Ehch's Space

Tracy Wright: The light that will never go out.

2010-06-25T06:14:00.013-04:00

On June 23rd, 2010, I received an email I'd been hoping was a long way off. Tracy Wright, the brilliant, beloved Canadian stage and screen actress, had passed away the day before. While it was far preferable and much kinder to hear it from Don McKellar, her husband and frequent collaborator, than to see it on the news (as so many others did), there was simply no way to dull the pain of hearing that she had lost the fight against cancer, and that we in turn had lost her.

I've long neglected this blog for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I've not had a lot to say. It's still too raw, too surreal, to say much of substance, but if anything could move me to write again, it's Tracy. I'll never do her justice, but that won't stop me from trying.

Back when I was just a little kid, Tracy lived in the third bedroom of our apartment. She and my uncle had been dating for some time, and my family adored her, though perhaps nobody more than me. She had a crazy way of doing things, and was a constant source of laughter and music and cheer in our household; she was a fantastic playmate for me, too, and was certainly creative when it came time to watch over me for an afternoon. One of my mother's favourite examples of this took place when I was only three years old: Upon returning to our apartment from an afternoon out, my mother greeted Tracy and me, and asked how we'd spent the day.

"Oh, we did some singing," Tracy replied. Mom naturally assumed that I'd been giving ever-patient Tracy the preschool version of opera by way of Sesame Street, until Tracy added, "Heather, sing the song I taught you for your mom!"

My mother smiled and waited to hear some familiar kids' show tunes, but instead, she was surprised - and endlessly amused - when I opened my mouth and began to sing Ronnie Hawkins' "Who Do You Love," just the way Tracy had shown me to belt it out.

For anyone who doesn't know the song, and isn't sure why hearing it sung by a three year old would be hilarious, have a listen:

Yep. Tracy was the best kind of zany. She was the poster child for the saying, "To know her is to love her." And I did. We all did. Had she and my uncle chosen to get married, I couldn't have asked for a better aunt. And, marriage or not, she had already become very much a part of our family.

[ Above: My Uncle Dan and Tracy, circa 1981 - I'll ask around to see if I can verify the date - on one of our many trips to High Park. ]

[ Above: Letters to me from my Uncle Dan, who never neglected to tell me somewhere in there that "Tracy says hi!" Click to enlarge. ]

As it turned out, marriage wasn't in the cards for Tracy and my uncle, and over time we all lost touch with her. We knew she had gone to pursue a career in acting, and every so often we would catch a glimpse of her in a movie or on TV, and we would wonder aloud how she was doing, if she was happy, and I always wondered if she ever thought of me, or even remembered me. Even as a young girl I knew she was one of the funniest people I would ever meet.

Fast forward many years. After taking a couple of film classes in university, I began watching movies more critically, and it wasn't long before I discovered the genius that is Don McKellar. When I first saw his 1998 masterpiece, "Last Night", it shot straight up into my Top 10 Favourite Movies Of All Time, and has never lost its spot. Of course, there was an added bonus to the film, too: Tracy was one of the stars. I loved her role; I loved the way Don wrote it, and I loved the way Tracy brought it to life. She had a sweetness and a vulnerability to her that made the audience connect to her, and she carried those qualities with her into other roles. Even now, when I mention an indie film in which Tracy appeared, friends who aren't as familiar with her work will ask which part she played, and invariably they'll follow it up with, "Oh, wow - she was my favourite character!"

In the summer of 2005, I happened to catch a movie after work one night. It was called "Me And You And Everyone We Know", and I knew nothing about it aside from having heard that it was being very well received by audiences and critics alike. Imagine my surprise when, only a few scenes in, there was Tracy, larger than life on the big screen in front of me. I thoroughly enjoyed the film, but the performance that really stood out for me (and made me cry right there in the theatre) was hers. It was then that I decided to roll the dice and write her a letter, telling her how much I'd loved her portrayal of Nancy, who has what I and many others feel is the most poignant scene in the film. I figured that, even if she had no recollection of who I was, she deserved to get accolades for a job so very well done. I took a shot in the dark with the address I chose, enclosed a photo of a family wedding in which she'd been a bridesmaid and I'd been the flower girl (cheesily circling each of us and scrawling, "There's me...and you...and...well, you know how it goes!" on the back), and sent it off.

A few months later, having very nearly forgotten that I'd posted that letter, I came home from work one evening and - lo and behold! - there was an email awaiting me, what she called a "long overdue reply" to my letter. She had even put "tracy wright - thanking you for your letter" in the subject line; that was how unassuming she was. She never expected me to remember her (!!!), and said that she was so happy to hear from me: "i thank you again for your kind words and for making the effort to write. i remember you very fondly as a little girl. i am amazed if you remember me at all actually....you were pretty young. but, i always thought you were a special kid. [...] i didnt have a lot of experience with kids ... but, in any case, it was something i felt. so there." I couldn't help but smile. She also made mention of the current happy state of her life, and once again she showed how completely modest and unassuming she was: "i am in a relationship with don mckellar (he's the guy who directed 'last night')and we live together in a nice house with our adorable little cat pinky. [...] so....life is pretty good."

Yeah, I was fairly sure I'd heard of that McKellar guy. And to find out that they were living contentedly in a lovely part of the city made me very happy. She'd always been so good to me, and she - the queen of the understatement! - deserved to have her life being "pretty good," at the very least.

We stayed in touch over the following five years, and I was lucky enough to see her perform Daniel MacIvor's fantastic play, "A Beautiful View", with Caroline Gillis.

[ Caroline and Tracy in "A Beautiful View" ]

It was lovely to see one another again after so many years, and it was an honour to meet Caroline and Don, both of whom were very important people in her life. With Tracy, you always got the feeling that, if someone had gotten her stamp of approval, they must be pretty extraordinary. When she introduced me to Don, I considered that proof positive. They were a match that was a delight to behold.

And this is where the story turns tragic.

I happened to catch an interview with Don on "The Hour" one evening at the start of 2010, and noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring. Intrigued, I did a quick Google search, and was over the moon when I read that he and Tracy had tied the knot after so many years together. I immediately sent her a sappy email brimming with my congratulations and wishing them both nothing but the best.

The email I got in response, only hours later, was devastating. Yes, she said, she and Don had gotten married, and it had been a very happy occasion...but she added that she wanted to tell me something before I heard it from anyone else. She'd been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a few weeks earlier, and the prognosis was not good. I felt as though someone had kicked me in the gut. This wasn't fair. She was so young and healthy and happy. And, selfishly, I wanted more time with her, more chances to see her perform, more everything.

I set about doing the only thing I knew how to do: I started sending her little things in the mail. Postcards from my travels. A chocolate bar with the wartime slogan "Keep Calm And Carry On" emblazoned across its package, which, as she pointed out in her thank-you email, made it "not only delicious, but inspirational." I happened to meet up with her friend Bruce McDonald, another great Canadian director, while acting as an extra in his upcoming film project, and I asked him to pose for a photo with me where we'd wave at the camera and I'd email it to Tracy to make her smile. It worked; I got a message back the next morning thanking me for thinking of her.

She fought hard right up to the end. She finished more than one project while she was still well enough to do so, and has therefore left us with things to which we can look forward. Hundreds upon hundreds of people turned up to her visitation yesterday - so many, in fact, that the messages of love from her friends and family in the condolence book drained the ink out of two pens in 3 hours, and I'm sure the third pen (which was the one I left for others to use before heading out) was well on its way to running dry, too. As I said to Don and several others, it was a true testament to Tracy's impact on the lives of everyone she touched, that so many words of love, kindness and sorrow were being left that they were demanding a fresh supply of writing implements.

That's just the kind of woman Tracy was.

Whether you had the great fortune of meeting her, or have enjoyed seeing her on stage or on screen, consider yourselves lucky. It's rare for a Tracy Wright to come along in life. I'll be forever grateful that she was a part of mine, and whenever I miss her - which will be often, I know - I can put in one of her movies and remember everything about her that was talented, and lovable, and completely, thoroughly unique.

I can remember her, Tracy Lauren Wright, as the light that will never go out on the Canadian stages she graced, and in my heart.

In lieu of flowers, a donation in her honour may be made online to the Toronto Arts Council Foundation, or in person/by mail at 141 Bathurst Street, Toronto M5V 2R2.

ETA: Another big loss for Canada befell us when the great Maury Chaykin passed away on July 27th, 2010, his 61st birthday. For a beautiful piece written by Daniel MacIvor about both Tracy and Maury, please check out "Blue/This Is Was".

Also worth noting: "TRIGGER," Tracy's project with Daniel, Don, Molly Parker, and Bruce McDonald, will be screening at the Toronto International Film Festival on September 12th, 2010 and will open in other theatres two weeks later. It will be a lovely way to remember her.

Stalkeriffic! When does being a "fan" go too far?

2010-01-19T21:55:00.003-05:00

I can spare you the English lesson about how the word "fan" is derived from "fanatic." But why, I wonder, do we give such a negative connotation to the latter when the former is perfectly acceptable? Everyone is a "fan" of something. But if you add those extra two syllables, you've basically just called someone "batshit crazy" and "obsessed." So where does one draw the line?

I bring this up because of the recent brouhaha over at Oh No They Didn't!. (Let's skip past the whole "yeah, yeah, I'm a card-carrying member and contributor" bit, shall we?) A rundown, for the TL;DR crowd (that's "too long; didn't read," for you non-netspeak types):

A teenage girl - 13 or 14, it seems - somehow purchased the address of her favourite singer's private residence, got her mother (!!!) to drive her and a friend to said house, took a bunch of creepily intimate pictures (things like the guy's dogs, who were inside the house, and what was on his front porch, etc.), and then stuck around for 2 hours until he got home so she could get his autograph and take photos of him with them. (All of the photos and screencaps are at the above "brouhaha" link. I'd rather not host the Facebook profile 'caps of a kid here. Just in case.)

I haven't quite made sense of what happened in which order, but it would seem that the girl proceeded to post the pictures of this guy's house (it was Alex Gaskarth from All Time Low, for the record) all over Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr and anything else she could get her hands on...and someone, I suppose, directed Alex's attention to the things she posted. I guess he'd assumed, when he signed the autographs and took a picture with her, that she and her friend had just been passersby who were fans, and didn't realize that this girl had, in fact, hatched one hell of a scheme in order to get to him that night (including, as she so wisely posted back and forth with her friend on her public Facebook status, "Oh we are totallllly stalking him...we cann get arrested together...OMG we can tell the cops he raped u[s] and then we could ride in the same police car as him! FUCK I AM GENIOUS" / "oh my god. perfect! alex fucking gaskarth is a [r]apist! fuck yessss! now we just need someone to drive us.....").

Needless to say, the foul language and spelling errors are not mine. The way moronic teenagers "spell" today is a subject for another blog entry entirely(yyyyy). I weep for our youth(hhhhhh).

But more importantly...did they really just post what I think they posted? Why, yes, they did! LOL LET'S ACCUSE OUR FAVOURITE SINGERRRRRR OF BEING A RAPIST SO WE CAN BE IN THE BACKSEAT OF A COP CAR TOGETHERRRRRRR LOLOLOL

What the hell.

I could spend hours dissecting the many ways in which this is just over the top stupid and flat-out wrong, but I trust you can come to those conclusions yourselves. Rape jokes aren't funny; false accusations aren't a joke anyway; these children need to be chained up...ad nauseum. Here's what appeared on the singer's Twitter page not long after he realized that this fan encounter wasn't quite normal:

[CLICK IMAGE IF YOU CAN'T READ THE WHOLE THING.]

I'm a little surprised he didn't call the police, but given the girls' plan, perhaps it was best he didn't. Ay yi yi. The fact that the girl has since taken to begging Alex's forgiveness on Twitter is an extra dose of disturbing. And some of the discussions in the ONTD comments don't help, either. I don't think it makes me a "special snowflake" if I say that no, even at 12 or 13, I didn't think stalking my celebrity crushes was something I just had to do. My friends and I had posters on our walls, wrote silly stories about meeting rock stars, giggled over late-night phone calls as we watched MuchMusic spotlights or stayed up to see our favourite actors in their latest movie. That is what I thought "normal" teenagers do when they're fans...but as you can see from that discussion thread, my opinion is but one in a sea of many.

Granted, somewhere in all of that talk, the subject of social networking comes up. I'd be stupid to say that the existence of MySpace and Facebook and Twitter - hell, the internet in general - hasn't drastically changed the face of being a "fan" since I was a kid. My favourite movie stars weren't accessible at all in most cases, beyond whatever interview popped up in the latest TeenBeat magazine. (Oh, god, I'm aging myself.) Nowadays, you can have long conversations with John Mayer or Clive Barker or Kevin Spacey on Twitter, because it's a safe space for them to get to know their fans, and for their fans to get a glimpse into what used to be a completely mysterious way of life.

(Ah, yes. The Trent Reznor/social media debacle of 2009 also begs for its own blog entry. Someday soon, I promise. In the meantime, this discussion, to which I contributed, does a pretty damn fine job of breaking down the reasons why not ALL celebrities should let their fans see what's behind the curtain.)

Back to the original question, then: What divides "fan" from "fanatic," aside from four letters and the idea that you're certifiable?

I've done some things that people might consider extreme to see a concert of a favourite band (whether spending insane amounts of money for the ticket or travelling to another country - or continent - for the show) or attend the reading of a favourite author (like wearing a bridesmaid dress and carrying a bouquet while roaming around downtown Toronto trying to hail a cab... It's a long story). But as far as I know, I've never crossed that creepy line. I've been lucky enough to meet all sorts of famous people, many of whom I admire greatly and whose work I love dearly. I've gone on to be an acquaintance or a friend of some of these people; others I've seen or met once and have been perfectly happy with that. The line, for me, is that I've never visited myself upon my favourite singer's private property, be it a car or a house or whatever else. Every celebrity meeting I've had has taken place in an open, non-intrusive way: I meet them at their public event, or I'm introduced by mutual friends, or we happen to be at the same club or party, where it's normal to approach anyone and have a drink and some conversation. If ever I end up with that famous person's home address or phone number, it's because that person gave it to me, and nobody's going to buy it from me for any amount of money. If we become acquainted with each other on a more friendly, let's-hang-out level, it happens organically. I'm a collector of experiences, that much is for certain, but I'm not one who is comfortable crossing any sort of line without a green light first.

Take my most "extreme" fan activity: Flying to the UK to see a concert. Yes, I did that in 2008. The band I'd loved for 20 years was touring, but not in my part of the world. I had a good job and was making good money at the time...so I just decided to go for it. My father and I took the whirlwind trip of a lifetime together, visiting our family's homeland of Scotland for the first time ever, and the concert was the icing on the cake. My mother wasn't well enough to come with us, and she'd asked if I would bring home one souvenir for her: A photo of me with the band she loved nearly as much as I did. So, once at the venue, I sent a note backstage with my polite request, and thought, "Hey, if they can do it, great. If they can't, I'm still so lucky to get to see them perform live after all these years." I could've remained just another anonymous face in the crowd and I'd still have loved that show. As it turned out, they were extraordinarily gracious, and invited me backstage to meet with them after the show, and my Mom got the picture she wanted so much. I also came away from that evening having met some fantastic new people, and loved the country so much that I went back again a year later, no concert tickets in hand that time. It was one of the best things I've ever done...and I got to meet some of my musical heroes without being creepy about it. I didn't lurk next to a stage door in the rain for hours, or hunt down their tour bus, or try to befriend security so I could sneak in somehow. I simply asked. And I was rewarded a thousand times more than I'd have imagined I would be.

Now, I know this can't possibly be a typical fan experience. I can scarcely imagine my hardcore U2 fan friends would get a response like I did to a pre-show handwritten note sent backstage. Even bands who aren't as detached from their fans as those heavy hitters are probably very often inaccessible to their audience. But that's the thing: I don't think a band being harder to reach means that a fan should try harder to reach them. It's a fine line, between lucking out and getting that autograph, and turning into a full-time, full-fledged groupie. (Don't get me started on that subject. The road manager of a friend's band once referred to me as a "groupie," and he nearly had his nose broken in return.)

I ask the question again, and have no intention of answering it myself, because I think it differs for a lot of people...and, frankly, I just don't have the answer. Where is that line? What does someone have to do to escalate from loyal fan to psychotic stalker? And the question that is perhaps of the most interest to me: How far would you go - or have you gone - to see or meet your favourite band/actor/writer/celebrity? How far is too far? Is there a price tag, a measurement in miles, or a social line that you can point at and say, "I won't go past that point, right there"?

Here's hoping the teenage All Time Low stalker asks these questions next time, before she again publicly makes an ass of herself. And let us hope, too, that this was her "all time low."

I couldn't resist.

Rape? Not rape? Don't Ask Amy: Defaulting To "YES"

2009-12-09T09:05:00.005-05:00

I'm not normally moved to write about something such as this in a public forum, but after stumbling across a link yesterday, one that detailed the story of an "Ask Amy" column in the Chicago Tribune which blamed the victim of a rape (yes, the college student was a victim, Amy said, first and foremost of her "own awful judgment" for daring to drink at a campus party)...I can't not write something about it. I could so so in my private blog, but everyone over there has already seen the shocked Twitter updates and so on. It's better to say it all here.

I think it was the somewhat frustrating conversation I had with my parents after reading all of this "Ask Amy" garbage that made me realize it wasn't a subject I could just shove aside and forget about. My mother and I have discussed similar things at length throughout my life; we've debated, argued, agreed, and most importantly have just talked about it. About rape. About power. About what is and isn't okay. We haven't always agreed on every point - hell, we've had some pretty bizarre arguments about what is "proper" for a young lady to do - but that's not what matters, from where I stand. She raised me to be able to discuss these things and be critical and careful in both theory and practice.

My father is a bit of a different story. It's not because he thinks differently than I do; he's quite possibly able to become even more angry at the thought of a man thinking he has inherent rights to a woman that he clearly does not. He's the kind of dad who - no word of a lie, here - used to park down the block from my date's house, thinking I wouldn't see his car, just in case. In case of what? I don't know. I'm not sure what he thought he could do from his car to help if my date decided to attack me mid-movie in the rec room. But damned if he didn't sit out there and read his book, believing himself to be in "stealth mode" (even though I always caught him when I'd be getting into my car to drive home), just in case his little girl found herself in danger at the hands of a guy he didn't know well enough to trust. (I sort of wonder if such a guy exists, actually. I'll have to ask him if there's ever been a guy I've dated that he truly trusted not to harm me in some way. Hmm.)

Did I mention that he was doing this stealth-driving act while I was in university? Yeah. Did I mention that my mother has always seemed quietly pleased that he did so? Yeah.

And, all in all, I can't say it ever made me angry for long. They weren't trying to ruin my fun or police my social life; they were trying, in their possibly insanely overprotective way, to make sure they were there if I needed them, because they both knew that bad things happen and that some guys can't be trusted.

The trouble we ran into during our conversation about the "Ask Amy" situation yesterday stemmed from a very organic place. My mother knows what I mean when I say, "I wish our society didn't just assume that a woman defaults to 'yes,' and that she has to kick, bite, and scream 'NO!' if she's going to avoid being touched or grabbed or spoken to inappropriately by men." (I should probably qualify that by saying that I do not think all men are inherently evil. For the purpose of this post, I'm discussing the men who do think they have these rights, and who don't feel they ought to take any responsibility in what happens if a woman's resistance isn't "strong enough" or...whatever.) During the conversation, I made reference to something that had angered me last year: "The Open-Source Boob Project". I'd break it down if I could, but you're probably better served if you go to the link and read up on it (this post in response, written by a friend of mine, is excellent, too; there's something of a "highlight reel" posted here, along with a link to the response essay entitled, "A Modest Proposal: Open Source Swift Kick to the Balls Project"). It did have that same feeling of "Women Default To YES!" to it, although it later came out that the whole situation had been poorly explained, and that the writer of the post is not an evil, woman-hating predator.

Even so, it just happened that this post and its ideals surfaced only days after I'd been sexually assaulted in my workplace. The "Project" would have riled me up no matter what, but the timing certainly made it worse. The man who assaulted me was very clear about the fact that he thought he had every right to put his hands all over me, and that, because I hadn't backhanded him yet, he could just keep going. Never mind that I was in shock, or that I was afraid it would only escalate further if I angered him; it was my perceived halfhearted refusals to let him go any further (he'd gone plenty far enough, thanks) that seemed to embolden him, as though I actually needed to knock his teeth down his throat for the word "NO" to mean anything to him. Telling him to stop, to let me go, making excuses so I could escape his grasp...none of it worked. I only got away from him when he, rather dementedly, interpreted my "NO" and "MY BOSS IS RIGHT UPSTAIRS" as "You'll have another shot at me tomorrow when we're alone, I promise!" In the end, I don't care what it was that allowed me to get my wrists free of his hands. I got free. And I was the one who went through hell for months afterward, being persecuted by the insensitive police officers who didn't seem all that interested in my case if it wasn't "real" rape or if I didn't feel strong enough to go to court right away. On top of that, after my employers had to change things around to accommodate me and my (apparently ridiculous?) security needs, I was fired from my job only three weeks later. Draw your own conclusions there. It might be telling, too, if I add that I was forbidden to tell any of my coworkers - all of whom were female and had to walk a good distance to their cars alone, in the dark, right outside the very building where this guy worked and where the assault had taken place. They didn't want to "cause a panic." Yes. Better to leave them totally blind and not know that there was a pervert with access to their office. We wouldn't want a panic.

Anyway. Tangent. Yes. My point, though, is that I'd told my mother all about the Open-Source Boob Project, and how much it bothered me that, even if the guys involved in the original post didn't feel "entitled" (even though discussing the fact that women who go to comic and sci-fi conventions dress provocatively for the men's viewing pleasure certainly smacks of it, doesn't it?), it was still a slap in the face to many of us who hadn't really thought about it before...but yes, our society does think that a woman's default is set to "YES." What we have to go through to prove that we mean "NO" is ridiculous.

I hadn't ever discussed that whole issue with my father. He was with me the night the police came to get my statement, and he did his best to comfort me when I cried about how I just couldn't understand how someone as strong and (apparently) intimidating as I am gave off the signals to this guy that it was okay for him to grope and kiss me in an empty stairwell. (See? Victim-blaming, done by the victim herself!) But he's not as tuned into pop culture as I am (and as my mother therefore is, as she's usually the one who gets to hear all of my ranting), and he doesn't have the front row seat that we do to just how pervasive the Yes Default really is.

For that reason, his immediate response to the "Ask Amy" situation was to go into Mr. Fix-It Mode, which seems to be common among the men I've known. He was full of solutions about how this particular fraternity should be handled, and what this victim needed to do, and so on. None of what he said was wrong, but it missed the broader point. We still live in a society that is completely permissive as far as things like this go. This girl went to a frat party, told this guy she would NOT be sleeping with him, had several drinks, still said no, took the guy at his word when he promised he wouldn't make a move on her and would just take her to lie down when she started feeling unwell from the alcohol...and when he raped her, she was still so unsure about whether or not it WAS rape - because, as she said, she wasn't physically strong enough to kick or punch him, and could only verbalize her rejection of his advances - that she wrote to an advice column to ask if she was really a "victim."

It's encouraging to see the amount of outrage directed at this Amy woman's response, because it hits the nail on the head. Some of the comments had me chuckling darkly.

"If you are a drunk man, it's not your fault that you rape someone; if you are a drunk woman, it's partly your fault if you are raped. LOGIC FAIL."

"Because rape isn't a choice or a deliberate action: it's a bodily function, like throwing up on someone because you drank too much. Which is also embarrassing, especially if you've 'done it before'."

How could Amy possibly live with herself after advising this girl to confront her rapist to clarify what actually happened that night in order to ascertain if it was, indeed, rape??? WHAT THE HELL KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT??? What woman, who already carries the shame of the attack (because it's rare, I've found, to come across a woman who's been assaulted and who doesn't at some point ask herself if she somehow did something to "deserve" it - myself included), would want to face her attacker and talk it over???

I don't know if men, even the most well-intentioned of them all, will ever really understand what it's like to have the very real concern constantly in the back of their minds that today will be the day that someone will violate them. On the subway. In the parking lot. At work. In their driveway. Women live with knowing that there are far too many people out there who believe that, unless you're walking around screaming "NO!" at the top of your lungs 24/7, you are somehow giving permission. The way you dress, the way you walk, the places you go, the oh, so absurd idea that maybe you want to go shopping alone on your way home from school or work. Newsflash, gentlemen: Women are even less "allowed" to do things the way they'd like to do them than men are in saying or doing sexual and demeaning things to those women. It happens to us every day to some degree. EVERY DAY. We - none of us - have the luxury of setting foot outside of our houses without thinking about the precautions we have to take. I tried to explain that to my father. He tried to understand, but he always ends up back in the same place: "The guys I've known my whole life have never thought they could say or do those things and have it be okay." Well, that's good to know. I like knowing there are lots of men out there who don't think women are their property. I'm certainly fortunate to have so many men in my family who have such respect and empathy for women; not many people are as lucky as I am. But just because you haven't heard it, or seen it, or been surrounded by Bad Guys, does not in any way mean that they aren't waiting for one of us outside the grocery store, or that otherwise "well adjusted" men don't suddenly think that a girl getting drunk at a college party equals permission to do whatever he wants to her. And my father knows this, too; why else would he be parking one block down to make sure I was safe when going on a date with a guy he hadn't met yet?

There is no logical conclusion to this post. I wish there was. I'm not a good enough writer to tie this up in a neat little bow. What I can do, though, is leave it off with a link to an essay that I came across while reading all of this "Ask Amy" crap, one that, maybe, if I read it to my Dad, would finally make things make sense. The fact that I've been on the unfortunate receiving end of two "Not Rape" situations (I won't discuss the other one publicly, because - as bizarre as I'm sure it would sound to most - I don't want to ruin the life of the guy involved, despite that experience being considerably more...well, it was rape, I've come to understand, but still... That one gets left alone) makes this essay that much more poignant.

Read it here: The "Not Rape" Epidemic. Pass it around. And I sincerely hope you know someone - anyone - who hasn't had at least one of the things described in Latoya's essay happen to her. I'm not sure I do. And that makes me want to cry.

[ETA: Amy has addressed her critics with the lamest non-retraction/apology ever. I sincerely hope the Tribune fires her sorry ass for this debacle.]

Have you ever seen a movie...

2009-12-04T06:50:00.002-05:00

...that, hours (and, I expect, days, weeks, months, years) after the fact, still makes you want to scream and cry and scrub your brain with an SOS pad??

Let me start by saying this: I originally posted this entry back in May, under lock and key, in my private blog. Over the years I've had a lot of people tell me I should start an actual movie blog, since I see so many films (and a lot of them are not playing at your local cineplex or sitting at your nearest Blockbuster; I go out of my way to find stuff that isn't dumbed down for the tween set). Perhaps I should. Maybe I will. But in the meantime, I wanted to post about this film in a public forum, because I want to know who else has seen it, and how much more violent my reaction to it may have been compared to, say, yours.

So. On with it then. Here's my post from May, only slightly modified, and IT DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS, but you'll have plenty of warning before you get there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

May 15th, 2009

Have you ever seen a movie that, hours (and, I expect, days, weeks, months, years) after the fact, still makes you want to scream and cry and scrub your brain with an SOS pad??

I alluded to this in my last entry, but because I was on my way out I didn't have time to get into it. Now I'm laying in the dark and I simply cannot get those images out of my head. I honestly don't recall the last movie that did this to me.

The movie is called "The War Zone", directed by Tim Roth and starring Ray Winstone and Tilda Swinton. It's based on a novel that, by all accounts, is actually more horrifying than the film, though I really have no idea how that's possible.

And that's all I'm going to say about it before I break this post up again, because there are a number of you who will NOT want to read this. TRIGGER WARNINGS AHOY. If sexual abuse-related material will upset you, just stop here. Please. [Ehch's Note: In my private blog, I'm able to put things behind a cut; that feature doesn't appear to be available here, which is unfortunate. If any fellow Blogger users know of how to do this, or to at least cut the post off with a "Read more..." link, I'd love to know how! For now, though, I've made the most horrifying spoilers very, very small, so odds are you won't accidentally see something if you're trying to scroll past.]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ready?

I'm a big Tim Roth fan; I have been for years. I should've known better, though, than to get this on my ZipList (the Canadian version of NetFlix) when the reason I heard about it was because I was looking for an answer to a question I had about the film "Irréversible" (Monica Bellucci & real life husband Vincent Cassel) and it was recommended in a thread on IMDb about that horrifying film. (If you're interested this is an interesting review/analysis of "Irréversible" that does NOT show the nastiest, most graphic scenes; it stops short and spares us. It's still NSFW, though, as we do get to see the gorgeous Monica sans clothes a few times, but in a perfectly sweet context.)

Some of you saw my early-morning freakout on Facebook. I was finally watching "The War Zone" after waiting for more than a year for it to become available through Zip, and when I got to something that I'd seen referred to as "the infamous Bunker Scene", I was...paralyzed. I wanted to make it stop, but I just...couldn't. And then I had to reach for my garbage can, because I was absolutely certain that I was about to throw up. I didn't (despite having done so in the past - once when I saw "A Clockwork Orange" for the first time at the age of 11, and then the first time I ever saw the Nine Inch Nails "BROKEN" movie, when I was about 20). But I think the reason I didn't was because I actually went into literal shock.

(I suspect I'd have been sick at Irréversible, too, but the truth is that I've actually never been able to watch the whole rape scene; the two times I've attempted it, I can only get so far before I have to hit fast-forward and look away from the screen. There's another scene in that movie - those of you who've seen it will know what I mean when I refer to it as "the fire extinguisher scene in the nightclub called 'Rectum'" - which very nearly sent me running to the bathroom, but again, I've never watched it in full. I can't.)

So. The War Zone.

Here's the basic plot summary from IMDb - I suppose it should be considered a fairly major spoiler, but it's nothing you probably wouldn't find out from reading the description on the back of the DVD, or that you would figure out for yourself only a short ways into the film:

***KINDA SPOILERISH PLOT SUMMARY (but does NOT give even HALF of what ends up happening)**

An alienated 15 year old (Freddie Cunliffe), forced to move away from his friends in London when his family relocates to rural Devon, struggles with the change and becomes an observer of the family. His mother (Tilda Swinton) is pregnant, his dad (Ray Winstone) is vocally abusive, and his 18 year old sister (Lara Belmont) is sexually active and open to her brother. However, the boy guesses at and finds that he is correct that his father has had sexual relations with his sister.

Now, first let me say this about the movie: It is beautifully shot and directed, and the performances are extraordinary. The emotional notes these actors hit without so much as a word are incredible. Tim Roth did an amazing job adapting the book in such a way that there's a lot more of a gray area to certain elements. As movie-making goes, this one really deserves accolades.

