The Walker

Saw Paul Schrader's 'The Walker', starring Woody Harrelson, Lauren Bacall, Lily Tomlin, Moritz Bleibtreu and Kristin Scott Thomas the night before last. It didn't get much of a theatrical release, and I can sort of see why. Interesting premise: Harrelson plays an urbane, witty gay man who escorts rich Washington wives to social functions their husbands don't want to attend, or a 'walker', and, in sort of an update to 'American Gigolo', is suspected of a murder he didn't commit, but refuses to divulge incriminating evidence against one of his society lady friends, played by Scott Thomas, which would basically clear him. But Harrelson's performance is a weird misfire, and he seems to be channeling both Gore Vidal AND Truman Capote, and his appearance is nothing short of ludicrous, with an obvious wig and 70'S moustache totally at odds with the film's contemporary, Washington setting. He looks like a very early-80's porn star, with a bit of Matthew McConaughey from 'Dazed and Confused' thrown. Also, many of his bon mots and witticisms are too tame to warrant the shocked and amused reactions they provoke. Lauren Bacall was the best part of the movie, and I would have liked to see a bit more of Lily Tomlin. I wonder if she threw any tantrums during the making of the movie. Mary Beth Hurt made her obligatory cameo, as she does in all of her husband's movies. Also, the movie was shot in England, which was sometimes quite obvious, and many supporting actors had unconvinving American accents. Still, I think we need more movies about walkers, a group that is sadly underrepresented in popular culture. I was thinking about it, but I don't think I'd make a good walker, somehow.

Mother and her friend R. from NYC visited 2 days ago. Went all right, but Mom had a budding cold sore, as she seems to every time she sees 'friends' or family that stress her out, i.e. practically all of them. Her default 'revert to childhood' reflex also kicked in a couple of times, when her voice goes up an octave and gets all sing-songy and childlike, and she starts asking moronic or nonsensical questions, such as: "Is Dutch a written language"? But, I spent only an afternoon and evening with them, not nearly enough time for me to blow a gasket, as happened a year ago in NYC, when Mom and I got into a full-fledged shouting match right in front of the apartment she had shared with Dad 40 years earlier.
Just saw a dance performance, part of the off-Festival Trans-Ameriques ( are 'off' festivals a uniquely Quebec phenomenon?), featuring 3 separate pieces by different choreographers, the final one by George Stamos, an acquaintance from high school in Halifax. It wasn't bad, in fact all 3 were pretty good, George's being the funniest, especially an interlude when he seems to break character to clean up a bit. I felt less stress than I had at previous performances of his I had seen, mainly because there was no eagerness to please on my part. When I first moved to Mtl I bumped into him and hung out at his place a couple of times in the course of about 6 months, saw him perform twice, the first time actually helping set up before the show, so I could get in for free. It was a low point in my life: no money, no job, on welfare, going to the food bank, and it was winter and I was living in a bleak neighbourhood, in a decrepit cockroach-infested building. So I helped set up, feeling like the Mexican janitor, and had finished half the job when someone told me I had put all the chairs in the stage area, when I should have put them on the raised platform, which I stupidly took for the stage (a raised platform for dancers!?) Anyway, after that I didn't see George for about a year-and-a-half, at which point I saw him in the second performance, really good, by choreographer Benoit Lachambre. A couple of months later, I called him up and left a couple of messages asking if he wanted to get a coffee, or something. He never called back. I had also recently joined the Mile-End Y, and bumped into him there a few times, and he always seemed to make a pointed effort to ignore me, never acknowledging my presence unless I addressed him first. Of course, I took it all quite badly, but six or seven years later, I no longer care MUCH. One can't be liked by everyone one wants to be liked by, one of life's tougher lessons, one many people never manage to master.

