vanewyorkouver....and sweet home

From TORONTO
DECEMBER 4th, 2006

I've just read one of those emails that people forward you all the time with you know, ADVICE ABOUT LIFE. This one was very nice, full of sound advice from the Dalai Lama (that he will supposedly be very upset if you don't forward to, like, eighty-nine people by the end of the day). Apparently it's a list of his tips for the year to come.....but I'm pretty sure I've read some of them before. No Usesies Againsies, Dalai! I want fresh maxims, every year! No more of this "Be good to others" shit. I mean, that one's even in the bloody Ten Commandments! And "Spend some time alone every day"? You used that back in '97. Jeez.

Anyway....one of his Holy Baldness' pieces of advice, which I quite like, is "Once a year, go someplace you've never been before". Well, Mister Lama - and dear friends - have I got you trumped! In the past two months alone, I have finally hit both Vancouver and New York City, two places I've been meaning to visit since I was, like, born. And my experiences of which are as follows:

I had, as you may remember, just three days between performing Of Mice and Men in Calgary and in Toronto into which to squeeze a jaunt (how jaunty!) to Vancouver to attend the nuptials of my pals Mike Wasko and Jenny Paterson - who I still think spells her name wrong, by the way. Was supposed to head to Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall's folks' place on arrival, but due to a combination of closing a show and packing and drinking, not sleeping and running around, and Shaughnessy having dropped off the face of the earth......I hadn't spoken with him and had no idea where they lived. I sat on my bags in the Vancouver airport wondering where to go and what to do.

I left several messages, talked to strangers, beat some noisy children, rode the baggage carousel until that got boring (and believe me, that takes a while), and eventually got in touch with the then soon-to-be groom, Michael Jack Wasko, who instructed me to make my way to the happy couple's home in Kitsilano, where I would find not only Mike and Jenny, but our dear friend Thom Payne, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for laid-backness eight years running, all the way from his oppositely coastal home in Nova Scotia. Actually, all three deserve a gold medal in cool. Here I am thinking, I shouldn't be bugging Jenny and Mike, they're getting married tomorrow for God's sake. Surely they have things to do, responsibilities, people to shout at for no particular reason.... But no, after a lovely cab ride there - with a great driver, indeed one of the most interesting people I've ever met, through sunny blueness with the windows down - I found them sprawled about, just emerging from the haze of the "rehearsal dinner", which from what I gather was basically a rehearsal for getting loaded. Complete with a never-ending flow of champagne cocktails courtesy of Mike's little mama, Penny. Seems everyone really threw themselves into the spirit of the thing.

Hung about yawning and smoking and catching up, was shown a series of truly odd bachelor party photographs, and then we all headed out for a walk to Jericho beach. The weather was just amazing, as it would continue to be for my entire time in the city. Shaughnessy would later tell me that the weather in Vancouver is always beautiful, and that all that stuff about rain and fog and drizzle is a myth that people from the east have made up and tell themselves as consolation for living in places that suck. This, of course, comes from his entirely unbiased objective journalist's point of view.

So yes, after we'd dragged our sweet asses (taking our sweet-ass time) back to the apartment, and talked and smoked some more and fritatta'd our way to happiness - thanks Jenny! - Shaughnessy BS did finally appear. Seems he'd been off having ADVENTURES WITH BRIDESMAIDS, which is exactly the type of thing one expects and trusts Shaughnessy to do. I love it when people live up to their expectations; it's so comforting.

He and I then took off to install me in the empty basement apartment at his parents' house, only stopping along the way to buy champagne. "Champagne!", he would shout all weekend, "We must have more champagne!" I happily concurred, each and every time. Between that and all the turkey, it's a wonder I'm not paralyzed. Did I mention it was Thanksgiving?

