Reflections in Tim Hortons

I'm a slob sometimes when it comes to my diet. Usually it occurs towards the end of a major stress bomb like exams or days ending in y. It's usually followed by 3 weeks of guilt and eating properly but that one other week I'm a mess. My body doesn't thank me for it, and if I drank or ate meat I would be a blimp.

Anyway, I'm in that cycle right now because of the olympics, school, and work all perfect storming the fuck out of me (it's always something). Anyway, in that period I've frequented the Tim Horton's in my building a few times.

Each time I go I noticed a few things. Odd occurances, little life lessons, the kinds of things you'd read in your local newspaper in the 'feel good section.'

My musings were not feel good.

-a young couple (~25 ssy) were waiting in line, the guy looks at the girl and says "you're fat" then mock hits her "right in the baby maker"... she is a lucky gal...

-the shortest line in Timmy's is rarely the fastest, evidenced by the three full rotations of the line next to me which was twice as long

-old men, though charming and full of spirit, are tremendously racist "you know what the problem with this line is? those people behind the counter"

-the colourful americans in front of me last week, when told that they couldn't use their Visa because Timmy's only accepts cash, debit, and mastercard, swore, asked each other what kind of place is this and tried to pay with amex... and then got mad when they were unable to pay with that too...

Anyway, I hope that this turns into a regular feature, or perhaps I'll make comments about the judging of people I do in other places: on the bus, in their cars, in class...

Carry on

Chronicles of My Gay Superheroes

I've done a lot, God knows I've tried
To find the truth, I've even lied
But all I know is down inside I'm bleeding.

And Super Heroes come to feast
To taste the flesh not yet deceased
And all I know is still the beast is feeding.

And crawling on the planet's face
Some insects called the human race
Lost in time, lost in space
And meaning.

Some rocky horror to kick off tonights post. It's not my favourite song from RH but I'm feeling it right now, not sure why...

Anyway, the post is actually about superheroes, comics, and all things spandex... Tuesday while I was breaking concrete with my group (btw we made black concrete... its pretty epic to see, it looks like obsidian in some places, which incidentally isn't a good thing because it means we screwed our consistancy up) and one of my groupmates said we were making superhero concrete, but no capes or spandex, that's gay... I'm sorry, say again? I corrected him.

Anyway, superheroes, we all played them, whether you were one of the xmen, wished you could turn invisible or simply pinned a towel to your shoulders and pretended to fly, we've all done it. And why not?

The masks, the capes, the power, all fun. I used to play as cyclops, usually because his power just made the most sense. I could blast people from across the room before they got anywhere close to me and that had some wonderful advantages to say, Wolverine's power (look i can cut things, heal, and smell things from far away).

But like many 'mos I really fell for the combination of hot guys and the anonymity and mystique of having a two personas. I suppose it resonated with something even I didn't really know about yet and wouldn't realise until sometime during the second X-Men movie (when Shawn Ashmore came out as a mutant). I laughed at my foolishness, and then I cried a little. Only a little because it had only been a few months since I'd come out to my parents (as a mutant I mean). My friends asked me what was up, and I was like "I HAD THAT CONVERSATION WITH MY PARENTS!"

I think they got it, but they didn't really say much after that because the gay conversations had exhausted themselves by that point. Regardless I laughed and enjoyed it. I thought of myself as a kind of gay superhero after that, but it wasn't until several years later that I actually started reading comics again.

I blame my little brother for it actually, he said Collosus was gay (Ultimate X-Men universe). I read the comic and omfg a real gay superhero... and not only was he a 'mo, but it was realistic. He got all excited because he got asked out by Northstar, and while it was fun to read, the Collosus and Northstar got very little attention. So le shame...

So yes, I missed out on the revelation that Northstar was gay long before Ultimate Colossus ever came out. So by no means is my knowledge of historical gay comic book heroes exhaustive. (I blame my lack of internet and subculture) after some dykes from Buffy and Runaways showed up, I fell for the Young Avengers. Well I fell for Wiccan (nee Asguardian, hehe Ass-Guardian) and Hulkling, such a cute couple, and pretty up front about it from the begining.

Anyway, i feel robbed. These characters should have been there for me. They should have been my own personal saviours in lieu of positive rolemodels/historical figures. I was told that Shakespeare was gay. Great. da Vinci also a reported 'mo. Fantastic. Does that help me?

Not really no. At the time when I needed some affirmation that gay was okay, I didn't have anything. Okay I had Queer as Folk monday nights at 10 (once my family finally got more than 5 channels on our tv anyway) but I had to hide what I was watching. And everytime I heard a "that's so gay" it only got worse. I was alone. I didn't get better until I got much worse, but that's for another time. I suppose my point really came to me when I watched Milk for the first time.

I pride myself on being in the know with gay things. Even enough to talk about it usually and that gives me a handle on what I should know/learn more about. But when I saw Milk... I got angry.

True I cried through many parts of the movie, but in the end I was left sitting and thinking... I had no idea who Harvey Milk was. I had no idea we had a him as one of our heroes. And while it is permissible that I won't learn about every american politician, this was a turning point for Queer History. He was a hero, but he was a hero that I was deprived of. And so now, I continue to sit and think and I still wonder about all the other heroes that I'm missing, about the strength that I needed but was denied, and about those that never are given the chance to love themselves because certain "things" or people are just omitted from history.

I'm angry, I hope other people still are too...

Chana Masala

The Canadian Secret police are quite polite albiet less flashy than those handsomely dressed mounties...

Speaking of well dressed...

Like I said I was develloping a thing for the figure skaters and their superhero-esque suits...

although I wouldn't say no to something more in line with how the greeks would do it...

hehe, this is fun... they've got some nice physiques, and they really know how to sell the whole 'package' even if some of them have to borrow some tucking tips from drag queens...

Anyway, went to get some Indian food with T at the All India Restaurant on Davie... I love that street by the way...

As always I had a good time with some pomp and snobbery while discussing politics. It was a good time, T was occaisionally letting his eyes wander, and I don't blame him. It seems that apart from a sea of national pride, the gay sensibility shines through and good grooming prevails. Some really nice boys... I'm just saying... Just because I'm on a diet doesn't mean I can't look at the menu.

Granted the guys were slightly more dressed and less dry...



Anyway, mundane activities are pervaisive at the moment so I hope I'm not being too dull (and having to compensate with some good old fashioned photography of men)

More to follow

Way to go!

Good day for Canadian athletes...

1G 2S 1B

Women kick ass... Clara Hughes esp... I mean, she's gotten 6 medals now(?) in both the summer and winter olympics, (4B 1S 1G)...

I think i'm getting a thing for those speed skating suits, even on women...

Oh and then there was that thing with the ice hockey... but who cares about men's hockey *knock*knock* That must be the canadian secret police...

I'm going for Indian food...

That is all...

Long Lists

So I always get all warm and fuzzy on my birthday. Yesterday was a decently good time despite spending my day at work, then at home working... I did get to go out with some people (bowling, dinner, improv) but that was for a leadership program I'll be attending in march. But seriously, I worked >12 hours on my birthday which sucks balls. Still cuddled with B at the end of the day (OH and took time off to watch fireworks)

Right now I found out that the work I did yesterday was... "I dunno... alright... I guess... but doesn't fit in with the brand we're trying to create..." That's the EA at work (I didn't realise we were branding our company which doesn't sell/produce anything). Seriously, for the first few months here I didn't know what we did (if anything). So blah... not feeling great right now. It could also be that I have 2 group project meetings in the next 24 hours and my kitty is sick i think (he may have an ear infection).

I hate to sound paranoid but my boss and his assistant are talking about me/my work in his office... BAH. It's nothing bad, I just have 3-4 projects that are ongoing and the last week I've been sluggish about it (because of my group projects) It's nothing particularly bad, it's just irritating. *UPDATE* They pulled me into the meeting to delegate to me the office move. I am now the go-to person for all things move/reno/selling off/disposal related. Just so we're clear, I am the part-time Administrative Assistant and not:
-a senior engineer capable of overseeing public safety or quality
-photoshop/design master
-interior decorator
-paralegal

At one point or another i have been delegated the above tasks on top of my actual jobs (Supply manager, receptionist, mail and filing clerk, eye candy :P). Unfortunately I am only in my office for 20 hours a week... so I'm going to have to start working more hours (on top of school) and blogging less at work I think :P

Le sigh, I think my body is telling me to eat something. Deep breaths...

I have a surprising ability to make tremendous to-do lists in my mind, but only in moments where I know it will make me overwhelmed. I started doing it a moment ago and realised that I'm behind on some things already...

People Change

You are perfectly comfortable knowing that you don't know everything. Today brings a breath of fresh air to your understanding, as an old illusion dries up and blows away, leaving more truth to ponder.

That's my horoscope for the day, I won't spend too much time thinking about it, but I enjoy what it says regardless.

