feel shitty, look pretty

About a month ago, I brought three random friends from three completely different worlds together for drinks. I was leaving in a few days and so I decided, why not? If they all have me in common, they should get along fine.

One of those friends was Thi-Ngoc, a girl that I met in my Post Colonial Canadian Lit course where the professor could never pronounce her name. And so in jest, I coined her "Trang Pak" and she dutifully bestowed upon me "Gretchen Weiners."

After not having spoken to these three friends in a while, we each took turns updating the group on our lives. Out of the four of us, three including myself were male, all of whom were going through some boy trouble--and Trang Pak, being the one who was happily single and not pathetic, imparted some friendly advice.

And the one thing I remember most? Is when she told me "When you feel shitty, look pretty." And I totally agree. It absolutely helps--and I find that I do it on occasion too. When I feel like shit, I look good to offset the crummy mood. And when I'm happy? Totally more relaxed about what I wear and how I should do my hair--sometimes I just wear hats--even though I hate hats because they make my head look really big. But I don't care!

So to all the readers of this blog, I want to share this wonderful piece of advice: "Feel shitty, look pretty!" And to make it even more effective? Tell yourself that you're hot when you look in the mirror. And don't rule out dancing naked in your room to MIKA or something. It just adds to the fun factor when you're trying to get out of a shlumpy mood.

My life in balance.

One of my favourite symbols is the yin yang. To me, it represents that we exist within this balance. A balance of good vs. not so good, happy vs. sad times, and struggles vs. successes.

This week has been one of those prime examples that I exist within a balance.

On Monday, I saw an idea that came to me in August '08 finally happen. Hard & Able: celebrating queer disability was a huge success. From a financial point, we raised almost enough money to be able to do it again. Or be creative and run it for less. :) From an artistic point of view, I proved to myself that I can create a piece that is both inspired, yet still Jay Stewart styled. Intellectually, I learned so much from this project. I've never been a great promoter, but I found others to teach me how. I learned how to caption videos, a skill that I will use from now on.

From a social perspective, it proved that not only are there queer disabled producers of art, there's a large community of queer disabled consumers of art. Never at any event that I have attended or performed at, have I seen such a large visible group of disabled individuals. To look out and see a venue filled to standing room only was a thrilling moment for me. At the very end, I found myself completely in the moment and almost brought to tears. It reassured me that hard work, late nights, striving for something that you believe in, involving supporters, and reaching out will breed success. Thank you to each and everyone of you who supported me throughout the project and who took time out to support it in person.

From that high came the balance...

I lost a wonderful person today to a battle against cancer. I met her only a few years ago, but she will have a lasting impact on me. She was my ex's grandma, but after monthly visits and many games of scrabble (which she always won) and cribbage (which I sometimes won), she made me feel like she was my Grandma too.

You often hear stories of the older generation not grasping or accepting alternative sexualities, but thankfully that's yet to be my case. Grandma accepted me as her grandson's partner and welcomed me with both open arms and heart. I was always welcomed with a strong hug and a kiss that left a mark (truly her trademark). We'd sit and play games for hours, talk, and always have a great time. She'd end off the evening with another hug and a kiss, plus an 'I love you guys.'

To my understanding she battle cancer before and beat it. This time, it came back and operating was not an option. I watched her go from this strong woman insisting on doing everything at each family dinner to having to lay on her couch, but always in good spirits. This last January, she was finally admitted to palliative care. There, my ex and I continued our visits and I bought a scrabble board, so that we could continue those good times. For 8 months, I think that I visited at least monthly. Only recently had she refuted games of scrabble due to exhaustion, but always wanted to know what was going in my life. She would even brush her hair and put on some lipstick for my arrival.

Very quickly, things started to get worse. I believe it was my visit a week ago, where she slept for most of it and was having difficulty opening her one eye. I saw her again this last Wednesday, when she mustered up the strength to say 'Hi Jay' twice and it almost brought me to tears. While we were waiting in the lounge for the nurses to take care of her, she specifically asked to see me. Her whole family around and she asks for me. Let's just say, I was very honoured. Laying almost listless in her bed, curled up to one side, she held tightly onto my hand and smiled as I told her that I loved her. She kept squeezing and kissing my hand. She then struggled to tell me something, at first incomprehensible, and then much clearer. She said 'Every time I see you, you're always so nice.' I've been told that she had barely spoken all day and yet, took the opportunity to share that with me.

It hit me quite hard. I can tend to put up an emotional wall around me to ensure that those around me can't hurt me. Some see it as being distant/cold. Grandma was someone who was able to easily penetrate the wall and see me for who I strive to be. She reminded me that it's not about the gifts that we bring each other or the momentous occasions that we share. It's something as simple as being nice to one another. That's it, nothing huge or life altering, just being nice. Afterwards for the first time in my life, I cried loudly in the car in the public parking lot.

I was lucky enough to spend 3-4 hours with her on Friday night surrounded by her immediate family. I was able to watch her in her last hours breathing deeply and yet still comprehending what was going on. It was difficult to leave her, but I knew that she had lived a long life and had been a true fighter right to the end. I finally managed to get to sleep, when I was awoken to the sound of my cell phone buzzing and knew that she had finally passed. I didn't feel quite as sad, when the news was confirmed. While I'm upset that she is gone, I know that this is best. She is now at peace and back with her husband of many years. Plus, one is never gone, as long as you celebrate them through memories.

