ST. JOHN'S, NEWFOUNDLAND
November 29th, 2004
Hey kids. Sorry I haven't been writing regularly.....I know you all enjoy having your email accounts clogged up with my gigantic messages just as much as you love all that spam telling you your penis isn't big enough. So HERE IS WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING! YAY! Christ I'm tired; maybe the occasional YAY! will keep me on my toes.
Finally did some touristy-type stuff - a friend from Halifax is in town on business and he borrowed the company cube van so that we could go for a drive to Cape Spear and just around in general. So we did the local tour of whatever roads you can fit a frickin' cube van down. "As you can see, that's the heart of Quidi Vidi Village down there, but.....ah, fuck it." Cape Spear is real purty-like. It is , of course, the easternmost point in North America, and there are lighthouses and ocean and rocks and stuff, and, best of all, a creepy old semi-underground battery you can wander around. Halifax David took an official tourist pic of me sitting by the Cape Spear sign so I could prove I'd been there.......but the bummer part is that you can see that if you hopped a fence and clambered out on the slippery rocks you could get even further east. And kill yourself! All right! Now that would be a photo!
Other adventures: okay, now, nobody freak out, but, yeah, I went hiking along Signal Hill trail in the middle of the night. It was three a.m. and I couldn't sleep (normal), threw on a coat of Nicole's and went out and threw some stuff in the mailbox (still not so weird), and ended up out until eight in the morning (what?!). It was a beautiful warm breezy night, with an almost summer smell in the air, and I just started wandering on an impromptu walk. Went down to the harbour (briefly considered stowing away on a ship - you never know, maybe I could get back to Mexico - for free!), and then ended up gravitating towards Signal Hill again. In the back of my head was the fact that I'd been told that night that sunrise on Signal Hill is an experience not to be missed (I had, of course, scoffed, "Me? Sunrise?! Pah!".....and here I was.)
Really an amazingly warm and lovely night. I trekked up the roads on the side of the hill and then into the parks boundary and along the side of the hill, sticking to the trail and staying close to the side so I wouldn't, you know, plummet to a painful death on the rocks below. I had to open my jacket and my sweater after a time because I was hot - honestly, St. John's rocks! It is WAY warmer here than it was in Halifax. There was no way I was going to find my way to the stairs that go up the side to the top of the hill in the moonlight - it was far too dark - so I just curled up on a nice soft bed of moss on the rocky promontory that juts out into the ocean underneath the hill. (I hate trying to describe this....go and look at tourist pics on the web if I don't make sense.) And THAT's when it got really bloody windy. I didn't even have a hat - I'd been going to the mailbox, remember - and no scarf, no watch, no water, no phone, no anything (hee hee). So needless to say, I didn't manage to fall asleep out there, but I didn't freeze either; I had my awesome warm waterproof boots on (the ones I hated, but now love!) and Nicole's coat kicks my coat's ass. I managed to pull my sweater up over my ears enough to ensure that I would still have ears in the morning. And I made a rudimentary lathe out of some grass and a rubber band - just like I learned on McGyver! Why did I need a lathe? You tell me.
Morning approaches and the sky is beginning to lighten, so I run like hell along the path and up the eighteen million steps to the top of the hill so I can look out from up on high. And I get to the top....and the sky is getting lighter...and lighter...and lighter......and the sun is completely covered by clouds. Nuthin. It came all the way up, and I didn't see it for EVEN ONE SECOND. But the sky was a stunning study in shades of.....grey. God dammit. And I'm thinking that a drink of water would be a good idea right now, and cursing my lack of preparation. I run around Cabot Tower looking for a water fountain - no dice, so I give up and decide to hop one of the low stone walls around the tower and sit in the grass for a bit before heading home - and in doing so, I nearly sprain my ankle on a BOTTLE OF WATER lying in the grass. SEALED. True North brand, from Newfoundland. I guess it had just dropped out of someone's bag or something. Either that or it's a service provided by Newfoundland parks: bottles of water and first aid kits randomly strewn around for idiot tourists.
Time comes to move on, and I jump back over the wall - and hear ziiiiiip! I've broken the zipper on the borrowed red jacket. So picture me on top of a huge hill, in the searing, screaming wind, fighting with a zipper and cursing the complete lack of a sunrise. Damn you, nature! Damn you, technology! I shake my fist at both of you! I didn't manage to fix it (until yesterday, when Nicole was on her way home from Ottawa), but it wasn't all that cold.....and it didn't start to rain until I was almost home. I AM LISA, FROM THE LAND OF SERENDIP. BOW TO ME. And I know it's silly to go hiking by yourself in the dark, but to any of you who have protective feelings toward me: I already did it. Ha ha ha. And I am fine. (And I promise never ever to do it again.)
