Too Busy Living and Loving Life to be Sick!!!

"You know us girls, we bruise like peaches!"

2010-07-10T01:40:00.005-04:00

It's been a really, really long time, and I've really missed writing here, if only for myself. And as true as that is, there was always more of a motivation to write when I knew people were out there reading this. Lots has happened in.....in the past couple....years.

I dont have any idea where to start, so here's a little story for you to enjoy, particularly if you enjoy schadenfreude as muich as I do!

(I can't remember how to do any of the 'fancy' blog stuff, so bear with me.)

A little less than two years ago I had a stroke. The real deal, the no talking, walking etc. kind where you don't have to wait three months for an MRI (it took about 25 minutes, but only because I had a CT scan on the way. I loved the MRI scan incidentally, but that's another story....) So. Don't get me wrong. I love St. Michael's Hospital here in downtown Toronto. If youre sick, and especially if youre really sick, it's the place you want to be. But. St. Mikes is in the centre of downtown, and the Emergency Dept. can be a real shitshow at the best of times; homeless people, addicts, people in handcuffs etc. A real mess. I guess one of the 'best parts' about being seriously ill is getting to bypass the nightmare of the waiting room, and it's accompanying sounds, smells and sticky surfaces. Or so I thought. While I was whisked right into a room with an alarming amount of people attending to me (I'd never be the subject of nurses and doctors rushing, and around me. It was pretty scary, actually) I didn't get to bypass the stress. And it's a good thing for you.

Although the decision to admit me was made fairly quickly, after about two hours, it was more than 24 hours before I was moved from the ER to a room upstairs. It wasnt bed shortages, hospital cutbacks or bureaucratic incompetance that led to the delay, but kindness and generosity. You see my sister, who lives in Vancouver, had been alerted to the situation and had called the hospital, VISA in hand, to make sure I had a private room to convelesce in. Only later did I discover that the private room was $500/day, and had these special (and expensive) arrangements not been made I would have been in a 2 bed room, and for free. And fast.

The point is that I was in the ER for 24 hours waiting on a private room - one that, while a lovely gesture, wasnt at all necessary. And was there stress!? You have no idea, or will have some idea very shortly. And as I lay there, fed-up, scared and pretty confused, all I could do was listen, and.....jesus!

Lets see: there was the parade of drug seeking men and women, each with a crazier story then the last. It's just amazing how many people lose their full bottles of narcotics while just going about their daily lives! One particularly annoying and insistent "I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge" woman I nick-named Mrs. Jones, a name that stuck with the nurses and one they used on men and women for the rest of the night. There was the woman that was being unsucessfully held down by FOUR police officers while she screamed every bad word you can imagine. She ended-up with a Hanibal lectar mask on, tied to a chair. But I've saved the best for last, and even in my sorry state I managed to smile. Or at least half a smile.

I guess I had been finally dozing off a little despite the bright lights and sounds of people constantly being catheterized ("No, we're gonna need LOTS more lube nurse!/That's the wrong size tube!!") which I never quite 'got.' Suddenly I heard what I knew was walking, but sounded, um, bigger and clumsier. Like the way I'd imagined a giant might walk. I craned my neck, and I was right - it was a monster, about 6'5" and 220 lbs, and dressed kind of like a woman, or the way a dumb tall clumsy football player would imagine one should dress as a woman, on hallowe'en. You know, as a joke. I missed her speaking to the nurse the first time because I was having some neurological tests ("Can you touch your nose yet? Still no?") done on me and had to pay attention. But clearly I didn't miss much. Next, a nurse who was asian and about 5'5" and 95lbs went into her curtained-off area and said "I'm just here to take a little blood." Now picture the deepest voice you can imagine, saying, as she holds out an arm the size of the nurses waist "just be careful - you know, us girls, we bruise like peaches."

No. Peaches! You know, "us girls."

I had barely 'recovered' from stifling my laughter when I heard her curtain open and the (you have no idea how already fed-up) doctor enter.

"So, how can we help you today?," he asks.

"Well," James Earl Jones' voice begins, "I've been having this problem, and I went to my family doctor, but he said he couldn't look at it because it's not covered, because, you know,....because I'm a woman now."

("Oh, here we go!," thinks Peter, and I'll bet fed-up doctor as well.")

So doctor says, sounding both impatient and stressed-out "Fine. Forget about what the other doctor said. Just. Tell. Me. What. The. Problem. Is."

"Well," she begins, "and I can't tell you how nice it is to hear that. For the past few months I've had the feeling that my prostate was, you know, enlarged. And as I said my family doctor refused to even have a look, so....so I called a friend of mine, her same is Sheila - and she's straight - anyway I called her and asked her if she would you know, if she would have a look, and she, well she felt that it was bigger than it should be."

All I heard was gloves snapping off and the (now really fed-up) doctor yelling something about it "not being an emergency" and "no, no he would not 'have a look'" as he ran away. I was then wheeled away for an angiogram just in time to see here with a shocked "well, I never"" look on her face.

"So, I asked my friend Shiela....." SNAP! "If she would have a look and..." SNAP!

Pretty is as Pretty does.

Here's a couple of posts to look forward to in the coming days:

Trapped beside a man and his "service rabbit" who was even more fed-up than I was:

And me wasted after doing shots with the Hon. Barbara "NOBODY knows I'm a Jew! Haw!, Haw!," MacDougall!:

If you want to see a great show, go see Young at Heart at RTH, on July 10th. Or rent the amazing documentary of the same name. Here's the choir singing - the man singing this song was supposed to be singing this song with his friend who died the night before. It's...well you'll see. And yes, I forget how to link or embed or whatever the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gosIuO1HqEg&a=1vxcWzggidk&playnext_from=ML

Um, I've been really busy.........

2007-02-09T02:45:00.000-05:00

But much more importantly, I've been really, really Happy. It's new; like an object that is shiny and precious. I'd almost forgotten....If I still lived in Banff I might even say "It's all good." And it is. And the best part - there is no shoe. There is no other shoe to drop. I'm exhausted, tired even, and can't remember the last time I was so happy.

And. There. (really). Isn't a shoe. Waiting. To. Drop.

I've been busy...actually busy living, so be a bit patient while I catch my breath and get caught-up on your blogs.

Deal?

Oh, and Here's Butchie.

Happy Birthday Madamerouge!

2007-01-29T23:41:00.000-05:00

It's Madamerouge's birthday so here are some great pictures of him taken over the years, and if you click on the youtube video you can have the theme song to his all time favourite TV show in the background. Happy Birthday Madamerouge, our very own Blanche Devereaux!

(OH, and yes I know the pictures are all shitty and sideways, but I'm tired. Maybe Jason will be nice and fix them for me)

Peter gets Puzzled

2007-01-24T07:15:00.000-05:00

Part of my homework for my MBSR class was to solve a simple looking puzzle. Let me first say that I hate puzzles and have always hated puzzles. I hated those puzzles with the little slidey squares where you had to make a picture or put the alphabet in order. I have never "solved" the Rubics Cube - although my mom thought I did only after I took all the stickers off and replaced them. Don't do crosswords. Sudoko? I had to Google it to even get the spelling right. The thought of even seeing a jigsaw puzzle spread-out on a table makes my blood pressure rise, although Madamerouge finds nothing more relaxing than sitting down with a good strong cup of tea and one of his favourite puzzles. I guess this says a lot about me, and I imagine not all positive.

Anyway, the task of solving the puzzle was something that caused me a lot of anxiety. This stemmed from the fact that I found it harder ( a lot!) than I thought I would and that it took me much longer to solve than I had expected it to. It was a frustrating experience, and there is an important lesson in that itself. It's a pretty famous puzzle so you may have already seen it and completed it in mere seconds. Here it is:

Connect all nine dots below without lifting your pen from the paper and using a maximum of four straight lines:

If you are as impatient and easily frustrated as I am, the solution is here

Peter falls down the Mindfulness Rabbit Hole

2007-01-22T22:46:00.000-05:00

So today was the first "real" day of my mindful meditation class. We had to separate into pairs and learn about our partner by mindfully listening to them. Really listening to them. I'm not such a good listener. I'm a great talker, but thankfully we learned about the twelve blocks to listening, as adapted from Jason's favourite book. I have a few, but as Jason can also tell you (just ask him about what my dad said once) my biggest one is this:

Rehearsing: You don't have time to listen when you are rehearsing what to say. Your whole attention is on the preparation and crafting of your next comment. You manage to look interested, but your mind is going a mile a minute because you have a story to tell, or a point to make.

100% me.

We also ate a raisin. Have you ever done that? No. I mean really eaten a raisin. It took us 10 minutes. We ate it mindfully. I even listened to the raisin. Can you imagine?

And I liked it.

Did I dream you dreamed about me?

2007-01-22T05:27:00.000-05:00

Jason has been bugging me to see the movie Candy for a while, and on Saturday I finally watched it with him and Madamerouge. It was really great, and I recommend that you watch it; actually Jason is generally a good source of movie suggestions, although we differed sharply on our opinions of both Battlefield Earth and Buckaroo Bonzai when he dragged me to see them. It was nice to see Madamerouge, who, between the start of Awards Season and the recent DVD release of the complete series of Maude, has been spending a lot of time at home.

I'd forgotten how much I love the song that plays during the introduction to the movie Candy. It's called Song to the Siren and although I was always particular to The Cocteau Twins (This Mortal Coil) version I really like the one they chose. It's a great song, and a cute scene of a happy and smiling Heath Ledger.

Oh, and today is actually the first day of the rest of my life. Seriously. I start my new job this week, have been dieting and continue my Mindfulness Meditation course. It's all really exciting, and more than that it's all really important. I need this to work - need to succeed here. I kinda feel like things are really (finally) coming together for me; that this could be the beginning of good things. It's considering this that I think that I may have (really this time) decided on a design that I would like to get as a tattoo. I've wanted one for years but could never (wait for it my friends) commit to an idea. I've had some funny-slash-witty-whatever ideas over the years, but nothing felt right enough to want to make permanent. I think a good example of one such idea was when I wanted to have the words please wear a condom on the small of my back above my ass, you know, just in case. I guess I kinda missed the boat on that one - maybe it wasn't such a "crazy" idea after all! My new idea sounds a bit hokey, but the thing that makes it different from my other ideas is that it also feels right. So, here goes. I was thinking about the new (great) direction that my life is taking after a couple of really shitty and unproductive years. I wanted something to remind me that I have turned a (big) corner - something that might be enough of a reminded/symbol to keep me on track. I was thinking a Phoenix. Maybe even something like this.

Don't Laugh. Please.

It's so nice to be back Blogging where I belong!

2007-01-18T22:04:00.000-05:00

Hello, Butchie,
Well, Hello Mammy,
It's so nice to be back home where I belong
You're looking swell, Timmy,
I can tell, Sticky
You're still glowin', you're still crowin'
You're still goin' strong
For the band's playin'
One of my old favorite songs from way back when
So bridge that gap, fellas!
Find me an empty lap, fellas!
TooBusyLivin'll never go away again!

The truth is that after New Year's I had been a bit depressed. I was waiting (and waiting) to hear back from a fabulous job; it all seemed like a pretty inauspicious way to begin the New Year. I had pretty much given-up hope last week when they did call, and I got the job. I am literally beside myself with excitement. I won't mention the name of the restaurant on my Blog (thank's Tucker Carlson!) but you can read about it here. Be very happy and excited for me; this is the opportunity that I have been waiting (and waiting!) for! I start next week. In other great news I have also just started a 10 week program of intensive meditation and other stress-reduction techniques. The program is called Mindful Based Stress Reduction (MBSR) and was first taught at UMASS by a doctor named John Kabat-Zin. He is also the author of a book that I have written about before called Full Catastrophe Living.

Anyway, I guess the point is that I'm really happy and excited about several great things that are all happening now; I'm looking forward to the year ahead and feel even better than the song below. Oh, I'm also on a diet. Skinnier Peter = Happier Peter. Every time I get hungry I just click on Jason's new personal website and my hunger just disappears! I may never be a top, but that's how I feel:

TooBusyLiving is One Year Old!

2007-01-04T23:20:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know. I wasn't that excited either until it occurred to me that the real milestone being marked here is that I managed to do something - anything - for an entire year. And that is a good thing. I've met some great people, shared some funny stories, and learned a little bit about myself along the way. Now all I need is a theme song I think. Some "Life Coaches" suggest that adopting a personal Theme Song is a good way to set the tone for your day; for example, I know that Madamerouge sings Elton John's The Bitch is Back every morning while riding the bus to work.

Suggestions?

Happy New Year!

2007-01-02T07:51:00.000-05:00

I spent the weekend with my friend Tom and his wife and their three new babies. The idea was to get Tom and Christine a little caught-up on their sleep so I was on nighttime feeding duty (every two hours!) with one of Tom's sisters. It was great spending time with all of them, but I'm still really tired. We rung-in the new year together and they crashed and I came back home downtown. Not eventful, but it was nice all the same. For anyone that ever watched Absolutely Fabulous, I had a "moment" over the weekend that made me think of Eddie and smile. It was from the episode "New Best Friend" when Eddie's (formerly) minimalist and cool friends arrive for the weekend with a new baby. The line I was reminded me of was when an unimpressed Eddie points to her shirt and says "Lacroix, baby spew. Lacroix, baby spew." Here's a picture of her from that episode and then one of me. All the best to everyone in the new year!

Here's me saying "Eddie Bauer, baby spew."

I did the resolutions thing this year, and I think I have at least a 50-50 chance of keeping them, which is better than my recent average of zero. I'm not sharing though, although I may mention them in passing to Hubble if it comes up. You can read Heather Mallick's resolutions though here. She's one of the best writers around, and she always makes me smile.

At least he's in the right place!

2006-12-28T21:11:00.000-05:00

I had a great appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday, and afterwards, was struck by this bit of graffiti in the bathroom off the waiting room. I hope he's OK. I'm not even sure why I'm sure that it's a "he," but I am. It took me a while to warm-up to Hubble, my psychiatrist, and even longer for me to "buy-in" to psychotherapy, but I'm really glad that I did and that I have. He's great. There's hope!

I was excited last week about a job prospect that appears not to have worked-out. In the meantime though, I used the positive experience of that interview to keep my momentum going, and have applied for some more great positions. I have an interview on Friday at 1:30 for one of them. Wish me luck! After the interview I'm off to my friend Tom's house for the weekend to give them a break and help with their three new babies. I'm looking forward to it.

So, in the meantime, enjoy this picture of Jason eating his lunch. It was a Jamaican Patty:

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T13:16:00.000-05:00

I hope you are all having a lovely Christmas Day, and are hopefully far too busy fighting with your family and hiding your disappointment at your gifts to be checking-up on Blogs! If you missed the Queen's Christmas Day message, and I'll bet you did, you can read, listen or watch it here. There is even a Royal Podcast! How fabulous is that? Seriously, watching her message is something that we always did as a family when I was growing-up, and it makes me happy to still do it today. It reminds me of my mother and that's a good thing, especially at this time of year.

(Spoiler Alert!)

I'd hate to spoil the surprise for you, but she might even mention Muslims for the very first time ever! Awwww!

Oh yeah, Jason wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas too. This message, unlike that of The Queen's, doesn't come from a palace, but from his own cozy throne at Woody's last Friday night:

Memories of Christmas Past:

2006-12-22T10:21:00.000-05:00

Christmas in Paris with my sister. I was about 10. Awwwwwww!

Christmas with Jason (a blonde!) and his cousin about 15 years ago.

Me with my new Christmas cooling eye masque in Kananaskis Alberta.

Jason and his co-worker Bernard in Kananaskis on Christmas Eve. I slept with Bernard that night, and poor Bernard was late (and drunk) for work on Christmas morning so he was fired. Awwww!

Two of my co-workers in Kananaskis; I can't begin to tell you how much Jason adored these two!

Beautiful Mont Tremblant village in Quebec - who doesn't love a holiday skiing in the mountains?

Her, that's who. Here is Jason and his mother enjoying the Jazz at Biddles in Montreal.

Jason's mother and I at Christmas dinner. You can't see the bruises from where she tried to strangle me to death the night before on my neck. Awwwwwwww!

This isn't at Christmas; just Madamerouge peeing.

I have no idea where this came from, but it was in with my pictures.

I couldn't do much Christmas shopping, but Madamerouge has been hinting for weeks that she is out of her favourite fragrance. So, if you see her, here's what she likes:

Getting in the Christmas Spirit......maybe a little.

2006-12-21T11:46:00.000-05:00

Tim blogged today about the book Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs. I really enjoy his writing and it has always reminded me a bit of the work of David Sederis. If you want to hear some really, REALLY, funny Christmas stories, you can either pick-up his book Holidays on Ice, or even better, listen to them here. The Santaland Diaries segment begins just before 5 minutes into the program.

Here is an excerpt:

The woman at Macy's asked, "Would you be interested in full-time or evening and weekend elf?"

I said, "Full-time elf."

I have an appointment next Wednesday at noon.

I am a thirty-three-year-old man applying for a job as an elf.
I often see people on the streets dressed as objects and handing out leaflets. I tend to avoid leaflets but it breaks my heart to see a grown man dressed as a taco. So, if there is a costume involved, I tend not only to accept the leaflet, but to accept it graciously, saying, "Thank you so much," thinking, You poor, pathetic son of a bitch. I don't know what you have but I hope I never catch it.

Apparently, our cupboard is bare

2006-12-20T07:15:00.000-05:00

I was struck by two news items yesterday:

Apparently we are facing a serious nationwide shortage of skin. I realize that this is a serious issue but was struck by the following line in the article:

"We are short right now. Calgary was extremely kind to send us some skin to tide us over," said Dr. Jeannie Callum, director of transfusion medicine and the tissue bank at Sunnybrook.

Oh, and we are also facing a sperm shortage

I can only assume that whoever decided we are facing a shortage of sperm is spending his or her time in different um, circles, than I am. I guess, and particularly at this time of year, I should be grateful for what I have; for all I have received. :)

On a much more serious note, I'm hoping to hear back from a prospective job today, so wish me luck. The job is assistant manager of a fancy restaurant in this hotel. It would be a VERY good thing for Peter to get. Apparently the staff are all over the place as far as their level of knowledge/professionalism goes, so assuming I already have the job (yikes) I came-up with a little quiz to see where everyone stands. If you have ever been a waiter or are just a "foodie" feel free to play along!:

(the missing questions are all specific to this restaurant, so you wouldn't know them anyway)

Staff Quiz

4. We have “heirloom beets” on the menu. What does that mean?

5. What does fennel taste like?

6. Can you describe what a “sunchoke” is?

7. What is a rémoulade?

8. What is an aïoli?

9. Describe “duck confit” and describe if you can how it is traditionally prepared.

10. What is Berkshire pork? What makes it special?

11. We have a dish on the menu where the pork is braised. Describe this method of cooking meat.

12. Describe pickerel.

13. What is Serrano ham?

14. Describe coq au vin.

15. Where does Oka cheese come from? What does it taste like?

16. A guest orders the venison and asks to have it prepared “well done.” What, if anything, would you tell her?

17. Is marjoram a herb or a spice? Generally, what’s the difference between the two?

18. What is panna cotta?

19. What does it mean to be a sommelier?

21. A guest asks for a glass of Chardonnay but tells you that he would prefer one that is “un-oaked.” What would you suggest?

22. When ordering, a guest asks you to bring her a glass of “red Burgundy” when her entrée arrives. What would you suggest she have?

24. Traditionally, what grape varietals are used to produce Champagne?

25. What does it mean if a wine is a Rhône blend?

26. What does VQA stand for?

31. A guest raves about her meal and tells you that she is in town for two more nights. She then asks you to suggest some other restaurants that she should try while in town. What would you suggest?

I'm Back...

2006-12-18T18:00:00.000-05:00

Wow. A whole week without posting, and believe me, you didn't miss much. Some highlights:

*One lesson I learned this week is that if you want to have a productive and anxiety-free session with your therapist the wrong thing to do is to leave him an after hours phone message after having a few glasses of red wine. You also shouldn't mention during the course of that message that you think he is unfairly restricting your access to Ativan. We sure got to have some great talking at my appointment last week!

*I take the dog to an off-leash park every day. It's the same people and dogs every day and it's a generally nice group of people. They can be a bit of a gossipy and catty group though -"Look's like Sammy has a new Daddy!," or "Haven't seen Ginger with his Daddy's Partner lately...." etc. Anyway, there's a dog named Simmer at the park, and he has two Daddy's. One of them always causes quite a stir when he arrives at the park due to the alarmingly large (and often discussed) bulge in his jeans. Is it real? Is it socks?.....Where is the lesson learned here you ask? Well after a Christmas Party on Saturday we all went out to a bar and there was Simmer's two dads. I decided that it would be really funny to tell them both about the reaction to Daddy # 2's arrival at the park. They laughed. Well at least they laughed the first two times I swung by to share the story with them. Good Times!

