the norton debacle

From TORONTO
March 28th, 2008


I have a confession, and therefore an apology, to make:

I broke up the Stratford Festival Artistic Directorship.

Yes; despite what you may have heard and whatever overtures have been made to protect me and keep my name out of the media, I, Lisa Norton (a.k.a. The Skeptical Tourist), bear the sole responsibility for all this unrest and upheaval. Phew. I feel so much better. The guilt was killing me.

Here, in brief, is how it all went down. Some weeks ago, I had my first ever audition for Stratford. I had never so much as mailed a resume there before; the new triumvirate of Artistic Directors, however, signalled to me an infusion of hope and excitement to the tired old place. The Stratford Festival, I thought, might finally be ready for me.

I was to perform two monologues for and interview with new (now former) Artistic Director Don Shipley, and was excited to meet him. In I walked to the rehearsal hall high above Toronto's Canon Theatre, photo and CV in hand, hair done largely and elaborately, my best facial expressions only recently practiced in the mirror, to meet Don and Bonnie Green, the casting associate. "Hi Don," I said, "How're things?" He began to cry.

I mention this because, in retrospect, it was the first sign that something was wrong. It was, however, soon remedied, if only temporarily, by my audition. I gave such a dazzling display of acting virtuosity that Mr Shipley was immediately cheered, all worries forgotten. "WOW!" he exclaimed. "Jeez! GOSH! Oh my! Sarblllaphhhhrgat!" He momentarily lost all control and peed on the floor. Eventually recovering, he sat me down for a chat as Ms Green scrambled to find some paper towels and clean up the mess. "Honestly," said Don, "I have never seen anything so wonderful in all my life. If you could do that with a mere two contrasting pieces in four minutes or less.....Why, just imagine the possibilities! You, my dear, could change the world." I agreed and went on my way, thinking nothing of it. I expected contact from Stratford shortly.

It came a scant few days later in the form of a panicked phone call from Stratford General Director Antoni Cimolino.
"Lisa!" he said. "We don't know what to do! You're tearing this place apart!"
"Hey there, Tone," I told him, "Slow down. Take a breath. Drop and give me ten."
He did so, and then, as calmly as he could, informed me of the recent goings on at Stratford. I've pieced it together as best I can.

It seems that Don Shipley, as soon as I left the audition hall, immediately cancelled all other auditions for the day, and in fact, the entire week. "That's it," he told Bonnie. "That's all I need to see." They made instant haste back to Stratford, only stopping for a couple of Quarter Pounders and two Shamrock Shakes along the way and talking madly on their cell phones, arranging an emergency meeting of the Artistic Team and the General Director for the moment they got back to Stratford.

Their car squealed into the staff lot just as Des McAnuff's helicopter arrived from New York and Marti Maraden pulled up on her bicycle. They all made a run for Antoni Cimolino's office, pushing and shoving, Shipley madly waving my photo and resume in the air......and after getting stuck in the doorway for just a moment, they managed to get inside and sit down.

Don Shipley informed the group of what he had just witnessed. "We must have her!" he told them, "We must! I must!" I would, he decided on the spur of the moment, play Cleopatra in Caesar and Cleopatra in the 2009 season.
"But we're already doing that play in the 2008 season," Marti Maraden reminded him. "It's been cast."
"Are we?" said Des McAnuff. "That sounds like fun!"
"You're directing it", said Marti.
"Yay!" said Des.
"Who cares!" said Don. "We'll do it again! In fact, we'll repeat the entire 2008 season, only based around Lisa Norton. She'll make a fantastic Juliet! I'll direct her!"
"No," interjected Marti, "Surely I should direct her......that is, if she needs direction at all! I won't let you near her! After all - I knew her first!"
"I've never even heard of this Lisa Norton," said Des McAnuff, "But I sure like her headshot! Let's fill the lobby of the Festival Theatre with a permanent display of sculptures of her! She'll spend the whole season posing for me! I'll sing songs!"
"What are you talking about?" said Marti.
"LAAAAA!" said Des.

Bonnie Green discreetly snuck off with the remains of her Quarter Pounder with cheese.