Life always come in balance is what I believe in. During the roughest moments, I know that the good times are in the distance. During the greatest times, I indulge knowing that a rough moment can pop up at any time.

DEPRESSION IS DEPRESSING

Tuesday, August 18/Wednesday, August 19, 2009

DEPRESSION IS DEPRESSING

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

Writing about depression is just too damned depressing.
I’d rather be painting on the beach, with my feet in the sand, at Big Sur,
Just like Elizabeth Taylor in “The Sandpiper”.
Or having sex with some gorgeous, well hung stud muffin twink.
Whip out your throbbing dick and let me go to town, baby.

It’s like being dragged, against your will, into Alice’s stinking rabbit hole
Only there’s no fun when you reach the bottom.
Blackness, bleakness, a sense of screeching red hopelessness.

In my dreams, I can fly around the room,
Feeling so alive and free.
Then I wake up thinking it’s for real
Before I come crashing down to hideous reality.

Take me to the French Riviera
To Nice and Cannes or Cap Ferrat.
Driving the winding roads up into the shimmering pink hills,
Oozing soothing sweat with the hot sun in my face.

Depression is like drowning in burning sewage.
I long to see Jackie Burroughs on the silver screen or live upon the stage.
No booze induced puking on the floor in my seedy room at the baths.
Weeping on a park bench when a love affair comes to an end.
Something sets you off and the charcoal-coloured curtains envelope you in disgust.
The demon sits on your chest and tries to crush you.

Better the opening night jitters and after-party elation.
Standing on the stage, full house, not knowing what play you are even in,
Let alone the lines that must spew out of your mouth.
Tears soak your clean T-shirt and empty the Kleenex box.
Once, when a play I wrote was a flop,
I stayed in bed for a week with the Black Dog shitting in my face.

Please let me watch a favourite flick, like “Vertigo” or “The Misfits”.
A good cry watching “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” can purge the soul
And make you feel so much better.
I want to grasp the wings of a giant eagle and soar through the heavens.
Have lengthy conversations with intelligent angels.
Ask important questions of the Goddess.
All about the meaning of life and why we are here.

Send space aliens to educate me about the Universe.
There is even a time, after death, when you can have anything and everything your little heart desires.
It puts things in perspective.
After all, what good is an Oscar if you have a house full of them?
Would money be meaningless if you had $80 billion dollars?
How many lovers can one contend with?

Help me to escape from the rabbit hole of hell.
Anti-depressants make you fat and lazy which depresses the shit out of me.
“Hello. How are you?”
“I’m depressed.”
“That’s nice. I have to go. I just remembered something.”
Click.
Yeah, I’ll deal with this on my own.

I had this psychiatrist in the Eighties.
I’d be telling him some trauma from the past.
I’d glance over at him and he’d be yawning.
My pain was his boredom.
At least his paycheque was good.

Dropping, falling, tumbling backwards into oblivion.
Down the foxhole into nothingness.
Being unable to swim to shore in the middle of the pitching sea.
Your arms and legs tied with invisible rope.
Seaweed choking your parched throat.
Unable to evacuate anything.

Even if I had a sex change, I’ll never look like Julianne Moore,
Or have the accolades of Meryl Streep.
Not in this reality, anyway.
It’s just me, alone.
Craving more sex.
Reaching out for a life-saving hand.
Trying to be happy with life the way it is.

Depression is just there, like the sun.
Like a dog turd on the sidewalk.
Like sniffing a wino’s bum hole in the dark.
Look up. Relax.
It’ll go away, eventually.
Rise up. Get some sun.
Take some St. John’s Wort.
Get up. Live. Smoke a joint.
Make some art.
Lift your head.
Fly away with me, my sweet imaginary lover,
Into the dawning of rapturous golden bliss.
I wish this depression were merely boring but it can crush you to death.

SPIDER ON THE CEILING

Sunday, August 23, 2009

SPIDER ON THE CEILING

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

The spider is acting crazy.
He shoots down from the ceiling on his invisible thread,
Dangles for a minute,
His arms flailing like a daredevil,
Then scurries back up to the white ceiling.
He does this, repeatedly.

Maybe the heat of the light,
Sticking out from the wall,
Looking like a 19th Century streetlamp,
Frightens him away.
I wish I knew what this spider wanted to do.

Sometimes, the tiny brown thing hangs from the ceiling above my stove,
Curled up and snug,
Sleeping the night away.
Cooking brunch awakens him
And he zips away in terror to the safety of the grease-stained wall.

I try to reassure him.
My soothing tones seem to calm the little sweetie.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you.”

You see, I love spiders.
In fact, I adore them.
They bring me luck.
They’re glorious, beautiful creatures.

At my doctor’s office,
The receptionist started screaming.
“Ahh!!! A spider! A spider!”
I begged her not to kill the cute wee thing.
“They’re good luck,” I said.
This slightly strange looking woman didn’t believe me.
The terrified creepy-crawly soon disappeared.

Once, I had a pet spider.
It liked to hang around above my stove, as well.
Late one morning, I sat down to eat my fried eggs.
As I cut into the food, the poor, dead darling suddenly appeared on my plate,
Hiding underneath the eggs.
It made me sad.
What a waste of good food!

