You can tell I'm high into procrastination mode when I'm posting this many times today and me with soooo much stuff to do. But this just occured to me, so what can I do? Gotta write it down somewhere and this is the easiest place to spew. Plus something I read the other day kinda reminded me of this situation.
I was putting some things into a photo album, keepsakes from my trip, when I noticed a picture of me and Randy. A polaroid I snapped of the both of us cuddled together, smiling, laughing even, one night at the Powertrack. We look happy. No red eye. Big smiles. It's a pretty good shot actually.
Well, except for the fact that Randy took one look at it, snatched it out of my hand, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash. So now the faces are all cracked, the picture warped and distorted. I remember when he did that I didn't understand why. I just thought he was really camera phobic or something. But it upset me because I really wanted a nice picture of us together. I fished it out of the trash, uncrumpled it, and kept it posted on my bulletin board until he got engaged to someone else a few months later.
So, why do I still have it? Why have I moved it into the album to keep forever or until I don't need it anymore? It's quite simple actually. It's there to remind myself that a photograph, much like a relationship, can mean two different things to two different people. I thought I was in love, thought I had a boyfriend, thought I was in a relationship that was going somewhere and wanted to celebrate and honour that in film.
He just wanted to get laid and have a few laughs until someone better came along, keep me on call so to speak, then destroy the evidence and forget about it. In his mind I was never in the running for anything long-term, I was a fun aside but best kept out of the public eye for fear of embarassment. It sounds harsh, but it's not really. I allowed myself to be treated poorly. I allowed myself to buy into dreams and illusions that were all in my head. The mind is a powerful thing, especially when it comes to things you think you want. But if you put yourself out there as someone easily taken advantage of, people will take advantage. That's what happened plain and simple. I basically came into the thing with a sign saying, "The worse you treat me, the better I'll like it."
On some level I knew, how could I not? The way he would whisk me off to motels but not take me to his place. The way he wouldn't ever come to my house for family functions or just to have a cup of tea. The way we never went out anywhere or did anything that didn't involve my work, his work or having sex. The way he never defended me against outrageous rumors he knew couldn't be true because he was there. There's a long list, way more than that. Plenty of evidence that he "just wasn't that into me."
I'm a completely different person now. What would it be 7 or 8 years later? The last five spent without any serious relationships at all, spent entirely on getting to know and love myself, so there'll be a whole person for someone else to get to know and love, not some desperate little girl looking for someone to save her and validate her existence. I've worked through problems within my family, father issues, mother issues, and even bigger issues. I'm damn proud of myself! And I love my life, every single moment of it, even when I'm stressed or sad or angry.
Still, I keep crumpled photographs so I'm never tempted to forget that if he's willing and eager to toss the picture, he's willing and eager to toss me too.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Figuring Me Out
Another meme --
10 years ago: I was celebrating my first anniversary of hell a.k.a. Living with Marty. In the first few months of the year I was doing some freelance writing. Then Marty got caught for impaired driving, I went to work at the MLHL call centre in order to take care of his son, Mike, while he was jail. Tough economic times, that. Lots of clever financial planning involved in taking care of a home and a teenage boy with his brood of friends on such a limited income.
5 years ago: I was writing full-time, completely unemployed, totally cynical about every aspect of life. That's the year Darren went to Edmonton . . . and not a moment too soon, I might add. I literally became a literary recluse. And did I ever produce a lot of work! Wow! In December of that year I went to work for VAS in Doaktown, but otherwise the whole year was just me and the keyboard producing page after page of writing.
One year ago: I was blogging, but I hadn't told anyone yet. I went to the Rock 'n Roll Festival with Stacy. And the fireworks on the wharf. God struck down the Rogers cell network so I could not hook up with that boy. Mother and I visited Sackville for a few days to see if it really was the place for me. My grandfather was slowly dying. I moved my office from the living room. My father and I were fighting constantly. I went to some poetry readings and took a poetry workshop. I was struggling to become creative again, at war with myself over the day job.
Yesterday: I went for a walk, got the mail, frigged with my camera, blogged, cooked pork and brown rice, ate granny apples, cheese and popcorn, drank at least 3L of water and 6 cups of coffee, tried to focus on work, listened to the recording of my reading in Fredericton from March, determined that I do indeed suck and need to try harder, wrote emails to lots of people, roughly started lining up some music to burn a mix for Sherry's party (Leonard Cohen anyone?), and watched that Rock Star INXS show for the first time (surprisingly enjoyable!)
Today: I procrastinated about everything I could, blogged, ate the brown rice and pork from yesterday, answered emails, talked to Elizabeth on the phone about tomorrow, did some editing, and oddly enough found myself lying on the futon watching Days of Our Lives this afternoon . . . feeling mindless, perhaps I'll accomplish more as we hit the evening and I gain my second wind.
Tomorrow: Elizabeth from Dieppe, Judy and Susan from Miramichi are coming to Sackville to workshop stories and spend the day. Then I'll be returning to the Miramichi with them for Sherry & Gary's party this weekend.
5 Snacks I enjoy: Snacking is what I do. A slow graze with very few meals. Popcorn, twizzlers, apples, nachos with cheese and salsa, black olives, pita and hummus . . . does wine count as a snack?
5 Bands or Singers I know the lyrics to most of their songs: Oh this could be embarrassing . . . ah-hem -- Rick Springfield, Ricky Scaggs, Bon Jovi, The Beach Boys, Janie Fricke
Things I would Do with $1, 000, 000: Pay off a lot of people's debt. Spoil the children rotten with lessons and books and sports . . . whatever they wanted. Invest wisely so I could spend the rest of my life travelling and know that Lee was taken care of.
5 Locations I would love to run away to: Alma. Yes, I do run away there quite often but I really love it there. I love the park, I love the water, I love the village, and I love the Sticky Buns! It's a breath of fresh air in this world and I get really centred whenever I go . . . well, when Sherry's not beating me with her shoes. The rest of the time, it's awesome. Toronto because I haven't been in far too long and I have friends there that I want to visit and I still get a little homesick sometimes when I see familiar places on tv or in photos. It's time to come back. Ireland because I'm obsessed with Irish film for one thing, because my family roots are buried there for another. I can't narrow it down to just Dublin or Belfast, I've got to see the whole thing. I'm certain the beauty of the country will blow my mind. And I'm sure these people know how to have a good time. Plus Bono is there and my boy Cillian. It's just a given for me. Italy is so high on the list of places to run away. Florence, Tuscany, Rome, all those little villages and villas in the countryside. Florence is one of those places I MUST get to or my life will have no meaning. And no, Italy is not all about the wine for me. It's the food too! And a little thing called art that they happen to have a good handle on. The history of the world is there. Shouldn't everyone go? Hmm, I need one more . . . difficult to narrow it down . . . I should say New York City because I always want to run away there or Paris even or maybe Amsterdam . . . but maybe I'll go with Alaska or Colorado instead and totally throw things off-kilter. I'm talking wilderness adventure. Nature.
5 bad habits I have: Come on, like I'm ever going to admit I have a bad habit . . .
5 things I like doing: I'll leave out writing, reading, watching movies, and drinking red wine, so as to not state the obvious. And instead go with cooking, dancing, traveling, singing and laughing.
5 things I would never wear: A bikini, thigh-high boots, oxfords with capris, light bottoms with dark tops, nose ring
5 TV Shows that I like: You all know I can be a junkie when it comes to tv . . . not so much recently though. Umm. Queer as Folk, The Shield, The Amazing Race, Sex and the City, Six Feet Under
5 Movies I Like: Extremely difficult! I like lots! Vanilla Sky, Fight Club, Platoon, The Wedding Singer, Almost Famous, Lost in Translation, Life is Beautiful, Titanic, Manhatten Murder Mystery, On the Edge, Intermission, 28 Days Later, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Boogie Nights, Annie Hall -- oh man, I could go on forever.
5 Famous People I would like to meet: Cameron Crowe, Johnny Depp, Angelina Jolie, Tobias Wolff, Alice Munro, Bono . . . good grief, could go on and on with a list here too.
5 Biggest Joys in my Life at this Moment: my nieces and nephew, writing, living in Sackville, my involvement with the WFNB and/or writerly type events and people, my job
5 Favourite Toys: Well, that's a little intimate . . . soooo, I'll go with the corkscrew Stacy gave me for Christmas, the other corkscrew I purchased myself, oh and the corkscrew I carry in my purse at all times, my dvd player and I'd add my digital camera in there if I could actually get the fucking thing to work.
That's it! Tagging anyone up for it.
Mood: a little foggy
Drinking: nothing . . . but I'm thinking of giving a bottle of that homemade wine of Terry's another try . . .
Listening To: Smashing Pumpkins, Today
Hair: thinking about a short black bob
10 years ago: I was celebrating my first anniversary of hell a.k.a. Living with Marty. In the first few months of the year I was doing some freelance writing. Then Marty got caught for impaired driving, I went to work at the MLHL call centre in order to take care of his son, Mike, while he was jail. Tough economic times, that. Lots of clever financial planning involved in taking care of a home and a teenage boy with his brood of friends on such a limited income.
5 years ago: I was writing full-time, completely unemployed, totally cynical about every aspect of life. That's the year Darren went to Edmonton . . . and not a moment too soon, I might add. I literally became a literary recluse. And did I ever produce a lot of work! Wow! In December of that year I went to work for VAS in Doaktown, but otherwise the whole year was just me and the keyboard producing page after page of writing.
One year ago: I was blogging, but I hadn't told anyone yet. I went to the Rock 'n Roll Festival with Stacy. And the fireworks on the wharf. God struck down the Rogers cell network so I could not hook up with that boy. Mother and I visited Sackville for a few days to see if it really was the place for me. My grandfather was slowly dying. I moved my office from the living room. My father and I were fighting constantly. I went to some poetry readings and took a poetry workshop. I was struggling to become creative again, at war with myself over the day job.
Yesterday: I went for a walk, got the mail, frigged with my camera, blogged, cooked pork and brown rice, ate granny apples, cheese and popcorn, drank at least 3L of water and 6 cups of coffee, tried to focus on work, listened to the recording of my reading in Fredericton from March, determined that I do indeed suck and need to try harder, wrote emails to lots of people, roughly started lining up some music to burn a mix for Sherry's party (Leonard Cohen anyone?), and watched that Rock Star INXS show for the first time (surprisingly enjoyable!)
Today: I procrastinated about everything I could, blogged, ate the brown rice and pork from yesterday, answered emails, talked to Elizabeth on the phone about tomorrow, did some editing, and oddly enough found myself lying on the futon watching Days of Our Lives this afternoon . . . feeling mindless, perhaps I'll accomplish more as we hit the evening and I gain my second wind.
Tomorrow: Elizabeth from Dieppe, Judy and Susan from Miramichi are coming to Sackville to workshop stories and spend the day. Then I'll be returning to the Miramichi with them for Sherry & Gary's party this weekend.
5 Snacks I enjoy: Snacking is what I do. A slow graze with very few meals. Popcorn, twizzlers, apples, nachos with cheese and salsa, black olives, pita and hummus . . . does wine count as a snack?
5 Bands or Singers I know the lyrics to most of their songs: Oh this could be embarrassing . . . ah-hem -- Rick Springfield, Ricky Scaggs, Bon Jovi, The Beach Boys, Janie Fricke
Things I would Do with $1, 000, 000: Pay off a lot of people's debt. Spoil the children rotten with lessons and books and sports . . . whatever they wanted. Invest wisely so I could spend the rest of my life travelling and know that Lee was taken care of.
5 Locations I would love to run away to: Alma. Yes, I do run away there quite often but I really love it there. I love the park, I love the water, I love the village, and I love the Sticky Buns! It's a breath of fresh air in this world and I get really centred whenever I go . . . well, when Sherry's not beating me with her shoes. The rest of the time, it's awesome. Toronto because I haven't been in far too long and I have friends there that I want to visit and I still get a little homesick sometimes when I see familiar places on tv or in photos. It's time to come back. Ireland because I'm obsessed with Irish film for one thing, because my family roots are buried there for another. I can't narrow it down to just Dublin or Belfast, I've got to see the whole thing. I'm certain the beauty of the country will blow my mind. And I'm sure these people know how to have a good time. Plus Bono is there and my boy Cillian. It's just a given for me. Italy is so high on the list of places to run away. Florence, Tuscany, Rome, all those little villages and villas in the countryside. Florence is one of those places I MUST get to or my life will have no meaning. And no, Italy is not all about the wine for me. It's the food too! And a little thing called art that they happen to have a good handle on. The history of the world is there. Shouldn't everyone go? Hmm, I need one more . . . difficult to narrow it down . . . I should say New York City because I always want to run away there or Paris even or maybe Amsterdam . . . but maybe I'll go with Alaska or Colorado instead and totally throw things off-kilter. I'm talking wilderness adventure. Nature.
5 bad habits I have: Come on, like I'm ever going to admit I have a bad habit . . .
5 things I like doing: I'll leave out writing, reading, watching movies, and drinking red wine, so as to not state the obvious. And instead go with cooking, dancing, traveling, singing and laughing.
5 things I would never wear: A bikini, thigh-high boots, oxfords with capris, light bottoms with dark tops, nose ring
5 TV Shows that I like: You all know I can be a junkie when it comes to tv . . . not so much recently though. Umm. Queer as Folk, The Shield, The Amazing Race, Sex and the City, Six Feet Under
5 Movies I Like: Extremely difficult! I like lots! Vanilla Sky, Fight Club, Platoon, The Wedding Singer, Almost Famous, Lost in Translation, Life is Beautiful, Titanic, Manhatten Murder Mystery, On the Edge, Intermission, 28 Days Later, Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Boogie Nights, Annie Hall -- oh man, I could go on forever.
5 Famous People I would like to meet: Cameron Crowe, Johnny Depp, Angelina Jolie, Tobias Wolff, Alice Munro, Bono . . . good grief, could go on and on with a list here too.
5 Biggest Joys in my Life at this Moment: my nieces and nephew, writing, living in Sackville, my involvement with the WFNB and/or writerly type events and people, my job
5 Favourite Toys: Well, that's a little intimate . . . soooo, I'll go with the corkscrew Stacy gave me for Christmas, the other corkscrew I purchased myself, oh and the corkscrew I carry in my purse at all times, my dvd player and I'd add my digital camera in there if I could actually get the fucking thing to work.
That's it! Tagging anyone up for it.
Mood: a little foggy
Drinking: nothing . . . but I'm thinking of giving a bottle of that homemade wine of Terry's another try . . .
Listening To: Smashing Pumpkins, Today
Hair: thinking about a short black bob
Back and Forth
Yesterday was a real humid day in Sackville, the first one since I moved. It started out okay, was really nice when I went for a walk in the morning, but by evening the air was that thickness where you just sit still and sweat as you try to breathe normally. Yucky stuff! Really sucks the life out of you. After midnight the temperature changed a bit and a breeze picked up. I slept on the futon with the skylight and window open. I thought it would be better than the bedroom and I was right, had to get a blanket by 6 a.m. because it was quite chilly.
Got an email from Mount A telling me I've missed some sort of deadline, which totally contradicts everything they told me when I was over there registering . . . but anyway, I've been thinking about that course and I don't know anymore whether I should take it or not. It's expensive, like $1600 or something crazy like that. I'm going to have to put it on my credit card, throwing world travel plans a bit farther into the future, and really limiting my ability to freely move about the province, attend events, go to the movies, buy dvds . . . hell, even eat. It's a serious financial committment for me to make at this stage.
One of the reasons I wanted to take the course in the first place was because it would force me to write . . . but my situation has changed and I'm writing all the time now, everyday, producing some stuff, actually submitting work. Still I think it would be worth it if I was going to learn something new . . . but I keep ending up in these workshops and courses that I don't seem to belong. Although luckily so far this hasn't been a huge drain on my pocketbook because they were inexpensive or I got funding.
I don't want to go into this class and spend a hellish year where I'm told how to eliminate the passive voice, stick to one point of view, put everything in chronological order, properly introduce characters and scenes, that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure I already know how to do that. Believe it or not, I've written chronological stories with long expositions about what the character looks like or where the scene is set, with elaborate plotlines . . . and they bore the crap out of me. I want to be encouraged to experiment, given instruction on how to effectively throw things into disarray yet keep the reader along for the ride. Am I going to get any of that out of this class? Or is this something I'm better off doing on my own by reading more stuff and just getting myself to the desk everyday?
It took me a good ten years at least to escape the battering that journalism training did to my writing, to get my creativity back and be able to merge the styles . . . I don't want to go through anything like that again. And to pay that much money to allow them to put me through that, just seems absurd. I seriously need to rethink this course.
Mood: lethargic
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Peaches (featuring Iggy Pop), Kick It
Hair: dreaming of becoming a flaming red pixie
Got an email from Mount A telling me I've missed some sort of deadline, which totally contradicts everything they told me when I was over there registering . . . but anyway, I've been thinking about that course and I don't know anymore whether I should take it or not. It's expensive, like $1600 or something crazy like that. I'm going to have to put it on my credit card, throwing world travel plans a bit farther into the future, and really limiting my ability to freely move about the province, attend events, go to the movies, buy dvds . . . hell, even eat. It's a serious financial committment for me to make at this stage.