Thanksgiving Dinner at the Bishop-Stalls, after a nap in a darkened basement: Who could ask for anything more? The Bishop-Stalls: Cinnamon, Cardamom, Jacqui and Old Whatshisface (I may have taken some liberty with their names), not to mention my friend Young BS, are, as had been promised by Wasko, the loveliest family you could hope to spend time with. The gang was all there, along with two dogs, three cats (one is retarded and lives in a three-story cage so that he won't eat spatulas and things like that) and a few good-looking special guests. Perhaps that is the house guest-list criteria: no ugly people shall darken this door. Ug-ism being the only prejudice I wholeheartedly support, I have no problem with that. I, of course, was right at home, though happily out-beautified by Shaughnessy's gorgeous mother and sisters; and definitely out-weirded by Bob Stall, the funny little patriarch. I love that however brilliant a man may be, and in Bob's case I gather that is quite a lot (he is an accomplished and award-winning journalist), there is a law of nature saying that once he reaches fatherhood he must make the same lame and often incomprehensible jokes as dads the world over. And that he can't compose full sentences while the hockey game is on.

(A Speaking-of-hockey-side-note: Buses and billboards in Vancouver sport ads with splashy colourful images from Vancouver Canucks games and the phrase WE ARE ALL CANUCKS. Bloody brilliant. What could Toronto do to compete with that? WE ALL...HAVE LEAFS. IN OUR YARDS. IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A YARD. UM. AND IF "LEAFS" WAS A REAL WORD. SHIT.)

Anyway, Thanksgiving Dinner was a great mixture of the entirely silly and the stunningly erudite. And as the wine flowed we just got cleverer and cleverer and cleverer.....though it is questionable how many of us could have pronounced the word "cleverer" by the end of the evening. I, for one, never talked so much shit in my life (and y'all know how I can talk shit). I woke the next morning with a distinct feeling of remorse.....and then got in an argument with BS over things he swears I was spouting at the end of the night and which I was sure he'd dreamt.

Thank God for that cozy dark basement apartment - where, incidentally, I kept finding condoms. Unopened, don't worry. I don't know if that's a traditional West Coast Welcome, hiding condoms all over the guest's room for her convenience.....or if the basement is just the traditional place for Bishop-Stall kids to sneak their partners off for rendezvous. Either way, I've decided that my fifth novel shall be named Condoms in the Basement.....and will be a tribute the Flowers in the Attic series. Thank you, Bishop-Stalls. God Bless You, every one.

No doubt you've heard of Triptophan. It's the hormone in turkey that knocks you on your ass, and which is the original date-rape drug. It went out of style when Rohypnol appeared on the scene; frat boys who'd been sneaking turkey drumsticks into cocktails for years were relieved to discover something less conspicuous. Well... you'd expect a lot of clever people, who know ALL ABOUT triptophan, and in fact made EIGHT-THOUSAND stupid jokes about it over dinner, to not spend an entire wedding weekend gorging themselves on leftover turkey sandwiches. That, of course, is exactly what we did. By the time the wedding rolled around, my blood was seventy percent turkey and I could barely walk. It didn't help that another twenty percent was champagne.

Day of the wedding, and almost everything is closed for Thanksgiving, which throws a temporary wrench (OW!) in my plan of buying a sassy new number for the wedding. The BS siblings, however, spring into action and drop me off near two of the best (and most not-closed) shops on Main Street - right near Heritage hall, where the wedding is taking place. Grocery bag full of black accessories in hand, I do some power shopping, finding a perfect dress and bag with an hour to spare - which I then use up cabbing back to the house and running around because the new dress is green and brown and my black friggin' boa just ain't gonna cut it. Brown accessory emergency! Just the type of life-and-death pressure I thrive under. Doctors Without Borders, sign me up.

The wedding was sweet and dreamy. First of all, I love these guys. Second of all, and probably slightly more important, they love each other. Another second of all, this is a couple that has already been through thick and thin, hell and highwater, et cetera et cetera. They've even managed to get over the fact that neither of them is very nice, or interesting, or charming. (What dumb, ugly losers Mike and Jenny are, really. They make me sick.) So everyone there had complete faith that they will continue on together happily for the rest of their lives. Which made for a totally relaxed, loving vibe......but an unfortunate lack of bitter speeches and nasty whispers. The highest drama of the evening came when one of the guests swallowed a hunk of glass that was in the bottom of a faulty Perrier bottle. But she happens to have grown up with severe allergies, and was used to keeping entirely calm in emergencies, so even she didn't freak out. Fucking pothead Vancouverites! What does it take to get a tantrum out of one of you! Even when I started sobbing loudly throughout the vows and moaning "ME!!!! She said she loved Me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!!!!", I couldn't seem to get a rise out of them. They just laughed and passed me the joint that that was going around.

