No Longer Vain. :)

With 18 months completed, Let's Be Vain is now officially closed.

Cheap Living!

Listen up, my Let's Be Vain-ers.  It's time to start enjoying life, while spending very little.  Which is my life long mission.  It's cheap Monday!!!  Where I share with you some ways to enjoy life on the cheap.

Yesterday was by far one of my most full fun days and it was all done on less than it should've been.

It started off with the 11:15 moring showing of 'Kick Ass' at the AMC Kennedy.  Early showings are only $6.  Wake up early and indulge in a movie that's 50% the discount of a regular movie.

From there, it was off to the beach for some free fun.  For those who drive, there's the option of paying for parking or you can do it my way.  Park on Leslie at the Loblaws or Wendy's or Shopper's and then enjoy a walk/blade/bike down to Ashbridges Bay.  Bring along your sunscreen, ipod, and book and there's free fun to be had.

After a few hours of beach-in-it-up, my lad and I decided to go the active route of rock climbing at Toronto Climbing Academy.  Recently, we scored a sweet HUGELY discounted deal at Groupon.  For $49, we received a free introductory course, one month membership and free equipment rental each time.  Two hours of working many muscle groups and sweating ourselves silly, we were done with being active and ready to eat.

Utilizing another Groupon massive discount, we showered at home and then headed over to Local 4.  Neither of us had ever heard of or been to this pub before, but with a $40 coupon after spending only $16, we were prepared to eat.  Drinks, appetizers, catfish for me, pulled pork for him and our bill came to less than $60.  Minus the $40 discount, and we paid around $36 for the whole meal.

Arrived home close to 10, watched an old dvd series (more free fun), and passed out knowing that it had been one full, yet cheap day o' fun.

What's your cheap way to enjoy yourself these days?

SITTING BESIDE THE LAKE

Thursday, April 22, 2010

SITTING BESIDE THE LAKE

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

The oak tree speaks to me with incandescent whispers.
Jewels of delight pour from the depths of her marrow.
Sapphires of wisdom shoot from her roots straight into my thumping heart.
I’m disappointed, as usual,
For we don’t always speak the same language.

The blue-grey water saunters by,
Minding her own business.
A nasty, aggressive goose keeps attacking its fellow citizens,
Angry for some unfathomable reason.
Its squawking disturbs the tranquility of the lake.

Seagulls scream when they discover food.
A pure white swan dives for fish or just watches the world go by.
Pretty under-dressed women rollerblade along the pavement,
Chattering and gossiping in a loud, annoying manner.
Dark, spooky rainclouds hover ominously in the distance.

Despite the drizzle,
The sun peaks out,
Every once in a while,
Just for the hell of it.
Far away are tall, swaying buildings.

The Goddess manifests herself in blinding sun rays and light blue mist,
Way out by the horizon line.
I sit pondering the Afterlife and good friends I have known.
My dwindling bank balance hovers over my tense shoulders,
Preying on my jangling monkey mind.

A siren screams in terror as a fit young man rows by,
Followed by a bossy guy in a motor boat.
A red-winged bird shouts and prances as it digs for food,
Calling out to its cohorts.

All is calm and peaceful,
Despite the highway and the city cacophony in the background.
My mind suddenly becomes as still as a meditating yogi,
Down by the shimmering lake that I love.

We’ve gone through so much together,
Over the years.
You are my dear companion.
Water is my favourite element.

Speak to me, again,
Beautiful oak tree.
This time, I promise to decipher your profound, secret code.

Just Think If You Found The One...

Tonight, I had dinner with two of my favourite university friends.  We have a tradition that started about 3 years ago, where we get together at the start and the end of each semester.  It's a time to catch up on the previous 2-3 months, vent about school, laugh about life, and enjoy one another's company.

We started talking about relationships and Itsy Bitsy (nickname for one) blurted out that she had only ever been with her current partner.  They met in high school and almost 2 decades later, they were still together.  Me being me, I just couldn't fathom the possibility of sleeping with only one person for your whole life.

"How do you know it's good sex?  Do you think of others?  Have you had a threesome?  Does he look at porn?  Would it bother you?  Do you have really crazy sex to keep things exciting over all these years?  If so, does involve midgets, s&m, a sling...there must be at least a sling." - These were my rapid fire questions that just came flying out and in a very much teasing way.

Uppity (nickname for the other) could certainly understand my questioning.  Uppity had spent many years with a husband that didn't fulfill her at all.  After numerous years, she finally recently ended it and is now in a great relationship.  She found it in a place that she never knew that she would...with another woman.  She believes now that all those years of suffering led her to this great relationship.

Driving home from dinner, I had a moment of 'Whoa.'  Just think if I found the one back in high school and hadn't spent this last decade moving from relationship to relationship, dating here, whore-ing this month, etc.  Even once I'm in a relationship, I wonder if they are the one or if I should start again.  I date for longer than I should in the hopes that they'd turn out better.  I hate myself for being casual for awhile and not really enjoying any of it.

All of a sudden, I started to think that Itsy Bitsy had it easy and I was envious of what she had.  She's genuinely happy.  She's found her soul mate and her eyes light up talking about him.  She has 2 beautiful kids.  She's got her house.  She's able to focus on fitness, work, and school without the distraction of 'Is this what I really want in a partner?'

What'd you think?  Would your life be easier if you found 'the one' many years ago? Do you enjoy the constant search for 'the one'?  Have you given up on finding 'the one'?

RANDOM THOUGHTS/JEWELS OF DELIGHT

Sunday, April 18, 2010

RANDOM THOUGHTS/JEWELS OF DELIGHT

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Emeralds are shooting out of my crown chakra.
Tiny rubies fall gently from my tearing eye sockets.
I’m spitting deep blue star sapphires from my mouth.
There is no pain,
Just jubilation and sparkling colours.

The bitter old man was tarred and feathered with vicious lies.
Vile allegations of dark troubles and misplaced fears.
The twang of deep-rooted illness hovered over his head.
It was all profoundly untrue.

The paintbrush shook in the artist’s slender hand.
Indecision and self-loathing prevented him
From diving into the sea of discovery,
The bejewelled well of creativity.
The critical dialogue in his head played, repeatedly.

Listen to the wonderful words of dance legend Martha Graham.
Don’t question or criticize.
Just do it.
Let it flow.
Use your Goddess-given talents without fear or crippling uncertainty.

Create the new dance.
Sing higher than you can.
Dive off the mountain without a net.
You will surely land in a safe place.

Let the spirit of Rembrandt or Rimbaud inhabit you.
Throw out the soiled detritus.
Sometimes the world won’t understand or even care.
March forward to the sound of the soothing music in your head.

You might fall into that bleak rabbit hole, one careless day,
The bottomless pit of despair,
Hitting the hard sides of the abyss, as you tumble down, down.
Listen to the faint, cheerful words calling out to help you.

He put on a wig of sunflower yellow.
A sleeveless black dress with silver overlay.
High-heeled shoes covered in rhinestones and sequins.
Glossy lips of ruby red.

The fit young man danced like a dervish on the float in the parade.
He flirted with musclemen and twinks.
He gossiped and giggled, had the time of his life.
He’s dancing in the Gay Pride parade.

Baby-faced gym rats, transgendered delights.
Bull dykes and fem boys and bears.
Drag queens and leather men and PFLAG moms.
They’re all marching in the Gay Pride Parade.