One of the reasons I wanted to take the course in the first place was because it would force me to write . . . but my situation has changed and I'm writing all the time now, everyday, producing some stuff, actually submitting work. Still I think it would be worth it if I was going to learn something new . . . but I keep ending up in these workshops and courses that I don't seem to belong. Although luckily so far this hasn't been a huge drain on my pocketbook because they were inexpensive or I got funding.
I don't want to go into this class and spend a hellish year where I'm told how to eliminate the passive voice, stick to one point of view, put everything in chronological order, properly introduce characters and scenes, that sort of thing. I'm pretty sure I already know how to do that. Believe it or not, I've written chronological stories with long expositions about what the character looks like or where the scene is set, with elaborate plotlines . . . and they bore the crap out of me. I want to be encouraged to experiment, given instruction on how to effectively throw things into disarray yet keep the reader along for the ride. Am I going to get any of that out of this class? Or is this something I'm better off doing on my own by reading more stuff and just getting myself to the desk everyday?
It took me a good ten years at least to escape the battering that journalism training did to my writing, to get my creativity back and be able to merge the styles . . . I don't want to go through anything like that again. And to pay that much money to allow them to put me through that, just seems absurd. I seriously need to rethink this course.
Mood: lethargic
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Peaches (featuring Iggy Pop), Kick It
Hair: dreaming of becoming a flaming red pixie
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
My Dog is Tom Cruise
Hilarious piece in The New Yorker: Shouts and Murmurs by Noah Baumbach. Check it out! My Dog is Tom Cruise
Mood: laughing my guts out
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: Bon Jovi, Garageland
Hair: still there
Mood: laughing my guts out
Drinking: cold coffee
Listening To: Bon Jovi, Garageland
Hair: still there
Rich Man Living In a Poor Man's House
My camera is giving me grief. I went out and bought new batteries . . . but I don't know if I've got them in wrong, they're duds, or the camera is just fucked. I should have just shelled out another hundred bucks and got something a little bit better to begin with. Arghh! This camera has done nothing but give me grief since the day I bought it. I can't get any of my pictures off the thing.
I'm soooo far behind this week I don't feel like I'll ever catch up. I'm wondering now if I remembered to clean out all the drawers in the residence room. Feeling a bit disorientated with so much laundry piled up, the girls coming Friday, going back to the river for the weekend, and all the other crap. Maybe I just need to chill for a few minutes, put on some tunes and breath, make a plan, write it down, and dive in. Yeah, that might work. Some world music and Kid Rock, a plan, that's what I need, I'll be okay.
The Festival By the Marsh is going on this week. Last week too, but I was away and missed everything. They're doing A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Swan Pond tonight and every night for the rest of the week. I should go. It'll be the only thing I get to do in the whole festival. Hot Toddy is at George's Roadhouse on Saturday night but I'll be in Barnettville. I'm looking forward to when the jazz series starts in the fall. There'll be the film society then too. And the wine tasting club. Lot's of fun stuff to look forward to. Well, the washer's stopped so I'm off to continue the insanity of cleaning up this day!
Mood: a little frustrated
Drinking: coffee, cream no sugar
Listening To: Sergio Caputo, Un Sabato Italiano
Hair: frizzed out
I'm soooo far behind this week I don't feel like I'll ever catch up. I'm wondering now if I remembered to clean out all the drawers in the residence room. Feeling a bit disorientated with so much laundry piled up, the girls coming Friday, going back to the river for the weekend, and all the other crap. Maybe I just need to chill for a few minutes, put on some tunes and breath, make a plan, write it down, and dive in. Yeah, that might work. Some world music and Kid Rock, a plan, that's what I need, I'll be okay.
The Festival By the Marsh is going on this week. Last week too, but I was away and missed everything. They're doing A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Swan Pond tonight and every night for the rest of the week. I should go. It'll be the only thing I get to do in the whole festival. Hot Toddy is at George's Roadhouse on Saturday night but I'll be in Barnettville. I'm looking forward to when the jazz series starts in the fall. There'll be the film society then too. And the wine tasting club. Lot's of fun stuff to look forward to. Well, the washer's stopped so I'm off to continue the insanity of cleaning up this day!
Mood: a little frustrated
Drinking: coffee, cream no sugar
Listening To: Sergio Caputo, Un Sabato Italiano
Hair: frizzed out
What's Your Blogging Personality?
| Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate |
 One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with. |
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Taxicab Trilogy
In the City of Fredericton the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups. The passengers who would use a transit system if a reliable one existed and the cabbies who drive them. These are their stories . . .
Where to?
Lady Beaverbrook Residence on campus.
You a student?
No, a writer. I'm taking a workshop.
What do you write, romance novels?
Not so much, no. A little of this and that. Do you know where to drop me?
Hell yeah! Of course. Fifty years of driving, you get to know where to go.
Ok good. Because the guy I had yesterday didn't know and we ended up going all the way up to St Thomas.
You didn't know where to go either?
No, I'm not that familiar with the city.
Would you like to be?
Like to be what?
More familar with the city.
Sure.
I could take you on a tour.
Pardon me?
You could drive around with me, get the tour.
Like right now? In the middle of the night?
Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm on until 8, that's plenty of time to show you around.
Oh no, I don't think so, I've got an early morning.
I'd bring you back.
Good to know, but really no, I've got to go. How much?
Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?
Only a few thousand times, but hey, it never gets old . . . four dollars right?
I can't convince you?
Sorry, no. Have a good night! Good luck with the next girl.
***
Do you mind if I pick up another girl too before we go back?
Not at all, I'm in no hurry.
Great thanks. Charlie, I'm going for the other one. Where's she supposed to be?
Front door.
Fuck! I hate that door . . . Charlie, she's not fuckin' here.
Give her a minute.
. . .
I'm gone. She's not here. Fuckin' waste of fuckin' time.
You seem a little cranky.
Huh?
I said you seem a little cranky.
Well yeah, you'd be fuckin' cranky too if you were on for 14 hours with a few more to go.
Wow, that's a long shift.
Too fuckin' long. And then I've got to go home to the fuckin' family.
You're married?
No. I take care of my fuckin' parents.
Oh, well that's a nice thing to do for them, to take care of them.
They're old, they've lost all their marbles and they won't fuckin' die. Yeah, it's just fuckin' beautiful.
You've got a really good attitude going on there, very upbeat.
Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I didn't ask for any of this fuckin' shit, it just got saddled onto me because I'm the only child.
It's not going to last forever, then you inherit everything and go on with your life.
Yeah, yeah, sometimes I just get so fuckin' upset because it's too much for one person.
I understand. My mom just went through this and that was with a big family, lots of support. It's not easy. But when it's over and they're gone, it's really over, there's no getting them back. You might want to enjoy the time you've got left a little bit more.
Yeah, I know, I know. Are you always this understanding?
Who the fuck knows?
***
What's wrong with the boy?
Huh?
What's wrong with the boy? Is he gay?
Not that I'm aware of . . .
Then why is he sending you home at 4:30 in the morning?
Ummmm . . . He's just not that into me.
But you're a fine looking young woman.
So I've heard, thanks.
What is he? Blind?
Nope, he's a poet.
Well, I think there's something wrong with him, sending home someone who looks like you do.
Could very well be, I haven't ruled it out . . . but it could be that I'm a raving bitch.
Nah, I don't believe that. You seem very sweet.
I seem very sweet? Or do I LOOK very sweet?
You look very sweet.
Yeah, it's a curse, but I'm trying to live with it.
But seriously, what's wrong with the boy?
Nothing. Everything. How am I supposed to know?
Well you were there, weren't you?
I don't know. Was I?
Where to?
Lady Beaverbrook Residence on campus.
You a student?
No, a writer. I'm taking a workshop.
What do you write, romance novels?
Not so much, no. A little of this and that. Do you know where to drop me?
Hell yeah! Of course. Fifty years of driving, you get to know where to go.
Ok good. Because the guy I had yesterday didn't know and we ended up going all the way up to St Thomas.
You didn't know where to go either?
No, I'm not that familiar with the city.
Would you like to be?
Like to be what?
More familar with the city.
Sure.
I could take you on a tour.
Pardon me?
You could drive around with me, get the tour.
Like right now? In the middle of the night?
Yeah, yeah, sure. I'm on until 8, that's plenty of time to show you around.
Oh no, I don't think so, I've got an early morning.
I'd bring you back.
Good to know, but really no, I've got to go. How much?
Anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?
Only a few thousand times, but hey, it never gets old . . . four dollars right?
I can't convince you?
Sorry, no. Have a good night! Good luck with the next girl.
***
Do you mind if I pick up another girl too before we go back?
Not at all, I'm in no hurry.
Great thanks. Charlie, I'm going for the other one. Where's she supposed to be?
Front door.
Fuck! I hate that door . . . Charlie, she's not fuckin' here.
Give her a minute.
. . .
I'm gone. She's not here. Fuckin' waste of fuckin' time.
You seem a little cranky.
Huh?
I said you seem a little cranky.
Well yeah, you'd be fuckin' cranky too if you were on for 14 hours with a few more to go.
Wow, that's a long shift.
Too fuckin' long. And then I've got to go home to the fuckin' family.
You're married?
No. I take care of my fuckin' parents.
Oh, well that's a nice thing to do for them, to take care of them.
They're old, they've lost all their marbles and they won't fuckin' die. Yeah, it's just fuckin' beautiful.
You've got a really good attitude going on there, very upbeat.
Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I didn't ask for any of this fuckin' shit, it just got saddled onto me because I'm the only child.
It's not going to last forever, then you inherit everything and go on with your life.
Yeah, yeah, sometimes I just get so fuckin' upset because it's too much for one person.
I understand. My mom just went through this and that was with a big family, lots of support. It's not easy. But when it's over and they're gone, it's really over, there's no getting them back. You might want to enjoy the time you've got left a little bit more.
Yeah, I know, I know. Are you always this understanding?
Who the fuck knows?
***
What's wrong with the boy?
Huh?
What's wrong with the boy? Is he gay?
Not that I'm aware of . . .
Then why is he sending you home at 4:30 in the morning?
Ummmm . . . He's just not that into me.
But you're a fine looking young woman.
So I've heard, thanks.
What is he? Blind?
Nope, he's a poet.
Well, I think there's something wrong with him, sending home someone who looks like you do.
Could very well be, I haven't ruled it out . . . but it could be that I'm a raving bitch.
Nah, I don't believe that. You seem very sweet.
I seem very sweet? Or do I LOOK very sweet?
You look very sweet.
Yeah, it's a curse, but I'm trying to live with it.
But seriously, what's wrong with the boy?
Nothing. Everything. How am I supposed to know?
Well you were there, weren't you?
I don't know. Was I?
Tying Loose Ends . . . Or Crazy Marilyn
Need to finish up on the Maritime Writers' Workshop stuff so I can get onto new things. Well let's see. I closed a bar every night I was there, though I'd be hard-pressed to name them . . . the first Sunday was Old Government House, which technically I didn't get to close down but I was the last straggler to the bus and Rhona had to come drag me outta there; Monday was the James Joyce Pub in the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel; Tuesday was Windsor Castle, the grad house; I believe Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday was all The Taproom (guilty parties might want to correct me if I'm wrong); the second Sunday was Boom, which was an excellent cap to the week. Surprised I didn't see Sandy there on the dancefloor. At some point during the week I met Liz, who is a kick-ass good person that I liked from the second I met her. I also got to hang out some with Karen who is also on the WFNB board and met some other writers I enjoyed a lot. Loved her too! I'm excited about this board thing so far, seems like a good bunch of people.
So on Sunday afternoon Joe, Liz and I went to the Odd Sundays reading at Molly's. I mentioned this in an earlier post. After the readings were over, we were just sitting there minding our own business when this rather elderly and undermedicated woman went completely insane. I'm not even kidding. It was a manic episode of some sort, very loud and aggressive. At first when she attacked Joe I thought she must've been kidding, that they knew each other and this was some sort of act they had going on, because it was just so bizarre. She announced herself as a poet, then accused Joe of laughing at her when she read her poetry, said all this stuff about him not publishing her work, challenging him to do it. Then announced she saw a reporter from one of the local papers, who happened to be a relative of Liz's and was not anywhere near the place. Followed by, "Are you taping this? Is this being recorded?" Like holy paranoia! That's when I knew for sure she was nuts. But she didn't stop there, went on to say about how K.C. Irving paid as much taxes as anyone else, earned every dime he had honestly etc. Other than the Jamaican woman I used to see on the subway all the time in Toronto, I've never seen anyone so nuts. I remember she used to run up to men on the subway, get right in their faces and scream the most lewd sexual commentary, accuse them of doing these things to her in one breath saying she wouldn't let them do it again. Then in the next breath begging them to do something even more lewd and crude. Now that was crazy, but this lady was right up there for sure.
Mood: slowly coming around to clarity as the air in Sackville gets into my brain cells. I know you're all so jealous that I'm not sweltering like the rest of you.
Drinking: Water, water and more water as I try to hydrate after a week of hard drinking
Winamp loaded with every mp3 I own (many thousand) turned on random selection spews forth the following: Smashing Pumpkins, 1979 followed by Fleetwood Mac, Leather & Lace; Peaches, Fuck the Pain Away; Rush, Tom Sawyer; The Cranberries, Zombie; Robbie Williams, Feel; Foreigner, I Want to Know What Love Is; Teenage Head, Disgusteen; Pat Benetar, We Belong; REM, Man on the Moon; Cheap Trick, I Want You to Want Me
Hair: freshly laundered and hanging loose
So on Sunday afternoon Joe, Liz and I went to the Odd Sundays reading at Molly's. I mentioned this in an earlier post. After the readings were over, we were just sitting there minding our own business when this rather elderly and undermedicated woman went completely insane. I'm not even kidding. It was a manic episode of some sort, very loud and aggressive. At first when she attacked Joe I thought she must've been kidding, that they knew each other and this was some sort of act they had going on, because it was just so bizarre. She announced herself as a poet, then accused Joe of laughing at her when she read her poetry, said all this stuff about him not publishing her work, challenging him to do it. Then announced she saw a reporter from one of the local papers, who happened to be a relative of Liz's and was not anywhere near the place. Followed by, "Are you taping this? Is this being recorded?" Like holy paranoia! That's when I knew for sure she was nuts. But she didn't stop there, went on to say about how K.C. Irving paid as much taxes as anyone else, earned every dime he had honestly etc. Other than the Jamaican woman I used to see on the subway all the time in Toronto, I've never seen anyone so nuts. I remember she used to run up to men on the subway, get right in their faces and scream the most lewd sexual commentary, accuse them of doing these things to her in one breath saying she wouldn't let them do it again. Then in the next breath begging them to do something even more lewd and crude. Now that was crazy, but this lady was right up there for sure.
Mood: slowly coming around to clarity as the air in Sackville gets into my brain cells. I know you're all so jealous that I'm not sweltering like the rest of you.
Drinking: Water, water and more water as I try to hydrate after a week of hard drinking
Winamp loaded with every mp3 I own (many thousand) turned on random selection spews forth the following: Smashing Pumpkins, 1979 followed by Fleetwood Mac, Leather & Lace; Peaches, Fuck the Pain Away; Rush, Tom Sawyer; The Cranberries, Zombie; Robbie Williams, Feel; Foreigner, I Want to Know What Love Is; Teenage Head, Disgusteen; Pat Benetar, We Belong; REM, Man on the Moon; Cheap Trick, I Want You to Want Me
Hair: freshly laundered and hanging loose
Because I Need to Post Something & I'm Incoherent
From Andrea
Three things you like about yourself:
- impulsiveness
- adaptability/versatility
- my easy going friendly manner
Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
- I try to love myself, flaws and all
Three things that scare you:
- the state of the world
- spiders
- the Bush family
Three of your everyday essentials:
- coffee
- blogging
- wine
Three things you are wearing now:
- navy tee
- black pants
- sandals
Three of your favorite bands or musical artists:
way too tough! I love everything, my faves change on a daily basis depending on the mood
- U2
- Miles Davis
- Stevie Nicks
Three things you want in a relationship:
- open communication
- trust, honesty & respect
- a healthy sex life
Two truths and a lie:
- I was labelled the "smartest" child in first grade by teachers
- I love celery
- I interviewed Frank McKenna
Three things that turn you on:
- the sound of rain drumming on a tin roof
- the taste of fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate or real whipped cream
- crisp fall air rich with the earthy smell of nature's decay
Three of your favorite hobbies:
- writing
- film
- music
Three things you really want to do right now:
- take an energy pill
- or just go to bed
- eat something
Three careers you'd consider:
- theatre
- film
- political activism
Three places you want to go on vacation:
- Florence
- Amsterdam
- Sydney (Australia, not Nova Scotia)
Three things you want to do before you die:
- get a book published
- see a Broadway show
- explore Europe
People you're throwing this meme to:
- Trish, you're up, go for it!