But then there's that "infamous Bunker Scene". I really had no idea why this was called The War Zone and what this "bunker" was - if it was literal or figurative or a metaphor for whatever-the-hell - until that scene. And despite the constantly growing uneasiness that pervades the film up to that moment (and no, it's not the end, or even the climax, of the movie), there was nothing on earth that could have prepared me for what I saw.

Before I go 100% spoilery on you, let me show you two of the only three bits of trivia featured on the IMDb page for it. So help me god, if only I'd read these first... Maybe I wouldn't have seen the film at all, but at the very least, if I had seen it nonetheless, maybe I'd have been more...ready? I don't know. Here's what it says (spoiler-free):

According to director Tim Roth the bunker scene was so difficult to film that the sound man almost ruined a take by crying into his microphone. Ray Winstone also found acting the scene upsetting and nearly left the production because of it.
At a public screening of this movie during the 1999 Toronto International Film Festival, one viewer was so upset and devastated that he rose to his feet and shouted that he couldn't take any more, then headed for the exit, intending to pull the fire alarm. Tim Roth, who was in attendance, intercepted him at the door, and it took 20 minutes of intense conversation to calm the man down.

Uh...yeah. I probably could have used that information beforehand. My own fault, I know. But I'd probably have found the idea of someone bolting from their seat at the TIFF, shrieking and heading for the fire alarm, laughable had I not seen for myself why someone would react like that. I'm not laughing now.

So, now, some of you who are reading this are dying to know what on earth could be so awful, especially knowing the kinds of things I can watch or read and remain relatively unaffected. And a couple of you probably need to know for sure what the Bunker Scene is, so you can decide for yourselves if this is a movie you can handle. I'll tell you.

*****SPOILERS*****

The scene in question takes place when Tom, the 15-year-old son of this family, follows his suspicions about the things he's seen and heard as far as the relationship his sister and their father are having, and he walks out to this bunker that is on their property. (They're in the middle of nowhere, near the shore in Devon, and this big concrete outbuilding is at the edge of their land - I'm not sure if it's ever explained what it was originally for, but that's inconsequential.) The bunker has a foot-wide gap that runs around the perimeter of it, which allows Tom to look inside when he hears something.

That "something" ends up being - filmed in one excruciatingly long, unflinching shot from a bit of a distance, presumably to give us Tom's true perspective as someone on the outside looking in - his sister Jessie, on her hands and knees on the cement floor, and their father pulling off her clothes and then his own, before he viciously sodomizes her (and yes, it is later made very clear that it is forcible anal sex, if it wasn't evident already). The shot is such that we don't really get to see Ray Winstone's face, and as I said, the camera doesn't move at all. It neither pans out nor zooms in. You see what you see. And you mostly are seeing Jessie's face and body, as well as that of her father behind her (up to about his shoulders), and she is crying out in agony while he hammers relentlessly at her for what felt like an eternity. It is graphic. The sounds made by the father, intermingled with the weeping and cries of pain from the daughter, were enough that, even if I'd closed my eyes and had only heard what was happening, I would be haunted forever.

There are two more huge spoilers that I'll share here, in the interest of full disclosure. One is that their mother (Tilda Swinton), who is apparently oblivious to what's going on, has just had a new baby girl, and when a night comes that the baby has to be taken to hospital because she's "bleeding" (I don't think they get specific about that, but...the implications are very, very clear), Tom finally tells his mother that she needs to keep baby Alice away from the father. He doesn't say why; he doesn't have to. The look of horror on his mother's face as she stands beside her baby's hospital bed says it all.

The second is that this new-found knowledge of the incest between his father and his sister really fucks Tom up, even more so than he already was, and it is heavily implied at the end (once the father is out of the picture - I'll leave that bit alone) that the cycle begins again, as Jessie finds Tom sitting in the bunker, and asks him what they're going to do now...and Tom gets up and shuts the bunker door, closing them in together. In the novel, it is explicitly stated that yes, brother and sister do go on to have an incestuous relationship; Tim Roth chose to leave the ending ambiguous in the film, but it was clear to me even before I'd read up on it. Tom had already turned his anger toward his sister after seeing what he saw in the bunker (and seeing several other disturbing things as well), going so far as to beat her up, burn her with his lighter, etc., as though he believed she'd seduced their father and it was all her fault. But he later defends his sister and faces his father with what he knows...so it's hard to say whether the sexual relationship between Jessie and Tom has evolved out of some twisted kind of love, or if Tom is simply using Jessie as a means to let out his fury over his family being blown apart, and Jessie is giving in because she's been a victim for so long already.

An additional point: Someone in an IMDb thread said something about the fact that Jessie had agreed to carry on serving her father and not telling anyone, as long as he promised he would never touch the baby. Obviously, since the baby had to be taken to the hospital because of this mysterious bleeding, the father didn't live up to his end of the bargain. That seems to have been what pushed the two older kids to confront him at last.

***END OF SPOILERS***

I don't really know how to make these images leave my brain. I've already seen another movie in the meantime, have been out with a friend, have conversed about fluff, and yet my ears are still ringing with the sounds from that bunker.

Have any of you seen it? Or have you seen something else that has messed you up as much as this has done to me? Am I the only one who has been driven to physical sickness from watching a damned movie?? How on earth does one go about deleting it from one's brain? Or is it there forever, because there's no such thing as being able to "unsee" something??

I'll leave you with a completely safe YouTube clip of the review Roger Ebert gave back in 1999, when it first came out. Then you can decide for yourselves if you would ever be willing to experience this film, for the sake of seeing an excellently made movie, and in spite of it being something you may never be able to wish away.

NaNoWriMo is over. Donation time begins.

2009-11-30T17:23:00.002-05:00

The real entry is actually over at my WordPress blog, but for whatever reason, I wasn't able to embed the PayPal button - meant for accepting memorial donations for Martin Streek - over there. For the whole explanation, head on over to WordPress. If that's where you've just come from, here's the button you're looking for:

One of these days, I swear I'll update this blog properly again. For now, though, I'm just relieved that I broke 50K, won NaNoWriMo, and accomplished something long overdue. Thank you, again, to everyone who's supported me. Stay tuned - the book will remain Project #1 for me until it's in readable shape, so here's hoping I can do it justice.

NaNoWriMo = Radio Silence.

2009-11-17T21:02:00.003-05:00

I know. I've been terribly neglectful of my blog here. In truth, I've been neglectful of just about everything for the past couple of months; I was in pretty rough shape upon my return from Edinburgh, health-wise, and am as always struggling to regain some kind of equilibrium. (Sad, isn't it? I've been back since the end of August, for crying out loud.)

What's been taking most of my attention and energy at the moment, though, is something about which many of you know all too well, having survived it yourselves or, at the very least, having been part of someone's cheering section (maybe even mine): NaNoWriMo. Yes, November is National Novel Writing Month, and yes, once again I'm putting myself through the wringer. This time, though, it's different.

Remember my farewell entry to Martin Streek? I do. Vaguely. And I remember saying that, come hell or high water, I would finish the book he knew I was writing. He was, after all, the inspiration behind it. I'd started my first draft back in 2006, when it seemed like we had all the time in the world... Martin was quick to give me whatever access I needed to do "research" (and yes, it was as much fun as it sounds - and no, that wasn't meant to sound vulgar! I simply meant that "doing research" by going out clubbing isn't exactly the toughest job in the world, especially with a guy like Martin holding up the velvet ropes for me anywhere I went). He was endlessly amused at the ideas I had for his alter ego. He'd already been a fan of my writing for almost a decade before that, and I guess it was gratifying for both of us to see me try to go "legit," especially since he'd had such a significant hand in it.

Anyway. That's all very well-covered ground by now. I just wanted to post something here - for those of you who've only been peripherally aware of where the hell I've been and what on earth I'm up to - to say that yes, I'm using NaNo as the kick in the backside I so obviously need to finally give this book the life it deserves. It's been an agonizingly slow process. I know what I want to write, but each time I sit down to do so, I find myself overwhelmed by memories, emotion, and the inescapable fact that Martin will never read it. To further motivate myself, I've opted to add even more incentive: If I do, indeed, reach the goal of 50,000 words by November 30th, I'll be pledging money to a very important charity, one that seems appropriate not only because of the subject matter of the book, but because of the man who inspired me to write in the first place.

I'm way behind in my word count so far. But there's time to catch up yet. I'm not giving up, no matter how many tears I cry or how many times I hear myself saying, "You can't do it. You're not worthy of this. Quit while you're ahead." I have to ignore that voice, because there's more at stake this time than just the self-congratulatory pat on the back that will come when I hit 50K. There are people who are pledging money to the charity alongside me, and...it matters. So I'm not quitting. I will soldier on.

If you'd like to watch my progress and give me the occasional smack upside the head when I falter, start here. If you want to show your support by becoming my "fan" on Facebook, there's a page for that, too. If you want to pledge to the charity, let me know via one of my many contact routes. And come November 30th, one way or another, I'll be back to let everyone who's supporting me know that I did it, and can only hope that, if the man behind it all were still here with us, he'd be proud.

Thank you. To everyone who's had my back so far. You know who you are.

Kiwi: Three years later and I still sob!

2009-09-24T09:19:00.004-04:00

I don't cry a lot. I mean, I'm not one of those people who often finds herself getting misty in the Hallmark aisle, or gets that lower lip trembling at Tim Horton's commercials. (Okay, yeah, maybe one or two of those cell phone ads a few years back, but...cut me some slack, here. I'm trying to make a point.) And as much as I loathe all things Seinfeld (yes! I SAID IT ALOUD! ...surely enough for another entry on its own), I must say, as far as people who tear up easily go: "Not that there's anything wrong with that..." Some of my oldest and best friends get all soppy over the strangest things. I judge not, lest I be judged on the one day someone happens across me as I'm watching "Kiwi". Because that day? That day you'll find me face down in a pile of Kleenex.

Oh, would you look at that? TODAY IS THAT DAY. Again. I'm narrowing my puffy eyes at a certain friend from elementary school who posted a link on Facebook, but how was she to know that Kiwi and I have had a troubled history that goes back several years? It's okay, Tammy. I forgive you.

A small group of you are privy to my off-site locked blog (est. 2001!), and may remember the day I posted about an animation I'd come across that had surely caused a spike in tissue stock for the quarter. It'll take some doing to find that entry, but I'll transcribe it here when I do. I vividly recall several of my friends saying they weren't able to watch "Kiwi" and had no idea why I was weeping all over my keyboard; I guess the link I'd posted had gone down from traffic before most could see what the fuss was all about. I also remember, however, that several good friends posted countless comments containing their most adorable YouTube finds to cheer me up, even without having seen the sad little video about which I was blubbering. Now, see, I really need to find that entry, 'cos you're gonna need those happy, fluffy distractions after you watch "Kiwi."

Notice I didn't say, "if you watch" it. Because you know you're gonna. And you won't feel bad about yourself afterward, since it's nothing like rubber-necking or Train Wreck Syndrome. It's a cartoon, at its base, and how can you be a bad person for watching a cartoon? No, the only reason you're gonna feel bad is because POOR KIWI AUGH.

From the maker of this short and, clearly, utterly unforgettable masterpiece: My Master's Thesis Animation, which I completed while I was at The School of Visual Arts, MFA Computer Art, in New York City. Created using Maya, After Effects, and rigged using The Setup Machine by Anzovin studios. If you would like to download there is a small version at my website: www.donysanimation.com. Damn. I'd have given this student his/her degree on the spot.

So shut up already! you're all saying. Let me see what has you sobbing like a three year old, when not even those brutal infomercials make you blink! Yes, yes, fine. A few words of advice, though: Don't read the comments left at the YouTube page before watching the clip. Go in blind and completely unprepared, as I was when I first saw this in 2006. I've already given you an enormous advantage by telling you that it made me cry; had I not said such a thing, you, too, would be staring at the incredibly cute little bird on your screen in mere moments and thinking, "Awwwww! This is adorable!" And then, just like mine did, your face would slowly contort into an expression that would be the offline equivalent of "WTF?!?" and then "OMG" and...well. You'll see.

All right. Secure a handkerchief. Join the club. Take the plunge. Watch "Kiwi."

...is it over yet? Can I stop hiding my eyes?

If you're among the people who don't understand what the hell you just saw, there is, apparently, a helpful site with some sort of FAQ here: http://www.isfat.com/happyjunk/kiwi.php. I for one had no problem absorbing its message - although "absorbing" makes it sound as though it was a slow and gentle recognition, rather than the slap across the face to which I'd rather liken it - but I've seen a lot of puzzled comments elsewhere, so if you're looking for insight, you know where to go.

I really ought to leave a note for the person who created this animation. Something that would convey how oddly and unexpectedly powerful s/he managed to make an under-three-minute-long MFA project. Because, really...I'd long forgotten about little Kiwi, three years later and having only ever watched it once; yet all I had to do was glimpse the freeze-frame on my Facebook news feed and it all came rushing back. That is the mark of something pure. Yes, it's something that made me cry, but not in the way that a commercial for the Humane Society or the Hospital For Sick Children does. It's...different. It's...just different. And it makes you think, in a very introspective way. It doesn't surprise me to see that "Kiwi" now has its own IMDb page. I haven't looked at the Discussion Boards yet, but I'm guessing, by the millions of views on YouTube, that there are a lot of people marvelling at this beautiful little wonder as much as I have.

By the by, if the original didn't quite accomplish the feat of wrenching a tear from your eye, ~~DO YOU EVEN HAVE A SOUL???~~ you now have the option of having Gary Jules hurt your heart EVEN MORE at no extra cost. Just sayin'.

Quoting The Beatles is much more my style than referring back to Seinfeld, so I'll just leave you with the video, your tissues, and whatever you take from seeing that precious little bird, and will simply state: I can say no more.

P.S. http://www.savethekiwi.org.nz/!!!

For those who've written to me about Martin Streek...

2009-09-02T09:43:00.004-04:00

I realize it's been a while since my last post, about Martin. I've received a significant amount of email in response, asking me questions that I either cannot or will not answer (which isn't meant to sound as harsh as it does; I simply don't feel as though I'm someone who ought to comment on certain things, nor do I feel that some subjects warrant discussion). I do realize that the reason I'm still getting these notes - mainly from strangers who were fans of Mr. Streek - is that, even seven weeks after we and the rest of the world lost a good man, a lot of people are still in shock, or are trying to understand, or are simply still mourning, as many of us will do for the rest of our lives.

It's been surprising to me just how many people who never had the good fortune of meeting Martin, but who felt connected to him over the airwaves nonetheless, have sent messages my way. I hope so very much that Martin knew how far and wide his influence reached. This post is for them, the people who have said time and again on various message boards and memorial groups (like that on Facebook) that they are shocked at how big a void they feel, having lost someone they'd never even seen face to face.

Instead of relying on my own words this time, then, I thought it would be best to make available to all who've asked (and even those who haven't) a small selection of other people's touching tributes to Martin. Because he meant something different to everyone whose lives he touched, it is only right that his fans - who may not have caught some of the blog posts and such in the confusing and heart-wrenching days that followed Martin's passing - should have access to the missives posted by a few of his old friends. In so many ways, they each said it better than I ever could.

There are countless news articles and posts floating around in cyberspace about our Martin. Some contain misleading or outright incorrect information. After sifting through far too many, I always come back to the same ones, those that stand head and shoulders above the others, written by people who knew and loved the man. To see him through the eyes of friends other than myself, I highly recommend reading the following:

"Thoughts About Martin Streek" by Kneale Mann;
"Martin Streek: This Charming Man" by Alan Cross;
"Martin Streek Remembered" by Liisa Ladouceur; and
"Martin Streek: RIP" by Fred Patterson.

As mentioned in my original post about Martin, the on-air tribute by Dave Marsden is an absolute must-hear as well. And if, after all of that, you still feel the need to read an "official" news report, the only one I'd suggest is posted on the website of the Toronto Star, written by Ben Rayner.

[ photo from the tribute held for Martin at the Phoenix, July 2009 ]

If there are any blog entries, articles, tributes or other such material out there that you feel ought to be included in this list (since my blog apparently comes up at some point during Google searches of Martin's name, thus leading a number of his fans to contact me with questions that I cannot answer), or if there's something you've seen that you think I might like to read, please feel free to comment here, or to reach me via email. I'd be glad to add to the list of posts that will induce a smile while reading, whether the reader is a fan, a friend, or his family. The tears haven't stopped, but I don't think I'm alone in saying that we're a little more ready now to laugh at the great memories with which we've been left.

[ photo from the tribute held for Martin at the Phoenix, July 2009 ]

Thank you, to everyone, for the kind words and wishes. And I hope the links I've provided in this post will answer whatever questions for you that I cannot.

Martin Streek: My unlikely muse.

2009-07-23T15:44:00.015-04:00

Since Martin's passing on July 6th, I've been very much at a loss for words...or, at least, for the right words. My first draft of this blog entry took five pages just to explain how our paths first crossed in 1997; a second draft was so disjointed and scrambled that it was clear I wasn't ready to write about him yet. Usually putting my thoughts down on paper, or onto the screen of my laptop, is cathartic...but in the days and now weeks since we lost the man that so many of us loved in so many different ways, I've been surprised again and again by just how shell-shocked I've been left with him gone. Words haven't helped. And considering the fact that it was my writing which sparked our friendship 12 years ago, I've felt even more lost without it.

[ ~~click photo to go to Martin's site & hear the on-air tributes done for him by the lovely Dave Marsden as well as a 3-hour 102.1 The Edge special dedicated to him.~~ Sadly, as of 2010, the site is no more. The playlist, however, can be found here. ]

The story of how Martin Streek became someone I considered a friend is an amusing one. I've ditched the first draft and will spare you the painstaking details of our rather inauspicious beginnings, but suffice it to say that, when I found myself completely blocked for a writing assignment in university, the divine idea of using Martin's larger-than-life personality as inspiration ended up getting me an 'A'. We hadn't even really met by that point, beyond saying hello at the nightclubs in which he worked and I partied, but I could have written epic novels about this man, who was armed with such charisma and energy, with only the barest of introductions. At some point, on a drunken post-party evening on my university campus, my roommate Chris dared me to stop in at UW's computer lab and email this Streek fellow, and to tell him I'd gotten a good grade by virtue of him simply existing. Chris looked up Martin's email address, and I followed through on the dare. You can imagine my surprise, in the midst of a nasty hangover the following day, when I found a response from Mr. Streek himself, insisting that he ought to read what I'd written and asking if I'd send it along to him.

I did. And that led to a lengthy back-and-forth between us via email. He even commissioned me to write more short pieces for him (I suppose my version of him was a flattering one), and eventually, as a token of his gratitude for indulging him, he'd put me permanently on his guest lists at the clubs I loved so much. I was always written down as "Heather/Hilary", a nod to the pseudonym all of my writings for him had borne. When at last we met and had a longer face to face conversation than just a casual hello or goodbye, I knew this was a guy I wanted to get to know better. I'd never met anyone like him before. That's easy enough to say, really, since I was barely 21 at that point...but now, a dozen years later, I can still say I've never met anyone like him. He was unparalleled in so many ways - he was hilarious, incredibly smart, engaging, and there was always so much to learn from him. He had a knack for providing random bits of trivia about nearly everything, from music and pop culture to literature and politics, and everything in between. He was a great debater; we had plenty of heated face-offs over the years. The bottom line: There was nothing about the man that wasn't interesting.

When he and my mother first met, I had no clue whether she would agree with my assessment. But within moments of my introduction, I was impressed by how respectful and genuinely fond he seemed of her. The feeling was mutual. He could relate to anyone, changing like a chameleon to fit every situation without needing to be phony. My mother, a good judge of character, was immediately charmed, and though they only met a handful of times after that first evening, she always had a soft spot for him. It didn't hurt that his admiration for his own mother, Grace, was so plain. Martin could act like a badass, a tough guy, the leader of the crazy three-ring circus made up of Toronto's nightlife and his countless admirers, but he wasn't afraid to pull back the curtain every so often and allow us to see the depth and kindness that were just as big a part of who he was.

We had occasion over the years to talk about serious stuff, too. I remember a lengthy conversation we had about a particularly tough break-up through which he was going, and I felt honoured that he trusted me enough to know that he didn't have to be "on" when I was around. He told me so many great stories about his brothers, about his parents, about his incredible experiences with famous people that most would give anything to have met... If ever I had a friend who wanted to interview him for their campus newspaper, or to photograph him for their portfolio, or to pick his brain about how to break into the radio business, he never hesitated. He was generous with his time and never once made my friends feel as though he was put out in the least. I can't think of anything I ever asked of him that he didn't do.

I could go on for pages listing examples, but two jump immediately to mind. One took place at a birthday party that one of our mutual friends was throwing for me. Despite it taking place on one of his precious nights off, he came by long enough to buy me a drink and give me a hug. I found out later that he'd gone straight to the hospital in a taxi once he left, because he'd hurt his back while skateboarding earlier that day. The guy was in enough pain to warrant medical attention, but he still didn't miss my birthday. That's the kind of man he was.

The other instance took place a few years later. I'd gone to one of his Sunday club nights to see him and visit with friends, and at some point I realized my very expensive and beloved watch had stopped working. Martin fiddled with it for a minute or two, to no avail, and then mysteriously excused himself. Twenty minutes later, he was back, looking victorious and saying he had something for me...and out of his pocket he pulled a watch made of candy. He said he and a friend had "broken into" Sugar Mountain, the candy store down the block from the club, but I never knew what really happened (or if his friend was in fact the owner of the shop). All I knew was that such a gesture was sweeter than the candy itself.

That terrible night and morning, when the reality of Martin being gone forever was beginning to sink in, I was alone. I cried harder than I can ever recall doing before, my sobs coming from a place so deep that I never even knew existed. I'd sent him a goofy note on Facebook less than 24 hours before he died. We'd waved to each other only a few weeks earlier while attending the same concert. He'd scrawled all over my Facebook wall about Peter Murphy, an artist we both love, only days before that. It just didn't seem possible that this man, who had fought his way through so many tough moments in his life and was, in my eyes, finally the best possible version of himself...it wasn't possible that he was gone. But he was. He is.

For whatever reason, as I wandered around my house at 5 a.m. in shock, I immediately thought of that candy watch. I'd never taken it out of its tiny plastic bag, and was, even in my disorienting grief, pretty sure I knew where I'd kept it. Sure enough, it was still in the pocket of the purse I'd had with me the night he gave it to me. I'd carried it with me for years; I've no idea why. But that morning, I was desperate to have a tangible piece of my history with him. A touchstone, of sorts. It has been brought out of its dark little hiding place now, and is on display in my house, where I see it every day and manage to smile.

I cried a lot for days. Still do. I cried for myself, knowing I would never again have a silly Sunday morning email exchange with him about x-rated album covers or whatever other fluffy things we'd discuss. I cried for the friends of his who were closer to him than I'd ever been, for I couldn't imagine how much more painful his loss would be for them. And I cried for his family. He loved them so much. I knew that, if they loved him just as much in return (and surely they do), they must be devastated.

In the last three years of his life, he'd given me access to whatever nightlife research I needed to do, because at long last I was going to attempt to parlay my skill (according to him, anyway) for storytelling into a bona fide novel. The central character? Yeah. You guessed it. I told Martin about his alter ego, and he was so supportive any time we talked about my slow-as-molasses progress. He even wrote some words of encouragement on the last page of the rough draft's notebook, addressing me as always by my real name as well as my nom de plume. Those scribbles will forever be one of the most precious reminders of him.

I never did get around to telling him that I planned to give the book a title meant to honour him.

This is where I ask for your help. Martin was my muse for so many years; if ever I was stuck for something to write, he somehow managed to kick me back into creative gear. Now that he's gone, I feel like it's more important than ever for me to commit myself fully to finishing this book, the one about which he'd always ask as we drank mochaccinos and caught up on each other's latest travels and travails. It will no doubt break my heart to pick up that pen again, but I want to do him proud. I want to prove that he was right, that I didn't need luck to write it, that skill would get me through. I need you, my friends, to make sure that I don't find any more excuses to drag my feet. I need to not forget what a kick Martin would've gotten out of it, had I managed to finish a proper draft while he was still here.

I will miss him always. He left a void that nothing can ever fill. But maybe - just maybe - finally finishing "Locked & Cranked" is the best tribute to him I can ever make. Please, for him, don't let me fail at the last thing I can do in his memory.

[ ETA: There are countless news articles and posts floating around in cyberspace about our Martin. Some contain misleading or outright incorrect information. After sifting through far too many, I always come back to the same ones, those that stand head and shoulders above the others, written by people who knew and loved the man. To see him through the eyes of friends other than myself, I highly recommend reading "Thoughts About Martin Streek" by Kneale Mann, "Martin Streek: This Charming Man" by Alan Cross, "Martin Streek Remembered" by Liisa Ladouceur, and "Martin Streek: RIP" by Fred Patterson. As mentioned above, the on-air tribute by Dave Marsden is an absolute must-hear as well; if anyone knows of a current, working link, please let me know so I can replace it appropriately. And if you must read one "official" news report, the only one I'd suggest is posted on the website of the Toronto Star. ]

[ **JUNE 2010:** TO DONATE TO ONE OF MARTIN'S FAVOURITE CHARITIES: Go to his legacy page at the Princess Margaret Hospital website, read the wonderful story about his longtime support, and make a donation in his name to the Ride To Conquer Cancer foundation by clicking on the link to Martin's page. To everyone who pledged during NaNoWriMo 2009 and helped us raise $1,000 for the cause, and to all who've contacted me to ask about how you can continue to keep his memory alive by giving: Thank you so very much. I made sure the donation cards reached his brother. ]

1st Annual "Ehch Is Bored" Contest on Twitter - come play!

2009-06-18T17:57:00.031-04:00

Mmkay. The 1st Annual (or weekly, if these antibiotics keep me laying facedown in my bed for much longer) Ehch's Boredom Contest on Twitter will begin at 8 a.m. EST on Friday, June 19th. Up to three prizes shall be awarded (if there are enough people playing along to warrant a 1st, 2nd and 3rd place finish, that is), and they will be based on the recipient's taste (i.e. if the winner is a movie buff, s/he'll get a DVD; we'll discuss it once you actually win).

**********
NOTE (Fri. June 19 @ 9:30 a.m.):

The complete rules etc. can be read

HERE

(I removed them from this post to un-clutter things a bit - my friends' progress has already begun to be posted below!

**********

The winner(s) will be announced by 8 p.m. EST on Saturday!

I already have several challenges in mind, so I'll set about scheduling them into HootSuite ASAP. :) Let's have a little fun with our Friday, folks!

IT'S FRIDAY!

Wanna keep track of people's progress?

SO FAR...

8 a.m. - #1. Upload a song about "morning" and post the link here on Twitter for me to download. GO! (Bonus points if it's "Friday morning"!)

@pweifenbach - 2 points for "Friday Morning" (nicely done!)
@j0n0p - 1 point for "In The Morning"
@herstorian - 1 point for "Sunday Morning"
@aliciamcauley - 2 points for "Thursday Night, Friday Morning"!

9 a.m. - #2. Be the first person to find a celebrity whose birthday is today (June 19th) AND who has a Twitter account. (There's gotta be someone!)

@madam_mina - 1 point for PAULA ABDUL!
@pweifenbach - honourable mention for being so close with the same answer.

10 a.m. - #3. Six Degrees Of Separation: Connect any of the following (by musical association) to Level 42! : The Killers, Rod Stewart, Rihanna, INXS, Eric Clapton, Kanye West, Radiohead. (It's hard, so you get choices! There must be a MUSICAL LINK - played together, etc.) FYI re: #3 - you get a point for solving the link, no matter who's fastest, so no need to rush like mad on what I knew was a tough one. ;)

@madam_mina - 1 point for an INCREDIBLY impressive answer (which I won't post yet while others are working on it, but BRAVO)! "Dominic Miller played with them in '79 later played with Sting - "It's Probably Me" (Feat. Eric Clapton)"
@pweifenbach - 1 point for ANOTHER impressive (and totally different!) answer! "Mark King and Mike Lindup performed with Eric Clapton at Prince's Trust concert in '86..."
@ShayneWinters - 1 point for Lethal Weaponry! "Dominic Miller played with Sting, who sang "It's Probably Me" with Eric Clapton on the Lethal Weapon 3 soundtrack."

11 a.m. - #4.Name four Grammy-winning musical artists who are Canadian. Then link me to a video on YouTube by one of those artists. GO!

@madam_mina - a TIE! 2 points for being the first, with Joni Mitchell, Michael Buble, James Ehnes, The Band
@ShayneWinters - 2 points - a TIE for answering at the same moment as @madam_mina! Joni Mitchell, Michael Buble, James Ehnes, Celine Dion
@pweifenbach - 1 point for Michael Buble, Joni Mitchell, Alanis Morissette, and Sarah McLachlan
@herstorian - 1 point for Alanis Morissette, Bryan Adams, Leonard Cohen, and Celine Dion.
@aliciamcauley - 1 point for Joni Mitchell, Michael Buble, K.D. Lang, Diana Krall

12 p.m. - #5. It's lunch time here in Ontario! But here's a trivia question for you: How many time zones exist across Canada? (Ignore the DST thing!)

@aliciamcauley - 1 point
@ShayneWinters - 1 point
@pweifenbach - 1 point
@madam_mina - 1 point
@herstorian - 1 point

1 p.m. - #6. Scavenger Hunt! Find 5 photos featuring my 1st name (NOT handwritten; I mean street signs, billboards etc.)! Links ok here or at DW.

@aliciamcauley - 1 point
@madam_mina - 1 point
@herstorian - 1 point

2 p.m. - #7. Will you be the first person to persuade a famous author to send me a get-well Tweet?

@j0n0p - 2 POINTS for the sweet message from @EmmaK67!!

3 p.m. - #8. Find a complete stranger on Twitter, send him/her a note saying you have a crush on him/her, & link me to the tweet. Bonus for reply!

@pweifenbach - LOL at saying "NOT!"
@herstorian - she did it! ~~(link pending - 1 point)~~ 2 POINTS! http://ow.ly/f8tI !

4 p.m. - #9. Put all of the songs on The Beatles' "Abbey Road" in alphabetical order & tweet the first word of each to me. GO!
(I'm granting points to all due to the creativity of presentation)

@pweifenbach - 1 point!
@madam_mina - 1 point!
@herstorian - 1 point!

5 p.m. - #10. Do you think you can bribe/talk a famous musician into sending me a get-well tweet before 8 a.m. tomorrow?

PENDING!

6 p.m. - #11. Name 3 actors or actresses who died on this day (June 19th).

@madam_mina - 1 point for
Geraldine Brooks, Jean Arthur, Bobby Helms
@ShayneWinters - 1 point for Robert Shafer, Scott Merrill, and Zelda Crosby

7 p.m. - #12. Scavenger hunt! Can you find photos online of things that feature YOUR first, middle, and last name? (Each 3 can be separate pics.)

@pweifenbach - her first and middle names! (half a point!)
@madam_mina - all three names = 1 point!
@herstorian - all three names = 1 point!

8 p.m. - #13. Tell me, in 140 characters, about your worst date ever. ("Didn't get laid" isn't quite detailed enough, FYI.)

@ANGRYSAM - 1 point! "In high school, first date, took girl miniature golfing, other friend swung club & slammed her in the eye. Had to go to hospital." Ouch.
@madam_mina - 1 point! "5 Arby's melts for $5 and he was cheap enough to be pissed that we couldn't share a soda because I drink diet and he doesn't" Creep!
@herstorian - 1 point! "Worst date=Awkward guy. In a comic shop we had something to talk about;afterward, he was almost silent for 2 hours. Excruciating."

9 p.m. - #14. Name 4 films that are based on conspiracy theories (and tell me which theories they cover). The Mel Gibson/Julia Roberts one = NO. :-P

@madam_mina - 1 point (great answers; will post 'em later so nobody steals 'em!)
@ShayneWinters - 1 point (though I should deduct one for your choice)
@herstorian - 1 point (I especially liked "there is no spoon")

10 p.m. - #15. Trivia: How many American states either begin or end with the letter 'A'?
Okay, there is some debate over this one; I'll have to verify!

@ShayneWinters says 23 [debate still raging over D.C. and other bonus trivia]
@herstorian says 22 - 1 point
@madam_mina says 22 - 1 point

11 p.m. - #16. Send me a link to the very first baby photo taken of you! (Hint: it was probably with your birth announcement...)

@herstorian - 1 point ( http://bit.ly/njs2U - aww!!)

12 a.m. - #17. Go to this optical illusions site - http://ow.ly/eT90 - and tell me how many you get right. (No cheating!) Highest score gets 1 pt.
Apparently I am the devil and this was a terribly misleading question; points for those who played along!

@ShayneWinters - 1 point
@madam_mina - 1 point

1 a.m. - #18. Write a Haiku for me about something we both love! Can it be done in 140 characters??

@ShayneWinters - 1 point for "Watching horror flicks. / "We're never going there." Bad / things happen in corn." (LOL!!)

2 a.m. - #19. Confess a slightly embarrassing factoid about yourself to me, something I didn't know before. (You can get back at me in one hour!)

@madam_mina - 1 point

3 a.m. - #20. Name 3 of the best guitarists EVER, then link me to a solo by each of them on YouTube. GO!

4 a.m. - #21. Only a scant few hours left to convince a famous actor/actress to send me a get-well tweet... Good luck!

5 a.m. - #22. Okay, it's officially Saturday morning. Upload a "Saturday" song and link to it for download! (hint: you can use MegaUpload/YouSendIt)

6 a.m. - #23. Find and post a picture of someone who shares both your first and last name, but is NOT you!

7 a.m. - #24. Only one away from the grand finale! Trivia: Name Canada's last 4 Prime Ministers AND the last 4 leaders of YOUR country.

8 a.m. - #25. LAST CHALLENGE! Find someone famous on Twitter, of whom I'm a fan but am not already Following, & see if you can get THEM to follow ME! You have until 7:59 p.m. EST (June 20) to accomplish that feat. The Follow only has to last long enough for me to know!

*** THANK YOU to everyone who devoted a full 24 hours to my amusement! I actually want ALL of your addresses - mail me at my username @ gmail!! ***

STAY TUNED FOR FINAL SCORES (Saturday 7:59 p.m. EST...) You have until then to answer the last few!

As of #18, here are the points:

@madam_mina - 13
@herstorian - 10
@ShayneWinters - 9
@pweifenbach - 5.5
@aliciamcauley - 5
@j0n0p - 3
@ANGRYSAM - 1

You can still get more with the remaining challenges!
_

PLEASE NOTE:

[Saturday night]
Health issues have sidelined me for a day or two; apologies for the delay, and I'll do the final tally as soon as I'm able. Thanks, guys. xoxo

Musings on Dunbar's Number: When do we "max out" on friends?

2009-06-15T08:52:00.003-04:00

On Friday, June 13th, 2008, a 20-year-long friendship came to a sudden, though not unexpected, end. I'd thought it was one that would last a lifetime; people don't generally see each other through so many of life's obstacles, victories and rites of passage only to toss aside one's partner in crime. Precisely how something that had seemed so fireproof went up in smoke within only a matter of months is a mystery that will confound me for years to come, if I let it. It is, perhaps, energy best spent elsewhere - I'll get to that - but the fact remains that I learned a solid and valuable lesson from the experience: There is no such thing as a sure thing. Oh, and as a TV show once told me (I listen to what the television says, you know), "Trust no-one." Damn straight.

I preface my ponderings about Dunbar's Number with that bit of background mainly to exemplify one of its biggest points: Damage to our innermost social "ring" can knock you off your axis for an incalcuable amount of time, and you might surprise yourself with what measures you'll take to try to rebalance yourself. All of our "social networking" and society's sudden, strange fixation with "collecting" friends as Readers or Followers might be a direct result of us trying to fill a void - one that should be reserved for only a very few VIPs - by stuffing as many acquaintances into it as technology will allow.

"But what the hell is Dunbar's Number?" you're thinking. You don't really wanna read on if I'm going to babble and analogize and never explain the theory. I don't blame you. So here's the quick and dirty Wikipedia definition, for a start:

Dunbar's number is a theoretical cognitive limit to the number of people with whom one can maintain stable social relationships. These are relationships in which an individual knows who each person is, and how each person relates to every other person. Proponents assert that numbers larger than this generally require more restricted rules, laws, and enforced norms to maintain a stable, cohesive group. No precise value has been proposed for Dunbar's number, but a commonly cited approximation is 150.

Dunbar's number was first proposed by British anthropologist Robin Dunbar, who theorized that "this limit is a direct function of relative neocortex size, and that this in turn limits group size ... the limit imposed by neocortical processing capacity is simply on the number of individuals with whom a stable inter-personal relationship can be maintained." On the periphery, the number also includes past colleagues such as high school friends with whom a person would want to reacquaint themselves if they met again.

That is only one facet of the theory, of course, but at its basest, it shows us that we all have a limit on how many balls we can juggle, and how valuable our nearest and dearest are in the grand scheme of things.

If you're like my mother, your immediate reaction is to say, "Uh, no. My social circle doesn't come close to a hundred and fifty people." But when I started to elaborate - "Think of your Christmas card list, and all of the people who are offshoots of those people!" - my Mom had to admit that it sounded more plausible with an expanded definition. I used the analogy of our own personal universes having orbits around them, or Bohr's rings, each populated by different "levels" of people in our lives. The innermost ring, for most, would include a significant other, or one's children, siblings, or best and oldest friend. The next ring would feature other close relatives and friends who are central to one's life. The next might have longtime colleagues or in-laws. And so on. It's a highly personal thing, the organization of one's particular universe, but you get the idea. Once you start to extend it to include the other people who exist in your sphere, in whatever capacity - those you know through work, old friends you only see once a year, people you've met through your boyfriend/best friend/boss - it's not hard to imagine 150 as being a reasonable middle-ground kind of number.

I'd never heard of this theory before a few days ago - odd timing, really, since I hadn't realized that it was the anniversary of the annihilation of that aforementioned friendship upon which I stumbled across Dunbar. Of all days to be learning about the delicate balance of our social circles and the damage that can be done if an inner ring is somehow disturbed, I had a one in 365 shot that it would be that day. I hadn't even recognized it as being a day of any significance until I was reminded by someone about where I'd been a year ago that night, and things all fell into place from there. And yes, the theory is correct about just how whacked out your social connections can get when a fundamental party is obliterated by circumstance (death, divorce, drama). I'd experienced it before I knew that it had a name.

The theory goes on to explain that we, as social creatures, are in a constant state of flux - the outermost rings of people coming and going, changing in their composition or their degree of importance to us - but that it is more important than most of us realize to keep some semblance of sameness to, if nothing else, the sheer number of people we're trying to juggle. With the onslaught of new social networking media, like Twitter and Facebook, we're bombarded by (or is it "with"?) the minutiae of more and more of our most distant contacts every single day...and it's screwing with our heads. Those of us who used to have close-knit circles of only our dearest friends and family, numbering nowhere near that magic Dunbar figure, are now in constant contact with people who would otherwise be relegated to "work friends" or "old schoolmates" or people we had simply shed as part of the process of growing and moving on. That's not to say the internet hasn't been an amazing tool, helping us to reconnect with countless people with whom we'd lost touch and being able to pick up where we left off; I don't know anyone who doesn't have at least one happy "you'll never guess who found me on Facebook!" story. But there's a flipside to that element of our lives: The energy we each expend nowadays, trying to maintain all of these new or revived relationships, can be exorbitant, and I know of a startlingly high number of people who suffer from what I call Facebook Guilt. It's that feeling you get when you see how many messages have been sitting, unread, in your inbox for days, and the endless little comments or virtual gifts left for us each day - kind and thoughtful though they almost always are - that makes turning on your computer start to seem scary as hell. It's the cyber-version of drowning in paperwork. Throw Twitter into the mix, add in your 24/7 availability via text message on your cell phone, and the capability to IM anyone from anywhere...and I'm betting your number has soared well beyond 150 and into the realm of "holy HELL how do I make the BEEPING stop?!?"

It's not just me. Honest.

So Dunbar has applied the whole "apes grooming each other" thing to us humanfolk, and has postulated that we're in danger of being driven crazy by too many people in our sphere or having parts of our lives and personalities neglected if we have too few. A line from "Trainspotting" has come to mind frequently as I've pondered my own circle of friends: "It's a tightrope, Spud. A fucking tightrope." Truer words have ne'er been spoken. As our Contact Lists grow longer, our time spent cultivating the face-to-face variety of friendship grows inevitably shorter, and eventually we'll all find ourselves either loaded down with 400 expectant people or a scant few who can be bothered with us since we blew them off to catch up on our unanswered email or ignored them as we texted furiously under the table at dinner.

I didn't have to think for long before I could say with absolute certainty that the number of people in my life who deserve to be slapped with the Truly Important To Me label is laughably higher than 150. I say that not to boast nor to complain, but rather to marvel. I didn't do an actual headcount, but I didn't need to. A quick scan of the people who can read my locked blog + the number of contacts on MSN + the list of cell numbers stored in my phone + the friends and family on Facebook = a metric crapload. (I mean that in a good way.) The majority of those people are ones I've known either long or well (or both) and would never want to "lose" in a Dunbar shuffle. I think that puts me in the realm of Critical Mass. And one might make a good argument that spending so much time tending to so many, and wanting to keep up on the details of that many lives, has (and still could) cost me some of the relationships I've had since before I became @prettyh. Would I change it? Nope. Do I recognize the insanity of somehow really knowing such a high volume of people, and the effort it requires to be an active participant in their lives? YES. And since most of them (you might be one of Them, if you're reading this) are in the same boat, I think it's safe to say that they realize it, too. Thank goodness for that; I'm lucky to have a mightily forgiving lot of inhabitants in my life, all of whom know that the expected turnaround date for an email response or a phone call or a ReTweet or a night at the movies has grown exponentially longer because our social circles have exploded.

(Anyone who knows me at all just laughed aloud at the idea of me voluntarily making a phone call. It was just an example.)

It wasn't my ever-expanding clan that rendered my decades-old friendship extinct; the death of that relationship was inevitable, with or without 'net access. But I've seen it happen to other people, trading precious RL moments for a chance to bask in the adulation scrolling across their computer screen. I suppose the whole point of this blather is to say that we've lost sight of our Number and why it should matter to us. We expect ridiculous things of ourselves as we try to mete out the appropriate amount of time and attention to each and every member of our worlds and, without proper perspective, we're constantly in danger of denting our Inner Rings by letting the weight of the Outer ones crush toward the centre. Which is us. We are at the middle of our own universe by its very design; people are in our orbit. And we are in theirs. And we're no good to anyone if we're spread too thin, spending countless hours ignoring the relationships in front of us in favour of sending mass forwards to our 6,342 "closest friends." A tightrope, indeed.

Does it shoot all of my credibility to hell if I confess that I Twittered about this very subject only days ago? Ahem.

Take a good, hard look at your Number. Count your rings. Ask yourself if they're prioritized correctly. If the answer is no, it's time to back away from the mesmerizing pull of seeing lives in 140 characters. If the answer is yes...well, then, you're probably a lot further ahead of the rest of your pack. And Dunbar would be proud of you.

NIN/JA, fickle fans, expletives and videos: My farewell to one of my favourite bands.

2009-06-10T03:18:00.006-04:00

I was in the process of trying to find the exact set list for the NIN/JA show that took place on June 5th in New Jersey...and I'm coming across an awful lot of...well, frankly, bullshit.

Read the comments to this Rolling Stone article as a primer. Hell, just read the article itself. What the...?

I found out from a friend maybe three days ahead of time that NIN would be performing before Jane's Addiction. (If I'd had half a brain I'd have seen the huge notice on the NIN website.) I said, "Wha...?" and then got over it. Because despite not even owning any of JA's albums, I loved the '90s alt scene, and I don't care in what order they play; seeing NIN and JA share a stage is like a rock-gasm for people who were heavy into the club circuit throughout the last decade. Having Tom Morello tossed in for good measure was simply a cherry on top of it all.

I consider myself a pretty good critic as far as concerts go. Lord knows I've seen enough of them to be called, if not an expert, at least thoroughly informed on the subject. I've seen NIN five times (or is it 6...? Yes, it's six! HOLY CRAP), so I have a basis for comparison. And I would say that the NIN/JA show was easily the second best I have ever experienced. (The absolute best was on the summer leg of the With Teeth tour in '06 - it cannot be beat. Not only did Bauhaus open for them, but the electricity in the crowd, the gorgeous summer night by the lake - same venue as the one they played the other night - and the amazing set list and brand new light show were just unbeatable.)

Having said that, one could argue that it's because I've gotten to see them so many times that I can feel as fulfilled and as happy with whatever Trent wants to throw at us as I am. I do wonder how I'd have felt if the NIN/JA experience had been my first (and, as it appears more and more each day, the LAST). But on the other hand, I know NIN's catalogue backwards and front, sideways and then some, and I didn't learn it from seeing them live; I already owned it all going in. I'd be hard pressed to come up with a set list that would disappoint me, because I love stuff from every Halo that has been put out.

Trent made it very public that there would be no flashy light show this time, and that they wouldn't be playing Closer and all of the other mainstream pseudo-fan favourites. They just played those in November! (And, okay, AGAIN, I will grant that Toronto is insanely lucky because we've almost always gotten to see NIN both at the start and at the end of a tour, so we get two different shows with different set lists etc., while other cities get passed over completely. I saw one Fragile show, two on the With Teeth tour, two for Year Zero, and then the NIN/JA set. All in my own city. That's lucky. I do get that.) The point is that Trent made it abundantly clear that this was the Wave Goodbye tour, and it was for the die-hards, not the poseurs. Silly little blonde sluts who like to bump and grind to Closer at their local sleazy dance club were not the target audience.

(My clip, which sadly did not go far enough to let everyone hear me screaming, "IT WON'T GIVE UP IT WANTS ME DEAD GODDAMN THIS NOISE INSIDE MY HEAD"...because I wanted to dance, not film. Sorry 'bout that. I do know there's complete video of it elsewhere on YouTube, though!)

So instead of the same old regurgitated set list for the umpteenth time, Trent opted to give the fans something else. Something about which, at least at the Toronto show, people in the audience were SO pumped. Nearly every song they played, you would hear thousands of people exclaiming things like, "Holy shit!! I never thought I'd hear this live!!" I was one of those people. I had to apologize to Ian, my intrepid partner in concert-crime, who is a relative NIN novice, because I'd sent him a bunch of MP3s to prep him for what he was likely to hear...and I think only ONE out of the 30+ tracks I'd given him ended up being played. But he was pretty amused to see me jumping up and down - literally - because we were getting to hear Heresy instead of Closer, and I'm Afraid Of Americans instead of Only. (You really must check out this awesome footage of IAOA from our show.) And despite only even recognizing two of the songs at all, and never getting to see the mind-blowing light shows that had marked the previous Lights In The Sky tours, and being younger than me (just shy of 24) and therefore never being exposed to NIN as part of his nightlife, he enjoyed it. I don't think you could help but enjoy it; there was just an energy in the crowd that was infectious, and everyone was simply there to have a great time. And I think everyone did - certainly everyone around ME, and the reports from other friends at the show were the same. [ ETA: Browsing the NIN.Com boards, I see that the West Palm Beach thread is mostly negativity, whereas nearly everything said about our Toronto show was over-the-top positive. In the WPB thread, there is - seriously!! - a guy who says they were "entitled" to an encore. A contradiction in terms, to be sure, Einstein. ] It was a nice way to say goodbye to the longtime fans, and clearly it was enjoyable for some of the newcomers as well.

I'll have to ask my friend EmCee to weigh in on this, too, because we were at the same show and she was in the section ahead of me, so she might be able to lend more insight into the vibe. But from everything I witnessed, people were having a blast, even while the sun was still up! (NIN in daylight is, truly, a weird experience.)

[ETA: EmCee's response to all of this: Yeah, I was at that show and people were totally into it from my POV.

Hell, I know I loved it. I've never gotten to see NIN before and I am absolutely in no way disappointed with this being what is most likely the only one I'll ever see. IMHO, it was tight.

Those tickets are pretty. Shame mine says [my brother's name instead of mine]. Oh well. Still look all shiny. Nicest looking ticket I've got on my board.

Anyone who bitches and moans and acts all entitled can go DIAF.

Well said, my friend. ]

Back to the über-bitching that's spreading across the 'net, then.

(It's really not so bad, you know, once you get past the taste...)

what a fuckn letdown man. if theyre really gone now an that was what we were left with than FUCKYOU NIN.

I'm reading comments like these, and just shaking my head. Everyone's entitled to their (grammatically flawed) opinion, and of course there will be shows that are better than others, but come ON.

Went to the Austin show and it was awful. NIN was lackluster and sounded weak. Audience was not into the music. Trent recently tweeted about it: “Not one of our better shows. Despite our efforts we seemed unable to win over the crowd. Texas ends with a whisper.” about 4 hours ago from Tweetie -
Trent should buckle down and focus on the tour and not his cheapo girlfriend.

And then this:

There were a lot of very pissed off people at the West Palm show… NIN opened for Jane’s, but nobody knew that was going to happen. I guess my fault for showing up a little late, got there around 7:45 and NIN was already on stage. Then they didn’t even come out for an encore. The stage looked like they were going to come back out for a bit and then all of a sudden the lights came on and they started setting up the stage for Jane’s. Heard a lot of booing… Lots of pissed off people…

Sigh.

Now, see, here's the thing. A lot has to happen to make a concert orgasmic. There has to be a certain synergy between band and audience. Sometimes it happens organically; sometimes it has to be pushed a bit before things start rolling; sometimes there's a misfire and the connection just doesn't take. Keeping NIN as the sole example (just because it could get messy if I start comparing good vs bad shows when I'm talking about totally different bands/crowds/expectations etc.), I can say that I was underwhelmed at the winter show of the With Teeth tour. Part of it was probably because the one I'd seen in July, only a few months previous, was The Best Show Ever. But there were other elements, too - the electricity wasn't the same. The set list wasn't as good. Hell, our seats were crap. But not in a million years would I go and post something like those comments above just because things weren't firing on all cylinders.

I like this response, given by another Rolling Stone reader:

Hey Austin...How can you be mad at the band. They feed off the energy of the crowd. You got no feeling….you fail.

This is SO TRUE. Sometimes there'll be a crowd who come in with this indignant attitude right off the bat, thinking about what they paid for their ticket and having a specific set list in mind, and it's as though they've set themselves up to be disappointed. I've been to other shows like that, with other bands; you can feel it before the show even starts. Instead of there being a buzz in the crowd as everyone comes together in anticipation of what they're gonna see when the curtain comes up and the lights go down, there's an expectation. As though the band is a bunch of trained circus dogs who are expected to perform a certain set of tricks, and one false move totally kills the moment. The band is up there, working their asses off, and the crowd is barely moving. Because OH NOES THEY DIDN'T PLAY MY FAVOURITE SONG!!

To which I say, "If you want to hear your favourite songs in the 'right' order in the 'right' way, STAY THE FUCK HOME and LISTEN TO YOUR iPOD."

For the record, NIN has only ever played my "must-hear" songs once each. I wait with bated breath every single show, hoping to hear the first notes of Ringfinger and The Wretched. Only once, ever, did that happen. And y'know what? THE SHOWS WERE STILL AWESOME.

And god forbid if the band acknowledges a night when the crowd wasn't feelin' it. Because then you incite remarks like this:

Did you see Trent Reznor whining about the Austin show on Twitter? Really, is he surprised? IT SUCKED! HE SOUNDED LIKE SHIT. He needs to grow up and stop being a ass. He’s “sad” that the crowd wasn’t into it, well if he had put together a tighter show, we would have been into it.

Now, okay, I wasn't at the Austin show. I can say nothing with any authority about how good or bad it was. And I've seen Trent whine (OY OY OY), and I've rolled my eyes at it too. But the remark he made about that one concert wasn't whiny. And when fans take something like that and twist it around, why on earth do they expect their supposed favourite band to work nearly as hard next time?? If they can do no right, why bother?

I'm trying to find a comment that was made about how Trent "didn't interact at all with the audience" and that was a bad thing. I'll post it here if I can find it. But y'know what? TRENT DOESN'T TALK TO THE AUDIENCE. With the exception of ONE of the six shows I've seen - during which he actually dragged a stool to the front of the stage and sat on it to explain why he likes bringing NIN to Toronto more often than anywhere else, and what makes these shows stand out to him (it was quite a surprise to the whole crowd; fifteen thousand people fell instantly silent to hear what he had to say, and it was really very touching and kind of surreal) - he has always kept it to "thank you" and "good night" and that is IT. What the hell kind of NIN fan are you if you're expecting him to, like, get everyone singing Head Like A Hole in the round???

(The idea of that just made me LOL.)

Maybe it's just that the stereotypical NIN fan is all angsty and only happy when they're pissed off, or something. Get a load of this:

There was a BIG problem for those of us that bought nin.com Atlanta pre-sale tickets. This was COMPLETELY screwed up, they didn’t have the tickets ready at all! There were literally hundreds of people waiting in line to get their tickets. Once you got to the window (which took over an hour), you had to give them your name, and then someone had to run out and find them somewhere and bring them to the window. It was a total fiasco. I got there just before 7pm, and we didn’t get our tickets until almost 8:15pm. We missed Streetsweeper and half of the NIN set. And we were actually lucky because we were at the front of the line. I feel bad for all those behind us that were waiting. I WILL NEVER GO TO ANOTHER NIN CONCERT. That’s what you get for being greedy old man Reznor.

...uh.

This is NIN's fault how, exactly...? Sounds to me like the venue is shit. 'Cos we got NIN.Com presale tickets, and we were treated like royalty. No lines anywhere, a separate entrance, better seats (without the insane "convenience fees" from TicketBastard on them, no less)... Hell, even the tickets themselves are pretty! (I still have to take a photo of mine. ETA: Okay...that was harder than I thought.)

It is a hell of a lot harder to photograph a shiny ticket in bad light than I expected it to be. Further attempts to show the shiny prettiness of my ticket did not turn out terribly well. But you get the point. Probably. It's SHINY and it has my name on it and it's purple and silver and stuff. Photos don't do it justice.

Anyway, I guess my point is that this is turning out to be one of the more controversial and talked-about tours that I've ever seen, and I'm genuinely shocked at how much of the talk is negative. I've done my fair share of bitching about certain concerts (is there a soul alive who hasn't heard my kvetching about the 2005 U2 gig where Bono lectured us all to call our PM - he even had the phone number up on all of the big-screens for us! HOW THOUGHTFUL - to get Canada to "drop the debt", and then told us how we could have better spent the $200 it cost each of us to see the fucking show???!?). Some concerts deserve to be bitched about. And as I've said, it is ALL a matter of opinion, and every show will strike something different in every member of the audience. But from where I was sitting (literally and figuratively), my assessment was that Trent Reznor went the extra mile to give his actual fans a proper farewell - from playing rare and thrilling stuff, to controlling the ticket prices (honestly, $75 to see three of the biggest music icons of my generation?!? WOW) and offering better seats/easier access/nicer treatment to the .Com crowd, to making sure that everyone was allowed to bring whatever cameras they wanted to bring without getting hassled by security - and for all of his efforts, he's gotten more shitty feedback than any of the truly awful bands or shows I've ever seen.

I don't blame him for waving goodbye. If my "fans" were as greedy and thankless as the most vocal ones I've seen thus far, I'd have quit long before Trent did.

My DVD Collection - a partial list...

2009-06-03T09:06:00.002-04:00

It's been suggested to me more than once that I try to get together a comprehensive list of every DVD I own, mainly so people can bug me to borrow stuff. So, at last, here is the beginning of said list. I'm nowhere near finished.

My DVD Collection at Listal

"Escape To Canada" - Must-See TV

2009-05-25T04:45:00.004-04:00

Okay, I rarely see a documentary that affects me so deeply, but if ever there has been a moment wherein I've been prouder to be Canadian, I can't think of one.

I beg of you, see "Escape To Canada".

I actually burst into tears several times. Once was when several gay American couples came to Toronto in 2003 to get married, and n none of their family members had agreed to come to support them...but more than a thousand complete strangers from Canada turned up to throw confetti after they said their vows.

Once was when the mayor of Vancouver made an impassioned speech about how no other country is going to dictate drug policies to him, and that he wants to legislate the permanent decriminalization of marijuana, and control and tax it just like alcohol, and pour every tax dollar back into the B.C. health care system.

Once was hearing some American military deserters - all of whom had already served at least one tour of duty in the Middle East - explaining why they couldn't go back, and what would happen to them if they are (were) ever caught by Bush's government.

And just now I got teary-eyed again when it was shown that, in 2005, Canada's version of Webster's Dictionary changed the definition of marriage to be "the union between two people".

It's not anti-American at all (it's just anti-Bill O'Reilly and anti-Ann Coulter). It's as critical of our PM Harper as it is of Bush. One U.S. citizen summed it up very well by saying, "We're not in Canada because we don't love America; we're in Canada because there are more freedoms here than there are in the land of the free. You can love both countries for different reasons." And there's a lot of celebration of California, too, which seems to be a state that has been adopted as Canada's sibling somehow.

(Watching Pierre Berton explain how best to roll a joint, using one of his own hardcover bestsellers, is definitely a hilarious highlight. Hearing Jean Chrétien basically say, "Uh, non, screw the war in Afghanistan, merci," ranks up there, too.)

The whole thing is fascinating - I've learned more about my own country in two hours than I did in all of my years in high school. The push and pull over laws governing gay marriage, marijuana, even our "women can walk the streets topless" practice... I had no idea just how much has gone into all of this, and how hard people have been fighting, so quietly, for so long in order to get as much equality as possible.

So, to my Canadian friends, I beg of you: FIND THIS DOCUMENTARY. Revel in it! Hell, I've got it on my DVR, and I'll burn as many copies as anyone wants, whether you're Canadian or American or Australian or British...any nationality, anywhere... Email your address to me (below) and I'll send it to you. It is remarkable.

Email me HERE

And you thought YOUR house was a mess?

2009-05-21T11:11:00.003-04:00

Back in 2003, I stumbled across a thread in the SomethingAwful forums. It was all about a college student whose mother's hoarding habits had more or less destroyed their house. The 5MB of photos this fellow posted left such a huge impression on me that I've never forgotten it; I use it in conversation sometimes, too, if my mother is troubled by the "horrible mess" in our living room etc. But until now, I hadn't been able to find those photos again to show her why a little bit of clutter here or there does not even come close to...whatever the hell this complete disaster is.

I uploaded the 50+ photos to my Flickr account, put them all in order, and added the commentary from the original thread (made by a user named "Knormal" - all credit for the pics and descriptions go to him). You can now go through them, shot by shot, and read the explanation behind the horrors of this you'll-believe-it-when-you-see-it state of affairs.

For the record, compulsive hoarding (or disposophobia - yes, that's a real term!) is, in fact, recognized as a legitimate psychiatric issue; it has not, however, been defined in the DSM-IV as anything more than an offshoot of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

Without further ado, then, I shall direct you to START HERE, the very first photo, and wander through the house as though you were there yourself. Just be grateful that you're not.

Charges dropped against Steven Page

2009-05-02T04:31:00.004-04:00

It's been a long time coming. An update on the sordid Steven Page/Christine Benedicto situation. I'd first posted about it when it happened last summer, and again in February when Page officially quit Barenaked Ladies. He's off the hook; let's hope he's off everything else, too.

---

Charges dismissed against singer-songwriter Steven Page

Friday, May 1, 2009 | 1:38 PM ET
[story from CBC.Ca]

A New York judge has dismissed the drug possession charges against Canadian singer-songwriter Steven Page, former frontman of the pop group Barenaked Ladies.

According to Page's lawyer Mark Mahoney, the singer met the conditions New York Judge Thomas Miller laid out for him in October, including passing a drug screening test, undergoing therapy and having no further arrests.

Charges against the singer as well as his girlfriend and her roommate were dismissed earlier this week.

Page, Christine Benedicto and Stephanie Ford were arrested in July 2008 at the Fayetteville, N.Y., apartment where the two women live. Police allegedly found the trio with cocaine and marijuana and charged them with drug possession.

"The respect and responsibility I have earned over the course of my life and my career thus far are important to me and I am moving forward from this with gratitude and with hope," Page said in October.

"I also apologize to all of those I have hurt or embarrassed during this episode."

The dismissal of the charges means there will be no legal obstacle to Page entering the U.S., his lawyer said.

Page announced in February that he was leaving the Barenaked Ladies to pursue a solo career. He was not with the band in March as they accepted a Juno Award for their recent children's album Snacktime!

---

Well. I was wondering when they would get around to making a decision on this. It surprises me, though, that now, when I hear their music, I get sad. Maybe it's my sensitivity lately to watching what people will do to their best friend(s), the selfishness of it all...or maybe it's just that, in meeting Page, I'd have put him at the very bottom of my "he's totally gonna become an adulterous cokehead" list (did you know I had such a list? Neither did I...). Either way, listening to their version of Lovers In A Dangerous Time will never be quite the same for me.

Intro to Twitter: A batch of April's best Tweets (of mine)

2009-04-30T05:51:00.004-04:00

Chock full of the funniest and weirdest links, lists and pics I've been able to find over the past few days! I hope it provides some amusement. Judging by my international stats, I'm doin' an okay job of it so far. I've now got followers from every continent! If you're unfamiliar with Twitter, no worries - just click the "ow.ly" link next to whichever subjects grab your interest, and it'll take you to the article I'm discussing. Have fun, and get hooked like the rest of us!

April 29th

00:41 What's the measurement term I'm looking for - furlong? Furlough?? Am I even close? Text my cell if you know! Settle a bet for me! #
02:28 RT @atomicrose: @prettyh Furlong! [Thank you, Casey! Bonus points: How MUCH is a furlong??] #
06:25 @aliciamcauley I am SO EXCITED about our upcoming @chuckpalahniuk experience! So...I'll be Scotland and you'll be Ireland? ow.ly/4lNQ #
08:40 I have vegetarian/vegan friends. We respect each other. Possibly why this ("they forced meat on meee!! RAPE!") irks me so. ow.ly/4lHt #
10:20 Whoo, boy. LJ never fails to deliver ~DRAMA~. This time around it's a PostSecret about rape/not rape. See for yourselves: ow.ly/4mCi #
19:55 My friend Lana, who works at CBC3, posted an amusing blog entry re: Music That Makes You Dumb (I'm smart; so there!): ow.ly/4sCX #
20:30 RT @Carlanime: Speaking of the flu, WHO have finally raised the whatsit level to thingy. ow.ly/4sFu [LOL! Well put, Carla.] #
20:55 Doesn't surprise me: 60% of Twitter users quit within their 1st month. They're just not as good at link-hunting as I am! ow.ly/4sP2 #

April 28th

16:17 Too much to dissect for Twitter. Pics of Michael Jackson's Neverland auction - am laughing and shrieking at same time: ow.ly/4hLj #
18:29 This is just getting disgusting. Tori Stafford's mom says she had a secret meeting with a rich benefactor offering ransom: ow.ly/4iSJ #

April 27th

06:22 @madam_mina Shush, you! We gave the Yankees AJ Burnett for a song, and now the poor fellow's under pressure. See: ROY HALLADAY! <3 #
06:24 @mattgood Are there specific Vans you're seeking? I've gotten some from a shop on Queen St/Toronto if you need details. Adidas & Chucks,too. #
06:25 @strombo I'm overtired, probably, but I read your Chris Walken hashtag as "douchedbyabadangel". Good band name, I think. #
06:27 @madam_mina My beloved Jorge Posada is not that far from 40 now! I can relate to the "OMFG I'M OLD" feeling! Our teams SUCKED today. Bah. #
06:55 @johncmayer Also not ugly, ever: soccer (er..."football") players. It's true. Watch the World Cup sometime. Wall to wall gorgeous. #
07:30 "Bewitched" movie is on TV. Lazy late nite/early a.m. viewing, y'see. But it's worse than the RottenTomatoes 25% implies. ow.ly/3Z9v #
08:50 @ShayneWinters You should try AudioCaptcha. It's even more challenging to get right the first try. YouTube's doing it now, too. Stupid. #
09:30 Everyone seems fairly convinced missing girl's mom (Tara, mom of Tori Stafford)is the culprit. Interesting Facebook group: ow.ly/3Z4J #
10:10 Unless you love Woody Allen, AVOID "Cassandra's Dream". HORRIBLE. Even Farrell, McGregor & Wilkinson couldn't save it! ow.ly/3Z4Q #
10:41 @pweifenbach So envious of you being in Vegas! Have you seen the Cirque "LOVE" show? What I'd give! Beatles fans unite!! ow.ly/3ZRK #
11:30 Question: Is there something other than LoudTwitter I could use to have my Tweets sent to my open Blogger? Can't find another shipper! #
12:43 @ShayneWinters You need answers to WHAT? You only asked one question! And yes, thx, I'll take @stephenfry on "Bones". NAY to Cassie Clare!! #
13:25 @aerojad !!! I think, short of proposing marriage, you joining Twitter is the grandest gesture a man has ever made for me. It's fun here! #
14:05 I sleep with a fan on me nearly every night, and I'd NEVER heard the urban legend that it's supposedly FATAL! WTF?? ow.ly/3Z5U #
14:10 "I sleep with a fan on me every night" sounds more sordid than it is. I DO, however, have a Fan Club (I'm not allowed in): ow.ly/40hZ #
14:31 I think I'd like to be a BNF ( ow.ly/40jo ), in my own fandom. As in, I'd be the BNF of Ehch Fandom. Is that a bit too...Mussolini? #
14:45 One more thing re: me having fans: Why do only 19 people love me? Is it because I don't plagiarize fic??( ow.ly/40jQ )*sob*BE MY FAN! #
15:15 I know every word of 'Trainspotting' film, but every fan MUST buy Director's Cut. The deleted scenes? SHOCKING. ow.ly/3Z6s #
15:35 @Carlanime You've gotta know that a pregnant woman in a Naughty Nurse costume is some kind of niche fetish. Lemme know how it turns out. o.O #
16:00 Who among you has an account at Last.FM? (Aside from those already on my list.) I wanna spy on your musical tastes! Mine: ow.ly/40hK #
17:05 RT @MossySloth: @prettyh HOLY CRAP I didn't know Labyrinth was based on a book!!!! [See? My Tweets are educational! ~H~] ow.ly/3MyM #
17:50 RT @yokoono: IMAGINE PEACE:Simplest most effective peace meditation. It's a space transformer.Transforming the world as quickly as possible #
20:25 I have about four years' worth of laundry to do. Think that means I have too many clothes. Diabetes Assoc.'s gettin' a BIG donation this wk. #

April 26th

06:08 I'm laughing way too hard at this. It trumps all of the other terrible street signs. Who knew Welsh was so difficult?? ow.ly/3U2N #
07:05 I've long bitched about Daddy having no cell phone. Now I think I'm grateful; he wouldn't like texts about my sex life: ow.ly/3U30 #
08:25 Twitter can, apparently, cost you your job, reputation, relationships... Here are 5 of the "Worst Tweets Ever": ow.ly/3U4I #
09:25 While not impressed with the resemblance to Heath OUT of makeup, this Joker figure ( ow.ly/3U8C ) is FREAKY in face paint!!! WOW. #
10:50 Punk'd by the 'net: how some companies have gotten SCREWED by social media. I still wonder about the iPod rumour. ow.ly/3U9e #

April 24th

03:05 @MossySloth We need to sit down (er, Skype down!) & compare sleep disorders, I think. That and myriad odd subjects, like: ow.ly/3CO6 #
04:11 @ShayneWinters It scares me a little that you know enough about Dancing With The Stars to ask if the gymnast has been kicked off. And NO. #
04:25 Utterly fascinating link courtesy of @MossySloth, containing a whole lot of conspiracy theories and other überweird stuff: ow.ly/3MpH #
04:41 REAL JIGSAW KILLER:"Mr Howe's head, arm, leg & torso were found [...] Only his hands have not been found. " Why the hands? ow.ly/3MwM #
05:04 Another ex. of nature being warped: Cats in heat sound like babies crying. I hear one outside. It's creepy and makes no biological sense. #
05:20 Haven't yet read it, but LOVE the title of this article:"Children Don't Make You Happy, Says Expert Who Doesn't Have Any": ow.ly/3Mvb #
06:10 Um..good god. "Australia's Miss Universe finalist dangerously underweight". D'you THINK?? I didn't know corpses qualified. ow.ly/3MvC #
07:05 Just FYI, all of my Thurs/Fri tweets have been scheduled as of Wednesday, so if I'm dead by then and you're seeing these, don't panic. #
08:05 I can always outdo myself with weirder lists, you know. "Top 10 Greatest Floating Heads Of All Time". (Only 10?) ow.ly/3CEw #
10:10 @Carlanime You are the only person I've ever heard say, "I'm glad my sex life doesn't involve a speculum." It COULD! See: ow.ly/3CFq #
12:30 LOL!! Re: the chick who was nearly lunch: "Logic tells us that polar bears will do this type of thing in this situation." ow.ly/3Mwn #
13:50 "British scientists study Happy Face Spider". What the hell?? Mother Nature is sicker than I thought; this thing is SCARY! ow.ly/3Mv1 #
14:35 A hilarious collection of street signs and the like. This one forbids soft coconuts on hospital premises. AS IT SHOULD! ow.ly/3Mxk #
14:50 This should be a rule for LIFE: No obnoxious behaviour, no crying/unhappy children, or you'll be booted from the cave! ow.ly/3Mxz #
16:15 @foresthouse If YOU want a Dreamwidth code, ever, let me know! My beloved @jmatwood took care of me: ow.ly/3CGW #
18:20 Top 10 Childrens' Books For People Who Hate Their Children (I'm noticing a theme in my tweets today...): ow.ly/3MyM #
20:35 Another step in the neverending downward spiral of Lindsay Lohan: she's skinnier than the Aussie pageant chick. AUGH!! ow.ly/3MCa #
20:36 @michaelsheen1 I totally read that wrong and thought you said you just had your makeup melting. Which does indeed sound mysterious. #
21:15 A fresh, funny-as-hell take on Billy Bob Thornton's stupidity whilst visiting (read: forcing himself upon) my country: ow.ly/3MD2 #

Long time no update, but...TWEET!

2009-04-26T13:13:00.004-04:00

Yes, I'm overdue for a proper entry...but for the time being, I'll be sending my Tweets here, for those of you who follow the weird goings-on in my life and who get a kick out of my bizarre collection of links. It's mainly for those who don't have access to my private blog; I keep my Tweets suitable for public consumption. Usually. Ahem. (Yes, I know, there was that one ***NSFW*** "Stages Of The Cervix" thing that got everyone all freaked out...but it got even more people offering up TMI in response!)

If you'd like to subscribe, you can do so easily: either comment to this entry (and make sure you sign your name!), or use the "Subscribe" button on the sidebar of the blog. I try not to be one of those nonsensical, pointless Twitterers whose 140 characters make NO BLOODY SENSE, so I'm hoping you'll find some enjoyment in the links I provide when I get the chance.

Please note that, with the exception of a very, very small number of people, this will be opt-in ONLY. If you don't leave a comment saying you want to read more, or if you don't subscribe to the posts, this is the last notification you'll get about it. You may have only gotten notification because your address is/was in my Gmail contacts list, so fret not - I'm not targeting anyone in particular! Don't panic and think you'll be inundated with 32,746 Tweets every day no matter what.

And no, I won't be offended if you're not into my weird links and strange conversations with celebrities. As you can see, I get a lot of traffic already...

...from all over the bloody world! The above graph only shows a slow week. My monthly stats are usually around 1,500 clicks, and I seem to get a lot of traffic from Belgium, Spain, And Poland. Haven't quite figured out why just yet.

Quite often I schedule a week's worth of links and such at a time, so I'm not actually sitting busily at my computer on a daily basis, hunting for material. I do have a life. ;) If you happen to comment, or if you're on Twitter and you reply there and don't get an answer right away, now you know why: the Tweets you're seeing on Thursday could have been scheduled on Monday, and I'm nowhere near a computer!

I'll be dropping in to do proper entries as well from time to time, of course, since sometimes 140 characters just can't say it all. But I wanted to give you guys a heads up, in case you wondered what on earth you were suddenly seeing here in place of my ranting and raving!

To see who I'm following on Twitter: http://twitter.com/prettyh/friends.

To see who's following me: http://twitter.com/prettyh/following.

Here's an example of what you'll be seeing:

06:08 I'm laughing way too hard at this. It trumps all of the other terrible street signs. Who knew Welsh was so difficult?? ow.ly/3U2N #
07:05 I've long bitched about Daddy having no cell phone. Now I think I'm grateful; he wouldn't like texts about my sex life: ow.ly/3U30 #
08:25 Twitter can, apparently, cost you your job, reputation, relationships... Here are 5 of the "Worst Tweets Ever": ow.ly/3U4I #
09:25 While not impressed with the resemblance to Heath OUT of makeup, this Joker figure ( ow.ly/3U8C ) is FREAKY in face paint!!! WOW. #
10:50 Punk'd by the 'net: how some companies have gotten SCREWED by social media. I still wonder about the iPod rumour. ow.ly/3U9e #

Welcome to the new age of pseudo-blogging! Enjoy your stay, and have fun clicking the strangest links I can find!

If only FOX was truly "Gut"less.

2009-03-27T09:54:00.004-04:00

It seems I've been writing a lot of letters lately. Such a Canadian stereotype, I know, but I'm so tired of being prim and polite when it comes to international politics. I was just beginning to get past my rage concerning the O'Reilly keynote speech when another horrible bastard - from the same network! SURPRISE! - decided to insult my country, our armed forces, and therefore by default my grandfather, great-grandfather, and countless great-uncles who have served in the military. This man should be fired for the things he said, and I have sent a copy of the letter below to every available email address and bulletin board I can find. Once again, I acknowledge the fact that this is little more than tilting at windmills, but it took me three minutes to write it. A small sacrifice in the hopes that it just might affect something.

I doubt it. But it makes me feel better, anyway, to unload my venom on someone who deserves it.

A very brief primer, for anyone who's been living under a rock and hasn't heard word one about this situation: Watch the offending segment, filmed the same day that four more Canadian soldiers were killed in Afghanistan. Then have a look at what this prick is passing off as an apology. And then see how angry even our own journalists have become as a result. If you're on Facebook, take note of the fact that all 600 of his 'fans' are disgusted Canadians, many of whom have crossed the line into death threats. Not our proudest moment, to be sure, but I can't say I don't understand that kind of disgust and rage.

Consider yourselves caught up.

To Greg Gutfeld:

I don't care how this gets to you, or if it's even read BY you. It would suit me just fine if your peers, however distant, and/or your colleagues and/or your superiors receive it instead.

My American friends - none of whom even watch your poor excuse for a network, let alone the show in question - have been apologizing to ME because of what YOU said. It's truly pathetic when a good group of people feel the need to distance themselves from their own nationality because you've embarrassed them by being the ultimate stereotypical American that the world has come to loathe. What's worse is that you haven't even apologized for yourself! You made a pithy statement about how Canada "misunderstood" what you said. So that's our fault, too, huh? I think you've been watching too much South Park, pal.

I just realized that I'm typing all of this under the assumption that you can read. That's rather foolish of me. Perhaps you can get Bill O'Reilly to sound out the words for you...?

I'd never heard of you before this. I hope I never do again. And I hope someday the freedoms our soldiers have afforded you are snatched from your greasy little hands.

Part II - To everyone associated with FOX:

You would be well advised to rid yourselves of this Gutfeld person and the others of his ilk; Canada is a very large country, full of consumers who are only too happy to boycott any product your advertisers are selling for as long as you allow uneducated mouthpieces to represent you.

Unlike America, we in Canada are regularly shown our soldiers coming home in coffins. My commute every day is along what has been renamed the Highway Of Heroes, which runs through Toronto, and I have seen altogether too many processionals of these young men and women being repatriated. We gather on overpasses with Canadian flags and we honour them in silence as their caskets are driven past us. There is absolutely no room for humour in this.

The talking heads responsible for this uproar need not offer another insincere apology. Fire them, save your ad revenue, and do not ever mention my beloved country again.

The days of the true rock concert experience are dying.

2009-03-14T03:38:00.003-04:00

My 2009 summer concert list is getting rather unwieldy.

Coldplay - tickets are bought (show is July 30th)
Depeche Mode - tickets are bought (show is July 24th)
Nine Inch Nails/Jane's Addiction - tickets aren't on sale yet, but I have a crack team working on snatching up a few when the time comes (show is June 2nd)
U2 - no onsale date yet, either (whyyyyy did they pick the lousiest possible venue??? Show is on September 16th)

And those are just the four major contenders; there will surely be others. Thank goodness I'm only actually paying for two of these at a time. And the Depeche Mode ones are actually a gift from my parents, which is a damn good thing, since they're $115 each. Compare that to the $50 apiece we paid for Coldplay, and it's outright despicable, really.

Oh, before I forget (and completely off-topic!), I'm putting out a call to all:
What's your favourite conspiracy theory?
Is there one (or more than one??) that you've always kinda thought had some merit to it? I'm doing a little research into some of the more popular ones, and was thinking of doing a few blog installments about them, so tell me which conspiracy theories fascinate you the most, or which ones are completely ridiculous (and why!), and I'll get around to compiling a few posts looking a bit further into 'em.

Back to the concerts thing, then.

Remember the good old days, when TRUE FANS would line up the night before or the morning of the tickets going on sale? When you'd befriend other fans in line and you'd see them again months later at the concert? Remember when people had to do more than sit on their lazy asses and click a mouse to go to a show? All of those things, that effort, really did add to the experience. Now scalpers get more tickets than fans do, and venues add an extra $20 to each ticket for "convenience charges" and so on. Mark my words: The days of the truly great rock concert are dying, my friends.

The craziest ticket-getting experience I ever had was the bitterly cold January morning when my boyfriend Doug and I lined up to buy Pink Floyd tickets. We were actually going to see Billy Joel that night at Maple Leaf Gardens (this was 1994), so having to get up that early on a Saturday morning and then make the trek in a blizzard downtown in 12 hours was...not an exciting prospect. Still, it was PINK FLOYD. It was the "PULSE" tour, in support of The Division Bell *swoon*, and nothing was going to stop us from getting those tickets. There was no such thing as Ticketmaster.Ca or .Com, but you could do it by phone, if you were a wimp. This was also before the random wristbands; you had to haul ass to prove you were worthy of those good seats, damnit. And there was also a limit of 4 tickets, EVER, per person.

What we didn't know, though, was that things were different that morning than they usually were when we'd gone to buy tickets at the record store. Usually the store employees would open the mall doors enough for us to at least wait inside for an hour or two, even while the whole place was still technically closed. So I hadn't dressed for -30°C temperatures. I had normal boots on, and a normal winter jacket, sure, but I didn't have a scarf or mittens or a hat, and the wind was bitter enough that I should have been wearing tights and extra-thick socks as well. We had to stand out there for two hours, after all...and that's enough to kill you if you're not dressed for it. (I was also a skinny little thing then - just shy of 5'6" and not even 125lbs. No natural insulation whatsoever.)

After the first hour, my feet started to hurt so badly that I actually began to cry, and my tears froze at the corners of my eyes. Doug had been holding me as close to him as possible, but that didn't help my feet, obviously. So he had to leave me there (I'd only gotten my driver's license a few weeks earlier!), drive to my house several blocks away, and ask my parents for whatever they could give him so he could rush back to me and wrap me up in layers. By now I was getting those telltale white spots on my face, and the pain in my feet....GOD, it was INDESCRIBABLE. The people in front of me in line weren't in much better shape; they were two college guys who were wearing blue jeans and their leather jackets from school. The three of us took turns shielding each other from the wind, but mostly they felt sorry for me, this pathetic little 17-year-old girl with big blue eyes and frozen tears who kept trying to sing "Comfortably Numb" along with them so none of us would pass out.

When Doug returned, he was the hero of the hour: My Dad had sent over a couple of extra sweatshirts and pairs of thermal gloves for the people around us, and my Mom had given Doug money to stop at Tim Horton's to get a whole tray of hot chocolate. Oh, it was bliss. He wrapped a scarf around my face, pulled a toque down over my ears (they hurt like a sonofabitch, too), helped me put on an extra pair of socks, and stuffed my hands into the biggest mittens I owned. He'd gotten 8 cups of hot chocolate, so everyone we'd befriended in this terrible melee was so grateful.

By the time 9:59 a.m. rolled around, and the line began to move toward the door, I could barely walk. Doug dutifully dragged me along, with the help of one of the college guys who'd gratefully taken one of my Dad's sweaters, and the normal inside temperature of the mall felt, comparatively, like we were entering the mouth of hell as we hobbled through those doors.

There was an unspoken code in those days: When you got your tickets and came back out of the record store, you would announce to everyone in line behind you which section you'd gotten, so everyone could calculate which seats were left and so on. Sometimes, if you'd spent enough time together and had become friends while you waited, you might even try your luck at getting tickets for all four of you - two and two, of course, to better the odds, but it still saved precious seconds from ticking away for those people behind you. In this case, though, we opted to go it alone. We wished the college boys good luck, and we watched like hawks as they stood at the Ticketmaster counter, trying to read the lips of the girl behind the register. As it turned out, we all got really good seats, and the guys waited for us outside the store to give back the clothes that had probably saved them from freezing to death. They promised they would remember this, and that they'd see us 7 months from now at the show and would make it up to us.

That night, while we sat at Maple Leaf gardens singing along with Billy Joel, I had to fight back tears because my feet and legs still felt like someone was stabbing them with red-hot knitting needles. But the concert was fantastic, and the fact that I enjoyed it anyway really says something.

Fast forward to July 5th, 1994. January was long forgotten, as was the miserable weather we'd endured to allow us to end up at Exhibition Stadium. It was a gorgeous summer night, and Doug and I were over the (dark side of the) moon about seeing Pink Floyd. We had watched A Delicate Sound Of Thunder on VHS so, so many times, and we were ready to have this experience firsthand. Our seats were breathtaking. And it was the final night of an annual tradition in Toronto - the Symphony of Fire - so we got to watch a most extraordinary fireworks show before the concert began. The stadium was right on Lake Ontario, and the moon was full, and it was just...idyllic.

Not long before the show started, I was startled when something landed in my lap. It felt like...clothes. I looked around and couldn't tell in the throngs of people who had thrown it. And then I lifted it up. It was the Division Bell concert t-shirt. Seconds later, Doug got hit in the face with one. And then we saw them. Our college guys! They were only about seven seats over from us, had spotted us earlier, and had gone to the concession to buy us these shirts. They hadn't forgotten the payback they'd promised. It was lovely. We convinced the couple next to us to switch with these guys, and so the four of us were able to bask in the glory of the opening notes when David Gilmour first came onstage.

It didn't hurt that they'd also brought the purest pot I have ever smelled. They offered, and we declined, but I was rip-roaringly high off the secondhand smoke, which made Doug laugh, because I kept bursting into happy tears and saying, "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" whenever the lights turned into green lasers. (The inflatable pigs with the floodlights for eyes FUCKED ME UP, though.)

There were no email addresses to exchange back then - not really - so at the end of the show, we simply thanked our new/old friends for being so generous, and they thanked us again for rescuing them on that wintry day, and we parted ways. I still have the shirt, and so does Doug.

These are the experiences we miss out on nowadays. Hiding behind our computers, selling our tickets on eBay, waking up two minutes before the onsale time hits... It may seem perfectly normal to some of the younger folks reading this, but you're missing out. You truly are.

I have always wanted to tell that story. I'm glad I have. Am I the only one who's had such a fondness for the way getting tickets used to work???

My open letter to - and final words on - Bill O'Reilly.

2009-03-13T19:12:00.005-04:00

The petition to have the It Happened To Alexa foundation withdraw its invitation to Bill O'Reilly started out seeking 10,000 signatures. The engagement is only 6 days away, and the goal has now been lowered to 2,000. As of my last check, it hadn't even broken a thousand names.

Disheartening.

So I went to IMDb, planning to post a thread in O'Reilly's message boards with a link to said petition, and wouldn't you know it? His profile is up and running, but the message board dedicated to him is marked "Section Closed".

Next step: the man's own website. Apparently you have to pay to become a premium member if you wish to use the "Contact Bill" form. I'm not even willing to pay extra on the cable bill to get FOX News, so I'm sure as hell not going to give a dime to talk to him in cyberspace.

Final step, then: I found his email address, and I wrote the most restrained, polite message I could manage without gagging. You catch more flies with honey, after all, and I don't think my message would hold much water if I was simply being one of those screechy bitches our friend Billy seems to loathe so very much. Instead, I polished a few paragraphs and hit 'send'. Chances are it will make no difference whatsoever. Few things do when it comes to people like him. But at least I can say I did it.

---Original Message---
To: Bill O'Reilly
From: me
Subject: The "It Happened To Alexa" Hullaballoo
Date:

Mr. O'Reilly -

Surely you've received a mountain of mail about your upcoming talk at the "It Happened To Alexa" luncheon, and the petition asking for your withdrawal. I'll keep mine as short as I can.

Please don't speak at the engagement.

I realize that part of being an on-air personality is putting across what is often a more extreme and exaggerated version of yourself; perhaps the many comments you've made that lead the public to believe that you're a misogynist, among other things, is a direct result of those exaggerations. But I will say this: I was sexually assaulted a few months ago (and no, I don't expect you to care; maybe it would make a difference if you knew that I was wearing medical scrubs at the time, and was alone inside the building in which I worked, and was not in any way making a target of myself the way you said Jennifer Moore did...?), and when I tried to imagine sitting at a luncheon and listening to you speak about rape survival, I felt ill. I couldn't handle hearing a man who has been quoted more than once saying things that amount to "s/he deserved it" or "s/he brought in on him/herself" telling me that he's on my side.

I ask you, Mr. O'Reilly, to please simply consider what your television audience has seen and heard from you, and then think about what the rape survivors at this luncheon will be feeling when you take the microphone and do an about-face (and lie to them?) by saying women's rights matter to you. Please don't make any of those women feel even more belittled and guilty and humiliated than they already do. I can only assume that your reason for never apologizing for some of the more truly upsetting remarks is that you believe you are right, and that there are times and places wherein assault is justifiable. It won't matter what you say on March 19th; what you've said in the past is already out there, and you can't unring that bell.

I appeal to your obviously sizable intellect, and whatever humanity you may have behind your on-air blustering, to reconsider this speaking engagement. Your withdrawal from it would speak volumes about whether or not you actually DO care about how a woman who has been raped or otherwise assaulted should feel. There are so many topics about which you are the perfect man to speak...but the degradation and abuse of women is not one of them.

I'll never know, as we no longer get FOX News here without paying a small fortune for it, but if you did read this far, I thank you.

~Heather xxxxxx
Toronto, ON, Canada

You have the link to the petition. You can try your luck at IMDb, if you like ( http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0971123/board ). Now you have his email address, too.

Six days left. Never say never.

And that's the last I have to say about it.

The Bill O'Reilly petition. I had to post it.

2009-03-07T04:43:00.006-05:00

I don't have a lot of faith in what petitions can do, really. Life is not just one big Erin Brockovich lovefest. But every so often I'll see something that makes me practically erupt with rage, and I feel like I'm better off just sharing the damn thing, whether it has any effect or not.

This time it's Bill O'Reilly who's made me feel homicidal. Not that he usually doesn't anyway, just by existing. But women who've been victims of sexual assault - or, hell, just PEOPLE in general - need to know about this disgusting error in judgment (that's putting it kindly) and should say something about it.

O'Reilly has been invited to speak at The It Happened To Alexa fundraiser, which, if you didn't know, is a foundation built to raise awareness about rape and to offer support and resources to victims of sexual assault. I can think of a few men who might be worse choices, but...not many.

I'm borrowing liberally from my friend Rachel's note about this in order to give background to why this bastard doesn't deserve to have an oxygen supply, let alone have the opportunity to listen to himself talk in the presence of the very people upon whom he likes to prey:

Bill O'Reilly is scheduled to speak at a fundraising luncheon for the rape survivors advocacy group It Happened To Alexa Foundation at the Ritz Carlton in Manalapan, Florida, on March 19th, 2009. This is, simply, outrageous.

According to its website, the purpose of the It Happened to Alexa Foundation is to "help support rape survivors through the trauma of the criminal trial, in the hopes that more survivors will go through with the prosecution in order to put these perpetrators behind bars...[and to] assist rape victims families with travel expenses during the litigation process."

A laudable mission, indeed. But not only has O'Reilly been accused of sexual harassment at work (settling out of court and paying his accuser a multi-million dollar sum); he also has a history of making blame-the-victim comments about sexual assault, including the following:

"These two girls come in from the suburbs and they get bombed, and their car is towed because they're moronic girls and, you know, they don't have a car. So they're standing there in the middle of the night with no car. And then they separate because they're drunk...

"Now Moore, Jennifer Moore...She was 5-foot-2, 105 pounds, wearing a miniskirt and a halter top with a bare midriff... So every predator in the world is gonna pick that up at two in the morning. She's walking by herself on the West Side Highway, and she gets picked up by a thug... And the thug takes her over to New Jersey in the cab and kills her and rapes her and does all these terrible things to her..." (Bill O'Reilly, The Radio Factor with Bill O'Reilly, 8/2/06)

"And the question is, why didn't [11-year-old Shawn Hornbeck, kidnapped, held and raped for 4 years] escape when he could have?...The Stockholm syndrome thing, I don't buy it...The situation here for this kid looks to me to be a lot more fun than what he had under his old parents. He didn't have to go to school. He could run around and do whatever he wanted...I think when it all comes down, what's going to happen is, there was an element here that this kid liked about his circumstances." (Bill O'Reilly, Fox News' The O'Reilly Factor, 1/15/07)

We can only presume that the board of the It Happened to Alexa Foundation were unaware of O'Reilly's history when they extended the invitation to him. But unfortunately, all objections to O'Reilly's appearance since then have been met with a polite rebuttal.

We consider it wholly inappropriate that Bill O'Reilly should be given the opportunity to promote his new book by associating himself with an organization that does such laudable work on behalf of rape victims.

Please join us in asking the It Happened to Alexa Foundation to withdraw their invitation to Bill O'Reilly and replace him with another, more appropriate, speaker.

Do whatever you feel is right. Sign the petition, don't sign it, watch his show, turn it off, buy his books, burn them, whatever. I've done what I feel is right, and that is to bring this to the attention of my friends and readers. People like Bill O'Reilly do not deserve to have their crimes and misdemeanours swept under the carpet; if a petition can make someone's life a little more difficult - be it his or that of the moron(s) who chose him as a speaker - then it was worth the ten seconds it took to type in my info and hit 'enter'.

**AN ASIDE:** I know I don't update this blog often; I do, however, provide daily links of all types (including the above-mentioned) via my Twitter account, so please feel free to follow me there, too.

***ETA:*** A kind commenter added this additional link for those looking for more background about why O'Reilly is such a heinous choice for this engagement: "O’Reilly Should Apologize to Rape Survivors; Gets Worst Person for Four Straight Nights". Thank you, C.

If you think others would get something out of reading this, PLEASE pass it along, via email, Facebook, Digg or any other means. As I so often say, every little bit helps.

Steven Page bails on BNL. Classy.

2009-02-25T05:39:00.002-05:00

I'm...kinda stunned. Obviously we don't have all of the details yet, but what we do know is that the guys in Barenaked Ladies stood by Steve while he was cheating on his wife with a groupie and snorting all the coke he could find in upstate New York...so what's the deal??? (Click my "celeb stuff" tag to go back and see earlier coverage of this whole mess, or read this old entry from July 2008.)

Comments on an entry from Oh No They Didn't has one of what will likely be many versions of what happened, but here's the sanitized (and practically useless) blurb from the Barenaked Ladies' official website:

By mutual agreement, Steven Page will be parting company with the remaining members of Barenaked Ladies. Jim Creeggan, Kevin Hearn, Ed Robertson, and Tyler Stewart will continue recording and touring together as Barenaked Ladies. Steven Page will pursue solo projects including theatrical opportunities while the band enters the studio in April 2009, and hits the road in the fall.

Page says "These guys are my brothers. We've grown up together over the past twenty years. I love them and wish them all the best in the future."

The band also wish Steven well in all of his endeavors. Ed Robertson says: "It's the start of a new chapter for all of us. Here's to the future!"

Everyone is looking forward to making new music and thanks their fans for their support.

...uh...right, then.

More details if/when I can find 'em.

ETA: News from Globe & Mail, reproduced in full below:

Page leaving Barenaked Ladies
JOSH WINGROVE
February 25, 2009

Steven Page is no longer among the Barenaked Ladies, the band has announced.

Mr. Page, who co-founded the group, is leaving to pursue solo projects and a theatre career in what was called a "mutual agreement."

"These guys are my brothers. We've grown up together over the past 20 years. I love them and wish them all the best in the future," he said on the band website.

Jim Creeggan, Kevin Hearn, Ed Robertson, and Tyler Stewart will continue recording and touring together as the Barenaked Ladies, the band said. They are preparing to be in the studio this spring before a fall tour.

"It's the start of a new chapter for all of us," Mr. Robertson said.

It's the latest in a tumultuous year for Mr. Page, who was arrested in New York last July after being found with cocaine. In October, the charges were reduced. If Mr. Page adheres to a set of conditions, the charges are to be dropped by April.

---

Also: The Toronto Star has this to say:

STEVEN PAGE STEPS DOWN
The Canadian Press, Feb. 25th, 2009

The Barenaked Ladies will be hitting the recording studio this spring — without one of their founding members.

Steven Page has left the popular band he helped form in Toronto more than 20 years ago.

The band’s website said Wednesday that Page will be parting company with the remaining members of the band to pursue solo projects including theatrical opportunities.

The other band members, Jim Creeggan, Kevin Hearn, Ed Robertson, and Tyler Stewart will go back in the studio in April and out on the road in the fall.

The news comes months after drug charges against Page were dropped in the U.S.

Page wished them the best in the future. "These guys are my brothers," he said. "We’ve grown up together over the past twenty years. I love them and wish them all the best in the future."

The band also wished Page well in all of his endeavours. "It’s the start of a new chapter for all of us," Robertson said. "Here’s to the future!"

Page, his girlfriend and her roommate were charged with drug possession in July after police found cocaine at a Fayetteville, N.Y., apartment.

In late October, all three secured a deal that will result in their charges being dropped if they stayed out of trouble for six months.

In December, the band members joked about a tough 2008.

Robertson told a sold-out crowd at Toronto’s Massey Hall that he felt a little neglected last summer when his personal crisis was overshadowed by the turmoil in Page’s life. "I survived a ... plane crash and it barely made the news," Robertson said with tongue in cheek.

"Everyone said, 'Who cares, what’s going on with Steve?"'

Just two months after the May release of their children’s album, "Snack Time," Page was arrested.

That album is now nominated for a Juno, for children’s album of the year.

The image of Page’s dishevelled mugshot flew around the world on the Internet and the charges forced the band to bow out of a Disney charity show and stay below the radar for months.

The band’s second scare came in late August when Robertson crashed his float plane in a wooded area north of Bancroft, Ont.

Luckily, he walked away unhurt along with three other passengers.

The Barenaked Ladies went on last fall to mount a mini comeback with a series of concerts and TV appearances.

Page told fans on his blog that he was "doing great," and feeling healthier after shedding 40 pounds.

He said he looked back at 2008 as a year with a lot of positive experiences among the really bad ones. "Yes, it’s been a terrible year for the band, and for me personally, but there have also been many things to be happy and grateful for," he wrote.

"Falling in love, a renewed sense of peace, the best health of my adult life, some amazing creative and artistic opportunities, and the chance for a renewed and fruitful relationship with my band, friends and loved ones."

The band’s recording of their own version of the old "Hockey Night in Canada" theme song for TSN also brought them back into the spotlight.

Page played guitar for the band, which he helped form and shared lead vocal duties with Robertson.

His distinctive vocals are featured prominently in many of the band’s hits, including "One Week," "Brian Wilson," "If I Had $1,000,000" and "Jane."

---

I'm not even gonna touch that "falling in love" bit. (See: Christine Benedicto.)

Oscar Season! Reviews, predictions, and oversights galore.

2009-02-08T10:28:00.003-05:00

Let's talk Oscar, shall we?

Every year I do my damnedest to see as many of the big nominees as possible, and this year I have to say I'm doing incredibly well. With two weeks to go, I've knocked down one hell of a lot of 'em, and have arranged access to the four or five that still remain (two in theatre, the rest all rentable). I wish I had more friends within easier distance who are as movie-obsessed as I am, because I throw a mean Oscar party, but this year it'll just be a quiet evening, methinks. My Dad has seen several of the contenders, too (he's actually taken me to a few of them; it's been cool to have him back as my regular movie buddy on Saturday mornings), so he and I can settle in together and rob each other blind on high-stakes award show betting.

So, for those of you who are not nearby but who've seen some of these films, I shall share my thoughts and see who among you is willing to place wagers for February 22nd. (Terms to be negotiated. I say the one who guesses the highest number of winners correctly should have a movie bought for them off their WishList. I'm in if you are! But we'll hold off 'til the 21st, since there are still unseen nominees...)

Here goes: What I've seen (as of now; I'll edit as the next two weeks rack me up), what I've loved, the reviews I've written on Facebook, and what's yet to be watched. (And my bets on who'll win.) Be prepared - it's a loooong entry! (Reprinted from my private blog.)

_______

BEST ACTRESS

KATE WINSLET (The Reader)
This role, when I finally found myself invested in the movie, blew my mind. Kate was barely recognizable, and not just because of the makeup. She became Hanna, with a harsh voice and Berlin accent, with new mannerisms and expressions... I've always loved her, but this really put her up to the next level for me. My review of the movie: I spent the first hour-plus wondering why I wasn't more emotionally invested in these characters. Certainly Kate Winslet gives yet another brilliantly layered performance, and her young co-star does a good job of keeping pace...but I wasn't IN IT. There was just something putting distance between me and the screen, and aside from the vague but persistent dread in my gut, I wasn't feeling as much as I'd expect to feel about such obviously painful moments in life and history. Until the last fifteen or twenty minutes, that is. At which point my heart began to hurt, and it hasn't stopped. Complex material that'll leave you turning so much over in your mind for a long time coming. (A side note: I can't recall a movie in recent history with as much full-on nudity as this one. Goodness me.) I'm told the book is far more haunting. I don't think I could take it. The man sitting next to me in the theatre turned to me when the closing credits began and sighed, "Well, THAT was...uplifting." I could only sniffle and smile before we all scattered out into the snow with very, very heavy hearts.
MERYL STREEP (Doubt)
I don't think I've ever seen Meryl give a sub-par performance (of course, I've purposely avoided Mamma Mia...), but this one stands out. She managed to be brash on the surface while still keeping a few tiny nuances that let us know there was more going on underneath. My review of the film: I've been unable to stop thinking about this haunting film since I saw it a week ago. Philip Seymour Hoffman's performance was so perfectly nuanced... My loyalties were torn from the first frame to the last, and what Streep and Adams brought to the table just added to that feeling of conflict...and, well, doubt. Serious props to Viola Davis for one of the most searing, painful scenes I've witnessed in a very long time. See it.
ANGELINA JOLIE (Changeling)
Haven't seen in yet. It's out on DVD on the 17th. I'd wanted to see it as soon as I heard it was out, but I missed it. This may be one of two major oversights (in my opinion) involving Clint Eastwood, who directed Changeling and was the mastermind behind a completely ignored and horribly underrated Gran Torino. As for Angie's performance, I expect it'll be solid, but not enough to knock Kate or Meryl off the stage. And I feel like Cate Blanchett should have been given this slot (for Benjamin Button) instead...but, again, I can't say for sure until I've seen it.
ANNE HATHAWAY (Rachel Getting Married)
Will be seeing it on Wednesday, as it's been re-released in Toronto (yay for that!). I'm impressed that Anne has made it from bubblegum Disney movies to serious indie flicks so early in her career, and I'm really looking forward to seeing this one.
MELISSA LEO (Frozen River)
It's on DVD, so I'll be seeing it this week sometime. I have to say, this one surprised me, mainly because I'd heard nothing about this movie before the nominations came out. Still, Leo has been a great character actress for a while now, so it's nice to see an underdog in the race.

Who I think SHOULD win: Based on the only two performances I've seen thus far, Kate Winslet deserves to finally get a bloody Oscar. Her role as Hanna Schmitz is jaw-droppingly convincing. I forgot it was Kate on screen, quite frankly, after only a short time - long before the makeup and costume wizards aged her so many years. She was fantastic. To be fair, Meryl Streep's turn in Doubt gave me chills, too; she managed to pack so much emotion into such a restrained performance. But between the two, Kate wins for me. I can't see that changing even after I see the other three, but you never know...

Who I think WILL win: Kate. Her only real competition, I think, is Streep, and I think the many awards Kate has already won for the role tell us that the Academy is ready to pass the torch, rather than add to Meryl's massive collection. Again, though, I have to reserve my final opinion until I see the others!

______

BEST ACTOR

FRANK LANGELLA (Frost/Nixon)
Wow! Who woulda thunk it?? I've loved Frank for eons, so it's pretty cool to see him get nominated for his first Oscar (especially for a role that has already earned him a Tony Award). The odds of him winning are slim to none, I fear, but that's not for lack of a strong performance; the competition is just too strong this year. My review of the movie: Having been only a baby when this historical interview happened, I went into the film not knowing a whole lot. I came out thoroughly impressed with how well I was filled in, and how bizarrely sympathetic Langella's Nixon managed to be without twisting who and what the man really was. As for Michael Sheen...I was afraid this was going to be kind of like his Tony Blair impersonating David Frost, but no! He even got the speech patterns down. Truly impressive film. But I still can't get over the fact that it made the Best Picture short list over "Gran Torino". THAT I cannot abide. Even so, a worthwhile 2 hours all around.
MICKEY ROURKE (The Wrestler)
Augh. This one's still too fresh. I may have to cry again now. Looking at Rourke's once-beautiful face, you'd think he'd have a hard time conveying emotion because of all of that surgery...but man, that couldn't be further from the truth. Every eyebrow raise, every half-smile, it all spoke volumes about this broken man and how desperate he was to make something - anything - right again. He was brilliant, playing what he knew but never stepping over the line into parodying himself. My review of the movie: The night I saw "Slumdog...", I came out of the theatre and heard two guys - who were just leaving "The Wrestler" - saying that they wanted to kill themselves after "that experience". I had forgotten about that moment...until I saw the movie for myself last night. Mickey Rourke has officially broken my heart into about eight thousand pieces. He has my vote come Oscar night. Marisa Tomei is so good you forget she's naked for 90% of her screen time. The whole experience... Just see it, and be ready to feel a little bit shattered when the lights come up.
BRAD PITT (The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button)
As a rule, I'm not a Brad Pitt fan. That's probably a weird thing to say, coming from someone who includes Fight Club and Se7en among her favourite films, but it's true. He's okay. He's done some fine work. But I'm not a fangirl. Having said that, though, I was genuinely and pleasantly surprised at the gentle way he handled his character's evolution. It was unlike anything I've seen him do before, and he did it very effectively. I don't think he deserves to win, but I can see why he was nominated. (I just wish it hadn't been at the expense of Clint Eastwood! There I go again...) My review of the film: I started crying about 15 minutes in. I didn't stop, not for a moment, until the end credits. Even then I had to suck it up. The performances were outstanding, especially by Blanchett and Henson, and the direction and cinematography made me feel like I was there...but there were parts that dragged on a bit too long, and that yanked me out of the frame. I also felt like some of the sentimentality of it all was heavy handed and emotionally manipulative, rather than being sincere (using Hurricane Katrina as the current setting?? Ouch)...but maybe I'm just angsty because I cried for three hours in public. It doesn't deserve to win Best Picture, and I still can't believe it was nominated instead of "Gran Torino", but it IS a beautifully made film. Just make sure you bring Kleenex.
SEAN PENN (Milk)
Haven't seen it yet. The plan is to catch it the same night as Rachel Getting Married this week. But...it's Sean Penn. He's going to be great. Great enough to blow the other guys out of the water? Maybe, maybe not. But he's won before, which may leave room for a sentimental favourite like Mickey Rourke...
RICHARD JENKINS (The Visitor)
Another one I have yet to see - it's out on DVD already. I actually said aloud, "What the HELL??" when I heard he was nominated ~~instead of Clint Eastwood?!? WTF!!?!?~~, but he's kind of like Melissa Leo in my mind: a solid actor who's put in a lot of great performances and has paid his dues, and it's nice to see him being recognized for the first time. I hope I enjoy the movie, even though I can't for the life of me see how he could win over Pitt, Rourke or Penn.

Who I think SHOULD win: OH, MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE... Of the performances I've seen, his moved me the most. I wasn't expecting to be as impressed as I was; I thought it would just be too easy, with him playing a character that mirrors his real life too closely. But he hit hard, and he hit deep, and for that reason I would love to see him getting a standing ovation as he walks up to accept an award he probably never imagined could be his.

Who I think WILL win: I'm kind of afraid that Sean Penn will swoop in and snatch this one up. I can't say he wouldn't deserve it, since I haven't seen his movie, but the guy is walking Oscar-bait every damn year. With the timing of Prop 8 and the buzz around the film, there's a very good chance Penn's got the cards stacked in his favour.

_______

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

TARAJI P. HENSON (The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button)
This woman blew me away when I saw her in Hustle And Flow, so it's great to see her getting recognized for a very solid turn in Benjamin. But, really, as good as she was, I don't know that it was a performance that was Oscar-worthy. I think she will have a lot more chances in the future to be a winner, but there wasn't quite enough to her character, for me, to put her up against the likes of Marisa Tomei this year.
MARISA TOMEI (The Wrestler)
Anyone who thought Marisa's Oscar for My Cousin Vinny was a fluke can set that aside now. She brought almost as much heartache to the screen this time around as Mickey Rourke did, and that's saying a lot. Extra props to her for A) having the guts to spend most of her screen time naked and grinding against a pole, and B) looking absolutely fabulous (and convincingly broken) while doing so.
AMY ADAMS (Doubt)
I fell in love with Amy Adams as soon as I saw Junebug. This is a woman who has a lot of nominations, and likely wins, in her future. The trouble is that Doubt was so much an ensemble piece that it seems like she had the least amount of stuff to do on screen, which makes it hard for me to see her winning this year. On the flipside, she made the most of the time she did have, and she played someone completely unlike any of her previous characters...and she was spot on with it. I'm kinda torn about this one, but she definitely deserves the nomination, and I look forward to what great things she'll be doing in the future.
VIOLA DAVIS (Doubt)
This goes almost completely against what I've said about Amy Adams and Taraji Henson, but considering Viola had only a single 12-minute-long scene in the whole film, I can scarcely believe the impact her few short moments made on me. Her scant dialogue with Meryl Streep cut like a knife and added something to the film that was essential in creating the entire atmosphere of it all. Truly one of the more powerful appearances I've ever seen, and she managed to stuff everything we needed to know into twelve measly minutes. Commendable.
PENELOPE CRUZ (Vicky Cristina Barcelona)
Haven't seen it. Don't want to see it, but it's on DVD, so I'll suck it up. I loathe Woody Allen movies (the sole exception being the astonishing Match Point), and on top of that I completely disagreed with Cruz being nominated for Volver a couple of years back (overrated in a big way, IMO). But I'll give it a fair chance, since both Cruz and Allen have managed to surprise me in the past.

Who I think SHOULD win: Augh. This is hard! I'm gonna have to go with Viola. Even though half of my brain is rooting for Amy. Augh. (This does prove, however, that Doubt was another oversight in the Best Picture category, doesn't it?)

Who I think WILL win: I honestly don't know if it'll be Amy or Taraji. Both are fairly new-ish to the Big Time, and both have created a lot of buzz with their performances, this year and in recent years. If I had to guess, I'd say Taraji will get it.

______

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

HEATH LEDGER (The Dark Knight)
I really hate hearing people say that Heath only got the nod because he's not with us anymore. If you saw the film, you know bloody well that his performance was one of the greatest things to witness all year. All sentimentality aside, I'd have been pissed if he'd been left off the consideration list; his Joker blew everyone and everything away (literally and figuratively). My review of the film:
PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN (Doubt)
Interesting to note that Hoffman's Capote won out over Heath's cowboy in Brokeback Mountain a couple of seasons ago. And this time around, a win would be well deserved, indeed. He left me completely dumbstruck when I saw Doubt; I watched every expression on his face, every bit of body language, and I was so impressed with the complexity and depth that he gave to the priest he played. I have a feeling that he'd be a lock in this category if not for Heath.
MICHAEL SHANNON (Revolutionary Road)
This was another "WHAT THE HELL???" moment for me when the nominations were announced. Shannon has been one of those guys who has turned in a lot of good performances as a character actor, and I'd like to see him in more films, but...I cannot for the life of me figure out how he landed on the short list with his very brief (and not terribly consequential) role in ...Road. He did a great job with what he had, but what they gave him wasn't much, and in my world it just doesn't feel like an Oscar kind of role. If anything, Leonardo DiCaprio should have gotten this nomination for the same movie. I like Shannon, and I liked what he did in the film, but it's not even in the same stratosphere as the above-mentioned performances.
ROBERT DOWNEY JR. (Tropic Thunder)
Aaaaaand yet another "WTF?!?" from me. Don't get me wrong; I adore RDJ, and think he should be swimming in Oscars by now, AND I haven't even seen the film in question yet (another renter)...so maybe I should just shaddap until I see what the deal is. But...seriously?? Of all the great parts he's played...??? Dev Patel (Slumdog Millionaire) should have gotten a shot at this instead. Or Leonardo, again. Or Colin Farrell for In Bruges! This one baffles me. Maybe it'll make more sense once I see Tropic Thunder, but I can't imagine a comedic performance in blackface alongside *shudder* Ben Stiller and Jack Black could possibly hold a candle to the other guys I mentioned.
JOSH BROLIN (Milk)
Again, haven't seen it yet, so I have no idea whatsoever about this one. His last few roles have impressed the hell out of me (and I kinda thought he might even get nominated for his brilliant portrayal of Dubya, actually), so I'll be waiting on this call.

Who I think SHOULD win: This sucks. I want Heath Ledger to get it, but knowing how much he hated award shows, plus the fact that he's not here to receive the recognition for his amazing role, I feel like Philip Seymour Hoffman should really be the one to walk away with the Oscar. I'm positive it'll be one of the two, and I know I'll be both happy and sad no matter which one wins.

Who I think WILL win: Heath. As a salute not only to the brilliance we've seen, but also to what we know we're going to miss out on.

______

BEST DIRECTOR

DANNY BOYLE (Slumdog Millionaire)
I love Danny Boyle. He's made so many of my absolute favourite films (Trainspotting, Shallow Grave, 28 Days Later, Millions), and he's never been recognized for any of them. Now he's been nominated for something that is miles away from his most famous endeavours, which gives him points for amazing versatility. The undertaking of such a huge production with Slumdog earned him a spot at the top of this list.
DAVID FINCHER (The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button)
Another one of my favourite directors. (I've forgiven him for the atrocity that was Zodiac.) And I love that he took on a project that's so different from the films for which he's best known. He, like Danny, has proven that he's no one-trick pony, and Benjamin had to be one hell of a big job. He pulled it off and the end product was beautiful.
STEPHEN DALDRY (The Reader)
If I'm not mistaken, this fellow has only directed two feature films - the first being The Hours - and is therefore batting a thousand in terms of nominations. He really caught the atmosphere in this one, so I'm glad he's gotten a nod, but I think it was his direction that caused the disconnect I felt through the first chunk of the movie. I'm not sure how I feel about who got left OFF the list as a result of his nomination (Clint, again, and Darren Aronofsky). I dunno. I think we can expect more good things from this guy, but I'd sort of like to see him establish himself a bit more before he starts collecting statues.
RON HOWARD (Frost/Nixon)
I liked the movie quite a bit, but...nothing about it felt like there was a Ron Howard signature to it, if that makes any sense. Had I not known it was his film, I wouldn't have been able to pick out his style. (Does he have one?) I generally like the movies he puts out, but as I said above, I think Eastwood or Aronofsky were overlooked and deserved a shot for their films more than Howard does this time.
GUS VAN SANT (Milk)
Once more: haven't seen it. Gus is hit-and-miss for me. (He, at least, has a distinctive style, like the first two nominees; sometimes it works, in films like Elephant, whereas other times it misfires - Psycho and Last Days come to mind.) I'll reserve judgment.

Who I think SHOULD win: Danny Boyle. The way he managed to weave that story together and never lost any momentum is extraordinary. But I can't say I'd be disappointed to see David Fincher get it, for similar reasons.

Who I think WILL win: Danny. He took such a unique approach to Slumdog, and made it into something unlike anything we've ever seen before, that I'd be surprised if anyone else won.

_____

BEST PICTURE (my rating out of five stars)

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON - ****
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE - *****
FROST/NIXON - *** and a half
THE READER - ****
MILK - N/A

Who I think SHOULD win: Slumdog Millionaire. Hands down.

Who I think WILL win: Having not yet seen Milk, I can't be confident in saying Slumdog will get it. I'm even a little nervous about Benjamin getting in there. But I think I'd have to put my chips on Slumdog. Here's hoping I'm right.

That took me TWO AND A HALF HOURS to write.

I'll post an actual poll (on my private blog) when the date gets closer, but in the meantime, fill me in: Which ones have you guys seen? What have you loved/hated? Have any of you seen the ones I haven't (and if so, are they worthy of their nominations)? Am I on crack for being so bent out of shape about the Clint Eastwood/Gran Torino thing?? (I'm also a bit baffled about the barely-there recognition for Revolutionary Road.)

Thoughts?

Celebrity Scandals: From Christian Bale to Steven Page to John Travolta (and back again?)

2009-02-07T08:20:00.004-05:00

It's been a long while since we've heard much from the Barenaked Ladies' camp. Steven Page's drug scandal in July 2008 was hushed within the month, if you follow the dates on the associated stories in the press. The hoopla did make the cover of MacLean's magazine, but beyond that, the newswire went quiet. The last info I managed to find was in November, when Jason Priestly inexplicably made the rounds defending his fellow Canuck:

_____

BNL's frontman 'upset' by drug scandal: Priestley

Updated Thu. Nov. 27 2008 10:50 AM ET

The Canadian Press [ click to read full article; truncated version below ]

TORONTO -- Former "90210" hunk Jason Priestley says he was as stunned as most Barenaked Ladies' fans when his longtime friend Steven Page was convicted on drug charges earlier this year.

The Vancouver-born actor, who forged a relationship with Page and other members of the quirky pop group in the 1990s, says he is among several friends rallying around the singer in the wake of Page's cocaine arrest in upstate New York.

"It was surprising," Priestley said Wednesday of the summer drug scandal in which Page was caught near Syracuse with cocaine.

"(I offered) all the support that he needed and whatever he needed to help him, whatever I could do to help. And I think everybody offered him that same support, how could you not?"

Last month, a New York state judge said Page would be acquitted of drug charges if he stayed clean for six months. Priestley said his friend is doing well, but is "upset" that he got caught up in the situation to begin with.

The former teen heartthrob said he planned to hang out with members of the Barenaked Ladies while he's in Toronto this weekend to host the Gemini Awards, which honour the best in Canadian drama, comedy and variety TV.

Priestley will be handing out trophies along with current "90210" star Shenae Grimes, who will appear as a presenter at Friday's glitzy gala.

[...]

Priestley said next September could also see a special DVD release of "Barenaked in America" to mark the film's 10-year anniversary. He said it would include extra footage and bonus material.

[...]

_______

Not exactly what you'd call "news". But after some digging, I did find one source stating the following: On October 28, Page appeared in court in Fayetteville, New York. Charges against him and the two women were reduced to misdemeanor possession. If Page complies with the terms of the arrangement for six months, including drug screening, the charges will be dropped. So we wait until April, then, to see if Stevie can keep himself out of trouble.

Also interesting - but not surprising whatsoever - is the radio silence following the death of John Travolta's son, Jett. The latest news from that camp has steered all attention away from the strange circumstances surrounding the tragedy, and has instead been focusing on the alleged extortion plot visited upon the Travoltas by a paramedic. A good PR move, really; it makes John and Kelly revert firmly back into Victim Mode, and makes others look like The Bad Guys. I'm curious about what the paramedic knows that would have been worth so much money, though... Stay tuned on that one.

Other celeb scandals, as I'm sure 99% of the planet now knows, are much more visible. For example...

(I do love that picture. And from here on in, I'd say it's a good idea to consider this post VERY NSFW.)

Christian Bale has offered an apology for the embarrassing freakout he had (also in July of '08 - was that a bad month for the star set, I wonder?) on the set of the upcoming Terminator film. If, by some strange chance, you haven't heard the audio or read a transcript of the expletive-laden outburst, you can find both in this post from OhNoTheyDidn't (just scroll up to access the links to the 4-minute long tirade; reading it just doesn't do it justice). Celebrity insanity at its finest!

I'm glad he's apologized, but I have to wonder if this will have any lasting effect on his career. Maybe, maybe not. Strange what people hold grudges about, y'know? Everyone got back to adoring Alec Baldwin PDQ after he was recorded in 2007 calling his 11-year-old daughter a "thoughtless little pig". Many would argue that's far worse than having it out with a colleague on a film set...but Baldwin never missed a step, and his Emmy shelves get more crowded all the time. Perhaps Christian Bale will be similarly fortunate in getting his once-adoring public's forgiveness.

(If you haven't heard it yet, the dance remix for "Bale Out!" is not to be missed. The "video" is below, although it's just a montage of photos featuring Bale looking crazy.)

This wouldn't be a post worth making if I didn't add one last list of Actors Gone Nuts. In my travels, I came across ReelzChannel.Com's collection of "WHEN ACTORS ATTACK!", a top ten list of the best (and weirdest) outbursts from famous folks over the years. I have to say that Casey Kasem's rant made me laugh the hardest, but the Quentin Tarantino interview is just squirm-worthy enough to enjoy, and...well, there's not much surprising about the likes of Bill O'Reilly going off on people, is there? (Be sure to check out someone's clever mashup of Bill versus Bale; it's bloody hysterical.)

One of these days I'll have to make up my OWN list of favourite celebrity meltdowns. But for now, the above bits o' scandal should tide us all over, yes?

Racism, Cultural Appropriation, and Writing The 'Other'.

2009-01-31T09:05:00.005-05:00

I'm copying this straight from my private blog (with minor edits), because it's an interesting subject, and up until recently I was ~~ignorant~~ unaware of the magnitude of the debate surrounding racism, white privilege, and specifically how it all ties into what authors - novice or pro, fanfiction or original - write and create. I don't pretend to have had a lot of personal experience with cultural appropriation, which is why I thought I'd open this up for all to read.

________________

I know I said I have nothing to say, and I still mostly don't, but there's a debate that's been raging for some time on teh intrawebz that I've somehow managed to only barely see. Until yesterday.

I have my opinions, of course, but I don't think it would add anything to the whole situation if I stated them at the moment. Opinions are completely personal and subjective and neither right nor wrong (though they may be mis- or uninformed), so I'll just leave that alone.

But I wanted to post this for any of you who haven't read anything about the Great Cultural Appropriation Debate of DOOM, a.k.a. RaceFail 2009 posts/conversations/debates/flame wars/dialogues that have been taking place on LiveJournal, here at Blogger, and all over the place. (There are also an intimidating list of links to various offshoots of the discussions in Rydra-Wong's LJ. CoffeeAndInk's journal is worth a look, too.) And I'm interested in your thoughts. Liberal White Guilt (and white privilege - that link is a very interesting primer for the completely uninitiated) has always been a sort of hard-to-pin-down subject for me, NOT because I don't realize it exists and is very real, but because I can never quite verbalize how I feel or what I mean (which may very well be the point, actually), but you guys are all very intelligent, educated, open-minded people, so I'm curious about what you think.

Is it ever okay for someone to write the Other? Where does the issue of cultural appropriation begin and end? Is it okay for a white male author to give his character a Person of Colour's voice and feel justified in saying he got it right? Is it understandable for PoCs to be offended by that attitude? (Neil Gaiman is an example I could use here; he has written black protagonists, and I never heard about any fallout from it, but then, he has never played the "I nailed it!" race card.) If someone "fully-abled" was to write a story about someone like me - someone who has certain disabilities - would I be offended by their assumption that they know what life is like for me? Can that comparison even be made? Are these things offensive in the reverse? (As in, if a black female author writes a white male character, or a gay man writes a straight woman [i.e. Chuck Palahniuk - he does so in every book he's written, and IMO he does it exceptionally well], or a disabled person writes an "average" and "able" character...are these things fair game, too, for being considered possibly ignorant and hurtful? Or is it just the white privilege that causes such a furor?) Is it perhaps less about what's written and more about the attitude that sometimes accompanies it?

Do straight white people have to be more careful than other societal groups? Are apologies owed for things people never realized before?

Is everyone, no matter how much they deny it to themselves and others, racist??

Courtesy of LJ user Emiweebee via my friend C., I'll give you a good place to start, for those who are interested in discussing this very delicate and complex issue. All I ask (and I doubt I even need to, with you lot) is that we all remain respectful and open-minded with one another.

Start here.

Tell me what you think. Comments here are wide open, though anything I deem deliberately offensive or hurtful will be deleted without warning. I'm just interested to hear as many civilized points of view on the subject as possible.

Disclaimer: The links and the journals of the above-mentioned people do not necessarily reflect my opinions on some, any or all of the issues being discussed. I'm not promoting anyone's agenda, nor am I singling them out as scapegoats; I'm simply choosing LJs/blogs that contain worthwhile links which can help show the big picture of what's been going on, back and forth. The only person mentioned in this entry with whom I am associated - and who I adore! - is my friend C. I can't vouch for anyone else or what is in their posts. Just wanted to clarify that.

(The above image links to another appropriation issue, involving Native rights and respect for their culture.)

A rather unique list from Nerve.Com ...

2009-01-11T10:18:00.004-05:00

You know how much I love lists. And I've been told how much you guys love having them so you can avoid doing actual work. I know, I know - I should wait to post this until tomorrow, so it can be used and abused on a Monday morning. But I have to be up at the crack of hell myself (and I don't get 'net access in my office, thankyouverymuch), so we'll have to get an early start on this one.

I stumbled across it quite by accident while signing up for a pledge to blog about an influential woman on March 24th (an entry about that is forthcoming), and while reading the short story that inspired "Secretary", one of my favourite movies. (That, too, probably merits its own entry. Or, possibly, a fundraiser to pay for the psychotherapy I clearly need.) It's a top 40 list of pop culture icons, all of whom we know but many of whom we've completely forgotten.

Click the photo to go to the complete list (I shan't be lifting ALL of it from Nerve.Com), but first have a taste of some highlights:

We've all been there. You're yukking it up at a party and someone cracks a one-liner about Kato Kaelin over their gin and tonic. A few people chuckle, a few more ask, "Who?" and you quietly wonder: what the hell happened to that guy? Nerve's got your answer with our exhaustively researched look at the forty greatest lost icons in pop-culture history. Come on in and catch up with the walking ephemera everyone's only mostly forgotten.

I don't know that I've ever been to a party where the guests are bourgeois enough to make Kato Kaelin jokes, but..sure. I've no doubt attended a few during which at least some of the remaining 39 "lost icons" have come up, and I imagine some of you have been at those shindigs right next to me. Hell, you might've been the one making the obscure cracks yourself!

Never in a million years would I have dreamed that some intrepid journalist would track down, for our information and to satiate our Need To Know, a whole whack of Barker's Beauties from The Price Is Right. Complete with video, no less! Maybe YOU could sleep at night without knowing, but not all of us are so fortunate.

One of my favourites is the update on Michael Fay, the American kid who...well, just read this:

Michael Fay was your average American teenager: hyperactive, bored, prone to defacing property. In the early 1990s, he touched off a geopolitical firestorm when Singapore officials sentenced him to six canings for vandalizing cars and stealing street signs. The punishment so shocked Western sensibilities, President Bill Clinton himself asked for clemency, succeeding only in reducing the sentence to four canings. So it was that on May 4, 1994, Fay was stripped naked, bent over on his arms, strapped to a trestle, and struck with a half-inch rattan rod. Fay has largely disappeared from the public eye since, surfacing here and there for assorted petty crimes: reckless driving, possession of marijuana and drug paraphernalia, and sniffing butane (which he blamed on the Singapore ordeal). Four strokes clearly wasn't enough.

Remember him?? I wonder how long it took before he could sit down again.

And has it ever occurred to you to wonder whatever became of the baby who famously appeared on the cover of Nirvana's Nevermind album?? I bet it hasn't, but I know you're curious now. You've just gotta click to find out where Jessica Hahn and Joey Buttafuoco ended up. And the "Where's the beef?" lady. It's compelling stuff. Hard-hitting. Christiane Amanpour should watch her back.

Honestly, WHO THINKS UP THESE LISTS??

Whoever it is, I love them.

Enjoy your end-of-the-weekend dose of brain candy, my friends. Or save it for your dreary Monday morning. Either way, don't say I never gave you anything.

Travolta's son dies...at the hands of L. Ron?

2009-01-03T07:32:00.006-05:00

I've been quite sick for the past week, so you'd think I'd have had my TV on a lot. Not so. In fact, it was my mother who told me last night that John Travolta's eldest son, Jett, had been found dead earlier that day in their vacation home in the Bahamas.

You have to know my first thought was, "Ah, yes. The Scientologists. Bet he was sick and they opted not to treat him."

Initially, though, it looked like a freak accident - the boy had a seizure and hit his head in the bathtub. It's terrible. The kid was only 16. So, for a fleeting moment, I felt sympathy for his parents.

And then I got online.

Let's go back a bit, to when I first saw this utterly psycho video of Tom Cruise, which was yanked from YouTube almost instantly, but Gawker.Com has bravely hosted it ever since, despite countless legal threats.

I remember thinking, as I watched it and gaped at the insanity before me, that I wondered how the hell John Travolta - who I believe is an even higher-ranking member of the Church - had managed to keep a relatively sane profile to the masses. Now, of course, I figure he just has better handlers, because apparently there's been a war raging over his son Jett for the last 14 years. Why? Well, Jett was, by all accounts other than those of his parents, autistic, but to declare that would be to admit that he was a "Degraded Being", in Scientology-speak. So instead they blamed carpet cleansing agents used in his childhood bedroom for giving him Kawasaki's Disease (a very, very rare autoimmune illness that usually resolves itself by the age of 8). Because at least then they wouldn't have to deal with that whole "OH NOES PSYCHIATRY IS TEH EEEEEVILLLL!!1one!" issue.

(Was that glib of me?)

Now I'm reading articles about how Jett was nonverbal (confirmation links will be posted when I find a solid backing for this) and required 24/7 care. First of all, that would explain that whole "Travolta Caught Kissing His M Nanny" debacle...

Well, okay, no. It doesn't explain that. But it explains why they had a caretaker for their kids, which had puzzled me a bit, since their youngest is 9 and Kelly Preston has publicly stated that she's set aside acting to be a hands-on mom.

So they have this guy on the payroll to watch over Jett, whose alleged autism has never been treated (much to the outrage of Travolta's own brother) and who has shown some sort of seizure disorder in his life. This man was, apparently, the one to find Jett dead in the bathroom on Friday morning. Which wouldn't be strange, necessarily...

...except for the 12-hour gap between the last time Jett was seen and the time his caretaker bothered to check on him.

The kid goes into the bathroom and doesn't come out...but nobody wonders? And nobody heard him fall??

Huh??

Still, all of this could be blamed on bad parenting or a series of bad choices or...whatever. But I remembered reading about the much-ballyhooed father of Scientology and the death of his son, so I wandered over to Wikipedia to check the guy out.

There's a whole lot to read, my friends. Like his weird relationship with Aleister Crowley (whose name has long been associated, rightly or not, with the Church of Satan), his involvement with "sex magick rituals", his bigamy, and the beating and torture of his wives and children.

Heck of a guy!

But here is what is specifically said about his son:

In March 1952, Hubbard moved to Phoenix, Arizona. Hubbard started the Scientology religion while he was living in Phoenix. In mid-1952, Hubbard expanded Dianetics into an "applied religious philosophy" which he called Scientology. That year, Hubbard also married his third wife, Mary Sue Whipp, to whom he remained married until his death (though separated by the early 70s, when Mary Sue was incarcerated for her involvement in Operation Snow White). With Mary Sue, Hubbard fathered four more children — Diana, Quentin, Suzette and Arthur — over the next six years.

Quentin Hubbard, born in 1954, was groomed to one day replace him as head of the Scientology organization. Quentin was uninterested in his father's plans and had preferred to become a pilot. He was also deeply depressed, allegedly because he was homosexual. Quentin attempted suicide in 1974, then in 1976 died under circumstances that might have been suicide or murder.

My point, I guess, is that people who keep saying (and yes, they're already saying it - blogs the world over are alight with the debate) the church couldn't possibly have anything to do with Jett's tragic death should look at the source. It's NOT an organization that has a history of taking care of children, and the man whose books they live by and who they worship and want to emulate is a scary bloody figurehead, indeed.

ETA: Courtesy of a kind user over on IMDb, we can throw another log onto the "Hubbard hated kids" fire; apparently he started running into trouble with the law over his brutality and insanity 50 years ago. (I find it darkly amusing that "Dianetics" was called a new brand of psychology.)

ETA II: Another rather disturbing link. Here's a report from an ex-Scientology church member explaining what Scientology will do to handle Jett Travolta's death.

I wonder when the tireless defenders of the "church" will add it all up. You would think, if nothing else, that evidence of Travolta flying to a Celebrity Scientology Centre before bothering to claim his son's body might raise a few eyebrows. (Who knew you could track down someone's private plane and flightplan online? WILL WONDERS NEVER CEASE??)

The fact remains that we'll never know what really happened. The moneymen have surely begun to spin this tale into oblivion. Latest reports confirm that Jett will be cremated in the Bahamas; they're not even going to wait to return home (even though Johnny boy has already flown there once; nothing suspicious there at ALL).

It's so sad that the children of these people have lost their lives because of these bizarre cult rules. Jett was a "Degraded Being"? For being born autistic?? The only thing "degraded" here is the IQ of anyone who'd let their families suffer because a sci-fi whack job wrote a lousy book.

For more scary reading, I'd recommend Xenu.Net. And I wonder how long it'll be before I get the C&D order to remove this blog post. Bets, anyone?

Things that go 'bump'...

2008-12-30T03:29:00.004-05:00

Maybe it's just the high fever with which I've been wrestling for the past several days, but I must admit to being kinda freaked out by this photo/audio/video collection of ghostly goings-on. I'm not, normally. Freaked out, that is. Lord knows I've seen and heard more than enough inexplicable things firsthand in my life (and a remarkable upswing in the past year or two, oddly) to carry me through; you'd think I'd be used to it. But...not necessarily.

I happened across the above-linked site quite by chance, as it was mentioned in a thread on the gossip blog to which I occasionally contribute (OH NO THEY DIDN'T), and being that it's past 3 a.m. and I'm alone, in the dark, I thought it would surely be the best time to prove to myself, once again, that I don't get creeped out by such things.

Hmm. Perhaps not. I've turned my TV back on now...although, as you'll see if you watch the video, that might not be much in the way of salvation.

Hauntings. I'm sure there's a statistic out there that would tell us what percentage of the western population is skeptical versus those who believe in the possibility. What I can say for certain is that I have a lot of friends who have no doubt whatsoever that there are things we can't explain. I can also say that I've spent my life cocking my head to one side, bemused, at some seriously weird stuff. Would I call myself a believer? No. Which is strange, I realize, because the weird occurrences to which I've been witness are things I don't even question. But I'm still reluctant to lump myself in with those whack jobs on the W Network who spend nights in abandoned psych wards, running around like fools and screaming whenever their tacky night vision cameras pick up so much as a shadow.

Still, though...it's ignorant to think we - the living, breathing, current versions of us - are the only way to exist. Isn't it?

Have you ever had an experience you can't wave away via logic?

An awful lot of legitimate research has gone into communication with the afterlife. It's not all just silly shows like "Dead Famous" or "Most Haunted". To be fair, a lot of reputable institutions have poured years and bazillions of dollars into figuring out why certain photos turn out strangely (that's a great site, by the way - quite the collection), or whether there's anything substantive behind the phenomenon known as EVP.

Is it live? Is it Memorex?

Who can say for sure?

All I know, right now, is that even as a grown-up, I'm not immune to the chills inspired by the likes of that video at 3 a.m., and I'm not quite sure why.

Interested in more folks' stories? Check out the Hauntings Community @ LiveJournal. At least that way I'll know I'm not the only one awake in the middle of the night, listening a little too carefully to every creak of every floorboard.

The Annual Christmas Phone Meme!

2008-12-24T04:05:00.005-05:00

I'm reposting this from my LJ after several successful years of hilarity. The only difference is that, because this is public and searchable, I shan't be posting my number right here for the world to see. Instead, if you'd like it (or want to direct me to yours), leave a comment here with your email address (or email me), and we'll do it that way. Also: For those who are able to see my Facebook contact info, you'll find the proper number there!

Now to the post, then...

Guess what time it is?

It's time for the

Annual Christmas voicemail meme!

Get out your phones!

I don't remember who started this, but we've had so much fun with it over the past few years, I thought I'd open myself up to it again. So many of us hardly get to talk these days, and what could be more festive than a message from a friend??

THE RULES:

post your phone number in your blog/on Facebook so your friends can call and leave goofy messages (you can identify yourself, or, as a number of you have done in the past, you can mess with the recipient's head by being anonymous and simply leaving hints about who you are). A lot of you already have your numbers posted in your contact info, so just throw it into a note for friends to see!
make sure you don't answer your phone - this is for MESSAGES, not conversations, seeing as everyone's busy at this time of year & probably can't sit still long enough to have long (and expensive!) chats with half of their friends list!
if there's a good time at which to call you, specify it in your post (say, 8 p.m.-11 p.m. in your time zone, or all day Christmas Day, etc.), so people know when they'll get your voicemail/when there's no risk of waking anyone up/etc.
make sure you check out your friends' blogs/Facebook notes etc. for other willing victims and call them too! Sing carols, tell jokes, ramble incessantly... Whatever you want to say or do, do it!

So there you have it. Ask for my number. Call me. I shan't be around my phone at all on Xmas Eve day or night, nor on Christmas Day, and there's no danger of it disturbing anyone, so you can call any time today, all night tonight (yes, even 4 a.m.), or tomorrow, if you like. It's open 24/7. And no, it's not my cell phone, because we all know that's ~~been~~ ALWAYS buggy.

Now have at it! Most of you already know I have the world's best outgoing message. And I'll check in on my comments and emails later to see who among you have done the same...'cos if you post this, I WILL CALL. [/Field Of Dreams moment]

LET THE MEME BEGIN. POST YER NUMBERS AN' WIN A PRIZE.

(If you consider a call from me a "prize". HAH. But I take requests, and I may sing, or recite verses. I'm like a box o' chocolates, folks. And, apparently, so are you - I get the weirdest calls from you guys... They amuse me so. Some of them are still saved from two years ago, even!)

Happy holidays, everyone!

Freaky Friday - Serial killers galore! (NSFW)

2008-12-05T07:35:00.005-05:00

In honour of my friend Helena, who I finally got to meet while she was in Toronto (visiting allll the way from Australia, no less!) this week, I thought I'd do a little morbid-yet-entertaining list. Everyone needs something a little bit warped to start the weekend off right, yes? Helena shares my twisted fascination with all things forensic, which turned a lot of heads while we were out for dinner (reading a book about serial killing) and later at her hostel (when we were approached by another traveller who just had to hear our conversation about sociopaths a bit more closely!). For that reason, then, I present to you...

Top 10 Unknown Serial Killers

(courtesy of AskMen.Com; it's a bit disturbing that it's filed under "Entertainment"...)

A word of warning: much of this may be NSFW (Not Safe For Work), so consider yourselves told! It's not full of graphic photos, sure, but it is deranged. Only the strong of stomach and the demented of mind should proceed.

10) Gilles de Rais: The Sadistic Aristocrat - Despite a staggering 80 to 600 body count, the man regarded by many as the prototype of today’s serial killer barely cracks the top 10. This is because historical records are unreliable and Gilles de Rais’ murderous statistics cannot be proven.

De Rais was a wealthy and powerful 15th century French nobleman who once fought side by side with Joan of Arc. De Rais had a sick obsession with young boys and preferred victims who resembled himself as a child. The Sadistic Aristocrat, as he came to be known, lured blond-haired, blue-eyed peasant boys to his stately home where he and a few assumed accomplices raped, tortured and mutilated them. In 1440, the ecclesiastical court in Nantes hanged the monster before torching his body -- just to be on the safe side

Seriously psychotic: De Rais would sit on the stomach of his dying victim and pleasure himself.
9) Carl Panzram: Rage Personified - Many serial killers often rely on charm to seduce their victims into their clutches, but very few had Panzram’s qualities: a sense of humor and a sense -- albeit sparse -- of some regret. Panzram’s commitment to mayhem was as disturbing as it was frank and unapologetic. After being sentenced to death for killing a man in prison, he threatened to kill anyone who tried to have his verdict overturned.

In his autobiography, Panzram: A Journal of Murder, he employed a matter-of-fact tone in confessing to 21 murders and the rape of 1,000 boys, adding: “For all these things I am not the least bit sorry.” However, Panzram did express regret for one thing: being born. Since childhood, he considered himself so incessantly angry that he called himself Rage Personified.

Seriously psychotic: After raping and killing a boy Panzram claimed: "His brains were coming out of his ears when I left him. I am not sorry. My conscience doesn’t bother me. I sleep sound and have sweet dreams.”
8) Bender Family: The Bloody Benders - Be it ever so humble, the Kansas shack that the Benders called home in 1872 was still a busy, inviting place open to the public as an inn for weary travelers. Wealthy-looking guests were always seated at the head of their modest dinner table, conveniently placed in front of a hanging canvas. John Bender’s beautiful and charming daughter Kate was effective bait and often told the guests their fortunes as her father, sneaking behind the large curtain, prepared to slam a hammer into their heads. Later, The Bloody Benders would strip the body of all valuables and bury the remains in their orchard.

This family affair functioned with great efficiency for approximately one year before people caught on. However, it is said that the Bender clan got away and never actually faced justice. In fact, the family became almost mythical, and stories of various members popping up all over the U.S. persisted for many years.

Seriously psychotic: As if a hammer in the skull weren’t enough, John Bender slit his victim’s throats for good measure.
7) Hélène Jegado: The Pious Poisoner - Jegado, a domestic servant in 19th century France, must have been an impatient woman: If someone irked her, she didn’t give them many opportunities to apologize.

From 1833 to 1841, at least 36 people -- the vast majority of them employers or boarders who had the poor judgment to reprimand her -- wound up dead from arsenic poisoning. Because of her devout and sincere nature, authorities routinely ruled The Pious Poisoner out as a suspect. In 1851, when she hastily declared her innocence without actually being accused, The Pious Poisoner was arrested and convicted of at least three murders. A year later, Jegado’s neck met the guillotine.

Seriously psychotic: Jegado’s first victims included a priest and her own sister.
6) Andrei Chikatilo: The Rostov Ripper - Poor little Andrei Chikatilo; his mother beat him every time he wet the bed, but it’s hard to blame her when you consider that she had to share the bed with him. The Rostov Ripper’s killing spree began in 1978 with the murder of a 9-year-old girl and continued unabated through 52 more victims across 12 brutal years. The Soviet government did their part by covering up the crimes they considered embarrassing and preventing parents from taking protective measures for their children. When word finally did get out, locals feared a werewolf was on the loose.

Finally caught in 1990, Chikatilo spent the duration of his trial locked in a cage for his own safety. After receiving 52 death sentences he addressed the court, placing much of the blame for his crimes on the shoulders of the Soviet Regime. On February 15, 1994, The Rostov Ripper’s death penalty was fulfilled with a bullet behind his right ear.

Seriously psychotic: Chikatilo ejaculated while stabbing his first victim, making him realize just how aroused he was by the prospect of murder -- hence the 12-year killing spree.

Ehch's note: I actually do know all about Chikatilo; I've seen his Biography courtesy of A&E many, many times. If you ever come across the show, watch it - the guy's eyes will haunt you forever.
5) Gerard John Schaefer: The Florida Sex Beast - By definition, serial killers are loathsome folks, but Gerard John Schaefer was just downright despicable. As a boy, Schaefer’s hobbies included killing animals, wearing panties and peeping through windows. Despite his strange childhood activities, he eventually became a Florida cop. While on patrol, The Florida Sex Beast used his badge to abduct two teenage girls, but they escaped before he could rape and murder them. Claiming he was trying to teach the girls not to hitchhike he called his sergeant to say he’d done “something foolish.” Schaefer was fired and arrested, but while out on bail he raped and killed two other teenage girls. Police put the two incidents together and Schaefer was given two life sentences.

A search of Schaefer’s home -- which he shared with his mom -- found evidence linking him to the disappearance of at least eight other girls. Ultimately, authorities believed they could tie him to as much as 30 murders, but Schaefer maintained his innocence. In prison, he kept busy filing frivolous lawsuits; he even tried to sue a writer for suggesting he was fat. As a former cop, a sex offender and a jailhouse snitch, it should come as no surprise that The Florida Sex Beast was stabbed to death in prison.

Seriously psychotic: Committing the “ultimate betrayal” by using the badge is about as low as you can go.
4) Elizabeth Báthory: The Bloody Lady of Cachtice - The Bloody Lady of Cachtice, a sadistic 16th century countess, is still the most infamous serial killer in the history of Hungary and Slovakia. Inside her own Hungarian castle, Elizabeth Báthory functioned with virtual impunity. She lured peasant girls to work as maids and enticed the daughters of lower nobility with lessons on etiquette, snaring her victims under false pretenses.

With the help of a handful of accomplices, Báthory enjoyed starving, freezing, and torturing her victims. The Bloody Lady racked up a significant body count -- estimated to be from 36 to as many as 200. The majority of her accomplices were put to death, but Báthory’s wealth and influence earned her the 16th century’s version of aristocratic house arrest: imprisonment in her own castle.

Seriously psychotic: Elizabeth Báthory’s favorite pastime included burning, biting and mutilating the genitalia of her victims.

Ehch's note: You can't call yourself an "amateur expert" on murder (or vampires!) without knowing the name - and proclivities - of The Countess. This list must be for amateur amateurs only. [/forensic snobbery]
3) Friedrich (Fritz) Haarmann: The Butcher from Hanover - Fritz Haarmann, an unassuming and sympathetic-looking man, used his friendly manner to serve him well as both a police informant and a sexual sadist. Over six years he murdered at least 24 vagrants and male prostitutes -- killings he considered an act of love. Haarman only wanted to bring peace to his victims. It all came to an end when the discarded skulls of his victims began washing up on the shore of the river Leine.

The Butcher from Hanover had a strict preference for boys he found handsome. In fact, in 1925, while in prison awaiting his execution (by beheading), he was shown a photo of a missing boy whom the police believed Haarmann had killed. After one look at the ugly boy’s picture he scoffed at the idea of killing such an ungainly kid.

Seriously psychotic: Haarmann insisted he was “driven by beauty and sensuality.” Instead of letting a young boy’s allure bring him to tears, he would bite his victim’s Adam’s apple and chew through their throat.
2) Karl Denke: The Ziębice Cannibal - Everyone knew and seemed to like Karl Denke. He was a good Christian who played the organ at church. Denke supported himself with a small business selling a variety of goods door to door, from leather belts and shoelaces to boneless pork. He was held in such high regard that he was known affectionately as Papa Denke. But this was all before he jumped off the deep end.

In December of 1924, a man stumbled into police headquarters claiming Denke had attacked him with an axe. Although police initially found this impossible to believe, Denke was arrested and put in jail. As authorities went to search his home, he committed suicide. This should have been their first clue to Ziebice Cannibal’s murderous history.

The body count, composed mostly of beggars and journeymen extended the courtesy of a place to stay, reached anywhere from 20 to 40.

Seriously psychotic: Inside Danke’s home authorities found belts and snaps made of human skin, shoelaces made from human hair and jars of pickled human flesh -- his famous “boneless pork.”
1) Javed Iqbal: The Boy Hunter - Hailing from Punjab, Pakistan, Javed Iqbal could well be one of the most detested men in history. Iqbal went to great lengths to surround himself with young boys. He opened video arcades, schools, aquariums, and gyms. He also married the older sister of one boy to keep him close by, and he married off his own sister to another boy to keep him close by. Iqbal was arrested a number of times on charges of sodomy, but his father’s money always got him off.

In his eventual confession, The Boy Hunter claimed to have killed 100 boys in only five months, preferring to drug, rape, strangle, then chop them into pieces. Iqbal would then either store the bodies in a vat of acid near his house or dump them into the sewer.

When the judge sentenced Iqbal to death in 2000, it was suggested that he be strangled in front of the victims’ families, his body chopped to bits and finally, stored in a vat of acid just as he’d done to his victims. Officially, he committed suicide while in prison, but an autopsy suggested he may have been murdered. It was irrelevant to his family who refused to collect his remains, claiming that he had died to them the day he confessed.

Seriously psychotic: The Boy Hunter was said to have declared in his confession: “I am not ashamed of my actions... I have no regrets. I killed 100 children… It cost me 120 rupees ($2 USD) to erase each victim.”

So! There's your cheery Friday morning list! You'll notice, too, that where possible I added a link to each of the killers' names, so you can further pursue their sordid stories on Wikipedia. Because I know there are some of you who are just as revolted and yet hopelessly fascinated by this stuff as I am.

And no, you can't see my Serial Killer Trading Card collection.

(If it makes it easier to think I'm kidding, please do feel free.)

TGIF, eh?

Time to gloat: Celebs without makeup 2008

2008-11-25T08:10:00.005-05:00

This was (and possibly still is) meant to be a post at Oh No They Didn't!, but while LiveJournal is down, you guys can ogle at the astonishing pics yourselves. (In both a good and a bad way, depending on which celeb you're ogling.) I'm hoping this will make up for the distinct lack of levity in my previous post about sexual harassment (many, many thanks to those who passed that entry around, or posted it on your own blogs, Facebook profiles, and emailed me or commented in my LJ with your responses - you're all very kind, and very brave); I need to offset that with some fluff here and there, lest I depress you all to bits.

Without further ado, then... (I should add that the commentary is NOT MINE.)

Bare (or almost) faced stars

Most of these celebs are just as beautiful without the red carpet spackle.

Admit it: sometimes it's nice to see that the glamourous ladies that have paraded across our screens and magazine covers in 2008 aren't all they're cracked up to be. Here we have a collection of 13 of those gorgeous women sans cover-up; which ones will still stand up as true untouched beauties??

Isla Fisher
Isla is seen here 'au naturel' with her little one in a park. We think she looks great with or without make up. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Jennifer Garner
Jennifer is seen here on a day out with her adorable daughter. It looks like she didn’t feel the need to put on any make up, and we agree. She looks good without it. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Kate Moss
It looks like the years of being an international supermodel are starting to wear on Kate, but even though she's not wearing any make up, she still looks half decent. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Kim Kardashian
This curvacious lady has gotten back into her routine, and she is seen here leaving the salon after getting a mani and pedi. This is what you call a natural beauty. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Heidi Klum
This supermodel looks good in and out of the ads, whether she's wearing make up or not. Heidi is one good looking momma. (credit: INF)

Mischa Barton
Mischa looks calm and relaxed as she heads out for her day. We like to think that no make up works for her. (credit: INF)

Uma Thurman
Uma is looking just like a normal mom hanging out with her son. Even though she's known for her killer good looks, Uma still looks great without make up. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Jessica Biel
Jessica gave a speech in Las Vegas to support Barack Obama in his presidential campaign. If she can go in front of millions of people with little to no make up on and still look stunning, then we say all the power to her! (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Jessica Alba
Jessica was spotted heading to dinner with a pal and looking oh so comfortable in her natural look. This beauty doesn’t need to think twice when she decided not to wear make up, she looks great either way. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Marcia Cross
This desperate house wife looks just about the same with or without make up on. In her case, going au naturel isn't a crime. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Leann Rimes
Leann looks just smitten here, as she's seen leaving a medical building with her hubby. We think Leann is one of few that can pull of this look and still look fabulous while doing so. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Kate Hudson
Kate is seen here at LAX en route to London, and looking a bit stressed. Maybe she should get some sleep on that flight so at least she can look more refreshed despite her lack of makeup. (credit: Most Wanted Pictures)

Madonna
Madonna is looking a little worn out and her age is starting show, with lack of make up. Maybe it's just her fast paced world tour taking a bigger toll on her than expected? (credit: Devaney/WireImage)

Saved the scariest for last!! And yep, they were right: I do feel better, and I enjoyed a gloat or two, as I hope readers/fellow ONTDers have. A Kardashian being called a natural beauty?!? Um...no. But damn you, JAlba. DAMN YOU.

[ cosmetics-free source ]

On sexual harassment. And worse.

2008-11-23T00:32:00.004-05:00

I don't update this thing for a month, and then I come back with this? Yes, you have permission to scowl at me for this. But it's timely. It's not my place to go into the details of why, but I'll give a very brief overview:

A friend of mine has a daughter who is...let's leave it at "middle-school age". I adore my friend, and I adore her daughter; I love how strong my friend is, how opinionated she can be without treading on others, and she's clearly passing that same inner and outer strength along to her young lady. But I don't think it's just my affection for them that has me so outraged over what happened to this girl a few days ago. It makes it worse, yeah, but I think I'd probably be sickened by any permutation of this. And I expect you will be, too, which is why I'm writing about it.

This girl - who we'll just call A. - went to school, as usual. While waiting for the bus to arrive at her usual stop at the end of the day, a few of her classmates - boys - approached her and started doing that thing that all adolescent boys do. You know, whatever the modern day equivalent to pigtails in the inkwell would be. Teasing, kidding around, kinda being jerks, but...whatever. It's all part of the experience of entering teenage-dom, right?

Right. Until the tone of it all changed and turned into something that no adult woman should have to tolerate, much less a girl, no matter how strong and smart she is. A girl just waiting at a bus stop, like any other day, in broad daylight, with other kids around. Lascivious remarks, graphic objectification, all culminating in actual physical contact that, while she wasn't harmed in a bodily sense, was way over the line of what any boy (or girl) should ever be allowed to do to a classmate.

Because I haven't yet gotten permission, as it were, to write this about A., I'm trying to refrain from going into too many details, which I know will make it hard to convey the horror of it...but I can draw a parallel for you between A.'s experience and something that happened to me when I was a few years older than her.

When I was about 16, I had a boyfriend. He and I got together when I was 15 and he was 17, and we were together into university. In our high school, there was nobody who didn't know we were a couple, and I think that probably insulated me from a lot of things that other guys might have chosen to visit upon me. But there was one guy friend who, out of nowhere, opened my eyes to the unpleasantness that can mark male-female relationships. He was a friend of my boyfriend, too, so it never struck any of us as weird that I would occasionally talk to him on the phone at night, after school, before bed, about class projects or pieces of music we were studying or our respective relationships.

But one night was different. One night, in the midst of him trying to explain how to get an A+ on my paper about A Tale Of Two Cities, he just changed the subject completely and started asking totally inappropriate questions about my physical relationship with my boyfriend. I deflected for as long as I could, and then he switched tactics. He asked me if I "ever got [my]self off". I think I laughed, either out of surprise or because I thought he had to be kidding. This wasn't something we'd ever so much as hinted at discussing before, and it sure as hell wasn't something I was up for talking about - with him or with anyone!

So I said the first thing that came to mind. I snorted indignantly and said, "Why? Do YOU?"

To which he responded, "What do you think I've being doing ever since we got on the phone?"

I think I'll take a moment to let the feeling of revulsion I still feel, sixteen years later, pass.

I hung up. We never talked on the phone again, and whenever I had to see him, at school or at parties or at music functions, I would dodge him as best I could. On a couple of occasions I had to come right out and tell him that I was ending my association with him. There was even an incident, later, where a group of us were walking back toward our high school on a lunch break, and he took it upon himself to smack me in the back of the head several times for no apparent reason (bear in mind that he was 18 by now); that resulted in my boyfriend grabbing him by the throat and holding him up against the chalkboard in our music room, threatening to kill him if he ever came near me again. The freezing-out process eventually led to him engaging in some really distressing stalker-type behaviour, including one night when he drove to my house in the worst imaginable blizzard to deliver my Christmas gift, and even as I hid in the living room, out of sight, with my boyfriend (who by now wanted to kill the guy), and let my father try to convince the scary bastard that I wasn't home, he wouldn't let up. He just wanted to come in for a minute; he just wanted to leave the box on the kitchen counter; he just wanted to leave a note; he just, he just, he just... My father finally made him go, back out into that hellish weather at 10 p.m. on a weeknight, and if I remember correctly, I turned to my boyfriend and started to cry, asking him, "What did I do to make him think this was okay?"

People who know me know that I'm no shrinking violet. If there's a "type" who would normally blame themselves for not reacting strongly enough to something, or for "letting" someone do or say things to them without punishing them immediately and painfully, I have never been that type. But that was probably the first glimpse I got into the other side, the dark side, where a girl realizes that she's not necessarily as prepared or equipped or defensive enough to deal with the things an arrogant, entitled, sick bastard will visit upon her when he gets the chance.

Many of you know that I have, unfortunately, come up against worse incidents since that high school situation. And in me turning to my family and friends for support and advice, I learned just how many of you, too, have stories that vary in detail but that all end in the same feeling of anger and helplessness and fear. We're all women who thought we should have reacted differently, that we ought to have visited bodily harm on the swine who thought they could take whatever they wanted from us, and we've all had moments when we beat ourselves up for not doing what we should have done. We all know that's just not right - that turning these things into our own fault is salt in our own wounds, and is simply wrong - but we do it anyway. We spend days, weeks or years asking why we didn't break the guy's nose or take him to court or even avoid whatever situation we found ourselves in, and it's a waste of energy. It's not our fault that there are people out there who'll wait for you to be vulnerable, even for a second,and then move in for the kill...whatever form it takes.

