bra shopping, mountains, fog, resolutions and mince pies

I went bra shopping this morning. With my sister. So that she could buy one of them and wrap it for me under the Christmas tree. My family has decided only to purchase somewhat useful things for each other. I'm happy to have the support (pun intended) from my sister. 

It's a funny time for me to be home for this holiday. I seem to be in the ultimate transition of life right now. Right side up is no longer what it used to be. I was on the seabus the other day when I realized that this west coast holiday has seemingly opened my brain to this endless free streaming thought process. It's like I had a back up that I didn't know about. Suddenly I can't seem to unplug, I just am thinking, thinking, thinking. 

I usually only get this way when I travel to places I've never seen. When I was on buses in middle of nowhere India in 2004, this was usually the case. I'd see a signpost, or an animal, or a building, or would overhear someone's greeting and would be triggered into this tangental series of thought... it was like waterfalls of thought in my brain... the only way to quell it was to write it... so this is my attempt today. 

Today, the stream started while trying on bras in a store called CHANGES. Yeah, that's right. Who names their bra stores CHANGES anyway? It's a truly bizarre thing to name a bra store I think... for one, it's not super positive in purpose. It almost suggests that the reason you've had to visit their specialty bra store is that uh, well, perhaps you've been through some CHANGES and that meant you grew to an irregular size and can't shop at the vie en rose outlet store anymore. It's not like they are congratulating you... rather they are telling you to deal with the fact that every bra you wear for the rest of your life is going to cost you upwards of $50 dollars each. Due to your CHANGES you have left the $8 zone and will never ever return. 

Now I guess this could be reassuring for someone who perhaps, had a baby or something. But not really for those of us who, at grade nine, had these things just pop out from your chest onto a skinny frame and the ratio of boob to width of chest is unusual. My ratio has been the same for years - give or take some hip weight and the toll of late night Toronto. Yet I still have a solid membership to this store. Although, I am being hard on it - the only thing I don't like is the name of the store. The rest is wonderful. The sales people are amazing, the bras are gorgeous - not crap maternity things that make you feel like you are hoisting things on your chest like it's burden. These bras they sell you here make you celebrate your tatas and well, that's all you can ask for in the end, I guess. 

I've been on a sort of house arrest here in Vancouver. For one thing, it snowed. A lot. All day, in fact. More than any Vancouverite knows how to deal with. Also, my wireless connection doesn't seem to want to connect to the internet so I'm stuck with breaking into my parent's connection and using their comp, which is always not running the way I want it to. All the things I enjoy - from simple things like watching the news have now become hard - turning on the massive flat screen telly involves five channel changers (clickers as my fam calls them) and even then, there are too many channels for me to choose from. I just want to watch the local news goddammit! And I don't even want to talk about the fact that I can't seem to open their weird locking doors. 

The one sure thing I have on my side is the coffee maker. I am thankfully able to grind beans, and make coffee. On my own. Like I know what I'm doing. It restores my daily confidence.

Oh, today, I had to admit I was no longer a natural blonde too. It's hard. I mean, this information is listed all over my life - on my passport, driver's license and such... but i realized that I had to admit that the blonde bits,  are actually remnant of the magical dye fairy and, well, post CHANGES store experience,  I visited our local hair salon (husband and wife team whose salon is in their basement) and they colour matched my roots and well, world....It's final. I'm going natural. (Wonder how long this is going to last?!) 

Ok. My web-spew is over for now. Time for a home cooked mince pie and to open a door of the advent calendar that one of my grandmas sent from England for the family. Sometimes love defies logic. This advent calendar is a clear example.

you and me

I met Alice Cooper today. And Burton Cummings.

Burton Cummings shared an elevator with me and a camera crew as we were heading up to meet Alice Cooper to do some interviews about his new album. He was friendly, asking us if we were heading to meet The Coop... they used to have the same management, and have known each other for 40 years and I'm sure this isn't the first time they've been routed through the same hotel over those years. I guess they're part of the 'icon' crew now, and since they've made it this far, all the trappings of the interviews and such that accompany the touring process are just PART of the process, and no longer a hindrance. At this point, I get the impression they've finally figured it out. They control it, manage it, do it, fufill it and get it done.

I should rephrase my beginnings here. I was actually bringing the camera crew up to the hotel room to do interviews, in my role as publicist... so it wasn't a surprise that I was there. It was scheduled, planned, and it was, in my life, what was happening on Monday afternoon as part of my job.

I've never been one to get stage fright. For the years that I spent in the theatre, I thought it was perhaps something that people just liked to talk about, building their little stories.... and like panic attacks, I couldn't believe that a mind could manifest physical symptoms and cause irritation in real people.

The only time I've ever gotten anxiety has been in this particular situation where I'm about to meet a rock n' roll legend whose legacy includes hits that were rocketing up the billboard charts before I was even a twinkle. I guess I'm just worried that an overtired manager would take a look at me, with my babyface and unobtrusive blonde locks, and blame anything that goes awry on my age and inexperience. Part of the worry lies in the artist feeling perhaps that a newbie has filled the role, that perhaps they are not being taken seriously in the industry. Of course, none of the above is ever the case. I've been doing this for a while now and have worked with people like Eric Burden (who I recall told stories about John Lennon re-meeting his father in a London bar one day and calling him a cunt) and Rob Halford (who after a day of exhausting interviews had a lovely chat about how much he loved holidaying in Blackpool near where my grandma lives.) I've also worked with the tiniest up and coming developing artists, Canadians, Europeans, DJs and more. I've spent the day with Margaret Atwood (I bought her a frutopia once and watched as the band I was working with taught her how to play the theremin) and taken actor Adam Beach through crowds of Aboriginal drum circles at the annual pow wow in Toronto.