This one keeps acting wild,
Going up and down the thread, again and again,
With its thin arms waving and flapping about.

I can’t read its mind or suss out the vibes.
Maybe it’s pissed off about something.
I just hope it doesn’t die.

Perhaps Percy is old and has dementia
And doesn’t know what he’s doing.
Could it be having a nervous breakdown?

I hope it isn’t hungry.
A fruit fly buzzed around it but Mr. Spider totally ignored him.

This many-legged thing crawled across the corner of my large acrylic landscape painting.
I guess this creature has no taste for art.

Maybe it wants to mate.
My brother once watched a film in which a baboon in heat,
Running around in a frenzy,
Screwed everything in sight.
After each encounter, it would throw the male off its back
And run to the next partner.
Perhaps my cute pal is merely horny.

The up and down frenzy continues.
Yes, I truly believe this spider may be nuts.

Now, it’s morning.
My delightful little room-mate is all curled up in a ball,
Once again hugging the ceiling.
It hasn’t moved for hours.
Methinks it’s snoring away.
I didn’t know that spiders ever slept.

Songs for the Moment

After 8 hours of final video creating for Hard & Able: celebrating queer disability tomorrow, here's a quick post of some songs that I'm enjoying at the moment.

Manos Al Aire by Nelly Furtado





I kinda love this song. It's fun to see Nelly devote a whole album to not singing in english. She usually does a portion of her songs in spanish and portuguese and now we get a whole album worth. What I really like about this video is how it's subtitled. While I would probably like the song without knowing what she's saying, it certainly helps. Plus I spent the last week closed captioning videos, so I have a new appreciation for it. ;)


Run This Town - by Jay-Z featuring Kanye and Rihanna

Jay Z - Run This Town feat Rihanna and Kanye West ...
Uploaded by negrotep. - Explore more music videos.

Okay, so I haven't really liked much from Jay-Z for awhile and Kanye's needs to step out of the lime light for a bit to make me appreciate him. But Rihanna saves this track and well I can't keep the opening bit outta my head. "Who's gonna run this town tonight?" It's quite the power house of artists on this one track and it makes me really want another Rihanna album. I like the variety of her last album. Plus, I'm intrigued to discover what her new album is gonna have on it content wise. Will she address the Chris Brown beat down?

Use Somebody by Kings Of Leon


Kings of Leon - Use Somebody (Official Music Video) - The funniest videos clips are here

When did this album come out?? Was it even 2007?? I feel like I've heard this song such a long time ago. It came on the radio today and I just checked the Billboard charts and it's in the top 10. I guess mainstream audiences outside of the rock charts have finally found it. It's a great song to sing on a road trip. Which is what I did way back in April...and now it's August.

There are some songs that I'm feeling now, how about u? Did I miss the song of the summer? It seems like we haven't had one this year.

MIDNIGHT WANDERINGS

Thursday, August 20/Saturday, August 22, 2009


MIDNIGHT WANDERINGS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns


Standing ten feet away from the tides slapping against the sand.
I love the sound.
Warm, sticky summer night.
Remembering the hard rocks beside the sea at Nice.
The cool, strong winds.

Wish I were somewhere else.
A hot beach in Tahiti.
Venice or Paris.
Anywhere but here,
Where jealous, penny-pinching quasi-friends betray you.
Where former buddies tell salty lies stinking of revenge.

If I close my eyes, I can pretend I’m far away.
I’m Deborah Kerr in “From Here to Eternity”
Committing lovely adultery on the beach,
With Burt Lancaster in a tight black bathing suit
Showing the world what religion he is not.
The lapping of the waves stirs the mind and nourishes my soul.
I can try to forget my tiny troubles and ponder how life could be.

The lights shimmer on the lake, as if they were dancing.
The streetlight illuminates the white of the water.
The lapping sound of the waves repeats and repeats.
It’s comforting and healing,
Soothing the reoccurring melancholy.

The boats all look to be asleep.
No lights coming from any of them,
As they gently rock back and forth.
Sometimes the tides sound angry
And other times more calm and relaxed.
I’m carried away to other places
Where trouble no longer exists.

Maybe, in the morning, things will be better.
This lagoon is my own private hiding place
In a city full of terror and gloom.
I long for escape.

Further on, past the Palais Royale,
The Boardwalk has been torn up,
Replaced by wet sand.
There are no cars in the parking lot
Or people on the beach.
Only one man passes me as I stroll along in the dark.

A great glob of cement-like emotion is trapped in my chest.
The tides speak to me in inexplicable ways.
I turn around and head for home,
Walking quickly along the deserted bicycle path.
The empty feeling inside haunts me as I briskly make my way East.

Politics vs. Arts

Yes, that would be Abe Lincoln receiving some fellatio from a pretty gal. It's part of a 2006 series called 'Join or Die.' You can view Justine Lai having sex with many other American Presidents here.

While I'm sure many opposed her graphic images with such 'esteemed men', it got me to thinking about the way that politics and arts can be intrinsically connected to one another.

I think the exhibit is pretty genius, we tend to think of Presidents as being very serious and forget that they're human and obviously fuck. I'm sure we all remember how Clinton's approval rating was reported to have gone up during the whole debacle over his Lewinsky times in the oval office. This exhibit reminds us that there's the public side of somebody and the personal side.

