Morrissey punishes his Canadian fans

In protest of Canada's seal hunt, Morrissey has elected to not tour in Canada and is calling for a boycott of Canadian products.

And while I support his reasoning, I will confess to feeling a little fucking miffed.

1) Most Canadians don't support the seal hunt. That includes Morrissey fans. The people who have the power to change this short of shit are unlikely to be swayed by artists, celebrities or even common folks such as myself.

2) Protests over any supposed industry -- however horrifying -- means nothing a government who rule based on the bottom line of dollars and cents.

3) The US is not exactly the kindest country to animals -- what about their hunting and trapping of animals? What about the monstrosity of McDonalds being responsible for, uh, how many millions of cows?

4) I have a secret theory that Morrissey wasn't planning on doing shows in Canada anyway. I checked his tour roster ages ago -- he's been planning this. Is it the seals? Or are the seals just a carefully placed veil over something else?


And sure, I'd love to sign a petition. I have two choices -- PETA's ("Oooh, killing baby seals is so mean" -- not exactly articulate and intelligent-sounding) and IFAW's ("We object to Danny Williams' statements on Larry King -- oh, and killing seals is bad").

So no Morrissey. And dead baby seals. Hurr-fucking-ay.

How to look like a lunatic in public...

...in one easy step.

Have been loaned a Creative Zen digital player (30 GB) -- for review purposes -- that can play video. Naturally, have downloaded the first two seasons of Black Books for my enjoyment while on public transit for extended periods of time.

But while wildly entertaining, it has the unfortunate effect of making me laugh while I watch. Usually on the streetcar.

During the cold weather last week, I was able to duck my head into my scarf to hide my giggles. Now I am exposed. Although it does have the bonus of making me appear unbalanced, which means no unwanted conversations or seat partners.

Tai chi kicked my ass tonight. There's a few moves (something about "foiling the monkeys" or somesuch). The assistant instructor pulled me aside for some extra work (I missed the original class on these forms) and told me firmly that in my case, the monkeys were winning.

It's the story of my life. But I didn't tell her that.

Weighing in on Big Love

I'm procrastinating only the littlest, tiniest bit. The gothic-style porn book cover blurb I'm working on (it truly sounds more fun than it is to read) can wait for the five-odd minutes it takes me to do this.

Are you familiar with Big Love?

It's a new HBO show about a polygamous family -- a man (Bill Paxton), three wives (one played by Chloe Sevigny), three houses and a pile of kids.

The show is interesting on a number of levels, though is not exactly what most would consider a high-tension offering.

My thoughts on polygamy are simple -- it should be illegals in a situation when the wives and families are unaware of each other. However, in a situation where it's an arrangement that works and is agreed upon by everyone involved... well, then, I don't see what the big effing deal is.

Of course, no one ever said they had to marry, either.

There's a lot of things in the world to be concerned about. Multiple spouses seems -- to me, anyway -- to be pretty fucking low on the list.

Now THAT'S dedication to the holidays...

Leaving my friend's house earlier this evening, we paused in her doorway chatting.

"Look, across the street," she said with a grin. "They still have their Christmas tree."

And they did. It was clearly in the window.

Unwilling to believe, I protested. "It might just be tree-shaped art."

But in my secret heart of hearts (blackened and hole-ridden though it be), I know it's a tree. There's something about this neighbourhood that makes it cling to the vestiges of Christmases past. Decorations are still everywhere. Lights. Santas.

And only last week, I walked by a house with a brown, deader-than-dead tree lying on a front lawn for the garbage pick-up... with traces of tinsel still clinging for dear life to its rusty, shedding branches.

Yet the plants are starting to bud, then sun shines and the birds are all a-chatter.

Am I in Xmas Never-Neverland?

Even the cosmos know it...

The heavens (via astrology) are trying to instill me with a forgiving, benevolent heart.

"After doing your best to hold a grudge -- something you've never been any good at (note from me: it's true... I run out of steam after about a month or two) -- the peaceful mood the heavens are in will talk you out of it, even if a friend did something that feels like absolute treason to you. You'll wake up feeling compassionate, and ready, finally, perhaps, to accept the apology. Still, while forgiving is a good idea, don't feel bad if you're not quite able to forget. It's called wisdom, and it comes with experience. Sorry if this wasn't a pleasant one, but learn from it."

In keeping with this spirit, I've removed the filters preventing a small number of people from reaching me. For now, anyway.

I already feel saturated with the spirit of forgiveness.

Of course, why should I expect anyone to really give a shit? I burn bridges knowing full well what I do as I pour the gasoline.

