/a place called home/

like ships and submarines

2006-11-06T02:16:00.000-08:00

I am unsure about this blog, and blogs in general. I am beginning to work on a book (yes, but don't ask about it...yet) and the blog feels fussy and unnecessary. Parenthetical, even. Trivial. I feel myself becoming less interested in sharing my writing this way. Maybe I am growing more internal or distrustful of this type of writing and its implications. Maybe I am a shrinking violet right now. Maybe I just done growed up.

The coming weeks and months will tell. I'll let her hang in space for a bit. To satiate potential desires until I decide, I give you a Joan Didion quote; her writing is the primary reason I feel this nagging desire to commit to a book, or at the very least to return to the real meat of writing, that thing that wakes you up at night with ideas and steals hours from your day. The obsessiveness of craft.

That last bit sounds awfully pretentious, or nerdy, or self-involved, or a combination therein. Ah well. If this is to be the end of the blog, might as well indulge in some of that (I'd not be a true blogger if I didn't).

Ahem. The (apropos) quote. Miss Didion, if you please:

"We are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4am of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget."

all is fair in love and MMRs

2006-10-06T12:16:00.000-07:00

Firstly, I must mention for a moment the amazing wonderfulness that is my lovely, gorgeous friend Tique's announcement that she is marrying her lovely, handsome boyfriend Quinn. I knew it was an eventuality, but her phone call (I was the first to find out) and the subsequent request that I be her maid of honour, came right at a time when I needed my self-pitying slate wiped clean. There's nothing like simple love and life doing their thing to wake you out of your stupor.

And yes, I cried like a big blubbery happy whale. I think it's the first time I've genuinely cried out of sheer joy since the first time I saw the Chili Peppers live.

I could go on and on about how wonderful this all is, but I should save some of the more potent thoughts and feelings for my official speech. I promise to post that on here after the fact (which will be sometime in the New Year). However, for now, I will just say that you know you're the maid of honour for the right person when you have a dialogue like the following:

Me: So when are you going to do it?
Tique: Around Christmas, I think. We're just going to have a party.
Me: You should sled into the altar.
Tique: Hmm. Maybe!
Me: What should I wear?
Tique: Whatever you want. Wear that green dress [a puffy 80s prom dress in forest green that I bought from a second hand store and used as a tinkerbell costume at summer camp. It magically fit whoever chose to wear it].
Me: Can I wear a Peter Pan costume?
Tique: Sure!

Needless to say, the deal is sealed. Sigh... I love love.

Here are this week's MMRs:

Monday: Patti Smith
Tuesday: Nope! Was in Vancouver!
Wednesday: TV on the Radio
Thursday: Veruca Salt
Friday: Me First and the Gimme Gimmes

AND last week's:

Monday: Nope! Was in Vancouver!
Tuesday: David Bowie
Wednesday: The Black Keys
Thursday: Nope! YouTube hated my guts!
Friday: Feist

my friday nights

2006-09-29T23:54:00.000-07:00

Courtesy the fine folks at toothpaste for dinner.

This week's MMRs

2006-09-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

Monday: Fiona Apple
Tuesday: Tegan and Sara
Wednedsday: Alice in Chains
Thursday: Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins
Friday: I Mother Earth

sometimes you have to steal ideas

2006-09-19T21:45:00.000-07:00

An idea that originated in my lovely friend Rachel: posting random song lyrics; leaving the explanation of their significance a secret.

When it's missing then you want it more
It isn't right
Turning turning out the door
And back to this
Leave it like it was before
And let me out
Must've been the end of the story

Giving it all
Giving it all away
You're going to wake up someone
Study it all
The wings, the crowd, your face
You’re going to end up like one

Trouble at home
Travel the way you say
The road don't like me
Travel the way
Travel it all the way
The road's going to end on me

Men, they like me
'Cause I'm a warrior
A warrior
Stand on my feet
Dance the warrior
The warrior
Where would I be?
I'd be a warrior
A warrior

Now the strangers have caught on
And they're riding in the back seat
The rivers going to wash all
Yeah, the river it spoke to me
It told me I’m small
And I swallowed it down
If I make it at all
I'll make you want me

Trouble at home
Travel the way you say
The road don't like me
Travel it all
Travel it all the way
The road's going to get on me

And I’m small
The road's going to get on me
If it gets it at all T
he road's going to end on me

Like a warrior
A warrior
Dance the warrior
The warrior

sometimes i think that i'm bigger than the sound

2006-09-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

Storias musicas da questa settimana, in italiano con inglese. Per divertimento!
This week's MMRs, in Italian with English subtitles. For fun!

Lunedi: Sarah Polley
Monday: Sarah Polley

Martedi: Hayden
Tuesday: Hayden

Mercoledi: Rogue Wave
Wednesday: Rogue Wave

Giovedi: Iggy Pop
Thursday: Iggy Pop

Venerdi: Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Friday: Yeah Yeah Yeahs

A schwack of MMRs

2006-09-12T12:28:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I sort of forgot about our deal--you know, the one where since I'm not really posting here because I'm posting there? How I'm supposed to provide links? Yeah. That deal. Anyway, here's the last bunch o' Morning Music Reports.

MMR #6: Giant Drag
MMR #7: Foo Fighters
MMR #8: Black Mountain
MMR #9: The Bens
MMR #10: Sarah Polley
MMR #11: Hayden

I'll try to be more conscientious from now on. Apologies and fruitflies.

about me: i have no morals and enjoy ambiguity...oh, and long walks on the beach

2006-09-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

My Personality


Neuroticism	20
Extraversion	80
Openness To Experience	93
Agreeableness	26
Conscientiousness	83

Test Yourself Compare Yourself View Full Report

MySpace Surveys, Bebo and MySpace Layouts by Pulseware Survey Software

Apparently I am the most open, least agreeable person around. Now I have an excuse for being crabby--I can just shout "I AM 84% OPPOSED TO BEING AGREEABLE TO YOU!!!"

Also, lower down on my results (the "breakdown" as it were) I see that I have 0% morals. I also have 0% modesty, which gives "open" a whole new meaning.

This is interesting: "You feel superior to those around you and sometimes tend to be seen as arrogant by other people. You are tenderhearted and compassionate, feeling the pain of others vicariously and are easily moved to pity."

FINALLY. The worthless, filthy masses understand me. Aww, poor masses. You're so worthless. I'm sorry you're dirty. And worthless. I wish you could be awesome like me.

Other interesting facts about me:

"People see you as tough, critical, and uncompromising and you have less concern with others' needs than with your own."

"You like to speak out, take charge, and direct the activities of others."

"Often you exhibit a readiness to challenge authority, convention, and traditional values. Sometimes you feel a certain degree of hostility toward rules and perhaps even enjoy ambiguity."

"You often have a strong sense of direction in life, but may sometimes be too single-minded and obsessed with your work."

This quiz knows me like no other. Good thing I don't trust new relationships easily, or else I might want to marry it.

Morning Music Report #5

2006-08-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

Happy 19th Birthday to my sister, Callie! The above picture is a projection of us in 70 years. I'm the cute one.

And now, a present for all of you on her behalf, and in the theme of families:

Morning Music Report #5: Martha Wainwright.

Exeunt! (Totally catching on.)

why the burnsinator isn't allowed to leave the country ever again

2006-08-28T14:15:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of MSN:

arctic bear [rachel] says:
fucking hipness. it's so fucking difficult

feed me, seymour [me] says:
yeah, i stopped trying

feed me, seymour says:
which makes me hipper, i guess

arctic bear says:
i just want to live the life of a grandmother

arctic bear says:
oh for sure.

arctic bear says:
haha

feed me, seymour says:
but now i acknowledged that, which means i'm not hip anymore

arctic bear says:
yes exactly

arctic bear says:
i love you because you understand

feed me, seymour says:
ooh, except i acknowledged my acknowledgement.

feed me, seymour says:
so maybe i still am!

arctic bear says:
yes, self-referential referential irony is hip

feed me, seymour says:
i hate to break it to you, but wanting to live the life of a grandmother is hip.

arctic bear says:
sigh.

feed me, seymour says:
i loved this conversation. i'm going to post it on my blog

arctic bear says:
i know, i wanted giant grandma glasses but then i realized that it was hip to be square.

feed me, seymour says:
which means, of course, that once it's posted it will be uber hip because i acknowledged the posting beforehand

feed me, seymour says:
hehehe

arctic bear says:
so then i wanted really ugly crazy glasses, but it's hip to be ugly

feed me, seymour says:
true

arctic bear says:
hahah

feed me, seymour says:
WE CAN'T HELP BUT BE HIP

feed me, seymour says:
IT MAKES ME SHOUT

arctic bear says:
so then i figured the only thing left was to get classically understaed hip glasses - modern and expensive, muted colours with a hint of sass. minorly stylish but not screaming, not too full of flare, but not really making a statement. it was exhasuting.

arctic bear says:
HA it's in the blood man.

feed me, seymour says:
well, i'm glad the glasses thing worked out.

arctic bear says:
haha.

arctic bear says:
thanks man.

eff technology

2006-08-28T11:34:00.000-07:00

As you can see, the first two MMRs (what the hip kids are calling the Morning Music Report) are up here, with clever links to the Off-Centre Blog. Fine! Dandy!

No! Problem being that as I create the MMRs on the OC Blog, I have to do a YouTube downloader thingy and jam the whoosit to the whatsit and la di dah, la di dah, la la.

Short version of this is: it's a pain in the ass to do the double posting thing, because I have to repost the YouTube things and pictures and redo formatting and shite, unless I do the Html version...which I tried and it keeps telling me it can't post because I missed a piece of code somewhere.

I swear I didn't, but it won't listen. It's like that time in grade four when my teacher, Mr. Anderson, thought I was talking during a test and made me write out "I will not talk in class" 100 times over the weekend. This happened to be a Dad Weekend so I got in major shit when he saw me writing the lines. TO THIS DAY I maintain that that was not me talking during a test. Firstly, I was too goody goody to do that; and secondly, Mr. Anderson was from the same wrathful mindset as my father...why would I tempt that? If I ever see Mr. Anderson, I will tell him he scarred me for life (not to mention the time he told us that the girls "couldn't do math as well" as the boys).

On the other hand, if I ever see Mr. Misura again (grade 5, 6) I will tell him how much I love him and want to have babies with his twin sons, who are younger versions of him...I think he was half-Japanese or something.

Goddamn you half-Japanese teachers, you do it to me every time.

ANYWAY--I'm only going to post links to the Morning Music Report from now on, because it pisses me off.

MMR #3: Neko Case
MMR #4: Wilco

Exeunt! *

* This is how scenes end in Shakespeare. I think I'm going to start saying that when I leave the room.

Morning Music Report #2

2006-08-24T13:43:00.000-07:00

Lovingly cross-posted to off-centre ::online::

This past weekend, Off-Centre travelled to the Salmon Arm Roots and Blues Festival. There were many, many hippies dancing in sprinklers. There was also a smoky sexiness in the air emanating from the forest fires down south and from our man...sigh...Hawksley Workman.
Seeing him in the flesh (for a paltry second time in four years) made me very excited, and though he was forced to play a solo set, his band being stuck in Ontario for various stressful reasons, his Hawksley-ness shone through. What a pro! Is it gross to say I love him now more than ever?

In addition to playing various amazing songs from his repetoire, he also partially-covered a Hip song (between verses of one of his own...I was too spellbound at the time to write any of this down) and even threw out a little "Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak.

[UPDATE: Thanks to YouTube, I've discovered it was probably "Anger as Beauty" with "Blow at High Dough" woven in, as that's what's floating out there from previous folk fests he played this summer.]

Side note: I've seen/heard a few bands cover this song in the past little while...do they send each other memos, or is it just cosmic? This song, along with Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy," are probably the two most-covered tunes I've heard in the last little while.

This morning for your viewing pleasure I present what may be one of Hawksley's most accessible and joyful songs. It's also one of my favourite videos because it seems to be so in touch with the song and the artist. I love it when that happens--when music videos are like little movies unto themselves.

Just watching Hawksley stand on that upturned piano or lust after that accordion makes my day. And yours! Enjoy!

And if you want to hear Hawksley (and me) on Off-Centre Radio, click HERE!

Morning Music Report #1

2006-08-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

Lovingly cross-posted to off-centre ::online::

Chad Vangaalen is a Calgarian. We forgive him this because he's also an amazing musician whose dreamy and catchy songs are quickly finding a home in my head. Today, he releases his second album, Skelliconnection, with Flemish Eye Records (SubPop in the states). Everyone should go out and find this album, and his first, Infiniheart.

Aside from the music, and an obvious affinity for creating titles out of combined words, Chad is also an animator. Above is his new video, for "Flower Gardens," animated by...yep. Chad Vangaalen.

Put your psychedelic glasses on and enjoy!

Choice Cut: Chad Vangaalen - Clinically Dead (from Infiniheart)

mo' money, mo' blog-lems

2006-08-23T09:59:00.000-07:00

So now I get paid to blog as part of my job with Off-Centre. This means that, sadly, I will probably not be posting as much on here. I've made it my mission to do a morning music report on the OC blog every day, and therefore a lot of my blog-juice will be squeezed out by noon.

However, as a service to you, I present both the LINKY to my other blog (there are a lot of other great contributors, too, so look forward to that), which will also live in the links to your right, and a promise to cross-post my morning music report to this blog too.

This means that you'll get lots of blog-lovin', should you choose to receive it.

First Morning Music Report to follow!

morning glory

2006-08-10T08:53:00.000-07:00

Today I came to work one hour early, at 8am instead of 9 (which, if you know me, is quite the feat on my part). I did this because my boss's father-in-law was stopping in at our office before heading to the airport to travel back to the coast, and I wanted to meet him.

His name is Patrick Lane.

He is one of the only Canadian poets that I care about.

Strike that--he is one of the only poets, period, that I care about.

And remember when I got in that huge fight with my poetry class about things written on this very blog? Well, my anger in that case was based on a few things, but had risen to a crescendo based on one of Patrick's poems, which I defended and my class attacked (in the poem the young poet is forced to step on a dying kitten's head by his uncle to "put it out of its misery"; my classmates called this violence "unbelievable," stating that no one would ever force someone to do something like that. I replied, "You didn't grow up in the interior of BC").

