Welcome to the second installment of Is Avi Impressed?, where I sit down with my dad and listen to him critique some of my favourite videos. The underlying purpose of this exercise is to sort through my father issues, which includes constantly vying for the approval of a man who is so ridiculously impossible to impress.

A quick briefing about my dad: He’s a high-brow, judgmental snob with an impressive list of filmmaking accomplishments. His resume includes Israeli cult and experimental films, Jesus Christ Superstar, The Littlest Hobo and most of the CBC’s prestigious news programming. He has a bunch of awards, including two Geminis aka Canada’s Emmy’s. Click here to read the first installment of Is Avi Impressed?, which proved to be ridiculously popular, to my surprise. In it, he defied Pitchfork by calling the video for Bronx Sniper by Mister Heavenly “a poor man’s Clockwork Orange.”

On the roster this week is the video Bad Choices, by the Shout Out Out Out Out, directed by my friends A.J. Bond and Chris von Szombathy. A quick perusal on both these fellow’s websites will conclude – and I’m putting it quite straight –  that they are both remarkably talented.

A.J. is a sharp and nuanced editor and director. When he makes a short film, it lives a full and robust life, making the rounds at film festivals, rather than go the tradition route most short films go —getting buried in the short video graveyard known as YouTube and Vimeo.

Chris is primarily a visual artist whose work makes me feel like my eyes might pop out of my head with amazement.  He is also my confidante when I’m having artist-related angst and uncertainty. He is a true artist.

To save time, I’m going to tell and not show my thoughts on their video in three short words: compelling, surreal and intriguing.

Well, we’ll see what Avi has to say, in his broken English, about it.

Avi’s summary: A guy gets up in the morning and can’t make up his decisions. The apples and oranges I understand but whatever with the mother and girlfriend. I didn’t understand that. Maybe it’s Oedipus syndrome?

Initial Thoughts: I like the effect. I like the lighting. I liked the Parkinson’s effect. Tourettes effect? How they made it shaky. He did it on an animation table to create all the effect? I wonder what macro he used.  The gimmick.

Overall:  It’s nice. It’s well choreographed.

Say one nice thing: It’s nice. It’s cute. There’s a few ideas there.

Were you impressed?: If you asked me to watch it again, I don’t think I’d be able to. I got the point. It’s not the type of thing that’s calling you to watch it again. But I like the band. It’s original.  As a filmmaker, I think they know what they’re doing.

Want to try and impress Avi? Send me a video at write@eliannalev.com or leave a link in the comments section below!

Welcome to a new feature called Is Avi Impressed?, where I sit down with my dad and listen to him critique some of my favourite videos, which are likely made by people I know.

This feature, which I intend to post on a monthly basis, isn’t about taking the piss out of people’s work. No, it’s more about sorting through my dad issues, which includes constantly vying for the approval of a man who is so ridiculously impossible to impress.

Some background on my dad: He’s a retired editor who spent most of his career working on highbrow CBC TV programs like The Fifth Estate, The Journal and The National. He started 40 years ago making his own weird, experimental films, one of which was a hit on the international film festival circuit. Then he moved on to editing influential Israeli cult movies, like Metzizim. After that, he interned with Norman Jewson on Jesus Christ Superstar, did a few episodes of The Littlest Hobo, then surrendering his life to the Mother Corp., which earned him a good reputation and a bunch of awards, including two Geminis.

It’s also worth mentioning that my dad’s a huge snob. If he’s going to critique something (which is always), he rarely starts with positive feedback. Then, after berating your hard work with his honest, harsh opinion, he’s always quite tickled with himself. Hopefully that will come through in this segment so you can see what I’ve been dealing with my whole life.

For this inaugural feature, I showed him a video by Mister Heavenly, which was directed by Corey Adams and Alex Craig.

I know the pair from Vancouver and admire their work, which includes the mesmerizing, low-budget-but-you-wouldn’t-know-it skate fantasy film Matchotaildrop. (I wrote about it a while back for Dazed and Confused magazine.) At least two of the top 10 fun-est nights of my life have been spent partying at Alex and his wife’s house.

