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)...


   Tuesday, July 29, 2003

THOSE SATANIC MAJESTIES

The Ticketmaster outlet at the record store has been swamped these last couple days with last-minute pick-ups and purchases for the Rolling Stones' big SARS-a-thon tomorrow. It was bad enough when tickets first went on sale, with line-ups out the door and around the block, but this last flurry has made me happy I decided not to head out to Downsview Park tomorrow. Call me a snob, but I don't want to be fenced in with 800,000 of the people we've had in the store yesterday and today.

It's the drunks, mostly. For weekday afternoons in Toronto, there's been a lot of them. Two of them today had Laura so nervous, she called me over to the Ticketmaster counter just to stand there with her. To help her out, I asked the crowd if they'd move back and line up against the wall a little (so they wouldn't be such a free-flowing mob, frankly). "Sorry to be such a Nazi," I joked. "What's wrong with Nazis?," the one drunk hollered, "I like Nazis!" When his female companion suddenly decided she didn't want to pay for both tickets, she started hitting him in the stomach and finally slammed the money on the counter and marched off, ranting. "That's just her native heritage coming out," he said, and Laura and I took yet another simultaneous step backward.

Meanwhile, we had scalpers in our doorway, more ugly tie-die shirts with Stones lips on them than I've ever seen, and if people were this impatient in a mere ticket line-up, I can't imagine what they'll be like waiting in a massive line in the hot sun for a porta-potty. So no, I won't be going to the big event tomorrow.

Besides, Justin bloody Timberlake is performing there -- 'nuff said.

Labels: Trawna

MR. SMITH GOES TO BOYSTOWN

Curious about any follow-up from the dates with little-boy-Gabe these last couple weeks? Well, sadly, so am I. Seems I got one of those four-day blow-offs that guys in their early twenties are so good at (and yes, that once included shameful me). You know the drill: "I'll call you after the weekend...What are you doing Wednesday?...Sorry, can we make it Thursday?...Oh, something's come up at the last minute and I can't make it...I'll call you tomorrow." Oh, for the love of God, just tell me you're not that interested and let me get on with my life already!

I shouldn't be too surprised, though: I knew I was in trouble when, on our first date, we were bonding over a mutual love of old movies and he told me I reminded him of Jimmy Stewart. "I'm not sure what to make of that," I said. "Why?" he asked. "Well, Jimmy Stewart's not exactly...sexy...is he?" Gabe then looked me in the eye and said, "I think he is," and I knew then that he was too good to be true. Or maybe I just said the wrong thing later and screwed it up, who knows?

I told my boss Stan this story -- given his own love of old movie stars -- and admitted that maybe I was too hard on Mr. Stewart. I mean, Hitchcock found him mysterious and Jimmy was pretty rugged in all those westerns he did. "Are you kidding?" snapped Stan, "Jimmy Stewart was everywhere! That guy was getting more ass than a toilet seat!" Apparently, Marlene Dietrich and Katherine Hepburn were among the many women who had no complaints about our George Bailey. I'll let that cheer me up as I dip my feet back into the dating pool.

I KNEW PIERRE TRUDEAU, AND YOU, MADAM...

Just what are you supposed to think when a viable alternative to the conservative politics of "big-L-certainly-not-small-L" Liberal Paul Martin comes along and it's spearheaded by...Sheila Copps? Today's Toronto Star outlined her policy challenge to Martin's in-the-bag Liberal leadership bid and it's great -- progressive initiatives for more affordable housing and municipal infrastructure, and aims to eliminate child poverty and provide international goodwill measures to "build bridges to the world," rather than Martin's proposal to cooperate with the ludicrous and costly U.S. missle defense program.

So far, so good, but the big problem isn't Copps' leaning to the left or even the inevitability of Paul Martin's win -- Copps herself is the issue. I suspect she's hoping that Liberal voters have forgotten about that crazy time when she promised to resign if the GST wasn't scrapped. Remember how she didn't quit when the GST predictably wasn't removed, then quit after everyone screamed for her head, and then immediately ran for re-election and won because there was little competition? Boy, those were wacky times! Say what you like about how fair or unfair all that was, but the fact remains that, to the average Canadian, Sheila has less credibility than an Amway salesman.

This is particularly unfortunate for me, since I agree with most of her policies, and ironic in that everyone still picks her apart on her past record while ignoring how the unstoppable Paul Martin is our new Mulroney-lite. Perhaps no one notices this comparison because Sheila's too busy likening herself to Trudeau?

Labels: Canada, Trawna

KILLING THE MESSENGER

Scottish director Peter Mullan's film-fest winner The Magdalene Sisters is finally hitting mainstream theatres this week and the film's depiction of abuses in Catholic Church-run institutions has ignited the usual fuss from the Vatican (check out Jessica Winter's excellent overview in the Village Voice or this piece in The Guardian). Even as the church spokesman on BBC was decrying the film, he admitted that the cruelties it depicts "probably did happen." Nevertheless, my roommate turns to me and expresses disdain for this "trendy" ganging-up on the church.

Excuse me?

This is something that's bugged me for years: as a Catholic, a film-lover and a person who thinks, I've long hated how films that attempt to deal honestly with religious themes get tagged as "anti-church" or "anti-religious" by people who refuse to watch them. I found The Last Temptation of Christ to be the most affecting film I'd seen regarding my own spirituality but it was denounced as blasphemous. Priest was an attempt to provoke discussion around the church's view of homosexuality but it too was condemned. Silliest of all was attempting to block Kevin Smith's satirical Dogma, which aimed to bring his own views on the Catholic faith to a younger audience, the same ones the church is driving away in droves.

