Get Behind Me, 2007: A Year in Review.

It's over.
Straight from the get-go, this year cast absolutely ZERO illusions about how it was going to play out.
My gallbladder busted January 5th, 2007.
Busted.
Liquified.
Even the doctor made a queasy, disgusted face and said: "You're gallbladder...whoa...that was bad."
But - it was ripped out of me in February and by early March I was good as new, minus 25 pounds.
Bonus.
March was peachy. I started writing little 2 and 3 chord tunes on my guitar and recording them to poems.
I made a little compilation and gave it to the wonderful Karmen - mainly because she was the first one of us to face the big 3-O.
"HI Karm! An Audio Notebook" - rough, raw, flawed, I did 13 songs in 9 hours - start to finish. I'm proud of it.
April - house burned down.
We woke up to a loud bang.
BANG!
And screaming.
When we went downstairs to check it out we discovered our entire world up in smoke and flames.
We grabbed the cat and the rest is history.
We moved into a hotel which accepted pets.
It was weird.
One room - and somehow, it felt like home.
On the morning of May 17th - I woke up and everything was different again.
Instead of the apartment - we were now on the 27th floor of Victoria Parkplace.
And I was thirty years old.
My birthday. Waking up in a new building.
It was eery. But the weather...was EXACTLY how it was supposed to be. I am blessed in that EVERY SINGLE May 17th - the weather is ALWAYS exactly the same.
I walked to work that day and it was just...surreal. I'm not even sure I can explain why.
In June we went camping up North near the Bruce Peninsula.
Gorgeous but too many animals, and I love animals.
Just not snakes, mice, bats and bears.
Hey - you can't win them all, but it was glorious.
In summer - I was poetry boy.
I read at Bluesfest back - to - back two nights to 8,000 - 10,000 thousand people which was a trip.
At Pride I took the stage again to a smaller but equally ELECTRIFYING crowd...
I also saw living LEGENDS of rock this year...the biggest idols new and old.
Billy Joel, Diana Ross, Bright Eyes, Violent Femmes, Polyphonic Spree, the White Stripes, the Bangles, Xavier Rudd, Bjork, M.I.A., Regina Spektor, Patti Smith, Sinead O'Connor, Annie Lennox...it was just non-stop rock and roll.
The Bangles for crying out loud - ended the summer and a huge fat full moon rose above the stage, like the whole season was saying goodbye.
In September we moved back home to a brand new house...everything the same but shaped different.
Our home...but not. But it was.
Totally new.
I was uneasy at first...freaked out.
Wondering what kind of ghosts lived next door...or in our attic.
Every once in a while, you'd get a phantom whiff of fire.
"A Phantom Whiff of Fire" - nice ring.
That's gone now. And so are the uneasy feelings.
Life Partner's grandfather died, his job got switched...this year was bitter and sweet.
Super bitter...with an INCREDIBLY sweet filling.
It was a challenging year...but decent. Honest, if that makes any sense.
It had an attitude that just said: "Okay...this is how it is."
And boom. There it was.
And the rest is a blur.
It has been manic speed since then.
Fall. Halloween. Christmas and now...this.
The last hurrah.

New Years Resolutions...they're coming tomorrow. a Wrap up from last year's blog...we'll see how I did...

Until then...Happy New Year brothers and sisters...

2007...this is it...we'll never ever EVER see it again after this.
It's gone forever.
Never to return.

Til next year,

Dan

"Ladies First", Indeed!