When I saw their video, I was impressed by how much chaos they could cram into four minutes. The images are captivating and speedy and it kind of gets you riled up like a 14-year-old boy playing a videogame. Plus, it has serious hipster approval. Well, that doesn’t mean shit to Avi. Here’s what he had to say (in his poor, ESL English.)

Avi’s summary: “The scenario is well-known. The little boy has his little dreams and his father is more monstrous than his dolls. He fears more his father than his fantasy or his dolls and it turns to be his fantasies win in the end.”

Initial Thoughts: “It’s violently entertaining. I cannot sync to the head of who made it. It’s a poor man’s Clockwork Orange.”

Overall: “For this day, it’s cliché. If I saw it 30 years ago, it’d be original but it’s been done over and over and over.”

Say one nice thing: “As filmmaking, it’s well done. I was too occupied by the images to listen to the music.”

Were you impressed? ”It’s well done. But I don’t know what it’s all about. They’re breaking the house?”

Want to try and impress Avi? Send me a video at write@eliannalev.com or leave a link in the comments section below!

In my 12 years as a professional writer, I’ve managed to amass a strong and loyal following. Maybe “amass” is the wrong word but there are certainly a good number of people who regularly read my stuff and consider themselves fans. Some of them leave messages on my website. Some send me heartfelt emails. I’ve heard from and interacted with enough of them over the years to categorize them into three specific demographics:

• Women in their early-to-mid-20s who are educated, literate, creative, working professionals, interested in writing, comedy, pop-culture, sex, and relationships.
• Filipinos. Just in general.
• Men in their mid-30s to late-40s, who are rich and want to have sex with me.

Recently, I started casually seeing a fellow who falls into the latter category. I’ve nicknamed him Superfan.

Superfan was a (super)fan of my writing before we met in person. He’s also way more accomplished than me (he’s a big time writer type) and it makes me resentful. I first read his stuff when I visited my parents in Toronto last summer. My mum had saved one of his magazine features because his style reminded her of mine. I could see her point, so I Googled his work. Then I got jealous of his massive career and impressive accomplishments and never read his stuff again.

The first thing he said to me when we were introduced at a foodie event was “you’re hilarious.” It felt good to hear, but I was instinctually suspicious.

Superfan clearly thought that complimenting me was a surefire way of accessing my covered parts, right? I wasn’t so sure. Every email he sent included a segment gushing about either my physical attributes or my talents. I’ve become warier with every interaction, though I don’t do much to stop it. Being fawned over by a successful man feels pretty decent. I also partially manifested this.

When I date men, I am always the superfan. I put a lot of my energy into building them up, and it always comes from a genuine place. I don’t date men who aren’t talented at what they do. And that’s probably entirely because of Freud. Or rather, my dad.

I associate most of my happiest memories involving my dad with his work. As a Gemini-award winning editor on a bunch of highbrow CBC programming (“The Journal”, “The National”, “The Fifth Estate”) Mr. Avi Lev has often been referred to as one of the best at what he does. Every single time I visited him at work, from the time I was a child until a few years ago before he retired, someone would pull me aside and tell me how spectacular he is. That kind of pride will eventually take a toll. Which is why I only date men who are considered to be exceptionally good at what they do.

However, unlike my pops, who has always helped nurture and support any path I’ve chosen in life, the men I’ve been with usually couldn’t care less.

Take the time when one of my boyfriends, who was a professional performer, told me I’m not funny, despite the fact that I would regularly make him laugh. He even went so far to consult with another entertainer, who agreed with him.

Their conclusion (the way he explained it): I was a writer, not a comedian.  Therefore, I wasn’t funny. (While he could have been right, I choose to chalk up his opinion on his issues with women and other deep-rooted insecurities. Otherwise, I’d probably have stopped writing. It certainly stopped me from ever considering stand-up.)