O, ye signs of spring

A damp, drizzly evening -- perfect for a walk.

And I wasn't the only one with such inclinations. While raccoons running though the streets is normal, I wasn't expecting to see a rabbit bounding drunkenly through the Ashbridges Bay park.

Not to mention being dogged by two separate skunks. One in the park (who required some finesse as it was insistent on maintaining a certain distance in front of me and my chum) and one on my street who was merrily trotting beside me until it suddenly ducked between two houses.

And the boardwalk was a busy place tonight, filled with lots of people who decided a late, drizzly walk after 1 am seemed an attractive option for them as well.

So spring must be on its way after all.

Finally.

Although I fully expect at least one unexpected and unwelcome dumping of snow. Bloody Canadian weather.

Ow. That was my eye.

Oh, christ, I'm so exhausted right now.

Common sense says, "Go to bed." But for some reason, the last 30 hours have just been so tiring. I look at my face in the mirror and I just feel old. Used. Done.

Not that I am, of course. But there's a point where you realize that things are hitting you and taking direct aim at things you thought long since healed. Wounds that are still tender. Sensitivities that you thought you had built enough walls around. And they're never enough.

Everything always comes back.

Tonight was fun, but drained the world from me. Went to some weird little dive basement club in the Market with some friends, had a fantastic time... until I was suddenly so tired I could barely stand.

During the evening -- during an not-so-unexpected bout of horseplay (over money -- I was trying to pay for drinks and a certain friend was having none of it), my friend jabbed me in the eye. (She claims she was aiming for my hat. Ha.)

Instinct prevailed and suddenly I was standing in the middle of the club, my eye tearing and throbbing. My contact resting precariously in my hand, when it should have been safely in my eye.

Fortunately, my first thought was to fix my vision, instead of my usual response of "Inflict pain. Immediately. Make sure it is expontentially more painful than what you experienced."

Now my eye is lightly throbbing. Contact returned (though painfully -- seems water is not an acceptable replacement for saline solution).

The moral of the story -- if someone really wants to pay for the round of drinks... well, hell. Just let them.

African Violets

When I was younger, my grandparents -- who I loved visiting -- had a small pot of African Violets sitting in the middle of their kitchen table. It was a bright, sunny room that always smelled of brewing coffee, dishwasher soap and chlorine (up until they moved into a condo years later, my grandfather owned a tiny swimming pool supply shop during his retirement).

But the violets never bloomed. It was happy, healthy little plant... but refused to hatch any pretty purple little flowers. Vexed, my grandmother attached a faux african violet flower to the plant.

Suddenly the shrinking violet bloomed. It was like the little fake flower had eased off the pressure, and the plant suddenly relaxed. And things began happening. Flowers began popping up all over.

I'm not sure what reminded me of this... but I feel certain there's a lesson in it for me somewhere.

Worse than death...?

Am having a low-key day. My head feels like someone inflated it with too much air, and have been feeling kinda groggy and non-energetic for most of the day.

So I figured, "Fuck it. I'm watching bad movies on the couch today."

Just watched The Notebook (amusingly, James Marsden much more likeable when he's not Cyclops in X-men). I read the book years and years ago, so long ago -- and mostly unmemorable -- that I had nearly forgotten about it.

What I found most entertaining was in the middle of this very touching story of love, true love and choices (in the real world, the girl would have gone with the money and security. That's what people do these days. God, I'm such a cynic), was this sinister message:

Dementia is worse than death itself.

Losing your mental faculties is the most terrifying thing that could happen to you during the aging process. It destroys not only you (not that you notice) but everyone around you.

Think I'm going to go do a crossword puzzle now.

Beards are in!

Oh yes, they are.

Start cultivating bushy facial hair, my male friends -- the beard is the new black.

Although I don't think anyone could use the word "hipster" to describe my dad.


Link: Paul Bunyan, Modern Day Sex Symbol

And now my jaw aches...

Just watched Once Were Warriors for the first time.

A brutal bloody film that made me incredibly angry, and I spent a large part of film with my teeth clenched tightly. Don't get me wrong -- I enjoyed it. It's a tale of a dysfunction and culturally-estranged Maori family in urban NZ. An abusive charmer of a husband, his strong-willed wife, and their children.

But it's a frustrating thing to watch powerlessness in its many forms. Or those who are slaves to habit, acquiescence and insecurity.

Anyway, if you haven't seen it already, you might want to check it out. The ending made me very... er, satisfied.

The psychic lady said it...