Mood: warped
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: Bon Jovi, The Distance
Hair: in piggy tails
Three things you like about yourself:
- impulsiveness
- adaptability/versatility
- my easy going friendly manner
Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
- I try to love myself, flaws and all
Three things that scare you:
- the state of the world
- spiders
- the Bush family
Three of your everyday essentials:
- coffee
- blogging
- wine
Three things you are wearing now:
- navy tee
- black pants
- sandals
Three of your favorite bands or musical artists:
way too tough! I love everything, my faves change on a daily basis depending on the mood
- U2
- Miles Davis
- Stevie Nicks
Three things you want in a relationship:
- open communication
- trust, honesty & respect
- a healthy sex life
Two truths and a lie:
- I was labelled the "smartest" child in first grade by teachers
- I love celery
- I interviewed Frank McKenna
Three things that turn you on:
- the sound of rain drumming on a tin roof
- the taste of fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate or real whipped cream
- crisp fall air rich with the earthy smell of nature's decay
Three of your favorite hobbies:
- writing
- film
- music
Three things you really want to do right now:
- take an energy pill
- or just go to bed
- eat something
Three careers you'd consider:
- theatre
- film
- political activism
Three places you want to go on vacation:
- Florence
- Amsterdam
- Sydney (Australia, not Nova Scotia)
Three things you want to do before you die:
- get a book published
- see a Broadway show
- explore Europe
People you're throwing this meme to:
- Trish, you're up, go for it!
Mood: warped
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: Bon Jovi, The Distance
Hair: in piggy tails
Monday, July 18, 2005
Homecomings
I'm back in Sackville. Unproductive bus ride. No sleep yet. Body swollen with humidity. Was buoyant upon arrival, faded fast with some bad news. Fingers crossed, sending all my positive energy to Miramichi today. All my thoughts are with Stacy.
Coming home is good. I love the way I get excited everytime coming into the Tantramar. The place makes me happy. Love the easy way I feel at home here. After a lifetime of being uncomfortable in my own skin, of never feeling like I belonged, of searching for answers -- it's all coming together.
On a positive note I had some good news, ironic perhaps, but good. Got a little face time with the workshop co-ordinator on Sunday. She had meant to tell me earlier in the week, but we never connected. The scholarship I received was the one from Goose Lane . . . the one the committee gives to the writer they believe has submitted the best writing of all the participants. Nice way to end the workshop.
I read the funeral scene from LiL at the Odd Sundays reading yesterday. Kind words from "real" authors, including William Hawkins. Kinda awesome.
More positive news, I'm doing a workshop in Blackville at the Access Centre for sure. Creative Writing. It's on a Thursday night in September. I'll have more details later. Exciting.
Full stories to follow tomorrow.
Mood: bottoming out
Drinking: fountain pop from Wendy's restaurant from 3 hours ago with all the ice melted
Listening To: Bob Dylan, Fourth Time Around; John Mellencamp, Check It Out from The Lonesome Jubilee Tour (I saw him in the Gardens); Barry White, My Everything; Henry Mancini, Baby Elephant Walk; Rick Springfield, I Need You (which is apparently super rare); Stevie Nicks, Edge of Seventeen; John Mellencamp, Rumble Seat; Bon Jovi, Rich Man Living in a Poor Man's House; Def Leppard, Miss You in a Heartbeat (chronologically, not simultaneously)
Hair: Seriously fucked up . . . very mad scientist
Coming home is good. I love the way I get excited everytime coming into the Tantramar. The place makes me happy. Love the easy way I feel at home here. After a lifetime of being uncomfortable in my own skin, of never feeling like I belonged, of searching for answers -- it's all coming together.
On a positive note I had some good news, ironic perhaps, but good. Got a little face time with the workshop co-ordinator on Sunday. She had meant to tell me earlier in the week, but we never connected. The scholarship I received was the one from Goose Lane . . . the one the committee gives to the writer they believe has submitted the best writing of all the participants. Nice way to end the workshop.
I read the funeral scene from LiL at the Odd Sundays reading yesterday. Kind words from "real" authors, including William Hawkins. Kinda awesome.
More positive news, I'm doing a workshop in Blackville at the Access Centre for sure. Creative Writing. It's on a Thursday night in September. I'll have more details later. Exciting.
Full stories to follow tomorrow.
Mood: bottoming out
Drinking: fountain pop from Wendy's restaurant from 3 hours ago with all the ice melted
Listening To: Bob Dylan, Fourth Time Around; John Mellencamp, Check It Out from The Lonesome Jubilee Tour (I saw him in the Gardens); Barry White, My Everything; Henry Mancini, Baby Elephant Walk; Rick Springfield, I Need You (which is apparently super rare); Stevie Nicks, Edge of Seventeen; John Mellencamp, Rumble Seat; Bon Jovi, Rich Man Living in a Poor Man's House; Def Leppard, Miss You in a Heartbeat (chronologically, not simultaneously)
Hair: Seriously fucked up . . . very mad scientist
Sightings . . .
Rumor has it that Kellie Underhill has been sighted on York Street at all times of the day and night . . . and may or may not have gone into hiding in the Fredericton downtown with or without two futons . . .
More to follow.
Mood: silly
Drinking: Not today
Listening To: pages flipping
Hair: greasy
More to follow.
Mood: silly
Drinking: Not today
Listening To: pages flipping
Hair: greasy
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Tidbits
Today someone asked me how old I am, guessing me at mid to late twenties. Nothing wrong with that! Apparently I have a youthful glow about me when I'm without make-up, functioning on minimal sleep and living on the red wine diet. Good to know! Perhaps I should incorporate some of this into my daily routine when I get home. I'm already wondering how late the bus will get in . . . whether I'll be able to catch the liquor store in Sackville and grab something a little high-end to cap the week and begin the decompression. And do I ever need to decompress! Quickly. I've got to put BnM to bed as soon as I get there, get something off to the girls for the workshop on Thursday or Friday right away, figure out when they're coming, find a room ... and the nightmare of unpacking! A week's worth of laundry. Cleaning. Cob webs from those crazy spiders. Some necessary decorating. Something for S&G's housewarming party next weekend. Travel arrangements to Blackville. Oh dear God! I just remembered I have to call Marilyn to get together for coffee this week. Jehovah! I'm exhausted and the Energizer Bunny all at the same time.
Reading went well, got the nods and murmurs at the end that you do sometimes when people get it and a good round of applause. I read early, third in fact, then tried not to fall asleep over the two hours it took to get through everyone else. Some very entertaining stuff. I do think I might have fared better in Sue's group based on what her participants read. No genre, very abstract stuff. The people who write for kids really seem to have a lot of fun. It's very warm here so I'm lingering in the air conditioned computer room. But I really should go and do some stuff, prepare for cocktail hour.
The next time I blog I'll be in Sackville! Getting there could be a bitch though . . . but still, I'm looking forward to getting back to real life.
P.S. I think I figured out how I can do the story my way, yet not lose all the people who don't think like me in the process! Can't wait to get started.
Reading went well, got the nods and murmurs at the end that you do sometimes when people get it and a good round of applause. I read early, third in fact, then tried not to fall asleep over the two hours it took to get through everyone else. Some very entertaining stuff. I do think I might have fared better in Sue's group based on what her participants read. No genre, very abstract stuff. The people who write for kids really seem to have a lot of fun. It's very warm here so I'm lingering in the air conditioned computer room. But I really should go and do some stuff, prepare for cocktail hour.
The next time I blog I'll be in Sackville! Getting there could be a bitch though . . . but still, I'm looking forward to getting back to real life.
P.S. I think I figured out how I can do the story my way, yet not lose all the people who don't think like me in the process! Can't wait to get started.
The Last Day
It's the last day of the workshop and everyone is ready to go home. I don't actually go home until tomorrow and I'm still not sure what to do about tomorrow, whether I should go to the Odd Sundays reading or not. There's this matter of what to do with my luggage after check-out, before the bus ride. I don't think it's like the train station where I can check my luggage early in the day and roam around freely. Have to see.
Had a great time last night -- great food, company and wine. Doesn't get any better than that. I may have been the drunkest ever though because for the life of me I can't remember the taxi ride back. I remember raiding the refrigerator and finding a bunch of leftover pastry that I scarfed down before crashing . . . but nothing on the taxi driver. Maybe he was just an unmemorable sort of character.
This afternoon I'm reading at the participant reading. People seem really nervous about this, but I'm too numbed with exhaustion and dehydration to get nerves. I'm not reading a scene from the book, even though there are some like the funeral scene that are quite powerful. It's just too down. I would've brought some of the funnier scenes from Denise's Point of View or my call centre story if I had planned for the reading part. All I've got with me is a little creative non-fiction essay/commentary thingy. It suits the mood though because all week we've been talking about characters and stories. Maybe I posted it before when I wrote it because it was one of those middle of the night things that usually end up here, but what the hell, here it is --
The train whistles. I've lost track of how many times it passes through town each day. Not the same train of course, but many trains with many cars, much freight, numerous passengers -- where are they going?
Sheltered in my windowless bedroom, eye to the world outside, the whistle calls me, pulls my mind out of the loft, down the stairs, through the front door, across the field, onto the tracks, and into the passenger car. People sleeping. Murmurs from others. The swaying of the car, the whistle, the lull, the hush.
Everyone of these people are a potential story. I have only to reach out, tap one on the shoulder, force him to turn his head, look her in the eyes, and they will tell me their stories. For now they look away. They look at each other. They look out the window. They sleep. And I float through the aisles like the ghost that I am, passing undetected, too weak or afraid to reach out.
It's an oral piece, comes out sounding probably a bit stronger than it really is . . . I hope. People tend to fixate on that second paragraph where the mind is pulled from the loft and enjoy those images, so I'm hoping it'll be okay. But hey, what do I know? I'm too artistic for the MWW right? Someone make me a t-shirt please! I do remember that part of last night, laughing my guts out at the I'm too artistic song.
I asked some people about the official MWW party last night and apparently 80% of the people left by 10 p.m. another 15% by midnight . . . a few lingering until 1 or 2 a.m. I was apparently missed as a few people wondered where I had been. But I'm so glad I didn't go. This evening there's a social hour and banquet and I'm just blah about the whole thing. It feels like one of those terrible tourism functions or something . . . but I'm probably just being melodramatic. Took some more pictures today of the residence, will post all when I return. This might be my last post until I get home . . . but then again . . .
Mood: really starting to get the hang of this closing the bar every night thing which is so much more fun from the patron perspective
Drinking: food and drink are prohibited in the computer lab, as are small children and pets I would presume
Listening To: a get paid to think psa
Hair: glossy
Had a great time last night -- great food, company and wine. Doesn't get any better than that. I may have been the drunkest ever though because for the life of me I can't remember the taxi ride back. I remember raiding the refrigerator and finding a bunch of leftover pastry that I scarfed down before crashing . . . but nothing on the taxi driver. Maybe he was just an unmemorable sort of character.
This afternoon I'm reading at the participant reading. People seem really nervous about this, but I'm too numbed with exhaustion and dehydration to get nerves. I'm not reading a scene from the book, even though there are some like the funeral scene that are quite powerful. It's just too down. I would've brought some of the funnier scenes from Denise's Point of View or my call centre story if I had planned for the reading part. All I've got with me is a little creative non-fiction essay/commentary thingy. It suits the mood though because all week we've been talking about characters and stories. Maybe I posted it before when I wrote it because it was one of those middle of the night things that usually end up here, but what the hell, here it is --
The train whistles. I've lost track of how many times it passes through town each day. Not the same train of course, but many trains with many cars, much freight, numerous passengers -- where are they going?
Sheltered in my windowless bedroom, eye to the world outside, the whistle calls me, pulls my mind out of the loft, down the stairs, through the front door, across the field, onto the tracks, and into the passenger car. People sleeping. Murmurs from others. The swaying of the car, the whistle, the lull, the hush.
Everyone of these people are a potential story. I have only to reach out, tap one on the shoulder, force him to turn his head, look her in the eyes, and they will tell me their stories. For now they look away. They look at each other. They look out the window. They sleep. And I float through the aisles like the ghost that I am, passing undetected, too weak or afraid to reach out.
It's an oral piece, comes out sounding probably a bit stronger than it really is . . . I hope. People tend to fixate on that second paragraph where the mind is pulled from the loft and enjoy those images, so I'm hoping it'll be okay. But hey, what do I know? I'm too artistic for the MWW right? Someone make me a t-shirt please! I do remember that part of last night, laughing my guts out at the I'm too artistic song.
I asked some people about the official MWW party last night and apparently 80% of the people left by 10 p.m. another 15% by midnight . . . a few lingering until 1 or 2 a.m. I was apparently missed as a few people wondered where I had been. But I'm so glad I didn't go. This evening there's a social hour and banquet and I'm just blah about the whole thing. It feels like one of those terrible tourism functions or something . . . but I'm probably just being melodramatic. Took some more pictures today of the residence, will post all when I return. This might be my last post until I get home . . . but then again . . .
Mood: really starting to get the hang of this closing the bar every night thing which is so much more fun from the patron perspective
Drinking: food and drink are prohibited in the computer lab, as are small children and pets I would presume
Listening To: a get paid to think psa
Hair: glossy
Friday, July 15, 2005
Can I Go Home Yet?
There is a big ass spider living in the un-co-ed washroom. I don't think he was there the first day. Probably hitched a ride over in someone's suitcase just so he could meet me. He's up really high, just hanging around, but very much alive because he likes to flex his legs at me. Leisurely like, just to let me know that he sees me seeing him. I told him I don't mind if he hangs out up there . . . but if he comes down on the floor, into the stall or shower, down the hall or anywhere near my closet . . . he will die. I think we've come to an understanding. I'm NOT bringing him home with me, though I'm sure the place will have a few buddies waiting for me when I get there.
I miss Sackville. Miss my bed. Oh God, I can't wait to get into my own bed with my own pillow! I may stay there a day or so, living off crackers and cheese because I will not have any energy to go buy food, watching fluffy television so I can drift in and out of sleep and it won't matter if I miss the ending or the beginning. I could totally handle a Cornation Street marathon! . . . And no, I'm not even kidding.
So, here I am -- it's Friday! I think my classmates picked up on a change in my posture or something, because a couple of them approached me earlier to tell me how engaged they are with my story and writing style, that I should continue and finish the novel. Hmmm. Maybe they read my blog. One of the guys actually suggested I should write poetry, which is something I've been thinking about but I'm reluctant to do because I don't know anything about it. He suggested I take Ross Leckie's class here at UNB . . . never going to happen, plus I'm not ready to move again yet. He thought that maybe I already was a poet because of how obscure, dense and tight my writing is . . . are these words positive feedback? I think tight is a good thing, but I'm being told I'm too tight and I just don't believe that's even possible. I think it's possible to write the one sentence, phrase or even word that says it all. I keep wondering what's happening in Sue Goyette's group. Are there as many fantasy genre writers in that group?
But I'm done wallowing in this muck. I'm doing what I'm doing and I'll continue to do it. End of story. I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining all the time or that I'm not having a good time or anything like that. I'm having a fantastic time! Closed the Taproom again last night. Didn't get to bed until almost 4 am. I have supper plans today. All is good in the world. I'm having these really interesting little episodes with the cab drivers who bring me back to the residence every night. But I see my time runs short, so I'll tell you about that later.
Mood: Hollow
Drinking: water
Listening To: a lot of whispering
Hair: holding up surprisingly well
I miss Sackville. Miss my bed. Oh God, I can't wait to get into my own bed with my own pillow! I may stay there a day or so, living off crackers and cheese because I will not have any energy to go buy food, watching fluffy television so I can drift in and out of sleep and it won't matter if I miss the ending or the beginning. I could totally handle a Cornation Street marathon! . . . And no, I'm not even kidding.
So, here I am -- it's Friday! I think my classmates picked up on a change in my posture or something, because a couple of them approached me earlier to tell me how engaged they are with my story and writing style, that I should continue and finish the novel. Hmmm. Maybe they read my blog. One of the guys actually suggested I should write poetry, which is something I've been thinking about but I'm reluctant to do because I don't know anything about it. He suggested I take Ross Leckie's class here at UNB . . . never going to happen, plus I'm not ready to move again yet. He thought that maybe I already was a poet because of how obscure, dense and tight my writing is . . . are these words positive feedback? I think tight is a good thing, but I'm being told I'm too tight and I just don't believe that's even possible. I think it's possible to write the one sentence, phrase or even word that says it all. I keep wondering what's happening in Sue Goyette's group. Are there as many fantasy genre writers in that group?
But I'm done wallowing in this muck. I'm doing what I'm doing and I'll continue to do it. End of story. I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining all the time or that I'm not having a good time or anything like that. I'm having a fantastic time! Closed the Taproom again last night. Didn't get to bed until almost 4 am. I have supper plans today. All is good in the world. I'm having these really interesting little episodes with the cab drivers who bring me back to the residence every night. But I see my time runs short, so I'll tell you about that later.
Mood: Hollow
Drinking: water
Listening To: a lot of whispering
Hair: holding up surprisingly well
Thursday, July 14, 2005
On Being Too Artistic . . .