What ensued was one of the ugliest fights over me since....well, it's so hard to compare really..... There have been some pretty nasty fights over me lo these many years. But it was up there. Each Artistic Director wanted me to his or herself entirely. None would concede that another might be allowed to direct me in a play, speak to me, or hold my hand while strolling along the Avon. Each wanted me as his personal muse at the newly christened Lisa Norton Shakespeare Festival of Canada (the name of which was the only talking point they could agree on).

Antoni Cimolino watched quietly for the most part, caressing his pet Siamese cat and sitting back in his high-backed leather chair. Then he stroked his newly grown goatee and reached for the big red button on his desk. Not the "eject" button. Not the "arm nuclear device" button. The other one.

As the carefully aimed taser guns retreated back into the walls, and the triumvirate of Artistic Directors lay writhing on the ground, Cimolino leaned forward and finally spoke. "The Norton," he said calmly, "Is MINE. I shall direct her. I shall speak to her. I will keep her in a box in my office, and let her out when I please. I will cover her with lanolin to make her skin soft and shiny and then I shall make her into a coat that I will wear to the prom. Now does ANYONE have a problem with that?"
"How dare you," managed Shipley.
"I'll never allow it," said Maraden.
"YAY!" said McAnuff.

"Ouzounians!" called Cimolino, and in marched his team of specialized security monkeys. (With wings.) "Remove Ms Maraden and Mr Shipley from my office. We will announce their joint resignation tomorrow. Muah ha ha."

But the two, weakened as they were by the taser attack, would not leave it at that.
"You will never have the Norton!" cried Maraden, throwing monkeys from her back and attacking Cimolino with sudden superhuman strength. Shipley, similarly fortified by rage (and love for me - not to mention the amazing properties of the McDonald's Shamrock Shake), made a run at him as well. They bruised him; they beat him; they tore off his new goatee. Des MacAnuff ate his cat, just for kicks. "You're on my side, Des!" cried Cimolino, shielding his head and his collection of poseable Cynthia Dale action figures as best he could. "Yippee!" said Des, and ran out to his helicopter and flew to England.

The phone call I received was made by Cimolino from under his desk during a temporary stand-off three days later. The Ouzounians had abandoned him and flown away to write an article, and the fight had continued, Shipley and Maraden alternating between ganging up on him and turning on one another to fight over me.

"We don't know what to do! You're tearing this place apart!"
"Hey there, Tone. Slow down. Take a breath. Drop and give me ten."
"They ate my cat!"

Anyway, Dear Reader, there was only one way to settle the thing. "Forget it," I told them on speaker phone, "Let it go. I can't stand to see you injure one another, not to mention flying monkeys, on my behalf. Besides....and you should have realized this....The Norton belongs to no man."

I wish I could say that solved all their problems. However, after another hour or so of kicking and biting, Mr Shipley and Ms Maraden left anyway, and have since become a bit of an annoyance to me with their constant stalking and attempted professional wooing. Mr Cimolino has acquired a new cat, is working on his goatee, and has instructed the Ouzounians to keep my name out of the press and go back to their usual routine of slagging hardworking theatre professionals and raving about the blueness of Nicole Kidman's eyes.

I, however, obviously felt that the truth must out. Again, my sincere apologies for all of this.....
and for the fact that The Lisa Norton Shakespeare Festival of Canada will have to remain but a lovely dream.
.....For now.

the practical artist

From TORONTO,
March 1st, 2008

It has been brought to my recent attention that Larry LaForet, the administrator (read: guy who gets shit done) at my esteemed alma mater, Toronto's James Brown Theatre School, has been advertising this humble page in the school's newsletter. Imagine my surprise on discovering that an entire generation of young actors is being exposed to the thoughts, dreams and wisdom contained herein. This, I thought, is surely an opportunity that must not be passed by! I must do all I can to help these young people! I must warn them of pitfalls! Prepare them for joys! Direct them away from jobs that they will beat me out for! Ignore that last bit! Above all, I must use many -MANY! - exclamation points!!!(!)

So here, excitedly sweating and shivery reader, is the first ever official edition of.....
THE SKEPTICAL TOURIST'S ADVICE TO YOUNG ACTORS.

