paper) and what he ordered (eggs). I called her back and we squealed at the idea that he was in the same city as us, walking the same streets, breathing the same air.

That night, I was working an evening shift at the Canadian Press. I hadn’t brought my dinner so I decided to head out to Wendy’s for a burger. (This was before Robson Street had some decent meal options.)

As I opened the front doors of my work building, there was Stephen Merchant, walking directly in front of me. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

In a split moment, and without thinking, I went up to him and told him I was a big fan.

“Thank you,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.

I don’t quite remember the gist of the conversation but I did get a few words out of him. He’d just seen that Jean Claude Van Dam movie, JCVD, and highly recommended it. Then he excused himself as he’d left his hat at the theatre.

If I hadn’t of gotten a detailed Stephen Merchant report from Merida that morning, I would have felt like he was using that as an excuse to get out of an extended, awkward chat with a superfan. But she’d mentioned he was wearing a hat, which he wasn’t when I had stopped him. So at least he wasn’t lying to get out of talking to me.

It’s hard to say if Mr. Merchant would have classified our brief interaction as a hassle or charming. I know for me, it was just one of those things that were meant to have happened – at least for the sake of dissecting the story, and the idea of fame, so many years later.

* That’s not true, actually. I once excitedly tried to corner Natasha Lyonne backstage at a Hot Hot Heat show. She looked at me like I was about to throw a mesh net on her with the intention of kidnapping and skinning her. To be fair, her and I had a past together, which in that moment she seemed to have forgot.  We’d attended the same Israeli army-training program as teenagers. Most of the night backstage at the show, she completely ignored me until she realized my boyfriend was in the band. Then she was nice. She wasn’t doing too hot at that point in time but I’ve heard she’s since cleaned up her act, which makes me happy.)

I want to hear about your run-in/relationship with celebrities, cause that shit don’t get old. Leave me a comment below, on Facebook or email me at write@eliannalev.com, yeah!

It’s that time of the month again, where I dig my father out from behind the moat he sleeps in to have him critique music videos that were either directed, produced, filmed and or performed (usually) by people I know.

For those of you new to this feature, I’ll bring you up to speed. My dear Dada (that’s what I call him) Avi is a veteran filmmaker. In his early career he mostly worked on experimental, campy and cult stuff in his native Israel. Then he interned in London on Jesus Christ Superstar, went back to making Israeli films and got a big break at the Mother Corp in Canada. In between it all, he also worked on this integral Canadian show, made a bunch of documentaries in Brazil (mostly as an excuse, I suspect, to hang out with hot Brazilian women), and won two Geminis. Click here, here, here, and here to read the other “Is Avi Impressed?”

If you believed him, he’s done and seen it all, which means he’s not easy to impress. He’s also sarcastic, and hard-to-impress jerk, which makes it dually hard to get him to say nice things. Yeah, try being his daughter.

This week on the roaster we have “I Wasn’t Made For Fighting” by the band Woodhands, which is made up of a fellow named Paul Banwatt, who I’ve never met and my friend Dan Werb. I’m sure he’s also your friend because everyone is friends with Dan Werb.

The video was directed by Asif Mian, who I’ve never heard of, but appears to be very talented.

Anyhow, here’s what Avi had say on the matter. Oh, and English isn’t his strong point.

Avi’s summary: The temper tantrum of the woman at the start, I can’t relate this to the rest of the idea of “I want to do it one more time.” I guess he plays on time using the clock.

Initial Thoughts: It’s very creative. It tries to reflect the lyrics. It’s beautiful choreography, well computer animation. I don’t know what the budget is there but it looks like a very rich production. Maybe it’s none. I like the idea of “I want to do it one more time” but it starts with “I’m not made for fighting.” Right? But the freezing of the seconds of the clock and he tries to unfreeze it. Visually it’s very well expressed. He expressed it very nice visually. Freezing time. Unfreeze the time.

Overall: The music is good because of the lyrics. It’s like four notes, if I’m not mistaken. If I hear it in the radio, I don’t think I’d pay attention to it, honestly. It has to be something in music that will catch your ear, something sticky. But I will listen to the lyrics.

