damn, time flies. where did the last week (since my last post) go!? and for that matter, where did the last 14 years go? well no, they haven't raced by, they've been full and lived completely - that's for sure. but it's been fun to reflect on them...
see last week, i was found by an ancient ex. and ah, the memories heretofore well and solidly dammed up have flooded my mind - frankly, i'm amazed by how much i remember.
if you've been paying attention (or if you're reading my words like you care, ahem...), you may remember that in my many exciting! amazing! death-defying! world travels, i've also lived in thunder bay. don't worry if you didn't remember: i try to never talk about it. (a note for non-canadian readers: thunder bay is by all legal definitions a "city" located somewhere in the woody cesspool of northwestern ontario.)
at the ripe and tender age of 16, i was transplanted from Montreal (french girls, dépanneurs, modern dance, poutine and Super Sex) to Thunder Bay (lager, loggers, legions and Bambi Bambenek). although this may bespeak a maniacal cruelty on my parents' part, there were reasons other than my torture. and anyway, as a colourfully-clad, bottom-feeding, artsy urban grrrl, i can clearly see the big shiny bullet i dodged. (shortly before the move i'd acquired an agent (modeling) - who told my 5'7" 115-lb anorexic ass to lose weight. i was also lambada-ing up a storm at the yuppie joints de choix. really: what might i have become?? shudder at the thought.)
but i digress.
so at 16 i suddenly found myself in a school that had a football team instead of an improv troupe, cheerleaders instead of a world-travelling jazz band and pep rallies instead of dance class. whoa. it was like i'd suddenly found myself trapped in an ABC After-School Special. this shit existed in Canada??? damned "distinct society" robbing me of dog squads and class-free, pepped-up wednesday afternoons...
my first few weeks were particularly scintillating. when i wasn't outside polluting my lungs with my cousin and her friends, you could generally find me sitting alone eating baloney sandwiches in the back corridor by shop class. despite this, and perhaps because i wore perfume, make-up, styly black clothes and spoke with a slight indescernible accent, i had earned myself a reputation!! that first week, the hushed voices spoke of "Parisian model". dayem, that's fun! i giggled and kinda liked this whole "gossip" business - something that somehow didn't really exist in my Montreal high schools... well the thrill ended when somehow, still sitting in the back corridor like a loser, i had become THE WHORE.
er... hm??
well what the hell eh. i was 16, alone, confused, and insecure as all hell and i now officially had nothing to lose. so i went on a bit of a rampage. say something witty (or, well... amusing anyway), be cute (or well... not uncute anyway) and buy me booze, and you had yourself a cute "foreign" girlfriend for the night or week.
until i saw him.
...met him? sadly the details are lost. but i do remember some things. like smoking in that far-back walkway as we started our solemn trek home (had to make sure he knew i was cool). i remember snow bros. at the 7-11. i remember the slow, lingering flirty walks home as we tried to ignore our raging loins (he had a girlfriend). and i remember that night... we were walking home from a friend's party, engaged in the ultimate act of adolescent foreplay: laughter-and-scream-laced wrestling. we manoeuvred ourselves into the perfect position: he sat straddling me as i lay looking up at his beautiful face framed by a naked sapling and a cool, crisp moon. and i remember my brain screaming out "kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me". i can't remember how it happened - did he lean in? did i have to lure him? did i reach up? i don't know. but i do know we kissed and he became my first full-on, really real thunder bay boyfriend. i'm talking months of devotion (which hey, for a 16 year-old is something) and 18 ct gold bracelets. oh yea, this was teenaged love at its best.
and now, 14 years later, he's stumbled on me at classmates.com. yes: someone actually gave the bastards some cash and got to actually contact me! i gotta say, it's sorta fun. haven't thought of Hammarskjold High in a helluva long time...
hunh
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
daydreamin
i'm indoors all day, but my soul doesn't have to be! she's off adventuring...
it's a beautiful day. although there is a flavour of fall whispered on the wind, the day is sunny and sporting a misty smog that speaks more of summer than autumn. it's noon and she has emerged from the recycled air to savour her hour of freedom. she has decided to cycle to a farmer's market to get something fresh for lunch while supporting the hippies and environmentalists she wishes she were...