So, really, I have no reason to get nervous. I know what I'm doing. Yet I do. And I think it's been made worse recently by the awkward work from home situation. Going to the office these days is about rolling downstairs, grinding my beans from ideal coffee, putting a pot on, gathering the three newspapers from outside my door, and then turning on the laptop in the living room. There's no watercooler, just me, my stereo (which today included a seeqpod playlist of hits from all of Alice Cooper's albums), and sometimes, visits from couriers and my superintendant.

This is what the music industry is these days. We are self-directed ships who promote, build, coordinate and talk. Some of us talk to whole countries and continents setting up tours, sending images, pitching ideas and updating our media lists about the latest about our many levels and genres of artists.

So, Monday for me was this scenario. The first real person I engaged with was actually the valet at the hotel, then the front desk clerk, then Alice Cooper's manager, a camera crew, and then Alice himself.

After an hour of interviews, we were done for the day. And I went home, to my home... uh, office. And didn't hang out at my watercooler, just continued to confirm interviews, and changed the laundry from the washer to the dryer.

Here's a little overview sampler of Alice Cooper for you... the current album, Along Came a Spider is his 25th!! He's put out records over 5 decades. He's been sober for 26 years and married for 32. His wife and daughter are both in his stage show and his current tour is his biggest Canadian tour he's ever done. He loves golf and has played with Tiger Woods. Reflected, the first track here, came out on his very first album and was rerecorded on a later album as Elected. School's Out and 18 are some of the most well known songs of his career. Frank Sinatra covered the last track on this list.... not necessarily what you think a guy who coined the term shock rock would release, but is one of the reasons he's a true artist deserving of his success. Versatility will get you everywhere.


SeeqPod - Playable Search

notes on scraps from a july vacation

Was cleaning my house and found pieces of a pad of paper used to scribble a setting whilst enroute to France to meet up with my family this past July. Since I re-read them, I thought there was no harm done in re-creating this snapshot of a moment away. Here's what I wrote.

PARIS 1: Aeroports de Paris presente 27 graphistes pour l'Europe (hanging above where I sat)

The setting: Terminal 3 at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France. Arrivals area. Silver industrial bench. Poster banners hanging displaying modern graphic art from various European artists including the large blue white and yellow one over the arrivals entrance designed by Belgian based Tersa Sdralevich. The mood is overly caffeinated after two soul-warming espressos and a nicoise salda at a nearby restaurant. The airport hums and bustles with tired travellers.

I had three hours to kill upon arrival at this terminal before Han deplaned from Vancouver. I didn't count on somehow misplacing my phone in the flight seat pocket so my first task ended up being an eyelash batting with Mourad the luggage clerk. Initially enamored with my Charlotte Rampling-esque French accent, he feigned helping me but as luck would have it, I realized quickly I was going to have to continue standing there to ensure someone was even bothering to checking the pocket for my much beloved (and high market value) blackberry curve. I wasn't into a simple chat session without results.

After much persuasion I had Mourad calling flight crew on their cell phones which did seem to provoke action on what I was learning was a fairly unmotivated group of people. I was pretty sure that if I left that desk someone could be crank calling Adam Beach and George Stroumbolopoulous next week. I'm not claiming to be Paris Hilton here but there was a little too much information contained in the device for me to walk away.

Just then a miracle occured. They found AND RETURNED the phone. AMAZING. I hugged by new best friend Mourad who asked only for me to call him and leave him a message in my overwhelmingly cute French accent. That was it. Welcome to France and thank you Pierre Trudeau.

I didn't leave him the message in the end. I figure he should've saved the flirting and tried to do his job initially, not just once I discovered he hadn't bothered asking in the first place. Oh well.

election

There's a hugely important Canadian election coming up. Its going to matter to my life and the life of arts in Canada. The Conservative cuts to arts funding has already hurt us into the future...

Naomi Klein spoke at a meeting organized by the arts community in Toronto last week. The meeting was quite successful, bringing forth some ideas an initiatives to unseat conservatives.

Visit www.departmentofculture.ca for more information.

Here's the transcript of what Klein had to say in a packed room on Queen Street.

Naomi Klein: A turn out like this means something, you know what, when your first meeting is packed up and its sold out to put it in theatre terms it means you have a hit on your hands. To put it in activist terms it means you are a movement moment, it means if you organize it they will come. It means you have good timing. That’s the moment we’re in right now. [applause]

And I want to thank the Department of Culture for existing and for opening the doors and letting all of us flood in. I also really wanted to be here tonight because my husband Avi Lewis was used as a expedient excuse to kill a very important program called PromArts which is what we’ve been hearing about tonight which sends writers and documentary film makers and feature film makers around the world to promote their work. And Avi’s name was invoked, he was described as a ‘general radical’ [alughter and applause]. Avi couldn’t be here tonight because he is covering the Republican National Convention [laughter] I think right now he’s listening to a speech by a woman who doesn’t believe in a woman’s right to chose even in the case of rape and believes that gas prices could lowered by next weekend if we drilled in Arctic National wildlife preserve. In other words, it’s the spiritual homeland of Stephen Harper. [applause] He sends his regrets, he says that he his sorry that he helped to kill a wonderful government program, [laughter] and he also said that he’d like to apologize to general radicals everywhere [laughter] because it’s really not fair to you that he be put in your league.

