America, did you know it was National Sandwich Day for you the other day?
I hope you celebrated appropriately and ate sandwiches with fillings 5 inches thick.
In England, we like to solemnly remember war time rationing by keeping sandwich fillings as sparse as possible, especially if the sandwich comes from a supermarket.
During a recent online search for things that Vancougar might offer me other than walks in the woods and opportunities for uncharacteristic flirtations with hairy dudes, I was looking for an alternative bookshop where I might source my copy of the new Erika Lopez book. Ok, ok so I was looking for somewhere I might spot cute girls in Van who can also read, but anyway, I found an ad for a gay establishment that included the initials GBLT*.
My only thought was:
Gay Bacon Lettuce & Tomato?
Maybe they were just really happy to be celebrating the upcoming National Sandwich Day.
Of course to be truly gay this sandwich would have to be made using Fakin' Bacon.
* for the uninitiated, the initials usually used to denote gayness or gay friendliness in an establishment/publication/service or whatever are variants on LGBTQ with Q being a relatively avant garde addition. I have never, ever seen GBLT before, but it does promote my status as 2nd in the line up as opposed to 3rd, so who's complaining?
Friday, November 5, 2010
In, Out, In, Out, Shake it all about
Dear Beloved Readers,
I've started feeling really self-conscious about the direction in which my writing is going. It's reflecting my life in Van of course, so the gayer life here gets, the gayer this blog is likely to get. I love you for reading this and I don't want to alienate you. Mimi is the only person for whom this isn't weird, because when we met I was busily living with one girl while falling in love with another. She introduced me to all her friends and they had a mutual friend with the same first name as me. They differentiated between us by naming her the German one and me the Lesbian one.
I recently met a woman who sounded thrilled to be bisexual, she talked about it positively, while I have hidden from it for years because the reaction the word gets mortifies me.* I never once went to Gay Pride with my friends in London, even when I lived with a woman. Why? Because I'm too lazy to march? Because I was afraid people would look at me and wonder what the heck that straight girl was doing there? The simple answer is, I didn't go to Pride because I wasn't proud. As much as I stolidly held to my high expectations of everyone around me, looking to them for support and acceptance, I was busy raging against homophobia while realising I harboured internalised homophobia against myself.
This seems deranged.
It has only recently struck me though, that I actually don't know what it's like to be straight. You think everyone thinks like you until you find out they don't. My newly minted bisexual friend recently married a dude and only later she realised her love of girls in not something all straight women have on the side. She's happy with that, the self knowledge and understanding and experience of meeting other women who feel the same way is enough for her.
Being bisexual for me is like doing the bloody Hokey Cokey for the rest of my life. I wish I knew where it would lead. I wish I didn't have to follow my heart because it is suddenly expansive and wide and taking me places I am afraid to go. And I'm taking you with me. Maybe it'll be fun, think of it as an anthropological case study.
I hope I'll learn to embrace being the unicorn of sexuality; that mythical creature: the bisexual. The gayness is actually not a problem for me, nothing makes my heart jump and down in excitement more than the realisation that the whole world makes sense to me from that perspective, it's just the alignment of it with my ungay self along with all my expectations of growing up to be like Samantha from Bewitched, minus the magic.
In related news, I recently saw WK for the first time since my birthday and told him he was off the hook, that while most of my heterosexuality is currently used up on my crush on him (the rest is still for Lee Min Ho) I would be exploring other avenues henceforth. I didn't actually use the word henceforth, because who does? There's something delicious about employing fancy pretentious language in the written word that you can't get away with in real life speech.
Kind salutations,
Me x
* I am possibly referring to the reaction the word gets from me, myself. Go figure, as they say on this side of the Atlantic.
p.s. edited to add this note - sometimes I just love people so much, like the people who created Bisexual Index, it makes me want to do a better job of not disparaging my own people.
p.p.s. it would be easier not to disparage my own people if their t-shirt section did not look like this. (Although I may have spat something onto the screen laughing at the 'Bi-furious' one, WTF?) Totally 'mo t-shirts are way cooler. Please get me one for Christmas or I could be single for yet another year/the rest of my life.
