So this is where LaRonde comes from...

See photos of this woman's trip with her seniors' club to Expo 67.

Blast From the Past: a drama

Over Christmas I kind of went gaga over a boy. I met him in New York, at a Christmas party. He reminded me of a mix between Tobey Maguire and a really beloved friend of mine in Chile. The guy was also Chilean, which is pretty unusual for me, since I don’t meet many of them here. Anyway, we really hit it off and after the party he asked for my number to go on a date while I was in the city. I was seeing Hot French Guy back in Montreal and was in Holy Smokes New York, so my attitude was very relaxed and positive. I probably laughed when I gave him my number.

Anyway, a couple of days later he called and we set up that date. The date was pretty amazing. It was just dinner and drinks, but it was sooo fun. Maybe it was because he was Chilean but talking with him felt like home. Like we were really speaking the same language, metaphorically. He made me feel great and I swooned. I was so sad I wouldn’t see him again after I left the city. And did I mention he had a girlfriend? Anyway, I got on the bus a few days later and texted my goodbye. He texted back, he didn’t want to think we wouldn’t see each other again. Later we began emailing, hurrah! Emails came and went several times a day and we spoke on the phone on weekends. Shortly after I returned he told me he broke up with his girlfriend. My ever present desire to live in the big apple started increasing. If I didn’t need a work visa, I would have moved right then and there. He gave me advice and information on visas. It was January and I wanted a new life on the spot.

But then something changed. His emails were delayed. They petered out, as I put it at the time. Something was definitely up. I knew he was extremely busy but when you know, you know. And I knew. My next trip to New York was coming up and I needed to know what page we were on. I texted him: what happened? He emailed back immediately: “so sorry I haven’t written. My life is a mess. I got back together with my ex. She’s actually living with me. I know it sounds weird, but I kind of feel like I owe it to her.” I wrote back “I won’t lie. I’m disappointed by what you’re saying. I think sometimes you have to sort stuff out by yourself and this is one of those times. I’ll be in New York next week but I would prefer not to see you.” Him: “It will be hard to know you’re in the city and not see you, but I understand. I’m in a bad place right now.I don't know how this happened.” Me: “Well, this was always dramatic, but it used to be fun drama and now it’s not. Who knows? If you don’t marry the girl (joke) maybe I’ll see you again sometime in the future.” That was the end of our communication. I had wanted to keep it open-ended, because you never do know, but I definitely knew that it was over. I am strongly against people who act like their lives just “happen” to them and that’s what this latest development sounded like to me. Plus, I had just had possibly the biggest dose of drama a human can withstand the year before and didn't want to get sucked into this.

Anyway, life goes on. At first, and for a while, I was really disappointed. I had believed, I had felt someone else believed too, and then they walked away. It was a bit difficult to deal with, but then an early dose of Spring in the form of Drama-Free Kaybeer swung open a door and the past was forgotten. New York would remain one of my favourite travel destinations, the flash romance a quirky thing of the past, etc.

Until the other night, when the blast from the past called. I was asleep and confused. He said he had dreamt about me and had the impulse to call. I was still confused, but acted friendly. This, I guess, is what frightens me. There are certain people who somehow have access to these secret buttons in me that make me do things like be friendly even though what I want to say is “What the hell is the matter with you? Who do you think you are?? Get out of my life and don’t ever show your face here again!”

Overall, I feel like the blast from the past is a reminder of something I already knew: that after a couple of years of almost non-stop drama, I acknowledge I bring it on myself a lot but if I have a real alternative, I want nothing to do with it ever again.

Hockey Night in My House

photo by Isaiah12:2

Nobody in my family was ever a sports fan. I used to feel relief that my father and brother never monopolized the television with playoffs or world cups or even the Olympics (it was nature shows, actually). In high school, some girls did a survey on whether the students of my all-girl school "liked hockey" or something like that. The results were split 50-50 and I was on the "no" side. But the truth was that I had no idea what hockey was about, or any other spectator sport for that matter. I have just always known exercise is *not for me*.