First things first.
On AUDITIONS:
It really can't be said enough: just be yourself. For instance, if you wake up the morning of a big audition wearing sweatpants and a bra.....Well, that's you, isn't it? And if it's good enough for you, it should be good enough for them. The last thing a director wants is one more cookie-cutter theatre school grad wearing pants and a shirt. I mean, please. Booooo-ring.

The Tourist's personal, much-honed, never-fail patented three secrets to landing theatre jobs:
1. Big Hair.
2. Loud voice.
3. Lots of facial expressions and hand gestures.

For film auditions, best to get as close to the camera as possible. About an inch or two will do. And again, speak as loudly as you can, and make exaggerated facial expressions - you don't want to lose a part because they missed something or because your choices were unclear.

The night before a voice audition, be sure to drink a lot of bourbon and smoke a pack or two of cigarettes. Suck some cock if possible. The scratchy sound is "in". Trust me. And if you don't get the job, hey, at least you had some fun preparing.

When auditioning/working for a woman, be sure to compliment her on how clever and articulate she is for a lady director. She needs and will appreciate the encouragement; use it unsparingly. In the case of a non-white director.....oh, wait. That never happens. Although, it must be said, the performing arts is right up there as one of Canada's most ethnically diverse employment sectors, coming only after:
Accountancy and business services
Advertising, marketing and PR
Banking, investment and insurance
Construction
Education
Engineering
Environmental, food chain and rural
Fashion and textile
Food and drink
Health
Hospitality
Human resources and recruitment
Information technology
Legal services
Local, regional and national government
Manufacturing
Oil, gas and petroleum
Property
Publishing
Retail
Science
Small to medium-sized enterprises (SMEs)
Social care
Sport and leisure
Tourism
Transport and logistics

So there you go. By the way, James Brown College does offer excellent courses in all of the above, in case you should happen to be interested. The motorcycle maintenance program has a particularly fine reputation, as does jewellery construction. Perhaps a double major?

On WORKSHOPS:
Throughout your wildly successful career, you will participate in many readings/workshops of new plays. Expect to be asked your candid opinion of the dialogue, character arcs, et cetera. I take this aspect of my work very seriously, and am always sure to present the author with pages of detailed notes and criticisms, harsh if necessary. It is of no help to anyone to be polite; if the play, in your valuable opinion, sucks, simply say, "This play sucks." And then walk out. It's direct, it's to the point, and the playwright will thank you later. At least I assume so. No one's thanked me yet....but it's just a matter of time.

On ACTING SHAKESPEARE:
Louder! More facial expressions! Bigger hair!

A general, but crucial note:
LIVE FAST! DIE YOUNG! (Hereafter referred to as LFDY)
Let's face it. Pretty soon your looks are going to fade and the parts will dry up. So you might as well enjoy life while you can. Besides, drugs are fun! Excessive drinking will impress your friends! And unprotected sex with strangers.....ROCKS! But you're in college, I don't need to tell you any of this. In fact, you could probably teach me a thing or two. To do so, contact me at your convenience.

On PLAY PRACTICE:
Here you are, fresh out of school, and you've landed your first gig. You are the youngest and least experienced person in the cast. Rehearsals begin this morning and you're terrified. Don't be, young and sexy reader! First of all, if you've been following the Golden Rule (see LFDY, above), the booze should have taken a bit of the edge off. Secondly, just look at it this way. You, of all people, are prepared for this process, freshly equipped with all the tools you need to get you through. For example, who in the rehearsal hall has the most recent experience whooshing around in a neutral mask being the wind? You do! Who is an expert at lying on the floor and moaning? Why, you again! Who knows the most stunning variety of trust and clapping games? You guessed it - YOU, you acting star you!

Speaking of trust and clapping games, don't hesitate to share these with your fellow professionals. Experienced performers, particularly much older ones who haven't had the benefit of recent theatre school training, will really appreciate what you have to give. Not only does taking, say, an hour of each rehearsal morning to teach trust exercises provide a forum for a true bonding experience amongst the cast, but your director is likely to be tangibly grateful and come to see you as an assistant director of sorts.