A diamond popped out of my ear canal.
I attached it to my lobe with a piece of golden wire.
Freshwater pearls swirled fashionably around the width of my over-fed neck.
Pink pearls hung round my slender wrist.

The middle-aged man got in a pale blue car and drove to the Pacific Ocean.
He lay on the beach and lapped up the soothing breeze.
The tiny white bikini he wore attracted no crowd.
Solitude engulfed him like a warm cocoon.
He captured the glorious seascape on his artist’s canvas,
With layers and swirls of acrylic paint.
Blue, pink, yellow, mauve and lime green.

The ephemeral fish tank was full of delights.
Shells of every colour and design.
Semi-precious stones were shimmering placidly in the hot sand.
A sense of peace and calm soothed his tense nerves.
A tiny quartz crystal sat right in the middle of his Third Eye chakra.

Just breathe in the vibrations of the stars.
It takes no effort whatsoever.
Think of the timeless questions of the infinite Universe.
Living your life is the hard part.

I feel cute again.

DISCLAIMER:  

For a blog called, Let's Be Vain, this is by far the most personally vain-est post that I've done.

I feel cute again.  Surely not as cute as this kitten above, but still damn cute.  I can't recall the last time that I've looked in the mirror and actually took a second to be like, 'Hrem...not so bad, Mr. Stewart.'  Usually, it's a quick glance to moisturize away the dry skin on my face and then an even quicker glance at the hair that is often a disaster.  I couldn't tell you what I wore yesterday, or the day before, or even today to work.  My appearance and I parted ways a few months ago.

With the stress of work, school and art projects - something had to go.  My satisfaction with my looks was it.  I pair that with my lack of working out over a few months period, way too much stress from future life decisions, and illnesses coupled with irregular sleeping.

After a full 7.5 hours sleep last night (that's big in my world these days), a pretty good work day, and a work out - I feel cute again.  Why?  Vanity wise, I have a tan again - I think I look better w/ a tan.  I've been on my yoga challenge for almost 20 days (this equals a toned bod and peace of mind).  Emotionally wise, I've spent a lot of my week trying to do some good for others and that puts me in a great place too.

How about you?  Has the early summer brought you out of a funk?  Do you feel cute often or what influences it?

MY SECOND HEAD

Saturday, April 10, 2010

MY SECOND HEAD

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Television ruined my life.
I grew a second head because of the radio-active waves.
It started as a pimple and just got bigger and bigger.
One day, I was awakened by loud cackling.
I thought it was a bad dream,
But it was this nasty second head, screaming lewd obscenities.
I went to the doctor but the head bit his fingers,
So amputation is out of the question.

My sex life is ruined.
This “thing” has Tourette’s Syndrome.
On a first date, the new man is truly horrified.
They always have an excuse for a quick exit.
No one ever says, “I can’t date you.
You have two heads.”
I think it’s best to be honest and straightforward,
Don’t you?

The worst part is that this appendage has foul breath
And refuses to do anything about it.
It’s a total turn-off.
I wake up in the morning in the jaws of hell,
Let me tell you.
This thing turns towards me and kisses me,
Smack on the lips.
It’s thoroughly disgusting.
I hate it so much.
It also belittles me and says cruel things to me.

One day, I’ll get a chain saw and cut it off,
When it’s sleeping.
Having a twin would be oh so nice
But this creature is deranged.
When I walk down the street,
It says rude things to people passing by.
It screams out nasty, sexist things to pretty women
And makes verbal passes at all the hunky young men.
Thank God I can run fast or my face would be a bloody pulp.

I think it may be bi-polar, actually.
Sometimes, the head weeps all day,
Spouting out negativity and cynicism,
Calling the world a vile, mean, horrid place.
It’s hard for me to concentrate when I read
With all that horrid babbling.

If I paint a pretty picture, it says things like,
“What a piece of crap! You have no talent.
Don’t give up your day job.”
That always puts me in a funk.

This wicked thing has bulimia, on top of everything else.
Just picture it!
It’s beyond monstrous.
Perhaps I should see a lawyer and find out what my legal options are.
Life can throw you some cruel curves.
Can someone help me?
Please!!
I just don’t know what to do.

Okay.

Kaila W. Montanna is pissed.

[SPOILER ALERT for fans of "BONES" and "UGLY BETTY"






And I am pissed because Booth and Bones did NOT get together (and for those of you not in the know, Booth and Bones is not the name of a naughty gay couple who might be into some light kink). Instead they are the main couple on FOX's "Bones," an hour-long crime drama based on forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs. In the 100th episode, we figured, eventually, that the two would get together. After five years of teasing, of this growing romance that dared not speak its name--I mean, the fall out of the lack of kissing and love hurt more than when Jack Twist died and Ennis sniffed the old shirt.

I am left with an empty gut that needs to be filled with ice cream, ruffles chips dipped in mayo and possible a box of mac'n'cheese.

Another disappointment (in a good way) is Ugly Betty. Unfortunately, Betty is going bye bye. Bye Bye Betty because sadly, you have had some severely low ratings. I mean, the move to Friday night wasn't the smartest idea on ABC's part, but after moving you back to Wednesday night's you've lost half of your audience. Ergo, Betty is over. With one more episode left, the series will bow out on April 14th, the day after Glee.

I love a lot about this show. It's the one show on the air that sort of--no, cross that--not sort of makes me, but fully makes me feel good about myself. Time and time again they surprise me with laughs, love and happy-fuzzy feelings.

Most recently I am in love with the coming out storyline for the youngest of the Suarez clan, Justin. The writers have placed a large amount of care in the direction of this character, and I will be so sad to see him gone. Forever. They offer up a different reality, a different option on how coming out could be for gay teens...on how it should be.

No more happy dramas. Bye bye Betty.

As for Bones...this just means no sex scenes with David Boreanaz in the near future.

Sigh.

Glee in a week. True Blood in June. It can't be that bad.

LOIS NETTLETON

Saturday, April 3, 2010

LOIS NETTLETON

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

My life was hand painted on Dresden china.
Pale blue, magenta and violet hues
Swirling boldly,
In dips and swoops.

I was watching “Lois Nettleton TV” on YouTube.
One of my favourite actresses.
Bleach blonde hair,
Perky laugh.

Paint splattered onto the bumpy rag paper.
My hand was frenzied, unfrozen,
Moving in simple, swirling directions.
Always the nagging doubts and dreams surrounding the creative urge.

Lois died from lung cancer.
We never met.
I still have the autographed picture she sent me
When I was a discontented teenager.

The eroticism of the 60s film, “Woman in the Dunes”
Washed over my psyche.
The lead actress bathes a handsome man
She has trapped in her house in a sandpit.

I once had the blind date from hell.
Nothing went right.
He walked out of that art house movie because he said he didn’t like people being mean to each other.
It was an allegory which he didn’t understand.

Lois hit her career stride in the late sixties and early 70s.
She never seemed to age.
That bubbly, gurgling laugh and slightly crossed eyes.
I wish I knew more about her private life.

What did she do when she wasn’t working?
She dated Frank Sinatra, briefly
And cared for her ailing mother.
Did she have an active sex life?

The events of the day sometimes spill over into your dreams.
Reoccurring frightful nightmares that continue for decades.
Driving down the darkened road, at night,
With no license and no exit ramps.

Lois went to 2 “Twilight Zone” conventions before she died.
I wish we could have met.
Who inherited her 2 Emmy Awards
Or did they have to be returned to the Academy?