she is elated to discover that this is no outdoor mall, but a small community. the people are smiling, the prices are negotiable, and there are musicians. the musicians are all cool and carefree, oozing a casual sexuality - but it is the drummer who catches her eye. a feast of thick hair coyly brushes past eyes raging with intensity, sparkling with mischief. he seems transported, carried to mystical realms by his masterful rhythms. she is instantly mesmerized.
she watches his eyes. she watches when they are closed, and he looks almost reverential. she watches when they are turned to a sky filled with invisible but potent gods. and she blushingly stops watching when their focus shifts to her. although she has averted her gaze too quickly to see the salacious smile, she can feel the sudden charge in his playing. it seems now laced with a lascivious drive that pulses right into the yes of her.
eyes downturned, she tries not to think of his eyes. tries not to imagine them inspecting the contours of her dress. tries not to imagine them drinking in her details. tries not to imagine them piercing her thoughts and exposing her soul.
smiling softly, she tries not to think of his mouth. tries not to imagine it smiling wantonly just for her. tries not to imagine it whispering into her hair. tries not to imagine how sweet and soft it must taste.
fidgeting timidly, she tries not to think of his fingers. tries not to imagine them easing her clothes off. tries not to imagine them pulling her hair, exposing her neck to his fierce hunger. tries not to imagine them gently but insistently unfurling her like a rose.
but his dancing fingers and charging pulse lull her into the decadent daydream and she is powerless to his rhythmic seduction. and so she dreams on...
it's a beautiful day. although there is a flavour of fall whispered on the wind, the day is sunny and sporting a misty smog that speaks more of summer than autumn. it's noon and she has emerged from the recycled air to savour her hour of freedom. she has decided to cycle to a farmer's market to get something fresh for lunch while supporting the hippies and environmentalists she wishes she were...
she is elated to discover that this is no outdoor mall, but a small community. the people are smiling, the prices are negotiable, and there are musicians. the musicians are all cool and carefree, oozing a casual sexuality - but it is the drummer who catches her eye. a feast of thick hair coyly brushes past eyes raging with intensity, sparkling with mischief. he seems transported, carried to mystical realms by his masterful rhythms. she is instantly mesmerized.
she watches his eyes. she watches when they are closed, and he looks almost reverential. she watches when they are turned to a sky filled with invisible but potent gods. and she blushingly stops watching when their focus shifts to her. although she has averted her gaze too quickly to see the salacious smile, she can feel the sudden charge in his playing. it seems now laced with a lascivious drive that pulses right into the yes of her.
eyes downturned, she tries not to think of his eyes. tries not to imagine them inspecting the contours of her dress. tries not to imagine them drinking in her details. tries not to imagine them piercing her thoughts and exposing her soul.
smiling softly, she tries not to think of his mouth. tries not to imagine it smiling wantonly just for her. tries not to imagine it whispering into her hair. tries not to imagine how sweet and soft it must taste.
fidgeting timidly, she tries not to think of his fingers. tries not to imagine them easing her clothes off. tries not to imagine them pulling her hair, exposing her neck to his fierce hunger. tries not to imagine them gently but insistently unfurling her like a rose.
but his dancing fingers and charging pulse lull her into the decadent daydream and she is powerless to his rhythmic seduction. and so she dreams on...
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
that's nuts!
ah the silly rambly things that flitter through my brain while savouring a slow ride into work on a bright, crisp morning...
riding down a tree-lined street, i chuckled at the sight of a chestnut being chucked from a tree by a clever squirrel. the nut popped out like a stripper from a cake, it was beautiful. and for no apparent reason, that got me thinking about tree huggers. i mused over how many of the friends or people i've met who were radical environmentalists or tree planters or greenpeace warriors or whatever were also vegans. i get it, it all kinda fits together, ya know? it's all about the celebration of the sanctity of non-human life, right?
well then i thought specifically about the dedicated tree lovers - the ones who are just oh so in love with big wise ol fluffy trees dancing in the breeze just for them. and i thought of how, as vegans, many of them consume a startling amount of nuts. gotta get their protein, right?
well...
don't they realize that nuts are tree fetuses??