In Chile, I finally had the chance to watch some soccer games with people who were passionate about the sport, the teams, and the history. My first boyfriend -who wrote a book of short stories loosely based on his favourite team- took me to a match at the Estadio Nacional and I saw with my own eyes how beautiful it can be. They used to call that team, the Universidad de Chile, "the blue ballet". Blue was the colour of their uniforms. During the 1994 World Cup I was in university, where television sets and beer would find their way into empty classrooms and normal classes would be empty at game time. Ah, the glory of watching together, and of Italian thighs in shorts.

But it really isn't about how good looking some of the players can be, I swear. It's about how exciting a professional, fast team, working together against another, can be. And if there's loyalty on top of it, like with a home team, or a national one, then there's emotion. Other people's emotions, en masse, are a turn on, for sure.

Now I watch hockey games in my own home, even by myself because I enjoy it. I still don't know much about how it works, but I love the fast-paced coordination, the cohesion of a good team on a good day, and the thrill of getting one on the "enemy". If I ever have a family of my own, I hope someone besides me is into watching these sports, so that it isn't just me watching Hockey Night in Canada anymore.

Looks just like the sun

Sarah and I went to see what I fully expected to be a “Canadian drama” last night at the AMC Forum. Turns out, Canadian drama has made some great improvements since my childhood, if you judge it based on this movie, Who Loves the Sun.

The title is never explained and seems like a pretty random choice. The movie is set in a cottage on a lake that could really be almost anywhere in Canada. If you’ve ever been to a Canadian cottage on a lake, you’ll recognize just about everything, from the views to the boathouse, to the pastimes, etc.

So, it’s basically about 3 old friends in their very early 30s who haven’t seen each other in 5 years, ever since something happened between them that made one of the guys (Lukas Haas, adorable forever) disappear for that time. In the meantime the other guy has become a successful writer, living in New York and we have no idea what the girl has been up to. Suddenly he’s back at his friend’s parents’ cottage and they take it upon themselves to call the other two for a reunion.

One of the few problems of the film is that they say it’s going to be for a weekend, but if you count sundowns it’s actually a six-day affair. Also, people show up really quickly from places like New York and Mystery Land (we don't know where the girl lives) to this at least somewhat remote location. The other problem is the girl (Molly Parker)’s wardrobe. No, wait, Adam Scott –the other guy-‘s wardrobe is also a problem. They both show up to the Canadian wilderness in beautiful outfits that never wrinkle. Molly Parker’s character even shows up in heels, looking like a femme fatale in a gorgeous dress (even more than you can see in the poster here). It’s too much. At one point, when she appears on the screen in a pristine white sweater over a bikini bottom I had to cry out “Jesus Christ!” in the theatre. But that’s about the only things I found wrong with the movie. It’s too bad, because those are the sorts of the things that really pull you out of the fantasy world, but I forgive them.

As with childhood book reports, “I would definitely recommend this movie” to anyone who’s ever cheated someone they loved, or been cheated by someone they loved, or helped someone else cheat on someone they loved. Possibly best suited for people in our age range, although I can’t say for sure it’s not interesting to older audiences as well.

One of the best things about the script and the acting is how the drama is never just drama. Just like in real life, people make inappropriate jokes and take things a little too far in a way that breaks the tension without releasing you from their world.

This has been my movie report for the day. Go out there and support the New Canadian Cinema (I just made that up).

Nights of The Living Dead

So god, put down your gun, can't you see we're dead?
God, put down your hand, we're not listening.

Easter Sunday is all about living, eternal life, and doesn't it feel eternal while you're doing it? A recap of the eternal weekend:

I saw Blades of Glory on Friday, which I had expected to be the pinnacle of Mr. Ferrell's career, but you already know how high expectations and movies mix... badly. In my seat, however, I was pleasantly entertained.

