reading

For those of you who don't see my side bar because you get me by reader or Twitter, here's to let you know I'm doing a reading next Tuesday. It'll be sections either from a new short story or from my NaNoWriMo novel in progress.

Voices of Venus
w/ an open mic for women!

Tues Nov 10
7 pm start
Umi Cafe
610 Somerset W.
$5 suggested

The reading last night at Raw Sugar was so much fucking fun. There were a lot of great people there who stayed through the stickiness that develops when you put 20 or 25 bodies in a small space on a muggy July night. Colin read some of my favourite poems of his, Jennifer read a story that was like us talking. Only neither of us has a beehive. I cut my reading in half, since it was getting late and I was feeling, shall we say, schvitzy.

If you're sad you missed the launch of my new zine, it'll show up at Venus Envy in the next couple of days, and you can get one for yourself with a donation to the Venus Envy Bursary Fund.

People tossed a whack of money in the bowl for the readers, which was so kind. And even better, they tossed a whack more into the VEBF donation bowl. We made almost $100 for the fund. I was impressed.

August is a damn busy month.

On the 22nd I'm doing a burlesque performance at The Great Indiscretion, for which I will spend the next two days practicing in the living room, under the ceiling fan and with the blinds closed, until I can get off book and figure out the best way to wiggle out of my dress in about 3.5 minutes.

Tickets are, uh, available at Venus Envy.

It's been a busy couple of days, with lots of beer drinking and late hot nights. But I was smart enough to take today and yesterday off, so they've been languorous late morning breakfasts over fried potatoes and laughing days. Maybe not getting the errands done I'd had planned, but these days, I'm pretty good with plans changing. For me, at any rate.

You know, that mindfulness thing I did back in the spring was great. I might do it again next year even. Since it finished I'm just feeling so much more relaxed about stuff in general. Don't get me wrong, I still get wound up over shit, and the likelihood of me ever getting rid of my neuroses are pretty slim.

But then who wants to lose their neuroses completely?

I'm doing another reading!

At which I'll be launching a new zine called "Here, There, Home."

w/
Colin Vincent
Jennifer Whiteford

An evening of cakes and ale and entertaining wordsmithery with the three sole and founding members of the SHLS.

Thurs, Aug 13, 2009
doors @ 8
Raw Sugar Cafe
692 Somerset Street West
PWYC

Those of you who get me through their reader won't have seen what's in the sidebar. This is for you.

++House Band Reading Series++

Brendan McNally's smash hit series has another installment this Friday.

You want to be there. The last time I saw this, he fell flat on his face and I worried he'd broken his teeth again.

w/rob mclennan
& me

Friday, July 24, 2009
9:00pm - 11:00pm
Raw Sugar Cafe
692 Somerset Street West
$5/PWYC

I could write you a post about what's going on in my front yard that's got my neighbours all curious, or about the perennials that Shelley and I bought today. But what happened when we were buying perennials is that someone dragged a fence across the pavement just a few feet away from us and I squinched up my face and said "God, what a terrible sound." and Shelley said, "Do you think you maybe have a migraine?"

And I said "No, I don't think so." And then remembered that usually when people ask me if I have a migraine, I have a migraine. So I said "Oh, maybe yes." By the time I got home, it was definitely yes. I'm home now from the Hartman's where I replenished my stock of ibuprofen and talked to the pharmacist about trading off between it and acetominophen and tried not to squinch my face up because his voice was so grating against the rest of the white noise in the store.

So. Since I'm not going to tell you about any of that, I'm going to ask you for your opnion.

I'm doing a reading on the 31st, as you all know, for which I'm hoping to have something new done. But I'll also read some of Your Weekly Dose, because I got 'em and I likes 'em. But there are quite a few, and it's always hard to pick.

How I'm going to pick this time is by the comments. A few of them, though not so many, have nice little tidbits of appreciation appended to them. If someone likes them that much, they deserve to be read.

Now's your chance to tell me what to do. Go on over to Your Weekly Dose and put a comment on the post(s) you'd like to hear me read, whether you can make it or not. Put them on as many posts as you'd like, though I'll delete any more than one per person on each post.

I'll pick a handful the night before, and I may read the comments out loud too, if I like them particularly.

I could probably have written that more succinctly. Blame it on the fact that the ibuprofen hasn't kicked in yet.

