tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79383984327329790202024-02-22T05:47:04.958-05:00j'check du mondeLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-89213409448377755732010-09-09T21:16:00.008-04:002010-09-09T21:42:19.607-04:00sur le toit. in light.The Montreal skyline at five a.m. is a thing to behold with best men friends. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTcA9cCqB8isrgCCluacEqj0dOfjKa_F5YhFkzQIXoUIbQyUuojqU6LsFjjsOd2r4e71DRsEsLjKeGk-jSkY-1rTzy5oMMyeRU6qu-2gVpdztBfJ9X5umTFJuB_MYvKqB8caFRGm0hgRY/s1600/P1040887.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTcA9cCqB8isrgCCluacEqj0dOfjKa_F5YhFkzQIXoUIbQyUuojqU6LsFjjsOd2r4e71DRsEsLjKeGk-jSkY-1rTzy5oMMyeRU6qu-2gVpdztBfJ9X5umTFJuB_MYvKqB8caFRGm0hgRY/s400/P1040887.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515091468138267186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0ablKx3EaGn2Y-r563zOc7wyw4YYsJMeBI6K3dqP_qvVjOyzNa06p8uyS_zquOdqYdGgx7CMFl9NOl3cr-ga_nqmKkTpN3ghxuAHKy_lwtslY3wiQRoZp54eVmLLSziU6rV6TBGyr-g/s1600/P1040886.JPG"><img style="display:block; 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margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6bepyetG_Dzi4v-aTwos4DG_QiEjMueLc0AiA0T8X1L8HXa8Fjtf4uWa5v1LxHDBb0wrS9MgctJPmzg6mJlga5MSvSLJN0zDID4T8VpbOv8Egl9Jrxyixuy28wdHupbWEiN5Yevl5Q0/s400/P1040805.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515087835630619522" /></a><br /><br />@ Nabi, Blanchette & Vincent. je vous aime.Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-13873828995698217632010-08-17T18:26:00.003-04:002010-08-17T18:48:49.070-04:00to patrick and the universe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXyTtLgIUwz-aKF8Qye2kB36dmagNhufC4_WJV6x7H7Nb_ELsdMMiW0MCVQot3wcyCKVmNKiDMfErXWISTfAk6LoknBO26wW48j6s_hpzL5pukdcDC9MxC2jn1TXLTaHPpU0P3D4tWrM/s1600/39183_456538455249_738945249_6739381_3483303_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXyTtLgIUwz-aKF8Qye2kB36dmagNhufC4_WJV6x7H7Nb_ELsdMMiW0MCVQot3wcyCKVmNKiDMfErXWISTfAk6LoknBO26wW48j6s_hpzL5pukdcDC9MxC2jn1TXLTaHPpU0P3D4tWrM/s400/39183_456538455249_738945249_6739381_3483303_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506513867712402210" /></a><br />I waltzed onstage directly towards you, confident. (I probably would have been less so if I'd known it was you and all your swagger, glamour, glitter, but I didn't, I'll admit that. For the better?) The little wing of the stage was mine for the evening - a go go gig for free drink - and I would stake it, taking the work very seriously. It was mine, this stage. To dance for hours. <br /><br />I put my purse down on your dj table, grabbed the edges and dipped down for you, locking eyes, letting my long red hair fall to the floor. Hello, I said at the time, I'm here to dance for your party. <br /><br />The next day I saw your face on the cover of The Hour. I laughed. I gave you an alias name to match my alias persona, but what a friend you might be if I hadn't lied. <br /><br />I didn't recognize you today, when I happened into your salon with alternative press in hand, and I took me a minute to place those intense eyes and high cheekbones. You are someone here, you know, which is something. Your energy fills a room. I was a stranger but danced for you all night long , my legs in pain in the morning. For you. For the room. But I would dance again until dawn if asked. ask me to. <br /><br />Today, when I told you who I was that night your perfectly arched eyebrows jumped. You, you said, were so, so fun. We talked about the next time the music could unite us. You'll know, you said, I'll make sure. As I made my leave, shyly putting out my hand to shake, you grabbed it, pulling me close and planting kisses on my cheeks. You are so much fun. <br /><br /><br />--<br /><br />Dear, dear Patrick - and things at work beyond what we can know that keep people bumping into each other here - I want to dance for you all night again. I want to dip for you again. I want a wig for you again. Let me know.Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-60902797955901566532010-08-13T18:14:00.005-04:002010-08-17T18:26:23.684-04:00haircuts clark<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMR4XA6z77ouSSySxBKjvmvKPOEBfY68EOTpGV0rYiM0nwYO6JOKtW47Woy5HKlORPjxgnLRWXn38JW4hgxq3UXH9QyDDop4IvIm0BE8MC_usA4esBl0WdzQwip7Tp4qfA1svfAdxb9Y/s1600/P1040716.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXMR4XA6z77ouSSySxBKjvmvKPOEBfY68EOTpGV0rYiM0nwYO6JOKtW47Woy5HKlORPjxgnLRWXn38JW4hgxq3UXH9QyDDop4IvIm0BE8MC_usA4esBl0WdzQwip7Tp4qfA1svfAdxb9Y/s400/P1040716.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505024897737606082" /></a><br /><br />summer shears: friends, food, wine, clippings and youtube.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8zsclcKyrXzN4Bf7KFLJuX7vWaXbPpsTOP84owRpyr5SOMfGojh4v1hcJ9Dc0c_wtIH8vpf-biSktMfQnGSKBov9wAz1bwi7oxxT1RhAZ0h2_p2eyUADaAZj2ZwgG0K9UEic-LwRFvs/s1600/P1040726.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8zsclcKyrXzN4Bf7KFLJuX7vWaXbPpsTOP84owRpyr5SOMfGojh4v1hcJ9Dc0c_wtIH8vpf-biSktMfQnGSKBov9wAz1bwi7oxxT1RhAZ0h2_p2eyUADaAZj2ZwgG0K9UEic-LwRFvs/s400/P1040726.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505022842644174162" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjU2iPMtdCjMKHMhwMi4sYADRYXE-adjRk1cHYDMNhTDk38psvq5nx0-bl556cqTGb6c9SZ_ah-lJU3FY1cF9cUXUlBWrfURVwHfJEaHqqsngxBV-0S4r5FIHPmXIzmR2L_b3Mhm8XIY/s1600/P1040736.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjU2iPMtdCjMKHMhwMi4sYADRYXE-adjRk1cHYDMNhTDk38psvq5nx0-bl556cqTGb6c9SZ_ah-lJU3FY1cF9cUXUlBWrfURVwHfJEaHqqsngxBV-0S4r5FIHPmXIzmR2L_b3Mhm8XIY/s400/P1040736.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505022853821061826" /></a><br /><br />smoke is in the air. it is humid here. it is all about to become autumn.<br />not ready yet. not ready yet. not ready yet. it all begins again in september.Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-63982500048946890562010-07-29T12:25:00.004-04:002010-07-29T12:52:23.190-04:00with buildings gone missing like teeth* missing<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcH_tYBvC_UMo6dqweZ8j49LtQIu1LcYITM_Xsyjqahd8KCU3QufYHT6RgpkJtwk97XPvCoybNtU4z6KiZq3ITg0GXD9sgxzXqzS18G562vyfpm3a9Tlieq28lQL7kRxHF4RwSsqML3A/s1600/P1040664.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcH_tYBvC_UMo6dqweZ8j49LtQIu1LcYITM_Xsyjqahd8KCU3QufYHT6RgpkJtwk97XPvCoybNtU4z6KiZq3ITg0GXD9sgxzXqzS18G562vyfpm3a9Tlieq28lQL7kRxHF4RwSsqML3A/s400/P1040664.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499369209520349314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnE2CdR9bCs1UV7wfMQRDT2hQ6ypBd5BB8z5BB4dhG8EmITILCTtcKobGE4GAO-OSJe1t-nlp8aZowZMM7Owrb3n-DuXFp2N2fxgBvkeJ2Sx0IyQeoMgr8Z7jI9KdOoIgRZMG604-solo/s1600/P1040665.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnE2CdR9bCs1UV7wfMQRDT2hQ6ypBd5BB8z5BB4dhG8EmITILCTtcKobGE4GAO-OSJe1t-nlp8aZowZMM7Owrb3n-DuXFp2N2fxgBvkeJ2Sx0IyQeoMgr8Z7jI9KdOoIgRZMG604-solo/s400/P1040665.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499370424387446242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkhX77O9eT5Q-zWySV1Rrbx4zORM8SQ8GwPTuLf5NyNz_hdxK08PAHF_NWDFfUIuxGDd0agK1okcNKaJoEnzRFAmg1pAqvLgS6ZlTPQFSoRlFhEEaIoVOkaEhFKAtkh6z3aJr6HloyxQ/s1600/P1040662.JPG"><img style="display:block; 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margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNL1OZQnI1FTH5NoNQ19g2QyOgsO6mN8h0c5VnwE5AqIMJU8ncaLFxMpshmE6TnH_Lv3BBKAIUBaR40tLEqVkemXTXP3aj0OsKsdBFCkqISQ0zYVYmXvMPN8ZbhCcwa3Sr0w_d_auLjFk/s400/P1040668.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499369234477615922" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxlGHOVpG1vMOyiQQLfgeYxHBWwJ0UjtTgbrpzNrVg-tDJZs0IwBp-S-2wBSE0uUQxCCsx64QBsYH1CQXSu88oNiooN0DPnNrf3CrDtbqdTlOeQ7bxQpZAhZi-9-agXxo2ZU4IY3pIQ0/s1600/P1040667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxlGHOVpG1vMOyiQQLfgeYxHBWwJ0UjtTgbrpzNrVg-tDJZs0IwBp-S-2wBSE0uUQxCCsx64QBsYH1CQXSu88oNiooN0DPnNrf3CrDtbqdTlOeQ7bxQpZAhZi-9-agXxo2ZU4IY3pIQ0/s400/P1040667.