What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Thursday, June 26, 2003

"HAPPY PRIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!".....UGH

Yes, Gay Christmas is fast approaching and I....don't especially care. Not that I have a problem with it (thank you, Jerry Seinfeld), nor am I some 'self-hating homophobe' (ie. someone who doesn't immediately subscribe to the 'gay-good-straight-bad' school of politics), but I just think I'm too old, frankly.

Like Christmas, Gay Pride is for kids. It's for those fresh-out-of-the-closet newbies from 9 to 90 (and if you think there's no gay 9-year-olds out there, you've clearly never seen the kid on that "Who's the Boss?" sitcom -- he writes for "The Advocate" now and we ALL saw that coming). When I moved to Toronto in 1992, with everything but my closet door, Pride Day was the best thing ever -- an incredible street party where the ordinary people made me feel fascinating and the fascinating people made me feel ordinary. As they say, I Was Not Alone. Pride Day has been all about first times -- I remember the first time I attended the parade, the first guy I picked up at an afterparty, the first all-morning brunch with friends, and the first day spent holding hands with my boyfriend amidst the hundreds of thousands of others. It's been beautiful, and it's been done.

Now, and for the last two years, I've been working on Pride Day at Gay Ground Zero. The pub gets thousands of people streaming through its doors all weekend long and the inside is always filled to capacity. The energy is electric, exciting and, sadly, exhausing. I've nothing left. All week long, customers have been squealing "Happy Pride!!!!" at me and, in some sensitive cases, catching me in my plastic smile. "Aren't you excited?" they ask. "Do you work retail?" I ask back and, when they answer yes, I say, "Then today is December 21." I can see the light coming on in their eyes as they get it.

I'm a massive grouch, of course -- I will enjoy seeing the city erupt with gayness all weekend, as I always have, and no work-stress will ever take away that pleasure. But, as BB King says, the thrill is gone, gone away from me. I leave it for the next generation, those high-schoolers and graduates who'll come downtown on Sunday with their eyes wide open.

Labels: Trawna

WHY I'M SO RUDE

Oh yeah, almost forgot...

If you're reading this and have e-mailed me recently, you may be wondering why the hell I haven't written back. Well, I don't know how to access my e-mail account away from my own computer. Long-time readers will instantly know why I can't use my own computer but the short version is that it's crap. Hopefully, I'll be back online soon but, in the meantime, hey, it's a good excuse to give me a phone call, no?

PLEASE REMAIN CALM

Cheers to Jim Coyle in the Toronto Star for his editorial today on Canada's new liberalism. Rather than the usual "what harm will this bring our society?" handwringing we've been seeing in regards to gay marriage and the (quasi) decriminalization of pot, Coyle says it's just examples of Canada "growing up." It seems to me we've decided to take our cues from Europe, rather than America, and that can only be a good thing.

That's all I saw of the Star today, however, since the arts section apparently featured stories on the new Harry Potter book and the break-up of Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock (hey, who saw that coming?). While everyone buzzes over this weekend's release of Harry's fifth book, I've only just started the second, putting me far behind the pack. Worse yet, it seems a main character dies in this one and I just know some nitwit's going to reveal who before I get around to reading it for myself. I still grumble about the aunt who walked in the main credits of "Jagged Edge" on TV one Sunday and exclaimed, "Oh, this is a great movie!!! Can you believe ______ did it?" I glared at her and said, "You're kidding, right?" and her mouth dropped open in shock that I hadn't seen the movie already. I'd best not tell her that I'm reading the Harry Potter series.

Labels: Trawna

THE WORLD SPINS ON

When you start to feel -- as I've been prone to -- that everything's changing and will never be the same again, consider that the following huge events have taken place this week without any direct effect on my -- and perhaps your -- life:

-- Gregory Peck died yesterday, taking with him both memories of Golden Age Hollywood and that sort of stolid, heroic dignity that few actors today can carry off. He was not only successful in bringing Atticus Finch to the screen but honoured one of literature's great heroes. Do yourself a favour and pick up a copy of "To Kill A Mockingbird" this weekend if you haven't seen it already.

-- Gay men and lesbians can now be legally married in the province of Ontario, placing one-fifth of Canada (mine includes Quebec!) on a par with France, Germany, Sweden and other bastions of civilization. Conservatives continue to bleat that this will destroy their families, marriage itself, all of society and possibly the ozone layer, but here on Day 4, Ontario has processed hundreds of applications and we're all still standing. As Stan my boss said this week, "I don't get these people. The gays are lining up for acceptance from the government, the church and everything else these guys stand for. The right-wingers should be kissing their feet!" Well, ew, no, but it's nice to hear someone else affirm what i've been saying for years: gay marriage is a conservative act. Arguing against it is either progressive or illogical.

-- Over 400 people have died this week in the latest round of fighting in the Liberian civil war. If you're like me, you probably just stopped a moment to think, there's a civil war in Liberia? And where is Liberia again?

-- Roommate Jerry paid his rent in two installments this week, taking a massive weight off my mind. (88 Lines About 4.4 Roommates still holds, however.) Meanwhile, I'm working like a mad bastard but, at this rate, I could actually be debt-free by early next year. This is a huge deal for me but, again, has no impact on anyone else.