More later today. Promise.

Gueule de Bois

2006-12-11T00:26:00.000-05:00

At least the French have a charming expression for a hangover. Not that it makes me feel any better at the moment. Last night I had two fabulous Christmas parties, and have a headache today to match.

The first was the OutNPoz Holiday party. These guys might not know much about the proper and effective use of condoms, but they sure throw a fantastic party! Oh, and did I mention that Double Vodka and Sodas were only $5? That was a nice touch. There were door prizes galore, from fabulous gift certificates to local restaurants and businesses to free passes to one of Toronto's premier Bathhouses (!!) Maybe it's just me but....no. Nothing. I won a $25 gift certificate for a local vitamin and supplement store.

Next it was off to a fabulous Christmas party at Jason's house. There was an incredible array of food, friends and booze. I didn't take any pictures, but did record a short video of Madamerouge holding court in the kitchen. It hasn't been uploaded to Youtube, yet. Anyway, I had a great time - it was especially nice to see some people that I don't get to see as often as I'd like.

I'd like to apologize to the person who was trapped, half-asleep (looking quite angelic, I might add) on the living room couch. I'm afraid at one point he awoke to the sight of me dancing with abandon to New Order. I imagine it wasn't a particularly pretty sight, and that the expression rude awakening doesn't quite cover it. I hope that while I'm sleeping I smile to myself like he was, but kinda doubt it.

(From The Guardian Online)

Ron Howard's Oscar-winning producing partner Brian Grazer will make a contemporary romantic comedy in which Jesus works as a carpenter in Ikea. Prodigal Son centres on a workaholic woman whose mother unknowingly sets her up with the unassuming local employee who just happens to be the Christian son of God. In a move presumably designed to assuage the fears of religious followers, Grazer's wife and screenwriter Gig Levangie Grazer said, "He won't be having sex. It'll be a disarming romantic comedy, a story of unrequited love, sort of like Splash." Christians the world over will doubtless be relieved to hear that.

You're hearing it here first: I predict that when the movie is released that hip young Christians (??) start wearing Allen Keys around their necks in place of the usual boring old Cross.

I tried, I really did..............and I discovered that Charity begins with "stress," not at home.

2006-12-09T03:07:00.001-05:00

For years I, maybe like you, have thrown about the idea of volunteering on Christmas Day to try and make it, if nothing else, a moment of abundance and joy in the lives of people that need it the most. I've considered it a lot, but it was always gonna be next year, but "for sure." I'm not sure what it was, but earlier this week I decided that it was going to be this year, and I sent out an email. I sent it to The Salvation Army in Toronto, and they do lots of good work. As a gay man I've been encouraged over the years to boycott this organization due to the fact that some of the money they raise in their kettles has found it's way into things like hiring lawyers to lobby and fight against same-sex marriage. Whatever. They feed the needy and I wanted to help. Here is the email I got back:

Dear Peter,

Thank's for your interest in volunteering with us on Christmas Day. Although we need volunteers year-round, Christmas is a special day and we try and bring in as many "hands" as we can to make it special for our clients. If you are serious, time is of the essence here. I'll need you to come by the Marshall-Meighan center as soon as possible to fill-out the criminal records check form which we then fax to the R.C.M.P. I will also need you to have written proof that you have been vaccinated against Hepatitis A and B, and Tuberculosis. In addition you will be required to have your doctor perform a new TB test, immediately, to show you are currently TB free. Beyond that, we also require 7 (seven) written references, and these cannot include members of your immediate nor extended family. I hope to hear from you tomorrow at the latest, as we need to get this "ball" rolling.

Um, no. I'm sorry. I mean it's not like I am trying to work with "at risk" youth or anything...I just wanted to serve some turkey. Am I crazy to think that this is all a "bit much?" I mean, when they do the criminal records check, I know for a fact that one thing has in the past come-up and is likely to come-up again. It was a suicide attempt 15 years ago. It's in my C.P.I.C record. Apparently it's easy to get it expunged, but in the meantime it's there.

I also tried The Scott Mission, Casey House and others. Same thing. I think what I'll do is just try and buy someone a hot meal myself.

I have no doubt that they will have no trouble finding volunteers, but there were too many "hoops" for me. I'll have to settle for overeating and drinking and getting maudlin and depressed like everyone else I guess. Oh, and be warned. Seriously. I tend to get more than a little sentimental on Christmas, and have been known to make a few "I love you, just so you know" calls.

It's funny, but I really wanted to help. Is it "wrong" that I wanted to reply to that email with "give me a friggin' break!?"

The Mountie got his Man..........

2006-12-07T22:44:00.000-05:00

And now he gets to keep him - as his husband. Finally, it looks like same-sex marriage is not only here to stay as the law of the land but is a closed subject, even as far as Stephen Harper is concerned. Of course, according to some religious "save the family" wingnuts, we as a nation may not see the disastrous consequences of same-sex marriage on society for 20 years or more.

I can't wait!

*Constable Jason Tree, left, and Constable David Connors, right, stand in front of trheir house in Meteghan. On June 30th they were wed, becoming the first same-sex marriage in RCMP history.

And let's all try and remember that Christmas is really about the children.

It's a Girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-12-06T20:23:00.000-05:00

And a Boy..........

And ANOTHER Girl!!!!!!!!!!

It's........TRIPLET MADNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Andrew, Grace and Charlotte joined the world on Tuesday, and I couldn't be prouder. If you want to know how "we" got to this point - triplets - please read this post. Tom has been my hero a long time, but his wife is too - I can't believe it happened. They won the lottery - the one that matters. I started crying the second I walked into the hospital.

Today was also significant in that Jason, Madamerouge and I met with St. Dickeybird and Normlr for drinks. Here is one pic:

I'm just sorry that I had to leave early, but that's how things go when you are at the mercy of someone who is bi-polar.

One funny story for the kids:

I spent the day today collecting donated "door prizes" for an "Out 'n Poz" (seriously) holiday party on Saturday. A Toronto Chef and Restaurateur (yes, it is actually "restaurateur" and not "restauranteur," I've always been proud of knowing that) sent along a gift bag with some kitchen gadgets and a cookbook. Here is the inscription:

......Always Cook and Love with Reckless Abandon......

I read this and laughed; I mean, what a great message to send to someone who is HIV-positive!!! Epidemiologist's be damned I say!!!!!!!!!!

And for Jason:

and,

and,

and,

It's Beginning to look a lot like Christmas........

2006-12-05T00:11:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like an old fashioned Church Street Christmas; one can just picture little Billy tugging on the sleeve of one of his two dads and pointing at the festive window display at Northbound Leather.

"Look Daddy, it's Rudolph! But what makes his nose red?"

"That's a ball-gag Billy. See how it has a strap to go right around his head?"

New Beginnings and......My Beginning...........

2006-12-02T23:04:00.001-05:00

For my Birthday my sister, among other things, sent me a copy of the "Baby Book" that my mother kept for my first year of life. It's full of weights and measures, and every "first." Here are some highlights, which are better than anything I could make up:

*5 weeks: Peter falls off the kitchen counter landing on his head when the au pair (nanny) wasn't paying attention.

*Peter's favourite toy: "My Gold Purse."

*Peter's First Outing: "To the Liquor Store"

*Peter's First Trip:"Flight to Montreal and then New York." :)

New Beginnings:

Here is the newly elected leader of the Liberal Party of Canada and (touche du bois) next Prime Minister of Canada:

You can read about him here

And a new beginning, a start, for me. I've always kinda thought that I wrote well, and because of my Blog, and only that, I've gotten the confidence to feel like I can really write. My friends have been bugging me; "just do it" they say, but I didn't know where to start. So I called a friend, a columnist for the Globe and Mail. Let's just call her "Peggy." She suggested that I ......that I just write and she'll help me edit whatever I come-up with and help sell it. That same night I was literally Stumbling through the Internet and came across a "church" for gays looking to become straight. They promise success. I emailed them. They emailed me back. I'm meeting John who is an ex "homosexulaist" and his wife Tara who used to be a lesbian on Tuesday.

And. I'm gonna write about it.

(just between us though, I think it would be great to write about, but I'm kinda scared about being immersed in that atmosphere)

Birthday Fun

2006-12-01T04:56:00.000-05:00

So I got over my bad mood and had a really great time. I wore an ascot, partly for Butchie, and partly because I've been wearing them on my birthday since I was 11 (see pic in last post.) We had oysters and wine and I loved it; I even tried to "re-create" a birthday pic taken when I was 24. It was posted in yesterday's post. It's of me, my friend Eric and his then girlfriend (now wife) Tina. We didn't have a girl handy to be the third so I just grabbed the nearest one. She wasn't as pretty as Tina, but we tried. Here's the pictures. Oh, and today is World AIDS Day, so if you can't write a cheque, just wear a condom. For me. K?

And, although we don't like to say it, here's my World AIDS Day Message:

And in the unlikely event that anyone wants to know what I'm listening to now, it's this:

(it makes me smile)

(that's it, it's late and I'm drunk and I have to try and kick a "tough lady" out)

Birthday's as a Platform for Reflection and Change

2006-11-29T02:56:00.001-05:00

It's not my birthday until tomorrow, but I was feeling a bit nostalgic (maudlin) tonight and dug out these pics. These are all pictures taken either on or close to a birthday of mine, and I think the most recent one below is ten years old. I'd like to be able to talk to these other Peters, maybe most of all the youngest ones, and give them some advice. But even having said that, and meaning it, I'm still not sure what I would say.

*the "good" news is that I'm fatter in several of these pictures than I am now.

Now..............

I am, as of this minute, officially on both the

and, (here's a link)

So I can't eat or drink, but I'd love a card. Seriously. It's time to get serious. I can't wait, actually. James kicked my ass, maybe without even meaning or trying to, and I'm glad he did. I'm just sorry it took so long. So, in lieu of gifts, I would love "gifts" of support and encouragement - OK? It won't cost anyone a thing, but the gift - the result, will hopefully be the best reward. I need cheerleaders, and maybe for the first time, like James, I need "candid" ones. I don't like being "me" and I know that I don't....have to be me..................

Deal?

(ps Jason, James convinced me to call Peggy and pick her brain tomorrow. He thinks it's a bit of a farce that I can manage to contact her for drinks....but did'nt pick her brain. He's righ, of course. So I will.)

I'm even toying with the idea of Joining Madamerouges Meet-up Group:

Just a quick reminder that Stch n' Btch in T.O. (Knitting &
Crochet) has a Meetup tomorrow.

What: Stch n' Btch in T.O. (Knitting & Crochet) Meetup

When: Wednesday, November 29 at 7:00PM

Who: At least 12 Knitters

Where: Second Cup
1881 Yonge Street
Toronto ON M4S 3C4
416-322-1179

Event Description:
Needles READY!

Back to Basics

2006-11-28T09:40:00.000-05:00

I think I need to find and read these helpful books:

Playing Tourist in my own City

2006-11-26T16:30:00.000-05:00

Saturday in Toronto was warm and sunny and since the rest of the Toronto Bloggers were busy being tourists in Indianapolis I thought that I'd do the same thing here. I wanted to make a special effort to try and see the familiar with new eyes, and decided to bring a camera along. I had a great time, and it's amazing how looking at pieces of the world around you through the perspective of a lens can really change the way you see things. It might not have been Indianapolis, but it was a really lovely day, and very much in the spirit of the everyday mindfulness that I am trying to introduce to my life here in the city. And just like Dorothy, I discovered that to find happiness I didn't have to look any farther than my own backyard. Apart from the way I felt, I'm kinda excited about some of the pictures I took:

Méli-Mélo

2006-11-24T07:29:00.000-05:00

*I'm beginning to feel like an abused woman lately. Every time our current Prime Minister opens his mouth I flinch and tense and anticipate his next strike.

*Although I freely admit that I'm pretty lucky as far as the side effects that I experience from my drug cocktail, last night, when I wasn't feeling so "lucky" it occurred to me that the same problems that my drugs cause would have, in another situation, cause me to see my doctor to investigate and fix.

*Have you ever noticed that youth has a smell? Lately it's usually a cross between Axe Body Spray and Teenage Boys Bedroom. The effect is a scent of....young.

*I'm turning 35 next week and I am uncharacteristically unenthusiastic about celebrating a birthday. Probably has something to do with marking the passing of a particularly unproductive year. Celebrations seem so much more fun when one is actually able to toast more than an occasion, more than a date. Maybe I'll finally get a tattoo; kinda like the lyrics to one of my favourite songs by The Sundays:

Its that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
Oh I never should have said, the books that you read
Were all I loved you for
Its that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes me wonder why
And its the memories of your shed that make me turn red
Surprise, surprise, surprise

Here's the song; it's really pretty:

A Canadian worth getting to know

2006-11-22T23:26:00.001-05:00

I guess this is really the second post about some Canadians that I think people need to learn more about, or just listen to. Recently, or more specifically after the last election, there have been some Canadians running around the Globe making Canadians appear less than fabulous. So, let's hear it for the ones that are. Still fabulous, that is. The last person I wrote about was Heather Mallick, and it seems fitting that her current column is about the fading image of Canada abroad. Thank's Mr. Harper! It's another otstanding piece of writing, and can and should be read here.

Today's addition to the list is Louise Arbour. Former Supreme Court of Canada Jurist and the lady who indicted Slobidan Milosovic on charges of war crimes, Madame Arbour is now the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights. It's in this capacity that has been often outspoken, and more recently, in physical danger. She was almost killed during a Palestinian missile attack this week, not that it has seemed to be slowing her down.

You can listen to her speak, two years ago, about the desperate situation she found when visiting Darfur here.

I hope she keeps dodging those rockets.

I thought that he liked Me for Me!

2006-11-22T11:53:00.000-05:00

But I guess not. Remember when you rolled your eyes over all the stories of people being drugged in bars and then assaulted? Remember when you thought that the recent changes in Ontario Liquor Laws to allow people to take their drinks into the washroom with them was, well, a bit much? No? I do. And although nothing "happened," the nice people at St. Mike's did confirm my suspicions that something wasn't right; that they way I was suddenly feeling wasn't due to anything I had taken. All I can think now is that my new "friend" went to a lot of unnecessary trouble and expense needlessly, but...

The worst part is the bruises. I got those at the Hospital. My little cute 90 pound nurse was a little nervous about giving me an I.V. thinking that I might flinch so she had her very big, very black security guard friend help her.

I'm sad that I won't be spending Christmas with Madamerouge again this year. We had a great time together last year, but I will be sending him off with a new Nightie for Christmas Morning.

It's been a bit of a week.

2006-11-16T23:59:00.000-05:00

Sorta a cross between This:

And about 1000 of these, but in a row:

So have a good weekend, I'll be back on Monday. I'm going to try - really try - to have a lovely late autumn weekend in the city. I'm thinking off the beat and track - see where I end-up and what I find. I just hope that the rain stops by tomorrow. Cause it's Really. Not. Helping.

Oh, and is it "wrong" that while in my let's try something new mood I thought that the event listing below would be a great place to meet angry and socially conscious (translation: tattooed and hot) people? Just asking.

Direct Action And Creative Protest Nonviolent action training session. Learn to demonstrate effectively and learn how to deal with police. 10 am-4 pm. Free. Pre-register 416-651-5800.

Or, maybe I'll just stay home, do some emotional eating, order a Swiss Chalet Festive Special and take a sleeping pill.

Or watch a Happy Movie:

A or B

2006-11-14T23:43:00.000-05:00

One of these pictures better reflects my current mood. The hint is in the young man's tattoo. Humm.....

A)

B)

That's right. There's no stars. Although while we're on the topic of Stars, this made me smile the other day. Inexplicably. Well, maybe not. Maybe it'll make you smile too.

Toronto City Hall - as featured in Star Trek: The Next Generation

2006-11-13T17:40:00.000-05:00

So it must be fancy. Today is Election Day in Toronto so some new faces may be calling that building home soon. All indications are that it will be a status quo election, with the Mayor and most of City Council being returned to office. I like the Mayor, and think he has been given a bit of a hard time only because expectations for his first term in office were so high.

I didn't vote for him though, not because I don't want him to win, but because I always vote for Kevin Clarke. He's a colourful fixture on the streets of Toronto, and is generally a nuisance to everyone who encounters him.

I'm pretty annoyed today with my Municipal Government after seeing a notice in the elevator of the building I live in. Apparently a by-law was recently passed that requires all windows in apartment and condominiums be retrofitted with safety devices that limit how far you can open your own window. To 10 centimeters. And believe me, 10 centimeters isn't enough, of anything. My building is almost always stuffy, and the window is almost always open. 10 months a year. Wide. Wide is about three feet. Contractors will be arriving this week to install the devices, and apparently there isn't a way to disable them. We'll see. We don't have an infant in the condo, not even a cat, and I resent this by-law. It immediately reminded me of a scene from Absolutely Fabulous:

[Eddie is in court explaining to the judge her problems with the law]

Eddie: Yes, Yes!... Why, oh why, do we pay taxes, hmmm? I mean, just to have bloody parking restrictions- and BUGGERY-UGLY traffic wardens, and BOLLOCKY-pedestrian-BLOODY-crossings?... and those BASTARD railings outside shops windows, making it so difficult so you can't even get in them! I mean, I know they're there to stop stupid people running into the street and killing themselves! But we're not all stupid! We don't all need nurse-maiding. I mean, why not just have a Stupidity Tax? Just tax the stupid people!

Patsy: And let them DIE!

Lest We Forget.

2006-11-10T20:44:00.001-05:00

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

In Canada, the United Kingdom and in other members of the Commonwealth, today, November the 11th, marks Remembrance Day. Remembrance Day was first observed as Armistice Day and is marked by two minutes of silence at the 11th hour today, the 11th day of the 11th month.

Remembrance Day is also associated with the poppy, which was adopted as the symbol of remembrance after Canadian First World War Physician John McCrae published the poem "In Flanders Fields." Very few poppies grew in Flanders prior to the outbreak of hostilities, but the heavy shelling added large amounts of lime to the soil from rubble, and the poppies appeared and thrived, but just for that one year. Doctor McCrae did not survive the war.

Today the Royal Canadian Legion estimates that half of Canadians wear a poppy bought from a proud and often frail veteran, standing outside a subway station or in a mall. This year I felt particularly emotional as I looked into the cloudy blue eyes of the man that pinned a poppy over my heart. His hands were shaking and it took him a few minutes to pin it on, and as I looked at him and said "thank you" I thought that I might cry. The things those eyes must have seen - unimaginable horrors - I can't imagine. These men never glorified war, but rather remind us, if only once a year, that the sacrifices of war must never be forgotten, and that war is not an adventure to be entered into in a cavalier way.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Finally, a festival that speaks to me (but only when the "bad" voices come)

2006-11-09T23:40:00.000-05:00

No anorexic celebrities! No glittering premiers! No clingy entourages! Just crazy people showcasing their art, with the screenings taking place at a downtown Psychiatric Hospital, and I can't wait. Some films I'm especially excited about:

Cake:

Obsessed with cake, learning Chinese, and his weight, a young man goes for an unforgettable jog.

World premiere.

Cruel and Unusual:

Cruel And Unusual is an unflinching look at the lives of transgender women incarcerated in men’s prisons in the United States. Ashley, Linda, Anna, and Ophelia’s stories of rape, violence and denial of hormonal and psychological treatment challenge our most basic notions of gender and justice. Trapped in male bodies in men’s prisons, the transgender women in this revealing documentary provide irrefutable proof of the inequitable definitions of gender and sexuality. The pathological resistance to change on the part of bureaucratic institutions of power like prisons that decide where to place inmates based on their genitalia, not their gender identity.
Audience Award for Best Feature, New Fest 2006; Jury Award for Best Documentary, Frameline 2006.

Toronto premiere.

Filmmakers in attendance.

Please join us for the Queer Madness party after the screening and panel discussion.
Goodhandy’s 120 Church Street at 9:30 PM. Free with screening ticket, or cover charge at the door

And in a semi-related item, I discovered that someone has actually started selling an action figure based on Madamerouge:

The cat is coming Home soon Lloyd!

"...They're not naked and wearing dog collars either, but some people do try to be good parents..."

2006-11-09T00:32:00.000-05:00

This is for Tim: And Adam,.

(do me and yourself a favour everyone, READ this whole Blog.)

People that know me that I love the essayist and columnist Heather Mallick. She used to write for "my" newspaper but quit over some disagreement with her publishers over an article about Noam Chomsky. She now writes for the New York Times and CBC online. Nobody writes like her, and I had to post her most recent dispatch, with some links to other essays that I loved.

I encourage you to really read it, and the other links I provided. Really.