I think all the hoopla with the whole "are they gay or are they not" deal is ridiculous. A waste of time.
Yet here I am, blogging about it.
*sigh*
It's stupid really...why should anyone care?
That being said - why should anyone lie about it?
Or avoid the question.
It's No. Big. Deal.
Right?
Queen Latifah - when asked by Ebony magazine this year whether or not she could confirm rumours on her being a lesbian - said: "No comment on that at all. I'm done commenting on all that...It's ridiculous. I know me and that's all I need to know."
In an interview with People magazine in November 2007 Queen Latifah said, "My private life is my private life. Whomever I might be with, I don't feel the need to share it."
OK.
Fair enough. Completely. I get it.
In fact, I think this pretty much clears any question up.
BUT.
If she were straight, would it STILL be "no comment"?
Have you ever heard a "straight person" give the "it's private and it is no one's business" answer when referring to their heterosexuality?
No.
Because there is no "shame", scandal or controversy in being straight.
They are not under any obligation or contract to uphold a certain "image" for any cosmetic company or whatever the deal is.
No one gives a shit. Straight = boring and scandal-free, for the most part.
But clearly - and the fact that I'm even blogging about it - people DO care when someone is a gorgeous cover-girl lipstick-yet-still-butch lesbian.
I mean, I get the fact that no one should have to "admit" they are gay, like they are under some kind of obligation to the media-junkies and gossip vultures to own up to their sexuality - which they may or may not be comfortable with.
But I think the question "Are you gay?" is handled poorly by people like Queen Latifah and Jodi Foster - who more or less are already "out" in certain ways.
"Are you gay?" is an unnecessary question and it's a stupid question - but the problem here is that it is NOT being treated that way.
When Queen Latifah refuses comment - she almost inflates the situation and gets the gossip mill buzzing even louder.
All they have to do - when asked "Are you gay?" is say back (with as much bitchy snipe as they wish) "Um...are you fucking BLIND!?!?? Yes I'm gay - how do YOU as a journalist not fucking KNOW this by now?!?!?!"
But instead, we get this EQUALLY ridiculous "no comment" business whcih throws everyone off and makes gays and straights alike wonder: "Why the HELL doesn't she just say it?!"
What kind of example is this to young gay people who ARE in the closet?!?!
Fuck - Queen Latifah is a feminist icon - from her early days as a "Ladies First" rapper - to the fact that she is plus size, black and one of the best Cover Girls EVER - yet even SHE can't muster the strength/courage/whatever to just say "DUH!!! Don't you have anything BETTER to ask me??!?!"
"If Latifah can't come out...how can I ever come out?"
I know, I know...that's unfair to throw that kind of responsibility on poor Queenie, but still.
Sure - they are right - it is no one's business.
But this is something straight people do not have to worry about.
Why do strong-willed gay people STILL not feel comfortable enough to just admit it?
Why is it treated like a dirty secret?
Wait a minute...
Is it because it IS it a dirty secret?
Is it naughty and taboo and something best kept to yourself?
Sounds an awful lot like "don't ask don't tell to me" - which is steeped in nothing but PURE homophobia. A wolf in sheeps clothing, except it's not a very convincing sheep outfit.
Why is being gay STILL being treated like some kind of sex-fetish for whips and chains - or the dirty magazine hidden between a mattress?
While I admit - sexual orientation doesn't "define" a person, it is not a dirty fetish either - something that ONLY happens in the bedroom.
Sure - the box of dildos under your bed...the porno collection at the back of your DVD shelf...that pair of edible panties in your sock drawer...that is what goes on in the bedroom and while there is no shame in that...it's not something many people feel the need to trumpet from the mountains.
But being gay?
That's different.
It is a part of who you are and it DOES leak outside the bedroom - it is your LIFE - yet there is acceptible homophobia running rampant everywhere - from the "guy down the street" who says "that's so gay" to the fucking government itself who very MUCh make it their business.
It's treated like something creepy, sexually deviant, wrong - meant to be hidden and tucked away like a scandalous secret.
And the sad thing: it is even being treated that way by GAY people.
I am not suggesting Queen Latifah come out and start rallying for gay rights and marching in pride parades backed by an army of drag kings.
But shit, girl! When someone asks you if yer a dyke...don't treat it like it's something that needs to be hidden!

Because it's not!
Gay people happen. Just like the weather. Just like straight people.
I get the reason to hide, if you have an unaccepting family, an employer who is homophobic and could fire you...there are a thousand reasons why people stay closeted...but honey - you are QUEEN FUCKING LATIFAH!

I pity the poor fucker who says ANYTHING remotely degrading to that woman...she's the Queen!

But when it comes to her dykness - her highness needs to start ACTING like one.
A Queen, that is. Not a dyke. She's already got that down to a "T" - as you can see in the picture above.

I just don't get what the big deal is.

Or ...do I?

Here's Queen Latifah's LADIES FIRST video...god LOVE HER.



Happy new year's Eve-eve, bro's and ho's,

danny.