WRITING!

At the tender age of twelve I went to Hark-Helms Academy which was supposed to be an exclusive school for the privelaged rather than the drudgery of high school. My old friends largely went to public school and soon passed from my memory. Helms was in the interior, which at the time seemed odd to me because while places like Whistler were posh, sending children further into the wilderness when they'd grown up with a cell phone in hand had seemed like some sort of torture. Nevertheless, mid-August 2002 I found myself in a car on my way to this private and expensive school where, my dad had sardonically joked, I would learn to be a lady.
The man in the driver's seat was not my father, that was one of the aides from my dad's office. While my dad was around, the aide was to be referred to as Mr. Ocean and only discussed in the third person, even if he were in the room. However, my father was rarely around, so Mr. Ocean became Charlie, and we had much more fun that way.
My mother was there too, but she sat in the back seat with me. Sitting in the front seemed weird since "Mr. Ocean is not my husband" she laughed and at one point I wondered if the two were having an affair. Such wild ideas weren't far fetched as many other aspects of my life I identified as plots from television shows. However my speculation missed the mark.
"I think you'll really enjoy Hark-Helms," She had said, as she sipped nervously from a Starbucks cup that seemed bottomless and stung my nose with a pungent aroma. "Your father insisted that he learned everything he ever needed to know there. And all his friends went there too!" She cooed, I'm not sure what she was trying to sell me on. It was an inevitable part of my life that one day, as surely as the sun rose, I would attend HH, meet business contacts, find love, get married, have kids, buy a house, and eventually graduate from HH.
So it was another thing on a long list of things that were part of My Destiny. In any case, I wasn't the arguementative type. That was my sister who had finished highschool and gone tree planting for the summer and refused to attend University until she 'found herself.' Arguements ensued, blood-pressure elevated, and my dad made himself less available, which hardly seemed possible.
"But today is about you, not your father." She continued, in hindsight I saw that she was doing this for her own benefit. In her mind she was losing a son, I would, afterall be buying a house soon and settling down.
"Mrs. English, the GPS says we'll be there in ten minutes more."
"Thank you Charles." She always called him Charles and he confessed to me that he hated it. Even now I saw him wriggle uncomfortably at the formality in her voice. It was too bad that he wouldn't be around anymore. I never really felt too bad that I wouldn't be seeing Charlie around anymore. He was like an older brother to me more than the aide turned nanny that he was actually. He told me cool stories when it was just the two of us. He was young, but he still had some really good ones, but for now I'll leave his convoluted characterisation and narrative for more of my own.
"Now, Ivan, when you get there I want you to make sure you listen to everything that the proctors say and treat all of your teachers with respect." This too was a spectre of my sister, who had numerous times raised hell at St. Theresa's Academy. "And remember hon, have fun! You'll be so popular here, all the other boys would love you."
This was the only time on the three hour trip that I sad anything, and it was only a whisper, "I wish..." The different levels of irony were lost on the occupants of the Land Rover at the time.
When we pulled up I saw the two academies, each was set at opposite ends of an oppulent lawn lined with tasteful flowers and well groomed hedges. Stone pathways to tranquil little spots broke up the monotony of the landscape which seemed so out of place in contrast to the tall evergreens. The buildings themselves were a fusion of old granite and ultra-modern. With grand flourishing masonry coupled with extensive new wings of steel and glass I felt as though I had never left Vancouver where this kind of building was tres chic. When the road forked, Charlie drove to the right where the flowers were remarkably the same shade of blue which blended perfectly with the "Welcome" sign hanging over the road. Lamp posts were outfitted with more of the same blue banners with some kind of animal and the school's crest on it.
"Okay honey, here we are, you're new home!" She squealed trying to feign delight while hiding her inevitable lonliness which she faced when she arrived home. The door opened and the sweltering heat of the area swept into the car despite the intense AC.
"I'm so sorry about the mix-up Mrs. DeBeau. Sincerely, the assistant secretary is new and she must've misread your daughters file." A slight, balding man trailed apologetically after a boisterous woman whose face matched her scarlet yoga tracksuit.
"CLEARLY. This is ridiculous! Come Jamie, let's go!" Trailing the bald man was a girl who looked quite bored as she stopped occasionally to peel paint off of the ornate wood panel which lined the staircase leading from the main entrance.
"I don't see what the big deal is." She muttered.
Her mother stopped short, grabbed her daughters arm, and proceeded to tell her to knock-off this butch act. It should have been a dead give away that Jamie was a budding butch. A true future friend of Sappho who probably fit in better at HH than she did at Saint's. In any case, they entered a Lexus parked a few meters in front of ours and drove off, mother still yelling and daughter still looking for more paint to peel.
"Tsk Tsk." My mother clucked her tongue at the display, "I do hope you steer clear of that girl, can you imagine?" I regarded her for a moment, still a beacon of good taste in her pink velour track suit and omni-full latte cup.
The man who had been trailing Mrs. Debeau saw us and composed himself with a genuinely fake smile. He ambled over to us as though her were the emporor wearing new clothes and with great flourishing gestures, he introduced himself as Proctor M. Adams-Weston to my mother who had exited the car. Head of the welcoming committee I muttered.
"And what a shiney head it is too." Charlie winked at me. I would miss him.
"Charles! Can you take Ivan's luggage to his room?" My mother yelled with as much composure as she could muster. Charlie winced noticeably and obliged with as much composure as he could muster. I don't think I would miss her.
At the time, I didn't really know much about our family finances. Yes, I was aware that most families weren't driven around by one of their father's subordinates in a $100k SUV, but I didn't really comprehend that my family was THAT wealthy. The only reason I ever thought of it was because I often wondered if my mother was a gold-digger who married my father for his money and poor health, but his longevity seemed to undermine this theory.
"Come Ivan, Mr. Adam West will show us around." My mother beckoned to the increasingly indignent Proctor Adams-Weston, who had no desire to be a tour-guide to another mother. However, it turned out that very few people were arriving that week so he had an abundance of time to show them around the campus. He showed us the school, grounds, dormitories, and cafeteria. The whole tour was rather dull, yet I found myself retaining the most useless information. The HH crest for instance, is, in fact NOT, the original crest and was adopted in the late 1970's in order to reflect a far more progressive view of the world. Or that the official colour of HH is International Klein Blue and NOT Sapphire or Royal or Midnight as these have such pedestrian accessability. I let my mind wander to better thoughts at times of trivia torture and my mother sipped on her latte which now was finally begining to run low.
I wondered, now that I would be surrounded by people my own age all the time, would they like me?
The answer to my question would come with resounding apathy. If a loser falls down in the halls, and no one is around, does anybody care? Apparently I had arrived a week before most other kids would, which meant that, rather than being around kids who disliked me, I was around Proctor Adam-Weston who really disliked me. I assumed it was because of my appearance here so early which meant that he had to be here rather than vacationing somewhere pleasant. I further speculated that my parents had coerced him into doing this because they wanted me out of their hair. In fact, in my mind, my mother had blackmailed AW with some scandelous details of their past.
It wasn't until I thought on it later that I realised that the soap-operas I had formulated was full of holes. Of course, when I say 'I thought' it was actually Jamie who had done the thinking. She too had been off-loaded at HH early. Instead of St. T's due to a clerical error where someone had mistaken her for a boy, which wasn't a stretch even in person, so we bonded quickly on the grounds that we were the only students on the grounds. Despite residing in St. T's, we had found each other almost instinctively when we realised that our peers were absent.
In the shade of one of the asian inspired gardens with a pond, a small pagoda, and an even smaller tree, we had our first conversation.
"Hey." I said, trying to be the gentleman.
"I hate it here." Jamie replied.
I'm sure I did a poor job disguising my shock at her brazen decleration, but it was the first of many shocks in our relationship.
"Me too..." I muttered conceding the confidence I had tried to assume in leading the conversation. Her negativity was, if nothing else, inspiring.
"I'm Jamie." She stated as she further asserted her dominance.
"Ivan." I said, extending my hand instinctively wondering if she would shake it or just rip it off. She regarded my hand, but she was thoroughly engrossed in tearing small strips of bark off the tree so she didn't shake it to my relief.
I wondered if I should continue to talk to her as she shredded the bark meticulously.
"Is this your first year too?" I tried to reopen hailing frequencies and it took a moment for her to respond.
"Yeah, do you think anyone else will actually show up?" She asked in a leading way, which I had learned from years of almost rhetorical questions from my parents, not to answer. She filled me in with her idea of what was really going on here. It was a kind of asylum or prison for her. Her parents had sent only two people to live here in order to keep an eye on her. One she would identify with while the other was supposed to intimidate her. Instead, she would teach the Proctor to fear her and I would be constantly lied to give false impressions of her progress.