The torture of waterboarding, then and now

November 6, 2006

U.S. Vice-President Dick Cheney's recent remark that dunking prisoners in water is a "no-brainer" upset many people, including President George W. Bush, who wants to please the pro-torture types while pretending that the torture techniques he permits are not, in his opinion, torture, which means the U.S. does not torture, although it does. I will not enter this moral and legal maze. The first of the Geneva Conventions — treaties meant to establish international rules for wartime behaviour — was signed in 1864. The most recent incarnation appeared in 1977.

The rules state that torture is absolutely and utterly wrong.

But timid media coverage of Cheney's latest grotesquerie rather missed the point, as it often does. As far as I know, no reporter thought to question anyone who had survived the torture technique known as waterboarding. What countries have done it? What does it feel like?

To phrase it as a standard market survey, as I'm sure Bush's Republicans would like us to do over this minor matter, "Compared to other tortures, is waterboarding:

a) A welcome wash.

b) Preferable to working on the Burma Railway, which the Japanese built in the Second World War using — and thereby killing — tens of thousands of conscripted Asian labourers and Allied PoWs.

c) A no-brainer.

d) The worst thing the Japanese did to you, worse than even the white skin of your whole body turning "a uniform blue-black, swollen and puffy, like velvet in texture" from being beaten with axe-handles?"

Eric Lomax answers d). His 1995 memoir, The Railway Man, of his time as a prisoner of war (PoW) in the Japanese prison camps of World War II, is one of the best war memoirs ever written and certainly one of the most informative on the personal experience of torture.

Waterboarding was the only torture he blocked out

In 1942, British army signalman Lomax, 23, was taken prisoner in Singapore by the Japanese. He would not be released until four days after the Japanese surrender on Sept. 2, 1945. I do not know how he survived. He does not know how he survived. Most readers will be amazed that he wished to.

Lomax was put on display, starved, kept in a barracks with snakes and foot-long centipedes, stored in a Guantanamo-style kennel, made to work almost unto death, kept in constant fear of execution, beaten as "scorching liquid pain seared through [his] body," kept naked, baked in the sun, made to clean his captors' toilets, left untreated with scabies that covered him with a yellow scab of pus that ate all his skin except his face and fingertips, and so on.

He is matter of fact when he writes about it. But when he comes to waterboarding — it was done during his interrogation about a secret radio built by the PoWs — 50 years later, he remembers every moment but one.

'The sensation of drowning, on dry land'

It began with a Cheney-style "dunking" so bad that his brain blocked out the memory. He was told later by a witness that he was taken to a bathroom with a big metal tub and his head was shoved under the water again and again.

There was an interpreter present who would take Lomax's pulse periodically to ensure he was still alive and available to endure further agony.

Lomax was then tied down on a bench, even though his arms had already been broken. The torturer came back with a hosepipe.

And this is waterboarding:

"He directed the full flow of the now-gushing pipe onto my nostrils and mouth.… Water poured down my windpipe and throat and filled my lungs and stomach. The torrent was unimaginably choking. This is the sensation of drowning, on dry land, on a hot dry afternoon. Your humanity bursts from within you as you gag and choke. I tried very hard to will unconsciousness but no relief came."

The beating and the interrogation continued. "I had nothing to say: I was beyond invention. So they turned on the tap again, and again there was that nausea of rising water from inside my bodily cavity."

5 decades later, witness still 'cannot stop shuddering'

Lomax lived. After the Japanese surrender, he returned to England to a work-filled, emotionally choked existence in which he never told anyone what he had endured. He was told once that his face was mask-like, utterly inscrutable at all times.

It wasn't until he visited a great London institution called the Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture that he found solace. He was 70.

The foundation was set up by Helen Bamber of Amnesty International. A Jewish woman, she had — at the age of 19 — cared for victims of the Nazis' PoW and concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen in 1945. She received him personally. "She seemed to have infinite time, endless patience and sympathy; but above all she gave me time."

Then a fellow PoW sent him an article by Nagase Takashi, a Japanese interpreter who had helped the allies find their dead along the railway after the war. His picture accompanied the piece.

Lomax experienced an "icy joy of the weirdest kind." The man was the interpreter present through the agonies and the waterboarding. Lomax had hated him more than any other of his tormentors.

Nagase remembered Lomax, too. "They poured water into his mouth. I saw his stomach swelling up. I almost lost my presence of mind. With the prisoner screaming and crying 'Mother! Mother!' I muttered to myself, 'Mother, do you know what is happening to your son now?' I still cannot stop shuddering every time I recall that horrible scene." (Nagase and Lomax were to meet as old men and find some form of reconciliation. Nagase told CNN that he long believed he would be hanged as a war criminal for his part in the torture.)

So there you have it. That is the waterboarding of which Cheney is so casually proud. This is its effect on those who endure it and those who watch it.

Waterboarding's history

Waterboarding has an eerie history.

It was used in the 1500s during the Spanish Inquisition. The Americans used it in the Spanish-American War in 1901 and in Vietnam, but individual soldiers (not their commanders) were punished for doing it.

It was a favourite of the U.S.-allied Khmer Rouge in Cambodia in the 1970s, which used the American technique of placing cloth or cellophane over the face to impede breathing and ensure that the water was contained and ran back into the mouth and nose.

American prisoners were waterboarded by the Japanese in the Second World War, but I can find no allegations that the Nazis used the technique.

So there you have it, a brief history of waterboarding. We don't learn from war; we repeat it. We don't prevent war; we perfect it.

It is of course entirely up to you to decide whether the United States has sunk to the very levels of depravity that they once went to war to defeat.

I lied; another article is here, but still 3 links.

The Rough Guide for Deserters, by Heather Mallick:

Home is the place where they have to take you in, Robert Frost wrote. In the case of the American army deserters now arriving in Canada, home is the place where they want to give you a lethal injection. So all they're asking of Canada, their new home, is a bed in the spare room of a Quaker family, and all we ask of them is that they never complain they can't see the puck. That remark makes Canadians crazy.

These young men--there have been at least two so far, and probably women to come --are different from the Vietnam lot in that they weren't drafted. The United States itself is different in that it's worse. Such is the huge divide between rich and poor that these young people signed up so they could afford to go to college. They thought that National Guard duty meant, say, guarding supermarkets against looters during the next Mississippi flood. Then they were in Iraq with American soldiers and mercenaries and some pissed-off troops from Poland and Italy.
Little did they know that the man who stole the 2000 election would boast with that unnerving, uncertain grin that he was "a wartime president." Osbert Sitwell once wrote a poem about Junior's very situation: "I think, myself,/That my new war/Is one of the nicest we've had;/It is not war really,/It is only a training for the next one/Besides, we have not declared war;/We are merely restoring order." Trouble is, Mr. Sitwell wrote this in 1919. How embarrassing for Mr. Bush, a Chihuahua chewing the pant leg of history.
Read economist Paul Krugman's The Great Unravelling about how Dick Cheney's army of the radical right has given the rich tax breaks the way you pump food down the throat of a fat goose until they flap their wings to signal they're full, thanks, and you keep squeezing the bulb. The poor and middle class got comparatively nothing to such an extent that for the first time in history, Americans on average are becoming shorter than their European counterparts, who are raising ceilings and lengthening beds. Americans, through the 19th and 20th centuries, were two inches taller than the peasanty Brits; now they're half an inch shorter, the result of bad food and no health care for the poor.
I'm not saying the deserters signed up as part of a long-term plan to avoid having short children, but that's how it worked out. You may think the United States won't execute them if Canada sends them back. But the U.S. Army no longer even recognizes shell shock (a soldier who had anxiety attacks after seeing an Iraqi sliced in half was recently charged with cowardice, which means a firing squad). Even Bill Clinton, in 1992, upheld the death sentence of a man so profoundly brain-damaged that when he was given his last meal, he said he would save his pecan pie for later.

You must now believe in peace, order and good government. Don't pursue happiness; let it find you.(I love that)

If you want to understand politics, grab the whole range of American politics and move it left. Our current Liberals are conservative Democrats, our New Democrats are Naderites, except younger, cooler and not getting Democratic death threats; our Conservatives, who used to be Reform, are Radical Right Republicans on Nyquil. They don't like immigrants; I'd vote NDP if I were you.
Religion: If you have one, don't mention it at parties. The subject does not arise here. Army deserter Jeremy Hinzman is a Buddhist; you can talk about that, Jeremy, because people think it's yoga. Jeremy's a nice name. None of the deserters so far have been called Billy Ray. If you are, change it to Jeremy-- there's a good Canadian.
Learn the name of our PM. Then tell us, because we forget. Don't refer to breasts as hooters, headlights or a great rack. Just call them breasts.

Recycle like you mean it. Read Fire and Ice by pollster Michael Adams about how Canadians are growing ever more different from Americans. Then read Margaret Atwood and Doug Coupland, shop at Roots, stop in at Tim Hortons for a pile of Timbits . Arrive in a Prius or a Smart Car, which shouts, "I care about the environment," and you, short Buddhist, are a shoo-in for citizenship.

And:

A big job, for a little man

>by Heather Mallick
January 16, 2005
I know Republicans no longer care what the world thinks of them. They don't give a liquefied Krispy Kreme (yes, they're selling doughnuts as drinks now) that a buncha furriners think they run a hick one-party government replete with torturers. Brand America isn't selling well. Big deal.

But as the American torturers of Abu Ghraib were in court last week, you'd think Republicans would worry about what the publicity will do should Americans ever end up in the numerous Abu Ghraibs of other countries.

Take Uzbekistan, to which the United States gives $220-million (U.S.) a year because, I don't know, it's pretty in the springtime.

Craig Murray, the brave British ambassador to Uzbekistan, a trained diplomat, struggled with his conscience and suggested in public that Uzbek President Islam Karimov should not boil quite so many citizens to death. Unfortunately, the U.S. government finds Uzbekistan strategically significant, and Britain's a poodle, so you know what happened to the ambassador. He was fired. (Take note, Paul Cellucci, as you lecture Canada on joining Battleground Space.)

So torture is not only acceptable, but deploring it is now a firing offence.

The military trial of Specialist Charles Graner Jr., 35, a U.S. soldier accused of torture at Abu Ghraib, didn’t go at all well. Graner, born in Uniontown, Pa., is an alleged wife-beater, father of two and former jail guard who was once accused of feeding an American prisoner a razor blade, piled hooded naked Iraqi men into pyramids, put them in dog chains, forced male Iraqis to simulate oral sex, insult their own religion and beat them till they cried, while whistling, laughing and giggling. He looks like one of those shy, bespectacled pudgy men of whom the neighbours say, “He was just a quiet kinda guy. Polite. Sure, he barbecued my dawg. But he mowed my lawn after.”

He and the notorious Private First Class Lynndie England, a divorced 21-year-old chicken processor born in a trailer in West Virginia and soon to face her own torture trial, now have a child together. It's a boy. Gee, I can't think of a better gene blend. And talk about having interests in common.

Graner had what I'd call a bad lawyer, but then I don't work at Fort Hood army base in Texas, which is a bit Uzbek, shall we say. The lawyer, Guy Womack, argued what Graner did isn't torture. After all, he said, U.S. cheerleaders often form pyramids.

I beg to differ. They're not hooded, naked, weeping and showing their perineums . . . oh, I see. It's a fantasy. Is this a guy thing? “[Even] Saddam did not do this to us,” the prisoner told the court in video testimony.

And tying up prisoners like dogs? “You've probably been at a mall or an airport and seen children on tethers; they're not being abused,” Womack told the military court.

They're not naked and wearing dog collars either, but some people do try to be good parents.

The trials of the U.S. torturers — where, tellingly, the statement of the new U.S. Attorney-General that international laws against torture are “obsolete and quaint” are not being admitted as evidence for the defence — achieve something I thought could never be done. They make the My Lai killers look good.

In 1968 at My Lai in Vietnam, where soldiers raped and killed little girls and shot unarmed men, women and children in a ditch, the soldiers used the Nazi defence and said they were just following orders. But they didn't squarely claim they were terrifically excellent Grade A orders, or a standard part of warfare.

That is what Graner's lawyer has stated, that the prisoner witness was being rightly punished. “It's very clear that he hates America,” Womack said. Well, if he didn't before, he does now. The thing is, an extra billion people agree with him, and that's a problem.

His client is one chirpy torturer, two words I never expected to combine. Usually, they sigh at the unfortunate necessity, like French general Paul Aussaresses, who tortured Algerians, or they deny urging it, like Donald Rumsfeld. Graner joked with his lawyers. “Whatever happens is going to happen, but I still feel it's going to be on the positive side and I'm going to have a smile on my face,” he told reporters.

Graner is always smiling. That's the worrying thing. It's a hideous parody of American optimism. Whether he's attaching an electrode to a genital or trolling for catfish, whether he's facing 17 years in jail or being an absentee dad to Rosemary's Baby, he's always happy.

Reading about the brutish life he and Lynndie England led makes me laugh out loud and then stop, ashamed. England's best friend is really named “Destiny Gloin”? Graner really sprayed Mace in a fellow prison guard's coffee?

Bloggers have pointed out, fairly, I think, that if you won't force educated, middle- or upper-class people to join the U.S. Army, this is the scum you send. We can only assume that educated soldiers practising torture would have been smart enough not to take pictures of themselves a'kickin' and a'grinnin.'

The Washington Post reports that his commander wrote to Graner's wife (Staci. The traditional spelling) telling her he couldn't appear in court on charges of beating her to a pulp because he was shipping out for Operation Enduring Freedom and Noble Eagle. He wrote, “Charged with a mission supporting the national security of this nation, [I request] that you delay the proceedings to allow this soldier to perform his critical part in that mission.”

And he did that. He gave it a brand name, Abu Ghraib, and a logo, a pile of naked humans. A big job for a little man.

http://www.rabble.ca/columnists_full.shtml?sh_itm=0fa61762b348d63c20b50baac95282cb&rXn=1&
http://www.rabble.ca/in_her_own_words.shtml?sh_itm=4dcbc11052a431d731a668f4abf65e89&rXn=1&
http://www.rabble.ca/columnists_full.shtml?sh_itm=115fd698d74b104aea401aa34a2b78c9&rXn=1&

Changing of the Guard

2006-11-07T23:44:00.000-05:00

Mid-term Election night in the United States and (wait for it) there have been some technical glitches and irregularities:

In some areas of Indiana and Ohio, computer problems meant polling stations did not open on time, with voters being turned away, or given paper ballots. In Colorado, voters queued for hours because of technical glitches and in Oklahoma, a squirrel chewed through an electric cable, cutting off power to electronic voting machines in several polling stations.

Although technology plays a pretty big part of my life, I'm not so sold on electronic voting. Just give me a tiny little pencil covered in saliva and germs and a slip of paper any day. I mean, it works. Tried and true, and no room for hanky-panky or um, the intervention of hungry squirrels. I'm not such a huge fan of democracy as a whole anyway; just spend some time on public transit during any election campaign and listen to the opinions of the people around you. It's scary. That's why I don't do a whole lot of hand-wringing over falling voter turn-out rates. It's for that reason that a ballot initiative in Arizona terrifies me, because occasionally crazy ideas like that make their way North. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of other ballot initiatives that upset me for any number of reasons. It's just that, for example, it doesn't shock me that in South Dakota voters may well decide to outlaw abortion, even if the mother was raped by her retarded brother who lives in a cage in the basement. Just lets not encourage people that otherwise wouldn't vote by offering them a chance to win a million dollars! Who wants to guess that candidates with last names beginning with the letter "A" will suddenly do especially well?

previous south Dakota entry

I Did It!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-11-07T15:40:00.001-05:00

I'm Goldilocks! My CD4 has risen, in the words of my doctor, "dramatically and remarkably" to..........689!

(sadly I'm still fat)

Obviously the meds are helping, but it seems like the Stoli isn't hurting. Drinks anyone?

*If this doesn't make any sense to you, Goldilocks and all, you'll have to read my post from earlier today. Butchie.

The Results are In!

2006-11-06T23:59:00.000-05:00

I just don't know what they are yet. But I will this afternoon. After some quality time in a room like the one pictured above. Today is when I get the results of my quarterly bloodwork, and although my results are expected to be fine, I always get a bit nervous before I get them. My other problem is that ever since I was in Group Therapy I have had CD4 Envy, for lack of a better phrase.

The process I've been going through reminds me a lot of that game on The Price is Right with the cute little man in Lederhosen climbing that hill. No cliff for me though, that came before the game even started. Although my CD4 count results from my last labs pushed me into the "normal" range - Hey look Mom! I have an immune system again! - the normal range is rather broad, from 500 to 1500. I'm at 510. So there is certainly room for improvement, but how much depends on lots of things, most of which are out of my control. I'm thinking 700 is a nice round number, somewhere in the middle. Not too high and not too low. 700 would be the CD4 that Goldilocks would have liked best too.

Anyway, if Dr. Phil is right (and I think we know he always is!) than the best predictor of future behavior is the past. So, I should be fine.

*In case any kids in class are curious, my Viral Load is undetectable and has been that way ever since I began my meds.

In even more exciting news I filled-out a tedious and lengthly application form to make Madamerouge a contestant on Deal or no Deal when it comes to Canada to tape several shows next month. Now THAT would be some must see TV!

What do you Love about where you Live?

2006-11-05T00:41:00.000-05:00

*Madamerouge is excused from Class today

I like a lot of things about Toronto, and have been making a bit of an effort not only to consciously appreciate the things that I like but to discover new things that make me smile in my own backyard. One of the things I like best, have always liked best, are Toronto's streetcars.

There are enough things in life to be depressed about (well, maybe that's "just me") that liking the place where you live seems like a good place to start if you want to be happy. Streetcars make me happy. Maybe I never outgrew the love of trains that all children seem to share. Public transit, at the best of times can be a trying proposition; lots of strangers crowded together with nothing in common save their crabby moods. Public transit is often a great classroom, especially if you need a lesson or two in patience and tolerance. I'm thinking traffic, crazy people and smells here. Anyone who has been armpit to eyeball on a crowded bus, streetcar or subway in the middle of summer knows this. But, it can also be an adventure, not just because it takes you somewhere, but because of the people you meet along the way.I've met lovers and many people that could best be described as members of the agitated and undermedicated communities. And if you live in Toronto and need to get somewhere, I can't think of a better way to get there.

And I'm gonna be taking the streetcar more. There are a lot of things I'd like to discover that I love about Toronto.

Think you've got what it takes?

2006-11-03T08:28:00.000-05:00

Toronto may not have gotten the Olympics, but the International Rock Paper Scissors Tournament will be held here in Toronto later this month, with the winner taking home $10,000! Teams already signed up this year include Team Smoot, Balls Deep, and BJs for Spanky.

I want this book. I think it would seriously cheer me up, maybe even for a whole day:

A small piece of me died when I saw this picture:

Awwwww! Those darned kids and the costumes their parents dream-up!

Who said that Iraq wasn't any fun? Iraqis make great props, for pictures to send "back to the States."

Wednesdays with Hubble

2006-11-01T20:28:00.000-05:00

I had a really great appointment with my Therapist today. Last time we saw each other I finally asked him something I had been wondering about for a while; I asked him "what we were doing." I know that sounds strange, but my last one year cycle with a psychiatrist began with me basically housebound with depression and ended a year later with me felling, well, better. Happier. I stopped seeing the last psychiatrist because she was lured away by the Mayo Clinic, and I was then passed-along to Hubble, my new Therapist. I'm not saying that I am perfect, or that I don't have problems or "issues," but from the very beginning our appointments seemed forced, and I often had to really strain to think about what to talk about. I knew that he was interested in long-term psychoanalysis, but didn't really know what that...meant. And at the same time I found our meetings enjoyable, and usually found myself looking forward to seeing him. I just wasn't sure what was happening. We then had a neat talk about the basic premise behind therapy and growth and personal exploration and discovery and I decided that I'm lucky to be in a position where this is available to me. We also agreed to see how things progress, I guess in a non-structured "organic" way.

I then started talking a bit about my parents, and about the fact that I grew-up in a very privileged environment, but one without too many demands placed on me. They asked and offered me lessons of every kind, but it was "fine" if I wasn't interested. I'm not saying that I wish I was forced to take lessons that I hated, but I think something can be said for having kids commit to something. My mom was often guilty of actually discouraging me from trying new things, things that could arguably be "character building.**" I then said that disappointment wasn't something that I experienced often as child, and suggested that this is something most kids should learn, young and often. He laughed and our time was up. I think this kid will have a better, more realistic take on life than I had:

**True Examples:

"Mom, I'd really like to learn how to skate, and join a Hockey team like my friends."

"Peter, I think we both know that you'll only get hurt."

And:

"Mom, I wanna get a paper route for some extra money."

"I'm not having you running around with newspapers in all kinds of weather for pocket change. How much could it possibly even pay? Look, let me know how much you would have made and you can just have it."

