Change the Conversation.

Windsor is kind of in a sink hole.
I get it. And it's depressing.
I love Windsor. All my memories are here. My best and worst and all the in betweens.
So yeah - it's a roll of the dice to base an entire city on one industry, but we did it and now we're fucked.
That sucks and it hurts to say, but it's the harsh reality.
We're in a landslide and it's only going to get worse.
The people who had jobs lost them.
Then the people who lost jobs went on E.I.
Then the people who were on E.I. - well...the E.I. ran out.
Then the people who were out of E.I....applied for welfare.
It's happening right now.
People moving.
Property and houses depreciating.
Insert toilet flushing sound here.
Fucked.
But what bothers me is the fact that I keep hearing all this bullshit about "Changing the Conversation".
Don't get me wrong, I am all about positive thinking.
Forward thinking. Optimistic.
I am hopelessly optimistic at times - to the point of being almost completely naive...
but I'm still aware of what is going on.
I'm still living in reality.
Sure, we can change the conversation. But I have a job.
If I lost my job, and someone told me "Just change the conversation...at least the sun is shining!" I'd probably grab the first heavy object within my reach and smash it into their skull.
"Consider the subject changed," I'd spit at them.
Not really.
But honestly - "Change the Conversation"???
Are you serious?
Wait a minute...I've heard this before...this whole way of thinking...there is a name for it... um...
"Denial", is it?
Yes, that's it - Denial.
I have cancer? Hmm...no I don't.
That lump on my left testicle? Oh that's just fluid...perfectly normal!
My bank account is in the negative?? Hell - I still have my credit card! I can still shop! It's not like I'm in the poor house.
I'm only refilling my vodka because I know I don't need it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be drinking alone on a Tuesday night.
Denial.
It's code for "not wanting to address a VERY REAL problem".
Changing the conversation. It's great.
It feels really good.
Denial is an awesome way to halt the bleeding too.
If the engine is making a strange noise - but your favourite song is on the radio, just crank up the volume, right?
If the upstairs bathroom is flooded, just lock the door and use the downstairs bathroom, right?
If you can't pay your phone bill this month, shred it and call that friend of yours long distance.
It's not like you don't have a phone, right?
Except NOT ADDRESSING the problem (ie - Changing the Conversation) only means the problem is going to get bigger and bigger.
Ignore the lump on your testicle for too long, and you lose your testicle.
Maybe you lose your life.
Maybe if we spend all our time and resources "changing the conversation" - the problem we have will turn into something that is completely unfixable.
Does it suck to say that? Yeah, it does.
Is it negative? Yes it is.
But we are in a negative situation.
Instead of ignoring it by drowning ourselves in denial - let's face the fucker and do our best to conquer it.
Denial is drugs for people with defeatist attitudes.
I don't think Windsor is at the point where we have to nuke it off the face of the map.
I think we should legalize marijuana. Open a few pot cafes. Become Little Amsterdam.
I think we should get some BETTER FUCKING PEOPLE at the Casino instead of fuddy duddies.
Boat tours downtown! More shops! Build an IKEA! The big empty building that hovers over the keg...how about we cut the rent and get some PEOPLE in there...hell - the bottom floor - put a nice pretty SHOPPING destination - borders books - I don't know...something!
Why isn't our gorgeous waterfront more done up?
T-shirt vendors? Food vendors? Patios to grab a drink?
"Destination".
Guerrilla landscaping - I'm down with it!
Sure - a thriving tourist industry still won't help the 50 year old guy who lost his job, but it WILL help save our city.
I don't want to see it destroyed!
but the reality is - Our city is crying for help.
And bullshit is sinking us in deeper than ever.
It's sad.
What are the 40 and 50 year old men who have worked all their lives installing speaker wires for 30 bucks an hour supposed to do?
"Change the conversation"?
Is that code for "Work at Home Depot"?
Or "Move to Calgary"?
Fucked.
Yeah - this whole "Change the Conversation" bullshit...I find it down right offensive.
It's called DENIAL.
I don't have the solutions to anything...so screw it.
Am I going to be here in 30 years?
Are we Flint Michigan? But worse?
Is the crime rate gonna sky rocket?
Is the city going to turn into a slum because taxes are going to go down and we'll have an even SHITTIER budget next year?
I'm not being negative here. I'm not.
I'm asking HONEST questions.
HONEST.
I want more than anything to change the conversation. And I am all for thinking positive.
Windsor WILL RISE ABOVE.
Maybe that's a delusional, stupid thought - but I am gonig to focus on it.
But the key word... "will".
Windsor WILL rise.
Right now, it's sinking.
We have to do something.
DO SOMETHING.
Maybe ADDRESS IT.
Admit it: We're fucked.
If we keep going this way - we're going to be more fucked.
And as I see it - and maybe I am naive, like I said - "Changing the Conversation" sounds a hell of a lot like "Sweet Fuck All".

