No folks, misogyny is not a delicious Asian soup. It's the hatred of women, and December 6th each year marks the anniversary of an event known as the Montréal Massacre, which sadly exemplifies this hatred taken to its end game. It would be an interesting coincidence (not irony, as ...

I've seen a few films in the past couple of weeks that I thought I'd mention here ... The 11th Hour - Leonardo diCaprio, Leila Connors Petersen and Nadia Connors present An Inconvenient Truth on steroids. Although it took awhile to really get going (with a "dramatic" intro that was more of a yawner than a screamer), this film mostly lives up to the idea (well, my idea) of being everything Al Gore's stake in the "look at me I'm a good guy now that I'm not a policy-maker" pile could have been. It takes aim at both industry and government, and more importantly at the generally-accepted human idea that we have the irrevocable right to exploit the planet as we see fit. For such a straight-up, hammer-you-in-the-face film, it tries a little too hard to end on a positive note (fancy eco-buildings will save us!) - but I suppose they didn't want to be held liable for mass suicides following each screening. Plus, put David Suzuki in anything and I'm happy (the soundtrack from Sigur Ros and Mogwai didn't hurt either).

As of late I've been listening to the Blast the Right podcast by Jack Clark after being tipped off by a post on John Krumm's Znet blog. There's definitely a dearth of good political podcasts out there (especially since the untimely demise of G7 radio - ...

Several models said they were initially drawn in by American Apparel's progressive environmental policies, sweatshop-free manufacturing, and youthful corporate identity. But their dreams of success were soon shattered. "Before I knew it, I was squatting on the floor in this humid room with a camera pointed at my crotch," said model ...

Since the demise of G7 radio, we've had no venue with which to share with the world music we like, but have no affiliation with. Consider the silence broken. In the mid-90s my friend Jon lent me a CD by a band from Washington D.C. called Sevens. Be it that at the time I listened almost exclusively to straight-edge and political hardcore, a band consisting of pseudo-Pagan hippies slinging jazzy riffs (with bongo accompaniment) seemed an unlikely match for me. But somehow the quartet (consisting of brothers Mark and Bobby Sullivan, Josh Larue, and Chris Farrall) managed to capture my attention. They were products of the punk scene who were creating something unlike anyone else was creating. Vegan jazz? Who knew.