Needless to say I was shocked again for the second time in the short while I had known her. At first I thought she was some kind of paranoid schizo, but then, if that were true who's to say that she wasn't right about this place being an asylum. The paradox made me worry for a moment, but then I laughed slightly. Very slightly, the whole situation seemed absurd.
"Our parents aren't smart enough for that kind of plan." I admitted, still sheepishly, but after a tense moment when she briefly stopped shredding the bark, she surprised me.
"I like you Ivan." She said laughing slightly.
The adoration was supposed to be light-hearted and fun, but when she had said it my mind assumed that she was hitting on me. Naturally, since I was fluent in the made up worlds of Dawson's Creek and the like, I assumed that we should kiss or something after a moment of gross tension. Fortunately, I was far too cowardly and the moment passed.
We spent that afternoon and most others in each other's company. She would dictate the place, not once repeating the setting for our meeting. I secretly thought that perhaps it was so that she could find something else to shred, peel, tap, or otherwise play with.
One day we were sitting in one of the emergency stairwells in St. T's talking. It was a Thursday I think, not that it matters, but it was important that I only thought it was that day because since I had arrived each day had seemed to melt into the next. Anyway, we were sitting in the utilitarian stairwell making small talk. Since we had arrived we'd exhausted a lot of natural talking points, where did you grow up, what do your parents do, etc., and naturally some weirder ones. We were currently in the midst of a would you rather gross out session, when Jamie stopped scraping her nail against a crack in the concrete and began to tap the ring on her pinky finger against the railing. It fascinated me that she would always find something to do that was just enough to grate your nerves.
"Why do you do that?" I asked amidst the tapping expecting to get an elaborate response back about the tapping being morse code to some unseen agent who was monitoring me.
"Do what?" She asked, apparently oblivious to the stacatto of metallic pings which echoed up and down the stairs.
"Tap your fingers on things."
"It's a free country." She justified and eluded. For whatever reason she still maintained this stand-offishness that she had initially shown to her mom the first day I had arrived at HH.
"I know, I wasn't saying stop it, I was just curious why you do it."
"I have OCD." She blurted out. "My hands always have to be doing something. And if you think that's annoying you should have seen me before they put me on medication. I would sit there counting everything, touching people's clothes to feel the texture, and pulling out huge sections of my hair without even realising it. My mom thought I retarded and my dad thought I was just being difficult so they sent me to a shrink to see what she could do for me. Nothing apparently, until they offered to put me on an experimental drug trial to control these minor symptoms. Rexatall it was called, and soon, everything was completely fine."
Her tale was partly fabricated I'm pretty sure, Rexatall was also the street that she had grown up on and her dad's company, but I didn't call her on it.
"And you're probably wondering why, if it worked so well, the OCD came back? Well, I had to lower my dosage of Rexatall when I went back on the pill."
'The pill?' I thought naively, unsuspecting the obvious colloquial meaning, what's that?
She must have seen my confusion.
"Birthcontrol I mean."
Now I was really confused as the whole conversation seemed to trickle in gradually. She went 'back on the pill'? Did that mean she'd had sex? She was younger than I was I think, but I didn't know for sure because again, there was always a story involved in her stories which had to be scrutinized for fabrication.
How could she be having sex? I knew that girls hit puberty sooner than boys usually, but she gave no real impression of 'maturity'. Then again, she also wore baggy clothes which would've hidden any budding bust she had going. Not that I was checking out her bust.
"HOLY SHIT!" She said so suddenly, but for once I didn't seem shocked by her urgency. "Cars!"
I followed her gaze with curiosity and found that, indeed, there were cars. Two actually had pulled up and were in various stages of unpacking.
"Looks like its not going to be just the two of us anymore." I said.
"Oh, don't sound upset. It just means that our affairs may include other people. Who knows, we may one day learn to enjoy their company too." She smiled at me oddly, but I didn't mind her odd mannerisms anymore. She'd grown on me.
"Here comes another one, its heading over to HH." She announced as a impractical grey sportscar drove up to the front steps. I wondered who would drive such a gaudy car out into the wilderness but couldn't make anyone out from across the grounds.
"Let's go check out the new inmates." She decided, and I went along with her to the main hall.
We chose our vantage point and looked down the stairs to the girls who were filing in. We had done our best to look non-chalant as they entered, but this was difficult when we were the only other students in the building at the moment. Later I assumed that they thought that we were some kind of social retarded pair watching as they wandered in. However, the 'they' in question didn't do much noticing at all.
There were three of them, two brunettes and a red head, all garbed in horrendous shades of day-glo hues. Their new setting didn't seem to phase them as they walked up the stairs flanked by parents or servants carrying their stuff. The girls looked popular to be sure, and carried themselves in a manner fitting of their upper-caste. That is, they climbed the stairs in unison arms linked, giggling and gossiping as they went, right past us. We were invisible.
Actually, it turns out I was invisible to them, and Jamie had apparently turned invisible to me.
"Jamie?" I asked, looking around for her.
Across the small foyer, I saw her hiding in a nook peering out with more fear in her eyes than, up until this point, I had thought possible.
"Jamie what's wrong?" She looked pale and I wondered if she was in fact as crazy as her stories suggested.
"They're here." She mumbled, but then her speaking seemed to rouse her from her stupor.
Her eyes narrowed and her demeanor changed in her characteristic manner. "Alright, this doesn't change anything, they're cunts, but this doesn't change anything."
I was hoping for some explanation, or a definition of cunts, but she was in her own world. She looked like she was plotting, which would've worried me earlier in the week but by now was nothing new.
She was fidgeting more than usual though, and looked as though she was going to tear her shirt.
"I'm going to go back to HH to see who's arriving on my side." I said glancing over my shoulder to where a truck had pulled up behind the gaudy sportscar.
Jamie had disappeared in that moment.
"Fair enough." I said to myself as I descended the main flight of stairs leading outside. More cars were arriving and porters were there greeting and escorting the girls into the school.
I had hoped that the bulk of my classmates wouldn't arrive for a few more days, so that I could cement my place in Jamie's social life. Besides, I liked the eerie quiet of the halls as I wandered around HH by myself.
Now I realised that it would be like the first day of college. Frat boys would start playing Ultimate and Lacrosse on the lawn between the schools. The bathroom would always be dirty and the showers would be occupied. Worst of all, no one would be my friend.
Sure I would have a roomate, but he was probably going to be really cool, too cool in fact. His name would be Chad, I always liked that name, and he would be smart without showing off. He would get a girlfriend the first week and she would always be over. Surely, this roomate of mine would be the son that my parents wanted me to be.
However, as I approached HH I realised that the people who were arriving weren't like the people on TV. They were my height, had no distinguishing outgoing appearences, nor exuded any appreciable quantity of coolness.
Well, most of them anyway, there was the odd person who looked as though they were from older grades. I watched one person climb from out of a Escalade with, I was assuming, his little brother in tow.
The pair looked almost identical except that the obviously older one was a foot taller. Both blonde with faint traces of freckles on their cheeks and forearms which were probably the product of fun in the sun during the summer. They were probably not from a particularly wealthy family, but managed to get into HH from an athletic scholarship. They were carrying their own luggage in and I assumed that they had grown up somewhere rural where they worked on farms and the like.
"Hey Coop!"
The older brother looked to another upperclassman who was dressed quite stylishly.
"Sup fag." They shook hands, but not like businessmen, they did it like black people.
"Fag yourself man, how was your summer?"
"Oh man it was da bomb!"
I cringed, no farmer's son would be so crass and colloquial. 'Coop's little brother looked impatiently around taking it all in. I tried not to stare too intently at him, but I was just casually watching him when he looked in my direction and made eye contact. Definate eye-contact. The kind which was incriminating, so I looked away, probably a little too abruptly, which was also suspicious. So I looked back, and now it was as though I was doing a double take of recognition for him. He was still looking at me, but only for a moment. He was bored of our little, very little, game of cat and mouse. Still, the brief contact made me wonder if his eyes were indifferent and jaded, or, more interestingly, sad.
I stopped snooping on their conversation and heard the odd porter showing the students to the dorms. I filed in behind a large boy who I had at first thought was a porter. Instead the baby-faced boy was just a little, portly. I hurried past him to see if my roomate had shown up.
I went to the door of my room and half expected to find the quixotic Chad already unpacking his stuff. However, his side of the room was still vacant. My possessions, the ones I had chosen to bring anyway, were now spread around my half of the room. It wasn't much though, just some books and my computer. Nothing of real value though, any personal mementos were back in Vancouver at my parents house.
*Knock Knock*