Say one nice thing: Overall, it’s very watchable, it’s very entertaining. Very intelligent. Well used. It looks like a nice piece of art. I have no criticism. I think I can watch it again. It’s a storyteller. He’s a storyteller. That’s what I like to see in a video. Tell me a story. I know there’s abstracts, using metaphors. But here, from the lyrics he tries to do his best to illustrate it. And he did it very artistically, which is nice.

Were you impressed? Very impressed.

 Can you tell Dan’s Jewish? No. But he clearly thinks like one.  

Got a video you think can impress Avi? Send it to write@eliannalev.com or leave a link in the comments section below.

I assume it’s common practice to do some amount of research when you’re dating or crushing on someone. For me, it usually goes beyond a simple Google search. I’m fortunate enough to have several friends who know everyone, along with every single person everyone has ever dated, who I can and do consult regularly.

If there’s a new fella on my radar, I make a quick inquiry with them and they can give me either an extensive background check or a simple “run the other way”, depending on my immediate feelings towards the guy. For, example, if there’s chemistry I’d like to explore, but I’m given a “stay away” warning, I proceed cautiously and make a point not to spend a good chunk of my day fantasizing about whether my last name would work better hyphenated before or after his last name.

(FYI, if you’re going to do research on me, I think you’ll find most of what you need to know on this very site. Or, you can do one better and ask me directly. I’ll probably tell you everything within the first two dates.)

For the most part, these warnings have been accurate and have saved me a lot of wasted energy and stress. But there was one heads-up from a few years ago that really takes the top prize and ultimately saved me a lot of serious danger.

My 30th birthday was a roast/This is Your Life-type party, thrown and organized by several of my closest friends, and attended by many. Towards the end of the night, one not particularly punctual bud showed up with several young but attractive guys she’d met a few hours earlier at a bar. I was kind of seeing someone at the time but was really drawn to one of these guys, who looked Brazilian and had beautiful hazel eyes. To my shock, he came right up to me, grabbed my waist and kissed me on the lips.

“That’s for your birthday,” he said.

I was stunned. And kind of aroused. I’d never met a guy with so much gumption. I quite liked it. The next day, my friend who’d brought the young’un told me the sweet-eyed fellow had asked for my number. I granted her permission to pass it along and by the end of the day, he’d called me and we secured a date.

The night before I was supposed to meet him for a seawall walk, I got an email from an address I didn’t recognize. The title: TO ANY WOMAN WHO COMES IN CONTACT WITH _____ .

I leave it blank because it was the name of the guy I was suppose to go on a date with the next day. And for my safety, we’re going to keep it anonymous.

It said: I am ____’s ex-girlfriend. I want you to know that he is verbally abusive and possessive and controlling. In the time we were together, he wouldn’t let me do anything or go anywhere. Sometimes he would come into my room and flick on and off the lights when I was sleeping just to fuck with me. He’s a psycho man and I’m not afraid to let every female in Canada know.

Well then, I thought. So much for an easy breezy seawall walk. I suppose I could have cancelled the date and chosen to ignore him, but being a journalist who appreciates all sides to a story, I decided to go ahead and see what would happen.

We met up at the seawall and he gave me a hug. I felt guarded and closed off, despite being majorly attracted to this guy. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should really be avoiding him.

After about half an hour of mindless small talk, I asked if we could sit down on a bench. I finally brought it up.

“Um, so, some anonymous person emailed me to tell you that you’re controlling and abusive,” I said. “I mean, I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of so I won’t judge you if it’s true.”

That was a lie.

The guy didn’t respond. It looked like there was something going on inside of him but he barely blinked and kept looking straight ahead.

“That’s interesting,” he finally said.

Silence.

“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to think,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know you but that’s a pretty crazy email to get. Especially since I have no clue who this person is or how they found me.”

“I think I know…” he started.

I could see he was tensing up.

I asked if he was okay.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said.

He was kind of acting like a robot, albeit one that was suppressing a lot of angry emotions. He told me he was going to go home.

“This is kind of pointless,” he said.

I told him if he needed to talk, I was around, even though I really didn’t want to have anything to do with him ever again.

