Shots for Breakfast

2003-12-29T09:51:00.000-08:00

"Am I the only one around here who gives a shit about the rules??" ~ the Big Lebowski

Blogger.com has served me well, but it is time for a move. Update your bookmarks, sexy and devoted readers: The New Shots for Breakfast. Ta ta.
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2003-12-27T11:11:00.000-08:00

"Sorry, I'm just common." ~ Ben

To take up where I left off ...

We stayed at Barry's house so long that the family started opening presents. It was very bizarre - the old roommate's old boyfriend opened a package that was COMPLETELY EMPTY. It was never explained and he looked disappointed. And a 16-year-old girl opened a kitchen tile. Everyone was confused.

Right before we left we were all on the patio smoking various things, and Matt's ex-girlfriend was there. I had shocked and amazed both Matt and myself by being very nice to her - normally I get senselessly jealous in situations like that, feel threatened etc., but the gin had put me in a good mood and I was feeling slim - and she asked me for a cigarette. "Of course, of course!" I shouted, my arm around her shoulder, but then I realized I had only one left, and it was Christmas Eve. Nothing would be open the next day (Comox, for those of you who don't know, has a population of about 10,000 and there are no 24-hour corner store type things). But I gave it to her.

Then there was a blur of activity, and I found myself in a taxi zooming down darkened streets. I kept insisting we stop for cigarettes, and the cabbie kept insisting that it was impossible. Finally I sobbed, "I gave my last cigarette to my boyfriend's ex-lover!" and the cabbie said, "Awww," and reached for his pack and gave me 5! I was so touched. "Now you won't freak out on Christmas morning," he said kindly, but then started ranting that there had now been a total of 3 drunk girls in his cab that night and he'd had to give all of us smokes. It felt cheery, though.

Suddenly I was deep in a forest near Matt's parents house, and Matt was smoking weed and getting me to do breathing exercises to keep from puking.

Christmas morning: a little tragic. I could hardly move my head, and felt stupid. Who is hungover on Christmas morning? Not someone with my kind of lineage. A deep, deep sense of shame. But, I got some very wonderful, thoughtful gifts from Matt's family, and felt good and included.

A long nap, and then a Christmas dinner that consisted of homemade tempura (prawns, sweet potato, mushrooms, and banana!) and clams smeared in garlic butter. Only one glass of wine (white), and good talks and conversation with Matt's fam. It was a pretty special Christmas - the nicest in a long time. :)
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2003-12-26T14:52:00.000-08:00

"Let's break out the booze and have a ball!" ~ Peggy Lee

So, Christmas Eve in Comox. It started with a crazy and amazing West Coast breakfast of avacado and crab dip, smoked salmon, rolls, many different kinds of cheese. Then a tense and intense game of Hearts with Matt, Ryan, and Jon.

I spent the afternoon writing at the local coffee house. Revised my poem ("Fidel and Me," with a new caption by Sylvia Plath - "Every woman adores a fascist"), and almost finished the Relationship Story That is Trying Very Hard Not to be About Relationships Because I am Sick of Writing About Those. It's going pretty well.

Matt swung by the coffeehouse around 3, and we hung out for a little while with the dad of one of his Comox friends. The dad was cool and very intelligent, but we talked about writing for around 20 minutes and he never once mentioned a female writer. Finally I made one of my standard "Margaret Atwood is a goddess and we all worship her" comments, and the dad looked grave and said something like, "Well, I wouldn't say she's a BAD writer, no, I mean she's good, but nothing spectacular." I was stunned. But we are all allowed our opinions.

Matt and I hit the Lorne at about 4 - my favourite pub in Comox ever! Potato skins and plenty of beer. Barry stopped by and I got moderately drunk. So I was all pleasantly buzzed back at the house, and Jon refused to deliver a Christmas goody package to the neighbours, so I had to go. I enjoyed myself, but worry about having made a sloppy impression ... I wanted to say, "This isn't my fault! I've never been allowed to drink on Christmas Eve before!" But they wouldn't have understood.

Then a grand dinner at the home of some relatives, most of whom I knew a little. I kept very quiet during dinner, prompting Aya to point at me from across the table and whisper questions to Ryan in Japanese. In response I downed a rye and Coke, 3 or 4 glasses of red wine, and some port. Then things got very bright and loud, and I was shouting about how I had met Josee Choiunard (mostly true) and how sensitive she is about her weight even though she is devestatingly cute, it's just that she's a figure skater and female figure skaters are expected to be aenorexic but still have enough strength to land triple jumps, and everyone seemed quite fascinated. And we sort of got into my own tragic skating days, the foot problems that ended my promising career, etc.

I left to have a cigarette and fell down the stairs. A worried uncle's face above the bannister: "Are you okay?" Me: "Yes, yes ..." Then back inside, I decided to take it easy, and poured a mug of coffee. I hunted about for cream, and an uncle hefts this massive bottle of Irish Creme liquer into the air. "Cream!" he shouted merrily, and my downhill state continued.

We left at about 10:30. I was certainly ready to pass out, but instead we went to Barry's house and drank heavily until Barry's mom kicked us out at 3 in the morning. It was a glorious, wonderful time - a bunch of people were there that I hadn't seen in a while, including my old roommate's old boyfriend, who I had always liked - and Barry's parents partied along with us, telling fascinating stories about Yoko Ono happenings back in the day, and playing us Miles Davis on vinyl. Beer was circulating, and Matt and I killed an entire .26 of gin. ("The GIN!" as Ben would say, respectful.)

