Category Archives: Personal Bits

Just things from my personal life

Like Daughter, Like Father

Personal Bits

I went to Tarragon Theatre’s Paprika Festival last Sunday to watch under-21s act, direct and write. My brother’s daughter, Emma had a play which she wrote and had a part in. Topical stuff, especially with the whole “guns in schools” thing happening again. She was the grubby, punk kid involved in a school shooting.

Out of them all, I enjoyed her play, Janet (Biased? Not really, it had some harsh words towards the Media and showed an anger that surprised me)and the last play, The Zoo-Keeper’s Love Song a funny story of a semi-disfunctional family versus a has-been American Slasher movie queen. Suitably impressed for Emma since she had to pare down her play 10 minutes a few days before, and she was up against some much older teens (she’s 14). I think she held her own and did a great job.

Of course she came out of the dressing room wearing a cool t-shirt that made me so envious.

Check it out, it’s free, but call ahead. It sells out the day of the performances.

My Weekend

Personal Bits

I am 90% ready for the big move. I have to bag my clothes, pack up the computer and sort through the kitchen’s spice rack with the roomie. I love doing this. I love finding old packets of Jello emblazened with the bored look of Ben Stien, or Survivor Australia endorsed Kraft Dinner wedged so far back in the cupboards above the stove.

Sharkboy and I painted a wall in the new place on Sunday. It was suppose to be a subtle blue moving into the realm of teal but it stopped at sky blue and looked kind of …queer… when it dried but I will hold judgement until the rest of the place is done and the artwork is up. Inbetween coats we went for a walk into my new neighbourhood. What trip to the Danforth would not be complete by walking into the Carrot Common for the latest in health food ironies?

We seperate and wander amongst the health food tonics and tinicures and after a few moments I hear a pert “Ted!” come from Sharkboy. His hand is over his mouth and nose and his eyes are watering. “Smell that!” he says.

He wants me to lift the lid to a heavy jar of white granules labeled “Tired Old Ass Soak Bath Salt”. I do without hesitation and get a blast of eucalyptus and …something else. The nasal passeges clear, the room spins, my eyes pee. He laughs.

“Oh? And why did you even think to sniff a jar full of ‘Old Ass Soak’?” I shoot back.

“You got your snout in there pretty fast,” he smiles.

My New Mom

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

A while ago my Da shocked the hell out of Sharkboy and I by not informing us that Sunday dinner would be shared with the man he tricked with all weekend: a 6’4″ African American adult student from Detroit, relocating to Toronto to go to Ryerson (I say “adult student” because they met at one of Da’s over 40, Prime Timers meeting). Imagine my surprise when I entered Da’s condo, noticed the fourth place setting and ask “Who else is coming to dinner?” and this gentleman comes out of the bedroom. Charming guy. Nice. Completely not like Da’s other tricks and dates, thats fer sher. Many were the jokes that evening of him being my “new Mom”, including my favorite: “Can I have my allowance, now?”

Then I got to thinking who would make a great Mom within the circle of friends/acquaintances I have. Here is an assessment of some with “Pushover Factor” (that is, would I be able to manipulate “mom” to do my bidding, one being “nope” and ten being “playdough!”):

Sharkboy: Beyond the obvious therapy I would need to go through if my Da and he were to start dating, I would require plenty of notice if I were to drop by their home. I wouldn’t want to see any form of coo-cooing or schmoopie doopie love talk lest I be sent into brain-locking fits.
Pushover Factor: 2. I know what buttons to push but he’s pretty crafty.

The Mailman: I think he would make my dad laugh. A lot. And they share the same anal sense of apartment living (git yer mind out of the gutter). But they’d butt heads too. Both are pretty stubborn.
Pushover Factor: 10. One whine from me and The Mailman caves. My voice is like that.

The Busdriver: I think these two would the most compatable together. They’re both home bodies, both like the quiet life with the odd shock ‘n play thrown in for fun. But the Busdriver would nag my Da when Da exerts his independence. I cant say why, I just feel it. I doubt that they’d monogamous, though. Hell I think with any of these guys Da wouldn’t be monogamous…
Pushover Factor: 4. He has seen me lie and knows when my tone changes to manipulation, Jedi-mind-trick level.