Seriously, the wedding was gorgeous. Jenny wore an awesome gown made out of the wings of real-life fairies, which she and her sister have captured and de-winged themselves since childhood. The couple got through their vows with only a tasteful amount of giggling, and those of you who know Mike will be happy (or devastated) to know that he wore pants, though there was a piper. I didn't really moan and sob, nor did anybody else, except for the usual isn't-this-so-sweet sniffling and retching. Shaughnessy did an admirable job as MC, and there were some hilarious and touching speeches, and a proliferation of songs containing lyrics about what a big jerk Mike used to be. Awesome food! Great company! And Wasko-Paterson soundtrack CDs for all the guests! Dancing in the hall......and dancing our way down the street to the after party at Sarah's place and partying as much as the turkey sandwich coma allowed us.

I was overjoyed to be able to be there, to see some old faces, and to put faces to other people I've heard about for years. And to see my friends so happy.

There must be something in the air right now out West. In Calgary, I had a fantastic reunion with my old college chum, Jacquie - excuse me, Jacqueline....though she lets her new redneck friends call her Jadie - and she nearly electrocuted me with happiness, she is at such a brave and happy and exciting moment in her life.

Also in Calgary, I met up with Dean Carter (another pal from the James Brown years) and his wife Luka Symons, and their sweet little girl, who nearly didn't survive infancy. They are so grateful to have her, all fun and full of joy, and also madly in love with their jobs. Luka has her own radio show on CKUA, that station I plugged in my last email (pure coincidence) and Dean is a teacher at the Waldorf School , which is the coolest institution on Earth.

At the wedding I got to catch up with Jody Marklew, who was in my class in first year and then went to Studio 58 with Mike and Jenny. She recently went through a divorce and a year of hellish health problems, which doctors couldn't diagnose after ten billion tests for everything under the sun. She was just about to start a regimen of drugs for MS, which hadn't been ruled out, when she figured out that it was MERCURY POISONING. From an old filling that had fallen apart. She is now healthy, amazing, as gorgeous as ever, starting to act again, and dating an awesome new guy. I wonder if I were to continue across the country, finding all the people I've lost touch with, they'd all be this happy. It was really something, all these joyous people. If I made them shed just one tear each, my travels have been worth it.

One more day - sleeping, a farewell turkey sandwich, post-wedding lunch, goodbyes, dinner with Young BS, a mad dash to the airport singing G n' R at the top of our lungs - I and my new green dress took our bags and reluctantly left green Vancouver. It's so green! Why did nobody tell me it would be so green? Everyone talks about the mountains - but the trees! So many trees! Or was I just seeing them through fresh-from-the-prairie-eyes, and not used to seeing green again? Six of one?

On the redeye back to Toronto, I was politely holding in three days of champagne gas, and eventually went to the washroom for just long enough for an old lady on the plane to have a heart attack. She was between the washroom and my seat, so I couldn't go anywhere and was stuck at the back of the plane with a very boring person who is too tall to sit comfortably in airplane seats and so spends his flights at the back of the plane annoying flight attendants. I heard all about his (boring) trip, his (boring) job, his (boring) wife and his (boring) allergies, until I was wishing for a heart attack myself. Watched all the drama unfold from back there: the calls to the pilot, the appeals for a doctor, the five doctors on the plane all getting in each others' way, the defibrillator coming out, the defibrillator going back in......eventually she came around, and they arranged for paramedics to meet us at Pearson. I never did get a wink of sleep on that overnighter. I just couldn't rest easy knowing that my farting in the bathroom was enough to stop someone's heart. What if I fell asleep and let one go? It could be the pilot next time.

And on that elevated note, dear friends........it's 2:45 am. New York will have to wait a day or two. But hell, I waited thirty years for it.

Off to dreams of places i've never been before,

Lisa

where's the beef?

CALGARY, ALBERTA
October 7th, 2006

So here I sit at the end of two months in Cowtown, bracing myself for the giant email I owe you. Brace yourself, too. We'll get through this together.

I'm living in a week that includes eight shows over five days, many of them for evil callous teenagers, drinking too much with old friends, a Brazilian wax (the pain of which cannot be expressed in writing), a horrible lack of sleep, packing to go home......and if I can make it through all that...(OhPoorMeMyLifeIsHardIWishIWasInKazhakstan.)