The "funny" thing is, and this only occurred to me now, that I think I knew at the time that she would pay me not to have a paper route.

I'm not sure how to be angry at someone, a dead someone at that, for wanting to spare me from a paper route or from injury......but.....here I am. I guess Hubble and I might have something to discuss after all!

It Begins..........

2006-10-31T21:16:00.000-05:00

Now that Hallowe'en is over, IT is about to begin, and no, I'm not talking about winter. That yearly nightmare actually seemed a long way away today with the thermometer topping out at 17C.

Yes, by noon tomorrow most malls and stores should be all decked out for the holidays, beckoning us all in to buy more crap than we did last year. But that's not IT either.

This is something far worse, far more insidious, and certainly far more sinister. IT is Madamerouge's annual Christmas Sweater Season, and every year it seems to last for an extra week. God help us all.

My Own Hallowe'en Horror Story

2006-10-30T23:34:00.000-05:00

Warning: This is a pretty scary story. Really.

Beautiful Banff. Situated in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Banff was my home for two years.

Banff is also home to the famous Banff Springs Hotel, where Madamerouge and I once stayed together while on a winter holiday. (Note to MR: I didn't spill the "Banff Springs Beans") The Banff Springs Hotel was also home to the hottest Bellman in the world; he even had a pornstar appropriate name -- Jade. If you don't believe me, just ask Madamerouge or Jimmy. But we digress........

Banff was also the scene of a horrific Hallowe'en Day Nightmare, one that I didn't dream, but lived through in technicolour. After work on Hallowe'en my co-workers and I did what we did most nights, we went downtown and hit the bars. Banff Avenue was filled with drunk costumed locals, and we ended-up at Banffs "fancy" nightclub, The Aurora. It looks like they are having the same party there this year that they had seven years ago when I was there. I hope I never see another Vodka Slime again, as long as I live. It was a fun night, fueled by lots and LOTS of Jagermeister, which they had on Tap. While talking to a group of friends that worked at a hotel in town I was introduced to a really sexy "new guy" who had just arrived in town. Well, Hello! Welcome! Anyway we chatted and did some shots and flirted and he ended-up inviting me back to his room in the hotel's staff housing complex. We were both really drunk and I remember that we both seemed to be having some problems....you know, getting excited. I remember lying on his bed in the dark and every time I closed my eyes the room would start spinning. At this point all I wanted to do was sleep and the only thing I wanted inside me was some greasy food. New Guy however, was determined. So I lay there in the dark kinda hoping it would all be over soon so I could go to bed as he performed fellatio on me that might best be described as aggressive. It was so dark in the room that I couldn't even see him, well, not until he suddenly fumbled for the switch to the lamp beside my bed and turned it on. And this, essentially, is what I saw:

Never before in my life had I been faced with someone facing me with a look of such utter horror on their face. A face which was covered in blood. Immediately I realized that I was bleeding, really bleeding, from my penis. We were both freaking-out. I panicked and grabbed a sock and tied it around to try and stop the bleeding...I don't think I had ever even seen that much blood. I threw on my clothes and ran the two blocks to the Mineral Springs Hospital, once slipping on a patch of ice and hitting my head. By the time I arrived at Emergency there was a huge circle of blood on the front of my pants and the nurse at the counter grabbed me and rushed me right into the treatment area before even asking me what my name was. The doctor came over and knew what the problem was right away, I think maybe even before he looked.

"Looks like someone's torn their Frenulum, Eh? Well, don't worry, a couple of stitches and a dab or two of surgical glue and you'll be all patched-up. I'm sure this is pretty alarming to you, but it's not at all uncommon."

All I could manage was the word "stitches." Well, he was right, and I healed pretty quickly. My "relationship" with New Guy wasn't quite so easily resolved. I saw him once or even twice a week for the next year, but we never spoke. I always wanted to say something, even just "I'm Sorry." Not sorry because I had even "done" anything, but just sorry that it happened at all. I never had the chance though. He avoided me, and I'm not sure that I blame him. I hope his nightmares about that night have gone away; I wish mine had.

Happy Halloween!!!!

Because it's not all about debauchery.

2006-10-30T04:08:00.000-05:00

Really. I was thinking about yesterday's post, and about the fact that I have (had) my next post already written. It's another "funny" Peter story, and is appropriate, in it's own way, for Halloween. But I decided to slip this post in between. It demonstrates, I hope, that while I have lots of "funny" stories, I also have....some depth. Anyway, the people that run AIDS Camp asked me to write something for their newsletter about my experiences at Camp. Here's what I wrote, and I like it. Oh, and the picture above? I saw it today and it made me smile. Don't get me wrong though, enjoy yesterdays post, and tomorrow's too. But just know that there is....more.

When I arrived at Camp I had brought along everything on the checklist; sleeping bag, sunblock, a variety of clothes, and of course my meds. And while all of these things obviously made my stay at Camp more comfortable, no list, no set of instructions, in short nothing could have prepared me for my experience at Camp Wendake. I say this because even now, having had months to reflect, I'm still a little hard pressed to fully express what really happened to me while I was there. It's so unusual for me--some might say unprecedented even--to be at such a loss of words. But let me try to give you a glimpse into one man's experience at somewhere that is truly "a place set apart."

I can tell you that I discovered almost immediately upon arriving at Camp that a new friend was only ever as far away as the nearest stranger. Imagine that--a place so full of love and support and joy and hope and shared fears and dreams that people are able to come together so easily and so effortlessly--I'd like think so naturally. I can tell you how wonderful the meals were, but I'm not sure, even now, that I can tell you how grateful--no, how loved I felt whenever I glanced towards the volunteers laughing and singing (and sweating!) in the kitchen. I can describe the sound of my paddle dipping in a lake as I pushed a canoe through the water, but again, it's hard for me to convey the joy I felt as I shared the experience with two new friends, two kindred spirits that were along with me for the ride. I can't describe the sunsets; I'll defer to the poets at Camp for that, but I can guarantee that you haven't enjoyed the sight of the sun as it falls below the water until you have done so with new friends, as I have. I can tell you that I had never meditated before arriving at Camp, and not because I had never tried. What I can say is that meditation is now an important, healing and wonderful part of my life every day. This alone is extraordinary. My life is has been enriched and changed in so many ways because of my experience at Camp; I suspect even in ways I am yet to discover.

I can tell you that I tried to thank anybody that would listen to me. I know I missed people, maybe I missed you. You may have been missed but please know that you were not forgotten. What happened to me--the remarkable experience that I had and shared-- was the result of the love, dedication, time, and trust of all of you. Together we created an extraordinary community, and I hope that like me, you were able to bring a piece of it home with you. So thank you. Those two words feel so insufficient, but you should know that I can't remember meaning them more. Ever.

I can tell you that I'm listening to O Siem as I write this, and that I'm smiling; I'll be singing even louder next year.

A or B

2006-10-29T00:07:00.002-04:00

So I met a great guy last night - well he was lots of fun, anyway. After our um, splendid congress, he whispered the following words in my ear while holding me in his arms. I don't think I'll ever forget that moment. Now guess if he said:

A) (Insert long breathy Sigh) "Oh..that was really..amazing. I never knew that sex could be that hot and that... beautiful. I know I already asked you to stay over, but..screw it...will you marry me?"

B) (Insert long breathy Sigh) "Oh....Um...This is kinda...embarassing...My P.A. is, um.....it's missing.

Luckily for him, I've had some not inconsiderable experience in this department!

Just busy here Loving my Life!!!!

Dirty Political Ads

2006-10-26T13:24:00.000-04:00

People have been complaining for years about all the cheap shots that candidates take at their opponents in TV ads. Well I'm here to tell you that they have gone too far. They can try and smear each other as much as they want, but let's please try and leave Canada out of it. Jeeze.

OTTAWA (CP) — The Canadian government has lodged a complaint with the Bush administration over a Republican election ad that belittles Canada as a global freeloader.

Canada’s ambassador to Washington registered his displeasure over a Senate election ad from Tennessee that implied Canada doesn’t pull its weight in international matters.

Michael Wilson expressed Canada’s concerns in a phone call Wednesday to a White House official, said a Canadian government source.

Watch the 30 second ad:

Here is Madamerouge!!!

2006-10-25T00:19:00.000-04:00

For months this commercial has been playing, and I've bugged him about it. I don't have it en englais, but this is him:

I also may have had a pint or two with Dickeybird, and, you guessed it, he IS taller than you thought. The charm was no surprise.

Méli-Mélo

2006-10-24T07:59:00.000-04:00

I received a package in the mail yesterday, and from Butchie of all people! Mail of this sort always cheers me up, and this was certainly no exception. It had a CD full of great music and some Schoolhouse Rock (I'm only a Bill) which reminded me how old I am. It also contained a few dozen (oddly shaped) tiddlywinks, (at least that's what I think they are, they're kinda a weird shape); I'll have to have Madamerouge remind me how to play sometime soon. Butchie also sent me something that, although charming in a sense, I guess mostly served to expose just how different we are, and illustrates that it's hard to really know people from the Internet. Here's a picture of it that I found on the Internet:

It's a chewing tobacco caddy! I'm sure I'll find some use for it, although I've never been a fan of chewing tobacco. I tried it once, and didn't enjoy the flavour and couldn't get past my instinct to swallow. Proof of how ingrained this is can be found by examining:

a) My waist size
b) My medical history

I couldn't help but look at the top picture and think that he has one of those fancy stainless steel cockrings in his back pocket. Anyway, thank's a lot Butchie for the stuff! I'll be writing more about some of the music he sent me in the days to come.

I have a job interview today, and although I've been fighting a flu for the past week I've been really looking forward to it ever since it was set-up last week. Possible proof of the power of positive thinking when combined with mega-doses of antidepressants can be found in the fact that my excitement didn't wane (much) even after the restaurant was reviewed in this past Saturdays Globe and Mail. The critic, Joanne Kates, is a pretty tough customer on the best of days; she finds fault everywhere, and I usually agree with her. At the restaurant where I am interviewing today she raved about the food but didn't have to look far to find the service...well lacking would be an understatement. And although the fact that they need good service staff would tend to bode well for me, I am somewhat haunted by the way she ended her review:

Will Chez Victor make it in the cut-throat world of Toronto dining? Sure. And I'm Dolly Parton.

It's "funny" because she really isn't Dolly Parton. The title of the review is "funny" as well, and can be read in full here.

In other exciting news, while practicing my meditation yesterday I became mindfull that I think I have an ingrown hair. I say "think" because said ingrown hair in in the centre of my back, making it rather hard to examine.

As usual, I Love my Life!!!!! I'm just waiting to wake-up with ear hair one of these mornings.......

A Lovely Fall Day

2006-10-22T16:06:00.000-04:00

I made a real effort on Saturday to try and enjoy myself, do something healthy if you will, and guess what? It worked! Marc, Madamerouge and I went to High Park and took the dog for a walk, and although the sun was absent, the change of scenery was great, and we had a lovely afternoon. I made some great soup with some green split peas and a smoked pork hock and although we didn't see a movie as planned, my friend Tom (triplets any day now) dropped-by and we had a few laughs and a couple of glasses of wine.

The weather is still gray today but feeling a little more like winter. Maybe it's that the rain has been interrupted by sleet this afternoon. It looks like Madamerouge will be having to get his fur coat out of cold storage sometime soon!

Anyway, here's some pics from the park of Me, Rouge and Marc. Oh, and Bailey!

A or B

2006-10-21T00:53:00.000-04:00

One of these movie titles best describes my life. Try and guess:

Related:

R.I.P, old friend.

Twenty.

2006-10-20T05:42:00.000-04:00

That's how many years I've waited for this moment. Ladies and Gentlemen, Jason does Karaoke!

And "Slow Hand":

The tragedy of the evening was me not recording him sing "Snowbird."

Oh, and yes, here's me. This one's for Butchie:

and:

Apparently, "sleeve coughing" is the new Black!

2006-10-18T22:00:00.000-04:00

"Peter, for God's sake PLEASE cover your mouth with your hands when you cough!" Wrong Mom. Sorry. Apparently the CDC and Health Canada are widely promoting the practice, so with Flu season here and here to stay for a while, cough into your sleeve and leave your hands free for something much more exciting. Well, "exciting" is relative I suppose, especially if your name is Butchie and you live in Indy.

Oh and was there ever trouble at the henhouse when Madamerouge had her neices for the weekend. Here's the video:

Speaking of Madamerouge, I know what is on the top of her Christmas wish this (and every) year:

The strangers we share our lives with

2006-10-17T20:15:00.000-04:00

I've often been amazed (alarmed would a better word as it refers to the gay community) at how small a city of over 3 million people can feel. Anyone who develops a daily routine, like taking a commuter train or subway or (my favourite, above) streetcar has gotten used to familiar faces going to the same destination every day. There are other people though, people that seem to pop-up all over the place. You might never speak to them, but if you're like me, you wonder about them; wonder what their "story" is, and wonder, maybe even worry about them a little, when it occurs to you that you haven't seen them in a while.

There's a man that I assume lives in the same part of downtown as I do, and I used to see him several times a week. My routine didn't really change, but it's been months since I've seen him, and I've wondered about him. I saw him today, and was really....relieved. It was a strange feeling to feel for someone I've never met and caught me off guard at first. I smiled at him as he walked by, and I hope he noticed. He has a horribly disfigured head and face; I think he might have the same thing as The Elephant Man, but I don't know, and it doesn't matter. I've often wondered if he was in physical pain, if "it" hurt. I've watched as other people look away as they walk past him, and he often seems to walk with his eyes trained straight ahead. I hope he saw me though, because I was happy to see him.

Toronto is probably just like every other city in that it has it's "famous" street characters. There's the woman with some kind of a mental illness that I have seen all over the city for several years. She wears the same black trench coat whether it's summer or winter and waves her right hand in front of her face as she walks, making it appear like she has an annoying cloud of flies in front of her at all times. Or a very colourful homeless man named Kevin Clarke. He runs for Mayor in every civic election and can usually be found on a grate at Bay and Adelaide.

Without question though, the most famous of these people in Toronto is Zanta.

He roams the city, summer and winter, shirtless and wearing his Santa hat. He doesn't "do" much except attract a lot of attention, yell, and do what must be thousands of one arm push-ups. For a few weeks in the summer he has a fixture in my neighborhood, but again, I haven't seen him in a while. His story is a little more public and pretty compelling. He was just a "normal" guy until his romantic advances were rejected by Mitzee, and apparently he had some kind of a breakdown. That's not true, but it is true that his story is interesting and compelling. A couple of amateur film makers made a short documentary about him and you can watch it here. I've always thought he was harmless, and I've never seen him without smiling. Sadly, due to his "disruptive" behavior he has been banned from large parts of the city, including all public transit buses, subways and streetcars. People complain about him. I think I'd like the city even more if there were more people like him - his own problems aside, people like him add colour to a city that can be pretty gray.

I hope he's doing okay too. You can also read about him on Wikipedia, and there are lots of youtube videos of him.

God Save the Queen...and oh yeah, make sure that Hellen Mirren gets an Oscar!

2006-10-17T01:14:00.002-04:00

I saw this movie on the weekend with Madamerouge and another friend. The crowd at the theater was really funny - senior citizens and gay men; it's funny how often those two demographics seem to get together unexpectedly. The film was really great, and Helen Mirren was incredible. The story itself is compelling, and was much more sympathetic to Queen Elizabeth than I expected, which, I think, is a good thing. She didn't come across as "mean" or "uncaring," but certainly "distant" and a more than a little unprepared for the public circus that followed the death of Diana.

You can argue that the monarchy, more than anything else, is about continuity - the world changes, technologies develop, but the monarchy marches to an older historical beat. For all the people that find comfort in this, there are as many or more that find it nothing more than an antiquated and dusty relic of the past. I'm not going to get into any of that here, but if you have read my blog over the past year or so you probably know how I feel. In any event, go see this movie, and, if you are in line beside a poster of the movie Shortbus, as I was, you too might discover that you have slept with one of the "actors." Probably not though. I haven't see Shortbus yet, but can't wait.

It appears we have a consensus!

2006-10-11T22:14:00.000-04:00

Seriously. Thanks to everyone for their advice and words of encouragement. I'm gonna call Father Coughlin today and set-up a meeting. I'm also going to try really hard not to snicker when I pronounce his name.

A Consensus is a wonderful thing indeed:

Drunken demanding emails are one thing.........

2006-10-10T22:38:00.002-04:00

*This is a long-ish and not completely unselfindulgant post, but I would really like to know what people think.

O.K. I'm not quite sure what spurred this on, and although I'm glad I "did it," I'm kinda (read very) stressed-out about following up on it. Above is a picture of the church where my mother's funeral took place. It is a Catholic church and I was in charge of planning her funeral. Basically, I had to make sure that her (very reasonable) "last wishes" were respected and granted.

Long story short:

I wasn't raised a Catholic and I'm not complaining, mind you) because when my mother married my father, who had been twice divorced, the church she belonged to refused to marry her and added "and your children will be bastards in the eyes of God." She left the church, though unhappily.

When she was dying she - and I hate to make it sound trite - rediscovered (?) her faith, and I'm glad she did.

She wanted to be cremated, and wanted the service to be held in the church of her youth, in Oakville, Ontario. She died in Vancouver. Rather than spend $5000 on shipping her body to Oakville for the funeral and then having her cremated, we decided to cremate her in Vancouver and have her become "carry-on." Here is, again in point form, what happened next - what has bothered me more than anything in my life - and what I finally did about it:

So I arrived at the church, at a scheduled time to meet with the Priest. I explained that I was there to organize a funeral for my mother. He then explained that because the church is so old, historic and beautiful (all true) that they get far more "requests" than they could possibly accommodate - "even if we wanted to." (Insert semi-sinister smile.) I explained that my mother had been baptized, confirmed and (might have been) married in this church. He huffed, looked very put-off and left the room to "confirm my story."

Maybe 20 minutes later he literally stormed back into the room, and seemed genuinely annoyed that what I was telling him was true and that he would have to deal with me. "So," he said, "we will plan for Tuesday. Yes. Tuesday. When will the body be arriving from Vancouver?"

"Martha," I whispered. "That was her name. It was Martha."

"Um," I said, pointing to the bag beside my chair, "the body is right here, we had her cremated." And then the look. I'll never forget it and haven't ever let it go. I would have, if I could. I swear. I've let go of lots. He looked like....humm. He looked like I'd said the worst thing in the world.

"You mean you have desecrated the body of a Ca-tho-lic? I can not - no - WILL NOT - preform this service." Again, he left the room with a bit of a flourish, robes in tow. I'm just saying. And I'm someone who enjoys drama.

And that's when I threw-up on myself, because, you know, some things you just can't screw-up, and this "bell" could not be un-rung.

He stormed back into the room with the same flaps of fabric that he had left in. "O.K," he said, "I'll do it, I will do the service, but on the condition that you rent a casket." I was upset, and would have agreed to anything at this point, but it would be a mistake to think that this hypocrisy wasn't apparent to me. The one day rental was $600. He then put a piece of paper in front of me. "Funeral Service" was the header. Then "Holy Holy Holy" with a long blank beside it. Then "Lamb of God" with a similar blank. Lots more blanks followed. I looked-up and said "I don't know what any of this even means..."

"I'll see you on Tuesday," he said, continuing, "it's not my place to school you as a last-minute Catholic because of your upbringing." And he left, again, yes, in a flourish.

I sat there crying, for a long time. Sobbing, gasping, and searching my mind for ideas on what to do. And then a lovely elderly lady, the church organist and secretary sat down beside me, and knowing all invited me to her house so we could plan it "together."

She was lovely and kind, and I'll never forget it. But, I've never been able to quite reconcile my anger with the Catholic Church vis a vis my experience. So, in a long and not so proud tradition of drunken emails, I sent the following letter to the new priest of that church the other day:

Dear Reverend Father,

I suspect that this may be one of the more unusual letters of correspondence that you may have ever received. My name is Peter Joseph Michael Troyer and I wasn't raised a Catholic. My mother was a devout Catholic up until the time she married my father in 1968. He had once been divorced, and it broke her heart that in those days she felt she had to choose between love and Faith. My mother became ill and died twelve years ago this week. As is not uncommon, she searched for, and I am happy to report found, great comfort during her last weeks through her long lapsed faith. Her wishes were to have a Catholic funeral, and I was totally unprepared to attempt to fulfill her wishes. Her funeral took place in the same church where she was baptized, confirmed, and might have been married, had circumstances been different. St. Andrew's in Oakville.

The experience I had during that time has always left me sad, disappointed, and a little bit angry. For years, friends (including all of my Catholic friends), have encouraged me to speak to members of the Catholic Church in the hope that I might better understand what took place. I have recently returned from a health-related retreat and had some wonderful conversations late at night with a Franciscan brother. We spoke about the things I'm talking about now, and I asked him how one can continue as he does and in his work without always feeling like an "apologist" for the sins of others, real or perceived.

