I knew in advance that this week would be hard. I’ve had tickets for Nick Cave since late summer, and Commencement came unusually early this year, as in the day after. In a 24-hour period I’ve thrashed around to “Dig Lazarus Dig!!!” and walked in procession to “Pomp & Circumstance.” I’m paying the price for two consecutive late nights with a sore throat and a general feeling imminent doom, but I remain proud of myself. It’s like I had to live at least two or three lives this week simultaneously, and the stress of overlap hasn’t killed me. I also feel like it’s been the weekend for three days already, and though you wouldn’t know it from my hours you would know it from my jeans. (And they shall know us by our pants.)

I brought Mason to see the Bad Seeds purely on the hope that he would inevitably enjoy himself. We had an argument going in, a fact only notable because it encouraged us to make up throughout the opening act. The Guvernment is a terrible venue, but I can report with honesty that it’s enormously improved by an extended make-out session.

And from the first moment that Nick stormed out, a balding mustachio’d skeleton in a black suit whanging on a tambourine for all it was worth, to the moment we left mid song because we simply couldn’t stand any longer, it was a glorious night. I knew that as soon as the tambourine went spinning up and then to the stage while he ignored its trajectory and grabbed the mike. I knew that when he made an audience member named Jennifer the keeper of his towel, calling for it between songs. And I knew it when he played two consecutive requests: the Ship Song and the Mercy Seed. I miss the comforting bereted bulk of Blixa Bargeld, but the rest of the Bad Seeds are holding up well.

The next morning wasn’t pretty, but I got through it without crawling under my desk for a nap. By the time Mason & I got to the restaurant for some pre-ceremony dinner, our light-headedness was making everything rather wonderful. The two+ hours positively flew by, thanks to a heady combination of extreme fatigue, drinks with dinner and the proximity of my favourite Art teacher (who made up trivia questions to pass the time, like “which Phys.Ed. award to I find the most amusingly-named?” How could you not enjoy that?) A number of reproving glances were thrown our way by the department heads in our neighbourhood, but I couldn’t stop laughing much of the time. I was even glad to see the returning students, which can be emotionally draining. Best podium party experience ever.

"Love you!!" - Essence, one of my grads

Today also sucked, but today I can at least hope for shepherd's pie and a long long time in bed.

Labels: bat masterson, music

I had an extraordinarily satisfying dream last night. I don't usually like my dreams; they're not nightmares but they seem filled with the sort of low-grade anxiety and general confusion I have in my waking life (albeit with more bizarre ingredients). I usually wake up feeling cheated: it's my chance to change everything so why can't I be dating Stephen Fry? Or fly around as a bumblebee?

Last night I was on a subway car with a large group of young cool knitters. There were heaps of cool club clothes and incomplete projects all around the car, making me feel at home right away. I complained about this year's winner of the Polaris Prize and they all agreed. I found some cool unfinished objects I didn't remember starting. There were cute guys flirting with me. It was pretty wonderful.

Of course, upon waking I realized that once again, this dream wasn't anything to brag about. Sure, I woke up happy, but how could I explain it to muggles?

So I'm telling you.

Labels: dreams, knit

I had a big party called Accordionstock '08 on Saturday, and if you missed it, you're probably the reason why we had 5 1/2 quarts of vegetarian chili left over.

It was small in numbers but extremely satisfying. A small coterie of faithful knitters were the first to arrive (as always), followed by the writers, a bellydancer with small daughter (K82*), and two knitters with their families. The five under 5's set about making a glorious mess, which is exactly what the party was for, and at any one time you could find some drawing, some playing with toys, some running in the yard, and some eating. Simon was caught eating crayons, so I offered him baker's chocolate instead. You can tell that he's a second kid: Blake's first birthday cake was made with organic cane sugar to reduce the refined sugar intake and four years later I'm giving other people's kids squares of ingredients. It'll be my fault if he starts hanging out around baking supply stores.

The presence of little eaters meant that we put hot dogs on the menu (the only thing we served that wasn't handmade). Once Blake and K82 had their dogs, they celebrated by spinning in circles, mouths full. The childfree adults, burgers in hand, soon came to a decision. "I want a hotdog." "What?"

They ate the remaining three in short order, and I'm pretty sure if we'd grilled the pack, they'd have eaten them all. I still can't get over it - all this time I've been searching for the perfect party food, and it was right under my nose, swathed in the mists of childhood and a white bread bun.

Yesterday we were able to visit with Mason's son Sage for approximately 5 minutes before he was ushered home to his nap. It was an interesting moment: last time I was asked to come out with Sage, Mason and his family, there was a lot of anxiety about running into Sage's mom. It was so upsetting that we decided on transparency for the next visit; I'm not sneaking around and I refuse to behave as if I'm doing something wrong (or have others behave as if I don't really belong). Sage's mom was told about my invitation, which was a good thing. Not so good was that my arrival at the coffeeshop coincided exactly with hers, so there was some awkward conversation on the sidewalk. Still, it was better than the alternative. A craven part of me thought about hiding in a store before they noticed Blake & I, but we didn't. I didn't touch Sage in front of her, though. That's just pushing it.