The stories go on ... But there are 2 children in my house right now, yelling and screaming and giving Sambuca a heart attack. They belong to my landlord and they're up to visit, so I think I should go tell them stories or something.
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2003-12-21T16:31:00.000-08:00

"What will become of Larry? What will become of his hairbrush?" ~ Vegi Tales

I have ruined my hair. Ruined, ruined, ruined. Oh well. I haven't ruined anything in my life in a while. I suppose it was time.
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2003-12-21T12:11:00.000-08:00

"WAKE UP!" ~Rage Against the Machine

Today's quote is my response to an article I read in this month's Reader's Digest. It's called "Foods That Fight Fat," and one of these foods is a grapefruit. Here is a direct quote (exclamation point mine): "And without added sugar, a grapefruit, by weight, has fewer calories than an orange!"

!!!

Suddenly we should avoid oranges because they have too many calories?! I am shocked and saddened. Oranges! Here is my recommendation for everyone reading this blog today: Go stuff yourself with fries and mayo and then dress up in baggy pyjamas and read gloriously in bed all day. Embrace cellulite!
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2003-12-20T14:55:00.000-08:00

"I've never heard of lovers that could be best friends." ~ the Lovin Spoonful

In what my father calls (sarcastically) my "infinite wisdom" (as in, "Joy with her infinite wisdom thinks that ..."), I have compiled a list of books that would be required reading for 1st Year university students if I had a say in things.

Non-Fiction:
1) The Female Eunuch, by Germaine Greer
2) Fast Food Nation, by Eric Schlosser
3) The Beauty Myth, by Naomi Wolf
4) No Logo, by Naomi Klein
5) Survival, by Margaret Atwood

Fiction:
1) Self Help, by Lorrie Moore
2) Cat's Eye, by Margaret Atwood
3) The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath
4) The Dharma Bums, by Jack Kerouac
5) Sex is Red, by Bill Gaston

And that, as they say, is that.

Last night was fun. Matt's gig at Steamers, and much galivanting with him, Pete, Jay, Morgan, CM, and others. A free beverage (beverage is my new favourite word! But then it's always been), and an unpleasant incident with the bag check girl that turned out okay because I WON, in an intellectual sense, anyway. And that is the only sense that matters. Take my bag will you? Call it "humungous"? Fine, but I'm going to make you feel stupid before I go.
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2003-12-19T09:42:00.000-08:00

"This world is not my home, I'm just a-passing through." ~ Tom Waits

A short scene between Matt and Joy:

Matt brings Joy her second cup of coffee, all fixed up with a clean mug and milk. Joy is surprised and delighted.

JOY: Thank you babe! You're being so awesomely sweet this morning.
MATT: Well, I've been getting a lot of sex lately.
[pause]
JOY: That makes me feel very insecure, Matt.
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2003-12-19T09:20:00.000-08:00

"Why would she repeat something like that I wonder?" ~ the Royal Tanenbaums

A fabulous and fun evening last night!

It started at 5:30, when I got off work. I was sitting on a bench outside the SUB waiting to be picked up by Morgan, and she was about 2 minutes late so naturally I started freaking out and thinking I had been forgotten, and then a large mini-van swerved into the parking lot and the sliding door was flung open. A man was walking by just then, and Morgan shrieked, "Whoever catches this ball gets a free ride!" and hurled a plastic ball out into the night. The man looked at it in shock, and it hit him in the knees. He made a half-hearted, confused effort to pick it up, but I was too fast. I grabbed it and jumped in the van, where I was handed a water bottle filled with rye and diet Coke.

Next the mall: a bizarre experience no matter what the occasion, but stranger this time because we were with 3 soccer girls (all of them very nice and funky), and we went into all the stores I never go into - Guess and the Bay and some kind of sporting goods place. Morgan and I were sharing nips from the water bottle and asking various clerks questions that they could not answer. I was feeling spacey yet wonderful (gorgeous cashmere jackets and good company will do that to you), and when it was announced that Wal-Mart was next on the hit-list, I bailed, and fortunately Morgan bailed with me. We hung out on a bench by the fountain, smoking (du Maurier light for me, a clove cigarette for M) and talking about sad but important things.

At around 7 we hit Big Bad Johns, and within minutes a man named "Wade" came to our table and mumbled something about having a bet with his friends that he could get us to tell him our names. We complied immediately (Penelope and Esmerelda), but he would not go away and finally I had to tell him our first initials and say that he had one guess each and if he got them wrong he had to leave. He failed, despite taking his sweet time about it, and despite me telling a story (accidentily) in which the punchline is someone Morgan hadn't seen in forever shouting, "MORGAN?" Good times. He guessed Judith and Mary. Every time we passed his table that night his friends would say, "Ouch!" I was so confused to be hit on by someone at Big Bad John's who wasn't elderly that I couldn't figure out if the "Ouch!" was good or bad. Probably both.

Matt came soon - beautiful Matt! - and the soccer girls. We drank and shouted and made friends with some blonde girls and had deep discussions in the washroom. I got woefully drunk by the end, and had to keep very, very quiet and still to keep anything bad from happening.

Morgan rocks. Conversation with her is like the finest sushi - you can never eat enough of it - you must eat it constantly - and it makes you feel wonderful and alive and exciting.
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2003-12-17T12:44:00.000-08:00

"I don't wanna work. I just wanna bang on the drum all day."