I am not religious, and have always felt that I am missing something that at times feels very natural. I have a tremendous amount of respect for people of faith, and often tell skeptical friends "well, let's not forget that God was 'good enough' for William Blake!" But, at the same time, I really want to reconcile some feelings, have some questions answered, and, I hope, find a bit of peace with events of the past. I live adjacent to St. Michael's College in Toronto and walk by St. Basil's every single day while walking my Scottie. I can't tell you how many times I have wanted to wander inside, and maybe have the conversation that I am talking about having now. Despite the fact that my mother left the Church in 1968 under difficult circumstances, and notwithstanding my own negative experiences during that difficult time, my friends often remark: "well, you're name is Peter Joseph Michael Troyer, and that's pretty Catholic!"

I have been pretty vague about what took place during the meetings I had with Father (Anthony?) and what disappointed me so much, but those are things that I would like to speak about in person, if I can. If I could be indulged. I would welcome an opportunity to meet with you; I'm neither aggressive nor am I looking for an apology. What I am looking for is an opportunity to explore some events that took place under difficult circumstances, and, maybe, just maybe, explore some faith-based possibilities of my own. I'm not entirely sure that I can argue that such a meeting would be of "benefit" to you, but at the same time I need to emphasize how much it could - would, mean to me. I've often been impatient with the recent advent or overuse of the word "closure," but, at the same time, I'm not sure that's not what I'm looking for. That, and a place to begin a journey of faith. A beginning.

Yours truly,

I tried to be very "open," and was maybe even a little ingenuous about the prospects for my faith in the Catholic Church, but I'm glad I wrote it. I felt better immediately. But he's been calling, and I'm nervous about actually talking to him. I should - have to maybe - and to his credit he's called 3 times in a week. I'm just nervous. And mad. Still. And I'm not sure that he can help me with that. But, I suspect, I should at least let him try.

My Very Eventful Thanksgiving

2006-10-09T23:34:00.000-04:00

I think I had my busiest and most eventful Thanksgiving ever! Some highlights:

* The spouse of a fellow Blogger assaulted me in a restaurant I was working in over a dispute about their bill.

*Madamerouge and I got our annual Christmas baking out of the way, freezing the cookies to wrap and distribute later. He was particularly creative with his sugar cookie decorating as I recall, and we had a HUGE fight over the "proper" way to make shortbread. He kept playing the "I'm Scottish" card on me.

* The dog gave birth to about a dozen adorable puppies, but since he is male I had to "step-in" and nurse them.

* While living in Saudi Arabia someone turned me into the religious police due to the fact that I was drinking alcohol, among other things.

Sadly, or not so sadly, depending on the highlight, all of this took place in during a 24 hour stomach flu induced haze while I slept with only brief periods of lucidity. I made it to a lovely gathering for dinner on Sunday, only to have to leave shortly thereafter. Or more specifically, I had to leave after vomiting all over his front lawn, in full view of his neighbours.

I seem to be "better," finally being ambulatory at least! Hopefully I'll get some turkey at Christmas.

Somehow the most disappointing part of this whole story took place a little while ago. I had gone to the store for some soup and diet gingerale and spotted a display of beautiful, plump green grapes. My body was suddenly craving them, and I couldn't wait to get home. My first solid food! I may have even closed my eyes in anticipation when I ate the first one. And.......nothing. I mean they literally tasted of nothing. Just kinda sweet.

I thought that we had only managed to screw tomatoes up this badly in the pretty but flavourless department. Guess I was wrong. That reminds me that I've been meaning to read this book:

Last Chance to Eat

Finding Taste in an Era of Fast Food
A witty and vividly remembered culinary memoir about how eating once was, and still can be, a joy.

Food has never been more exalted as part of a lifestyle, yet fewer and fewer people really know what good food is. Drawing on enough culinary experiences to fill several lifetimes, Gina Mallet's irreverent memoir combines recollections of meals and their milieus with recipes and tasting tips. In loving detail, Last Chance to Eat muses on the fates of foods that were once the stuff of feasts: light, fluffy eggs; rich cheeses; fresh meat; garden vegetables; and fish just hauled ashore. Mallet's gastronomic adventures appeal to any palate: from finding the perfect grilled cheese ("as delicate tasting as any Escoffier recipe") to combing the bustling food department at postwar Harrod's for the makings of "an Elizabeth David meal." The search for taste often takes her far from the beaten path—to an underground "chevaline" restaurant serving horsemeat steaks and to purveyors of contraband Epoisses, for instance—but the journey is always a delight.

I hope I get the "Wishbone."

2006-10-08T01:04:00.000-04:00

Actually, any Wishbone would do

Fun with Peggy

2006-10-05T23:22:00.000-04:00

Jimmy, Madamerouge and I had a fabulous and not soon to be forgotten evening of wine and oysters with our friend Margaret (Peggy) Wente last night, and despite what some of her critics might think, no, she did not order "fava beans and a fine Chianti." Like the rest us us, she stuck strictly to white wines. Well, there was a sparking Rose, but nothing as rich and tannic as a Chianti. We had lots of laughs and discussed politics, current events, and everything in between. This is our second "Oysters and Wine with Peggy" evening, and we all promised to do it again in a few months. Hopefully a certain Montrealer whom I would hate to "out" as a fan of hers can join us next time!

It was a strictly off the record evening for all concerned, so I guess I can't say any more and certainly don't expect to be making any more appearances in her columns anytime soon. Too bad! It's with more than a little pride that I can report that a real highlight of the night for me personally was when she told me that I should be a columnist; high praise indeed in my books!

The evening continued as we celebrated Boonstra's birthday, and just like last year, the straight married man got to celebrate his birthday in a gay bar! I guess that's what happens when his best friend(s) are all homosexualists.

I couldn't resist making sure that he was dragged-up on the stage by the same drag queen who spoke to Butchie "live" on my cellphone while she was on stage. Butchie may have worked with some of the biggest baddest bands on the tri-state touring circuit, but I could tell that he was more than a little starstruck. Awwwww!

Fall is back after several warm days and nights and there is a chill in the air and I couldn't be happier. Lord knows that my favourite (like I have a choice) Avon Representative Madamerouge will be calling me any day to "remind" me to place my annual order for three bottles of Skin So Soft. God love him.

I actually think that I want to move even farther away from Texas......

2006-10-02T22:29:00.000-04:00

This is one reason why.

One of the best documentaries I've ever seen was called Hell House and was about haunted houses put on by churches. They depict abortion, AIDS, suicide and drug use and at the end of the tour of the house, the kids get to pray and give their lives over to Jesus. Here is a great link at NPR where you can read about Hell House and even see some scary video!

On a much happier and arguably healthier note, thanks to Madamerouge who bought me the book below. With my long-lapsed gym membership and the Canadian winter set to arrive, he has been encouraging me to join his Mall Walking Group. It sounds like a really supportive group of mostly lonely senior citizens, so it shouldn't be too intimidating. Thank's Rouge! - I'll see you at the mall food court bright and early!

Oh - and on a decidedly unhappy and unhealthy note, the season premiere of Nova on PBS tonight discusses a newly discovered asteroid that is predicted to end all life on Earth sometime in 2036. I don't expect that this will have any effect on me personally, but I've decided that (see above) maybe our little planet could use a bit of a taking-out of the trash, so to speak. You can read the transcript of the episode here. You can also watch it on Tuesday night. In the meantime it's off to bed as I have an early morning with Madamerouge at the mall tomorrow!

I wasn't going to post anything today...........

2006-09-28T22:35:00.000-04:00

BUT...I was going through my computer and found a chat that I had saved. It was months ago and although I may have been looking online for some trouble, all I found was a hot young "you can't handle my originality or madness" guy. We chatted, and for some reason I saved it. I'm pjmt, in case you were confused.

pjmt_99: you can't play with madness, but others
can....that's cute, kinda up there with
"I'm too troubled/complicated to ever know,"
but "troubled" and "complicated" being your
sexiest traits. Awwwwwwwww!

squish1: ah....then they would play with me?

pjmt_99: i'll play with your madness

squish1: you couldn't handle it

pjmt_99: don't patronize an adult you've
never met

squish1: nah...but I can torment

pjmt_99: maybe I like you already!

pjmt_99: you're not as fucked-up or "original" as
you imagine,BTW, so have some fun

squish1: Oh..So I'm not fucked
up or original?....hmmm...I can definately be
that....always have fun...

pjmt_99: we all thought that every Smiths song
was written "just for us" at one point in our
lives and it didn't mean that in 10 years we
weren't still all shopping at The Gap.

squish1: Who the hell are the smiths?

pjmt_99: a band. I give-up. White flag waving time Sonny!

squish1: I figured that out when you said the
word song...

pjmt_99: where are u being all original and
"mad?"

squish1: in my "happy" place

squish1: just east of TO

pjmt_99: but never imagine that you are unique
in your strugges, I made that mistake, and
then realized that there was a pop song for
everything I had ever been "through"

squish1: Oh...not struggling....never fight it...go
with it!!

pjmt_99: is your "happy place" your mom's
basement?

squish1: lol...hardly....my happy place can only
be reached by unlocking the mystery
granted to us by pizza

pjmt_99: i know that you're trying to be esoteric,
but it's not working. Really. Now be a good boy
and discover The Smiths, and never stop sulking.

I just hope he's playing safe, wherever he is. God knows his whole life is ahead of him! :)

This is for squish1 !!!!! Lyrics will follow, so follow the bouncing dot young man!

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows i'm miserable now

I was looking for a job, and then i found a job
And heaven knows i'm miserable now

In my life
Why do i give valuable time
To people who don't care if i live or die ?

Two lovers entwined pass me by
And heaven knows i'm miserable now

I was looking for a job, and then i found a job
And heaven knows i'm miserable now

In my life
Oh, why do i give valuable time
To people who don't care if i live or die ?

What she asked of me at the end of the day
Caligula would have blushed

"oh, you've been in the house too long" she said
And i (naturally) fled

In my life
Why do i smile
At people who i'd much rather kick in the eye ?

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows i'm miserable now

"oh, you've been in the house too long" she said
And i (naturally) fled

In my life
Oh, why do i give valuable time

That. Is. The. Smiths. Every education has a beginning.

Maybe he just finds me really interesting.........

2006-09-27T23:17:00.000-04:00

Today was Therapist Wednesday, and after last weeks appointment I was looking forward to our session today. Suddenly, and I thought kinda surprisingly, Hubble and I seemed to click at one point last week, and the session became less of a chore, and more something that I was really into. So I arrived today feeling good, and we made quick work of well, of changing that. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but during our little hour together we managed to bring-up a cascade of memories, feeling and issues, many of which I thought that I had forgotten about, or, maybe more alarmingly, never even knew I had.

And it's not even like he was probing me or anything like that; it mas more like he had ever so gently, almost invisibly, pushed a domino that led to a cascade. One thing. Quick click of a domino hitting another. Click. And another. I can't believe I'm going to use this word, but it fits; the whole experience seemed very (cringe) organic.

After our time was up, even with all the stuff that we (me) had been talking about, I felt great. Light. I was smiling and he was smiling. He started to say what a great session it had been, and how much progress I seemed to be making. "You're doing so well, and this isn't just about today's session, that I was thinking," he began, and I immediately knew what he was going to say, and I was kinda disappointed to tell you the truth. He was going to say that maybe I didn't need him, didn't need therapy. I mean, universal healthcare is a wonderful thing, but resources have to be allocated to those people most in need. And that, clearly, wasn't me. I had connected my dots. And then Hubble continued:

"I want us to give some thought to having two sessions a week." He must have read something in my face, because he then added, in a surprised and hurried postscript kind of way, "but don't answer now, just think about it. We can discuss it next week!"

I. Love. Everything!

The Many Moods of Butchie

2006-09-26T20:37:00.003-04:00

Our Butchie, he's a million different people from one day to the next.........

I would also like to thank Madamerouge for the recipe she sent me. Although I decided not to try it myself, if anyone else wants to try it, let me know how it turns out!

Here it is.

I did find Madamerouge the pattern that she was looking for to make a new Casserole Caddy - the straps finally gave out on her last one!

At least I'm not fat enough for Dr. Phil.

2006-09-25T20:25:00.000-04:00

Literally. Jason and I are watching the car crash episode of Dr. Phil where they put a basketcase family in a house full of cameras so they can get real. There was a great article about this car-crash of a TV concept in the Globe and Mail this weekend. Love him or hate him, it's a pretty short article and really interesting. You can read it here.

Class is not unfamiliar with the ups and down with my weight. It goes up and down, and is often tied to my mood (see: "emotional eating" in previous Blog posts) and I have less control over it than I would like.

Back to Dr. Phil, and not being fat enough for his show.

My friend Jason also has issues with his weight, although his "fat" and my "fat" are very different things. I guess that one's perception is what matters, but still. He's never been "Peter Fat."

We used to diet together, and when we lived together, one of us would eventually snap and try and drag the other down with us. Aren't friends great?! Just quit smoking?..One won't hurt!.... My strategy was always the same; I'd bake fresh cookies and just sit and wait for the smell to waft up to his room. Jason once brought home about $30 of Burger King and just put it in my lap. Great. $30 buys a lot of Burger King. I'm not going to even look it up now, but I'm pretty sure one of my old Blog posts was titled "When Failure tastes like Spice Cake." Don't even get me started on my long-term relationship with Popcorn Chicken.......

One day we were watching Dr. Phil and at the end of the show the announcer said:

"Do you have a friend that sabotages you when you are trying to lose weight? Call us."

I called and left a message. A producer called the next day and we spoke at length, and then she asked us if we could leave Toronto for L.A. the next day! We were kinda excited; it was the middle of winter and we thought "why not?"
"All we need is a picture of the two of you," she said, and I immediately sent her pictures of me and Jason at our fattest. My picture was a bit old, but I was at my biggest ever, and I even managed to find a picture of Jason where he at least looked fat.

She called back a couple of hours later, as we were basically planning to leave for L.A. the next morning. It wouldn't "work" she said, we weren't fat enough.

So, my own issues aside, at least I've never been fat enough for Dr. Phil!

A Happy Childhood memory on a rainy day.....

2006-09-24T19:13:00.000-04:00

P.S.: It's funny, because that is exactly the way Madamerouge walks to the store.

Oh, and apparently today (Monday) is "National One Hit Wonder Day." Here are a couple of songs that came to mind....what are your favorites?

How (not) to win friends and influence people......

2006-09-23T03:28:00.000-04:00

{Wait! this is a Blog add-on....you have to watch this before proceeding!}

Canadians love to make-fun of Americans. We're thinner, they're crazy. They have guns and the death penalty and we have universal medicare. I'm more than a bit guilty of this myself, and it feels good. Nobody hates us; America is a global bully. It goes on.

But,

I was talking to an American Blogger friend tonight, who lives in America. We're very different people and I'm really glad we met. I'm occasionally patronizing to him in the way that only Canadians can be. And I'm sorry. Kinda.I was telling him that Canadians are incensed that the American Senate was voting about building a wall, a 1900km wall, between British Columbia and Ontario. The largest undefended border in the world, no more. Canadians are mad that there is a suggestion that we, Canada, are a source of terrorists. Every Prime Minister since 9/11 has stressed that we have a border, and so does the United States. A terrorist from Canada (and there haven't been any) is an American issue.....they have to protect themselves.

And, I guess that's what they are doing.

My blogger friend has a daughter, and he, like me, wants to protect her. I can go on and on about why America is a target, but the fact is, they are. And I'd want to protect my daughter too, at least for as long as they're mad at us.

I was really "proud" of myself and my drunken principles, when, one night in Provincetown, I left a man's bed because he was in favour of the death penalty. He must be dumb. I just remembered a Blog post from a while ago.....same thing:

here's what I wrote:

Friday night I met a handsome gentleman from New Jersey, and after some chatting, well,frankly
lots
of chatting, he invited me to come and check-out his hotel room which was conveniently located nearby. Given my interest in interior design and the fact that well, I just love hotels, especially tacky ones, how could I refuse! Immediately upon entering the room I noticed a large contraption on the bed - a mechanical box, cords, and what looked like hospital tubing. "Oh," I said, gulping, not quite sure what I was looking at. "Oh," says (pick a name - I have no idea), "that's just my positive air flow thing, for my sleep apnea, you know....."

Well, to be honest I thought, no, I don't "know." Anyway, Pick-a-name then excused himself to the bathroom and I kinda paced around a little, debating the effect said machine was having on my mood. It just didn't seem particularly "charming." It was then that I noticed that he had a lot, and I mean piles of literature from The Republican Party, which I was leafing through when he walked back in the room. "Know, your enemy Eh!," I said, laughing. "Um," "Not at all, I am a Republican, and a proud one." To me, that was the sound of the other, second shoe hitting the ground. "Yeah," I say, "this isn't gonna work for me." He looked shocked - really shocked actually, and asked me why not. I mean, he was handsome, and sleep apnea or whatever aside, it was at least a legitimate question I guess.

"Oh, because clearly you're a self loathing idiot." I mean...c'mon!!!

I'm drunk, but suffice to say it's easy being a Canadian. One of my favourite newspaper columnists wrote this about "the seven things you can't say in Canada." Here is Number One:

The United States is the greatest force for good the world has ever known.
Of all the shocking things you can say around the dinner table, this is the most shocking one. After all, America-bashing is part of our national identity.

At best, we see our neighbour as a well-intentioned but arrogant and blundering bully that throws its weight around too much. At worst, we see our neighbour as one of the most evil nations in the world. And yet, right now, hundreds of millions of people in India and China and other desperately poor parts of the world are being liberated from millennia of suffering and serfdom. Why? Because of the United States, which has spread its idea of economic freedom—and its purchasing power—around the world.

I agree with her, but am still allowed to love this beer commercial that was a national phenomenon:

But Hubble and I are working on it!

2006-09-20T22:42:00.000-04:00

I saw my therapist today for our weekly chatfest. This is our second appointment after an eight week break, and we only met a couple of times before then. So he's pretty new, but I hadn't been feeling very connected to him as of yet. It's not that I didn't like him, it just seemed like we weren't developing much of a rapport, and I was kinda uncomfortable with his (new to me) psychoanalytic style - it seemed a little esoteric for me, although I don't know enough about it to actually explain why. I had been tempted to start looking for someone new even before I saw him today, but "decided" (looking would mean effort) to see how things went for a while longer. Also, I think I was a little spoiled by the experience I had with my last therapist whom I really liked, and we had a great rapport - being with her never seemed like a chore, or like "work;" I used to really look forward to our weekly meetings..... I just hope everything works out for her at her new job at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. :(

So I arrived today and down I sat, and then....the dreaded silence. We're three feet apart, not talking, just blinking. The idea is that I'm supposed to just start talking about whatever I guess; we never actually went over what our respective roles or expectations should be. I hate the silence and within seconds I usually start gabbing. I had decided before going in today that I was gonna see what happened if I didn't say anything, but alas, anyone who knows me can tell you that I hate a conversational void more than just about anything. In fact I often feel "free" to speak - interrupt - people when they are talking. So the silence lasted about three seconds - not very long I grant you, but perhaps long enough to be my personal "best." Anyway, I suppose the road to wellness isn't paved with game-playing with your therapist....or...no, I'm sure it isn't.

I'm not sure at what point it happened, but suddenly we seemed to be "clicking," and I found myself not only offering lots of grist for the mill as it were but actually enjoying the time I was spending doing it - I felt thoughtful and perhaps more importantly, really engaged. One thing we talked about towards the end of the session was my frustration with my limited ability (inability) to successfully meditate since leaving camp. I searched the internet for local resources and everything seemed to be attached to or held in a Buddhist temple or centre of some sort. I explained that I might find the introduction of a new religion a little distracting from just wanting to concentrate on meditation. I wanted the relaxation without the free potato and lentil potluck, so to speak. I may have also told him that for some time I've secretly hoped that the Dalai Llama's housekeeper would write a "tell all" book about how he slaps her around if his prayer bowls aren't perfectly polished. Some things, people, just seem too good to be true. But, in my own defense, I want to be.....serene and happy too! Hubble then suggested a book that he thought I might like, and actually had a copy handy that I could take and read. I've just started it, and I think it is exactly what I need. I couldn't help but laugh at the title when I saw it:

Anyway, I've just started reading it and am consciously trying not to just tear through it, although I am really excited about what's inside. I'm gonna take my time. I'm gonna be....mindful. If you are interested though, here is an excerpt below. Just please someone slap me if they see me hanging a dreamcatcher in my window or slipping a crystal under my pillow. Deal?

OH, and if you scroll down past all that meditation crap you can see a little present that Butchie emailed me.

