Stay home for a night.. or three!

I am quite sure I am not the only one noticing lately how overexposed certain minor celebrities are at the present moment. And no, I'm not talking about the obvious ones: Britney, Paris, Brangelina. I am thinking, rather, of those minor socialites-cum-actresses who are photographed multiple times in every issue of In Style mag (Kerry Washington, Angie Harmon), and seem to do far more going out than acting. Kerry Washington is a particularly egregious example, at the moment, often spewing out banalities about her favourite spa. or skin care products. I guess I expected better of her, based on some of her early work. I can't say I am too surprised by Angie Harmon, though. She did marry a football player. Other offenders: Melissa Joan Hart, Sheryl Crow, and for the guys, Mario Lopez is in a category of his own of sheer unrivalled cheesiness.

Well, asked Sylvie, who works in the rental office of my apartment building, and she told me that because of a policy forbidding tenants to move to another apartment of the same size once a lease has been renewed, I won't be able to move for at least a year. Bummer. I noticed yet another vacant studio on my floor alone, and was getting excited by the idea of a new place, but no such luck. She's a scary broad, that Sylvie, makes me nervous. A bit of a Virago, but not a shrew, like my coworker Karine, who has a voice that could peel wallpaper or break glass if she put her mind to it.

Watched Bergman's 'Autumn Sonata' last night, trying in vain to see echoes of my own relationship with my mother, but Mom's no Ingrid Bergman, although she is a bad listener, like Ingrid's character. Actually, my father's a lot closer to her: an emotional cripple. My mother's more of an intellectual cripple, I guess. That's maybe a bit harsh, but has some truth to it.

Also watched the first half of 'This Sporting Life', starring Richard Harris. Have to go home and watch the second half, now. Quite good, lots of subliminal homoeroticism, bare-ass shots, etc. Directed by Lindsay Anderson, who was gay, and apparently infatuated with Harris during the shoot.

I have recently learned from news reports that the rental vacancy rate in Montreal is high enough that landlords are offering incentives such as a month of free rent to woo prospective tenants. Of course, I immediately began to regret renewing my current lease. While my apartment is ideally situated, and the building OK, with a pool and gym, as well as rooftop terrace, I pay $605 ($610 after September) for a 16th floor studio with one window, no balcony, and a view mainly of the high-rise next door. By Montreal standards, this is somewhat pricey, but there was a real shortage of rental units a few years ago, and I have fresh memories of near-homelessness on a couple of occasions, as well as 2 months spent living in the downtown YMCA (now demolished) in the Fall of 2000, where I was stuck on a floorful of refugees (not that there's anything wrong with refugees) awaiting housing, with a decrepit communal bathroom on the floor, at night the sound of what I thought was rain outside my window, only to learn it was other residents pissing from their windows in the middle of the night. I was damn near hit in the head a couple of times. When I looked down into the courtyard in the morning, it was littered with garbage, including but not limited to water bottles filled with urine. I mean, the rooms didn't even have a sink to piss in. And everytime you left your room, you had to take 2 keys, one for the room, the other for the bathroom. The room doors swung shut, behind you, and locked automatically. So if you didn't have your key, you had to go downstairs and have a handyman let you back in. Also, I was on the sixth or eigth floor, but the stairs were not accessible, so you had to take the elevators, which took absolutely forever.

So, suffice it to say, experiences like this have left me extremely cautious and wary of the whole process of moving and finding an apartment. Perhaps a bit too cautious and wary. But it makes sense, when you consider that it took me over a year of fairly active searching before I found my current pad, after living in a shoebox with a communal shower shared by everyone on the floor (albeit with my own toilet and sink). But I do wonder if I could use the current situation as leverage and try to upgrade within the same building: move to another unit, perhaps one with a balcony or a better view, for the same price or maybe slightly more. I know the apartment next to me, also a studio, is vacant, and while it has no balcony either, it is wider than mine, which is long but narrow, and it has a better view, but less closet-space. Then again, while I gripe about closet space, as my good pal Albert pointed out, most of my belongings are in boxes or on my floor at the moment, and have been since I moved in 19 months ago, and there is no reason to believe I am suddenly going to become more organized in a new apartment. But part of me also wonders if I just want to change units because I have never cleaned my apartment, which is now getting pretty dusty, and the one next to me is freshly renovated.

guilty pleasure

Am currently watching Kid Rock's new video sampling 'Sweet Home Alabama' and have to admit I kind of like it. Also discovered a good blog, 'The Gay Recluse'.

apology

Man, I just reread the previous post, and that lame attempt at humour 'nuttin' wrong with a little bit of Ernestine' has me wincing. Sorry, if anyone ever reads this!