If the church deserves its dwindling status, however, it's not because banning movies is its biggest problem: they have no choice but to publicly denounce anyone who asks honest questions about their record on social concerns because they've been so busy privately covering up actual crimes under its rooftops, crimes that films like "The Magdalene Sisters" want to discuss. It's the kind of shell-game we don't tolerate in political circles but get all ambivalent about when it comes to religious leaders.

It's not that I think the Catholic Church is evil -- I applaud the caring work done daily by millions of ordained priests and nuns world-wide -- but, dammit, those corrupt few who verbally, physically or sexually abuse children and teens should be brought to justice, not quietly transferred or hidden away. If, as the church says, "The Magdalene Sisters" is merely overblown propaganda (as a couple of film critics have agreed), then the public will just have to see the movie and make up their minds for themselves. God forbid.

I READ THE NEWS TODAY...oh boy...

Forgive me for being yet another whiny, hopelessly naive bleeding-heart liberal but I just can't join in with the big celebration over the killing of Saddam Hussein's sons. "GAME OVER FOR SONS" read the Toronto Sun headline, over the duo's photos on those creepy CIA playing cards. Yes, these two were brutal thugs; no, the world will not miss their presence; but honestly, do we have to jump for joy over the fact that they were shot and killed? It's tasteless and creepy.

But then, what do I know? I'm the guy who felt sad when I read that Jeffrey Dahmer had been bludgeoned to death against a prison urinal. Yes, his long catalogue of repulsive murders made him more than deserving of such a fate, but he was still someone's little boy at one point, you know? Even the hyped "Butcher of Baghdad" is no doubt shedding a tear this week over the death of his children and I find no pleasure in that.

Of course, it's what I get for reading the revenge-obsessed mainstream press anyway -- this latest horror in New York has me wondering just how much random nastiness the poor Big Apple can take. Let me know when violence has been prevented from happening -- then, I'll break out the party trays.

Labels: Trawna

I'VE STILL GOT SECONDS...

Leaving one job, running off to the other...I'm not impressed. It seems that the later one stays to catch up on necessary tasks, the more necessary tasks appear. I wonder if I'll ever get a day when things run smoothly at that store. Probably not, but at least I'm running smoothly. Love to go on, but gotta go...

I'VE GOT SECONDS...

Been trying to blog all week and, as I visit the parents in Hamilton, I figured I could jot something down today. My 3-year-old niece Syrena disagrees, however -- we've been playing with the big rubber ball all afternoon and now she wants to see the Dora the Explorer website. I thought the pedals on the exercise bike would keep her busier but here she is. Lucky for her she's cute.

I GENERALLY HATE THE WORD 'EMPOWERING'...

It's funny how a tiny change can have a tremendous impact, but I discovered a wonderful step forward in my meditation practice this week. For years, whenever I'd spent what admittedly little time I do focusing inward, I would follow the advice I'd received years ago. The idea, I once read, was to imagine breathing in light or purity or what-have-you and breathing out distress, negativity and so-forth. I'd dutifully done this, to mildly positive effect, but something always felt a bit off to me.

A "can't-praise-it-enough" book by Buddhist nun Pema Chodron called "The Places That Scare You" showed me a different tack: her advice was the exact opposite -- to breathe in the pain of the world outside myself, holding it with my own as I feel my inward being expand and lighten, until I release my inner compassion and warmth. It sounds bizarre but feels marvellous in practice, knowing that I am not just capable of taking in and feeling such pain but actually converting it into something good.

Before, I felt as though I were taking in the world's light and breathing out my own filth in return -- hardly an uplifting notion -- but now, I feel like I'm healing in some way, seeing myself as capable of bringing some light into the world. It's a new and lovely feeling for me and I guess I have Pema and her book to thank!

NOT MUCH TO BANK ON

Flush with confidence upon realizing how little is left on my ghastly 1999 student loan, I made an appointment to speak to a bank rep this morning about a second, smaller consolidation loan. A new loan, I figured, would eliminate the debt I have left outstanding with evil collection agencies and perhaps even grant me a credit card. I loathe credit cards, and have lived happily without one for many years, but I'm occasionally left feeling like a non-person in our Consumer Society and I really hate it.

I was a fool, of course. The guy at the bank seemed -- or possibly was -- sympathetic but kept referring to how "they" won't go along with my small-scale plan. His only suggestion was to come back in a couple of months, after I've paid off the student loan completely, and to call the collection agencies and simply tell them to stop calling me. "That's hardly a solution," I said, "and I'd rather pay the interest to this bank instead of them, no?" He didn't bite, and my colleague at the record shop wasn't surprised. "Banks are evil," he shrugged, "They only exist to make money but if they help you out in the process, it's a bonus." And that about sums it up.

UPDATES R US

Oh, where does the time go? Here's what's been happening...

Pride Day was everything I expected and unfortunately more -- a table of drunk Russians took offence when I 'suggested' that their passed-out friend would have to leave. The two women shrieked at me while the ringleader waved his hand in my face and said, "This is none of your business. Go away." "If I do go away," I finally told him, "I'll just be coming back with other people bigger and less friendly than myself, you realize." And I did, which led to a fistfight between this man and two of our bouncers. On the way out, he managed to get a final shot in and cuffed me on the side of the head as I was pulling away. "Happy Pride!!!" Funny enough, everyone I've told this story to just shudders and says, "Ugh, Russians." I should've known better, apparently.

In other news, I had a very fine date with someone who's both lovely and (sigh) about ten years younger than me. Recipe for disaster, I know, and I ask myself how I became such a chickenhawk, ha ha. He's back from visiting family in Amsterdam next week so I'm crossing my fingers that we can pick up where we left off. There are, of course, complications but more on that later...