My favourite little coffee house (the Tango Palace on Queen East) has a psychic come in once a week on Wednesdays. Last week, my friend and I vowed that we would return to have our fortunes told by Lorraine. Tarot (round, cobalt blue cards) and tea leaves.

What did she tell me? Oh, a number of things.

The cards I drew were Withdrawal (coincidence?), Strength and Surrender.

The gist is that not only will I write great thick books, but I will be a successful author (OK -- so the last four reading from psychics over the last two years have all said the same thing. I generally assume they're all blowing smoke up my ass).

She said I need to find a focal point, and create a character I can be excited about, suggesting that I look at historical figures as possible inspiration. To stop thinking so hard. To let it come to me.

She also said I needed to see dentist soon (not that it's news to me, but an interesting thing from a psychic), that there's going to be an "angel" who's going to financially assist me with my writing, and there were a couple of kids coming coming down the pipe at some point. Twins were mentioned... much to my horror (there are twins on my mother's side, though fortunately none on Chris').

Uhhh, what else? She told me that everything was in place, and I was doing exactly what needs to be done. There would be success, and possibly in TV/film if I wanted it.

I think that's it. I'm sure there was more, but damned if I can remember it much.

I'm looking forward to the money part, though. Being po' is ass.

Because you know I love the Moz

Dear fellow Morrissey fans,

Ringleader Of The Tormentors is available to listen online.

Hurrah!

Though am mildly vexed that the player doesn't allow you to skip through songs. Which is just plain mean.

Why do I find this so damned funny?

OK -- it's hilarious, mortifying and terrifying all the same time. It looks like a comedy skit gone horribly wrong.

But here's Celine Dion doing her best impression of Madonna. Oh shit, I'm starting to giggle again.

Papa Don't Preach To Celine, but her old-ass hubby will.

I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in...

I stupidly pulled out an album I haven't listened to in ages.

Now I have "Warning Sign" swirling through my head over and over and over and over.

(Kill me. *hic* Kill me. *hic* Kill Me. *hic*)

Am super exhausted right now. Went to gym, did 25 minutes of cardio, an hour and a half of tai chi, another half hour of cardio, a couple of weights, then a few laps in the pool. It all took almost three hours.

Where do people find the time to stay in shape? There's just not enough bloody hours in the day. And I still maintain the work week should be only four days long.

The Fortune Cookie

The other day, I was enjoying a large meal of Chinese deliciousness with my mom and small nephew before they returned to their respective homes.

Mine said, "Depart not from the path which fate has assigned you." Wait a sec, I thought, the suspicious part of my brain all a-whirl. I've read this one before.

I've decided this must mean one of two things:

1) I eat Chinese food far too fucking often

2) The universe is trying to speak to me. What's vexing is that I haven't the slightest clue which "path" fate has decreed I follow. My fate to be crunched under a streetcar? My fate to eat too much Chinese food? To rule the world?

What? What?

Goddamn, but I hate cryptic messages from the universe.

My email hates me...

... or maybe I hate it.

But I have far too many emails in my in-box. I've spent the last hour sorting, updating, taking notes and voraciously deleting -- yet still have 870 in my inbox. And that's not even counting the (hold on, let's see... ah, yes) the 500 or so in my Yahoo account.

Gahhhhhh!

Procrastination and disorganization does not pay, my friends. Not at all.

Music for a cold midnight walk on the beach...

"But I'm not looking for an easy way out
This whole life it's been about
Try and try and try
And try and try and try..."

Flying awaaaayyy...

Just before my alarm went off this morning, I dreamt that I was with a large collection of students. We had all been given hard hats, packages of soft toilet paper and a set of cardboard wings -- all which would be used to leap from the top of a skyscraper and float gently down to the ground.

Worse still, being a dream and all, the cardboard wings kept getting smaller until they were really not much bigger than a sheet of paper.

I thought, "I'm sure as hell not going first for this one."

Woke up before the jump, which would likely have been a disaster. I don't think this portends anything fortuitous for today.

A Sei Shonagon moment

Well, I did write a post earlier this weekend, but my blog fell victim to the sinister workings of Blogger, which prevented any posts from being saved properly.

Just as well, as it included vexed ranting after Chris annoyed the hell out of me. I can't even remember what it was about -- only that his man-like sulk fit after I snapped at him really pissed me off. (Why do boys do that? You can be justifiably good and furious with them... yet they turn it around like you're the asshole.)

Anyway.

