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)...


   Friday, March 31, 2006

   CARE, WITH FLAIR

The Tennessee Guerilla Women are protesting attempts to roll back women's rights in that state and they're doing it with style! As the author explains:

I plan to wear a Red Burka Shirt when I go downtown to watch my elected representatives vote on whether or not women should be returned to the 19th century...Tennessee currently has 58 bills pending in the Legislature that deal specifically with abortion or reproductive healthcare. Forty-three of those 58 initiatives would take away the rights of Tennessee women. These measures are so cynical and cruel that many would even force a victim of rape or incest to bear the child of her attacker. While Tennessee legislators are trying to make it harder for women to access abortion services, they are doing next to nothing to help women prevent unintended pregnancies.

A T-shirt won't stop those bills but it's a fantastic start!

My favourite kerfuffle this week has been over this photo of beautiful downtown Baghdad (with over 35,000 troops in the city, it's America's favourite vacation spot!):



The placid photo appeared Tuesday on Howard Kaloogian's campaign website. The aspiring US Congressman said:

We took this photo of downtown Baghdad while we were in Iraq. Iraq (including Baghdad) is much more calm and stable than what many people believe it to be. But, each day the news media finds any violence occurring in the country and screams and shouts about it - in part because many journalists are opposed to the U.S. effort to fight terrorism.

I think there's a typo there -- I'm sure he meant to write "journalists are opposed to the U.S. effort to fight terrorism run by greedy incompetents attacking the wrong country" -- but the real mistake was much more fun. Within hours of the photo being posted, members of a discussion forum on Democratic Underground found that this was wasn't a photo of Baghdad at all, but one taken in Istanbul, Turkey!

Caught, Kaloogian blamed it on an underling and then later insisted, "the military asked us to use our discretion and put things on the Internet that were nondescriptive...(because) if we posted something that was easily identifiable, it could be a target." Because Baghdad is so calm and stable, right? He replaced the offending photo with this one:



As the delightful Postal Service song goes, "Everything looks perfect from far away..." What's even better about all this is that this photo was taken on a trip dubbed "the Truth Tour."

This in a nutshell is what's so fascinating to me about US politics -- the horror of such rampant and outrageous lying from those in power, followed (hopefully) by the thrill of seeing it exposed by dogged activists. Markos Moulitsas, founder of the liberal web-forum Daily Kos, wrote:

That this photo was recognized as a fake was amazing. That someone actually tracked down another photo of that very street corner in an obscure suburb of Istanbul, Turkey, is downright mind-boggling...The political landscape changes dramatically when you have hundreds of thousands of people doing real-time research into campaigns and candidates. In years past, people would've taken Kaloogian at his word that the photo in an e-mail was from Baghdad.

If it feels like politicians are playing fast and loose with the truth more than ever these days, it's out of desperation. The Internet is making it harder to lie.

If I wasn't born a geek, growing up in the 1970's certainly sealed the deal. It was a crap decade -- Vietnam, Watergate, the oil crisis, Jonestown, Barry Manilow -- so people tended to become either desperate for nostalgia or fascinated by the future. Seventies pop culture wallowed in sci-fi: there were happy futures, terrifying futures and futures I'm not sure which. "Star Wars" managed to be futuristic AND nostalgic at once!

Somewhere in all that -- way up in the Canadian fringes past even "The Starlost" -- was a cheap little Global TV show called "Science International." Host Joseph Campanella (an actor who's appeared in every TV show ever) wore a groovy black turtleneck against a black background so that his floating head could explain the scientific innovations that would change our lives. Each segment ended with his breathless exclamation, "What will they think of next?" He said it so often that the producers eventually threw their hands up and made it the new name of the show.

That sort of gee-whiz glee is largely passé these days though my old boyfriend Bryce worked for Telus Mobility and excitedly told me in 1999 how hard they were working on video games for cellphone colour video screens. "But what's the point of that?" I asked. "Who cares?" he shrugged, "It's just cool."