Last day of ESL ... I don't wanna do it. :(

Today's entry shall be mostly dedicated to a woman who works at the sad, depressing grocery store that I frequent. She is a friendly woman, always has a smile, seems intelligent, and yet she has no real grasp of the fundamental elements of cashiering. In a word: speed. Now, I'm not a line-up Nazi. I have no problem waiting five minutes, or even, if it's busy and the line is long, ten minutes. But such trifling periods of time do not exist in this cashier's world. She scoffs at the idea of someone waiting in her line-up for just ten minutes. Scoffs! Today I waited over fifteen, and that is only when I did something about it. I am not kidding. She chattered with other people, randomly TOOK OFF to talk to someone at another till, re-arranged bags, took a little break to talk to one of the bakers who came over with this tray of tarts, took off to another till again, talked on the phone ... The woman in front of me had been there even longer than I, and her eyes were glazed and sad. You can't get pissed off in a long line-up; it's just not polite, and so pointless. So we stood there, glazed. But after just over fifteen minutes I abruptly grabbed my items from the conveyor belt and put them back in my basket. It looked rash, I'm sure, to all the people both ahead and behind me. There were gasps, although I didn't hear them. Then I walked over to another till, and was finished in under five minutes. When I left the store I saw all the same people still waiting in line, staring at me and my bags with longing.

But enough of that. Morgan's party rocked. It was one of those parties where a different party is taking place in every room, and I mainly gravitated through the party in Colin's room (weed galore, theatre folk, and old-school punk), the living room (faces old and new, racous stories, intense discussions about relationships and UFO's), and the patio (endless cigarettes with Morgan and Jay, and Morgan and I deciding that we would make a lovely couple if only certain circumstances weren't currently in the way. This, to the delight of several men on the patio with us, who kept saying excited things like, "C'mon! Kiss!" but I am faithful to my Matt). I passed out at 2, on a floor, and got up at 7:30 to go to work. The walk to work was nuts! All grey fog, and my eyes bulging out of my head from too much drink and little sleep. I stumbled my way through the day, slowly and with mistakes, prompting a co-worker to leave a note for me the next day which read, "If these forms get out of order again, I will kill you." At 1pm I met Matt for lunch at the grad lounge and had a huge plate of fries and a falafel burger. Felt so good to just stuff myself with starch.

Then that evening Ben and I had a tragic poetry editors meeting during which the other two editors did not arrive. Both had good excuses so I'm not pissed off at them, but I had been looking forward to making all the final decisions as a group. So Ben and I had final say, and I'm pleased with what we came up with, but I fear being perceived as some sort of Stalin-Hitler team, fucking the rules and crushing all opposition. Which, come to think of it, would rock! So it's all cool.
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2003-12-14T11:40:00.000-08:00

"This is not Hollywood - like I give a damn." ~ the Cranberries

Perhaps against my better judgement, I've stuck a new link up on the side there, to Ryan's web-page. On this page you can find pictures of all Ryan's friends and doings, including a large number of yours truly looking either fat/mentally ill/in bed with three other people/etc. They're funny and illuminating ... But why does the digital camera hate me so much?
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2003-12-14T11:16:00.000-08:00

"You came in with the breee-eeeze, on Sunday morning." ~ No Doubt

So, yes, the staff party ... Very fun. Now I have to go to work on Monday and SEE all these people, and piece toegther the night (evening really!) and hope I didn't do anything too stupid ...

Last night was the annual B.C. Schizophrenic Society Dinner and Dance. It's the third one that Matt's band has provided the music for (hence the 'dance' part), and I got my first Christmas gift of the season, which was a CD wallet! Very cool. I didn't dance, despite being asked by various older men (okay, one), and instead sat at one of the wooden card tables, editing poems for This Side of West. It was a great evening, and made me miss those grand Christmas banquets our old church in Vernon used to have. Basically the only thing I miss about church is the banquets, which were the only time church felt like what it should be - a community outreach to spread love. They were so fun, and I was usually in a play or something, so there was also delicious ego involved. :P

Tonight is Morgan's par-tay, which should be good clean fun. I'm going to limit my drinking though, and only bring a small amount. I will regret this I'm sure - will finish it all by 10 or so and then feel bad - but in the long run it will be good.
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2003-12-12T21:22:00.000-08:00

"His girlfriend cut off her toe! She thought she was getting $1,000,000!" ~ The Big Lebowski

Wild and crazy staff party tonight. Am still drunk. Cigarettes, nachos, homous and pita. Is that even how you spell homous? Phonics escapes me.

Anyway. More tomorrow. Am drunk at the moment.
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2003-12-12T11:49:00.000-08:00

"You can be fuckin with otha niggaz shit but ya can't be fuckin with mine." ~ Rage Against the Machine

Late last night, in a moment of Coast to Coast AM induced paranoia, I asked Matt if I was the only real human being in the world and if everyone placed around me, including him, were just scientists or fly-by-night actors whose job it was to convince me that everything was real - reality and history and ethics and what-not - and if I was just this grand experiment that they all had to write daily reports on. Do you see why I no longer partake of hallucinogenic drugs? Do you SEE? Every few months or so these feelings of intense disconnection hit me. The first one was when I was a few months old and being wheeled about in a baby carriage in downtown Lumby by my mother and one of her friends. I looked over the top of the carriage and saw a world of odd grey and green, a sludge was all it was, and was horrified. Whenever I remember that image, 22 years later, I get chills. This is perhaps why the Okanagan, wonderful though it is, always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

There are those who believe we don't have memories when we are babies. Not true! I have tons, including the time I was first in church, which according to my baby book was at some age like nine days. And my old friend Julia Hilton actually remembers being BORN. She said there was darkness and then light.
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2003-12-11T18:09:00.000-08:00

"What's with you today?" "What's with today, today?" ~ Empire Records

A long and confusing week. Though parts were glorious.

