Fired on Yo' Day Off

Putting in a plug for this play. I know it's the same day as S. James Curtis' reading at Mother Tongue Books (see below) - but check it out, there are two shows, so you can do both! I know I'm going to.  

Acclaimed Cleveland playwright brings hit stage-play to Ottawa for two performances

When:            Saturday, August 19, 2006

Location:      The Bronson Centre, 211 Bronson Ave.

Time:             Matinee 4:30 pm and 7:00 pm

Tickets:         Advance $15.00, $20 at the door

• A&H Records, 256 Bank St.
• Cell World Canada, Rideau Centre
• Cell World Canada, Bayshore Shopping Centre
• Lucas Nault Hair Studio, 232 Laurier Ave. East

Think you've got problems?  What if you owned a Hair & Nail Salon where one employee yells a barrage of Tourette Syndrome induced insults at you and your customers?  Another employee invents ongoing battles with Beyoncé Knowles while letting the hair of some of your best clients fall out.  Your nail technician is a clairvoyant who delivers messages from God.  The manager and best hair-dresser keeps complaining that the stress is making his ovaries flutter.  And then you have to deal with the clients.  All Quetta Lewis wants to do is run the best salon in the city and find the father who walked out the door of her childhood and never came back.

T.Y. Martin is a relentless and prolific talent who has written and directed over 20 of his own plays.  He spent eight years touring as a stand-up comedian, and the past ten years working as an actor in various touring and film productions.  In 2005 his production of the same name was profiled in the documentary "If You Love Me Why Do You Cheat?" as part of the New York Film Festival; where the work was described as "ferocious, fresh and funny."  The cast of "Fired on Yo' Day Off" introduces significant new talents to Ottawa audiences and features Q The Romantic Revolutionary, winner of the 2005 CBC Poetry Face-Off.

Wordplay and Foreplay and a Foreword
Topic: publishing

This is a foreword I just wrote for Storm and Other Poems, a book coming out soon from Dusty Owl. Thought I'd share. The author (Steve Curtis: I covered his launch last fall in Peterborough) will be in town for a reading at Mother Tongue Books on August 19th: stay tuned for more details or ask at Mother Tongue about the QueerAction reading!

Wordplay and foreplay and a foreword

             When I first met S. James Curtis, I thought he wrote gay erotica. Good erotica, where there are personalities, realities, and where the end goal really is, even in this day and age, True Love. But I thought, that's this guy's niche, that's what he does. It didn't take me long to figure out that boy, was I wrong. He's way more than a one trick pony . . . although if you're looking for erotic, don't worry; even the political stuff in this book has its whiff of sweat.

            Curtis has a tendency to surprise you right out of your preconceptions. His porn is tender, his autobiography is psychology, his erudition is foulmouthed, he's looking for a basic hot fuck and a white picket fence at the same time and he knows it, and he's some kind of cyberphilosopher capable of seeing the deeper significance of Super Mario. It's not just that the personal is political here, it's that the personal is public, and in this world everything public becomes political. He's walking firmly in the footsteps of the confessional poets and the Beats, but he's doing it on Myspace with a high-speed connection, a home recording studio and the online sphere of instamatic art.

            He's also a writer who can and does write anywhere, anytime, on the bus, in bars, on scratch pads at work and in the middle of the night. I once watched him paintstakingly scrawling out, letter by letter, the first few paragraphs of a short story on a Palm Pilot in the middle of a karaoke show, because he had an idea. I watched ‘Assembly' get written over bacon and eggs and eight cups of bad coffee in a flyspeck diner.

            There's a show he's putting on - a show where the bars are sordid and he's drunk and horny or drunk and depressed or drunk and sick, where all the decent men are straight or closeted and you get the idea that in his head, hell, they're all closeted, bastards, and the goddamn cabs never stop when you're staggering and just want to get to the poutine stand before you go home.

            But then he turns around and rips right through all that - and straight to your raw guts just when you weren't expecting it - with something like ‘Madeline' or ‘Personal' or ‘Vanilla' or ‘Lower the Flag.' And if you do nothing else, read his stuff out loud, listen to the changes he rings with sound and ideas, something that isn't done enough these days. "I want to make love / I want to build it up from its component parts / Hormones, pheromones / his moans, feral moans / that fill whatever room is / convenient at the time."