Cheesey Bear Top, Satin Yellow, and Maple Leaf Red

Hokay so
Friday at work was odd, I got to watch an installation of some art that was... different. It's not the first art install I've watched for my work, but it is one of the more, vivid ones to be sure...


This isn't the exact sculpture, but same concept and, more importantly colour (described as Kraft Dinner Orange). It's an assault on the eyes is what it is really, but over the 4 hours that I was there I found that I grew attached to them. Kind of like stokholm syndrome meets staring at the sun. I asked the people walking by what they thought of them and they said things like, "Well they're very detailed." or "gosh it must've taken them a long time to do!"

I began to think I was the only ones that could see the shade of radioactive orange that was going on. When I finally had someone ask about the colour, thus verifying that I was not crazy, they asked me what colour they would be painted.

Sadly it was my duty to inform him that they would always be brighter than the sun on acid. He recoiled and made a cross with his fingers...

But like I said after staring at them for 3 hours and getting some kind of brain damage, I realised two things.

1) I don't know how to talk to people about art. I could tell them my company is funding this program and that they would be here for x number of months, but when they asked what they meant to me, what they said, etc. I had nothing. I suppose I'm too pragmatic or self-conscious by nature to be able to spin a long winded explanation about some facet of the art or another. (Movies I can do, B and I watched Shutter Island on friday and while I'll post about that later, I thought it was quite good). One woman insisted that it held a deeply important significance to the native culture, both the colour orange and the number. While I'll give her the numbers thing, there is no orange in nature that could've possibly matched that colour of bear and so I'm doubtful that the First Nations people have any response to the colour except "Oh my am I having a stroke?"

2) The bears couldn't be any other colour. Really after 3 hours that was the other conclusion I had. In a kind of artistic darwinism, if the bears had been simply brown/grey/black as bears are, it would evoke, "Oh, those are nice bears." Whereas had they been painted something like blue or green (or something distinctly unbearly) you would hear "Oh, those are nice bears." The orange gives them a more dynamic response. One which ranges from vomit to confusion. I like the bears now, they mean something to me... I'm just still not sure what that is.

Saturday was also strangely fun, got to paint B's sister's new house. So naturally I was painting and cracking wise about this being one of those times where life matches 1980's television. By this I mean that halfway through painting one of us will accidentally spill paint on the other, which would cause escalating retaliation until we're throwing buckets of paint at each other. B and sisters emphatically told me no, that's not what this is. Sometimes I should just keep my inside thoughts to myself, but then I think I may explode. Afterwards we watched some Olympics (and for once I wasn't the most cynical person in the room) and Canada (sadly) missed out on a bunch of medal opportunities. Without sounding like too much of a cheerleader it's too bad that the athlete's didn't medal.

Moving on, we came home on the skytrain and were met with drunken revellers being ultra patriotic by singing O Canada. Once they had they started singing don't stop believing, or tried to anyway, they seemed confused about their gender "I'm just a small town girl... he took the midnight train going anywhere..." it didn't last long though, because mercifully they don't know journey as well as they know the national anthem. Shame.

Carry on...

The Wonder Gay Years

I'm a nerd. I have been for as long as I could remember. It transcends things like playing a game of Catan with my old roomates while discussing continuity errors in Star Trek, but not so nerdy that I'd be playing D&D while speaking in Klingon. No my nerdisms stop somewhere in the realm of the impractical math area.

B knows what I'm talking about, we have spent many days discussing things similar to Barney's (from HIMYM) crazy/hot graph but in much greater depth (We hypothesized that there were more dimensions, with a possible non-real component). Another things we've discussed is convolutions of gay/straight people (gay people existing in their own space while straight people exist in theirs and while the two can't be directly compared, a case can be made that with the right algorithym, a transform can be made which would make them analogous)...

Anyway we think we're adorable.

Recently I've been asked to explain "Gay Years" to people. I use it in passing sometimes, often when explaining just how old I am.

"I'm 23...Which, in gay years, means I'm practically dead"

To say it's like dog years is demeaning and misleading for you see, gay years is a highly complex field of study. Original queer theory is actually only around because the issue of "Gay Years" was studied in the fifties as a method of prematurely aging radioactive waste. So if not a simple 1:xx ratio of hetero to gay years then how does it work?

When I was a young 'mo, a much older coworker said that the simple rule for being gay is, "Over 21 and you bust." So like blackjack, you gamble with gay years. What does this mean though?

Well, once you're 21, you're old news and therefore you're name gets blacklisted. People don't find you attractive anymore and there will be hair where there wasn't any before. What was once cute naivite is now sensastional bravado and stinging wit. Worse is you are now considered 'an older man' like the lecherous one's that you're warned about by your parents.


Surely you don't just flip a switch and become some awful old man though. There must be a process and not some great discontinuity.

Well it's not promising, but it has been shown that gay years grow exponentially between the ages of 21 and 35 ssy (Standard Straight Years). At 35 ssy, a gay man is 65.

While this revision is helpful, it is still not completely accurate. Many theories exist as to the true nature of gay years:

1) Gay years are actually a differential equation whose order dependends upon the age at which the first SSA (Same-Sex Activity) occurs.

2) Gay years are actually a set of complex numbers, and the non-real component is periodic, creating bursts of aging then anti-aging. This theory is thought by some to be perpetuated by drug companies and the validity of the evidence is questionable.

3) 42

Since this all of these theories are highly complex and require tremendous computational power it will have to be unravelled after pi has been calculated as a rational number.

Science aside, the real implications of the generalisation are that once a gay person reaches 35 ssy, he only exists under rare circumstances, like in the case of extreme celebrity.

But then what happens to these unpeople? Are they all ghosts wandering around clubs looking to suck the youth from the room? No, they simply "retire." This means that they move to a quiet gay mecca like Palm Springs. As they age further it is speculated that their age in gay years once again reflects their age in straight years, however this phenomenon has yet to be properly observed because nobody cares.

I hope that this acts as a warning for all the young people out there. One day you too will be old and it'll happen much sooner than the heterosexual society will ever explain. Now I must go, its nearly four and this senior citizen must get in line for his dinner.

Mary Wollstonecraft

Went to tea with T at Calhouns which is a fun little coffee place in vancouver (not a starbucks). Twas fun, we talked of our mutual admiration Anderson Cooper, politics, and general snobbery which I don't usually engage in... he confessed that he saw a Prada ski suit that he thought he would one day like to own, but i reminded him that he would be laughed off the mountain if he showed up in last year's style. He's fun to joke with.

I kid, he's a good time and one day I think he will be running some large denomination of people (like an MP not like a cult leader...) which is great because I trust him not just because he's part of the q, but because he's a fairly progressive person with a good blend of functional policy and middleclass charm.

Towards the end he told me how it was better to date someone more than just hot because looks fade, (a friend of mine is seeing someone who has a tendancy to say... joey-isms and geography gaffes worthy of Miss Teen Contestants)... T mentioned Mary WC which makes me all happy because he knows who MWC is. I wish him luck with that and on the way I hope he can get some fun with someone hot in the meantime... maybe a nice feminist boy who can tempt him to be a damn dirty socialist :P... I know a few of those, but I'm not a yenta so I'm not interfereing.

Unfortunately I had to cut tea short because my mouth was bothering me a lot, in fact I almost cried when I got home and hadn't taken any painkillers. B made dinner, i iced my face, drugged up, and ate ice cream :P feeling much better now...

Gross part 2

So I got me some more anti-biotics because the doctor concurs that "No my face/jaw shouldn't be swollen like that."

I blame B, he hits me, jk but he did pinch my cheeks yesterday which didn't make me feel super at all.

Lost episode 3 last night, with Ashmo and Tashmo, it was all about "John Locke" (with some Sawyer for good measure) and revealed some new things which sent the girls buzzing. Mostly it was the candidacy thing, they're speculating all kinds of crazy things, but since I haven't really been as fanatical I think I'm going to let the pieces fall where they may and try and act surprised rather than bridging the collossal gaps and giving myself a headache (a la Battlestar)...

Fun girls those two and I miss being their neighbour. The people that moved into the suite after I moved out are less fun, but Ashmo and Tashmo have decided that:

There are 3 of them
They are girls
They are caucasion
One of their names is Claire
Not all of their names are Claire


To substance, (and not the kind to abuse)

I was chatting with the PR guy and the Exec. Assisstant at work and about all things Olympics (the company we work for gets him into their special seating areas so he got to see the Norway Canada Game yesterday) and after we talked hockey (not something either of us have much authority on) we covered Maelle Ricker, then figure skating...

Why do I bait him like this?

PR: What happened to Patrick Chan?
Me: He stumbled
EA: Yeah it was really too bad... but it was such a change going from... *she kept talking for awhile about something (read:nothing)* then there was this guy wearing a corset or something...
Me: Johnny Weir
PR: More like Johnny Wierd!

Zing! Recall this is the one who is vaguely homophobic when the event calls for it (and usually even if it doesn't call for it). I didn't see Weir's performance but commented that he was usually pretty good then changed the subject to random things which would piss the PR guy off. Not difficult to do because he spent the morning with some Mayor from some backwater city on the Canada Line in Olympic sized crowds...