A few nights later, he called me at 11 p.m., wasted. He yelled at me incoherently for a minute and then I hung up. This happened a few times over the next week. I finally programmed his name in my phone as “Bad News” and knew not to answer when he called.

I suppose that warning email was like a traffic sign on a road with extensive construction. I could tell what was coming ahead of me, though I couldn’t exactly see it. So, I chose to patiently wade through the dangerous, unstable ground and then knew to take a completely different route in the future.

Hi reader! Let’s talk. Have you been warned about someone you were about to date? Send me a message at write@eliannalev.com or leave a comment below. I love hearing from you! Oh, and Like me on Facebook because this apparently changes lives or something. 

There’s an ad campaign in the Toronto subways that promotes picking up litter. It shows a close-up of newspaper on a subway chair or a coffee cup on the ground. Above the displaced garbage it says “I don’t belong here.” For some reason, these ads spoke to me.

I wondered if the team who designed them thought about how the hundreds of thousands of people who move to this city, from elsewhere, might feel when they see it. Did the ad designers stop to think that it might make the newbies think about the life they left behind? The friends who might be missing them? The important jobs they might have held down that were well-respected? Their place in the world where they were valued as something special, before moving to this new city, only to transform into complete nobodies. I wondered if the ad designers though that this campaign centered around a discarded piece of trash, left alone, useless, in a city that’s constantly in motion, regardless of its place in it, might trigger feelings of hopelessness and disdain for those of us who had a hard time feeling like they belonged here.

Who knows? All I know is that that’s exactly how it made me feel.

I moved to Toronto in the fall with hopes of trying something new. I needed some perspective on my first love, Vancouver, and wanted to spend time with my family and close friends. It was a bit of wild ride but not enough to make me want to stay. Which is why, when was offered a part-time writing gig in Vancouver recently, I jumped at the chance to ditch Toronto, without much thought. I just felt like I didn’t belong there, despite it technically being my hometown. But all wasn’t a waste. Here are a few things I learned while being back.

TORONTO IS PRETTY GREAT, BUT IT’S NOT THE GREATEST

When I first moved out West when I was 18, I had a hard time not comparing everything to Toronto. Nothing measured up. But that’s because I didn’t know anything else. Eventually, the appeal of things like stupendous mountain views and lazy beaches by the Pacific Ocean grew strongly on me.  I realize now, my initial attitude is not a unique attitude for the city. Toronto is really confident. And not terribly self-aware. It’s easy to think it’s the greatest place on earth because it really does have so much going on – strong communities, fun things happening all the time, Burger Priest. It’s hard to criticize Toronto to a Torontonian, whether you were born one or simply identify as one. However, once you fall in love elsewhere, it broadens the picture. Toronto’s is great, but there are other places that are equally as great too.

NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOU. REALLY.

Most people aren’t terribly interested about you in Toronto. Whether you’re applying for a gig or attending an art show, no one cares about you that much. Eye contact isn’t really a thing and if you’re out with a big group of people, next to no one will go out of their way to introduce themselves or chat you up. Unless you’re also someone who’s new to the city. I found when I went to the gym, the most chatty and friendly people were those who’d recently immigrated. Maybe they sensed we had something in common.

LEAVING SOMEWHERE GIVES YOU IT CONFIDENCE 

While in Toronto, I did an improv class and started a writing group. Both were top-shelf experiences. The writing group had a few people who weren’t fans of my work and getting their feedback was the absolute best thing for my writing. I also rocked my improv class because most of the other students were nerdy IT guys whose bosses recommended they attend to help them with their social retardation. Being the best in a class is a really great feeling.

IT’S NOT UNCOOL TO LOVE YOUR FAMILY

While in Toronto, I spent a lot of time at my parents’ place. This is something I can’t really admit to ever doing since I was about 12, when I decided family was desperately uncool.  I think in the past 10 years, I’ve spent maybe two months total with my family. They weren’t that much of a priority. While it was hard for me to be comfortable with the fact that I was staying with them (I never considered it living with them) longish-term, I eventually accepted it. I realized that having people feed you delicious food, gives you hugs regularly and teach you valuable, intelligent life lessons several times a day isn’t a bad thing. So I built a higher tolerance for my parents than most people have. The only thing is, I’ve forgotten how to take care of myself. But at least I found a place in this beautiful, complex city where I felt like I truly belonged.