BLOG ME! BLOG ME! HARDER! FASTER! MORE! MORE! BLOG ME! YES! YES! ...part FOUR!

Listen to the bells ring, brothers and sisters of Blogville.
Jesus just celebrated his two thousand and eighth birthday.
Benazir Bhutto got the life knocked out of her by cracking her head on a sunroof and this here blog...well this here blog is celebrating its 3rd anniversary of roaming the sleek and scantily clad stratosphere of infinity.
Third anniversary - today.
It was December 2004 when I sat down, Luna's album Rendevous - sounding suspiciously like Lou Reed, spinning in my mini-ghetto blaster - and I sat at this very desk - except back then I was facing West...now I face East...and what did I do, the 28th day of December in 2004?
I stared out the window.
I chewed on a nice fat thumb nail.
And I wondered what all this nonsense about "bloggetry" was REALLY about.
Much like 2004 (and 2005 and 2006) I still have no fucking idea.
But regardless, I started a blog up that day.
A baby. A small bloodpig puppy was born and I nursed it to health and since then, it's done nothing but the same for me.
See - thing is - 2007 was all about a decent into hell.
My own insides burning up and being yanked out by stainless steel instruments.
The walls of our home set ablaze and fucking off into the night sky in a black cloud of toxic smoke.
And a bunch of my former bloggity-blogging friends, also following suit and burning down the remnants of their respective blogs like they had somewhere better to be.
Probably because they do.
In December 2004, I began as an Exile - writing words for no one and then all of a sudden, every single person I knew had real estate in Blogville.
2008 has seen me back to square one:
Exiled, in blogville.
Sure, not even one year ago - this blog was jumping with comments, alive with electricity of call and response. Everyone calling, everyone responding.
That's not the case anymore.
Half the links on my side bar are defunct. Abandoned.
This isn't a bad thing.
I came into this alone. I am most comfortable alone.
So it's only fitting, I am once again back to my most comfortable element.
Like I said - this blog is meant to serve no purpose. None.
And it hasn't.
Except to me. It's served me well this year.
So back to what I was saying - about 2007 being a decent into hell.
I was right.
And I was wrong.
It was indeed, in many aspects - hellish.
But I think equal billing needs to be given to the journey out of hell.
The salvation of my sanity.
And lucky for us all...this little blog was with me the whole way.

Cheers to blogville.

Exile or not, I'm still here.

Happy Blogiversary, to me. And to nothing.
And to serving NOTHING...except myself.

Hearts - and another year full of farts,

Dan

Boxing Day Bru-Ha-Ha ...with L7!

If you're anything like me...anything at all - you too believe that Boxing Day is meant for doing absolutely fuck-all.
I seriously PITY anyone who does not get the chance to do exactly that on this wonderful day of December the twenty-sixth.
I really do.
Every job I have EVER had in the past, I always made SURE to book this day off.
Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day...I've worked them ALL.
ALL of them.
But Boxing Day?
Never. Ever.
I like to not think.
I like to veg out.
I like to watch something that makes me chuckle.

Ladies and gentlemen - the video below is that "something".
Seriously.
Watch it.
And be entertained.
And if you are bored of the song - please fast forward to the interview - around the 2 minute and 50 second mark.
Roseanne interviewing L7 is just fucking classic and these chicks...seriously...crack me UP soooooo much...

sheer geniuses. I love 'em.

So, without any further adieu,

Happy Boxing Day, brothers and sisters...



Sincerely,

Daniel

...And all through the house...

