psychological phenomenon

There must be one to designate when you offer one confession up in order to hide another.

Here's mine:
I don't shower every day. I am not embarrased not to shower every day. Showering sometimes seems boring, like a task, and I think I'm clean enough! I don't smell.

This makes me think of so many things: of my friend Ale who was voted Dirtiest (as in unclean, not Christina Aguilera drrrty) in university and really wasn't. And of Carlos, who used to say he had abnormally unsmelly feet.

Oh yeah, also: I once had a cuasi-fight with a guy I was dating over me not wanting to shower before I met him on a Saturday (Saturday!) morning. Insane. Insane!

No one will ever make me shower every day.

*PS: once more, my image search ("shower" -wedding -baby) turned up unsolicited free porn.

I graduated from gay school

"It's the march of the gay parade!" -Of Montreal

Maria, Filipa and I went to see the night parade down past the Gay Village last night. I had seen the gay pride when it was during the day. I have the pictures somewhere, taken in 2000 with my dad.

Honestly, I enjoyed it more then. Maybe because it was my first time. Who knows. What I do know is that too much of this parade was just people walking down the street. "Hi, my name is John, I'm a gay parent", I DON'T CARE! ENTERTAIN ME!

My favourites are always the scantily-clad men and, of course, the show-stoppers are the drag queens. Mado's float was a good finish. But this year, even Gayrobics, who I've seen in loincloths in the past, were wearing shorts and t-shirts and looking like another random assortment of people walking down the street. ENTERTAIN ME!

The positive: the Shania-Twain-square-dancing-cowboys; all floats with good looking guys in speedos; the tall balloon people with smiley faces wooshing over the crowd; the butterfly costumes; the how-insane-are-you-in-real-life fire-breathers; the 45-year-old tattooed chunky biker dudes with cut-out ass chaps, oh yeah!; obviously, the drag-queens.

The worst: it got so bad with the random people walking past us, that there were even 2 men just, holding their water bottles, talking to EACH OTHER, in the middle of the parade. Kick those people out. I could have gone to bed earlier if I didn't have to put up with crap like that.

Also, we got in a fight. We arrived when there were already 3 rows of people on each side of the street so after much deliberation, we finally got the nerve to bust through and find a place to sit on the street (to avoid blocking the people we had just busted in front of). To find an un-taken spot, though, we had to walk a ways. We sat in a clearing and were immediately told to shove off by some stupid man. "We were here first", he said in French. "We're not blocking you", I replied. After more of this, we decided the only policy was to ignore him. The parade hadn't started yet and he decided that since he probably couldn't hit us, he would stand in front of us and keep talking about it. We kept ignoring him. I mean, I could still see through his legs so who cares? He went to talk to a parade "official" (a 15-year old boy telling people to keep behind a certain point) but got nowhere.

"These girls are deaf", he said. At some point he said something to Maria who replied in English "I don't speak French". "Oh, you don't speak French! Where are you from? Oh, Venezuela, and you? and you? Oh, I want to learn Spanish. Don't be angry at me! I didn't know you didn't speak French." And from THEN on, he was our beeeest friend.

Crazy Quebecer. He even grabbed some graduation hats that were tossed in the air by the Grad Dance float and gave them to us (ergo my graduation from gay school). He also got me a program. My theory is the real meanie behind the scenes was his mother. Your typical Quebec granny, with white hair that's obviously just been taken out of rollers, in BOOTS, and with religious paraphernalia hanging from her purse. She had it out with him over how much beer he'd drunk. She was in the front lines (in front of us, as soon as the parade started), constantly being asked to step back by the cops.

At the end of the parade 2 slightly tipsy guys -German? Nederlanders?- came up to us and very slowly asked if we were students! We had our grad caps on. That was probably the most fun we had. After we explained where the hats were from "Ah! Comprendo! Je comprends! Capiche!" and off they went in a drunken hug, following the wake of the gay parade.

Je me demande

* Have you seen A Scanner Darkly yet?

* Do fish sleep?

* Can you STAND hearing (british accent) "the con is on" ONE MORE TIME on CBC-tv?

* Does your company recycle? Do they read what you talk about on msn without warning you?