While on the topic of older actors, I should tell you that, yes, you can expect a share of ribbing about your youth. Costars will constantly squeal when they hear your age, pinch your cheeks or other parts of you, and remind you that they have socks that are not only older than you are, but have made more appearances on stage. This, however, is a situation that can be alleviated by use of another tried and true technique of mine. Think back. What did your dad always tell you about bullies? That's right: just bend over and take it quietly. But what did your grandpa tell you? If you let them get away with it the first time, it will never stop. Well, the same principle applies here. So, to set an unforgettable precedent, the first time someone refers to you as the "baby of the cast", immediately knee him right in the crotch. Then, to avoid awkwardness, explain that it's nothing personal and offer to teach him "the one where you clap your names across the circle". Better yet, offer help with that dialect he's obviously struggling with, or to tap his back during his vocal warmup. I took this approach with esteemed stage actor Jim Mezon, and we are the better friends for it.

on FILM:
How the fuck should I know? I mean, um.....

on FESTIVALS:
When you land your first season at one of the large theatre festivals, you will encounter the repertory system, working on two or three productions simultaneously. Take it from one with experience: one of the plays is bound to be lousy. Why waste your energy trying to make that one any good? Better to concentrate your efforts and talents (not to mention best facial expressions) on the play you like, and use the other one as a little break. Instead of preparing or warming up, get your knitting or decoupage done backstage - or better yet, ON stage. And why bother learning your lines when you can sneak a script on with you as a prop and simply read them aloud? As quickly as you can. Stage management will love you for this as you will be reliable, shave tens of minutes off a boring play, and can also prompt anyone else who forgets a line.

While on the topic of STAGE MANAGEMENT...... Many people are intimidated by their SM. This is silly. After all, the stage management, like all the rest of the support staff, is there to help you, the actor, at the front lines. Your stage manager will sometimes give you notes on your performance: while you may not actually take the notes, always smile politely and thank her; she is just trying to be a part of your important world. To make an assistant stage manager feel important, give her little tasks, such as fetching you coffee. These small gestures may seem insignificant, but believe me, they will add up, and your stage management team will never forget you.
This general approach also works well with designers (who by the way love, even need, to hear your every criticism of their work), technicians, production managers, publicists, and anyone else who works in your shadow.

Back to the rep system. Another aspect of this world is UNDERSTUDYING.
Don't forget that this is a collaborative experience. The role is as much yours as it is the actor's who is "playing" it; after all, you may need to go on at any moment. Ask questions of the other actor during rehearsals.....make sure you understand all of her choices.....offer help on bits she isn't getting right......try on her costumes from time to time to make sure they work for you. And if she seems tense on opening night, slip a little something in her water to help her relax. As they're always telling you in school, just be as generous as you can.

Above all, see the festival system as what it is: Summer Theatre Camp. And you know what that means: yet another great opportunity to....you guessed it, LIVE FAST DIE YOUNG! And at all costs (literally), don't leave your run there (or anywhere) with savings in the bank! Leave with an impressive wardrobe of expensive clothes and electronic gadgets that will comfort you through tough times to come!

Besides, everyone knows when you leave one gig, you get another one IMMEDIATELY! At least you will - if you're sure to follow all these valuable tips (and any more to follow) from.....

Your dearest friend,

The Skeptical Tourist

the craptical tourist

From TORONTO
January 21st, 2008

Dear friends who have an afternoon to kill,

Excitingly, I got my first bit of groupie fan mail the other day, in the form of a comment on my Christmas Blague post asking me if I'm a homo. (See archives at right.) Well, ANONYMOUS, you may not think what you posed was a trick question, but for such a complex and endlessly fascinating person as myself....well there really are so many variables at play.... For instance, who the hell are you???!!!! If you're, say, Christina Aguilera, why then, the answer is, "Yes, of course I'm a lesbian! Nothing but vagina on my menu." If, on the other hand, you are....Condoleeza Rice, then "NO! Eff Off! And stop calling me, Bitch!" So, no, I don't go around squeezing random boobies. I am, however, in touch with my inner lesbian. Now and then I take her out for tea. And by tea, I mean....random boobies.