When we start paying attention a little more closely to the way our own mind actually works, as we do when we meditate, we are likely to find that much of the time our mind is more in the past or the future than it is in the present.

Only half awake
Consequently in any moment we may be only partially aware of what is actually occurring in the present. We can miss many of the moments we have to live because we are not fully here for them. This is true not just while we are meditating. Unawareness can dominate the mind in any moment and consequently, it can affect everything we do. We may find that much of the time we are really on ‘automatic pilot,’ functioning mechanically, without being fully aware of what we are doing or experiencing. It's as if we are not really at home a lot of the time or, put another way, only half awake.

You might verify for yourself whether this description applies to your own mind the next time you are driving a car. It is a very common experience to drive someplace and have little or no awareness of what you saw along the way. You may have been on automatic pilot for much of the drive, not really fully there but there enough, one would hope, to drive safely and uneventfully.

Lost in our thoughts
Even if you deliberately try to concentrate on a particular task, whether it's driving or something else, you might find it difficult to be in the present for very long. Ordinarily our attention is easily distracted. The mind tends to wander. It drifts into thought and reverie.

Our thoughts are so overpowering, particularly in times of crisis or emotional upheaval, that they easily cloud our awareness of the present. Even in relatively relaxed moments they can carry our senses along with them whenever they take off, as when driving we find ourselves looking intently at something we have passed in the car long after we should have brought our attention back to the road in front of us. For that moment we were not actually driving. The car was on autopilot. The thinking mind was ‘captured’ by a sense impression, a sight, a sound, something that attracted its attention, and was literally pulled away. It was back with the cow or the tow truck, or whatever it was that caught our attention. As a consequence, at that moment, and for however long our attention was captured, we were literally ‘lost’ in our thoughts and unaware of other sense impressions.

Is it not true that the same thing happens most of the time, whatever you are doing? Try observing how easily your own awareness is carried away from the present moment by your thoughts, no matter where you find yourself, no matter what the circumstances. Notice how much of the time during the day you find yourself thinking about the past or about the future. You may be shocked at the result.

An experiment
You can experience this pull of the thinking mind for yourself right now if you perform the following experiment: Close your eyes, sit so that your back is straight but not stiff, and become aware of your breathing. Don't try to control your breathing. Just let it happen and be aware of it, feeling how it feels, witnessing it as it flows in and out. Try being with your breath in this way for three minutes.

If, at some point, you think that it is foolish or boring to just sit here and watch your breath go in and out, note to yourself that this is just a thought, a judgment that your mind is creating. Then simply let go of it and bring your attention back to your breathing. If the feeling is very strong, try the following additional experiment, which we sometimes suggest to our patients who feel similarly bored with watching their breathing: Take the thumb and first finger of either hand, clamp them tightly over your nose, keep your mouth closed, and notice how long it takes before your breathing becomes very interesting to you!

When you have completed three minutes of watching your breath go in and out, reflect on how you felt during this time and how much or how little your mind wandered away from your breathing. What do you think would have happened if you had continued for five or ten minutes, or for half an hour, or an hour?

Mindfulness
For most of us, our minds tend to wander a lot and to jump quite rapidly from one thing to another. This makes it difficult to keep our attention focused on our breathing for any length of time unless we train ourselves to stabilize and calm our own mind. This little three-minute experiment can give you a taste of what meditation is. It is the process of observing body and mind intentionally, of letting your experiences unfold from moment to moment and accepting them as they are. It does not involve rejecting your thoughts nor trying to clamp down on them or suppress them, nor trying to control anything at all other than the focus and direction of your attention.

Yet it would be incorrect to think of meditation as a passive process. It takes a good deal of energy and effort to regulate your attention and to remain genuinely calm and non-reactive. But, paradoxically, mindfulness does not involve trying to get anywhere or feel anything special. Rather it involves allowing yourself to be where you already are, to become more familiar with your own actual experience moment by moment. So if you didn't feel particularly relaxed in these three minutes or the thought of doing it for half an hour is inconceivable to you, you don't need to worry. The relaxation comes by itself with continued practice. The point of this three-minute exercise was simply to try to pay attention to your breathing and to note what actually happened when you did.

If you start paying attention to where your mind is from moment to moment throughout the day, chances are you will find that considerable amounts of your time and energy are expended in clinging to memories, being absorbed in reverie, and regretting things that have already happened and are over. And you will probably find that as much or more energy is expended in anticipating, planning, worrying and fantasizing about the future and what you want to happen or don't want to happen.

Because of this inner busyness, which is going on almost all the time, we are liable either to miss a lot of the texture of our life experience or to discount its value and meaning. For example, let's say you are not too preoccupied to look at a sunset and are struck by the play of light and colour among the clouds and in the sky. For that moment you are just there with it, taking it in, really seeing it. Then thinking comes in and perhaps you find yourself saying something to a companion, either about the sunset and how beautiful it is or about something else that it reminded you of. In speaking, you disturb the direct experiencing of that moment. You have been drawn away from the sun and sky and the light. You have been captured by your own thought and by your impulse to voice it. Your comment breaks the silence. Or even if you don't say anything, the thought or memory that came up had already carried you away from the real sunset in that moment. So now you are really enjoying the sunset in your head rather than the sunset that is actually happening. You may be thinking you are enjoying the sunset itself, but actually you are only experiencing it through the veil of your own embellishments with past sunsets and other memories and ideas that it triggered in you. All this may happen completely below the level of your conscious awareness. What is more, this entire episode might last only a moment or so. It will fade rapidly as one thing leads to the next.

Too busy?
Much of the time you may get away with being only partially conscious like this. At least it seems that way. But what you are missing is more important than you realize. If you are only partially conscious over a period of years, if you habitually run through your moments without being fully in them, you may miss some of the most precious experiences of your life, such as connecting with the people you love, or with sunsets or the crisp morning air.

Why? Because you were ‘too busy’ and your mind too encumbered with what you thought was important in that moment to take the time to stop, to listen, to notice things. Perhaps you were going too fast to slow down, too fast to know the importance of making eye contact, of touching, of being in your body. When we are functioning in this mode, we may eat without really tasting, see without really seeing, hear without really hearing, touch without really feeling, and talk without really knowing what we are saying. And of course, in the case of driving, if your mind or somebody else’s happens to check out at the ‘wrong’ moment, the immediate consequences can be dramatic and very unfortunate.

So the value of cultivating mindfulness is not just a matter of getting more out of sunsets. When unawareness dominates the mind, all our decisions and actions are affected by it. Unawareness can keep us from being in touch with our own body, its signals and messages. This in turn can create many physical problems for us, problems we don’t even know we are generating ourselves. And living in a chronic state of unawareness can cause us to miss much of what is most beautiful and meaningful in our lives.

Energy loss
When you begin paying attention to what your mind is doing, you will probably find that there is a great deal of mental and emotional activity going on beneath the surface. These incessant thoughts and feelings can drain a lot of your energy. They can be obstacles to experiencing even brief moments of stillness and contentment.

When the mind is dominated by dissatisfaction and unawareness, which is much more often than most of us are willing to admit, it is difficult to feel calm or relaxed. Instead, we are likely to feel fragmented and driven. We will think this and that, we want this and that. Often the this and the that are in conflict. This mind state can severely affect our ability to do anything or even to see situations clearly. In such moments we may not know what we are thinking, feeling, or doing. What is worse, we probably won't know that we don't know. We may think we know what we are thinking and feeling and doing and what is happening. But it is an incomplete knowing at best. In reality we are being driven by our likes and dislikes, totally unaware of the tyranny of our own thoughts and the self-destructive behaviours they often result in.

Knowing our not-knowing
Socrates was famous in Athens for saying, ‘Know thyself.’ It is said that one of his students said to him: ‘Socrates, you go around saying ‘Know thyself,’ but do you know yourself?’ Socrates was said to have replied, ‘No, but I understand something about this not knowing.’

As you embark upon your own practice of mindfulness meditation, you will come to know something for yourself about your own not knowing. It is not that mindfulness is the ‘answer’ to all life's problems. Rather it is that all life’s problems can be seen more clearly through the lens of a clear mind. Just being aware of the mind that thinks it knows all the time is a major step toward learning how to see through your opinions and perceive things as they actually are.

From Full Catastrophe Living, copyright 1990 by Jon Kabat-Zinn, published in the UK in 1996 by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd.

It's that time of year...and I couldn't be happier!

2006-09-19T23:25:00.000-04:00

Well, I could be happier, um, a lot happier I imagine, but....well....I'm pretty darned happy that Fall is here.

I'm not even terribly bothered that my little corner of Toronto in the Fall looks a lot less like the picture above and a lot more like the one below.

It's the crisp air, the sweaters, collegiate scarves and rosy cheeks, brunches with boyfriends and that first Pumpkin Spice Nonfat Latte at Starbucks. And although delicious, I'm thinking to try and have fewer of them this year, a lot fewer of them this year. They do tend to "add-up." Everyone around me seems to be going back to something; obviously in most cases it's work or school. With me the last few weeks have seen me going back to food, or, more specifically, back to emotional eating and carbs. And, at the same time, I am also managing not to be going back to either work or school. Not going back to school in September is something that I should be well used to at this point in my life. Work is something that I shouldn't have ever gotten not used to - depression or not. So, plans are afoot and I'm having a rare period of wanting to do things, you know - get cracking!

So, It's a fresh start to go along with the fresh spirit that Mme. Fall has instilled in me. Back to Diet Coke, Egg-whites and work. I read about some model tonight who died after only ingesting Diet Coke and lettuce leaves for several weeks, with some occasional vomiting. You have to get your protein girl!

So....here I come life! Thin, working, and with a lot of embarrassing stories to tell, especially on "cheat nights," cause I'm not about to waste cheat calories on food!:

I can't believe I found this...........

2006-09-15T20:37:00.000-04:00

This is an add-on to my last post. I'm having some wine and am having some happy memories of my father, and wanted to listen to Rhapsody in Blue. I did a search on YouTube and can't believe what I found. When I was seven or eight my father took me to see "Fantasia," and I became obsessed with that piece of music after hearing it in the movie. My father took me to see it several times live, once at the Lincoln Center in New York. Anyway, there on YouTube was the clip of the music from the movie - I haven't seen it since I was a kid, and it was a great memory. I'm off with a friend from AIDS Camp to a retro 80's night - the only time I dance. He called a few minutes ago and I "warned" him (I'm not sure why) that I would be wearing an ascot - something I do occasionally, but always in memory of my father, who had a certain panache, shall we say. Enjoy the music, I am.

It doesn't seem like fifteen years ago to me today; but what's worse, it usually seems like something closer to forever....

2006-09-14T21:08:00.002-04:00

He taught me to swim and to sail, but kinda gave-up on trying to teach me to dive. He gave me a love of words and of language and I'll never forget when one word in an essay I had written prompted a three hour talk and a brand new copy of "The Dictionary of Confusables" the very next day. I had used the word consequently when the correct word would have been subsequently. I hope I've never made that mistake again. I have made many mistakes, and he was often frustrated with my lack of focus, of direction. He'd be unhappy now with many of my choices or lack of stability but would be most distressed over the fact that I was unhappy - or worse, unfulfilled. He told me he loved me every day we were together and still kissed me goodnight when I was nineteen. I never minded.

DREW HASSELBACK
Special to The Globe and Mail
330 words
16 September 1991
The Globe and Mail
A14
English
All material copyright Thomson Canada Limited or its licensors. All rights reserved.

Special to The Globe and Mail Warner, one of Canada's most respected investigative journalists, died of lung cancer in Toronto yesterday. He was 59.

Mr. was an author, newspaper reporter, filmmaker and journalism teacher. But he was best known as a broadcaster, working on several television news programs for the CBC and CTV.

Mr. began his career in the early 1950s as an announcer at an Alberta racetrack. He worked as a $90-a-month copy writer for a Calgary radio station, eventually becoming its late-night disc jockey.

He later moved to Winnipeg, where he covered the Manitoba legislature for CKRC Radio. He was a reporter at the Winnipeg Free Press from 1958 to 1961. In 1961, he joined Patrick Watson to write, direct and produce the public affairs program Inquiry. During the next 15 years, Mr. worked on This Hour Has Seven Days, Public Eye, the Fifth Estate and W5.

He had a keen interest in environmental issues. His 1975 book, No Safe Place, was an investigation of the mercury pollution on Indian reserves in northern Ontario.

In the 1970s, Mr. taught journalism at the University of Western Ontario. During this time he wrote three books - Divorced Kids; 200 Days: Joe Clark in Power; and The Sound and the Fury: An Anecdotal History of Canadian Broadcasting.

During 1980 and 1983, Mr. Troyer lived in Sri Lanka, where he helped to organize its national television station and a journalism school.

His most recent work was The Canadian Green Consumer's Guide, an environmental handbook.

Mr. Troyer leaves his third wife, Glenys Moss, eight children, four step-children and nine grandchildren.

A memorial service will be held tomorrow at St. Andrew's United Church at 11 a.m. A memorial fund in Mr. Troyer's name is being created to sponsor projects in environmental journalism.

You can say lots of things about Toronto and Torontonians......

2006-09-14T07:09:00.000-04:00

But we love our summer festivals. Or, as I tend to think of them, as inconvenient road closures, crazy messy crowds all over the city, and lots of things to do when it's too hot to go outside anyway. Or it could be just as simple of me not liking crowds. Or line-up. I'm an equal opportunity festival hater, from Pride to Caribana. Well, I might hate Caribana a little more....something about the hundreds of blinged-out Lincoln SUV's descending on the city from our friends in Michigan.

But. It looks like I found a festival that I can really get behind:

And after the events of yesterday in Montreal, here is a symbol that I have always found strangly comforting whenever I see it....maybe because it's always there. Comfort through continuity. Makes sense. Tornwordo may know what I mean.

It's been more than five years..........

2006-09-10T03:24:00.000-04:00

(File this under either "Peter is a jerk," or, more hopefully, "Peter copes with things by trying to laugh.")

And I still have no idea why they hate us. Could it be that they hate our Freedom? I wish we could all get along.

Three Babies.....

2006-09-09T23:20:00.000-04:00

Jason, Madamerouge, Marc and I spent the day painting our friend Tom's new house today. He and his wife are expecting triplets in November. Tom and I met in grade three (that's "third grade" for our American friends) and have been friends ever since. He has a remarkable story, he's the yardstick that many of us compare our lives to; not just because he has been successful, but also because he has overcome incredible adversity and odds and always manages to do the right thing. I often call him Superman, but in a world (attention US readers) that tends to overuse the word "hero," I use that word to describe him without any cynicism or sarcasm.

Tom shouldn't be alive right now, let alone expecting children of his own. "Shouldn't be alive" sounds so wrong, but it's true I guess. Both are the result of a remarkable personal will, with a lot of help from modern science and medicine. Although incredibly significant, I'm not sure that the timely intervention of medicine would have been enough to keep many others alive; he never gave-up, even though many of us did.

When Tom and I were in Grade 12, we had a blood donor clinic at our high school. Tom signed-up because it was the right thing to do, and although I probably said the same thing, but my participation probably had more to do with having an excuse to ditch a class, maybe even two. For a while, maybe for a year or so though, for as long as I was allowed, I gave blood as often as I could. It had a lot to do with what happened to Tom that day. I think it was once every 51 days. That was many years and a virus or two ago.

Right before you give blood, the nice grandmotherly volunteers collect your personal disclosure forms and do a quick fingertip pinprick blood test to check for anemia. Toms blood wasn't quite normal, and they refused his donation and suggested that he see his doctor in the near future. Nothing urgent. Tom was strong and at his physical prime, he was on the football team and a natural athlete. Tom saw his doctor. Within 24 hours he was told that he had an aggressive form of leukemia and had to start treatment immediately, but ultimately only a bone marrow transplant would save his life, and even then, no guarantees. He might only "buy" a few more years. It was, for all of us, well it was devastating. Mortality isn't something that any of us had faced, and we knew the odds weren't good, even if a donor was found.

Tom had four sisters, one of them a fraternal twin. Odds were that one of them could be a donor. Unexpectedly, inexplicably, none were a match. He began a grueling course of chemotherapy while the search began for a donor. He was implanted with a catheter into his chest. He lost his hair. He got sicker and sicker. His body relented, but his spirit never did. It was remarkable, and it seemed like he spent much of his strength and energy reassuring all of us. Too much of his strength and energy. And just as the reassurances became more sporadic, less emphatic, a donor was found. Some amazing lady in Arkansas, or maybe it was Texas. Tom had to begin a punishing course of full body radiation that would destroy his immune system before the transplant. It wasn't at all clear if he would survive to receive the transplant. I remember that he used to have to lie on huge sacks of Basmati rice when he was getting the full body radiation. The sacks were there to absorb the stray rays. Low tech meets modern medicine.

But before the radiation was set to begin, Tom had to make some deposits in a sperm bank, as the treatment would, in all likelihood leave him sterile. This is a story that I love telling, and it always makes me smile. It reminds me of how absurd life can be, of how much I loved Tom's mother, and of how illness cuts through so much of the crap of our daily lives. Priorities change and affectations disappear. It happened when my own parents were dying and it's happened to me, a little. I'm smiling right now.

So a friend and I were scheduled to pick Tom up at his house and drive him, deposit snug and warm under his arm, to the hospital. It was one of those "we all know what's going-on but we aren't really talking about it" moments. Or so I had imagined. It was a miserably cold day and we left the car running in the driveway and walked into the house. Toms mom greeted us and said that Tom was "still upstairs."

"Tom!.....Tooooommmm!!!...Hurry-up! The boys are here and the car is running!"

No. Please. Stop. Mrs. Preston. Please......you have no idea what you are doing! Tom yelled back from the bathroom upstairs. "Just. A . Sec......Mom!" Tom came bounding down the stairs a moment or two later, and we were off - but not before his mom insisted on a kiss.

Can you imagine? It was one of the funniest moments of my life. I'll never forget it. So, I've joked to him a few times lately that I was there, 17 years ago, for the conception, at least in part. Since then Tom went on to study science at University and rather than pursue a lucrative career in medicine opted to conduct cancer research. He toils away in a lab at the University of Toronto for an absurdly low amount of money. I've often made three times as much as him, as a waiter. Superman. His post-doctoral days in academe are numbered now, and we'll probably all be the poorer for it. He has to get "serious," meaning he has to get a better paying job, probably with a drug company. He's about to have three babies. Three. Tom's deposit wasn't supposed to last this long, and to some extent it didn't. He and his wife have been going through a long, expensive and physically (her) and emotionally (him) painful series of fertility treatments. I hated seeing him blame himself as they struggled to become pregnant. I told her, maybe more than once, in moments that were far too candid, that it should be enough that he was alive. I told her that she had "won the dream spouse lottery." But the truth is that he did too. They managed, finally, after three years, thousands of dollars and countless disappointments to produce three healthy embryos. The doctors suggested implanting all three - "they never all take." Never say never. Tom beat the odds once before and he's done it again. His wife is a beautiful loving woman and they are going to be great parents.

Their lives are going to change - dramatically - very shortly, and I'm glad that I could spend a day painting a few walls to help make their house a home for them to begin the next chapter of their lives in. That, and be there for the conception. Well, sort-of. :)

If only it was that easy.

2006-09-07T17:27:00.000-04:00

How nice for Victoria! That "trick" hasn't ever worked for me, and I should know, since I've tried it thousands of times myself! Hopefully Hubble and I can come-up with some new ideas. Sooner rather than later might be good. Class may remember that he's my newish therapist. Psychiatrist. We've been on a break for two months but we did lots of catching-up yesterday.

I'll have another camp post tomorrow, but in the meantime let's all have a laugh at the expense of someone else, with thanks to Jason.

AIDS Camp Reflux...um, Redux.

2006-09-05T22:01:00.000-04:00

Well we don't all have AIDS - not even at AIDS Camp, where people infected were also joined by friends and family members affected as well. All joking aside, it was a pretty exceptional experience, filled with lots of "don't look now (or tell anyone) but I'm really having a great time" moments. And to think that I almost didn't get on the bus.

The camp is located near the village of Bayfield, on the eastern shores of Lake Huron. Here are some highlights:

I've never been able to relax on my own, so meditation has always been a bit of a joke as far as I was concerned. In fact, in the past even trying to relax caused me so much anxiety that I ended-up more stressed-out than when I began. So, it was a bit of a surprise that when my roommate Francisco suggested we take meditation class the first morning that a) I went, and b) was successful. It was a "Guided Meditation" where a really lovely woman named Carole talked us through a script of sorts...floating above the ocean...lots of healing white light..etc. In any event it "worked," and was a great way to begin the day. It's something that I really want to continue, and I might even enjoy it more at home without the pressure of having to recount what colour my butterfly was or what was in the box in the secret room in the monastery - my butterfly was a Monarch butterfly ("are you sure?") as opposed to a fantastical pink chakra butterfly and my box was (wait for it) empty ("oh, that's very interesting"). :(

Falling squarely into the don't-look-now-but-I'm-having-fun category would be crafts. I'm not sure how I ever considered myself a well rounded gay man having never used a glue gun, but that glaring gap is now a distant memory.In fact, it turns out that I am quite handy with a glue gun. I skipped tie-dying, mask making and paper making; they just seemed too messy. Several of you will be the lucky recipients of my efforts in the following days.