Today, though, I got a genuine dose of that old-school 'wow, futuristic!' vibe when I read this piece on what Proctor & Gamble has been working on:

Chemists have developed a powerful household water purification system that puts the cleansing power of an industrial water treatment plant into a container the size of a ketchup packet. The researchers have shown that the tiny packet, which acts as a chemical filter, can be added to highly contaminated water to dramatically reduce pathogen-induced diarrhea — the top killer of children in much of the developing world.
...
Worldwide, approximately 1.5 million children under age five die each year from simple diarrhea acquired from pathogens found in drinking water, according to public health experts. That translates to about 4,000 children dying each day as a result of contaminated water.
...
A single packet can decontaminate 2 ˝ gallons of drinking water, or enough drinking water to sustain a typical household for about 2-3 days, Allgood says. The packet is added to a large container of impure water, stirred, filtered through a cloth to remove impurities and then allowed to sit for 20 minutes. The net result is clear, safe drinking water, the researcher says.

What will they think of next?

Labels: Canada, technology, the 70s

Finally! It's taken WAY too long but the 'I' word is finally beginning to be whispered around George W. Bush and now, Dan Savage has launched www.itmfa.com. If you have to ask what all that 'I' stuff stands for, all will be explained.

Now, ITMFA!!!!

Labels: George W Bush

It's been a good week for 80's icons -- with their careers all-but-dead in the late 90's, it's been great to have Morrissey and Prince back in their prime. Like Morrissey, Prince had a hit comeback record two years ago and has now released '3121' -- a record that both reminds us of his brilliant albums two decades back and succeeds on its own terms as a terrific new disc.

While I freely admit that there's one too many dull slow-jam numbers here, the title track and "Lolita" are gorgeously strange and funky. "The Word" combines Christian preaching with a synthesizer beat, lots of sax and irresistible country guitar (now that's how you convert!) while "Black Sweat," like the best Prince songs, makes this white boy just wanna throw down right now!

And the closing track is my favourite: "Get On The Boat" is a plea for racial unity set to a salsa beat, bongo drums, killer piano riffs and then, with an announcement in the middle of the song -- the sweet, sweet saxophone of Maceo "Brand New Bag" Parker. "Every colour, every creed," Prince sings, "Get on the boat! We got room for a hundred more!" It's loose, a bit slight, but six minutes of infectious joy.

There's really nothing new on this album -- Prince may never surprise us the way he did two decades back -- but, like he said back then, "My name is Prince! And I am funky!"

Labels: religion

I apologize to Christians.

While I hope you all understand that I make a broad distinction between ordinary, church-going folk (whose faith in a personal God I don't share but do respect) and the wide-eyed zealots who work tirelessly to bring about a glorious, fiery, bloody cleansing of the earth in time for the Rapture. There's a thick line between those groups but it's getting thinner all the time, so you'll have to forgive me for spouting off about it. Lines in the sand and all.

I apologize because I didn't realize that I and all the other liberal, news media, gay activist, Hollywood and leftist groups were causing enough pain to warrant today's two-day conference in Washington DC, "The War On Christians And The Values Voter in 2006." One of the panels is entitled, "'Christian Persecution: Reports From the Frontlines'...which will hear from those who've experienced anti-Christian bias first-hand." You'll hear harrowing tales of regular American people beaten in the streets, fired from their jobs, separated from the children by the courts, drummed out of the military, forbidden to marry and commanded to live in secret.

Oh wait...I'm confusing them with this guy. He apologized, too.

Still, the point remains because Christian conservatives only control the Prime Minister's office and the American White House, Congress, Senate, Supreme Court and Fox News -- a tiny base under constant threat from "Will & Grace." A mere 80 percent of Americans are Christian but fortunately, according to a recent University of Minnesota study, they're holding firm:

Americans rate atheists below Muslims, recent immigrants, gays and lesbians and other minority groups in “sharing their vision of American society.” Atheists are also the minority group most Americans are least willing to allow their children to marry...[The lead researcher said,] “It seems most Americans believe that diversity is fine, as long as every one shares a common ‘core’ of values that make them trustworthy -— and in America, that ‘core’ has historically been religious...Our findings seem to rest on a view of atheists as self-interested individuals who are not concerned with the common good.”

See? Now I owe Ralph Reed an apology -- he's all about the common good -- so I hereby end my participation in this ugly War on Christians.

I will no longer argue that gay and lesbian people deserve the same legal, cultural and human rights as everyone else; I will no longer argue that religion and science classes should be kept separate for the sake of both; I will no longer argue that there are WAY too many politicians using the phrase, "As a Christian..." for some kind of 'get-out-of-jail-free' card; I will no longer argue that people are capable of being moral, caring citizens of the world with also being religious.