* Have you noticed yourself needing a higher and higher SPF over the years?

* What's your favourite sport or physical activity?

* Do you own a dictionary?

we've been had

so it's like they go down the list and eventually it's your turn. it's now happened where i work. they cut us off msn and sites like yahoo mail and hotmail don't seem to work. however, muahaha, blogger does.

and i just wanted to take this opportunity to sympathize with those who are already in a similar position as mine as remind you all that there are always... ways... and they can be found, for instance, on e-messenger.net. Have FUN!

the dragon boat

Somewhere, a long time ago, I wrote a short piece about dragon boating and its history. Stories change in my memory over time, and I'm not a stickler for facts when it's coming out of my mouth, so what I remember is a poet, ruined by the hateful government of his region, who drowns himself in a famous river in China. The fishermen and villagers race out in their boats to save him. At some point -either then or during the yearly anniversaries- they throw rice cakes, or another similar snack, into the water. Can't really remember why.

Montreal hosts an international dragon boat race yearly. This year I agreed to be the drummer for team Scully. What that basically means is that I sat on the end of a long boat and tried to hear what the team's coach was yelling at them from the other end of the boat, and then I tried to repeat it to them accurately. The point of this is that the paddlers in the front of the boat have their backs to the coach, who's all the way in the back, and sometimes can't hear what she says. Well, neither could I, but I tried.

Even though it meant getting up between 6:00 and 6:30am on both days of the weekend, and missing my breaky with Dan, it was great. I've always rather despised athletics and this time I got to be part of a team and hang out at the tournament without actually having to do any exercise. Per-fect.

Apparently something like 4000 people participated in the Montreal Dragon Boat Festival this year. There were races all day for two days on the basin on Ile Ste-Helene. After the last Sunday race, some of us went for a swim and tan and nap at the artificial beach on the island. The sand is coarse, there's algae in the water, but it was fresh and beautiful and such a welcome reward.

Here are some pictures from Geraldine's camera to show you a bit of what I mean. For some reason I can't upload them so that's why I'm making you work and follow a link. But don't worry, as usual I've set it up so it'll open in a new window.

***
movies recently seen: A Scanner Darkly; Nine Lives; Souffle au Coeur; The Peaceful Warrior.

Limbic 2

Last year at about this time (August 6, to be exact), I was jumping over the fence at Laurier pool with Sarah, Eric and Bradon at 3 in the morning. A limbic brain kind of night, is what I called it in the post at the time.

Wednesday night was like a soft-core version of the same nature. Me and Johnnie Walker (Black Label; a birthday present from Fred & Anna. Thanks guys, I feel like you were partly there!) went over to Brian’s “house cooling” party. He’s moving on to another apartment so it was a celebration to say goodbye.

Sometime in the night, the gang moved downstairs to the pool room… There was no skinnydipping of the 2005 variety but since some of us didn’t have our bathing suits, we had a fun ol’ time in our undies. Marco Polo and I can’t remember what other games ensued. I can remember finding my clothes on the floor, sopping wet, and the sauna having no real drying effect on them. And so, I walked home at 4am, soaking wet, sloshed. Kaput. A rinsing sort of catharsis that’s much needed but only really fun if it’s infrequent (don’t argue with me, Amy; I’ve been there).

More refreshments of the soul-variety will follow. Today I get my hair cut at Pure again, with someone new: Olivier. Tomorrow I wake up insanely early to go be the drummer of Scully’s dragonboat racing team. “So long as I don’t have to do any exercise” was how I agreed. But 7:45 on Ile Ste-Helene, somebody should have told me! Luckily, my dad will come along to take photos so I will have some support there.

Last night, the Events girls and I went to a Nuits D’Afrique show: Les Amazones. It was HOT in Le National. The drummers and dancers were great, in their geometric-patterned dresses and shiny hair beads. I did leave during the intermission (that lasted 3 times as long as announced) but that’s just me. I still liked the show a lot.

And finally, today I spoke to my grandmother, who turned 95 yesterday. It’s like seeing into the future, if I’m lucky. What a full life, of travel, family, friends and FOOD! But it’s tough being old, so call and write your grandparents, they miss you.

To all the boys I loved before*

* with (no) permission from Julio Iglesias

Some late night scribbling by the street lamp. forgive me.