These are your dreams... on drugs

So, my T3's ran out this morning, and my face is hurting a lot still. I think I'm going to need to see a doctor to get it looked at (I have an intense fear of having little bits of food rotting away inside some cavity in my face with House-esque results).

On the plus side I've had some fun/odd/vivid dreams.

Monday night's offering was essentially the Secret World of Og, except there were mischevious engineers who had stolen the Olympic torch and turned it into flasks which they brandished playfully at anyone who inquired about the torch. Then there was this man-sized baby who was playing with snakes... Really as far as dreams go this one was pretty tame, just odd. Last night had more daring and intrigue and involved several iterations of the same dream, spies, movies, super powers oh my! I won't get too deeply involved into it because the plot was more convoluted than the Phantom Menace, but one fun aspect of it was that I was dreaming about writing a blog about figure skating when I had already written one several years earlier and had just forgotten... Anyway, I awoke to thinking how odd it was that I knew so much about figure skating then realised that it was just a dream and was actually a little disappointed.

In other news work this morning is super slow as the Olympics precludes anything that I could be doing for the week. So rather than doing anything of substance I'm refiling the unnecessary number of files/binders that we have and researching mail delivery options for the new building. Did you know you aren't allowed to send bottle caps via the mail?

Bad at their jobs

Are you or do you know someone who is so poorly suited for their job that it hurts/confuses you to no end?

If so fax me their resume, our office of misfits is looking for more bad decisions.

Right now I'm listening to our Public Relations openly discuss how the protesters are all just a bunch of ... well, inappropriate words synonnymous with being scum. Not very nice, nor PC, but hey, these same people were saying some very poorly articulated things quite loudly in a public place over xmas... It almost got one of them fired.

Myself I shouldn't be an Assistant because I'm neither organised nor 'a motivated self-starter' as I swore I was on my resume.

I won't slag the rest so much right now, it just rubbed me the wrong way because last week the PR guy was being semi-homophobic, and despite my loud coughing and proud display of B's picture on my desk I get the feeling like he is completely oblivious/too comfortable. Maybe I should start wearing my rainbow recruiter shirt to work on casual friday to make some trouble.

I suppose I'm not as militant as I used to be. I would normally be all too happy to remind people that I'm a big 'mo. Maybe I'm getting complacent in my age...

On that note I spent a good hour of my day today looking into getting a second degree. The first one was a catastrophuck that took too long and I now hate it. This second one would be less math based more about the social aspects that I love. Watching people, judging people, and even trying to understand some people. While this is all distant future stuff (I'm taking at least one year off) I think that if I could I would be a professional queer activist/counsellor. There was a job posting for an outreach co-ordinator at the local queer centre in Vancouver and while I am horribly underqualified (they say I need a BA) I think know that I would both really enjoy that work and that that might break some of my ennui.

Oh well, all of that is speculative for the time being and who knows what kind of clusterfrak my life will turn into in the coming months/years.

Carry on...

Blood and Guts on V-Day

Back in the office today (boo!) but I had a good 3 days off (surprisingly) so I shouldn't complain really.

Weekend Update...

Went to see Wilco with Tashmo, Ashmo, her friend, and B, they were pretty good despite the rain. When we got to the Olympic LiveCity Yaletown thing there was a horrendous line and the whole time Default was playing... GAH, worst part of my weekend (worse than the wisdom teeth). Afterwards we went to the Morrissey, but the girls were wanting to trawl for men (and it was WAY too busy for me) so B and I went to get dinner and went home.

One thing about that night was that I was really happy, it may've been the t3's but the crowd was in a good mood and for once I was apart of it, I blame the rain, seriously. Vancouver rain is one of the things that I miss the most when I'm somewhere else (like Edmon-suck).

Anyway, Sunday was Valentine's day so we went to see the town, B wanted to check out some of the technology displays for the olympics he was super cute about it too... Like kid on xmas morning. However the pavilions were a tremendous let down, ACER had some netbooks which aren't released in Canada, Samsung had a line to get into their showroom (which was cramped and full of other lines) and Panasonic had a 3D TV display which wasn't worth it... B concurs, neither he nor I can for the life of us figure out why 3D tv is the next big thing.

Anyway, he got me a Teapot! Which is awesome (came with a cosy too... *sigh* he gets me :P

I got him a Quatchi doll, and because V was feeling left out we got him a little MukMuk. After the gift givery we went to see Valentine's day (Don't by the way) and was disappointed by the un-gay storyline, and the all too important point they made of making sure the straight guy retained his straight guy image (Jamie Foxx "I stand behind you, but not in that way" Booo).

Then the real valentine's day happened, we watched Saw 6. We'd watched the first three on previous valentine's days (I haven't seen the 4/5 installments but was pretty sure I could pick up the plot). It was fun, I miss fun :P

Opening ceremonies

Olympics, w00t...

Despite the tragedy this morning with the Georgian Slider, Nodar Kumaritashvili, passing away in an awful Luge accident, the games would go on.

Well, actually I don't particularly care for them, but from the safety of Cloverdale I got to watch the Opening Ceremony with B and his family. Which I think will be my favourite part of the next 17 days.

I think they did a great job, mostly. Compared to the sad display at the end of Turin (all about the Ice fishing and igloos) this was great. Integrating a lot of First Nations art and dance set the stage for the introduction of Canada to the world. Then the athletes came out and I think everyone was very respectful towards the Georgian athletes. Again it was a tremendous shame.

Despite a tacky rendition of 'O Canada' which bothered me a lot, (I was hoping that the anthem would be sung by the crowd). The various songs and stage set-ups showcasing Canadian talent, the landscape, and culture were wonderful. From Ashley MacIssac to kd Lang (lurve my lesbians) complemented by an Alberta ballet company, some flying acrobats, and Whales, the whole thing was really very touching. I enjoyed the way it actually integrated our history and spirit with a smattering from all walks of life from all parts of this great big loveable country. I really liked the the slam poet with the fat beard explaining how our nation is a experiment in choice and opportunity. Then having Betty Fox and Donald Sutherland and co carrying in the Olympic flag was quite touching.

The lighting of the inside torch was botched everso slightly by some faulty hydraulics. But continued after an awkward moment (it's a good thing we're so humble) then the Great One himself rode to the waterfront (amongst drunken revelers more than protesters) where he lit the final torch.

So, O Canada Fail, Hydraulic Fail, and Stephen Harper... shouldn't you be back east, in say Parliament or someth... oh no wait. But like I said, I enjoyed it, a lot.

In anycase, back home with V and B, having some tea... Hope those people who want to enjoy the games do, and those that protest them have an excellent and peaceful campaign.

...and I feel fine...

...That's great it starts with an earthquake...

I just can't seem to sleep, i've read for an hour, watched an ungodly amount of television, cooked some soft pasta (which i basically had to eat one at a time), snuggled with the kitty (who is trying to type with me), and now i've just taken some more pills which claim to make me drowsy...

I call bs

Oh well, the pic at the top of this instalment is just something for people to look at...

Played Catan with douche and wanker (former roomates) last night and had a terrific time. I won the first two games and wanker won the last. It was good to have them around because I only ever see them once a month or so.

It's too bad too because we used to be so close! Wanker and I have known each other for about 20 years now and have been more or less best friends throughout that time (by my self-important estimation anyway). Douche and I only started hanging out mid high-school and is one of the few friends from that circle to still hang out with me. I came out to them after much suffering and agonizing (and at the advice of one of the cutest straight people I knew).

So without further ado, I present the true account of my coming out story.

Like I said, it was all because of this one guy. At the time I was still pretty anti-social and when my friend invited me to the local pool I decided why not?

So when his mom picked us up, I was (re-)introduced to someone (L) who used to live in my hometown, but moved away, I hadn't seen him since preschool though. And while he was easily the shortest in the crowd 5'6, he had a certain eccentric flakiness to him which was refreshing (up until this point I was the flake with bad musical taste). We got to the pool, carried on in typical fashion for most guys (which was unusual). Jokes were flying and I regarded this old friend L...

Visual: Dark brown eyes, nice build (black belt and swimmer), cute smile, ear piercings and dirty blonde hair.

I did my best to come out of my shell around him hoping that our friendship would be rekindled and I'd see more of him. We hung out all day (the 5 of us) and afterwards had pizza and played some smash brothers/goldeneye, and the more I talked to L the more I wanted him. Creepy? Perhaps, but you would've done it too.

When it came time to leave, I inquired about his email address so we could chat on msn and 'stay in touch'. Once he had left, (I stayed over at Wanker's house with Douche) I felt the tell tale signs of loss. I knew it wouldn't work (even if he was gay) I fell out of step with the others while doing my best to be in the moment. During a break in the action I went online (added L) and started talking to my dear friend Meg. She and I had a lot of fun together and I think my friends were trying to start something between us (had I been any less depressed/sure I was gay I probably would have).