Oh wait a minute...that's not a 'War'...that's free speech, one of the defining values of Western Judeo-Christian civilization. Everybody wins! So I'll keep on yapping, the victims of secular cruelty can proudly hold their conference and we'll all play nicely in the sandbox until John Lennon gets his way or the United Church of Christ does. I'll be happy either way and hey, no bullets needed.

Labels: religion

Screenwriter John Rogers keeps a blog entitled Kung Fu Monkey and it's easily become one of my favourites. His hilarious and brilliant discussion of the 'Crazification Factor' is now up for a Koufax award for Most Humourous Post. Meanwhile, this week's rant, "How To Save The Theatre Industry," is a deep breath of fresh air for movie lovers and, of course, there's his now legendary speech, "The President and Intelligent Design":

Again, our motto at Kung Fu Monkey: "Everybody who wants to live in the 21st century over here. Everybody who wants to live in the 1800's over there. Good. Thanks.
Good luck with that."

As his career begins its third decade, the genius of Morrissey is that we've never really known if it's all been a joke or not. The Duke of Despair, the Sultan of Self-Loathing, he became an icon to a generation of self-absorbed black-clad teenagers growing up lost and lonely in the day-glo dismal 1980's.

Yet, as a mellow 21st-century adult, I listen to those Smiths albums and I still love them because they're so very, very funny. Take the lyrical crescendo from possibly their greatest song, "How Soon is Now?":

There's a club if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home and you cry
And you want to die

That over-the-top wallowing is shriekingly hilarious to me now and yet I'd be lying if I said there was never a night when I came home feeling exactly like that. When the world kicked you in the teeth, Morrissey was there. He understood. Even while, quite possibly, he knew how ridiculous such despair would seem in the light of the next morning. Total genius.

The secret to The Smiths' massive success was the way Johnny Marr piled on the friendliest of jangly guitar-pop while Morrissey's lyrics tugged the other way with outlandish moaning:

I know I'm unloveable
You don't have to tell me
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours

After the Smiths broke up in 1987, many predicted Morrissey would flounder without Marr's talent but he proved to be a savvy judge of collaborators and issued a run of solid albums like 'Your Arsenal' and 'Vauxhall and I' until, somehow, that wisp of humour in his material faded.

Maybe it was the court case: Mike Joyce, former Smiths drummer, sued Morrissey and Johnny Marr in 1996 for royalties acknowledgement. The judge awarded him a million pounds in back royalties and branded Morrissey "devious, truculent and unreliable".
By 1998, 'the Mozzer' was writing songs like this:

You pleaded and squealed
And you think you've won
But Sorrow will come
To you in the end
And as sure as my words are pure
I praise the day that brings you pain

Meanwhile, England was now in love with itself -- celebrating 'BritPop' and 'Cool Britannia' with Oasis, Blur and the Spice Girls. Morrissey's brand of epic gloom was now decidedly out of favour. So he vanished, moved to LA and dropped out of the music scene he was starting to hate. Most of us fans fondly closed the book on a fine career.

Six years later, Morrissey suddenly reappeared -- stockier, healthier, greying at the temples and, well, older. It was a jarring sight but he had come back with 'You Are The Quarry' -- his boldest, sharpest, funniest, saddest album in a decade. All of his legendary solipsistic self-pity was in full effect -- "How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?" indeed -- but now there was a trace of anger, a newfound sense of purpose in his politics, notably in the bold-at-the-time "America is Not the World."

During a concert last summer, Morrissey announced that Ronald Reagan had just died and infamously added, "Bush should have died, not Reagan." Following that comment, he revealed earlier this year that "the FBI and the Special Branch have investigated me and I've been interviewed and taped and so forth. They were trying to determine if I was a threat to the government, and similarly in England. But it didn't take them very long to realise that I'm not."

But the most intriguing thing about 'Quarry' was that a couple of the songs sounded almost...happy. The jaunty rocker "First of the Gang to Die" was a odd little gift to his large Latino fanbase and the bubbly electronica of "I Like You" sounded like the closest thing to a pop love song we would ever get from him. Since announcing he was celibate way back in 1983, people had wondered if Morrissey was truly as miserably lonely as he proclaimed or if -- given all the homoerotic imagery threading through so many of his songs -- this was just a ploy to keep his closet door shut. In a candid 1992 interview, he said :

I feel completely open. If I met somebody tomorrow, male or female, and they loved me and I loved them, I would openly proclaim that I loved them, regardless of what they were...One of my physical encounters was with a man. That was 10 years ago. It was just a very brief, absurd and amusing moment. It wasn't love. I have never experienced that.