Funeral For a Fart

My good friend's aunt recently passed away after a battle with the big C, and I was invited to her celebration of life, which took place last weekend.
Everyone invited was instructed to wear something purple - in honour of this amazing woman and her spunky spirit and colourful taste for all things wonderful and fabulous.
Life Partner and I haven't been to a funeral or visitation in a while, so we did it up right. Suits, spiffed up shoes, a purple tie for me, a purple shirt for him.
We get to the memorial hall just as the ceremony is beginning and we are instructed to sit in an adjacent room, since the main room is packed to capacity.
We enter the much smaller room (it probably had about 30 people in it), and took seats respectfully near the back.
There was a flat-screen plasma television on the wall, and we realized that the ceremony that was happening in the main room, next door - was going to be broadcast live into this room.
Cool.
I know the woman who passed away was a huge influence on my good friend's life, so I have to admit, while I didn't know her - I was a little heart-broken and upset.
I was sad and even though I only met her once or twice, I kind of missed her - and even worse - I felt sad for my friend, who always considered her a second mom.
She was a role model to my friend - who is gay - and she was a gay, happy, successful woman, which - especially when you are unsure of yourself and where you stand in those crucial years of self-realization...is a priceless thing to have in your family.
Someone to relate to. Who supports you. Who tells you - without even telling you - that it really is going to be okay.
Despite my very REAL grief, I STILL felt like "Guy Who Is Not Supposed To Be Here" since it was a room full of sobbing, teary eyed people. You know the feeling.
When you go to a funeral but it's someone you don't REALLY know. It can be awkward and sad all the same...but you get that feeling that you really shouldn't be there.
You get the feeling people are eyeing you up - wondering if you are a funeral crasher or just there for the luncheon.
It was obvious - she was well loved.
So the ceremony begins, we can hear bag pipes through the wall...but not through the speaker system.
A lady stands up at the front of the room and says "We need to get someone in here to get us sound..."
My heart is pounding. It was just one of those tense moments...sad people...wanting to pay respects...and no one can hear.
On one hand it was wonderful that the room was so full - it over-flowed into a second room...but on the other, it felt like we were all sitting in the "other room", the "riff raff room".
We didn't even have good sound.
But I was fine with just sitting there paying my respects.
The woman then turned to sit down, saying "We really need fix the sound!" and then I heard it.
*Pffft*
I raised an eyebrow.
It SOUNDED like a fart. But it could have been a shoe squeaking.
It could have been a stomach gurgle.
It could have been a burp.
It could have been the leather on someone's chair moving.
And..it could have been a fart.
Of course, a sound like that...it could have been a million things.
I didn't think much of it, until she said:
"OH! Excuse me!" She rubbed her belly.
"Must have been the Mexican."
She then politely took her seat, straightening her respectable, purple business suit and adjusted her pillbox hat.
She was wearing white gloves.
Prim, proper - a perfectly conservative 60-something year-old lady who probably got her hair done at the salon that day and only wanted to pay her respects ...and she just farted and then confirmed it with everyone that she did indeed fart by practically making a formal announcement at the front of a room full of mourners who could only look on in fascination.
Facination, and the horror as one by one, each mourner realized we were all just assaulted by a sweet old lady and her wind breakage.
The room sat there, silent - stunned in the wonderment of what the FUCK we were supposed to do now.
She even clued us in that it "must've been the Mexican" - probably a bean burrito fart, I assumed, which of course - cannot be helped.
Now if you know me - even slightly - you'll know I am a sucker for all things fart-related and I can bust a gut laughing at the mere mention of the word.
Instantly, Life Partner turned to me, and I heard him audibly gasp.
And stifle a laugh.
I could feel his eyes burning on me, and I could almost HEAR him saying "DID YOU FUCKING HEAR THAT?!?!?!?!?!"
"Focus...focus DAMMIT.." I chanted it to myself, refusing to turn and acknowlege Life Parter because I knew if I did so, I would be on me knees, on my STOMACH on the floor of the funeral home, in HYSTERICS over the farting old lady.
"You will not be the laughing annoying guy at the funeral...you will NOT be the laughing, annoying guy at the funeral..." And it started.
I giggled, a HUGE smile pasted across my face.
Noooo! Soo inappropriate at a funeral! NOoooo! STOP SMILING! And I began laughing. I had to raise my hand to my lips, I faked a cough. Cleared my throat.
And my shoulders started shaking, my entire frame buckling under the laugh that was building in my gut.
Maybe the people behind me will think I'm sobbing, I prayed.
I thought about the woman's son, her friends, her cousins - all looking at me - the annoying guy who is laughing.
I nearly excused myself to the bathroom before I managed to regain my composure.
Life Partner stopped looking at me because I think he sensed I was on the verge of a full on funeral breakdown.
But it was over. The moment was gone.
A fart in the wind...inappropriate? Sure.
But hey - it was Mexican.
And if you really think about it...not a bad analogy for life.
A good fart is worth being heard.
And a good life..worth being lived.
Celebrated, even.
Because it's something that happens...and then it's over.