You'll be happy to know I just took a moment to put some pants on. Love you as I may, it just felt too weird writing one of these letters without pants. You may take yours off if you like.

So....CALGARY THE UNKNOWABLE. Don't know if I've got any kind of a handle on the place. And I'm not sure who does. Locals seem to ask "What do you think of Calgary?" in a puzzled tone that suggests they're not quite sure what to make of it themselves. As if they're hoping that an outsider will be able to suddenly make it all clear to them. However, my experience of the place has been mostly the actor-hanging-with-lots-of-other-actors and working a lot and sleeping experience. I haven't had much time to mingle with the little people. Or the BIG people, I should say, what with their ten gallon hats and their high-heeled boots and their spurs and the raw meat hanging out of their mouths. (Just kidding, they apparently only dress that way during Stampede time.....and I think I dreamt the part about the meat.)

The theatre community is happily thriving. Seems new things are popping up all the time; new small companies, a good buzz in the air, a very supportive vibe in the community. I'm happy for them and hope it will continue. And that Ordinary Joe Calgary will put down his raw meat (and his Blackberry) for a minute and join in, so it's not just a self-contained thing with theatre people taking turns going around looking at each other. I fear that everywhere.

I do think it's an odd time to be here, what with the big BOOM and all. No one quite trusts it will last (and of course it can't, not the way it is now) and the town seems to be scrambling to get what it can, while it can. And to catch up with itself. It's great to have jobs flying around like confetti, sure, but if there's nowhere to house and school and take care of the sick among all these people...... There are folks with good jobs living in tents here. And winter's coming. Very strange days.

The cab drivers have no idea where anything is. If it stops pissing you off, it starts to become hilarious. They, of course, cleverly came to town from other cities and countries to cash in.....but they are so hopelessly lost out there that they seem slightly terrified all the time, poor buggers. The combination of a passenger new to town and a driver who got here last week can be ridiculous. And expensive. Luckily the meter rates are WAY lower than in T.O. On my birthday (September 15th - it rained and then snowed), which was also opening night, I decided to splurge and just take a cab everywhere while I ran all my opening night gift shopping errands and went to rehearsal. I felt so cosmpolitan actually getting a cabbie to wait for me as I ran in and out of places. But I can afford that here. Even when he got lost and we ended up in Jersey, it wasn't too bad. And New Jersey is quite the detour from Alberta. You'd think I would have noticed.

Yeah. Snow on my birthday. Unheard of. The weather in this place is out of its mind. Two days before the snow, it was thirty degrees celsius outside. And two days after, it was again. We're expecting locusts on Sunday, but it's so hard to predict, really. I've hired a dresser to follow me around in the streets with a suitcase. We stop and do quick-changes in phone booths whenever the weather shifts. Just another little luxury I've allowed myself - hell, I am in my thirties now.

Nobody jaywalks in this town. Not only that, but if you do, people look at you as if you're stabbing babies. Okay, so I did once jaywalk and stab a baby at the same time. But that was only once......and that kid was already dead. There are signs around saying "Caution. Do Not Jaywalk. TWO-WAY TRAFFIC." Well....in that case. I mean, I could make it across one lane, but if there are cars in both directions???! Wow, that's complicated.

White as Calgary is (by grew-up-in-Scarborough-live in-Toronto standards it's like some weird Caucasian planet), there is enough immigration to provide interesting places to eat. I've seen a few Ethiopian places, been to a Thai place or two, lots of Indian and Sushi around. It's taken being in Calgary to get me hooked on Lebanese takeout. And no, "Lebanese Takeout" is not a euphemism for "picking up chicks". Though there's always room for chicks.....like Jell-O!

As I write I am listening to a fantastic radio station called CKUA, somehow based in Calgary and Edmonton. Go to http://www.ckua.com/ and click "Live On Air" to listen to it right now. It's the country's oldest public broadcaster, founded in 1927 on the U of A campus. Hour by hour you never know what genre you're going to get, depending on who's hosting, but a lot of it is wonderful. Go there. I'm also hooked on CBC Radio 3 lately, which you can get on your itunes sattelite radio listings under "public". All Canadian indie stuff. Pretty great. But I digress...... You now have permission to skip a random paragraph. Or just read every other one from here on in. Though you may miss the bit that contains the meaning of life. And you'll just never know.