Until 'Quarry', he didn't seem to mind so much but the album's high-point was an epic confessional anthem, "I Have Forgiven Jesus":

Why did you give me so much desire
When there is nowhere I can go to offload this desire?
And why did you give me so much love in a loveless world
When there is no one I can turn to to unlock all this love?
And why did you stick me in self-deprecating bones and skin?
Jesus, do you hate me?

For perhaps the first time, Morrissey's despair seemed entirely genuine -- an anger at the world, the Church, himself, for a life spent without love.

Until now.


Morrissey's new album arrives this week -- with the crazy title 'Ringleader of the Tormentors' -- and it's the sound of a man who's apparently stopped "turning sickness into popular song" and embraced life. While his misanthropy is firmly intact -- "I see the world, it makes me puke" -- it's twisted through with declarations of love:

Can you stop this pain?
Even now in the final hour of my life
I’m falling in love again

That bit is set against pounding, apocalyptic kettle drums and a gorgeous string section. With the help of legendary Bowie & T-Rex producer Tony Visconti, Morrissey sounds more vital than ever and, in case we've missed the point, the final song is called "At Last I Am Born":

I once thought I had numerous reasons to cry
And I did, but I don’t anymore
Because I am born, born, born
...
I once was a mess of guilt because of the flesh
It’s remarkable what you can learn
Once you are born, born, born

It's shocking to hear Morrissey sing about being in love, being happy and -- frankly -- getting laid. "Dear God, Please Help Me" is a sort-of-sequel to "I Have Forgiven Jesus," only the despair has been erased by sex and love:

Then he motions to me
With his hand on my knee
Dear God, did this kind of thing happen to you?
...
And now I am walking through Rome
And there is no room to move
But the heart feels free
The heart feels free
The heart feels free

His voice soars. It's exhilarating because, having followed his career for so long, I know that if a miserable, self-absorbed, vain misanthrope like Steven Morrissey can learn to love at the age of 47, there's hope for any of us.

Labels: homo-a-go-go, music, the 80s, tributes

Ouch! Someone dug up a TV spot for the 80's most unfortunately-named product:

Yes, like that insufferable relative with the wallet full of baby photos, here I am with pictures of Tegan! James took photos of the little creature Darcy calls "Poo Eater" (with good reason -- shudder). Appalled, I just sing it to the jazzy tune of Outkast's "Love Hater" ("Poo Eater...Poo Eater...Eater of Poo!") and shake my head. She's growing out of it, thankfully, but overall she's still a complete trial.

She monopolizes my attention, shits on my floor, eats my houseplants, keeps me from staying out late and has generally ruined my life. But look at that face -- I'm powerless before the little pooper!

Labels: friends, oh l'amour, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist

These little YouTube players are the greatest, aren't they? This site came out of nowhere to quickly become as popular as MySpace or Friendster and why? Because it's full of silliness and, for the two of you out there who haven't seen it yet, here's an instant classic from MadTV:

Marvin Olasky, a close associate of President Bush credited with the concept of "compassionate conservatism," has shown little for former right-wing golden boy Ralph Reed after a string of indictments. According to The Nation's Jack Newfield:

When Ralph Reed was the boyish director of the Christian Coalition, he made opposition to gambling a major plank in his "family values" agenda, calling gambling "a cancer on the American body politic" that was "stealing food from the mouths of children." But now, a broad federal investigation into lobbying abuses connected to gambling on Indian reservations has unearthed evidence that Reed has been surreptitiously working for an Indian tribe with a large casino it sought to protect--and that Reed was paid with funds laundered through two firms to try to keep his lucrative involvement secret.

Olasky is editor in chief of World magazine, dedicated "to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." Reed, says Olasky, "has damaged Christian political work by confirming for some the stereotype that evangelicals are easily manipulated and that evangelical leaders use moral issues to line their own pockets."

