morning rush

By the time Swee'pea and I got in the car this morning (because we were too late to walk and I had a 9 a.m. meeting, which was at risk even with the car), I was pretty much vibrating from headache and rush and irritability. I mean, how many times does one have to ask a toddler to do something like put boots on or a toque??? I hate that I'm constantly at Swee'pea to hurry up, quick, quick, focus, just FOCUS on the task at hand, would you? and do it.

I flipped some radio channels in the car, and soon heard the first few chords from "Come as you are" by Nirvana. I turned it up and started ,yelling singing along. It was just like being 15 again, and amazingly it felt good. It felt good just to sink into rage and self-loathing without apology, to feel 16 again. I had a moment when I wondered what Swee'pea thought, unusually silent in the backseat, but I didn't really care. I mean, I was singing. Singing can't be scary, can it?

The song ended as we pulled into Swee'pea's daycare. After I turned the car off, Swee'pea said, "That music was scary.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it sounded like Cookie Monster."

we are ugly but we have the music

Ever since Andrea expressed her change of heart about privacy, and Mad commented that her daughter may be more mortified by what she says about herself than what she says about her daughter, I've been thinking about some of my old flashback fridays. On the one hand, there probably aren't (m)any appropriate occasions for discussing one's sexual history with one's children - certainly not the details - but I do remember asking my mom, and feeling a little let down that she was a virgin when she married my dad. My friend's mom was much cooler: not only did she smoke (and let us smoke around her) but she had had love affairs before she married my friend's dad.

Officially, I was a late bloomer. I didn't have my first date and first kiss (on different days) until I was 17 and almost all of my friends had already lost their virginity. I didn't actually lose my virginity until I was 19, an old hag by any standards, as far as I was concerned. But still my mom made moralizing noises about anything she caught wind of, and I didn't much care for that disapproval.

When I was in high school, right around that time of my first love (the first date, first kiss guy), we listened to a lot of Leonard Cohen. I've probably written this before but my friend and her boyfriend had built a cabin in the woods, complete with dugout beer cellar, hammock, and battery-operated stereo. It was great, and we spent a lot of time drinking, talking, and listening to Leonard Cohen, among others, there. I had his Best Of tape, with So Long Maryanne (it so happened that one of our friends was named Maryanne and the night before she moved out west we sang it loudly, badly, and repeatedly), Suzanne, Sisters of Mercy (which I found faintly shocking at the time), Famous Blue Raincoat, and Chelsea Hotel No. 2, which everyone said was about Janis Joplin, so I always picture Janis and Leonard on an unmade bed high above the city some short time before she died when I hear it. We all fancied ourselves poets, and Leonard had the perfect mix of poetry, melancholy, and blatant sex for us.

In my early twenties, I became a one-woman political movement. I wanted to prove that the teen magazine view of female sexuality was all wrong, that women could have sex without love, could do it without wounds. I may have had a wound I was trying to heal, but if anything I blame the magazines for that wound.

Through high school I pored over teen magazines. Apart from my friends' boyfriends, they were my only way to learn about boys so I sopped up the advice columns and the quizzes and the feature articles about how to please your guy. I read all about how if a guy really loves you he won't pressure you for sex, that any guy who pushes for sex is an asshole, that all guys want sex with anyone, any time, anywhere, and all girls need time to be comfortable and firmly in love before sex is an option. I really hate that stereotype, that guys only want sex and women only want love. So I set out to prove it wrong, at least to myself.

Now that I'm on the other side of that experiment, I feel like my silence is a weapon. Like all us married women whisper behind our hands or comment on my blog that yes we had casual sex too but shhh... we don't want to admit anything other than this staid, settled, married front. And I really don't think that's helpful to our daughters. Sometimes I catch myself feeling like that experiment was a mistake, another misguided hiccup of youth, like the time I got into a car driven by a drunk driver who pulled from the 26-er of whiskey riding down the highway in the middle of the blizzard. But was it really? Or did I learn important things about myself?

At the bloggy weekend, the same one Bon left early to see Mr. Cohen himself, I asked around the room, how will you discuss your sexual history with your kids. I think that's the one thing I want to do differently from my mom. In some ways I'm proud of my brazenness, proud of not letting my Amazon-ness prevent me from discovering my sexuality, proud of the work I've done to enjoy and accept my body. Mad wondered if in fact I'd had any good experiences, because my Flashback Fridays are mostly ... shit I can't remember the word she used but it was quite apt... something along the lines of damaging or troubled. This tells me I still have stories to tell, even if I find it difficult or embarrassing. I have the good stories to tell still, and yes there were some.

At this point, I think I have to send you over to Bon and Sage for their discussion of Leonard Cohen's songs and his portrayal of female sexuality, if you haven't read them already. They're that good, and much more articulate than I could ever be.

This afternoon, I decided to listen to him again, for old time's sake, and I picked Chelsea Hotel No. 2 first. As I listened to it, and then commented at Sage's place, I realized he had influenced my own sexuality. I think I was trying to become the woman at the Chelsea Hotel No. 2, from the "I never once heard you say, I need you, I don't need you, I need you, I don't need you And all of that jiving around" to the "clenching your fist for the ones like us, Who are oppressed by the figures of beauty, You fixed yourself, you said, "well never mind, We are ugly but we have the music" to the "I don't mean to suggest that i loved you the best, I can't keep track of each fallen robin. I remember you well in the chelsea hotel, That's all, i don't even think of you that often."

last week

I followed the old man all the way up the big hill. He wore a fedora and a trench coat that occasionally flapped open in the back to display slightly bowed legs. With every step the silhouette of each shoe lifted up, too large for his stature, supersized by rubbers.

It was a brilliant morning, cold and icy, the kind of morning that forces you to notice each breath and step, waiting for ache. The kind of morning that shakes you out of your winter blah. It hadn't started out brilliantly at all. When I left the house, the sky was dreary, the light dull and the sidewalk so icy my strides shrunk to elderly proportions. By the time I reached the covered bridge, though, a thick golden line stretched across the sky where the sun was starting to peek over the cloudy horizon.

On the main road the sidewalk was walkable and I fell behind the old man, far enough back not to intrude on his sense of privacy but close enough to study him. About halfway up the hill I noticed that I wasn't any closer to him, despite his relaxed, loping gait and my more hurried steps. I felt slightly shamed. As we crested the hill, the sun suddenly burst out and turned the world all black velvet silhouettes and gold lame ice. I wished I had my camera with me. The man in the fedora and trenchcoat was perfectly silhouetted above me, and the brilliance of the sun split by a black telephone pole on the right was balanced perfectly by the black retaining wall split by patches of brilliant gold on the left.

Eventually, I passed him and confirmed my suspicion of rubber shoe covers. I chanced a look back at the crosswalk and noticed that he wasn't nearly as old as I'd thought, 45 at most.

* * *

When I got to my desk, my inbox brought me to a video of a British cell phone salesman with bad teeth who wants to sing opera. He says he was born to sing opera. I expected the worst. I've never had much appreciation for opera. I just knew it was gonna be like Sex's audition on So You Think You Can Dance.







