WINNIPEG, MANITOBA
January 23rd, 2006
My fellow Canadians: HI.
Well....Winnipeg's fine, the sun shines all the time, and the feelin' is laid back....
Oh, wait, those are just the lyrics from a Neil Diamond song. Good thing I stopped myself before the line about the palm trees, or I'd be sitting here in a puddle of tears in a minute.
So. Yeah. Winnipeg. It's actually not FOUR THOUSAND DEGREES below zero, as many BIG FAT LIARS THAT I CALL FRIENDS would have had me believe. So as far as my number one New Year's Resolution goes ("stop complaining about the weather"; closely followed by "Eat more vegetables" and "Stop killing people").....I'm kicking ass! I have now gotten 22 days into 2006 without once whining about how cold I am.
My magical Supercoat is a big help. My da and stepma got me this thing for Christmas; it's, like, a Swiss Army coat. Zipoff fur, secret pockets, knives, a corkscrew...you pull a thing and a parachute pops out; it mixes its own martinis, you name it. (GO GO GADGET BOOZE!) I don't even walk to work - a big plastic ball inflates around me when I walk outside and I roll everywhere. It's, in fact, not a coat - it's actually an intelligent life form. I'm a bit freaked out by the fact that it's been sneaking into my room and crawling into bed with me at night. I mean, that would be fine, but it whispers such strange things ("Jump off the balcony. Make a bomb. No, wait, make a bomb and then jump off the balcony........Fuck your mother.")
Winnipeg is very beautiful. No one ever told me that. The downtown still has all these gorgeous buildings from the early twentieth century. "Chicagoan Architecture", I'm told.....and chic it is. The banks look like banks, you know? You look at the Bank of Montreal here and say, now THAT's a bank. You wouldn't dare belittle a place like that by calling it BMO. Kevin Bundy, who is in the show I'm working on here, stood outside Harry's Bar the other day thinking "This place should be in a movie." And then he went to see Capote and there it was. It makes me ache to know that I live in a town that had all this, and then we went and tore it all down. Just thinking, in contrast, of the hunks of glass growing all over the Lakeshore - and EVERYWHERE - in Toronto, makes me want to tear them apart with my bare hands. Or something slightly more effective. Although I've got pretty effective bare hands; just ask any guy I've dated. (Comedy High Hat, please.)
Of course, our gang is staying somewhere neither old nor beautiful. We are at Holiday Towers, which, as one cast member noted, look about as inviting as the ones from Lord of the Rings. When I say we're all staying there, I mean all of us except for Master Playwright Michael Healey, who pulled the old "I'm allergic to smoke" scam and got put up somewhere else. Yeah - allergic to smoke! Like that exists.
We have noticed that they have all of the MTC visiting artists stacked up on room fifteen of every floor (215, 315, 415 etc.). Winnipeg officials can thereby wipe out a large portion of the local Arts Community at the push of a button, sending a missile sailing down through our section of the building but leaving our crack-addicted, house-arrested neighbours unscathed. Which is exactly what they are under strict orders to do the very minute Stephen Harper is elected. Similar strikes are planned for cheap hotels and theatre bars across the country. Tom McCamus, curiously, is in Suite 213, and thereby safely outside the COLUMN OF DEATH. But he played Wayne Gretzky's dad in a movie after all, and the government can't afford to have the wrath of Wayne on them. That's how you wake up with a severed horse's head. Rest assured that Michael Healey, safely ensconced in his fancyass smoke and bomb-free hotel, will be okay. Until they gun him down in the coffee shop. So there's the Arts Policy you were waiting for from the Conservatives. (Phase One. Basket weavers....you're next.)
We actually ain't got it bad. I quite like my room. And it's got everything I need. I found myself running around my kitchen the other day freaking out because I didn't have, like, ohmigod, a thing to close a chip bag with, when I was suddenly struck by one of those moments when you're forced to see your gross North American Consumerism in a magnifying mirror. Imagine displaced Indonesian villagers whining about their new home not having any twist ties. Well, they won't now - because I just sent a huge shipment of twist ties to the Red Cross! May those lovely little brown people never know my pain.
Winnipeg keeps you regular. No one told me that one, either. I've been pooing, like, three times a day. And I'm talking big, healthy dumps here. Okay....someone's going to make a joke about my having been full of shit living in Toronto all these years, and how I'm just now cleaning out my system. So there. I beat you to it. Just like Eminem in Eight Mile, Yo.
Nothing is open here on Sunday, which is our day off. I mean, no coffee shops, no stores, nuthin'. I guess if much of the world thinks of Sunday as a day of rest and time with family, I am squarely in the other group that thinks of it as that pain-in-the-ass day that the bank is closed. Fuck you, God! I need stuff at Shoppers! I've been trying to buy tampons for three days, for the love of Christ!