Earlier this week, there was (imho) the stupidest uproar over a billboard in British Columbia for Coors Light that declares that it is 'Colder than most people in Toronto.' Do I agree with the statement? No. Do I care. Nope TIMES INFINITY!!! Stick and stones may break your bones, but names will never hurt you. I learned that when I was 4 and yet, we have grown ups screaming FOUL over it. The worse part is that you've got the media covering it, likes it's a big deal and then the billboard is then taken down. Why? It's getting you publicity and in my book, any publicity is good publicity.

Oh wait, we're now in this ridiculous world of facebook/twitter. Where we count somebody joining a group called 'I hate Coors' as being a legit pissed off customer. Nope, it's simply somebody willing to click 'join this group' button. That's all it takes. Just a click and you've voted your solitarity. One used to have to put pen to paper, make a phone call, or march in the streets to protest. But really..who does that?? That's tiring.

Really all that happened was that the ad was proven correct. We truly are cold Torontonians, as we lack a sense of humour and can't just accept a little coastal ribbing to sell a few beers.

A few weeks ago for Caribana, the queer community seemed to delight in joy at stopping Elephant Man from performing over his homophobic lyrics. My real disappointment was that there was no engagement into dialogue with the artist. We banned him. Big whoop. He'll sing in another venue. Why not discuss the issue with him? Maybe he'll see US as BEING less OPPRESSIVE. But no, we sent our e-mails, updated our fbook statuses and declared victory. Has there been any link between such lyrics and actual hate? I'm pretty sure Ice-T is on a mainstream show and even more ironic playing a cop and he's the guy singing Cop Killer. Why aren't we shutting him down?

Now to shamelessly self promote... On Monday, I'm happy to be able to present a show called Hard & Able: celebrating queer disability. You'll find that most of my works like to combine some sort of social issue into a creative piece. Some times, it's misjudged (Shoot A Load, Not Yourself) and other times, it's seen as it is (Chair fucker). The hope with my pieces is that hopefully it acts as a catalyst towards civil discussion. Which is what I think all art should engage you to do.

While I certainly encourage artists to continue to mix politics with their art. I am going to have to plead with art recipients (a.k.a. the audience) from jumping to over politicize their reactions so quickly. :)

BIRTHDAY POEM FOR NEIL

Monday, August 10, 2009

BIRTHDAY POEM FOR NEIL

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

It was a still summer night, not unlike tonight.
It could have been yesterday.
We were so very young and beautiful.
I’ve always loved the summer.
We sat on a bench, with the highway running underneath us.
Something frightening and electric was in the air.
You told me it was over and I burst into tears.

I remember your gobbling, wiry body.
The long, lithe legs.
That huge luscious cock
And the asshole with a tiny hint of hair around it.
I was crazy about you.
We had dreams in our eyes.
Heady times, they were.
Dancing together at a gay disco
With you in your silver jumpsuit.
Writhing sex at the baths for we had nowhere else to go.

We shot an avant-garde Underground movie together,
Something I’d been dreaming of since I was 5 years old.
We smoked dope and had incredible sex.
I was falling into a scary, fearful, wondrous pit.
Then I crashed down to Earth and was wounded.
It came to an end.

I remember getting drunk and going to your house and crashing in a strange bed.
I hoped you would be there so we could patch things up.
No one saw me or questioned the foolishness of the situation.

We wanted different things.
You desired security and riches.
Someone to take care of you.
That’s how it seemed to me.
I needed great passion and art,
Acting, success and fame.
It was brief but traumatic.
I moved on carrying scars.

In those days, I was always getting dumped.
I was hot and sexy and didn’t even know it.
A quivering mass of insecurities.
Falling for guys who were already taken.
No one wanted to get involved.
Gay relationships were so different, back then.

For years, I didn’t understand what happened,
But the pattern was often repeated.
Always blamed myself when things ended.
We both continued to perform and create art.
You seemed to find the love and material things you were looking for.

Love is a crazy thing,
Like reaching out to grab bubbles that disintegrate in your hands.
I never found the romance I was seeking though I’ve had some fabulous rides along the way.

Decades pass.
Things change.
Lives move apart and come together.
People transform into new beings.
We age and lose our youthful appeal.
Become happy or bitter.
Life is full of such joy and pain.
Sometimes it seems impossible to carry on.
Fits and starts.

Now, years later, it’s your birthday.
Happy birthday, darling Neil.
I’m so glad you were a brief part of my life.
I wish you all the joy and abundance in the world.
May you carry on with grace and ease.
I am no longer the boy you knew
As you are no longer the guy I lusted after.
Have a marvellous day.
Merry meet and merry part
And merry meet again.
Blessed be.

We will be visible

On Monday August 24th at 8pm at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, my company 'a jay stewart project' presents Hard & Able: celebrating queer disability. It is by far my proudest artistic accomplishment project thus far. I had the idea about a year ago to put on a cabaret event featuring artists that identify as both queer and disabled. Why? Cuz I'm queer and disabled and wanted to meet other similar artists.

First, I did my research to see if anybody else was doing similar events. I really dislike creating something from scratch if somebody else was doing it. Research demonstrated that others HAD been doing similar events, but no longer. I applied for a grant from Community One and was the lucky recipient back in April.