As you know, there was something really amazing about the way Avi’s name was used, about the way Gwynne Dyer’s name was used, about the way many artists names were used. It was overtly political. You know, what they said is, ‘we do not like your politics, so we’re cutting this program’. They didn’t even say ‘we don’t like the film you made about occupying factories in Argentina’ which is what he promoting, you know, fair enough, it was a communist film but … [laughter] … they didn’t even go that far it was just, you know, his politics. And then they made this really dishonest association with Al Jazeera, right ’scary Arab network’ where Avi is working now, even though the grant was issued in 2004 and Avi’s only been at Al Jazeera for six months. So this is the kind of dirty tactics that are being used, they really won’t stop at anything. Our argument is not with them, it is with the Canadian public. We need to expose these tactics and we need to talk directly to the people and make our case. [applause]

I just want to reiterate something that Susan Swann said, about this not being her country, this not being her Canada. I don’t think we want to engage in any unnecessary idealization of our perfect nation that never existed, because we know that that isn’t true. But there is something very real going on in this country, something very real that is at stake here, and if I could just talk a little bit personally; my family came to Canada in 1967 because my father didn’t want to fight in the Vietnam war. They came here as war resisters, they came here as draft dodgers, but they stayed because my mother liked the National Film Board and my father didn’t want to work for the American health care system. And this was explained to me as a kid, that we were staying in Canada, we left America because of the war but we were staying because here mommy could make films about feminism and the peace movement with Studio D at the National Film Board and in Canada you don’t have to… you don’t have to be rich to get sick, to get decent health care. Now all of this is under siege. The principle of universal health care, funding for the arts, and war resisters are being sent home by this government while embracing the tedious war on terror rhetoric in Afghanistan [applause] This isn’t the country that my family chose to come to, that my family came to by choice, and it’s starting to look a lot more that country on display in St. Paul during the Republican National Convention. This administration, the Harper government, they don’t actually want an economy that’s built on culture and innovation. what they want is a culture and economy that is built on taking the Alberta tar sands, boiling them, and turning it into a substance that will further boil our planet, that is their vision, it is that ugly. So when we think about the coalition that we want to build, we also have to be making powerful collations with environmental groups who are also determined to find ways to beat the Tories in this election. [applause]

To me what’s really exciting, is, when you build a coalition, it isn’t just about this group here, or that group there coming together with their agenda, it’s about what everyone brings to the table and I think it’s really exciting to the labour movement, to the environmental movement to think about what the arts community can bring to the table, to think about your skills, in film, in theatre, in design, in a way that can make politics truly transformative, truly exciting, because you guys know how to put on a hit. So let’s do it. [applause]

8 minute post

I'm on deadline on this one because Coronation Street starts in 8 minutes and lately it's been the highlight of my days in my living room.

There's something strange about working and living in the same space. I've been super antsy lately and I think it has to do with the fact that I live in a space with not much storage so my need to have things AWAY and TIDY is so much greater when I have to work right next to my kitchen. In fact, looking around, you could say I work in the same room as my kitchen and living room. It's not like i can make a sandwich for lunch and plan on doing the dishes later because it's right there and when I'm talking to MTV about booking a band, I don't want to be distracted by a load of dirty dishes sitting nearby.

I've given a lot of my money to the Solutions store up at Yonge and Eglinton. My upstairs closet now has floor to ceiling shelves filled with books and six drawers of CDs. It's like a freaking monument to 2008. Welcome to the new world of testing your faith in the entertainment industry. A world where you crave company, and your friendships with local coffee shops becomes paramount to your sanity. Honestly, I can't say there has ever been a time in my life where I have had to spend as much time with myself. I've begun to really tighten everything up, cleaning the place, recycling, exercise, groceries (I buy less because I'm obsessed with using absolutely everything because I get so bored of me that I have to compartmentalize everything.)

My friend Josh said winter is worse. He did freelance journalism from home for years. But he had a wife and partner who came home at certain times. I can believe it. At least now I can take a meeting in a park, or walk home from MuchMusic when I service videos. In winter I barely want to open my door - and my mind still doesn't understand the snow-with-lack-of-mountain scenario.

Maybe I'll buy a fish...

(to be continued...)

backyard jams and other such things

Justin Rutledge had his housewarming party this weekend. My friend Jesse is a friend and fellow Parkdale-ian and so he brought me along for the festivities. The house is overflowing with character - carefully chosen rustic furniture, bright paint, a piano patiently waiting to be re-stringed, a kitchen which I learned is the classroom of pie-making, and a decent sized backyard. I don't know all the details of how it came to be but the keg tap apparently courtesy of the dakota tavern is a nice homey detail all musicians must aspire to as well.

At a certain point in the evening, we crammed our bodies into the backyard garage and with about four guitars accompanying, broke into a full sing along of modern love by david bowie and then the weight by the band. I've had modern love stuck in my head ever since. I love that sort of stuff. When I worked at the French camp, the late night guitar sessions were always my favorite, usually around a fire under a blanket. I realize I know way more French-Canadian classics than English ones now but no matter.

Good moment. Great weekend. House warming that left me with the warm and fuzzies inside.

regained sense of urgency

I have always maintained that what sets apart a decent publicist from a GREAT publicist is their sense of urgency.

Due to my recent vacation in Europe I had totally lost all sense of urgency, and was wondering if I'd finally and irrevocably lost my will to promote. That was until this morning. I had a meeting with two other publicists who I am working with on the new Land of Talk record which is coming out in October and it totally re-energized my focus. I'm thankful for it. I think life would be dull without passion.

I do however take this second to pause and moan for a moment about how wierd the range of artists I am working on. My mind is exhausted from the mental juggling!

I'm working Alice Cooper, Human Highway, Land of Talk, Melanie Doane, Plants and Animals, Patrick Watson and Grizzly Bear simultaneously.

So fucking crazy.

reconnect

I met L one summer in Toronto. He's one of the most beautiful people I've ever had pleasure of laying eyes on. We met at a party in my friend K's backyard in Roncesvalles. We'd painted her apartment lime green and the patio furniture was reclaimed from the free section on craigslist. It set the scene for an inspired housewarming party with a crowd that frequented much of the world/brazilian scene events in Toronto. Most were Lula Lounge regulars, able to either dance or drum. There was a huge drumming circle going on in the garage for hours, and music was blaring from all levels of the house as K had convinced the other tenants to join in.