Besuch der Mutter

I'm stressing out, cause my Mother is in town, and with her friend Rona, to boot. Problem is, my mother has, from my perspective, a lot of unacknowledged insecurities. As a result, in social situations, or in the presence of certain people, friends or family, she gets very nervous, and concerned about being correct in all ways. She becomes distracted, doesn't listen, and starts policing my behaviour, furtively shaking her head at me, interrupting me when she thinks I may say something inappropriate. Obviously, this makes me uncomfortable, and compounds my already-significant levels of social discomfort, so social situations with her can be quite trying. And of course I start getting really annoyed at what I see as her hypocrisy and lack of depth, her fear of dispensing with small talk, platitudes, and endless declarations of 'God, what a beautiful day!' and embracing a slightly more challenging level of discourse... Oh, well, I'll just have to see what happens and hope for the best.

Romanian

Paid $32 to see 'Mady-Baby', a pretty good Romanian play about prostitution and Romanian immigrants in Ireland, as part of the Festival Trans-Amerique. Sordid, especially the revelation near the end, but it was in Romanian, which is a beautiful language, with surtitles in English and French. Problem was, the surtitles were often misspelled, or out of sync with the dialogue, and often in British or Parisian slang. So I spent a bit too much mental effort trying to decipher them, detracting from my ability to enjoy the action onstage.

Then headed over the Oasis, a bathhouse I hadn't visited in nearly a year. Not much action there, spent more time observing others than participating.

Today, my loathed coworker was sick, so it was just Albert and me, so of course I was in a great mood, talking nearly non-stop, and finished work at 3 am. So while maybe having friends as coworkers is not always a gute Ahnung, enemies are not that fun, either, so one needs to strike a happy medium.

pop cultural musings

Just finished a long work day, with aforementioned hated coworker. I could complain in great detail about the day, but my mood was lifted somewhat after I watched the season finale of SNL with guest host Steve Carell: lacklustre, for the most part, saved only by the presence of Amy Poehler and Kristin Wiig, and the sketch featuring the 2 a-holes at a karaoke bar. They do a great job of of capturing dead-on a very frightening contemporary urban archetype. Saw a new Ipod ad, and loved the song, which a quick bit of research revealed was 'Shut up and Let Me Go' by the Ting Tings. I listened to it in its entiretly, loved it, and then came by chance on 'Black and Gold' by Sam Sparro, which I am playing as I write this, and love even more. Anyhow, I am about to watch recordings of the last couple of episodes of 'Fashion File', as well as a CTV program by Josh Freed about packrats and clutter, an affliction with which I am personally well acquainted, having last week emptied my apartment of 4 garbage bagsful of recylable material. Also read a piece in the Guardian by Germaine Greer about how Ayers Rock is being ruined by mass tourism, and in particularly climbers. Sehr interessant. I love the Greer, despite her being, in the words of Salman Rushdie, a 'sanctimonious philistine'

Just had a weird exchange with one coworker, after I commented innocently enough that he had arrived earlier than usual, and he seemed to take slight offence. Also, I am dreading the thought of working alone tomorrow with Charlie, another coworker I can't stand. It seems sometimes that half the people I know are completely nuts, myself included. This job is making me lose my mind, but it has its perks. A highlight is watching 2 reruns of Seinfeld back-to-back on Fox every Sunday, as well as SNL on Saturdays, but I have asked to have Saturdays off from June until September, simply because I can't stand working with Charlie and yet another colleague, Karen. Both are loud and obnoxious, and Charlie alternates between a ridiculous degree of boisterousness and gregariousness, and absolute dismissiveness, rudeness and impatience, forever walking around the office saying 'calice' 'tabernak', 'ostie', 'ciboire' and yammering on about the general incompetence that surrounds him, when half the time he's the incompetent one. His short-term memory is nil, and I wonder if it's because he smokes up every day. I feel like I desperately have to get away from these people. On Sundays, I work with Albert, so that eases the pain somewhat.

Saw John Zerzan, an anti-civilizational anarcho-primitivist speak this week at UQAM. Basically, he thinks it all went wrong after the arrival of agriculture, and that we should all return to a pre-industrial, edenic age of hunter-gatherers. He showed a couple of films, and outlined his position, and had a few good points, but the best part was the very animated Q & A afterwards. The place was full of unwashed anarchists, many with dreads, and I felt like the cleanest guy in the room. Many of the women were on the hairy sides, some with minor moustaches. I got a bit paranoid, when one of them looked at my fairly new Adidas shoes, thinking he was gonna get up and loudly denounce me as a CSIS agent, which of course didn't happen. Local activist celebs Jaggi Singh and Yves Engler were in attendance, as well.