Shortbus

Saw the movie 'Shortbus' for the second time, first time on DVD. Loved it again, even though there are some iffy moment, it still provides one of the most astute examinations of contemporary relationships I've possibly ever seen in a film, and while it threatens occasionally to delve into hippie ickiness, it is always redeemed by some humour before things get too earnest. And there ain't nuttin' wrong with a bit of Ernestine once in a while. Sook-Yin Lee is a brilliant comic actress, she could easily be the next Woody Allen heroine: a Diane Keaton for our times. And the audio commentary is priceless. It seems to me that there is a real dearth of self-deprecating funny women out there at the moment. Female comics are supposed to be a bit too indomitable. Maybe it's time for another Phyllis Diller. Also, according to John Cameron Mitchell, the sex scenes weren't supposed to be a turn-on, but they end up being one, anyway. And on a final note, I can really relate to the numbness and inability to feel and have meaningful interactions felt by Jamie (Paul Dawson) and Severin.

The Lost Boy

If I were tech-savvy I would try to post pics and link to articles, other blogs, etc. But I ain't, so I will simply mention, in the off-chance anyone should ever even read this, another blog I find sehr interessant ces jours-ci: The Lost Boy, by a guy named Peter Knegt, a young gay film buff and apparently the go-getter I could never be, who seems to have just completed a master's, and also covers film festivals for indiewire. Worth a look... Charlene Johnson, creator of Turbo Jam, is now on a TV screen in front of me, and her moronic kickboxing / aerobics infomercial is exhausting me. Must shove off.

Spring arrives in northern Lapland

Just did one of my periodic verifications of Scandinavian traffic webcams, and am glad to see that the snow has finally melted in northern Lapland, and the ice gone as well. I checked less than 2 weeks ago, and there was leftover or fresh snow in some spots, and ice on rivers and lakes (thin ice).

Fringe fest

I just returned from a one-man show at the Fringe festival, called 'Between Takeoff and Landing', by a guy named Michael Walsh, about his experience being rerouted to Gander while flying from Dublin to NYC on September 11, 2001. It was good, athough my mind wandered once or twice. Still, he played multiple characters, and quite well, and for the most part got the accents, except that his Newfie accent was a bit too Irish, although I know it's not an easy one to pull off. At least he made the 'an' sound, as in Gander, or man, sound kind of American and drawn out, and got the short 'O' right: Newfies pronounce 'hot' or 'Tom' like 'haht' or Tahm', as do Cape Bretoners, more like Americans than Canadians, who for the most part tend to be midway between British and American pronunciation on the 'O', at least. Sort of Brit pronunciation, but more drawn out, like the Yanks: 'hoht' or 'Tohm', I guess.

Anyhow, saw the show, then headed to work, where I am now, typing away. Hated coworker Julien was here, ignored my arrival, and of course played Radiohead at his desk. I am starting to feel that someone has to lampoon not Radiohead itself, but the cult and aura that surround the band, and the tediousness of its fans, sorta the way Kids in the Hall did for 'Doors fans'. It seems to be mainly straight, pseudo-intellectual young male students who love Radiohead. I can't say I'm a fan. Definitely candidates for the academy of the overrated.

childhood friend

Perused internet sites of my childhood friend Eric from back in Halifax. He is a self-made millionaire, entrepreneur, motivational speaker, photographer, etc. etc. Offers adventure travel tours, seminars on leadership, business success, relationships, and seems creepy but maybe a bit vulnerable, at least on his unwittingly hilarious youtube clips that look like something out of Saturday Night Live. And he speaks in an odd, twangy American accent, despite being from Halifax, having Afrikaaner parents, and seemingly having lived most of his adult life in England and Canada. Still, he was a really great friend from the day we crashed bikes when I was six, to about the age of 12. And I loved his parents, his dry-wiited deadpan mother, and his father, who was always calling me 'the intellectual', because at 9 I loved talking about the Iranian Revolution with him, or saying to me 'beware of Greeks bearing gifts' because of my partial Greek heritage.