More seriously, I’ve also been in a few textbook unhealthy relationships, where I was regularly subjected to being called moronically immature names like “slut” and “whore.” The pain I felt as a result was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced: It was debilitating and profound. The good news is a) that was a long time ago and b) those names managed to thicken my skin to the point that I quite genuinely don’t care or dwell on negative feedback, about me personally or my writing, unless it’s constructive. Nothing will ever penetrate me the way those names did.

That’s why it’s weird to have this certified catch around. He’s accomplished, positive, fun, lives in another city (big bonus…less of a distraction) and he’s a big fan of my work. So much so, that’s he’s started offering the work he turns down to me. So why am I still completely suspicious of his intentions?

Probably because after everything I’ve been through until this point of my life, I have no clue how else to be.

Hey reader! Haven’t engaged with you in a while at the bottom of my blog. Want to psycho-analyze my weirdness towards a guy who treats me nicely? Think you can do better? I really encourage feedback and welcome invitations to nice dates. Leave me a message or email me at write@eliannalev.com

So it’s been one year that I’ve been writing I’m a Good Story and this week I happened to hit a wall. I am a confident writer in that I feel that I can write about anything and somehow make it into a story. But this week, for whatever reason, I was stuck. I got nothing in me. Empty. Before I beat myself up about it, I called a few people I admire to help get this sucker rolling. And here’s what happened.

(Skyping my dad while he’s at work.)

Me: Hi Dad.

Dad: (Him looking at another computer and not me.) I’m listening.

Me: I have nothing to write about this week.

Dad: There’s no such a thing as nothing to write. Write… (stares off at his computer again) write about Wikileaks.

Me: I’m not interested in Wikileaks.

Dad: It depends how you look at this. Find an angle that’s original.

Me: I don’t think my audience expects me to write about Wikileaks.

Dad: Surprise them! Wikileaks and my life. The whole thing that you can eavesdrop information and publish them. (Eds note: My dad is ESL.) Imagine you wake up and everyone knows about you.

Me: That’d actually be nice if everyone knew who I was.

Dad: Say Hi to my friend Gary. (Motioning to some man behind him.) He’s editing with me. This is my daughter in Vancouver.

Me: Hi Gary. I’m going to call Chris. Maybe he’ll know what I can write about.

*

(Best friend Chris Jacot on phone.)

Me: Hi Chris.

Chris: Look I’m really busy right now.

Me: You always say that to me when I call.

Chris: Because I am. I’m always busy.  Too busy for you. I’ll talk to you another time when I’m not busy.

Me: But you’re always busy. You just said -

Click.

*

(Best-er friend Ronit Novak on the phone.)

Me: Ronit!

Ronit: Elianna Lev!

Me: What should I write about? I’ve been doing this for a year and I can’t believe I don’t have anything to write about.

Ronit: Why don’t you have a conversation with a human and get inspired? That’s your whole problem. You’re trying to get to the end without ever realizing that it’s about the journey, young Jedi. So go experience life so you know whether there’s anything worth writing about. All the writers out there are risk takers, and explorers and adventurers. The writing is an aside. It’s an excuse for them to go out and live life.

Me: But there’s too much going on in my head. I’m living in my head. And that’s what I like to write about.

Ronit: There’s more going on in the world than what’s inside your boney skull. Turn your skull off. Go stick your face in a wet puddle with soggy leaves and sniff it. Who wants to hear all about your brain all the time? Enough about you. You’re a processor. You’re not THE product.

Me: I want to be the product.

Ronit: People want the meat, not the processor.

Me: You’re saying I’m too self-absorbed? Because I know that already.

Ronit: I don’t know why you have to distill it down to one word. Just go out there and live your life. You’re so self-absorbed you turned around what I just said into you being self-absorbed. That’s what I’m saying.

*

Now I’m turning it on to you, dearest reader. What should I do? Please answer the following questions:

Should I get outside my head or stay there?
Should I go on meds or run away to Barcelona?
Should I keep pursuing the dream of being a writer or become a rational, boring person?
What should I write about? As in, what would you like me to write about?