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499369230941658514" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Vi0Epvi9p0-gnT5Ci9o1pq_rosXwFg79YS2qLwBEvBIhlUo28qqo0H9_ACzCfqU8T3HC5Ah4D2QGBizikKuX2gjsSdSBtHJ9vRycby-p4ksR0SIPsbYYE-LZ2oj3ljBa_yePwkNme44/s1600/P1040666.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Vi0Epvi9p0-gnT5Ci9o1pq_rosXwFg79YS2qLwBEvBIhlUo28qqo0H9_ACzCfqU8T3HC5Ah4D2QGBizikKuX2gjsSdSBtHJ9vRycby-p4ksR0SIPsbYYE-LZ2oj3ljBa_yePwkNme44/s400/P1040666.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499369223349681634" /></a>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-25540931451814263272010-07-23T01:52:00.001-04:002010-07-23T01:52:19.018-04:00I totally fucked my settingshelp?Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-82122264281994167122010-07-23T00:02:00.010-04:002010-07-23T01:38:37.844-04:00oui & winnipeg<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WJDctTFZE1T83hlf7_DRmi0JjvTm6NDvaFSP7eJWFqgLey9LZadTYtvBhcYZ0G48BNLpm1zQc2VVOSyW1ygna7Pj1ZNCGG30x8MEsF2o39lB7xOoSeXgsxL34glrg-9QiigErMBm13o/s1600/Photo+115.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WJDctTFZE1T83hlf7_DRmi0JjvTm6NDvaFSP7eJWFqgLey9LZadTYtvBhcYZ0G48BNLpm1zQc2VVOSyW1ygna7Pj1ZNCGG30x8MEsF2o39lB7xOoSeXgsxL34glrg-9QiigErMBm13o/s400/Photo+115.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496971214996020114" /></a><br />word of the day. word to wed to a noun. word to wed to my finger. word to live for. oui. oui. oui.<br /><br />---<br /><br />three years. three! and still I wonder, where is my true home? <br /><br />---<br /><br />So the recurring theme of this blog has resurfaced once again, at it's usual, annual time: back and fourth from the land of talk to the land of plenty. How strange it is. How much we forget when we're gone for three hundred and sixty five days, give or take. & how many people and places you can somehow manage to fit into a week of time. Holy shit. <br /><br />I blitzed through it from start to finish. blitzed! After weeks off from renovated restaurants I worked three shifts to my bone and then booked a flight to Manitoba. "I'll be there at 9:30 tomorrow morning," I told parents, glancing at time and preparing for a white night / nuit blanche of organizing and packing up a place that still feels new, making espresso and drinking it slowly through midnight, taking a 4:20 bus to the airport, 6 a.m. flight and touching down in the 204 less than 12 hours since buying a ticket. <br /><br />And it didn't stop, thanks to the good times. <br /><br />There is always that Winnipeg anticipation before boarding the plane: will I be forgotten/ignored, due to a stellar lack of social media? Will I run into someone crazy who will timewarp my brain? (Anyone is possible, really. I saw a girl at PMix who I haven't seen or thought about since the early aughts, when we were obviously both very different people - we actually gawked at each other while making odd conversation and I think I forgot to say goodbye and feel bad, though the chances of seeing her in the next five years are... what?) Will there be anything happening? What's changed? What's the same? Who's haunting my haunts? <br /><br />And, most importantly I feel, is discovering what I was totally blind to while living in Manitoba. The details I ignored by total lack of context. What nuances I couldn't appreciate. Or the utter romance I couldn't see right in front of my face. This is what kills me each time and keeps me returning. <br /><br />And because this is quickly going to turn into a Winnipeg diatribe far too long to warrant a brief, but engaging blog post, I will list these things:<br /><br />> space: four lanes in each direction. a boulevard. a sidewalk. a front yard. space between houses and nothing on top of each other. Also, epic lack of balcony action - why? And no bike infrastructure - what the fuck? There's room. Everywhere. <br /><br />> sky: each time I find myself staring at it, it's endlessness, it's movement. There was a thunderstorm I saw, miles and miles and miles away, with lightning. the sky is swallowing. it is totally therapeutic. I could look at that sky for hours. I did. It reminded me how small we all are, really. <br /><br />> the significant bands of native women and girls, teens really, wandering streets. I completely forgot this. I suppose in some sick way their nomadic consistency was normalized to me. I wasn't so shook up then like I am now. I looked/listened more carefully this time, desperately and concentrated. Why are you going missing here in record numbers? What is it that makes you so prevalent to all kinds of abuse and sexism? .... I want them to be empowered. So, so badly. And I feel really fucking guilty and colonial for wanting this, for some unfathomable reason. I also feel helpless, not knowing what "to do" or how "to help." It's just totally fucked up. And, it's made me think about what I really, really want my work to be in this life. <br /><br />> the donut hole: is where it's all happening. <span style="font-style:italic;">If</span> I ever move back to Winnipeg, which would be a tall order, I would certainly live downtown or in the exchange; the crux of it all. wow yeah. <br /><br />> potential lovers, but not really: why Winnipeg, why? Curses for throwing good-looking, totally interesting and highly fuckable people in my direction when I'm not even living in town anymore. It's really not nice, or fair, or funny. Timing is everything. I won't go into details, but fuck my (love) life. <br /><br />---<br /><br />There is something about Montreal though. You can't even compare them, but I'll keep trying, <br /><br />more to come and photos I swear,<br /><br />LawrenceLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-27518438052073481322010-07-11T23:36:00.010-04:002010-07-12T03:45:22.888-04:00rings true; ideas. montreal mirror predictions .<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style:italic;">Have you fallen in omnidirectional love these past few weeks? Are you swooning with such reckless splendor that at times you feel like you're swimming in mid-air? <br /><br />You have an urgent need to be caught up in a vortex of free-form affection. Your receptivity to being tickled and spun around by an almost insane outpouring of libidinous empathy is crucial to your education. Boisterously tender feelings are what the cosmos are aching to fill you with.</span><br /></blockquote><br /><br />--- lovevelo.velolove<br /><br />someone gave me a parting gift three years ago: four letters. (e,l,o,v) <br /><br />two words are made of these letters and, incidentally, the word has changed form in my new room and home. Mostly I have been unscrewing, allen keying, greasing, steel-wool-ing, breaking down and building up a bike. Thinking about mechanics. Yep, it's happening: stereotypical hipster mile end twentysomething making a fixed-gear bicycle to ride in the winter in her apartment. Yep, wouldn't be happening without the red-blooded American twentysomething messenger bike mechanic roommate. Yep, we've devoted a room in our house to whips even though we said we wouldn't. Yep. love velo. velo love. <br /><br />Good read lately? Bike Snob NYC - the book! <br /><br />----omnidirectional?<br /><br />Woah. what a concept. fuck. my. life.<br /><br />So, maybe you knew this already but I'm single. ono. for the first time during a Montreal summer in my life. So what, right? <br /><br />Wrong. During a Montreal summer, shit goes crazy for the singles. Something jumps in dark alleyways and crowded dancefloors, on bike paths and in all-night water parcs. Hanging out on balconies bbqing or smoking. Picking up groceries. At the pool. It's bat shit bananas. People! Lusty, lusty people beyond words to describe them. gah.