The fun Sunday event today, though, was going to see Hughie, a Eugene O'Neill play that Jeff Meadows and Ric Reid (Shaw folk, as is Kelly Daniels, who directed) are playing as part of O'Neill Fest. Every year, MTC spearheads a Master Playwright Festival, and everybody joins in for two weeks of plays, lectures, films. It's a fantastic idea. Other recent ones have been Tremblay-fest, Ibsen-fest, Norm Foster-fest (just kidding). And you can see the whole shamozzle for sixty bucks. O'Neill is particularly fitting: It's Winnipeg! It's January! If you don't want to kill yourself already, come see Long Day's Journey Into Night! Of which there is, by the way, a very fine production at the MTC Warehouse with Dixie Seatle and Graham Abbey and Shaw pals big fat pregnant Fiona Byrne and Mike Shara. It's pretty great. I love O'Neill, so Suicide Fest was made for me.
I'm also really enjoying working on my show (The Innocent Eye Test). The script is a blast - every cheap gag Michael Healey has ever wanted to write. He couldn't very well have the old dudes in The Drawer Boy farting and tripping over things, so it's all in here. It's great to work with Chris Newton again, the actors are all topnotch, the amazing Laurie Champagne is Stage Managing. I feel a bit like the kid who ends up in the Advanced Class when the teacher meant to write down "Special Ed". What am I doing with the frickin' A Team? And, no, that doesn't mean that Mister T is in the show. We've been socializing a lot, too, which may kill me eventually. Last night we had a dinner party in Tanja Jacobs house and I got so high that I came home, washed my face three times, brushed my teeth twice and shaved all nine of my legs. And then I just walked around my kitchen in circles. Wondering where the twist ties went.
I wish you love from this place.
And, oh the snow is beautiful at night......
Lisa
peg o' my heart
The Joy Of: a nortinblyth story
BLYTH, ONTARIO
July 28th, 2005
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
"Show you my what?"
Eliza and Jacob were sitting in an empty horse stall in the barn, hiding out from the heat and from little brothers, as they had often done this summer. It was a long break between school years, especially for Eliza, who wasn't yet quite used to life in the country, and she had gotten to treating the farm next door as if it were her own.
"You know, your thingy," she said, gesturing toward the crotch of Jacob's wornout overalls.
"Why would I want to do that?"
Eliza shrugged. "I dunno. Sump'n to do?"
"Psh," Jacob said. "You're weird. Besides, what would you want to see that dirty old thing for? I sure don't wanna see your peehole."
"But it's not just for peeing, Jacob, I told you."
"Oh, come on, Eliza! Are you on about that Sets thing again?" He got up to leave the barn, brushing hay off of his legs and behind. "I told you, I don't believe you."
Eliza caught up to him, grabbing him by the arm. "But I didn't just make it up, Jake......I heard all about it when I lived in the city. I even saw this book once. I wasn't supposed to, but I looked all through it, it explained the whole thing, it even had these pictures. I think it was called The Love of Sets or something like that."
"I dunno, Eliza," whined Jacob, "You can't believe everything you read. I mean, how do you know it wasn't one of those, you know, joke books? Like my grammaw has this book about gnomes and it has, like, all about their personalities and what they eat and stuff, and I asked her and she said it's not for real. It's just a joke."
"SETS IS NOT LIKE GNOMES!" shouted Eliza, turning even redder in the face than her usual sunburn. "AND I'M SICK OF NOBODY BELIEVING ME!"
Eliza realized too late that this last bit had been overheard by Jacob's cousin Munroe, who was just now entering the barn. She usually took care to say precisely nothing within the older boy's earshot, especially nothing that ran the risk of being mocked. Munroe had made every effort to make Eliza feel as unwelcome as possible ever since her family had moved to Blyth, and never missed an opportunity to make fun of "city girl".
"What's her problem?" This, of course, aimed at his cousin; Munroe never looked Eliza in the eye.
"Sets," muttered Jacob, dropping back down on the hay and playing with his sneaker. Eliza glared at her friend, but he just picked away at the rubber of his shoe.
Munroe had burst out laughing. "Is she on about that again?! Don't you know she's just messing with you, Jakie? Sets is one of those rumours city folk tell us so we'll go repeating it and look stupid. Don't listen to a word she tells you."
"Oh yeah, mister smart guy?" fumed Eliza, who had turned an even deeper shade of red since Munroe had interrupted them, "If you're so smart, then where do babies come from? I suppose you have the STORK in Blyth?"
Munroe laughed again, a hard little bullet of a laugh. He nudged his cousin's head with a booted toe. "Tell your girlfriend that she's dumber than I thought."
"Okay, well where do babies come from, Mister Munroe? Huh? Huh? You're so smart?"
"From the baby farm, you moron."
Eliza was incredulous. She looked down to Jacob where he sat on the ground and had now succeeded in tearing a hole in the side of his shoe. He said nothing.
"The BABY FARM, Munroe? Your mother is the baby farm! Didn't you notice how big she got just before your sister was born?"