And in a moment of despondancy I came out to her. Not my best friend, and not a terribly close friend even, but someone whose company I enjoyed, and I impressed upon her that I wasn't out yet (it was a small town, lot's of farmers). She said cool and I dont think we talked about it again until much much later.

ANYWAY, on a roll from that, I wrote L an email. I didn't save this email, but I remember a lot of it...

I told him that I had a great time today, that over the summer we should make an effort to hang out more. Then I put it all out there. I told him just how depressed I was and that today was one of the first times in a while that I didn't feel it. I told him that I think he had something to do with that. Then I told him that I think it was because I liked him. (I rounded it out with a lot of apologies about being messed up and understanding that he prolly isn't gay and regardless it would probably destroy me if my secret got out to my friends so I asked him not to say anything)

Kindly, he addressed the depression, he said he understands such things and related some of his own problems to me. He said he wasn't gay, but it didn't matter to him how I felt because blah blah blah and he basically made my life. He singlehandedly gave me the inner strength to not hate myself for being gay (which was a big deal because up until that point I had had some encounters and that it had left me feeling dirty.

We did hang out again a few weeks later and the whole time he kept dropping into conversation hypothetical situations about gay people (in a non-threatening way) like if your friend happened to be gay...

I could've kissed him, but remembered that no, he's straight :P

My friends were pretty good in their answers but rather than coming out to the other three of them, I would wait until I wasn't in the hot tub w/ them... So about a week later L called me and we talked about their answers and wondered if I was going to be able to tell them. And the next day I wrote two of them an email telling them that i was depressed (without explaining just how dire it was) and that the reason was because i'm a big 'mo.

And they didn't skip a beat. They had some odd questions to ask me and said it didn't matter to them, that we were friends... I miss wanker and douche.

To me, it's funny that this person whom I barely knew was able to (essentially) save my life.

I'm still feeling off... watching Survivor and doing an online survey... it's a sad existance

1. Last beverage: apple juice.
2. Last phone call: Bcalled on the way to the semi-formal
3. Last text message: that's enough john mayer
4. Last song you listened to: Deceptacon by Le Tigre
5. Last time you cried: Jan 21

HAVE U EVER:
6. Dated someone twice: erm, well, yes? ish...
7. Been cheated on: no, he's too good to me
8. Kissed someone & regretted it: yes, he's still too good to me...
9. Lost someone special: yeah...
10. Been depressed: More often than I would like
11. Been drunk: yesh

LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS
12. blue
13. green
14. purple

THIS YEAR HAVE YOU…
15. Made new friends: erm, no i don't think so...
16. Fallen out of love: not on your life
17. Laughed until you cried: i've made someone else do so
18. Met someone who changed you: Nope...
19. Found out who your true friends were: i figured that out years ago
20. Found out someone was talking about you: oh i'm more than a little narcissistic to think people AREN'T talking about me
21. Kissed anyone on your friend's list: mmmhmmm


23. How many kids do you want to have: 1-ish? maybe just a cat
24. Do you have any pets: heck yes i do... V
25. Do you want to change your name: Not really.
26. What did you do for your last birthday:not a thing... maybe visited my parents?
27. What time did you wake up today: 730.
28. What were you doing at midnight last night: getting ready for bed
29. Name something you CANNOT wait for: the pain to stop and food in ma belly
30. Last time you saw your father: this morning
31. What are the things you wish you could change about your life: the last 6 years at school
32. What are you listening to right now: fireworks
33. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: yes! and my bro slapped him
34. What's getting on your nerves right now: ma silly dentist
35. Music or sports: Music
36. What’s your real name: Earl of Grey
38. Zodiac sign: Pisces
39. Male or female: Male
40. Elementary School: Badner EL
41. High School: DSS
42. University/College: UBC
43. Hair color: Dirty Blonde
44. Long or short: long for me

45. Height: 5' 11"
46. Do you have a crush on someone: dur
47. What do you like about yourself: my lack of sense
48. Piercings: ears and nipple
49. Tattoos: perhaps...
50. Righty or lefty: Righty

FIRSTS :
52. First surgery: may've been this morning! wisdom teeth (had to cut them out)
53. First piercing: nipple at 17
54. First best friend: Wanker
55. First sport you joined: tball
56. First vacation: Scotland
58. First pet: Tess, the first of many golden retrievers
59. First concert: the distillers!


61. Eating: Nothing! BOOO
62. Drinking: AJ
63. I'm about to: Fall back asleep
64. Listening: more fireworks and yelling
65. Waiting for: i take more meds


YOUR FUTURE :
66. Want kids?: 1
67. Get Married?: prolly
68. Career?: haha good question

WHICH IS BETTER WITH THE OPPOSITE same SEX?
69. Lips or eyes: eyes - super intense/attractive
70. Hugs or kisses?: both at the same time ;)
71. Shorter or taller: i prefer taller
72. Older or Younger: younger probably
73. Romantic or spontaneous: romantic prolly
74. Nice stomach or nice arms: tummy
75. Tattoos or piercings: tattoos, but both can be overdone/inappropriate
76. Sensitive or loud: sensitive
77. Hook-up or relationship: relationship
78. Trouble maker or hesitant: hesitant

HAVE YOU EVER :
76. Kissed a stranger: yes
77. Drank hard liquor: mhrrr
78. Lost glasses/contacts: dont have either
79. Sex on first date: haha... its been known to happen
80. Had your own heart broken: yes
82. Been arrested: Negative
83. Turned someone down: Yep
84. Cried when someone died: ho yeah
85. Fallen for a friend?: yups

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
86. Yourself: sometimes
87. Miracles: No
88. Love at first sight: NO, its called lust
89. Heaven: no
90. Santa Claus: at one point in time
91. Kiss on the first date: i do!
92. Angels: only kara thrace

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:
93. Is there one person you want to be with right now: in my company? yes
94. Had more than 1 girlfriend/boyfriend at a time: no
95. Do you believe it’s possible to remain faithful forever: only by choice
96. Fill in Question: MHRRRRrrrrr
97. If you could go back in time, how far would you go? temporal prime directive
98. If you could pick a day from last year and re-live it, what would it be? ... i'd sas sometime in last august...
99. Heaven or Hell: i checked, 7th level
100. What's the one thing you cannot live without: the sun duh!

Ugh, why am i not tired?!?

Grossssss

I'm a squeamish person, I took the gauze out of my mouth so i could get some juice and i damn near passed out from the icky...

I'm going to go lay down and sleep for a bit longer, hopefully kitty is cuddly and not bitey...

More to follow...

Old Friends

HAHA
Waffles you loveable scamp and Anita you total tramp...

I look forward to hearing more from these two as they tend to be more super classy. http://www.wafflesnco.blogspot.com

Anyway, my frustration has subsided for the time being, but I think it happened in a way that some people would describe freezing to death. I'm a little nervous for my open mouth surgery tomorrow, but at least i'll be unsober-ish for the first time in years.

Last night I watched what Ashmo described "a Kate Episode" of Lost. It was not the greatest thing, and it seems to me that she should just make up her frakking mind already (or at least the writers should come up with a plausable reason for her to get back on an aeroplane and com to the island). Speaking of which where is Desmond? And Boone? And well I don't care too much for Charlie, but he's still fun to see from time to time...

Anita called me and wants to meet up for tea this evening, she has news which is exciting/worrisome but I can't tell which as she sounds super hung over (even in her texts). It should prove to be interesting.

More to follow

Frustration

So Outweek/Clusterfrak week is in full swing, the wine and cheese went well-ish, and the concrete didn't happen. I am out $95 for the consultation with the dentist and because insurance won't be able to respond in time I'm on the hook for $1300. I'm okay with these things though. 2 major pieces of art have been installed at Canada Line stations (and I still need to get the plaques for these pieces done). The last one won't get done until after the Olympics start. nbd

No, the big deal is when people say they're going to do something then don't. I'm guilty of this too, but at least I'm aware of my deadline and know I still have x number of days/weeks to deal with things.

Currently I'm waiting to hear back from about 3 different people about some major components of the Semi-formal dinner/dance on Thursday and no one seems to be capable of answering their phone/checking their voicemail/responding to emails. I understand that people are busy, especially with this olympic thing starting on Friday, but if you're getting paid to do a job, DO YOUR JOB!
[/rant]

In other news the wine and cheese was a good time, it wasn't super well attended (<30 people) but everyone seemed to have fun/mingle. Afterwards the keynote speaker, Dr. Chris Shelley, gave a brief, academic speach about the importance of queer (while imploring us to take more women studies courses).

I had Dr. Shelley as a prof two years ago for my introduction to gender relations and I won't lie it was my favourite course out of the ~45 or so that I've taken thus far.

I was pleasantly surprised that not only did it have some very interesting content, but also that it was so relevant.

