well, here i am. in vancouver at last. for real this time! or well.. for a month anyway.
it's almost hard to wrap my brain around the fact, the reality that i'm here, actually really here.
my last bit of time in toronto was quiet. i spent much of it alone. in a way, you could say i had retreated to lick my freshest wounds after yet another sad sorry failed love. but it wasn't quite that... there was a quietness. a sense of mourning without the gnashing-teeth, torn-shirt, i'll never love/be loved again melodramatic bullshit. it was slower. softer. like the hushed quietness of a funeral. it was a time of sacred silent sorrow, a respite after the loud, crashing months that preceded it. it was a time to be quiet, and to say goodbye to a beautiful man that i loved very much - the hottest man i have ever loved, and the best kisser i've ever known. it was a time to relearn experiencing great moments and not sharing them with him. a time to relearn mornings that didn't start with a "good morning my love" email. a time to fall asleep without his sweet, perfect kiss; without his glowing warmth beside me.
and slowly, eventually, i woke up to the fact that oh my god, i had so little toronto time left!!!
so i bought a molehill of multi-coloured, knee-high socks. i treated my tastebuds to my first zabaglione, with some incredible italian not-quite-ice-wine, not-quite-port digestif. i cycled the beaches with bright, shining friends. i went to massey hall for the first time (funnily because i'd managed to.. um.. procure them - and by them i mean a band i grew up knowing and liking well enough - some... ah... road necessities). i saw ronnie burkett's newest puppet magic. with the help of fabulous friends, i belly-laughed my way through hours of a futurama marathon. i drank expensive wine and savoured fine french cuisine with my favourite hunter. i washed away martinis with boothfuls of well-wishing friends at an all-night cafe.
and now i'm in vancouver. and oh, my first day back... yesterday was GREAT. everything is so green and lush, canopied with white and pink blossoms, erupting with loud tulips. there was colour everywhere and the air was thick with the smell of living things. everthing was beautiful: the air, the trees, the flowers, the smiles, the men...
and then i got to enjoy some mind-blowingly good sushi at a table crammed with smiling friends. as i told them, i think this gypsy has learned an important lesson about friendship. wherever my travels may take me in this big ol' exciting world, my heart is forever bound to vancouver. well.. until my friends move away, i guess. i love these people and oh - to be among they who know and love me. they, who support me and my hare-brained ideas. they, who will playfully yet forcefully argue the semantics of "jock" vs. "outdoorsy". they, who will remember the things i don't, and dilligently and patiently remind me of them. they, who want to inspire and encourage me. they, who will gently chide my low self-esteem. they who know my silly cycles and love me "anyway". just as i love them.
it's nice to be home.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Thursday, April 13, 2006
transit is the opiate of the masses
it's mayhem
it's a marrakesh market
it's the first time free citizens go to polls
it's studio 54 at 2 am
it's a boy's first overeager orgasm
it's rush hour in toronto.
i usually ride my bike: bright fake flowers nerdishly woven into a basket guiding the path for a slow-pedalling, flower-sniffing flake. this transit stuff is like safari to me. i usually confront it with bemused delight or in a slim-grinned daze. but when a friend's fervent argument perked my eyes and ears, well wow - the shit that goes on!
we queue:
quanine convelescents
pining for the drug cart.
the air is thick
with the slow-minded
sedated
sociopathism
of 9 to 5ers
at 5:23
but when the bus dodders in, the hive comes alive and the air becomes stained with a frantic desperation. shoulders are squared and elbows enflare as the mighty congregation pushes toward the light. my friend is jostled from me, and shoots me a disparaged look. i sigh and lean back into the throng, letting the frenzied squeeze themselves into their salvation. by the time i am pinballed into the bus, my friend and i are decades apart. i crane my neck, hoping to reassure her with a smile: i am here, i am alive!
and the bus dodders forward.
the bus is thick with humans. i have a moment to reflect, and reimagine the mayhem. i imagine myself as knightess in shining armour, crying out my friend's disgruntled dismay. the clouds part and gleam on me as i exclaim: what are you, a bunch of fucking barbarians? i mean, *what* is with the shoving? there is a fleshy mass before me, as solid as it needs to be to prevent me from moving forward, no matter how hard you push. and the butting-in business? if you're so fucking frantic to get a seat for those 7 blocks that separate you from your couch, wait for the next goddamned bus - oh look, there it is, pulling in right now.
i chuckled to myself, head bent coyly, as i imagined my archangelic ranting. and then i peeked left, i peeked right. i saw a young man, a boy, a yoot. scruffy thing. the first time he helped out a struggling traveller, it was sweet. the second time, it was downright exultant. and then, when some young girl singsonged: "this sure is a busy bus," well by golly, i reckon it was just about the sweetest bus ride this side of the rainbow.
ok, i got carried away with that last line and it sounds facetious, but i actually pretty much mean it. ...dang gummit!
as we emerged, sucking in my friend's inner-suburban-galaxy-far-far-away's sweet, sweet air, i thought: perhaps i'll sway her cynicism. help this sisyphus find something to savour of her daily grind. i asked her: "so, what was your favourite moment of the transit ride?"
