It's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you

Ew, there's an ad on my journal page!! When the hell did that happen?


Hi hi, long time no write write. Not here, anyway. But I am good, doing fairly well though busy as hell; the usual. I've moved into a beautiful 1912 house with lots and lots of gleaming original wood, and I'm very close to the water, so Vancouver can be tolerated again. For some period of time. In other news, I had such incredible students in my classes this year at UBC. I am BLESSED. I love it! And of course, that too makes Vancouver much more stay-in-able.

Okay, so hey Winnipeggers, I'm in town for the Winnipeg Comedy Festival. I'm hosting a panel tomorrow, talking about gender. Guests on the panel are Scott Thompson, Trevor Boris, Clare Lawlor and Al Rae (who is also the most excellent artistic director of the Festival).

Should be lots of fun. It's at 4:00pm Saturday, at the Park Theatre. I can't think who reads this journal and lives in the 'Peg, except of course jayinwinnipeg. But everybody/ anybody, c'mon down! And if you do see the show, come say hi after.


xoM

"Happy" World AIDS day, everyone. Today is not a day without art for me, unless me and all my friends end up being entirely artless tonight (or playing after midnight)... It's the 25th anniversary of Elvis Monday, the little night that could (and did). I'm here in Toronto to be a part of it, as are Groovy Religion, A Neon Rome -reunited specifically for this gig, Tony Burgess poet extraordinaire - those specifically are my pals from "back in the day", when I first started doing my stuff. There are many more performers; link to an article in the Toronto Star is here.

I'm still pretty raw and grieving, but I'm trying to "go on with the show" and all that jazz. In some form anyway. So Torontonians, come out if you can.

One of the biggest influences on my life; someone who was also one of my very best friends... died last Wednesday. I am taking care of his affairs and possessions, which is both a beautiful and heartbreaking task.

His Vancouver obituary is here. There will be one in Toronto at a later date.

If you ever see me through a window, it's likely that you will see me at a table, and it could well be the middle of the night (or early morning for some: 4:00, 5:00 a.m.). What am I doing?

Usually I have been disrupted from sleep, which does not come easily to me, and sometimes will NOT come back. Either I am up for the day, or will crash a few hours later, resulting in a late day of guilt, sloth, and hurrying.

But what am I doing? If you saw me through that window, you would see me at my computer. I'm not messaging friends, or reading the news. I am searching for my family. I am scanning birth, death and marriage records of Australia; I am reading passenger manifests; I am opening up new scenarios for a lying grandfather and trying to beat him at his own game. I want to know who I am. Or who I was; 'what' I came from, be it flat-out criminal, taken-in orphan, unregistered farm births... a trickle of burning has occured in me in the last few years. And I have found family - wonderful family, dinners and trading of photos that made my heart explode with the connections, the same faces... the loss of time.

My family lived in secrets. 50 years and longer. I am determined to unravel them. I'm not afraid of the outcome; I already know much about what was 'scandalous' and yet done for love. But still I search and prod, and give myself three degrees of separation... so if my grandfather changed his age and name over time (on gov't documents), then he could be anyone within these parameters. Which of these boys/men belong to some other set of circumstances, and thus can be ruled out?

I'm coming for you, grandfather. ........ Partially, yes, because I'm interested in that side of my genealogical makeup. But more: it's because you made my Nana love you. She loved you enough to leave everything she had, and sail across the sea to Canada, where she knew not a soul. She did it for you; to be with you. It wasn't 15 or so years before she hauled you on your backside to the street. End.

Because I love and loved her so much, and because my dad is my dad, and my uncle is my uncle (both progeny of you, grandfather I know not), I will find you. I will find you. It's been 15 years so far of looking, but I am far closer than I ever used to be. I want to know what made my Nana forsake her family because you were so charismatic. I need to know who you were.

wonderful house for me.
Iiiiit's so flyyyyyyy, I swear I could cryyyyy.

Me oh my, I don't want to lose it.
So what am I to do
To keep the skies so blue

There must be someone who will buuuuuuy

http://realestate.nytimes.com/sales/detail/44-1221759

fuck. George Carlin is dead.