Gosh, Marvin, you don't say! Since Ralph Reed's been at this for over a decade, you're a little late for the party but better late than never, right? See, here's what's always irked me about those on the other side of the gay rights debate -- some (a very few, I find) are thoughtful opponents like Steve Burton, some are wing-nut bigots like James "Spongebob Queerpants" Dobson and some, like Reed, are so obviously just opportunistic political weasels looking to use religion to distract everybody while he robs the henhouse. His main business client was ENRON, for pity's sake! Why, WHY can't people make these distinctions? After all, it's in the Book [Acts 9:18, King James Version]:

"And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith, and arose..."

Labels: George W Bush, religion

I found that photo of actor Peter Sarsgaard from last month's Vanity Fair. Maybe it's the Japanese bondage ropes but it makes me swoon, he's so pretty.


Also, this shot of him and everyone's favourite Jake Gyllenhaal (*where* is his hand going?) makes one wish they could marry and have kids, ones with lots of a's in their names.

Oh, and while I'm rambling on about pointless celebrity crushes, allow me to introduce my -- well what do I call him? If a doppelganger is an evil twin, one do you call one who's better than yourself?

Alistair Appleton is an attractive, openly-gay Brit who hosts travel and cooking shows on the BBC, writes for 'Gay Times', posts a blog, teaches Buddhist meditation courses and will be playing himself in an episode of "Doctor Who" this summer. I'd love him if I didn't hate him; I'd hate him if I didn't love him.

Labels: Doctor Who

While I happily go on about the numerous ways our planet is spiralling down the toilet, I always agree with David Suzuki that there's nothing wrong with the world today that we can't fix with a collective show of brains, effort and humour. Lest you remain unconvinced of my Pollyanna streak, however (and I admit it's easy to see how that's possible), here's an adorable picture of little baby animals:

I love the gerbil in the middle -- it's like he's plotting -- "Soon, my brethren...soon..." I don't know what genius put that group together but I do know the geniuses who posted it on the web -- the more-than-aptly-named Cute Overload. After all the grim-but-necessary news of the day, it's where I secretly slip away to when I need a lift -- as relieving as liquor, as shameful as porn!

For nearly a decade now, South Park has been a deeply weird place as creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker have made savage fun of nearly every belief that anyone on Earth has ever held sacred. In taking on the creepy cult of Scientology, however, the boys apparently met their match.

The Scientology episode, "Trapped in the Closet" ran last November and made ruthless fun of the 'church' and its famous followers, especially Tom Cruise. A mere month later, Stone and Parker picked on the Catholic Church (again) with the grotesque "Bloody Mary" episode yet it was the Scientology spoof that remains controversial months later.

Rumour had it that Tom Cruise threatened not to promote "Mission Impossible 3" this summer if Paramount allowed its Comedy Central network to rerun the episode. Cruise's people denied it but Isaac Hayes -- the voice of Chef -- then abruptly quit the show after nine years and said:

"There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins...Religious beliefs are sacred to people, and at all times should be respected and honoured. As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices."

After nine seasons of such satire -- mocking Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus and Mormons -- Stone and Parker were frustrated by Hayes' sudden sensitivity and griped, "This is 100 percent having to do with his faith of Scientology. He has no problem -- and he's cashed plenty of cheques -- with our show making fun of Christians."

After Comedy Central pulled the planned rerun last week, the duo took out a full-page ad in Variety, announcing:

"So, Scientology, you may have won THIS battle, but the million-year war for earth has just begun! Temporarily anozinizing our episode will NOT stop us from keeping Thetans forever trapped in your pitiful man-bodies. Curses and drat! You have obstructed us for now, but your feeble bid to save humanity will fail! Hail Xenu!!!" -- Trey Parker and Matt Stone, servants for the overlord Xenu

What scares me is that every ridiculous idea in that statement is based on actual Scientology beliefs -- read up if you dare! All I can hear is comedian Lewis Black on 'The Daily Show' saying that Scientology must be taken seriously: "Look at it! It's got science right in the name!"

As for Hayes, the South Park creators had little choice but to write out his character this week in a typically hilarious, weird yet brutally-honest manner: after travelling the world with the 'Super Adventure Club,' Chef returns to South Park a brainwashed paedophile who is eventually burned, stabbed and mauled. At his funeral, one of the kids says:

"A lot of us don't agree with the choices the Chef has made in the last few days. Some of us feel hurt and confused that he seemed to turn his back on us. But we can't let the events of the past few weeks take away the memories of how Chef made us smile."