Wish I could unload all my possessions, one day,
Giving me a heightened sense of freedom.
Clippings from the past, stones, jewellery, books.
And debts that sit smugly on my firm shoulders.

Jackie, Lois, Cloris, Anne, Carrie, Lee.
Actresses that meant so much to me,
Over the years.
They have no idea.

It’s like listening to a favourite album.
Being touched, deeply, feeling a strong connection,
But the creator of the work is not there.
They have no idea that you ever felt that way.

Someone reads your work and weeps.
They read it again and again.
It changes their life, a tiny bit,
But you never know because you haven’t met.

I sold a painting, once.
Don’t know who bought it.
Is it valued by the owner?
Does he joyfully gaze upon it, every day?

Lois Nettleton has given me such joy.
She’ll never know.
Endless hours of admiration and respect.
Like most actors, she fades into obscurity.

The Call

So yesterday morning was like any other work day.  I woke up, had a shower and went to work.  Like any other typical morning I grabbed my steaped tea and then sat down at my desk.  Twenty minutes in I get a call, I missed it because I was on the phone with an assistant.  The person left a message and I checked it.  Here is what they say "Hi this is _______ _______ from the Toronto Health Board, I am looking for _____ ______.  ______ you might aware or unaware that you have a potential minor health risk."  I nearly dropped the phone.  Yes I know the person said minor, I listened to it four times but that still didn't help.  What was weird was I had gone to the doctor's the week before to go get tested and I thought maybe these were the results.  As it turns out, it was someone else who had gotten tested.  I call back and I get the dudes answering machine.  He states that if he has called you to press 0 to talk to the intake person.  I press 0 and it just keeps ringing.  I waited three minutes of ringing before I hung up and call again.  Again I get his voicemail and this time I realize you can leave a message, so I did.  I go back up to work and am shaking.  "Wtf could I have".  

Another twenty minutes go by and I he calls me back.  This time I am stuck at my desk and he tells me what he called me about.  "One of the people you have been with in the past three months has tested positive for Goneria".  Big sy of relief.  I have had it once before and although it is extremely painful and not fun, I know it is easily curable and I will be fine.  He then tells me the person is to remain anonymous as thats how it works in these cases, but that I should go get tested.  I proceed to tell him that I got tested the week before.  He says go to the doctor today and say I have been exposed and they will give me the treatment anyways and all will be well.  He asks me I have any questions which I do but I am at work and not much that I can say.  I hang up the phone and then the thoughts start pouring in.  Who in the past three months could have given me the big G.  So I total the number and it equals 7.  I still talk to all but three, so my automatic reaction is to blame one of those three boys.  Then after talking to a friend, they pointed out that it could have been the other 4, they are just too scared to tell me.  I doubt I will ever know but it poses the question.  Would you tell someone directly if you caught an STD or would you choose to stay anonymous and have someone else do it for you?  

Oh and I went to the doctor and my results all came back negative, thankfully, I got tested again just to be safe, and got the medication.  What a week...lol.  Of course maybe I shouldn't be as promiscuous anymore.  ; )

HOW TO WRITE A POEM

Friday, March 26, 2010

HOW TO WRITE A POEM

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Never use the word “I” in a poem:
“I”, as in, "I am so deliciously happy."
It's too personal.
Not intellectual enough.

Your audience only wants to hear obscure, abstract concepts,
Like love and romance
And things that even you, the writer, can’t comprehend.
People don’t want to hear your fears and secrets.
They like to hear about inanimate things,
Like daffodils or starfish or sunsets.

If your audience doesn’t understand your poem,
They will be ecstatic.
People with University degrees can sit around at Starbucks
Discussing what you really meant when you wrote,
“Epiphanies of pink sunsets
Dithered by sheltering orange umbrellas
In dire juxtapositions.”

Of course, they will be totally wrong in their interpretations.
They’ll never know that you were being devious.
You deliberately wrote some silly nonsense,
To confuse and stimulate them.

Get out your Thesaurus, writers.
Open the dictionary.
Find words that no one has heard of,
Like “genitive”.
Stick that in your poem.
That’ll thrill your audience.

Don’t write:
“I felt so desperately lonely when I was young.”
Mix it up to confound them.
Write: “Young felt desperately I,
When confound them lonely was.”
You will be helping teachers all over the world.

In English class when they study your poem,
And of course they will,
It will give teachers a chance to include an essay question
Asking students what the poet really meant
When he, or she, wrote those lines.

“Gibbering giblets glopping glockenspiels
In tethered tinkling tantrums over tittering tetracycline.”
What is the poet getting at?
I don’t have a clue.
But that’s what it’s all about, people.

Of course, there’s no need to mention the “f” word
In your poetry, either.
People have been known to mess their pants
When they hear that word at poetry readings.
Perhaps you, the poet, could sell “Depends” diapers,
As well as your chapbooks,
At the merchandise table.
You will become even richer.

Yes, keep them guessing.
Don’t write:
“I attempted suicide when I was 16”.
That’s too simple and concise.
Reality will shock them.
Try this, instead:
“Suicide was a silly anachronism,
When 16 was a bricklayer’s paradigm.”

What does it mean?
Who knows?!
Let the audience figure it out.
That’s their job.
Or give it to your professor.
Get her to explain it to you.

Well, that’s it for today.
Thank you.
Boy, I really fucking enjoyed that.

AMETHYST AND EMERALDS

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

AMETHYST AND EMERALDS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

I placed a hunk of amethyst inside my mouth.
I thought it could cure me of Tourette’s syndrome.
It felt cool and delicious,
Like orchids in a crimson crystal vase.

I’m in love with amethyst.
The deeper the purple, the better.
I buy it by the truck-load.
Brooches, rings, pendants, uncut chunks.

I long for a really good tumble in the hay.
Sweaty, passionate, messy, sweet.
Devouring my partner like a rich bar of dark chocolate.
Slurping, gobbling and rolling around.

Diamonds cascaded from the ceiling of my bachelor apartment, one magical night.
They dazzled and blinded me, as they fell to the floor.
I almost choked, there were so many.
I know they won’t accept them at the grocery store.

Tumbled semi-precious stones, every colour of the rainbow,
Sit inside 2 glass pyramids on my kitchen table.
My psychotic ex-lover might get coked up and smash them to bits.
Thank God I only see him once a year.

Art covers the walls of the actor’s tiny co-op.
Watercolours, coloured pencil drawings, acrylic paintings, photographs.
If he were rich, it would be works by Monet, Renoir, Dali.
No matter: it’s great to support Canadian artists.

Richard Burton loved to buy exquisite jewels for Elizabeth Taylor.
A king’s ransom for every stone imaginable.
Emeralds, rubies, citrine, jade.
Diamonds drip from her like a waterfall.

Most artists struggle and starve.
Working boring shit jobs, on Welfare, teaching.
Still, they churn out their magnificent art.
Nothing stands in their way: only the inner critic tearing things to shreds.

I’m an ass man.
I adore a hard bubble-butt.
Silky and smooth as a baby.
It’s like eating watermelon on a hot, stifling summer day.

If I commit suicide,
I might come back as a diseased baby in Africa,
Dying of malnutrition.
Better to stick around here and face the daily battle.

My beautiful piece of finely cut amethyst
Sits in a delicate, carved gold setting.
Wish I knew when or where the brooch was made.
My heart quickens every time I look at it.