I wept. Opera has never made me weep. Later that morning I saw the friend who had sent it to me and he asked if I watched it. I tried to play it cool, but when he admitted that it moved him to tears, I admitted that it had me too. Then it wasn't quite so embarrassing.

antidote

A while back, I put together two playlists: one with music to wallow to, because sometimes I like to sink back into my melancholy and let sad music music embrace me. Then, fearing it might make a listener suicidal, I made the antidote, a collection of songs that always make me feel good and alive. The playlist is heavy on African music, and there is one track in particular that I have been listening to over and over again lately. Its English translation is "Beware Verwoerd! (The Black Man is Coming)" and the women's voices ring out all joyous and the men's voices thrum below, their threat concealed by the melody. You can't help but tap your toe, and I guarantee you will find yourself humming the tune for hours after you listen to it. Not only does the music make me feel good, but also the fact that Africans would not be silenced by apartheid's long oppression, that they used music as both weapon and affirmation, and finally, eventually, as celebration once more. The point of all this, however, is not to muse on the significance of South African music in the struggle for freedom; you can watch Amandla! A Revolution in Four-Part Harmony for that (which I highly highly recommend).

I really just wanted an excuse to get you listening to "Beware Verwoerd" as background while I shared our very good fortune. The best I can do is this 30-second sample. (Please try and find the whole song from the Amandla! soundtrack - it's wonderful.)

Miriam Makeba – Beware Verwoerd (Naants' Indod'Emnyama)

We got some fantastic news. First, Sugar D got the job in Waterloo! And it pays even better than the Toronto job! This is the sign I have been looking for all summer. We were literally days away from putting our house on the market in preparation to move to the Big Smoke, and change everything. Three days before we were due to put the house on the market, Sugar D got an email about a job prospect in Waterloo. I heard late in the day at work. By the time I got home (like 15 minutes later) I was giddy at the prospect of not having to move, which made us think that perhaps we should reconsider everything, even if this particular prospect didn't pan out. He had to have two interviews, and this week was offered the job. So let's recap:

1. 3 days before making irrevocable moves, they approached him.
2. He was not actively looking for jobs in the area so wouldn't have seen the job on his own.
3. Even if he had been looking for jobs, he probably wouldn't have applied for this one, because the title was quite a departure from the usual job titles he qualified for.
4. Going back to his original position, the one that he lost back in May, now it's obvious that they did him a favour. He wasn't totally satisfied there, but he probably never would have gotten around to applying for other positions.
   

It's also looking like I will be getting a promotion at my work, which I will still be able to do part-time, bumping up to four days a week.

Houston, we have a sign!

So it looks like we were meant to remain here. Whenever people ask me how long I've lived here or why I moved here, I always used to tell them that I came here to go to school and never quite got around to leaving. Now, after going through this whole process, I can't say that anymore. We could have moved, and in the end we decided that we wanted to keep G-town as our home, that we belong here, at least for a bit longer. It feels much better living here because we actively want to than just being too lazy to get our shit together for somewhere else.

I haven't been able to blog about this awesome turn of events for nearly a week, waiting for the formal offer and for Sugar D to give notice at his current job (just in case any of his coworkers have discovered this blog) so my initial ecstasy has given way to a calmer joy and intense relief. Relief that all the open doors and possibilities and threats of change have closed, and we find ourselves in our own comfortable home, now even more comfortable knowing that we don't have to vacate it any time soon. After the months of emotionally distancing myself from our home, I feel the need to throw a house Re-Warming party, to jumpstart the process of re-inhabiting it.

Of course, the best part about all this good fortune is that it's not too good. I still have a child who will not sleep, and a mentally ill mother-in-law. So it's really just a nice balance now.

taking stock

Edited: Listen to that beautiful and haunting song here... and really, why don't you just read the post again with the song playing in the background.

Good Things:

1. hearing a mysterious and haunting song and being able to identify it (eventually) and listen to it again and again, making it a soundtrack for my own melancholy: "Cars and Telephones" by Arcade Fire* (interestingly it's a song that's never actually been released on an album; they recorded it as a demo in 2001 and somehow it made its way onto the web and has become a favourite -- the band was reportedly surprised when fans started requesting it live)


2. two male goldfinches bouncing on sunflowers in front of a red brick wall


3. coming upon a wedding reception outside our local riverside tearoom where a bride lifts her big white skirt to reveal ruby shoes picking their way across the gravel driveway and her bridesmaids, in simple black dresses and also wearing ruby shoes, place small, tasteful bunches of red roses on black tables


4. the orange, black and white underside of a monarch's wings lit by low morning sunlight against the azure sky


5. the word azure


6. the morning air nipping my bare arms like fresh wet dew while the sun warms my back


7. smelling freshly mown grass instead of car exhaust on the way to work


8. being woken from a dream in which my first boyfriend is weather-stripping the window of my teenage bedroom (at my dad's request) while I pretend to sleep. I tell him coyly, "I hope you can still get in..." and then I'm woken by my husband kissing me goodbye in our dark bedroom, me in our bed, while a faint morning light peeks through the window. It takes me a minute to situate myself.


9. the sweet sadness of watching my Grandma Ruth's old pink and mauve couch remain unwanted on our front lawn, and finally, putting it out of its cat-scratched misery at the dump

* I can't get you a youtube video right now, but I can give you the lyrics just to give you a sense:

I read the pages about me
In her autobiography
They were brief and to
the point
A flash, while you are getting dressed
A memory that needs to be repressed
I'll just wait until it's over
Since you've gone away
I never know just what to say
Since you've gone away
I never know just
what to say

Cause I like cars more than telephones
Your voice in my ear
makes me feel so alone
Tonight I'm gonna drive
The silver moon is
shining bright
Over the interstate
God saying hurry don't be late
Soon the sun will rise
That's when the romance dies
And I'm just tired of running around

I walked
To get the mail today
I guess
Your letter never came
I'll just
Check again tomorrow

A flash, while you are getting dressed
A memory that needs to be repressed
I'll just wait without saying a word
Since you've gone away
I never know just
what to say
Since you've gone away
I never know just what to say

Cause I like cars more than telephones
Your voice in my head makes me
feel so alone
Tonight I'm gonna drive
The silver moon is shining bright
Over the interstate
God saying hurry don't be late
Soon the sun will rise
That's when the romance dies
And I'm just tired of running around

But fuck it I love you even ifI'm gonna feel like shit
By the time I get
to you
Now the sky is turning blue
The stars they disappear
One by
one as the daylights nears
And yes you're in my head
But that doesn't
make you here
And I've lost all my friends
But you're the one I miss the
most
And now I'm almost there
Yeah I'm almost to the coast
And if I
had any notion
Of how I'm gonna drive my car across
the Atlantic Ocean,
I'd be fucking set.

to the grindstone

Today was very productive. We tidied reams of miscellaneous papers, I paid bills I hadn't paid in, er, way too long, took some books to the local used bookstore and ended up bringing another one home with the credit. All this to prepare for a week of painting. We (well, ok, I) figure we may as well make use of Sugar D's last week at home and the paint the front and upstairs halls and the dining room, so that if we decide to sell at some point, it's two fewer things to do, and if we don't, we can finally enjoy the colours I've had picked out for the last four years. By the time I got home from the paint store with something like six gallons of primers, ceiling white, trim paint and wall colours, we were exhausted. Except for Swee'pea.