I didn't take that whole being too artistic comment very well yesterday I came to realise last night as I scarfed back a burger and wine. I went to Harry Thurston's reading at the lighthouse but I just couldn't get into it, couldn't focus . . . because I was a little miffed I think. I told Joe that they basically trashed me, told me I wasn't a writer and I should go home. I was being funny, sarcastic . . . but honestly that's kind of how it felt, even though there were good comments and everyone thinks I've got tremendous writing skill and an excellent story to develop. It's hard for that stuff to get in when the very heart of the project is under attack and I'm being encouraged to completely revamp and go more commercial ... now I wonder what sort of comments I would've got in Sue's class ... So, I was a little miffed and really needed a break from the workshop, not to mention some real food. We went to a restaurant where Claude works, excuse me, Jar (when in Rome . . . ) Of course Jar works days and this was evening but the waitress said he was supposed to come back later so we stayed and I got a burger with fries. I was dissecting my burger, ripping it up slowly, studying every morsel when Joe gives me this look like "What the hell?" and nods at my plate. I was quick to say I was "artistically eating." Joe thought it looked more like playing with my food but . . . That's when I started to figure out that I was a bit more upset than I had previously thought. And the more I drank, the more it came out, so that by the time Jar arrived I announced that I was here for a workshop but they were mean to me, hated me in fact, and trying to drive me out. In this melodramatic way I eventually worked through it I think. I feel better today. I'm not changing my story. I'm not writing it chronologically. And I don't care. If it doesn't get published, if nobody ever reads it and understands what's going on, so be it! I'm doing it my way and it's a very well thought out and planned way. Every word has a reason for being there, every piece has a reason to be in the order the way it is . . . if I don't want to describe what characters look like, I'm not going to. And I'm prepared to deal with the obscurity that this will most likely bring to me. It's okay. Too artistic! Imagine that. As if such a thing could even exist.
I had a good time last night. I needed some pepping up and I felt much better at 3 a.m. as I stumbled into the dorm armed with a cd of the episode of Joe's radio show that I was on and a signed copy of one of his art projects, a book with a wonderful concept and some funny poems that make me laugh out loud.
I'm supposed to try and get together later this afternoon with Jar, maybe Joe too and a girl I met last night named Liz. So far I haven't been able to connect with anyone to shore up times, places, anything . . . though I know where they live and could go stalking I suppose . . . (kidding, a running joke from last night for those who were not there).
Mood: determined
Drinking: way too much on this trip
Listening To: damn computer noises
Hair: flattened to my scalp
I had a good time last night. I needed some pepping up and I felt much better at 3 a.m. as I stumbled into the dorm armed with a cd of the episode of Joe's radio show that I was on and a signed copy of one of his art projects, a book with a wonderful concept and some funny poems that make me laugh out loud.
I'm supposed to try and get together later this afternoon with Jar, maybe Joe too and a girl I met last night named Liz. So far I haven't been able to connect with anyone to shore up times, places, anything . . . though I know where they live and could go stalking I suppose . . . (kidding, a running joke from last night for those who were not there).
Mood: determined
Drinking: way too much on this trip
Listening To: damn computer noises
Hair: flattened to my scalp
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
A Time to Write
So I'm back after my session with Alan on my story. The good news is that I actually have a story people want to know about. I can also write really tightly. And I have a good ability to set the mood of a piece . . . the bad news is that nobody had any idea what was going on . . . I'm too obscure . . . I'm too artsy . . . Maybe I should start writing poetry. Although nobody suggested that, I'm just thinking it seems logical. Anyway, I got some feedback and now I have a kind of plan on how to proceed. Alan thinks I should tell the story chronologically . . . I hear that a lot lately it seems . . . but chronological is just so boring isn't it? . . . Maybe not, maybe it's the logical way. I guess I'll just continue writing my tight little mini-scenes as I've been doing then go back and fill in the details I tend to leave out because they are of no interest to me but will be of interest to readers, then order the pieces chronologically and see what I've got . . . Can I do this in time to enter for the Richards Prize? . . . an excellent question and I'm looking at some really intense hard work if I want to pull it off.
Anyway enough about that I'm sure you all want to know what else I've been up to. Yesterday was Day 2 of the workshop. I apologise because I have for all intents and purposes forgotten that I even own a camera let alone that it is with me at all times in my bag. So, no pics from yesterday at all. Robyn Sarah gave the morning lecture at Memorial Hall on the topic "Poetry's Bottom Line." It was interesting. She talked about oral tradition and the academic elitism of poetry. She thinks it would be a wonderful thing if they brought recitation back into the classroom. That poetry isn't just for poets, academics, and intellectuals. She read some poems written by children in grades 3-5 that was utterly amazing, absolutely unbelievable. She said all children are natural poets, and now I believe her. It was a good session and then we went into our workshop groups for an hour and half. Alan talked a lot about his mentor, Alistair Macleod, and his repetitious way of sharing the fundamentals of good writing. It was an interesting story. Alan said that Alistair always told the story of the cheese sandwich. That your story is competing with a cheese sandwich. Any little thing that pulls the reader out of the story or allows them to get lost and they will put the story down, go into the kitchen, make a cheese sandwich and never pick the story up again. In a sense you're not competing with great books or the leopards that Sue Goyette talked about on Monday, but you're competing with a cheese sandwich -- which is a terrible opponent to be beaten by! I imagine processed cheese food slices, dry, on white bread . . . so difficult to swallow, gummy . . . blech!
The afternoon yesterday was open and I spent most of it here in the computer room, blogging, answering email, etc. I also laid down for awhile and wrote a half page on another new story idea that I have floating around. I showered again while everyone had supper and then headed up to Memorial Hall for Janet McNaughton's reading. She writes for young adults . . . and what great interesting books she does! Frightening stuff, huge messages, fantasy, gender role reversals . . . just jam-packed with things. And very passionate about her genre. She was delightful to listen to and inspiring in her Q&A. After the reading we went to Windsor Castle, the Grad House bar, and again I ended up closing the place down long after all the other workshop participants had left and then ended up talking outside the dorm for another half hour or so before finally heading inside to bed. I've lost weight from this schedule. My clothes fit differently than just last week, which is shocking and kinda wonderful all at the same time, though I'm not so naive as to think it won't all come back as soon as I get home again and back on my normal schedule. They had great red wine at Alden Nowlan's house and it's just so surreal to be there with pictures of him everywhere. I ventured upstairs to the washroom when the one on the ground floor was occupied. I had never been upstairs before. I wanted to look around more but there was a student up there working on a computer and I didn't want to disturb him. In the upstairs co-ed washroom there is a cartoonish pencil drawing of Alden, naked, sitting on the toilet. You can't see anything of consequence though because of the HUGE typewriter on his lap. I got a good laugh out of that. If I end up back there again some night I must remember to take a picture.
Tonight we are heading downtown for a public reading at the Lighthouse Deck by Harry Thurston. Many of the other participants are going on a Riverboat Cruise after the reading. I'm not going though. I don't enjoy boats so much. Not sure where I'll end up or whether I'll just come back early and get some much needed sleep. There is so much to absorb this week already and much more on the way. I'm getting so many good ideas and learning a lot about the art of novel writing. I like my group a lot. I'm enjoying reading their work, a lot of which is fantasy type stuff that I don't normally read, so it's really nice to have that opportunity. There's some sort of QWERTY party happening some night this week . . . not sure when, and Mark Jarman's party still to come. Plus Molly's on Sunday to consider. Still lots happening.
Anyway, I've got to get back. I'll try to write again tomorrow.
Anyway enough about that I'm sure you all want to know what else I've been up to. Yesterday was Day 2 of the workshop. I apologise because I have for all intents and purposes forgotten that I even own a camera let alone that it is with me at all times in my bag. So, no pics from yesterday at all. Robyn Sarah gave the morning lecture at Memorial Hall on the topic "Poetry's Bottom Line." It was interesting. She talked about oral tradition and the academic elitism of poetry. She thinks it would be a wonderful thing if they brought recitation back into the classroom. That poetry isn't just for poets, academics, and intellectuals. She read some poems written by children in grades 3-5 that was utterly amazing, absolutely unbelievable. She said all children are natural poets, and now I believe her. It was a good session and then we went into our workshop groups for an hour and half. Alan talked a lot about his mentor, Alistair Macleod, and his repetitious way of sharing the fundamentals of good writing. It was an interesting story. Alan said that Alistair always told the story of the cheese sandwich. That your story is competing with a cheese sandwich. Any little thing that pulls the reader out of the story or allows them to get lost and they will put the story down, go into the kitchen, make a cheese sandwich and never pick the story up again. In a sense you're not competing with great books or the leopards that Sue Goyette talked about on Monday, but you're competing with a cheese sandwich -- which is a terrible opponent to be beaten by! I imagine processed cheese food slices, dry, on white bread . . . so difficult to swallow, gummy . . . blech!
The afternoon yesterday was open and I spent most of it here in the computer room, blogging, answering email, etc. I also laid down for awhile and wrote a half page on another new story idea that I have floating around. I showered again while everyone had supper and then headed up to Memorial Hall for Janet McNaughton's reading. She writes for young adults . . . and what great interesting books she does! Frightening stuff, huge messages, fantasy, gender role reversals . . . just jam-packed with things. And very passionate about her genre. She was delightful to listen to and inspiring in her Q&A. After the reading we went to Windsor Castle, the Grad House bar, and again I ended up closing the place down long after all the other workshop participants had left and then ended up talking outside the dorm for another half hour or so before finally heading inside to bed. I've lost weight from this schedule. My clothes fit differently than just last week, which is shocking and kinda wonderful all at the same time, though I'm not so naive as to think it won't all come back as soon as I get home again and back on my normal schedule. They had great red wine at Alden Nowlan's house and it's just so surreal to be there with pictures of him everywhere. I ventured upstairs to the washroom when the one on the ground floor was occupied. I had never been upstairs before. I wanted to look around more but there was a student up there working on a computer and I didn't want to disturb him. In the upstairs co-ed washroom there is a cartoonish pencil drawing of Alden, naked, sitting on the toilet. You can't see anything of consequence though because of the HUGE typewriter on his lap. I got a good laugh out of that. If I end up back there again some night I must remember to take a picture.
Tonight we are heading downtown for a public reading at the Lighthouse Deck by Harry Thurston. Many of the other participants are going on a Riverboat Cruise after the reading. I'm not going though. I don't enjoy boats so much. Not sure where I'll end up or whether I'll just come back early and get some much needed sleep. There is so much to absorb this week already and much more on the way. I'm getting so many good ideas and learning a lot about the art of novel writing. I like my group a lot. I'm enjoying reading their work, a lot of which is fantasy type stuff that I don't normally read, so it's really nice to have that opportunity. There's some sort of QWERTY party happening some night this week . . . not sure when, and Mark Jarman's party still to come. Plus Molly's on Sunday to consider. Still lots happening.
Anyway, I've got to get back. I'll try to write again tomorrow.
Sucking it Up
In a half hour the afternoon session starts and I'm terrified! TERRIFIED! Today we're critting my piece and I fear I've made a mistake bringing this particular piece with me . . . it could go badly.
On another note, I just learned last night that there are participant readings in Memorial Hall on Saturday and everyone is required to read . . . that means me . . . and I am ill-prepared and have nothing with me only the most complicated convuluted section of my novel that exists, which isn't likely to translate well into the oral at this point in time. GOD! What am I doing here?
Gotta run now. Be back later with more details.
Mood: Scared out of my mind
Drinking: water
Listening To: really squeaky chairs
Hair: holding up
On another note, I just learned last night that there are participant readings in Memorial Hall on Saturday and everyone is required to read . . . that means me . . . and I am ill-prepared and have nothing with me only the most complicated convuluted section of my novel that exists, which isn't likely to translate well into the oral at this point in time. GOD! What am I doing here?
Gotta run now. Be back later with more details.
Mood: Scared out of my mind
Drinking: water
Listening To: really squeaky chairs
Hair: holding up
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Day 1 . . . Because Sunday didn't Count
I came into the computer room to blog and check email because to me it feels as if I've been away FOREVER! Like days have passed since I last blogged. I even dug out my itinerary so I wouldn't get confused as I recounted my adventures . . . and then I noticed that it's only been ONE day, just one. Wow! How will I survive this week? It's like going on one of those crazy all-inclusive Cuba vacations where all you do is drink . . . except here I'm working too. Anyway, on to the update! I know you've been waiting with baited breath.
The showers have curtains yes, not open prison-style . . . but still pretty open. And thankfully not being used for co-ed this week, just female. So far my showering during the supper hour thing has been working out well.
I don't know where the law building is . . . hmmm . . . is this marked on my map? I will have to see if I can find this. I have found Tim Horton's though, which is extremely exciting although it's all the way to hell and back up the hill . . . it's no wonder all these university types here look like they are starving to death . . . us writers literally are starving to death on this cafeteria food plus all the walking up and down hill . . . what a great crash diet just before Stacy's wedding!
Anyway onward . . .
Sunday night after I left the computer lab I went back to the residence and sat in the lounge talking with a lady from Nova Scotia about writing and electronic publishing. Then I went to bed and nearly froze to death because there is some sort of super cool draft in my room . . . I'm the only one complaining about being chilly though, other people are dying from the heat. I slept fitfully, woke WAY early before my alarm, got up and went to the first morning lecture at Memorial Hall. Sue Goyette started things off on an upbeat positive note with a session called "A Creative Writing Vita-Boost." She spoke for about an hour and took questions from the floor but the main point I came away with I guess is that what we're doing is important. Writing matters. The world needs people like us to make art. Writing isn't about publishing -- publishing has nothing to do with writing. Writing is about the art, about creation, about joy and magic . . . she said a lot of great things . . . but I see I've left my notebook in my room so I don't have the benefit of my notes, I'm just going on what I remember. It was a good session.
When it ended I went on a coffee run with a guy from my group to the Tim Horton's at the top of the hill. He knows his way around the university so I was glad to have the company and a guide to the building where our group sessions take place. I'm in Alan Cumyn's fiction group. There are six of us, four girls, two guys and Alan. I workshopped with Alan last fall at the Nowlan Fest and really enjoyed him. He's got a very zen-like personality, very low-key, laid back, soothing almost. He studied under Alistair Macleod at Windsor University, has 7 or 8 published novels under his belt, and has led the fiction group at this workshop before. He's good. He knows what he's talking about and he's got a way about him that is very supportive and nurturing while still being very focused on finding out what isn't working in a piece and improving it. So yesterday morning we had our first session and we did some writing exercises.
Then we broke for lunch . . . sandwiches and vegetable soup . . . then back into our groups for another hour and a half where we workshopped two of the participants pieces. It happened that the men volunteered to go first. One is a Grad student here, the other a CPA from the Fredericton area. One was a short story, the other an excerpt from a fantasy novel in progress. It was a good session. I learned some things that I can now take to my novel. We're focusing a lot on novel writing because most of the members of my group are working on their first one. So this is excellent! Just what I needed.
We broke at 3 p.m. and I went back to my room, laid down, tried to read, tried to nap, couldn't do any of it so I ended up writing two pages on a new story that's been rolling around my head lately. That was exciting! I've got some good ideas coming out of me, stuff burning in my belly. It feels good.
I showered while everyone else was at supper and then I left walking to the James Joyce Pub at the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel. (Was Philip in town yesterday by any chance?) It's a LONG walk really. I went pretty steady and quickly and still it took me a good 25 minutes. Thankfully it was all downhill, but I knew going in that there was no way in hell I was going to walk back up the hill. I got there early enough to get a good seat close to the stage area where Alan was going to give his reading. If you ever get the chance to see him read, take it. He's extremely entertaining. We laughed so hard and had such a good time. He read from three different works starting with a bit from a novel about a soldier in the First World War, then an excerpt from a steamy sex piece in progress and finishing with an excerpt from one of his children's novels. It was a diverse collection and he picked really great parts. The place was packed too, with participants, other local writers, hotel guests, and locals who just go there to drink . . . and everyone was quiet and enjoyed the reading, which says a lot because sometimes these things can go bad pretty quickly in a public place where people aren't necessarily there for the reading. It's a testament to his ability to capture an audience and tell a story.
I sat with some people from my group and some poets, got to know people I didn't know a bit better, caught up on the news with others that I did know. Eventually all the other workshop participants called it a night . . . but not me of course. I ended up closing the place and not getting to bed until almost three. Had a fabulous time though, well worth the inevitable dry mouth this morning. There's nothing like getting pissy faced drunk and talking into the wee hours about writerly things.
I'm looking forward to the reading this evening. It's Janet McNaughton, who writes for children, and it's on campus at Memorial Hall. I suspect the drinks will be happening at Windsor Castle this evening . . . and maybe I'll go . . . it will be cheaper than last night, Alden Nowlan's house, interesting conversation . . . we'll see. Maybe I should take the night off, get some sleep, pace myself . . . afterall there is still Mark Jarman's party (which I've heard through the grapevine are notoriously wild and crazy) to contend with on Friday night and the closing banquet on Saturday evening . . . so the question becomes can I keep this up all week and still have anything left for the weekend? . . . without drugs . . .