Well, this is it.
Christmas Eve 2007.
My mom says that every single year, so I feel the need to repeat it.
Christmas Eve, 1989.
Christmas Eve, 1990.
Christmas Eve, 1991.
You get the idea.
So here we are: Christmas Eve, 2007.
I remember, back in 1989 thinking that when we got into the "Two-Thousands" - we'd all be driving flying cars, wearing silver suits and talking to each other on television phones.
Robots would be in every household, doing chores like a maid or butler.
And I'd be thirty.
*sigh*
This morning, I was happy to discover a very light dusting of snow on the ground, but unfortunately it's nothing that's going to stick around for long. It's the kind of snow that is almost...dry...like dust.
It collects in corners, sides of houses, cracks in sidewalks...and that's it.
It's nice, but it doesn't really make a white christmas.
Our house however, is looking like QUITE the holiday hootenanny!
LED lights outside, garland around the porch rail and enough food and booze to throw even the strictest of addicts STRAIGHT off the wagon and flat on their ass just in time to hear the Bells of Saint Mary's ring.
The stockings are hung - not by the chimney, but with care - presents are wrapped or are in the process of being wrapped and holiday music is blaring.
Actually, it's Tina Turner at the moment, but I promise - Holiday music WILL be back on before the night is over.
It always freaks me out, this part.
Right now...Christmas Eve kind of hangs, like a big, round, sparkling and shining tree-ornament suspended in mid-air...waiting to explode.
And then all of a sudden, it's a DROP and it's over.
Tensions are high. Kids are on best behaviour, but they are just SHAKING inside waiting for tomorrow morning (or late, late tonight).
The whole EARTH is trembling, everyone goes inside and it's a silent night EVERYWHERE...at least it seems that way.
And then - at 11am tomorrow at the VERY latest - the floor is coated in glitter and wrappers and bows and boxes and instructions and DVD cases and video game boxes and socks and sweaters and showers are running and breakfasts are cooking and brand new cologne is sprayed and turkeys are basting and it's off to Auntie-So-and-So's or Uncle-So-And-So is on his way over and it's dinner and it's over and it's Boxing Day.
It's gone before you can think about it.
Just a few short hours.
So really - THIS is Christmas.
RIGHT NOW.
This SECOND. This is as holiday-esque as it gets.
On the CUSP of a silent night, the thresh of yule-tide magic.
Minutes away from the "BIG DAY", mere hours away from the moment the day slips into oblivion for another 365 days.
Right...
...now.

Yup.

This is it:

"Christmas Eve, 2007."

Ho Ho Ho, brothers and sisters.

Danny.

...With Bells On.

This is one of my favourite holiday songs from one of my favourite holiday albums EVER - Kenny and Dolly's "Once Upon a Christmas".
When I was a kid I used to square dance to this tune - up on stage.
Yuppers.
Hoe-down, Dolly-style.
Thought I'd post it to help pass a long a little of the ole ho-ho-ho spirit.

Hearts and Hexmas wishes,
Enjoy...

O' Hexmas Tree.

Today was one of those beautiful, perfect December days.
I don't have a whole ton of shopping to do this year, so it's nice to just kind of sniff up the season.
Bonus - it snowed today.


I absolutely LOVE my neighborhood around this time. My "across the street neighbors" are (hopefully) oblivious that they keep appearing in my blog. Kind of weird, I know. Imagine stumbling upon a picture of your home - and then realizing it was taken from the vantage point of your across-the-street neighbor.
I admit. That's kind of creepy.
But, this is the view from my favourite spot in the entire world, so when I catch a particularily spectacular glimpse of a particularily beautiful time of day - it's the first direction I point the camera.
Quite the December Whiteout, once again.
It's nice to have a white Hexmas for a change.


I'm used to a traditional mumbo-jumbo tree - filled with matching and mis-matching ornaments that span my entire grade school-craft-making-career and THEN some, but Life Partner and I have stuck to different "light and colour" themes each year we've been in the house. This is our 4th Hexmas on Argyle.
Tree-wise, we kind of went for a "Blue Christmas" theme.


It's supposed to be "Death Storm 2006" tonight. Insane piles of freezing snow.
Personally, I love it.
I love the idea of being snowed in, especially around Hexmas time.
There's something...magical about it.


Last night Life Partner, Julie and myself were watching Little House on the Prairie - The Christmas They Never Forgot. It's the episode where the Ingalls are snowed in with their kids and the maid and they all tell stories from past Christmas - and they show flashbacks from previous Little House on the Prairie Christmas shows.


There is one scene where a big brother tells his little brother that there is no Santa, which sparked the question: "When did you stop believing in Santa?"
Immediately, I thought I knew and would have a funny story.
Life Partner remembers it was when he recieved 4 WWF Wrestlers under the tree one year. He asked his mother which were from Santa and which were from her.
"This one is from Santa," she said, pointing to one.
"And THAT one," she began - pointing to another, "Is from me."
Instantly a light bulb lit up - much like the Star of Bethlehem - except it was the Star of Realization - inside Life Partner's little-boy-head.
Both those wrestlers were wrapped together, back to back.
Mom was fibbing.
And Santa? Well - Santa was dead.