<br /><br />I'm not going to get into the details. I'll tell you when I get into town, but the most interesting one of allis that lately I have been ... ahem ... <span style="font-style:italic;">pursued</span> by a couple. An "open" couple. A NYC-bred but living in Mtl couple. It's unconventional. This, obviously, has made me really start wrapping my brain about 'monogamy' v. 'plurality' <br /><br />This, coupled with bouts of no-consistent-spoon blues is just too much. I don't know what to think! <br /><br />A new friend is currently making a film about the montreal sex scene, which I am very interested in. The open couple in question gave an excellent interview for the project, I'm told. When I can link it, I'll link it and it will be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me on this blog. <br /><br />They invited me to an insane body painting party yesterday, and the relics of the night - regular faces in my neighbourhood coffee shop (recently reopened!) - donned the marks of sexy artfag shenanigans via streaks of faded acrylic on tanned or freckled skin. Holy painted plurality. <br /><br />I often wonder if I can go there, really.<br /><br />---my wpg<br /><br />so I'm back again in, like, a day. I'm not ready. <br />I spoke at length about this with many winnipeggers to date: going back makes you question everything. There's this six-month itch of wondering where you'll fit - here or there - and who you'll be on the flight back "home"<br /><br />--- lived for weeks without the internet<br /><br />& I loved it. I almost objected to getting it because we actually read books and listened to the CBC 24/7 and it was lovely. Life without the internet made me seriously consider it as a necessity in an apartment. (maybe that's what the office is for!?) <br /><br />Life is just too sweet without it: knocking door to door, waking up neighbours from naps, leaving notes to invite you over. we making many, many meals, leafing through yellow-paged, dog-eared cookbooks. Random afternoon salads and tea when a friend nips in on a whim.<br /><br />Heck, life without the internet is great. Once it came back, I wasted all kinds of time in my underwear obsessively reading (news, blogs and internet garbage). <br /><br />the internet changes <span style="font-style:italic;">everything</span> and I actually might prefer the real world.<br /><br /><br />---- flight.<br /><br />Is expensive, but necessary?<br />damn I wish Karmen was coming with me,<br /><br />LBLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-39969814596614868642010-07-09T16:36:00.003-04:002010-07-09T16:38:38.273-04:00touch the universe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_TsMOhCFstocV877K5bbeXkpLKaNoEUEjmdZSHIPRjmaLU8DL8BPo2CqwbCpBo34BkUNzpYVRvWeZsJ5XoDui7lwWs0yK7OzjekCjA3WbPy9azRGaJGv0CGeezkCsEOV_AgFoVwyd3Q/s1600/hubble.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_TsMOhCFstocV877K5bbeXkpLKaNoEUEjmdZSHIPRjmaLU8DL8BPo2CqwbCpBo34BkUNzpYVRvWeZsJ5XoDui7lwWs0yK7OzjekCjA3WbPy9azRGaJGv0CGeezkCsEOV_AgFoVwyd3Q/s400/hubble.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492008502832123858" /></a><br />best trip ever. one of many consecutive French nights out. <br /><br />(miss my ginger), LBLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-78153790496793477732010-07-09T13:59:00.010-04:002010-07-12T00:39:53.365-04:00ClarkI am a completely different person; (& I know this sounds insane)<br /><br />Notably, it's because of Clark - the rue-cum-man of the hour at the moment in my life. (Figurative men are the best kind)<br /><br />Laying together long nights listening to the random cyclists along bike path outside our window, or spending sunny mornings sitting on the back <span style="font-style:italic;">gallerie</span> with espresso to lips, a book in hand and clothing on the line in the breeze, or eating epic, friend-filed breakfasts, brunches, lunches, mid-afternoon salads and bbq dinners consecutively since moving in, Clark has been, quite frankly, the best thing a not-really-working gal could want for the summer. <br /><br />And I am ever, ever so grateful that our time has also been peppered with people - mostly winnipeggers mind you - who have dropped in at random, rejuvenating this change, nodding me on, reminding. My lady love was here, followed by my mother, my cousin and a friend. Everyone partied with the best of them, but props to momma for not giving into the peer pressure to smoke up at our "goodbye H2L guido party" or disowning me for dressing like a dirty jersey shore knockoff.<br /><br />H2L is like another life when I think about it now, which is crazy because it was my life for three years. But it's done. It's over. We've moved on, and some of us even have poke-and-stick tattoos to remind us of our postal code. <br /><br />Dancing until the sun was up on the front balcon and taking in the Molson sign, the clouds in the sky, and how the light hit our supple, swaying bodies, it was the last morning on that balcony with the cars going by and the elders in rocking chairs. It was the last look at the Jaques Cartier in the morning, (an old roommates voice in the back of my mind: "if you hate it here you can see your way out") or the CBC star at night, lighting my way home from wherever I was on the mountain.<br /><br />It was a great last everything. Salut Maisonneuve, merci beaucoup for being, literally, my new home... <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVF7mwryhyphenhyphenWRMMRvmPeSnuzRw5xPQowiD1ZK3wZnKAm7j7dYk3BCjNz1M5l3HmjyjEjhiy3d83EPj10PfvmWwE_iY4t1XYTveygp5rH2-nmcC24OB49tGH5mK9GItiE7X2gk7GkLGKO84/s1600/P1020495.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVF7mwryhyphenhyphenWRMMRvmPeSnuzRw5xPQowiD1ZK3wZnKAm7j7dYk3BCjNz1M5l3HmjyjEjhiy3d83EPj10PfvmWwE_iY4t1XYTveygp5rH2-nmcC24OB49tGH5mK9GItiE7X2gk7GkLGKO84/s400/P1020495.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491977366440071602" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfjtiOne3B8LQxmGoeHqiiq4zY26bENB-cnW2aGkoTxbKGlnHrjcSPVliUv5JwUCSw_bv9DLtYR7ZJBzYWnw3Jif_anBycA65HQMYsGywux6bZHAIrVI2v37chZEBbtsNrttwxbGH888/s1600/P1030668.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfjtiOne3B8LQxmGoeHqiiq4zY26bENB-cnW2aGkoTxbKGlnHrjcSPVliUv5JwUCSw_bv9DLtYR7ZJBzYWnw3Jif_anBycA65HQMYsGywux6bZHAIrVI2v37chZEBbtsNrttwxbGH888/s400/P1030668.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491975773143118514" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-977miU_v7f9jtUy5Mbz2NCJ2IrMbYQyiu9gEeCFusI5maqo_0Om8MyopT3GcTsnNfmt2frrDizHdwlGeL_1_iFMv7jaht3xep2ri7vPvO7Zx00Q9IRAnOATNWe2GMiCqkRJcMDoib4/s1600/Image007_7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-977miU_v7f9jtUy5Mbz2NCJ2IrMbYQyiu9gEeCFusI5maqo_0Om8MyopT3GcTsnNfmt2frrDizHdwlGeL_1_iFMv7jaht3xep2ri7vPvO7Zx00Q9IRAnOATNWe2GMiCqkRJcMDoib4/s400/Image007_7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491975784754116946" /></a><br /><br />----<br /><br />And later, when everything was built and pret, "this is the best it’s ever been," she said on my bed with a frame. <br /><br />I don't know about that last bit, actually. Maybe the best in Montreal so far, but maybe it's too soon? How can you organize experience hierarchically? Everything is different now, and it feels good, but better? To be continued... (and new apt pictures to come!)<br /><br /><br />----<br /><br />LawrenceLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-22313380577652801592010-06-11T00:08:00.003-04:002010-06-11T00:15:27.501-04:00alter egoyay or nay, dear readers - the slim who remain.