Monday: Totally flipped out, over I forget what. Tears and rage and bad TV. Re-evaluations, of every kind. A cancellation of the weekly writing thang, which made both Matt and Ben quietly upset, which was awful, awful, awful.

Tuesday: An exhausting day at work, then a jubilant and wonderful hour at Starbucks during which I wrote 400 words of fiction (count 'em!) and then headed over to Ben's for writing, where, for some reason, I plowed through almost an entire mickey of Mr. Beefeater, in less than two hours, and wrote a ton of crap that I thought was funny and "good" at the time, but it was all okay because I was cheerfuler than I'd been in days, and was chattering and making jokes and complimenting and reading my own writing aloud, loudly, and I just felt so, so, so good.

Wednesday: Awoke with a hideous hangover that grew worse as the day wore on. Had to drag myself out to Gordon Head to teach a dreary ESL lesson, but it was okay, because I gave my notice! I have one more lesson to do and that's it! Champagne for everyone! Oh, and in the morning I received a package from Darren with a t-shirt in it. Basked in the wonderful goodness of receiving a package.

Thursday: Received a notice in the mail from the library, saying that I owe them $34 in overdue fines. I'm crushed. Is it even possible? Plus all the phone messages today were for Matt, not me.
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2003-12-09T22:55:00.000-08:00

"I'm a terrible hostess." ~ Carolyn Mark

So, so drunk off gin and writing. I can't even type. It's taken me like five minutes to type this sentence. I am bedraggled and the veins on my hands are sticking out.

What's going on? I'm 22. This isn't right.

Sex and sleep and George Noory's Coast to Coast AM will help.

AAAAUUUUGH!

Matt is my 'backseat editor.' He helps. _________________________________________________________________________________________________

2003-12-04T15:54:00.000-08:00

"Gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight." ~ Abba

How wonderful it feels to do a ton of homework! I've been going nuts on it lately. I feel so useful and studenty.

I lit my hair on fire ten minutes ago, standing on the windy and rainy patio while talking to Ben on the phone and trying to light a cigarette. That horrible burnt-hair smell lingers. Good chat with Ben, though. How interesting and filled with symbolism our lives are! It's astonishing. And I'm pleased because next semester we both have workshops that end at the same time in the same building on Tuesdays, so we're going to make that drink-and-dinner thing at the Grad Lounge a weekly occurence. I love weekly occurences! My favourite so far is Saturday morning breakfasts at Cup of Joe with Matt and Ryan and Aya, but sadly, Ryan and Aya are moving back to Tokyo come January. Matt and I are buying their TV/VCR, and I'm buying Ryan's computer. No more Windows 95 for me! Wow. But I will miss them.

(A quick technical note to my faithful, sexy, and witty readers - maybe it's just my computer, but every time I go to 'Shots for Breakfast' it pops up an old entry. If this happens to YOU, simply refresh it and damn the man.)
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2003-12-03T21:41:00.000-08:00

"Finish, the fucking story, man! What about the glands?" ~ Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Our movie ("You Are Here") is finished, all printed to video and labelled and rewound. It all happened so fast! The public screening is tomorrow. They're actually charging admission. I fear tomatoes. But seriously folks - I like it. Our actors were La Shmorgan, Ryan Steele, Colin Maishment, a guy named Slash, Jay Prain, and Pete Raskovsky. All were spectacular good sports and look wicked on film (especially Ryan Steele ... I had no idea he was so photogenic! Jealousy.) I'm thinking of sneaking some Southern Comfort to the screening in my flask ... But I may do the smart thing this time and avoid the after-party. ;) No sense in getting out of control again.

Wrote my paper on Julie Dash's "Daughters of the Dust" tonight. Only seven more films to go, then the 5-10 page screenplay, then the rewrite of the 60-page screenplay. Gah. It will all be over on Monday!

Got a phone call from my father today. He still can't move any of the fingers in his left hand. He ground it all up in an automatic wood-cutting machine a month or two ago, and now he has pins stuck in it! The doctors also had to take off his wedding ring, which he has not removed in over 30 years due to a previous injury to his ring finger knuckle. Hardcore. I miss my dad. He took the news that I will not be returning to his and Mum's place for Christmas this year surprisingly well. I'd thought he would be upset. He was sad, which was awful, but not upset I think. I'm busy preparing this cool and exciting Christmas parcel for them and my brothers and neices. I've never sent a Christmas parcel before. It's going to rock! And Matt and I are going to take the train up to Comox for Christmas, which will also rock. And then Clint and Elisa are coming down to Vic for a bit in late December. It's all good.

Speaking of my dad - and also related to that weird paranormal strand in my life - here's a story from the past. When I was 2 years old I broke my collarbone, by falling down the steps of our unfinished basement. No one could figure out why I had fallen, because it wasn't that steep and I was generally a pretty careful kid. So it was just deemed an accident, and then a short time later, my father was standing at the top of those steps, and he felt a hand on his back pushing him! He whirled around to grab the hand, but no one was standing there.