A couple of weeks ago, at one of our (ten million) student matinees, a teenager tried to get up at intermission and felt something in his back go terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn't move and paramedics were called, who eventually put him on a morphine drip, right in the house, to try and loosen up his seized muscles so that they could move him. I imagine that may be the trippiest theatre experience you can have: being high on an Opiate in an audience while seven hundred people stare at you and whisper. Our intermission lasted an hour and thirteen minutes, during which we sat in the green room and placed bets as to whether the show would continue. It did, but only for about fifty students -the others all had to catch their buses back to school - and of course the kid with the back problem, who remains in the house to this day, and holds the record for most consecutive performances attended at the Max Bell Theatre. He is covered head-to-toe with gum and urine (mostly his), but still seems to be enjoying the production. He is considering a career as a theatre critic when he graduates. (By correspondence.) Poor kid. I hope he is okay. The back thing, I mean, not as a critic.

I spent my first month here billeting with a family up north of Kensington. I was meant to stay in an apartment hotel, but the place I chose (from the Theatre Calgary list) turned out to be a disaster. A rude, bitchy, falsely advertised disaster. $1750 a month for a one-bedroom with no phone, no internet access, no maid service, broken sauna...... Culminated in a conversation that ended thus:

ME: And you know the carpet in there stinks.
HOTEL BROAD: Yeah, well, a wet carpet will do that.
ME: You know, maybe you shouldn't move somebody into a room with a wet carpet. That's just bad service.
HOTEL BITCH: It's not bad service - it's called same-day turnover.
ME: Haven't you ever thought you shouldn't have same-day turnover into a room with a smelly wet carpet?:
WHOREY AWFUL HOTEL WOMAN: Well, I guess we've learned.
ME (trying to be tough and play hardball when they wouldn't give me back my FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR SECURITY DEPOSIT AFTER I HAD SPENT FIFTEEN MINUTES THERE): I'll tell you this - Theatre Calgary isn't going to be happy. They won't be sending any more business your way.
SKANKY HOTEL TROLL: I don't care about Theatre Calgary. I'll call them right now and tell them not to send me anybody else.
ME: Uh........

After much cajoling and badgering ("I know it's not you, but boy is your boss's policy unfair"...) they agreed to give me part of the deposit back ( I had to go back the next day to get it, and brought big tough Ashley Wright with me as goon backup.) I basically paid two hundred dollars to get out of there. Turns out Dennis Garnhum (TC Artistic Director) once had a strikingly similar experience there. I believe The Birkenshaw has since been removed from the housing list.

Anywaaay.....I ended up living with Tim and Alyson Culbert, this fantastic couple with whom I have become friends, and their three beautiful shy little girls, and their dog and cat and daycare. Became the sort of person who takes little kids to the Zoo on her day off, and thinks putting silly things on her head is the funniest joke in the world. Which it is, of course. I was also, though, the type of person who crawls in at two a.m., and spends mornings during tech week with a pillow on her head moaning "Shuuuuuut uuuuuup" as the dayhome kids arrive for a day of screaming and jumping. The Culbert kids (Sonya, Abigail, and Mikka - named after, no word of a lie, hockey fans, Miikka Kiprusoff, Calgary Flames goalie) were fantastic. At first they were very shy and suspicious of me, but I knew I was in when Sonya (the eldest and most painfully, sweetly shy) took me to her room to show me her glass collection. Her favourite is a unicorn. Glass Menagerie, anyone? Abigail is four, and wild, and Tim is sure it's only a matter of time 'til she is riding off with rough guys on motorcycles. I told him it was surely sweet shy Sonya who would go that way. He is terrified.