So Sugar D and I engaged in some horizontal parenting while Swee'pea ran around laughing maniacally like some kind of headless chicken and climbed all over us raspberrying all the way. I think it's the first time the three of have just chilled in the same room since we got back, and it was good to relax. We listened to the recordings of the final Rheostatics concert that I downloaded, and it provided just the right kind of music and melancholy. The reverie was threefold: reliving my memories of that concert and the sadness that hung over my enjoyment of the music knowing it would come to an end, remembering my excitemenet that night when we drove through Sage's neighbourhood and my exclamation, "Let's move here!" and later that night seeing the woman sitting on the garbage bag with her eyes rolling back her in head while her smoke burnt down and deciding that perhaps the Big Smoke was not for me (and pondering the irony that Sugar D now, four months later, somehow has a job in that neck of the woods,) and finally, nostalgia for those earlier moments that the Rheostatics formed part of the soundtrack for: that first taste of freedom when my friend got her driver's license and we spent the summer just driving, anywhere; my first kisses on a cold March night in my mom's car, just the dashboard lights glowing cyan and orange against the fogged up windows.

Speaking of nostalgia, last night I went through my closet and put together a pile of clothes that I haven't worn since I was probably 23, and two pairs of shoes that I bought at the same time even though they were a size too big (they didn't have the right sizes -- that's how much these shoes seduced me) because I couldn't bring myself to choose between them. I've worn them each probably five times max because it's really not comfortable wearing shoes that are too big no matter how funky they look, and they bore just a touch too much resemblance to clown's shoes.



I'll take them to consignment shop I think. I found myself wondering if I should get rid of the clothes, if maybe my child would grow up and feel a sense of loss that they couldn't use their parents' clothes to dress in the latest retro style like I felt with my parents' lost 70s wardrobe.

Anyways, eventually Sugar D and I managed to peel ourselves off the floor and couch respectively, and walked to the park. There were a lot of people canoeing down the river, and every time we saw one, Swee'pea would point and bellow, "Bo! Bo! Bo!" his loud voice shattering the tranquility.

Absolutely Must See Video

Today I walked home from work. Shortly after I departed my place of employment, I noticed that traffic had stopped. Suddenly. At the front of the stopped traffic was a pickup truck, followed closely -- so closely I figured it had rear ended the pickup -- was a minivan. I started to walk faster to see what was going on; I'm nosy like that. The driver of the pickup hopped out of his truck quickly and as he started pounding on the window of the minivan I realized it wasn't an accident. It was road rage. He pounded on the window and bellowed and gestured, his curly mop looking decidedly electric. When I realized how enraged he was, I decided to hang back, just in case he had a gun and opened fire. I don't think I would have thought that way before Swee'pea was born, but now I'm a mother, I have a reason to protect myself far more important than a simple instinct for self-preservation. I am a mother now. I can't play fast and loose with my life. Anyways, eventually the guy figured out that the other driver wasn't about to roll his window down and there was a growing line of traffic grumpily stopped behind them, all watching with interest, and he got in his car and drove away.

I picked up the stroller at home and walked to pick up Swee'pea from daycare. I passed a lot of people during this stretch through my neighbourhood. And nobody really made eye contact with me.

Do you look crazy if you walk around with an empty stroller? At least I didn't have a doll in it with creepy eyes rolling back in its head.

Actually one person made eye contact with me. I think it was Hawksley Workman. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was, but I couldn't quite bring myself to ask... I once sort of interviewed him after a show when I reviewed his 1999 cd for the campus paper.

Speaking of Canadian musicians with falsetto capabilities, look what I found on youtube! It's a video of the Rheostatics' final performance of Record Body Count,which I described as feeling like a huge bush party singalong around a camp fire.



LOVE IT! (Yes, I'm still obsessing about the end of the Rheostatics...)

PS A woman who rarely returns my emails, finally returned an email today. Her closing words? "Hope the baby is good." She's been told Swee'pea's name several times; she just can't remember it. This pisses me off. Is that unfair?

Flirt

This afternoon I found myself in a strange (for me anyways) situation.

I found myself flirting with a very young plumber in my messy house.

Yesterday I stayed home from work, sick with a stomach bug. It was the first time I've been alone in the house since Swee'pea was born. I slept for two hours, I rested and lounged on the couch and watched home design shows. Finally, I managed to throw in a load of wash. Around 4:30 I heard the ominous sound of water dripping. Inside the house. When no one was in the shower, so it couldn't possibly be the somewhat usual leaking from the shower through the floor into the kitchen. When I looked in the kitchen I saw a wave of blue laundry wastewater pouring over the kitchen sink, down the cupboards and onto the floor like blood from the elevator in The Shining.

Which is how I found myself flirting with a very young plumber in my messy kitchen.

Is it me or do people just keep getting younger and younger while I get older and older?

Ok, so now that I've confessed, I don't know what else to say about it, except it was weird and I felt very out of my depth.

And yet. I couldn't resist commenting on how nice it was to see a plumber who wears a belt. Better yet, the belt works.

And he said that he does 50 lunges a day to keep his bubble butt capable of holding up his pants. And he tried to show me his ripped underwear.

I averted my eyes.

He suggested that my job is boring, and that I must be boring, in a way that implied that he knew I couldn't possibly be boring.

I told him that his job does not appeal to me in the slightest... dealing with other people's shitty water.

It was a totally harmless absolutely flirtation, unthreatening to any absent partners, but just a teensy bit thrilling. I mean, he was REALLY young, like 21, if that even. And I am not 21. I haven't flirted in... oh... I don't know, a VERY long time.

* * *

And, because I'm greedy and Alpha Dogma indulged me, I have more interview questions. Yippee! I love this meme!

High heel espadrilles: your favourite new fashion trend or the dumbest thing since the trucker hat craze of 2004?

Um, neither?

This is actually quite a revealing question for me. I had to google "high heel espadrille," which as it turns out is not what I thought it was. I thought it was a little kitten heel sandal or something. Anyways, I actually kind of liked the pictures I saw but I almost never wear high heels. I love the idea of high heels, but they are just way too uncomfortable for me to wear for any length of time. If an occasion calls for high heels, like a wedding, I always bring a spare pair of shoes or birkenstocks to put on for the reception.

I also have to say that I while I didn't understand the trucker hat thing at the time, not exactly, in fact I was WAY ahead of time. Yes, way back in 98, my friends and I found a plastic bag of six brand new bright orange trucker hats on the bus. They featured a logo that included a maple leaf, a cow, a wheat stalk and barn with a silo, AND the letters C I J.

Because we were desperate for drinking money, we had an idea that we thought was a brilliant stroke of entrepreneurial genius: we'd sell them! We'd each wear one (there were three of us) to show our confidence in the utter fashionableness of the merchandise, then drink the proceeds.

Except no one would buy them. Luckily, one of my friends had a lucrative job at Toyota so she fronted our drinking money, as she did most nights, just until we sold the hats. We tried to say they were from the Canadian Institute for Idiots and Jugglers and other things depending on the (non)buyer.

Eventually, someone, an acquanintance took pity on us and bought one for 50 cents. We moved to the Albion. One guy turned out to be a juggler himself, and he pulled three eggs out of his pocket and started juggling (who carries eggs in their pockets?!?). We were so impressed we gave him a hat.

Now this next part I'm not proud of, but I was very very hammered. I was pitching the hat to another table of people I'd never met before. And they were due for another pitcher, so they all piled their money on the table for the next one. And while I was trying to persuade them to buy the hat, I took the money off the table. Then I told them they could keep the hat for "free."

We bought another pitcher with their money, and we each kept one of the three remaining hats.

The next night, or maybe a few nights later, I was drunk again and having a smoke with one of those same friends. I dropped the smoke in the front pocket of my coat, and dove my hand in to get it out before I ignited.

EWWWWWWW!

Someone put K-Y Jelly in my coat! Ewww!! What kind of person does that?!?