I knew some of the people, having worked in the cultural arts sphere for a while. L's brothers were there in the drum circle, and I was invited to go across to the Zellers parking lot to help schlep his drums back to the party so he could join in. We cut through the nearby dingy resto/bar filled with saggy eyed locals cosying up to pool tables. In that walk I think I learned that he was a Brazilian Canadian - his fam had moved him to TO when he was eleven and had three older brothers - two of which were at the party. We drank the over-cachaca'd mojitos K had made.

For one month, we basked in theexcitement of new summer romance, holding hands at outdoor concerts, taking long walks around the city, dancing, and spending time in the bubble of my apartment, cooking, kissing and listening to rainstorms. I began to understand the reality of dating someone who was immersed in the drumming culture of Toronto - literally no matter where we met, someone would pop up and start tapping on something. It would last for hours. It got under my skin a little bit.

He popped the bubble one weekend when we had plans to head up to a nearby farm area and camp with a bunch of the Brazilian friends. I recall the conversation was oddly turned around when he awkwardly tried to explain that he'd love for me to come, but he didn't want me to think we were exclusive and he didn't want me to be mad. In the most smart decision I've ever made, I basically shut him down and said I'd rather not go and for about a year we did not speak. The whole thing was rude and incongruous with the rest of the comfort and romance and my system could not deal with it.

A year later he showed up outside my house, called me, and asked if he could come in. I was nearby so I let him in, curious. He apologized for his abruptness, and what happened. He'd felt badly about it and it bothered him that he'd never let me know. I was actually glad for it as I wasn't sure if I was a crazy lady reacting to a bad situation, so I was calmed to know that he felt he had mistreated me in some way.

We didn't see each other too much but the bridge had been rebuilt, all was well. I ran into him in Kensington one day. He was playing with his brothers for Pedestrian Sundays. I waved hello. Later on he called me and we chatted for a little bit. I don't think either of us had any expectations anymore, but it was nice to hear from him.

Once I came back from vacation, he invited me over for dinner. He'd cooked this soul warming batch of thai peanut sauce stir fry which he'd made from scratch (I'm going to attempt the recipe he described next weekend) and we drank some wine on the front balcony of his new house and caught up. Next month he's headed on a huge bike trip from Toronto to south America. He plans to be away for about three years. He's funding it via the income from the tenants in his house that he just bought with the settlement money from the massive car accident he incurred some years ago that left him re-learning basic things like how to walk.

His manner is calm, his apartment is warm. The trip seems to inspire him. It's a required journey for him. I think he just needs to do it, meet people, experience life. I understand that from the perspective of having been in a major life changing accident myself that you learn that perhaps you need to take the time for yourself to live something that is an odyssey of sorts. After the accident, he couldn't walk, and so biking for him is one of those things that got added to the list of precious things.

He made my weekend. It was nice to reconnect, and hear how he's living his life in his own way. I'm always looking for different perspectives.

did i miss you? not entirely

Do you ever go away to check and see if you missed parts of your life?

I just went on a little vacation to meet up with some of my family. Ok, actually, all of my immediate family is more accurate. My two sisters, brother, my mum and dad and as an added bonus my gran came along too. We met in the south of France for a barging holiday. It was one of these 'must-be-realized' childhood dreams of my father and even though my mum gets quite sea sick, she basically said we should just get it over with and go along with it. I'm not sure if the boat crash that came three days later was part of the plan or not, but it certainly was a low point on the trip. Long story short - we can-opener-ed the top half of the boat, knocking off the silver steering wheel on the upper deck of the boat that housed the seven Websters, and entirely wedging ourselves to a complete stop under a low lying bridge. I was actually quite pleased when we had stopped as the ride to this end was terrifying as we swayed from side to side in the whitecapped waters of the etang de thau just outside the banks of the canal rhone-sete. My mother was below decks, wretching her guts out, my sister was in black mood ignoring the family, my parents and brother up on deck trying to regain control and my other sister and gran helping my mum out. I wasn't a hero. The moment the decision was made to go forward into the etang, I was boiling furious, white-mad, and hysterical. I just wanted off.

Ironically this all changed the moment we hit the bridge. The boat stopped, and despite the four boats we had hit trying to moor earlier, and the financial damage we had just caused, and likely the emotional trauma we wreaked, I was instantly calm, and able to get everyone tied off, and their stuff off the boat. Solid ground seems to do wonders for me.

So, now I return to my home, my life here and my job and people have been asking me how my vacation was. Usually people say it was great and move on. I'm not sure that's entirely fair, so I usually find a glib way to say my dad crashed the boat and move the conversation along.

It was a good vacation in one respect. Being far away from your daily life, your tempo, your dramas and traumas, is quite liberating. And I needed it. I was mentally fried upon departure. The toll of job changes and the long standing mindfuck that I 'd recently cut ties with had worn my core to the bare minimum function level. What I got out of this vacation was wonderful... I found that I didn't miss any of it. In other words, any decisions I had made, friendships that were not working, relationships that hurt too much, jobs that were too unstable... I missed none of it. And you realize too, that you are more than any of it. It's a really good way to measure things sometimes. I did miss my bed and my shower, and am happy to be reunited with them.

I got home in the middle of Caribana weekend. It took me a while to get back to the time change correctly and when I did I was still quite anti-social and not really wanting to dive back into anything too quickly.