This put into motion a call out to the community to locate artists that were queer and disabled. Which proved to not be so easy. I discovered that the word 'disabled' is a word that many of us choose not to subscribe to. It's you know...for those...that are really disabled. If you wear glasses, suffer from depression or have a heart murmur...that's shitty, but not enough to be disabled. WRONG-O in my books!!! That stuff all qualifies as a disability and I wanted individuals like this to be a part of the night. It's an evening for all those that exist on the disability spectrum to come together and say that a) we are visible and b) we're immensely talented!

As someone who suffers physical pain daily and wears hearing aids, you may or may not have ever classified me as disabled. Why?  Cuz my disabilities are not all that visible. I've been like this since birth and my Mom has always prided me on celebrating my differences. Who I am today is owed very much to having such a supportive individual in my life. I was brought up to acknowledge my disability, but to never let it stand in the way of accomplishing any of my goals.

I invite you to come out to Hard & Able: celebrating queer disability and support artists that identify as both queer and disabled. It's going to be an exciting evening filled with artists doing drag, spoken word, songs, skits with videos and photography too.

If you're not in Toronto, you can still be a part of the event by paying for access to the live feed. E-mail me at jay@ajaystewartproject.com for more information.  Check out the facebook event for those in the GTA

I hope that you will come and bare witness to a small step towards making each of these artists a visible part of the artistic community.

In an effort to make this event accessible, the venue is wheelchair accessible and there will be ASL interpretation provided.

I don't get heterosexuality!

I just had a thought and granted it's not a very well thought out one. But I figured that I'd put it out into the cyber universe and allow you to play around with it.

I just don't get the label of heterosexuality. Like I get that it's been burned into brains through religious and conservative doctrine, but besides that - it makes no sense to me that anybody would classify themselves as heterosexual.

I can understand that somebody can be homosexual. If you look in the mirror and you find yourself to be attractive. Why wouldn't you find those of the same gender to be attractive? If you can finger your pussy and stroke your cock to orgasm, why does doing it to another's freak you out? It' seems so simple. You like your cock, why wouldn't you like another? Take hetero boys who can self suck (aka auto fellatio), they dig cock enough to suck their own...what's so gross about another's?

With this, I totally get bisexuality. Of course, I'm biased. I dig both girlies and boys. I find them both to be attractive. I don't squirm at the sight of tits or become repulsed about slamming into an ass. In this instance, one is attracted to their own gender, but has also found the opposite gender to be attractive.

Which leaves us with heterosexuals. They claim that they are only attracted to the opposite gender. Which leads me to wonder, if they are really just self haters or delusional? If they were self haters and didn't find themselves to be attracted, how is it that they are able to love another? After all, if you don't love yourself first, how can you ever love another? Self love means loving every part of yourself, even if one wishes to improve it. Or is this the reason why so many marriages and relationships fail? Because there's a sea of self hatred spreading around and everybody's drowning in it.

As for being delusional, yah I can see that too. You've spent so many years believing that the world only accepts man and female without passing judgment, so you decide that you'll stick with that. When really, one can be perfectly happy with being queer. Now I'm not saying that hetero relations are wrong, I'd just simply like individuals to stop being all 'eww...I could never love the same sex.' All I hear with that statement is 'I hate myself.' ;)

What'd you think? Cuz seriously, I've always believed that nobody is straight and not in an egotistical queer way. Just that it makes no sense to me. Where are you at on this discussion?

500 days of summer is brill!

If you've met me, you may think that I'm a bit insensitive, slightly cold hearted and generally a bit of a non-believer in all things lovey dovey.

It's with that in mind that I highly recommend 500 Days of Summer. A film recently released that stars Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon Levitt as a (non) couple. We track them from Joseph's view of the 500 days from the time that they meet, date, and well...SPOILER...break up. Not much of a spoiler considering within the first 10 seconds you read something to the effect of, "This is a work of fiction, it has nothing to do with anybody. Especially you Summer. You bitch."

Either way, this cute little film tracks heartbreak in an non-chronological and creative way through a variety of film styles, genres, and realistically real moments (or as real as something can be on film).

Zooey does her usual cute girlfriend role that she's getting known for and Joseph is the perfect candidate for the boy who loves too hard.

For someone who's had some serious loves and has now been out of love for over a year, I thought it was extremely cute and fun. It's not sappy and that's what is important. Plus, the ending can be interpreted as happy, but I chose not to.

For me, it had a very "before sunrise" feel to it, as it just allows you to be a part of the film without throwing it all at you. Plus, it was well edited and time moves quickly between past and present.

I have only seen a few movies recently (Terminator, Bruno, The Hangover) and this was a perfect mix for what will probably be one of the last films that I see this summer.

I would not quite rate this film as a date movie, but if you do go with your partner, it'll certainly generate some post-movie discussion.

...Buzz Buzz...

So my foray into dating asians has opened my slanted little eyes in more ways than one.

A couple small examples:

1) HK style cafes are the bomb. Anywhere where you can mix asian foods with breakfast foods AND get iced coffee all for under $8 is a golden ticket straight to my heart.

2) Soju bars...similar to 1) except with booze and a slightly higher price point. Still right at the ole ticker though.

3)Markham...not so scary. A lot of open spaces though.

4)My gaydar is worse on my own kind than it is on others...How the hell is that possible?