Then I noticed the hard little bits in the K-Y Jelly. Egg shells.

Apparently I carry eggs in my pocket. That's when I remembered that the juggler very kindly gave me the eggs, and I, feeling very clever, put them in my pocket for breakfast the next day.



No, I don't have a double chin. I don't know what you're talking about. See? I don't see a double chin. (Never mind the evidence of the strain of the neck muscles trying to keep the double chin away.)

Cash, interac, cheque or credit card: which one do you use most frequently when shopping for groceries?

interac all the way, although if I had one of those air miles credit cards, I'd use one of those.

You find a spider in your bathtub. Do you squish it, blast it with killin' chemicals or do you gently scoop it up and relocate it outside where it goes on to live a long and happy life and becomes a contributing member of the spider community?

Actually, I have dealt with this very situation. Well, almost the very situation. It wasn't my bathtub, it was my living room floor, and it was a really really big spider.

I put a jar over it and left the house until Sugar Daddy got home and put a card underneath it and put it outside. He usually takes care of all bugs in the house in this way. Unless it's an earwig or something and he just smashes it.

Does this season of 'House' suck or am I alone in this belief?

You're not alone. I can't quite bring myself to say it sucks, but I don't always bother to watch every episode. If I'm doing something else more interesting, like blogging, sometimes I just don't quite bother.

It's a bit too dark... Cuddy perjoring herself was a bit too much for me to believe, and then House continuing with the addiction was too bleak. Cameron kissing him too forced... And then, a week or two ago, House giving himself a catheter?!? It was just too much for me. And there isn't as much unbelievably smart-ass doctor comments as there used to be, in my opinion.

What are you having for dinner - and will you give me the recipe, please, please, please!

Well, tonight we're out of groceries so it's takeout curry. For that you pick up the phone, dial, then go out a bit later to pick it up.

I wrote that between dialing and going to pick it up. The youth drop-in centre that I walk by a lot with my camera but end up being too chicken to actually take anyone's photos is across the street from our local fast food curry place.

Tonight I thought about bringing my camera since it was still light, but I didn't. I knew I'd be too chicken. When I pulled up I saw a young girl with a pixie 'do, rainbow-striped toque, black docs with rainbow striped socks peaking over top and rainbow laces. In other words, a girl after my own heart. She was having a smoke with a tall skinny guy with green hair.

When I came out, he was standing with his back to her and she was sitting on a concrete step, her hand covering her face, army green canvas backpack at her feet. I thought I heard a sniffle and wondered if they were fighting. But I don't think so. It was freezing cold with a blustery wind, wind that had blown the former puddles into frozen still bubbles on the sidewalk. Another photo that wasn't.

As for the recipe, Sugar Daddy made dahl last night, which was very good, but I don't feel like typing out the recipe right now. Another time.

* * *

For anyone who's interested, you can download most of the Rheostatics' last show here. It's just missing the last two acoustic songs (and the site is sanctioned by the band themselves so you don't even need to feel guilty). Also, CBC is planning to broadcast the show sometime, though I haven't been able to find out an exact date. One place said Saturday with no time, and another place said sometime early next week (or maybe it was this past week?)... anyways, you've been warned that if you're interested you should try to find out.

Ok, just found out here. Saturday at 8 pm. But how do I find CBC radio 2? I always admire people who listen to cbc and think that I should do, but seriously, how exactly do I find them on the dial? And how do I know the difference between radios 1, 2 and 3? I'm so dumb.

Cinnamon Gurl's Big City Adventure

Last night was our big city adventure, and it did not disappoint. Sage looks exactly like the hot picture she posted a ways back, but I was surprised by her voice. Somehow, I expected her voice to be deeper, grittier, but it was very soft and light. I guess I expected her literal voice to be the same as her bloggy voice. I also thought that since we read each other's blogs, there would be no small talk, no minor awkwardness of people meeting for the first time, but there was, just a bit. She and Mr. Sage are lovely, gracious and kind hosts, and made us an awesome dinner, and Sugar Daddy, Swee'pea and I all enjoyed our visit enormously. Sadly we didn't get to meet Mme. L. Next time...

When we arrived at our seats on the top Massey Hall balcony, the Rheostatics were already playing at their last concert EVER (sob!). Maybe it's just because I've been writing about my past anxiety, maybe I'm just more aware of it, and more aware that I would never have gone to Toronto, eaten dinner, and ridden the street car to go to a concert with a stranger just a few years ago. Whatever the reason, those old minions of panic trotted across my mind as soon as I squeezed myself into the seat: vertigo at how far down the band was and how near I was to the railing, visions of the balcony collapsing after like 100 years of not collapsing, visions of me getting up to pee and tripping and plunging to my death, feeling trapped by the people between me and the aisle escape. I was comforted by the fact that Sage already knew about my history of anxiety so that if I needed to stand by the door, I wouldn't have as much explaining to do. By the second song though I'd talked myself down and was absorbed in the music.

They played Me and Stupid early on, which was really great, and I'd forgotten that in the recorded version they sampled Al Purdy... more evidence that the Rheostatics is the best Canadian band ever. Dave Bidini mentioned Al, and pointed in the audience, and I imagined dear departed Al up in the balcony, tolerating the ruckus like he did when I saw the old poet at the Albion. Thinking of people who have left reminded me of my grandma, and how the last time I was in Toronto, I was just around the corner at the Elgin, just hours after the last time I saw her, when I said goodbye and that I loved her. The small melancholy I felt at seeing the end of the Rheostatics grew to a moment of overwhelming sadness that people have to leave us, except they never really do, with Al and my grandma watching from up in the rafters.

Thursday night, someone from Toronto came to my request list from a blog search for Rheostatics. I like to think it was one of the band members (Tim, is that you?), just keeping an eye on what the blogosphere has to say about their concert at Massey Hall and subsequent breakup. Judging from their playlist, I think it must have been one of them. They played 9 out of my top 13 choices, which I think is pretty kickass, considering that they have 13 albums to choose from.

So I have to say that I most certainly did not have beer goggles on when I came on (or tried to anyways) to Tim Vesely, like, almost a decade ago (gah!). I spent most of the concert trying not to drool on the person in front of me, whose head was virtually between my knees. That man(Tim, not the one in front of me) is FINE, and the stage lights really accentuated his lovely cheekbones. AND, he was wearing brown pants. I couldn't tell for sure way up in the top balcony, but I'm pretty sure they were brown cords, and nothing weakens my knees like brown cords (well, ok, maybe it was just the seatback in front of me digging into them). It only made him hotter in my eyes when he asked where his kids were. AND, Sage said she thinks she knows where he lives, she's seen him doing yard work (I imagine him shirtless on a hot sunny day, biceps bulging). Swoon. She didn't volunteer where though; I guess just in case I'm some kind of Internet stalker. Can't blame her really.

Sugar Daddy has a pair of brown cords but has stopped wearing them because they're ripped. But I think I'm gonna have to ask him to put them on around the house... and maybe I'll get him a guitar for Christmas, because there was something REALLY sexy about Tim playing his bass laying on his back on the stage at one point. I don't think it would matter that Sugar Daddy can't play...

King of the Past wasn't on my list, but only because I never owned Whale Music so I didn't know all the song names. It was fantastic. I thought that that song would be the highlight of the evening, but then they played Northern Wish with their old drummers Dave Clarke (who, with all due respect, TOTALLY looked like a South Park character with his toque, glasses, beard and pale blue tuxedo -- in fact I'm gonna "draw" him just to prove it) on the drums and Don Kerr on the cello, which became the highlight.