I went to a concert alone on Tuesday, for work. It was quite boring to be by myself at an all ages show that was energy fueled, and by all points achieved success by audience standards. I've done it many times before, but this one was kind of different because it actually it felt like work. (An aside... never ever go see Coldplay alone either, it will set you into a wierd emotional funk...) I did meet two other lonely onlys at the show that evening - a girl from Regina who had no friends who liked music as much as she and a guy from Winnipeg who had been recently laid off and had heard the bands on NME Radio so much he thought he'd better buy a ticket and check it out. And none of his friends were adventurous enough to go either. Before meeting these two characters, I had no idea that lonely concert-going was happening as much as lonely movie-watching. I used to do the movie-watching a lot because there were so many art-flicks I wanted to see that after a while I wore out my welcome with even my artsiest of friends.

sunday poem

a quiet affection
one moment's reflection

a thought before you sleep
a call when you wake
a smile on your face
a spring when you step
a step when you see
a glow when you leave
an urge that you keep

a spark when we touch
a surge when we love
a love that we keep
while awake or asleep

when spring comes to step
and sees that you glow
the spark warms the touch
and the smile on your face

it's the love that awakes
from the sleep that was slept
a quiet affection you gave and i kept

seduction by coffee

Life lesson time. I spent about 4 hours in the emergency ward at St Mikes on that gorgeously sunny Saturday afternoon after making a poor decision to try riding a skateboard at 3 in the morning (completely sober I may add) and since the last skateboard I tried was less flexible than this longboard I was trying, I bailed big time on the hard sidewalk of mcgill street.

There were no cool ollies, I wasn't doing rails, no flips in the air, no glamour, no glitz, just me falling towards the ground, and hitting my weight on the top of my left foot and left hip. Bruising and becs seem to go together very well, so the welt from that fall is a beauty on the hip, but owing to the hippy nature of the Lofthouse/Webster heritage I have thankfully enherited, just the bruised tissue is there from that.

My foot however, was not as lucky. About thirty minutes later, a formation looking like a second ankle sprung up and teatowels and ice had to be found to calm the imminent disaster. Ryan helped me up the stairs, created a pillowlike structure for me to elevate and sleep and that was that... until the morning when I was like a newborn bunny; hopping around tentatively.

Without aids, I was pretty useless at getting around, so after more icing, elevation and a tensor bandage, we ventured to the emerg at St. Mikes. I was admitted quite quickly, although the waits in between were what made it a long afternoon diversion. I managed to watch a western in the fast-track waiting room. The foot was duly xrayed and proclaimed 'unbroken' but severely damaged tendons and ligaments, so it was splinted and tensor bandaged and I left with a new leg accesory for the world to see.

I must admit I didn't take the news well that this little fall would take me out for 4-6 weeks until fully healed. I'm supposed to traipse the cobblestone streets of the south of France in a week and a half and my movement isn't great on crutches.

BUT, I'm not complaining anymore. This is tedious but what completely reversed my life was the patient I met when I burst into tears about the tediousness of my injury...

She'd been hit by a streetcar last week. HIT, as a PEDESTRIAN by a STREETCAR. How terrifying. Now the doctors had said she was lucky because she hadn't broken anything. I remember the same thing was said to me when I got hit by a car as a pedestrian eight years ago while living in London, England. I also remember all the stuff noone told me. I was so emotional after that crash. I could barely cross roads I was so terrified, loud noises scared me and I was so bruised that I could barely leave the couch. But I in no way had as hard a time as this girl. She'd suffered a concussion in the accident and it had removed her sense of smell and some taste. She was bemoaning her fate... saying she had lost her appetite to eat because everything was bland and that the thing she missed the most was coffee... she loved the smell of coffee and the experience, the warmth, and all that was left was a bitter taste and she could just barely get some of the sweetness of sugar.

Life lesson? Most certainly. My physical injury will be healed in some weeks, I'll adapt to being less mobile in the time being but I'm going to keep her in mind. Looking back, I wish I'd given her a hug or something, I can't begin to understand, but she wasn't there with anyone, and I think she could've used the support. Keeping her in my thoughts.

Duffy vs Pete Yorn

I just had my condo painted. It's a departure from the organic green that calmed my frazzled nerves. Now, the red feature wall in my living room will somewhat energize my life, apparently. I do love the drama in the walls though, it is a good change. Different, but good. Well chosen. And to think how long I agonized about this decision! It seems so easy, now that it's done.

So, much of my things are in boxes now. I'm taking the time to purge the loads of accumulated crap that I get serving my time on earth as a music (and former arts and culture) publicist. Lots of books, dvds, CDs and such are creatively hidden all over the place. Those cute wicker baskets with lids? You guessed it - filled to the brim with random (and sometimes unopened) CDs which were dragged home in order to listen and learn so that I could spew my newly formed objective opinion on them to unsuspecting journalists. These boxes of good intentions litter the place. And I'm only one person. This weekend, much of this stuff will be boxed up in hopes they can resurface when i move into a larger space, so that I can actually find the right pieces, and accesories to temper the rooms. Again, I'm always the well-intentioned Webster. Always the do-gooder. Always trying to improve just that little bit. It's also why the frames are not yet re-hung on the walls. Why? Well, perhaps there'd be a better place to put them. Perhaps I could find some new things to hang? A new table? A new shelf? A new approach.

What I'm talking about here is both my curse and my blessing. It's the reason that people like working with me in my day job, but also the reason i continuously beat myself up over the details.