This has been a very full week. I've had something fun planned for every night. Last night, as Jennifer so nicely described, was the Found reading at Raw Sugar.

Though if you have the choice of sitting on an organ bench to watch an hour plus long reading, I suggest you don't. At the Moon Room for a post-reading drink, it took D.Jack (aka the Guybrarian) and I several minutes to describe the many almost-back-saving coping strategies we'd developed.

I've only been to the Moon Room twice now, but it's a great little spot. Small, cozy, good beer, good wine, good food, lovely wait staff. A very good place for a date, if you're in the market for one of those.

Though I think it may be Little Italy's Manx, so if you don't want to have a very awkward internal moment of "Should we sit with our friends? Or should we tell them we're on a date? Or wait, is it a date? I mean, I think it's a date, I shaved my legs, but I dunno, maybe he doesn't think it's a date. Though he did Facebook flirt with me. No, it must be a date. It would be really rude to say no? And then how weird would it be to be sitting like, one table ov- Christ, Butcher. Shut it." magnified into an even more awkward external moment when all you can say in answer to the question is "Don't make me answer that question," because your brain is giving you not no answers to the question but both.

Don't say I didn't warn you. About something. I think.

Tomorrow night is Rock and Roll Friday with Jennifer and Megan: New Hair Edition. I totally copied J. and booked a hair appointment for just a few hours after hers, so we'll both be perfectly styled with radically new heads. We don't really know much about the bands, except that I think we might both like the last one, and one of the other ones I think I might be able to tolerate and I think she will hate, but ach. If that's the case, we'll go powder our noses and compliment our hairdresser behind her back.

All I will say is that Shelley and I practiced tonight and you know what? We are hot.

And also, the other acts on March 6th are just as hot, if not hotter, and you will be very sorry if you miss this night and do not give the venus envy bursary fund your hard-earned money in exchange for a whole lotta hotza.

Notes from last night's reading:

• If you sport hair still flat-ironed by your amazing hairdresser while you're wearing red lipstick, someone might tell you you look glamourous. You might be amazed and quite chuffed.
• It was a stroke of genius to use a music stand; however:
• Don't put the music stand too close to your right hand, the hand with which you do the bulk of your gesticulating. You will feel hemmed in and pushed around by your prop.
• If you don't want to take one gazillion tiny sips of water, drink lots of it during the day.
• Finish editing the piece more than an hour before the reading.

I'm quite happy with how it went, and I hope we raised some cash for the Canadians for Choice.

When I got there, I was in a terrible crank. Just fucking terrible. Mostly stress, I think. I had planned on not drinking, but when Shelley offered to get me something, I accepted anyway. And thank god. The wee glass of bad white wine did smooth me out. The relief of the reading being over helped out too.

As did the post-reading beer bought me by my friend Paul. And the sitting and staring into space.

We left early - we being most of the crowd - Paul and I walking Shelley part way home before heading off to see DJ Jo work her magic at the Rock n Roll Pizza Party, joining Lesley and Adam, but missing Zoom and GC. I was pretty tired, and had been relying on the shaking of my can at the Bytowne to keep me awake. Sadly, as is my penchant, I caught the last few songs of J.'s set before she stopped, and got too tired to stay until the dance set started.

Tonight my house is a party house. M-C just walked in the door, waved goodnight to me, and headed up to bed. I'm going to finish this, make myself a cup of soy hot chocolate, watch a couple of episodes of Dexter, knit on the new cat sheet for my couch, get to bed at a reasonable hour. I look forward to more than 6 consecutive hours in bed.

Raise the roof.

Well, I'm leaving for a birthday party in 10 minutes.

I'm exhausted.

Even though the reading went really well, it took the stuffing out of me. Enough stuffing that I walked the Born Ruffian home and didn't have the energy to take my pants off. You know it's a dire situation when that's the case.

But I'm going, because it's Mae's birthday, Hawkeye's too, and I like that Mae and that Hawkeye one heckuva lot.

And what would I do if I didn't go?

Clean like an anal retentive maniac for my father's visit: I've already ironed my curtains and I've got the dust attachment ready for the vacuum tomorrow to do between the spindles of the railing. The couch has been steam cleaned.

He probably won't care, probably won't notice, but I want him to. To see how neat it is, how I am my father's daughter, I want him to see the flat surfaces with no crap on them, I want him to love me for it.