SURE!

UHHH.....NOT SO MUCH.

In other thrilling Tourist News, Confused-yet-oddly-turned-on-by-Condi-in-the-bath Reader, I have found Lisa Norton 14.6! Or rather she has found me! Some of you will remember that back in an earlier post ("She is Risen", April 2007 http://skepticaltourist.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html) I wrote of my adventures reading about the other Lisa Nortons of the world, in particular one funny talented young blaguist who shared my name but seemed to have dropped off the face of the worldwide web. Well, both lo and behold, through the magic of F*@#Book (and people who have nothing better to do), the now 19 year-old Lisa has been informed of my existence and gotten in touch. Read her comments on She Is Risen and Touristmas Time (December). I actually teared up a little....and maybe not just because I was on my period and crying at the drop of a tampon. I also credit Lisa Norton the younger with exposing me to a new exciting demographic of hot young lesbiotic groupies. I'm sure that explains it...not that such glorious mysteries need be explained.

AND NOW....the LONG AWAITED....EAGERLY ANTICIPATED (by me)....first EVER

RANDOM CRAP ISSUE of the one and only BEST BLOG IN THE WORLD EVER.....the SKEPTICAL TOURIST!!!!

That's right.....a sampling of the weird shit that rattles around in my head each and every day but usually doesn't fit in anywhere. (Like me.) Time to clear out the recycling bin that is my big bad brain and make room for new, fresh 2008 garbage. Come on everybody, here we GO-O-O-O-O-oh!

This is how you say "Up yours" in Hindi: उप यौर्स. Standard feature on Blogspot. Totally frickin' अवेसोमे!!!

I think when you board one of those streetcars that's painted pink and covered with ads for Dirty Dancing (The Classic Story Now on Stage), you know, the ones that make all the macho TTC drivers feel like nancies, you should be greeted by dancing, singing members of the original cast. Bumping and grinding and slithering around the streetcar poles.

If you're not in the mood you can wait for the Amarula Cream car, on which they serve you shots and speak Swahili. Cheetahs prowl up and down and eat you if you don't pay the proper fare or talk too loudly on your cell phone. Incidentally....where do those dickheads get off calling Amarula Cream "The Spirit of Africa" anyway? Yeah, a fruity cream liqueur: that seems to embody the essence of a CONTINENT. Okay, now I'm pissed off. Mostly because no one is giving me free booze on the streetcar.

The Safeway in Regina has a sign at the deli counter proclaiming, "We will shave anything." Do you think they would have shaved my legs? I always wanted to plunk one hairy gam up on the counter, just to see.

If you look up "arts" in the yellow pages, you will find it between "artificial eyes" and "asbestos". I don't know what that means but I thought you should know.

When I was small I was a little obsessed with the yellow pages. It was, after all, the Internet of the eighties. I thought it especially bizarre and somewhat thrilling that anyone could just look up prostitutes and call them. Clowns....Dentists.....Escorts.....all in the same book! A book I was allowed to look at! In broad daylight! Ahh....the wonders of childhood.

Today, passing by College and Grace, I noticed a new restaurant called - wait for it - "I Feel Like Crepe". Oh, College West, how much lower can you sink? A little further west is the future site of the Little Italy Cube Lofts, starting at 400 grand for a loft sized 5x5. Inches, not feet. So you can conveniently hold your apartment in the palm of your hand.

Brilliant idea #468,972: The adults only Easter egg hunt. Have an Easter party with your friends (or maybe just the ones you hope to see naked) and stage a hunt, hiding drugs, porn and mini bottles of booze. Oh yeah, and chocolate (chicks dig it). Let the search (and the please-don't-tell-anyone-at-the-office-on-Monday party) begin! If anyone actually uncovers secret perverted things that you've stashed around your place and forgotten were there, you can play it cool and pretend they were part of the hunt. "You found it! Good for you! Yeah, I know, DISGUSTING, eh?!"