Things that made me chuckle today:

1) Tiny green shamrocks on a pair of Chris' boxers

2) Paulie referring to AJ as "Ven Helsing" on The Sopranos

3) Chris referring to a Best Buy flyer he picked up at the grocery store as his "correspondence"

4) ABC airing The Sixth Sense and removing a ton of the gory shit (technically, very early this morning)

5) That I'm assigned to write a blurb that's gothic-inspired soft-core porn

6) Watching Kim Fowler on The Mayor Of Sunset Strip

7) While writing this, I typed "vixtim" instead of "victim" -- and yes, I'm a dork

8) There are tai chi moves that that include the word "monkey"

Distinctly evil of me, I know...

I'm a bad person sometimes. Well -- not bad bad, but certainly somewhat malevolent and ruthless when the occasion arises. And sometimes I have a moral code that sits a few dozen metres (or kilometres) or so outside of what people would consider normal or acceptable.

Yesterday, the small guy (nephew) and I went to the CN Tower before he hightailed off to North Bay with my mum. As we admired the great skyscrapers of the downtown core, he asked me what they all were. "Is CIBC a bank, Auntie Hannah?"

The most dominent and tall structures were all banks -- CIBC (Canadian Imperial Bank Of Commerce), Bank Of Montreal, Scotia Bank, TD-Canada Trust... Vexing indeed.

In the news this morning, there was story about a group of masked men who had robbed a branch of a CIBC and taken off with large quantities of cash. They have not yet been caught.

And I felt a smug swell of satisfaction at the news.

How do they do it?

Having spent the the last four days with small six-year -old nephew, I am, as ever, in awe of those who undertake the role of parenting -- especially single moms.

Kids are exhausting. Loveable, marvelous and delightful -- but damn, a small six-year-old boy can exhaust the hell outta you.

Little guy (my nephew) was treated to visits to the ROM (Royal Ontario Museum -- boring, apparently), the Ontario Science Centre (fascinating -- especially since I took him to experience the joys of IMAX) and the CN Tower (heights are not so much popular). Plus early mornings, video games, dinners at restaurants ("Why don't we eat here?"), TV movies and left with a large bag of easter-style chocolate. And tears. Seems I'm not the worst aunt ever after all.

I have succeeded in total spoiling.

But am now exhausted. Briefly rejuventaed by tai chi, which grows regularly more difficult but am blessed with instructors who are helpful and encouraging, and some cardio, followed by drinks and a club night with some friends who never cease to make me giggle hysterically.

Having small fry around for a while never fails to make me appreciate my own life -- and remind me that while I don't have kids, I will at least (should I choose) procreate with the full understanding of what I do. And also the knowledge that I will have at least lived and experienced enough of the world and life to adequately pass on the curiosity and some sense of adventure.

Which is the best one can really do, I guess.

But for now, am delighted with the knowledge that tomorrow, I can sleep extensively. I can venture out with friends. I am no longer responsible for the life and well-being of a small child.

What else can the self-indulgent want?

"Things get damaged, things get broken..."

Had a good night.

Tai chi is going well -- was approached by assistant teacher who demanded to know whether I've done tai chi (my second class) before... or perhaps dance?

I had to confess that I did indeed take ballet for six years as a young'un. Apparently this has long term effects on my spatial cognition. My mimicry is apparently excellent and even with only two classes, I'm doing well. So yay for me.

And I'm really digging it. My friend is encouraging me to try karate, insisting that me and martial arts are a decent mix. I may just try it out to see.

Who knew that ballet would have random and positive long term effects.

Anyway, tonight was a birthday of one of my dearest friends. (Don't let it go to your head, missy.) Had a marvelous time, drank much and was able to -- with the help of a very good cheque day -- finance most of her evening. Food, drink, cab fare, etc. It's nice to be able to do it once in a while. She deserves it. I wish I could do stuff like this more often.

Anyway, the night at the club was excellent. Some great music, including some old Cure, Ladytron, and a mix of the new Depeche song that I really quite like. It's been ages since I liked a new DM single this much.

Though will confess to being a little mellow as the evening winded down. I've been pretty ruthless regarding a number of friendships with people lately.

And perhaps my conscience caught up with me. The truth is, when I feel myself at risk within any kind of personal relationship -- where I feel things have gotten away from me and that someone else is holding the cards (not a position I care for) -- I tend to withdraw. Sometimes somewhar abruptly and ruthlessly. At other times, slowly and awkwardly.

It's protection. I'm very careful with the people I trust. Overly so. If I feel that trust is going to betray me, or that it could be misplaced, I leave. Not that I play games, mind. But I will withdraw when things start looking shaky.