Also ... Dad has a metal plate in his hand. No one knows where it came from. There are no medical records. Doctors were x-raying his hand a few years back for yet another injury, and they were like, "Where did this metal plate come from?" and nobody knew. Crazy. My mother has speculated that it is an alien tracking device, which I'm inclined to believe. Did you know that there are alien human-zoos on other planets? It's true. Thank God my vegetarian/animal-rights karma will protect me from that sort of thing.
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2003-12-02T16:37:00.000-08:00

"The critics have called you a fool." "And I call the critics a fool!" ~ the Second Story Sessions

I bought Johnny Cash's most recent (and his last!) album today. I read the liner notes and in one part he's talking about how much he loves coming home to his wife, and says, "That's when I give God a 'Thanks a lot, Chief.'" I cried, because it reminded me of something Trev would say, and because June Carter died before Johnny Cash did, and because Johnny Cash is dead now and there will be no more albums. Such a sad, sad day. But the cd kicks ass.

Work was good this morning. I bought a 'Disgruntled Employee of the Month" sticker for my coffee mug and made my boss laugh; also Matt came by during my second break and we hung out and chatted and stuff. I love Matt! He's so attractive and rugged.

I had five beers last night and barely felt them. I drank them as I watched "The Wedding Singer" and wrote my paper for "Resevoir Dogs." So much homework this week! I'll have to buy more beer.

Why do people get all angsty in malls? I mean, I get horribly depressed and suicidal when I'm in malls, but I don't get ANGSTY and crash into people and then refuse to apologize to the person I crashed into, even when the person does, and I also don't make little growling, annoyed noises when the person I bumped into apologizes to me, as if it's their fault. Geez. Did that make sense? Basically I hate idiots.

Sushi tonight. Then extended brooding over the poor mid-term grade I received for Poetry. Perhaps my total disdain and disgust for poetry shone though in class and that is why I got a bad mark? It's hard to say. More likely the poems are crap, and yet that seems too easy ...
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2003-11-30T19:13:00.000-08:00

"What do you see? You people gazing at me? You see a girl in a music box that's wound by a key." ~ Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Wow. I'd forgotten how hopelessly bizarre it is to work on a movie. Some highlights from the morning/afternoon:

~ Shocked tourists watching from above the ledge of the Dallas Rd. Beach railing as Morgan, a large shovel raised above her head with both arms, plunged into the Pacific Ocean.

~ Colin screaming about Walt Disney's frozen body buried beneath Snow White's ice castle while assorted homeless street youth heckled him.

~ Finding a bench of four drunk old men who described themselves as "broken-down Indians" and convincing them to appear in a scene.

Many other things happened, but those are the Top 3. And I seem to have a cold now, so I'm going to drink coffee and watch "Resovoir Dogs" because I have to for 412. I hate that movie. I dislike the violence, and the grey stupidness of it all. Why can't it be more like our movie? I feel weak and bland.
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2003-11-30T11:06:00.000-08:00

"Mama always told me, be careful who you love ... Don't go around breakin young girls hearts." ~ Michael Jackson

Film shoot in a few minutes. Morgan's going to come over and then we'll head down to the Breakwater, where she will write in a bright pink notebook and try on sunglasses and kick sand and ultimately walk into the ocean. Then we're whisking downtown to shoot shorter scenes with Pete, Ryan Steele, and Colin. I'm a bit nervous. The whole film hinges on the idea that the audience will think they're stupid for not "getting it," when in reality it means nothing, because we had no time to insert a true meaning or narrative. Can we get away with this? Is this legal? Hopefully it looks pretty, if nothing else.

Stupid busy week ahead! Work, editing, papers, final classes, second draft of a 60-page sceenplay ... I want to curl up into a little ball and drink whiskey until someone comes over and sings Bob Marley at me. "Calm the fuck down, Joy!" he or she will say, and then we'll order in pizza and watch movies.
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2003-11-29T16:17:00.000-08:00

"He might have Ocean Madness, but that's no excuse for Ocean Rudeness." ~ the Professor, Futurama

Wow. So Thursday night was a gong show, in the truest sense of the phrase ... I got disturbingly drunk, and yelled at several of the readers, when they were onstage. Had many wild and intoxicating cigarettes on the patio, shrieking about homosexuality, Judeaism, roommates, writers, and Christian rock music with anyone who would listen. Smoked weed two feet away from the bouncer. Stumbled and roared and had my feelings hurt. Wound up drinking coffee and juice in the jam space upstairs, trying to write and passing out on the couch, mistaking Jonathan Rothman for a burglar and talking for far too long about Johnny Depp's recent 'Sexiest Man Alive' status.

Matt and I have been working on our film project today. It's ridicuous. The first line is, "Am I Jesus?" and it ends with someone plunging into the ocean with a rifle. None of it is very cohesive ...
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2003-11-27T18:50:00.000-08:00

"I've got a head with wings." ~ Morphine

Oh! Oh! Gin! I'm so happy. Gin with a shot of wine and then topped up with tropical fruit juice! It's my favourite drink. The world is one big rainbow.