) For ever having thought it could work.

) for thinking success is up to me and that failure is my fault.

) for lying awake at night, still not satisfied.

) for always wanting more.

) for never totally letting go.


***
I am unable to unload all the pictures I wanted to. plus, i don't have all the pictures I'd like to have. this will have to do. of course, with those limitations in mind, the overall ranking is totally skewed, mixing true love with passing flights of fancy. up to you to guess!

ZEUS!

"la señorita Montes, con sus pantalones ¡verde-cata!"
"¡Señorita Brinck!"

No, no ha muerto, dejen de ser tan morbosos. Sólo me acordé por otra conversación hoy del "emblemático" -leí en un sitio web- profesor Hugo Zepeda, aka ¡ZEUS!

You oughta be in pictures, ¡qué carisma!

Un hombre que me discutió mi vegetarianismo en términos antropocéntricamente cristianos. ¿No que Jesús sólo come pescado en la Biblia, señor Zepeda? Y una prueba para la cual estudié (ie tomé) con la Mariana. Igual pasé no más. Eso más los pormenores de la Ley de Prensa son mis recuerdos del profesor Zepeda. ¡Viva!

Decisiones Difíciles

Recién me vengo a enterar -¿por qué nadie me cuenta estas cosas?- que el querido Divino Anticristo es sujeto de noticias. Que lo internaron, que lo soltaron, que lo quieren internar de nuevo.

¡Qué pena! ¡Qué lástima!

Las palabras de su hermano me tocan. Claro que ha de ser difícil ver a tu hermano viviendo en la calle durante 20 años; querer que esté mejor. Y a la vez... también me hacen sentido los miedos de otros, sin lazos familiares pero sí de aprecio por el DA, de lo que signifique internarlo.

Hay un libro escrito por un famoso neurólogo, Oliver Sacks*, llamado The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (El Hombre Que Confundió a su Señora con un Sombrero). Son relatos acerca de pacientes con extrañas enfermedades neurológicas. Gente que entiende todo lo que dices pero no capta ninguna emoción, ningún tono. Gente que sufre de lo contrario y te entiende perfecto la intención, pero ni una sola palabra de lo que dijiste. Un hombre que confunde a su mujer con un sombrero y la toma de la cabeza y trata de ponérsela.

En uno de los capítulos, el doctor Sacks habla de dos pacientes, hermanos, que viven, realmente, en el mundo de los números. A lo largo de la historia, ha habido varias personas que parecen VER los números, sentirlos como entes enteros y no como los demás los entendemos (mediante un cálculo, separados en dígitos). Como Rainman (inspirado en historias reales) cuando cae la caja de fósforos y dice el número exacto de fósforos, no porque los haya contado sino porque los VIO, vio el número entero.

Estos hermanos, de un coeficiente intelectual muy bajo, son descubiertos un día por el Dr. Sacks hablándose en números, en un rincón, y con una actitud ritualística, casi comulgando con estos números que se van diciendo un hermano al otro. El Dr. Sacks vuelve a su casa e investiga los números que escuchó y que anotó. Resulta que son todos números primos... ¡de 6 dígitos! Estos hermanos apenas saben sumar, mucho menos *calcular*, por lo que es un misterio su conocimiento de estos números. Como experimento el doctor anota algunos primos (que encuentra en un libro) de 8 dígitos. Vuelve donde los hermanos -aislados en su mundo de cifras en una clínica siquiátrica- y se sienta con ellos. Lanza un número -primo, de 8 dígitos- y espera. Los hermanos lo mastican, pasan minutos. Luego, sonrisas. Uno de los hermanos abre la boca, y tira devuelta un número primo de ¡DIEZ dígitos!

Bueno, y así sigue el juego que es mucho más que juego, es un lenguaje y una fuente de aceptación entre ellos. Aquí están bien, aunque aislados de otras personas que no hablan en números (ie el resto del mundo).

El epílogo del relato es que los hermanos son diagnosticados y medicados y -peor- separados, en un intento de que lleven vidas más productivas y normales. El tratamiento es un "éxito" en esos términos. Los hermanos logran mantener empleos estables, aunque de muy bajo nivel (por su baja inteligencia y capacidad intelectual y social) y nunca más se ven ni son capaces de conectarse con su viejo mundo de números.