I've started feeling really self-conscious about the direction in which my writing is going. It's reflecting my life in Van of course, so the gayer life here gets, the gayer this blog is likely to get. I love you for reading this and I don't want to alienate you. Mimi is the only person for whom this isn't weird, because when we met I was busily living with one girl while falling in love with another. She introduced me to all her friends and they had a mutual friend with the same first name as me. They differentiated between us by naming her the German one and me the Lesbian one.
I recently met a woman who sounded thrilled to be bisexual, she talked about it positively, while I have hidden from it for years because the reaction the word gets mortifies me.* I never once went to Gay Pride with my friends in London, even when I lived with a woman. Why? Because I'm too lazy to march? Because I was afraid people would look at me and wonder what the heck that straight girl was doing there? The simple answer is, I didn't go to Pride because I wasn't proud. As much as I stolidly held to my high expectations of everyone around me, looking to them for support and acceptance, I was busy raging against homophobia while realising I harboured internalised homophobia against myself.
This seems deranged.
It has only recently struck me though, that I actually don't know what it's like to be straight. You think everyone thinks like you until you find out they don't. My newly minted bisexual friend recently married a dude and only later she realised her love of girls in not something all straight women have on the side. She's happy with that, the self knowledge and understanding and experience of meeting other women who feel the same way is enough for her.
Being bisexual for me is like doing the bloody Hokey Cokey for the rest of my life. I wish I knew where it would lead. I wish I didn't have to follow my heart because it is suddenly expansive and wide and taking me places I am afraid to go. And I'm taking you with me. Maybe it'll be fun, think of it as an anthropological case study.
I hope I'll learn to embrace being the unicorn of sexuality; that mythical creature: the bisexual. The gayness is actually not a problem for me, nothing makes my heart jump and down in excitement more than the realisation that the whole world makes sense to me from that perspective, it's just the alignment of it with my ungay self along with all my expectations of growing up to be like Samantha from Bewitched, minus the magic.
In related news, I recently saw WK for the first time since my birthday and told him he was off the hook, that while most of my heterosexuality is currently used up on my crush on him (the rest is still for Lee Min Ho) I would be exploring other avenues henceforth. I didn't actually use the word henceforth, because who does? There's something delicious about employing fancy pretentious language in the written word that you can't get away with in real life speech.
Kind salutations,
Me x
* I am possibly referring to the reaction the word gets from me, myself. Go figure, as they say on this side of the Atlantic.
p.s. edited to add this note - sometimes I just love people so much, like the people who created Bisexual Index, it makes me want to do a better job of not disparaging my own people.
p.p.s. it would be easier not to disparage my own people if their t-shirt section did not look like this. (Although I may have spat something onto the screen laughing at the 'Bi-furious' one, WTF?) Totally 'mo t-shirts are way cooler. Please get me one for Christmas or I could be single for yet another year/the rest of my life.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Breaking News
I went for a run.
Shocker!
It was more of a run/gasp for breath/walk/run/gasp/stumble cycle than a straightforward run. It's been 18 months at least since I attempted such a thing.
(I do frequently run for the bus however.)
I would like to thank my Fellow European for the suggestion. Little does she know that she was instrumental in making one of the least likely events of the year actually happen.
I would also like to thank the left over chocolate frosting sitting in the fridge.
Dear, luscious frosting, once I caught myself eating you off a spoon, I knew it was time to get off my bum.
Shocker!
It was more of a run/gasp for breath/walk/run/gasp/stumble cycle than a straightforward run. It's been 18 months at least since I attempted such a thing.
(I do frequently run for the bus however.)
I would like to thank my Fellow European for the suggestion. Little does she know that she was instrumental in making one of the least likely events of the year actually happen.
I would also like to thank the left over chocolate frosting sitting in the fridge.
Dear, luscious frosting, once I caught myself eating you off a spoon, I knew it was time to get off my bum.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Be Cool, Sodapop
I have been caught out. By none other than the worldliest of Vancouverites, Douglas Coupland. I was mentally cheering my local library again for the 27th time this year when I discovered a copy of his book City of Glass.