A man who never gave in, who never made nice to be "appropriate". Every time I read about the way that he worked and wrote, and the way he prepared for a show, I'd think, "Yes. That's what I do too - my aims are the same."

fuck. As George Carlin would say. And would let no one stop him from saying so. F.U.C.K.

Wow, that was good timing. I've not been watching much of anything on TV, and I've not been watching _____ Idol (American or Canadian -- the Cdn one just started this week), but I happened to be here in front of the tube, and happened to be watching Canadian Idol as a young transwoman named Ryan was just featured auditioning.

She didn't move forward ("ticket to Toronto"), but the segment was actually beautiful, not demeaning (as so much of the content on these shows can be!!!!!) and was in fact quite moving. I mean, by reality TV standards, it was a flat-out touching scene.

Score one for the Canadians. Honestly, can you imagine Simon Cowell saying, [something along the lines of] "You're not really strong as a vocalist, and I think that for you to carry your message - which is a really important one; no doubt it would be helpful to a lot of young people - I think the best way for you to get that message across may not be through song." -Note that Ryan had specifically said she wanted to make a statement by being on the show, and being an example to other young people (she's 17), and also note that the person who said the above paraphrased remark was 'the Simon Cowell' of the Canadian bunch.

It was a nice moment.

Hi,

well, a whole bunch of things have happened in my life, and most of it has been difficult - definitely new, and definitely write-worthy, which I might do I suppose at some point, but it won't be here in the blogosphere.

And yes, I use that word intentionally to lead me into my subject matter for the day, which I *do* feel comfortable talking about, and that is gay-man-speak. I don't mean the way that all gay men actually speak, I mean the way that some gay men speak; a kind of 'fabulous' tone that has always been part of the culture, and has always added love and colour to the conversation and hubbub in a queer room.

It's always been around, is my point. And many a man that I have loved has sounded just as queeny as, say, Carson on Queer Eye - and frankly, I was quite pleased that that show (though I, um, never saw it) helped bring "that voice" into homes across America (and yes, Canada, that's what I mean right now). It made many more television viewers think, "Hey, lithspy isn't funny-weird/look away -- it's a way of talking that some really nice people have! People just like you and me! ...Or people that we would like to be our best girlfriend/boyfriend."

...Which brings me to my complaint.

I'm housesitting, okay? And it's Oscar day. And this house has cable. Which means I will be watching pre-pre-pre Oscar coverage until I go to the Oscar party @ my pal's house.

IF I can stand it, that is. I can hardly wait for the actors to get there and start talking in some voices other than fabulous gay man talk. Somehow, sometime between when I last watched endless "entertainment television" and this time, EVERYONE has a fabulous-gay-man voice. Man, woman and child - all sexual orientations; all genders - everyone who is a presenter or interviewer in entertainment TV has "gay"-man-voice. What was once a wonderful colour, and showed a uniqueness to the person(s) who had one of the styles and variations of this voice, is now just a fucking annoying endless barrage of "ohmygod canyoubelieveit it'ssofabulousss" coming from every plastic mouth. The sibilance is killing me.

There is quite likely (I mean, like, for sure) a deeper issue here about the current Cult of the "Gay" Man in entertainment and "fashion critique" (I was going to say "fashion criticism", but that would imply writing essays and opinion pieces and stuff, and that is sooo not happening. We need soundbites! Hissy, sibilant ssoundbites!)

For now though, I will just register my small hurrah for "gay acceptance" (I've used many quotation marks in this piece, and I hope that at least some of them can be read by some of you) in the media... and I will also grump my disgruntledness that everything always morphs together to sound and look the same, and right now, it's greyhound-slicked lightly-humourous people with gaymanvoice.

Sssave me!!

I am crushed by the weight of the world;
I have no seams.

I am both pulp and skin.
- inside out or outside in, it's always smashing,
like the red blood of surprise on the black fur of an animal on the road.


I don't even care what I'm writing. I am trying to live.

I most certainly did not dream about babies last night. Unless oooo baby! counts. I was lying in bed this morning, after hitting Snooze, thinking, "What did I dream about?"... and when I suddenly remembered (sensations of a hand across my back, my hand busy elsewhere; a mouth on my neck saying with a smile, "Meryn, you're the best...."), I thought, Sweet Jesus! - I wondered how long it would be before I dreamed of you!