See, the reading in Toronto last night was packed. Fucking packed. There were probably more than a hundred people there, so I figure this had better be a killer post for when they all search me out.

Julia and I were running a little late, having lost track of time over rice and vegetables and shrimp and tofu and kimchi.* When we got there, we could hardly get in the door. My hands started shaking and I offered a prayer up into the universe that they would stop by the time I started and wished that I'd had time to put Eric's suggestion of less flappy paper into play. Luckily my prayers were answered and less shaky paper wasn't needed.

It was amazing to read with Julia. She is a fucking smart cookie and we had a really nice day hanging out. Funnily enough, we talked more about birds and fish** than about gender or her book. I had questions, and the book is thoroughly engaging, but to me, asking those questions would have felt too much to me like the cissexual cross-examining the transsexual.

I have had the luxury - the privilege - of not having to think very deeply about my own gender. Not to say I haven't put some thought into it, and I have thought a fair bit about my experience of going from straight to sorta-butch to sorta-femme, but honestly, it's something I can put away if I want. Whipping Girl provides a framework for thinking about gender and gender expression and sex and the relationship between them that allows for a much more thorough and nuanced examination than has so far gone on in my head. I don't think I've figured out enough about my own relationship to my own sex and gender to keep up a decent conversation on that with someone who has.

It was an honour to read with her.

But I'm a dolt when it comes to promo. I left some chapbooks up at the front of the bookstore, and then thought "Wait, I can't collect the money because I'm leaving for the bus station before Julia's done," and collected them on my way out. Because right, those chapbooks are far more valuable to me sitting in my desk drawer waiting to be paid for than given out free and actually read by people. Sheesh. Also, no email list for people to sign up to. Also, a blog name that is difficult to spell, pronounce and remember. I will go far, it's a sure bet. But hey! Pressure's off.

In other news, pride was fucking great. We got about 350 people out to the dyke march, and there were tons at the parade. I loved being in the middle of all those women marching, and was very happy that I was walking next to someone who laughed when I said "Where?" after reading the sign saying "dyke's rock." Even funnier, from our perspective, it was beside the sign that said "talk nerdy to me." Done and done.

It's great how community-oriented the parade in Ottawa still is. The last couple years I was in Toronto, the parade had gotten so big that you had to get there an hour in advance to see anything, and it felt like most of the floats were booze and make-up and there were big metal barriers to prevent you from you know, being proud if you felt like it for a few minutes. Bah. Ottawa is still mostly community groups - with the odd radio station thrown in. No metal barriers.

I nearly didn't make it to the parade though. I had one or two too many pints of beer the night before, and though I felt okay when I decided that yes, I would go out for breakfast with a group of people, it became very obvious to everyone that I was in no actual shape to be there. I sat beside Christine at the reading that night and she said "How are you? You looked a little green this morning. We could see you fading." So my hard work at keeping it under cover was for naught. Apparently, it's going to be a bit longer before my stomach settles down after the Halifax stomach flu. At least I no longer feel barfy after every time I eat.

And finally, if you want to get in my bad books on a long bus trip, you should alternate digging your knees into the back of my seat with putting your socked feet on the window ledge beside my arm rest and end that delicious set with repeatedly punching the back of my seat at 2 am after your seat mate has gotten off the bus and you have turned to stretch your legs out into his seat. You should also keep doing all of these things after I have turned my 180 degrees as if possessed by the demon of knee-digging-hatred and given you a dirty dirty look. Also, you should try to use your purse with the metal handles on it as a pillow between your head and the window and when you find it strangely uncomfortable, it being a purse full of odd-shaped objects and not actually a pillow full of soft fibres, you should reposition it 10 times and clank the metal handles very loudly against the window each time. Make sure you wait until 1:45 am to do this. And then I will write you up in my bad books. Because you know I have them.

*Apparently, kimchi is my new obsession. When I saw it on the list of things that I could put on my rice, I was really more excited than fermented cabbage warrants.
**The kribensis in Eric's tank have had fry and they're fascinating to watch. I spend far more time than I would have expected sitting in front of his tank, waiting to see what they'll do next. They've cowed the three giant fish in the tank, often herding them into a small corner and even then, the angel fish is in tatters from being nipped. They also herd the fry - if one strays from the school, one of the parents will search it out, scoop the fry up in its mouth and then spit it out with the rest of the fry. It's fascinating enough that I've started looking around my apartment to see if I can fit in a tank.