(See what I mean?)

THEN they played Aliens... and I swooned as they sang the bit about "give me a deep kiss I've been longing for distraction," and I didn't think it could get any better. But it did. After the first fake ending, which I suspect served primarily as a pee break because they decided not to have an intermission so they could play more music, except it wasn't THAT kind because there were no beverages of any kind (for us anyways), and the seats at Massey Hall are very hard and small. I gotta give the guys credit: they played for 3 1/2 hours straight, and lasted way longer than my knees and ass.

It was a tremendously nostalgic evening... not only because it is the end of the band, but more personally. I haven't followed them for the last few years, so for me they're very much a part of my youth -- the same adolescent who adored Kids in the Hall and smoked cigarettes for the first time and drank beer around bonfires. On the one hand, it's really kind of sad that they never made it really big, because they are so talented, but on the other, I think it makes us fans feel smart and part of a select group. Actually, it felt more like regret than nostalgia, regret that I hadn't seen them in concert more when I had the chance, regret that I'd let them go like all the old friends I've lost touch with.

I couldn't help but think about how talented they all are. They all sing, they rotate instruments, and they always seem to be experimenting and having fun, while still keeping some special spark that is their own unique, identifiable sound. I love how they sampled Al Purdy reciting a line, how they created a whole album inspired by the Group of Seven, and how they collaborate with so many Canadian artists. And how they all also write or paint... they're marvels. Here they are, barely halfway through their lives, and they already know (I hope) that they will leave this place richer than they found it. That said, at one point Tim said something about opening for the Barenaked Ladies in Winnipeg, and I'm sorry, but that is just SO wrong.

They put on a great show, but those cramped seats made it feel like I was rockin' out strapped into the car, music booming and wanting to get all overcome but all I could do was bob my head in time. I felt that same mildly-pathetic-but-resolute-that-I-will-ROCK-IT feeling I do in the car on a summer day sometimes. The seats were too cramped even for chair dancing, so I just kept bobbing my head with the best of them. Dave Bidini had his signature fedora on, which contrasted jauntily with his Patio Lanterns rock star leaps, which I can just imagine him practicing as a 15-year-old in some wood-panelled basement with orange shag carpet.

There was one song that I didn't really recognize. Well, there were more than one, but one that really struck me. It was Self Serve Gas Station, which Martin dedicated to his parents and his sister, who was seeing him perform for the very first time, and that the song was only a little bit true. The lyrics punched me in the gut:

Another trucker stumbles up the steps into my kiosk for directions,
too wasted to see the map I'm showing him.
He wanted to bust the glass... 'cause I wouldn't give him gas -
I said, "You shouldn't be driving,
just take a nap until the morning-time and hit the road."
I wish I had a pistol just to take him down with myself;
who's to tell?
No one said this would be easy... but no one said this would be hell.

Their rendition of Horses, updated with snazzy 21st-century electronic references and effects, was positively apocalyptic, and I thought THAT would be the highlight of the evening... but no.

After Horses, they left the stage. I was deflated. They hadn't played Record Body Count, and I really didn't feel like leaving until they did, despite the cramps in my knees and my numb bum. I wondered if maybe Martin's voice just couldn't do it (poor guy, he was sick and his voice was pathetically, but movingly and appropriately hoarse at crucial moments). But they came out again after another standing ovation (which provided considerable relief to my old body), and Dave Bidini picked up his acoustic guitar and they all sat down on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. They talked for a moment, about nothing really, then played Legal Age Life and we all sang along. Dave Clarke came out again, and directed the audience in some fun backup "singing."

After the song, they walked into the middle of the audience, and Bidini spoke. He said that he didn't really feel emotional about the breakup unless he was talking to someone about how they grew up listening to the Rheostatics, or started a band because of them, or sang their songs when stuck in the wilderness.

Finally... finally, I recognized the first notes of Record Body Count. Bidini played quietly, and Martin sang hoarsely, the house lights golden dim with a bright spotlight on the Rheostatics, and it felt like a huge bush party around a camp fire, singing. I wondered if maybe this was why they'd chosen the beer-less Massey Hall, for a vision of this campfire moment with all their loyal fans singing with along all our might, as if our voices could keep them together, keep them from leaving us behind... I think maybe they had that moment planned all along. I wondered how the last lyric would hang in the great open space above us, the line about "Joey stepped up on the block of ice, put a rope around his neck, fell asleep before he died." It's an awfully morbid ending, but Martin deftly added a Tom Green sort of IEECE accent and a yo-yo-Homey hand gesture for comic relief, and those morbid last words floated painlessly in the air.

* * *

After such a brilliant culmination of their career, we left and took the streetcar home. I've never ridden a streetcar before, and I expected it to be kind of retro with wooden seats, but no. It's just like a really long bus. Anyways, around Spadina, it stopped suddenly, and everyone started looking to one side. Being nosy, I did too, and watched a big black SUV back up across the road, hit a parked car and drive away. We waited for the streetcar to start moving again but it didn't. Finally we went up to the small crowd around the driver. Apparently the streetcar hit that big black SUV when it had its nose in the middle of the street, and the SUV proceeded to hit that parked car not once but THREE times. Someone speculated that the SUV driver must have been drunk.

It suddenly struck me that I could have been killed (not really, but theoretically), that a drunk driver could prevent me from getting back to Swee'pea and Sugar Daddy, that other children say goodbye to their parents thinking they'll see them in a few hours and never do. The streetcar was broken I guess, so we got off and took a cab, which was also a bit hairy. At one point, we were stopped at a light for a long time, and I noticed a woman sitting on a big black garbage bag, another one beside her. She was smoking a cigarette and looking around, enormous bruise-coloured circles around her eyes, which suddenly rolled back in her head. She blinked and her eyes were normal again, but she was clearly out of it. And I found myself wondering if she had kids, somewhere out there, wondering where she was, and I wondered about what experiences exactly separated us, that I was in this cab looking at her, and she wasn't noticing. I felt very disturbed, wondering what her life was like.

But I got home to Swee'pea and Sugar Daddy safely, and dreamed of Tim Vesely and Martin Tielli, their songs playing in my head all night long.

* * *

Thank you Sage. The night will linger in my memory like the music in my dreams last night, maybe even as long as the indents in my knees.

Thursday 13: 13 Songs I want to hear at tomorrow's Rheostatics concert

1. Record Body Count – My ALL TIME favourite Rheostatics song… dark lyrics of high school angst with surprisingly perky vocals
2. Aliens - I was 15 when my brother first introduced me to the Rheostatics via their album Melville, and I was totally titillated by the line, “Let me touch your tits and keep me occupied…”
3. Northern Wish - I LOVE how the last words in the song are the melancholy and trailing off, “This song is Overrrrrrrrrrr…”
4. Saskatchewan
5. Horses – I’ve seen them perform this song live before, and it is TOTALLY ROCKIN’ (Except I’ve never been able to figure out the Holy Mackinaw Joe thing… anyone? Sage, is it about a famous violent strike?)
6. Legal Age Life at Variety Store – One of the reasons I LOVED the Albion way back when was because it had the Rheostatics AND Primus on its jukebox… this was always the song I picked from Whale Music
7. Sickening Song
8. Dope Fiends and Boozehounds (I can’t actually remember this song specifically, but I LOVE the title… it speaks of my university years so well…)
9. Me and Stupid – More teenage angst/stupidity
10. Take Me in Your Hand - I felt all smart for hearing a dirty metaphor in these lyrics
11. Jesus was Once a Teenager Too
12. Claire - My sister-in-law's name is Claire, so this song always feels like a tribute to her
13. Rain rain rain
    

And now for Two Shocking Revelations:

1) I haven’t actually followed the Rheostatics after Harmelodia… but just based on the titles, I think I want to hear these songs from their more recent albums:

These Days Are Good For the Canadian Conservative Youth Party Alliance
Power Ballad for Ozzie Osbourne
I Dig Music

2) Somehow, I have never actually paid for any of the Rheostatics’ recordings. How bad a big fan am I? BUT through their website, I see I can buy mp3s from Maple Music, a Canadian-owned online store specializing in Canadian Music. Which I will do tonight when I’m home.

