Glee: Spirit Fingers in Social Context

I was in the bathtub thinking about how much I love baths.  In my head I thought "Mmmm.... Baaaaaths..." like the way Homer Simpson thinks about donuts or bacon.  But then that led me to a Hanson version, which went like "MMM BATHS, BA BA DOO BATHS, A DIBBY AH BA DOO BATHS, BA BA DOOOO..."  And then bath time became kind of like a party!

Fact: I think in music.  I am always rewriting my favourite songs to fit every day activities.  Like that time that I changed Fleetwood Mac`s classic hit "Go Your Own Way" to "Go Urinate".  Or a few weeks ago when I sang my entire work day to the tune of "Mambo # 5".  I guess it actually started back when I was about 9 and my Ballet carpooling buddy and I created the great masterpiece entitled *"Wind Beneath MyButt".  My life is a musical, and I`m pretty pleased about that. 

I think this is why I`m such a die-hard Gleek. Some people think it`s silly and unrealistic how they`re always randomly breaking out into song.  But for people like me an episode of Glee is just a typical day, only with more talent, better production quality, and fewer fart references.  (Actually the fart jokes pretty much stopped after we nailed the Bette Midler ballad.)  So what if I have a bunch of imaginary back up dancers when I brush my teeth, and I may or may not occasionally tap-dance while engaging in conversation.  (That second one actually happens kind of a lot.  Every day I`m shuffling!)  I only wish I could make it so that everyone I run into each day could somehow have shiny colour co-ordinated outfits, like for theatrical impact.

I have an intense sentimental attachment to music.  It reminds me of people I love, and precious moments in life.  It has been a catalyst for fun times, and helped shape and/or figure out who I am.  Music is a form of self-expression because every situation in life, good or bad, has its own corresponding soundtrack.  Music has special superpowers, and is frequently used for therapeutic and healing purposes.  It has even been used as a tool for peace-building and conflict resolution.  Music is probably my number 3 favourite thing after beagles and facebook, and tied with Quentin Tarantino.

It`s a bit unfortunate that I was born completely devoid of musical talent.  Although that didn`t stop me from almost scoring a recording contract in Australia for a song I wrote about living in a hostel.  I`m kind of a big deal in Melbourne, which you could probably tell from the part about how I was living in a hostel.  Sadly our duo had to break up immediately after the only time we ever performed it because of artistic differences.  (And because he was trash talking my girl Lea Michele.)  You know how it is.  But I still keep the dream alive that one day Ryan Murphy will catch me singing Don`t Stop Believing in the shower and then come up to me and say "WE NEED YOU ON GLEE STAT!"  Why, I`d be so excited I`d forget it was weird that Ryan Murphy was stalking me in the shower!

Moral of the story: If you have the imagination to add a little razzle dazzle to your every day life, embrace it.  The world needs more harmony.  And spirit fingers.  

*As kind of a funny aside, one time several years after the Ballet carpooling days I was meeting up with that same ballerina friend for drinks.  I texted her, and in my message left some kind of reference to Wind Beneath My Butt, thinking I was being cute.  The funny part was that she had actually got a new phone and I didn`t have the updated number, so I ended up sending the Wind Beneath My Butt text to some random stranger who responded with "Umm... What!"

Oh, and P.S.- Sorry for getting Hanson stuck in everybody`s heads.  

For an archive of all the fun imaginary songs I can remember check out this page which I just created.

I Totally Forgot I Have the Key to a City

I require a job.

Like many people do when they require a job I decided to hit up the interweb for its infinite wisdom and then got depressed about how I'm pretty much horrible at everything especially reading French, speaking French, and writing French.  ...And anything related to computers.  Yes, I am that amazing genius who thought that fabulous high paying jobs would just fall into the lap of a unilingual technologically inept Canadian Political Science graduate, because if there's two things Political Science is known for its the spectacular employability factor and not being a hilarious joke degree. #LifeChoiceFail

Anyway, I was going through some Government job opportunities when I discovered a vacancy at DFAIT.  Keeping in mind that I love International Relations SOOOO MUCH that I literally have pictures of all the United Nations Secretary Generals on my bedroom wall (not kidding), the idea of working in Foreign Affairs and International Trade hit me like if Quentin Tarantino had just offered me a seven figure salary position with the Department of Puppies Chocolate and Jared Leto.

I NEEDED THIS PUPPY JOB!