"when this guy made the guy who was hogging two seats have to shift over so he could sit."
well ok sure, i can see that. i hate those fucking seat hoggers. and i laughed, "i thought maybe you'd say the girl, or..." and she laughed and we laughed and she'd actually been sitting near the girl and told me all her cute ramblings despite her sad, hippie name. and i thought you know what, we all find our zen where we can.
cheers to you, sister!
it's a marrakesh market
it's the first time free citizens go to polls
it's studio 54 at 2 am
it's a boy's first overeager orgasm
it's rush hour in toronto.
i usually ride my bike: bright fake flowers nerdishly woven into a basket guiding the path for a slow-pedalling, flower-sniffing flake. this transit stuff is like safari to me. i usually confront it with bemused delight or in a slim-grinned daze. but when a friend's fervent argument perked my eyes and ears, well wow - the shit that goes on!
we queue:
quanine convelescents
pining for the drug cart.
the air is thick
with the slow-minded
sedated
sociopathism
of 9 to 5ers
at 5:23
but when the bus dodders in, the hive comes alive and the air becomes stained with a frantic desperation. shoulders are squared and elbows enflare as the mighty congregation pushes toward the light. my friend is jostled from me, and shoots me a disparaged look. i sigh and lean back into the throng, letting the frenzied squeeze themselves into their salvation. by the time i am pinballed into the bus, my friend and i are decades apart. i crane my neck, hoping to reassure her with a smile: i am here, i am alive!
and the bus dodders forward.
the bus is thick with humans. i have a moment to reflect, and reimagine the mayhem. i imagine myself as knightess in shining armour, crying out my friend's disgruntled dismay. the clouds part and gleam on me as i exclaim: what are you, a bunch of fucking barbarians? i mean, *what* is with the shoving? there is a fleshy mass before me, as solid as it needs to be to prevent me from moving forward, no matter how hard you push. and the butting-in business? if you're so fucking frantic to get a seat for those 7 blocks that separate you from your couch, wait for the next goddamned bus - oh look, there it is, pulling in right now.
i chuckled to myself, head bent coyly, as i imagined my archangelic ranting. and then i peeked left, i peeked right. i saw a young man, a boy, a yoot. scruffy thing. the first time he helped out a struggling traveller, it was sweet. the second time, it was downright exultant. and then, when some young girl singsonged: "this sure is a busy bus," well by golly, i reckon it was just about the sweetest bus ride this side of the rainbow.
ok, i got carried away with that last line and it sounds facetious, but i actually pretty much mean it. ...dang gummit!
as we emerged, sucking in my friend's inner-suburban-galaxy-far-far-away's sweet, sweet air, i thought: perhaps i'll sway her cynicism. help this sisyphus find something to savour of her daily grind. i asked her: "so, what was your favourite moment of the transit ride?"
"when this guy made the guy who was hogging two seats have to shift over so he could sit."
well ok sure, i can see that. i hate those fucking seat hoggers. and i laughed, "i thought maybe you'd say the girl, or..." and she laughed and we laughed and she'd actually been sitting near the girl and told me all her cute ramblings despite her sad, hippie name. and i thought you know what, we all find our zen where we can.
cheers to you, sister!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Sunparlour Players
so last night i headed on down to the Tranzac to see the Sunparlour Players, and enjoy some of the best free music this side of the french quarter. if you haven't had a chance to savour the Sunparlour Players yet, that would explain that hollowness you sometimes feel in your gut on those cold, lonely mornings.
the Sunparlour Players (a.k.a. Andrew Penner and Mark Schachowskoy) are like gospel with all of the thumping and none of the bible. they’re a glass of mint julep served by a pixie in a hickory-smoked arcade. they’re fried chicken served on a quilt of patchwork pin-up girls, spread out on blue grass under an orange sky. they’re a train teeming with painted ladies and boozy bearded blackjackers, careening, speeding, charging charging through a prairie sunset. they're hungry sex on a hot afternoon in a summer field buzzing with cicadas. they're that scene in pulp fiction where uma thurman gets an adrenaline shot right to the heart.
or as my friend glowingly said, "they're like hillbilly punk!"
they're intense, they're fun, they're powerful, they're danged talented, and they have more energy than a 10-piece funk band.
they. are. great.
and lucky for all of us torontonians, they have lots and lots of gigs all over the city! you can go to their site (http://www.andrewpenner.ca) to get all that information. and until you get a chance to actually head out and see them, you can listen to them here: http://www.myspace.com/thesunparlour .