It was weird though...because I could not RECALL.
Immediately, I just assumed - of COURSE I would know what happened, and how I found out there "was no Santa"...but the more I thought - the less I could remember.
I mean, I can recall years when I knew there was a Santa...and then others when I knew there wasn't.
But the one, dividing year - when I found out what was REALLY going on - I have no clue.
No memory of it at all.


I guess that's a good thing.
Part of me still watches the sky on Christmas eve. For real.
And one eye is open, just in case.
And my ears stay alert and I often wonder if those thuds I hear on my roof are clumps of snow, stray cats ...or reindeer.


Sometimes, I swear - I even hear bells.
Every single year.



Hearts and Hexmas Ballz,

Dan.

Poetry Reading: Riverside Secondary

I did my first "school reading" today. A creative writing teacher asked me to read to her class of grade 12 Writer's Craft students, which was a trip because Writer's Craft was my all-time favourite class when I was in highschool.
I wasn't sure what to expect. I literally had not set FOOT in a highschool since I graduated in 1996. That's 11 years.
It was wild.
I felt like a kid again, walking through the halls.
Maybe I looked like a teacher, I have no idea.
It was some freaky shit, walking through "student-land" - their own rules apply - it's a whole social system unto itself. High school is a whole other life.
I really wasn't sure what I was supposed to do either, aside from read poems and just talk about each one and things I've done.
I read about 12 poems - a few new ones I wrote specifically for that day and some old favourites.
It was terrifying!
Terrifying because I had no idea HOW i was going to be recieved.
Sure - Drunk folk at the Avalon are cool with it...the regulars at Phog like me...but school kids? Highschool kids at that!??!
I was never, EVER the cool kid - but ...I TOTALLY felt like one today.
I guess if you're not cool in front of a bunch of teenagers when you are 30 years old, you just never well be.
But seriously - it was a KICK ASS EXPERIENCE.
They rocked. It was so much fun.
When I first got there, I was kind of unsure of how to introduce myself...so I asked them a question.
I just asked those who consider themselves a "writer" to raise their hands.
Two kids raised their hands.
Only two.
I asked this because I remember, when I was in Writer's Craft class - we had a writer come into the class and ask us the same question and it was the same deal back then - very few of us raised our hand.
I was one of those kids who didn't raise his hand.
I didn't want people to think that I thought of myself as a "writer" because what the fuck does it mean to be a "writer" anyway? Everyone writes.
...right?
Ha!
Anyway, I told them this story.
And I said - I know there are a few of you - at least one of you - who IS a writer and you're not raising your hand for the same reasons I didn't, and that's cool. Just keep writing, and it'll stay our little secret. But know - that if you have that feeling in your stomach right now - you KNOW who you are and you know the feeling I'm talking about - then you're a writer. Because you are. And that's that.
And when I said that - this one cool shy girl-writer-chick - who didn't raise her hand - cracked a smile. A shy smile. But a REAL smile.
And the smile said so much it actually almost moved me to tears right now just thinking about it.
I know that's cheesey, but it's true.
I also told them I was petrified - the most scared EVER to read for them because A) I had no IDEA if they'd like my stuff and I'd die if I became the stuffy old poet talking to the cool highschool kids and B) I did NOT want to get the teacher FIRED for being a potty mouth.
When I write I usually swear.
Sure I dropped a few 'asses' and 'shits' here and there...but that's poppycock compared to what I'm capable of.
Flashback to me at the Avalon reading about Santa taking a dump on stage after getting fisted by a burlesque girl.
Yikes.
But - it was a beautiful day all around and I even learned that I don't always need bathroom humour to be funny.
That was a joke. I think.
I was truly touched today and I hope I at least entertained them or gave them something to think about - that you CAN make a career out of writing - even if that "career" only means that it is something you'll do til the day you die for free or for whatever they toss your way.
The good and the bad.
I have no illusions about what I write and I certainly don't claim to be a "good writer" - but I will shout from the rooftops about how much I LOVE to write and if nothing else, I'll defend my work as something I love with all my heart.
Again - this sounds cheesey..but it's the real deal here.
I love it because it's mine and I had fun making it up. I love making shit up.
I think I'd die if all of a sudden I couldn't see or couldn't type.
I'm rambling now.
Writing is self-indulgent. It's something we do alone.
That's the bottom line. When you do something that's self-indulgent and other people can appreciate it - and enjoy it - or it can even HELP someone...seriously..there's nothing better.
Anyway, one of the students wanted to try doing a slam - but he wanted to compete against me.
So, we drew names out of a hat - and we had 2 minutes to write a poem on the spot and perform it.
This was AWESOME because all of a sudden - they were PART of it. they were RIGHT THERE - in IT! Making something. I got to write a POEM with them today. The kid who wanted to try it out wrote this hilarious poem about how he is "god's gift to women" and it was tongue in cheek and it BLEW ME AWAY.
And I made a poem about being afraid of highschool kids and wanting to die before facing off with one of them in an unknown library.
It was just...so fun...making shit with these kids and reading them something that didn't start with "thee" or "thou" but was still poetry.
Because I think poetry is art and who wants rules on art?
You can't teach it.
Sure you can teach technique and you can show what others have done...but if you don't make it your own and break all the rules, what are you doing, aside from imitating something that's already been done?
I figure - there is no bad art - if you love what you do and love what you make.
It's good - because it's good to YOU.
That was the theme of my little 70 minute presentation to these kids...and I think it got through.
They certainly got through to me.