Went to the Canadian Centre for Architecture this week, as well for the opening of an OK exhibit titled 'Ways of living in London and Tokyo'. Not bad, Phyllis Lambert (nee Bronfman) gave a speech. Lots of fags, and trendy, young yuppies in attendance, as well as Stefan Leacock, a black fashion fag-about-town I see fairly often. Attractive, but seems part of the skinny-jeaned airheaded gay fashion cabal.

The Cannes Film Festival has begun, and I'm trying half-assedly to follow it.

existential crisis

Discussed my inertia tonight with Albert, conversation went well, although he seems to feel I may find some sort of salvation by volunteering to help build a house, or raise a barn, by doing something grueling and difficult and collective, and getting my hands dirty. An interesting idea, but I think maybe reading (or providing sexual services) to a senior citizen might be more up my alley. We parted ways over self-esteem, with him at one point saying he doesn't like people with low self-esteem, and me saying I have low self-esteem, and his replying that I don't. I do, but I'm also a bit of an arrogant snob, sometimes, and besides, I'm not sure that having too much self-esteem is any better than not having enough. I see a lot of self-satisfied, smug, doubt-free idiots out there every day of my life.

Also,, have a free pass to the opening of a new exhibit at the Canadian Centre for Architecture on Tuesday, the 13th. Last time I went to one, Phyllis Lambert herself was greeting people at the door. Would like to ask someone to go with me. We'll see.

stay or go?

I have four days to decide whether to renew my lease for September. Spoke to Doug in Toronto, who recently bought a 3-bedroom condo in Leslieville, and said I could stay with him for a couple of months if ever I moved there, which I am considering. I am wary, though, as I really am not sure I could live with anyone else at this point in time, and the friendship with Doug feels a bit strained at this point, and I suspect it would not survive cohabitation. I feel disconnected from the world, and simultaneously want and fear change. Part of me would like the idea of moving to Toronto, a place my family dislikes, as it would mean they'd visit me less often, which is appealing. But it is more expensive, and I probably couldn't afford to live alone there. Wish I had a bit more social capital, which would make relocation easier, barring more money.

minor celeb sightings

Forgot to mention a couple of other minor celeb sightings in NYC: in May, 2006, I was sitting in a Starbucks near Port Authority, when I saw Ali MacGraW walk by with a much younger woman, so I immediately bounded out, and began following them up the street. At Port Authority, the two parted ways, but not before Ali told her pal that she used to think she liked the ocean, back when she lived in California. I then continued to follow her, and pretty soon she was on to me. She was taller than I expected, probably at least 5' 7, and her longish hair was tied back into a ponytail, and didn't look entirely real: perhaps an expensive weave? Her face was also quite taut. She pulled out a cellphone, and crossed the street, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. Calling for reinforcements? She then headed down a side street towards the theatre where she was then making her B'way debut in 'Festen', to fairly poor reviews. During that same trip, I saw Jason Preston, former BF of Marc Jacobs, near Columbus Circle.