Ah, I know -- I could benefit from a good ol' dose of therapy. And maybe I'lll look into it. But you know, when you have tricksiness trusting people, talking to a stranger ain't gonna help, is it?

Ah, neurosis. My true friend.

And happy birthday to one of my real, tangible friends. May she not be totally hungover tomorrow.

Just north of Toronto...

...The chickens sprung themselves!
Run, little fowl-y critters! Be free!

From the Toronto Star online:

Escaped chickens snarl Hwy. 404

Mar. 9, 2006. 10:02 AM

AMY BROWN-BOWERS

STAFF REPORTER

A number of live chickens were sprung loose from their cages this morning after a poultry transport truck tipped over on Highway 404 in Newmarket.

The driver, who was unhurt in the accident, was on the Green Lane westbound on-ramp to Highway 404 southbound when the accident occurred around 8:30 a.m.

Passing motorists gawked as chickens sprinted across the road and ran helter skelter along the grass median.

The ramp will likely remain closed until 11 a.m. for a clean-up because of fuel spilled from the truck.

Another trailer is on it's way to pick up the roaming birds.

And now... The Ozporns!

Yes, I watched porn late last night. Was going through our fancy movie channels when I saw The Ozporns. How could I resist?

It was absolutely terrible, but I laughed my ass off. (Incidentally, how does a dude with a pockmarked dick get a job in porn? Ick.)

Had my first Tai Chi class earlier last night. I'm godawful, but the instructors seemed surprised that I didn't try to sneak out, as I've missed a chunk of the previous lessons. It's harder than it first looks, especially after an hour and a half. There's very specific things done with your feet, your direction, your hips, your waist, your arms and your hands. So it gets tricky to imitate when you're completely clueless. Am digging it, though.

So after the weekend from hell, I've been remiss with updating Monsieur Le Blog. But writing report cards for Canadian Music Week gets to be a tiring business -- went to bed between 5 and 6 am for three consecutive nights. Not to mention other work I had to do.

Saw some decent bands and some truly terrible ones, but the best part was when I was able to go to the Horseshoe, have some free beers, catch up with a bunch of people and enjoy Danko Jones.

Now am on my last deadline for the next little bit. So far, I have next week off. Do I dare the great snow drifts of North Bay to visit my mum?

Do I take a week off? Do some creative writing, which I've neglected over the last few months?
Oh, it's like March break all over again.

CMW - Day One

Did a day of temping at Chris' work yesterday, which was a singularly unique experience for one uch as myself, unusued to normal office environments. People were very nice (and some were pretty darn friendly), although a number of the employees seemed eerily... well, blank. Flat. I tried to imagine their lives, but found it too depressing.

May return to additional work there in the future, which I suspect will keep me not only appreciative of my career path, but my lifestyle and friends as well. With the added bonus of a little extra cash in my pocket, of course. Besides, there's something so comforting about doing manual, non-cerebral work once in a while. I didn't have to think.

And thankfully, I had some decent tunes on my MP3 player. I am a rather excellent office monkey.

Unfortunately, it meant getting up early -- and I knew last night was going to be a late night. Saw four bands that were a wonderful assortment of talent -- some of which I appreciated, and others which grated on my nerves, although provided a good enough performance to merit a decent mark. Which I then had to justify to one of the editors, who couldn't understand why a band I liked who didn't have a great performance were in an around the same marks as a band that I didn't like (meaning not to my taste, though no less deserving) who performed really well.

This is my punishment for trying to remain objective.

Anyway, I got to bed at about 5:45 a.m... just in time to hear Chris' alarm beeping when I opened the bedroom door. Depressing.

A sad, toilet-less state of affairs

Today was informed by the folks downstairs that the sewage system is backed up.

Possibly by roots in the pipes, or some such similar irritation. While the simple cure is to simply snake out the pipes, there is talk of great diggings and parts of the street being torn apart.

How nice.

But while I've promised not to flush the toilet, shower, run laundry or anything of that nature, I am once again grateful that I liev on the top two floors.

There is no shitwater coming out of our bathtub drain. Our floors will not have to be dug up. We do not need to fear the rising tide of shitwater edging towards our carpets and living space.

Current tally of apartment problems in the past year:

- broken refrigerator (no fridge for two weeks)
- no hot water for two weeks
- no air conditioning in the summer -- replaced with new furnace (which broke for a day in the last month)
- Soft and broken floorboards in the attic, requiring a completely new floor
- Leaky roof (aka the ceiling in our living room)
- drippy faucet, changed, then became leaking pipes uder kitchen sink
- No water pressure in kitchen faucet
- And now, backed up sewage pipes...