Birthday

Entered my middle-late thirties yesterday, also Earth Day, of course, and celebrated with a walk up Mount Royal. at a vigourous pace, my second such excursion in the past week. Went late in the day, as it was quite hot, 25 degrees, possibly a record for April 22. Fretted about NYC, which may be back on, if I play my cards right. Crazy friend M.C. visited from Ottawa today, only for a few hours, as she is too stressed over the prospect of leaving her cat alone at home overnight. I tell her it's not a dog, but she always leaves it at her parents' when she leaves, or else takes her with her. Anyhow, went to la Paryse, a great dyke-run burger joint near my place, and then showed her my apt. Of course, she was bowled over by the mess, kept saying it could be so nice, if only I tidied up, and it would only take a couple of hours, which of course is absolutely true. That's OCD for you though. This is why the depiction of the disorder was so much more accurate in 'The Aviator' than in 'As Good as it Gets'. Finally got a bit of much-needed rain this evening, after nearly a week of unseasonably warm and dry weather.

HABS fever!

Montreal has gone mad for hockey, as the local team, the Canadiens, seem to be advancing to the playoffs. I feel like the only person in the city who doesn't care. Tonight was pandemonium, as cars blared horns and waved flags, and people took to the streets to express their joy. I just want it to be over soon

NYC in my mind?

Well, planned trip to New York may not pan out, as the friend I am supposed to stay with (who I don't even like, but use simply because he has a place in NYC, natch) has suddenly, after twice telling me that a visit this week was OK , announced that it is, alas, not, and could I maybe come a week later, instead? Of course I cannot, as I am on vacation now and have to return to work by then. He did the same thing last year, when I met my mother, who was staying in Brooklyn chez a friend, and once there, I had to scramble to make last-minute alternate plans for my first night. Maybe it's karma for using people, although I like to think I do a good job of feigning friendship, and I am a considerate houseguest. Anyway, I wrote back to him suggesting I spend the first couple of nights in a hotel, and then stay at his place. We'll see what happens.

The REAL Rochefort

Just spent several hours at a local bathhouse, bought this new brand of poppers, called aiR or something, 'from Europe', had a couple of encounters using said poppers, including one with a very priapic septuagenarian, and now have a major headache. I'm going back to the real Rochefort

the VIew

Watched 'The View' the other day at work, and was pleasantly surprised to see the guest was Jenna Jameson. I was wondering how a show Baba Wawa, the prudish Joy Behar, and 2 right-wing Christians would treat the retired porn queen. The body language spoke volumes, with Barbara looking very uncomfortable, and Hasselback and whatever the the black woman who is not Whoopi's name is remaining pretty silent. Jenna was promoting some lame-looking movie called 'Zombie Strippers', and came across as kind vacuous and a bit desperate to be taken seriously, "I'm a smart girl", mentioning the subtle critique of the Bush administration in her movie, etc., but I wanted to defend her, and the only host who seemed the least bit O.K. and relaxed with her was Whoopi. Wouldn't be surprised if the next View feud is between Ms. Goldberg and Joy. Have noticed Whoopi looks unimpressed with some of Behar's jokes.

Saw 'Oh, What a Lovely War', Richard Attenborough's mega-budget 1968 anti-war musical, featuring almost every British actor of note (Maggie Smith, Gielgud, John Mills, Susannah York, Vanessa and Corin Redgrave, Ian Holm, etc.) Quite good, and moving. I cried a few times. Also rented 'Topkapi' starring Melina Mercouri, and 'The Best of Everything' with Joan Crawford, Suzy Parker, and the Seagram Building.

Read an interesting article in the New Yorker about the New
Wave, in particular the complicated relationship between Truffaut and Godard, and while Godard does indeed come across as a bit of a prick, I was forced to confront my own cowardice when reading about how he would cut people off just like that, but always seemingly due to principle, usually political differences. It seems that the friendship with Truffaut was perhaps, at least initially, one in which Godard was the beloved, and Truffaut the lover. The beloved usually has the power. Of course, this reminded me of my utter lack of courage when it comes to friendships. I have for years had friends that I don't like, have little in common with, or am bored by. It is one of the few constants of my adult life. I sometimes think of politely telling someone that it's not working out, but can't. Reminds me of the episode of 'Seinfeld' that posed the question 'Can one break up with a friend?' The general consensus seems to be 'no', that one should drop hints, phase things out, but to me that seems like a copout. Same with love. I've never had a relationship, and wonder if I'm even capable of love, anymore. And if not, is this even necessarily a bad thing, as long as one doesn't harm anyone. Is love necessary, should happiness be everyone's goal?