Munroe turned to face Eliza for the first time since his initial harsh appraisal seven months before. The colour of his angry face now rivalled the redheaded girl's, late-August sunburn and all. "Don't you call my mother fat, you bitch," he spat out from between two tight, angry slashes of lip. And then he turned and was gone, kicking a lounging kitten out of his path as he went.
Eliza sank down on the hay beside her friend, shaken by the encounter with Munroe. "Jake," she said, "Why didn't you back me up?"
"I dunno, Lize......What was I s'posed to say? I mean, I don't believe in Sets either," he murmured. ".....And you really shouldn'a called his mom fat. She's just big boned my mom says."
"But I didn't......." She trailed off, sighing. "Why won't anybody believe me?"
"I'm sorry, Lize, it just seems so......weird. I mean, a guy putting his -" He started to giggle even attempting to think about it.
In spite of herself, Eliza started to laugh a little, too. "I know, I know, it's really gross. But it is for real." And here a thought struck her. "And I can prove it to you. I can prove to you that it's possible."
"How?" ventured Jacob, looking up from his tattered shoe, curious.
"Like I said, you show me yours...."
Jacob thought for as long as it took. "Okay," he said finally. "But don't touch nothin'."
__________________________________________________
Hey folks. It's been a long dry summer. Hope all is well where you are.
Kill me now.
Leese
Welcome to Blyth! (Big Actor Edition)
BLYTH, ONTARIO
June 13th, 2005
Welcome to Blyth! As a member of the Blyth Festival's 2005 Acting Company, you are a welcome and cherished member of our fine community. Being a BIG ACTOR from TORONTO, however, there are a few things you may need to know in order to successfully fit in.
#1: PEOPLE ARE NICE.
As a new arrival in town, you can expect to be called on by a member of the Blyth Welcoming Commitee. The head of said comittee is a dedicated teenaged member of our community named Cole, who will visit you personally if possible. There are a lot of people to see, however, so he may not arrive until about one-thirty a.m. Never fear; you will not miss this visit, as he will be sure to pound on your door very loudly. Cole will be holding the ceremonial Plastic Beer Cup of Welcome, and, in a traditional gesture of goodwill, he will invite you to partake with him. As he will be sure to inform you, "You'd be CRAZY not to." After all, he and the rest of the committee have gone to all the trouble of planning a lively all-night party right next door (with a rousing game of horseshoes until five o'clock in the morning). Don't be alarmed, incidentally, by the fact that Cole is wearing dark aviator glasses in the middle of the night - he is extremely sensitive to light and needs to be sure to get a good look at you, as well as look very, very cool.
#2: ANIMALS ARE FRIENDLY
As a BIG ACTOR from TORONTO, you mayn't be used to the proliferation and variety of livestock in the Huron County area. Riding your car (or "bike", as the case may be) through the town and outlying countryside, you are bound to be chased by various animals. Again, DO NOT BE ALARMED. In the case of dogs running after you, they are just being friendly. (That is, with the possible exception of the Black Lab that recently attacked Adrian Churchill's dog, but never fear: Coloured animals are not allowed within the county and rest assured that this rogue "Black Lab" will be dealt with promptly.) Ceecee the monkey, in the barn just over the hill, will not chase you, but you can give her a banana, and darnit if she ain't the cutest little thing.
Cows, as you may know, will give chase, especially if you look at them funny. They will run in your direction, but are soon bound to encounter the edge of their farm's property, at which point they will collectively cry "Ohmigod a fence look out for the fence!" and skid to a stop.
Horses, on the other hand, will never give chase. They won't even look at you. Or, rather, they will glance and then quickly look away. They do not want to to know they noticed you; please have the good grace not to point it out. You may, as you pass, hear the horses muttering such things as "Fucking two-legger. Who does (s)he think (s)he is? Riding around on WHEELS. Psh." LET THIS SLIDE. Remember, you are the outsider here in God's country.
And speaking of God's Country.....
#3: JESUS IS LORD
You will notice many brightly coloured signs in Huron County reminding you of such things as the fact that "Ye Must Be Born Again" and "Abortion Stops a Beating Heart". Please take a moment to read and appreciate these signs. They - especially the latter - are a service provided expressly for you, BIG ACTOR from TORONTO. They are obviously not intended for the good people of Blyth, who regularly attend the local Reform Church and are faithfully practising Christians. You may question the Christian purity of the local people when you see them, for instance, at the beach, swimming nude and yelling to their little ones on shore, "Get in the water! It's fuckin' beautiful!" or allowing their seven year-old sons to play with working lighters.....but these are good people. Just witness all those pairs of teenagers going off into the woods to be one with nature and commune with God. And while some of our folk may use "spicy" language by Toronto standards, know this: They will never, ever take Our Lord's name in vain. Please do not be the well meaning visitor who offends our good people with such comments as "Jesus CHRIST this pie is good!" or "Fuck ALMIGHTY, didja see that sunset?" We will not be amused.
Again, welcome to Blyth. We hope this little pamphlet has been of some help.
Have a great fucking summer. Praise the Lord.
can't stop the rock
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
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