Speaking of disgusting (and I often am).....have you noticed that the tone of your dirty email spam is getting weirder and weirder? No, I am not responsible. But seriously - what's with all the kinky farm sluts? The horny grannies? I suppose at some point the spammers realized that folks could get ordinary porn anytime anywhere...so now they're really working hard to attract your attention. "Hey, I never thought I wanted to see circus performers get it on with one-legged goats...but now that you mention it....and hey, the link is right there in front of me....."

And here is the opposition leader drinking a milkshake.




Do you suppose anyone ever broke up with Beyonce on account of her body being too Bootylicious for him? "Sorry......It's not you.....I just don't think I'm ready for this jelly." I ask this because it's a problem I face time and time again.

Most anticipated film of the year:

Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay. Wait! Maybe you didn't hear me. I said: Harold and Kumar ESCAPE from GUANTANAMO BAY!!! To further illustrate my point:

Very exciting! Or maybe that's just me....after all, I'm one of those people who would rather kiss Harold and Kumar than Brad Pitt.

Also looking forward to the new 3DU2 concert film...though I can't help wishing they'd brought back Smell-O-Vision for that one. What does Bono's sweat smell like? I'm fairly jumping up and down over Be Kind Rewind, an upcoming Michel Gondry flick starring Jack Black and my boyfriend Mos Def. From the Internet movie database: A man (Black) whose brain becomes magnetized unintentionally destroys every tape in his friend's video store. In order to satisfy the store's most loyal renter, an aging woman with signs of dementia, the two men set out to remake the lost films, which include Back to the Future, The Lion King, and Robocop. Not to mention Ghostbusters. Below is the super awesome trailer.......

Helpful Hint # 18.5: If one leaves a muffin, uncovered, in the same fridge as some smoked fish that is just past its due date, one may create.......a carrot-apple-smoked-trout muffin. This is not a good thing.

The odd image you see above is the "Live with Theatre" version of the city of Toronto's Live With Culture campaign. Clearly I've been going to the wrong plays. I want the ones with the men wrestling in their underwear. In fact, I want to be in those plays. I'll play the underwear.

Life brand has a product called "invisible ladies' antiperspirant". Is that what all the invisible ladies use? I guess if you were running around being invisible, but then started sweating a lot, it could blow your cover. And that would suck.

This afternoon as I sat here by the window tapping away at my computer, I looked out onto one of the facing yards and saw these little kids jumping out of their attic window onto their roof. Repeatedly. In their bare feet. They seemed to be playing some game where one kid would throw something out onto the roof and another kid would climb out the window, get the thing, and then scramble back up. Did I mention it was minus 17 with the windchill?

When I saw the littlest one (maybe four or five years old) struggling to get back in, hanging off the window frame like Indiana Jones, I thought okay, I've gotta do something here. So I waited until she was safely inside, and then opened my window and yelled at the next child (a little boy who wasn't even wearing socks), something like "You guys are gonna freeze out there!" I don't think I actually shook my fist and shouted, "You darn kids!" - but boy, did I ever feel old all of a sudden. Especially when the boy darted inside in a panic, slammed the window, and he and his sisters commenced to peer at me above the window sill. There goes Old Lady Norton, yelling at the children again. Hey, at least I didn't just go over and tell on them. Maybe I can hold it over their heads and get them to clean my apartment for me in exchange for my keeping their secret. I could use some little hands to help carry my groceries. Braid my hair. Teach me double dutch skipping again. Show me the way to the second star on the right and straight on 'til morning. Are you there God? I don't want to be 32. I wanna live again, Clarence, I wanna live again.

Brilliant idea #3,592,016: The Forty Year Old Sturgeon, an animated feature about underwater creatures and featuring a character named Areefa Plankton, whose big musical number is an R&B tune called Chain of Food. No need for thanks, Disney. Say it with cash.

When I was a kid, I thought that President's Choice Products were all of Ronald Reagan's favourite foods.

Great lyrics that make no sense #372:

From Michael Jackson's Beat It: "They'll kick you and they'll beat you and they'll tell you it's fair"..... I'm sorry - but who are these people?! And do they tell you it's fair as they're kicking you? Or do they just yell it as they're running away?