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKkMyIt2N6ePIbsd5mQr1wT7sJXubqxatqdJPrgyrxPldTmmNXMTDJ6GsTsG9TwZf0p4H93XC6IYRyM8VkFGwf9VpNrvW1ZkUFFvBU_jV51sll_EBSAa3qQ9vJ1JnhCmDw60PbICEktw/s1600/Photo+47.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKkMyIt2N6ePIbsd5mQr1wT7sJXubqxatqdJPrgyrxPldTmmNXMTDJ6GsTsG9TwZf0p4H93XC6IYRyM8VkFGwf9VpNrvW1ZkUFFvBU_jV51sll_EBSAa3qQ9vJ1JnhCmDw60PbICEktw/s400/Photo+47.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481363667728541106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8z5UZpruajR584N2lfyK_sQkFNb5BjijIv4oWQ6Lbl0YXBWApIzhVdSJlcQldiavGmB8inujmGrSjzvInbB3ZqcBSuv1InLJSL7ppU0CtpwsxXG2vIXFUaKJ6NULqwWOWvTWH3f0aKl8/s1600/Photo+27.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8z5UZpruajR584N2lfyK_sQkFNb5BjijIv4oWQ6Lbl0YXBWApIzhVdSJlcQldiavGmB8inujmGrSjzvInbB3ZqcBSuv1InLJSL7ppU0CtpwsxXG2vIXFUaKJ6NULqwWOWvTWH3f0aKl8/s400/Photo+27.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481363654413283042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJu7L7n9w_uQJ5h-D51T4nkY8ZHuOa4VfHEWE8CnQwZ4h32vpNu9ydRG_Ma63XcNgmBdcvfJ-BdgX-Le8q4cs11LZECoDYiXqis0wfoqIjyPKOBeBVJWXN10lZ1V2jdO7OQd188alqIs/s1600/Photo+23.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJu7L7n9w_uQJ5h-D51T4nkY8ZHuOa4VfHEWE8CnQwZ4h32vpNu9ydRG_Ma63XcNgmBdcvfJ-BdgX-Le8q4cs11LZECoDYiXqis0wfoqIjyPKOBeBVJWXN10lZ1V2jdO7OQd188alqIs/s400/Photo+23.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481363651153967938" /></a><br />I feel a transformation coming on... <br />and see you SOON, Winnipeg<br /><br />----<br />loco/lo/lauranceLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-70278765860842838422010-05-13T01:08:00.005-04:002010-05-31T00:30:47.022-04:00La Rock<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre; font-family:Arial;font-size:12px;"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/O3YOafstKyo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/O3YOafstKyo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span> </div><div> </div>this about sums it up. actually. funny, isn't it, how relatable beyonce is in lingerie. <div> </div><div><br /></div><div>I was told recently that the first thing that comes to his mind is "raw sex" and have since been seriously considering stalling the action in my life completely. I'm out (and this time I mean it). Decided after a dinner "with the wife" of tofu sandwiches over a glass of wine and dark chocolate, we came to the conclusion that celibacy is godliness in terms of eliminating drama in one's life.</div><div><br /></div><div>And chocolate, she said to me as the cocoa dissolved in her mouth, is pleasure that's consistent.</div><div><br /></div><div><div> </div><div>I literally, and figuratively, fell hard on my ass about this one. Though my tailbone will recover, I'm not sure about my pride. </div><div><br /></div><div>xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx</div><div><br /></div><div>Funny what a time can do to one's outlook. I had sworn off La Rockette as a place of ill social engagements and disappointment last week, and wound up spending the long weekend there almost exclusively. Har. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ginger is in town and my heart has exploded. I can't even begin to tell you how easy it was for her to slip into my life here, speak French with my friends and be my Hutch. We've been walking together, up and down the side of the mountain, before and after bouts of total chaos and dancing, while marveling at Montreal and why she doesn't live here (yet). </div><div><br /></div><div>(Tuesday - random Remouski party. Wednesday- Slow Dance. Thursday - Fuck HOMA, Vive Hochelag, followed by La Rock. Friday - night in. Saturday - Silverdoor. Sunday - La Rock & La Fontaine. Monday - tripping. 3d Hubble movie in the old port, China, bikeride through Place des artes & Jeanne Mance chilling. Tuesday - La Rock. Fuck my liver.) </div><div><br /></div><div>Strange to say, but the last couple of days have really affirmed my life here. It takes an old friend, a fresh pair of eyes and ears and outlooks, to help you gage where you've been and where you are. "Three years!" we exclaimed, unbelievingly, as we shook our heads and walked to another adventure. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's not like we're established or accomplished or in a milieu or anything, but it feels closer to actually being home here. I walk around neighborhoods and regularly run into people I know - which is a small, but beautiful pleasure. </div><div><br /></div><div>What's strange about the timing in all this is that I'm about to move out of the home-y comforts and take on a new quartier. Since friends live two minutes in every direction from my (fingers-crossed) new apartment I think it'll be different and good, but I wonder what will happen to my French, my Francophone sister and being invited by proximity. We'll see. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been considering Facebook, if you can believe it. Hah. But I'm not quite ready to take the plunge just yet. I need to start with a cell phone and work my way slowly. Total Luddite action.</div><div><br /></div><div>xxxxxxxxxxx</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know why this all had to come out like this, but believe it has something to do with Ginger reaffirming my life. Ginger and Patti Smith, that is. </div><div><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iPVMYDrbrCo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iPVMYDrbrCo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>LOCO</div><div><br /></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-11762536228072781072010-05-05T21:29:00.004-04:002010-05-05T22:04:28.388-04:00burt and bodies<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre; font-family:Arial;font-size:12px;"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ERY5fXWU760&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ERY5fXWU760&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span><br /></div><div>---these eyes</div><div><br /></div><div>We embraced—drunkenly after karaoke and 3 a.m. poutine—and when I hugged you fiercely and tightly to me, I didn't remember to thank you for dropping down and reminding through reunion that the life we lived two years ago is not the life we live today. (But that it's still good).</div><div><br /></div><div>There were no body suits or burlesque numbers this time, but it felt the same and that's why it matters. I wish I could have spent more with you—talking intently about how the UK has shined your boots and studded your jeans—but I treasure the brief mornings shared and the friendly kisses on the shoulder or cheek before leaving to see your family. (You're family).</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you for coming back and making me remember. And for living like french fries for dinner three times a week is appropriate. And for embracing my changes. And for loving me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love you. London soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>---the bodies</div><div><br /></div><div>I woke up wondering how to feel about the whole thing. I looked at my limbs and bruises, bite marks and breasts, and thought about that party. What to feel? What to think? How intertwined feelings are—power.pleasure.passion.confusion.committment.resistance.submission.giving.(living.) Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuuuuuck. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before I left for this place three years ago, a man drinking wine at the bar told me, "Good girls go to Ottawa. Bad girls go to Montreal." I've been thinking about that lately, and the way he smiled when he said it. Who is bad? What is bad? (His eyes told me it was good.) Is it good? What is good? At least it's real. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't know then what I know now and I won't know today what I will know tomorrow, you know? Wow. </div><div><br /></div><div>I really want to write down the details but not all of them. I want to reinforce the softness and hardness, the confusion of limbs and bodies, the breathing and sweating, but you just had to be there. It's impossible to tell you the way the early sun basked on flesh and messy hair, and made the details so very clear and my mind so blank as I rode my bike down the hill in the wind. Arms outstretched. Jacket flying though the air. Thigh high stockings revealed. </div><div><br /></div><div>This city. It must be this city. </div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-65284284577103050362010-04-23T16:53:00.004-04:002010-04-23T17:38:52.637-04:00you know I don't believe you<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9ol1qLyYwE&feature=fvsr">when you say that you don't need me</a>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">---</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I sent my first, and last, sext message the other day. It wasn't via cellphone, which was probably the issue, but I have to say it was probably the most exciting, and subsequently humiliating, thing ever. Either way, worth a mention: sleep with the ones who want the fantasy. Noted.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">---</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">this city's a slut, he said, we could never have been my grandparents because we don't live in the mountains. I wonder how much of this is true and why it makes me feel so sad now that I think about it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">----</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I showed up at the retreat with sparkles still caked and encrusted on my cheeks. It was a vain attempt to cold-wash remove the fabulous warpaint, run fingers through to tame sexhair and carry a semblance of professionalism amongst colleagues. Not happening. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">"where did you go last night?" he asked, running his thumb along my cheekbone, "Studio 54?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">may as well have been. Thank god the erotic photographer was too good a host to get into Facebook mode and take pictures. Likely would love to see them, but it might be better that the (cyber) world at large will never witness the sultry, sparkling moments, the many kisses, the anything-goes dance party in the living room, nor my cleavage.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">These spinning, fabulous, free-for-all social moments being strung together day to day yield everything. nothing. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>----</div><div><br /></div>the pace of internet is staggering as I play catch-up with Wordpress and ambition. It is sunny, but not quite warm. Spring, but not quite summer. There is something in the air that beckons change, total chaos, and complete reevaluation of "the sour and crippled mass hallucination that is mistakenly called 'reality.'"<div><br /><div>I am done school. Done the paper. Done with Maisonneuve. Though everything, these things included, linger just beyond outstretched fingertips amongst fleeting thoughts or ideas; they still define. It's a funny, puzzling place to be on the cusp of it, whatever it will be, however it will change me. </div><div><br /></div><div>One of my bests drew me in close enough to tell a secret. In the bar we danced amongst people we had kissed and never spoken to again, holding and darting glances. "Something big is going to happen this summer," she said, her breath on my lobe, "I feel it." She, pretending to be my lover upon request, pursed her red lips in a smirk and had a twinkle in her eye I can assure was the real deal. Something. Something soon. Summer.</div><div><br /></div><div>---<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>lawrence</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-69400620410842153052010-04-06T03:07:00.003-04:002010-04-06T03:20:57.552-04:00managing<div>editor;</div><div><br /></div>it is difficult to jump the ranks.<div>once, we were all equals. </div><div>but now, somehow, the power has tipped. </div><div>I want respect (fear), </div><div>but, of course, </div><div>to remain loved*</div><div><br /></div><div>what is power? really? ... .... determination? ethic? ambition?</div><div>who has it? who manipulates it?</div><div><br /></div><div>especially among friends, lovers, colleagues. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know if I can do it. I really don't.</div><div>How do you strike a balance? or eternal composure? </div><div>Time, money, energy, curiosity, burnout.</div><div><br /></div><div>I cried twice today. My god. twice! <br /></div><div>I haven't cried in a long, long while. </div><div>It soothed me, strangely.</div><div><br /></div><div>3 a.m. and the production comes to a close.</div><div>relationship with a newspaper: complicated.</div><div>Now I should just sleep on it. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">*this is an impossible desire while on a paper</span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-1283651869951955862010-03-30T23:24:00.005-04:002010-04-06T03:26:44.913-04:00morninghow do you convince the body in your bed - broad shoulders and back - to turn around and embrace you in the morning? this time of day, after the night before, we are strangers and it is stranger now. with wild delights diminished and early sunlight blaring through windows on naked skin, we wonder about the other (pretending to sleep?). when he gets up, having to crawl over a naked frame, there is temptation to grab an ankle and trip back to where we were last night. why are you so shy? why don't you spoon? why aren't you comfortable yet? we already fucked/are lovers/are friends.<div><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-33674358555695716102010-03-09T07:28:00.004-05:002010-03-09T08:04:12.413-05:00three days straightmy life has become a journalism parody.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I have spent the last three days housed up hosting a regional conference, followed by paper production. I crashed with the delegates in a hotel room on de la montagne for the last three days and somehow made it through the third and final "poster night" of wannabe student council politicians scrambling their way up escalators to pillage prime real estate space in a blur of purple. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Through the conscious, slept-and-nourishment deprived, constantly working state, I managed to laugh with colleagues through all the activity, turn down a threesome with teens, kiss a handsome environmentalist one time on each cheek and break a seven-year hiatus from McDonalds breakfast watching the sun rise with my masthead. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I feel accomplished and disgusting at seven thirty a.m., killing time before a feature writing class and washing delicates by hand. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I looked in the mirror at my tired, computer-glazed eyes and it occurred to me that I have stopped writing for myself somehow, even if it is all I seem to do between spurts of socialization. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>This is an interesting job. One that kills, tires, excites and challenges me in so many different, changing ways. Have I really found vocation? Fuck. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>At the office today, sagging deep into the well-worn couch around two a.m., we talked about how journalism would be so much better if we didn't have to have such intense relationships with a computer screen. The lifeless glow beckons us, clearly (even when it's seven in the morning and my bed cries out), because it is the vehicle in which I have been trained to communicate. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I love this and I hate this. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Often, the image of a throw-back era of reportage—just a (wo)man and his pen—having to explain something experienced, real, present, while capturing and creating it, moulding language, relaying story from a dial up telephone for a copy writer on the other end to transcribe. Dictation! What a concept. Our generation will never live throwback journalism. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>But then again, why wax nostalgic about the olden days, many have asked me, when I have the fastest technological tools at my disposable fingertips. Why question the gifts that I have been given by the "ingenuity" of man and machine? Why wonder about how mcuh it has impacted the very basic human condition of communication. It fucks with me sometimes.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I've been trying to write this feature about technology and personal relationships and cannot seem to convince many that this pace and its place in our lives is out of control. It sometimes even seems unfair to demand people to detach from the real experience of skin, breath, exchange, gesture, eyes, words - free flowing and affected by the circumstances. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-24658496265831597622010-02-16T22:58:00.002-05:002010-02-16T23:54:57.100-05:00very literal.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102); font-size:17px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisb75udKFn5wK_zccAG4xggl1Tq9fN4LlqveJX5nHt0-nv8VWvRTKSW3y1d8o0IJcNVaHNn2LsV_Xs4JAPOx50ns75lgVQVKZVTMOWNwXO8L3hXBqCp1C2olz9mVrKro5rUWzsdf2r5r8/s1600-h/cokelove" style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; color: rgb(255, 102, 0); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisb75udKFn5wK_zccAG4xggl1Tq9fN4LlqveJX5nHt0-nv8VWvRTKSW3y1d8o0IJcNVaHNn2LsV_Xs4JAPOx50ns75lgVQVKZVTMOWNwXO8L3hXBqCp1C2olz9mVrKro5rUWzsdf2r5r8/s400/cokelove" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438989827524539282" border="0" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 296px; border-width: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; " /></a><span style=" ;font-size:78%;"><div style="text-align: center;">photo swiped from <a href="http://tjejsajten.blogspot.com/" style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 102, 204); ">tsejsajten</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></span></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-40581529395416131672010-02-11T02:46:00.008-05:002010-02-11T03:08:41.631-05:00licking my wounds?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJldRVp-hLPzP3or3SiaWE8wpczY1-J-CLp2-WPxxHoGHV3-FtaH4TXkroI0kTresH6k1Ckh2-_473I8oUKJQ7pO6IVyGWBNWPkhM5oFfklIjgo6bTtP4mZAOAmAiyvVtqB7E3cl0UTM/s1600-h/14918_1_468jpeg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqJldRVp-hLPzP3or3SiaWE8wpczY1-J-CLp2-WPxxHoGHV3-FtaH4TXkroI0kTresH6k1Ckh2-_473I8oUKJQ7pO6IVyGWBNWPkhM5oFfklIjgo6bTtP4mZAOAmAiyvVtqB7E3cl0UTM/s400/14918_1_468jpeg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436889225159032466" /></a>It's a<a href="http://manstreammedia.blogspot.com/2010_02_01_archive.html"> two part question. </a>I can't decide. The month of January is gone and I am here, nearly mid-february, back in action and/or licking wounds. I have let my job become my life, and I'm not managing either very well. Somehow in my brain, the paper's been placed higher than school assignments, a respectable GPA, internships, a love life, exercise and friendship. Masochistic or what? I am a glutton for punishment. <div><br /></div><div>I totally forgot about <a href="http://artisticthings.com/">Artistic Things</a> (where I summoned the lovely piece of advertising above), but am now back on the bandwagon. I totally forgot about growing-lists and tried to be a human in a home (goodbye weekend), but am now fully laundered, fed, washed and I spoke with my mother (worth it). I totally forgot about internship deadlines (fuck!), but have started thinking that Europe may be <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">plus necessair</span>e than a newsroom (who needs savings?).</div><div><br /></div><div>I am off, and on, the bandwagon, for the better some for the worse. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is balance possible? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-29798905501549150342010-01-20T01:15:00.003-05:002010-01-20T01:16:36.618-05:00The NASHlow<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">WHEREAS the cultural landscape of east Edmonton may appear a vapid wasteland of non-sidewalk, strip malls and shitty chain restos to an outside eye,</span></span><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">WHEREAS sketchy Internet connection that was often nonexistent plunged us journalists against our will back to the dark days of "traditional" media where a hard copy, hotel-provided </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">G&M</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"> was the only source of outside news besides the interweb on Blackberries and iPhones,</span></span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">WHEREAS a combination of 10-hour plenary and lack of Interweb made me want to stab out my eyeballs with a pen, and joke motions are only funny for ten minutes, </span></span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">BIRT, despite these facts, the inside of the Radisson was overwhelmingly abuzz with activity last week, hosting NASH 72: Natural Selection - a Canadian University Press conference that brought people on papers from coast to coast to hear speakers, participate in workshops and party like a good ol' fashioned gin-soaked journalist stereotype.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">----- </span></span></div><div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Much was discussed: "new" media, bilingualism in CUP, the lack of Internet (seriously, wtf. It's the national journalism conference!), authenticity, Jan Wong, Twitter, "innovation" (though just how innovative can a panelist of upper-middle class white guys actually be?), the failed attempts of everyone to have a good time on Whyte Ave, Adrienne Arsenault, line dancing and FUCKING PLENARY JOKE MOTIONS. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Much was learned: the evolution of the craft, our roles in new media, the individual as a media entity (branded - like Perez), how to create good interviews, the importance of </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">connecting with people like you (and the people you like)*, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">that</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">"you don't stop fighting in this business," the difference between 'linkers' and 'thinkers' on the big ol' blogosphere, the importance of packaging the product, the value-added experience you can't get on the net, defamation, libel and responsible journalism, being better at your job than at your life, and, finally, that Alberta Pure will lead nowhere sanctimonious but a stairwell. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">It was a blast. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">I had the pleasure to meeting many, many colleagues on Canadian student press—by way of exchanging cards, kudos, ideas, pitches, spliffs, beers, and an overwhelming distaste for Edmonton—and look so, so forward to keeping up with what they're up to in the future.</span></span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">I left the conference today feeling quite excited and inspired. I have been writing mental lists of things to do to keep connections alive and better the paper, in between obsessively reading CUPpies and my newfound student journalism friends online. I am so impressed with the breadth of skill and labour put into our beloved weeklies, biweekly, monthlies - and have a renewed dedication to creating and challenging my expectations of this craft. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">When NASH 73 rolls into MONTREAL, I will be there and it is going to fucking rule. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Expect a forthcoming hyperlink mania, Loco.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">*shout out to </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The Manitoban</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The Muse</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The McGill Daily</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The Aquinian</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The Uniter.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">.. and fuck, I love </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">The Concordian</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">, too. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:10px;"><br /></span></div></div></span>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-40873242159694842402010-01-08T00:46:00.010-05:002010-01-09T21:31:30.642-05:00awe of scenery and scale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBJbiy3WXxUxAbTQxqgiIyrhpSdCbihbFfyUixkrGrF_Sy9ugcN8zxk8kCyZ2YSYRJpdNgNVXliApMhePAitsEfoq8Sfdni6sduV1Eczp_WWD3GBp1dVXUPDFI9zCrSP5YXQiDFgU7uY/s1600-h/14wspzb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 372px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBJbiy3WXxUxAbTQxqgiIyrhpSdCbihbFfyUixkrGrF_Sy9ugcN8zxk8kCyZ2YSYRJpdNgNVXliApMhePAitsEfoq8Sfdni6sduV1Eczp_WWD3GBp1dVXUPDFI9zCrSP5YXQiDFgU7uY/s400/14wspzb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424250638305845218" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">[edited version: initially, I am too romantic]</div><br />I am four-classes-and-three-jobs-deep already & it's not even the first week of 2010. Classes, colleagues, *new* jobs, old job, and daydreams are keeping things busy and slightly distracted. <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="">Since the first, I have undergone a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> metamorphosis back to server from seller</span>. (It is stellar.) The smell of baked bread and espresso; soppy carpets and children's boots; regulars who will remember my name; constant motion and working hands - it feels so right. & Get this: my boss? His name is Tony! Another town, another Tony. oh, yes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since the first, I have also put my name in a hat of extra-curricular challenge.</div><div><br /></div><div>As of next week, on top of crazy <a href="http://thelinknewspaper.ca/">Link </a>duties, I start blogging for <a href="http://artisticthings.com/">Artistic Things </a>as a Montreal correspondent. Really nervous, really excited, and I expect that it will be a very rad kick in the ass to start keeping up with all the artfaggery this city has to offer. yes? fuck yes. Follow me? </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, anyone LOOKING TO MOVE TO MONTREAL, or KNOW SOMEONE who wants to and NEEDS A PLACE? Let me know. There is a sweet colloq setup that could use a third. </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>But that's it for now. O&O and interviews in the morning,</div><div> </div><div>LOCO</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-12614541131673727822010-01-02T15:01:00.022-05:002010-01-04T23:06:13.292-05:00To total change and chaos,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZpQuk1VVjQJfRXQFnKHE5I8pLrslOA-_pojydNno4cF7dmj_DyMFZzhIrgXB377Jj0DWgJq3jd1L66DLBl_EigQOWM17mnOwNqkHovSVkvlaOMmCHrbmtmY11mVqtbwH8Ox1TJUudaQ/s1600-h/pisces01lf1_jpg_408488gm-a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 360px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZpQuk1VVjQJfRXQFnKHE5I8pLrslOA-_pojydNno4cF7dmj_DyMFZzhIrgXB377Jj0DWgJq3jd1L66DLBl_EigQOWM17mnOwNqkHovSVkvlaOMmCHrbmtmY11mVqtbwH8Ox1TJUudaQ/s400/pisces01lf1_jpg_408488gm-a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422235150106818834" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">"You've done it before," he said with a shrug when I explained the triple-threat of change. His nonchalance soothed me—I could do it again, right?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">-------------------------</div><br />Usher in the new year: writing emails, flying "home," sleeping off wpg, waking, dressing the fuck up (killer kit of fringe, lace, sequins, fur - <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"><a href="http://iheartarts.blogspot.com/">FELTED MOUSTACHE</a></span>), feasting at a chiiiiill-but-slightly-judgmental Holschega-Maisonneuve <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">souper à maison</span> (overdressed), escaping to a scene once midnight struck (dressed to imprexxx apparently), doingdancingdrinkingtakingitin 'til ten a.m., before finally watching as my boots carry me home through a quiet parc while the snow fell, to a bed that was shared with one who had taught me more about comfort and companionship in the last two years than I deserve(d), to... to what? To total change and chaos. To 2010. <div><br /></div><div>-------------------</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); ">you know I believe in this shit by now, don't you? So lets have it:</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><br /></span><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">PISCES:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"> Although there will be no shortage of changes and challenges in 2010, with luck planet Jupiter in your sign for much of the year there will also be notable successes and fitting rewards. Something that happens toward the end of February will point you in the right direction but you will have to wait until June to see any material results. However, the influence of your altruistic ruler Neptune will increase your breadth of vision and remind you that there are different kinds of successes. Friendships will flourish, especially in January and July, but a summer love affair will fade as autumn approaches and make you realize that some things are just not meant to be.</span><br /><br /></div><div>----------------------------------<br /></div><div><br />le sigh*</div><div><br /></div><div>* is a double entendre and may seem backwards at this moment of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">nouveau</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">seul</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">e</span></span></span>, but it is absolutely crucial to the plot that I have hung a portrait of a married couple in my bedroom.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-----------------------------------<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">"In life, change is the only constant." <br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Avi told me this while we sat at a busy Osborne breakfast place before LM made a joke about my half-shaved dome. Apparently, before his mother - my great-grandmother - passed away, she told him that she was ready because she'd seen everything - from a horse and buggy to a man walking on the moon. I don't think I will ever forget this, or the way my Avi's lined face and glassy eyes looked as they contemplated the idea. That is the mantra of the year. For sure. It's already happening, it's already happened, it's going to happen.