Day before opening I left my double life and moved into The Regency Suites, the place where every visiting artist in his right mind stays. Incidentally, Shanna Miller is here while she runs Ronnie Burkett's latest show at ATP; Chris Newton, David Boechler, Maria Vacratsis and Dixie Seatle the next TC show; Randy Hughson, Colombe Demers, probably Chris Abraham and Daniel Brooks, who are doing Insomnia ...... It's conveniently next to hooker Mac's, though I've only had one hooker encounter at the Regency, and that was with a very nice crack whore who thought her umbrella was attacking her. Unfortunately this did take place on the elevator, which is rather close quarters for an actor, a crack ho, a dealer or pimp or john or pal or whatever he was, and an active, flying umbrella. As the umbrella victim got off the elevator, she did warn me, while nearly poking me in the eye, "You gotta be careful.....the spokes'll getcha." One of the lonely maids seems to be slightly obsessed with me, but other from that the good ol' Reege is just peachy.

Another odd downtown Hot Dog Stand name: The Yodelling Sausage. I don't know about you, but if my sausage yodels at me, I'm suing. Or at least I want my money back.

Accidentally discovered Devonian Gardens the other day......This is a huge greenhouse that takes up the top floor of one of the malls downtown (TD Centre, I think). A great and relaxing way to spend a lunch hour, and a lovely surprise when you're not expecting it. Fish pools, fountains. Greeeeen-ness, which is fairly rare out here. Ahhhh. Of course I am spending far too much time at the mall, feeding my addictions (Shoppers Drug Mart, HMV, et cetera.)

Incidentally, don't you think when a skin care line is billed as "Non-Comedogenic", it should mean that it doesn't make you laugh? I want to put out a Comedogenic line. Active ingredient: Peyote.

I've had odd luck with objects here in Calgary. With interesting results. Allan Stichbury, our cavern-voiced designer (dogs can't hear him) refusing to carry home my pink gift bag that I left at the Auburn. Tough ol' John Wright happily wearing my lost feather boa back to the theatre after it dropped off me at the Opening Night party. Leaving a photo and resume that I promised to forward for someone in the cast at a corner store. Going back and getting it and then meeting the gang for dinner, after which I realize that I don't know where my bank card is (and that I have no cash). Returning home at three a.m. to a steamy tropical hotel room, made thus by a dishwasher that has been running for fifteen hours (and melting plastic things inside) since the cleaning staff turned it on that day. Dropping my cell phone (a replacement for the phone that I poured water all over in Toronto) in the street, where it gets run over by a (or several) cars. My subletter at home has broken my toaster, a wine glass and two tumblers. Somehow, he says my plants are still alive. Okay, most of those weren't technically due to bad luck - mostly they were me being stupid or forgetful. But the dishwasher? I mean, come on!

Two new glorious objects in my life, to make up for all the lost and broken ones. I gave in and bought a stupid cowgirl hat (orange straw, and I look fucking hot in it), and the most wonderful pair of cowboy boots I have ever seen, or touched, or smelled, in my life. Not that I go around smelling cowboy boots. Okay.......you got me!

Of course, I didn't buy the boots and hat until after I'd been horseback riding. Went to Rafter Six Ranch in Exshaw (Kananaskis country, halfway between here and Banff) with a few cast and crewmates for a trail ride in the woods. If Exshaw sounds familiar, it's where holocaust denier Ernst Zundel lived before he got deported. But this was not, I repeat NOT, a Nazi Ranch. My horse was named Himmler, but I think that's a very common name for mares. The ride was great, though it was a cold and misty day, so the backround view of mountains was not happenin'. Lovely though, and we hit the Banff hot springs after. Just like sitting in a big pool with a bunch of strangers. But it's a hot pool. Outdoors. With an amazing view. Pretty perfect after freezing cold horseriding.

So, yeah, I've become a social convenor in this cast. Yes, I, Lisa Norton, (happily) confessed LAZIEST PERSON YOU KNOW (c) have been arranging horseback rides, hiring the band for opening night, planning future potlucks..... Which tells you one of two things: A) Even the laziest woman you know is more industrious than your average nine males. Or, B) That I am super-industrious when I am out of town: witness all the soup kitchens I've started and all the Habitat for Humanity projects I've worked on. Okay, screw you all for knowing that I've only drunk booze and hung around flirting with strangers. But I did invent pomegranate raspberry pancakes....and how many of you can say that for yourselves? Hmmm? Thank you. Let's move on.

What else? Seen some plays, some movies (cultural highlight: Snakes on a Plane. Shudder), some old friends......Had an amazing time out with old George Brown pal Jacqueline Day the other night, who sends her love and hopes to see the gang at Christmas......breakfast tomorrow, I think, with Dean Carter, also from GB, who is now a teacher and married to Luka, with a seventeen-month old daughter, Eliza.