As you get older, you get to know your doll frame body so well.
What it likes, doesn’t like.
What it needs, can live without.
If you could read my mind, you’d slap my face.

Bury me in a coffin full of chunks of raw amethyst.
Throw in some sapphires and quartz crystals.
Burn me on a funeral pyre in Varanasi.
Then scatter my ashes to the sea in Hawaii.

It's your last night...

On Tuesday, I watched one of my favourite films with my regular movie posse.  It's "Last Night" which came out around the time when Armageddon and Deep Impact and all those end of the world films were coming out for the year 2000.

"Last Night" is a Canadian take on it starring Don McKeller and Sandra Oh (LOVE HER!).  It's the last night - there's no ifs, ands, or buts about it.  So how would you spend it?  Would you finally put on that concert that you dreamed of?  Would you fulfill every sex fantasy?  Would you have one final Christmas with the fam?  Would you blow your brains out prior to the end?  Or would you simply want to be alone?

Post film chatter brought me to no conclusion.  I don't know how I would want to spend my final night.  I'd like to see my family, I'd like to spend it with my partner, I'd love to see parts of the world that I've never experienced, and the list goes on.

If you knew with 100% certainly that tonight would be your last...how would you spend it?

CHILD SEXUALITY

Thursday, June 12, 2008/March 15, 2010

CHILD SEXUALITY

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Once, when I was a teenager,
In the last century,
I was walking down Yonge Street,
Near the Eaton Centre,
On a clear, spring day.
I had probably just seen a movie
Since I went to a lot of films, in those days.

I came upon a drunken bum following a blonde woman and her young son,
Down the street.
(I want to call her Verna.)
Verna looked in her early 30s, I recall.
The little boy was maybe 7 or 8.
(I’ll call him Bobby
And the wino, Rabbit.)
Verna was holding Bobby’s hand and fleeing from Rabbit,
Who was saying lewd and obscene things to Bobby.
Rabbit was describing sexual things he wanted to do to Bobby,
And chuckling, fiendishly.
Verna was aghast, needless to say, and speechless.
“Oh, oh, you’re a horrible man,” I think she said,
As she rushed up the street in broad daylight.

I was truly shocked, I must admit.
I, myself, was maybe 16 or 17
And had certainly fantasized
About doing these naughty, sexual activities
With boys my own age and young, handsome men,
But had not had much experience,
Except for a few furtive, sleazy gropings
In dirty cinema washrooms,
The kind that used to play a triple bill
Of second run movies,
Like “Paranoia” starring Carroll Baker
And “Hang ‘Em High” with Clint Eastwood and Inger Stevens.

Never, before or since,
Have I seen such a shocking, incredible incident on the street,
Such as the one with Verna and Bobby and Rabbit.
Verna is probably 70, by now.
Rabbit has been dead for several decades.
Verna sent Bobby to a child psychiatrist
To try to cure him of his nightmares.
Now, Bobby drinks at home in his empty house
And sends child support payments
To his bitter and angry ex-wife.

What repercussions did this incident have,
Which happened way back around 1970?
I imagine Bobby didn’t know what Rabbit was talking about,
And Verna maybe only liked the missionary position
When she and her husband made love twice a month.

Five years later,
When I was fully grown, and skinny and beautiful
And miserable and fucked-up,
I used to cut the hair of a pretty,
Mediterranean-looking woman named Marie.
She lived in a perfectly located house in downtown Toronto
With her 3 year old, curly-haired son, who was totally adorable.
I would pick him up and hold him
And we would talk because I really liked him
And I think the feeling was mutual.

One day, Timmy,
(I can’t remember his real name)
Told me about something that had happened in the park.
I didn’t understand what he was talking about,
So I just said, “Isn’t that nice!”
And let him blather on.

Marie rented out rooms, in the house,
And wore tons of silver bangles on her wrists,
And always looked like she was ready
To take a walk on trendy Queen Street West.

As I cut her black, gorgeous hair,
Marie was upset and freaking out about Timmy.
Some older boys had forced him to suck their cocks
In the park, the day before.
“I don’t care if he turns out to by gay,” she said.
“I just don’t want him to be forced to suck dick, now.”

There was another woman in the room.
We tried to reassure Marie
That no permanent damage had been done to Timmy.
But nothing we said seemed to calm her down,
Not even the joint that was passed around.
A year or so, later,
Marie was arrested for running numbers, over the phone, for a bookie.
She stopped being my client, sometime after that,
And I never saw her again.

I have no interest in having sex with children.
Children, however, are sexual beings.

I remember being 5 years old, at the old house.
My best friend was Johnny,
Who lived across the street and was pretty and blond
And also 5 years old.
We were in his basement, one day,
Before I started going to school,
(I always hated school),
While his mother was vacuuming.
We were lying on the floor,
On the soft broadloom,
In the 69 position,
Fondling each other and fingering each other’s butt holes.
His mother asked us, later, what we’d been doing,
But I’m not sure if we were caught in the act.
I can’t remember.
After all, it was over 50 years ago.
We were 2 innocent 5 year olds
Exploring each other’s bodies.

When I was a teenager,
I sold Fuller Brush items, door to door, one summer.
I went to one house and this bleach blonde woman
Opened the door and said my name.
It was the butt-hole boy’s mother.
She invited me in and I met her 2 grown children,
The ones I hadn’t seen in 12 years.
Johnny was very cute
And I would have enjoyed fingering his butt-hole,
One more time.
But, of course, I couldn’t say that.
I was still in the closet,
So I probably wouldn’t have admitted such a thing to myself,
Let alone him.

Sex is such a simple and complicated thing.
One sticks an organ in a wet orifice
And one or the other person, hopefully, has an orgasm.
It’s very cut and dried.
Child sexuality is a whole other kettle of fish.
It pushes people’s buttons, that’s for sure.
Most people don’t even want to talk,
Or even think about it.
But it happens.

Johnny is probably bald now and pays hookers to finger him,
Because his wife, long ago, said, “No more sex,”
Before she got hooked on pills and booze and depression.
His mother probably has a drool-cup resting under her chin
And a pair of dirty diapers under her soiled house dress.
Johnny visits once a month,
Hiding his baldness under a baseball cap,
And his paunch under a baggy t-shirt.

Reward Points - Let's Save!

I hate to shop, but I love to earn reward points.  It's something about knowing that my data is going through several processors and can predict what I'll buy and when in the future that causes me to get a little bit wet. ;)  What causes a waterfall of wetness is the actual earning of the points for such purchases.

As such, I'm on the hunt for what reward programs that you belong to and your thoughts on them.  

As for me, I belong to 3.

#1 - President Choice Points (aka PC points)

These are by far my favourite reward points to collect.  Why?  Cuz you can use them to buy groceries and receive 1% cash back on all your purchases used with their credit card.  Put everything on your credit card, earn points, and then buy groceries. Loblaws has gift cards for everybody at their stores, so you can use your points for essentially anything.  In the many years that I've been with this program, I've earned back thousands of dollars.  Join up with their banking and earn even more points and never pay a cent for deposits, cheques, etc.  

#2 - Air Miles

 I only joined a few weeks ago.  I know, I know...what an idiot!!!  I could've been earning points on so many purchases over the last many a years.  But I joined this one as I've installed a tool bar onto my browser and now can earn up to 30 points a month.  Woohoo!!!  No more 1 point per $20 purchase.  I just use the internet and get 30 points!!!  Hooray!!!  Google it, it's real and actually comes from Air Miles own website. 