(shrug)
riding down a tree-lined street, i chuckled at the sight of a chestnut being chucked from a tree by a clever squirrel. the nut popped out like a stripper from a cake, it was beautiful. and for no apparent reason, that got me thinking about tree huggers. i mused over how many of the friends or people i've met who were radical environmentalists or tree planters or greenpeace warriors or whatever were also vegans. i get it, it all kinda fits together, ya know? it's all about the celebration of the sanctity of non-human life, right?
well then i thought specifically about the dedicated tree lovers - the ones who are just oh so in love with big wise ol fluffy trees dancing in the breeze just for them. and i thought of how, as vegans, many of them consume a startling amount of nuts. gotta get their protein, right?
well...
don't they realize that nuts are tree fetuses??
(shrug)
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
theeeahtah
i know that for most people, autumn signals a time of hermitage: time to curl up under fluffy blankets after a summer of feasting on the city's non-stop smorgasbord of cultural offerings. but for theatre types, the opposite is true. while the summer has its own delicious treats (fringe and summerworks, for example), september is when the theatres come out with guns blazing, eager to lure you into their seats (as well they should!).
so last friday, i sank my teeth into my first play of the "season"; i saw Judith Thompson's latest offering, Enoch Arden at the Theatre Centre.
as the Globe and Mail so accurately states, it is "a beautiful, wise piece of theatre and what a thrill to experience it..." skillfully, tenderly, it combines music, poetry, pathos, grit and soul-stirring/heartbreaking beauty. i could not recommend this play more. it's only fifteen bucks, so ditch the comforter and head down to Queen West. you'll thank me...
and tonight i'm off to CanStage to see "What Happened Was..." not sure what it is, but i know it's theeeahtah, and that's enough for me!! (grin)
so last friday, i sank my teeth into my first play of the "season"; i saw Judith Thompson's latest offering, Enoch Arden at the Theatre Centre.
as the Globe and Mail so accurately states, it is "a beautiful, wise piece of theatre and what a thrill to experience it..." skillfully, tenderly, it combines music, poetry, pathos, grit and soul-stirring/heartbreaking beauty. i could not recommend this play more. it's only fifteen bucks, so ditch the comforter and head down to Queen West. you'll thank me...
and tonight i'm off to CanStage to see "What Happened Was..." not sure what it is, but i know it's theeeahtah, and that's enough for me!! (grin)
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
trent reznor saved my soul
i fancy myself a bit of a life savourer. what i mean by that is i like to stand at life's buffet and try a bit of everything. so a long, long time ago, when i first tried my hand at post-secondary academia, i sampled a little christianity.
ok - who am i kidding. i dove right in: born-again pentecostal (though sadly i never got to speak in tongues, sigh), bible study groups, even the early-morning prayer marches around campus. yup, i did it all! i even practiced celibacy - to the dismay, i'm sure, of my boyfriend with whom i'd shared some red-hot fire engine sex for several months prior to my unfortunate conversion.
now, there are a lot of reasons for my foray into religious insanity, but i don't feel like getting into all that. i'm more interested in telling you the story of how i emerged from the holy water, back to my good ol' debauched self...
when school released me from its jaws in late april, i returned to my home. no longer subjected to the daily encouragement/chastising of my converter and other christian friends, the lord started to lose his grip on me. i stopped believing i was alcoholic. i stopped believing my instincts and impulses were actually the misguided whisperings of the devil. i stopped believing i was evil and going to hell.
i started hanging around with non-christians. i allowed the f-word and other such blasphemy to find its way into my vocabulary again. i started to smoke. i enjoyed the occasional alcoholic beverage (egads). i may even have smoked some marijuana. yet though his grip was loosening, still my fearful heart was squeezed in the good lord's frightful fingers.
and then i moved to vancouver, and discovered luvafair. every thursday and sunday night (nights without cover), you could find me sitting on the speakers (a luxury position placing me between floor- and speaker-dancers, where i could feel in the centre of it all), or on the dance floor, thrashing my hair and limbs about. and oh, i remember this so clearly...