Coming soon...Talent Night,Summer Theater Productions(can anyone say "Waiting for Guffman?") and days (and nights) spent at the beach.....

And in a completely unrelated topic, I think that Madamerouge has found her dream airline; I just hope that they have a good points programme. Air travel has never been woofier Rouge!

I'm Home!

2006-09-02T21:21:00.000-04:00

I almost didn't get on the bus. I mean, I really almost didn't get on the bus.

Thank G-d I went. I'm pretty tired, and kinda still processing it all. All I can say it was a period of personal growth that is totally without precedent. It was phenomenal. Several of you can expect to receive crafts in the mail. In the meantime here's a picture of me on the beach with two of the people that have changed my life. Oh, and did I mention that I had Reiki and can't even explain what happened to me? God.....

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah....

2006-08-26T23:11:00.000-04:00

...Here I am at, ...Camp HIV-positive!

Well I'm on my way anyway. And all joking and snide comments aside, I'm really looking forward to going away. I've been, if not unhappy, then at least underhappy for a while, and haven't been terribly productive. I've been stressed out and have been unsatisfied with some of my behaviour and lots of my lack of momentum. So, the break is welcome. Very welcome. I'm going to be doing things - "activities" - that I would normally find "hokey" and a source of anxiety. But, upon reflection, they are certainly a good alternative to what I would be doing had I decided not to go.

So, I'll see you in a week!

*It's just possible that I packed an "emergency" 750ml tetra-pack (pak?) of Pinot Noir......for emergencies and unlikely romantic picnics only. You never know. And because anything is really possible, I have scads of Ativan as well. But lets not tell the nurse, like we're supposed to. I'd hate to have to run from "Crafts" and have to ask for an Ativan, because, I mean, who would need a tranquilizer because of crafts? Me. That's who. But who knows, I might just surprise myself...that's what I'm secretly hoping. :)

(Aside)

I was thinking - what if I ended my blog? I'm feeling really self-indulgent, so bear with me. I decided that the perfect accompaniment to my last post would be this song, which I have always loved:

it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes feel sore
oh I never should have said, the books that you read
were all I loved you for
it's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes me wonder why
and it's the memories of your shed that make me turn red
surprise, surprise, surprise

.....Here's where the story ends.............

(does anyone else have "a little souvenir of a terrible year"?)

And - tangent boy as I am tonight - three cheers for the United States approving Plan B. It actually surprised me, and I'm glad. I'm glad for the women and the girls and I'm glad I was surprised, beacuse moments like that give us pause, hope, and a reason to keep on going.

Up, down, turn around
Please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home
Oh, you've got green eyes
Oh, you've got blue eyes
Oh, you've got grey eyes
And I've never seen anyone quite like you before
No, I've never met anyone quite like you before

HNT.....well....in a way

2006-08-24T20:30:00.000-04:00

I'm actually totally naked in these photographs, unless you count my mother's body as a garment. These pictures were taken when my mother was very pregnant with me, and as you can see she is having a lovely day with my father sailing and smoking....I was born 2 months early....no connection I'm sure. I received these pictures in the mail today from my Uncle, who lives in the hinterland of Ontario. He attached a note that said:

"Just to show you that you've always been a smoker....and a sailor!"

Sailor was his charming way of saying gay without saying gay. He's an old curmudgeon, but read my Letter to The Editor in the Globe and called me to congratulate me. I don't have a whole lot of family left, and although I have a great group of long-time friends (I will not say "chosen family") it's still nice to have people around that can send me pictures like that, however blurry, with cute notes attached. There isn't much that my oldest friends don't know about me or can't "call me on," but they can't mail me pictures like that.

That sail boat wasn't around by the time I started sailing, but the best summer of my life (okay, maybe tied with being 17 in Mykonos) was spent building a replacement with my dad. If anyones knows boats, it was a dinghy called a Mirror. One day we were going to build the next biggest boat, I think it was called a Mirador, but....well. I remember being fed-up the first few days, being stuck inside the boathouse at the cottage watching all the other kids water-skiing etc., but after only a couple days couldn't wait to get back to work. I'll have to find some pictures of our annual canoe trips. That boat is the only thing that I ever built, and it was an incredible summer. I can still hear the sound of the water on the hull that first day, and hear my father warning me to watch my head by yelling "come about." I'm smiling right now, kinda unexpectedly. This post took me somewhere really....really nice. And it's thank's to Jack, who asked for a new post today.........I'm glad I obliged.

And....memories....that's the price of love:

Maybe I'm just getting old and cranky........

2006-08-23T11:17:00.000-04:00

I love coffee, and everyday when I go to Starbucks I get the same thing. If it's summer I get an iced unsweetened coffee and the rest of the year I get a black bold coffee. I'm very close to making my "switch" from iced coffee to hot coffee, which is exciting for two reasons. The first is that it means fall is coming and I love fall. The second reason is that my life is so boring at the moment that this "counts" as an event, a milestone even. So there I was this morning, and the too-happy-for-words new guy behind the counter started blurting out his suggestion for the day; I had no idea what he had said but just knew that I didn't want it. I could hear the fed-up old man in my head saying that he just wanted a plain old fashioned coffee for crying out loud!

Which leads me to my upcoming vacation. Camp. I leave in a few short days, and I'd love to hear about any good novels that anyone has read recently. I'm gonna need some reading material to keep me busy while I'm hiding from all the group activities and the other campers.

This is about how pretty I feel today:

My Thought for Today

2006-08-22T09:36:00.000-04:00

I found a little fox, come by chance,....oh, and a bunch of men in chaps.

2006-08-20T10:42:00.000-04:00

None of them let me take them in my hands. I should give Bailey full credit for finding the fox while on our walk - he may not have any interest in squirrels, but foxes are, it seems, another matter altogether. You never know what you'll see on the grounds of the University of Toronto as we take our walks; today it was a fox and not so long ago class may recall it was a couple of little people dressed as fraternity mascots for the new "American Pie" installment.

Then I decided to take the dog to the neighbourhood off-leash park, and walked right into a sea of people in leather - and sometimes not very much of it. Apparently it was the Church Street Fetish Fair, and it was a little strange to say the least seeing so many men in chaps, and all before 10 am. Apparently it was sponsored by Elbow Grease Personal Lubricant. Pretty. And they are apparently available in a One Gallon Tub! Yay!

It was a pretty quiet and boring weekend, although I did let manage to relax a little and have some fun on Friday. I didn't end-up seeing "Snakes on a Plane," and think that the may have permanantly passed. We'll see. In other exciting news, unless I back-out at the last minute, a week from today I'll be on my way to "Club Meds" (AIDS Camp) for a week...the things I do for stuff to blog about.

On a much more serious note, I wanted to let everyone know that Madamerouge suffered the tragic, sudden and accidental death of his nephew on Thursday. "Accident" seems like an insufficent word for something so terrible - it was all over the news here and even nationally, and you can read more here if you'd like.

I'm actually looking forward to Snakes on a Plane to take my mind off of AIDS.

2006-08-17T22:11:00.000-04:00

I dropped-by the AIDS Conference again today, there were lots of things that I had wanted to see on Tuesday before I had to make my hasty anxiety attack exit. It was great - I had a chance to meet and talk to people from all over the world, hear about their experiences and share some of my own. I'm not a particularly grateful person - It's not that I don't take pleasure in "the little things," it's just that I'm not often able, like some, to kind of string all of those little magical day-to-day things together into a sense of peace and well-being. But gratitude is what I kept feeling as I strolled the convention floor. I was often tempted to just literally thank total strangers. Thank them for coming, for just being here. Thank them for the work they are doing; work as musicians and ministerial mandarins, artists and advocates and so much more. There are lots of things that I'll remember, and faces that will stay with me.

I think that many of the most striking images that I left with were of some of the delegates from Africa. I saw two absolutely radiant women standing in front of a food kiosk with puzzled faces, laughing together as if sharing a joke, as a young girl working at the kiosk was trying to explain the Maple Fudge she was selling. I'll also remember the long line of women wearing bright beautiful fabrics as an NGO passed-out mosquito nets for them to take home. There were two sizes, and as I walked by word was travelling through the line that the tiny infant-sized nets were already gone. I imagined a mother travelling home having tasted maple fudge, but unable to protect her baby from malaria.

I guess most of all I was grateful for the accident of my birth; for living where I do and for the luxuries that I enjoy.

Another exhibit that really stuck me was dedicated to all of the AIDS educators and activists who have been murdered around the world. Beaten, broken and killed. Their stories all spoke of a bravery and a sense of purpose and their deaths are an unspeakable outrage and I'm glad that I got know them, even a little. The centrepiece of the exhibit some powerful artwork. The artist's name is Stev'nn Hall, and he is from Toronto.

Oh yeah, "Snakes on a Plane." I'm not a fan of "action" movies and normally I wouldn't even consider seeing a movie like "Snakes..," but it occured to me earlier today that after the ups and downs of this week perhaps it's exactly the kind of break I need - and then I saw a poster of the picture at the top of this post. I haven't ever seen anything like it before, and it struck me as so simple and so thought-provoking and compelling.

There's lots to think about after this week, but first I think I'm gonna discover just how they get those MoFo Snakes of the MoFo Plane :)

Um....who are you?

2006-08-17T10:54:00.000-04:00

I'm dying to know. Really. I couldn't think of anything to write about, and am still not feeling very funny after the last couple of days, and then I glanced at my map showing hits from around the world. So, if you are dropping by, say hello......

This is the opposite of what everyone is telling me to do.....

2006-08-15T21:58:00.000-04:00

Today was a very strange day - one of the worst days I've had in a long time. It was a 2mg of Ativan day - before dinner. This might be the end of my blog - people I really have come to care about - worry about - people who visit my blog every day may never visit again. People have always complimented me - or at least remarked, that my blog was honest etc..the word "brave" has been tossed around, which I think is B.S. - I always thought I had two choices; either be ashamed of being positive or be open, and I'm not ashamed. I have nothing to be ashamed of. But that's how I feel....a little.

As proud as I was of my letter in The Globe (last post) and as positive as the feedback was, I experienced the opposite of that today - criticism, shame and worse. It began yesterday when a friend, who is also a columnist for The Globe and Mail emailed me to tell me that she had enjoyed the letter that was printed, and might she call me to talk about a column she was working on, a politically incorrect one she warned, on HIV in Canada. I like people that challenge my beliefs and me theirs, and she is great that way. She is neither racist nor homophobic as is often said, and as far as HIV/AIDS is concerned, she was writing about this subject (without criticism) many years ago. In 2000 she wrote about the dangers of junk science, warning that it was endangering the lives of PWA/HIV worldwide.

So. Today. I was quoted in her article and quoted accurately. She challenges conventional wisdom and is hardly unknown for "stirring the pot." I knew before I saw the article today that the response would be immediate and angry, I just didn't know that I would walk right into the middle of it. That it would be so personal.

I was already downtown and decided that I would check-out the Global Village at the conference, which is open to the public. It was a blur of colour and kiosks and hope and music and,....and a snapshot of what my life would be like if I lived anywhere but here. It was very emotional, and at one point I was at the GlaxoSmithKline (pharmaceutical company) kiosk, and I stood there in a bit of a fog. The man behind the desk asked me if I was a delegate and in what capacity. I didn't know what to say, so said something like...."I just have it."

I walked away and minutes later as it turned-out, was standing in the middle of the protest against the article. I stood there, half listening, until I heard my name. The speaker on the stage was criticizing me, by name, for the things I had been quoted as saying in the article. Not just quoted as saying, but had said, and meant. It was surreal. I was suddenly faint, nauseous and claustrophopic. I could have asked my HIV specialist physician for help, since he was only a meter away from me...clapping as the speakers criticized the author of the article and me. And I was right there. I can't describe the feeling of panic that I felt as I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to find an exit.

For the record, the response in the media will be huge. I stand by what I said.

I felt like a pariah today, but think that there is room for debate. I've just never felt so alone.

There is no question that her article was inflammatory, with or without my comments. The only words I wrote that I feel might be inflammatory were after I returned home from the conference. I wrote the author and told her how weird the whole thing was.

I wake-up every day feeling privileged that I live where I do, I'm alive because of an accident of birth. It also entitles me to disagree, whatever the cost. I wish I had done some calculating first though, to be honest....

Delagates reading the article and shaking their heads in "disbelief:"

The Protest right before I heard my name and felt so sick I had to run for an exit:

When Peter's personal victory is still a loss for Canada

2006-08-12T18:02:00.000-04:00

(click on Letter for larger view -NOT on Stephen, that would be far too frightening!)

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't really excited today; you see, I have finally had one of my letters printed in The Globe and Mail, the newspaper I've read daily since I was a teenager, and arguably Canada's most influential and widely read national publication. I've written lots - LOTS - of letters over the years, but this one different in two ways. First of all, I wrote it drunk, and didn't do lots of editing and fidling before shooting it off. Secondly, maybe it was that I am so angry at the PM that the words came really easily. It was kind of exciting walking around the city today and seeing people in coffee shops etc. reading it...but, as I said in the title, Canada still loses through his absence, and for that I am still really disappointed.

Whatever Happened to....

2006-08-09T23:48:00.000-04:00

Obviously tastes and fashions change over time, but it seems like a lot of the things that were once really familiar are no longer around, and more troubling, many of the things I was told to expect in the future never came to fruition.

So, whatever happened to:

Terrarriums?

Quicksand?

Food in a Pill?

Flying Cars and Jet Packs?

Living Underwater?

Shamrock Shakes?

Plastic Bags as appropriate toys for kids?

Geriatric Doctors who will freely prescribe Peter Xanax on demand?

Circus of the Stars:

Tofu?

Oh yeah, and what about that "Bright Future" everyone kept telling me about?

Maybe I just needed to vent some disappointment, take a breath and join this new fangled Internet Age.

Well, at least one of my "itches" got scratched.......

2006-08-08T01:18:00.000-04:00

But it wasn't the right one. One of the following men gave me just what I was craving this weekend. Was it:

a) The really hot guy who was hearing impaired?

b) The other really hot guy with the Star of David tattoo on his rather muscular forearm? or,

c) This kindly Southern Gentleman who never says no. He could even charm Joan "Don't F**k with me Fellas" Crawford smile!

Let's begin with "a." I was outside a bar/club/hellhole jam-packed sauna called Zipperz (sic) having a smoke. Sundays is "Retro Night" and I actually usually have fun due in part to actually knowing the music that the DJ's playing. Occasionally I even dance, and had just danced to a song I hadn't heard in years right before heading out into the fresh air. It was "Don't Tell Me" by a group called Blancmange, and I don't think I have heard it in about 10 years.

(not actual guy I met...just some similarities)

Anyway....So I'm outside and this guy walks-up and stands right beside me. He is really sexy, and I decide to say "Hi." But I don't say "Hi," I try and start a conversation by pointing to the leather armband that he has on his right bicep. It's a really nice bicep. But said armbands aren't just supposed to look good, they mean things, and since I always get my "messages" mixed-up I say:

"You know, I always forget which is which with armbands - is right top?....." (I hope, anyway)

He just stands there beside me smoking and looking straight ahead. Great! A moment later he turns to me and I repeat what I had said before. He points not to the band but to his ears. I tell him that my ears are still ringing too - God it was noisy in there; at least we can agree on that! Um, or not. He keeps pointing and says something that sounds a bit like "Deaf." Oh - no problem! I get it, and that's cool. But it turns out that he isn't able to read lips - or at least not my lips. Maybe unable should become uninterested. Back to the dancefloor* for me!

*(Here is where "dancefloor" could be read as a place to dance, or maybe even as a metaphor for life. English is sure fancy.)

On the way back to the bar/sauna I'm reminded (and not exactly happily) of a night many years ago in another bar in another city (Numbers/Vancouver) where after having a great conversation with a really sexy blind guy for a couple of hours he "looked" at my face with his hands for what felt like an eternity (fingers basically in nostrils etc.) and then said I wasn't his type. Now that was a real self esteem boost at the time!

"b." B was the guy I met on my next smoke break - it just occured to me that maybe the real "culprit" here is smoking - humm..no, don't think so. So there I was outside when I found myself beside this guy with a Star of David on his forearm. He asked me for a light (did he think I'd fall for that old come-on?) and after I lit his cigarette I pointed to his tattoo and said:

"Hey, I really like your tattoo, but I didn't think that we could be buried properly if we got them. Well, I mean, when I say "we" I'm not actually Jewish yet, but am hoping to, you know, begin converting soon."

He jooked me in the eyes, briefly, let out one of those "fed-up" Fufffff sounds, and walked away.

On the way back to the bar/sauna I'm reminded (and not exactly happily) of a family vacation to Nassau. I was about 11 and was with my mother and my sister and one afternoon my mother has gotten a little too much sun by the pool and wanted to have a nap. She gave us each about $100 to go find some souvenirs. I bought a bottle of cologne called Sand. It had sand in the bottom of the bottle so if you didn't pour it carefully you got sand on your face, but smelled nice. I also bought a gold necklace with a pretty star pendant on the chain. I didn't know that is was anything more than just a star. When I got back to the hotel room my mother had recovered sufficiently from her sun exposure to freak-out and march me down to the store and return the necklace. So you can see why, had she still been alive, my conversion might be a bit of a problem. Hey - No parents means no explaining, anything, EVER!

"c." C said "yes" to me. You can always count on the Colonel; and did you know that they have chicken fries now too? I'm not gonna say I liked them more than my emotional eating longtime companion popcorn chicken, but they hit the spot - scratched the itch you might even say.

Pretty ironical considering I was mocking my beloved KFC in just my last post. Come to think of it, maybe I did end-up celebrating Caribana, just in my own way!

Maybe a little less time spent with The Colonel and I'll have more luck getting some of my other itches scratched. Like this one.

I Couldn't Decide.............

2006-08-05T03:10:00.000-04:00

What to call this post. I'm torn......

Option "A" was gonna be: "The worst words I've ever heard in my Life."

Then, in the text, I was gonna say:

"I'm sorry, but you tested HIV-positive."

That wasn't it.

"Peter, your Mother/Father has died."

Not that either. It was today, and I'm kinda risking saying this, but it's one of those "we're not allowed-to-talk-about-this-except-in-sealed-rooms-and-in-hushed-voices" topics. The words were:

"Well, looks like we're stuck in Toronto for Caribana Weekend."

It's a nightmare, but we're not allowed to say it. Even the Mayor said:

"Curried Goat on the lakeshore.....what else could anybody want?!"

I might add that in the same article it says:

"And with the blessing of festival organizers, police have installed closed circuit cameras to keep an eye on the festivities."

Because there have historically been some problems.Like shootings. For me it's just three days of Lincoln Navigators with Michigan plates and lots of Bass driving up and down Yonge Street. Till very late. And I live near Yonge Street. I'll defend myself by saying that I am an equal opportunity festival hater; I'm not big on crowrds, lots of competing music and heat. Gay Pride Day has, not just once, made me feel not just claustrophobic but homophobic. Someone once said to me that his Christmas Card list is in part a scheme to keep in touch with friends with cottages - for Caribana weekend. Last year the police got so fed-up that they had a "blue flu."

Option "B" stems from being stuck in Toronto for the weekend. My mind scrambled for ideas, for options. One idea was a road trip to Burlington, VT. It's one of my favourite places and Jimmy, MR and I have been there often over the years. Anyway, it was a "crazy" idea, and didn't work out for lots of reasons.

This is where my second title comes in: "The World is too Big." As in, "The world is too big to go places that you're not welcome."

As in the United States. I haven't been to the U.S. since I started meds, and lots of people have told me about ideas/strategies to "smuggle" your meds accross the border. HIV-Positive people are not allowed to enter the United States, a distinction that they share with only a handful of scary countries - like Armenia, China and saudi Arabia. Most Americans don't even know this. Anyway, maybe I decided that I'm done sneaking and hiding, and Burlington and Province town will have to manage without me.

Perhaps the biggest news though, is that I made my first enquiries into converting to Judaism. I've talked about this before, but I'm VERY serious. I'm not religious, and as far as I know it's an OK religion, but that's not the reason. Tonight was (I hope, what with my conversion) the last time in my life that when I dare to criticize the State of Israel someone will say:

"You can't understand, you're not a Jew."