There's also the Odd Sundays reading at Molly's on Sunday afternoon . . . open mic . . . the last bus to Sackville leaves at 6 p.m. every day . . . hmmm . . . all good things to think about.
In other news I've taken more photos, figured out how to use the camera finally, and now keep forgetting I have it when interesting things happen . . . I'll try to be more diligent and will have tons of pics to post upon my return I'm sure. I should probably save some room on the disc for the weekend stuff. It's a week about pacing it seems. I'll try to get in again tomorrow to tell you all about today and tonight.
Mood: Tired . . . but happy
Drinking: Nothing
Listening To: Some really heavy breather sitting behind me . . . it's kinda scary
Hair: ponytailed up by day, coming down for the night
The showers have curtains yes, not open prison-style . . . but still pretty open. And thankfully not being used for co-ed this week, just female. So far my showering during the supper hour thing has been working out well.
I don't know where the law building is . . . hmmm . . . is this marked on my map? I will have to see if I can find this. I have found Tim Horton's though, which is extremely exciting although it's all the way to hell and back up the hill . . . it's no wonder all these university types here look like they are starving to death . . . us writers literally are starving to death on this cafeteria food plus all the walking up and down hill . . . what a great crash diet just before Stacy's wedding!
Anyway onward . . .
Sunday night after I left the computer lab I went back to the residence and sat in the lounge talking with a lady from Nova Scotia about writing and electronic publishing. Then I went to bed and nearly froze to death because there is some sort of super cool draft in my room . . . I'm the only one complaining about being chilly though, other people are dying from the heat. I slept fitfully, woke WAY early before my alarm, got up and went to the first morning lecture at Memorial Hall. Sue Goyette started things off on an upbeat positive note with a session called "A Creative Writing Vita-Boost." She spoke for about an hour and took questions from the floor but the main point I came away with I guess is that what we're doing is important. Writing matters. The world needs people like us to make art. Writing isn't about publishing -- publishing has nothing to do with writing. Writing is about the art, about creation, about joy and magic . . . she said a lot of great things . . . but I see I've left my notebook in my room so I don't have the benefit of my notes, I'm just going on what I remember. It was a good session.
When it ended I went on a coffee run with a guy from my group to the Tim Horton's at the top of the hill. He knows his way around the university so I was glad to have the company and a guide to the building where our group sessions take place. I'm in Alan Cumyn's fiction group. There are six of us, four girls, two guys and Alan. I workshopped with Alan last fall at the Nowlan Fest and really enjoyed him. He's got a very zen-like personality, very low-key, laid back, soothing almost. He studied under Alistair Macleod at Windsor University, has 7 or 8 published novels under his belt, and has led the fiction group at this workshop before. He's good. He knows what he's talking about and he's got a way about him that is very supportive and nurturing while still being very focused on finding out what isn't working in a piece and improving it. So yesterday morning we had our first session and we did some writing exercises.
Then we broke for lunch . . . sandwiches and vegetable soup . . . then back into our groups for another hour and a half where we workshopped two of the participants pieces. It happened that the men volunteered to go first. One is a Grad student here, the other a CPA from the Fredericton area. One was a short story, the other an excerpt from a fantasy novel in progress. It was a good session. I learned some things that I can now take to my novel. We're focusing a lot on novel writing because most of the members of my group are working on their first one. So this is excellent! Just what I needed.
We broke at 3 p.m. and I went back to my room, laid down, tried to read, tried to nap, couldn't do any of it so I ended up writing two pages on a new story that's been rolling around my head lately. That was exciting! I've got some good ideas coming out of me, stuff burning in my belly. It feels good.
I showered while everyone else was at supper and then I left walking to the James Joyce Pub at the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel. (Was Philip in town yesterday by any chance?) It's a LONG walk really. I went pretty steady and quickly and still it took me a good 25 minutes. Thankfully it was all downhill, but I knew going in that there was no way in hell I was going to walk back up the hill. I got there early enough to get a good seat close to the stage area where Alan was going to give his reading. If you ever get the chance to see him read, take it. He's extremely entertaining. We laughed so hard and had such a good time. He read from three different works starting with a bit from a novel about a soldier in the First World War, then an excerpt from a steamy sex piece in progress and finishing with an excerpt from one of his children's novels. It was a diverse collection and he picked really great parts. The place was packed too, with participants, other local writers, hotel guests, and locals who just go there to drink . . . and everyone was quiet and enjoyed the reading, which says a lot because sometimes these things can go bad pretty quickly in a public place where people aren't necessarily there for the reading. It's a testament to his ability to capture an audience and tell a story.
I sat with some people from my group and some poets, got to know people I didn't know a bit better, caught up on the news with others that I did know. Eventually all the other workshop participants called it a night . . . but not me of course. I ended up closing the place and not getting to bed until almost three. Had a fabulous time though, well worth the inevitable dry mouth this morning. There's nothing like getting pissy faced drunk and talking into the wee hours about writerly things.
I'm looking forward to the reading this evening. It's Janet McNaughton, who writes for children, and it's on campus at Memorial Hall. I suspect the drinks will be happening at Windsor Castle this evening . . . and maybe I'll go . . . it will be cheaper than last night, Alden Nowlan's house, interesting conversation . . . we'll see. Maybe I should take the night off, get some sleep, pace myself . . . afterall there is still Mark Jarman's party (which I've heard through the grapevine are notoriously wild and crazy) to contend with on Friday night and the closing banquet on Saturday evening . . . so the question becomes can I keep this up all week and still have anything left for the weekend? . . . without drugs . . .
There's also the Odd Sundays reading at Molly's on Sunday afternoon . . . open mic . . . the last bus to Sackville leaves at 6 p.m. every day . . . hmmm . . . all good things to think about.
In other news I've taken more photos, figured out how to use the camera finally, and now keep forgetting I have it when interesting things happen . . . I'll try to be more diligent and will have tons of pics to post upon my return I'm sure. I should probably save some room on the disc for the weekend stuff. It's a week about pacing it seems. I'll try to get in again tomorrow to tell you all about today and tonight.
Mood: Tired . . . but happy
Drinking: Nothing
Listening To: Some really heavy breather sitting behind me . . . it's kinda scary
Hair: ponytailed up by day, coming down for the night
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Arrived Alive
got up at the crack of dawn this morning to pack (yes, I was supposed to have that done yesterday . . . but . . . ) finish up loose ends and leave for Freddy. Ended up rushing. I packed EVERYTHING! And still this evening I had a hard time finding an outfit to wear to the opening ceremony. Got to the bus station and had to wait almost 25 minutes because the bus was late . . . realised during that time, listening to locals converse with each other, that Sackvillers have an accent much like the twangy accent of people from Doaktown . . . interesting . . . how very Nova Scotia of them!
On the ride to Moncton I worried that the driver was falling asleep. I could see him in the mirror and he really seemed to be dozing off, head nodding on the chest. My concerns were solidified by the fact that the bus seemed to be lilting to the left and the right like a small ship in the water. I didn't bring my sea legs and was rather concerned. When we got on in Sackville a woman asked the driver if her teenage daughter was going to have to change buses in Moncton, he said yes. She then asked in that so friendly Sackville way if he would make sure her daughter got on the right bus. He said no. . . . No if's, and's, but's or apologies, just no. He said he'd announce over the speaker to get on the bus to his right or left and it would be clear. Now I thought this girl had a ticket to Fredericton, like me . . . but she did not get on the bus that I did when we switched in Moncton . . . in fact she didn't get on any bus that I could see . . . just stood there . . . not seeming to know where to go or what to do . . . or else she was just taking a breather and got on her bus when I missed it. So, why didn't I speak to the child? See which bus? Find out for sure? . . . I don't really know. I was just so tired and uncertain myself on my first trip to Freddy by bus that I couldn't take anyone else on, let alone a teenage girl . . . is that terrible? . . . Plus I knew we weren't the only connection to Fredericton that day . . . if she missed the bus, another would be along . . . okay . . . so I should've helped. I know that now. My guilt tells me it's so.
I arrived okay and on time, checked into my dorm (which is not bad) met with my group and instructor, then showered (in a co-ed OPEN facility where I was pretty uncomfortable) and got ready for the opening ceremony tonight at Government House. Always a good time there. Lots of wine and snackables (chocolate covered strawberries that were the bomb!). This time I got a personal intro with the host himself, the Lieutenant-Governor who's name is too complicated for me to remember how to spell right now. But he's a wonderful man, a great artist. There were many readings and much entertainment. Rhona had to tell me to get my ass back on the bus when it was time to leave . . . I was having such a good time. :-)
Tomorrow the workshop begins in earnest and I'm looking forward to it. I've put myself on the line bringing my novel here . . . with grad students and successful authors in my group . . . the whole thing could be potentially devastating . . . potentially life altering . . . potentially fantastic. It's all up in the air right now.
I took a few pics tonight and will post them when I get home or if I find a way to download them off my camera here. I'll try to keep blogging.
Mood: Slightly intoxicated
Drinking: nothing now . . . much wine earlier . . . and NOT the cheap stuff, the government issue
Listening To: keyboards clacking, beeping on screens, printing . . . this is a computer lab
Hair: Stunning if I do say so myself
On the ride to Moncton I worried that the driver was falling asleep. I could see him in the mirror and he really seemed to be dozing off, head nodding on the chest. My concerns were solidified by the fact that the bus seemed to be lilting to the left and the right like a small ship in the water. I didn't bring my sea legs and was rather concerned. When we got on in Sackville a woman asked the driver if her teenage daughter was going to have to change buses in Moncton, he said yes. She then asked in that so friendly Sackville way if he would make sure her daughter got on the right bus. He said no. . . . No if's, and's, but's or apologies, just no. He said he'd announce over the speaker to get on the bus to his right or left and it would be clear. Now I thought this girl had a ticket to Fredericton, like me . . . but she did not get on the bus that I did when we switched in Moncton . . . in fact she didn't get on any bus that I could see . . . just stood there . . . not seeming to know where to go or what to do . . . or else she was just taking a breather and got on her bus when I missed it. So, why didn't I speak to the child? See which bus? Find out for sure? . . . I don't really know. I was just so tired and uncertain myself on my first trip to Freddy by bus that I couldn't take anyone else on, let alone a teenage girl . . . is that terrible? . . . Plus I knew we weren't the only connection to Fredericton that day . . . if she missed the bus, another would be along . . . okay . . . so I should've helped. I know that now. My guilt tells me it's so.
I arrived okay and on time, checked into my dorm (which is not bad) met with my group and instructor, then showered (in a co-ed OPEN facility where I was pretty uncomfortable) and got ready for the opening ceremony tonight at Government House. Always a good time there. Lots of wine and snackables (chocolate covered strawberries that were the bomb!). This time I got a personal intro with the host himself, the Lieutenant-Governor who's name is too complicated for me to remember how to spell right now. But he's a wonderful man, a great artist. There were many readings and much entertainment. Rhona had to tell me to get my ass back on the bus when it was time to leave . . . I was having such a good time. :-)
Tomorrow the workshop begins in earnest and I'm looking forward to it. I've put myself on the line bringing my novel here . . . with grad students and successful authors in my group . . . the whole thing could be potentially devastating . . . potentially life altering . . . potentially fantastic. It's all up in the air right now.
I took a few pics tonight and will post them when I get home or if I find a way to download them off my camera here. I'll try to keep blogging.
Mood: Slightly intoxicated
Drinking: nothing now . . . much wine earlier . . . and NOT the cheap stuff, the government issue
Listening To: keyboards clacking, beeping on screens, printing . . . this is a computer lab
Hair: Stunning if I do say so myself
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Ain't That the Truth!
| Your Career Type: Artistic |
 You are expressive, original, and independent. Your talents lie in your artistic abilities: creative writing, drama, crafts, music, or art. You would make an excellent: Actor - Art Teacher - Book Editor Clothes Designer - Comedian - Composer Dancer - DJ - Graphic Designer Illustrator - Musician - Sculptor - Writer The worst career options for your are conventional careers, like bank teller or secretary. |
Eve of Destruction
Spent the day preparing myself . . . laundry, tweezing, waxing, getting a hair cut, dyeing . . . gonna look great! Will that wow them? . . . Not friggin' likely. Hopefully the story will kick in and someone will get what I'm driving at. Still nervous. Still excited. Basically freaked out. Oh well. This is it then.
Mood: Smidgen Giddy
Drinking: Wine . . . The good stuff (Wolfe Blass)
Listening To: The rain on the roof
Hair: Cut, dyed, smoothed . . . it's beautiful!
Mood: Smidgen Giddy
Drinking: Wine . . . The good stuff (Wolfe Blass)
Listening To: The rain on the roof
Hair: Cut, dyed, smoothed . . . it's beautiful!
Friday, July 08, 2005
I Believe When I Fall In Love This Time It Will Be Forever
Have you seen that Moosehead Light commercial where the guy has the cottage that he loans to a friend who needs a place, a girlfriend that he gives to a guy who just broke up, and so on . . . but when it comes to the last beer in the cooler he snags it for himself? Seen that one yet? I have such a huge crush on that guy!! There's just something about him, his facial expressions . . . what a cutie! Don't you think? Anybody else notice him? . . . He reminds me of someone, but I can't put my finger on it.
I just finished watching the movie Joyride on tv, hadn't seen it . . . could've lived without seeing it, but it was okay I guess. It's another exciting Friday night in Sackville. Every weekend someone in the neighborhood either sets off fireworks or fires off shots . . . I like to think it's fireworks . . . but it does sound a lot like gunshot. Makes me a little nervous. A half-dozen shots about a half hour ago. Crazy rednecks! I mean yes, lots of shooting going on around the Miramichi too . . . but I'll take the rednecks I know anyday over the ones I don't.
I still remember the night Teddy was shooting, gonna kill everyone. One of those clear nights where you can hear every sound for miles. They might as well have been right in the yard, the voices were so clear. I could hear him coming out the lane after them boys, shooting, yelling "Come on you cocksuckers!" Bang! "I'm gonna shoot yuz!" Bang! It was the closest I ever came to calling the police but I thought it only make it worse, that someone would get killed for sure if the cops showed up with weapons too. Still with Sherry and Gary living right there I was worried about stray bullets. And they slept through the whole thing! Which is crazy!
Aww, poor Teddy, never stood a chance though. I used to babysit him. They were the worse behaved children in the history of children I bet . . . although some of those kids you see on those nanny tv shows might give them a run for their money. Even then Teddy wasn't above coming at me with the gun or a machete. I remember him having a machete in bed with him that was longer than he was. Sleeping with it like a teddy bear. Little boy with the big man's voice. His older sister would just stand in the middle of the kitchen and screech . . . for hours . . . just screech for no reason. Beejay was my favourite, couldn't talk, always hiding behind my legs, just loved to be hugged and picked up. Craving attention. She pulled at my heartstrings.
Their mother would tell me she was just going to town shopping. I'd go up at 8 or 9 in the morning and never see her again until 3 or 4 the next morning. They'd all land back after a dance or something, have a big party or a fight in the dooryard depending on the mood. I was always nervous when Lyle and Marty would show up plastered . . . showing off . . . just couldn't be up to them. I'd always walk home real quick. Ironic to think of such things now . . . after having been with Marty for years . . . with Teddy, Beejay and their mother gone. Must be two years now for Teddy . . . When they start shooting around here, my first instinct is to listen for that gruff voice but in a blink I remember where I am, that these aren't the boys from the road, and Teddy's gone God love him.
Busy day tomorrow to get ready to leave on Sunday. I went out and bought some supplies to take with me . . . juice boxes, cereal bars, candy . . . In the candy department cheap is not the way to go, very disappointed with my 99 cent bag of toffees . . . I could've splurged another 50 cents or even less and got the real thing . . . oh well, I'm a poor person now, living off cheap candy. I might not be able to blog while I'm away . . . but I'm going to try. If not I'll take notes and come back with lots of stuff I'm sure. New for me, I'll actually have a camera for this trip! That could be interesting. Though I still have not read the instructions and so have not figured out how to get a nice clear and unfuzzy shot . . . maybe I'll take the manual with me.
Mood: Antsy
Drinking: Pop
Listening To: Eyes of a Stranger, The Payolas
Hair: has an appointment to get snipped in the a.m.
I just finished watching the movie Joyride on tv, hadn't seen it . . . could've lived without seeing it, but it was okay I guess. It's another exciting Friday night in Sackville. Every weekend someone in the neighborhood either sets off fireworks or fires off shots . . . I like to think it's fireworks . . . but it does sound a lot like gunshot. Makes me a little nervous. A half-dozen shots about a half hour ago. Crazy rednecks! I mean yes, lots of shooting going on around the Miramichi too . . . but I'll take the rednecks I know anyday over the ones I don't.
I still remember the night Teddy was shooting, gonna kill everyone. One of those clear nights where you can hear every sound for miles. They might as well have been right in the yard, the voices were so clear. I could hear him coming out the lane after them boys, shooting, yelling "Come on you cocksuckers!" Bang! "I'm gonna shoot yuz!" Bang! It was the closest I ever came to calling the police but I thought it only make it worse, that someone would get killed for sure if the cops showed up with weapons too. Still with Sherry and Gary living right there I was worried about stray bullets. And they slept through the whole thing! Which is crazy!