It rocked,

hearts and farts,

Dan

MARK YER CALENDARS!!!!! DEC 18th - NEW POEMS! XMAS CHAOTICS, POETRY STYLE!

undefined December 18, 2007

..

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SPHERE PLAY: Coolest SHIT EVER!

My god...seriously...i am OBSESSED with this. This may very well be the coolest thing I have EVER seen.

"HIT THE SHOWERS!....oh, and that dignity of yours? Check it at the DOOR!"

This is the year 2007, correct?
We're on the cusp of 2008. Last I checked.
We can download songs within seconds of them being recorded.
We can "text" and "msg" and "pvm" and "mp3" and "m4a" and blackberry and bluetooth and chocolate razer our way through society with a few swift keystrokes...yet why, WHY, I pray you - TELL ME - do we still think it's TOTALLY cool showering buck-naked in front of each other at gyms?
Seriously.
NAKED.
NUDE.
If it were a nudist colony - fine.
I wouldn't be there - but hey - I'm cool with the idea.
You're at a nudist colony, you get nude. You'll see other nude people.
No one cares - because it's an f-ing NUDIST COLONY.
Yet, why is it folks - when we sign up to - oh, I don't know - a GYM - we are subjected to showering shoulder to shoulder - without ANY PRIVACY DIVIDER?!?!?!
Seriously.
If you're anything like me - you're not exactly SECURE with your body image as it is.
A little roll here. An extra boob there. A bit of a curvacious downward slope.
You get the idea.
So, is it just me - or am I the only person who has a slight problem with stripping down to my bare ass and lathering up next to some random grandpa joe in a public locker room??
NO DIVIDERS!!!
How hard would it be to put up a simple little vinyl curtain? A cubicle? It doesn't even have to be private floor to ceiling - it could be like a bathroom stall...or change room!
But no.
It's shameless full frontal nudity - every shape and every size - and let me tell you, the dickwad who said "The Human Body is a Beautiful Thing" has NEVER been to my gym.
But it leads me to wonder...
Why bother with doors or dividers at all?
If it's completely cool to have ZERO privacy when you are showing and cleaning your most intricate crevices - why bother with doors on change rooms in a department store?
You don't even GET naked in there, right?
If no one cares when you are showering - why should they care when changing? Just rip your top off right there in the department store and try it on!
No one cares in the gym.
Why should they care in the department store?
Or hell - what's the point of putting doors on bathroom stalls? You're not getting completely naked there either - and you're sitting down on a toilet.
Hell - screw the toilet!
Why not just have a hole in the middle of the mall, and if the mood strikes you - you can just drop your drawers, squat over the hole and relieve yourself, while the shoppers - in their hustle and bustle - continue on with their day all around you, oblivious.
But this isn't the case.
Because no one likes to get naked in front of strangers.
Which brings me back to my first question:
Why in the WORLD aren't there privacy dividers on showers in gym locker rooms?
Seriously.
Because frankly - I'm stumped - and I am POSITIVE I am not the only one who feels this way.
I'm a "shower at home" kind of guy.
I work up a sweat - then leave - sweat-soaked clothes, basting in my own stank and just live with it until I get home.
Is it ALWAYS this comfortable at the gym?
Do other people drive home, stewing in their own juices - because they have no idea how they can POSSIBLY bring themselves to check their dignity at the door and do a full on shower show for a room full of strangers?
Shit - most places CHARGE ADMISSION for that kind of thing - and a beer costs you 7 bucks at places that do shower shows.
And the whole "guys don't check other guys out at gyms" is a crock of shit.
A) I'm gay. If you're getting naked - I bloody well WILL eye you up and down and I will judge you on a scale of 1 to 10 - 1 being "puny dick - don't bother" - 10 being "I likes that piece of hubba-hubba-beefcake - MEOW!"
Personally, I don't want to be treated like the piece of meat I treat so many of the men I see, so I just can't do it.
Am I alone here?
Or do other people feel like they are a post-pubescent child with all those grade 7 insecurities flooding back into their brains when faced with the HORROR of...(insert psycho shower scene music) COMMUNAL SHOWERS!?!?!?