* * *

In case any of you have missed my comments elsewhere, I have been reminiscing about the time the Rheostatics played at the Trash here in G-town, and I, hammered as usual for the time, tried to come on to Tim Vesely with absolutely no success. But he was very nice.

Tomorrow night’s concert is apparently Tim’s last performance with the band. I guess I should plan to throw my bra at him, but it occurs to me that all I have are tent-like nursing bras… I suppose that might make an impression?

(I've never been to a concert with assigned seating... how does that work? Where's the mosh pit? Oh God, I'm totally dating myself, aren't I? And how long it's been since I've been to a conert... Oh well, I'm a pretty good chair dancer, if I do say so myself.)

Wish me luck that I meet expectations at my first real-life blogger meeting…

(not quite) 13 songs or albums that helped me fall in love with SD

OK, so this was supposed to be a Thursday 13 but (obviously) I didn't get it out on time. And, as you will discover shortly, I couldn't come up with 13. I got 9. I've been thinking about this ever since I got inspired by that music meme awhile back, and I still could only come up with 9. So this is a Friday Nine. Which is fine with me, because really, there's far too much catchy alliteration in our bloggy titles, isn't there?

One thing that struck me pretty soon after I met Sugar Daddy was that he had kickass taste in music. I found his taste VERY attractive. So here are the 8 albums that formed the soundtrack of his seduction of me.

Bran Van 3000 - Glee

I first heard the song, "Drinking in LA" in the movie, Playing by Heart. My friend and I saw it because it was what happened to be playing at our local independent cinema, and we loved it. Later, I discovered that the movie was marketed as a comedy, which I must say is a total crock. Certainly there are funny moments, but there are way more really sad, really moving moments. This movie was also my first introduction to Goodnight Moon. The scene that featured that classic children's book, incidentally, brought me to tears. Embarrassing, almost sobbing tears in a public movie theatre.

Anyways, I loved that movie, loved Ryan Felippe (I can't be bothered to look up how to spell his last name), loved the deliciously melancholy song, and when I discovered that Sugar Daddy not only knew who made the song, but owned the cd... well, I was toast.



(See? It's a good song! The rest of the album's pretty good too.)

Basement Jaxx - Remedy

With its tanned, shiny, naked bodies entwined on the cover, and the decidedly sexual moaning preface, this cd actually kind of embarrassed me when I first heard it. But it was also kind of irresistible in those exciting early days of a brand new relationship with someone I thought was way outta my league in his hotness factor.

Finley Quaye (eponymous I think but can't be bothered to look it up because I've already talked about it)

I already talked about how we danced to one of these songs for our first dance at our wedding... It's good stuff.

Ali Farka Toure- Radio Mali

I really admire(d) Sugar Daddy's eclecticism. And I like this cd.

Air - Moon Safari

This is such a fantastic ambient cd, it would have been enough all by itself. It's a great cd for a relaxing rainy afternoon (not that we have those relaxing afternoons anymore), or whatever.



(This isn't an Air video, but I love how the imagery suits the song so much.)

Massive Attack - Mezzanine

(I actually like No Protection better, but Sugar Daddy didn't have that one, he had Mezzanine, which is still pretty good. And, considering that I didn't have any Massive Attack, was still pretty cool.)

Africa: Never Stand Still - various

This remains pretty much my favourite compilation of African music. I highly recommend it.

Tindersticks (eponymous)

I'm not sure what it was about this cd that impressed me, except that it's pretty accoustic so it makes a nice counterpoint to all the electronic cds. Plus it reminds me A LOT of a super-talented high school band I liked once.

Indian Ropeman - Elephant Sound

I love the fusion of throbbing hip hop and more classical Indian sounds. Little did I know that this fusion thing would become more and more fascinating to me, especially after I started belly dancing in 2001(ish? 2002?) with a fusion-focused instructor. Love it.

* * *

Now, just to round out the 13 number, I offer you four tidbits that I've just picked up in Bill Bryson's Troublesome Words. I know, I'm a grammar geek.

"No reader should ever be required to retrace his steps, however short the journey."

"It is worth noting that affect as a verb is nearly always bland and almost meaningless. [...] A more precise word can almost always be found."

"The belief that and should not be used to begin a sentence is without foundation. And that's all there is to it."

"Where the authorities do find common ground is in the belief that approximate and approximate to are cumbersome and nearly always better replaced by something shorter."

Giggity Giggity

I have a ton of half-started posts percolating, but I keep being distracted by other post topics, or Swee'pea doesn't nap (like today).

Kgirl tagged me for a rockin' meme, AND she even called me one of the rockinest folks, in an email. I'm not sure it's entirely accurate, but I LIKE it, and I'm gonna do the meme anyways.

So... 5 songs I've been listening to lately:

(Actually, I think this needs a bit of preamble. Sugar Daddy keeps somewhat up to date with new music, and is responsible for any thing post 1999 in our collection. Sometimes I stumble upon something and discover I enjoy it, but most of the time I've been sticking to my oldie but goodies like the Bobs (Marley and Dylan) and Neil Young... I'm nostalgic like that. And I can listen to my favourites on repeat endlessly, which drives Sugar Daddy, or anyone else within hearing distance, absolutely stark raving mad.)

1. "The Seed (2.0)" by The Roots
   
   This was a song I discovered thanks to SD. The first time I heard it, we were driving somewhere, and we'd just decided to try to make a baby, and we'd also... er... just made our first attempt (after years of practice, of course). The lyrics are silly, and actually quite offensive, but the fact that it's about conception... well, it spoke to me. Plus it's REALLY catchy. The next time I heard it, I was pregnant.

AND, just so you can see how bad this song is, and how bad my taste is, the chorus:

I only wanna fertilize another behind my lover's back
I sit and watch it grow standin' where I'm at
Fertilize another behind my lover's back
And I'm keepin' my secrets mine
I push my seed in her bush for life
Its gonna work because I'm pushin' it right
If Mary drops my baby girl tonight
I would name her Rock-N-Roll

I mean, who names their baby girl Rock-N-Roll?!?



Note: this is not the Roots performing. It's just some guy procrastinating on his law finals. But you can get a sense of how catchy the song is.



2. "Call to Apathy [tentative title]" by The Shins
   
   Just this past weekend, Sugar Daddy was on the computer and I was with Swee'pea in the living room. I didn't really notice the music, until suddenly I realized that it was nice, and just under my consciousness I had enjoyed the last several songs. It was the Shins. This one's my favourites of the ones on our computer.
   
   
3. Lay Lady Lay by Bob Dylan
   
   Yeah, I mentioned this one a while back, but I STILL just can't get enough. I'll listen to it like five times a day if Sugar Daddy's not around to stop me.
   