Ottawa and debauchery

As I said in my last post, I spent several days visiting family and friends in my former home of Ottawa. Saw a lot of people in 4 days, a couple of whom I hadn't seen in years. Had dinner at the National Arts Centre restaurant with mother and stepdad, hung out at home, rode stepdad's bike. Saw a friend I hadn't seen in over a decade, Christopher D., who now works as a curatorial assistant at the National Gallery, and he gave me a free pass, so I saw the exhibition on 'The New Man', of the 1930's, which was quite good, as well as some contemporary video art, including a couple of pieces by the elusive Benny Nemerofsky Ramsay. Went to 'Steamworks' bathhouse on my final night, and it was not particularly busy, but had some fun with an OK-looking middle-aged guy who, to my surprise, offered me some coke. I ended up doing about 5 lines over the course of maybe 3 hours, something I hadn't done in years. At one point, 2 really hot guys in their early 20's arrived and got it on right in front of me in the dry sauna. One of them said he was from Halifax. And in the same vein, 2 nights ago, went to G.I. Joe here in Montreal, and saw a guy get fisted on a sling. The fister had his hand inside, about 3 or 4 inches from the elbow. Now I had seen fisting on film, and in that very same bathhouse before, and have to admit it is absolutely not a turn-on for me. But of course, as with a car wreck, I felt compelled to observe, at least for a minute or two.

OCD maneuvers

Just returned to Mtl after several days in Ottawa, usually a very stressful experience owing to the exacerbation of my OCD which always accompanies a visit chez ma mere. But now I have a system: basically, I wore a pair of old shoes that need to be thrown out, and took my stuff in an old backback that can also be discarded, and upon my return, I wash all my identification, bank card, keys, toothbrush, etc, chuck the shoes and bag, shower, and re-enter the clean zone of my normal life. I've been back 2 days, and have yet to do so, as it is always good to have a couple of days in the so-called 'dirty zone', when I am hardly as vigilant about keeping germ-free, when I return home. Went to a couple of bathouses, and didn't have to worry about showering thoroughly at the end (I instead took a shower that a normal person would take: 5 minutes or so) . The only drawback is that when I enter my apartment, I have to remain in the corner by the door, take off all my clothes, leave them in a pile in the corner, put on flipflops to cover my 'dirty' feet, and immediately jump into the shower, after which I can freely enter the 'clean zone' of the rest of my apartment, sort of a separate dimension, and sleep in my 'clean' bed. When I get up, I remain 'clean' until I reach the corner, get dressed, and leave, always careful to touch the interior doorknobs in specific spots only. I will leave the clothes in the corner, until I can launder them, and then will 'decontaminate' that corner. Unfortunately, after I reenter the 'clean zone', my stress levels also increase. But that is the burden I must bear.

things I can't stand today

I have in the past couple of days heard 2 interviews with Adam Leith Gollner on CBC radio, and while he sounds like a sehr interessante bloke, having penned some O.K. pieces in Vice and other mags, this new book about fruit just sounds tedious. I loathe food writing, cannot think of a more stultifying subject. I am particulary perturbed because of the damned hypertrendiness of food writing. Taras Grescoe, another Mtl writer I admire, who wrote the brilliant 'Sacre Blues', a fascinating look at Quebec culture and recent history, has also recently written 2 books about food. Are they cashing in, or are they genuinely interested in food? I myself am interested in a lot of weird stuff, but food is right up there with interior design as a topic to be avoided at all cost by writers and intelligent people. I strongly believe food should be eaten, but never discussed. What else? Am also hating the formula 1 Canadian Grand Prix, which just wrapped up here. My downtown neighbourhood was overtaken by Eurotrash, American Ginos, bimbos, and Ferraris, although I got some free anti-wrinkle cream and chocolate at the huge Garnier tent that had been set up in a parking lot on St. Lawrence Boulevard, which was a plus. Am also hating Mariah Carey's infantilism. I have been working all weekend, and TV screens dominate my workplace, many of them mutely tuned to Musique Plus, the French-language version of Muchmusic, itself Canada's answer to MTV, albeit with less reality TV, and more music videos, so sort of like MTV 15 years ago, I guess. Anyhow, the latest Mariah Carey video has been playing, in which she is seen dressed like a sexy schoolgirl, lying in bed writing in her diary, and hopping onto private planes with Nick Cannon, etc. It's funny that her take on sexiness has always been this Lolita version, kneesocks, hot pants, finger suggestively in moutn, and girly waves goodbye: holding her hand up, and fluttering her fingers just so. There is just nothing womanly about her, despite the fact that she is 38, 2 years older than the age at which Marilyn Monroe killed herself...

neighbour noise

It was a noisy weekend in me building, with banging noises coming from the apartment next door, beginning Saturday morn at about 10 am, and Sunday at about 7 am. It sounded like someone using duct tape to wrap up boxes, and after an encounter with the super, I learned that the neighbour (a dykey black woman) had indeed moved out, and that they were going to renovate the unit, which means being awakened by awful drilling and hammering noises for several days. Hopefully they won't start until next week, when I will be in Ottawa for a visit, or the week after, when I may go to Toronto.