It's a scary world folks.
Frightening.

Am I alone here...or...am I alone?

*begins crying quietly to himself*
*begins laughing hysterically*

hearts and shower caps (with nothin' else on),

Dan

I, a Gym Bunny.

Well folks, I did it.
Finally.
I joined a gym.
Now, this was a new year's resolution of mine from last year so I'm cutting it pretty fucking close here.
However, I have some great excuses.
My goal last year was to join a gym cuz I packed on some serious poundage.
Early on in January - I was diagnosed with gall bladder disease, I had severe gall stones and a gall bladder that was split and liquified - it had to be removed.
This was a set back.
Well...depending what you consider a "set-back".
See, when one is cursed (and I use the term lightly) with a diseased gall bladder - one has to go on a VERY low-fat diet.
I'm talking LOW fat.
If you don't follow this diet - you are subjected to indescribable pain.
I'm not one for torture - but just a little FYI: Pain is a wonderful motivator.
I ate raw veggies, whole breads, plenty of legumes and that was that was about it.
Very little fat...no oil and I really cut back on refined sugars.
Absolutely ZERO alcohol.
I lost about 25 pounds - the right way. The healthy way - so I ended up with the same outcome as if I had gone to a gym.
But - seeing as I had an organ ripped from my body - going to a gym wasn't an option for at least 2 months.
Two months after my surgery I was feeling great.
I felt good. I looked good. I was ready.
I made plans to go out and grab that gym membership.
The next day - my house burned down.
This set me out of whack and out of home for another 5 months.
So September was about moving back in.
October was about setting back into my old routines.
November was about dicking around.
And December?
Well...December - I finally got me a membership at the good ole YMCA.
Yuppers.
Thirty-three bucks a month and I'm ready to whip my ass into a lean mean rock and roll machine.
Or...something close enough.
See - I am HOPING I am joining the gym for the RIGHT reasons.
Even at my "heaviest" - I never really needed to lose weight. Sure, I had a spare tire...sure....i had an extra-half-chin...and to this day - I'm still not ultra-skinny..nor do I want to be.
I think more than anything, I am striving for health here.
Cardio health. Muscle health. Physical well-being.
Getting into a healthy routine which involves some excercise.
The best thing about that fire was - it ripped me from my element.
I began walking to work every day.
When I moved back home, I kept walking to work, realizing it was do-able.
Today, I found my MP3 player, which I believed to be lost in the fire.
My diet is pretty much under control and I eat rather healthy...lots of fresh water soluble veggies.
No meat.
No animal product.
I need a little extra "oomph" and I think that "oomph" is gonna be in the form of some physical exertion.
Walking to work this morning, 8am in the brisk cold with music blaring in my ears just rocked.
It inspired me to hit the YMCA and grab that gym membership I've been promising myself for so long.
Now - my perfect environment for working out - would be "moms".
If there was a gym for "moms" - I'd be there.
"Moms-N-Me".
I hate gyms.
I hate cruisey gyms.
I hate knuckle draggers.
I hate strippers at gyms.
I hate hot people at gyms.
I get jealous. I become envious.
I stare at my own knobby knees and protruding love handles, shrunk as they may be - and feel inferior.
They are like DVD, and me - merely a VHS version of what an alpha male is supposed to look like.
But fuck "alpha male".
I wanna look good and I don't want some buff little twink rubbing it in my face how out of shape I am.
I want moms who don't give a fuck about me.
Who wanna better themselves.
No pretention. No sexual tension.
Just me and a group of non-threatening people.
That's what the YMCA struck me as on my tour today.
I eyed a group of 7 moms doing water aerobics and I immediately asked our tour guide if that class was open to anyone.
"Certainly," he replied. "It's usually not much more busy than what you see today..."
Sold, I thought to myself, eye-balling a particularily adorable brunette "mom" with a bathing cap on.
I smiled.
Fuckin' sold.
They offer great evening classes - all covered in the basic membership.
Beginner yoga, aerobics, cardio classes, fat burners, dance-areobics.
I already know 2 people who work out there - my good friend Karmen (who reads this blog - "Hi Karm!" and my lovely friend, former schoolmate and co-worker Martha - who does not read this blog "Hi Martha!") so already, i'll have people who I know.
I plan to hang w/ Karm for a bit and hopefully she'll show me some of the YMCA ropes.
I loaded my MP3 player with fun songs...everything from Polyphonic Spree (get up and go) to Courtney Love (sunset strip) to REM (me in honey) to Flaming Lips (the wand) -songs that will help motivate me to whip this ass of mine into a finely tuned bubble butt.
Time will tell.