Guess I'm afraid of winter coming. And a long gig coming to an eventual end, leaving me high and dry again, waiting for the phone to ring. I had a dream the other night in which I found out that my friends Jeff and Rachel were storing nuts in their house. I broke in while they were out, searching frantically for their hoard so I could steal their nuts and hide them for myself.

Off on Sunday for my first trip ever to B.C., where I am lucky enough to be able to attend my pals Mike Wasko and Jenny Paterson's nuptials, and jet around Vancouver a little bit. And then back to Toronto to do Of Mice and Men at Canstage like crazy. Two or three nine-show weeks, designed to help Canstage out of financial trouble. If it works out, this will be the second time I've bailed out Canstage, since it's all the money I made them as a telemarketer back in the day that has kept them afloat until now. I was a disturbingly persuasive telemarketer, definitely a dubious distinction. Dread the day I turn my powers to real evil.

Hope you are grand and that I hear from you soon. Now for God's sake, put your pants back on.

Leese

the norton stampede

CALGARY, ALBERTA
September 6th, 2006


THINGS I'VE SEEN:
The airplane view of the prairies. I don't know what I was expecting. One great boring field of homogenous yellow wheat? Yes, perhaps, since my previous experience of the landscape was car passenging through with my grandparents at age eight, which I definitely remember as a wake-me-when-I'm-there (and when the puking and the earaches stop) type experience. So I promptly and purposely went to sleep shortly after the West Jet safety dance, and woke somewhere over Saskatchewan, my head pressed against the window, and looking down upon the most glorious! surprising! wonderful! view. Those perfect squares of green and brown and beige and gold....I had no idea. All I could think was how it was as if someone - someone really BIG - had gone to Home Depot and then run around slapping down ceramic tile as far as the eye could see. That might sound like I'm reducing it to something puny and nonmajestic, but believe me, I'm thinking of really really nice ceramic tile. I guess I'm just not used to seeing any one thing as far as the eye can see, and that was astounding in and of itself.

My sassy new show haircut. New, improved, sexier than ever Lisa Norton! What's that you say? Impossible? Apparently not.

Mountains. (A day off in Banff and Lake Louise.) Again: Holy Fucking Christ. (I have no words big enough except for curses.)

An airline poster on the way up in a mountainside gondola saying: Now wouldn't this ride be better with seatback TV? Four words: Boy. Cott. West. Jet.

Some oustanding roadside signs. On a hill near where I'm staying (North of Kensington), a Red Cross appeal for donors as rearranged by bored Calgary youth: RAVE LIVES! TITS NEEDED! IS SUMMER. DRESS SOC (Figure it out. I did.)

On a going-out-of-business barbershop: BIG HAIRY DEAL! And, my favourite hot dog stand sign ever anywhere: SAUSAGE PARTY! (Which is also, incidentally, how I'm trying to get Theatre Calgary to advertise Of Mice and Men.)

Oh, and Help Wanted Signs. Everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. They've become pretty pointless; you can pretty much assume that everyone is hiring. The cop cars have NOW HIRING bumper stickers. They're all over the buses. Billboards. Foreheads. If you've got an IQ of 5, one arm, no legs, a drug habit and a bad attitude: there's a job for you in Calgary! Heart of the New West!

And Money! Money everyplace! Falling from the sky! Gushing up out of the ground! Overflowing from construction sites, bursting office towers at the seams. Hundreds of homeless men chasing after it, only to see it hop in a Mercedes and tear away.

On our first rehearsal day, our cast and the entire staff of Theatre Calgary standing in a circle like all the Whos in Whoville. (Welcome, welcome, ba-whoos, ba-whoos, Welcome, welcome, da-whoos, da-whoos). And Dennis Garnhum's heart grew THREE sizes that day....

Shaun Smyth with a moustache. Move over, Magnum. Go fuck yourself, Burt Reynolds.

A T-Shirt bearing the words "Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner". Do you want yours in pink or blue, Christine?

