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Posted by zoom! on June 24, 2008, at 10:02 am |
 First off, a disclaimer: I have no experience at reviewing plays, and I’m probably less perceptive and insightful about plays than the average audience member. So please, take what I say with a grain of salt; it really is just my humble opinion.
I liked Circumference, but I found the audience reactions disconcerting.
Circumference is a one-woman show, written and performed by Amy Solloway from Michigan. It’s about an ample woman who has struggled all her life with her body image, and who is now applying for gastro-bypass surgery. Her (American) health insurance will only cover the costs under certain conditions, including a documented six-month diet and exercise regime. As she embarks upon this regime, she reminisces about (and acts out) various incidents from her life, like being tormented and humiliated by a gym teacher in junior high.
This play was billed as “hysterically funny,” and clearly there were many members of the audience who were amused. But I really struggled with the humour. The show was essentially about self-loathing, and it explored depths of pure pain sugar-coated with self-deprecating humour.
Here’s an example – just one of many because the whole show was like this. She decides to stay home and never go outside again. She says when the paramedics eventually come to remove her 500 pound body from her home, ham sandwiches will fall out of the crevices of her body. The audience roared.
I think I have a pretty good sense of humour, but I just didn’t feel like laughing at that. To me it seemed like the humour lived in the crevices of overwhelming pain. I found it unsettling when other audience members laughed at things like that; it felt like there was some kind of collective cruelty taking place. (And yet I realize that Amy Salloway gives the audience full permission to find it funny – she intends it to be funny – so if she’s okay with it, how come I’m not?)
On the plus side: While the ending seemed a bit implausible to me, I did love the way she physically transformed herself into a radiant woman just by changing her posture and facial expression. It’s worth seeing the play just for that alone. And I liked the setting, which was an intimate little theatre in a basement.
If you want to see it, the schedule and other details are available here.
On the way home I stopped on the bridge and admired the sunset while listening to the strains of Herbie Hancock floating up from the Jazz Festival.
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Posted by zoom! on June 23, 2008, at 4:20 pm |
Remember when Duncan met the baby Jacob and was completely unhinged by him and could not take his huge freaked-out saucer eyes off him? Even after Jacob and his mother left, Duncan watched with great consternation from the window till the stroller disappeared around the corner.
I just assumed Duncan was afraid of babies.
But it seems I was mistaken, because Duncan actually LOVES babies with all his great big furry purry heart.
Mudmama and the Sprout came and stayed for the weekend.
Remember the Sprout? I believe the last time he was on this blog (not counting yesterday) he looked like this:
Now he looks like this:
Duncan, who usually hangs out on the back of the couch, hung out on the floor all weekend. He went out of his way to make himself accessible to the baby. Whenever the Sprout grabbed big fistfuls of Duncan’s fur, Duncan gently extricated himself, moved a couple of feet away, flopped over on his back, and waited for the Sprout to come back and do it again.
I wonder why he was so scared of Jacob and why he loves the Sprout so much?
It was fun having Mudmama and the Sprout here. I hadn’t seen them since Christmas, and hadn’t had a chance to really talk with Mudmama since last September when she was in labour. (She has painless labours, so it was kind of like having a slumber party in a hospital.)
Oh! Check this out – Mudmama brought me some gifts: a selection of fair trade coffees and this highly intriguing book.
I can’t wait to get started. I hope I don’t get busted.
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Posted by zoom! on June 22, 2008, at 6:24 pm |
The Ottawa Fringe Festival hosted a wine and cheese party for local bloggers last night at Arts Court.
 I wasn’t sure what to expect other than wine and cheese, but that’s usually enough to lure me out of my cave. I headed down there with Mudmama and Sprout, who were visiting for the weekend. Sprout had a nap en route so he could be the life of the party once we got there.
We arrived promptly at 7, along with Milan from A Sibilant Intake of Breath. The fashionably late bloggers came a little later: Skylark, David Scrimshaw, Andrea from the Fishbowl, Woodsy, Breadcrumbs in the Butter, and several others I didn’t know.
We were divided between two tables, and I didn’t really get to talk to anybody at the other table. At our table there was a comfortable mix of people who already knew each other and people who didn’t. There’s always a sense of skewed familiarity when you meet people whose blogs you read. You kind of already know them, but they’re still full of surprises.
The hipster PDAs came out early. Milan and David both have them, and I’m envious. I’ll have to make myself one. All I need is index cards, a tiny binder clip, a space pen and a pocket, and I’ve actually got all that stuff already so I don’t need anything. Milan and David use them to keep track of the myriad little details and bits of information and ideas that come out of everyday life. Milan’s cover card is his to-do list. Anything with a B beside it is a potential blog post. (Unfortunately I forget the rest of his system because I don’t have a hipster PDA to keep track of incoming ideas. Yet.)