Which brings me to Pete Yorn. In one such chinatown-acquired wicker basket, I was browsing through what I thought were mostly promo discs, when I found Pete Yorn's musicforthemorningafter. This is one of those discs I most assuredly claim as my own. In fact, I immediately put it in my car stereo the next morning upon re-discovery to self-indulge. I was amazed it wasn't worn through. I can remember how many a break-up this disc dragged me through. How much I enjoyed the rattling moan of Mr. Yorn's voice, the full sound of the instrumentation serving as a cushion of solace for my own (now clearly minor) worries at the time. And somehow, his voice brought me to Duffy. One of the things I really delight about this Welsh songstress is the tone and edge that her voice seems to carry. It's a nasality that cuts, but has a musicality that is undefined and filled with success. Pete Yorn, in all his broken moaning shows the same dexterity with his vocal chords. And somehow, I think the appeal I find in both of them is similar. Not that I'm ever asking them to share the stage, but I'm always asking myself why I like certain types of music, and certain singers. I try and dissect the attraction because I find that most of my friends, especially those who don't work in the industry, are not as discerning. They'll take any top 40 rock station and run with it. They don't dig, they don't listen and they certainly don't cross-pollinate the genres. As we head into Jazz season I'll admit the most listened to Jazz record of the season for me was a collection of songs from Art Tatum, on the Capitol label. Beautiful emotive Jazz and not many 28 year olds even bother to cultivate an opinion on that. And yet, today, I was in the office listening to the new Judas Priest. Not my choice at all, but I could see what rattles people, what gets their blood boiling with this kind of music. And I've always been a fan of noise too... that's why A Place to Bury Strangers, No Age and Chow Chow have been favorite discs over the past year for me.

I think it must all begin with character and emotion. No matter the genre of music, if these elements are present, I believe I do take the time to consider it for my musical lexicon. I'll listen to anything once.

blurred upheaval

Life has been upside down lately, but I think I can still see the window and it seems to be sunny outside. Not that I would know. In the last two weeks, I think I may have consumed just a little more than my alcohol limit. I've also been the benefactor of some amazing musical concerts. I actually am suprised at how much I've seen in such a short span of time...

It went something like this:
Jamie Lidell, Stars, Death Cab for Cutie, Leonard Cohen, Rich Aucoin, The Superfantastics, Swervedriver, The Bee Keeping Society, Adam & The Amethysts, The Luyas, Brant Bjork, Red Cross, Beast, The Johnsons....

Rather impressive, eh? And peripherally, there was also the New Kids On the Block, Flo rida, and Rihanna who were performing meters away from the MMVA party where I was bumping shoulders with my media and music colleagues.

But, it was all a bit of a distraction. It's back to Monday now, and the head is down, working hard as usual. Summer's here but unfortunately, school is not out just yet. Sorry, Alice.

No more alcohol for a while. I think the body may need a wee detox.

sunshine music

It's misery clouds and rain in Toronto today. Luckily, I spent the day on an exhaustive interview schedule with Mr. Jamie Lidell whose new record Jim is out in stores now around the world. Concert later on this evening in Toronto. Thought it would be a good day to post the video for his new single and the first track on the album: Another Day.

Jamie's a cool guy. As we were driving to the first round of interviews, we passed the Royal Alexandra Theatre on King Street where they are currently showing the stage version of Dirty Dancing. A hilarious conversation ensued about Patrick Swayze's hair. He called it cheesy. And then somehow we started talking about cheesy hair. And then, he was laughing hard about how strange cheese in hair would be and that, actually, it would be quite gross. Just another rainy day conversation, really. :-)

rain rain rain

There's a whole lot of soccer games coming up in the next couple of months. Of course, this includes the Euro 2008 competition which begins this Saturday as well as the ongoing season of the MLS league and the hugely supported Toronto FC team.

There's also a charity match that a bunch of my colleagues in music and media are playing as part of the Myspace Canada 2nd annual NXNE Music Conference soccer invitational. Proceeds raised from the game (played at the pitch at BMO field in TO) go to the Right to Play not-for-profit which supports sports for kids in third world countries. Soccer is a sport that unites immigrants, I find. It requires very little accessories to play - just a ball and something that denotes goal areas. Those iconic nike ads often show this - a bohemian street soccer team plays the pros in a dusty terrain area and the whole neighbourhood comes out to watch and support.

My neighbour, who is heading up the game organization for the NXNE invitational, was worried about rain. We were walking home this evening and having a good chat and she brought this up. I didn't say it at the time, but as a yellow cab sped by on the wet pavement, the sound reminded me of home - good ol' rainy dreary Vancouver. It's a sound I fell asleep to most nights, and I often sleep deeper when I hear that wet pavement sound. It also made me think that one of the most formative scents I remember growing up was the fresh cut wet grass smell from the soccer pitch. All of my siblings and my Dad played soccer growing up and when I learned to drive I spent most weekends shuttling them between games and practices. Unfortunately, they'd have to pipe in that comforting scent at BMO field as the surface there is made of some strange rubber type covering and I'm not sure if that would be as 'homey' as the drenched pitch from my days of youth. A good cause to support though, regardless

becoming the church lady

So last weekend, despite the stormy rainy weather in Montreal, I did spent an awful lot of time walking around the city. On one such walk, I happened to notice that a beautiful brick church (I'd hasard a guess and say it was catholic) had been turned into condos. The developers had taken the original structure and added on to the building, creating an almost village-like feeling to the complex. But then, there were the windows that were on the main facade (complete with ornate stained glass windows) of the building that were obviously condos as well.

Now I'm all for the preservation of ecclesiastical buildings. In fact, I think that coming up with a creative way to maintain a historical picture in Canada is paramount to the growth of this country. BUT, I'm not sure how I feel about people living in churches.

It may just be because of my Catholic upbringing. I went to church every sunday without fail. My mum used to pick me up from the coolest sleepover parties to take me to 8:30 mass. I loved the singing so that was why I rarely put up much of a fight. Then again, I knew with Susan Webster at the helm, the fight was futile.