movies

Saw a good movie last night: a Hungarian one called 'Men in the Nude', or at least thusly translated. Good, sort of a retelling of 'Death in Venice', about an older, nominally heterosexual married writer who becomes besotted with a younger male hustler. Refreshing to see the older man playing the top. Usually in contemporary movies or books of this genre, the older, more refined intellectual falls for some younger, straight-identified rough trade, a la Bruce Benderson.

mystified by the appeal of Snoop Dogg

Caught some of his reality show, and to me, he's just a monosyllabic moron who thinks he's a player. OK, he's a bit funny at times, especially when they play up the fish-out of water stuff. But I've never understood his cross-over appeal. Plus he looks just like a white female coworker of mine, and I just can't get past that. And his family is pathetic, although they sure beat the Hogans. But Ozzie, who created this particular reality-show sub-genre, and did it quite well, has a lot to answer for.

recent movies seen

Saw the remake of Funny Games last week. As expected, a virtual shot-by-shot remake of the original Austrian film, which blew me away. So, ten years later, not sure I liked the remake as much: the element of surprise was gone, and I saw it in a nearly-empty theatre, but the few people in attendance were restless and noisy, which was very distracting, what with an old man who kept noisily zipping up his jacket, leaving for ten minutes or so, only to return and repeat the cycle fifteen minutes later, and also noisily tap his cane. There were also people who arrived 40 minues late, and left about 25 minutes after that, and others who kept leaving to make phone calls. It's moments like these that make me ready to give up on multiplexes altogether, and stick with arthouses or DVD's. On DVD, watched 2 movies last night: 'Bright Young Things', Stephen Fry's adaption of 'Vile Bodies', by Evelyn Waugh: quite good, and 'Interview', Steve Buscemi's remake of a Theo van Gogh movie: pretty good, but I was distracted by Sienna Miller's unconvincing hair extensions: but that could have been character-appropriate, I guess. Also, her American accent was iffy.

Montreal media mediocrity

Just watched 'Entertainment Spotlight', CTV lifestyle and showbiz program featuring Mose Persico, the smarmy master of malapropism. It is fun to watch him suck up to celebs in media junkets, and try to make Hollywood dreck sound profound and insightful. Today he was in Hawaii interviewing the stars of 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall', but there was a funny moment when 'Bill Hader' (identified on the screen as 'Bill Nader'- good one, Mose) started subtly mocking the obviousness of his questions. And at the end of an interview he often tells the star, as if it was some sort of meangingful tete-a-tete, and his opinion actually mattered within the context of a junket, "And I wish you continued success". But seriously, Mose obviously knows next to nothing about cinema and culture, often mixing up actors and movie titles, or referring to Marie Antoinette as a 'Venetian beauty', or saying 18th century when he means 1800's, etc. etc. And only once did I ever hear him pan a movie. His inane banter with Brit airhead co-host Orla Johannes also stretches the limits of credulity. But watching his show is the highlight of my workday, and he beats local CBC radio host Dave Bronstetter, whose folksiness and weird, Montreal-Irish accent (earlier is pronounced 'eardier') have me swearing out loud at my work desk, much to the chagrin of my coworkers. When Dave interviews the lame, unfunny Canadian comedians he often interviews (Sugar Sammy, perhaps), laughing at their sad excuses for jokes and trying to provide a few of his own, it's time to turn off the radio. But, alas, I cannot, as this is work for me. Dave just seems like the ultimate bland Boomer. I wonder if it's all part of the dumbing-down of our national broadcaster.Maybe Russell Smith, a columnist I quite like, is right. Used to serve him subs when I worked at Subway briefly in 1988, by the way.

'Entertainment Spotlight' also featured a profile of a local fashion label and its Gino-boy founders. $800 t-shirts encrusted with Swarovski crystals: would a rich idiot really pay for something like this? One of the founders had that curious Montreal Anglo habit of saying "Us, we", as in "Us, we wanted to do something different". People also say "Me, I", as in "Me, I prefer Gina Lollobrigida". It's a very French style of syntax, and it seems particular to children of immigrants here, raised in households where neither English nor French was spoken much, if at all, going to school often, but not alway, in French, because of Bill 101, but growing up very attuned to American pop culture, and speaking English with friends. The result is a sort of English pidgin with strange galicisms: 'pass the mop', instead of 'mop up'; 'gallery' for front porch, 'library' for 'bookstore'. Laura Casella, a CJAD radio reporter of obvious Italian extraction, often makes gallicisms, just today referring to demonstrators at a protest "banging drums, and even 'casseroles'"