Going to a reading at Logan's Pub in an hour. I've been drinking gin at school since 1:30. I expect I'll get out-of-control at some point this evening and make a scene!
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2003-11-26T15:34:00.000-08:00

"She's got helicopters." ~ the Flaming Lips

Intense guilt. I decided to skip work today - that's right, just skip it - and spend the afternoon working on my screenplay, instead. This isn't the SUBtext job; it's the ESL tutoring one, which I only do once a week, so I really shouldn't skip. But I was feeling unwell. Not physically unwell but emotionally, which is far more difficult to explain, so I practiced for a few minutes and then called my employer. Who not only was not at home, but also, it turns out, doesn't have an answering machine. This was at 2 and I've been calling every 20 minutes or so since then, but no luck. So I just have to sit here, nursing my rye and Coke, until 4 o'clock, which is the time I will not show up to tutor. Then I will be called, and my employer will be angry, which is understandable, but what can I do? I almost caved in and got on the bus to go to work - I was feeling better anyway - but once you plant that "I'm just going to skip work" idea in your head, it's hard to get rid of it. This is awful, though. I'm picturing my students with their books, patiently waiting, waiting, perhaps having cancelled something fun in order to study for the quizzes I was going to give them today. They studied for nothing! This is horrible. Why don't they have an answering machine. And now of course I'm not even working on the screenplay, which was my whole (half of) excuse, because I need - need - to go to Arriba Cafe to do that, and now I feel duty-bound to sit here by the phone and wait for the angry call so that I can explain.

This morning I went to a WSU meeting. We mostly discussed This Side of West, UVic's annual literary magazine, of which I am head poetry editor this year (poetry!). I received the packet of poems that I and my fellow editors will look over in the next few days, as we make our ruthless 'in/out' decisions. There are over 200 poems. 200! The quality of some of them is astounding. It's going to be fun to select them. I spent half an hour sorting them today, and stapling the 2-pagers, and all the while my touch-lamp kept going randomly on and off, with no one touching it. Creepy.
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2003-11-25T21:39:00.000-08:00

"I don't feel a need to explain my art to you, Warren." ~ Empire Records

Who eats a pear? I mean really.

I'll tell you who. Lisa Whitehead eats pears. Or she used to. It always baffled me. A pear?

Lisa Whitehead - where are you? You should email me sometime. Do you ever get drunk and google my name to see what comes up? I used to do that with Kristen Steele's name.

Kristen Steele - where are you? Every time I get drunk and google your name the only thing that comes up is that press release about you winning that short story contest when you were in grade 11. There's nothing current. I want to go shopping at Value Village with you and smoke cigarettes on your aunt's front porch.
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2003-11-25T20:53:00.000-08:00

"Shut the fuck up, Donny." ~ The Big Lebowski

Yesterday a man on Douglas Street called me a "pretty lady," as in, "Hey, pretty lady!" Why do men only say these things when I wear large baggy sweatshirts and a sour expression, and why are they always old men, with greasy grey hair? Perhaps they're being sarcastic.

That same day, on Douglas Street, three different people asked me for cigarettes, and I refused them all. You can't walk a block in Victoria without someone asking you that, even if you're not smoking. And then this old, sad man asked, "How much would you charge for a cigarette?" and for some reason I said, "You can just have one." No reason why. His face lit up and he said, "Now I can buy a lottery ticket." I felt so good. He said, "I'll remember your face," and I thought of two things: one, that scene in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when the valet says to Johnny Depp, "I'll remember your face," and the acid Johnny Depp has been chewing makes the valet's face go all wonky, and two, perhaps this sad, old man will win millions from his lottery ticket and will find me and give me some. I pretty much felt good all around. I have an emotional weakness for sad old men. They make me want to cry, they're all so sad. Even if nothing bad is happening to them, I just want to cry, and try to help them.

I hate poetry lately. Poetry is dead, and static. So much baggage.

Good things that have happened today: chatted with my old Russian Film prof outside the SUB; had four cups of coffee, three of them free; convinced Matt to skip work so that he and I and a bevy of other writers could go to the grad lounge for drinks and Buddha Feasts; bought spinach and artichoke dip; had a bath; listened to a Pixies album (twice) at work; felt very much in love.

The story is going well. The protagonist is a massage therapist now.

The Stench of Death is slowly fading from our kitchen. I have no idea what it was. But the air is better. Last night Matt and I threw almost every item in the fridge and cupboards into the garbage, and then had to carry all the bags outside. It was like 11:30 pm. I felt like we were disposing of body parts.

Oh - I also designed a stupid little quiz. It's called "What Kind of Writer Are You?" and it's stupid, but those of you who like stupid Internet quizzes might like it. It says it's designed by Joanne, but that's just code for Joy.
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2003-11-23T14:11:00.000-08:00

"I've got no lips I've got no tongue ... I've got a broken face ..." ~ the Pixies

Yesterday: Cup of Joe, new-book purchase ("Birds of America" by Lorrie Moore - stellar so far), hungover grumblings, old Futurama episodes, Pippa, Jay, and Matt spending at least 5 hours making little miniature plasticine men and fetuses for a stop-go type animation project, Matt presenting me with a gorgeous boquet of purple, pink, and yellow flowers - only to be told that they were going to be cut up into little pieces for use in aforementioned fetus project, pre-planning for Matt's and my next short film, take-out Chinese from Rong's (sweet+sour tofu w/ chow mein and chop suey - purrrrrrrr), a dazzling kitchen clean-up session, and sex. A great Saturday.

Writing troubles. I have to complete three short stories by January, because I'm in a workshop next semester but I'm also doing a directed studies course in which the main project is a NOVEL (shivers), and I don't want to be doing both at once. I have know this since April, and thought, nine months, that's PLENTY of time to write three short stories! And typically, I've done nothing. Well, nothing that's shown any promise. But I am working on a new project now, called "Feel Good," and it's a sectioned story (I always do better with those) divided into different 'comforts' (ie, food, people, beverages, clothes, etc.). I like it, but I've got to commit to it.