I loved his wry portrait of Kits ( a neighbourhood of fit people from a beer ad/commercial) and his insight into the Pot-a-holic side of this city.
But then I felt suddenly alone, as if my integration here is a distant and perhaps impossible thing. (Of course I am also slightly perversely pleased at this.) The reason for this is Doug's insistence that no one but people from the far reaches of the east coast (i.e. clueless folk) call Vancouver 'Van'. I do it all the time. Think of the hours I save not typing the whole thing out every time. Doug insists that since the neighbourhoods of North Van, East Van and West Van are so specific, no one would dream of being so generalist as to call any part of it merely Van.
Also, apparently, it is 'dweeby' to be carrying an umbrella. Nevermind that my umbrella is the most adorable thing I have ever seen and it was good enough for Paris, the chicest wet city of all time. However, I am, despite being made to feel like a moronic foreigner, able to see that it is the lot of the hardcore Vancouerite to be under the impression that an anorak is man's best friend.
No; that would be a credit card. Or an umbrella.
I loved his wry portrait of Kits ( a neighbourhood of fit people from a beer ad/commercial) and his insight into the Pot-a-holic side of this city.
But then I felt suddenly alone, as if my integration here is a distant and perhaps impossible thing. (Of course I am also slightly perversely pleased at this.) The reason for this is Doug's insistence that no one but people from the far reaches of the east coast (i.e. clueless folk) call Vancouver 'Van'. I do it all the time. Think of the hours I save not typing the whole thing out every time. Doug insists that since the neighbourhoods of North Van, East Van and West Van are so specific, no one would dream of being so generalist as to call any part of it merely Van.
Also, apparently, it is 'dweeby' to be carrying an umbrella. Nevermind that my umbrella is the most adorable thing I have ever seen and it was good enough for Paris, the chicest wet city of all time. However, I am, despite being made to feel like a moronic foreigner, able to see that it is the lot of the hardcore Vancouerite to be under the impression that an anorak is man's best friend.
No; that would be a credit card. Or an umbrella.
Mix Tape Memories
I miss mix tapes.
They were such a labour of love. Making tapes for people, or even for myself, I was always obsessive over pressing stop on the tape recorder at the end of a song at exactly the right moment. The transition had to be clean. It wasn't until I met NME (his pseudonym, after the magazine), who became one of my greatest friends, that I realised there was even more to consider; like the notes one song ends on and the chords the next song begins with. The tapes NME made for me during our sweet and hidden courtship (it was that long ago that seems the appropriate word) are some of the best compilations of songs ever to grace my ears.
On this nostaglic note, I have to go. The cat is retching.
They were such a labour of love. Making tapes for people, or even for myself, I was always obsessive over pressing stop on the tape recorder at the end of a song at exactly the right moment. The transition had to be clean. It wasn't until I met NME (his pseudonym, after the magazine), who became one of my greatest friends, that I realised there was even more to consider; like the notes one song ends on and the chords the next song begins with. The tapes NME made for me during our sweet and hidden courtship (it was that long ago that seems the appropriate word) are some of the best compilations of songs ever to grace my ears.
On this nostaglic note, I have to go. The cat is retching.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Dishwasher Initiative Failure
Oh, woe is me.
The new Dishwasher Initiative that started a few weeks ago in this house is failing miserably. The mother decided the children were old enough to rinse out their own dishes and place them in the dishwasher themselves after eating. Sounds easy enough to me.
More often than not they just get slung anywhere in the vicinity of the sink, resplendent with gunk left over from whatever they ate. I am at that jaded stage of feeling like it's just easier to clean up their mess since even if they do it themselves I generally have to re-do everything anyway. Was I a horrifically messy pre-teen? I have no recollection of this.
It's as if I just came out perfectly formed, with the mind of a 30 year old even as a new born. This is why my Grandad called me 'Here Before' perhaps.