Thought on Toronto, dear reader? Leave a comment below or email me at write@eliannalev.com! Also, not sure how regularly I’m going to be updated this here beast now that I have a new gig, but I’ll do my best to keep in consistent.

I was recently talking to a friend of mine who’s big into the online dating thing. As a result, she has an active, always exciting dating life, which certainly can’t be said about mine.

She asked why I wouldn’t consider online dating and I explained that the whole concept of chatting and eventually meeting up with a stranger completely irks me.

“Isn’t that what you do with work,” she asked. “You’re essentially meeting up to talk with strangers all the time.”

“Well yeah, but usually it’s not with the intention of getting with them,” I said.

“Usually,” she stressed.

That’s true. Usually it’s not. But sometimes, it has been.

I’m only admitting this because I’ve come to realize how boringly common the subject/interview hookup issue is for writers (and sometimes their subjects). A good number of my writer friends have admitted to using their professional status to secure an “off the record” encounter with their subject. (Also see photographer/model, secretary/boss, intern/everyone in the office.) There’s even a book about it.

While I’ve never gotten with anyone (really) famous whom I’ve written about, I have used my position as a writer to flag the attention of men I’ve been interested in.

(I should mention I’ve never pull this tactic while writing for credible outlets – it was almost always for places like Vice, which allowed more creative freedom and looser ethics.)

The reason? I’ve never been confident enough to simply ask a guy out, plain and simple. I never felt I had that much to offer. Which is why, for a while there, if I wanted to get to know someone a little better, and he happened to have an interesting thing going on, I’d ask if I could write about him. It established a power dynamic that I was comfortable with, and kind of got off on. I was mostly in charge of how the conversation was steered and the guy usually had to be on his best behaviour. ‘Cause that’s how totally healthy relationships are formed, right?

Sometimes I’d come away with a great story and a fun time. Rarely, though, would there be a follow up. But generally it was win-win. He got some press. I got a good story, personally and professionally.

But it never really got me anywhere, romantically. And after a while, things got confusing. I felt like I couldn’t be involved with a guy unless I was going to write about him, otherwise I had little else to offer, personally. Also, I had a hard time figuring out if I was a writer first, and a single lady constantly looking for company and affection, second, or was it the other way around? It was usually really hard for me to sort that out. Eventually it led to a crying-in-my-lap meltdown and some good therapy sessions.

It’s been a few years since I’ve pulled this kind of thing. I realized it was a male muse thing for me and there are many more fulfilling (and less sleazy) ways to find inspiration to write. And while love, lust and desire will always inspire me, it’s now to fuel my heart and not my fingers on the keyboard.

Unless I got a book deal. Then it’s a totally different story.

Hi there dear reader. You know what I’m about to say, right? Leave me a message saying whatever you feel like, or shoot me an email at write@eliannalev.com and most importantly, like, more important than anything else in the whole world (apparently), click right here to like me on Facebook. Just click it!

I recently made it a medium-term goal of mine to have the ability to go out for a fun night without the aid of pot or alcohol.

Here’s why: There’s a guy at my gym, who’s in a famous Canadian band (that rhymes with Loan). Every time I see him, he has this happy uplifting glow to him that is infectious – it probably helps that he’s always with his scrumptious toddler. Usually I’m toiling away on the ellipticycle, feeling bloated and sweaty, and he’ll pass me, all smiles and good energy. It’s like a mystical fairy dust tornado has just swept by, and I feel significantly more uplifted as a result.

A few days after my last encounter with Mr. Good Vibes, I was having lunch with a friend who plays keyboard in his band. I was telling him about my medium-term goal to be a sober person who could still have a fun time. While I don’t rely on drugs and alcohol to numb my darkness and pain on a regular basis (I swear, I’m not lying. I challenge you to find a wasted photo of me online or find a story about the time I was that girl at the party) the idea of going out for a night on the town without some lubricant seems desperately boring to me. My keyboard-playing friend mentioned how his bandmate, the one with the posivibes, lives his life like that – free of drugs and alcohol and usually the last one on the dance floor. Wow, I thought to myself. If it’s possible to live a clean life and give off that kind of good vibe, I’m going to give it a try.