week one
a song i didn't know began pulsing through me. oh, this is goooooood, i enthused, and jumped to my feet. frenetic and wild, it filled my pores with yes!! until the chorus belted out "god is dead, and no one cares," that is. the song: heresy by nine inch nails. as though god's hand had come down and smacked some christian sense to me, my limbs froze. sorry god, i murmured, and returned with bowed head to my seat on the speakers.
week two
there i was dancing like mad, and the song i did not yet recognize well enough again urged me to well up with energy. yes! yes! yes! i danced ferociously until the chorus snapped me back to god's fold. fuck. sorry god, i murmured, and returned to my seat on the speakers.
week three
again, i was compelled to dance. only this time, when trent screamed out "god is dead" i screamed with him. fuck you, god, and your ridiculous rules. fuck you and your archaic morality! i'm gonna fucking dance!!!
to this day, i consider that dance my final break from christianity. you could say trent reznor saved my soul.
now please, don't get me wrong. that christ fella had some interesting things to say. assuming anything in the good book is actually in any way close to what he actually said, i think he was a hell of a political visionary and we have a lot to learn from him. and buddha and confucius and muhammed and so on... but christianity made me more evil than my current debauched lifestyle ever could. i became judgmental, condescending, paranoid and i hated myself and all my instincts.
now, if you find a religion that actually makes you a better person, then i'll support you 110%. just ask my raelian brother... but if it makes you a bitch from hell, as it did for me, then trust me: slip on some trent reznor cuz you needs some proper saving.
ok - who am i kidding. i dove right in: born-again pentecostal (though sadly i never got to speak in tongues, sigh), bible study groups, even the early-morning prayer marches around campus. yup, i did it all! i even practiced celibacy - to the dismay, i'm sure, of my boyfriend with whom i'd shared some red-hot fire engine sex for several months prior to my unfortunate conversion.
now, there are a lot of reasons for my foray into religious insanity, but i don't feel like getting into all that. i'm more interested in telling you the story of how i emerged from the holy water, back to my good ol' debauched self...
when school released me from its jaws in late april, i returned to my home. no longer subjected to the daily encouragement/chastising of my converter and other christian friends, the lord started to lose his grip on me. i stopped believing i was alcoholic. i stopped believing my instincts and impulses were actually the misguided whisperings of the devil. i stopped believing i was evil and going to hell.
i started hanging around with non-christians. i allowed the f-word and other such blasphemy to find its way into my vocabulary again. i started to smoke. i enjoyed the occasional alcoholic beverage (egads). i may even have smoked some marijuana. yet though his grip was loosening, still my fearful heart was squeezed in the good lord's frightful fingers.
and then i moved to vancouver, and discovered luvafair. every thursday and sunday night (nights without cover), you could find me sitting on the speakers (a luxury position placing me between floor- and speaker-dancers, where i could feel in the centre of it all), or on the dance floor, thrashing my hair and limbs about. and oh, i remember this so clearly...
week one
a song i didn't know began pulsing through me. oh, this is goooooood, i enthused, and jumped to my feet. frenetic and wild, it filled my pores with yes!! until the chorus belted out "god is dead, and no one cares," that is. the song: heresy by nine inch nails. as though god's hand had come down and smacked some christian sense to me, my limbs froze. sorry god, i murmured, and returned with bowed head to my seat on the speakers.
week two
there i was dancing like mad, and the song i did not yet recognize well enough again urged me to well up with energy. yes! yes! yes! i danced ferociously until the chorus snapped me back to god's fold. fuck. sorry god, i murmured, and returned to my seat on the speakers.
week three
again, i was compelled to dance. only this time, when trent screamed out "god is dead" i screamed with him. fuck you, god, and your ridiculous rules. fuck you and your archaic morality! i'm gonna fucking dance!!!
to this day, i consider that dance my final break from christianity. you could say trent reznor saved my soul.
now please, don't get me wrong. that christ fella had some interesting things to say. assuming anything in the good book is actually in any way close to what he actually said, i think he was a hell of a political visionary and we have a lot to learn from him. and buddha and confucius and muhammed and so on... but christianity made me more evil than my current debauched lifestyle ever could. i became judgmental, condescending, paranoid and i hated myself and all my instincts.
now, if you find a religion that actually makes you a better person, then i'll support you 110%. just ask my raelian brother... but if it makes you a bitch from hell, as it did for me, then trust me: slip on some trent reznor cuz you needs some proper saving.