Or check this out: "Keep me planted on all fours / You plowing me / and we grow / and grow / and grow / we are human agriculture / animal husbandry / so maybe I am thinking of a kind of marriage..." Not only is this very hot, it's got a half-dozen nifty little wordplays tucked into it.

            And then there's ‘Storm,' the title poem - a grand shout that bows graciously in the direction of its ancestor ‘Howl' and then heads off into the street where the rain becomes a metaphor for connection and inevitability, where the ideas of building storms and power and pressure and release get run through all their connotations - a street that's both messier and more hopeful, in the long run, than Ginsberg's.

            And I think that's one of the things I love about this poetry; it's human, it's hopeful; even at its most despairing, it's exuberant, and it's cold-eyed clear on the complications of wanting love and sex to be the same thing, wanting the world and yourself to wake up and figure out what's important, wanting to be able to change things and yet still wanting the world to leave you alone. "Guess I'm greedy that way," he says in ‘Personal.'

            That, and it's funny and erotic and moving and angry and sonorous and prosaic and poetic, and in this book, it's combined with Curtis's scribbly black-and-white illustrations, which range from doodle-like additions to the page to full-on graphic expressions of the poems (and check out the frowning taxi.) The drawings interact with the poems, helping to convey the rawness that's at the heart of this collection. They work together to bring you an honest book written in barrooms and buses, in diners and lunchrooms, and that's guaranteed to move you, in a lot of different ways, and many times over.

Under the Bridge Downtown

This Saturday from noon on there's a hip hop festival happening under the Dunbar Bridge, where Bronson Street crosses the Rideau River.

MCs and DJs from across Canada, Bboys and Bgirls, graf artists doing their thing all day on a legal graffiti wall, music, poetry and break dance battles. . . I'm posting it here because hip hop culture is such a culture of the word. Words become visual art, the lines between music and poetry get really hazy, and all of it brings out the innate political power of words - not even necessarily what you say with them, but what you do with them. 

Check it out. Oh yeah, and there will be break dance lessons and a history of hip hop workshop. The spoken word segment is from 1:30-2:00 (for those of you interested in the poetry angle.)

the one book meme
I was tagged for this by Amanda Earl... 

an intriguing idea via rob mclennan.

1. One book that changed your life:

For the silly (or maybe not so silly, depending on how you look at it) response to this: one book that changed my life was probably a roleplaying game rulebook. I'll semiarbitrarily pick the rulebook for Mechwarrior, which might have been the first one I used, although in itself it didn't have much effect on my personality (I was way more affected by the World of Darkness books from White Wolf Game Studio - from my environmental and social convictions on up.)

You're looking at me like I'm an übergeek now, right? But the fact is, getting into roleplaying games both introduced me to most of what is now my life - my friends, my interests, my passions, the places I've been and the causes I champion -  and also managed to suck my time, creative energy, money, academic grades and physical well-being for years. They've been both a good thing and a bad thing. But I would definitely not be who I am now, at all, if it weren't for them.

I don't know if I can think of another transformative book that would have the power to redeem me from the shadow of nerdiness that has now descended on me. Um ... how about the book in the next question? Can it do double duty?

2. One book that you've read more than once:

This one's easy. Umberto Eco's Foucault's Pendulum. I first read it in my teens, and for a while whenever I travelled I had a copy of it with me. I can't count how often I've read it. My copy is battered and the cover's been replaced with tape twice. It's such a dense book that the first two or three times I read it I'm sure I didn't understand any of it, and I think I was just reading it again as an act of literary machismo, in reaction to people saying, "You're reading that? I tried, but.... wow. You must be hardcore." But then I started to really get into it, and I've been rereading it ever since.

As a result of my enthusiasm for Foucault's Pendulum, my parents have started buying me a copy of each of Eco's new books as they come out, for birthdays and Christmases. I have everything from The Name of the Rose to The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, as well as a couple of collections of his essays. I don't get tired of the man.