OH BY THE WAY, I FAILED

I received a very funny e-mail from one of my university dormmates this evening. It seems Brad is a lawyer now and I react to that with equal parts admiration and self-esteem-implosion. Oh well, it's not all about me, though Brad's "challenge" is:

I will understand if you choose not to accept it. The challenge is this. In your next three journal/diary entries use both "gizmo" and "bimbo" is a discrete and otherwise undetectable manner. I understand that doing this may appear to compromise your integrity as an author. After all, it is Scott Dagostino who decides what to write and not some invisible, power hungry wiener from a city that is not Toronto. However, I think that it would be a marvelous demonstration of skill if you could accomplish this.

So, I ask my adoring fans (thanks again to you both) and my invisible, power-hungry wiener-pal Brad, how'm I doin'? I realize that using the words "bimbo" and "gizmo" right now, in this third entry this evening, is a colossal cheat, of course, but then I never had any integrity as an author anyway -- I'm a journalist, after all! Good night and thank you!

Labels: Trawna

YARRR, OFF YOUR SOAPBOX, MATEY

Of course, no sooner do I post my anti-stupidity rant when I see an ad online for the upcoming "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie and I get all excited. This thing is dumber than George Bush with a head wound but it's a pirate movie (pirates!) with Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom (say it with me now...Orlando Blooooom) so what is not to love? Besides, it might not be so terrible -- it could be vaguely historical-like and it's definitely free of James Bond bimbos or silly gizmos, right? Oh all right, I know, I'm a complete hypocrite, but still....pirates! PIRATES!!!

Labels: movies

DUMB, DUMBER, DUMBEST

Dumb:
During my trip home this weekend, I brought along a copy of "Die Another Day" to watch with my dad. We missed it in the theatres last fall -- it was gone in seven weeks (seven weeks!!) -- breaking a tradition dating back to 1987, in which we go to the latest James Bond movie opening around his birthday at the end of November. After watching this one, however, neither of us felt too disappointed in missing it in the theatre because the end was quite dopey. The first three-quarters of the movie are fantastic, with all the great cars, gorgeous women, beautiful locations and cool gizmos that have made Mr. Bond so famous. Why, then, can't anyone write an action movie ending anymore? My friend Tara arrived for dinner right when the movie began to devolve into ludicrous stunts, pointless explosions and endless fight scenes. Sitting beside her on the sofa, I could feel Tara's eyebrow poking me in the side of the head. Dad just shakes his head and says, as he has for the last couple films, "It's not the same without Connery."

Dumber:
Thought I'd check out some new TV show on Fox tonight called "Keen Eddie," with the likeable (and, let's face it, easy on the eyes) Mark Valley as an NYC cop transferred to Scotland Yard. Not a new premise by any means but I'm a big anglophile who can never resist that "Fish Called Wanda" American-in-London stuff. Too bad I had to turn it off within about ten minutes. It was just that stupid -- full of showy camera trickery and goofy overacting, even from the great Alexei "Who's that fat bastard?" Sayle. I was disappointed but the very words "new TV show on Fox" should've tipped me off. Worse yet was a commercial for their other new show, "Paradise Hotel," in which a group of "real" bimbos and pretty-boys screw around in some Caribbean resort. "Parental Discretion advised!" shrieked the announcer, and I couldn't aim the remote fast enough. I still don't get why everyone on "reality TV" seems like a walking cartoon to me, while the fictional characters on "Once and Again" or "Six Feet Under" are so compellingly ordinary.

Dumbest:
That would be me on Sunday night, when I popped over to Don and Amanda's -- they just got a place together and seem very happy. I brought over a few movies and we hung out and talked, until Don offered to light up a joint. I never smoke up, as it makes me quite stupid and, sure enough, I had virtually nothing to say for the rest of the night. Even dumber was realizing on the subway home that I was no longer carrying the DVDs I'd had on the connecting bus. Nothing irreplaceable but an annoying waste of money, nevertheless, and a clear reminder of why I avoid getting stoned. It makes me dumber than "Die Another Day" on the Fox network.

Labels: family, friends, movies, TV

RAMBLINGS, NOT RANTINGS

So why so miserable last week? Probably something to do with coming home at 3 in the morning on Thursday to find a scribbled note from my roommate informing me that he won't be able to pay the rent this month or possibly ever. Later seeing the Woody's memo to all door staff informing us that, in effect, we really suck at our jobs didn't help either. Throw in the impossible workload dumped on me at the store all this week and it's obvious that I've been a giant ball of stress.

Thank God for Dad and Josie, who gave me the run of their place on Saturday night. They had to go to an anniversary gathering for some friends but it left me free to make some food, watch horror movies on the satellite dish and sleep on fluffier pillows. Why, it was practically a spa day!