This can't be true, yet the level of detritus left in the two sweet girls' wake leaves me frequently incredulous. The worst thing about the abject failure of the Dishwasher Initiative is that the parents contribute to its failure on a daily basis by slinging their own plates in or near the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher. It's as if I am the dishwasher conduit and nothing may be cleaned unless it has first been placed artfully in the machine by my own fair hand.
The other day the mother made a note on this aloud telling me 'That little girl is going to need reminding to put her dishes away!' while simultaneously shoving her own dish in the sink, oatmeal quietly crusting at the edges.
The new Dishwasher Initiative that started a few weeks ago in this house is failing miserably. The mother decided the children were old enough to rinse out their own dishes and place them in the dishwasher themselves after eating. Sounds easy enough to me.
More often than not they just get slung anywhere in the vicinity of the sink, resplendent with gunk left over from whatever they ate. I am at that jaded stage of feeling like it's just easier to clean up their mess since even if they do it themselves I generally have to re-do everything anyway. Was I a horrifically messy pre-teen? I have no recollection of this.
It's as if I just came out perfectly formed, with the mind of a 30 year old even as a new born. This is why my Grandad called me 'Here Before' perhaps.
This can't be true, yet the level of detritus left in the two sweet girls' wake leaves me frequently incredulous. The worst thing about the abject failure of the Dishwasher Initiative is that the parents contribute to its failure on a daily basis by slinging their own plates in or near the sink rather than putting them in the dishwasher. It's as if I am the dishwasher conduit and nothing may be cleaned unless it has first been placed artfully in the machine by my own fair hand.
The other day the mother made a note on this aloud telling me 'That little girl is going to need reminding to put her dishes away!' while simultaneously shoving her own dish in the sink, oatmeal quietly crusting at the edges.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Culture
Winter in Van is on the way, the rain was torrential yesterday.
I spent my time holed up in the basement being warmed from the inside out by Gloria Steinem's interview on the CBC. I can't express enough how much this is worth listening to, if you are a woman or know someone who is.
In other news, I have a new crush. Her name is Ariel Schrag. See earlier post about how the best things in Van are free - the libraries. I borrowed all four of Ariel's awesome autobiographical comic/graphic novels on Thursday and today I am finishing the last one. If you have ever wondered how comic book sex looks, or would enjoy a flashback to that time you had to tape your friend's miniscule dress together as you got ready to go out while No Doubt blared in the background, then locate the last of your glitter eyeshadow, slap it on and put the kettle on. These are books to be devoured.
Also, Erika Lopez has a new book coming out soon. I was horrified (at first, because I am a selfish snob who wants to be cooler than the other graphic novel readers, but then of course I was pleased and delighted for her success) to discover people know who she is; like the writers of Bust who just interviewed her. I am nervously excited to read it. I was at university when I fell for her incredible wit and deliciously trashy illustrations that look like they were drawn by a horny, yet exceedingly talented, fifteen year old boy with a Betty Page fetish. Opening the first page will be like going back in time. I can't wait.
I spent my time holed up in the basement being warmed from the inside out by Gloria Steinem's interview on the CBC. I can't express enough how much this is worth listening to, if you are a woman or know someone who is.
In other news, I have a new crush. Her name is Ariel Schrag. See earlier post about how the best things in Van are free - the libraries. I borrowed all four of Ariel's awesome autobiographical comic/graphic novels on Thursday and today I am finishing the last one. If you have ever wondered how comic book sex looks, or would enjoy a flashback to that time you had to tape your friend's miniscule dress together as you got ready to go out while No Doubt blared in the background, then locate the last of your glitter eyeshadow, slap it on and put the kettle on. These are books to be devoured.
Also, Erika Lopez has a new book coming out soon. I was horrified (at first, because I am a selfish snob who wants to be cooler than the other graphic novel readers, but then of course I was pleased and delighted for her success) to discover people know who she is; like the writers of Bust who just interviewed her. I am nervously excited to read it. I was at university when I fell for her incredible wit and deliciously trashy illustrations that look like they were drawn by a horny, yet exceedingly talented, fifteen year old boy with a Betty Page fetish. Opening the first page will be like going back in time. I can't wait.
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