Wish me luck brothers and sisters,

Daniel.

December Whiteout.

It feels like just two days ago I was walking outside at 8am to snap pictures of all the fall leaves and then all of a sudden - December rolls around and like magic - everything is white.



Life Partner, Karmen, James and myself all went out for some hot-n-spicey Indian food last night and Karmen posed the question: "Is it poetic that it snowed on December first?"
Now.
Before you start vomitting and completely re-arrange your mental image of me and my group of friends - let me assure you - we are not patulli smelling 30-something hipsters-who-died-a-sudden-death-at-29 who say "grass" instead of weed, discuss the possibility of William Blake's sympathetic stance towards the lower-class NOR do we frolic together in some kind of sick and repressed "cuddle party" with our
"partners" after gorging ourselves on curry vegetables.
No.
It was just one of those questions:
"It's so fucking BEAUTIFUL!! How poetic that it snowed on December first. Wait...IS that poetic?"
Instantly, I sprang from the table, my whole body quivering with Korma.
"No," I quipped. "THIS is poetic:"
I cleared my throat and made sure I had the attention of the other people in the restaurant.
I had to ask one lady to please be quiet, and I began an impromtu sonnet:

"Beyond my home I view a subtle turn:
A crystal imprint upon the viewing glass
Tho' what was once turning, now hast turned,
and that which has turned, becomes again, the past.
I know you by red eyes and cold fingers,
greys and whites merge in icy winter hues.
Feasting squirrels and sparrows are all that linger
The season only paints with whites and blues.

So through the heavens bring your frozen song,
Encase the world we know in crystal glass,
Blizzards blow! And Autumn, so long gone...
'For colours pure as Autumn never last...

Winter's reverie soon too, will be departing.
Till then we bask in the warmth of this season's fragrant winter farting."



Silence in the restaurant.
And then: Applause.
I accepted flowers, hugs, handshakes - it was all very intense.
I sat back down and continued eating, aware that eyes were on me, sparkling with envy...or perhaps, I smiled, the wonder and magic of Christmas.
"And that," I said to Karmen, forking a gigantic piece of cauliflower, "Is what winter means to me."

Of course, none of this happened.
In truth we had no idea whether or not it was poetic that is snowed on December first.
However - the one thing we DID know:
Taste of India on Ouellette whips up a mean mother-fuckin' massala - regardless of the season.




Happy Winter, bro's and ho's,
24 days till Jesus turns 2008.

Hearts and abominable snowmen...

Daniel, Poet Laureate of Phaggotry.