One of the most interesting things about the past summer is that I've been forced into much more compassion than I would have otherwise. I'm not just "the girl who was left," I'm also "the replacement" and I'm dating "the boy who left." It's so much harder to judge the Boy and Sage's mom when I'm an analogue of one and dating the counterpart of another.

* Blake was pretty jazzed that K8rs was coming over, and he insisted on sitting outside the door to wait for the family to arrive. Souzan showed up soon with her K8, and took it upon herself to introduce them.

"You must be Blake. What are you waiting for?"

"K8," he replied simply.

"I'm K8!" Souzan's daughter replied eagerly, delighted to be anticipated in a strange place.

"No," said Blake with finality. I haven't heard of such coldness since the infamous "Space Island" conversation.

Labels: blake, food, friends, mason

Another week has whooshed past. Last night was the busiest night yet: I left work early to take Blake and myself to the dentist, rushed home so that my whole family could go to Blake's school's open house and eat hot dogs, then spent an hour marking papers before rushing over to my new dance class. (I'm taking a hula class this fall, because clearly I don't have enough to do.*) I feel like one of those completely over-programmed kids we all read about in editorials. This is not the life for a slacker like myself.

While bolting down hot dogs, I met Blake's best friend at school, the boy whom Blake admires for his "beautiful brown skin." Probably Blake didn't notice that the two of them are exactly alike in that they're running, screaming, jumping partners in crime because that was completely obvious.

Last night I also worked on getting rid of two Broken Social Scene tickets that my foolish impetuous heart demanded I purchase immediately when they extended their tour to Montreal. How was I to anticipate that two weeks later, a Toronto date would be announced? I thought about sucking it up and going to Montreal anyway, but I realized how foolish and inconvenient it was all becoming. It wasn't just the concert, it was 12 hours of driving and a place to spend the night and missing Blake's trick-or-treating and rushing to make it back to NotAnArtist's wedding the next day. The possibility of seeing Amy and Evan and throwing a big haunch of smoked meat on the gifts table when we got back couldn't compensate. So I decided to be sensible.

I called the label to ask if there was anything they could do for me, and they were very nice in their refusal. Then I wondered if I knew anyone in Montreal who would take the tickets. (This is complicated by the fact that the tickets don't have corporeal existence; they'll be at the will-call desk.) All of this led me to the surprising conclusion: I'm giving my tickets to my ex boyfriend Alexi, and trusting him to give me some money at some point (if he can get in at all). I can't think of very many people who would go to a concert hall on spec, but he's definately one of them. Or, he was ten years ago; I'm sure he's a little different now.

* in truth, I'm taking this class because when Juuki took a leave of absence, I had a course credit to resolve. Since I don't want to confuse myself with another style of belly dance and I'm not really cut out for ballet or tap, I gravitated toward hula dancing. It's been fun so far - a lot of hip shaking without all of the discipline I've come to associate with belly dance. Of course, now that I'm in a belly dance troupe, I have to be good, whereas I can be the biggest hula screw-up and not care. Ah, the pressure of a submerged Type A personality.

Labels: blake, dancing

Did I miss something? Tell us about your new relationship! Is it with Mason?

Not that this reply will at all match up with the comment, as I’ve been trying to catch up with my stored backlog, but. Yes. I’m dating Mason.

Just about everyone I’ve seen socially in the past season has seen the two of us together, so it hasn’t exactly been a secret anyway. From the summer afternoon in May when we stumbled across Emily, Dave, Clara & Sheila in the Distillery, the word has been slowly leaking out. In late June at Knit Night, Denny saw Mason kissing my cheek and made an absolute shrieking deal out of it, which was one of those “Denny makes already awesome things even more fun” nights. She insisted on trumpeting the news to everyone who entered, most of whom were not at all surprised (Harlot) and a few who complained that they were the last to know (Rachel H., but don’t worry Rachel – my mom still doesn’t know). People at Bat Masterson are starting to get in on the open secret as well, and I figure it will be yesterday's news in a few months to all but the most oblivious.

I resisted coming out and saying it in public, mostly because of fear. I think I had the irrational fear that the Boy would discover this as published fact and any hope of reconciliation would be scotched. I’m trying to accept that I am not responsible for his desire to come back, and if he doesn’t understand that I would have done anything to keep him, than omitting what’s become fairly obvious from my journal won’t do the trick either.

I also was afraid of what people would say. There wasn’t a lot of time between Mason’s marriage breaking up and our dating (about a month) and there are people at school who have openly speculated that we started having an affair last year. Just knowing that my conduct has been blameless doesn’t seem to be enough – I still worry about how it will appear.

And my mom went completely round the bend when she found out last spring. She made a huge scene that had way more to do with her anxieties about Blake and her own experience as the child of divorce than about me. It was pretty awful, and I promised to stay alone until more time had passed. This is why I started going to see my councilor again, a practice I have since abandoned since I really didn’t have all that much to talk about after 3 or 4 visits. So I’m still sneaking around there.

It feels good to come out here, though. Thanks for asking.

Labels: mason