Rain. Rain, and a brilliant red mountain ash tree out the living room window. Shiny streets.
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2003-11-22T19:30:00.000-08:00

"Wine, wine, wine." ~ David P. Smith

Oh my GOD. I attended a tragedy of cinema last night. It was the annual "Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Festival of Animation" screening, which I swore off two years ago, but decided to give another try as 3-D glasses were being provided.

Matt, Pippa, Jay, and I got down to the Roxy at 9pm with pop bottles of liquor stashed among our bags and high, high hopes. What followed was student-banality in its lowest form. I can hardly remember it (maybe that was the gin), and whenever I try I just get random flashes of cartoon penises, blood, that stupid No-Neck Joe guy, and minute after painful minute of the audience not laughing. We were too weary even to boo after the first 20 minutes or so. The 3-D glasses were a ruse (we got them but they didn't work on the "films"), and if it wasn't for a rerun of the infamous "Billy's Balloon" I would have asked for my money back. Total and absolute crap.

Outside we pestered some 10-year-olds and vandalized a sign. Actually, Matt did both of those things - the rest of us just watched, me swaying and clutching my pop bottle, the surreal world of Quadra Village (they actually call it that now, there's this huge sign and everything) blurring around me.
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2003-11-21T19:11:00.000-08:00

"Oh Yoshimi, they don't believe me, but you won't let those robots defeat me, oh Yoshimi." ~ the Flaming Lips

I'm always screaming out things like, "That movie's totally in my top ten!" so here, for the record, is my official list:

1. Lost in Translation
2. The Royal Tanenbaums
3. Amelie
4. The Big Lebowksi
5. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
6. Ghost World
7. Bottle Rocket
8. Empire Records
9. Happiness
10. Fargo

Interesting note - Steve Buschemi appears in three of those movies. Bill Murray, Scarlett Johansen, Luke Wilson, and Owen Wilson appear in two each.
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2003-11-20T20:17:00.000-08:00

"You just kinda wasted my precious time ... But don't think twice; it's all right." ~ Johnny Cash

Very weird paranormal things have been happening in my life lately. Here's three of them.

1) On August 30th of this year I was taking a nap at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Just as I was drifting off, I heard a voice near my bed say, "Erin!" Now, that's not my name, but it made me open my eyes anyway. There was no one there, and I was alone in the house. I closed my eyes, and the voice came again, "Erin!" I jumped out of bed and ran into all the rooms to see who it was, but the house was empty. It was a physical voice though, and I was getting freaked out. I got back into bed, closed my eyes, and the voice said, "I don't want to die." Very calmly. I literally ran out of the house. It was so freaky. And, very odd - August 30th was the 2-year anniversary of the death of my old friend Trever. His girlfriend's name was Erin. It wasn't his voice, but it still freaked me out.

2) One night about a month ago I was in the period between sleep and awake, and I suddenly found myself standing above my bed. It wasn't a dream. There was a girl on my bed, a child, and I was falling through the air, about to hit her. Some weird sense told me that if I hit her something horrible would happen, and I strained every muscle in my body to stay standing. It was almost impossible; it was like I was working against a tractor beam. I kept straining though, and then I heard a whirring, electronic whine-noise, and the girl disappeared, and I got back into bed and fell asleep.

3) Last night, in that same period between awake and asleep, I tried to shift over onto my side. I was paralyzed. It was the freakiest sensation; I couldn't move. I knew I wasn't dreaming because I could hear Matt typing on his keyboard out in the living room. My hands were in fists and when I tried to unclench them nothing happened. I tried to move my legs but everything was frozen. Eyes, arms - nothing would move. I started to panic and my heart rate sped up, because I thought I would never walk again. Then a panicked voice, male - different from the one on August 30th - said, "Can you hear me? Can you hear me?" I tried to move my legs again to jump out of bed, but nothing happened. Then I tried to wrench my fists apart, and just as my hands opened, I heard that same whirring, electronic noise, and it was over.

What the fuck does it mean? Like I know I'm uber-sensitive but this is too weird.
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2003-11-19T12:04:00.000-08:00

"Sittin in your little room, workin on somethin good. But if it's really good, you're gonna need a bigger room." ~ the White Stripes

You know what makes me consistently happy? Coffee!

Sipped at Cup of Joe on Saturday mornings. Blowing on it and watching the steam rise as I discuss Japan, pop culture, and housing situations with Ryan and Aya and Matt.

Received, free from Bean There, on Mondays and Tuesdays when I work at SUBtext. Placed beside the computer as I enter book and telephone card sales. Gulped discreetly in between transactions.

Every morning when I don't want to get up and Matt brews a whole pot. Forces me out of bed with the scent.

On the patio, a mug of it perched on the shitty "table," smoking an early cigarette in the rain.

Back in the summer when I would buy it at Moka House and write at a table outside, watching the hippies and their dogs walk by. I had a coffee card there and when my parents visited in July my dad got every single one of the holes punched over a two-day period.

A tiny paper cup of mocha, extra white, from the machine in the Fine Arts building. Sipped in my scriptwriting workshop as people stare at me and say, "How can you drink that," and I say, "I know, this is basically the worst coffee in the whole wide world," but secretly I love it.
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2003-11-18T20:30:00.000-08:00

"She's only 8 years old. What's she ever done with her life that's so special?" ~ Bottle Rocket

Wow. These days of high excitement and tearful despair are starting to take their toll.