typing slip-up

Sorry about those last 3 postings: typing error. It is NHL playoff season, and unfortunately, the Montreal Canadiens are doing well. I hate hockey with a passion, always have. In fact, I hate pretty much all sports, although I agree with the approach of a colleague of mine who watches recorded rugby games while he works, just for the eye candy. That is to me a perfectly valid reason for watching a match. Anyway, people seem unable to grasp the notion of a man who does not like sports. And yet, from a young age I have been indifferent to team sports. I learned very early to hide this, as it did not conform to accepted cultural notions of masculinity. When my maternal American grandparents asked me what my favourite sport was, I picked the first one that came to mind: baseball, and then they began sending me all sorts of baseball-related toys, none of which had any effect upon me. I remember watching TV with my grandfather once during a visit to Massachusetts, and an ad for Mr. Coffee featuring Joe DiMaggio coming on, and him asking me if I knew who he was, and me replying "Of course, he was Marilyn Monroe's husband", and Gramps not being too pleased at all. In later years, I had no interest in team sports, and while the pressure to feign that interest has definitely waned over the years, it is still a sore point, I guess. What bothers me most about sports fans is their absolute confidence that everyone else (especially male) shares their passion. Hence the confidence and absolute lack of doubt with which the question 'what did you think of the game last night' is posed. As someone who has always had weird interests, I'm often wary about discussing them with just anyone, as I know chances are good the person to whom I'm talking does not share the interest.

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Thespian height

It seems that several of my favourite actresses have height issues. While Vanessa Redgrave may have once been about 5 foot 11, she now appears to be not much over 5 foot 8, and Katharine Hepburn was at her peak about 5 foot 6 or slightly over, although she claimed to be at least 5 foot 7, but by 1994, her final film and TV appearances, she looked not much over 5 foot 1, tops, and was quite hunched. Meanwhile, Tilda Swinton claims to be 5 foot 11, but does not appear to be exceptionally tall, and always wears super-high heels (5 or 6 inches, I would estimate). In group photos, she is usually taller than the other women, but often about the same height or slightly more than the men. 5 11 with heels would mean she would be 6' 4 or even 5, which is definitely not the case. I would put her at 5'8 or perhaps 9, max.

Was noch?

So, entry number 3, I guess. Tomorrow, I hope to see two or three movies: the remake of 'Funny Games', the original of which I loved, 'Up the Yangtze', and possibly 'It's a Free World' the latest Ken Loach. I don't care what Greenaway says, I love Loach, although I guess I've only seen two or three of his films. I also love Greenaway. I want to see Ken's latest, because the female protagonist looks like a compelling villain. Movies need more compelling villains of both genders. I am really sick of my mother's brand of 'Well, if she were a man, I'm not sure people would be nearly so critical' feminism, which she uses to dismiss criticism of everyone from Benazir Bhutto to Hillary Clinton. And it's always used when it comes to women and power, as if women using their power to oppress and exploit others cannot be denounced. At the same time, she has a point, but it's, you know, complicated. Everything is complicated.
Been trying to avoid a friend who, to quote Elaine from 'Seinfeld' "I don't even like", one of many, whose company I just can't take anymore. He moved back here about 7 months ago from Quebec City, and we have so little in common, except both being gay, and having lived in Ottawa. Anyway, he has embraced a naive form of environmental activism, and talks a lot about it, and I'm sorry, but composting is just not a topic of any interest to me, as admirable an activity as it may be. I mean, people make jokes about it being boring, about how Prince Charles was such a bore, always talking about composting and organic farming, and how lucky he is to have found Ms. Parker Bowles, who share those interests. Anyway, conversation between T and me is more 2 competing monologues than a true dialogue, as he has almost zero interest in culture. But, alas, I am a coward, and lack the courage to end the friendship. Anyway, a famous episode of 'Seinfeld' posed the question 'can one break up with a friend'? The consensus seems to be no, that one should phase things out, instead, but that seems like a cop-out to me. And I am so damned confrontation-averse and passive-aggressive, I find these things incredibly difficult. Anyway, I spend most of my time alone, partly by choice, but partly because I am sort of withdrawing from the world.
Enough about my anxieties. I recently returned from a week in London, stayed in Fitzrovia, about a block from the British Telecom tower, very near the area where the Ian McEwan novel 'Saturday', which I loved, was set. I'm kicking myself, because, although I knew it was set near where I was staying, I only found out on my return that McEwan lives in Fitzroy Square, which is literally a small block from the building in which we stayed, and it is widely believed that the protagonist Perowne lives in the square, which isn't named in the book. I think I walked past it, but can't be 100% certain. Ah, well. Anyway, visited a lot of 'hoods while there, all the usual suspects, of course: Trafalgar Square, Soho, Hyde Park, Regent's Park, Covent Garden, PicCadilly Circus, the British Museum, Tate Modern, National Gallery. But also saw Finsbury Park, Brixton, the East End (Brick Lane, Whitechapel, Shoreditch, Spitalfields, Fournier Street, Hoston Square and the White Cube Gallery), as well as the Serpentine Gallery, which had a great exhibition on Derek Jarman. Did a hell of a lot of walking, and went to 2 bathhouse: Chariots in Shoreditch, and the Pleasuredrome by Waterloo Station. Bathhouses interesting: like in Berlin and Paris, everyone rents a locker, rather than a room, but the rooms can be had once inside, mostly on a first-come, first-served basis. At Chariots, there were a lot of hot, superhung Brazilians and black dudes, but I noticed that when someone would emerge from the shower, hot tub, or sauna naked, he would often modestly put a hand in front of his cock. Very strange. Also, it took a while before things really took off. But had a couple of interesting experiences, including one with an older 60-something guy at Pleasuredrome who had mild osteoporosis, spoke with a vaguely Eastern European accent, and looked a bit like Patricia Highsmith in her later years crossed with Richard Nixon. Also sucked off an impossibly huge black cock in the darkroom at Chariots.The London saunas seemed a fair bit more expensive than in Canda, but much cleaner. God, I love the hedonism of faggotry, even if back home in Montreal, when I visit the tubs, my libido is for the most part in neutral. Stayed with my father and his galpal of 26 years in a very small space. Was worried about not being able to sleep with Dad's snoring, but it turned out the bedroom was somewhat separate from the main room of the flat, and with earplugs it was not an issue. Of course, got into a couple of fights with Dad, with whom I can barely communicate anymore, as he is deafer than ever, and refuses to ever wear a hearing aid, but not out of pride. Instead, in my opinion, Dad has never been particularly interested in anything his girlfriend J has to say, and with good reason, as the woman is a bit of an idiot, and he a bit of an intellectual, and so this deafness is a godsend for him, as it provides the perfect excuse to tune out and not be fully present. In fact, Dad is just one of these people who is more interested in things and ideas than people, so communication has never been his top priority, but his lack of hearing is uneven, to say the least, and depends greatly on what is being said. The whole situation is just pathetic. My father never wanted to be with a smart woman, so he's chosen this airhead doormat. It's not fair to either one of them, because J sort of represents everything he hates: she is materialistic, obsessed with her grandchildren, and not remotely concerned with current events or ideas. I remember watching the news with her, and anytime anything about the Palestinians, the Lebanese Civil War, or any other crisis was covered, J would look at the TV, shake her head, and say something like "Oh, oh, God, why, why?" and whimper and look defeated. But Dad treats her like shit, and she takes it. Amd she is a genuinely unselfish, giving woman, I guess.