Exactly. Let's hope Isaac Hayes is happy and that Chef is now in a better place, one where he and Kathie Lee Gifford can make their sweet love gravy...

I never mean to be "anti-religious" or whatever phrase the theocrats are using to shout down we secular types these days but I'm very much "pro-science" and, well, these people keep drawing lines in the sand. It's frustrating to have to hear Sam Huntington saying, "I told you so," all the time. One of the reasons this ex-Catholic became drawn to Buddhism years ago was its friendly compatibility with science. As an added bonus, you just don't hear the phrase "radical Buddhist fundamentalist" (I know. I Googled it).

With all that, then, I must say how happy I am to report that Rowan Williams, the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury and leader of the Church of England, courageously went against the grain this week by saying that the Book of Genesis should NOT be taken literally:

Williams described creationism as "a kind of category mistake, as if the Bible were a theory like other theories...And for most of the history of Christianity...there's been an awareness that a belief that everything depends on the creative act of God is quite compatible with a degree of uncertainty or latitude about how precisely that unfolds in creative time"...Asked if creationism should be taught in schools, Williams said: "I don't think it should, actually. No, no."

Wow. My hero! Now this argument can stop being a "faith vs. science" slab of stupidity and become an internal debate amongst Christians, as it should be. Simply recasting creationism as "intelligent design" and trying to slip it past school boards was a sleazy move that should have worried people truly serious about Christianity's relationship to the rest of society.

See, here's my deep, dark, shameful secret: I actually kind of like Intelligent Design theory. The notion that the development of all life on earth has been guided by some greater wisdom and purpose is quite sweet and profound. I like the theory, I want to believe the theory but it must not be taught as science. Save it for the religion and philosophy classes but, for God's sake (literally!), keep it out of the science classrooms, keep it out of the government! Our very sanity depends on it.

Hello and Happy New Year!

Yeah, I know, nearly three months late, and a very long time since my last confession...er...posting. Where the hell have I been?

Well, to say I've been busy is, of course, the standard cop-out but truthfully, I haven't had this much on my plate in a very, very long time. Here's what been distracting me, one alibi at a time...

Excuse number one:
NEW ADVENTURES IN POOP

This is the big one.

On December 3rd, my boss called me at work and told me to get in a cab and meet her down at the Humane Society. "You have GOT to get down here NOW!" she said. While walking her dog near the pound, Janet had been approached by a man bringing in a four-month-old Jack Russell/Italian greyhound mix. His girlfriend had demanded this because the puppy had chewed up an antique doll ("Who leaves antique dolls lying around where a puppy can get them?" Janet and I later asked in disbelief). He was near tears and couldn't bring himself to go in, asking instead if Janet would take the dog, but she convinced him that the pound would give the puppy the best care and find the best home, then called me straight away. Janet had long been pushing for me to get a dog because anyone who knows me sees how much happier I am around them.

True to form, I rode down to the pound with a determination to refuse. I don't make a lot of money. I'm not home many nights. How can I care for a dog when everything's so chaotic in my life right now? I had over a dozen concrete reasons why I should not take this puppy and every one of them evaporated like mist when I looked into her tiny brown eyes. She scrambled into my arms, licked my face with mad zeal, then leaned back against my chest and calmly looked around the room at everyone else. She was home and I knew then I'd never let go of her.

So began an absolutely insane month of sleepness nights, ridiculous spending and a complete change in lifestyle. For one thing, I have been brutally, unwillingly transformed into a Morning Person -- standing on the front lawn at seven in the morning, waiting for the puppy to pee.

I let her sleep in my bed at first, though she yelped and squealed in her sleep as if suffering from puppy nightmares. I did everything I could to ease her separation anxiety while busily acclimatizing her to other people, dogs, children, cars -- anything to build her confidence (though now I worry that I've done my job too well!). The previous owner had named the dog 'Asia' which suggested either an eastern land mass or a pole-dancing porn star. I decided on 'Tegan', an old Celtic name I liked and (yes I admit it) the name of a 'Doctor Who' character -- a bossy Australian woman who famously described herself as "a mouth on legs!" Seemed appropriate.