Friday, September 09, 2005
frosh
frosh week has desended upon our fine city. or certainly our corner of it.
i just sat on a desk, legs curled under me, forehead leaning near the window, looking down on masses of frosh parading through the streets. cheering, laughing, dancing, proudly donning their new colours. and it brought a sting of tears to my eyes. don't know why really... i guess a bit of envy: that sense of hope, of belonging, of community. there was something really exciting and beautiful about it.
i just sat on a desk, legs curled under me, forehead leaning near the window, looking down on masses of frosh parading through the streets. cheering, laughing, dancing, proudly donning their new colours. and it brought a sting of tears to my eyes. don't know why really... i guess a bit of envy: that sense of hope, of belonging, of community. there was something really exciting and beautiful about it.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
labourless weekend
i had such a lovely weekend. i went up to my friends' beautiful new home, a converted barn just north of the hurly burly, but still south enough to be relatively city-esque. indeed, close enough to be torn down to appease the suburban sprawlers. yes, in less than a year this beautiful home with its pond, its large lush garden, its serene perfection will be torn down and replaced with an army of bland, oversized suburban dwellings. but i don't want to talk about that, not now...
i want to talk about sleeping in my tent (likely the last time this season) on nights so beautiful i was brave enough to leave the fly off so i could gaze at the stars. i want to talk about slowly waking up to clear crisp mornings, lying in my sleeping bag, listening to birds, watching soft fluffy clouds float in a careless sky. i want to talk about making breakfast for friends in a beautiful big kitchen, while being serenaded by a jazz pianist and upright bass player.
could anything be more perfect?
how about playing in the dirt on a hot day, sun beating on my back as i dug a fire pit with garden tools. it was such fun! like a sandbox, only filled with cool creepy crawly bugs instead of syringes, yay! or how about eating my first fried green tomatoes - plucked fresh from the garden. or just in general eating way too much delicious food, grilled to perfection by the lovely and masterful alana. or drinking just enough delicious beer.. (grin) or cozying up by a raging fire and talking shit, punctuated by acoustic favourites.
it was so splendid, i didn't want to leave. and so on monday afternoon, after all the lightweights left, us few intimate stragglers decided to grow some sideburns and be real men: we set up the card table by the tv, turned on some cfl (i'm not a sports fan, but i do love the occasional joy of feeding off other fans' enthusiasm), ordered some pizza, cracked some beers and played poker.
from nature to friends to good manly fun, i'd have to say i had a perfect labour day weekend! : )
i want to talk about sleeping in my tent (likely the last time this season) on nights so beautiful i was brave enough to leave the fly off so i could gaze at the stars. i want to talk about slowly waking up to clear crisp mornings, lying in my sleeping bag, listening to birds, watching soft fluffy clouds float in a careless sky. i want to talk about making breakfast for friends in a beautiful big kitchen, while being serenaded by a jazz pianist and upright bass player.
could anything be more perfect?
how about playing in the dirt on a hot day, sun beating on my back as i dug a fire pit with garden tools. it was such fun! like a sandbox, only filled with cool creepy crawly bugs instead of syringes, yay! or how about eating my first fried green tomatoes - plucked fresh from the garden. or just in general eating way too much delicious food, grilled to perfection by the lovely and masterful alana. or drinking just enough delicious beer.. (grin) or cozying up by a raging fire and talking shit, punctuated by acoustic favourites.
it was so splendid, i didn't want to leave. and so on monday afternoon, after all the lightweights left, us few intimate stragglers decided to grow some sideburns and be real men: we set up the card table by the tv, turned on some cfl (i'm not a sports fan, but i do love the occasional joy of feeding off other fans' enthusiasm), ordered some pizza, cracked some beers and played poker.
from nature to friends to good manly fun, i'd have to say i had a perfect labour day weekend! : )
Friday, August 19, 2005
dreams
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
kindness of strangers
he has been yearning for adventure, for something to happen. he has been invoking something new.
he and his friend have spent the night at the bar, taunting the bartenders to entertain them. "the robot" was their most succesful offering. the night has been amusing, high in entertainment. and yet... nothing new. he has invoked, and the universe has not listened.
until they are stumbling through their apartment building's front door.