I still hadn't caught up on that lost sleep when the time came for a proper urban adventure. Dancing! Dancing! Lots of dancing! Another night on the town with Nicole's crazy friend Pat, and this time some of his gang, who have names like Tiffany! and Krista Sue! And who freaked out when they found out that I am TWENTY NINE, which makes me, apparently, the oldest living human being they have ever seen. Anyway, that was a blast - we danced at a place that has no name but that everyone calls "the bar above Peddlers", because.....well....it's above Peddlers. And ended up at a silly after hours dance club called "Liquid Ice". Ooooooh, how cool. I am so old. What I did love, and I think this is because this town is so small, is that there is no self-imposed social segregation in the way there can be in Toronto. The gay bar is the straight bar is the everybody bar. Everyone dances together! (Except the cripples. They can get their own damn bar.)
I have seen four black people in St. John's. And I can't prove that two weren't just the same dude on two separate occasions.
Went home, couldn't sleep, then up for brunch with Crazy Charlie, and then to the Santa Claus parade! So, yeah, if you're wondering where Santa is, we've got him in Newfoundland. He's down to the pub, gettin' loaded and kissin' cod. The parade was fun. Thank God I don't get hangovers, cause boy, those cadet bands were givin' it all they got. And then some.
Oh yeah, it's been decided (by Halifax David, and cute Newfoundland Nick, and me): Halifax boys. St. John's girls. For general hotness, I mean. There are obviously exceptions. But in Halifax, everybody dresses the same - and on the guys, the lumpy sweaters and the baggy jeans and messy hair are just adorable. They manage to be scruffy and stubbly, but still look clean. But it takes a particular kind of girl to really elevate the lumpy sweater look. (And the stubble? Yi.) In St. John's, the girls are kinda funky and cool (witness Underhay), wheras the guys, a lot of them, are just so much grease. The boys said theyd been out with some female friends, and the local "skeets" kept approaching, and using the ever irresistible opening line "dance or wha'?" I dunno.....maybe it works for them sometimes.
Anyway, I'm about to get kicked out of this bookstore....so this is the last you'll hear from me. (I'm about to hop a cargo boat to......somewhere.) Nicole is home as of last night, so I'm out of here! One more day - I'm recording some voice-over stuff tomorrow, before I go (how to get a gig in Newfoundland: answer the phone) and then back to T.O. Wednesday a.m. See some of you there.
Love Love Love,
Leese Leese Leese
can't stop the rock
THE ROCK (no, i don't mean the wrestler)
ST. JOHN'S, NEWFOUNDLAND
November 13th, 2004
HELLOOOOOooo TORONTO! (And Halifax, and Montreal, and Ottawa, and Niagara-on-the-Lake, and Calgary and Vancouver, and what have you.) I hope you are all well and feelin' fine and fancy. This finds me slightly chilled (in both the temperature and groovy temperament senses of the word) In St. John's. Which rocks. Newfoundland, so far: I dig it, man. It is coooo.
First of all, I guess I should confirm and/or spread the news: no, i'm not going back to the Shaw Festival next year. Yes, I will be in T.O. No, it is not the end of the world. Yes, I'm doing that show at Passe Muraille. No, I don't have an apartment yet. So, YES, if you hear of one (for Feb-ish) let me know. Now everyone can stop sending me hinty messages about what my offer is for next year (is that what all that hinting and winking in your email was about, Madden? - I couldn't figure it out for the life of me). And sorry, Mr. Schurmann, but you'll have to get some other sucker to write SNAG skits for you.....okay, I'll give it some thought, but I expect cash for that type of thing from now on.
Anyway, nobody who knows me well should be too surprised; as you all know, I am not very talented AND I'm notoriously difficult to work with. I'm just surprised that I flew under the radar for so long! My only real contribution to the company was shakin' my booty rather well at dance parties. And I'm told I'm still welcome to do that. (Collective sigh of relief.) Anyway, don't cry for me, Argentina. Or St. Catharines.
On with the show (this is it)....