There's a new book called "Marley and Me" that's on the NYT bestsellers list. The author spent 13 years with "the worst dog ever" and his story is apparently hilarious. I believe I may one day write the sequel. As a terrier, Tegan is a willful little creature, constantly testing the limits of my authority. She tugs on the leash, jumps up on the off-limits furniture and only obeys commands the second or third time I say them. It's a constant struggle for me to stay firm with her, since she knows she's almost cute enough to get away with it!

The worst moment occurred right after her first obediance class. She was stubborn but smart enough to grasp the introductory commands and she behaved beautifully on the walk home. She trotted along beside me and stopped and sat at each crosswalk. I beamed with pride as we got home and I removed her leash. I hung my coat on the stand and turned around to see Tegan standing on the armrest of the sofa (where she's not allowed to go), her head up proud and happy as she hosed my sofa with pee.

I think I've only felt that kind of angry despair twice before in my life: when my house was robbed in 1990 and when George W. Bush was re-elected in 2004. It's a kind of blinding white light, a cold heat that tears through you. It was all I could do to keep from snapping her neck like a twig. Instead, I screamed, mashed her face into the puddle, snapped the leash on her and whisked her out onto the front lawn, where she calmly resumed the last of her emptying. She then got lavish praise and a cookie, even though I wanted her dead.

Even the standard housebreaking has been a painfully slow and irritating process. Nothing is more aggravating than someone breaking my 'don't crap in my living room' rule (guests, be told!) and she's done it often and enthusiastically. I'm SO glad I don't have carpeting. Adjusting to the 'poop and scoop' routine was difficult -- nothing in life can quite prepare one for the ghastly sight of poop steaming in the winter air (steaming!). Even that nightmare was quickly eclipsed by a treat experiment with peanut butter that led to two days of diarrea, a horror I shall not describe now or ever. Yes, I've been in the trenches...and they're filled with poop.

Fortunately, it hasn't all been urine and death wishes. Despite it all, I love the dog completely and totally. She's a fantastic little thing -- happy, friendly with strangers, relatively quiet, whip-smart and always ready to play. Just watching her curled up on her chair, gnawing on a chew toy, makes me smile. It's a paradox but once I understood that I have to be totally firm with her at all times (alpha-dog!), we've had a more relaxed and harmonious relationship.

Now if only I could still bring the dog to work (more on that coming up). I hate leaving her in a crate all day but she's adjusted well by becoming nocturnal(!) -- once we spent lazy evenings on the sofa with a book or movie, now I get home after a long day and she's there with tug rope in mouth, jumping up and down, silently squealing, "Let's PLAAAAAY!!! For nine hours!!" My every last nerve is worked but I still wouldn't want it any other way.

Excuse number two:
MAD ABOUT THE BOY

They say third time's the charm, right? That's why Darcy and I are back together.

Again.

I love him. He loves me. We're utterly wrong for one another. Sigh.

James once suggested that some part of me must love "the drama" of it all. Oh no. Build-ups of unnecessary drama are what's kept us apart on a semi-regular basis. Ultimately, though, he makes me happy more often than not and most of our time apart after breaking up has been spent pining for one another. Life's too short for that so I'm willing to hang on and see what happens. At the end of the day, he makes me laugh and I like that a lot.

One thing I have learned is that the longer I spend with him, the more I see that his issues that have often upset me to the point of walking out are usually just
a) unfortunate echoes from his past that I can understand once we talk about it
b) misunderstandings due to our very different operating styles
c) random bits of idiocy that I can freely ignore
And if Darcy had a blog, I'm sure he'd be writing the same thing (only with less 'Doctor Who' and more NASCAR).

He's moped in the past that I never write about him on this blog (apparently not realizing that I've been protecting him from myself!) and seems dismayed that he's not the most important thing in my life. I don't know what to say about that. How do you juggle your many interests and obligations to career, friends, family while simultaneously letting your loved ones know how very much smaller and emptier your life would be without them? Maybe that's why Valentine's Day was created -- one day to stop and say all that out loud. I like to think I've never been shy with my affections to Darcy but sometimes it's as though he just doesn't believe me. And I can't tell if that's a), b) or c).