Against Happiness

Began reading 'Against Happiness'. by Eric Wilson: good so far, but I'm only on page 38. Walked up Mount Royal today, and have also begun The Forsyte Saga. And now for a total non-sequitur: ... My father sent me the shirts I had left behind in London: there were 3 of them, including a Lacoste polo shirt I had bought second-hand in Toronto in 2005, for about $20, which is still in great shape, and has sentimental value, as it was such a good deal (in Canada, they cost $100 brand new). Dad had sent me an e-mail immediately after I arrived home in Canada after the trip, informing me I had forgotten 3 shirts, and we agreed he could send them when he returned to Halifax at the end of April. So a package arrived at my place yesterday, but it seemed a bit small to contain 3 shirts. i thought nothing of it, though, until I eventually opened it, and saw there were only 2 shirts, and no sign of the polo shirt. So I called Dad today, and he insisted there had only been 2 shirts, and that if there were a third one, it was left behind in Greece. Judy seemed to think she had seen it, but of course I was furious at Dad's obliviousness. And talking to him on the phone is now nearly impossible, thanks to his hearing loss. I speak slowly and loudly, and still he hears maybe a third of what I say. I later retrieved his original e-mail, and sent it to him, thus providing irrefutable evidence that he at least initially knew there were 3 shirts. This is what I'm going to have to do with him from now on, I guess: put everything in writing, so there's always a paper trail. Of course I cling to the idea that this is not merely age-related forgetfulness, although it could be partly that, but also a reflection of his indifference to others and their concerns, his near-total self-absorption. He simply can't be relied upon. I remember our first cat Daphne ran away while Dad was alone at home for a week and my mother, brother and I were on vacation, when I was about 3, and my mother telling me that Dad had forgotten to feed her.

pistachios

Finished a weekend at work, and ate all the pistachios of a coworker I can't stand. Petty of me, perhaps, but we use the same desk (at different times), and he always leaves it a complete mess: sticky keyboard, half-empty coffee cup and bottles of drinks, a discarded kleenex or two, and is impervious to any requests of mine to clean up a bit after himself, so I figured he has it coming. And besides, the nuts were left out in the open.

breaking up with a friend

Finally saw the early 'Seinfeld' episode in which Jerry tries unsuccessfully to dump a friend he hates. I'm fairly certain I had never seen it, but had sort of a deja vu nonetheless. Perhaps the topic was explored again in a later episode. I referenced it in an earlier posting, so maybe I had already seen it, but it certainly resonated. Maybe I should just accept the words of wisdom that we might as well accept that we will always have friends with whom we have nothing in common, but are just sort of stuck with. Especially when we are passive-aggressive, confrontation-averse cowards.

Gotham

Got back from NYC a couple of days ago. Trip was five days, and the thrill is definitely gone. Stayed with Alan in Crown Heights, who has to leave the U.S. soon, having allowed his work visa to expire LAST JULY!? He's just as much the semi-literate, giggly 13-year-old schoolgirl trapped in the body of a 38-year-old Filipino man as ever, working 6 or 7 days a week as an architect, and going out and getting somewhat drunk nearly every night. I simply can't relate to lushes and addicts. Nutbars, I can relate to, though. All Alan's friends are irritating media and advertising-employed corporate types, as well. And now he wants to move to Dubai, which sounds like my idea of Hell.

My love affair with NYC may be over, as well. It's an exhausting place, the subway's a pain in the ass, summers are too hot, and it's ridiculously expensive, and feels more American than in the past. Maybe i just need a few years without a visit. On the plus side, did explore parts of
Crown Heights and Bedford-Stuyvesant I hadn't seen before.

Went to both the East Side and the West Side Clubs. The latter first, on a Saturday, when it was quite hopping. Staff as rude as ever, but had some fun with a well-hung Ben Kingsley look-alike, probably in his fifties, as well as a guy who looked like Frank Langella's younger brother. At the ESC the following Tuesday, the crowd was definitely older, but did someone I had had an encounter with a couple of years before. Staff marginally friendlier. Was hit on by a couple of older Jewish guys and a short Latino, and cruised by a big-dicked twentysomething Negro I found quite hot, but was too intimidated to respond to. A youngish guy in white flipflops kept walking by me and asking 'S'up?', which was kind of amusing.

Also had a very brief visit to the Whitney Biennial, which was pretty good, especially a couple of Video installations, one called 'The Alchemy of Comedy... Stupid' by Edgar Arceneaux, featuring simultaneously-playing footage of David Alan Grier performing the same brilliant comedy routine at 3 different venues, and the other a video by Olaf Breuning, sort of a sendup of cheesy reality shows and adventure travel TV programs. Also liked the paintings of Robert Bechtle. And I saw Michael Cunningham there, too. Every time I go to NYC, I see someone mildly famous: last July it was Bobby Cannavale, last May Anna Wintour.