Well...I just told Patrick that story. His response?

"Good for you."

Ahhh. 9am, and all is well.

one for every occasion

2006-08-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

New look number three? Four? You like? It seems suitable to alter the appearance of this thing when my outlook is altered; lately my outlook has taken the form of what I see when I look out (ah ha!) my window as well as what I see when I look in my head (not easy when you have poor depth perception..ba dum dum chh!) And since I live in the sunny Okanagan and my window looks out on general greenery then voila. New look number three. Four?

Most of my blogging friends and foe have gone AWOL in recent months, probably because they're outside or don't have things to write about when they sit down at the 'puter. I join them in a general sense: I think about writing a lot, but instead I just keep thinking. It's my summer and I'll introvert if I want to. Introvert if I want to. Introvert if I want to.

You would introvert too, if it happened to you! Duh duh duh duh duh!

What is it? What happened? I dunno, lots of stuff I guess. Ups and downs, health-wise and other-. Getting up on the scene again, now, but I'm still thinking dubiously about the near future. I want to be doing what I'm doing, but I want to be elsewhere, as well. Pull me like Stretch Armstrong. I stay here but my limbs are in:

-Vancouver
-Jaffray
-New York
-Chicago (just this weekend; Lollapalooza, you know)

....respectively. And I am a spoiled brat because theoretically, and without much to-do, I could be in anyone of these places in a day or less. But I don't wanna visit. I want to live there. I want to live here, too, mainly because I know I'm a hot commodity around here (like Asbestos in Drummondville...Cross Country Canada, wut?!), and who doesn't want to be wanted?

No one, that's who.

I'm also rather enjoying the weather; my car and freedom said wheely fast thing brings (though I still feel bad about pollution and dream of the Wrath of Khan, and by Khan I mean Al Gore/ David Suzuki, and by Wrath I mean Eco-Wrath) ; the general attention I get from men, generally, though I wish it were more specific and more appreciated by moi (what gives, vagina?); my family and their generosity; Turner Classic Movies (Bogey! Bacall!); and my job (cool office! rock and/or roll music!).

But yeah. Being elsewhere would be cool too. But that's me--Stretch Armstrong. I wish I could get used to this toybox so I could be forgotten and my corn starch-stretchiness left to dry and harden and find comfort in being un-stretchy. Just for a bit.

Speaking of stretchy--check out that metaphor!

today i am 16.

2006-07-06T14:45:00.000-07:00

Hello friends.

Things are humming along. I'm getting settled in Vernon, I start my job full-time on the 10th, and I am shortly driving from here to Vancouver (no small feat for someone who just started driving again after a solid six year absence). In the fashion of one who has had a lot happening in a short time and is lazy about updates, here's a list of things that are going on:

1) I bought a car. His name is Wally the Wave, and he's a 2006 Pontiac. He was cheap. I don't have to pay for him until September because of a grad deal thingy. He's essentially a glorified tin can on wheels. Hooray!

2) I got a grant for full time work for a year. What does this mean? Well...essentially I get paid full-time wages to interview bands, go to shows, do radio stuff and make funny TV. Hooray!

3) I'm going to Vancouver next week for a writing seminar thing (paid for by work!), to interview bands at the Folk Fest, and to hang out with friends and have good times. If you're one of those Vancouver friends, I'll see you soon! Hooray!

4) Today I slept til 1pm because I stayed up late to watch weird 70s Cassavetes movies on the Turner Classic Movies channel (heaven...heaven!) and decided to hang on an extra hour to watch the sunrise while I can still do things like that. Now I am watching skateboarding and inline skating championships on OLN in my robe, which makes this afternoon not unlike many I spent in high school. Hooray!

5) This weekend I'm going to Wakefest in Kelowna to watch Sam Roberts and Metric play. I wrangled free passes through work. Hooray!

6) This summer there are mammoth amounts of festivals within driving distance with performers such as Hawksley Workman, Neko Case, Feist and Kinnie Starr. Hooray!

7) I have found the new god of celebrity blogging, and his name is Kevin Smith. No one waxes poetic about booger picking and anal sex like my man KS. (PS: Clerks II in two weeks!)

8) I'm redesigning this beast with the help of my dear friend Katy. Coming soon!

9) If you want to see what I'm doing over here, check this link (she's a PDF, so you need Adobe Reader). It's also worth checking out the general site, and my first radio show (link on main page, don't mind the sound quality).

10) Ten things seems more appropriate than nine, don't you think?

So that's me right now. Adapting, enjoying, working. Hooray!

"this summer" by hayden

2006-06-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

Hey kids. I'm in Vernon now. I meet with my boss and go car hunting tomorrow. I'd rather not buy a car but them's the breaks around these here parts. I'm trying to make it an adventure and trying to not be scared of debt and/or crashing because I suck terribly.

The last week or so has been a whirlwind of the rewarding sort--I've done improv (at the Vancouver International Improv Fest) that safely ranks up there with the best I've ever done in my life and had enough people there to see it to feel proud and rewarded. Louie is a great scene partner, and the work I did in New York in that regard has really started to shine through. I'm glad I took a formal stance on this crazy artform but I'm also glad that I'm still sort of rough around the edges improv-wise. Glad glad.

I also saw others do amazing work at the festival and at an awesome free comedy show with Zach Galifinaikis as the headliner. I have great, talented friends and am proud to call Vancouver one of my myriad homes.

To come: learning the ins and outs of rock writing in the Okanagan; picking up boys in my hot car-to-be; enjoying the sunshine and company of great family, who I am proud to say are also friends; trying to establish myself as a teacher of improv to the young Vernon masses; creating a new blog-look for my new life; taking frequent trips to Vancouver and homeward; trying to write good work that I'm proud of for a variety of sources; making lists.

Stay tuned!

silver distinction!

2006-06-10T10:09:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone,

I'm in Vancouver rather enjoying myself and doing my part for Canadian comedy at the Vancouver International Improv Festival (for those of you who wish to see me perform, I'm on at 10pm tonight, Saturday June 10th, Performance Works, Granville Island).

I also wanted to let those of you who were aware that I was nominated for a National Magazine Award in the Personal Journalism category (scroll down) to know that I won the Silver Honours (Gold went to the very deserving late Bill Cameron for his final essay ever published; can't really argue with that).

So hooray for improv and writing. Essentially, hooray for life: those two things are what I live for.

so long, soggy

2006-06-03T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's 3 am (I must be lonely, says Rob Thomas). I have decided to stay up because my flight leaves at 8 am, which means I have to be at the airport at 6, which means I have to leave here at 5. Which means waking up at 4. Which I don't do. So I'm staying up instead.

My friend Alison from Spin was lovely enough to give me a room and an air mattress in her former abode for the last few days in the city, all of which have been either oppressively muggy or violently rainy (have you ever had rain bruise you? I can say now that I have). Consequently I've been largely hiding out in this room on this air mattress, surfacing only for food and air and due to the intense boredom that comes when you've mentally shut the door on a place and time, as I have with New York.

Not permanently, I feel, but for now. Which I'm very happy about. I feel like I have things to do elsewhere for awhile, and that I have a basis for which to spend time in this strange, beautiful place later on. I'd love to come back here hand in hand with someone, someday. It's definitely a city for lovers. I think that would be neato.

I saw my first real cockroach tonight (Katy and I saw a tiny one on the steps going down into the subway, and I wouldn't even have noticed if she hadn't pointed it out). We had a prolonged discussion about how they're not as big as people say. WRONG. They are, just not when they feed on whatever is down in the subway. These fat Chelsea-born bastards are huge. This one was the size of three toonies end to end. I had to rinse of my shoe afterwards.

Yeah, I killed it. That's right. They call me The Cockroacher.

So, uh. How are you? Things good? That's good. I still have two hours until I get picked up to go to the airport. I'm totally bored. I passed some time watching the film The Professional, which I borrowed from Alison's roomie. Great film. I love hitmen. Similar to heist films, they make me desire criminal instincts. I wish I could be so skilled at wiping people off the face of the earth. I recommend it.

...

Um.

Waiting sucks, doesn't it? I have a pretty short attention span when it comes to waiting. I like GOING. Going gone and getting. Getting there. Man.

I turn into a shitty beat poet when I'm bored. Finger snap. Black beret. Turtle neck.

There. Man.

Not. Yet.

things i will miss about new york, volume 2

2006-05-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

Last night one of my heroes told me, albeit a bit drunkenly, that I'm a great journalist, and that I can think outside the box. In fact, he told me that I think outside the box in such a manner that the box has become a rhombus.

I am capable of altering shapes. With my thinking.

I am obviously a mutant. I rule.

for you, on this memorial day weekend

2006-05-28T11:27:00.000-07:00

I missed Victoria Day, the birthday of my beloved country's Queen, for whom there is named an underwear store (Queeny loved water bras). This weekend, however, is the US equivalent, aka Memorial Day. It's for soldiers or some shit.

In hono(u)r of this glorious holiday, and my last week as a US citizen, I present to you a fine YouTube video:

You shall laugh and laugh! Enjoy.

smart people in love

2006-05-18T19:13:00.000-07:00

I must speak for a moment about the catharsis that comes when two of your favourite television characters finally do the deed.

I am speaking of course, of Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle, who are finally FINALLY together after nearly six seasons of tension, oh tension. At least, it would appear that they are together. He was lounging in a casual shirt on a bed, and she came in in a robe. If I know anything from 1940s film, that means they totally GOT IT ON. CSI is so classy. I love it.

Thank god. I felt so happy about it that I actually pumped my fist in the air and said "YES!" I was alone in my room when I did this; I feel no shame about it.

And, happiness cemented, I got up and decided to write this here blog entry about it. That's a lot of happy. I mean, I have been happy about many things and not chosen to write about them. But this is an occasion for writing because, as Grissom would say (were he and I colleagues, as I imagine us to be...I am a sassy, tomboyishly cute female autopsy technician who specialises in organ failure...Greg and I fall in love and have MANY MANY BABIES)...as Grissom would say, "there is a pattern here, and we should investigate it."

The pattern is this: I fall hard for smart, dedicated people who fall in love because of a shared passion for their (common) work...and then proceed to play out a dramatic game of sexual tension over the course of many years. It doesn't happen often in television (cinema is too condensed) but when I think about some of the shows I've had huge boners for, there is a definite pattern of smart people in love.

Like so:

Star Trek: The Next Generation
Players: Picard and Dr. Crusher. Riker and Deanna. Worf and Deanna. Data and Tasha Yar (android love!)
Game: Commitment to the laws and ethics of the United Federation of Planets; adherence to the Prime Directive; living and loving in the halls and quarters of the Enterprise (especially that fantasy realm known as the Holodeck).

X-Files
Players: Mulder and Scully.
Game: Investigating extraterrestrial and outlandish FBI cases, otherwise known as the X-Files; heavy flirtation written into witty banter; several near sexings masked by ET circs (that's what we call circumstances in the biz).

and, of course:

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Players: Grissom and Sara. Warrick and Catherine (no consummation, unfortunately). Greg and Sara (never went anywhere). Greg and Morgan, the sassy autopsy technician (this is in the future and my mind only).
Game: Investigating crime scenes and outlandish deaths; heavy fliration written into witty banter; commitment to the law and ethics of the crime lab; commitment to evidence gathering and letting the evidence speak to you without presumption; several near sexings halted by commitment to job.

But tonight, catharsis. Lovely, lovely catharsis. However, this kind of satisfaction usually only occurs in the autumn years of a television program, which makes me a bit sad. As endings do.

And because it cannot end until Greg and Morgan get married and have BABIES BABIES BABIES! Which means at least another solid season of heavy flirtation around dead bodies. And that means I need to learn how to act and get hired by CBS.

Totally happening.

Sigh. I heart CSI.

a tale of two annies, or, uttered brillancies

2006-05-14T12:08:00.000-07:00

How Annie Hardy, diminuitive and cutesy-voiced yet filthy mouthed and brash singer of Giant Drag, introduced the band's cover of Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game" last night (paraphrased):

"I had my first boyfriend at 8 years old. His name was Chris and he was 24 years my senior. I wrote a song for him, and then once when I turned on the TV he was singing my song and rolling around in the sand with some slut. Now I am 24, and this is me reclaiming that song."

And then after:

"Eight years is too young for a broken heart. Or a broken hymen."

And this is how Annie Proulx sums up the emotional climax of her main character in The Shipping News:

"Quoyle experienced moments in all colors, uttered brilliancies, paid attention to the rich sound of waves counting stones, he laughed and wept, noticed sunsets, heard music in the rain, said I do. A row of shining hubcaps on sticks appeared in the front yard of the Burkes' house. A wedding present from the bride's father."

things i will miss about new york, volume 1

2006-05-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

So. I'd been hearing a lot about this band Giant Drag, from people at that magazine I work for, from the magazine itself, and from various hip outlets. I sorta glazed over until I heard they did a cover of Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game," which I of course needed to hear immediately.

And it's golden honey in music form.

So I download a bunch more stuff. More honey.

And I thinks to myself, I thinks, "gee, I wonder if this band is coming to New York before I leave."

So I check. They are playing a show with Pretty Girls Make Graves THIS SATURDAY.

So I email that magazine and ask if anyone's going. No one is, but my nice boss proceeds to get me two free tickets to see them.

And the time it took for this entire enterprise? Somewhere around 18 hours.

PS: GD also do an entirely serviceable "God Only Knows," which has become one of my new favourite songs due to its appearance in the opening credits of Big Love.

ode to joy

2006-05-11T22:55:00.000-07:00

There is rain rain rain
not like usual, but like
real showers sheets buckets
the sudden blast of it
mid-stride
1 am Christopher Street makes

a couple huddle
say "hoo, look"

and me: I stop rapt
and let the wet shine on my bare arms

for a bit

just long enough to hear the quiet
that rain affords

not a peep in Manhattan

Music game, revealed!