   
4. (Just tried to find a video or something with the song but have discovered that the person we downloaded it from must have made a mistake with the title so I don't know it) by Amon Tobin
   
   I loved Amon Tobin since before Sugar Daddy's time. In fact, I think I introduced HIM to Amon. Strangely, Amon Tobin played at the Trash in G-town back in about 2003, with the jazz festival or something I think. He put on a great show, except he kept calling it Gulf or Gelp (he alternated). Someone shouldda told him. Sadly, Sugar Daddy wouldn't let me name Swee'pea Tobin.
   
   
5. Smokin' Blunts by People Under the Stairs... I had a hard time choosing just one song by the People Under the Stairs. I know nothing about them, but discovered them by accident on itunes and I love them. Sugar Daddy says they're hip hop, but they seem a lot more jazzy yet ambient than that to me. Regardless, very good stuff. (In the end, there were a coupla frontrunners to choose between for the specific song to list. I chose this one because I figured kgirl would like this title.)
   

So, now I'm wondering what Mimi, Alpha Dogma are listening to...

13 Songs I Listened Incessantly To While Heartbroken

The other night I dreamed I was young again, like 20... young enough to be stupid but old enough to be free to revel in that stupidity. I was at my parents' barn up in the hay loft, where the hay had been cleared away to reveal an old roller rink. So I was on roller skates with some other young people, doing some of the fancy moves I could do back when I was 7, on the old, surprisingly smooth boards, and I was particularly interested in this one guy. I just followed him around, and eventually he sort of noticed me... I was just starting to wonder if maybe the interest was mutual when I was woken up by Swee'pea crying for More Boob! (He's been nursing almost constantly for the last week or so overnight, I guess because I've stopped nursing him between 8 and 5 during the day.)

Lying in bed with Sugar Daddy far on the other side of Swee'pea, I felt intense nostalgia for those free and stupid days, when every once in a while I would be lucky enough to experience the giddiness of new mutual attraction. Partly I think this is because of the old letters I read this weekend to my sister and other people, where I reported a lot of my crushes. Partly because I think it's something I do when life gets a bit hard, when Swee'pea's not sleeping well, and Sugar Daddy and I are feeling too tired, and stretched tight like an elastic band about to snap. Revisiting my old cds yesterday only added to this reverie.

Of course I know that there are wonderful fantastic things about being in a long-term relationship, and sharing the parenting of this amazing little being, different and separate but with bits of us both, but I got a bit sad thinking about that old excitement.

Many of my old letters were embarrassing, especially the ones to my sister. It seems all I wrote about were the boys I was interested in/stalking. It happened so frequently, and with so much thwarted passion, I'm amazed that I still have a heart... I should have gone through at least 9. (Of course, now, I couldn't even remember some of the guys I talked about, or their names in some cases.)

Anyways... a soundtrack of heartbreak:

1. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Under the Bridge. In grade 10 I spent at least a year obsessing over Jack. He worked at Burger King with me and I was taken with him. In retrospect, he had a bit of a mullet, but that was ok because he was tall and had gorgeous bluey-gray eyes. He went to a different high school, but came to a CFNY dance at my school once, and I danced with him to Under the Bridge. It was amazing and magical and I described just how he held my waist in a letter to my sister. I spent the whole weekend listening to my tape of Blood Sugar Sex Magic, which was one of my absolute faves at the time. I figured it had to be a sign that he danced with me to that song.
   
   But the following week, I learned that he had just started dating, that very night he danced with me, another girl. I was heartbroken, and yet kind of impressed with his choice of girlfriend, because she was overweight. Even then, and even with my sadness, I thought it was cool that he wasn't just after the conventional idea of beauty. Shortly after that I got the job at the stud farm, and lost touch with anyone who knew him, but I often wondered if they lasted a long time. I kind of thought they might.



2. Blind Melon - No Rain. In the beginning of grade 12, I had a massive crush on a younger guy, Ian, who had long curly dark hair, and was tall and skinny as a rake. Apparently, I also thought I would add to the allure of an older woman I was sure I held by writing him "quirky" letters, and phoning his house drunk, asking for him, then hanging up when he answered. I don't know how he resisted, but he did.
   
   I had completely forgotten until last weekend when I found a letter to him, wondering why he hadn't replied to my letters, and a letter to my sister explaining my logic in sending these letters. I guess I didn't bother sending the letter to him, figuring I was unlikely to get a response (a good decision I think). One time, at a dance, I saw him cuttin' the rug to this Blind Melon song, so I had to listen to it incessantly for a long time. As I remember, I didn't so much get heartbroken over this guy as I got interested in a new guy, the one who became my first love.



3. Nirvana - Heart Shaped Box. After my grade 12 winter formal where I decided I liked this uber cool alternadude, and felt like we'd bonded dancing to Heart Shaped Box. The crush didn't last long, once it came out that he liked my friend. Cue music.



4. The Odds - I would be your man. First, let me say that I listened to this album the other day, and I still like it. And it still makes me feel just a little bit sad remembering past hurts. I listened to the whole album on repeat after my first boyfriend, who I wanted/expected to marry eventually, broke up with me over the phone from 1000 miles away. There are a few ballads on this album that helped me wallow in my heartbreak, but the lyrics of this song especially brought on the tearfest:
   

   Its so easy to see that I
   Could wash your feet, and fill your womb
   And I would be your man
   But it hurts to know, but I dont think I can




5. Leonard Cohen - Chelsea Hotel No. 2. Another first love breakup song. We used to hang out in the cabin that my friend and her boyfriend built themselves, drinking and listening to Leonard Cohen. Er, listening AND singing along with, loudly and drunkenly. It was these words that really got to me during the wallowing time:

   And clenching your fist for the ones like us
   who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
   you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
   we are ugly but we have the music."




6. U2 - Sunday Bloody Sunday. I didn't own a copy of this at the time, but after the breakup with my first love, hearing it on the radio could spiral me into a weeping wreck. Because I first heard it with him, and loved it immediately... somehow it just reminded me of him.



7. Neil Young - Philadelphia. First love again, because we'd seen Philadelphia on our first date. The most retarded choice ever for a first date movie, but what can you do? We laughed uncomfortably throughout. Anyways, this woman I babysat for quite regularly had the soundtrack, so I spent five hours immediately fallowing the phone breakup sobbing next to the cd player, this song on repeat.



8. Ashley MacIsaac - Sleepy Maggie. Um. Er. Well, I cashed in my v-card to this song. On St. Patrick's Day, I won't say how many years ago except that I was a late bloomer compared to all my friends. I was reminded of this today by references to upcoming St. Patrick's Day plans. A nice fellow, a good experience, but he lived something like 8 hours away, so I pined after him, listening to this song on repeat for way too long. I still like it though.
9. Leonard Cohen - Waiting for the Miracle. V-Guy again, because I had just watched... that movie with Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis... the one where they become murderers... aha! Natural Born Killers! Yeah, so I'd just watched that, and was also listening to that soundtrack a lot at that time.



10. Daniel Lanois - Ice. But really the whole Acadie album. But I've already talked about that.



11. Bob Dylan - Lay Lady Lay. I had a shitty birthday when I turned 21. I had been dating a nice enough guy, but just before Christmas (and hence my Boxing Day birthday) he stopped calling or returning my calls. So by New Year's I figured that was it, and called him to formally end what was clearly already ended. It wasn't that painful, but still disappointing... So my friends threw me a surprise 21 and a quarter birthday in March, complete with Amazing Race style clues to guide our pub crawl, long before Amazing Race was even a twinkle in anyone's eye. One of my friends gave me a mixed tape with Bob Dylan and Ani DiFranco among others. I'd heard my friend's boyfriend (the one we got high on garlic with) sing his version of the chorus, but didn't hear the actual song until I got this tape. It proved essential listening when Sugar Daddy and I broke up for a week after six months. I spent most of the week when I wasn't at work curled up in a big comfy arm chair listening to the tape over and over again.