Last year I visited my friend Francis in Ottawa. At the time, he was renting an apartment in a former church. His apartment felt like the church basement because it WAS the church basement. And when we drank copious amounts of tequila one night, I did feel a murmur of guilt in my mind. Somehow, I was acutely aware that this was a sacred space and perhaps we shouldn't be living here, let alone give in to our vices. God forbid (no pun intended) we had wild and crazy sex in this place. I don't even think I could think about it. Just not possible.

This evening I noticed there's a church on Dovercourt being transformed into "contemporary" condos. Asking price is 200 - 600. I don't think you could pay me to consider it. Perhaps the confessional could be my closet? Could you use the baptism font for a sink? An alter for a kitchen island?

Am I anti-church living because I believe more or am I afraid it will make me believe less? I wonder.

life

Just spent six days in Montreal. I worked and played hard. I met some great people and saw some great music. I also had a lot of time and space to think. It's been a rough two years. I'm not sure if this is normal growing pains or just me, but basically, there was a rough patch at work (now sorted, but the job is still as busy and I've been wondering what the next step) and also a lot of rough patches in personal life.

Change is sometimes hard to deal with. One of my most loved people in the world called me while I was driving to montreal and said she had tried to hang herself. I almost crashed the car. I can't imagine the world without her. I was shocked. I hadn't seen it coming. And I also wondered how it had all gotten away from her so quickly without the rest of us knowing how to intervene. Is there any way to help when you are going down this road?

Suicide is something I can't deal with. My dear friend Fraser took his own life just years after we graduated from high school. In some ways, I think he was one of the smartest people I knew - bordering on genius, even. At this time of year, I think of him often because it's a sad anniversary in my own life. Even though he is not with us anymore I still love him. I'm glad he was in our lives - with his funny loping walk, and his easy attitude. He was one of the only people I remember who used to just stop by the house to say hi. I loved it that he did. People these days are so hidden behind technology. If you don't check your facebook, some friends won't bother calling you to invite you the party. Personally, this year has been all about figuring out who belongs in my life. My sisters both had some rough patches too but I'm happy to say we're all pulling through, but not without a huge effort on the part of all of us. Sometimes being from a big family means you have more people to check in on, but seeing where we are all at today, I have to say I feel lucky to have them all.

I'm back at at home now, in my messy little apartment. It's a comfort to be here, but my mind is still a little upset. I'm going to say a little prayer for all of you. I feel like it's been a tough month for a lot of people.

What people do on bikes

I live downtown. With rising fuel prices, combined with the downtown city living lifestyle, many people in the core tend to use bikes to get around. Lately though, some of the things I've observed on bikes is getting out of hand. I was driving to work (uptown, not bikeable unless you're a maniac) and the cyclist in front of me was in a full suit and in his right hand, clutched firmly on the handlebars, was a huge bouquet of tropical flowers. I guess his heart was in the right place, but I wondered if he was jeopardizing his life because of lack of control on the bike. With this in mind, are the flowers really worth it?

There's also a slightly worrying trend of the downtown ladies to cycle in full skirts and heels. Somehow I'm not even surprised when I see this going on anymore. Indecent exposure is apparently not enough to scare them into skorts! I worry that the heels could somehow get stuck and the control of the two-wheeled vehicle could be compromised.

And these random acts of cycling are just the beginning. What's next? I've seen cyclists on cell phones (not even on headsets, full out holding a phone to the ear), groceries being precariously hung from the front handle bars...

I personally have a hard time with cars in general. I was hit by a car some years ago and am still scared of them hitting me again. Because I have the memory of the trauma that affected on my body and I'm never going to forget that. Only two years ago when NI was dating a drumming Brazilian guy, he used to cycle all over the city with his drums carefully tied onto the back of his bike. He eventually convinced me to tune up the bike a former colleague had given me and one day I biked to the World Cup final in Little Italy. On the way home, I was crossing Queen Street and my tire got stuck in the streetcar tracks. I was thrown over the front wheel and into oncoming traffic, who luckily, didn't hit me. A kind lady who was waitressing at the restaurant on the corner, picked me up, sat me down and put a glass of water into my shaking hands. I haven't really had the urge to ride downtown since. I'd rather walk.

A severe case of travel-itis

It's late. The Kooks just played Jimmy Kimmel. I do like their new disc. It's good.

But it's not the TV that is distracting me. I'm in planning mode. When I lived in London some years ago, my roommates and I used to spend many hours in the University of Westminster's many computer labs. We'd play this game of who can get the best deal - flights, hotels, hostels, secret beaches, wonderful diversions in Europe. It's how I ended up going to Carnival in Venice, so it's a pretty wonderful game! You can allow yourself to play in Europe because London is a gateway city and in mere minutes and hours, for rather little money, you can hop over to a brand new and equally seductive European destination.

My family is meeting in Montpellier for a barging trip in July. While I'm excited about this idea - truth be told, I've had fanciful ideas about a trip like this for years - I do wonder if it will result in family members being tossed overboard. I haven't lived with them in over 11 years, so how will a week on a barge in France work out? And we will be 7 of us, which includes one of my Grans. Anyway, worries aside, I'm looking at destinations to hit after I de-boat. (I've always loved the term de-plane but its boating equivalent doesn't really work as well, does it?!)

I was temped to re-visit Portugal - perhaps go to Lagos in the Algarve. I have done some of the Algarve, but didn't quite make it to Lagos - although the Australian surfer Su and I rescued spent two months there, so I assume it's an ok place. I then ended up looking at Valencia, or even one of the Balearic islands. Will I be ready to dance my French frustrations away in Ibiza or will I want to be on the highly rated topless island beaches of Formentera? Or what if I looked to the Amalfi Coast and vacationed on the island of Capri? More fashionable? Then I happened upon the info that there is an air ticket from Montpellier direct to Casablanca. I've never been to Africa, and even just a taste of the north could be something different.