I want to hear from you. Give me advice. Tell me what you think. Help I’m a Good Story get somewhere.  Let’s connect.

Oh, and thanks for all the feedback, love letters and words of inspiration you’ve sent me in the past year. You don’t know how happy it makes me. It means the world to me.

This one is dedicated to Ms. Jill Borra and Mr. Kevin Siu of the Globe and Mail. I’ll be contacting you soon.

I was talking to my friend in New York last week about her husband whose career is on the verge of exploding. He’s the most driven, confident, and self-assured person I’ve ever met in my life. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Lately, he’s been working harder than almost anyone I know and apparently, it’s getting to him.

“It’s like he wants a gold star on his forehead,” his wife told me. “I think I should do that. I think I should go out and buy a roll of gold stars from Sandylion and stick them on his face, one by one until he looks like David Bowie.”

In short, this guy needs confirmation about everything.  Everything. Everything. Everything.

I totally get it.

Recently, a few of my girly girls and I have started playing a very healthy game where we’ll sit around on a bed and say at least one nice thing about each other before the end of our hang out session. (Reminiscent of this.)

You want to know why? Because most of the time, we’re all in our heads, telling ourselves we’re not good enough, our work isn’t good enough and everything we do isn’t good enough.

So it’s nice to have friends who can play along with this game where you not so gently stroke each other’s egos. You don’t even know how good it feels until you try it.

It’s a feeling you can get used to it.

This week I used Facebook to ask my followers to help me describe I’m a Good Story, partially for work reasons, but mostly for ego-stroking reasons. Here’s a few things people said:

“Elianna Lev doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but she does, usually by writing about the things that make her uncomfortable, of which there are very, very many.” – Sarah Steinberg, my editor at enRoute and my former editor at Vice

“Honest, heart-felt and at times poignant, I’m a Good Story tells of the journey to find truth, inspiration and personal insight amidst the beauty and schlock of post-postmodern life and relationships.” – Hilary Henegar, my editor at Granville magazine

“Personal, without sentiment, honest without being precious, always leaving the reader with a lesson or piece of useful insight” – Louise Burns, professional musician, formerly of the band Lillix

That felt great until my ex-boyfriend, professional improviser and certified jerkface Taz Van Rassel chimed in:

“Remember that girl in high school who told you every detail of her life regardless of whether you asked or not? That’s what I’m a Good Story is like, but less gothy.”

I’m in an interesting place in my career where I’m about to start taking more chances. I have to or else I won’t get where I want to be. It’s terrifying and thrilling and, really, all I can think about. I’m one of those driven types who won’t settle until they achieve what they want.  And what I want are big, big things.

I met with five of my mentors this week to ask for guidance as I enter this critical point in my life. Here’s the wise words I took away from each of them.

1)   You’re doing the right thing.
2)   Don’t think. Do.
3)   The world needs people who do what you do.
4)   You are good at what you do.
5)   When you write a story, write more than one side to it.

It helped a lot.

There are a lot of people like me. And many of us seem to be in the same place right now, all waiting for our big moment and working our asses off until it happens.

If I had one word to describe this weird place we’re in, I wouldn’t use the word “fulfilling.” Instead, I’d use ‘stressful.’ I’d even use all caps: ‘STRESSFUL.’

(As I’m writing this, I’m toggling between five different files and my web browser, working on two different contracts, one huge pitch and on the phone ordering some overpriced iPhone text plan for the US, as I’m taking a trip to LA with my writing partner later this week. STRESSFUL.)

We driven types work hard and often we’re rewarded. But equally as often, the reward doesn’t feel quite as good as we’d expect it to feel, considering the amount of energy (STRESSFUL energy) that was put in.

But whose fault is that?

I’ll think about that when I have a moment. But for now, I have way too much work to do.