now excuse me, i’m going to go sit by a campfire, eyes closed in blissed out appreciation and hands clasped in giddy anticipation, and wait ever so impatiently for their upcoming album…
the Sunparlour Players (a.k.a. Andrew Penner and Mark Schachowskoy) are like gospel with all of the thumping and none of the bible. they’re a glass of mint julep served by a pixie in a hickory-smoked arcade. they’re fried chicken served on a quilt of patchwork pin-up girls, spread out on blue grass under an orange sky. they’re a train teeming with painted ladies and boozy bearded blackjackers, careening, speeding, charging charging through a prairie sunset. they're hungry sex on a hot afternoon in a summer field buzzing with cicadas. they're that scene in pulp fiction where uma thurman gets an adrenaline shot right to the heart.
or as my friend glowingly said, "they're like hillbilly punk!"
they're intense, they're fun, they're powerful, they're danged talented, and they have more energy than a 10-piece funk band.
they. are. great.
and lucky for all of us torontonians, they have lots and lots of gigs all over the city! you can go to their site (http://www.andrewpenner.ca) to get all that information. and until you get a chance to actually head out and see them, you can listen to them here: http://www.myspace.com/thesunparlour .
now excuse me, i’m going to go sit by a campfire, eyes closed in blissed out appreciation and hands clasped in giddy anticipation, and wait ever so impatiently for their upcoming album…
Monday, April 03, 2006
zen and the art of packing
i recently moved, which means i got to spend some time filtering through drawers littered with the many scraps of a well-lived life. mosaics of scrawled thoughts, theatre programs, concert tickets, first drafts of plays draped in a tapestry of alien scribbles. i've sifted through clothes, cds, movies, books - what comes, what doesn't. and i have the double added bonus of serving a double-packing duty: the stuff that goes into storage until i figure out what i'm doing with my life, and the stuff that will join me for the next few months as i journey back to vancouver, and then..? stay there? somewhere else? the world is my oyster, and i like it raw!
it was fucking great!
unlike most normal, healhty humans, i love packing! sifting through the memories, the slow deliberation, the remembering, reassessing, reassigning. it's very therapeutic, actually. an opportunity to take stock in one's current reality. what have i been up to? is it what i want to be up to? what will i need for what i want to be up to?
delicious!
what can i say, i simply love packing! i've always loved packing, and i will likely always love packing. which is probably a good thing, considering how many times i've moved in my life. i've lived in more homes than years i've been alive...
it's a wanderlust that was fostered in my childhood by parents who always strove for more. sometimes we moved for work - my dad the bank manager would get offered a better position far far away. but sometimes, we moved for the sheer joy of it.
i loved those sunday afternoons, crawling through the streets, trolling for open houses. i loved walking into strange homes that might some day foster so many fights and laughs and memories. i loved trying to imagine the memories: where would i put my bed? would i have a sleepover? who would my friends be (if it was in a really different neighborhood)?
i just loved all that possibility oozing from the hitherto unseen carpets and stairways and paint colours, all the things that i might one day hate or just ignoringly take for granted.
and so i guess here i am again, on another cusp in my cuspy life. and yet, not a cusp, not really. i have figured out who i want to be when i grow up, i'm just travelling to the land of friends and connections to see if i have a better chance of doing it there than here. perhaps i won't and i'll come back. perhaps i will, but come back anyway, with a bit more experience (and expertise?) under my belt. perhaps i'll get whisked off to some new land that i hadn't even contemplated.
who knows? i don't, not really. i'm just here for the ride, the great wonderful thrilling ride that is life.
whee!
it was fucking great!
unlike most normal, healhty humans, i love packing! sifting through the memories, the slow deliberation, the remembering, reassessing, reassigning. it's very therapeutic, actually. an opportunity to take stock in one's current reality. what have i been up to? is it what i want to be up to? what will i need for what i want to be up to?
delicious!
what can i say, i simply love packing! i've always loved packing, and i will likely always love packing. which is probably a good thing, considering how many times i've moved in my life. i've lived in more homes than years i've been alive...
it's a wanderlust that was fostered in my childhood by parents who always strove for more. sometimes we moved for work - my dad the bank manager would get offered a better position far far away. but sometimes, we moved for the sheer joy of it.
i loved those sunday afternoons, crawling through the streets, trolling for open houses. i loved walking into strange homes that might some day foster so many fights and laughs and memories. i loved trying to imagine the memories: where would i put my bed? would i have a sleepover? who would my friends be (if it was in a really different neighborhood)?
i just loved all that possibility oozing from the hitherto unseen carpets and stairways and paint colours, all the things that i might one day hate or just ignoringly take for granted.
and so i guess here i am again, on another cusp in my cuspy life. and yet, not a cusp, not really. i have figured out who i want to be when i grow up, i'm just travelling to the land of friends and connections to see if i have a better chance of doing it there than here. perhaps i won't and i'll come back. perhaps i will, but come back anyway, with a bit more experience (and expertise?) under my belt. perhaps i'll get whisked off to some new land that i hadn't even contemplated.
who knows? i don't, not really. i'm just here for the ride, the great wonderful thrilling ride that is life.
whee!
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