¿Quién tiene la razón?



*El doctor Sacks ha publicado varios otros libros, incluyendo Awakenings, en el cual se basa la película del mismo título.

la serie canadiense

La Francisca Fernández, aka Cabezona, es alguien con quien trabajé en mi brevísimo paso por TVN y la torre Santa María. Qué raro es que de un trabajo tan fracasado como ése (la única vez que he sido despedida, según recuerdo) siga teniendo el mejor contacto con las personas que ahí conocí: la Francisca, la Madgalena, y la Carmen Julia. Todas mamás, se me acaba de ocurrir. Luis no cuenta, porque a Luis lo conocía de antes. Además, él era el que me hablaba y me hacía reír en las reuniones de pauta, probablemente causando peor impresión aún de la que causaba naturalmente en la sra. Manena Wood. Jijiji. Ah, pero lo pasamos bien. ¡Qué bien lo pasamos! Todavía me río de acordarme.

En todo caso, la Cabezona me manda un mail en el que me dice que ella se imagina mi vida como una serie del cable, y que ella sigue fielmente esta serie candiense. Para que sepan, las series canadienses son bien pernas, pero a veces exitosas a pesar de eso. Creo que es porque hay pernos en todo el mundo que se identifican. Y sí, te estoy llamando perna, Francisca. Pero en buena :)

Así que para mi fiel televidente, cuento que lo que me tiene más entusiasmada en estos días -de regreso de Hawaii, de días libres que me estoy tomando del trabajo- es la próxima visita de mi mamá. El año pasado para su cumpleaños (8 de agosto) la llamé y la invité a pasar su siguiente aniversario (éste) acá. Todo lo que es transporte y alojamiento: pagado. Porque las mamás (como las de TVN) se lo merecen, y si uno puede, qué placer hacerlo.

Llega el 5 de agosto y se va el 28. Ahora que por FIN conseguí un departamento donde alojarla (en el mío no cabe, o una tendría que dormir en colchón inflable durante 23 días), empieza la parte más entretenida de organizar los paseos. Hay dos paseos largos para ellas: una visita a Potsdam, el pueblo en el norte de NY que siempre visito, donde vive una antigua amiga de mi mamá y donde celebraremos su cumpleaños; y unos días en Cape Cod, en Massachussets, donde pasamos vacaciones hace como 20 años atrás. Lo otro serán cortos paseos por el día a Ottawa y a Quebec.

Lo otro es que se casó mi primo Rodrigo con la Tati, y ahora estoy investigando qué comprarles y cómo mandarlo. Sábanas y toallas, dice mi tía María Isabel, la mamá de Rodrigo. Estoy impresionada de lo baratas que son en Falabella.cl. ¿No serán de muy baja calidad? Es regalo de matrimonio: ¡quiero que sean las mejores sábanas que han tocado en sus vidas!

Aparte de eso, disfrutando simplemente la existencia en mi lugar favorito en verano: Montreal. Pensando en cómo sacarle provecho a mi nueva soltería, y cómo hacer para que no sea muy larga ;) O sea todo bien. Todo tranquilo por este frente. No sé, pregúntenle a Luis, pero no creo que eso sea buen material para guion de tele. Eso sí, lo prefiero a la tele.

Don't think twice, it's alright

Ok, folks. Brincky's back!

El crédito por darme a conocer la canción del título del post, y Bob Dylan en general, lo tiene la Bárbara Mayer. Gracias, Bárbara!

Tom was kind enough to install my BRAND NEW USED record player, and I've had the pleasure of pretending I'm a teenager in the 70s, listening to Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon and Bob Dylan's Freewheeling. That album has my favourite Dylan line in the song that is this post's title:

"I loved a woman once, a child I am told. I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul"... and then it's Don't think twice, it's alright. :)

Spoke to Jus over msn, just now. What a thrill! She flew back to Beastly Britain on Sunday. That was the last of "our" international students, and like I've said before: Montreal will never be the same. Let's meet in France next year!