Jesse who runs the Auburn Tavern (the Calgary Theatre Bar I've been hearing about all these years). Nothing quite like a handsome man who leans across the bar, takes your hands in his, looks deep into your eyes and softly asks you what you want. And, if that wasn't good enough, he brings you booze, too! Long Live the Auburn!

The Calgary Zoo. Coool.

Today: two of those cyclists who are terrified to let their feet touch the ground at a red light and wobble around the whole time like a couple of morons. Off-topic, I know, but really, what the hell?


THINGS I'VE HEARD:
Rob Ursel and the Billionaires Club, Wednesday nights at Vern's, an excellent live music bar on 8th Ave. As if John Steinbeck had writtten songs. Tear your heart out. If this guy gets you reminiscing about the wrong person (or even the right one), you're screwed. At the very least, you'll come away with a generically broken heart. (And a tapping foot or two.) And, because he reminds me of Steinbeck, when I stay out till the last note well after closing time, I'm not partying.....I'm doing research.

The sadass off-key prerecorded "bells" that fart out of the Calgary Tower all day long. Oh, Calgary Tower. Must you have nothing going for you at all?

Christina Aguilera's new Album. That's right, you gonna make sumthin' of it?
But not the Sunparlour Players, not since I left home. (Can't find the album in Calgary.) Will someone mail me a copy?

Ashley Wright's farts. Every day.


THINGS I'VE SMELLED:
No Name Brand Fabric Softening Dryer Sheets in Mountain Fresh Scent....only two days after visiting Banff and Lake Louise and being surrounded by real-life mountains! Dude. Your dryer sheets smell nothing like mountains. Back to the drawing board on that one. Can't put nuthin' over on me, No Name.

Ashley Wright's farts. Every Goddamn day.


THINGS I'VE TASTED:
The genius of John Steinbeck.

Followed closely by:
The genius of a good perogie platter when you've been drinking for ten hours.

Ashley Wright's farts. Morning, noon and night.


THINGS I'VE LEARNED:
The street system in Calgary. Way too proud of myself on this one.

If you're the only chick in an otherwise all-male cast, you get to be the all-purpose date. Ben would have just felt too gay going to the mountains with another guy. And John Kirkpatrick couldn't very well have hairy male arm candy accompany him to the Betty Awards; he was a presenter after all. Somebody better take me to Vegas next day off - the bar has been raised, boys.

Oh - while at the Bettys, avoid saying things like "Yeah, I'm here with John. He's thinking of moving to Toronto, too, and, you know, getting a real agent." or "OH! I get it! So the Bettys are like the Doras, except they're just for Calgary. How nice that you guys get your own little theatre awards!" and, consequently, "The face! Ow! Not the face!" Just kidding.....I learned those all from a cautionary dream the night before. These gorgeous cheekbones are unharmed, dear reader.

You can hop on the C-Train in the free zone and then continue to ride it all the way home without paying and not get caught. But you will feel guilty for at least a day or two.

If you try to be funny and play tricks on your friends, it may backfire. Like, for instance, if you're at the bar with Sterling and Ben and decide that it will be really hilarious to set the hungry Cougar in the skin-tight denim vest and spray-on jeans with the waist-length hair (name of Chevy, "like the car, vroom vroom") after Ben as a funny joke, so you claim (married) Sterling is your boyfriend and leave Ben to defend himself, and keep dropping hints about how interesting and single Ben is and how he would LOVE to play pool with her, but then it becomes clear that she was interested in Sterling all along, not Ben, and that she now hates you for A) being his girl and B) being a jealous territorial bitch, and then you spend the rest of the evening wondering whether you're going to show up at rehearsal the next day with one of her Lee Press-On Nails (TM) embedded in your eye..... Yeah. Like that. Don't try that kind of thing in Calgary.

Don't smoke too much BC weed. (See above.)

Don't stand next to Ashley Wright right after he's been rehearsing the scene in which he eats three cans of beans.


THINGS I FEAR:
That some of you, glancing throught this email, and not realizing that it's one of my missives from away, may think it is a suicide note. (Things I've Seen, Learned, Tasted....) That being the case, that you may not know that I am safe and sound, and loving you from here. That I will grow old and lonely, never having achieved any great success, and that my body will have been rotting in my apartment for weeks and weeks before somebody realizes that the smell must be coming from that sad old lady's place. Et cetera.


Nothing matters,

Lisa