Also, a great tip from my bf.  Go to the LCBO, look through the aisles and find the highest point getters. Yesterday, I got 7 points purchasing a pretty good 6 pack.  

#3 - Shopper's Drug Mart Points (aka Optimum Points)

I don't understand these points whatsoever.  I've had this stupid Optimum card for years and have never received anything back.  I've heard that you have to go on 50x points days, but how does one know when these are?  I only purchased stuff at this store once a month and I feel it's total rip.

Those are my 3 reward programs, which one's do you belong to?  What are your likes and hates about them?

Can we still be queer radicals?

Is it possible to be a ‘queer radical’ despite of being in a monogamous, long-term gay relationship? One of the prominent feminists who has criticized the institution of marriage and ended up getting married herself is Gloria Steinem. She met a lot of condemnation from her fellow feminists due to her choice or decision to get married. How are we to judge this as queer theorists and/or feminists? One of the foundational principles of queer theory and feminism is choice. We conceive choice as being fundamental to the exercise of freedom. If we ended up judging people because of their choices, we end up devaluing their right to freedom. Being a queer individual who identifies as ‘radical’, I am deeply critical of same-sex marriage as a form of assimilation to the heteronormative ideologies of the society. How do we remain non-heteronormative despite of the fact that we are in a monogamous, almost heteronormative relationship? This is more of an intellectual exercise and I don’t attempt to provide an answer to this question. Being queers, I think it is fundamental for us to reject the heteronormative assumptions about sex, gender, and sexuality. We can still be ‘radical’ queers, I think, despite of the fact that we are in monogamous relationships, by emphasizing and concentrating on the ‘pleasure’ aspect of sex, rather than reproduction. Queer sex after all is about pleasure and not about reproduction. Further, we could also reject gender roles in our relationships; after all we’re not heterosexual to begin with. Some couples also choose to spice things up by adding one (or more) people in their sexual activities. This does not mean that they are breaking up the monogamous aspect of their relationship, as long as both parties consent to a three-some and not just one. I think that the biggest challenge for us queer folks in the midst of being judged by our married gay counterparts (or by our respectable same-sex couple counterparts), is to assert the fact that we still have to reject heteronormative ideas about sex, gender, and sexuality, and not judge our ‘other’ brothers and sisters who have made their own choice of not being in monogamous relationships. We should rather actively support their lifestyle choices and ours as constitutive and equal amongst other forms of non-heteronormative relationships. We should also not forget to connect our oppressions and struggles with other groups and also issues that haunt the more marginalized members within the gay community.

I love my iTouch!!!

If you don't have one, I'm sorry but you'll have to invest in one.  I freakin' love my iTouch, it's seriously my favourite gift that I've received in the longest time.

It's one of those gifts that I could've purchased myself, but I wanted to wait and see if I really wanted it.  Then I decided to let it become an x-mas gift from the fam and so I had to wait even longer.

I've had it now for over 2 months and it has yet to lose its lustre.

Seriously, here's why it's the best thing...

1) I have no patience. I had waiting in lines, etc.  Now I don't even notice.  I just whip out the iTouch and the hours just pass right by. 

2) Free stuff.  You can d/l so many free games/apps for this toy and LEGALLY!  There's just a ton of free content available at the iTunes store.  If you want to buy something, the most it'll cost is $2.99. 

3) Combines your mp3 player & gaming handheld into one.  If I really want to splurge, I could've got the iPhone, but I didn't want that.

4) Wifi - yes, you can find/steal someone's wifi and now you've got the ability to use the internet.

I love my iTouch and will continue to do so.  I'm not looking forward to the iPad.  I can't fit that into my pocket and I can read books on my iTouch.  Don't wait for the iPad, get yourself an iTouch.

Don't Shit & Speak To Me

Yesterday, I had to use a public restroom.  This is something that I do my best to avoid.  I would much rather be uncomfortable than have to use one.  It could be that I work in a public location and therefore, a lot of people frequent them and they aren't cleaned enough.  There's nothing grosser than going to expel waste from your body and doing so within a nasty environment.  Or so I thought...

I was using the urinal (it has to be a dire situation to use a stall) and a guy comes in talking on his phone. I figure that he'll at least hang up or hopefully put the person on mute.  Nope, he continues to talk all throughout.  Even while I hear him making fart sounds, etc. and couldn't help but be grossed out.

Bathroom routines always are a wonder for me.  Recently, I was at a busy event and at the break, everybody rushed to the washrooms.  I avoided the one closest to the door and found male/female washrooms close by.  I walked back to the room and the female washroom had a line 10 people deep outside of it.  I mentioned that there were washrooms down the hall and nobody was using them.  Nobody moved.  Not a single person.  They'd prefer to wait in line than just walk down a hallway?

Finally, why do so few people still wash their hands?  Hand washing routines are consistently advertised and it's how we avoid being sick and spreading germs and all that jive.  Anybody get the urge to track down their friends/family to 'out' them for being nasty non hand washers?

Got any bathroom pet peeves of your own?

Roommates?

Last night, after silently (and then not so silently) wishing my roommate would evaporate into thin air I realized I have always lived with someone whether it be family, friends, non-friends, or partners. Living with my ex was the closest thing to living alone that I’ve experienced since he travelled a lot for work and when he was there didn’t say much and generally avoided me.

My roommate experiences have been generally positive. I’ve had some of the funniest moments of my life with them. Here are some of the characters that I have cohabitated with (I shudder to think what they would all say about me):

Greg – White guy from farm land obsessed with Bone Thugs N Harmony. Stole $1000 worth of plants from our university to decorate our place.

Jen – Chain smoker, permanent beer in hand. She would give me beers as payment for hand massages while she talked about her hair.

Liz – The food stealer of the house. When we moved out we found dozens of dirty mouldy dishes under her bed. She was nicknamed “the geyser of yuck”.

Chad – Super sweet straight guy, dumb as a rock. Would often wake me up in the middle of the night to show me drawings of roller coasters he imagined. A few years ago I saw him on TV as a “Roller Coaster Expert” giving commentary about Cedar Point.

Benefits of Having a Roommate:

* Splitting bills
* Instant person to hang out with
* Stealing their food, laundry detergent, alcohol, office supplies…etc
* They can help you figure out how to set up wireless internet
* Someone to scare monsters away (or be eaten first so you have time to escape)

Disadvantages of Having a Roommate:

* Can’t walk around naked, masturbate at will, loudly watch porn
* Being accused of “kicking the crap” out of their cat
* Dealing with their weirdo Russian boyfriend
* Brings out your murderous tendencies by always being there

Conclusion: I think I’m at the point where I don’t ever want to deal with a roommate again. A boyfriend or partner…sure! But the possible cost savings isn’t worth the other things I’ll give up by moving in with a friend.

I would LOVE to hear some roommate horror stories.

I am an introverted patriot.

Bill Maher just made a statement that caused me to stop and think, 'WHAT THE FUCK?'  He stated that 45000 people die each year due to the shitty state of the health care system in the US.  45000?? So they're okay with spending billions a month on a war that is will hopefully protect them or at least would've prevented thousands dying on Sept. 11th.  HOWEVER, they will in no way push through a health care bill that would give care to EVERYBODY.  Why?  Because that's socialism.  Well I'm sorry, but I'd take socialism over dying.