It's over, just like that.

I Cannot Wait

September 9th...I swear...I haven't been this excited for an album since Mountain Battles...


Brand new JENNY LEWIS!
Too bad the Watson Twins aren't on it...but hey - See Fernando made the cut, that's all that matters!!
Can't WAIT!

Track list:

"Black Sand"
"Pretty Bird"
"The Next Messiah"
"Bad Man's World"
"Acid Tongue"
"See Fernando"
"Godspeed"
"Carpetbaggers" (with Elvis Costello)
"Trying My Best to Love You"
"Jack Killed Mom"
"Sing a Song for Them"

Scene It? Windsor Poetry Edition

Weird that there is NO poetry scene in Windsor, for real.
I know there are people, little pockets of people who like to hear poetry, who like to write poetry and who like to perform poetry.
Why the groups never come together anymore, is beyond me.
We have a University Creative Writing program FILLED with people who like to write and want feedback on their work.
Wouldn't a venue offering an open mic for EXACTLY that be ideal?
Yet no one ever came out.
And for some reason...poetry groups could never hold it together.
Politics always came about.
Drama.
Ego.
The last poetry group was a fucking disaster. It was all about money.
All good intentions, yeah...but what does money or ego or drama have to do with poetry?
Why can't people just get up and read what they wrote to a crowd who came to hear exactly that?
It sounds like the easiest shit in the world, but it's not.
I started a little group on Facebook called Windsor Poets Union Local 519 (a wee bitty play on our Union city) just to ask a few questions and get the vibe of what people think of starting up some kind of stable, meeting place to read.
That's it.
Just read.
No fucking stupid pretentious slams with score cards, no drama, no money.
Just people. In a crowd. And one by one. They get up. And they read. What they wrote.
Seems easy.
So yeah - if you're on Facebook - do a group search for Windsor Poets Union Local 519and join...we're just in "negotiation talks" right now...hahaha... but I want to know what people WANT.
I'm thinking in September of getting the word out to the University - get more new people here - start something.
Something kind of cool.
I'm sick of WAITING for shit. Let's face it - there isn't MUCH going on. Now, I know there is a LOT going on, but in the poetry scene...fuck...it's open season.
It could be anyone's right now.
Or it could be EVERYONE's, which I think is the better option.
So...nothing happens until someone DOES something - and a Facebook page - a stupid ridiculous Facebook Page - really isn't a whole lot, but it's just the first little quarter in the slot.
I think in September it's time to get something BIG going.
Easy but big. Just an open mic where everyone fits in.
The political black guy from Detroit.
The uber-feminist Women Studies student who rants about her tits.
The Patchooli-smelling goth kid with scars on his wrists.
The Bukowski-wannabe.
The sound poet.
The witty faggot. (that's me).
The "pretty shy girl who doesnt' look like a poet but turns out she's fucking brilliant".
The geek writer.
All of them.
We can exist together and it can be really cool.
Super fun.
It's just people reading stuff.
That's it.
Easier said than done.

Dan