Not very silly announcement of the day:

The drawings in Alice In Wonderland are not of Alice Liddell, the book's muse. There's a picture of Lewis Carroll in his study, and over him is a painting called "Girl Among Lilacs" by one of the late Pre-Raphaelites. This is the source of the Alice illustrations. And guess who owns that painting now?

The AGO. The building about 8 blocks away from my home.

And it's only rarely on display. Do you know any other museum in the world that wouldn't be capitalizing on this?!

October 23, 1998.

Today my favourite professor frowned through my "Venus & Adonis" presentation, pointed out that she'd written an article on the poem in "Shakespeare Quarterly," and didn't interrupt me to dialogue once. I just about burst into tears at the end of my speech. And then said that I'd found a few things she hadn't thought of.

Gah.

"I am a simple man looking for a handout."

Last night I attended the launch party for Trotski & Poet's new poetry magazine, Pivot. And although I was under the impression that I had had a bad time, I found myself giving a glowing review to 2 perfect strangers.

The night didn't start off too promisingly...the first reader (let's call him Gilligan) had all the drama & passion of HAL the super computer. ("Daisy...Daisy...give me your answer, doooo...") But next up was Sven, who was playing the long-haired, wild-eyed, single-named, giddily happy guy to perfection...probably cause it wasn't an act. Almost all of his poems were memorized & he definitely had the most fun of anyone else up there...just the crazy glitter in his eye when he delivered his masturbation poem was worth being there. Poet's reading was also a sight to behold, since (to my knowledge) it was the first one he's ever done. His parents flew in from Ottawa just for the night, which was mightily impressive to our minds. I've wanted to meet them for a long time - most strongly when I was in love with Poet, of course - but sort of vaguely ever since. Not who I would've picked out of a police line-up as his parents. Fascinating...I assume Stacy felt the same way seeing Q's parents at the wedding...curiosity about ancestors never fully dies out for me.

And, just for the record, Poet's younger sister is not, as Preacher says, "hot." Cute, but not hot. This is an important issue among boys, I've noticed...who has an attractive younger sister, and therefore can be teased about her. I don't know why; girls regard their friends with horror if the friends express an interest in a brother.

Anyway. So the readings were pretty good, on average. I saw a lot of people that I haven't been out with in a very long time...including Aphrodite, who refuses to look me in the eye anymore and Cranly & Tiger Lily, both of whom didn't say a word to me the entire night. Which took a lot of the shine off the evening. It's like they've been punishing me since last spring, but I have no idea why. All I know is that I keep opening my arms out to Cranly, keep trying to make him into my friend again, only to be rewarded with silence. I gave up on Tiger Lily slowly over the summer, when she maintained a stony silence for 4 months. The worst thing is that it's a great big power game...they know something & punish me with coldness for this thing...or maybe they punish me for not knowing.

No, the worst thing is that I don't care why. I can take a lot of shit from people & forget it if they're nice to me later. If they were the slightest bit nice to me, I would happily forget everything. I just want the pain to stop.

I just want to be liked. That's all.

But I felt bridges building as well as burning. Talked to Lawyer for the first time in ages, ditto Preacher, ditto Poet. My Catholic School Girl outfit was, in fact, a visual offering to Preacher, since it was his birthday yesterday. He was suitably impressed, and made a point of inviting me to the celebratory drinking tonight. Poet impressed me a great deal: after the reading, he urged us to go drinking with him, and listened to my upset mumbling about Cranly & Tiger Lily with real concern. Then he looked me straight in the eye, and said the perfect thing. The thing I'd never admitted to myself that I wanted to hear, the thing that Trevor was trying, in his diplomatic way, to say.

I think that's why I fell in love with Poet 2 years ago: he has a knack of saying the perfect thing every once in awhile. In her attempts to comfort me on That Tuesday, Brigit told me that she, too, had fallen for Poet - because when she cried out, half-jokingly, for her Prince Charming, he had raised his hand.

(Just in case you're drawing back in horror from your screens, expecting another descent into Poet-induced madness, have no fear. The collory is this: Trevor has the knack of doing the perfect thing 9 times out of 10. Which is a very good batting average indeed.)

But overall, the reading was a smashing success. I was particularly glad...not just because I had friends involved in the magazine, but also because it was Veronica's first event as Literary Commissioner...and this is the first time we've had one of those in the college council for a really long time. At the end, we stood around outside, smoking cigars, drinking beer & outrageously pandering to the egos of the poets. They signed many autographs that night, for "when they get famous." Me, I wasn't as interested in collecting signatures, but Poet insisted, so I let him use my back as a desk to inscribe my copy. Ridiculous postures for 2 people to be in, like a burlesque of something obscene. It got really silly outside when Sven asked if he could borrow my purply-black lipstick to kiss Palaver's magazine in autograph. Then Poet wanted to do it too. I love putting lipstick on boys, which is prolly why Trevor never lets me...he knows that I'd take a mile if given an inch. Soon it spread like a fever, and Trotski & the other editor were donning bright red lipstick to smack at people's magazines.

An utterly charming scene...lipstick, booze, candles, cigars & giggling in the ancient stone arches of University College. The beams above are studded with nails to keep birds from nesting, and we also took our leave far too soon.

one year ago today: goth day