WHAT? Women's studies and relevant being used in the same sentence? Yes I'm afraid so. I won't spend too much time today raving about it because books can be written (and have been in fact) about the importance of feminism and how it relates to queer theory... and the homosexual agenda

I love that term, homosexual agenda. It's all part of a larger master plan. This marriage thing? It's really just normalising us (we don't care about the collateral damage it does). From there we can infiltrate the public schools and teach the young children about our lecherous and immoral lifestyle choices. Once those are in place I know I'm personally going to be working towards marrying my desk and lamp...

As I told a dear friend a few weeks ago, being queer is either caught or taught.
[/fodder for religious persecution]

Speaking of gay marriage...
The National Organisation for Marriage (NOM) is calling foul on the tremendously important (and likely appealed) court case for repealing Prop 8. They're alleging that the Judge Vaughn Walker is letting his bias affect his reasoning. They call into question his homosexuality which is an "open secret."

Just so we're queer clear, a straight man ruling on gay marriage is okay, whereas a gay man ruling on gay marriage is a farce and mockery of the courts.

I won't get too much more into it, but I recommend my (nonexistant) readers to read up on it at 365gay or some other reliable source, then contrast this with the coverage from Fox news/Focus on the Family for some levity.

Carry on...

Review

Apart from watching Ratatouille with B's family (delightful and with a positive message), I got to see some good old fashioned TV this weekend.

On the docket:

Caprica [S01E03]
...sometimes faith can be a victim of chance...
I like my sci-fi. It's no secret that I'm a tremendous dork at one point owning about 50 Star Wars novels (just one nerdism) And as hinted in my title of my previous post (clusterfrak) I love battlestar galactica, or at least the reimagined series anyway.

While it languishes in the popularity because it is maligned in pop culture as nerdy, it has got to be one of the safest bits of sci-fi in recent memory. While it may be because the style, tone, characters, and plot of the show are so dark and intriguing, and the relevance that it has that makes it really engaging... plus the actors are all gorgeous.



Anyway, this lovely little spin-off is a prequel that departs from the dire atmosphere of BSG and yet retains the complexity of characters. It's a sci-fi family drama, set decades before the first cylon war (when Bill Adama is only a boy) we get a glimpse at how humanity really frakked it up. While I can't do the narrative justice, I strongly recommend both BSG and Caprica.

Why I like sci-fi so much is that it can release the important elements of our reality to challenge our views (while giving us a healthy dose of escapism). I won't speak to the right/wrong of it all because it's so deep and complex, but one of my favourite aspects of Caprica is the Tauron enforcer (and uncle to Bill Adama) Sam...



Who is in a loving and stable relationship with a man and in this world where the term gay doesn't exist, no one has a problem with it... Not that they could really, as Sam is an assassin.

Skins [S04E01]
...Everybody Jesus says shut up!...
I like this show, sometimes. I won't get too much into the plot of this episode because I don't really remember all the nuances or names of the show. However, I will attest that it is an interesting show. Heavy into drugs, sex, and all things immoral, but it's the characters which made me like it. When they aren't being tremendously self-destructive, they're hilarious ("I'm not a hobby Tony, you're not taking up canoeing"). Tony, Effy, and Maxxie have got to be my favourites.



The first two because they're ridiculous and mostly evil scheming and plotting, they're really quite delicious to watch.

Speaking of delicious, that's why I like Maxxie.



Interestingly he's always just one of the guys despite being gay, and although he isn't as provocatively whorish as Tony, he does get some hot scenes.

In the second generation (like Degrassi, the show writes characters out and replaces the cast, and for skins at the end of season 2 the first gen made their exit) there are lesbians and more frakked up characters. There's talk of making an american version which I can't help but think is a bad idea.

Anyway, I've written two posts tonight and was hoping to sleep at a reasonable hour in order to get a jump on my wonderful week...

Stay frosty...

Clusterfrak

So this week is going to be a bit of a clusterfrak (bsg anyone?)

Monday
Tomorrow I've got a dentist appointment first thing, which is just a consultation for getting my wisdom teeth out so nbd. Then I've gotta run to class, cast some concrete samples (which is huge stress because its apart of a project worth 75% of my grade). The problem is that we don't really have a project but since concrete needs 28 days to cure to the strength we need to test... ugh i spend the better part of the last 3 years talking concrete, it's the bane of my existance.

After that, fly (figuratively) to Marine Drive to oversee an art install (some big statues), which is not really that critical because there are other more important people involved on site. But I still have to put in like 5 hours tomorrow at work. I (usually) work in an office where the dynamics are pretty unusual and in the next month or so we've got to change our location and I get to spearhead the filing (a system I inherited and only vaguely understand) and moving. So boo...

Then its back to school because it's Outweek! That means its the gay week on campus and I helped to organise two events. The first is a tea and coffee/wine and cheese where i figured out all the food/drink, unfortunately I won't be able to make the flag raising/tea and coffee, and will be just in time to help w/ the schmoozing at the wine and cheese. Hopefully I'll be charming and everything will go smoothly.

Then home to relax and see the Vivi (ma kitty) who is currently resting his head on my keyboard... its cute.

Tuesday
Another art install at work. This one is all on me, as the upper up's won't be on site. So I get to save the public from themselves (sigh, its shocking how much they can endanger themselves). Then more moving logistics probably, and some minor projects for the art.

Wednesday
Work again... then I have to run to a concrete plant for a field trip with school (boooo), then some other random project work for school.

Thurs
Wisdom teeth out! I'm going to be IV sedated which is a good time, but I'm taking the next 2-3 days off because of the pain. On the plus side I'm going to be high as a kite for the morning.
Unfortunately that's the night of the Bash which is the other event I've got to deal with for Outweek. It's a dinner dance for all the gays like a prom or something. Unfortunately I've still got to line up the sound system and lights so it will need to be done before hand (ie before i get my teeth out).

Friday is a rightoff because of the pain. But its the opening ceremonies for the olympics (frak) and so I'm basically going to need to be in hibernation mode anyway (its gonna be a huge pain getting anywhere). I'll probably end up writing an entire post about the olympics later.

In the meantime, my kitty is being ridiculously cute and it's time I made some tea so i'm going to enjoy the finer things...

More to follow...

Alone in the Crowd

I don't mind saying that I've been depressed for most of my life. It surges and wanes, but by and large there's a low level of despondancy which stays with me. The reasons aren't long but I don't feel like getting into them right now. Instead I want to talk about the one reoccuring issue that I have (haha okay so one of the issues that I have).

This is my propensity for becoming depressed in a crowd. I don't mean I'm agoraphobic or anything, but rather, I find it difficult to be in phase with the emotional atmosphere around me. Concerts are bad for this. In fact I've left two shows early because I realised just how out of place I am. It makes me sound like a downer (which I am :P) but I'll stop watching the band for a moment and see how everyone else is having so much fun. And then I break, I start obsessing about it. I stop working right, stop faking enjoyment, and I start to pretend to be tired or ill and say I have to leave.

I realise my departure has caused some hurt feelings in the past, and some concern to be sure. I sometimes think that it stems from highschool (as all too many neurosis do). This particular issue was at a battle of the bands. There were three bands, one was a tremendous joke to everybody but themselves, one was a friend of mine who used to write some really great acoustic songs, and the last was a garage band. The garage band was probably the best performers (although i did enjoy each act for different reasons). The problem came as I watched one of the guitarists... It was someone I knew that I had had a tremendous crush on. Super cute, and always so nice to me (despite being popular and a jock). Anyway I watched him and felt guilt.

Guilt gets me everytime. This particular time I think I felt guilty because it felt inappropriate to like a guy. Now I had been out for awhile at that point, and was usually comfortable in my skin. But I knew that if he had known how I felt about him he would be at the very least, uncomfortable if not down right grossed out. I'm sure we've all done this from time to time, felt that shame when you're on shakey ground about who you are.

So guilt compounded with an innate feeling that you're different/alone/unwanted left me in some pretty awful moods in the past. Even now, in a room full of my peers (many of them queer) I feel out of place. So as I look back on it, I do my best to think that I'll get better.

Carry on

Late to the party

My friend got swine flu last month... Last month! Who does that? It's like if I got SARS or worried about Bird Flu... Terribly anachronistic, but then I shouldn't talk.

I really shouldn't talk actually, because when I do I often get judgey and people in glass houses shouldn't be judgey.

Apart from blogging, I managed to catch onto a number of fads late in the game. I only tried World of Warcrack in '08, I bought my first pair of running shoes last weekend, and a bunch of other sad little confessions. OH, the big one is that I didn't have internet in my house until 2007... That's right, I have only had access to internet in the place where I live for the past 3 years (and this in largely only a function of my moving out of the house). So I suppose I can blame my geographic constraints on my late arrival, but oh well.