Some good news - I received the Autumn issue of the Fiddlehead yesterday! My name is in it, right there in the Table of Contents under Fiction. "Men and Other Pastimes" appears on page 66. It feels like I have 'arrived' somewhere - a remote, disorderly, Canadian fiction-scene sort of somewhere, in which there is lots of confusion and heartache, but still, it's a good place. I should drink more scotch now, I think, and start referring to Margaret Atwood as 'Peggy' instead of my usual 'Marge.'

Anyway. For that one Fiddlehead acceptance I've got about a dozen photocopied rejection slips from other lit-mags. What is the significance of this? It feels like a cruel joke, or a boring story that a friend tells you in a park, one of those stories where they go on and on and on about what they dreamt of the previous night.

Last night I dreamed that Sambuca and I were hiking and she fell into a mountain creek. It was the spookiest dream, because after she fell in, she just sort of floated below the surface of the water, looking up at me, until I came down and rescued her. You would expect a cat to absolutely thrash about and make huge splashes and what-not, not just wait there all peacefully in the water. They say that every character in a dream is actually a version of yourself, and so I think this dream means that I have to learn to trust myself to save ... myself (smirk) from any obstacles I may experience. I mentioned this to Ben, and he said something like, "Wow, that must have been really difficult to interpret." :P

Went to the grad lounge for dinner and writing discussion with Emily, Amanda, and Ben tonight. I love listening to other people talk about their writing, I love hearing them get passionate about it. It makes me insanely jealous ("Oh my God! She's more passionate than I! Must insert passion!"), but it's so stimulating to connect with people in the same boat as me and find out what's giving them satisfaction and what's giving them trouble. The gossip is good, too.
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2003-11-16T20:56:00.001-08:00

"Badgers? Badgers? We don't need no stinking badgers!" ~ UHF

Am I less of a person for refusing a shot of whiskey on ice on the grounds that I am "not hardcore enough?" Am I? Is there something inherently wrong about this? It's not like me.
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2003-11-16T13:30:00.000-08:00

"Don't worry, Donny, these men are nhilists. There's nothing to be afraid of." ~ Walter, The Big Lebowski

Rain, cigarettes, coffee, and researching my essay.

The title of the essay is "Money Money Money: It's a Rich Man's (Film) World," and it's about gender politics in the world of cinema. Matt and I have had several heated discussions over it and it's only 1:30 in the afternoon. One of my premises is that male producers only want to finance films that reflect a dashing, younger, idealized version of themselves. Case in point: the American Film Association's top 3 listings in their '100 Greatest Films of the Century' collection are Citizen Cane, Casablanca, and the Godfather. Hm. Just for the record, my top 3 films would be Lost in Translation, Ghost World, and the Royal Tanenbaums.

Last night we watched Fubar. I love the scene where Dean runs naked through the stormy midnight street, daring God to cut off his diseased left testicle. I wondered, as he kicked over garbage cans and fell into ditches, what would be going though the heads of American filmmakers as they watch this subtle Canadian gem. Did you know that the highest-grossing Canadian film to date is 'Porky'? Good God.

I bought Christmas presents for my neices today. I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if I am the prodigal aunt. Auntie Joy sounds very matronly, though, very nurturing. Also like I am 60. I wonder if they call me Auntie Joy, or just Joy? I'll have to ask Clint.

What is it about girls and gin? I am absolutely crazy about gin these days. I want a gin poster.
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2003-11-15T20:11:00.000-08:00

"It was either, take over the world, or learn French. So I took over the world. And next weekend I can learn French." ~ the Violent Femmes

I can't think of any nicer way to spend a Saturday than not writing an essay! Really, it was just awesome. I ate a bunch of stuff and had some drinks and played a lot of online games and hung out with Matt and made fun of some stuff and bought things and didn't do laundry. The essay didn't even get a thought. Worry about yourself, essay. No one likes you anyway.
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2003-11-14T19:39:00.000-08:00

"But I'm a virgin!" "Come on, Leela. All of us have seen Zap Brannigan's web page." ~ Futurama

Went out for drinks and shopping with some boyz today. The plan was to buy one item, drink one beverage, buy one item, etc. I bought a STOP iron-on patch and a dashing pumpkin-coloured coat. I drank one pale Ale and two Cuba Libres. Worried that I had been misled, but came to terms with it in the end.

Last night was sweet - I tagged along to rehearsal with Matt's new band. They jam in an actual recording space above Logan's Pub, and they got all angsty and rocksy while I sat curled in the corner, drinking gin and juice and writing about being unable to form friendships with happy people. Got four pages done. Whenever I felt bored I walked over to the adjoining dance studio and stared at myself in the mirror, or had cigarettes.

Tonight's agenda: Pirates of the Caribbean at the Roxy! I'm going to sneak in snacks.
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2003-11-11T18:01:00.000-08:00

"Is that all there is? Is that all there is ... If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing ... Let's break out the booze and have a ball ..." ~ Peggy Lee

A new blog. A new state of mind.

Today the leaves are dropping from the cherry tree and I'm working on a screenplay about emptiness. There is no connection.

I'm feeling more confident lately, because it's cold enough for me to wear my cashmere jacket. It is a very demanding jacket, the type that requires you to have a certain expression while you wear it. Lately it's been going with sophisticated. Sophisticated is difficult for me, and I tend to sabotage it by wearing my bright striped toque, or talking to myself while I walk. But we're doing okay, me and the jacket. I've got that sophisticated sneer down pretty good, and now I can discuss European cinema with a straight face.
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