I dreamt I had a baby. Twins, actually. It was quite nice. They were very docile, and sort of friendly. I think maybe they even talked.

I hope that's a good sign for something.

..............wherever you are.

I have often wondered what became of you. If anyone reading knows, please let me know.


And no, this is not a cryptic b-day message to myself, nor is it a b-day message to Superman's father. So smartiepantses, as much as I appreciate your smartiepantsness, please refrain from responding, unless you happen to know the whereabouts of the woman I'm referring to above.

A quick note to those in or near Toronto. Raging Dreams, an interdisciplinary theatre piece for which I wrote the text, is currently in remount at Harbourfront. It's in the En Wave Theatre (which I'm told is the one I knew as the Ice House - which is apparently haunted, so that's sort of fitting!)

I don't know what this staging is like, but it's always pretty compelling - acrobatic movement by actors suspended from ropes; beautiful, haunting vocal arrangements (some singing my text, some from older Georgian & Eastern European pieces)... plus a wall of rain between the audience and the performers. The text is dense and dark, exploring the connections between the unconscious and some of the shocking things it brings to us while we sleep, and the dreamlike fugue state experienced by most when committing, or suffering at the hands of someone committing, acts of violence and rage. Not for the kiddies or the recently traumatized.

Its last two performances are tonight and tomorrow; Friday and Saturday.
http://www.theatregargantua.ca/news.html

xo

....
(Strange days here in the life of me. I'm trying to sort some of it out by getting it out, and not just letting it rattle inside my head.)
....

I sang in a bar on Friday night.

Just a neighbourhood-y place, the kind where a guy comes in with a guitar and a little PA and plays some covers, and also has some songsheets for people to get up and sing with him. Kind of not my thing (I have never, ever sung karaoke), but this was so kind of open and down-home, it felt just right.

And it felt so good. That's the first time I've been onstage singing in a long, long while.
It's not like a performance - it's not about that. (In fact, no one even applauds. Don't you know who I am?! I wanted to scream, Neely O'Hara-style. ...yeah, that's a joke, as anyone who knows me can attest.) - To use a microphone, and experience the simultaneity of your own mouth moving and a larger amplified sound ... and to be playing with another human, listening and looking at each other; feeling changes in time and tempo. I didn't realize I had been missing it as much as apparently I have been. There's a safety there; a muscle memory; a home.


The next day I was alone in a little health food store, just the clerk and me in the shop, and 'If I Had $1,000,000' by Barenaked Ladies was playing on the radio.

"I sing on this track," I told the clerk. -I NEVER DO THAT! About anything. So strange. The words were out then though, and she was asking questions. I told her a bit about the session, which was a sweet afternoon, but then she wanted to know my name; my own recordings.

"Um... [bending down to pick up groceries] mumblemumble.com," I said to the wood of the counter and then changed the subject ["Hey! Look over there!"] and got out of the store.


I am both tethered to my history (my songs, that voice, the recordings), and completely separate from it. I am also completely separate in some ways from the woman I was and how much she struggled. And I am tethered, too. I am never her and always her.

I really wanted to hear bombazine the other day, and had to burn myself a copy to listen to it. I blared a few tracks, and felt totally inside each one, almost as if I could remember the exact date each was recorded. (I do have glimpses - specific and unique to each song - of the recording studio every time I listen to any of that stuff, as well as larger glimpses of where I was sitting/what I was doing when I first wrote the words.)


And today, then, 6 Blocks. A year or more can go by when I wouldn't even think of putting on one of my own cd's. I blared 'Holy Projector', because I'm marvelling that life could ever repeat itself as it recently has, mirroring that song somewhat. Life lessons, anyone? ... And then I played 'Lying', the song on that album (there is one on every album) about how I am a terrible person but I love you and don't leave me and you keep staying, why do you stay. It's the song that has never been true, and has always been my perception, and my fear of myself - and I write it over and over. And the words from 1997 are exactly the same to me, sung by a woman and now sung by a man; they are still completely true:

I am not a good man.
I am not a wife.
I do all I have to keep some pleasure in my life.

I am held by nothing, and nothing keeps me warm.

I'll be writing more tonight - about the past present future and how they mess around with each other.