Patriotism in Canada is kind of a different feel.  As in, I don't feel it at all.  I love this country and I think that we rock, but I keep it mostly to myself.  Apparently 1/3rd of us Candians watched the opening ceremonies on Friday of the Olympics.  I didn't watch it at all.  Does that mean that I'm not patriotic or just not interested in a boring ass ceremony filled with lip synced performances and the 'honouring' of First Nations by allowing them to perform for a few minutes.  Sorry, that's not patriotism to me.  

Even more odd that our Prime Minister would use this time to head on a 2 day tour of Haiti.  Should he not have been there weeks ago?  He should be in Vancouver throughout the Olympics.  Cheering on our athletes, meeting with fellow government leaders in town for the games, and showing that he actually cares for this country.  Or is this how we demonstrate patriotism?  We forget about our own country and always reach out to others first.  This sounds pretty accurate.

If I lived in the US, I'd hope that I would march in the streets to reclaim my country.  Here, I've started watching the Olympics to join in with my fellow Canadians cheer on our athletes...

Slowly a Convert

Alright.

So in a nutshell, this show is about four thirty-something white girls in new York City trying to find love while managing their careers, friendships, and the fabulousness of living in the Greatest City in the World.

And yes, I know what you're all thinking: How could Kaila W. Montanna possibly go through life without watching this iconic show from the glory days of Napster, the iBook and the first Bush administration?

Well, I don't know. Maybe it was because I was far too busy having sex in the suburbs with closeted straight men in the backseat of my car in darkened parking lots.

So with the wonder of TV on DVD's, fellow fag friend Markus has so graciously lent me all six seasons of this proverbial estrogen fest.

I watched the first five episodes of Season 1, than skipped over to Season 2. I couldn't handle the cheesey direct address to the audience by Carrie and all the other random street people of New York City. What also bothered me was Skipper, who I had originally liked but then he just became really annoying. But, I guess the old adage is true: nobody ever wants the good boy.

One of my favorite characters so far? None of them, because I relate to each of these four girls in very different ways, which must be the reason why this show is so appealing. Between Samantha's love of sex, Charlotte's vapid traditionalism, Miranda's cynicism and Carrie's heart, I can't help but love and hate and want to go out for drinks with all of these girls...but not really, because I don't think I could ever handle them in real life. A little too fabulous for my tastes, except for Miranda (only when she has short hair).

Out of all the men so far, I like Steve the most. He's adorable, sweet, and everything I could ever ask for in a man. Aside from Neil, my current lover. He satisfies me in every single way. In many positions. And with a wide array of outfits.

Now, this show isn't all that great. It most definitely contributes to the unbelievably cliche standards of love, sex and materialistic wants that millions upon millions of gay men and women all over the world strive to achieve.

We want to dress like these girls, talk like these girls, date and even fuck likes girls. We want to psychoanalyze our very own foursome-friends like these girls and no doubt internalize the fears, beliefs and neuroses of Carrie, Charlotte, Samanatha and Miranda into our own lives so we can cry like them and find love like them. Hell, my life would certainly be more interesting if I were Carrie, and fuck, I buy into the glam of it all as well. But the more I watch, the more I see what I don't want to become: just another gay guy in the city looking for random sex, love and the perfect partner while nursing my Prada Loafers everywhere I go because my paycheck can only buy me one pair every two years. It sets too many unachievable standards because... well, I am just way too far removed from these women...racially, sexually and well, I have a penis that likes other penises.

As the gay show that all gays must watch, I will continue to fulfill my duty until I can't stand it anymore.

And poor Carrie, she just found Mr.Big's wedding announcement in the paper.

Maybe I should light some candles, smoke a cigarette, nurse a glass of wine and cry with her. It would be the proper gay thing to do.

Why doesn't ANYONE LOVE ME?!!

I am surprised at the lack of anti-Valentines enthusiasm this year.

Last year it was nothing but bitching and crying over Valentines Day, the loneliest day of the year (asides from Christmas).
This year, I almost forgot--partly because Chinese New Year fell on V-day, and partly because I've just been way to busy with school. Then one day I walked into Wal-mart to buy some discount spanks and realized that the entire seasonal section (located right beside the front door) was floor-to-ceiling pink, red and gold: there were those god damn marshmallow hearts (which I love), boxes of "Pot of Gold" (cheap chocolate for the cheap heterosexual male for their whatever girlfriends) and plush animals that should have been murdered by Creepy Clown Dude from Rhubarb!

And so, as V-Day ends, I have decided to compile a list of my favorite songs with the word "love" in the title. Interesting tidbit: I typed "love" into my iTunes search and found that I only have 290 "love" songs out of 4960 (6 percent). Hmm.

And so, here goes!

The Cardigan's "Lovefool"



Jennifer Hudson's "All Dressed Up in Love"



Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield"



The Rubette's "Sugar Baby Love" (conveniently, it is also the song used for a Safe Sex ad)



Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever" (Which I believe I first heard on 90210)



XTC's "I'm The Man Who Murdered Love"



And finally....

Whitney Houston's "My Love is Your Love"



Happy Valentine's Day, Fuckers!

moods

Contemplative moods are never good.

For me, at least. I become very withdrawn, melancholic, and I drink a lot of wine. But I think we all have those couple of days where we just need to take a step back and be broken down for a bit. Let us recover on our own and beat out the bad.

Something that helps is music. I love music. I love, love, love music. Living would not be the same without a tune in your head... and that being said, I am going to share with you all some of my favorite tunes--the melodies that keep me up and the voices that keep me calm...

Everywhere I Go by Lissie


This song was in the final episode of Dollhouse. For those of you who know me, you will know that I think Joss Whedon is a creative genius. Though some of you would disagree, I think what appeals to me about his work is that all of it is based on the underdog, and I relate. I relate to it very well. On an artistic level, I also think that he is a genuine master of breaking your heart. In that sense, he's an asshole. But I love him.

Your Rocky Spine - Great Lake Swimmers


This is a Canadian band based out of Toronto and this song is pretty much a love song written for Canada. The lead singer has a voice that is sort of haunting--he sounds like a ghost from the ocean, whispering in your ear--and the lyrics just make me grin. I do think that this country is beautiful and I'm obviously not the only one.

Cosmic Love - Florence and the Machine


My life is one big soundtrack. This song is one I listen to while I'm running. I run to this song because it pushes me forward, it's a song that makes me want to leave the bad behind and move on and head t'ward the light. It breaks my heart with its profoundly epic treatment of love. Enjoy.

Away Too Long - Kevin Fox


Kevin Fox is a Canadian cellist. I saw him open and play for Chantal Kreviazuk at the Richmond Hill Center for the Performing Arts last year, and I can say that he is an amazingly talented musician. And very cute as well! This song is something that I'd call a recovery song... I listen to when I need a little emotional pick-me-up.

To Ohio - The Low Anthem


The Low Anthem is another band I saw live. They opened for Rachael Yamagata (who I also adore). I have a thing for string instruments, especially violin and cello, and this band has plenty of cello. It's so soothing and smooth, comforting to the ear. This song is a part of my summer driving soundtrack and calms me right down.