I got some more pictures from Hawaii so you can binge on jealousy, haha. These aren't mine, they're Dave's. He has a muuuuuuuuuuch cooler camera and is far more talented and putting people on film than moi. I am crap at all visual endeavours and therefore will never buy myself a nice camera. You gotta know your limits!

Two Days

July 10: I just finished my sushi lunch in my room –Aloha Sushi has been our staple food here- and I’m catching a bit of a Ben Stiller movie before going down to Waikiki Beach. Today is my day off, generously sponsored by my boss onsite. I went to Hanauma Bay, created ten thousand years ago by the rising sea over volcanic ash that fell there thirty thousand years ago. Does that make sense? Thirty thousand years ago, a volcano blew, ash landed in the water, extending the coast of the island of Oahu. Ten thousand years ago, the sea rose and covered part of the ash, creating a beautiful bay that was later discovered by Polynesian travelers. Tada!

On the van there, I met two “accompanying persons” as we call them in the fascinating world of meetings. IE, the guests of actual meeting attendees. Jim is 47, from San Francisco; Mary is older (exact age unknown), works in “education”, and is from Ohio: both liberal, very well traveled, and friendly. We decided to be each others’ snorkeling buddies. You’re supposed to have a buddy in case something happens to you. Nothing happened to me, except that I saw all kinds of people-friendly fish and some coral. It was my first time snorkeling and I wasn’t sure if I’d be scared or uncomfortable. I’m noticing this trend here, where I tend to expect worst possible scenarios, and then end up having a satisfying experience when it comes down to it. The worst possible scenario-scenario is what I think I *need* to have a good time. Like, if I go ahead and expect the best, I’ll be disappointed. Anyway….

For snorkeling fans: the visibility could have been better and there could have been more fish and coral, but it was fun!

Oh yeah, on the way there the driver pointed out several famous people’s houses: Keanu Reeves, Richard Chamberlain. I laughed when he said the guy from Hawaii 5-0 and Tom Selleck had once had houses in the area. Because come on, what’s more Hawaii than Magnum PI?

July 11: I lost my sunglasses to the Pacific in an attempt to impress some Germanic surfers by diving gracefully into an oncoming wave. They were too young for me anyway. Another pair of shades sacrificed to vanity. Oh well!

I fly back today, and will be home tomorrow morning. Mixed emotions. I’m kind of sad to leave this beautiful tropical island paradise. I hope I get to come back some day, on vacation. Aloha Hawaii!

Honolulu

Last night we went to a Korean restaurant, where there are burners on the table to cook your own meal. I ordered grilled fish and got two… whole… grilled fish. Mmmh. Not only that, but I had to eat them with chopsticks. I’m sure Korean girls don’t stick their fingers in the fish to get it open, like I did.

I downloaded some pictures from the loaned digital camera to show, by request. I’m no professional…

Tonight there’s a Luau for the meeting’s opening reception, so I hope we get to go and I’ll try to get more fun pictures there. Apparently everyone gets a lei and there will be a pig roast (oink! Oink!) and Hawaiian dancers. Cool.

If I’m lucky I’ll get a whole day off on Monday which I’ll use to go snorkeling at Hauma Bay.

For now, just pictures.

Fun - July 4, 2006

Tom told me maybe I should try to have more fun. I defended myself by saying that if by “fun” he meant drinking and not caring about what I did, it was a “tired” activity for me and no fun at all. He said that’s not what he meant. So I think I’ve been successful, actually. Yesterday I spent the day where Montrealers ages six to 60 go for fun: La Ronde. I rode 4 roller-coasters: The Vampire, The Cobra, The Monster and The (pathetic) Dragon. Julian, Justine and Weitse also rode the new Goliath, which I skipped. Too much headbanging and stomach turning for one day, thanks. The Goliath has an initial drop that reminded me of my closest experience to skydiving. I wasn’t ever going to dive, but I was up in the little plane to see what it was like for an article, and to accompany my photographer, Bubi. When we were half way up to the optimum height, it didn’t look so bad, but when we reached max altitude, every molecule of my being screamed, “don’t jump!! You would be CRAZY to jump!” It was quite powerful, and I wasn’t jumping anyway, so I’m kind of glad I didn’t go on the Goliath to get thrown from those heights forcibly. As Julian wondered: would you rather die skydiving (your parachute doesn’t open) or on a roller-coaster (goes off the track)? Oh my god, they had nets on the side of the rail up there. I don’t even want to imagine why.