12. Bob Dylan - Knockin' on Heaven's Door. See above. This song was on the tape too, and before the tape, I'd never heard Bob Dylan's version.



13. Ani DiFranco - Both Hands. This song was also on that tape, but I remember it more clearly as being the soundtrack of another heartbreak. I started a somewhat casual relationship with a charismatic guy, who I suspected was a compulsive liar. He told me he had stomach cancer, that he made a very handsome living owning three grow houses in the city and letting other people do the work, and doing seasonal construction work down east or something. We were getting along quite well, and he was quite sweet except for occasionally not showing up when he said he would, even if he'd just called to say he was coming over now. Oh - and he wouldn't give me his phone number; that was annoying.
    
    Not long after we started dating, he stopped calling suddenly, and when I went out and saw his friends, they didn't know where he was. They figured he'd left town. After a month or so, I figured he had too. He did finally show up about four months later, and told me a big story that I can't remember now about why. Also something about wanting to settle down with a family, which scared the crap out of me.
    
    Some time after that, I saw him again, and he told me he was going to become a father soon and he was really happy. The lyrics of the song that felt especially apt during his mysterious disappearance were:

    and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again
    and I am getting nowhere with you
    and I can't let it go
    and I can't get through

I was thinking about all this today, and wondering why I insist on thinking about this stuff so much, and blogging about it. Especially when I felt so embarrassed by my letters. I suppose it's because I'm looking back in irony, and those letters were SO earnest.

Sugar Daddy came home early because of the storm, and -- get this!! -- Swee'pea was sleeping. in. the. crib. And had been for like nearly two hours. We exchanged a very nice hello kiss while he made himself a cuppa tea, and I asked him playfully, in my old, unsubtle, 20-year-old fashion, "wanna get laid?"

"Um. Maybe. Well I just want my cup of tea first."

Then Swee'pea woke up before he'd even started his tea.

I don't suppose it's that much of a mystery after all why I'm getting so nostalgic for past excitement...

Something I've Never Understood

With Swee'pea doing half-days at daycare while I continue my work frantic work in Operation Organize the Whole House by Wednesday (Today!), I've been revisiting some of my old cds. I used to be/still am quite the disco freak, which I think I've mentioned here today. Listening to the soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever, I am reminded of something I have never understood.

Why did they choose such a cheesy slow song for their competition number? How could they ever expect to win when you can't really bust a move to it? They should totally have used Disco Inferno...

And... the other day, through a supremely talented South African flickrite who I really really admire, I discovered this guy. And I can't help but feel jealous/disheartened that he's only 17!!! Check out his portfolio of homeless people and the photojournalism stuff, which he just shot in India (with the flickrite). I'm really curious to know how they hooked up... he lives in Lindsay, Ontario.

13 Songs I Loved When I was 13

(give or take a year)

I haven't done a Thursday 13 before but I was thinking earlier this week about music I liked when I was younger and thought it might be a fun way to cap off nablopomo.

Complete with links for your listening and viewing pleasure

Proudly without New Kids on the Block - I can honestly say I NEVER liked them

In reverse order of intensity like David Letterman's lists


13. Blame it on the Rain - Milli Vanilli (yes I was fooled and I'm not afraid to admit it)
12. The Power - Snap
11. Pump Up the Jam - Technotronic
10. Love Shack - B52's
9. The Humpty Dance - Digital Underground (I really identified with the song's "I look funny, so what" attitude)
8. I rhyme the World in 80 Days - Kish (sadly not even enough of a one-hit wonder to have a link to the song but I know he existed outside my imagination from this)
7. All I want to do is make love to you - Heart (This was the soundtrack to my grade 8 crush - which I shared with two or three other friends... we'd listen to this song endlessly, pining for the scrawny guy. And it was a metaphor for me -- I was a late bloomer.)

(These ones are a bit of a stretch time-wise, but I really really loved them and these are the songs that started me thinking of this list)

6. I touch myself - The Divinyls (this song was the soundtrack to my trip to Florida in grade 9... also a metaphor)
5. You're Unbelievable - EMF

(And now the top 4 songs I loved when I was 13 -- or thereabouts)

4. Nothing Compares 2 U - Sinead O'Connor (Hee - I remember mucking out stalls listening to this on the radio. I believe it came after the grade 8 crush flopped totally and I cried.)
3. Bust A Move - Young MC
2. Let Your Backbone Slide - Maestro Fresh Wes
1. Ice Ice Baby - Vanilla Ice (I loved him and this song so much that I shaved ICE into the back of my head)

I (heart) South African music

South African music seems to have become a soundtrack for my life with Ezra. Right now, Ezra is asleep in the sling and I'm listening to the soundtrack of Amandla, a fantastic documentary about the role of music in the struggle for freedom in South Africa. It was one of the cds we bought with an Amazon gift certificate Dave's aunt very kindly gave us for a wedding gift two years ago. I must confess though that we only just redeemed it, weeks before it was due to expire.

I think African rhythms have become a lullabye for Ezra. During the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I made some cds of South African music and listened to them rather incessantly. (I do that a lot when I like a song or cd - drives Dave nuts.) So I had two cds that I took with me to the hospital when I went into labour; mostly with music by Brenda Fassie, the Mahotella Queens, Vusi Mahlasela, Hugh Masakela and others. They really helped me relax when the contractions were getting too intense. But I remember the nurse commenting that this baby's going to come out singing to the Lion King. I remember I was mildly insulted by this - we are not listening to the Lion King lady; this is quality township music not some children's musical. But not for long because I had other things on my mind.

In the weeks following Ezra's birth, we really did find that he was soothed by those and some other African cds. Especially a trancey cd with lots of drums by Konono N1, which Dave endlessly rocked Ezra to sleep to. It was amazing actually; as soon as we put that cd on Ezra would immediately settle. We got so sick of the cd we were forced to buy the sequel, Congotronics 2, which I actually like better.

When I was about six months pregnant with Ezra, we went to see - oh crap, I can't remember the name. It was a South African musical, tracing the evolution of South African dance and music. It was entertaining but I remember being disappointed that it just skimmed over the political environment. I think Ezra enjoyed it though; his kicks kept time with the deep thrumming of the drums as he danced in the womb. I think it was the most active he ever was in my pregnancy. (It's called Umoja - I googled it.)

So where am I going with this? I dunno... I just love listening to South African music. I find it amazing that apartheid didn't drown the songs; if anything it fueled them. I remember when we were in Johannesburg and watched Amandla for the first time I thought I was coming down with something it gave me such chills. But I didn't get sick. Then when we went to the Hector Peterson Memorial and Musem a couple of days later, I thought I was getting sick again. And at the Apartheid Museum the next day. When we were home we bought the dvd and shared it with my family and again, those chills came on. I don't get the chills the same way now that I've listened to the soundtrack many times but I even got chills watching Ladysmith Black Mambazo perform in Kitchener (why they came to Kitchener I have no idea).

I guess it's just that the music is so upbeat and optimistic despite horrendous oppression. It's a lesson for me I guess.