Vancouver Mike/Swollen Uvula: The most active Mom of the bunch. He’d take him bike riding and go on walks and enjoy Da’s kitchen. The horror for me would be that the two of them would gang up on me and start to berate me into fixing my life.
Pushover Factor: 8. Garlic Mashed Potatos and he’s mine.

Those are the top 4. I would have done online aquaintences but they’re a bit hard to judge. I know if DumbFuck was Da’s squeeze, I’d totally have a MILF.

Hey Baby!

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

I’m late for work having just left the Eagle after dropping off posters with the general manager. I’m hustling my ass up Church street, wrestling to get my iPod into my breast pocket of my jacket and trying to figure out what the hell is blocking it’s entry. I’m a bit disheveled as usual.

I look up into the manly face of a bear with a thick, dirty blonde goatee, so thick his chiseled lips are barely visible (barely!), baseball cap, tuft of hair coming out of his shirt, and sharp blue eyes framed by the beginnings of crows feet. Blue eyes that do two things: make contact with mine (and in that moment, the universal gay TCP/IP is transmitted between us saying “hommina hommina!” “Arooogah!” and “Rrrrowl!” all at once).

And then they abruptly show confusion, revulsion. I’m passed by with no parting backward glances. What did I do to have that connection broken so quickly? Was it my pretentious over-priced music player? The makeshift pull ring on my broken zipper on my coat? My orange carry-all?

None of that. I realize I’m walking up Toronto’s most bitter and image conscious street, holding a half used tube of toothpaste like a dagger.

I had jammed the damned thing into my jacket that morning to bring back to my place from the boyfriend’s digs. As we made eye contact, I had pulled it out of my breast pocket to make room for the iPod. I guess he might have thought I was suggesting something.

Sleeping Sheetless in a Double Bed

Personal Bits

I am the world’s biggest laundry slob. Really. As I write this there is a pile of clean laundry on the floor (hip-height) just outside the hamper that has been screaming for my attentions. I have a terrible habit not folding. And of leaving wet laundry in the machine until dries to a smelly wad, requiring a second run at it with extra softener. Once I had to do the same load three times over a period of 12 days due to my drying indifference. I just hate laundry and speed through it with reckless abandon.

Last night was no exception.

I decided that since I was moving in three weeks I was going to wash the sheets that were on the bed and use them until I move while using the rest of my pantry as packing material. Before your brain fills in the gap: yes. I did sleep in a stripped bed of naked mattress, bare pillows and cover-less duvet last night, thank you. But that’s not the scary part. Sometimes I feel sorry for the clean stuff and I haul the whole thing up onto my bed as an act of kindness to my clothes. Picture it: I am stripping the bed while shifting my clothes to one side then the next then giving up and shoving the entire mountain back onto the floor. On to the laundry room. As I am stuffing pillowcases, underwear and chinos into the washer, I brush a crumpled bedsheet up against the side of the machine with a klunk.

Klunk? My sheets aren’t that bad…

I narrowly escaped washing my iPod and my bedroom TV remote.

Imagine the call to Apple over that one: “Sorry sir, Applecare doesn’t cover Downy corruption.”

The Most Produced Play

Celebs and Media, Personal Bits

From today’s Globe and Mail:

The power of television being what it is, many more people probably know Michael Healey as an actor in CBC’s continuing legal series, This is Wonderland. But Michael is also the enormously successful author of The Drawer Boy, almost certainly the single most-produced Canadian play in history. Last year, the play was mounted 24 times in the United States alone. Not incidentally, it earned Healey gross royalties of $1.2-million. This year, it may do even better. A new production is about to open at the Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, N.J., starring veteran actor John Mahoney (Frasier). That, of course, is across the river from Broadway, where the show is likely headed next. London’s West End is also interested.

I guess I could sue him for brain damage from all the times he stuffed me in a sleeping bag and shoved me down the stairs.

Wow. I was jazzed when Dan became a Doctor and John became a successful salesman and Michele rolled a couple monster homes while rising in the ranks at Foothills General. Now I’m like…super jazzed (I never claimed to be half the writer he is, ok?)! Congratulations Mike!

PS: Faitful readers… I think Dad and I will be on this episode of TiW. Keep a sharp eye out for my chin or hand.