I’ve had a hard time taking this goal from the intention phase to actual implementation, but recently I went out in Toronto and gave it a go. It was to a night called Loving in the Name Of, which happens every few months. The event consists of a zillion-piece band of professional musicians covering songs that everyone knows. The band played an hour-long set, which was followed by a dance party.

Ok, I’ve spent about four hours writing and rewriting this to try and spin my story about my sober night out into something inspirational and positive but I’m going to be straight with you: Being sober while out on a weekend night is really boring and annoying.

Let me elaborate: No one is on your level. If cute guys hit on you, they’re slobbery and incoherent. Your friends pull down their pants on the dance floor because they think it’s funny and then want to go to a biker after-hours to drink moonshine and do coke even though they’ve never done coke before, because they’re that far gone. It’s hard to just focus on dancing because they’re playing corny mom bar mitzvah music (“Shout” by the Temptations, “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel) that makes you embarrassed because you’re sober and therefore hyper aware of how desperately uncool the music is. The word “uncool” doesn’t exist when you’re wasted.

In my attempt to be positive and inspirational about my sober night out, I wrote the following point-form list of how to have fun while having a sober night out. No idea what any of it means.

Be your own best company

Absorb what’s happening around you

Connect with other sobers

Figure out the highlights of the night while the night is still happening

Remember that you’re strong

Treat yourself to something delicious at the end of the night

Yeah. I don’t get it either.
But after thinking long and hard about what I can come away from all this with, I’ve got two points worth mentioning:

1. When I get depressed, I get antisocial, and spend a lot of nights at home alone. If I go out, even if it’s completely sober, at least I’m not home, alone, feeling depressed.

2. What I’m realizing now is that like anything else that you want to get good at, having fun while being sober takes time. Being comfortable with sobriety is not something I can expect to master in one dramatic go. Over time, I’m sure it’ll get easier.

This is something I’d like to get better at. If there are sober people out there reading this, please give me some perspective or advice.  I’ll be happy to share what I’ve learned with others. Leave me a note below or write me an email at write@eliannalev.com and maybe I’ll make this medium-term goal into a lifelong mission. I imagine it can’t be that hard.

It’s that time of the month, where I sit down with my holier-than-thou, impossible to impress father and get his odd, ESL-laced feedback on current music videos of our time. For those of you new to the game, my dad is an accomplished and celebrated filmmaker and editor who has worked on indie Brazilian docs, experimental shit, Jesus Christ Superstar, and for the majority of his life, the Mother Corp. Click here for more background on the ol’ pops. Since Avi recently returned from South Africa, I decided to show him “I Fin U Freeky”, the latest offering by Die Antwoord. Here’s what transpired.

Avi’s summary: The only thing that’s not freaky in this is the lion and the snake. They are the passive objects in the video. It’s a freak show.

Initial Thoughts: I cannot say that the music will call me. It’s not sticky enough to grab my ear when I hear it on the radio. But the video is interesting. They do loop de loop just to attract your attention. But it’s well done.

Overall: They’re working based on a common scenario: It’s black and white. It’s nicely composed. It’s nicely, what do you call, art…stage art, I mean, art direction, that’s very well done. I noticed they have a strong Afrikaans accent. But what’s freaky that has to do with South Africa? It’s independent thought. Who wrote this song? It’s the first time it’s introduced to me.

Say one nice thing: It’s interesting as one picture on the wall of a gallery. It’s well directed. He’s a still photographer? That’s what it looks like. (Looks at his website.) Oh, he takes very good portraits. He takes photos of freaks, not necessarily South Africans. The issues are not South Africans, it’s freaks. That’s what I’m trying to say. And freak shows always works, since midgets in the circus. It’s always proved itself.

Were you impressed? You know. Been there, done that. Here we go again, freak show.

Got a video you’d like Avi to watch and probably not be impressed by? Email me at write@eliannalev.com or leave a link below. Also, here’s the obligatory LIKE US ON FACEBOOK plead.