Being with Milan is like dipping your toe into the fountain of knowledge. At one point I glanced over to see him and Woodsy deep in conversation about statistics, and Milan was drawing a diagram on an index card to illustrate regression analysis. (I think that’s what it was a picture of.) He’s quite charming in an earnest sort of way. It’s too bad Aggie wasn’t there to meet him; she would not have been disappointed.
Sprout was charming too, in a sproutly sort of way. He mashed strawberries into his hair, flirted with Woodsy, and helped Skylark shred a program.
Towards the end of the evening, the organizers came by to chat with us. They gave us passes to attend two free plays each, and said they hoped we would consider blogging some of the Fringe Festival.
Until this year I didn’t know anything about the Fringe Festival – I didn’t know if it was music or films or what. (It’s PLAYS! You probably already knew that.) I’ll probably go to a play or two, and I’ll most likely blog about them.
I have to say I think it was a clever idea on their part, and I think ALL the festivals should woo us bloggers with booze and snacks and social events. Loot bags would be a nice touch too. And media passes.
I’ve only gotten perks a couple of times for being a blogger (not counting the more valuable and intrinsic perks, like friendships, of course). I got ten free P-Mates and a P-Mate T-shirt for being the unofficial Porta-Potty Blogger at the Blues Festival last year. And now I’ve had a lovely evening out with some interesting fellow bloggers, some wine, some cheese, and some tickets to plays. Thanks Fringe Festival!
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Posted by zoom! on June 21, 2008, at 8:30 am |
On Thursday I went to Ribfest twice but didn’t eat any ribs. As a matter of fact, I’ve never once eaten a rib at Ribfest. There’s something about Ribfest that triggers my Options Paralysis Disorder (OPD). I can never decide which rib stand to eat at, for starters. They all claim to have won first prize; they all have trophies. Then there are the lineups, which make me feel defeated before I even begin. I just can’t bring myself to line up for awkward, sticky food that I would have to eat standing up. Ribfest is just too complicated for me.
I had beer instead.
Then I headed down to the Market and stopped at a new coffee bar called Espresso’s, on Cumberland between the condos and the shelters. I had a coffee and struck up a conversation with a soft-spoken and gentle-mannered man named Andy who seemed to appreciate the company. It turns out he lives in Options Bytown and he’s a success story.
 Then we shook hands and he went off to get breakfast (he works nights), and I went to Crazzy Dave’s book launch down the street at Le Petit Mort Gallery. Crazzy Dave is a homeless poetry busker who lives behind Chapters in the Market. He’s been living there year-round since 2006. He writes his poems on cardboard with magic markers, and sells them for five or ten dollars to people passing by.
Crazzy Dave seemed relaxed and comfortable at his book launch. He’s accustomed to talking to strangers from all walks of life, so he was in his element even though he was indoors, out of the elements, for a change.
The book – Mindlessly Adrift – is beautiful. It’s lavishly illustrated with black-and-white street photography by Jean Boulay. I couldn’t quite bring myself to spend $40 on it, so I didn’t get a copy. Apparently the publisher set the price on an anticipated cost-recovery basis.
The book was in the works for awhile, but didn’t become a reality until the president of a local ice cream shop stepped in with some publishing money. Who knew ice cream shops had presidents?
(You can read more about Crazzy Dave and his book in Kelly Egan’s column.)
Posted by zoom! on June 20, 2008, at 5:39 pm |
Bob died on Sunday, “unexpectedly at home.” I found out from a group email, sent with the subject line “With great sadness.”
I didn’t know Bob well; I met with him occasionally on business. He was a pleasant guy.
I read his obituary this afternoon, to glean a bit of posthumous insight into his life, even though I’d had no interest in knowing anything about him while he was alive.
He had a father. Aunts, uncles. No wife, no children. People said nice things about him in his obituary guestbook.
There’s nothing remarkable in any of this. Except that Bob died two days after he retired. He was a retirement planner. His own retirement lasted Saturday and most of Sunday.
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Posted by zoom! on June 18, 2008, at 10:08 pm |
 How come practically everybody looks down on doing memes? I like them. Besides, if you get tagged to do one and you don’t do it, innocent bunnies die. I refuse to play any part in the wholesale slaughter of innocent bunnies.
Gabriel from Salted Lithium tagged me to do the Springtime Mixed Tape Meme.
These are the instructions: List seven songs you are into right now. It doesn’t matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring/summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.