BUT the most puzzling matter of all is this...Who is the Asian Queen Bee?

Confused? let me clear things up as much as I can.

Apparently, according to my asian friends who are into asians, there is a ranking of all the asian races as to who is the most desireable.

For some reason, Filipinos are mostly ranked the least desireable. I don't know why though. Insight please.

Going up the ladder, mainland Chinese or Vietnamese are slightly above Filipinos.

Then it gets a little hazy and it's usually a mixed bag where HKers are a little above that and Taiwanese, Japanese and Koreans duke it out to be the top of the royal heap.

It's like Top Model but with races...weird, huh?

Who knows if the gaysian mafia will send someone out to sniper me off for spreading this but I wanna know who's on top?? And why it's ranked in this way.

All I get for an answer is "oh...it's personal preference". But if that were the case, then the bottom shouldn't be the same...but in the pool I've asked it is. Is it certain languages that sound less sexy? More or less masculine? Or mannerisms bred in by culture?

Is there such a ranking in other race worlds? Are Gingers less desireable in the white gay community? Are Africans less desireable than Jamaicans?

Who's on top then?

Who is the Asian Queen Bee???

We Can Kill The Weather Man!

Now, I have to admit that I don't pay attention to weather forecasts. It's for this reason that I'm usually caught out in the rain wearing shorts and flip flops. Or still in a sweater and pants, when it's unseasonably warm in early Spring.

I gave up on the 'witchery' that is weather forecasting many many years ago, but I never realized that I could go ahead and kill the person in charge of weather forecasting.

Check out this article here on thestar.com. It highlights that an individual in Canada who forecasts the weather has been assaulted and received negative e-mails about their inability to correctly state what the weather will be like.

As for the killing, well we'd have to move out of Canada to get away with that. According to the article, if it were before the 1960s and in Britain, we could burn someone at the stake for trying to predict the weather. The Taliban in the 1990s apparently banned it too, as they deemed it to be sorcery. In 1996, Peruvian meteorologist Francisco Arias Olivera was freakin hanged for not correctly forecasting a flash flood that killed 17 people.

I don't know about you, but does that not seem a little bit extreme. I'm all for angry letter campaigns and calling someone out for doing a shitty job, but I tend to back away when my friends start tossing around the idea of hanging someone. But that's just me.

Underwear Swap!

It's rare that I enjoy an advertisement, in my world, I tend to not really be aware of them.

I download most movies/tv that I watch, so I never have to view commercials/trailers. If I shop, it's at Valu-Village and not a lot going on there. Plus, I drive and when doing so, I listen to my ipod.

It's a wonderfully limited advertisement world for me. ;) While reading another blog, I came across this great ad done by legendary porn studio, Falcon. It's called the Undie Swap, where you get to choose 2 guys out of group and watch as they swap their underwear. I had a great time trying all the different combinations. Yes, you do get to see full nudity, so if you ain't into that...then don't check it out.

No, Falcon wasn't the mastermind of getting people to swap clothes to sell their product, it appears that Adidas was the first one to come up with this. Check out jersey swap and you can watch some jocks toss their jerseys at one another. This site is g rated, you only get to see torso.

Hope this helps your Monday start off a little bit better.

WALKING AFTER THE RAIN

Monday, August 10, 2009

WALKING AFTER THE RAIN

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

I’m walking after the rain has stopped.

Air is fresh and clean.

Crisp, damp.

Thinking about Cultural Icons.

Society needs them.

People desire role models.

Someone to look up to and fantasize about.

Listen to teenagers talk.

They babble on about the latest pop star celebrity,

As if that person was truly important in their lives.

They say we chose the circumstances of our life before we come down to Earth,

As well as the way it will end.

Someone consented to be James Dean and die in a horrific car crash.

It’s as if we are actors choosing our roles before we descend onto this thrilling Paradise.

A soul even agreed to be Adolf Hitler, as that being was needed on the planet.

We decide beforehand what we need to work on in the upcoming lifetime.

A group of souls staying and playing together for eons.

One time, this particular one is your Mother.

In another life, they become your husband.

Someone is spreading vicious lies about me.

A channeller said that this man is getting his revenge

Because of a past life connection between us.

We seek peace, comfort and knowledge on this plane of existence.

It’s a learning experience for us.

Even before the printing press, there was the Town Crier

Announcing news and upcoming theatrical events.

Humans need to look outside themselves,

To empathize with other beings.

To see their own stories right in front of their eyes.

I’m walking after the rain.

Feeling good.

Wondering what’s coming next?

Trying to make sense of past traumas

In order to move on and thrive.

Remembering fun times when I had more stars in my eyes.

I had celebrity role models.

Jane Fonda, Judy Garland, Janis Joplin, James Dean, Montgomery Clift.

I liked the ones with drama surrounding them.

A whirlwind of sex and acclaim.

I never grew up to be an icon,

Though I was blessed with some gifts.

You be the judge of that.

We hide in our little cubby holes

Coming up for air when we need it.

Mingling with like-minded spirits.

Attempting to tell the truth, we hope.

Dolls morph into magazine photos

Which transform into thoughts and dreams.

Lusting after the unattainable.

Even Brando turned out old and fat and finally dead.

I think of some truly talented people and the misery of their lives.

Give me Van Gogh’s genius but not his torment.