So I started filling out the application.  Turns out there's a crazy number of questions and components, which I guess is good because it means that the Canadian Federal Government only selects the country's *best and brightest (*people with enough patience to sit through the 95 hour application process) to be its photocopy bitch.  (Kind of like how it probably selected the 'best and brightest' to provide the top notch Parliamentary "security" that enabled Greenpeace to get onto the roof of West Block and hang a banner effectively declaring the incompetence of the House of Commons in 2009, but that is for another post.)   So, as I was trying to explain to the department of Jordan Catalano how I am the next shining star of Canadian civil service because Kofi Annan is like my Justin Bieber, I came across a question involving my experience with etiquette and dignitaries.

Every once in a while I get this sudden realization that my life is totally insane.  It's basically a tornado of destruction and then when that's over the tornado is all like "hey sorry for making a big crazy mess, here's a bunch of diamonds that were ethically extracted and for which the miners were paid fair wages for their labour".  Exactly, it makes no sense! 

The reason for this epiphany was that a few years ago when I was in Sierra Leone I got the Key to the City.  The city of Kenema, to be specific.  Somehow I had forgotten this.  Reagan and I spent the whole day meeting with Mayors and various officials and being paraded around like superstars to the the point where it was questionable if we could actually get our documentary completed in time.  It was very strange and flattering, and I wondered if that's what DFAIT had in mind when it asked me about my experience with official visits and etiquette.  And that got me thinking about how strange my life has to be to not remember holding the Key to a City in western Africa for a week.  

Things happen to me.  Like in a Forrest Gump kinda way.  For example there was that time I called up my friend Kate from Boston to say "Hey Kate I gotta go because I'm in Boston about to meet Hillary Clinton".  Then there was the media paparazzi that followed me for a week and a live interview via satellite on Canada am.  Then a couple of weeks later I celebrated my victory as Communications Director for the Political Science Society by getting drunk and dancing to Journey at the home of the Ambassador to Uruguay.  Then there was that fortnight that had me randomly seated for dinner next to two African dignitaries on two completely separate occasions after some development speeches I gave on behalf of Engineers Without Borders.  This all happened within 4 months of commencing my degree in Political Science.  After that Olivia Chow became my exercise buddy, and I couchsurfed at Jack Layton's house a few times.  I guess you could say Political Science was actually very becoming of me.

But it's not just Political Science that has led to random strange and amazing experiences.  As a dancer I have choreographed and performed solo on the mainstage of the National Arts Centre, and I even got to do a bunch of fouettees in front of a lot of people which is a really big deal to me.  I have won a few Championships, and represented Ontario at the Canadian Championships, and even taken home a medal from Worlds.  As a filmmaker I have had the privilege of going to Cannes Film Festival, and as a writer I was pretty stoked to get included in Zooey Deschanel's HelloGiggles website.  Things just have this bizarre way of happening for me.

I never know where my life is going more than six weeks in advance.  Last year I was joking with a friend after I had just returned from seven months in Asia about how we should get together before I ship out again.  We both knew I would be in Ottawa for a while though, so it was all just fun and games.  A month later I was living in Australia.  I gave about a month's notice when I ran off to Korea.

I know I seem like a flake because I do a zillion different things so employers look at my resume and think I'm a trainwreck.  (Plus I cry all the time and have no eyebrows.)  But here's the thing: I make shit happen.  I seize opportunities and I commit.  Okay, I'm kind of a flake, but seriously employers how many other resumes have you seen with Cannes Film Festival, World Championship Dance Medals, HelloGiggles, AND a Key to a City on it?  Probably not that many!

Moral of the Story: I'm still trying to decide.  It's either to follow your heart and do what you love and enjoy the random crazy opportunities that exist in life, or it's to follow logic and reason so you don't end up a broke nomadic hipster bum that doesn't speak French.  99% of the time option A will be kind of disastrous, but in the other 1% of the time you remember that at one point in life you had the Key to a City and then it all sort of makes sense.  Also don't take Political Science unless you really want to be poor.

told you i have pictures of all the united nations secretary generals on my wall!

Getting the key to the city in Kenema.

I Probably Have Fish Pee In My Hair But At Least I Didn't Get Eaten

            If I had to summarize the ocean I would probably say it is a giant wet death trap filled with zillions of gross things that want to poison and/or eat you.  If I had to summarize Australia the description would be exactly the same but minus the word “wet”.  Oceans and rainforests look pretty in pictures, but lurking just beneath the surface there are an infinity of ugly slimy things with too many legs and too many eyes and too many teeth.

            When I moved to Australia my friend told me I was insane because I was going to get eaten for sure.  In fact, she no longer calls me by name, but rather as “Shark Host” because she is convinced that the instant I got to Australia I was swallowed whole and now I update my facebook statuses from within the shark.  This is not true.  Sharks don’t really swallow people whole and then update their facebook pages.  It’s a common misconception.