I don't mind it really, coming late to the party, what I do mind is that I feel terribly self-conscious about it. When I had my brief stint playing WoW I didn't know any of the jargon or conventions and I imagine that I pissed a lot of people off because of this. I used to worry about this sort of thing a lot. Not because I may find that I'm not as smart as I thought I was, but because I'd get terribly embarassed. Much the way that the bf doesn't like to wear my blazers because he'll feel out of place (they look hot on him).

Anyway, that's probably one of the reason's why I'm finding posting on my blog difficult (waaaaaaa). Mostly that I get discouraged because what I'm saying is terribly self-involved (and dull) or about some event/topic which I find myself tremendously underqualified to discuss.

Le shame...

Re reading that makes me sound like a bit of a bumpkin, but I did grow up on a farm with just as many guns in the house as people so (and there were a lot of us in that house)... Cue banjo music.

Michael

I'm guilty of many things, today I'm guilty of listening to my iPod at work... and writing on my blog I suppose.

Don't judge me, office producivity is hardly the worst thing I've done... Besides it makes me a time-theif, which sounds kind of cool.

Rogueishness aside, I started listening to my iPod and dancing along to some of my favourites. I'm not going to list my musical likes, because that's what fb is for. Rather I'm going to talk about the songs that are of importance to me (the subtext of this post is don't judge me)

1. Michael-
...you're the boy with all the leather hips,
sticky hair, sticky hips,
stubble on my sticky lips...

I started listening to this sometime in early University (I think summer after first year). It's a gay song, which at the time was a big deal for me because I listened to what was on the radio for the most part. Shortly after I started listening to it my 'Michael' appeared. Michael wasn't his real name, but he was hot and when I think of that song I think about him. Well, no I think about the times on the mattress on the floor, the wine, and the awful movies...

2. Boys of Summer
...And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone...

The Ataris cover of this came out in gr 11-ish for me and I lurved it. Mostly because it was on the So Long Astoria album which was what I was listening to at my first pride parade. Anyway, naturally the memory of that day still hides out in my mind and I get all excited thinking about the first boy I ever asked out. This time part of the magic was that he was someone I had a crush on, and I saw him at the pride parade w/ his friend/bf and I could NOT believe it... I didn't ask him out until I was safely in the friend zone though, many months later... and he said no... didn't stop us from fooling around many months after that, but we've gone our separate ways since.

3. A Martyr for my love for you
I could stay awhile, but sooner or later I'd break your smile...

The White Stripes are perhaps one of my favourite bands. Ever. Their lyrics are poetic and ethereal that make me wonder if I'm baked when I hear them. Martyr is just one of the songs that I love by them, and I chose this one because it speaks to the impossibility of an infatuation. It's really very tragically beautiful.

4. Mad World
...and I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...

Long before Adam Lambert sang this, it was on donnie darko. A movie near and dear to many angsty pretentious teens, donnie darko is a great movie for a number of reasons. Apart from having the talented jake gyllenhaal, it was a movie that the bf and I love. We bonded over it early and would text each other cute little quotes from it... I'll do my best to limit the ones about he and I as there are alot (probably to be listed on another day.

5. Fem In a Black Leather Jacket
...With his long long hair and pouty lips
cute little butt and sexy hips...

Unfortunately this was a recent addition to my list of relevant songs, so the memories and emotions to this one are slightly more superficial, however I think that if I had heard this song when I was 14ish I would be a different person today. I could picture myself being all kinds of secretive about this the way I used to stay up on monday nights to watch queer as folk... Anyway, Pansy Division, they're amazing, you should probably listen to them... now...

There are a litany of other songs that really get me, but right now my mind is filled with the L section of my shuffle (that is, La Roux, Lady Gaga, Le Tigre, and Les Chanson d'Amore) gayest letter ever. There may be another post later, when I'm struggling through other tasks at work, but right now I've got to get some stuff done.

OH, and the name of the blog is from an Oasis song Part of the Queue:

...I'm having trouble just finding my soul in this town
But I’ll keep on trying I keep on trying...

Oasis is wonderful...

British cinema, tea, and no hummus for kitty

I had to cut the first post short because I had to do some puttering around the office, but now its after dinner, I'm sipping some tea, and watching a british movie about a gay drama-rama. Its humourous, but nothing terribly inspired. The bf is trying to keep our kitty from mowing down on his naan bread w/ hummus, its adorable.

Writing time!

It was the kind of look you get in passing. They sparsely last a moment and so you have to know what you're looking for before it happens. Knowing it was going on as it was happening was tough, but tougher still was acting on it. The excitement was electrifying. He had definately given me the look.

Sometimes you think it's the look, and an unfortunate and unsubstantial glance is just that. When the guy takes of his sunglasses he's usually trying to tell you something. He wants it to be irrefutably clear without tinted lenses to obscure the meaning. I want him to want that anyway. I looked back in that split second to give him an affirmative. I had to make sure it was slow and deliberate, but also delicately non-chalant; like I was trying to act surprised or sneak up on a grazing deer. I gave the slightest wink that might have only been me moving my eye, but he knew what I was doing. It was a sultry geseture that meant take me, and do it now.

Except that he didn't move. At first I doubted myself, I thought I had been so clear. Anything more and the rest of the people on the bus would look at me funny and tell me to put my clothes on. Maybe it wasn't the look? Maybe it was an accident or maybe he was just admiring my clothing; except that he wasn't looking at my clothes he was looking at my eyes. I could see it.

It dawned on me slowly, he was slow playing me. He wanted this to be foreplay. Otherwise we'd be ontop of each other in a back alley by now and my innane inner-monologue would be replaced by wanton moans. Minx, he wanted to play that game. He was the predator, I was the prey. he was the captain of the rugby team, I was the gu who happened a glance in the shower. This ought to be more fun than a quick jaunt on a bus.

I looked away, nervously. It was my role in our dance. I dredged up excess emotions to make me anxious and virginal. I controlled my breath, inhaling in a short staccatto fashion. The sweat was all real, it was a hot summer day and the bus was none too comfortable. Someone call the doctor because I'm feeling faint.

A response now wasn't a good thing. it meant that he didn't know what he was doing and was in fact unsure. it meant that he didn't want to fuck. It meant that, please, if you didn't mind... would you be so kind as to engage in lewd acts with me? Like a band nerd he'd use the formal terms for everything, intercourse, touching, and romance. I made the mistake of being the aggressor once to someone who happened to get lucky. he had no idea, he confessed the first time he jerked off he called it masturbation and he didn't come, he ejaculated. He cried when it was done, I cried after he left.

I wanted no response at this stage. That means he knew how to play, that was safer. And there it was, nothing. No curt nod. no continued stare, just stoic avoidance. Hot. I didn't need to check any playbook. I knew what to do. i'm not a slut, I just understand how things are done. Some people were born mechanics, or sportsfans; I was born with an intimate understanding of how to get some. how any situation could turn explosively sexual at any moment.

Coyly, I checked my watch. I was late for an appointment. I had a meeting with my boss. I needed to meet a friend for lunch. That's the after story. i just hate when someone has to rush off but says they'll call you. Be honest, it was a one shot deal don't bother with platitudes and empty promises. When we're finished he can linger in his conquest but I need to compose myself and rush off. I'll leave the 'Just Been Fucked' hair it'll be my victory. You can't buy that in a can. There was a holistic spontineity to the JBF hair that can't be replicated. It's nuclear waste that you don't need a geiger counter to detect.

Still nothing from him, I should be a little more tempting. I undid a button on my shirt and shook the collar. No response, he must be really good. I paused, trying to be casual before trying another tact. I stretched my leg out towards him into a more reclined position making the seat of the bus look inviting like the arm rest seat on a couch. I let this set in. He was sweating now. That was his game, role reversal. He was the confident jock turned bitch boy. The sergeant taken down a peg or two. I had to be the instigator now. I prowled around long enough, it was my turn to act.

Casually I scratched my knee. Then trapsed my hand up my inner thigh slowly like I was painted. He reclined in the way I had. He was enticed. I was a siren. I'd appear to him as smoke wafting into his mind through some etheral miasma.

My other hand was extended outward across the back of the seats, so was his. The aisle separated our hands but I made him feel it. I made him yearn. Slowly his hand would crawl closer and closer.

I nodded my head to the tempo of a non-existant beat. I was in a trance. I was a compulsive hypnosis. I was just thinking that I was the shit when the bus slammed to a stop and he got up...

Were we done? Was that it?

Brave New World

Hi friends, this is my first post of my first blog... I feel terribly out of date admiting that, but I never put much stock into prattling on about one's self or their opinions on such and such (except over tea with friends). Regardless, thank you for taking the time to share in the boredom.

Becuase that is what this will be about, Boredom. Or at least that is one potential topic, others are but not limited to: Personal history; potent potables; Music; Books; Tea; and as the title of my blog might suggest, all things Queer.

I'm not terribly sure what I'm getting out of this except escapism and a limited vehicle to alleviate boredom, but I may also learn, network, and perhaps I may just inspire a person out there.

More to follow...