Then She Appeared - XTC


This really should be "Then He Appeared," but I'll re-write this tune at a later point in my life. It's an upbeat little song that is perfect to strut to on a sunny day, walking around downtown or even, dare I say it, across campus. Music can totally change your mood and this is one of those songs. And Marilyn Monroe! What an awesome bad. We need to bring back a healthy size.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears


This is a wake-up song. It sets the mood for the day. Some people read self-help, I listen to motivational music to get my day going. It's not too hard and not too soft. Very much a montage-song and what can I say? I love myself a cheesey montage.

I'll end it now because if I don't, this post will get waaay too long for it's own good.
What are some of your favorite songs?
Lets start sharing some tunes.

Tonight, I danced with 500 seniors.

Tonight, I danced with 500 seniors at John Mueller's Winter Dance Party.  It was me, my Mom (not quite a senior), and 500 other seniors dancing to a tribute show featuring the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, and of course, Buddy Holly.

Coincidentally enough, it was 51 years to the day that all three passed away in a plane crash.  I am familiar with the story as I grew up watching Lou Diamond Phillips' portrayal of Valens in one of my favourite nostalgia movies, La Bamba.  My sibs and I used to watch that all the time on my dad's beta machine (along with He-Man's X-mas, Top Gun, Stars IV-VI, and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas).

My bf felt sorry for me, when I told him that I was going to this concert with my Mom.  Little did he know that I wasn't being a good son, but that I actually really like this kinda music.  Growing up, my sister and I would go into our play room, play dress-up and spin records.  We'd dance around and sing along to all the songs from the 50s and 60s.  One of my earliest memories as a family is all of us at our summer farm in Kingston dancing to the old records.  Oh yes, I can twist and shout, do the mashed potatoes, and all that jive.

One of the things that I enjoyed the most tonight was watching how excited these old folks got with the various songs.  One lady couldn't contain her joy and bopped around to the various tunes, while her husband sat there rather sullen.  This one guy kept doing the fist pump in the air to his favourite songs.  There was one old lady who sat by herself in the box, but was having a great time and danced a lot.  At one point, my Mom informs me that she even saw her crying.  Undoubtedly, she was remembering the times long passed that she shared with a loved one.

My fav. act was Ritchie Valens and he wisely got the crowd up and dancing.  During Oh Donna, he asked couples to come to the front of the stage to dance.  For 'La Bamba', he insisted that nobody was allowed in their seat and had to join the party.  It was like everybody was relieved to finally have the chance to dance.  People jumped out of their seats and stayed on their feet for the rest of the set.  There were many standing ovations from this point on and it was an amazing site to see so many people up and about, smiling, and having a genuinely good time.

Yes, I was probably the only person there my age, but I was there for the music.  There's the saying that Feb. 3rd, 1959 was 'the day that the music died.'  But for me, Feb. 3, 2010 was the day that the music was very much alive.

(Special thanks to my Mom for asking me to accompany here)

re: calm.

letter. from x to x.
by kaila w montanna



I don’t know where she is now or what she’s doing, but when I think back to those few short weeks on the coast, the smell of the ocean air rushes in towards me and when I close my eyes, I feel the shape of her face rise up into my mind… and I see. I can see the faint tan lines of her sunglasses on the sides of her face, the weathered straw hat she wore over her mess of wavy golden hair, and if I concentrate hard enough I can recall the patterns of freckles that sprinkled across her face, chest and arms like tiny golden sun spots, a luminous landscape of texture for the eyes. Details aside, it was her frame that caught me at first, her small petite frame, hardly taller then my thirteen-year-old cousin Alex but into the hostel lobby she walked, carrying on her back a pack twice her size, along with two pairs of running shoes tied at the laces and a worn out lime green yoga mat.

Our first encounter was simple and innocent—we met at the hostel bar her first day in. She was stopping off in V. for a week, and had traveled throughout South Asia and was moving her way across the West coast of the Americas. She had been gone for almost seven months and had another eight to go; as long as her bank account held out. That evening, the two of us made friends with a few others and spent the first sunset walking the coast, trading travel stories and skipping from rock to rock until it got too dark to see. The breeze that came in off the ocean was far cooler than any of us had expected and so the five of us settled onto a bench along the boardwalk and cuddled up against one another to keep warm. We were a bundled mass of bodies stemming from all over the world, sharing warmth, fish’n’chips and bits and pieces of each other we would never dare to share with anyone else, only strangers. Over the next few days, our group of five dwindled down to just the two of us. There was a connection that bonded our spirits, stretching from out of our past and into one another. Later that week, she prolonged her stay until my departure date. In our last few hours together, she spent a large part of it staring out at the ocean, caught up in a reverie, transfixed on something deep in the blue, as if she had spotted sunken treasure or some gem of immeasurable value. When I called out her name, she turned to me and smiled.

“The ocean. It calms me, when ever I get...lost.”

I smiled at her and told her that I felt the same way. I told her that being near it always gave me a sense of calm, made me feel like I always had a place to be. In the moments after when we were both silent, she looked at me with a solemn kind of peace, then proceeded to confide in me something that she has not told anyone; not her friends, family or any of the other traveling companions that she has met along the way. She told me the reason behind her fifteen-month excursion. And so on that night before the two of us would part forever, I sat out on the dock surrounded by a silence that filled the coast, haunted occasionally by the bellowing horn of some off-coast ship. She was positioned cross-legged beside me; her eyes pointed out into the black with her strands of her hair, glowing blue in the moon, trailing down her face. In the darkness, I took her hand, held it close to my heart and we let our silence speak for the rest of the night. I never saw her again, but wherever she is…

Are you willing to seek change?

I have a full time job that I mostly like.  I'm in a serious relationship.  I have a small group of close knit friends.  I pursue hobbies weekly.  I'm willing to give it all up.

To actually write it out, it seems a little crazy to leave it all.  But I worry that I'll become complacent with this life.

I have applied for grad school that would take me to the University of Victoria.  Why?  I think it's important to have a Master's these days.  It'll help me with the pursuit of teaching within a post secondary environment, makes me seem more credible when I open my own practice, and it's another academic challenge for me to pursue.

If I were to move, I would possibly lose my present relationship, I may not be able to return to my job, current friends would become solely online, and I may not have the same avenues to pursue my interests.

On the positive note, I would be moving to a city that is beautiful.  Simply put, mountains and water make me extremely happy and calm.  The climate is miles better than Toronto.  The opportunities would only be limited by my fear of pursuing them.  Plus, one of my besties lives there.

There's positives to both and I kinda just like to play the fate card to help ease my worry.  If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.  I could stay here, be laid off my job and simply be left with nothing.  That's a possibility.  I could move, flunk out, and be miserable.  That's another possibility.  I could go there for a year, have a great time, and still move back a year later to finish it off my Master's by distance.

I am constantly excited by the unlimited potential that we each have, but of course, I find great comfort in sticking with the regular.

It's a simple question that I put to myself and to you, are you willing to seek change?

Sick = sucks!

I loathe being sick, for me it's one of the worst feelings.  Mostly, because the only illness that I tend to get are head/sinus colds.  The rest of your body feels just fine, but it's your head that gets the brunt of it.  You can't think, everything irritates you, and it's simply no fun at all. 

As well, I like to believe that I'm a super healthy person.  I rarely eat crap, I work out, I take vitamins, etc.  When I get sick, it's like 'what the fuck?? Why am I sick and yet, the one scarfing down McD's looks to be just fine!.'