            The point is, for many years now I have desperately wanted to go to Australia.  I could handle all the spiders and snakes and sharks and jellyfish, I just really really wanted to go to Australia and swim in the Great Barrier Reef.  So every single year for my birthday and when Santa asked what I wanted for Christmas, I would always just submit a piece of paper containing simply the word “Australia”.

            Last year I finally got my wish.  I got a Working Holiday Visa, packed my bags, and set off for the Land Down Under.  That was over 11 months ago and I can’t believe how fast it’s gone by.  So, in my final hours in the international departures terminal of this glorious country, I would like to propose a toast. To Australia!

SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE

           The day I arrived I hauled my sleepless body off the plane and immediately over to Circular Quay to see the iconic landmarks known as the Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House. That was the day I developed a freakish love affair with the Opera House, rivalled only by my feelings for Quentin Tarantino.  There could probably be a reality show about it.  In addition to its aesthetic magnificence (the Opera House, not Q)  there is an incredible history of perseverance and controversy and it stands as a testament to the power of the human mind.  It is a building that, quite simply, is not supposed to exist. 

 It began as an international architecture competition virtually limitless in its scope.  The winning concept by Danish designer Jorn Utzon was initially disqualified and discarded in the first round of the competition.  However, it was later retrieved and selected despite a complete absence of any real logistical plans.  In other words, it looked really cool on paper, but nobody had any idea how it was actually going to materialize.

The construction was a revolutionary process that exceeded both financial and time predictions by A LOT!  (Give or take 15 times the original cost estimate.)  There was widespread scepticism and contempt, a new government that was highly critical of the project, and ultimately the resignation of Jorn Utzon.  He never returned to Australia and therefore never actually saw the completed project for which he was awarded the Pritzker Prize.

I lived in Sydney for about eight months, and every time I was in a bad mood all I had to do was walk down to Circular Quay and look at the Sydney Opera House, and then nothing else mattered because that building reminded me that I was in Australia.  That made me happy as a giant clam.  Like the giant clams you find in the Great Barrier Reef. 

GREAT BARRIER REEF  

Jumping off a boat into the middle of a shark infested ocean is, admittedly, a little intimidating.  You kind of feel like the biggest sucker ever for empowering Australia’s tourism industry for a) convincing you to do it, and b) convincing you to pay for it.  But then you muster up the courage to dive in and suddenly a whole new universe is revealed.

Viewing the Reef through the eyes of National Geographic is amazing, but nothing compares to the first moment you stick your head under the water and it feels like you’re on a different planet.  A planet that tastes like salt.  You are like a spectator looking down, and all the colourful fish and turtles and barracudas swim around like you’re not even there.  When you stick your head up you remember that you’re back in the middle of the ocean, and it’s kind of like you’re going between two totally separate worlds.  I found Nemo and swam until my arms ached, and it was without a doubt one of the most incredible experiences of my life.

Moral of the story: The ocean is undeniably disgusting and contains a crazy amount of creatures that have clearly provided the inspiration for Will Smith’s cinematic opponents.  And so what if Australian wildlife is just a bunch of merchants of death?!  It’s also spectacularly beautiful.  (Not so much the spiders though.)  Exploration opens our eyes and makes us stronger by pushing us to do things we wouldn’t normally do and be close to bugs that are big enough to have their own solar systems.

I am extremely lucky to have travelled all over the world and seen things most people never get to.  I may have missed out on a platypus sighting, but I did get to see wild kangaroos and wallabies and giant sea turtles, in addition to the most spectacular scenery in the world.  There are so many amazing things I got to do in Australia, and even more that I didn’t.  Bottom line is I love this country, and I love all the people I met along the way who helped make this year so fantastic.  And here's a giant spider eating a butterfly!

yum!

 "Don't forget me I kill people too!" -Crocodile

First Rule Of Dancing...

Two things I love more than anything in the entire world (besides beagles) are dancing and violent movies.  If Quentin Tarantino directed The Nutcracker and I got to be a machine gun wielding Sugar Plum Fairy with awesome dialogue and a yellow leather tutu I would instantly die because I would know that life could never get any better.

I LOVE dancing, and the only time I ever truly felt comfortable growing up was when I was on stage.  I shied away from attention in my day to day life, but when I was dancing I was starved for it.  I wanted to live forever and learn how to fly, and when my toes bled right through my point shoes I just salted and disinfected the wounds and then did it all again the next day.  I danced on dislocated knees and fractured feet and I loved a good battle scar.  The searing pain and stench of peroxide and rubbing alcohol on open wounds only made me stronger as a person.  Dancing was like Fight Club for girls, but with less anarchy and more swans.  It tested your limits and then pushed you past them, and when you wanted to scream in mental and physical anguish you just repressed the pain until the time when you could finally lie in the dressing room with your feet stuck up on the wall letting all the blood rush out of your torn up toes.  It was magical!