——

My mentors, listed in order of how their advice appeared:

1. Terri Theodore, reporter and broadcaster extraordinaire for the Canadian Press

2. Marsha Lederman, Western arts correspondent for the Globe and Mail

3. Catherine Winckler, partner and creative director of Switch United

4. Steve Pratt, director of CBC Radio 3

5. My dad.

Last week I told a story about how my love for the CBC runs deep. I talked about how my dad worked on “Jesus Christ Superstar,” and met a Canadian on set who told him to come to Canada where he’d get a job at the national broadcaster. Well, turns out I was completely inaccurate. I don’t know how I got that story in my head, but it was wrong. My dad called me last week to tell me the real story about how he came to Canada.

At the start of his career, my dad, Avi, worked in films. He mostly worked on Israeli productions, though he did do an internship in London on “Jesus Christ Superstar”, where he was taught music editing.  My dad made an okay living working on films. He was the artistic type, and had made several of his own experimental films – one of them, “Tarantula” even won the top prize at the Chicago film festival.

The year was 1974. My father was editing a feature film in a Tel Aviv film studio. These studios also had starlight facilities, which were full of international news agencies. They were all in Israel at that time to cover the Turkish invasion of Cyprus. One day, a woman who worked at the studios asked my dad if he could do her a favour. She said there was a Canadian producer who was in desperate need of an editor to help him cut the news. My father had never edited news before but he was happy to help out.

The producer’s name was Don Dixon. He was a field producer for the CBC. At the time of their first meeting, my dad remembers Don being very stressed. He had to have a short segment cut in very little time or else he would be in big trouble.

News was shot on film in those days. Don’s film came out of the lab only 30 minutes before feeding time. The pressure was on.   Don told my dad what visuals he wanted for the piece and my dad did what he was told. My father finished the piece with only two minutes left before the feeding time. Don grabbed the film reel and ran as fast as he could to the telecine room where the film was fed to Canada via satellite. The story made its way to Canadian television sets that night – where it aired on the national news. Don was relieved.

Don asked how much my dad wanted to be paid. An editor for ABC who was in close proximity said the standard rate was $150. Don handed the cash to my dad, along with an extra $400.

“You saved my ass,” he told him.

At that moment my dad realized the news business wasn’t a bad idea.

My father continued to work for Don for a few more days on the Cyprus conflict, until the story died down. Don was clearly impressed with how quick my dad worked. He told him that he’d talked to his bosses in Canada and they wanted to give him a try. My dad wasn’t interested in leaving his beloved country, but my mother was quite keen. Within a few months, they relocated to Ottawa. (“From sun, sand and sea to sub-zero, snow, and solitude,” my father said. He’s since warmed up to it.)

A year later, they moved to Toronto and eventually, I was born.

After my dad cleared up the story, I apologized for being sloppy and told him his homework was to find Don so I could get his side of things. I wanted to thank Don for making Canada my dad’s destiny. They hadn’t spoken in years and my dad said it could be tough. But before my father got to work on his search for his old colleague, Don contacted me, seemingly out of nowhere.

He emailed a quick note to say he’d read my piece and thanked me for the memories. I wrote him back apologizing for getting the facts wrong and called him a few days later to hear his side of the story. He was so happy to hear from me.

Don is retired now and lives in Victoria. His version of meeting my dad was pretty close to my father’s recollection. He called my dad a “true artist” and said they had a lot of fun together. Then we got to talking about Don’s long career at the CBC, where he’d worked as a field producer in London and Washington, amongst other places. He spoke about how lucky he was to work with such amazing talent, like Joe Schlesinger, who he called the father he never had. After the CBC, Don went on to start Television International Consultants Inc., which produced events like the Clinton/ Yelston meeting in Vancouver. He was clearly happy with the life he lived and proud of the amazing work he had accomplished. As we said our goodbyes, he wished me “God Bless.”

The most important rule I was taught as a journalist is to only report what you know. If there’s something you’re not sure about, leave it out. I don’t know why I got the initial facts about my family’s venture to Canada wrong. But for once in my professional writing life, I’m happy I made the mistake.