Aww, poor Teddy, never stood a chance though. I used to babysit him. They were the worse behaved children in the history of children I bet . . . although some of those kids you see on those nanny tv shows might give them a run for their money. Even then Teddy wasn't above coming at me with the gun or a machete. I remember him having a machete in bed with him that was longer than he was. Sleeping with it like a teddy bear. Little boy with the big man's voice. His older sister would just stand in the middle of the kitchen and screech . . . for hours . . . just screech for no reason. Beejay was my favourite, couldn't talk, always hiding behind my legs, just loved to be hugged and picked up. Craving attention. She pulled at my heartstrings.
Their mother would tell me she was just going to town shopping. I'd go up at 8 or 9 in the morning and never see her again until 3 or 4 the next morning. They'd all land back after a dance or something, have a big party or a fight in the dooryard depending on the mood. I was always nervous when Lyle and Marty would show up plastered . . . showing off . . . just couldn't be up to them. I'd always walk home real quick. Ironic to think of such things now . . . after having been with Marty for years . . . with Teddy, Beejay and their mother gone. Must be two years now for Teddy . . . When they start shooting around here, my first instinct is to listen for that gruff voice but in a blink I remember where I am, that these aren't the boys from the road, and Teddy's gone God love him.
Busy day tomorrow to get ready to leave on Sunday. I went out and bought some supplies to take with me . . . juice boxes, cereal bars, candy . . . In the candy department cheap is not the way to go, very disappointed with my 99 cent bag of toffees . . . I could've splurged another 50 cents or even less and got the real thing . . . oh well, I'm a poor person now, living off cheap candy. I might not be able to blog while I'm away . . . but I'm going to try. If not I'll take notes and come back with lots of stuff I'm sure. New for me, I'll actually have a camera for this trip! That could be interesting. Though I still have not read the instructions and so have not figured out how to get a nice clear and unfuzzy shot . . . maybe I'll take the manual with me.
Mood: Antsy
Drinking: Pop
Listening To: Eyes of a Stranger, The Payolas
Hair: has an appointment to get snipped in the a.m.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Carnage
At least 33 dead in London this morning as a series of four terrorist bombings shook the city.
33 dead and we care. We care big time. Because these are people like you and me. People we can relate to, heading out to work or school or daycare in the morning rush hour. These people die and we stop and take notice, a shudder of relief washes over us as we thank God for our own safety, tears drip down our faces as we grieve for the dead, sympathize with the families left behind.
In the coming days every newspaper, news magazine, television and radio station will analyze this item from every conceivable angle, deliver previously unseen amateur photos and footage taken by tourists, put names and faces and life stories to the lost, dub the whole event with some cute catch-phrase that'll stick throughout history . . .
33 people, maybe a few more . . . and all the eyes of the civilized world turn toward London . . .
. . .
This many children die in Africa every two minutes . . . 40 kids, every 2 minutes . . . and we don't give a flying fuck . . . I'm sick of the media. I'm sick of the naysayers, the pessimists . . . I'm sick of it all.
33 dead and we care. We care big time. Because these are people like you and me. People we can relate to, heading out to work or school or daycare in the morning rush hour. These people die and we stop and take notice, a shudder of relief washes over us as we thank God for our own safety, tears drip down our faces as we grieve for the dead, sympathize with the families left behind.
In the coming days every newspaper, news magazine, television and radio station will analyze this item from every conceivable angle, deliver previously unseen amateur photos and footage taken by tourists, put names and faces and life stories to the lost, dub the whole event with some cute catch-phrase that'll stick throughout history . . .
33 people, maybe a few more . . . and all the eyes of the civilized world turn toward London . . .
. . .
This many children die in Africa every two minutes . . . 40 kids, every 2 minutes . . . and we don't give a flying fuck . . . I'm sick of the media. I'm sick of the naysayers, the pessimists . . . I'm sick of it all.
My Writing Workshop
I've been asked to conduct at least one (maybe more) writing workshop at the Community Access Centre in Blackville this fall. This is something new for me. I gave a workshop to a bunch of kids doing a print magazine at the Fellowship Centre about a dozen years ago . . . I did an exercise once during a presentation at the Mighty Staff Meeting . . . but other than that . . . I've taken a lot of workshops.
If ever I'm going to become sustainable as a writer I'll have to give workshops. That's just the way it goes. Workshops, readings, sales go hand-in-hand. So this is as good a way to practice as any other. It will be a volunteer gig for me, a free workshop for participants. But if I could get my confidence level up in this area then this would be something I'd have that I could market and sell.
So I'm looking at a 2-3 hour gig some evening or on a Saturday (probably on a Saturday given that I'll have to go home to do it, but whatever works). Basically I gave the co-ordinator three different areas that I'm confident I can undertake and asked her to pick the one that would appeal to the most people. These are the choices I gave her:
1. Creative Writing This would suit people who are interested in writing fiction or poetry, whether it's sci-fi, romance, writing for children, rhyming poems or free verse, song lyrics, etc. Anything creative like that. The session would focus on getting started, learning the basics. We'd do some writing exercises to stimulate their creativity. These would be exercises that help generate new ideas for stories, characters, poems, etc. and they'd be able to take this knowledge home and use it too. I'd also touch on things they need to know in order to get published. Tips & tricks. And in keeping with the Access Centre theme we'd take a look at literary ezines, eBooks, and serial publishing online.
2. Non-fiction This would be good for people who want to write but they're more into essays than fiction or poetry. It would also be good for anyone who owns a business because this could be a way for them to generate their own free publicity. In this session I'd talk about how everyone can write articles, especially for online publications like Bread 'n Molasses and other online magazines. Everyone has a speciality. We'd do exercises to determine what their areas of expertise are and then narrow it down to a single topic for an article. I'd teach them how to structure an article, how to write it, and what to do once it's written.
3. Life Writing This is wide open as far as who might find it interesting because life writing is for everyone. So basically this would be good for anyone who has any interest in writing, and publishing as well I guess. Life writing can be journaling or blogging, memoir, etc. We'd look at how everyone has a story. Nobody's stories are the same and no story is ever wrong. How life writing can be therapeutic. We'd do exercises to help them get started, finding their voices, unlocking memories, etc. I could teach them how to set up their own blogs. Discuss turning a blog or journal entry into a personal essay for publication in an ezine. And take a look at when blogs become books or eBooks (and even movies!)
I'm not rooting for any one in particular, I can get equally excited about each topic. I guess I'll have to wait and see which one she thinks will fly. So readers from the Blackville area the big question is . . . would you take any of these workshops with me leading them? They are free afterall. Any of them sound interesting at all? Or are these synopses too vague? Comment people, comment.
Mood: Upbeat
Drinking: Coffee!! Give me Coffee!
Listening To: Bob Seger, Turn the Page
Hair: I'm calling the salon today . . . really I am
If ever I'm going to become sustainable as a writer I'll have to give workshops. That's just the way it goes. Workshops, readings, sales go hand-in-hand. So this is as good a way to practice as any other. It will be a volunteer gig for me, a free workshop for participants. But if I could get my confidence level up in this area then this would be something I'd have that I could market and sell.
So I'm looking at a 2-3 hour gig some evening or on a Saturday (probably on a Saturday given that I'll have to go home to do it, but whatever works). Basically I gave the co-ordinator three different areas that I'm confident I can undertake and asked her to pick the one that would appeal to the most people. These are the choices I gave her:
1. Creative Writing This would suit people who are interested in writing fiction or poetry, whether it's sci-fi, romance, writing for children, rhyming poems or free verse, song lyrics, etc. Anything creative like that. The session would focus on getting started, learning the basics. We'd do some writing exercises to stimulate their creativity. These would be exercises that help generate new ideas for stories, characters, poems, etc. and they'd be able to take this knowledge home and use it too. I'd also touch on things they need to know in order to get published. Tips & tricks. And in keeping with the Access Centre theme we'd take a look at literary ezines, eBooks, and serial publishing online.
2. Non-fiction This would be good for people who want to write but they're more into essays than fiction or poetry. It would also be good for anyone who owns a business because this could be a way for them to generate their own free publicity. In this session I'd talk about how everyone can write articles, especially for online publications like Bread 'n Molasses and other online magazines. Everyone has a speciality. We'd do exercises to determine what their areas of expertise are and then narrow it down to a single topic for an article. I'd teach them how to structure an article, how to write it, and what to do once it's written.
3. Life Writing This is wide open as far as who might find it interesting because life writing is for everyone. So basically this would be good for anyone who has any interest in writing, and publishing as well I guess. Life writing can be journaling or blogging, memoir, etc. We'd look at how everyone has a story. Nobody's stories are the same and no story is ever wrong. How life writing can be therapeutic. We'd do exercises to help them get started, finding their voices, unlocking memories, etc. I could teach them how to set up their own blogs. Discuss turning a blog or journal entry into a personal essay for publication in an ezine. And take a look at when blogs become books or eBooks (and even movies!)
I'm not rooting for any one in particular, I can get equally excited about each topic. I guess I'll have to wait and see which one she thinks will fly. So readers from the Blackville area the big question is . . . would you take any of these workshops with me leading them? They are free afterall. Any of them sound interesting at all? Or are these synopses too vague? Comment people, comment.
Mood: Upbeat
Drinking: Coffee!! Give me Coffee!
Listening To: Bob Seger, Turn the Page
Hair: I'm calling the salon today . . . really I am
My Fabulous Gay Wedding
Every week I tune into My Fabulous Gay Wedding after Dancing with the Stars . . . in the beginning because there just wasn't anything else on besides the news . . . but now because I must confess I just love these weddings! They are fabulous! And they happen in Toronto and it's all very real. I could imagine myself at one of these events. Every week I bawl my eyes out. With Stacy's nuptials coming right up too I'm in the marriage frame of mind, worried about my hair and dress. My God! She's getting married on Aug 19th and I've got nothing! Breathe. Breathe. It'll be okay. I always look good in green. Surely something can be done to tame these wild locks of mine. And it's not about me anyway, it's all about her. Stacy's having a day and I'm allowed to participate! Oh the excitement! I'm overjoyed.
And speaking of overjoyed. How happy was I that Kelly won tonight on Dancing with the Stars?! Not that I didn't love John, because I did. But I was a Joey fan all the way and if Joey couldn't win . . . then I was voting for the long shot and that was Kelly. I hear that Fox has seized upon the concept and are launching their own version, Skating with the Stars . . . same thing only figure skating I presume. I am a fan of figure skating . . . so, we'll have to wait and see on that one. Has Big Brother started yet? Every year I swear I'm not going to get sucked into the Big Brother house . . . and every year I am SOOOO sucked into the Big Brother house. What is wrong with me? I'm a cheesy reality show addict. I NEVER watch Survivor anymore because it doesn't excite me, same old/same old, yet I can't wait to see what's going to happen in Hell's Kitchen next and I'm dying to see if the girl will go with the Average Joe this time around. The only classy reality show I watch is The Amazing Race . . . it's tops in my books, I'd give up all the rest if I had to choose between them and it . . . unless of course Rob and Amber were out doing something or Trista and Ryan . . . yeah, those reality couples really suck me in.
Maybe I'm just a sucker for mindless tv. I caught an episode of CTV's new show Robson Arms on Friday night (with a cast surprisingly familar from Corner Gas) and I thought it was really good. Very entertaining. Funny! I like it when Canadians make their own shows. We're really good at it. We've been making good shows down in the U.S. forever, it's about time we started doing them here. If only there was money to be made from such things . . . on an equal calibre I mean. Even footing with the U.S. then maybe all of our talent wouldn't migrate south. On Showcase the other night while I waited for the new episode of Queer as Folk (which I LOVE! So sad I'm only discovering this show in its last season. Must get DVDs!) there was a show called Slings and Arrows, which I've never seen before, is obviously Canadian, and has probably since been cancelled because this episode was copyright 2003 . . . I LOVED it!! It's about a theatre festival like Stratford and all the craziness that goes on with actors, directors, the festival board, etc. I had a good laugh.
Yes I know . . . I watch entirely too much television . . . it is a weakness.
Mood: sleepy
Drinking: cheap south american shiraz to help me sleep (medicinal purposes only)
Listening To: the keyboard keys clicking under my fingers as I tap out my message to you and only you
Hair: it's a problem . . .
And speaking of overjoyed. How happy was I that Kelly won tonight on Dancing with the Stars?! Not that I didn't love John, because I did. But I was a Joey fan all the way and if Joey couldn't win . . . then I was voting for the long shot and that was Kelly. I hear that Fox has seized upon the concept and are launching their own version, Skating with the Stars . . . same thing only figure skating I presume. I am a fan of figure skating . . . so, we'll have to wait and see on that one. Has Big Brother started yet? Every year I swear I'm not going to get sucked into the Big Brother house . . . and every year I am SOOOO sucked into the Big Brother house. What is wrong with me? I'm a cheesy reality show addict. I NEVER watch Survivor anymore because it doesn't excite me, same old/same old, yet I can't wait to see what's going to happen in Hell's Kitchen next and I'm dying to see if the girl will go with the Average Joe this time around. The only classy reality show I watch is The Amazing Race . . . it's tops in my books, I'd give up all the rest if I had to choose between them and it . . . unless of course Rob and Amber were out doing something or Trista and Ryan . . . yeah, those reality couples really suck me in.
Maybe I'm just a sucker for mindless tv. I caught an episode of CTV's new show Robson Arms on Friday night (with a cast surprisingly familar from Corner Gas) and I thought it was really good. Very entertaining. Funny! I like it when Canadians make their own shows. We're really good at it. We've been making good shows down in the U.S. forever, it's about time we started doing them here. If only there was money to be made from such things . . . on an equal calibre I mean. Even footing with the U.S. then maybe all of our talent wouldn't migrate south. On Showcase the other night while I waited for the new episode of Queer as Folk (which I LOVE! So sad I'm only discovering this show in its last season. Must get DVDs!) there was a show called Slings and Arrows, which I've never seen before, is obviously Canadian, and has probably since been cancelled because this episode was copyright 2003 . . . I LOVED it!! It's about a theatre festival like Stratford and all the craziness that goes on with actors, directors, the festival board, etc. I had a good laugh.
Yes I know . . . I watch entirely too much television . . . it is a weakness.
Mood: sleepy
Drinking: cheap south american shiraz to help me sleep (medicinal purposes only)
Listening To: the keyboard keys clicking under my fingers as I tap out my message to you and only you
Hair: it's a problem . . .
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
BNL Blog
They don't post nearly enough for my liking but the Barenaked Ladies Blog is one of my favourite places to visit. Check it out.
What kind of kisser are you?
Part Passionate Kisser |
 For you, kissing is about all about following your urges If someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of story You can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kisses A total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble |
Part Expert Kisser |
 You're a kissing pro, but it's all about quality and not quantity You've perfected your kissing technique and can knock anyone's socks off And you're adaptable, giving each partner what they crave When it comes down to it, your kisses are truly unforgettable |
Freezing!
It's damn cold here. DAMN COLD!! I've got sweaters on top of sweaters, wrapped in my comforter, the heat cranked . . . and I can't get warm. It's that damp cold that gets right in and settles on my bones too. Blah!
I'm a little stressed. I think I'm nervous about going to Fredericton next week. Worried about who is going to be in this workshop with me, will I be trashed, how will I survive university dorm living and a shared bath, can I survive on just lunch everyday and how will I pay for everything. I've told myself to just go and not worry, use the credit card and worry about paying it later, just go and get the most out of this . . . because it's a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'll never be able to go again . . . still I'm having trouble sleeping, trouble focusing during the day, and many knots in my stomach.
I'm even starting to feel a little sickly. I don't know if it's the weather, my nerves, or some combination of both things. But I had a bag of microwave popcorn today for dinner . . . and that's all I've had all day. When I stop eating, you know I'm not feeling like myself ;-)
Mood: Damp
Drinking: some sort of generic diet lemon-lime soda
Listening To: my landlord cutting up wood or something in the workshop
Hair: . . . I can't think about it
I'm a little stressed. I think I'm nervous about going to Fredericton next week. Worried about who is going to be in this workshop with me, will I be trashed, how will I survive university dorm living and a shared bath, can I survive on just lunch everyday and how will I pay for everything. I've told myself to just go and not worry, use the credit card and worry about paying it later, just go and get the most out of this . . . because it's a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'll never be able to go again . . . still I'm having trouble sleeping, trouble focusing during the day, and many knots in my stomach.
I'm even starting to feel a little sickly. I don't know if it's the weather, my nerves, or some combination of both things. But I had a bag of microwave popcorn today for dinner . . . and that's all I've had all day. When I stop eating, you know I'm not feeling like myself ;-)
Mood: Damp
Drinking: some sort of generic diet lemon-lime soda
Listening To: my landlord cutting up wood or something in the workshop
Hair: . . . I can't think about it
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
A Good Idea
The city of Fredericton is installing video surveillance cameras in the downtown core. I think this is an excellent idea. I think it might deter people and if not it should help with catching and charging them. I don't see it as an invasion of privacy. If you're out on a public street, you have no privacy. And if you're not prone to doing illegal things I don't see why you would care if you're on camera or not. So much of the time we're on camera and don't even realise it. In the UK video surveillance is everywhere and it's helped with crime and terrorism. If bad things are happening to good people in Fredericton's downtown, I say do whatever it takes to clean up the trouble before it gets outta hand.