Over the course of the day, we all screamed our lungs out; I protected my poor body as best I could (pictures would look tragic as I crouched and hid from… what?) and laughed when not fearing for my health. Like Justine said while we were on the quieter (but still dizzy-fying) ferris wheel, if aliens landed at La Ronde they would think it was a human torture ground.

I’m sorry if I seem not be enjoying myself by not laughing audibly at everything. I think it’s just because I can’t help but see the tragedy as well as the joy. And I don’t mind it. But maybe it annoys others?

Besides the bodily tragedy of being whipped upside down at high speeds, yesterday was a going away activity. I’m currently waiting for my flight to Honolulu and by the time I come back to Montreal, Julian and Justine will be gone. It’ll all be over: Amy, Armand and now the J&J, back to their homes forever. We said our goodbyes in the metro. If you knew these people… I wish we could go back to September and start all over again. I’m getting lousy at goodbyes. My theory is, I’ve said goodbye to so many people thus far, that I can’t ignore what I know: that you never see half these people again; that you don’t really know who’ll you’ll ever see again; and that you never stop missing them. Maybe I just suck at letting go.

But like I said to Tom: I’m sure it’s a skill that’ll come in handy some day.

More fun adventures: on Sunday night I went to see The Fabulous Lolo Sings Rocksteady at the Jazz Fest. Really great! I’ve been known to have a short attention span, but I thoroughly enjoyed the whole show. Bumped into Brian’s cousin Nat, too. Julian and Justine, and later Button, Nick and Sarah Rosenfeld met me there and we saw the surprise show of the night at the big stage: the Australian band Cat Empire. Also, amazing! (it’s funny: I don’t actually use this many exclamation marks in real life). It’s really too bad I’ll miss Shane’s show on Thursday. I think the Paul Simon tribute will also be cool. But hey, I’m trying to be more positive about my business trip to Hawaii. Looking forward to fresh fish and fruit, and the laid-back attitude. Also, and possibly most important of all: MY OWN ROOM!

Later that day:

Forgot to mention: I saw Leonard Cohen! He was walking up St. Laurent, close to Rachel, on the arm of a beautiful young woman who was taller than him.

The great benefit of being a mope is being pleasantly surprised. Hawaii has been a good surprise. Yes, it’s similar to Florida in some ways, as I expected. The crabgrass is there, the weather, the Americanized version of the tropics. But it’s also incredibly different, because there’s a culture here. It’s the locals; the Japanese; the 10-year old girl riding a longboard; the every-single-guy-is-ripped-oh-wait-it’s-a-military-beach; the girl carrying her surfboard on her bike. I hate myself for not getting every photo op on the digital camera my father’s friend Juan lent me.

For now, I have the view from my room (ocean everywhere, a marina directly below me) and my, ehem, ride from the airport (white stretch limo, mais oui).

Montreal en mundial es una fiesta

No sé cómo será allá, pero aquí el mundial es una fiesta. Al día siguiente de llegar de México, salí a la calle para encontrarme con banderas de Portugal, bocinazos, y una fiesta callejera. Eso fue hace 2 semanas y la cosa sólo ha ido en ascenso.

Los portugueses se multiplican en las calles con cada triunfo. Los brasileros y los italianos, igual. Todo el mundo viste las poleras de los equipos, o algo que diga el nombre del país, y se pasean con 2, 3 o hasta 4 banderas sobre el auto.

Hoy la calle St. Laurent está cortada en 2 cuadras al menos -con protección policial- para acoger a la comunidad portuguesa y sus amigos que celebran su primera final en el mundial hace 40 años. Al menos, eso entendí en la tv. Hoy es el día nacional de Canadá y vi 2 banderas de este país no más, pero incontables banderas portuguesas.

Desde mi departamento escucho aún, horas después del resultado Portugal-Inglaterra y aún terminado el partido Francia-Brasil, los bocinazos, pitazos, gritos... Sí, es desfinitivamente una fiesta. Olé, olé, olé.