Had a great final week in Halifax. Stayed a little longer (and a little longer and a little longer...) and didn't go until I'd caught some bands at the Halifax Pop Explosion. "How cute", you say? How cute, indeed. Some good stuff. Quite dug controller.controller (Oakey did not). Arcade Fire, who were THE HOT BIG THING are not really my style - I wish the eighties would go back where they came from, and curl up and die already - but they do put on a HELL of a live show. My favourite though, was an adorable little outfit from P.E.I called Two Hours Traffic. Pop personified: they were young, and cute, and had screaming girl fans (from Ottawa!) and everything. I even got to flirt with one of the boys in the band, who was cute as a puppy, and just as young. Spent the rest of the night hanging with boring old Oakey and boring old Daryl Cloran and boring old Matt McFadzean and old boring C. David Johnson (who are doing Three In the Back, Two Up My Bum at Neptune). Oh, I helped with the strike of the show in the space before them, so I was officially involved in two Halifax shows during my vacation. Gosh, I'm useful.
St. John's is little and pretty and smells good. One of the finer smelling places in Canada, as far as I'm concerned. It seems there's always a nice fire going somewhere, and the air is crisp and clean and oceanic. And, yeah, people are nice. Damned nice. They follow me everywhere, dashing garlands in my path and singing songs of love and peace and harmony. I woke this morning to the strains of a Catholic boys choir serenading me with "What's so funny 'bout peace love and understanding?" underneath my bedroom window. Annoying, really. I threw a shoe at them and told them to fuck off. I mean, it's nice to feel welcome and everything.....but you gotta draw the line somewhere. I'm from Scarborough, for god's sake.
I'm currently over at Charlie Tomlinson's house using his computer to send this off. He's Jessica Lowry's friend and worked with her on her production of Jewel (sorry Jess, I missed you by about two days!), and some of you know him from his teaching days at U of A and from other places, and he is officially my third Newfoundland friend! I can't count Nicole, cause she's not actually here, though I am getting warm friendly vibes sleeping in her bed. Sometimes a little too friendly, in fact. ("Hey, lay off me, vibes! This ain't that type o' party!")
Charlie and I met up last night and had a rip roarin' ridiculously decadent time. We celebrated your birthday in grand style, you'll be happy to know, Mom, moving from drinks at the good aul' Ship Inn to dinner at one a them real fancy-ass places (Ruby's, i think? Jeanie's? Somebody's, anyway....) for a way too expensive dinner, all the way from champagne to creme brulee. Ahhhhh, creme brulee. Happy birthday, Mama. I done ya proud.
My other St. John's friends (so far), I met up on scenic Signal Hill, where they actually live. (It's like its own little village up there, and quite wonderful. I was wandering around up on the hill (Beautiful! Spectacular! Astounding! I am not, for once, being ironic!) and met Denys and Ulricha out walking their dog, Lupin. They invited me for tea, and made sure to reiterate the invitation several times, so that I would know they weren't just being polite. So I wandered off for another couple of hours (Amazing! Breathtaking! One of the most gorgeous places I've ever been!) and then had to climb back up to their house from where I'd landed myself. I huffed and I puffed....
Of course, I wasn't entirely sure I'd find the house as they'd kind of gestured vaguely and told me to "look for the house with the curvy drainpipe" - maybe they were trying to ditch me after all - but I did. And we had a lovely chat, and I felt very proud of myself for resisting my snooty Toronto instincts and actually showing up. Ulricha (who is a cool lady who works in a dive shop) has gone to Germany now to visit family. So now I'm down to two friends. But Denys has invited me up to their cottage in Brigus (on the other side of Placentia Bay) if the weather is good and he decides to do a day trip there. Dogs and cottages - yay!
It's a funny thing (and I've encountered it before), but the nicest, most friendly people in the world will never hesitate to tell me how much they hate Toronto. Or how much they hated it in the four hours they spent there one afternoon on their way through... I know that Toronto is the place all Canadians love to hate, and I don't expect everyone to dig it by any means, but....well, that's just a little rude, isn't it, considering I've just told them it's my hometown? I just can't imagine people doing that to people from anywhere else ("Moosejaw? Hated it."). It's like they feel a personal obligation to knock me down a peg, let me know that my city ain't so hot. But, hey, I never said it was the centre of the universe. I'm the centre of the universe, everyone knows that. And I'm in St. John's!
Anyway, my babies, I'm off for more windy rocky goodness! (I brought the good weather here, by the way - it had apparently been nothing but rain 'til I arrived, and it was really mild my first few days.)
Oh, and for those of you (Michael) who want to know, I have thus far avoided all kissing of fish. And i think there might be a statute of limitations on getting screeched in. By the time Nicole gets here, it'll be too late for her to make me do it; i'll have successfully flown under the Newfie radar long enough that they'll have to let me slide. That's my theory, anyway. But what do I know, I'm from Scarborough.
Lots of love from me and The Rock (and yes, I mean the wrestler),
Lisa