The Best Things In Life Are Free . . .
. . . But you can give them to the birds and bees. I want money. That's what I want.
My dreams were filled with expensive things last night. Yet necessary things. My dreams were filled with the agony of worrying about where I would get the money to pay for these things. It was one of those nights where I instantly fall into a deep coma sleep because I'm so tired . . . and then my mind goes into hyper-drive seeming to know that I'm so deeply under that I'll be a captive audience for at least 10 hours. And I'm whacked with dream after dream after dream, each one posing a different more stressful scenario than the one before.
I slept soundly and for many hours . . . and now I'm freaking Zombie Woman. Oy!
So obviously I'm a bit more worried about money than I may allow myself to believe in the waking hours. Okay brain, thanks, I get it. Next time could you kick in right before I buy something foolish that I REALLY don't need and leave my sleep to me.
But one good thing about being whacked by your brain in the middle of the night . . . I've awoke with the incredible uncontrollable desire to get stories in the mail to paying markets. I am prompted to action. Of course it would take at least a year to see any money should any of those stories find success . . . but still, what else am I to do?
Mood: Exhausted
Drinking: zip, nothing, nada
Listening To: Take a guess. Hint--it roars through the backyard next door every f-ing day!
Hair: recently hot oiled and deep cleansed but still frizzy which can mean only one thing . . . I've got to bite the bullet for real and get a cut
My dreams were filled with expensive things last night. Yet necessary things. My dreams were filled with the agony of worrying about where I would get the money to pay for these things. It was one of those nights where I instantly fall into a deep coma sleep because I'm so tired . . . and then my mind goes into hyper-drive seeming to know that I'm so deeply under that I'll be a captive audience for at least 10 hours. And I'm whacked with dream after dream after dream, each one posing a different more stressful scenario than the one before.
I slept soundly and for many hours . . . and now I'm freaking Zombie Woman. Oy!
So obviously I'm a bit more worried about money than I may allow myself to believe in the waking hours. Okay brain, thanks, I get it. Next time could you kick in right before I buy something foolish that I REALLY don't need and leave my sleep to me.
But one good thing about being whacked by your brain in the middle of the night . . . I've awoke with the incredible uncontrollable desire to get stories in the mail to paying markets. I am prompted to action. Of course it would take at least a year to see any money should any of those stories find success . . . but still, what else am I to do?
Mood: Exhausted
Drinking: zip, nothing, nada
Listening To: Take a guess. Hint--it roars through the backyard next door every f-ing day!
Hair: recently hot oiled and deep cleansed but still frizzy which can mean only one thing . . . I've got to bite the bullet for real and get a cut
Monday, July 04, 2005
Legally Married
It's official. Same-sex couples can be legally married in New Brunswick as of today. Read the story here. I've heard a lot of good stuff about this Unitarian Fellowship in Fredericton. I was surprised and delighted to see Joanne Elder's name associated with it. If I lived in Fredericton I would definitely check out a service and see what it's all about.
Mood: Exhuberant
Drinking: Coffee, not the cheap stuff I bought at Co-Op but the "good" organic stuff from Jacob's Larder
Listening To: my landlord appears to be vacuuming
Hair: a cut is on my list of things to do this week . . . still, I'm afraid . . . where to go? Who won't ruin me? Where is the price set just right?
Mood: Exhuberant
Drinking: Coffee, not the cheap stuff I bought at Co-Op but the "good" organic stuff from Jacob's Larder
Listening To: my landlord appears to be vacuuming
Hair: a cut is on my list of things to do this week . . . still, I'm afraid . . . where to go? Who won't ruin me? Where is the price set just right?
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Trailer Park Dudes
Sunday night anxiety is dogging me already and it's only 10:30 . . . and the neighbor dudes are shooting off fireworks, which DOES NOT help . . . I made a list of all the stuff I need and want to accomplish this week and it wouldn't fit on a single page, I had to cram. Thought this would make me feel better . . . didn't! I'm headed into panic mode, taking deep cleansing breaths . . .
I mean honest to God!! What is up with this affliction?! I would understand if I had to get up tomorrow at the crack of dawn to get into some stuffy office with the most hateful boss that is just dying to whip me if I step outta line . . . then I could feel a little anxiety. But Sunday night for me now is just like any other night -- there is NO difference! I can stay up all night and work if I want or I can get up early tomorrow and do it or I can get up late tomorrow and do it -- as long as I get the stuff done, it doesn't matter when I do it. I don't have to go anywhere to do it. My boss is not going to be standing over me waiting for me to screw up. I've got the best job in the world!!
So why the anxiety every Sunday night like clockwork? WHY?! I don't get it. I mean obviously I'm doing this to myself. I am the cranky boss on my own shoulder. Logically the whole thing is silly . . . yet I can't make it go away, try as I might. I was okay here for about two weeks, then the anxiety kicked in. Is it because the only time I allow myself to see the full picture is on Sunday night, and the big picture is overwhelming? Does anyone else suffer from this? Any thoughts?
I mean honest to God!! What is up with this affliction?! I would understand if I had to get up tomorrow at the crack of dawn to get into some stuffy office with the most hateful boss that is just dying to whip me if I step outta line . . . then I could feel a little anxiety. But Sunday night for me now is just like any other night -- there is NO difference! I can stay up all night and work if I want or I can get up early tomorrow and do it or I can get up late tomorrow and do it -- as long as I get the stuff done, it doesn't matter when I do it. I don't have to go anywhere to do it. My boss is not going to be standing over me waiting for me to screw up. I've got the best job in the world!!
So why the anxiety every Sunday night like clockwork? WHY?! I don't get it. I mean obviously I'm doing this to myself. I am the cranky boss on my own shoulder. Logically the whole thing is silly . . . yet I can't make it go away, try as I might. I was okay here for about two weeks, then the anxiety kicked in. Is it because the only time I allow myself to see the full picture is on Sunday night, and the big picture is overwhelming? Does anyone else suffer from this? Any thoughts?
Hanging Up
Thinking about birth order a lot on a suggestion in an earlier comment. Then Hanging Up comes on this afternoon with Diane Keaton, Meg Ryan and Lisa Kudrow. Where Walter Mathau is their dying father. There are some similarities between these characters and my relationship with my sisters, though I don't identify most with Diane Keaton's character, who is the oldest child. And I really don't see any of my youngest sister in Lisa Kudrow's character, who is the youngest child. I didn't tend to, but I ended up watching the entire thing.
I know some day we'll have to go through something like that with our parents. This has been high in my mind since Grammie's passing anyway. I sometimes worry that I'll be edged out. Because in life I do often feel edged out. Mostly because I don't have any grandchildren, I'm more easily ignored. I envision having to fight my way in, bring out the claws in order to get any one-on-one quality time . . . and I'm not sure I'll bother. I'm more apt to silently skulk away with regret and let resentment fester. But at least maybe if I'm fully aware of this tendency within myself, I might catch myself and be able to reach some other conclusion when the time comes. Maybe it won't be like that at all. It's insane to worry about such things now.
There's a scene in the movie at the end, after their father has died, at Thanksgiving, when the sisters are all in the kitchen cooking a turkey together and sipping red wine. They get into a bit of a food fight and it's all fun, the stereotypical family fun scene. And it reminds me of one Christmas at my mom's house. I remember all of us being in the kitchen and the best of the Beatles tape playing on the stereo. I remember everyone singing. Well, all the girls anyway. My sisters, my mother and myself. I remember coming down the hall from the bathroom and stopping just at the edge to the room by the table and watching for a second. I remember thinking that it would never be more perfect than it was just then at that moment with smiles on everyone's faces, the Beatles blaring, the women of my family dancing around one another preparing the holiday feast.
And I was right. It was never the same again, never as perfect as that moment. I'm glad I took the time to stop and acknowledge what was happening because now without having a photo, without having any keepsake, it's a moment etched in my memory that I'll always cherish.
I know some day we'll have to go through something like that with our parents. This has been high in my mind since Grammie's passing anyway. I sometimes worry that I'll be edged out. Because in life I do often feel edged out. Mostly because I don't have any grandchildren, I'm more easily ignored. I envision having to fight my way in, bring out the claws in order to get any one-on-one quality time . . . and I'm not sure I'll bother. I'm more apt to silently skulk away with regret and let resentment fester. But at least maybe if I'm fully aware of this tendency within myself, I might catch myself and be able to reach some other conclusion when the time comes. Maybe it won't be like that at all. It's insane to worry about such things now.
There's a scene in the movie at the end, after their father has died, at Thanksgiving, when the sisters are all in the kitchen cooking a turkey together and sipping red wine. They get into a bit of a food fight and it's all fun, the stereotypical family fun scene. And it reminds me of one Christmas at my mom's house. I remember all of us being in the kitchen and the best of the Beatles tape playing on the stereo. I remember everyone singing. Well, all the girls anyway. My sisters, my mother and myself. I remember coming down the hall from the bathroom and stopping just at the edge to the room by the table and watching for a second. I remember thinking that it would never be more perfect than it was just then at that moment with smiles on everyone's faces, the Beatles blaring, the women of my family dancing around one another preparing the holiday feast.
And I was right. It was never the same again, never as perfect as that moment. I'm glad I took the time to stop and acknowledge what was happening because now without having a photo, without having any keepsake, it's a moment etched in my memory that I'll always cherish.
Crumbs from Your Table
One of my favourite celebrity guest stars showed up in my dream last night. And no it was not Jon Bon Jovi regardless of how much I lusted over him yesterday in that lovely brown shirt. Although he is a favourite, he doesn't seem to drop by quite as much anymore . . . maybe that will change when their new album comes out this fall and I go Bon Jovi full immersion again.
No, last night's celebrity guest star in my dream was . . . none other than . . . the delightful . . . Mister Matt Damon. And what a fabulous dream it was! I was working for a television station, writing on a lot of different shows but mostly sitcoms. I think this stemmed from the idea of collaborative writing that we discussed this week in my writing workshop. I decided I didn't like it very much and that I'd never be suited to work on anything like a film or tv show where nothing is ever really your own, it's a group process.
In the dream I was doing a fine job though and enjoying my work very much, when all of a sudden one day Matt Damon walks into a meeting where I'd been pitching a bunch of ideas for new shows. I think I was the head writer on the team, the mouthpiece, and that's why I wasn't bummed out by the whole collaborative process. Anyway, Matt Damon basically sneaks in after the meeting has started and slides into an empty seat around the boardroom table giving a polite nod of hello to anyone who made eye contact. The pro that I am, I didn't lose focus and continued with my presentation. Even when Matt removed a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and began scribbling furiously, I kept my composure.
When the presentation concluded some of the network execs thanked me with a hand shake and left . . . but Matt stayed, scribbling away. Nobody else seemed to pay him any attention, but having led the presentation I didn't feel like I could leave until everyone else did in case there were further questions or comments. So I just started quietly gathering my things together and waited for the room to clear out. And it did, people trickled out of the room one by one until finally there was just me at one end of the huge board room table standing awkwardly waiting, and Matt at the other end, sitting, completely focused on his notebook and writing.
Finally he stopped scribbling, closed the notebook, leaned back in his chair, looked at me and grinned. He didn't say anything. This went on for what seemed like forever and I started to get uncomfortable under his gaze and that huge bright smile. My hands started to fidget, I was tapping my toe on the floor, biting my lower lip. And just when I thought I wouldn't be able to stand it for another second, he leapt out of the chair and sprang toward me talking a mile a minute. The word gregarious comes to mind. He grabbed me by the elbow, steered me out of the boardroom, down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking lot and into his black sports car, without taking a pause for breath.
He loved my ideas and wanted to develop all of them. Ever since a guest appearance on Will and Grace, he had wanted to do more television. He'd done movies. He'd been successful in film. He was sick of being the movie star. He had an Oscar. (At this point he gestured into the back seat as we were driving and I looked to see Oscar tossed carelessly back there.) He was looking for a new challenge, a new achievement. He wanted to be the first film star to not only be successful in a tv series but in a series of tv series of varying genres . . . and he wanted me to develop and write all of them, on my own or he'd assemble the best team for me, whichever I preferred. The network had given him the green light to do whatever the hell he wanted and he wanted me. I worked for him now.
It was too much for my little brain to absorb all at once. I was overwhelmed by his excitement and passion and the huge undertaking he had in mind. We drove to his house in the hills (a mansion really) and he told me he had a guest suite all ready for my arrival. It would be easier if I just stayed there for now. He wanted me close to bounce ideas off and we'd be working long hours and weekends. It would be more comfortable for both of us if we were sequestered like this. He had a pool, a sauna, a gym, tennis courts, a massage therapist on staff as well as a chef . . . I'd be well taken care of. Plus he was tripling my salary and promoting me.
It was like a dream! (Well yes, it WAS a dream . . . but it was like a dream within a dream). Then in that movie montage way of my dreams, a series of images flash forwarded us through several months . . . Us wearing plush white bathrobes in a huge sunken living room, him lying on the couch talking and waving his hands, me sitting on the floor at a coffee table, papers strewn everywhere, jotting down the notes. Him knocking on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, a fire in his eyes, talking incessantly, and me wiping the sleep out of my eyes and noting the 4am time as I picked up pen and paper on my nightstand. Us outside on the tennis court pretending our rackets were swords and acting out a jousting scene. On the set in the studio and him consulting with me after a take, dressed in a knight's suit of armor . . .
There were way too many snippets that flashed by to list them all here. Needless to say we developed a close bond and friendship over these months where we lived together and made tv shows. He was always exhuberant and upbeat, so energetic and positive. He pushed everything to the limits, including me, and failure was never an option. I felt exhausted but pleased by the work I was doing. I should note that up to this point there is absolutely zero romantic interest going on, as difficult as that might seem to believe. It's a job, an opportunity, a professional collaboration, and he's one of the greatest people I've ever met . . . but romance hasn't crossed my mind. (in the dream!)
So there's this completely exhausting and rewarding year of developing all these different tv series for him, and then we find ourselves at the Emmy Awards. Unfortunately, I didn't dream the red carpet, but oh well can't have everything. So, I'm sitting beside Matt Damon at the Emmy Awards. It's a dinner with round tables and we're close to the stage because Matt is up for sooo many awards. And he's winning them. Best Actor in a Comedy. Best Actor in a Drama. Producer on this series. Director on that one. Best Guest Appearance on another . . . he's cleaning up. And I'm thrilled! Excited for all our shows. Excited for my friend. He's just beaming, ear to ear grin. And his acceptance speeches are so humble and honest and charming and yet . . . gregarious!
But because he's winning a lot, he's up and out of his seat a lot of the time. Throughout most of the dinner I find myself sitting beside a host of well dressed beautiful strangers, professional seat warmers. I'm absorbed in eating my filet mignon, pondering ideas for next season's shows, how to maintain this momentum, tuning out the awards for the most part because they've gone into the more technical ones. The guy sitting next to me looks like a less-tattooed and more dressed up Tommy Lee. He's very tanned and smiles at me. I return the smile and go back to my thoughts and food. The beef is excellent, the most tender I've ever had. Absolutely delicious. Everything seems over-the-top tasty, popping with flavour in my mouth. So yummy!
I'm completely focused on my food and my thoughts when the next presenter says they've never had this happen before, it's a first in the history of the Emmy Awards. It's the first time a single writer has been nominated five times with five different shows in a single category, effectively taking the award. And then they're saying my name, over and over. And I stop breathing. I'm shocked. Nobody told me. The man sitting next to me puts his hand on my forearm and I look up and it's not the Tommy Lee guy, it's Matt and he's beaming, "I wanted to surprise you, so I faked the nominations report." I'm speechless and the audience is clapping and I'm supposed to go to the stage and accept the award but I'm too overwhelmed. Time seems like it's slowed down. I'm digesting everything frame by frame. And I'm still looking into Matt's beaming face, into his sparkling eyes, and he leans in and whispers, "Go get it! You earned it. Nobody deserves it more. I'm so proud of you." Then he gives my arm a final squeeze. I look down at his hand there . . .
And then I wake up. What a great dream though! I do love it when celebrities drop by. It just makes it more intense and memorable somehow.
Mood: weakened
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Hall & Oates, Maneater
Hair: soon to be hot-oiled and deep conditioned
No, last night's celebrity guest star in my dream was . . . none other than . . . the delightful . . . Mister Matt Damon. And what a fabulous dream it was! I was working for a television station, writing on a lot of different shows but mostly sitcoms. I think this stemmed from the idea of collaborative writing that we discussed this week in my writing workshop. I decided I didn't like it very much and that I'd never be suited to work on anything like a film or tv show where nothing is ever really your own, it's a group process.