Hmmm. Will decide soon.

sometimes when you work too hard you can't even write, so I'm going to let the music speak for itself

the kanye west fireworks appreciation society

As part of my ongoing commitment to enjoying the city I live in, me and my friend Jesse have been organizing soul-filling 'outings'. So far, I've taken him to the wonderful Cherry Blossom picnic put on by the folks at Promise. If you've never been, make a mental note to go next year. It's basically an afternoon in High Park where DJ's play a meditative selection of ambient electronic music as you lay on blankets under the gorgeous and fragrant cherry blossom trees in one of the city's best parks. It's actually a tradition of the Japanese - who, as you can imagine, celebrate their traditional cherry blossom in a similar fashion every year. It's been a while since I was that relaxed.

Tonight, the outing led to meeting at the Humber bridge. I've always loved that bridge. I rollerblade over it throughout the summer and it has a special kind of energy, not to mention an iconic architectural design. Our crew met up and walked through the butterfly habitat (noting that we were a little ripped off as there are no wildflowers yet in the wildflower field yet) past the improvised inukshuk rock structures, and as the sun was setting, into the small island like park in the lake. We found a lovely spot away from any lights, and near the overwhelming full moon that at one point was glowing an ominous orange. Our blanket neighbours soon moved in with a child whose attention was not on the fireworks over the water, but on his little sparkler that he was waving around like a maniac. Salima and I kept having "vancouver revisited" moments where we were almost certain that the lake was the ocean (save the telltale salty smell) and the etobicoke condos was actually a yaletown backdrop.

I made a stupid Kanye West reference about his glow in the dark tour, because nearby there were kids with glow in the dark headbands, and it reminded me of the P-Diddy sanctioned tour that I'd heard about recently. The fireworks began and we started naming them - there was the Tina Turner, the classic, Jesse's favorite ones were the more free Jazz experimental type bursts, the science centre ones (another Vancouver reference for you)...

Something about being able to enjoy the night sky, even being able to see the little dipper above us with some clarity, the blankets, and the good company, filled the soul to a level I hadn't felt in a while. Good way to end a long weekend!

midnight angels

Going to India in 2004 was the best decision I ever made in my life. Aside from seeing the beauty in the people, the way the country still manages to move forward even as they are driving on the lines rather than between them, the trip was well worth it because I met a girl called Malini.

Malz is the type of person who has boundless energy. She's a radio host, media personality, and writes a social column in a local daily. India is obsessed with celebrity, so being in the middle of it takes a lot of patience and drive. She recently started this new segment of her show called Midnight Angels. It's a way of spreading good karma to the world. The concept is simple. With many voices, much can be accomplished. Using her forum of radio and sites like facebook and the like - Malz challenges the many members to accomplish certain easy tasks. Some discussions are simple things that may make a big difference; just yesterday, one person brought up the fact that they had too many plastic bags in their house, and what could we do to recycle them effectively. A recent challenge that Malini put forward was to suprise someone with a gift. Sounds easy, right? Sounds like something you should already be doing? But are you doing it? Did you? If a group of people is bothering to spend time putting good karma into the world, will it matter more? Will it make more of an impact?

Whatever the result, I have to say I'm glad Malini exists. Just the simple idea of trying to make life better is worth living for. When I was in that country, we suffered the boxing day tsunami. Even though I was on the west coast in Mumbai, it was devastating to think that entire villages were simply gone. There were towns that just didn't exist anymore after those waves. And knowing that the infrastructure of India wasn't built to withstand anything like that natural disaster, was part of the horrible truth of the story. Yet the government refused aid, saying that of all the countries in the area, they were the largest, with the biggest economy and that the aid should be given to countries in dire need. It wasn't a western reaction that I was used to. There were certainly people who could have used the aid. But the reality of India is that there are always people who need help there. The huge gap that divides the super rich from the super poor is astounding and hard to understand. Then you begin to realize that because of the many strict religious beliefs that involve caste systems and such, that some of these people will never ever leave this country. Some of these people will never ever know that there is a reality different from theirs. And on the other side of the coin is that for most of them, life is not that bad. Even the poorest people wear their brightly coloured fabrics and show off their wedding jewelry.

Maybe it's some of those differences that I see in Malini. Her energy is so pure, and so sure-footed, it's possibly one of the furthest things from western culture that I see. There is no cynicism.

I'll be looking for someone to surprise with my midnight angel challenge tomorrow. Bringing a little Indian hope to Canada...

Pool pals

I made a promise to myself to give myself Sundays. Like the name of the band - I'm taking back sundays. It's my day, I choose. Lately, I've chosen to begin the day by swimming at my community centre pool. This week was great. I have a new pool pal. I had been in the pool dutifully lapping back and forth for about 20 minutes when my new friend joined in. I can't even tell how old he is - but he's likely Italian - or from Eastern Europe. Sometimes I can't understand a word he says - but I just smile and continue doing the laps until our next encounter between laps. What really made him my pal was his comment that I was improving and that I'm getting quite good - better than last week. Something about this unasked opinion of a quiet observer was really nice. Getting back into swimming is hard. The first week I got in the pool, i actually thought perhaps it would be nice if someone just came and killed me. And that was only after 10 minutes. But it's true what they say - it's a great workout and you feel it all over. And it's almost musical too. I find that the rhythm and sounds of the swishing water is almost hypnotic and calming.

My old Italian pal has got to be over 60 and he's definitely a regular. He wears these crazy white hand paddle things - perhaps to help him get some speed in his swim. He's very old fashioned too - he brought up what I was doing Monday, and I said no swimming, and his response was perhaps I was going to be cooking all day. Yes, perhaps if I was Italian, but unfortunately I'm British by birth. And you know their reputation for international cuisine!