Every time that I get sick, I try to figure out how it happened.  There's the easy cause that I work with the general public, so I'm exposed to a lot more.  I've got a boyfriend these days, so now I've got new germs to enjoy.  This last week, I was performing at an event and came into contact with many new people, which leads to hand shaking with who knows what.  Finally, I've joined a new sports league, so I'm sweating with other people too.

But I think the true blame goes to STRESS!!!  Stress is my #1 cause of getting sick.  It's one of those weeks/months where I can't find the time to get anything done.  Either by procrastinating or simply having too much going on and not sure how to tackle the tasks. 

This week grad applications are due, which are no fun whatsoever.  Not only do you have to inform them of where your professional interests are heading, but you have to get transcripts, 4 references, update your resume, apply online and pay the fees.  Oh and of course, pay an astronomical price to have it Fed Ex'd to ensure that it actually arrives. 

Have you ever taken any time to think of what causes you to be sick?

WINTER

Friday, January 22, 2010

WINTER

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

It’s 3:40 am on February 15th.
The night bus is late, as usual.
I’m freezing cold.
Have to go to the bathroom really badly.
Starving to death.
Can’t wait to get home.

Hope no one robs me.
I hate carrying a lot of cash
But that’s how I make my money,
Reading Tarot cards at a club.

The snow is pouring down.
The wind bites into my cheeks.
It feels like lions are chewing on my feet.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I supposed to be enjoying myself?
Can’t wait to go to sleep.

How could anyone like any of this?
People who say they love winter must have a car.
Everything about this sucks.

I’m tripping off to Hawaii.
Sun pouring down on me.
My hunky boyfriend lies beside me on the beach.
Blond hair, blue eyes.
Built like a Viking, jaw made of granite.
Soulful eyes.
An ass to die for.

“Let’s go back to the beach house and make love,” he says.
“We haven’t done it in hours.”
We frolic in the sand and race back to the secluded house.
Our hair is streaked white from the hot, hot sun.
Money in the bank.
Hot love in the sack.
Life is perfect.

The bus comes and I hop on, back to reality.
By the time I stagger in the door of my tiny apartment,
After trudging two blocks through the freezing sleet and slush,
I feel ready to collapse.
No maid awaits me with a hot dinner.
No sweet lover in my bed.
Nothing but the silence.

Winter!
It’s not my cup of tea.

QUEER

Friday, January 22, 2010

QUEER

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

Queer, pansy, faggot, dip-shit,
Gearbox, fruit, fey, queen, gay,
Fudge-packer, fem-boy, fairy.

The first time I heard the word “faggot” was in Grade 10.
I was standing in line, in the school hallway, waiting to go into a classroom.
The cute blond boy in front of me turned around
And sneered, “Are you a faggot?”
Everyone’s ears perked up.
“What’s that!?” I asked.
“I think you are,” Danny said.
Titters and snide comments all around.

Somehow, I instinctively knew what he meant.
Contempt dripped from his chin.

I’ve always had a thing for blonds.
They drive me wild.
My school was filled with gorgeous, long-haired guys.

That evening, I asked my sister what the word “faggot” meant.
“Where did you hear it?” Carolyn asked me.
I told her the story.
Warmth and compassion poured out of her soul.
My Mom said nothing.
She just kept crocheting.

“Philip is a girl. Philip plays with dolls.”
In Public School, kids used to follow me home,
In little groups, chanting things.
I’d be in tears, every lunch time,
And get a splitting headache.

Now, I think, so what!?
Yeah, I played with dolls.
Wanna make something of it?
But, back then, it was like a secret, shameful vice.

Going to see “Bonnie and Clyde” in 1967.
Being hot for Warren Beatty and wanting to be like Faye Dunaway.
That was a revelation.
It's supposed to be the other way around.
Oh, my God!
Am I a queer?!

Help! I want to be normal.
Queers are sick and horrible and evil and …
You’re headed down a scary, dark tunnel if you’re queer, I thought.
I can’t be that way.

Then I read Christine Jorgensen’s autobiography.
She was the first famous transsexual.
Maybe I should have a sex-change.
Then I can wear glamorous gowns and be normal.
Perhaps I’m really a female trapped in a male’s body.
I fell in with the trans crowd, back in 1972, and was horrified, to be honest.
They were all on Welfare or were prosties.
Stoned on downers, alcoholic, into sickening, rigid sex roles.
That’s not for me, I thought.

No, I’m not a girl.
I’m male because of what’s between my legs.
There are all types of men on this planet.
Maybe gender isn’t that important.
I’m a queer human being.
I can sleep with whomever I want
As long as they’re of age and there’s mutual consent.

I still love dolls.
I own one, right now, as an adult.
She wears a purple and gold gown.
But I never take her out of her plastic box
And she doesn’t even have a name.

“Yes, Danny. I’m a faggot. How about you?
Wanna fool around at my place, after school?
If not, then blow it out your ass, baby.”

STRANDS OF BEADS AND THOUGHTS

Saturday, January 23, 2010

STRANDS OF BEADS AND THOUGHTS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns

The Mona Lisa rests behind bullet-proof glass
Looking like the cat that ate the canary.
She seems so real,
As if she will burst out, any second, and greet the admiring throngs.

The Louvre is full of classical art treasures.
Pieces of sculpture created centuries ago.
Jewel encrusted golden trinkets and goblets.
You can’t help but admire their exquisite technique.
Leonardo da Vinci and Jackson Pollock are miles and miles apart.
There’s no comparison.

Grub Day, 1968, at David and Mary Thomson Collegiate in Scarberia.
You could wear whatever you wanted.
I sewed 4 inch strands of my mother’s costume necklaces
Dangling down from all over my white pants.
I sewed it all by hand.
It was very Broadway of me.

It got a bit sticky in gym class when I had to play baseball.
How could I run in that outfit?
I just stood around, looking pretty.
I’ve always loathed sports with a passion.
Too much macho killer instinct.

I want to die like Toulouse-Lautrec in the original “Moulin Rouge” from 1952.
Jose Ferrer plays the artist, lying on his deathbed.
Into the room, in his mind, come dancers and hookers,
Painters and writers,
All hurrying to say goodbye to their friend.
The miraculous energy of creativity swirls around them.
What a sweet way to make an exit!

I used a lot of pink in some of my paintings in 1990.
The newspaper critic said it was like drowning in peaches and cream.
This man was also an artist.
Andrew had the arrogance to slap some pencil and colour on a huge piece of paper,
In an hour and a half,
And think it a finished masterwork.
A raspberry to that!

I always weep when Sal Mineo dies in “Rebel Without a Cause”.
My heart aches for him.
So vulnerable and unloved.
A gay teenager, in a movie, always had to die tragically in 1955.
Thank God things have changed.
Think of the torrent of gay indie films, nowadays.
We've waited a long time for this.

I watched “East of Eden” and “Rebel Without a Cause”, on a double-bill,
On the Late Show,
When I was 15 or so.
They spoke to me in the deepest way.
The angst and confusion of adolescence poured out of my father’s TV.
I spent most of the next day in my room,
Sobbing in the closet.

Almost everyone I know is in recovery.
We all used to drink so much in the 70s and 80s.
Where did one go to meet other queer people, back then?
To a gay bar, of course.
If you didn’t order lots of booze,
The waiters would hassle you or kick you out.

Those days were fun and scary.
Too many blackouts and waking up in strange places.
Perhaps I’m lucky to still be alive.
Booze and drugs and sex, when they spin out of control,
Are a dangerous combination.
Now, I just eat too much, sometimes.