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>-------------------------------</div><div><br /></div><div>to 2010 and the changes it may bring, </div><div>yours solo and hopeful, L. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-82321611620279601432009-12-23T21:12:00.008-05:002010-01-03T00:01:03.024-05:00where you been so long?<div style="text-align: center;">Winnipeg, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">j'arriverai</span>; let the eating begin. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anticipation for healthy doses of all that is the best in my prairie city are nigh. As always, there is slight nervousness about making the trek and greeting the familiar. Some weird pressure to collectively explain that everything here is more, even if it feels like less. I need to return, recharge, read, relaxxx instead of exhaustingly waiting for the lingering, quiet hours to finally snuff out the year.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Hopefully, the heaps of <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">mes devoirs</span> should keep me roosting at my favourite local places that I miss, with fate resting in the social gods of Corydon and Osborne. </div><div><br /></div><div>Please come out and be merry. I'll see you soon, </div><div><br /></div><div>Loco</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-59665460207706718092009-12-21T20:50:00.014-05:002009-12-22T00:02:13.187-05:00tits (the season) pics<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pGanV1cDKooJNlb74pHdSCFu3iaJiO7hwgB8sjokvsEwRVXnawOPxIWT21kp-R65NAhydzpXqusjkMN1TEJWe-JJ8OTRclTg3_IXtI7LD3WuLyhXXHB6-sNiT8mJGW8l-u1DVKUTEfs/s400/12955_254139027574_237119967574_4517008_3174243_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417879280128086578" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-style: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaaTkx2_pvWHyPbwEy0qEkO0xc8xHbe33Ydmmb9ZoaZU8LwvZ2Xd9w5gIh1ezvd3mWs9s38fli2-EDq1bUsQm5k6hq1sSv0bUPvrL-ZsaHxAZFDE8j0434oXz0SWyqdbx2ESUoHJcMo5o/s400/12955_254139037574_237119967574_4517009_1936071_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417879287209432306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51); font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">I'll have a blue Christmas without you</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">my balls feel blue just thinking about you</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">Won't mean a thing dear, if you're not pleasing me</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">& when those blue snowflakes start falling</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">thats when those blue memories start calling</span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">But I'll have blue, blue balls for Christ</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);">mas</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> </span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8evGXenWlQ22dGu-Pag50G47o5CAeRS51d4yjSeo9WoCFHGqFZ9Qgmft_Ngh2rcvGhX00URU06LfHBgloa5Qv29MNWAOuSX5HeE9cv6bJf3PuMuNq3n8MLO8kjFV6CSL1EUXaxgR9Luc/s400/16436_254443042574_237119967574_4518781_6212452_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417919452724436722" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeztY1OcjiA-bYy9I0jx6_tidoaeYMdtz7RGo1UoLleDBfg1wLVQijrUyo0KKdjOwD9XSLy873zIQbVw34qqRWYmu0gvNGWBIqcZIYYPo34Je8vVCg5YQBKItzlTe471UNOy5iOr9a8E/s1600-h/16436_254443062574_237119967574_4518783_2334516_n.jpg"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 391px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeztY1OcjiA-bYy9I0jx6_tidoaeYMdtz7RGo1UoLleDBfg1wLVQijrUyo0KKdjOwD9XSLy873zIQbVw34qqRWYmu0gvNGWBIqcZIYYPo34Je8vVCg5YQBKItzlTe471UNOy5iOr9a8E/s400/16436_254443062574_237119967574_4518783_2334516_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417872830324909490" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-Yv7hAWBY-5Esh6ZZlhiD1B0jCrN1ETtfz5z6esNU9XbSGomxcWUutR_Y8JFSAn72Fw7uloU_BoiInPcYjR2ZqcfFRuysodB5WjOmd-pn9o1dt2C7eZz91DaNENR2UOdILBQtNSbDpY/s400/16436_254443102574_237119967574_4518787_2171927_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417920538881310146" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 365px; " /></span></div></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">(curtain call)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56-6CHsdOU_yoa1jZJPzm8VA5Y8RFQsIzfYxWluFYXIwKckZwT-B3MoqAHbPhh-oYUo9qnp_Et55IScdOoQsVW26uZmOoz6SQvZCYxcY-wjfmHRaAbp5GSij3r0miGFUnv2W283gVXeI/s1600-h/16436_254532107574_237119967574_4519365_8187221_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56-6CHsdOU_yoa1jZJPzm8VA5Y8RFQsIzfYxWluFYXIwKckZwT-B3MoqAHbPhh-oYUo9qnp_Et55IScdOoQsVW26uZmOoz6SQvZCYxcY-wjfmHRaAbp5GSij3r0miGFUnv2W283gVXeI/s400/16436_254532107574_237119967574_4519365_8187221_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417872841627038754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaI3AEvvQ1Xc0veZPXHkyl66JRP4lOhjaDo2lt355RL_BV-2CvWDj2aIqkiDUZtmk_mOVi6jBO_J8she4DDTssELwEdvq7yp-Gl-yaPb9Em6DsGvaWSkZDEjxGF0du_MZ66HFs99z8e4/s1600-h/16436_254538312574_237119967574_4519391_2546760_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUaI3AEvvQ1Xc0veZPXHkyl66JRP4lOhjaDo2lt355RL_BV-2CvWDj2aIqkiDUZtmk_mOVi6jBO_J8she4DDTssELwEdvq7yp-Gl-yaPb9Em6DsGvaWSkZDEjxGF0du_MZ66HFs99z8e4/s400/16436_254538312574_237119967574_4519391_2546760_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417872845716425778" /></a><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-5158362730227511702009-12-14T18:09:00.005-05:002010-02-16T22:57:20.261-05:00crystal ballit is never the right time for life.<br /><br />you know? It swoops down, grabs on, and puts you on a path in a different direction.<br /><br />I am thinking a lot about my existential life. who are my friends? what is my job? why do I live here? where do I belong? and keep wondering if the people who have turned back home are the ones who are crazy, or if it's me.<br /><br /><div> </div><div>I am scared for the staff meeting. shit. Maybe I won't have a job at the end of the day. Then it will be time to BOUGE. or just relax and enjoy my unemployment. </div><div><br /></div><div>(written ?? published Feb)</div><div> </div><div><br /><br /></div>Locohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7938398432732979020.post-63382708886997475672009-12-11T00:24:00.005-05:002009-12-11T00:53:03.216-05:00blue (balls) for christmasso here's my bi-annual(?) burlesque money shot. balls in. <br />You know, to keep <a href="http://checkdumonde.blogspot.com/2009/08/rehearsal.html">tradition</a> alive.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5aS9R6pZgJ9brYZmtDXc8Ohp2CkHP6MWQIFf5-N1bptmthWzuK1uFQFzfjQnwsN0KI7y73IeXimjNCDIbL8aq4_-6GcEedfCQDhwumRI2pW1tv5JwFaDG1I5rHwtvdARH2fqlgNRIrw/s1600-h/Photo+83.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5aS9R6pZgJ9brYZmtDXc8Ohp2CkHP6MWQIFf5-N1bptmthWzuK1uFQFzfjQnwsN0KI7y73IeXimjNCDIbL8aq4_-6GcEedfCQDhwumRI2pW1tv5JwFaDG1I5rHwtvdARH2fqlgNRIrw/s400/Photo+83.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413851196534291794" /></a><br /><br />If you're in MTL show up to:<br /><br />TITS THE SEASON... to be naughty<br />Dec. 11 & 12! CAFE CLEOPATRE! 10 p.m.!<br />Tickets 10 or 8 with perishable food item. <br /><br />snowsuit to skivvies, LBLocohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13806703275033689848noreply@blogger.com0