Bless me with Judy’s glorious singing voice but not her crippling addictions.

Give me Liz Taylor’s youthful beauty but you can keep her illnesses for yourself .

Society reaches out to grasp these icon’s dazzling lives.

It takes us away from the dreariness of our own puss-filled boredom.

Even Jesus Christ had to relieve himself, just like you and me.

After death, we review the life we just lived, as if it were a novel we’d studied in school.

What did we learn?

What did we do right or wrong?

What challenges did we overcome and why?

In one life, you are a male peasant, starving to death in a barren wasteland.

In another, you’re a beautiful woman, with jewels on silver platters.

We have to experience everything.

You murder and are murdered.

Rich and poor.

Famous and infamous.

Easy lives and hard ones,

All flowing into the same swirling river.

A kaleidoscope of lives meshing into each other.

Will you be royalty, if requested?

General Patton?

Roosevelt or Woody Guthrie.

Jewish or Arab.

Intersexed.

Heterosexual or gay.

Asexual or trans.

Consider the possibilities.

We have all of Eternity to play these endless games.

May we all be blessed with our fair share of joy.

What would you do?

Hopefully you can read the above image, otherwise you won't quite grasp this post. :)

Essentially what has occurred is that an employee decided to vent after a shitty day about their boss. Forgetting that said boss is one of their facebook friends and would read it. The boss took it to heart and appears to have fired them before their probationary period was up.

Why would anybody add their boss to their facebook?? Maybe it's just me, but as a 'boss', I keep a very professional line w/ my employees. We don't go out for drinks, we don't hit movies, and I certainly don't add them to facebook, twitter, or other such sites.

This may seem harsh, but it's a reality of the work. Do I really want to catch you in a lie? Say you call in sick and then I go on facebook and see pics of you drunk the night before. This creates a conflict. Cuz now I know you're a liar. Now if you had called and said 'Sorry, I'm hungover.' I could let it pass for a one off, but if it happens consistently...then u're gone.

Now I think that the boss is going overboard firing somebody. Especially, cuz it's obviously a vent. She can still call him a pervert, just cuz you're gay, doesn't mean you can't perv on girlies. Sure, it's not the nicest way to find that your employees are pissed with you, but it's also feedback. I've often wondered how my employees really feel about me, as you can ask for feedback, but people don't want to hurt your feelings.

Personally, if I was her boss, I'd delete her from facebook, bring them into the office, ask about their comment and then just go back to our normal routine.

What would you do in this situation, if you were the boss?

Once more, with feeling!

"People will forget what you said or what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." Maya Angelou

I came across this quote just now on twitter and it really struck me as the truth.

When I think about the times that I have been in love, I could never describe the reasons why. It was simply a strong feeling that I had towards that person.

When dealing with those who are negative, often times you forget what it was about them that caused that feeling, but you just can't shake it.

Have you ever encountered someone and just felt naturally happy in their presence? Or completely turned off?

Maybe it's getting back on track w/ yoga that's causing me to be more reflective or 2 days in a row seeing the ex's. ;) Or that I haven't felt love in a year and really want that feeling back.

What'd you think? Are you in tune with your feelings? Got a quote that you'd like to share?

Do You Know This Guy?

Do you know this guy? Apparently, he's from Toronto and this is him in front of Union Station. How do I know this? Because Tapthatguy.com told me so. Through the networking of twitter (follow me @jaystewart82), I was introduced to this site and I'm a tad uncomfortable with it.

Essentially, you take pics of guys who are unaware that you are taking it and then post it up on this site with the location of where it was taken. CREEPY!!!! Don't you think? All you want to do is hang out in a public space and not worry about such things happening.

But it brings up the notion that there really are no more private spaces. I was reading an article for school that spoke about the hundreds of millions of government dollars that has been given out for surveillance equipment post 9/11. The idea being that these cameras will see all and it'll prevent any sort of naughtiness. Mmmhmm.....right! Or it just allows security to watch us pick our noses, kiss loved one's, and generally lead boring mundane lives.

Pop stars (i.e. Beyonce) fall on stage, it's captured by all. Smoking a joint at a party (i.e. Michael Phelps), the whole word knows about it. Get into a little bare backing action (i.e. Dustin Lance Black) and Perez will blog it. When does it stop?

What'd you think? Should sites like Tapthatguy.com be allow to exist? Would you be upset if you found yourself on there? Does privacy exist at all?

Are you one of them?

Are you one of those people who, should you walk past anything that even harbors a remote glimmer of a reflection, turns to it to check yourself out? And thinks nobody even notices it?

Because I do. I am one of those people who notice you checking yourself out, you sick, twisted, vain piece of shit.

Also, because I am one of those people.

It's quite funny. I mean, I never really realized that I was doing it until I caught someone else doing it. We were walking down Robson St. and for an entire 6 blocks, this guy checked himself out in every reflection he could find. I mean, he wasn't horrible looking. Quite cute, nice set of calves and a nice back. And it was when I turned to check myself out as well that I realized, holy shit! I'm just like him.

I mean, I don't stare at my reflection and just fall in love with myself. I'm not that confident. I just like to make sure that my hair looks decent, that my face is covered up and that my outfit looks good. So, pretty much, I just want to make sure that every lie is in place because when you're a gay man, you can't afford to be honest. That comes later, after you've discovered whether or the man you just fucked has a trust big enough to stick around for.