3. One book you'd want on a desert island:

The Worst Case Scenario Handbook, of course. Or the much-rumoured, often-banned The Anarchist's Cookbook, for the handy survival skills and how to perform an appendectomy on yourself without tools.

I would also bring along a lifetime supply of paper and a Pen Of Eternal Ink so I could write my own stories for entertainment.

4. One book that made you laugh:

Can I say a comic book? Preacher, created by Garth Innes and Steve Dillon, has a couple of scenes that made me fall over laughing (and a couple of scenes that disgusted me, and a couple of scenes that gave me nightmares.) But, as I can't probably say a comic book . . .  

Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson, caused me to laugh out loud on a city bus. It's really hard to explain why. Read it. If you laugh at the bit where the mathematicians figure out how to divide their inheritance, or at the phrase "Abandon shit!," let me know.

5. One book that made you cry:

The Golden Gate, by Vikram Seth. A novel told in sonnets. I haven't cried that hard over a book in ages.  I'm such a sucker for pathos.

6. One book that you wish had been written:

My father's unwritten children's fantasy novel. I'd have loved to have read it. My dad's got a great eye for children's literature that avoids truisms, easy-outs, cliches, oversimplification, magic that doesn't make sense, and icky subtexts. And his two heroes would have quoted Monty Python to each other all the way through it.

7. One book that you wish had never been written:

I could pick a book I just didn't like but I don't know if I'd wish it had never been written, just that I'd wish I hadn't had to read it - something like Hard Times by Charles Dickens. A book I wish hadn't been written at all would have to be a book I think is dangerous, and that's hard. I'm mildly annoyed by The da Vinci Code, but who isn't? (Besides, see the above reference to Foucault's Pendulum - I've already got my conspiracy book thanks.) So I'll be silly and say that if Jacques Derrida had never written anything, I wouldn't have had to get into so many arguments in college. So there.

8. One book you're currently reading:

The Alchemy of Stars: a collection of Rhysling Award winners (the Rhysling Awards are given for science fiction poetry). Edited by Roger Dutcher and Mike Allen. Some of it is silly; some of it is disturbing, some of it is gorgeous.

9. One book you've been meaning to read:

Ever since Jian Ghomeshi announced "Canada Intends to Read" on CBC's Sounds Like Canada a month or so ago I've been feeling guilty - I said I'd try to read Ulysses with him and then just plain didn't. But then isn't everyone 'meaning to read' Ulysses? I also go through bouts, every so often, of wanting to go back to trying to read everything by H. Rider Haggard. It's just this thing I have for cheeseball adventure fiction.

[9b) Supplement: Most memorable book you've read in the last year or so:

This one is also easy. Snow Crash, also by Neal Stephenson (he's getting two mentions!) I can't help it, I just find myself in conversations saying, "You know, that's just like in Snow Crash where..." or getting into discussions about religion, politics, western culture, economics, or language and realizing that my illustrations or examples are all coming from that book. Changed some of my ideas. Clarified some others. Made me think things about the mind and the world that I didn't think before. Plus it's funny, a great ride, and would make a hell of a miniseries. All this and it's SF? Who knew?

So... Have my picks surprised anyone yet? Disappointed anyone yet? Confused anyone yet?

10. Now tag five people:

Sean Zio, S. James Curtis, John W. MacDonald's already been tagged hasn't he ... um, need more bloggers - Christine Paul and ... okay, can I get away with three and a half tags? 

What kind of geek am I if I only know a handful of people online? 

Where's the Next Hunter S?
Now Playing: Steeleye Span

A friend sent me this link to a cool article. What happened to gonzo journalism and what would it take to resurrect it in a form that responds to the 21st century? 

The Next Gonzo Journalism

Serendipity
Topic: readings

Incidentally, I'm back from vacation (you'll note the gap; apologies, but I was on the East Coast.)

If I hadn't been having a picnic with Steve and Cathy Zytveld yesterday evening in the Park of the Provinces (below Christ Church Cathedral) we wouldn't have spotted rob mclennan biking up the Parkway. We wouldn't have yelled, "rob! get over here for some couscous and wine!" and he would not then have told us that jwcurry was going to be reading all of bpNichol's Martyrologies at the gazebo behind Parliament Hill. 