2006-05-05T18:51:00.000-07:00

So here's what you semi-got, or didn't get at all:

1. Johnny Cash and June Carter - "'Cause I Love You"
3. Aimee Mann - "That's How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart"
4. Lauryn Hill - "I Remember"
5. Stars - "Set Yourself on Fire"
6. Hawksley Workman - "Rain"
8. Beck - "Ramshackle"
9. Aerosmith - "Young Lust"
10. Hawksley Workman - "Little Tragedies"
13. I...uhhh...can't remember which song this is. I lost the list.
14. PJ Harvey - "The Wind"
16. Red Hot Chili Peppers - "They're Red Hot" (Technically Jen was right about this one, it's Robert Johnson originally, but my version is RHCP)
20. Nirvana - "Oh, Me"
22. Propellerheads feat. Miss Shirley Bassey - "History Repeating"
23. Tegan and Sara - "Days and Days"
24. Franz Ferdinand - "You Could Have It So Much Better"
29. Beth Orton - "God Song"
30. Eagles of Death Metal - "I Only Want You"

Music game! Hooray!

2006-04-25T19:02:00.000-07:00

A fun game stolen from Katy via Larissa.

Step 1: Put your MP3 player or whatever on random.
Step 2: Post the first line(s) from the first 30 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Bold out the songs when someone guesses correctly.
Step 5: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
____________

1. "I'll sweep out your chimney, yes and/I will bring you flowers, yes and/I will do for you most anything you want me to"

2. "She should have stayed away from friends/she should have had more time to spend/she should have died when she was born/she should have worn a crown of thorns" Nirvana - Been a Son

3. "I drew a picture of you/you and your anchor tattoo/and saw the face that I knew/covered in shame"

4. "I remember/when you looked into my eyes/you saw right through me/and I could not hide"

5. "In a village in the hills/house buried to the windowsills in snow/In a prison yard at night/An Alsatian barking for the stars to go"

6. "Rain, rain/ falling is the only thing you ever do/you're getting pretty good/you're getting pretty good at it"

7. "One more astronaut/in a black-skinned universe/one more travellin' man with/heavy tired eyes and feelin' cold/ Feelin' old" One More Astronaut - I Mother Earth (good one, Quinn)

8. "You've been so long/your blind eyes are gone/your old bones are on their own"

9. "Young lust/ happy just to be in lust/never gonna eat no dust/everybody talkin' 'bout"

10. "You bought a gun 'cause you thought I wouldn't listen/to your mouthful of nails shining like the afternoon/sha la la la"

11. "There was a time/when I was so broken-hearted/love wasn't much of a friend of mine" Aerosmith - "Cryin'"

12. "You wanna make me sick/you wanna lick my wounds/dontcha baby?" Fiona Apple - Limp

13. "Summer comes and rain falls away/the very next day, it seems/snow comes to stay"

14. "Catherine liked high places/high up/ high up in the hills/a place for making noises/like whales/noises like the whales" Right artist, but what title, Rachie?

15. "Let us burn one, from end to end/and pass it over to me my friend" Ben Harper - Burn One Down

16. "Hot tamales and they're red hot/yes, she got em for sale"

17. "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical/ naked" Howl - Allen Ginsberg (yes, mp3s count)

18. "Turn yourself around/you weren't invited/turn yourself around/you weren't invited" Honey Bear - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

19. "I'll fake it through the day/with some help from Johnny Walker Red" Miss Misery - Elliott Smith

20. "If I had to lose a mile/if I had to touch feelings/I would lose my soul/the way I do"

21. "I drink good coffee every mornin'/comes from a place that's far away/and when I'm done I feel like talkin'/but without you here there is less to say"

22. "The word is about, there's something evolving/whatever may come, the world keeps revolving" Nope, Trevor...sorry

23. "It must be something in the way you move/it must be something in the way you look/I'm not sure just yet"

24. "The last message you sent said 'you looked really down/and you oughta come over and talk about it'"

25. "Love of mine, someday you will die/and I'll follow close behind" Death Cab For Cutie - I Will Follow You Into the Dark

26. "Johnny's in America, low-tech's at the wheel/no one needs anyone, they don't even just pretend" David Bowie - I'm Afraid of Americans

27. "Red wine and sleeping pills/help me get back to your arms" Radiohead - Motion Picture Soundtrack

28. "I'm caught between country roads and cold concrete/it's a picture worth a thousand words /incomplete sentence fragments in my mind/watching my life slippin' on down" Alma - "The River"

29. "My house was built for lovin', not a theatre of war/I take the poison for the cure"

30. "When I feel like I get too close, I put you right down/I never really leave, I just slip away"

welcome to the hive

2006-04-22T17:14:00.000-07:00

I'm incredibly busy making things roll along into the near future. Real post soon-ish.

In the meantime, here's a few rad (mostly context-free and Canadian-spelled!) quotes from this book I'm hoovering called Hip: The History, by John Leland.

"Hip is a culture of the young because they have the least investment in the status quo."

"Words didn't mean one thing or another; they meant what their speaker said they did. This process, which seperates words from things, is the beginning of irony and humour."

"[Elvis] Presley's record, besides launching his career, looked forward to the modern world as we know it: the outrageous commerce in celebrity and image; the movement of sex from private to public commodity; the explicit play of white and black music; the question of theft."

"The fibs of history are those told by the winners."

"This is how hip works, attaching stories to one thing and not another--usually in accord with unseen needs of the economy."

"[William S. Burroughs']ahistoric voice, shorn of absolutes, indulges contradiction. The American present, heedless of cause or effect, became the tense of hip."

"Like hip, ads celebrated the aura around the product, not the thing itself."

And my two personal favourites:

"Nearly a century later, if you compare the bombs dropped over Europe with the beats dropped in New Orleans or Chicago, it would be hard to tell from today's society which was the diversion and which the main event."

"Any tradition that romanticizes a man for killing his wife in a drunken game of William Tell will never be exactly correct on the Woman Question."

There's also an amazing chapter on the Beats that I could quote in its entirety. Read the damn book, already.

See you soon!

movin' and thinkin'

2006-03-31T13:49:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting on the floor of my cleaned-out room in Bed-Stuy enjoying the afternoon sunlight and relaxing, and waiting for my landlady to show up to give me my deposit back so I can go to my new home in Greenwich Village. And I'm listening to music (the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album is UNREAL, but that's a whole other post to itself that I will get to in the next few days). And I'm eating grapes. And I'm talking to friends on the net, and vaguely hearing the kids playing outside in the amazing weather, and knowing that I don't really have anywhere better to be. Except Greenwich Village, but I'll be there soon enough.

In essence, I'm in a moment and realizing I'm in it, and enjoying it. This may seem extremely simple, but I don't do this. I'm always waiting for the next thing to come along to distract me. It's not often that I allow myself to languish in a period of stand-still. It's not often that I'm not striving.

A revelation of sorts: I think this mindspace is the one in which I'm able to write. So maybe this is a lesson that I should learn. Maybe this is why many writers become more prolific as they age; more time to sit with your thoughts, and be comfortable doing so.

Something to think about, anyway. At least, until the next distraction comes along.

me heart brooklyn

2006-03-27T19:10:00.000-08:00

There's a coffee shop in Park Slope, Brooklyn called Gorilla Coffee, and they sell mugs that look like the ones you can buy all over Manhattan with a skyline and "I (L) NY" on it, but instead they're the Brooklyn Skyline and the gorilla face with "Me (L) Brooklyn" on them. They're $15 which is ABSOLUTELY the only reason I haven't bought one yet. But after today I may have to.

This coming weekend I'm moving into Manhattan (Greenwich Village to be exact) which is a very fortunate thing, indeed; however, I have realized that I will miss Brooklyn. Not Bed-Stuy, that's certain, but the good-parts-version of my Brooklyn Tale. As in, Park Slope and area.

I could keep pontificating about how much I love Park Slope, but instead, here are some photos! PS: I am a terrible photographer, because I shake constantly (thanks, genetics!). A few of them are actually from my neighbourhood here in Bed-Stuy. No one's arguing that Bed-Stuy has beautiful buildings, and a certain neighbourly charm. But you can only be sexually propositioned (with a hint of malice) by a man with a grill so many times, kids.

The other day I was called "Lovejuice." Which is, of course, my new hip hop persona. How'd that guy know? Lovejuice's Gettin' It in the Ghetto drops this fall. On Def Jam.

little miss lover

2006-03-22T19:17:00.000-08:00

Thank the gods of funk for the iTunes store...

For, without it, there wouldn't be THE ENTIRE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS RECORDINGS INCLUDING BONUS TRACKS AND VIDEOS AT MY HOT LITTLE FINGIE TIPS.

And I would also not know that Kiefer Sutherland is a Humble Pie fan, which makes sense in a nexus-of-the-universe kind of way.

I'm going to go out on a complete limb here and assume that Kiedis/Flea/Frusciante/Smith did this as a birthday present pour moi.

Thanks guys. See you in May.

making writing

2006-03-17T21:00:00.000-08:00

My brain is buzzing at a higher frequency of late, and I feel sharper and more productive (in both writing and planning of future writing) in my every day life. New York is certainly an inspiration, but in a sideways sort of way. Being here for this amount of time allows for comparison to what I know and love about Vancouver, BC and Canada, and the music and things people find interesting in each place. This in turn makes my brain formulate the reasons WHY...why this is different; why this the same.

In short, being here has made me understand there better. A completely simple concept that requires removing yourself from everything you've grown accustomed to to understand. One of those rare things that is hard in theory and simple in practice, rather than the reverse. And I'm eager to get back there so I can say "hey, look, this is what I've learned! About music, love, human nature...crisis management...mob mentality...pop culture...the way we pronounce vowels..." and so on. And then when I've wrung all of that out of my life's proverbial wet towel, I can go away and do it again.

And thus my life and writing activites are planned ad infinitum. Good for me.

And on that note, I've created the second of my ongoing podcasts, an experiment in thinking and talking about BC and BC music. The first episode is sort of embarassing (a "pilot" if you will; it was created specifically to show my future employer what I'm like in the vocal sense) but the second is much more what I was picturing, specifically the second half.

Super, Natural British Columbia. In radio form.

I've also been doing improv a bit, just enough to feel that it's valuable, but not so much that I feel like my edges are dulled by it (a problem I have with improv when I do it too much, or do too much of the same kind of performance). Louie and are doing a show on Sunday. Our team is called Buckshot N Benny, based upon the adventures of The Buckshot Show, a very specific children's show out of Calgary. You can see its delightful cast in the above picture. Hoorah.

Also, it's Springtime here. And my birthday in three days. Cue "Here Comes the Sun."

je suis un online exclusive!

2006-03-02T16:52:00.000-08:00

Part One of the things that are happening:

http://www.spin.com/features/exclusives/2006/03/060302_vancouver/

Hooray for online exclusives! Written by me!

cop it out

2006-03-01T19:34:00.000-08:00

Hi. Lots of things are happening but they are whirling in a centrifuge like so much collected blood, so I will fill you in when the white cells seperate from the plasma.

I watch CSI. A LOT.

Until then, I want all of you, my smart and interesting peers, to tell me which book I should read next. Lessshearit.

Pssst: Everyone should read Wicked by Gregory Maguire. Yes it was made into a FABULOUSO Broadway play. Yes the book is very different, and also fabulouso. Have fun!

The Proust Questionnaire

2006-02-20T20:01:00.000-08:00

My mom and I have been avid readers of Vanity Fair since I was very little--much too little, certainly, to know about half of the high-society shit/people/places that they talk about; that much is obvious, since I still don't know half of it, except, perhaps, the places, but that's now only because I live near them. Commas!

Well, my lovely visiting friend Jordan (now gone back to Vancouver, pictures to follow) bought me the Hollywood issue with Scarlett's butt on it for Valentine's Day. Aside from being the best gift ever (Scarlett's butt especially) it was nice to read Vanity Fair again. And on that note...

I have always loved the Proust Questionnaire, on the back page. It always asks the same questions, and they are remarkably revealing and succinct questions. I shall answer them now. I recommend you do the same...I'm curious about you.

(These are the questions from the magazine, not the whole questionnaire that Proust first answered.)

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Sitting on a sunny hillside, feeling warm and in love with the world and comfortable in my skin, listening to a great band.

What is your greatest fear?
Setting myself up for failure and succeeding in the setup.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Frida Kahlo, without the bisexual tendencies.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
An overwhelming sense of guilt; specifically familial.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
The unwillingness to pursue what they most want.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Politeness, or by extension, "knowing your place."

On what occasion do you lie?
When the benefits outweigh the guilt.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My legs.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Dude, shit, indeed, for sure.

What is your greatest regret?
Not spending more one-on-one time with my dad.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
My dog Rufus (RIP Rufie).

When and where were you happiest?
At the Gorge in George Washington, seeing the Red Hot Chili Peppers on May 27, 1999.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
To not feel so guilty about things (not very exciting, I know, but true).

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
That they would attempt to understand each other better and to take the long view.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what would it be?
A hedonistic, blood-smeared rock star that lived fast and died young with no regrets.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?
A rich person's dog, but not a poodle or chihuahua.

What is your most treasured possession?
My computer, and more specifically the writing on it.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Being misunderstood to the point of hatred.

What is it that you most dislike?
Having to justify my actions to those whose opinions don't matter to me.

Who are your favorite writers?
Bangs, Kerouac, Ginsberg, Didion, Klosterman, Thompson, Capote, Kesey, Saramago, Dylan, Harvey (PJ), Kiedis/Frusciante/Flea/Smith...

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird, Inigo Montoya.

Who are your heroes in real life?
A bevy of strong women with real strength and real flaws: my mom being primary among them.

What are your favorite names?
Sofia, Ella, Elijah, Jack, Anthony, Hayden, Hunter, Olivia, Lucy, Nikolo, Henry...

How would you like to die?
Right after writing the last sentence of my great opus, after a well-lived and guilt-free life (notice the guilt motif?).

What is your motto?
"The ultimate sin of any performer is contempt for the audience" - Lester Bangs
or, conversely, "First star to the right and straight on til morning." - Peter Pan, as written by JM Barrie

dear canada: this is why i love you

2006-02-07T19:59:00.000-08:00

I miss my Canada.

TOP FIVE REASONS KAITLIN LOVES AND MISSES CANADA RIGHT NOW:

1. Gives props to its actors as "cultural activists" instead of plain ol' celebrities (Road to Avonlea, what?! [said like a hard-core rapper]).
2. Cares about protecting its rainforests.
3. Knows that all dogs go to heaven.
4. Nurtures its independent music.
5. Has the CBC.

oh, and...

5b. When its artists go broke, instead of doing reality shows, they make art.

Did I mention...

Road to Avonlea, what?! [said like a hard-core rapper]

the "end of the year list" wagon forgot to pick me up

2006-02-02T19:39:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone. This is me right at this very moment: sitting in the dark in my room, slightly drunk on wine (for FREE at a Spin event), listening to a San Diego radio station that I stumbled on while working at UBC (KBZT, best station ever), and thinking about music.

I have never really subscribed to the list-summation of my likes and dislikes in general--I find it sort of diminishing and inaccurate, for starters...there's much more to this, but whatever--however, I do like lists, and especially music lists in particular, should they be compiled by others. However, I'm in the mood for love. And since a month has passed since I moved to New York AND since 2005 ended (Happy Groundhog Day!) I feel now's a good time to sum up how I felt about music in 2005. In my own way, of course. Good for me.

KAITLIN'S TOP 5 ALBUMS RELEASED IN 2005:

5) Rufus Wainwright - Want Two [technically came out in late 2004]
I haven't spent a great deal of time with this record, but lately I've been really getting into it, especially "Old Whore's Diet" (greatest title ever)with Antony from Antony and the Johnsons, and "This Love Affair." Rufus's voice is reliably beautiful, and I can feel this growing on me like Poses did so many moons ago. Poses is still one of my favourite albums, so Rufus takes spot #5.

4) Beck - Guero
Beck's one of those people who improves in retrospect and as I get older, sort of like wine. This new album is very impressive, if only for it's cheeky Los Angeles flavour, Spanglish in tow.

3) Rogue Wave - Descended Like Vultures
I first learned about this band through my dear friend Kevin Lee, after we kicked some ass and took some names (notice I say some) at the UBC Improv tournie last year--that was their last record, Out of the Shadow. However, I think this second one is really a more impressive accomplishment--the songs are tighter and the overall feel is more cohesive. The song "You," in particular, has really roped me in lately.

2) Fiona Apple - Extraordinary Machine
Were this list the Most Important Albums Released in 2005, I would definitely have Ms. Apple at No. 1, but it's my faves so she's No. 2. She's the most important mainly for the fervour around her album's release, and for the fact that she essentially released TWO versions, one via the net (Jon Brion's version) and one via conventional means (Mike Elizondo's version). Follow that up with revealing interviews, especially in certain publications...which I may now work for...and this is incredible shit! SHE held the album back, not the label? She knew what was up and didn't say anything? Amazing. The album itself is pretty darn good, too.

AND please check out the video for "Not About Love" with Zach Galifinakis. Is Fiona advanced? I think she might be. If nothing else, at least we now know she laughs from time to time.

1) My Morning Jacket - Z
Good golly this is a great album. If you object to it because of some notion of "country music-ism" please go back and listen again, because you're not giving it enough room to breathe. This album is expansive and all-encompassing, and reliably a wonderful way to begin your day. It has that heart-opening, Coldplay-ish quality (yeah, I said it) without the predictable lyricism and comfortable blandness. Simply amazing. Please give it time to nest in your brain. You won't regret.

Hoorah! Enjoy these, and maybe more is to follow...

picture this the second

2006-01-30T20:47:00.000-08:00

Taken in the Bowery, New York, NY, January 2006.

picture this

2006-01-29T20:03:00.000-08:00

Taken on Bleecker Street, New York, NY, January 2006.

local girl makes good (fun)

2006-01-19T21:33:00.000-08:00

My "Lessons in New York Living" title was getting tedious, don't you think? I think.

Also, I find that pictures sometimes say so much. Especially when illustrating a story, or when you're lazy.

Here's a bit of both!

Ahem. While at work the other day, I heard the phone ring yonder, and then I heard Kyle (my boss) walking over to see me. He said "hey Kaitlin," which is usually what he says, then he said "I'm going to transfer a call to you" which is sometimes what he says. Then he said "it's the Fernie Free Press," which is something I was sure he would never say, lest worlds collide and my head implode, which is, contrary to popular belief, much messier than your head exploding.

So, I did an interview that I'm sure will be titled "Local Girl Makes Good in NYC." If it isn't I shall sue their very pants.

Also, to add embarassment to mild embarassment and a slightly nostalgic sense of snide (which can only be linked to memories of harassment at the hands of fellow classmates who would now read of my exploits and stew with small-town jealousy/resentment), the reporter wanted pictures.

So, here they are. Note the joint attempt by myself and Kyle to include "Diamond" David Lee Roth's g-string enshrined genitalia in the background (ps: his radio show is boring). Hey, the ladies of Fernie need something to look at, don't they? Also, please enjoy the shameless magazine plug (I won't say in which picture it occurs--it'll be like a game for you!)

lessons in new york living, volume 4: NY Confidential

2006-01-12T09:47:00.000-08:00

Okay, okay...jesus. Here's the thing, though. As a Spintern I signed a confidentiality thingy, so I can't really tell you what I do there or about what I'm researching or anything of that ilk. I intend to honour that. Part of the confidentiality thingy was very specific about not blogging about the experience, so don't be surprised if it doesn't come up that often.

I will tell you that I love it, that I feel very at home there, and that I'm going to work very hard for them.

I realize that's sort of boring, but I can't say much else without getting into specifics. It's a great place, just what I thought it would be, and I leave there feeling fulfilled and knowledgable about music.

Hooray!
Now, off for some shopping!

lessons in new york living, volume 3: spinning

2006-01-09T17:02:00.000-08:00

Okay, so tomorrow is my first day at Spin. I'm super psyched, and I'm getting tired, which is good, it means I may actually sleep before I have to get up and go there.

Lots of things have been going in the last few days: I went to a fun rock show with Louie starring under-17 bands of deliciousness (Pony, The Josef K, and Hysterics, if you're counting...this means you, Little); I saw CBGB; I went to an improv show and reignited my love for it (see www.magnettheater.com, I'm doing a show there in March!); I decided to move out, then decided to stay, then decided to move out again, and now have decided to stay again.

About that last one--New York makes you greedy. Greedy for experiences, for the good life, for money-spending endeavours in general; as soon as I saw Manhattan in all its glory I decided I must live there. This is a stupid idea. It's expensive. Once I made said decision, I started looking at where I was living through poo-coloured glasses, which is totally unfair. My neighbourhood is challenging, it's true. It's full of people who are nothing like me and who don't really want to have anything to do with me, but it's not a bad place. It's safe. It's family-based. It has a bad reputation held over from over ten years ago that made me question it. This reputation still applies in some senses, but in others its completely uncalled for.

So basically, I sucked it up and here I am. I have a nice room in a nice house with caring people who believe in a neighbourhood that's trying its damndest to turn itself around. That's really cool to see, and be a part of, no matter how small. Sure, I get a bit of a hard time, but in the past few days I've looked people right in the eye and communicated that this is my neighbourhood too, and I haven't heard a peep.

So there. All part of the adventure. So mama, don't worry about me. Your baby's trying new things--just like Big Bird says! She's happy, healthy, and going to bed soon so she can wake up refreshed and ready for her big job in the big city.

lessons in new york living, volume 2: new york looks like new york

2006-01-04T19:28:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I've been here for a few days. I'm still trying to navigate the subway and have been foiled by it on a few occasions. But I still love it. I also figured out that it sometimes likes to make a loud screechy noise, and those of you who know me know that I hate that sound of metal meeting metal. For some reason it hurts my teeth.

So as much as I love the subway I hate that sound. I have to clench my teeth when I hear it, and I can't understand how everyone around me, including old women and little babies, seem to be oblivious to it. The sound renders the subway the kind of friend you love because he's so interesting but sometimes he just grates you, you know? I believe New Yorkers have some sort of other sense...let's call it Spidey Sense, just because. Rather than their Spidey Sense being a heightened thing, however, it seems to dull them to the sheer loudness of their city. Spidey Un-sense? Spidey Nonsense?

Yes. Tomorrow I start one of two "promotional" (read: handing out flyers) jobs that I've secured via my dear friend Craigslist in the last few days. This one is a yoga place; apparently if I stick around long enough they'll give me free yoga lessons on top of my $10/hr fee. Watch me stick.

The other "promo" job is at The Improv, which most of you will know to be one of the most famous comedy clubs in the world; nevermind New York. Jerry Seinfeld started there, just for example. This one would appear to be rather lucrative if you play it right (the ad boasted some enormously ridiculous weekly pay if you're good, like $700 or something retarded like that. I think it was a lie, but I want to see what The Improv looks like inside, and I figure I can use my charm to leap the ranks.) I'll keep you posted, yo.

Other things...hmmm...the main branch of the Brooklyn Public Library may be my new favourite place to hang out. I'm such a nerd. I can't even sign out books yet (need some silly thing called "proof of address" that has so far prevented me from doing far too many things, like getting a bank account) and I still hung out there for like four hours. I read a Curious George book in Spanish. And, no, he's not called Jorge Curioso, but he should be. I'm with you there.

I also roamed the 60 block radius around Times Square the other day, and damn. That's all I can say, damn. I felt like I was in a movie. Radio City! Rockefeller Centre (including a ten minute attempt to distract the security guard into letting me upstairs into the gorgeousness that is NBC Studios 8...home of SNL and Conan)! Broadway! The big tree! Rows of shiny things! I could roam there forever. It totally appeals to the gawky kid in me. I am that kid, actually. Still.

And then I went to see The Producers movie in Loews Theatre (famous!) and it of course opens with a shot of the theatre district that I had just stood in. It nearly blew my fucking mind. New York is something I've seen so much in media form that to see it there up on the screen knowing that what was right outside my door was what I was I looking at...it's crazy. It's amazing. I love it. I heart New York.

Someone should make a T-shirt that says that. No? Well, it was worth a shot.

PS: Hey boys, I get checked out a lot here. I wouldn't say I have a type, but apparently I am a type. To a certain boy of medium height, nice dress (not yuppie), glasses, and dark hair, vaguely Jewish in facial structure, I am the shit. New York men are more forward about their gawking. They do the up-down-sideways-sex-look without blinking. Vancouver men...take note!

PPS: I also found the Spin office in a very inconspicuous building. There was someone coming out of the elevator; I had a mini-panic attack and ran around the corner. Dorkus.

lessons in new york living, volume 1: bed-stuy

2006-01-02T18:26:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone,

I'm good. Things are good. I like where I'm living and the people I'm living with. Everything and everyone are new, and every single person I've met has been nicer than anyone I'd met before them. It's quite wonderful.

I live in Bedford-Stuysevant in Brooklyn, an historically black neighbourhood that has been home to the likes of Billie Holiday, Chris Rock, Mos Def, and many other culturally important people. Everyone is proud to live here, and there's a sense of community and welcoming. It's completely different from anywhere that I've lived before, and I like that.

I also had an amazingly fun time on New Years with my lovely friend Louie and his boyfriend and friends. Again, everyone's really nice. I plan to get to the bottom of this niceness; there is none of the aloof stupidness of Vancouver.* At least, not yet. That aloofness is generally linked, in my opinion, to being "hispter" and so if I meet some "hipsters" I will probably feel differently.

And now I've recently developed some sort of weird cold thingy, which I take to be my body saying, "slow down! you just got here, sillypants!" And so I'm listening...sort of. I'm totally going to Manhattan tomorrow, whether my body wants to or not. So far I've only seen it from the train.

Oh! The train! What a lovely thing it is. My good friend Chris Dingwall (who also gave me an MTA card...what a guy!) called the NY subway system "a parade of humanity." As is usually the case with Dingwallisms, it's completely accurate and all-encompassing. I could ride that thing for hours. And have, going in the wrong direction. Good for me!

So to summarize:

1) New Yorkers: twice as nice? Only time will tell!
2) Fried Chicken and biscuits: available 24 hours a day from various locations in Kaitlin's neighbourhood? Only time will tell!
3) Coffee not a drink of choice in said neighbourhood? Affirmative.
4) Kaitlin's body semi-rejecting adventure/poorer air quality? Not on my watch!
5) The subway: travel mode of choice? Yes!

Until next time, my friends.

*I am, of course, not referring to all the amazingly awesome people (who I miss) in Vancouver. Just those you try to meet when you go out, in a general sense.

at this time tomorrow..

2005-12-29T21:20:00.000-08:00

...I will be in New York City.

For the first time.

To stay. For a bit; longer if I can.

I have been invited to 2 (two) parties. Good for me.

Yesterday my mom and I were watching Sex and the City, and she said "this is why I'm afraid of you in New York. The only two shows I watch about New York are this and Law & Order. I'm afraid you will either be shot or screwed to death."

I vote for number two. Who's with me?

Amen.

snazzy and new

2005-12-17T23:39:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone! This is my new look for the new phase of my life. Enjoy, and expect to hear my completely original and never-before-heard tales from life in the big city.

For instance, did you know that there are no cats in America, and that the streets are paved with cheese?

I just wanted to set your mind at ease.

Merry Holidays!
Love Kaitlin

a song for jack

2005-12-14T00:47:00.000-08:00

It's funny how quickly we banish parts of ourselves--I think of my writing future as mostly geared towards journalism and non-fiction now (thanks to Joan Didion and Lynne Bowen, mostly) but there was a time, not even that long ago, that I thought of myself as a poet.

I still write poetry, but I'm not as inclined to pursue the form now. Not because it's impractical (it is) and not because I like it less (I do) but because it stopped challenging me. That sounds horribly stuck up, but it's true.

I saw Maya Angelou on Oprah the other day (that's right, I said it) and she said she worked on this poem, entitled "Peace" for six months. It was a lovely poem, certainly, and I definitely respect Angelou, even if I'm not the hugest fan of her work, but the thought of spending six months on a poem turns me off completely.

Truth be told, I took poetry in the creative writing program as my third genre because I knew I could shit it out when I needed to. And shit it out I did. Which isn't to say that the work itself was shit; on the contrary, I liked a lot of it and felt there was good work done there. There are even a handful of poems that I'm truly proud of. Almost all of them were written in less than an hour.

Tonight Katy was shopping for books on Amazon, and decided she was going to buy a Jack Kerouac novel. This reminded me of a poem I'd written in second year, the height of my Kerouac-fueled frenzy. When I brought it to class, one girl said she thought it was "unfair" of me to bring something in that was so "literary" when most of the people there wouldn't have read the books in question.

Screw that girl. As a present to her and all the other people in that program, good, bad, or indifferent, here is my Kerouac poem. Happy Graduation, me.

Last Chorus (A Song For Jack)

In fifties America I am Kerouac's women,
writing my own poetic prose
and gladly shelving it
to be a mad one in his gaze.
I am the Mexican whore
On The Road, I am Maggie
to his little leaguer in Lowell.

Better—I am the first draft
“read that” reviewer
of several volumes of poetry
that never see the light of day,
but rather lay beneath our sheets
in the forgotten heat of morning.

Or—I am the inspiration for his frantic
foray into Dharma, convincing him
that with Buddha lay the answer to
all life’s problems. That between the
wine and mescaline there is truth to be seen
and uncovered.

Best—I am his lovely
Canuck mother, sad
at the kitchen sink and thumbing
a rosary with all God’s patience.
Like a magic lamp for son Ti Jean,
lost and gone.

But no—I am not the wife, nor beautiful
black Mardou,
I am just the sea
going Boom de boom dey
in his Big Sur ear drum
til the drink comes
and carries him off like a hero.

-Kaitlin Fontana, 2003

BLAAAAHHHHHH! AHHHHH! AAAHHHHHH!

2005-12-09T16:06:00.000-08:00

I am a SPINtern.

That is all.

Oh, and this: YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!WOOOOOOOO! WHAAAAA!

Whew.

Oh, and this: Thanks for the wishes of wellness from all who wished well. Your good thoughts helped me not fixate. Now let's celebrate! And rhyme!

just a dreamer

2005-12-08T17:45:00.000-08:00

Twenty-five years ago today, John Lennon was murdered outside his New York apartment by Mark David Chapman. In less than one month I will live in the city where that occured. I have a list of places I want to visit when I arrive in the city, and Strawberry Fields tops that list. Tonight, people are standing vigil at the Fields' centre.

Goodbye John Lennon. I still miss you; and I never knew you.

fun with pictures!

2005-12-04T15:58:00.000-08:00

Hello everyone. I've been busy as a little bee lately, so I haven't been updating, but I promise to have exciting news in the near future that may or may not involve a large city to the east.

In the meantime, check this out:

There are 72 band names embedded in this picture. How many can you name? I'm at 35 right now...

The person who names the most wins! Let the games begin.

knot comes loose

2005-11-07T00:07:00.000-08:00

Hi. I'm alive. I realize I don't write you much, but you do just fine without me, so don't worry. I feel like I should write, but when I get here I have very little to say. A lot of things are processes right now, little cog turnings and items in medias res...so it's hard for me to define them in words. I internalize. I am quieter. I spend days not talking to anyone. Just thinking. It's nice.

I don't go to school anymore. I have 8 days left of classes, after which I will no longer be an undergraduate. Officially. I should go a bit. Maybe I will this week. Maybe not.

See-saw, see-saw. This is who I am right now. Ebb and flow. I'm not very funny in this current version, which isn't to say I'm not having fun. I sometimes am.

What else? I would like to go on a date. Not to date someone, but rather, go on a date. Or two. With someone nice. Interesting and mysterious, with an easy smile. A good kisser? Yes.

I went to an amazing concert the other night. Everyone should hear My Morning Jacket's new album, Z. Go get it now.

I am wistful and elusive. Slippery, even. Peter Pan's shadow tucked in a drawer, slick with soap. I sound more serious on paper than I feel in my mind.

someday you will find me, caught beneath the landslide

2005-11-02T21:44:00.000-08:00

I just realized, to a mixture of dismay and strange ambivalence, that exactly one month from today will be my last day in undergraduate studies. Actually, that's a Friday, and I don't have class on Fridays, so my last day will be one day before that day, on December 1st.

What's dismaying is the idea of disappearing off this campus, out of improv, away from my newspaper and off the radar of people I know and love (obviously). What's conjuring strange ambivalence is that I can't decide how tragic all that is. I mean, I guess it depends on your definition of tragedy, and mine tends to shift along a sliding scale of relativity based on various happenings in my life. Probably everyone's does.

What I'm facing here is a miniature death, of sorts--une petite morte, as the French would say, although they use it to describe an orgasm--basically, when I leave here in December this becomes a place that doesn't know I exist anymore. I am dead to it. Some people may mention me from time to time, but as time telescopes I will soon be gone forever. I have left little indelibilities, certainly, but only those who care to look will see them. Mortality creeps.

Of course, I may return, but not the same me that left before (and I wouldn't want the same one to come back, so that's good). And, let's not forget, I will be reborn into a new place to make new indelibilities. Maybe even more permanent ones (one can only hope).

So what kind of a little death is it that doesn't hurt too much, and once you're gone you're really gone? This sounds like a set up for a joke, and I think it might be in a way, but I don't know what the punch line is yet. Somewhat-ambivalence isn't a comfortable sensation for me. I'm part Italian, and part Irish; it's not passionate enough for us. So what then? Hope for a really spectacular death? A climax? Une petite morte? Supernova?

A duck walks into a bar and says, "How many little deaths do you die before you become comfortable with them?"

proud as punch

2005-10-25T00:21:00.000-07:00

My sister and I are MSN buddies now. It's fun, because we've been masters of wordplay since we were little (and masters of modesty, I might add); we used to play a game where we were "penpals" which involved putting a shoebox outside your bedroom door and waiting for a "letter" from the other person to arrive from across the hall. If you opened the door and saw the other person, giggles were the order of the day, but if you opened and saw no letter when there should be one, then you were allowed to knock on the door to speed the other person up.

If you think about it, MSN is an extension of this game, involving the internets.

So today, my sister sent me the following, which is a psych journal she wrote responding to the death of her friend's father (in a mining accident):

Callie Fontana October 24, 2005
Psych. Journal#5
Death

As we all grow older and our parents and other family members get older we are all faced with death. As an eighteen year old girl I have already stared death in the face a few too many times. This past week it was there again just looking at me going “Had enough of this yet, Callie?” and to be honest I almost said yes.

So here I sat on a Thursday morning drinking my morning coffee when I received a phone call from my best friend. She was living in Lethbridge and it was nine-thirty in the morning. Slightly confused, I answered anticipating a funny bar story from the night before but deep down I knew that wasn’t the reason. I said, Hello and heard “Cal? Terry’s dead”. I didn’t know why or how all I said was how are you getting home? Do you need me to come get you? Are you okay?

My friend had already lost her biological father when she a year and a half old and Terry was the only “dad” she had ever known. When my father died in the summer of 2004 she was the only person who really stuck by my side. I knew I had to be there for her and her family. I also knew that I wasn’t sure that I could handle being the rock when such a short time ago I was the one in trouble.

Death opens up a whole new realm of insecurities. I arrived at my friend’s house only minutes after she did. Everybody was there; it all just turns into a hurricane when somebody dies. Little did I know this was the calm before the storm. As I ran around making sure everybody was taken care of asking: did you eat? Does anyone need anything to drink? Is there enough Kleenex? I started believing that it wasn’t really happening. Isn’t that the easy way to escape the inevitable? Just pretend that it’s not what’s really going on?

I understand the concept of death. I’ve had to come to terms with it earlier then most people ever have. It’s really the way that other people come to terms with it that boggles my mind. In this particular instance I watched Terry’s children all come back home from their random lives that they all live separately. I watched the youngest walk in the door only to be astonished by his strength. There in front of me stood a nineteen year old boy with no parents left. He had lost his mother to breast cancer when he was only seven years old. He didn’t cry he didn’t even look all that upset. He just wanted to see his brothers and he was just curious as to what really happened. Then, the oldest came in with his wife and their new baby, and again I wondered why he seemed so okay. The truth is neither of them was okay. They were angry, actually they were furious. I then remembered how I felt when the same thing happened with me just a few short months prior. I remembered that fury, that feeling of helplessness. It’s hard to know that someone you care about so much and so deeply can go through all that and there’s nothing that you can do about it. Everything that I went through was happening to all of those kids. For me, It was a first, for them a second. How could these six children face this twice in less then thirty years of their lives? How could their mom do this all over again in just 20 years?

How? It’s because that’s what they have to do. Psychologically speaking, there is nothing else they can do. They can’t let this tragedy wreck what they have so wonderfully overcome. I am proud and very honored to know such strong and powerful people. Everyday that I talk to my friend I am more proud and more amazed at the strength that this family has. I am also astonished at how I reacted when my dad died. He was just one man. This family has lost two and still they wake up every morning with a smile on their faces and carry on. Tomorrow, Terry would have celebrated a birthday, instead his family prepares for his funeral. Life sometimes isn’t fair but what doesn’t kill is said to make us stronger. With this family this seems to be very true.

*****

Needless to say, I am a proud sister. And instead of writing my philosophy paper (wank wank wank, says philosophy, all I do is wank!) I am posting this here. Love you Calster, keep up the good work.

one of them thar sorta lame quizzes, but look!

2005-10-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Kay, first of all...holy shit! I always sort of felt like I might be a potential Sith, but DAMNNN. I am THE potential sith, according to this quiz (which, btw, is not only "Which Star Wars character are you?" but "Which Sci-Fi character are you?"--much broader). And, as we all know, internet quizzes forecast the future better than Magic 8 Balls, so therefore, this quiz is correct.

Secondly, and this is the more important part, this quiz posed a question that almost blew my mind:

2. In a criminal justice system, it would be preferable to:

a) let a guilty person go free.
b) convict an innocent person.

I sat on that one for a long time...what do you think? In the end I decided to convict an innocent person, my logic being that if that guilty person was of the category known as "Kaitlin murderers" or "Kaitlin's family theives" or "Kaitlin's friends rapist" then I wouldn't want that guy out there. Also, the other part of my logic was this: there are plenty of innocent people in jail right now, what's one more?

What? That's not cool, Kaitlin's brain! But, hey. I can't stop it; it just keeps making thoughts and spewing those thoughts forward into my mouth and/or fingers. What can you do?

Funny that this follows after I read an article earlier about an evidence collector in the 70s that "just thought it was a good idea" to save all the samples from cases she was involved in, subsequently leading to the reversals of several rape/murder cases of that era when DNA evidence processing became possible.

Worth noting, as well, is the fact that the three examples of newly-released "innocent criminals" were all black men who had supposedly raped white women. Hmmm.

To Kill a Mockingbird, anyone?

magazine reader; or, how i manage to avoid writing about me by quoting things i've read!

2005-10-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

From an article about New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina, Rolling Stone 984, by Matt Taibbi:

"Any country that enjoys fighting and bitching as a recreation as much as America does will always be, in some way or another, walking along a knife's edge. We're a nation that spends its afternoons watching white trash throw chairs at each other on Jerry Springer, its drive time listening to the partisan rantings of this or that hysterical political demagogue, and its late-night hours composing feverish blog entries full of anonymous screeds and denunciations. All of this shit is harmless enough so long as the power comes on every morning, fresh milk makes it to the shelves, there's a dial tone and your front yard isn't underwater. But it becomes a problem when the magic grid goes down and suddenly there's no more machinery between you and whomever you happen to get off on hating."

This is the first time, since the Hurricane occured, that I've felt that the tension in the air has been really explained in terms I could understand. Maybe I'm becoming loyal to RS again.

And yes, I will write about me eventually. Currently, I'm just not as interesting as the stuff I'm reading about.

sex and the part of speech

2005-10-08T23:13:00.000-07:00

I think if I ever decide to write that great novel I'm always semi-considering (in the way one considers the person they'll possibly marry or the child they'll possibly have...or more specifically, it's actually the way one considers some small part of that experience, like what their possible spouse's face will look like while they sleep, or whose features the baby will have) I shall have to return to Jaffray with my mother.

I've been incredibly prolific today--I wrote my editorial for the next Grounder (out October 21st, and the website is coming, I promise), which was a little dry seed in my head that got plump and juicy on the page. Wordy? Yes. All words with a legitimate place? Hopefully. I also conceptualized two articles and edited a few submissions, and even wrote some crisply-worded, necessarily business-like emails.

And as you can see, I have come to love the adjective today. We're going to make the love later on.

My non-fiction professor would kill me...sleeping with adjectives. Now really.

Anyway, I thought I'd document this verbal explosion so that I can look back and remember how it felt to be able to spill out the wordage when I can't. I have never really suffered a writer's block (knock wood) so much as a writer's malaise...writer's apathy? I can always produce but sometimes it's very grey stuff indeed.

And so here it is, and pay attention, me: the quiet, black expanse of the East Kootenays on a clear, cold night (adjective! adjective!); a lightly snoring dog; the low hum of hockey replays in the living room; warm palms with cool fingertips on a keyboard; a girl with a chest cold and a lot of time.

An audience: hello audience! This was mostly for me but also for you. I will be more faithful and frequent to you in the future. But now, I gots to get me some sweet, sweet adjective.

rock muscle!

2005-09-28T15:09:00.000-07:00

From a very interesting book called Flowers in the Dustbin: The Rise of Rock and Roll, 1947-1977, by James Miller:

"Unable to read music, never trained to play an instrument, often detached from the living social context of the music, a new kind of aficionado--the record collector--was nevertheless equipped to make a host of more or less discriminating judgments about the grain of a voice, the pulse of a beat, the inimitable sound of a recording like Patti Page's 'Tennessee Waltz.'"

This was in 1950. And it's safe to say, I think, that with the birth of the record collector came the birth of the record (rock?) critic. So there it is.

Isn't history neat?

okay, so there's that...

2005-09-24T23:41:00.000-07:00

I've recently reprimanded by a relative who shall remain anonymous, but whose title rhymes with bum, about the fact that I haven't sent her my winning entry to the Event Non-Fiction contest yet.

Say what?

Yeah, I won a writing contest. I was remiss about writing about it on here, because although--as it has been pointed out to me recently, and fuck all y'all--I'm arrogant, and I don't seem to mind that I am, I don't think that bragging always becomes one.

Still, as the same woman who rhymes with bum (or brother, if you haven't figured that one out yet, dummy) pointed out, I worked damn hard to win that. I did. I wrote an emotionally compromising piece, and one that may hurt some people's feelings, but one that had to be written at the time I wrote it. It was the truth.

So there. I would post it here, but it's published work that is copyright protected (or will be in January) and so I think if you want one you should buy it and support the Canadian literature scene. If you're interested, go here and get in touch with them (in January, not now). You may also, if you're a Vancouver resident, buy it in a bookstore. In January.

I'll remind you then, though I may not be here anymore. In fact, someone may have to send me one. Weirdo!

Okay, so I wrote about it. Happy, MOM?! Ta-da! Reveal!

PS: The new Death Cab for Cutie album, Plans, is damn good. "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" is the cutest creepy love song I've heard in a good while. Maybe the only? I will think on that.

mick, you ignorant slut. you with your liberal clap trap, and your treble clef...

2005-09-20T01:12:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from an interview with the Rolling Stones, by David Fricke (Rolling Stone 983):

Do you have an iPod?

Keith: Not personally. My family has them. I don't carry around any bits of equipment--except my knife.

My god, how I love this band.

sgt. kaitlin's lonely hearts club band

2005-09-15T23:06:00.000-07:00

I am a woman now. Or so my sister says, as I went shopping today, and actually fell in deep, deep lust with an item of clothing. See, we Sinclair/Fontana women have something that we refer to as "angel music" when shopping. For Mama Sinclair and Sis Fontana this usually manifests itself in clothing form. Up until today, for Kaitlin, it manifested in concert ticket, CD, DVD, or related media form.

Then I saw the jacket.

And the angel music played. You know what I mean--a chorus of invisible female falsettos intoning a long "ahhhhhhh" to the heavens, a convenient break in the clouds and a well-placed ray of sunlight. That kind of thing.

Described by its wearer (me!) as a "Sgt. Pepper jacket; a versatile burgundy velvet creation lined in lace and sold to me by a flamboyant salesman, who insisted I try it on RIGHT NOW, not after lunch when I would surely be BLOATED and GROSS and it wouldn't look right."

Ah. Retail therapy. Womanhood, here I come. Am. I've arrived! Let me in.

come away from the window, go at your own chosen speed

2005-09-14T18:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, so now I'm totally one of those people who you've come to mistrust as a blogger, someone who is unreliable and patchy in their upkeep. I apologize, it's just that...well, a lot of things, but mostly lack of internet at home. And as fun as writing blog entries in the office is, what with first year girls leaning over me and saying "oh, cool, so this is where you like, make a newspaper and stuff!"...no thank ye.

The nitty: I've been busy interviewing and chasing idols around Vancouver. First Chuck Klosterman, previously mentioned. I could write a lot about him, and I have an article I'll post on here in the near future (for real). He was verbose and interesting. I like talky people in general, and him in particular. He's always absorbing, in both senses. I found the things he said made me rethink things I was sure about (I was absorbed) and that he was always really listening to everyone who spoke to him (he absorbed us). I took many mental little journalistic notes. Second idol: George Stroumboulopoulous. What to say? Hmm. Eye-opening. I feel like I closed the lid on my fourteen-year-old to seventeen-year-old self (who adored him) and opened the lid on my twenty-two-year-old self (who has great professional respect for him). Nice transition.

The gritty: School is okay. I mostly want it to be over, and to get on with my life. I'm ready to part. I find that instead of going to class, I'm more inclined to try and find people to eat with or to read (currently, a book about Bob Dylan). I'm also feeling completely alienated from this new crop of UBC kids because they are, in fact, kids. They are five years younger than me. I finally understand how some of my older friends felt when I came on the scene in first year, exhuberant, all piss and vinegar.

What a fucking expression that is. Piss and vinegar.

Also, I miss people who aren't here. Those who are in the Atlantic time zone especially.

That's a start. A grease to the wheel, if you will. I will be back again soon.

of mixed cds and leaving, or how i stopped being a sullen child and learned to love the void

2005-08-18T13:59:00.000-07:00

There are things you can't control. I'm a very controlling person, and I find it hard to understand this sometimes. There ARE things that are outside the realm of mastery, Kaitlin Laura Fontana. I have to say this to myself sometimes.

Still, some things just seem so fucking funnily out of my control that it amazes me. And I go through stages of understanding, I go through stages of not getting it, and then I seem to go Zen for awhile, laughing and embracing the absolute and utter meaninglessness of it all. No wonder Buddha was fat. I bet he ate more ice cream than a girl who gets dumped on prom night, what with all the emptiness and having to explain that shit to everyone. Jesus. Er...Buddhadammit!

Haha! New swear word. I copyright that shit. Copyright Kaitlin Fontana, 2005.

But wait...there is no damnation in Buddhism. WOW. I just blew my own mind.

Anyway, the key to this is that I am certain I have come to (quickly, unexpectedly, and other adjectives describing a pleasant and gut-warming sense of creeping surprise)love a person that is leaving me shortly. And though there is nothing but a school term and some small commitments between us and a potential future, it sometimes feels as though I am five again and staring through a paper towel tube at my cousin's backyard.

Now you may ask, what does that mean, Kaitlin Laura Fontana? Well, at my cousin's fifth birthday there was a large group of children playing with discarded tubes and recyclables (don't get visions of poverty, we were making crowns and shit with them), and I decided I was going to make a kaleidoscope out of a paper towel tube. To test the potential of such an endeavour, I raised the tube to my eye and saw, in turns, my mother, my father, my sister, my cousin, and many other attendees of the party. But they were so hard to hold in that little hole--they ceased to be if they got up or walked out of frame, and I couldn't look at more than one person at once.

And I remember knowing--absolutely understanding--that there is an end to everything and people are essentially alone. At that moment. (No wonder I was a sullen kid.) And I was right, because soon enough, the party ended, then the summer, the year...then my parents divorced, and my grandfather died, and so it went on and on, that occasional tube, until my father died and it seemed like I had that tube to my face every day, for a long time.

It's a bit melodramatic, on rereading, but the feeling is truthful. And here's that tube again, and the more I try to hold the image on the other end the more it seems to slip the frame.

Don't get me wrong--there's still the birthday parties, and the laughing and loving and happiness. I suppose I haven't a choice, and I just have to try to keep this image as long as I can. And maybe it will hold longer than I think.

One can always hope.

i always miss the desirable disasters

2005-08-01T18:17:00.000-07:00

Today I did something I haven't done in probably six years--I read while walking. As a kid and young adult (YA by the library's standards, but do you think I'd let that hold me? UH-UH! I read the Adult books. Yep...) I read and walked all the time, usually from school in the afternoon. Often I had a particular book that burned a hole in the bottom of my bag all day long, and as soon as the 3pm bell rang I was out the door and the book was opened wide.

I never tripped, or got run over, or went the wrong way. I could easily do these things when I was not reading, and often did. I did not, however, ever falter in any way when I was reading/walking. The extra poise could have made me look cooler than usual but it didn't, mostly because I was FUCKING reading a book while walking.

To add to this uncoolness, I was never badass enough to read during class time, eventhough I probably wouldn't have gotten into any shit. I probably would have been praised or even made to seem a hero of sorts by a desperate teacher(except during my Christopher Pike period in grade six--those books were dirrrrrty) because reading is not a greatly popular activity in the town I grew up in. But, as I say, I was uncool and a total scaredy cat, and I didn't want to get in any trouble. So, I never read in class despite an almost crippling desire to do so. And this, in turn, intensified the crippling desire to read on the way home.

And today, as I walked down Blenheim Street from 4th to Broadway, I did it again. And before I knew it I was in the middle of a crowded intersection, totally absorbed (totally at the fault of Chuck Klosterman, who deserves and will get his own entry soon). I looked up, and all these shirtless, tanned young men in a car were staring at me with looks that said "why the fuck are you reading and walking at the same time?!?"

So, I turned the page and crossed the street. I didn't look up, and I didn't trip over the curb.

a stranger's just a friend you haven't met yet!

2005-07-22T12:26:00.000-07:00

Before going to Europe, I found out about this site called Couch Surfing, where you can find people around the world with a place to stay in their home (couch, bed, entire room) and you can stay with them for free. The only caveat is that you are supposed to let them stay with you, should they ever come your way.

Sweet deal, right? Mostly. We stayed with a really nice guy in Paris who gave us a whole room in his large (by Paris standards) apartment, and let us use the internet for free, as well as many other services. Then Josh apparently stayed with this crazy woman in Milan who was an emotionally abusive drunk. On paper they seemed equally nice and intriguing people. Hmm.

So, as there seems to be no real system for deciding who's really nice and who is a nut jobby from outer space, I have yet to offer up my couch (also, right now I don't really have a couch, and not many people are eager to stay in Jaffray)to any travellers. I do, however, get about 2 requests per week. They all seem like decent people, friendly people, SANE people. Until now...

USERNAME: YOUSKO
GENDER: Male
AGE: 20
LOCATION: United States - Florida - Naples

hello im currently in a life changing travel across the
country visiting places ive only imaged of before i
finally left my home town for the first time and now
im seeking a new place to live after traveling lets
just say im living my life and finding myself, as i
travel alone and search for a new places new life i
love meeting people like yourself thats a stranger who
will be part of all these changes im going through who
know what im trying to say i think you get the point,
im in minneapolis with my best friend kevin im heading
west from here to vancouver and then south to portland
if you are interested in meeting get in touch by e
mail or phone [email and phone # edited out]

Anyone have a couch for this fellow? Hello?

Ah, nut jobbies. You make the rockin' world go round. Or is that fat bottom girls?

the philosopher's chamber of azkabanian goblets...order...prince...dammit.

2005-07-19T21:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I just finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I won't say too much, since many of you may not have started/finished it, but please do go get it. Before you read any jaded reviews or blind "YAY! ROWLING! SHE! MAKES! OUR! CHILDREN! READ!" raves, please read the book. I haven't read any reviews yet. I may not ever.

Like any good book, I had a very personal experience with Prince. I thought it started slowly, and for the first 300 pages, I wasn't sure what Rowling was trying to do. But at about the 350 mark onward, I was jolted awake. I think it's the bravest book I've read in awhile; certainly it's a feat in terms of children's literature.

Why is this? Well, as some reviewers may have mentioned (again, wouldn't know) it seems obvious that Rowling is making distinct parallels between the current US administration's relationship with Tony Blair and the Iraq war. This seems especially pointed in the first few chapters, but the kinship between American and English perceptions of "the Iraq situation" and the citizens at large (the idea of terror being faceless, perpetuating itself, etc.)is a thread I picked up on all throughout the book. Maybe it's just me, but I think Rowling was trying to show us something there, good and evil and all that crappola. You know the drill.

So the feat lies in the fact that Rowling may have written the most unchildren's children's book in awhile. But she isn't shaking a finger or being bluntly obvious about where the problems started, what's going on, or who's to blame--she's opening up something much more interesting, which is the general weakness of human beings when given power, or even the promise of it. And no one is sacred. Harry makes mistakes in the name of power as much as anyone else, because, well, he's sixteen. And he's been handed a shit hand, one that doesn't look like it's going to change anytime soon. He's human.

The book isn't pretty, it isn't flowery or melodramatic. It isn't safe, most importantly. It should be read. By you! Start now.

I was told by a wise film professor this year that when people are starving, they're too preoccupied by their hunger to make "fluffy" films. Take, for example, what is most likely the fluffiest film period to date, 1950s musicals, ushered in by The Wizard of Oz. This was a period of post-war regeneration, baby boom, and increased faith in government. Hence, singy dancy. The seventies, in contrast, were a period marked in film (American film especially) by "dark" movies, full of unstable people with great fissures between themselves and the government/society/each other. Taxi Driver. China Town. And although you could argue that there aren't these kind of movements in film anymore, I believe the recent crop of superhero movies says a lot about us as a society. Like in the seventies, we're at odds with our government and each other; unlike the seventies, we don't want to do anything about it. We don't want responsibility for the future. We want to be saved by a stranger in a tight lycra suit. Yum.

Anyway, I believe that this principle applies to popular literature too. Though Rowling's books are full of magic and other-worldliness, bad things happen. People die. In spite of the fact that they can create magic, that they possess other-worldly powers. What, then, does Rowling want children to know, whatever their age?

We are starving. Intellectually? Emotionally? Yes. Is Harry Potter about to jump into a lycra suit? No. Could he? I don't think so. He's just a boy. He's no better than anyone else, he's not the greatest wizard ever. He was--simply and naturally--born, not transformed. He has a creation story, surely, but the only superhero he could really be aligned with is Superman, in that respect.

And what happened to "Superman," at least, in the eyes of the average, contemporary, movie-going person? He fell off his horse, was crippled, fought bravely for his life, and died.

Harry Potter has a lot to prove in book seven. What sign of the times are we supposed to take if he dies, if he lives, if he saves the wizarding world? That's for all of us to decide as individuals, but just between you and me, I hope he saves a few people. Me, Rowling...some friends, relatives...the vintners and vineyard in Kelowna where they make this wine I'm drinking...

Okay. I lost myself. Read the damn book, dammit.

eww!

2005-07-10T23:32:00.000-07:00

You know it's time to go back to Vancouver when your mother tells you that she used to win wet T-shirt contests when she lived there in the seventies.

I just...um. Ew? But, also, way to go mom? I think?

Christ.

elvis from the waist down

2005-07-08T23:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, it certainly has been awhile. So, what to say. Well, for those of you who know me in the geographical sense--that is to say, a person of flesh and blood who uses the bathroom and eats and sleeps and all that junk--I am in Jaffray, BC, resting and communing with nature in the form of doggies and green grass.

Well...that's mostly true. For the past few days it's been mostly Spike (the Jack Russell Terrier that I've converted into loving me in exhange for petting, conversations about the nature of the dog world, and pieces of meat) and I on the couch, sucking up the juices of VH1's 100 Most Shocking Moments in Rock 'n Roll.

And just so you all know I haven't lost my touch, I correctly named 3 out of the top 4 in the right order before they appeared. That is:

4. Kurt Cobain's suicide;
2. Michael Jackson's (first) accusation of child molestation;
1. John Lennon's murder.

I forget what 3 was. KQ will know.

So, long story short, I'm enjoying myself thoroughly. Once I get over this bizarre fever/sickness that has attacked me the past few days I plan on riding my bike (purchased at estate sale for $2, souped up for $83) and preparing to migrate coastward ASAP.

For those of you more concerned about my out-of-body, disembodied voice self (this one, sillypants!) rest assured that I am back to stay. Watching dogs play all day in the sunshine is enough to revitalize any writer, methinks.

Well, that and the words of encouraging, "anonymous," good friends.

Oh, and about that title...I thought of it today while watching those 100 Most Shocking Moments. Title of my first book? It sounds so good.

an open letter to i.p.

2005-04-07T00:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. Iggy Pop,

You are playing at the Estrella Damm Primavera Music Festival in Barcelona, Spain, four days before I arrive in the city. Now, I cannot change my travel plans, but I have a small request: please stay in Barcelona until I get there, and then hang around the Ramblas 42 Hostel on Bacardi Street. Then when you see me, hug me REALLY REALLY hard. And then we'll go to clubs together and rock out.

Promise? Pinky swear, Iggy.

Sincerely,
Kaitlin Fontana, who loves you very much.

the ten things list that was so last week

2005-03-16T14:15:00.000-08:00

So you may have noticed that a post I wrote disappeared. Many of you more than likely have been told the story already, but if not, please let me know and I will inform you on the reasons.

If you don't care, cool. Let's move on.

Some of my friends in bloglandia recently posted a "Top Ten Things I've Done That You Haven't, Nah Nah Nah!" list, so I thought I'd join the fracas. The point? None, really, except if you've done something here, then you comment and tell me, and I have to think of another one. Cool beans!

1. Ridden a milk cow bareback.
2. Been thrown off a horse 3 times in one day, gums bloodied, and told to "cowboy up!" by my father.
3. Been poked in the chest repeatedly by the manager of Swollen Members and told that unless I procure cigarettes for them, they will not go on.
4. Played Peter Pan to a summer camp full of children, staged a pirate ship fight on two canoes, and fell in the lake, thus dashing the hopes that childhood would win the day.
5. Had a song written for me by an accordian player.
6. Been published in The Hunting Report.
7. Helped a dog, a horse, and a cow give birth (on seperate occasions).
8. Broke my toe on my sister's temple during a game of "Bed Karate" while she remained unscathed.
9. Skinned a bear (or helped, anyway).
10. Sledded down a glacier at 8000 feet on a garbage bag, trying to avoid the deadly crevasse on one side.

Beat that, losahs! Mwahaha.

i am socially aware, but not a feminazi

2005-02-19T00:34:00.000-08:00

I know I'm the lamest blogger there is, but I'm busy planning European vacations and being fed grapes by Adonis-types who fan me all day long, so give me a break. Anyway, I'm back to brag about publication again, just in a different sort of way--I sent a letter of beef to the Georgia Straight regarding an article I read a few weeks ago, and they published it. I thought it was a little risque, but I guess it's my opinion and they don't have to defend it, I do.

Ooh, I hope I get some mad feminazi (fantastic new term coined by my friend Tory) response from this one! This means at least another two weeks of checking the letters section. High excitement.

Anyway, here's the letter (scroll down), or you can read it below. Bye!

Reading "Duelling Rights", I was presented with an interesting question: If I had been raped, would I be more afraid to speak to a woman who was so delusional about the world that she would see making threats as solely a male or "oppressor" trait (rather than the trait of a human being whose very identity is being questioned) or would I be more afraid to speak to a transgendered person with a history of being a good counsellor? It took me less time than it takes to spell women with a "y" to realize that a sympathetic ear and a helping hand are welcome things, no matter what is going on under the skirt.

I also wanted to ask Rape Relief counsellors like Danielle Cormier a question. How about the so-called "male" trait of possession and ownership? It seems as though some members of Rape Relief feel that having a vagina entitles them, and only them, to be women. Seems pretty oppressive to me, ladies.

Kaitlin Fontana
Vancouver

PS: For those who requested copies of the novella--it's on it's way, so if you think you're going to see me, bring $12 with you and I will give you the book in return! Supply and demand in action!

library of canada

2005-02-03T01:59:00.000-08:00

If you search the Library of Canada website using my name, you will find the following:

AMICUS No. 30752756
Prepublication Monograph
Projected publication date: December 04

NAME(S): Dingwall, Chris, 1982-
TITLE(S): *Joke time : new fiction from the
Pemberton Templeton 48-hour
novella-writing contest / by Jennifer
Neale, Becky Ferreira, Kaitlin Fontana ;
edited by Chris Dingwall
NAME/TITLE: Neale, Jennifer, 1984-. OPM
Ferreira, Becky 1984-. Arcadia on the hill
Fontana, Kaitlin, 1983-. Child's verse
PUBLISHER: Vancouver : Pemberton Templeton, 2004.

NOTES: Winning novellas from the 3rd annual
Pemberton Templeton 48-hour contest,
held Aug. 21-22, 2004.
Complete contents: OPM / by Jennifer
Neale -- Arcadia on the hill / by Becky
Ferreira -- A child's verse / by Kaitlin
Fontana
NUMBERS: Canadiana: 20049071335
ISBN: 0973491515 : $12.00
CLASSIFICATION: PS8329.1 J63 2004
C813/.010806 22

SUBJECTS: Short stories, Canadian (English)
Canadian fiction (English)--21st century

I am now an entry in the Library of Canada, along with some very lovely and deserving friends. Our novellas are now in book form, with an ISBN and everything. Yep, I'm an author. That's me.

If you want a copy of the book with our novellas in it, leave me a comment with your email address, and I will contact you. The books cost $12 each.

And--this sounds equal parts dorky and self-involved, but I don't give a rat's patoot--I will sign the copy if you want me to. Rat's patoot, I say.

I'm a writer, we're supposed to be self-involved. Right, me? Right.

Stole All Our Nets

2005-01-16T23:46:00.000-08:00

[Cross posted to Another 48 Hours, the theme is butterflies.]

Recently I saw a video in which Kids in the Hall castmember Mark McKinney was backstage at their touring show answering fan mail on camera. One fan asked, "who gets the most butterflies before a show?" And Mark answered, without missing a beat, "Kevin does, because he stole all our nets."

For me butterflies were never much to do with the boys I knew--I wasn't in for the twittery stomach flutters but rather for gut-wrenching, heart-pounding, hormone-fueled desire, the subjects of which are not any that I can touch or see in my everyday life, such as:

1. Anthony Kiedis, lithe frontman of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who I once almost touched and am determined to fondle in the years to come;

2. Mick Jagger, whose sexiness is not at all diminished by the similar sentiments that my mother possesses for him;

3. Iggy Pop, who can wiggle and squirm like there's no tomorrow;

4. Steven Tyler, singer for Aerosmith...

...there's a little pattern developing here, methinks.

So as far as butterflies go, I don't need 'em. When I think of them I think of little rosy cheeked girls, and clean cut boys in suspenders, running through fields of daisies, kissing each other on the cheek and blushing, then running away from one another, holding those blissful feelings of first love in their palms as they rush off to supper.

That's all well and good, but no thanks.

When I was eight my mother's boyfriend had a twenty year old son who wore leather pants and rode a motorcycle--he had long black curly hair, and in my mind he looks like Slash from Guns N Roses crossed with Eddie Van Halen, but that could be a slight altering of reality--and he was beautiful. He would ride up the block and I'd hear him coming, hide behind the curtains so I could see him dismount and come strolling up to the door. Oh god. Even now my heart pounds.

And then there was the cool teacher's assistant (also long haired) who played in a band and came into my grade four class and helped us with reading, and when I won a dictionary in a local writing contest he knelt near my desk and confided in low tones that I should mark off every word that I looked up so I could see how much I'd learned, which sounded to me like "come on and join me on the road in my van, I'll let you ride up front and we can sing along to the radio."

And then there was the older brother of a friend who I saw emerging from the shower once by accident (my first glimpse of a penis that didn't belong to a cousin or babysat child) and who gave me a tape copy of Nirvana's Incesticide that made me want to lose my mind with joy, and still when I listen to it I think of that glistening man coming through the steam.

And then came MuchMusic, and Anthony, and the rest is more or less history. Sure I dated the boys in my school, and yeah, every guy I've dated played the guitar, but none of them even echoed the sheer coolness of those that I've listed here (sorry Owen). I've felt a few flutters, sure, but I long ago traded in my net for a tractor beam, and there is nothing that compares to the thudding, pulsating fervour of my rock n roll men. I mean, I know it's only rock n roll, but I like it.

a quote from the dashing louie pearlman regarding taste in films

2005-01-04T01:14:00.000-08:00

"If there were more new wave bands in The Godfather, I may have liked it."

we loved the dirty city, and the journeys away from it

2005-01-03T01:48:00.000-08:00

I am now reminded of something Inigo Montoya says to Westley in the Princess Bride:

"Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

I've left this little corner of the universe alone for a little while while (I must interrupt this sentence to note the double while, I don't think I've ever written that before. It felt very foreign...maybe that's why they used to use "whilst"). I've left it whilst I was off relaxing and living a life outside my head for a bit. I think it's been a good, healthy thing to do. But here is a summation of the last few weeks, for those in need of it.

I must admit there was a small part of me that felt a sharp terror at going home for a Christmas where one very loud prominent family member would be absent, but aside from the absence there was not much about it that was terrifying. For a few nights I stayed up awhile wondering if his ghost would show up (something that kept me awake a lot right after it happened; I think that this is because I have every reason and some experiences that have led me to believe in ghosts and because other people claimed to have episodes) but that faded by the third or fourth night and I resigned myself with mixed emotions to the fact that he is very much gone.

And, I guess, I resigned myself to the fact that I know that he is gone.

And my family unit shifts again--it seems to happen about every 5-10 years or so, and now I think about my aunt and I talking prophetically last summer (before Dad died) about what would happen if my dad did die, in terms of his work and the legacy of his business, and how that conversation shifted, oddly, to the nature of male and female relationships and how (in her opinion) women were evolving away from men so as not to require them, and how men were almost accepting of that role, how the father is a more distant creature in many families.

"In the end, women will be left," my aunt said. And whether she meant universally, or just in my family, it seems to be true for me now. In terms of near-ancestors, that is blood relatives ahead of me in the family lineage who I am close to, I have a mother, a grandmother, and two aunts. The nearest you will find to my DNA is my sister. Women.

The irony being that I don't really like women that much. But it seems to be true that I am bound to be surrounded by them. And I know that family is much more than that, that I have a whole other branch grafted onto my tree that is mine not by blood but by spirit, but still--the strongest link in that chain is my stepmother, followed by a barrage of aunts. It's strange to look at such a funny, lopsided tree, with its conspicuously absent branches. It's strange to be strange, but then again, I've never really thought of myself as normal, and I never really wanted to be.

And now, back in my city, in my calm apartment, I can look objectively and say, this is the way the tree has grown, and I feel more myself now, on January 3rd, 2005, than I ever have before. And I know this because looking into the year from the seconds before 2004 ended, I didn't make a single resolution.

You might even say I was resolute in my desire to not be resolute.

Okay, so that was a little more than a summing up. I'm sorry Inigo, I tried.

soon, my pet, soon

2004-12-09T01:04:00.000-08:00

Okay. So here it is. I'm laying it out there. You can choose to believe what you want, but I know what happened to me today, and I did it.

With my mind.

Picture this: Sicily, 1922. I kid. If anyone got that, which they probably didn't, I salute you.

Picture this: Vancouver, 2004. I'm sitting next to this guy on the bus, and he's listening to his Discman just loud enough for me to hear the basic melody. It takes me a little less than 4 seconds to figure out that he's listening to Avril Lavigne.

So, I take stock of the guy. He's attractive, sort of emo/metrosexually dressed. Seems to be East Indian, Sri Lankan, or the like. Rivers Cuomo glasses. Shoulder bag. You get it. He looks like a Death Cab fan, or something along those lines, but no. At least, not today. Today was Avril day.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, really. I mean, I feel there is, but in general people can like Avril Lavigne. It just seemed atypical for this guy. And not only that, but looking at his face--nay, staring at him; glaring, if you will--I could see that not only was he enjoying the CD, he NEEDED it.

NEEDED that sweet Avril in his ear to get him through this terrible day. Like, his dog was run over this morning and the Avril was getting him through til he could go home and scoop Fluffy off the pavement. That's the face he was making. I kid you not.

And suddenly, I was really angry at that thought. Like, if someone is having a shitty ass day, and the best they can get to make it better is Avril Fucking Lavigne? And additionally, she was good enough to not only make this guy feel better, but she could be nominated in the top 100 Greatest Canadians, above Leonard Cohen? Leonard Fucking Cohen! Hello?!? And then I thought, jesus christ, is that what our country has come to? Why, if I could, I would smash every damn Avril Lavigne CD on this planet and hand this guy some Leonard Cohen--I bet that if he listened to Leonard Cohen instead of Avril his dog would be alive right now. I WILL SMASH EVERY SINGLE AVRIL LAVIGNE RECORD IN THE WORLD AND REPLACE THEM WITH LEONARD COHEN!!! I thought, and smashed my fist in my palm determinedly.

And then, the metrosexual sad boy tsked, stopped his CD, and opened the player. Pulling Avril from the machine, he turned her over and revealed...

A large, deep crack running diagonally from the centre of the disk to the edge.

No, not the kind you can wipe clean with your sleeve. Yes, the kind you can see through the other side of the disk.

With a puzzled expression, the boy fondled the crack. He furrowed his brow, and rose to get up. He exited the bus, and, as we pulled away, tossed the CD into the garbage can.

So there it was. Did I crack the CD with my mind? Maybe. Is there one less working Avril Lavigne CD in the world? Surely.

My work here is done.

To hold the wolves at bay

2004-12-07T22:40:00.000-08:00

I've been a bit dry in the writing department lately--I think that since my schooling is writing at this time in my life, it feels like work and when I don't need to be in school I want to take a hiatus from writing. I look forward to a time in my life when, like before, I would be absolutely side-swiped by an idea and would drop everything to record it before it slipped away.

Being forced to write has its merits, however, and I don't discount them at all. It's just that I have the sort of brain that's so used to schooling at this point--hell, I've never been out of school in my memory as a human being--that I've created compartments in my brain for the different subjects I study--the professors, my classroom behaviour, the way I present ideas, the things I hand in...and that has always worked well for me, except when I try to write outside of the writing for school, because my mind can't seem to reconcile what compartment it should put that request in.

And soon my brain starts to look like a TV dinner plate, with walls between the subjects I study forbidding outside creativity to enter. Again, it's not bad, I'm being very productive inside those little compartments--making lots of peas and carrots and salisbury steaks of poetry, non-fiction and screenplay... and Italian verbs are the gravy, and bits of novels are sprinkled liberally over it all.

But I do long for the lovely day when I am released from my TV dinner to a five course meal all mashed like potatoes on my brain. And the gravy touches the veggies, and the meat gets potatoes stuck on one side. And it tastes delicious, and I don't mind the mixing tastes.

And best of all, I'm full to the brim.

So I guess what I'm saying is, I'm hungry in a philosophical sense.

That metaphor was a bit stretched, but if you didn't get it, I hope at least you want to eat something.

going postal

2004-12-01T01:25:00.000-08:00

A darling soulmate told me the other day that I don't update enough, and it makes her sad because she thinks my life is turning into a vortex of meaninglessness.

Well, she's right.

I promise a full post in the near future, which may or may not encompass the following subjects:

-my sister's visit
-my holiday time's approach
-my writing endeavours
-my hairdo
-my hobbies
-my new horsey tshirt.

Until then, be patient. I don't want to post shitty shit, and I don't want to do a post where I talk about posting, that would be too meta and my eyes would cross.

Hey, where are you going? Both of you, come back here this instant!

buried treasure

2004-11-07T19:50:00.000-08:00

There's something magnificent about the fact that one can buy an album that was first released over 30 years ago (1972, in fact) and find on it a song that is so great that it might just have to join the great canon of The Best Songs Ever.

See: Exile on Main Street by the Rolling Stones, track 13, "I Just Want to See His Face" (scroll down to the track listing).

It's creepy and chugging and the vocals are pushed back in the mix. It's wonderful. I highly recommend it.

Plus Mick Jagger is the sex, in case you missed the memo.

it's you

2004-10-30T23:20:00.000-07:00

***WARNING: If you do not want to read a gushy post about PJ Harvey, leave now.***

It's 11:20 pm on Saturday October 30th. I just saw Polly Jean Harvey. She was wearing an orange dress with ghost baubles on it. She was also wearing blue pumps. She has bangs right now and that makes me want bangs too.

I also want to wear high heels just so I can stomp around in them like she does.

Maybe what I really mean is, I want to be PJ Harvey.

Yeah, that's probably it. At any rate, she rocked my fucking (front row) face off, and I love her more now than ever. She is this little firecracker thing with this humongous voice that just screeches or growls out of nowhere. I love herrrr. Love.

AND! I got a set list!

AND! Are you ready for this? She pointed at me. AH AH AH. During "It's You" at the end I shouted "it's you!" along with her, and since I was the only standee at this point in the front row, this caught her attention. She looked at me, smiled, then pointed and said "it's you."

To quote Linda Richman when Barbra Streisand came on Coffee Talk: I can die now.

the last safari

2004-10-24T21:37:00.000-07:00

What were you thinking that morning—
your last—
when you opened your eyes
to a new day dawning on Arusha?

Was your head fuzzy from the night before
from three bottles of Jack
(no water, African water)
shared with the camp’s men
who called you Beb
because their tongues weren’t used to Os?

Was your breakfast sweeter,
the bread better
the meat thicker?

Did the wind on your face
feel like the breath of lost lovers, or
even
of your daughters as babies?

Was the horizon longer, and did the road
go on forever in front of you?

Did you see the buffalo through the bush
in the seconds before?
Did you know he was coming for you?

And, most of all:

Did some part of you remain
when your uncle knelt and scooped the chew
from your lip,
closed your eyes?

Some part that screamed
Not Yet?

_____________
copyright Kaitlin Fontana, 2004

an email correspondence between a girl and her italian studies teacher

2004-10-20T22:36:00.000-07:00

Hi Dr. Testa,
I'm sorry I was absent from class today, but I went out to eat with a friend last night and I think I may have come down with a food poisoning of some sort. I was awake most of last night and into this morning, but I feel much better now. See you in class on Thursday.
Take care,
Kaitlin
_______________

Date: Wed Oct 20 09:22:48 PDT 2004
From: "Carlo Testa"
Subject: Re: class today
To: "Kaitlin Fontana"
Coraggio! In bocca al lupo e a presto,
Carlo
_______________

I'm still very amused by the fact that to wish someone good luck in Italian is to say "in the mouth of the wolf.":)Kaitlin

_______________

K -- you're right ... it's a rhetorical figure called "antiphrasis".Arrivederci a domani.C

take me anywhere

2004-10-13T13:43:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to announce that I am a runner up in the Pemberton Templeton 48 Hour Novella Contest with my story, A Child's Verse. I also wanted to acknowledge Mr. Chris Dingwall, for being the impetus to get me to participate in the contest.

Finally, I wanted to congratulate the other fine ladies who placed alongside me. The amazing part being, of course, that the stories were judged blind and that all three of us are UBC Improvisors. I've said it before, I'll say it again--the power of improv is great indeed.

Winner: Jen Neale for OPM.
Runners Up: Me and Becky Ferreira for Arcadia on the Hill.

Congrats ladies! Perhaps I will post the story, in an edited form, in the months to come.

ticky boo

2004-10-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

Stolen from Gerald and Graham, because I can.

Kaitlin's heavy rotation list, right now:

1. Patti Smith - Rock n Roll Nigger
I have to stop myself from my usual trend of walking around saying lyrics out loud with this one. Must have been sooo fucking controversial when it first came out. Patti is my heroine. Oh, and if you see me walking down the street going, "Bebe Bebe Bebe was a rock n roll nigger!" please don't beat me up. Listen to the song first.

2. The Desert Sessions - Wanna Make it Witchu
Every year, they grab some popular musician and throw them out in the desert, give them some money, and tell them to recruit other musicians and make an album. This year, Josh Homme and Mark Lanegan of Queens of the Stone Age lassoed PJ Harvey and made this track. Please please download it. The best recently-recorded blues song I've heard in a long time.

3. Tegan and Sara - I Know I Know I Know
I always love their albums because they seem to always coincide thematically with my life. This song is so sad if listened to carefully--there's a lot happening behind that catchy poppy beat.

4. Wilco - Nothing Up My Sleeve
This B Side fell into my lap through random downloading. Another one of those sad songs hiding behind a pseudo-happy tempo. That Jeff Tweedy could write his way out of anything, I tells you! "The phone won't ever ring/ In the middle of the night/ And if it ever does/ I can assure you it won't be me."

5. PJ Harvey - Dry
T-Minus 20 days til touchdown of the goddess of rock eternal....*sigh*.

bitched from the start

2004-10-06T16:35:00.000-07:00

My buzzer buzzes. It's the postman, he has a package that won't fit in my mailbox. Would I come down and get it?

It's in a pile amongst others. The address stamp peers up at me. Elk Valley Bighorn Outfitters. My stepmother. I pick it up. I thank the postman.

In the package is a book and nothing more, no note. The book is called Hemingway in Africa: The Last Safari. My father was reading it before he left.

I remember it being on the bedside table. His bedside table.

I receive it still marked on the page where he left off. I rip the bookmark out.

And then I reconsider. I look at the page. I see that the last sentence my father read was about a lion.

And I put the book on my shelf.

from an article about non-fiction writing

2004-09-27T01:20:00.000-07:00

"To Virginia Woolf, the present was a platform for viewing the past, the string of experiences we drag behind us like a bedraggled train.We are not imagined. Our past is real, but it is not static. Like the cosmos, it moves unceasingly away from us, and what a memoirist captures is but a glimpse of its receding illumination, a recollective red shift that can only be adjusted through re-creation. Can we change the past? No. But we can change how it is remembered because we grow, change, and (hopefully) learn from our experiences. Or, as Tomas Elroy Martinez writes in his novel Santa Evita: 'Every story is by definition, unfaithful. Reality, as I’ve said, can’t be told or repeated. The only thing that can be done with reality is to invent it all over again.'"

baby has got, got a bad bad mouth

2004-09-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

Oh...my...god...yes.

She is coming. My beautiful goddess of rock and roll.

Vogue Theatre, October 30th.

I may die. But at least my death will have a good soundtrack.

forty seven

2004-09-19T01:31:00.000-07:00

My father would have been 47 years old today.

I can't think of much else to say about that, really. It's just an observation.

I sure do wish Josh was here though. The apartment is quiet and large with my thoughts.

drunky mcdrunk

2004-09-14T02:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it is fun to post whilst drunk, so I can use words like whilst without hesitation.

This is an observation I have made, whilst drunk, on Monday, September, 13th.

Also, I have observed that it is fun, whilst drunk, to tell complete strangers about your high school experiences whilst in a state of complete intoxication.

Example: "Hi, friend of Rachel's attending her wine-soaked birthday party, whom I barely know, this is a story about my experience with high school team sports, namely volleyball, namely eighth grade volleyball, in which I blew the whole game for everyone. My name is Kaitlin, by the way."

And whilst you are doing this, also try to squeeze in some embarassing sexual encounter, so that the next time you meet them you can blame it on the wine.

Example: "So then, friend of Rachel's attending her wine-soaked birthday party, whom I barely know, he stuck his cock in my ear, right? This was so painful but oddly alluring. I just let the flow go, you know? Alright, high five for that."

Next time you meet:

Him: Oh hey, you're the cock-in-the-ear girl.
Me: What? Look, if this is supposed to be some sort of a joke, I'm not laughing.
Him: No! It's just that, last time we met, you said...oh nevermind.
Me: Nevermind is right, you sick piece of shit! Now stop that blabbering and get me a glass of wine.

Fin.

And, fin.

got a bad case of the bens

2004-09-05T02:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Diary,

The other day I interviewed Ben Kweller via telephone for the Underground. Throughout the call he was charming and funny, and seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. I'd never done a phone interview before, so I was a bit nervous about it. But, of course, he put me at ease.

Then, at the end of the call he said he wanted to put me on the guest list for his Vancouver show, and that after the show I should stop in and say hello!!

Now, Diary, if you've never seen Ben Kweller/heard his music, you must MUST get on it right now. He made me feel genuinely joyful in the presence of his performance, and there was a sense of goodwill and fun in the air that I haven't felt at a show in a long time.

Afterwards, Katy and I were whisked backstage to go see him, and found the cute little guy (we're talking the same size as me) sitting happily on a stool drinking a beer. His band, upon my approach, all shouted "KAITLIN!" a la Norm on Cheers, for no apparent reason other than pure, unadulaterated rock n roll joy.

Ben gave us beers. We chatted. I asked him about the hospital bracelet on his arm--he wears it for a fan with leukemia--and that led to a discussion about the nature of existence. With Ben Kweller. Little Ben Kweller. Rockin' little Ben Kweller.

Anyway, it was a good night. 'S my point. Free show, free beer, free love from the cutest man under 5'6" I've ever met.

*Sigh.*

Love Kaitlin

PS: He's married. Dammit.
PPS: He hugged me, several times, tightly, sweatily, and meaningfully. Yay me! Yay Ben Kweller! Yay joyful music!

the only living boy in new york

2004-09-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there is joy in comsumerism. It can't be helped. Especially when you feel that you've lived in relative poverty for a few months (that is, relative to all of those people around you who have money) and now you have a few bucks to throw around.

Therefore, today I bought:

- Medulla, Bjork's new album that has no instrumentation at all, just voices, beatuboxing, Icelandic/London choirs;

- the Garden State soundtrack. My good god. As soon as I got home a rainstorm erupted, and at that very moment Simon and Garfunkel started. I never thought about it before this, but S&G and rainstorms are so well paired it's like Paul and Art planned it. PS: the movie is wonderful;

- Frida on DVD. It has been notoriously hard to find, and when I have it's been a stubborn $35.95. Today I had a credit note from Chapters, so it ended up being $7.

That, and the rainstorm and my chicken soup and the promise of a new month, school year, a bit of money to throw about...makes this a beautiful day indeed.

Ahhh.

when good blogs go bad

2004-08-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I caved. I couldn't handle posting on the ugly motherfucker, but I wanted to post. So here it is. This is the new me.

Originally, my plan was to get kaitlinfontana.com up and running, and then I would post on there as well as have all of writing available to peruse and enjoy. Then I thought about it, and I didn't really want the blog me associated with the writer me. Although we wear the same pants on occasion, we differ. And my purpose for creating the website was to display my writing professionally and to garner feedback and responses. I still wish this to happen, but I want the feedback and responses to reflect the writing alone, not the writing plus the blog, or the blog in light of the writing, or what have you.

In other words, I want there to be a seperation of church and state. So to speak. Which is church and which is state, I wonder?

So, there you have it. kaitlinfontana.com will be up ASAP, I promise. And you are of course welcome to visit both sites--there is a link from here to there, but there won't be one from there to here.

It makes sense. Think about it.