Excuse number three:
POUNDING THE PAVEMENT

Working at CORE Feature Animation was the best job I ever had. Not answering the phones and whatnot -- that was crap -- but the environment, the people, the puppies roaming free, the whole 'let's put on a show' making-a-movie vibe, it was all fantastic. A Disney-lawyer-approved confidentiality agreement kept me from discussing most of it but now I can freely plug away: Walt Disney's The Wild is the first feature-length animated movie made entirely in Canada and, though the plot was handily ripped off for Dreamworks' "Madagascar" last year, CORE's work looks a thousand times better. Though the movie is aimed squarely at kids and lacks the emotional resonance of the superior Pixar films, there are shots in this movie that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and an occasional line that made me laugh out loud. It opens April 14th and everyone should take their favourite kids to see it.

There. Now I can bitch. Disney worked with CORE because Michael Eisner -- who was to Disney what George W. Bush is to America -- totally alienated the creative talent at Pixar. Disney needed new engines for its machine -- hence CORE -- but their board of directors finally got wise and voted Eisner out, leaving the new CEO free to renegotiate with Pixar and woo them back.

What does all that have to do with me? I means that CORE Feature Animation then had no new features to animate and, with virtually everyone's contract up, we were all sadly shown the door. It was especially difficult after the New Year, as groups of people left on a weekly basis and I slowly became part of a skeleton crew. The part that really chafed was that I had only just started to work on press releases, a company overview and actual PR writing but, as I've endured from previous jobs (I'm looking at you, Britnell family!), the rug was pulled out from under me right when I thought I was getting somewhere.

As always though, I bounced back fairly quickly. The only perk of being near the bottom in the Grand Scheme of Things is that you don't have far to fall (some people I worked with had to give up their condos and whatnot -- ouch). After more fruitless searching than I'd have liked, my friend Trevor recommended me for a receptionist gig at an architecture firm and, after four(!!) interviews, I was hired -- same kind of job, same Spadina neighbourhood, slightly better pay.

It's been a stressful transition. Coming off of the rough-and-tumble pace of a film studio, the calm, polite, professional environment of a small architecture film has been...well...eerie. Stan, my old boss at the record store, chimed in with one of his usually-brilliant analogies: "You're like one of those kids who's been raised by wolves and now you've been cleaned up, set at the dinner table and you don't know which fork to use. You'll be fine!" Thanks, Stan! (I think)

Excuse number four:
MISCELLANEOUS THINGS -- LITERALLY

So aside from the dog, the boyfriend, the new job, what could be keeping me away from my blog writing? Writing where I get paid. After a few years away, I'm back in the warm busom of fab magazine after the new editor called me out of the blue and asked if I could be persuaded to take on the dreaded "Misc. Things" column.

Every two weeks, fab reaches into its box of odd products sent to us by corporations hungry for press and we find a gay community personality to try it out. The nice thing about it (aside from the adorable little paycheck) is that I don't have to plug anything that's crap -- if the product sucks, we say so -- and that I get to interview interesting, offbeat people. In the last three months, the column has featured
-- a martini lounge bartender testing a 'smoothie' blender
-- an Ontario tourism lobbyist testing an online spa booking service
-- a 'sexological bodyworker' testing an oil-based lubricant
-- "Enza Supermodel" testing a fabric refresher
-- a pair of drag kings testing Nivea Aftershave Balm for Men
-- a sleep-deprived writer/actor testing an ergonomic pillow

It's been mostly fun and has happily allowed me to build up the kind of writer-editor relationship I've longed for. Steven trusts my ideas, throws new ones back at me, tells me when my work is junk and praises me when it's clicking. It's a terrific back-and-forth thing we've got going and it's leading to bigger, non-product-shilling pieces (like the Catholic priest one -- more on that later). fab is often dismissed as a pointless little gay rag but it's MY pointless little gay rag, dammit! Let's see what this baby can do...

Excuse number zero:
KEEPING UP WITH THE JAMESES

And there you have it -- over 2000 words that I could've typed in four: I'm a lazy ass. But really, I've only written about 700 words for each month which is nothing, right? Now that I'm in back in a groove, I've got to get back at this -- not only have I lost my two fans but Darrell has nearly given up on me, Josh is concerned that I let the death of Don Knotts pass without comment (Janet had dinner with him a few years ago and says he was one of the sweetest people she'd met) and James simply went off and started his own blog! Dainty Bastard looks great and thrillingly captures my friend's wild, brilliant and slightly terrifying personality. He's raised the bar (Dainty Bastard, indeed!) so it looks like I'm back on the job!

Labels: Canada, Doctor Who, fab, friends, George W Bush, oh l'amour, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist