(shades of)

I'm going grey.
I'm excited.
This is proof of progress of some sort, yes?

a non-casualty

I was recently sent an article about the American Veteran Affair's deficiencies when it comes to dealing with the influx of soldiers returning with traumatic head injuries etc. Among 105 casualties assessed between June and October, doctors discovered about two-thirds, or 67 percent, to have brain injuries. This is almost definately due to high-explosive weapons replacing the guns of wars prior, while combat gear is still designed to only protect against "small arms ballistics". This well-protected body leaves the brain as the only organ fully vulnerable.
I encourage you to look at this 15 photo series (in link) by Nina Berman, and remember the thousands that have died since occupation began in Iraq...but remember that the injured are a "statistic" not to be overlooked. Do what you can to bring everyone home, safe.


http://www.ninaberman.com/index3.php?pag=prt&dir=marine

meeting place

Hi Vancouver! I'm in Toronto. I like it here alot. You don't realise how big this country is until you cross it. I arrived on Friday and almost forgot I could still use Canadian money. Excuse me if my sentences are stilted, I may have had one too many vodka soda's with this great couple from England I met on my trip to Niagara Falls today. After we arrived back in Toronto we went to dinner at this organic grill in Kensington/Chinatown and since they are in their last two weeks of a twelve month around the world journey from home, they had loads of stories to tell. I hope we can intersect again.


Why is the grass always greener? Toronto stereotypes aside, this place is wonderful, and I haven't run into one bad spirit. 20 years in a transient city like Vancouver is a long time, and it's nice to know that cities like this (Toronto) exist with a booming theatre/arts culture in Canada. The culture here is diverse and welcoming to everyone. In one day I went to Caribbana (this amazing Carribean festival), to Wakefest (a punk wakeboarding festival), to Harbour hiphop festival, and to free shows for Just for Laughs (the largest Comedy festival in North America. To top it off I saw one of my favourite plays Top Girls in the distillery district (basically the theatre was once one of the main buildings of what once was the world's largest Whiskey Distillery). This was a Soulpepper theatre company show, and this is a company I not only knew about before coming to Toronto, but is also one I hope to one day look to for structure in my theatre company's mission. I saw this classic Caryl Churchill show last night for free because though the show was sold out completely when I got there, someone had left one single student ticket should a lone student need the ticket their daughter could not use. These generous people (whom I was sitting beside of course) also drove me to my hostel across town after the show to make sure I got there safe.


It's meant to be, no? It's inspiring to want to create something like this community but in Vancouver, but it's comforting to know I don't have to get a work visa to find a city that already has it.


I'm seeing the beautiful Lara Isaacson (nee Vancouver) tomorrow who I haven't seen since her big move in May. I got tickets for a taping at Muchmusic...more ahead.

clearly

Creating something seems to be the only way to do and sustain what you love.


To be continued.

living the novella

I'll just say it. There's no such thing as fiction anymore. It's all been done. I'm sure you can find the ending to the novel you've been writing in the memories of a neighbour or two.

Is nothing absurd anymore? Show me the ludicrous! I can no longer even feign a precipitous blink. I've almost heard it all. The attrocities in the world community are numbered, the celebrities in an effort to top eachother have won their headlines, and life in Vancouver is varied in its plotlines.

Do I have a point? Not particularly...but I have to say it's both alarming and strangely comforting to understand that everyone's "normal life" has an epic plot twist coming.

right now.

The sound of Jazz fest outside and the smell of fresh rain drying on the concrete...it must mean it's summer in Vancouver.

je, tu, nous

All things considered, my affection for the unknown has always been strong. Perhaps this can be linked back to the time I dropped the loonie I earned for washing a car down a hole in the wall to see if it was hallow. My affinity for foreign films aside, I find glimpses into an unfamiliar culture the perfect way to satisfy that said affection as well as learn more about myself without my situational give-ins. Working where I do for the summer, my paths obviously intersect with a lot of different people from a lot of different backgrounds. The key is that I'm in the position to not only have to talk to these masses, but get to listen to the stories of these masses...I get to talk/ask/parley with people who by default interest me because of their difference in origin, but who maintain my interest with their all too familiar interest in the unknown.

Maybe the most edifying part of these interactions is not the finding of our differences...but rather in the finding of our common denominator in a foreign equation.

On a personal note, my french is getting back up to fluency. This is in thanks to every conversation about our climate, every assurance I've taken in that Paris is not the only city in France, and each large gestured chat about Edith Piaf's best songs.

I'm realising that despite the joy of independance, it's all absorbed when I get to share in the human experience. Plus...English or French, it's a great assurance to know that I can still find myself inside a smaller vocabulary.

(AAAAAH)?

I've had an interesting week...I'll put it that way. As most know by now, something I've wanted for a long time has come to actualise. On Monday I spoke for the first time to my father, and really it couldn't have gone any better. Him not having known of my existence all twenty years of my life, until just months ago, makes this phone call having gone well a difficult thing to deal with consequentially. I never really went there...to the what if they told him, what if we'd known each other like kin for my whole life? I'm going there now though. I can't help it. I can't help but feel a bit tampered with, though it's years later. The decisions made on my behalf weren't meant to cause damage, but here we are. Of all times to be angry...this is it right? This would be okay. That...is a hard emotion for me to tap in to. Anger or amour...it's all too uncontrolled maybe. It's blindly popping a pill that'll either cure your headache, or make you atrophy.


I'm rarely one to be walked upon, but it seems with some I'm more willing to be the rug.


Maybe it's having let myself feel sometimes disposable within my family dynamic, that I expect directness will push them away for good. Maybe it's the doubt if I'm worth listening to in a visceral state. Maybe it's the reserve of being on display, and dealing with the consequences of that whatever they may be. Maybe it's the fear that being candid...not cerebral...not contrived...not guarded...will make me seem weak.

This isn't a woe is me post. This is an I-dont-want-to-waste-anymore-time-or-energy-just-paying-the-interest...you know?



I'm going in...headlong.

It's a good life if you don't weaken

As I get older things get less romantic. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I can't help but wonder what the whole point is. I'll elaborate on this as best I can...

I've grown up always thinking something better comes with time, and that no matter how bad times are there is always technically an alternative improvement...some sort of utopia ahead. I've given up thinking that that is true. With time comes experience right? I've always been one for that. That said, after having seen more, and more recently touched a piece of what I once would have described as part of my utopian ideal (only to be disappointed by its droning familiarity) I can't help but drift towards the once unimaginable side of absolute pescimism. Does this mean I curl up and begin a life of un-producing consumership, too jaded to think there is any other option? No. But I'm realising that the knowing what you have is about knowing that you’re going to lose it. It's now finding a way to enjoy the expected, and fill the present...even if it means accepting that a bouquet of flowers will wilt...and that it's dirty underwear, conversation, and funeral costs coming along on the same train with whatever good the future holds.


*note: I shouldn't be drinking wine alone on a monday with blogger open.

lonely war

Photo: Robert Capa


I saw a recruitment ad for the army today. It really made it enlistment sound like a trendy idea. I wonder then if most of those considering it, consider as well that most of the time spent in war isn't the social function the ads depict. I'm sure war is lonely and individual work. I can barely imagine how small it could get. Eventually it would boil down to ten unshaven gaunt looking 18 year old men from small towns in America stationed off a dirt road with nothing but the sound of enemy tanks filled with darker skinned dopplegangers coming in.

since you (haven't) asked

I would like to have a secret pen-pal.
I would like to know more Italian than nouns from the carbohydrate family.
I would like to switch from auto to manual on my lens with conviction.
I would like to touch my toes...comfortably.
I would like to get cookin' (french, vietnamese).
I would like to use a word like 'ace' with a straight face.
I would like to be able to move my life in only a couple suitcases.
I would like to consistently run again (...hahaha).
I would like to live in Paris, own two berets, and take up smoking.


But for now?


I am set on what I am doing. For better or for worse.

pomp

Having watched the last 15 minutes of the Miss Universe pageant I can finally define what I find is the most absurdly problematic part of that whole parade.
It's not the gowns. It's not the dance sequences. It's not the answers of a 'world peace' caliber...

It's not that while watching I almost forget I like myself.

It's the smiling. The incessant smile. The vacant smile. The nothingsactuallyhappeningbuttheystill smile. The pick me(!) smile.

It's in these smiles that I see the man behind the curtain.

exactly

"The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

a new summer skin. (to do)

1. Support local music.
2. Take more pictures.
3. Read more foreign press.
4. Find a new patio.
5. Find the love for this city I used to have.
6. Speak up.
7. Shut up.
8. Prove that every person is a storyteller.
9. Bring more green into my life.
10. Love.
11. Try liking jazz.
12. Watch the sun set, and rise twice a week.
13. Perfect my F chord.
14. Skip the pinot gris, and buy a book instead at least once.
15. Be happy.

In with the old

I buried myself in some old journals this morning.


It's nice to know from time to time that you didn't just appear when you woke up this morning - and that for better and for worse, the way you are is the way you've always been.

big

http://www.vfs.com/blog/2007/05/24/doc-team-winnes-cannes-contest/

This brings out a mix of things. Helen is gone, and this last couple months have been very hard on a lot of wonderful people. I am, on the other hand, so happy that these friends/family took this trial and turned it to create this. This triumph could not be more deserved, and I'm sure Helen would agree.

ALS is a devastating neurodegenerative disease, those living with the disease become progressively paralyzed due to degeneration of the upper and lower motor neurons in the brain and spinal cord. Eighty per cent of people with ALS die within two to five years of diagnois (in Helen's case less than two months)- unable to breathe or swallow. According to the World Health Organization, neurodegenerative diseases are predicted to surpass cancer as the second leading cause of death in Canada by 2040.

For every person diagnosed with ALS a person with ALS dies.

click to donate to the ALS society

Grace(land)

I used to have dreams about Elvis Presley. These dreams had little to do with smooth pelvic gyrations though...and more to do with...

well it usually went something like this: I'm sitting on the edge of a bed in a gaudy room, and I'm watching an old t.v. I hear Elvis (who in my dreams I always know) vomitting in the bathroom of this room, I don't ever get up to check on him. I stare at my diamond ring. I hear a loud thump from the bathroom. Histeria, reporters, paramedics, barbiturate overdose.

I had this dream every week as a kid for a long time, until I was convinced I was actually in the room beside where Elvis kicked it. I haven't had this dream in almost a decade.

I had same dream again last night...well sort of...




...this time I was the one in the bathroom.

ballocks!

Blogging privately for a while, but in an attempt to quell the outbursts (or the formation of some therein) I might as well start "sharing".


Today:
Balls. On my shoulder. On the bus. To work. Balls on my shoulder on the bus to work. (see figure 1.a)






Not to worry children, your extra quarter in fare payed to translink has not sunken into the abyss. Sleep sound knowing that you infact have financed a meticulously engineered plan to keep men able to get off around the clock. It's the gentle rocking when the bus curves off Granville st. that really does it...


*drawing is a dramatization of actual events, although cup-size...for both persons...may have been alterred for dramatic effect.