Of course, I can say this, but as some of you - those closest to the ordeal I suffered in April - well know, I've done exactly the same thing. I've run the gamut of self-blame and am still caught in the "it could have been worse; it could have been rape" cycle of thought. I know I shouldn't do that to myself, but it creeps in sometimes, all the same.

Back to A., then. She's younger now than I was then, and what she dealt with a few days ago was, in many ways, creepier than my Phone Call From Hell. She had to hear things like that from boys who were right there, physically, in front of her. And brava to her, because she did everything right, and with any luck those boys won't be bothering anyone again anytime soon. But my reason for writing this is simply to express my disgust and horror at what little girls are apparently having to deal with from their peers. Hell, I was freaked out by my situation at the age of 16, when I had a built-in protection system in the form of a football-player boyfriend; I simply cannot imagine how I'd have felt, going back to school the next day, had I been a few years younger or less insulated. How I'd have dealt with it had it been more than one creep, and was instead a group of friends who thought it was okay to say vile things to me and lay their hands on me. I'm so proud of A. for having her head on so straight; she's dealt with this beautifully, and I applaud her and her parents for just taking care of business and getting on with it. Here I am, days later, still furious and horrified on her behalf. Less than half my age, and the girl has more poise than I do.

So what stands to be gained from typing all of this? I don't know. Awareness, maybe, that these incidents are happening earlier and earlier in young people's lives. Commiseration, perhaps, among those of us who've had to deal with someone harassing or assaulting us, treating us like their own personal playground while we freeze up inside and are left with scars that probably never fully fade. Another friend of mine was brave enough to share her experiences with sexual assault in her blog some time ago, and I remember turning to her for advice and comfort when I had my demoralizing experience - first with the assailant, then with the police - this past spring. I guess my writing this is my way of saying that I hope I can do for someone else what that friend, and others, did for me in the sleepless nights that followed my assault.

And in all of this there is a young lady who's now been introduced to one of the most unsavoury parts of human nature, at such an early age, and she's dealing with it. It bothers me that we can't protect anyone from this sort of thing, because it's so...ubiquitous. Kids can't even just be kids anymore. They instead get smacked in the face - or the backside, if you will - with things nobody should have to confront, least of all a fledgling teenager who should still believe in respect and harmless crushes and pigtails in the inkwell.

It's heartbreaking.

Celebrities, for better or worse.

2008-10-22T06:23:00.003-04:00

Last night on DramaRama there was a slide show of a whole lot of before-and-after pictures, each featuring a current A-List celebrity. It's safe to say that most of these superstars have made MAJOR improvements to their looks over the years, but seeing these pics side by side makes it a whole lot more obvious just who has had what done in their plastic surgeon's office! Here's hoping this blog doesn't cut off any of the photos, so you can see them in all their spectacular...glory? Horror? Guess it depends on which one you're looking at. Check out these nightmarish flashbacks to see who's gone under the knife (and who should go back for more):

SARAH JESSICA PARKER (1990 and now)

~~WOLL SMOTH~~ WILL SMITH (1990 and now)

DEMI MOORE (1984 and now)

BRAD PITT (1988 and now)

ANGELINA JOLIE (1991 and earlier this year)

KEANU REEVES (1989 and now)

TERI HATCHER (1993 and now)

LEONARDO DiCAPRIO (1993 and now)

HALLE BERRY (1992 and now)

JOHNNY DEPP (1988 and now)

JENNIFER ANISTON (1990 and now)

GEORGE CLOONEY (1990 and now)

NICOLE KIDMAN (1983 and now)

So who on this list looks like they haven't had some serious work done?? (Maybe Johnny; all he had to do was give up the drugs.)

There's your fluffy Wednesday edition of Ehch's Blatherings! We're halfway through the week... STAY STRONG.

Monday linkspam, my lovelies!

2008-10-20T04:25:00.003-04:00

Another week begins (and this one marks the start of Charmaine's new job, so everyone should wish her luck!). In order to help us all get through it, then, I've opted to bring to you a collection of your favourite kind of linkspam: LISTS. This lot was easy to compile, since they all presented themselves to me once I'd posted that horrifying article on The 50 Worst Movie Sex Scenes on Facebook. (I just knew we'd see "Monster's Ball" [NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!] on there; my god, I had to look away, and I was alone when I saw it). So give thanks to Nerve.Com for the following collection that should provide you at least an hour of amusement... (Be warned, as usual, that there's a 99% chance that most of this is NSFW. Just because it's Char's first day doesn't mean it should be anyone's LAST at their job, just for reading my blog. I do have some conscience. Sort of.)

The Top 20 Viral Videos of 2007 - I see that the featured one is that lovely Miss America "a lot of kids don't have maps!!" clip; having not yet looked at the rest, I can only imagine...
The 20 Hottest Music Videos Of All Time - am I seriously the only one who finds Fiona Apple's "Criminal" more disturbing and repulsive than sexy?? I fail to see what an emaciated young woman crawling around in her underwear is meant to offer us by way of...well, anything. Actually, this list is, in my opinion, TERRIBLE. Aside from Shakira, Justin Timberlake, Britney Spears and David Bowie (and who'd have thought I'd ever name them in the same sentence??), the rest of these choices are a complete miss. I mean...Rick James? Seriously?? And "Hot For Teacher" is just asinine. Bad song, bad video, lousy band. And NOT HOT. I think I need to do my own list (and make 25 of them Nine Inch Nails videos...).
The 50 Best Date Movies - there are some seriously weird choices here ("Donnie Darko"??? On a DATE??), but everyone knows that "Say Anything..." is gonna make this list. How many of the 50 are you willing to admit you saw? (I'm still counting.) Extra points for putting "Heathers" on the list, but...I'm not sure what kind of date that would make for. More bonus points for the brilliant "Me And You And Everyone We Know"!
The 40 Best Celebrity Rumours Ever - because some people still think that Richard Gere has a special place in his...heart...for his gerbil, and that Marilyn Manson got his start on Mr. Belvedere. Sigh.
America's Top 10 Political Sex Scandals - how timely! I can't wait for someone to catch Obama doing something that isn't as patently dull as everything he's said and done so far.
The 50 Greatest Comedy Sketches Of All Time - yeah, it's probably just me, but I think Christopher Walken's most recent appearance on SNL, in which he plays a gardener with a fear of plants ("I always knew it would be the ferns!"), should have made this list.
The 50 Greatest Commercial Parodies Of All Time - self-explanatory. Some commercials are just so easy to spoof.

Now get on with your blue Monday, folks. (I'm blue because I SHOULD BE IN FREAKIN' WALES INSTEAD OF HERE, but that's another story.) I hope everyone still has their jobs after that whole bad sex scene list. I for one am still shuddering (and for the first time am glad my office doesn't have 'net access).

NaNoWriMo: psyched up, or psyched out?

2008-10-19T09:25:00.003-04:00

12 more days, folks. Here's my profile, should you wish to add me to your WB list. Who's doing it with me this year? And who's volunteering to be on the Super-Secret LJ Filter to read as I go?? SPEAK NOW, OR FOREVER HOLD YOUR PIECE. Er...peace. (And I reserve the right to restrict entry, damnit!!)

For those who are new to the whole idea of NaNo and are wondering what I'm on about, this is the explanation. Simple and sweet, yes? Suuuuuure it is. Until you actually TRY IT. Write a novel in a month? 50,000 words? It sounds so easy, especially for someone like me, who must blog three times that much in any given 30 day span. But last year, my first "win" (you're a "winner" if you successfully produce 50,000 original words between November 1st and 30th; I crashed and burned in 2005 and '06, but I found my groove in '07 and am proud to display my little "winner!" badge wherever I can) was HARD WON. It was emotionally exhausting, often frustrating as hell, and my inner editor was screaming at some of the horrors that came forth as I attacked the project I named May December. But oh, the satisfaction of having that huge stack of paper at the end... And who knows? Maybe, with a LOT of editing, the finished product wouldn't be completely heinous.

Oops! How'd that get there?? *whistling innocently*

I want my old crew back this year, and I want at least a couple of new recruits, too. It's a bonding experience. And it can be ever so cathartic. JOIN ME.

The gauntlet's been thrown. I want as many fellow sufferers as I can get along with me for the ride. Last year, many of you guys helped kick my ass into finally winning it on my third try, so I expect the same this time around! (As we get closer to 11:59 p.m. on October 31st, you'll likely notice I'll have written a note on Facebook and tagged all of my past cohorts; who among you are coming back for more? Maybe calling you out publicly will give you the shove you need...)

I kind of want to shriek, "WORDS IS MY BUSINESS!!" but only a couple of you (Meli & Shell) would know why. So I won't.

I look forward to reading whatever comes out of your quills or pops up on your screens. I'm actually quite psyched about it this year, because an idea I abandoned two years ago has now formed much more fully in my wee brain, and I hope it'll turn out well. (And no, that doesn't mean that I've abandoned May December - I know there are a few of you who are still seething about how I left that off last November, and I do promise I'll finish it...possibly making a return to it in December, while the creative juices are still ~~flowing~~ trickling! You will find out what the deal is with Bronwyn...and that's only the beginning.)

So, newbies, get out of your comfort zone! TRY IT. It's liberating. And I know a lot of you can write, but choose not to. Now's your chance.

I'll leave off with the intro to last year's project (since it would be cheating for me to start on this year's novel early), and I await your comments saying you're bending to my will and committing yourself to the exquisite torture that only NaNoWriMo can bring.

~ MAY DECEMBER ~

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I'm sitting on the edge of his bed, holding one of the many bottles of god-knows-what I found laying about on his bathroom counter, in the nightstand drawers, anywhere I could think he would hide his stash. One bottle in hand, probably another thirty laying willy-nilly around this house. I used to love this house. Now look what it had become. It was his place of death, and within an hour or so, it'd probably be mine, too.

I'll write until it's illegible. That'll be my cue, the sign from above - or wherever - to lay back on this bed and wait for the end to come. I always pictured it being more dramatic than this. Or at the very least more poetic. Maybe it says something about me that I pictured this at all. Doesn't matter know, I suppose.

I read the prescription label. Figures. Valium. One of his two favourites. That's not to say he didn't dally in many other substances, but he certainly did favour his Valium and codeine. In retrospect, I find this almost amusing, really. All things considered, with the access he had as a doctor to anything he could have wanted, why would he choose such lightweight drugs? If you're going to have a hardcore addiction, you could, at the very least, take my path: Xanax and morphine.

It's a bit eerie, knowing that he's downstairs. Just lying there, face-down on the kitchen floor. I can actually smell the coppery tinge to the air up here. I'd be more unnerved, probably, had I not just swallowed a handful of the little yellow pills in this little orange bottle. I guess a few hundred milligrams of Valium can take the sting out of anything, even knowing that your ex is dead in the kitchen, and that you were the one who drove him to end it.

Between what I manage to write now, and what I kept as record in my journals for the past two years, I should be able to leave a complete picture for everyone. I feel like I owe the people I love an actual story. A beginning, middle and end to this ill-fated affair they all warned me against. After so much criticism from my English professors about my style, or lack thereof, and their irritation with the storyteller way I had with my diary, I finally found some use for it: The grandest suicide note in history. That's what I owe them. Don't sleep with the boss, they said. Well, they were right, I was wrong, but now the least I could do was tell them what lead me from being full of hope to being...well...dead.

My job, my life, and everything in between.

2008-10-16T01:27:00.003-04:00

Ten years ago I'd have said that "nurse" and "teacher" were the two absolute last career choice I would ever, EVER make. I stand by the teacher bit. But some of you are wondering what's up with this medical-field melancholy I've been passive-aggresively expressing all over the place lately. The short answer: I don't like my job. The long answer? Well...go get the popcorn.

I worked at a medical clinic - family practice - for just shy of 6 years. Ten great doctors and tens of thousands of patients. In 2001, after I'd broken my ankle while training for the RCMP (I'd already passed all of the intellectual and psych tests with flying colours), my then-doctor offered me a job in his office while I sorted out what the hell I was going to do now. Not that the RCMP should have ever really been a realistic dream; my legs would have destroyed themselves, or me, sooner rather than later. But I hoped I could pass the physical and then go civilian, because my first love throughout my life has always been forensic psychology and sociology.

I'd started a pretty good entry earlier, but then I got on the phone (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) and didn't realize Vista wanted to reboot without saving my draft...so I'll START OVER AGAIN. I'll try to get to the point faster this time. But brace yourself for complete honesty. It's exactly what I more or less promised you would never see in this blog. All I can say - to some of you, at lest - is, "You asked; I'm answering."

Anyway, that job, for which I was woefully inexperienced and ridiculously unprepared (take, for example, the circumcision in which I assisted only 10 months into it), lasted from February 2001 to January 2007. I loved a lot of what I did there. Stressful? Sure. But I got to do stuff often enough - stuff that didn't involve filing or calling in prescriptions - that I managed to learn a lot, and I got a great deal of satisfaction out of the things I could do to make the patients' and the doctors' lives easier. Somewhere in there I even switched over to taking anatomy and physiology classes in college, and while I sucked at science in high school, I (with the help of a few of my doctor colleagues) started pulling off 80s and 90s on my exams. It shocked me to realize that there was something I was good at that I also wanted to do. I even remember the very day that cemented my desire to be a nurse - it was a Sunday morning, and something especially horrifying and stressful had happened with a patient, but once I'd managed to get the patient, myself, AND the doctor through the crisis, I remember calling my Mom and saying, "This is what I was meant to do."

So why did I leave that job? God knows I've asked myself that a lot, especially lately. But the truth is that my physical health was wearing down to nothing, and it was taking my mental health with it. Add to that a few key ingredients that made my work environment impossible to endure any longer - no matter how much I adored nearly all of my coworkers, my bosses, and the patients - and I knew I had to go.

What I didn't realize, though, was just how bad my health was. So when the job I walked right into upon leaving the Clinic did some major damage to my already lousy ankles, I started to worry. I found another job quickly, but then got so sick with every virus that came through the door that I had to bail after only a few weeks. This happened over and over again - me pushing myself into new jobs, new places, and then having my body and mind fail on me - before we figured out what was wrong with me. The summer of 2007 was hell, but I did get better once we knew what to treat. And I thought, once I was physically stronger, that it would be a cakewalk getting back into the workforce.

Hah.

Two or three more jobs came and went, each one seemingly too much for me in one way or another: bodily, mentally, or situationally. My Mom got sick in January 2008 and our entire world stopped; I didn't want to be away from her, and poverty would just have to do. But in March, I found what I honestly thought was the perfect job. The one that would get me closer to being able to afford to go back to school for my RPN. The one that had these great doctors who were so much fun to work with, and an office staff full of amazing women who I immediately knew would be my friends forevermore, and an opportunity to learn more, to get back into the game, to do something meaningful, however small.

That job turned into hell. On every level. I was treated like garbage by my "manager" (as was everyone else, though some got it worse than others), I was betrayed by at least one of those "great" doctors, and on top of it all, I was sexually assaulted one night by an employee who shared the building. The salt in the wound was being summarily fired for a completely nonsensical reason, only one week before my 3 month probation period was up. Presumably because I just seemed like too much trouble. I'd only just begun to process the assault when I lost the job altogether, and that did something to me - to my dignity - that I cannot put into words. I was broken.

That was May.

In September I started the job I'm in now. And it's okay. The doctor couldn't be nicer. My office mate is wonderful and capable and patient with me while I learn. The money's not horrible. The hours are all right.

But...I feel as though I am so, so much farther from where I really want to be than I've ever been before. I don't make enough money to set it aside for school. I don't do anything that affects people's lives at all. I...file. And at least once a day that famous quote from the movie Heathers goes through my mind: "I'm using my grand IQ to figure out which gloss to wear or how to hit three keggers before curfew." In my 6 years at that first Clinic, I learned a lot about medicine and people and life and death, but I learned even more about myself. And now? Now I fax referrals. That's what I do. Moreover, I fear, that's what I am.

That is not enough for me.

I was meant for more than this. I have to be. I see others' successes and am so proud of them, while still feeling like I missed that train, and they're all waving to me as it pulls away. I don't know if there's another one coming.

I know I'm lucky to have a job at all, let alone one where I'm treated kindly and am not doing anything too heinous to my body. I do know that. But I've grown so tired of feeling lucky. I want to be HAPPY. I want to stretch the limits of my potential and see if maybe, just maybe, I'm even smarter than I thought I was. I want to do something that matters, to the people I help and to myself. I don't want to spend five hours taking phone messages. I want to be elbow-deep in something gory and terrifying and possibly life-changing.

(And no, writing for a living is not that. Not for me. It is for some, and rightfully so, but...it's not my dream. I do love all of you who praise me so often about my writing - biased though you may be - but...it's not what I truly want. It's not all.)

What stands in my way is money. And the waitlisting going on at every school that offers the nursing program I want. And, I grudgingly admit, my guts (and lack thereof). This past two years has shaken my self-confidence hard. I'm amazed I have any left at all. I have failed over and over again, which, to a born perfectionist, is like dying tiny deaths with each near miss. Each of the experiences I've had since leaving the Clinic has chipped a little more away from Me, from Who and What I Am, and I fear that, if the money were to fall in my lap tomorrow, I wouldn't be strong enough anymore to even chase my dream, let alone catch it.

My recent trip to the UK, as I have said to some of my friends, affected me deeply. Because it made me see that I can watch some of the dreams I've had since I was nine years old come true. It showed me how big my world is, and how small a part of it I've been cowering in all this time. But it also devastated me in the strangest way, because it gave me the chance to look at my life from the outside - really and truly, for once - and I hated what I saw. And right now, at least, there is nothing I can do to change any of it.

So, in 6 hours, I will get up once again, put my scrubs on, and I will go to a job that I know full well is not what I thought I had/have to offer - and there's nothing at all wrong with that, if it's a means to an end...but...it isn't. It pays the bills now (and, actually, not even that, since I haven't gotten a single paycheque since I started last month; that'll change soon enough, mind), but I stand to learn nothing, and it's not contributing to a tuition-shaped nest egg in the least. I come home from a day at work and I just want to cry, because I think of all the hours I just spent making nary a bit of difference to anyone, anywhere. Including (or especially?) me.

But, for now, these are the cards I've been dealt. They are the product of some bad decisions on my part, as well as some limitations over which I have no control, and just good old fashioned fate. I wish I could see a light at the end of a tunnel. Any tunnel. But I feel like I've euchered myself somehow, and everyone else has gotten up and left the table. I have no idea when the next game will begin, or what the stakes will be, or if I'm just stuck sitting here, staring at the four 9s and one 10 in front of me.

I'm thinking those of you who asked are probably sorry you did now.

Scotland, and how my blogs are "graded", plus LINKSPAM!

2008-10-14T06:24:00.005-04:00

I've had a couple of people ask me when I'm going to post in this public forum about my recent excursion across the pond, and...well...the answer is: I'm not. There are a few reasons for this, the principal of which being that I have posted an awful lot about it already, but have done so in my Very Private Blog, and if you could see how bloody long those entries are you would immediately understand why I don't feel like I can rewrite the whole thing (or scrub it up enough to have it be fully public). I do come bearing an offer of compromise, though, for the Very Interested (and I won't even ask you why you're Very Interested). I have a mirror blog that acts as something of a second-tier privacy module, if you will. Yes, I have three blogs, and yes, they all share some of the basic posts, but they each have varying degrees of privacy. It's kind of like the CDC, and how they classify deadly viruses.

Biosafety Level 1 is PrettyH @ Blogger (You Are Here). It's open to the public and is searchable on Google. Anyone and everyone can read what I write here; I don't censor or edit posts, and I welcome unmoderated comments. If you're A-OK with just getting my occasional topical rant or a collection of bizarre links every so often, and never having to see any of my more personal stuff, this is where you wanna stay.
Biosafety Level 2 is PrettyH @ InsaneJournal. It acts as a mirror journal to my Level 3 blog, meaning I transfer the less controversial or disturbing or objectionable entries there, still giving a fairly good glimpse into The Real Thing but without the worry of any sensitive info getting into the wrong hands. I tend to set up accounts for people I trust and give them the passwords to allow them to read at will; if you want to do the same, or if you want to make up your own account, GO HERE, then add me as a friend, and chances are - if I know who you are - you'll be admitted without hesitation. (I'd suggest you get a username that I can figure out, or comment here or on my IJ to let me know you've arrived!) There are a few very specific people I'm actively keeping out, which is really the only reason I have it locked down at all.
Biosafety Level 3 is PrettyH @ LiveJournal. I have an established Friends List there, complete with filters for various subjects, and as a rule I no longer add people to that list. I've developed a degree of trust with those who read my near-daily posts (and whose I read daily as well), and the balance is good; I don't wish to allow any further additions lest I err in my choices and find my private business being splashed all over the 'net. It contains details about everything from my boyfriends to my job to my family to my strange adventures and experiences, and it is therefore locked down like a prison during a riot.
Biosafety Level 4 is my actual, physical, paper journal, kept since I was 9 or 10 to the present, which gets read by NOBODY (although a small handful of you know about two other secret locations where I occasionally transcribe the deep, dark stuff that usually comes first from my pen).

My point in telling you this? I know there are a good number of you who have this blog on GoogleReader or on their RSS feed, and some folks have emailed me asking why A) I don't update this one very often, and/or B) this blog is so...surface, most of the time. Now you know. And the invitation to step up to Level 2 is there for you now, should you wish to take it. That is where all of what I've written thus far about my time in Scotland is located, so it's there, if you're willing to reach for the key to open the lock!

Meantime, I can and will gladly share my photo album, at the very least, with anyone who's interested (and who isn't on Facebook already): Ehch's UK Trip 2008 in all its glory can be viewed at your leisure.

And I'd love it if you'd leave a comment here and direct me to your blog, if you have one, because I like keeping up with my friends' lives (and those of strangers, too...)!

Now to the fun stuff (because, here in Canada, we're just coming off a long weekend for Thanksgiving, so this is technically a Monday for us in terms of the work week - BLARGH - and you know how I like to amuse you with twisted links on Mondays). Long live the time-sucking glory of my lists! (Note that some of these links may contain mildly NSFW material, so don't go clicking away while your boss is standing behind you or anything.)

The 11 Most Awkward Imaginable Moments - I don't know how these people had enough time to devote to these photo manipulations, but a couple of them made me laugh aloud.
7 Music Trends Whose Return Must Be Stopped - I am unaware of any up-and-coming mass celebrity Christmas songs in the works, but I do think that Hair Metal is a threat about which we should all be vigilant. (Also worth noting: Level 42 escaped mention in the "Bands With Numbers 4 Names" segment. I think I'd have boggled if they hadn't.) "Dudes As Ugly Chicks" made me spit out my drink.
5 Bizarre Ways The Weather Can Kill You Without Warning - because, apparently, terrorist alert levels aren't enough; now we need to live in ph33r that Mother Nature is gonna bust a cap in our asses for no good reason.
6 Horrible Lessons Movies Like To Teach Kids - even if I've mentioned this one before, it is so worth reading again. The Creepy Recluse is Actually the Nicest Person on the Block gets me every time. It's so true. HOW DID WE NOT ALL GET KIDNAPPED?!?
6 Famous People Who Pissed Away Their Fortune - because it's fun to laugh and point at the Have Nots who did it to themselves. Greedy bastards. Yes, I'm talking about you, Ed McMahon.
The 5 Most Clearly Insane Public Figures Endorsing McCain - I would've enjoyed this more if they'd also done a Top 5 list of Obama-llamas, too. If anyone happens to find one, please do share! Still, I did get a chuckle out of the GW pics, like this one...

And now, to wrap up, a few of the newer (and funnier) urban legends hitting our beloved Snopes.Com lately:

Doll Talk - A Fisher-Price doll utters phrases such as "Satan is king!" and "Islam is the light!" Where can I buy one of these??
Spare Ribs - a collection of photos that show a woman who had her lowest ribs removed so she could look extra faboo in that corset.
Dolphin Rings - a video apparently showing that dolphins can make bubble rings and actually play a game with them. That's smarter than a lot of humans I know.
Why English Teachers Die Young - a list of hilariously bad metaphors that would probably be enough to drive any teacher to suicide. (If that doesn't work, try reading a Laurell K. Hamilton blog entry. WORDS IS HER BUSINESS.)
Obama Sex Video! - I cannot believe there are enough people who would want to see such a thing that this would be an effective way to spread a computer virus... Eugh. But I do love the text of the email, which ends off so eloquently with, "Obama it's not right choice!!" Poetry, I tell you.
Strawberry, QUICK - so we're just getting over the whole Jim Jones Kool-Aid business, and now we have to wonder if there's meth in our Quik?? Is nothing sacred??

Hope that helped you kill some time at the start of our short week, fellow Canucks. To everyone else...well, you're just as close to Friday as we are (hell, some of you Aussie types are even closer!), so... Wait. What was I talking about?

This is what happens when I let myself blog before sunrise. Hardy har.

I'm sure my next entry will have a little more substance than this one did. We can hope.

For those asking about my trip - where and why, for example...

2008-10-02T03:55:00.005-04:00

Mmkay. I leave for the airport Thursday morning (Oct. 2nd) and won't be back until probably late Tuesday/early Wednesday (Oct. 8th). The Glasgow airport is mercifully only a 15 minute taxi ride from our hotel. And oooh, they only have those awesome black taxis with the doors that open the wrong way!! [/geek] I'm 90% sure I'll be taking my laptop (free WiFi in my room, plus I can upload my photos every day & clear off my cards), so I may be able to be in touch that way. My Mom has gotta be freaking at the thought of being without her daughter AND her husband AT THE SAME TIME (this has actually never happened in their 34 years of marriage), so she's hoping I'll find a way to access Facebook & can then pretend I'm only in the next room. Poor Mommy. (But my uncle is here with her the whole time we're gone, so he'll doubtlessly keep her occupied and thoroughly entertained.)

I called the hotel yesterday just to confirm everything (since we booked through Expedia, I figured it'd be wise to ensure that all our bases are covered before we jump on a plane), and it was hilarious. First I kept dialing it wrong - there's a zero you have to drop, and I never remember which one (which is why I put the CORRECT number above), so I kept getting told the number was out of service. NOT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR from a hotel at which you're supposed to be arriving in a few days!! So I sent an email to their reservations inquiries address, which said, in part,

Hello! I've been trying to get through via the telephone, but I'm being told the listed number is no longer in service. (This could, however, be as a result of me being from Canada and being hopeless at dialing internationally.)

Uh...d-uh. "Me Canadian! ME NO DIAL GOOD!!" This appearance of stupidity skyrocketed when I finally DID figure out how to get through, and - after not understanding a bloody word the woman at the front desk said by way of greeting - I had to confess to her that I'd also sent an email and that she could delete it now. She had a good laugh over that. "It's not Mars, dear!" she said in her lovely brogue, and I chuckled and explained the whole I've-never-been-off-the-continent thing. She got quite excited at that.

"Oooh, you've not been out of Canada and you've chosen us, then?" was what I believe she said (but don't quote me on it).

"Well, I've been to various parts of Canada and the U.S., but our phone numbers are a lot shorter here. We need simplicity."

That gave her more to laugh at, of course. "Let me check my schedule to see if I'll be at the desk when you check in, love," she said, which amused me, and after hearing pages flip for a moment (and listening to my phone bill rack up with each passing second), she said quite gleefully, something that sounded like, "Oh, aye! It'll be me here to greet you! We love having Canadians stay. You're a charming lot."

Pity I didn't understand what the hell she was saying when she spoke her name at the intro. It sounded Martian, anyway.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that, when she asked for my name so she could confirm the details, I said, "There are two rooms, both under the same last name but different first names."

"All righty," she said. "Last name, then?"

"It's Swanson. S-W-A..."

She laughed. "It's all right, dear. We have a lot of those."

*laughs* Yeah. I guess they would.

She also added that she'd try to get us rooms that overlook the pond, to which I responded, "You have a pond??" (As though somehow that's the most absurd, bizarre thing I could imagine..? I...dunno. I think my excitement about the trip has overtaken my IQ points.)

A moment of silence. "Why, yes, dear. We're called the Glasgow Pond Hotel."

"I just figured it was a pretty name."

Again she laughed. "No, dear. One side of our grounds is taken over by a large pond that's full of swans, which I'm sure you'd like to see from your window."

I assume this is because of my name...? Either way, the pond-side rooms are an extra £s;25 a night, and she wants to just give them to us for being Canadian and being Swansons and being phone-illiterate, so I'll take it! I'm rather looking forward to meeting this woman, whatever her name is. She made me day. (*LAUGHS* I meant to type MY, not ME. Oh, god, it's starting already.)

There's something to be said about staying in a Best Western no matter where you are. You have a reasonable expectation that things will be nice. Not fancy, but nice. Having said that, though, this one has just been overhauled, and...it would seem they went for "fancy". They're graded as a 3-star (presumably because of the not-outrageous cost compared to the other hotels in Glasgow) but actually fall into the requirements of a 4-star, so...again, I'LL TAKE IT.

The website shares all sorts of happifying information, like the fact that the bar is open 24 hours a day. Whoo! That plus 24 hour room service and a dessert list longer than one's arm? Yeah. I'll have to be conscious of not spending too much time in my room. But it's really good to know that, at the end of an exhausting day of prowling about the countryside, we have such a nice place to crash. For whatever reason, my Dad and I each got a double room, so I plan to switch beds each night. And if I pick up any cute Scottish boys, I'll have somewhere to chuck them when I've gotten what I wanted and would prefer not to share a bed once I'm ready to sleep. Works out well, I think.

My Dad is going to have to be torn away from the huge flat screen LCD TVs that are on each of our walls. That could get interesting. By the way, the principal reason for getting separate rooms is because my father snores like the world is ending, but yes, it is in the back of my mind that I'd like to have at least one illicit hookup. Hah!

Yes, I am bad. But that makes me FUN. And on that particular subject, does anyone have any advice for me on how to snag me a Scottish one-night stand? I have the whole Canadian thing going in my favour, but if anyone would care to offer some tips (especially if you've had your own overseas hookup adventures!), I'm listening. Closely. I'd like to have the entire Scotland experience, if you get what I'm sayin'. Nadine and I were just discussing this the other night - my lack of whore-dom when I was at the prime age to slut about freely - so I'd like to remedy that with at least ONE international one night stand.

Morals? What morals? I never said I had any, did I? If I did, I was lying through my teeth. Besides, it's been 2 years since I last got any (we know who ruined me for a while), so methinks a vacation is a good time to...er...get back in that saddle. (I'M KIDDING.)

I suspect we'll be spending a goodly amount of time in this lounge, because my father is a sucker for fresh scones, and they have an after-hours menu that puts Fran's to shame. (Toronto nightlife reference; don't mind me.) I'm also hoping that it'll be chilly enough to warrant them having their 7,012,548 fireplaces going. I swear, you look at pictures of this place and wonder how they managed to divide every single room and lobby and section of anything with a great big modern fireplace. Gorgeous! Not sure if I have one in my room, though, but as I said, I'll be distracted by the wall-sized TV. Who the hell said that the rooms in UK hotels are ridiculously small compared to North America??