Meanwhile, I was free to mull over my horrible roommate history and, as I do, turn misery into silliness. Thus, I give you:
88 Lines About 4.4 Roommates

Labels: family, silliness, working girl

LIFELINES

Going to bed way too late and getting up way too early. Without going into too much detail just yet (I know, I know, I shouldn't be coy), this has been one of the worst weeks ever. On a professional level, a personal level -- hell, even weather-wise -- these last few days have been horrible on me.

It's times like these when you have to focus on what's keeping you happy or, at the very least, sane. This week, I've had three: first, the gorgeously sad new album "Bare" from Annie Lennox with a song, "Pavement Cracks," that has utterly captured how I feel right now; second, a good cry over the startling and brilliant final episode this year of "Six Feet Under," the best damn show on television; and third -- and most important -- a wonderful and lengthy e-mail from my friend Tara in Hamilton explaining exactly why she loves me. I was embarrassed to read parts of it but, given that everything's gone wrong this week, I was also thrilled with her timing. Thanks for tossing me a lifeline, Tara, I love you as always.

Labels: friends

I'LL BET AMSTERDAM'S PUBLIC SQUARE IS BETTER

While walking past the bus-terminal-from-the-Balkans that is Toronto's new Dundas Square, I was relieved to see half a dozen steel café tables scattered about, with matching chairs around them. A trio of old men were sitting and talking at one table, a young couple at another. "Well that's a bit more like it," I thought as I continued on to work.

Eight hours later, I decided to stroll across this new slightly-warmer square on the way home and saw a pair of uniformed security guards asking a group of teenagers to leave one of the tables. From what I could see, the kids were sitting together, talking and smoking, as one of the guards said, "It's a nice night. Why don't you go for a walk?" These kids were about as threatening as a bag of English muffins and they slouched away with pouts on their faces.

"So what was all that about?" I asked one of them, as they came my way. "They don't want us to smoke there," said the one guy in a tank-top and a backwards baseball cap. "What, it's a non-smoking square?" I laughed. "No man," he said, "We were smoking a joint." "Oh," I said -- I'm thick that way -- "Well who's that harming?" "That's what we said," he shrugged and the group continued on.

This is a tidy little litmus test, isn't it? Are these just good kids unable to find a place to hang out without being hassled, or are these worthless punks committing crimes on public property? I guess the answer depends on one's age or, more importantly, one's attitude towards marijuana. I've always felt pot is, at best, good fun, at worst, somewhat unhealthy. Criminal charges are ridiculous. I'm old and stodgy enough to see why Dundas Square security would hardly want to condone pot smoking on their turf, but I still think that chasing the kids away from an outdoor venue is just heavy-handed and silly.

Guards shouldn't drive citizens out of Dundas Square until they've actually done something wrong -- there's few enough people there as it is.

WHAT'S PORTUGUESE FOR 'AWKWARD'?

Freshly back from 'Portugal Night' at Woody's, a thankfully-annual night of drag queens with maudlin torch songs and rowdy twentysomethings screaming for cerveza. No 'fiery Latino' stereotypes were laid to rest tonight, I can tell you, and if you think that sounds racist, well I'm not the one who referred to them as "wretched creatures" at one point.

It was all rather wearying, especially when I received an out-of -the-blue dinner invite from a friend of a friend who was, well, drunk. Two of the sadder offshoots of my job at the pub are a woeful lack of free time to risk on an X-factor and a growing intolerance for drunks. I don't want to be around people when they're smashed, let alone accept dinner dates from them.

At first, I simply said that my schedule this week was solidly booked, the next one still unknown. "Not good enough," he said, "Gimme a date. Pick a night, right now." Does this work on other people? Because it just annoyed me. Then things got strange when he mentioned how our mutual friend "will get so mad if he finds out I'm going out with you!" "Why?" I asked. "Let's just say he'll be mad," was all I got. Oy, could this be more awkward?. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to actually do my job during all this and getting ticked off.

What seemingly linked all this tonight was a sense of drama. Whether it was Portugal pride, a fun night out, or a request for a dinner date, everything was high stakes, life or death. I hate that. I feel lucky to have mellowed in recent years (yes, if you think I can be fussy now, imagine ten or fifteen years back!) and I've grown increasingly weary with this need for emotional theatrics that I see, especially in gay circles. Please just bloody well relax, people -- things will work out one way or the other. In the meantime, I will happily be having dinner alone.

BITCHING AND LOANING

Since my wildly expensive trip to Los Angeles, the poverty mosquitos have been biting harder than usual (you may have noticed the complaining!). Part of the problem is that, back in 1999, I began paying off a $10,000 student loan -- the one that paid mostly for the two years at York that taught me absolutely nothing and not counting the year at U of T that was really helpful but too expensive to continue with. Nearly $300 a month has been sucked out of my coffers (and it's as painful as that sounds) since then.

Today, I grudgingly pulled up my Internet banking site to see just how bad things are, only to see that the balance of my loan is $994. I couldn't believe it. My massive loan is now less than a thousand dollars and I've paid over nine thousand in the last four years.

After a decade of living on Kraft dinner and fending off collection agencies, I feel as though some actual progress has been made and that maybe, just maybe, my financial situation will improve at some distant point. Why, it's almost enough to give one hope.