In Quebec, where I live, I have encountered a bizarre confusion among Francophones about the meaning of Jewishness and Jewish identity. To many, because there is a visible Hassidic community in Montreal, that is the only face of Jewishness. I used to live in Mile-End, a neighbourhood with a large Hassidic community, and when I used the word Hassidic to describe my neighbours, I was often met with a blank stare, followed by "Oh, you mean 'Jewish'", which bothered me to no end. I remember a co-worker actually telling me that Dustin Hoffman refuses to do love scenes, because he's Jewish. Now she was not exactly an intellectual, so I basically ignored her. But I was recently surprised to find that Nathalie Petrowski, a prominent newspaper columnist, in a piece about Woody Allen suing American Apparel over its use of his image in its ads, referred to said image as "Woody dressed as a rabbi" from "Annie Hall". I thought to myself, "I really don't remember that scene, could she be thinking of him as a Hassidim"? Another newspaper columnist, Lysiane Gagnon, describes this Quebecois Jew-confusion in a piece in the Globe and Mail a couple of months ago.

Speaking of idiotic media types, I was shocked to hear CBC radio reporter Catherine Cullen refer to the islands of St-Pierre and Miquelon as 'St-Pierre and Moliquin' yesterday. Not quite as bad as low-rent French-language TV station TQS referring to 'le gouvernement Hindou' not too long ago, but still problematic.

first entry

OK, so this is my first foray into the blogosphere (second, actually, if you count my single-entry rant about Angie Coss, a local radio personality in Montreal who is borderline illiterate). So many things to say, so little time. I'm a gay thirtysomething Montrealer with a low-ranking job in the media, who is also on the misanthropic side, and obsessive-compulsive, to boot. I have a keen interest in movie trivia, travel (more in theory than practise), newspapers, the arts, weather stats and bathhouses. While I loathe many things, and have much to rant about, I realize the blogosphere is perhaps a bit too populated by frustrated, angry losers, so I will attempt to mix the bile with some positive, constructive analysis, commentary, etc.
And so, on this snowy early April Montreal Friday evening, I prepare to head off and return the Todd Verow DVD 'The Trouble with Perpetual Deja Vu', which I couldn't even finish, it was so dull, to the video store, after which I will finish reading all the copies of 'the Guardian' accumulated during a recent trip to London, and maybe head to the public library to borrow 'The Forsyte Saga", which may be the only novel I read this year.