BREATHE IN SOME VIOLET

Friday, July 31, 2009/Saturday, August 1, 2009

BREATHE IN SOME VIOLET

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

I used to play with dolls when I was a little boy.

They’re so sweet and colourful.

Lovely frilly clothes.

The kids laughed at me because of that.

“Philip should have been a girl,” they always said.

No thank you.

Who wants to worry about getting pregnant and having a period every month?

I’d rather just do occasional drag.

The best of both worlds.

Gulp down all the pills.

They’ll kill you and then no one will jeer, anymore.

I was only 13.

Thirteen and over-dosing!!

Can you believe it?!

My tummy full of aspirins,

Wondering what death would be like.

Scared.

Vomiting against my will.

Crying.

Carolyn coming down to see what was up.

Mom yelling because she’d been woken up.

That bitch always wanted to control everything.

He lived.

Another stomach full of pills when I was 21.

Plus LSD and a bottle of wine and a house plant.

Knocked it on the floor, you see.

Broke the deep green glass it was in,

Tumbling from the top of the toilet tank.

Mom mustn’t know.

So I ate the long, winding shoot with shiny emerald leaves

To get rid of the nasty evidence.

Blame it on the acid!

Oh, to grow up with confidence and acceptance.

Unconditional love and popularity.

Turning into a shamrock with anger and envy.

Ambulance meeting me around the corner

After calling a Suicide hotline.

To the hospital.

Puking in a bucket.

I’m alive.

Forget about these things.

“You’re not in high school, anymore,” a pretty strawberry blond guy once said to me,

Not so long ago.

The past colours the present.

Give me less blue and more yellow.

Give me same-sex parents and my own private island.

Purple morphs into mauve

Which becomes violet that turns into pale dusty pink.

The sunset is visible from my concrete balcony.

Every colour lilts into another.

The past imbues the present, as well.

Life goes on, no matter what happened before.

Breathe in every shade of experience.

Who wants to hear a sob story?

Yes, I’m still alive.

Dolls are so beautiful.

One stands regally gowned on a bookcase in my bachelor apartment.

Go ahead and laugh.

I enjoy Mika!

I enjoy Mika, I really do. He has an unique voice, writes playful songs, and has a great energy to him. It'd be nice, if he'd address his sexuality, but I guess it's one of those 'you know...but I ain't gonna admit it' kinda things.

I saw Mike in concert a few years back and my guy at the time and I spent the first few songs assuming that he was lip syncing. Cuz honestly, it sounded exactly like the cd. Everybody was thinking the same thing and we started to get really caught up. Then it hit 'Relax, Take It Easy' where he did this acapella introduction and everyone was just in awe. The reason why it sounded like the record was cuz Mika can fucking sing!!!

He's coming out with a new record and I want to share with you his awesome new song. It took me a few listens to get into, but now it's a definite summer fave (in a summer of few awesome songs). The video is pretty spaz-tastic and if he had chosen a fun pair boxers instead of boring white, it would've been even better. :)

Here it is for your enjoyment...

FOR JAMES AND MARILYN

Friday, July 31, 2009/Saturday, August 1, 2009

FOR JAMES AND MARILYN

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

Don’t write about any Sixties movie stars.

People are complaining.

They’ve heard enough about that blonde who killed herself.

Don’t write about her, ever again.

Well, I couldn’t give a fuck about Madonna or Britney Spears.

Kim Novak, to me, is the epitome of feminine beauty.

The Sixties was a tumultuous decade.

No one over 35 needs to be told that.

The sex goddesses were the best, back then.

I don’t want to fuck them, mind you.

Lend me their gowns and jewels and furs.

I’ll put then on, plus a long blonde wig.

I’ll tromp on the red carpet.

Don’t want anyone to throw rotten tomatoes at me.

Wanna have some fun.

Make lots of money.

Be slim and gorgeous.

Have many sexy lovers.

I want what I want.

Just happy to have a roof over my head.

After all, so many of my people died in the Nineties.

I’m here, right now.

But I’m never, ever gonna write about that zoftig blonde, ever again.

The one who died at 36.

What was her name, again?

See, I’ve forgotten it, already.

Don’t remember any of her movies

Even though I’ve seen almost all of them.

He warned you.

You’re starting to write about her and you promised not to.

Try to pen a poem about flowers or something.

Petunias don’t grab me.

I want to write about sex.

Don’t you dare.

There are nice people in the audience.

Nice people don’t have sex except to make babies.

Good people never THINK about sex.

It’s only horny queer perverts, like me, who fantasize about copulation

And all those filthy things, like fellatio.

Stop that!

You’ll get a slap.

I’d rather you wrote about that movie star than rude, vile, filthy things.

Go out and look at the sunset.

It’s free and pretty.

Maybe you’ll get a Canada Council grant

If you write about the colours in a sunset.

No sex and no Marilyn.

Oh, no! You said it.

You wrote about her.

Shame on you.

Write about the sunset.

Do it right now.

Okay, shut up.

I promise I’ll never write about her, ever, ever, EVER, again.

And I mean it.

All right?

The colours in the sky at 9 pm are heavenly

On this glorious summer night.

And my heart went thump, thump, thump.

Are you happy, now?