And we would have missed out on an exemplary moment of Ottawa's true oddness. Ottawa seems like such a vanilla place until you get to know it, and as we walked past the setup for the Sound and Light show on the Peace Tower, it seemed both pretty and totally conventional. Then we got to the gazebo. There was a gorgeous sunset going on over the Ottawa River, and a small group of people were milling around the gazebo. We signed a 'guest registry' (the back of a lined notebook) and grabbed a seat with what was left of our picnic, and around 8:00 jwcurry got up, pulled his shirt off, and started reading, after a short preamble about the possible breaks we might have to take for the Sound and Light show and where in the process he might, or might not, say something about the book. This is a seven-volume poem, and it's hypnotic when you get into it, with all kinds of sound changes being rung, themes cropping up again and again, a voice that roams across Canada and through decades - and it's almost as impressive to try to read the whole thing out loud and maintain enough energy. If anyone can do it though ... 

We had to take a break for the fireworks show over the Casino in Hull, and it was fun watching the confusion of the tourists coming up to the gazebo before we paused and trying to figure out what was going on. The sun went down, it got dark, but the gazebo is illuminated slightly, so the reading went on. Someone else had also brought some wine, and there might have been 14 or 15 people there at the most. Who comes out to hear a poet read a six-hour-long poem? A surprisingly diverse bunch, as it turns out. I had to leave at midnight, as we were getting to the end of Volume 3, and there were still about eight people gathered in a corner of the gazebo. As jwcurry said, "if it gets to be three in the morning and I'm still here reading to no one, that'll be. . . neat."

Charles Earl took this picture. Check out his site at www.charlesearl.com.

So very tired....
Topic: Writing

I'm just really tired. I don't know if I'll be able to finish the story, and at the moment I'm just slogging along wishing it was midnight.... but then I keep remembering that I have to at least try to finish it. Three and a quarter more hours...

... and the space around my computer looks like I've been living here for the last day and a half. Scary. 

(a little later)

Second wind? Maybe not. But a certain amount of desparation has gone out of this. I know I'm going to expand this a lot when I go back to it. And I know I might not get to what I'd consider an ending.

But I can start an ending.  And the point is not to write a good novel in three days.

Oh, and for Canada Day....
Topic: readings
Just thought I'd add this - poets will be on deck at the Swizzles Parking Lot Party on Canada Day. From 1:00 to 5:00, at half-hour intervals, spoken word poets will be up to take the mike in the coolest parking lot in Ottawa... between Elgin and Metcalfe, Albert and Slater. So far we have Ritallin, Oni the Haitian Sensation, Steve Sauve, and maybe DJ Morales and Jacquie Lawrence, up to alternate between karaoke craziness, beer and barbecue, and dancing. Dusty Owl will have a merch table there, of course, for books and buttons and t-shirts oh my. Come by and say hello!

The Slog
Now Playing: random music, threatening rain, coffee
Topic: Writing

This is going to be such a marathon. Halfway through, I think, or less, with a day to go, and I know that I've written probably a total of 8 hours in the last couple of days - actual time-on-task, that is - so I know that in the next 12 hours I _can_ write enough to fill out this novel. But I have to have the stamina to just sit here and type. For the rest of the day. God help me. 

The point is to write a novel in three days. Not to write a good novel in three days.  

And I have to say, I'm still curious to find out what will happen when I get into the writer's equivalent of runner's high... 

Day Two Down
Now Playing: the soundtrack to my 3 day novel - lots of Pearl Jam and Tea Party
Topic: Writing

The point of this exercise is to write a novel in three days. 

Not to write a good novel in three days. 

I keep having to tell myself that. And keep plowing on even though I know the plot is weak and sooner or later I'm going to have to accept that my vilain is, in fact, a fairly blank slate so far with no actual game plan or even motivation. And my premise is ludicrous. And I am less than a third of the way through, and two-thirds of the way through the allotted time. 

Everyone should try this. There's a real lesson in learning how to write badly. Usually, when I write fiction, it's because I have a cool idea, and it's pretty decent. Now, I'm writing because I have to, and it's forced and awkward in spots and illogical in others and will probably wind up choppily paced and anticlimactic.

Everyone should try this!