___
it's 3 am and she's hovering over the landlady's buzzer. what to do what to do. two guys walk in behind her as she hesitates, debates. "do you need a hand?" he asks. she turns to him and giggles, embarassed but needing a little kindness from a stranger.
"i've lost my keys, and so i guess i have to wake the landlady to be let in."
his eyes go wide, "don't do that!!"
"i know, i know," she enthuses.
the landlady is a fiesty 80-something year-old woman with sharp eyes and a sharp tongue. the prospect of waking her to drunkely explain how she's lost her keys is most unsavoury. he takes pity, dons his shining armour, and offers her a couch. (it doesn't hurt that he's seen her riding her bike from his sunroom.) she accepts the salvation immediately, gratefully. (it doesn't hurt that he has mischievous eyes and a sexy smile.)
she has found shelter.
he has found an adventure.
he and his friend have spent the night at the bar, taunting the bartenders to entertain them. "the robot" was their most succesful offering. the night has been amusing, high in entertainment. and yet... nothing new. he has invoked, and the universe has not listened.
until they are stumbling through their apartment building's front door.
___
it's 3 am and she's hovering over the landlady's buzzer. what to do what to do. two guys walk in behind her as she hesitates, debates. "do you need a hand?" he asks. she turns to him and giggles, embarassed but needing a little kindness from a stranger.
"i've lost my keys, and so i guess i have to wake the landlady to be let in."
his eyes go wide, "don't do that!!"
"i know, i know," she enthuses.
the landlady is a fiesty 80-something year-old woman with sharp eyes and a sharp tongue. the prospect of waking her to drunkely explain how she's lost her keys is most unsavoury. he takes pity, dons his shining armour, and offers her a couch. (it doesn't hurt that he's seen her riding her bike from his sunroom.) she accepts the salvation immediately, gratefully. (it doesn't hurt that he has mischievous eyes and a sexy smile.)
she has found shelter.
he has found an adventure.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
such a nice man...
"he was such a nice man."
the rallying cry of the neighbours of psychopaths, sociopaths, and some of my ex-boyfriends. people who, if they're catholic enough, might torture themselves with the idea that they should have known better.
is the fact that serial killers, rapists, bombers are viewed by many of their neighbours as nice:
a testament to how antisocial us social beings have become? oh, we'll nod our good mornings, we'll chitchat about sitcoms and reality tv in those forced moments of social interaction - colleagues in the kitchen, neighbours in the elevator. but there's no depth to any of those exchanges, no furthering of our crucial interconnectedness. in overpopulated cities, in an overpopulated world, should we not learn to respect our neighbours? look out for our neighbours? rely on our neighbours? interact more, more regularly, more meaningfully with our surroundings and with each other?
or
is it a chilling testament to how we treat our weak? our quiet? our "nice people"? dedicatedly ignoring, perhaps even scoffing them, until their exile eventually, inevitably drives to the ultimate antisocial act?
just wonderin...
the rallying cry of the neighbours of psychopaths, sociopaths, and some of my ex-boyfriends. people who, if they're catholic enough, might torture themselves with the idea that they should have known better.
is the fact that serial killers, rapists, bombers are viewed by many of their neighbours as nice:
a testament to how antisocial us social beings have become? oh, we'll nod our good mornings, we'll chitchat about sitcoms and reality tv in those forced moments of social interaction - colleagues in the kitchen, neighbours in the elevator. but there's no depth to any of those exchanges, no furthering of our crucial interconnectedness. in overpopulated cities, in an overpopulated world, should we not learn to respect our neighbours? look out for our neighbours? rely on our neighbours? interact more, more regularly, more meaningfully with our surroundings and with each other?
or
is it a chilling testament to how we treat our weak? our quiet? our "nice people"? dedicatedly ignoring, perhaps even scoffing them, until their exile eventually, inevitably drives to the ultimate antisocial act?
just wonderin...
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