And thank you for the comments I had on the post about the accident - I'll be answering those tonight too.

But first I gotta make dinner for my pally and me -- wanted to let those who might be interested know that it seems the LeBron James/ Kanye West Saturday Night Live is being repeated tonight. I blogged about the Kanye freestyle a few weeks back, and it was all 'round a strong show: LeBron James is a total sweetie, and the show also contains the already-cult hit video & song "Iran So Far". Also Fred Armisen as Mahmoud Ahmadinejad - in the video, and as a guest on Weekend Update. Hilarious.

So if you're home tonight, check it out.

 
 
 

          Sitting at a bar
            trembling.


Bus.
#4.
Reading a discarded paper, damp and malleable like all things Vancouver, when
the horn blares
and the brakes squeal
and the driver is swerving,

and I see the dog through the front windshield
as it's running across the street.

A final squeal, my hand
braced over my eyes,
and a sickening series of bumps and thuds.
Someone in the seat behind me groans,
echoing exactly what my insides just roiled.


Is the dog dead?


I wonder
and as I wonder
my eye sees it:
    the woman lying unconscious on the road.

We had hit a person, not a dog.

The dog is fine, back on the curb.
The woman
(in a stupid instant that I only understand later
as pure, blind love)
had run out into the street to save him. ( Read more... )

I literally have goosebumps right now. Just watched Kanye West lose his way during a song - no lipsynching here - and then he addressed the mess-up in the rap... then broke it down and started freestyling, based on what the song was addressing (coming up from nothing; parents struggling; every time he saw clothes, his dad said 'close your eyes'). I hope someone transcribes what he sang tonight; I'd love to read it (although what am I thinking, it's probably on Youtube already).

But just - Wow. Electrifying. And how great that we got to see it live, just as the brain cooked it (except, y'know, me being in the PST and all)...

I have been watching SNL pretty much since the beginning (except the 80s and early 90s when I had no tv - best years of my life actually), and a new season starting is a bit like the day that school starts again. Another year older, hurtling into the future, and - in terms of SNL - witnessing some funny, trenchant sketches live. I'm so glad to see Fred Armisen getting much more airtime than he used to.


I was going to blog earlier this week about Air Native, but Weekend Update stole my thunder. But I still have to comment on something that they did not. ...Aren't Nike shoes made for pennies by Mexican and South American labourers? How terrrrrrific it's going to feel for a Aboriginal person to buy a product stitched by his or her fellow indigenous people working for $10/day. Thanks, Nike!

I feel very sad for Amy Winehouse.

I hope she finds what she needs. I hope she feels better; I hope she can learn to feel better about herself.

I wish success wasn't so damaging. I wish fame wasn't so punishing. I wish it wasn't so that the ones who become famous are often the ones who have troubled, dark hearts coupled with an underlying optimism that gets slammed and chipped and blackened.

Have you seen this new thing on Google Maps, "Street View"? Fabulous and scary.

So last night on teevee I saw Tara Subkoff/Imitation of Christ's new show (from 2006), and it took place in this beautiful building. I realized I knew what it was & that I'd been inside... it's associated with the Courthouse, but it's not the main courthouse; it's this *gorgeous* structure right at the corner of Chambers and Centre Streets. So I went to Google to see if I would find it named on a map, as they do with some major structures, and for ease I just typed in my old address, because I lived very close to the Courthouse, and I planned to just navigate from there.

Then I see, New! Street View! So I click it of course... and it's a panoramic photograph, and I'm looking right at my old front door. From 3,000 miles away. Well, you can believe I got lost in that tool for quite some time. I was looking up all my old apartments, and seeing whether my favourite hangouts are still in business. Lord, there's a lot of hoarding in New York. And I know, no one calls it hoarding in New York, so no one ever knew what I was talking about there. But I persist, 'cause I'm odd like that. Hoarding is the kind of structure that goes up alongside a building being renovated or altered... most people call that scaffolding, but I think of scaffolding as more temporary and more mobile, and not necessarily attached to a building - for example, scaffolding is what's erected in big open areas to hold PA systems for concerts.

And that's my ramble for today, Sheila.


Oh! Except the scary part. Yeah. Photographs of every single structure in a city. Navigable on a computer. It's not just for nerdiness anymore.