From TORONTO,
February 11th, 2009
Lisa Michele Norton was born in the Toronto suburb of Scarborough in 1975, into a family who loved her and whose names (Lolita, Mike and Nancy) began with letters that made up her initials. They later said this was coincidence. It made her feel, however, like the centre of their universe. This could be what you call "formative". Her initials are also in alphabetical order, a fact which always made her secretly believe she would one day marry a man named O'Patrick, thus becoming L.M.N.O.P.
Lisa's alter ego, Norton (one name, like Rihanna or Snoopy or Cher), was born a few years later, but is also somehow infinitely older. Norton raised herself.
The Skeptical Tourist came from Outer Space. To be reared on Earth by wild dogs.
Lisa remembers, at about age five or so, a legendary pie. The day her mother made the legendary pie, lemon meringue, her favourite. She remembers peering up at the kitchen counter, at all the mysterious implements, the strange actions. Rolling pin and alchemical charts; the dust of flour floating through a beam of light that shot through the kitchen window, a perfect afternoon light, a perfect summer afternoon. The comfort of being just knee-high to everything; of being surrounded, protected. The magic of pie, of lemon meringue, and of love.
Her mother claims Lisa's memory is faulty; continues to insist that this was not the ONLY pie she ever made. Lisa only pretends to believe her.
Norton's earliest memory is of arriving at Grey Owl Junior Public on the very first day of school, triumphant atop her dad's big black ten-speed. Pulling up, right to the door, the Queen of Sheba in the child seat, up so high above all the other kids who waited, leaning against the brick wall of the kindergarten, to be let in; being lifted down from up on high (in slow motion, it seemed) and lowered into the throng of staring children, who all gasped out in unison, "Wooooooow".
Lisa was named after a kid in her sister's class at school. I wonder where that kid is now.
Lisa is a girl.
Norton is a motorcycle.
The Tourist is a piece of macaroni.
Lisa's sister regularly forced her (crying, terrified) to put on cabarets for the family. So Norton became a performer. But Lisa is the better actor.
NORTON TAKES OVER.
Norton once worked at the LCBO and loved load day. Down in the store basement, running around, grabbing boxes from an ever-full conveyer belt, she got to feel her muscles growing stronger while people shouted things like "Move that skid!" and "Coming through!" and "Count of three!" Picking up two cases of wine, one on top of the other, to keep up with the boys.....the camaraderie of ice packs....the satisfaction of a sore back. The ladies all holding their own, "I'm stronger than I look, assholes", singing along to the Mighty Q, laughing, lifting, laughing....
(Lisa liked the way the boxes looked piled high and lined up row on row like a city of cardboard skyscrapers; she loved their numbers facing all the same way, their edges lined up nicely; balance, symmetry. She enjoyed the even numbers of six-packs, of two-fours, of cases of twelve; the ring of "Seven Hundred and Fifty Millilitres". She didn't care for ounces. Where did ounces fit in anyway?)
Lisa likes filing.
Lisa is a Virgo. Norton is a Scorpio. The Tourist thinks it's all a load of crap.
(TRYING TO CRACK UP CASEY WONG)
So does the Tourist.
Occasionally, even Lisa's caught on film.
Lisa was de-virginized in high school. Norton was born experienced. The Tourist thinks that virgins past sixteen are a myth, like satyrs or the Sphinx.....at least in Scarborough.
All three are perpetually two years behind on their taxes and many more behind on filing GST. They blame each other. Lisa starts to hyperventilate and cry when opening those off-brown envelopes from Revenue Canada. But Norton wins over the tax collectors. The GST agent assigned to her file recently wished her good luck on her upcoming show. They wished one another fond Happy New Years, and the agent is pleasantly surprised when Norton calls. She sniffs the cheques that Norton sends for traces of her scent.
Lisa fears she will never find true love. Norton and the Tourist both say "Fuck it".
In grade three, Norton forced her friends to perform in elaborate stagings of fairy tales strongly influenced by "Disney Classics", in front of the whole class. She was playwright, tyrannical director and star....though she did once cast herself in the more minor role of Sleepy dwarf, as, A) It was full of comic opportunity, and, B) She bristled at her grade three colleagues' assumption that she would play Snow White merely because she had black hair, pale skin and ruby lips. (Okay, so she didn't have ruby lips; I made up that last part. - The Tourist)
Lisa is easily humiliated. On the rare occasion she's involved in any kind of verbal altercation, she turns bright red and goes over every word that was said for hours.
Norton is dying to be on the Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson. If Lisa shows up we're in trouble. The Tourist would rock....or get the show a lot of angry letters.
Norton once gave a rollicking, rude, politically outspoken interview to Eye Magazine, completely on the record, but the writer, whom I daresay had a minor crush and didn't want her to get in trouble, instead wrote a lovely story about Lisa, and how doggone nice she was, and gee how much she loved being an actress.
Lisa says Hee Hee Hee.
Norton says HA HA.
(The Tourist says a doo doo doo, a da da da, this is what I say to you.)
Lisa has a recurring dream that she can breathe underwater. It's always so realistic that she is regularly devastated ten minutes after waking when it dawns on her that it isn't true. Sometimes even in the light of day she believes she's not like other people, and that if she just stuck her face in the water while having a bath and took a deep breath, she'd be fine. She keeps on meaning to try it.
Norton loves any kind of powder candy. Pixie Stix, Rockets, Lik'm'Aid.... Lisa makes soup and bakes cookies. The Tourist will eat anything, but do you think she ever lifts a finger to help?
When Lisa was seven, she made fast friends with a girl her grandmother babysat. They were in love with Eric Estrada and Larry Wilcox of the TV series Chips, and one day, while Grandma was upstairs and they were downstairs watching the show, they decided to write them a letter telling them so.
DEAR ERIC AND THE BLOND GUY. WE LOVE YOU. WE LOVE CHIPS. WILL YOU MARRY US?
They drew pictures of the men with their best crayons, folded the letter and addressed the outside with "CHIPS GUYS, HOLLYWOOD, U.S.A." Then, because they thought this was how it worked, they placed it in Lisa's grandparents' mailbox where the mailman would come and take it away. Instead, of course, her grandmother found it in the mail and read it, returning it directly to the girls. Grandma likely never gave it another thought; for Lisa, it was the most humiliating, mortifying moment of her young life. The girls fought over whose stupid idea it had been to put the letter in the house's mailbox.....and from then on could barely look each other in the eye without acute embarrassment, let alone be friends. Good thing Norton can laugh about it now.
Lisa is afraid of lots of things. For instance: spinning classes. She has yet to take one. The whole thing's terrifying: the hellish stench emerging from the glass cage where it takes place; the techno music; the fierce, tiny woman on the bike at the front of the class screaming "GO GO GO GO GO!!!!!" Norton could probably teach it. (The Tourist thinks it's just a load of crap.)
Lisa likes to be alone. Norton likes that, too. The Tourist just wants them to get it on already. Can't they see that they're in love?
Sometimes people invite Norton to the party and Lisa shows up. She does her best Norton imitation but the jokes are just not flowing. She wishes she could come back in the door and be herself.
The Skeptical Tourist hates Facebook. Lisa admits that maybe it helped her feel a bit less lonely the last week or two. (Lisa is going through a breakup, and it's hard. Norton hates herself for telling you that. The Tourist wonders whether it will land her any dates.)
Lisa fears she'll never write anything of note.
Norton brags that she will be the perpetrator of the Great Canadian Novel someday.
The Skeptical Tourist thinks this blog is the greatest accomplishment known to upright man and why bother trying to top that?
She may have a point.