Good timing – I just started listening to music again after quite a long quiet stretch. Not only that, but Rita sent me a playlist last week out of the blue, and then I noticed that Skylark was making mixed tapes on Facebook so I installed the application and made some too. He told me about some of his musical resources, techniques and sources of inspiration. There’s a whole world of mixed-tape-making going on out there and I just learned about it this week.
So here are my seven bunny-saving songs for the Springtime Mixed Tape Meme:
- Caledonia Soul Music (John Lee Hooker, Bob Dylan and Van Morrison)
- Borderline (Eliza Gilkyson)
- Mac the Knife (Ella Fitzgerald)
- Summertime (Janis Joplin)
- Picture in a Frame (Tom Waits)
- I’m Into Something Good (Herman’s Hermits)
- The Girl from Ipanema (Stan Getz & Gilberto)
- High Hopes (Frank Sinatra)
And now I have to tag seven other people to do the meme. The currently acceptable thing to do is just leave it open, without naming anybody – whoever feels like doing it can do it. However, I’m concerned that any deviation from the rules might lead to some brutal and unwarranted bunny slaying. Therefore, I’m asking the following bloggers to step up and do their bit to save the bunnies:
Most of them are promising new bloggers who probably haven’t acquired an anti-meme bias yet.
I was tempted not to include the mayor because he once again has declined to publish one of my comments on his blog. This one was in response to his post 1,000 days of spin!!! Whose spin are we taking about?. But I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt; he’s a busy man and I’m sure he just hasn’t gotten around to pushing that button yet. Besides, he must be exhausted from posting all those press releases. The Springtime Mixed Tape Meme will give him a much-need break.
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Posted by zoom! on June 18, 2008, at 5:32 am |
Robin’s got a dilemma and he’s asking for suggestions.
Posted by zoom! on June 16, 2008, at 6:27 pm |
This is an experiment in collaborative blogging. The pictures are here and the words are over at XUP’s blog. That’s because I’m too busy eating a pork lunch to blog.
Andrea Simms-Karp: ridiculously cute musician, blogger and bulldog puppy’s person
Mordechai (aka Morty): ridiculously cute and extremely popular bulldog puppy
XUP checking out Morty’s expandability.
Morty checking out Pucci’s butt:
Anybody can be cool if they know how to accessorize.
Or if they’re a Hundred and Eighty Pounds:
This was Shelter #1. I was thinking about who we’d have to eat first if the storm went on for days. XUP suggested we could eat our way through the cookie tent first, followed by the food-scented soaps. (She’s a vegetarian.)
I didn’t get pictures of our second or third shelters, or of the coffee shop. I was trying to keep the camera dry.
But after XUP left to catch her bus, I huddled for an hour under an overhang, waiting for the unrelenting wind and rain to relent a little bit. This is a picture of the huddled masses in the shelter across the street from my overhang.
I took a picture of these brave souls. I don’t know where they were going, but I hope they made it.
(Don’t forget to go read the words over at XUP’s.)
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Posted by zoom! on June 15, 2008, at 10:19 am |
Today’s a special father’s day for me. For one thing, my own dad is in my life now. (He was here last father’s day too, but I wasn’t convinced he was sticking around – now it’s looking pretty good. Happy Father’s Day, Dad!)
 Also, today is the 100th anniversary of my grandfather’s birth in a tiny village in East Germany. He emigrated to Canada at 21, all alone.
He lived in Toronto, Halifax and Montreal, and then bought a shack on a chunk of land near Mansonville in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. Eventually he replaced the shack with a house, where he retired for the last 30 years of his life.
He painted watercolours, played backgammon, made donuts, squeezed orange juice, sewed teddy bears, cooked geese, loved nature, drove badly, collected stamps, wrote letters, adored Christmas, planted flowers, invented things, and developed theories.
One of his theories was that everybody was fifty percent good and fifty percent bad.
I used to argue with him about this.
“But Opa,” I would say, “How do you know there isn’t somebody out there who is fifty-one percent bad?”
We both loved a good debate, and we were both pretty stubborn, and we did sometimes push it to the point of mutual exasperation.
Even though I argued with him about that 50/50 thing, in retrospect I think it became one of my core values. I still believe there is good in everybody, that people can change, that there is always hope. (But I still think I was right about those percentages though.)
He loved me a lot, my grandfather did. He always saw everything I did in the best possible light. Occasionally it annoyed my mother. One time she snapped at me in exasperation “Christ, it’s like he thinks the sun rises out of your asshole!”
Every kid needs one person who thinks the sun rises out of their asshole, and Opa was that person for me. I think way deep down he thought I was 51% good.