I'm not positive, but I think this is a photo of the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, which is where, on the evening of Sunday, October 5th,I'll be scratching one more thing off my Bucket List and finally seeing my most beloved band: Level 42. I canNOT put into words the degree of excitement I feel about this. And yep, I'm goin' alone. 4th row centre!! I've never been to a concert alone before, but I suspect this will be a lot of fun, because I can just make friends with everyone sitting around me. And, eventually, with the band (although I wish to hell Mark King had answered my diva-free request for a backstage pass; I only asked because I want photos to bring home to my Mom, and you can take pics during the show, so I HAVE to meet them! I'll use my womanly wiles if I have to. Flirt with their security guards. It can be done.)

We're also spending a day in Edinburgh, of course (and, if we can pull it off, Belfast as well), which will involve - among other things - one of the coolest walking tours I've ever heard about! It's called "The Ghosts & Ghouls Underground Tour, which is apparently creepy enough that they have to give you complimentary BOOZE once you get through it. (My Dad doesn't drink more than once every couple of years, which means he gets goofy after half a glass of wine; this oughta be fun.) About the tour: By day Edinburgh is a bustling metropolis – but at night the old buildings and narrow closes take on a more sinister air…A long history of murder, torture, hangings and plague has left a haunting legacy on the city's Old Town and ghostly apparitions now walk its streets.

Enter the underground vaults whose walls, it is said, have absorbed the memories of those who once lived and worked there. This part of the tour is not for the faint-hearted. Cling tightly to the person beside you: we try to leave with the same number as we had on going in!

Choose the extended tour and end your experience with a complimentary drink in the atmospheric Megget’s Cellar, a candlelit nook located above the Underground Vaults, where the guide will continue to entertain you with eerie tales from Edinburgh’s past.

Be Warned: Mercat Tours employs neither sound nor visual effects on this tour. If you see or hear something untoward during your time with us - Be Concerned !!!

Ohhh, yes. This is gonna be SO MUCH FUN. Add in a bus tour around Loch Lomond (which, as you can see from the photo, is incredibly beautiful... I seriously thought places could only look like this in the movies, after a lot of touch-ups from the FX crew. Apparently not...) and a whole bunch of cool stuff right around our hotel (like The Necropolis - how deliciously creepy to think my hotel is across the street from 3,500 corpses...), and whatever else catches our fancy, and it's gonna be epic. There are endless antique bookshops around our neighbourhood, which will have my father completely thrilled, and I think just being surrounded by that fantastic accent for most of a week will make the whole experience well worthwhile. Everyone's surprised that we're not going for longer, but between my Dad's work schedule (and now mine), money, and the odds that we'll be bloody knackered by the end of the fifth day, I think we're doing just fine.

[ Glasgow's Necropolis ]

I am also, as you can imagine, thrilled to pieces to discover that I'm going to the one city in the world that calls its subway "The Clockwork Orange". It's the weirdest little train - only 3 cars long, and it comes every 5 minutes, and it has a track that's only about 11km long! My hotel is close to the main train depot, so I'll definitely be hopping on at least once to take a spin around the underside of the city!

[ CLOCKWORK ORANGE!! ]

And as you can see...
...it looks like - according to BBC's weather report for Glasgow, we'll be flying into a sunny, chilly day, which is exactly what we want!

So there you have it. I unfortunately can't promise postcards to everyone this time, because that could get SCARILY expensive, but if you want to email me your complete mailing address I will certainly do my very best.

One last question for those who do a lot more international travel than I do: What can I bring as far as toothpaste/mouthwash/lip gloss/other liquids when I pack?? I can't remember how to go about that whole "you can't have liquids on the plaaaaane" thing, so I'd like to know how to get around that or how to make it simplest. And how much can I bring back? Is there a monetary limit on the souvenirs I can come home with?

I can't believe I'll be on six different planes over the next two weeks, when everybody knows I HATE TO FLY. Oh, god. (And yes, I'll gladly take advice or anecdotes on HOW NOT TO FREAK OUT ON THE PLANES, too.) These are the right models but not necessarily the right airlines. I'm flying US Airways and British Airways only.

From Toronto to Philadelphia: Canadair RJ

From Philadelphia to Manchester: Airbus 330-300

From Manchester to Glasgow: EMB-135

And coming home...

From Glasgow to London: Boeing 737-400

From London to Philadelphia: Boeing 757

From Philadelphia to Toronto: Canadair RJ

AUGH! Some of them are just...way too small. ESPECIALLY THE FIRST AND LAST ONES. I barely kept it together on the EMBs from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara! *deep breath* Xanax and beer. Xanax and beeeeer.

ANYWAY. Consider that my comprehensive pre-Scotland post. It took me TWO HOURS to type. I need a nap now.

Amnesty International - "Small Places" that you should see.

2008-09-28T13:40:00.004-04:00

I know there are a million causes out there, and I know that charity fatigue is a very real problem, but I ask that you take a moment to look at something that my friends in Wide Mouth Mason (one of the best Canadian bands our beloved country has seen) hold dear to them. We've heard a lot since yesterday about the great things that Paul Newman did for the world in which we live; now we can focus on what we can do.

Amnesty International's "Small Places" is all about Human Rights, and what everyone - from musicians to us regular folk - can do to improve the conditions for those whose most basic rights are ignored every day.

Borrowing from WideMouthMason.Com (because they and their Chef de Mission always say it better than I ever could), here's the answer to the question: What IS "Small Places"??

What "Small Places" is:

It's a three-month campaign by Amnesty International that is inspired by a statement by Universal Declaration co-author Eleanor Roosevelt that "Human rights begin in small places close to home".
It's about artists and other creative folk around the world bringing human rights 'close to home' wherever they happen to be.
It's a cross-Canada and 'round the world arts jam with a call to action that celebrates the 60th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
It's a global effort that Wide Mouth Mason wholeheartedly supports and invites all those amongst its Masonite masses around the world to check out and consider making this campaign part of their Small Places in the world.

With members of Wide Mouth Mason being long-time supports of Amnesty International, Wide Mouth Mason is glad to announce its support of this initiative that has been organised to run right to Human Rights Day on December 10th. Like Amnesty International's Small Places campaign, Wide Mouth Mason wants "to increase global support for human rights in these dangerous times"... and knows Masonites around this wonderful world of ours are a great Mass of Damn Cool people who might be interested in getting involved.

Each Small Places artist champions a community or individual whose human rights are under attack, by calling on fans and friends to speak out and send appeals to governments, in the coming months.

Amnesty International is a worldwide movement of almost two million people who work together to protect individuals and communities around the world whose human rights are under attack. Amnesty International appeals for the violations to stop and mobilize public pressure to prevent human rights abuses. Amnesty International takes action to stop grave abuses of human rights, freedom of conscience and expression, and freedom from discrimination.

I know most of you reading this have access to my private blog, and are more likely to comment there, but for those of you who are seeing this only here, I ask you to check out SmallPlaces.Ca and comment here to let me know what you think. Or to ask for more info. Anything at all. It's a cause worth reading about.

I promise I'll return (hopefully before I leave for the UK!) for another of my more lighthearted, entertaining entries! But for now, this seemed like an important message to get out there. I hope I've helped in some small way; even if you tell me that you'd never heard about this before I posted it, I'll know that the word is spreading, and that we can effect change.

Paul Newman - 1925-2008

2008-09-27T11:48:00.004-04:00

1925-2008

My heart is broken.

There isn't a soul alive tonight who's been touched my this man's work, onscreen or off, who shouldn't sit down and pay homage to possibly one of the greatest actors - and philanthropists - we will ever see. Sit down and watch something great. Something he gave us.

I bought my first bottle of Newman's Own wine while in New Hampshire in July, and even then my heart was heavy. That was the same weekend I saw a photo of Mr. Newman on the cover of one of those awful magazines, and...we all knew it was coming. But that never makes it easier when it does.

What a man: With writer A.E. Hotchner, Newman founded Newman's Own, a line of food products, in 1982. The brand started with salad dressing, and has expanded to include pasta sauce, lemonade, popcorn, and salsa, and wine among other things. Newman donates the proceeds, after taxes, to charity. As of early 2006, the franchise has resulted in excess of $200 million in donations.[3] He co-wrote a memoir about the subject with Hotchner, Shameless Exploitation in Pursuit of the Common Good. Among other awards, Newman co-sponsors the PEN/Newman's Own First Amendment Award, a $25,000 reward designed to recognize those who protect the first amendment as it applies to the written word.

One beneficiary of his philanthropy is the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp, a residential summer camp for seriously ill children, which is located in Ashford, Connecticut. Newman cofounded the camp in 1988; it was named after the gang in his film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969). Newman's college fraternity, Phi Kappa Tau, adopted "Hole in the Wall" as their "national philanthropy" in 1995. One camp has expanded to become several Hole in the Wall Camps in the U.S., Ireland, France and Israel. The camp serves 13,000 children every year, free of charge.[3]

In June 1999 Newman donated $250,000 to the relief of Kosovo refugees.

On June 1, 2007, Kenyon College announced that Newman had donated $10 million to the school to establish a scholarship fund as part of the college's current $230 million fund-raising campaign. Newman and Woodward were honorary co-chairs of a previous campaign. [from Wikipedia]

So, from someone who never had the great honour of meeting the man, I wish peace to him, and to his family, and tonight I will watch The Hustler for the eighteenth time and cry like the world is ending.

Because a little piece of it has.

Julian Lennon's latest project(s)...

2008-09-11T09:42:00.006-04:00

Over at Julian's MySpace, we are all abuzz about his upcoming album (check out the songs he's posted; they're brilliant)...but there's more! "WHALEDREAMERS" is a film project in which Julian is very involved (and about which he is understandably quite passionate), and the trailer is finally up on the Apple website!

The description:

whaledreamers - the title alone evokes hypnotic visions of these most magnificent and ancient creatures. This visually stunning film offers an incredible glimpse into a rarely seen and scarcely understood tribal culture whose entire story of creation revolves around whales and has endured for centuries. The film passionately explores the connection between the subtle elegance of these “mothers of the sea” and ancient civilizations around the world whose culture and very existence is based on whales. Intertwining incredible underwater footage with ancient legend, whaledreamers examines the complex past and the possibly dire future of human civilization. Told with moving optimism and spiritual strength, it is a clarion call encouraging humanity’s reconnection to the profound beauty of the natural world and is an appeal to embrace all living beings thereby creating the unity and peace which the Earth itself can bring.

If you have a passion for saving the earth and celebrating nature as it was meant to be, you MUST check out your local listings on September 26th to see if the film is playing near you. (I promised the good Mr. Lennon in his blog that I'd help get the word 'round as much as I could, so there you have it! GO SEE WHALEDREAMERS!!!)

German Lesbians Pick Top 10 Sexiest Actresses

2008-09-11T07:09:00.010-04:00

Yes. I'm serious.

I'd originally intended to submit this to Oh No They Didn't!, a celebrity gossip blog to which I occasionally contribute, but another member beat me to the punch. Still...this has to be the most random poll ever - talk about a niche! - but I found it amusing & thought I should share! (And yes, these ARE the wretched photos the article chose to feature; I coulda done much, much better than most of these, so for the sake of eye candy, I HAVE. SERIOUSLY, if you're trying to make a case for any of these women being attractive, WHY wouldn't you choose the photos that I opted for???) The barely-there commentary beneath each photo is right from the source, too. Blasé!! Anyway, enjoy this image-heavy post (made much prettier by the photos I chose), and ask yourself how much money was spent on polling for the results. I don't get it.

From the source:

Lesbian Poll Tallies Up Top 10 Sexiest Actresses

Lesbian choice:
Hollywood’s sexiest women
8. September 2008, 14:55 Uhr

Lesbians rate [redacted so you'll be SURPRISED] as their top sexual fantasy, a new poll has revealed. The British actress took the number one spot in the 'Women We’d Love To Love' poll of 4,000 gay women.

#10. CATE BLANCHETT

Cate Blanchett just made it into the Top 10.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#9. CATHERINE ZETA-JONES

Not only men seem to like her: Catherine Zeta-Jones is No.9.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#8. EMILY BLUNT

No. 8: Emily Blunt, 24, (front) played in 'My Summer in Love' with Natalie Press.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#7. THANDIE NEWTON

No. 7: Actress Thandie Newton.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#6. KEIRA KNIGHTLEY

British actress Keira Knightley (6th place) poses for photographers as she arrives for the world premiere of her film 'The Duchess'.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#5. NAOMI WATTS

The English-born Australian actress Naomi Watts (5th place).

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#4. KATE WINSLET

Kate Winslet is in 4th place. She was nominated for an Oscar for her acting in 'Titanic'.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#3. MINNIE DRIVER

Actress Minnie Driver came in third.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

#2. NICOLE KIDMAN

No. 2: Nicole Kidman. And the winner is...

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW - you may have to click that source link, because this blog is formatted in such a way that her head may be cut off!! ]

AND THE HOTTEST ACTRESS ACCORDING TO 4,000 GERMAN LESBIANS IS:

#1. RACHEL WEISZ

...actress Rachel Weisz, she is the sexiest of them all.

[ MY CHOICE OF PHOTO (source) BELOW ]

I cannot think of any "sexiest whatever" poll EVER that chose to use THE most unflattering photos of their subjects more effectively than this one!! LMAO @ pics for #s 3 and 8!!! And I even think #2 might be a WAX FIGURE.

So who's missing from this list? I VOTE DREW BARRYMORE, but the majority of these choices seem to be of the underweight, non-curvy sort. Who's REALLY the sexiest actress out there?

[ poll source ]

Mishmash: Linkspam, Terry Fox Run, and Mom's MRI!

2008-09-08T09:20:00.009-04:00

Where to begin? I think I should first send out a HUGE thank you to everyone who's pledged in my name for the Terry Fox "Run" I'm doing in 6 days. You guys are amazing! I'm really, really grateful to all of you & I promise I'll make the donation worth your while. I also plan to thank each of you personally after I've accomplished this feat (it being a big deal because of my feet - ha!), but for now I must at least acknowledge those generous donors who've supported me thus far: Jerri, Stacey, Tierney, Matthew, Ian, Vanessa, Kathryn, the McCluskeys, Sara, Dale, and my Mom... I hope I'm not forgetting anyone! I'll make sure each one of you gets to see a wrung-out, gimpy photo of me after the fact. ♥ You've all outdone yourselves!!

Speaking of my Mom, many of you know she's been having a pretty rough time, health-wise, since January, and that she had a much-dreaded MRI this morning (her claustrophobia had prevented her from getting the first one done back in April - it's shockingly common for people to freak out and not get through this test). Well, SHE DID IT, and I applaud her bravery. Even without some of the comforts she'd been promised, which were taken away from her at the last possible second (i.e. me being allowed to go into the room with her; an extra-powerful sedative that she chose not to take after all), she kept it together and we're all so relieved that she can finally relax...and maybe this MRI can tell us more about why her health has been so bad for the past 8 or 9 months. YAY, MOM!! No-one should ever underestimate the guts she has.

Okay - it's MASSIVE linkspam time again! I love getting all those half-amused, half-enraged messages from you guys that blame me for you not getting anything done on the days when I post a bunch of weirdly fascinating links. But, hey, it's Monday! Who wants to accomplish anything on a Monday?? (I know; I use that line for every day of the week. Case in point: last Wednesday's endless list of urban legends!) So sit back and start clicking:

TIME: Top 10 Scandals of 2007 - These range from U.S. politics to Michael Vick's pit bulls. One highlight reminds us of that totally whacked-out astronaut chick who stalked her fellow NASA dude across the country while wearing diapers. Makes you wonder what the 2008 list is gonna look like, doesn't it??
TIME: Top 10 Break-Ups of 2007 - ...and they're not all what you think! Sure, Justin Timberlake was bound to make the list, but George Dubya and Karl Rove? Aww. I never knew they had a widdle womance goin' on. (This IS coming from TIME Magazine; they had to keep things at least a little political.)
TIME: Top 10 Viral Videos of 2007 - If you feel the need to hear that alien-boy shrieking LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE! just one more time, this is the list for you. My favourite? DAFT HANDS!! I'll never stop being amazed at that.
TIME: Top 10 Awkward Moments of 2007 - I don't mean to hassle the Hoff, but, dude, that drunken hamburger-eating video defines awkward. Hearing Alec Baldwin's infamous "rude little pig" voicemail to his lovely daughter gets a nod, too. Oh, and the one that made #6? None other than...
Britney's Jaw-Droppingly Bad '07 VMA Performance - God, it gets more painful every time I see it. I figure it's timely that I post this video once more, since she barely made a ripple last night *yawn* when she kicked off the show with one whole line. Gimme gimme more, Brit. Srsly.
Anderson Cooper Doesn't Care About Scientologists! - Someone call Kanye! Oh...wait...never mind. Anyway, I love seeing my TV boyfriend ruffle people's feathers. Especially INSANE PEOPLE. Which brings me to...
The scariest Tom Cruise video ever - How bloody annoying is that awful Mission: Impossible loop in the background??? AUGH. You've probably already seen Cruise Control's video, but have you seen the brilliant spoofs done by Craig Ferguson and Jerry O'Connell? I'm amazed they're still with us. And that allows me to neatly segue into...
"SAVE KATIE!" group buys tickets to her Broadway show - And from the sounds of it, they're the only ones. (Does anyone really think they can rescue Katie - oops, sorry, KATE - from Xenu??)
David Duchovny Screwed Around A Lot - REEEEALLY?? *eyeroll* I don't think anyone actually bought his "no, I swear, I was only addicted to internet porn!!!" protestations as he slunk off to rehab. I say no, no, no.
Robert De Niro says F*#K OFF to film - ...and here's hoping that spells the official end of Mel Gibson's career!

Now to finish off with a few more entertaining lists ('cos I know they're you're favourite)...
5 Cheap Tricks TV Shows Use To Keep You Watching - No surprise that the first photo you see is from LOST.
The 5 Most Obviously Drug-Fueled TV Appearances Ever - I don't know...I think Crispin Glover is really just LIKE that.
The 6 Most Gratuitously Cleavaged Women on TV - While I'm pretty sure "cleavaged" isn't a word, there really isn't any better way of putting it.
The 7 Most Unforgivable Grammy Snubs Of All Time - I'm still gritting my teeth over #6. What the hell??

All right. Enough. It's probably Tuesday by now. I hope you found some entertainment in that mixed bag o' links, 'cos if you didn't...well, cripes, they were the best I had at the time!!

I'll close out by saying that, if you were still planning to pledge a couple o' bucks for my Terry Fox Walk-Don't-Run (only 6 days now...egad!), I'm still gratefully accepting donations! You can do it one of three ways:

If you see me in person (though I admit it's rare to see me in the wild), I have a pledge sheet and an envelope!
You can DONATE AT MY TERRYFOX.ORG SITE & they'll send you a receipt.
If you hate using your credit card online, but you have a PayPal account, feel free to transfer funds to me (prettyh@sympatico.ca) straight from your bank account! You can even use this handy button, which immediately puts your money into my Terry Fox Fund.

THANK YOU, AGAIN!!

I'm gonna walk the Terry Fox Run.

2008-09-04T04:22:00.003-04:00

So...yeah. I left it awfully late - BAD ME - but I wanted to let everyone know that I have officially signed up to walk the Terry Fox Run on September 14th! (It's only the second charity walk I've attempted, and my ankles hated me after the first one, but I made a promise to myself and I plan to keep it.)

For those unfamiliar with the Run, you may want to check out the Terry Fox website. It takes place every September and raises a lot of money for cancer research, and since I've lost some important people to the disease in my life, I figure it's high time to do more than just donate money. This year, I'M WALKING.

If anyone's interested in donating/pledging for my non-Run Walk (?!), you can do so online:

Support Ehch in the Terry Fox Run!

And yes, I promise there will be photos afterward, to prove that I actually did it. Any support will be gratefully received - even a dollar can go a long way!

Thank you in advance, and WISH ME LUCK. I'm gettin' the ice packs ready for my ankles already. Hee.

Avoiding seriousness and going straight to Snopes.

2008-09-03T09:44:00.007-04:00

I've already practically set my LiveJournal aflame with my unpleasant "anti-Obama" rant this week (which was not, really, what it seemed - long story short: I was called a bigot by someone who barely knows me simply because I said I would choose not to vote for Obama, were I an American citizen; that led to me flying off the handle and writing a scathing post that puzzled many of my actual friends, but it's all water under the bridge now. Anyone who knows me is smart enough to know that I choose not to live my life being racist, and I would certainly never dislike a political candidate - or ANYONE! - because of his heritage!). For that reason, I'm staying light and fluffy today. It's Wednesday, a.k.a. Hump Day, and we all know that there's nobody who doesn't need amusing linkspam when faced with that dreaded Middle-Of-The-Week fatigue.

Today's theme revolves around a collection of my favourite urban legends. On the very off chance there are some of you who aren't familiar with the Snopes.Com website, I shall enlighten you. Snopes is, arguably, the largest database on the 'net for urban legends of every kind, proving or disproving the authenticity of those annoying email petitions we all get forwarded to us, discussing age-old rumours about Richard Gere's "gerbil experience", debunking myths about 9/11 (and in some cases shocking us by proving they're true)... It's a goldmine of fantastic trivia and interesting information. If you've ever wondered, say, if Jane Fonda was in fact anti-military during the Vietnam War, Snopes is the place to go to find out the whole story, and from whence some of our most pervasive and accepted-as-fact urban legends really originated.

Enough of my blathering. Let's get to the list! (Note: Each link will open in a new window, just FYI.)

The Rabbit Test - why do we use the phrase "the rabbit died" when referring to a positive pregnancy test?
Facebook vs the FBI - the truth behind whether or not your computer can become infected with the Storm Worm virus via Facebook.
Charlton Heston's Basement - just how many guns did they pry from his cold, dead hands?? (Poor taste. I know. Sorry. Couldn't resist!)
A Teacher's Assignment Saves A Suicidal Student - this is among my favourites, and every teacher reading this should take note. You only think you're not getting through to them.
Is That A Condom In Your Hair? - There's a possibility that your new hairband is made outta rubber(s), folks.
Palatial Prison - If there really IS a prison that looks like a 5-star hotel, I'll confess to anything! Jail term = spa day!
Getting The Point(s) Of Canada's Flag - Someone took the time to count the points on our maple leaf and then announce that each one of the total 11 represents one of our provinces/territories. Can't say it ever occurred to me to study our flag that closely!
Angry Golfer: A Bad Sport, Indeed - There's a story going around about a golfer who got so angry about his lousy shot that he threw his club...and it hit him. Dead. Buh-bye.
Dear Google: PLEASE HIRE ME - Check out the amenities afforded to the staff of Google. Can these photos possibly be legit? Read and find out. (I know someone who works for Google. I wonder if they ever have Take A Friend To Work Day...?)
A List Of Old Wives' Tales - If you ever thought your grandmother was pulling your leg about certain things - like the "no swimming for one hour after eating!" rule, or the idea that bubble gum takes 30 years to digest (I myself was traumatized by this one for years) - you'll want to see where these adages originated, and whether there's truth to any of them.
Inboxer Rebellion: Enough With Those Stupid Forwards Already!! - I doubt there's anyone with an email address who hasn't gotten at least ONE message saying something like, "Forward this to 25 people, and Bill Gates will send you $1,000!" This Snopes entry explains just how dumb you have to be to actually believe those claims, and why.
Disarmed - Two guys take their arm wrestling a little too seriously, and...well, it's all fun and games until someone loses a limb. This can't possibly true...or is it??
This Goes Beyond "Break A Leg!" - How many actors have died right while they're performing in front of an audience? (And did the patrons get their money back?? What a rip-off!)
The DARWIN AWARDS - I love these. This link shows the 2003 list of honourees (for those who don't know, Darwin Awards are "given" to people who died/got injured/were arrested because of something incredibly stupid they've done; these morons prove Darwin was right about "survival of the fittest"). You can also find several other years' lists here, along with an explanation of which are real and which are not. Phony or legit, though, they're almost always hilarious. (Or maybe I'm just demented.)
Completely Freakish Tales - These stories range from things like the lawyer who fell to his death from a highrise building while doing a presentation on the safety of its windows, to a story about a kid who died from trying a new dance step (I assume it wasn't the Macarena, as I fail to see how that could be fatal), to the reported cases of people literally laughing themselves to death.
9/11 Rumours - We've all heard them. Muslims being warned to avoid Lower Manhattan on September 11th. The winning numbers for the New York State Lottery that day were 9-1-1. Starbucks had to pull an ad campaign that was creepily reminiscent of the planes hitting the towers (and also charged rescue workers $130 for bottles of water). The people of Gander, Newfoundland flung open their doors and welcomed thousands of stranded Americans. A Canadian police officer was suspended for helping out at Ground Zero. Osama bin Laden is the owner of Snapple. So what's true and what isn't?? You'll be surprised.
Jack Benny's Eternal Gift - Is it true that the actor/comedian/musician arranged to have a single red rose delivered to his wife every day after he died?
A Little Boy's Gift Of Life - I admit, I cried the first time I read this (not knowing whether it was true or not; I don't think it matters, really). A little boy agrees to donate blood (or is it bone marrow?) to his very sick little sister, and mistakenly believes it will kill him to do it...but he does it anyway.
The "Glurge" Collection - I strongly recommend you read all of these, actually. "Glurge" is a term used for stories that are sickeningly sweet, or that have a heavy-handed moral to them. Again, though, you'll be surprised which are true and which are not.
Another One For The Teachers - A story about how one teacher's assignment still affected her students decades later.
Film Follies - Read about all of your favourite gossip that has swirled around people like Richard Gere, Marilyn Monroe, Jack Nicholson, Charlie Chaplin and more; get the truth about whether or not the set of "Three Men And A Baby" was haunted by the ghost of a dead child; find out if Toronto's cleaning crew managed to ruin a movie set that had deliberately been strewn with garbage...
HALL OF HORRORS! - The freakiest urban legends, some horrifyingly true, can be found here. Cannibalism? Check. Zombies? Check. Be prepared to laugh, and then shudder.
Risqué Business, Baby - All of the steamy, kinky, and often embarrassing tales passed down over the years are listed on this page. You can even read all about Mick Jagger and the famous Mars Bar incident. Might want to shield your screen if you're at work, though. (Especially if you read the bit about the vending machines in Japan that sell the already-worn panties of schoolgirls. Gah?)

How d'ya like DEM apples?? I could have gone on for hours, but now that you've been introduced to the wonderful world of Snopes, you'll be able to find your own way around. It's an easy site to get lost in, believe me. And you can always start your journey with the oft-changing Top 25 Urban Legends; I guarantee it'll lead you into hours of entertainment!

Feel free to leave me a comment here if you find one that I failed to list & is worth noting. You can also ask me about your Need To Know urban legends, and I'll do my best to find out how much of it is true! In the meantime, I hope I've provided a bit of amusement for you. 'Tis my mission, after all, to be The Entertainer.

Sick Chicks and The Spoon Theory

2008-08-09T04:34:00.008-04:00

I've been updating this thing far too often in the past couple of days. But one more for the road, because there are so many people who have no comprehension of what it's like to have a chronic health issue. I've lost friends over it, as they've taken personally my inability to be the social butterfly I once was. I do better these days, since we've sorted a few of the kinks out, but some of my issues have been with me since birth, and to be in my life means you have to know that my limitations aren't something you should ever take personally.

It's hard to believe that it was only five or six years ago that I could be out dancing every night, get home as the sun came up, go to work on no sleep, and still function. I often joke that I used up everything I had in my early-to-mid-20s. That's not to say I don't still manage, of course - I have a hell of a lot of fun when I set my mind to it - but it's less frequent, and more...thought out...than it used to be, by necessity. It's true for all of us, I'm sure; nobody's the same at 30 as they are at 20. But for me, and for some of my friends (you know who you are), it's more than that. Our bodies start howling at us to slow down, and my god, the price we pay if we don't listen...?

This is where I shut up and turn to blog entries such as "Is it worth the risk?", and websites like ButYouDon'tLookSick.Com, which features the amazingly evocative and now infamous (well, in my circles, anyway) "Spoon Theory" essay. They say it better than I ever could.

Normally I'd just link to this (as I did to the Feministe entry, which is well worth a look - it's all about why nobody should ever assume they know the solution to a friend's health problems), but because it's now only available as a PDF, I'm pasting the whole essay here. Please read it. If not for me, then for someone else you may know who "doesn't look sick".

THE SPOON THEORY (copyright 2003 C. Miserandino)
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn't seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being affected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity? I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand? If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell. I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become.

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of "spoons". But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn't even started yet. I’ve wanted more "spoons" for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do, I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said, "No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make yourself something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can't take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too." I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her a spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s "spoons", but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less "spoons". I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on "spoons", because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently.

Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained that I didn’t even bother to add into this game that she was so nauseous that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly, “Christine, how do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

It's hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day's plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count "spoons".

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can't go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word, when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my "spoons".

This goes out to my own personal support group - you know who you are, LJers* ; how lucky are we to have each other, 24/7, no matter what else is going on in our lives? - and to my family and closest friends, who never begrudge me an extra hour (or three) off my feet, and who never presume to know exactly how I feel, and who love me all the same. I love you all twice as much for it.

*(Meli, Casey, Lucy, Shannon, Jenn, Joolie, Jessica, Seph, Carla, Jan, Matthew, Kim, Rachel, Polly, April, Alicia, Jillian, Vashti, Jess, Emily, Josie, David, Katie, Jason, JJ, Bri, Tiffany, Maggie, Aurora, Tierney, Crystal, Stephen, Beki, Sam, Mina, Linda, Cassie... I beg forgiveness if I missed any of my LJ Inner Sanctum. It's just the fog setting in. xoxo)

If you'd like to pass this essay along to others, please feel free - this button will help you send it or post it just about anywhere:

August MUXTAPE time!

2008-08-08T06:57:00.003-04:00

Yeah, so, I finally got around to doing my August Muxtape. The usual rules apply - ask and ye shall receive. Click on the tape to see what's new...

[ Ehch's Muxtape - AUGUST 2008 ]

...and here's what was taken down to make room for it:

JULY 2008's MUXTAPE Tracklist:

Coldplay - Strawberry Swing
Wide Mouth Mason - Superstition (live/Stevie Wonder medley)
Robbie Robertson - Somewhere Down The Crazy River
The Ting Tings - Shut Up And Let Me Go
Keane - Is It Any Wonder?
Spice Girls - Holler
Nine Inch Nails - Kinda I Want To
Nelly Furtado - All Good Things Come To An End
Chemical Brothers (f. Justin Timberlake) - Do It Again
Imogen Heap - Speeding Cars
INXS - Elegantly Wasted
Massive Attack - Dissolved Girl