Dancing is deceptive because, even though it’s just as demanding as any sport, you can’t grunt like tennis players, make weird faces like runners, scratch your balls like baseball players, or hit people in the head with sticks like hockey players.  Dancers have to look graceful and make it appear like it’s the easiest thing in the universe despite our feet and shins simultaneously being ground into pulp.  Even in death we must be in perfectly turned out fifth position with toes beautifully pointed.  The problem is it makes everyone think it’s super easy so they spin around waving their arms like assholes in mockery. If you happen to be one of those jerkfaces who thinks that dancing is easy maybe you should try putting YOUR FACE in a pointshoe!  (Dear Quentin Tarantino, please feel free to use that idea in any of your future films.)

Thanks to my unfortunate exploding calf muscle I don’t really get to do much dancing anymore (except for how I’m always rocking out to Rihanna’s “We Found Love in a Hopeless Place” or doing the entire “All the Single Ladies” dance in the laundromat to the music that plays in my head at all times).  I miss the life of extended highcuts and grand jetees, and would do damn near anything to fouettee like it’s 1999. 

Moral of the story: This article is dedicated to all the dancers who know that a good dance wound brings with it the same sense of enlightenment as if Brad Pitt poured a bunch of pure lye on your hand and then made you watch it burn your through your own flesh.  And while I’m sorry to all my tendons and joints that now like to spontaneously suckerpunch me as punishment for pissing them off for twenty years, the fact is I would never trade my Cowal medals or spotlit moments on the mainstage of the National Arts Centre no matter how likely it is that I’ll need a hip replacement before the age of 35.  It was totally worth it!  

Sally Menke: A Tribute to Tarantino’s Cutting Room Queen

            I am a huge lover of all things Quentin Tarantino.  I quote his films on a daily basis and have twice suffered fairly major injuries in my excitement to see his work (messed up rotator cuff falling down the stairs on the way to Grindhouse and torn calf muscle 7 minutes before his season finale episode of CSI.  Long story.  Still watched it.)  Whenever I am sad, or angry, or scared, or just need to be inspired by something great, Pulp Fiction is my default.  He never disappoints me, and always makes me laugh.  Q is my Ryan Gosling.

            Beside every great Director is his leading lady.  And while Uma Thurman and Pam Grier may be the first names that spring to mind, there is another unsung shero in this story.  Sally Menke, the brilliant woman who edited every single one of Tarantino’s films, sadly passed away just over a year ago.  I only discovered this tragedy about an hour ago reading an interview with Rosanna Arquette about Pulp Fiction’s release on Blu Ray, which prompted me to read up on the woman who evidently played an integral role in creating some of my favourite cinematic masterpieces.  I can’t believe what a profound effect she’s had on me, and yet somehow I knew nothing about this amazing woman.

            Hollywood is so full of shiny stars that sometimes we forget about those people beyond the glow of the spotlight.  Menke referred to editors as “quiet heroes” because Joan Rivers doesn’t usually stop them on the red carpet to find out who they’re wearing, and we rarely have to deal with annoying controversies about whether or not they should have done that nude cover shoot.  And yet they are ultimately largely responsible for creating the pace and tone of the films we love and maximizing the talents of the celebrities we worship.  We take for granted impeccable dramatic tension and comedic timing, forgetting that someone took millions of hours locked away in a tiny dark room deciding whether that shot needs to last five seconds or six to achieve its optimal impact.     

            For 17 years Sally Menke took Q’s vision and weaved it into gold.  She was the only editor he ever entrusted his masterpieces to, and he credited her with playing a major part in the creative outcome of his films.  She spoke of their “symbiotic” relationship where they knew what the other was thinking and could finish each others’ sentences.  He wrote the snappy dialogue, and she made it breathe.  He created some of the most iconic soundtracks ever, and she gracefully choreographed his footage to “K-B-I-L-L-Y’s super sounds of the 70’s”.  It was a partnership in every sense.  Her loss is devastating.

So Sally, this tribute is to say thank-you for blowing my mind again and again.  Thank-you for removing my brain from the mundane 90 page three act structure and taking it on the Pulp Fiction wild non-linear adventure ride.  Thank-you for history’s most intense chugging of a glass of milk in the opening scene of Inglourious Basterds, and for the classic Jack Rabbit Slims Twist Contest.  Thank-you for Mexican standoffs, sword fights, car trunk POV cuts, and for ensuring that any time I hear “Stuck in the Middle With You” I will only be able to think about ears getting cut off.  Even though I didn’t know it at the time, you were an inspiration, and the next time I watch Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown, Kill Bill and Inglourious Basterds (possibly all in one sitting), I promise to appreciate the legacy you’ve left.