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Posted by zoom! on June 14, 2008, at 10:12 pm |
Remember when you were a little kid and your mother used to kick you out of the house and tell you not to come home until the street lights came on? I did that to myself this evening. I felt like staying in and knitting or reading my new book or playing with my toys. But I told myself no, summer’s short, festival season is upon us, get out there and enjoy it.
That’s one of the disadvantages of living in this kind of climate – you try and squish so much into the tolerable half of the year, and then you OD on outdoor activities because you can’t let yourself stay inside and read on a nice day.
Anyway, there were at least two festivals to choose from: Westfest and the Italian Festival. I’m going to Westfest on Sunday, early in the afternoon, because Andrea Simms-Karp – singer, songwriter, banjo player, guitar player, blogger – is performing at 12:45 AND she’s going to have her incredibly cute bulldog puppy, Mordechai, with her. Can’t miss that.
 So I went to the Italian Festival instead. Somehow I managed to forget that I don’t actually like the Italian Festival all that much. It’s probably better if you go with other people, or if you feel like eating or drinking. If you’re not socializing, eating or drinking, there’s not that much to do. Except look at cars. Ferraris. Red Ferraris.
Is it just me, or do they all look the same to everybody else too? I was wondering what the point was to having a Ferrari festival, because if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.
Then I started thinking about the only person I ever knew who had a Ferrari. We’ll call him Dan. He got rich off the stock market in the 90s, and lived up around Georgian Bay. He had a neighbour we’ll call Dwight, who I suspect was rich off some combination of the construction business and organized crime. Dan was friends with an old boyfriend of mine, which is how I knew them.
Anyway. Dwight had a motorcycle and suggested to Dan that they take a road trip to Ottawa to visit us. Dan thought that was a fine idea, so he went down to the local Harley dealership and ordered their most expensive bike, fully loaded with all the options, plus all the gear to go with it – Harley boots, helmet, chaps, jacket, the whole nine yards. This was Dan’s typical shopping style – walk into the most prestigious store and demand the most expensive product.
So a few weeks later the bike was ready and Dan picked it up. He and Dwight booked rooms at the Chateau Laurier, hopped on their Harleys and headed to Ottawa.
We met them at the Lafayette Hotel in the market, which they didn’t really like, so we only stayed for one beer there. We asked how their trip was. Unfortunately Dan had discovered he didn’t really like driving a motorcycle. It wasn’t as much fun as he thought it might be. It wasn’t as comfortable as a car. It didn’t feel all that safe. He didn’t think he’d be driving it anymore after the weekend. (Which meant, of course, that his transportation for the weekend cost him over $50,000.)
Then we went to a wine bar where Dan and Dwight talked incessantly about how much things cost.
“I paid $600 for a bottle of wine last week,” said Dan.
“That’s nothing,” said Dwight, “I paid $4800 for six bottles.”
Dan paid $90 for a pair of socks. Dwight paid $30,000 for giant landscaping boulders for his front yard. Dan paid $14,000 for his refrigerator. Dwight paid $250,000 for cancer treatments for his wife in the US because Canada was too stupid to let rich people jump to the front of the line. On and on and on.
Then Dwight took his watch off, slid it across the table to me and said “How much you think that cost?”
I picked it up, looked it over, slid it back and said “Two hundred bucks.”
“Twelve grand,” he declared triumphantly.
It was at this point that I pulled the piece of paper out of my back pocket, and unfolded it. “I’m participating in a canoe race next weekend. It’s a fundraiser for Christie Lake Camp, which is a camp for kids in poverty. Would either of you like to sponsor me?” I asked sweetly as I slid my pledge form across the table to them.
They both looked uncomfortable, as if I’d done something unspeakably rude.
Finally Dwight said he didn’t carry any cash, but if Dan wanted to cover him for now, I could put him down for $5. Dan put himself down for $20, while lamely bringing up the subject that he sponsors twelve kids through World Vision. I asked him questions about them, but he admitted that his wife took care of all that and he really didn’t know what countries they were in or anything.
Then they kind of stopped talking about money for awhile. Instead, Dwight went on and on about his tacky Hedonism swinger vacations.
So. What does any of this have to do with the Italian Festival? Practically nothing, except Dan bought a Ferrari not long after that. I was looking at all the Ferraris tonight and thinking they were all pretty much identical and wondering if their owners were all the same as Dan.
Anyway, the Italian Festival didn’t really do much for me. I did like seeing all the Pub Italia vehicles – they’ve got a wonderful crazy little collection of antique Italian vehicles. I’ll post pictures another time.
On the way home I came across lots of baby rabbits and I just wanted to pick them up and kiss them because I love bunnies. That was the highlight of my trip to the Italian Festival.
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