Well I will be a Jew - whatever it takes - just so I can never be "trumped" by that "this conversation is over" thing. And I'm not kidding. I've even met an uncut Jew once.....so, we'll see. I'm meeting with a Rabbi at Hillel House at the University of Toronto on Tuesday. By the time Israel invades Lebanon the next time, I should be all good, as they say. For the first time in my life I'm hoping that there is no afterlife, cause this would really upset my mother.

Speaking of Caribana, I took this picture today. All I'' say is Lincoln Navigator and Michigan Plates:

I Wish....

2006-08-01T11:41:00.000-04:00

I wish that all of the stereotypes about Canada were true. I wish it was a frozen barren land and that we all did actually live in igloos. I've never even seen an igloo but would trade a condo in downtown "world class" Toronto for one if I could. It's just gross here - hottest day of the year with an expected "high" (I hate the good connotations of that word when associated with unbearable heat) of 49C with the Humidity factored in. And you have to factor it in. Yesterday even the dog put on his "brakes" when I opened the door to take him outside - I had to drag him out the door; I guess it only confirms how smart he is, or at least sensible. The City of Toronto Office of Emergency Preparedness is providing 24-Hour Cooling Centres along with the Red Cross - People that live in hot places, consistently hot places, must think that we're insane.

Short of packing-up and moving to Iqaluit I had a little day dream while I was out in the heat about diving (well jumping, I don't dive well) into Moraine Lake in Banff National Park. The water is as cold as it is beautiful, even in the summer. I guess it'll start heating-up too as soon as the glaciers that feed it are melted - Thank's Global Warming!

C'mon.....tell me you don't want to dive in too!:

On a totally different topic, never can it be said that Montrealers don't know how to have a good time. Apart from their (I'm not going to say laissez faire and you can't make me) shall we say more Continental attitues towards sex, sexuality and vice in general, they seem to have a way of facilitating such behavior. I've never heard of anything like the following though; "hey - have a great time while you're here, - a really great time if you know what I mean, and hey - we all know that no one is perfect, but don't worry - we've got your back!" So to speak.

Montreal Is Full of PEP: Let the Games Begin

July 28, 2006—Montreal health officials have stocked up on Post Exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) as part of a safer sex campaign aimed at thousands flocking to the city this weekend for the Outgames, a gay sports competition. The campaign includes posters and television ads stressing that PEP is not a replacement for condoms but that “accidents happen.”

No I know. Say "accidents." Que le garrison commence! Anywhere else it would be, as they say in French, quelle dommage!

So why bother?

2006-07-30T14:14:00.000-04:00

This is how I feel right now; green. Green being the colour of nausea, and more particularly, drug induced nausea.

I was bored after picking-up my meds today and actually read the package insert. I kinda wish I hadn't:

Click to zoom in and read highlighted text.

"At this time there is no evidence that KIVEXA (TM) will help you live longer or have fewer of the medical problems associated with HIV infection and AIDS."

Um, WTF".......? I guess they just don't wanna make too many "promises," like claiming that their super new and super expensive drug that can kill you does anything at all to help the condition for which it was perscribed!!!

To Lebanon with Love from Israel...and Danielle.

2006-07-25T23:41:00.000-04:00

It's times like these that we should look to the children of the world to and follow their example. Or not. I guess life is a little more complicated than it is sometimes portrayed

Looking for something to cheer myself up after watching the news, I found the following video on you tube. It's been years since I had seen it, and it did the trick, having me LOL (that's "Laughing Out Loud" in Internet talk) in no time at all.

To be fair it's not just the news that had me feeling a little down and crabby. I met this young man online on Sunday night and although he invited me over after seeing my face pic, he was "expecting something different" from the neck down. I've kinda stalled with my diet lately; not having gained any weight but not continued to lose either. Let's just say that it's back to not eating for me - I'm done with being someone's online disappointment. To be fair, looking at the picture now, I really should have known better.

Here's the video -

A Double Blogger Birthday!

2006-07-21T07:45:00.000-04:00

Wednesday night both Barrett and Jimmy turned a year older, not to be confused with the same ago. Barrett wanted to meet some girls, and Jimmy wanted to meet some "dwinks." Both birthday wishes were granted. Here is a picture of the girl - and I want to emplasize straight girl that they met. Her name is "Frankie," and she is a "drag king." It's the new thing - girls dressed as boys lipsinching songs. Why let all the Drag Queens have all the fun! I just want to repeat that Frankie is a straight woman who does this for fun ONLY she said. I might have told her that she had a real "vesatility" in her look, and that I thought she "could" also "pass" as a "fairly" believable dyke.

Um, I can't seem tu upload the pics. Sorry. Here is some video with great commentary by the Queen when I introduched Barrett as the Birthday Boy. She kept calling him "Barry" and bought him a shooter:

I also found this picture - it's what I imagine Jimmy will look like by the time he's "ready" to start dating again. Here he is moving back into the Gay Village.

Oh, and here's Frankie, our favorite heterosexual Drag King, doing her "thing:"

(Oh, I just remembered that I may have also called her "My little teapot" because she was "short and stout."

And as for why Barrett didn't meet any girls apart from ahem Frankie, I can't account for it - he was probably just having too much fun with his friends. Besides, we took him to all the best bars for picking-up: Zipperz, Crews, Black Eagle AND Woody's! Oh wait......sorry Barrett!

Drag Queens have always cheered me up

2006-07-15T22:00:00.001-04:00

Especially Her. I was thinking about Her today and it took me a long time to remember Her name. It was Dusty. She died a few years ago, but around the time this picture was taken, which I'll guess was 1994 or so, I was a huge fan. Jason and I used to go to a bar called Colby's, now called "Five." She was special, and no matter what was on my mind I'd become pretty engrossed in her show. It's still like that sometimes; there's nothing like a great drag show to forget your troubles, and to this day there are certain songs that I'll hear in a mall or on the radio, and be immediately reminded of a great drag show. I saw another great Toronto Drag Queen the other day, and she didn't look very well. Ask Jimmy about the time she threw pig hearts at the audience; it was "memorable."

So - and seriously, hats off to the Queens; they've made me laugh and smile when few things could. I'm not quite sure when she disappeared from my life - from life in general I guess - but I miss her and sometimes think of her, like right now. At least I still get to see Lloyd and llen, bith fabulous Queens in their own right:

I've seen a million Queens do the following song, from British Colombia to Burlington, Vermont. But Dusty did it best. And well, what can I say about Miss - No Dame!, Shirley Bassey:

Un-Fun pills become even less fun!

2006-07-12T23:27:00.000-04:00

So last week I picked-up my prescription for my new nasty PI Booster drug, Ritonavir. I put off taking it for a few days until I was ready, or thought I was ready, for the side effects. Basically I had a few days off work so I could be close to a toilet, just in case. And it was a good idea. It turned out that I needed that proximity. The other thing I was careful, even meticulous about, was the care and storage of this drug. I was told that it HAD TO BE REFRIGERATED, but that freezing would render it useless, even harmful. Now Marc's fridge is a little unpredictable, especially in hot and humid weather. I was anxious, which is kinda my default emotion anyway. I decided that I would place a Mason Jar full of water beside my pills, to monitor the temperature, and look-out for any signs of ice.

Tonight there were signs of ice; actually the water was frozen solid, and nothing else in the fridge seemed to be even colder than normal. I called the pharmacist frantically and he told me to come in, and that I would need to replace the pills. At. My. Own. Cost. Drug plans don't cover "replacement" pills, nor should they.

I told him about the specific refrigeration instructions given me by the cashier, who was a pharmacy student. Well. It turns-out that said drugs are stable at room temperature for a month, which is the length of my prescription. No refrigeration necessary - he just couldn't imagine why she would give me the wrong information.

Well, the "wrong information" cost me $270 - thank God it was my cheapest drug. He "graciously" waived the dispensing fee - NINE DOLLARS. I'm fed-up.

Just in case you ever confuse candy for pills, here's some help:

(although the pills look a bit like Imovane, which I have been known to eat like candy occasionally)

Candy is a lot cheaper :(

And to think that I thought that Gossip was harmless fun!

2006-07-11T16:03:00.000-04:00

In a sense related material, I posted some out-takes from the 6pm CityTv newscast in Toronto. Apparently they were put on the internet by an unhappy employee. They say so much - and in a nutshell showcased all of Anchor Gord Martineau, at his worst: being homophobic and snide, outing and making fun of a Canadian celebrity and sexually harassing his clearly uncomforatable female co-host. Great Job Gord!

I hope I'll get a top bunk!

2006-07-09T21:42:00.000-04:00

I got my first Letter of Acceptance in the mail in more than 10 years. The last one was for University and didn't work out so well. This one is for AIDS Camp - so anyone who says you shouldn't fill-out applications on a drunken whim at three o'clock in the morning are wrong. I even think I'll go, I mean, I'm accepted afterall! I got a letter telling me a few new things about Camp, like the fact that (wait for it) weather can be unpredictable and campers should be prepared for all kinds of weather. There were even cartoon drawings of people in different kinds of weather. Like Hot. And Cold. And Rain. Doesn't everyone know this?

One of the other paragraphs was well, scarier. It was about being ready to answer candid questions from children. Other peoples children. I mean, I do candid pretty well, but never with children. Good Times!

I'm just feeling nauseous and crappy and generally like I've been run over by a truck, or maybe a group of children with candid questions. I took my first Ritonavir today and it took less time than even seemed possible to feel crappy.

One thing that cheered me up today was watching Lynne Russell host for the first time on CBC Newsworld. Apparently she moved to Toronto from Atlanta looking for a "mellower pace." Poor Lynne had to say the word "Saskatchewan" several times as I watched, and didn't get it quite right. It was really cute, and made me smile. There is a really interesting article on her move to Canada here. I hope nothing major happens in similarly hard to pronounce Iqaluit or Chibougamou until she is a little more acclimatized.

Her website is well, .....interesting. You can purchase your very own Lynne Russell brand signature lipstick, and she'll even give you girls some secrets for the bedroom. I'm not sure how the CBC will feel about all this:

The Joys of Red Lipstick.
On the set of CNN Headline News, my red lipstick generated as much mail as the day's headlines. Women wanted to know where to find the color, and men wanted to know where to find me (but that's a whole other story that we ought to talk about sometime, just for a giggle). Actually, it was a blend of several lipsticks, and the blending went on all night on the set.

The truth is that the right shade of red can be very flattering to a woman. It brings out our own, natural color; some days we may add the lightest dusting of complimentary blush, depending on our mood and our clothes. The more a woman wears red, the more it becomes part of her. After awhile, we just forget we're wearing it.. which makes it such fun when we detect a little more respect from the bag boy at the supermarket, and maybe a bit of a distance from a male colleague who suddenly seems cautious because he isn't really sure which track our train is running on. Wonderful, unexpected things happen.

The other night at a business reception, I reached in my purse and produced the prototype for Lynne Russell Red lipstick. Thirty minutes later, four other women were wearing it, including a lovely blonde woman who had walked in wearing a luscious, pale peach color. A male acquaintance who looked very proper in his business suit walked by, saw her new lips, and exclaimed, "Ooooo, honey, you better cool that down!"

Now here's the rest of the story: You can have fun all by yourself. Want to pretend you're in a European café? Wherever you are, whip out a lovely little compact mirror and touch up your luscious mouthÉ slowly. Enjoy it. Give yourself a little wink and tell yourself with a smile in your eyes that you look fabulous. You've just had a moment. Oh, la la.

Now to the bedroom.
Not every light in a home has to be a reading light, especially in the bedroom. This is not a MENSA meeting. Light pink bulbs are marketed commercially almost everywhere, and they're an improvement. But it's the very deep pink ones, and the amber ones, that are the object of your search. They can be a challenge to find, but they're worth every second it took to look up "light bulbs" in the yellow pages and find the funky little store that sells mostly just to restaurants and hotels.

These bulbs are flattering, they're suggestive, and they don't work by remote control… which you're going to hide anyway, if you haven't already chewed through the damned cable connection to the TV in the bedroom, thereby providing a more equitable method of determining what — or who — gets watched at night. (He'll thank you later.)

And, these little babies are portable. On trips, by yourself or with a companion, pack the amber bulbs along with the moisturizer. Just don't leave them behind when you check out. And take an extra, sheer nightgown to toss over the gymnasium-like light nearest the bed. Lace makes lovely patterns on the wall.

If this doesn't give you a night to write about in your Palm Pilot, it won't be your fault. And anyway, the lighting made you feel alive, didn't it? That's all it's about.

It's all I got.

2006-07-07T23:54:00.000-04:00

I should be happy. My quarterly blood tests were all amazing. I have a CD4 of 585, which means I basically have a "normal person" immune system. All my bad behaviour has been rewarded. But, and a BIG but, I have to start taking a "booster" Protease Inhibitor. Retonavir. It's supposed to be a nightmare. We'll see. The pills look mean, and need to be refrigerated.

Taking a break "on set"

2006-07-03T12:21:00.000-04:00

I grant you that it's not a very good picture, but you try and take a clandestine picture of two midgets dressed as fraternity mascots. At dusk. Drunk, and with a cellphone. And I meant to say "little people."

I was walking the dog and walked right into a Big Hollywood Production, which if you live in Toronto isn't very unusual. We are Hollywood North afterall.

Anyway, the dog was very curious about all the people and vehicles bordering his park, and insisted on having a good sniff around. That's when one of those ubiquitous "crew" people wearing a headset and walking with an air of authority asked, no demanded that we not get too close to the trailers housing the "talent." I didn't ask her what the movie was; I hate those people. "Oh, how exciting! What are you filming?! Blah. Blah." I didn't ask her, but she told me anyway. It's American Pie Part ??. I haven't seen the others, although Jason does have a thing for one of the actors I think. Anyway, before I could not act excited or ask her any juicy questions about the production, she also told me that she "wouldn't tell me what it was about so I'd be surprised." Well. This immediately reminded me of the great scene in Gosford Park when my beloved Maggie Smith has the following exchange with the Hollywood Film Producer at Dinner:

(Producer describing a movie he's making, with our Maggie in Bold):

Most of it takes place at
a shooting party in a country house,
sort of like this one,
actually.

A murder in the middle of the night.
A lot of guests for the weekend.

Everyone's a suspect.
That sort of thing.

How horrid.

And who turns out
to have done it?

I couldn't tell you that.
It would spoil it for you.

- Oh, but none of us will see it.

What I can tell you is that the film somehow revolves around two little people who are dressed in humiliating costumes. Cause, you know, little is really funny. Or maybe the Little People are the ones who are really laughing at us and Hollywood for paying them just because they're little. I can't remember what we're supposed to think anymore.

Worth Repeating:

I just transcribed the first couple of paragraphs from the weeknd paper to email to someone and think it's worth repeating:

(from The Globe and Mail's London UK Correspondant):

I felt a peculiar swell of national pride on hearing that Ottawa had happily agreed to hold its huge annual Canada Day celebration in London on June 30, because Trafalgar Square had already been requested for July 1 by something called EuroPride Day.

In order to leave room for a same-sex bacchanal, Canada uncomplainingly moved its national day and had its fireworks and rock concerts yesterday. Can you imagine any other country doing this? "Sorry, Mr. President, the gays have the Fourth booked this year, so we're moving it to the third. That okay with you?"

Hope you had a good long weekend everyone.

Happy Birthday Canada!

2006-06-30T23:37:00.000-04:00

I'm a pretty big fan of our flag, I mean, it's pretty hard to even be seen as a sinister world power with a Maple Leaf as your symbol. When the new national flag was finally chosen over the old Union Jack inspired design we had a very Canadian Parliamentary Committee choose the design.

After reviewing thousands of proposals, the committee settled on the three following designs:

The first design came from Diefenbaker's members of the committee. The second was again the original proposal, the "Pearson Pennant". The third was similar to the first, a 13-pointed red Canadian Maple Leaf on white with red stripes on both sides, but without the Union Jack and the banner of the Kingdom of France.

Like the Pearson Pennant, the third flag had two bars on both sides of the main symbol to represent the Pacific and Atlantic. The entire flag was in red and white, the official colours granted to Canada in 1921 by King George V. The red also represented those Canadian soldiers who died fighting for freedom during World War I, II and the Korean War. The single leaf represented all Canadians.

After a vote, the third proposal was elected with an overwhelming majority. A government graphic artist was asked to create a print for the final proposal. After some input from the committee leaders, the maple leaf was changed to an 11-pointed leaf. Part of the motivation to change the leaf design was based on superstition (13 being an unlucky number in Christian culture). The other was to simplify the leaf design further so that even a child could draw the flag.

The final design was adopted on October 22, 1964. It was proclaimed as Canada's official flag by Queen Elizabeth II on February 15, 1965. Time marches on though, with this flag becoming more and more visible:

And a few years ago Madamerouge began flying her Bear Pride Flag, and I've grown to like it, just as long as it's smaller than any accpmpanying Canadian Flags. There are rules about these things, and she does so love her rules. Such a conventional woman in so mnay ways, but with such an unconventional flag and, shall we say lifestyle. Contrast makes the girl I say, and she is always full of (literally full) of "surprises," but only occasionally and with lots of lubricant. And never on Canada Day.

WOOF!!

The Bottom line is that liquor stores are closed tommorow, so hope you stocked-up, unless you live somewhere founded by a funner founding people - like Quebec.

I remember one summer while I was working in Banff, some American tourists asked me what time the fireworks were goning to be starting and where they would best be able to view them. It's not that fireworks aren't a part of Canada Day celebrations because they are, it's just that it was July 4th. They were confused/(literally) outraged when I tried to explain that as Canadians, we had already celebrated C-A-N-A-D-A D-A-Y and wouldn't be celebrating the Fourth of July. Exasperated and annoyed I suggested they might return to their hotel room and watch Pop Goes The Fourth on A&E or something, and yes, we do get that channel.

(and I still love Joe)

And if you sadly find yourself in our Nation's Capital today, there is a great party happening which, apparently, is gonna be the best "bias free zone," Like..EVER! I'm just saying, not judging.

Two Days at the Beach

2006-06-29T08:44:00.000-04:00

I was in a pretty crabby mood yesterday, some of which can probably be attributed to humidity and some of which can certainly be attributed to a post-Pride phenomenon called terrible tuesdays. I thought that I would feel better if I took the dog to the off-leash park to play with his friends; watching him run and play usually makes me smaile and feel better about whatever it is I'm feeling down about. I love him for that. And lots more.

And it was working. He was playing and I was feeling better, much better actually, that is until two "dog park" people that I don't really know sat down beside me and just had, had!, to recount their entire two week holiday to Israel, from which they had just returned. I wasn't really paying attention until:

"Oh, and the beaches! You should have seen the beaches! I could just sit and relax and forget all my problems on that beach in Tel Aviv,"

I immediately thought of that Palestinian girl who was having a picnic on a beach too, but wasn't able to forget her troubles. I snapped, and started crying. I must have made for quite a sight as I chased the dog around the park weeping as the dog thought we had made-up a new "game."

Well the Party's Over!

2006-06-26T21:22:00.000-04:00

The "theme" of Toronto Pride 2006 was Fearless!, and everyone seemed to really take the theme to heart. A few exampes:

The Dyke's weren't afraid to have yet another bland, colourless and hostile march.

Street vendors had no fear at charging $3 dollars for warm bottles of water that usually cost $1

Tens of Thousands of people had no fear at all of looking like monsters in public - and I'm not just talking about you, ladies!

Same Tens of Thousands fearlessly ingested whatever pill/powder some stranger handed (sold) them. (At least I "know" my "guy")

With the exception of a charming tourist from Milwaukee, scores of other men fearlessly rejected some of my more "creative" indecent proposals.

Oh yeah, and I fearlessly ate almost all of this as part of my "recovery." The nutrients in the lime wedges that you get with a Vodka and Soda had left me a little nutritionally depleted.

I had no fear (inexplicably) of spending 1 1/2 hours in a line-up last night to get into a bar that I regularly don't even like going to.

And it was quite a party. And although it was a very long party, we were all able to remain constantly fabulous and in control thanks to our years and years of experience. Madamerouge was able to stay spectacularly drug and alcohol free as she fled the city for her Hometown; they don't celebrate Pride in Kenora, Ontario, but to be fair we don't have this in Toronto either. Jimmy did a pretty good job himself, staying in on Friday and Saturday; I think it would be fair to say that he packed a whole weekend of fun into just one day! I'll write more about this tommorow when I can think a little more, well clearly, but since we're still on the subject of fabulous, it was great to see my friend Paul who flew-in from San Farncisco for the weekend. Here's a video of him in a beer garden on Sunday afternoon. All I can say is that I think he may have gotten a bit too much sun, having become unaccustomed to that famous Canadian hot sun after years spent living in Californis. Poor Dear!