In the dream I was doing a fine job though and enjoying my work very much, when all of a sudden one day Matt Damon walks into a meeting where I'd been pitching a bunch of ideas for new shows. I think I was the head writer on the team, the mouthpiece, and that's why I wasn't bummed out by the whole collaborative process. Anyway, Matt Damon basically sneaks in after the meeting has started and slides into an empty seat around the boardroom table giving a polite nod of hello to anyone who made eye contact. The pro that I am, I didn't lose focus and continued with my presentation. Even when Matt removed a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and began scribbling furiously, I kept my composure.
When the presentation concluded some of the network execs thanked me with a hand shake and left . . . but Matt stayed, scribbling away. Nobody else seemed to pay him any attention, but having led the presentation I didn't feel like I could leave until everyone else did in case there were further questions or comments. So I just started quietly gathering my things together and waited for the room to clear out. And it did, people trickled out of the room one by one until finally there was just me at one end of the huge board room table standing awkwardly waiting, and Matt at the other end, sitting, completely focused on his notebook and writing.
Finally he stopped scribbling, closed the notebook, leaned back in his chair, looked at me and grinned. He didn't say anything. This went on for what seemed like forever and I started to get uncomfortable under his gaze and that huge bright smile. My hands started to fidget, I was tapping my toe on the floor, biting my lower lip. And just when I thought I wouldn't be able to stand it for another second, he leapt out of the chair and sprang toward me talking a mile a minute. The word gregarious comes to mind. He grabbed me by the elbow, steered me out of the boardroom, down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking lot and into his black sports car, without taking a pause for breath.
He loved my ideas and wanted to develop all of them. Ever since a guest appearance on Will and Grace, he had wanted to do more television. He'd done movies. He'd been successful in film. He was sick of being the movie star. He had an Oscar. (At this point he gestured into the back seat as we were driving and I looked to see Oscar tossed carelessly back there.) He was looking for a new challenge, a new achievement. He wanted to be the first film star to not only be successful in a tv series but in a series of tv series of varying genres . . . and he wanted me to develop and write all of them, on my own or he'd assemble the best team for me, whichever I preferred. The network had given him the green light to do whatever the hell he wanted and he wanted me. I worked for him now.
It was too much for my little brain to absorb all at once. I was overwhelmed by his excitement and passion and the huge undertaking he had in mind. We drove to his house in the hills (a mansion really) and he told me he had a guest suite all ready for my arrival. It would be easier if I just stayed there for now. He wanted me close to bounce ideas off and we'd be working long hours and weekends. It would be more comfortable for both of us if we were sequestered like this. He had a pool, a sauna, a gym, tennis courts, a massage therapist on staff as well as a chef . . . I'd be well taken care of. Plus he was tripling my salary and promoting me.
It was like a dream! (Well yes, it WAS a dream . . . but it was like a dream within a dream). Then in that movie montage way of my dreams, a series of images flash forwarded us through several months . . . Us wearing plush white bathrobes in a huge sunken living room, him lying on the couch talking and waving his hands, me sitting on the floor at a coffee table, papers strewn everywhere, jotting down the notes. Him knocking on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, a fire in his eyes, talking incessantly, and me wiping the sleep out of my eyes and noting the 4am time as I picked up pen and paper on my nightstand. Us outside on the tennis court pretending our rackets were swords and acting out a jousting scene. On the set in the studio and him consulting with me after a take, dressed in a knight's suit of armor . . .
There were way too many snippets that flashed by to list them all here. Needless to say we developed a close bond and friendship over these months where we lived together and made tv shows. He was always exhuberant and upbeat, so energetic and positive. He pushed everything to the limits, including me, and failure was never an option. I felt exhausted but pleased by the work I was doing. I should note that up to this point there is absolutely zero romantic interest going on, as difficult as that might seem to believe. It's a job, an opportunity, a professional collaboration, and he's one of the greatest people I've ever met . . . but romance hasn't crossed my mind. (in the dream!)
So there's this completely exhausting and rewarding year of developing all these different tv series for him, and then we find ourselves at the Emmy Awards. Unfortunately, I didn't dream the red carpet, but oh well can't have everything. So, I'm sitting beside Matt Damon at the Emmy Awards. It's a dinner with round tables and we're close to the stage because Matt is up for sooo many awards. And he's winning them. Best Actor in a Comedy. Best Actor in a Drama. Producer on this series. Director on that one. Best Guest Appearance on another . . . he's cleaning up. And I'm thrilled! Excited for all our shows. Excited for my friend. He's just beaming, ear to ear grin. And his acceptance speeches are so humble and honest and charming and yet . . . gregarious!
But because he's winning a lot, he's up and out of his seat a lot of the time. Throughout most of the dinner I find myself sitting beside a host of well dressed beautiful strangers, professional seat warmers. I'm absorbed in eating my filet mignon, pondering ideas for next season's shows, how to maintain this momentum, tuning out the awards for the most part because they've gone into the more technical ones. The guy sitting next to me looks like a less-tattooed and more dressed up Tommy Lee. He's very tanned and smiles at me. I return the smile and go back to my thoughts and food. The beef is excellent, the most tender I've ever had. Absolutely delicious. Everything seems over-the-top tasty, popping with flavour in my mouth. So yummy!
I'm completely focused on my food and my thoughts when the next presenter says they've never had this happen before, it's a first in the history of the Emmy Awards. It's the first time a single writer has been nominated five times with five different shows in a single category, effectively taking the award. And then they're saying my name, over and over. And I stop breathing. I'm shocked. Nobody told me. The man sitting next to me puts his hand on my forearm and I look up and it's not the Tommy Lee guy, it's Matt and he's beaming, "I wanted to surprise you, so I faked the nominations report." I'm speechless and the audience is clapping and I'm supposed to go to the stage and accept the award but I'm too overwhelmed. Time seems like it's slowed down. I'm digesting everything frame by frame. And I'm still looking into Matt's beaming face, into his sparkling eyes, and he leans in and whispers, "Go get it! You earned it. Nobody deserves it more. I'm so proud of you." Then he gives my arm a final squeeze. I look down at his hand there . . .
And then I wake up. What a great dream though! I do love it when celebrities drop by. It just makes it more intense and memorable somehow.
Mood: weakened
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Hall & Oates, Maneater
Hair: soon to be hot-oiled and deep conditioned
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Pigs Flew
Pigs flew today when Pink Floyd reunited for Live 8 in London. The worldwide concert closed moments ago with an all-star finale in Barrie led by Neil Young and his Keep on Rockin' in the Free World. Followed by what appeared to be an impromptu singing of the national anthem led by the Barenaked Ladies.
What an incredible day of music throughout the world! Favourite parts . . . when the doves took to the sky in Hyde Park during U2's Beautiful Day . . . the Barenaked Ladies . . . Neil Young . . . it's just too much to take in and absorb.
CTV is airing a 5 hour Best Of special right now with many performances from around the world that we didn't get to see earlier today and all of the best performances from throughout the day that you may want to see again or might have missed the first time around.
The last time they announced the numbers, 25 million people had signed the list. That's a lot of people but more are needed, sign if you haven't. www.live8live.com
What an incredible day of music throughout the world! Favourite parts . . . when the doves took to the sky in Hyde Park during U2's Beautiful Day . . . the Barenaked Ladies . . . Neil Young . . . it's just too much to take in and absorb.
CTV is airing a 5 hour Best Of special right now with many performances from around the world that we didn't get to see earlier today and all of the best performances from throughout the day that you may want to see again or might have missed the first time around.
The last time they announced the numbers, 25 million people had signed the list. That's a lot of people but more are needed, sign if you haven't. www.live8live.com
This Could Be The Best Day
Motley Crue is doing Dr. Feelgood right now. Saw the Who earlier in London. Also Robbie Williams was delightful. The crowd in Barrie booed Celine . . . I'm not much for her myself . . . but I think there's a time and place for booing and Live 8 isn't one of them. Her heart is kind of in the right place regardless of how you feel about her.
How about Gordon Lightfoot?! I think it was awesome that he was there and looking quite well too. I love him, he's such a Canadian icon and he sang some of my all-time favourite songs. I thought I saw a familiar face in the audience when he was performing. I did a quick double-take . . . and it was either who I think it was . . . or one of those freaky twin situations.
Really enjoyed Our Lady Peace and Jet and what about Jann Arden? Man, she was so emotional she couldn't even hardly stand to stay on the stage . . . and left before the music ended. With the mascara tears streaming down her cheeks, leaking out from behind her sunglasses, I cried again. What an emotional day I'm having! I'm not sure if she was crying for personal reasons related to that song and her parents or she was overcome by the enormity of the situation, but it was an emotional performance for sure.
I called my mother when Blue Rodeo was on to tell her to watch. Then added her and my dad's names to the list. Have you signed it yet? . . .
How about Gordon Lightfoot?! I think it was awesome that he was there and looking quite well too. I love him, he's such a Canadian icon and he sang some of my all-time favourite songs. I thought I saw a familiar face in the audience when he was performing. I did a quick double-take . . . and it was either who I think it was . . . or one of those freaky twin situations.
Really enjoyed Our Lady Peace and Jet and what about Jann Arden? Man, she was so emotional she couldn't even hardly stand to stay on the stage . . . and left before the music ended. With the mascara tears streaming down her cheeks, leaking out from behind her sunglasses, I cried again. What an emotional day I'm having! I'm not sure if she was crying for personal reasons related to that song and her parents or she was overcome by the enormity of the situation, but it was an emotional performance for sure.
I called my mother when Blue Rodeo was on to tell her to watch. Then added her and my dad's names to the list. Have you signed it yet? . . .
Tears are Not Enough
How hot was Jon Bon Jovi today?! Man! They've got a new album dropping in September and he must be spending some extra time in the gym to be ready to tour or something. Not that he doesn't always look hot but that shirt and pants were like a second skin and he's rock solid big time. Ritchie looked good too of course. Tico's hair is a bit longer, like back in the day. Didn't see David or Hugh. Too bad we were only shown one song, but at least there was that.
What a day so far! Bob is killing me with the film clips. I've been bawling my eyes out. Cried buckets during Annie Lennox, the snapping psa with all the stars, and then the reminder of the starving Ethopians . . . thank God at least that last little girl lived. One bright spot. I can't bear to think about the children dying. How can we let this happen? How can we have so much . . . and them nothing? It breaks my heart.
When I was watching that video I kept seeing my nieces and nephew. What if they were the ones suffering? Would we just sit back and let it happen, cynically believing we couldn't do anything to change it? I know we wouldn't. The richest countries in the world have the power to end poverty. It's all a matter of policy. Think about what that would mean to all those kids, all those nieces and nephews, sons and daughters. It blows my mind. Sign the friggin' list if you haven't already. Tell your friends. Email them the link. Email the PM and tell him to introduce the policy at the G-8 Summit. It's such a little thing to do, but it could absolutely change the future of the world.
While the show is being broadcast all day long on CTV in Canada . . . I'm not seeing anything on any of my U.S. networks . . . is this another thing the American public will be in the dark about? Another thing the powers that be in that country don't want people to know? Hopefully not.
Favourite highlights of the concert for me so far has to be Bryan Adams and Bruce Cockburn. Bryan Adams looked good today, healthy. The last time I saw him he seemed sickly. He was awesome to watch and finishing with the bit from Tears Are Not Enough really drove the point home. Bruce Cockburn was a pleasant surprise. I hadn't heard he was going to be there. His songwriting has always been about the issues, increasing social awareness, and hearing songs like Rocketlauncher at the concert today really gave me a whole new perspective on those songs. It was almost like hearing them for the first time.
I love seeing Seamus hanging out in his t-shirt, being the casual cool dude that he always was on CTV's Talk TV network before the Canada A.M. gig. He's a fan of rock music for sure. I love that! And even Ben is doing a fine job today surprisingly. He is not his usual cheesy "reading the teleprompter" self . . . he actually has a personality. Nice to see.
What a day so far! Bob is killing me with the film clips. I've been bawling my eyes out. Cried buckets during Annie Lennox, the snapping psa with all the stars, and then the reminder of the starving Ethopians . . . thank God at least that last little girl lived. One bright spot. I can't bear to think about the children dying. How can we let this happen? How can we have so much . . . and them nothing? It breaks my heart.
When I was watching that video I kept seeing my nieces and nephew. What if they were the ones suffering? Would we just sit back and let it happen, cynically believing we couldn't do anything to change it? I know we wouldn't. The richest countries in the world have the power to end poverty. It's all a matter of policy. Think about what that would mean to all those kids, all those nieces and nephews, sons and daughters. It blows my mind. Sign the friggin' list if you haven't already. Tell your friends. Email them the link. Email the PM and tell him to introduce the policy at the G-8 Summit. It's such a little thing to do, but it could absolutely change the future of the world.
While the show is being broadcast all day long on CTV in Canada . . . I'm not seeing anything on any of my U.S. networks . . . is this another thing the American public will be in the dark about? Another thing the powers that be in that country don't want people to know? Hopefully not.
Favourite highlights of the concert for me so far has to be Bryan Adams and Bruce Cockburn. Bryan Adams looked good today, healthy. The last time I saw him he seemed sickly. He was awesome to watch and finishing with the bit from Tears Are Not Enough really drove the point home. Bruce Cockburn was a pleasant surprise. I hadn't heard he was going to be there. His songwriting has always been about the issues, increasing social awareness, and hearing songs like Rocketlauncher at the concert today really gave me a whole new perspective on those songs. It was almost like hearing them for the first time.
I love seeing Seamus hanging out in his t-shirt, being the casual cool dude that he always was on CTV's Talk TV network before the Canada A.M. gig. He's a fan of rock music for sure. I love that! And even Ben is doing a fine job today surprisingly. He is not his usual cheesy "reading the teleprompter" self . . . he actually has a personality. Nice to see.
20 Years Later
Duran Duran is onstage in Rome, Italy, a place close to my heart. I'm reminded of the concert 20 years ago, Live Aid, which raised funds for famine in Ethopia. I remember how young everyone was, a lot of the greats weren't the huge stars yet that they would come. Madonna sang Holiday. Bryan Adams was still that baby-faced boy. Freddie Mercury was there looking quite healthy as he fronted his band Queen. U2's anthem Sunday Bloody Sunday rang out that day. It's interesting to see how many of the performers are back for this concert and how much their careers have changed since then. Madonna is a mega-superstar, U2 one of the biggest rock bands in the world, while Duran Duran have all but faded away.
Dido's doing Thank You in London. Strange without Eminem.
Dido's doing Thank You in London. Strange without Eminem.
Barrie
The gates just opened and people are running through the field to get a spot close to the front.
Meanwhile in London, Sir Elton John has just taken the stage singing The Bitch is Back. Before the end of the day there are going to be so many great rock moments including the reunion of Pink Floyd. Bon Jovi performs in Philadelphia. And we've got an awesome Canadian concert lined up. They just interviewed Tom Cochrane a few minutes ago.
Tune in if you can. And don't forget to sign the list.
Meanwhile in London, Sir Elton John has just taken the stage singing The Bitch is Back. Before the end of the day there are going to be so many great rock moments including the reunion of Pink Floyd. Bon Jovi performs in Philadelphia. And we've got an awesome Canadian concert lined up. They just interviewed Tom Cochrane a few minutes ago.
Tune in if you can. And don't forget to sign the list.
Live 8 -- From Aid to Justice
It's Live 8 Concert day -- From Aid to Justice -- and I've been up since early watching the coverage on CTV. Concerts are underway in Tokyo and Johannesburg. London started about 45 minutes ago. And what a beginning! I wept when Paul McCartney and U2 took the stage together. To see Paul, Bono and Edge singing Sgt Pepper's Lonely Heart Band . . . it was too much. If you missed it, CTV will be broadcasting the greatest moments from all the concerts later this evening.
Paul only stayed for that one song, I'm sure he'll be back later. Bono did a few songs then beginning with Beautiful Day, which always brings me to tears anyway because it's just such a great song and it reminds me of Samuel for some reason. They rocked out with Vertigo and then brought the concert subtly back to its purpose with One. Bono ended by getting the audience to sing Unchained Melody with him while the names of the people who signed the Live 8 list scrolled past on a screen behind him. Superb! What a great day for Bono! Africa is so close to his heart.
If you haven't signed the list, please go to www.live8live.com and sign. You can also upload your photo so your face will be there in Scotland lining the streets when the G8 meet. Lend your name and image, it's the very least you can do.
Mood: Overcome
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: Coldplay from Live 8 in London
Hair: unimportant today
Paul only stayed for that one song, I'm sure he'll be back later. Bono did a few songs then beginning with Beautiful Day, which always brings me to tears anyway because it's just such a great song and it reminds me of Samuel for some reason. They rocked out with Vertigo and then brought the concert subtly back to its purpose with One. Bono ended by getting the audience to sing Unchained Melody with him while the names of the people who signed the Live 8 list scrolled past on a screen behind him. Superb! What a great day for Bono! Africa is so close to his heart.
If you haven't signed the list, please go to www.live8live.com and sign. You can also upload your photo so your face will be there in Scotland lining the streets when the G8 meet. Lend your name and image, it's the very least you can do.
Mood: Overcome
Drinking: Coffee
Listening To: Coldplay from Live 8 in London
Hair: unimportant today
Friday, July 01, 2005
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