Life begets death and therefore I should add that I enjoyed shooting some "enemy soldiers" and zombies at the movie theatre's arcade. Video games boil down to: shoot, fight or drive, don't they? (note from editor: not Guitar Hero...)

Saturday began squeaky clean, with lots of actual housecleaning and a coffee with Courtney Wing at Café Rico. Delicious café au lait, decaf. The crowd is waaay to hippie for me (b.o. and socks in sandals, no joke) and I don't think I'll be hanging out there, but I might get their coffee to go, it was pretty good. My favourite café au lait for breakfast is at the Portuguese bakery on St. Laurent, between Duluth and Rachel. Like my dad, I get attached to friendly salespeople, and I think they're personally responsible for a piece of my daily happiness. This woman makes the café au lait with LOTS of milk and foam and I like that when I walk in she asks "café au lait?" because she remembers me. I'm hoping to pick up some Portuguese words and make her love me even more.

And then it was Brian's birthday.

Oh the high school kids they're all fucked up
Touching each other, oh my god
Yeah and forty ounces was never enough
We want to pass out in your yard
We want to pass out
Dressing in drag your best friend's clothes
While boys kissed boys in hotel rooms
Oh and just when we thought we were no longer lost
They kicked us out into the dirty streets of Atlanta
So it's Friday night down on North Avenue
Where gas station parking lot prostitutes
Tried to fix their hair in our rearview mirrors
You know we're just trying to get to the club and shake our asses
A caravan of kids, some big old mess
On an old wooden dock, oh we're bored to death
We've got a bottle of wine, a fresh pack of smokes
We're going to end up screaming about some midnight garage sale

We started with the Habs-Leaf game, a sad and miserable beginning (we lost 6-5 and our chance at the Stanley Cup) quickly replaced with vodkas, chocolate cake and Chinese food. The whole living room was covered in balloons and silver tinsel. I am officially the best worst (sic) foosball player since I was on the winning team both times I played doubles (once with Rob; once with Grae).

And then we hit the Greenroom. And then I learned what a Jager Bomb is. And then we danced like we hadn't danced in a million years. Not just dancing, but burning the place up, the way we like to do, while others shake listlessly, trying only to pick up, and never fully understanding what it means to be alive on a dancefloor. Sigh. We missed Ian and Courtney very much, and it didn't help that the DJs didn't have any Tilly & The Wall. But it was still good. We slapped, we kissed, we bumped and grinded. I think there was even some licking of Grae's face done by the birthday boy, but I was gone by that point. Had to be up by 10am for Easter Mass. I wished I could have stayed all night.

***
This episode has been brought to you by Nights of the Living Dead, by Tilly & The Wall.

The Attention Seeker

Someone told me once that horoscopes are popular because they only say nice things about people, and that if they said nasty -albeit true- things, people wouldn't like them so much. In real life, I might disagree but for the sake of argument I'll climb on this boat and add that any pop psychology game where you fit into a category is usually full of vague and generic "pluses" about you. The Motivator. The Mediator. But you're never The Attention Seeker, even if that is what you, or rather I, am.

I'll start with the worst: My mother says that when I was a baby, she couldn't take a shower without me wanting to sit in the same room (in my portable crib at that point) and watch. This has always been heralded as the piinacle of my attention-desperation, but when I think about that, it seems to me like I just wanted to bask in someone else's rays: my Leo mother's, in this case.

I don't like attention from strangers, and I don't like attention from people I'm not fond of. It creeps me out severely, in fact. When I had a scooter (and a RED helmet) in Santiago, I hated that people noticed me, *unless* they knew me and I wanted to impress them.

This Attention Seeker doesn't do well with bosses who don't care, boyfriends who don't care, or even friends and acquaintances who don't care. I aim to impress, and the people whose attention I Seek (this should be a new sign, for crying out loud!) are one and the same.

Just saying.