Most fantastic covertly homoerotic Hip hop lyric#1:

LL Cool J on Mama Said Knock You Out: "I'm gonna tie you up and let you understand/ that I'm not your average man/ when I got a jammy in my hand DAAAAAMN!!!!! Oooooohh!!".......and later: "And when I pull out my jammy get ready 'cause it might go Blaaaaw, how ya like me now?" and "Don't u nevah, evah, pull my lever/ Cuz I explode!/ And my nine is easy to load!/ I gotta thank God/ Cuz he gave me the strength to rock HARD!!" I don't know, LL, your body might be too bootylicious for us, babe.

By the way, boycott WestJet. WestJet bitches stole my hat.

Well, loyal and exhausted yet newly enlightened, Reader......You know, and I know, and Xtina and Mos know, that I could go all night. But some of those pearls of wisdom/pockets of nonsense will have to await another day. Remind me to tell you about the penis in the pint glass. When you're ready: first learn stand, then learn fly, Daniel-san.

Wax on, wax off,

The Tourist

P.S. Please to comment by clicking "comment" at the end of this post. It's sweet that you're all shy (or technologically challenged) and send me private emails instead, and I appreciate it, but you're also so damned funny.....I want the world to know. Come on, Snuffleupagus - I just want my other friends to see you, too.

touristmas time!

from TORONTO,
December 14th, 2007

"I KNOW! LET'S KILL THEM ALL!"

Oh my dear little chickens,

As I sit here in my cozy apartment with just eleven days 'til Christmas, listening to the ba-hoo da-hoos of all the Whos down in Whoville serenading me from my stereo, while cinnamon sticks simmer in water on the stove in order to fill the place with fragrant ambience and generally waste electricity as I write to you, I can't help but get that warm feeling in my cockles once again. That's right, my cockles are warmed. I may not know what they are exactly, but warmed they are, friends, thinking of how lucky I am to know such a lot of wonderful people.

And when I reflect further, on how very blessed you all are to know me......well then I get positively teary. Oh, you lucky, lucky bastards. God bless you, every one.

THE SPIRIT

So yes, I'm finally getting into full Christmas spirit. It comes late to me every year; I'm the one bitching about the carols playing in the stores week after week until I finally realize, Oh yeah. I guess it's acceptable to play Jingle Bells on December 23rd. And maybe I should start thinking about presents.

Matthew Edison (talented actor/playwright and fortunate friend of the Tourist) was commenting on the whole Christmas spirit thing yesterday. I noted that he was out wearing a green sweater layered over a red t-shirt (no pants of course) and asked whether this had been a conscious holiday-dressing choice, and he said that, yes, at this time of year he purposely tries to work a little red and green into his outfit every day. He went on to say that nothing brings on that holiday feeling like faking it for a while. Wear the red and green, put on the carols, watch the TV specials, and pretty soon you're running around feeling positively elf-like. I likened it to the proven physiological phenomenon that if you're feeling down and fake a smile it will trigger something that actually makes you feel happier. Unless, as Mr Edison pointed out, you actually have a damn good reason to be really miserable, in which case that theory is a load of crap.

THE SPECIALS
I have watched my share of the old TV Christmas specials this year. I might even try for A Charlie Brown Christmas this time, even though, let's face it - EVERYTHING ABOUT CHARLIE BROWN IS TOTALLY BORING AND SUCKS MY ASS. Except the music, which I can listen to on CD anytime without subjecting myself to a half hour of that bald little wet blanket and his boring so-called friends. And his smart-ass dog.

Have you ever noticed that the Peanuts books fall into two categories - those titled things like "It's Raining on Your Parade, Charlie Brown" or "Strike Three, Charlie Brown!"...... and those called "You're Our Kind of Dog, Snoopy!" and "You've Got to Be You, Snoopy!"? (All actual titles.) I mean, Charlie Brown, you poor son of a bitch. Everyone likes your dog better than you. Though perhaps that's pretty common among real people, too. A college friend and I once came up with our own list of great Peanuts titles, including "You're a Bald Little Boy, Charlie Brown", "Your Mother Didn't Want You, Charlie Brown", and my personal favourite, the simple yet brutal "Suck it, Charlie Brown!".

" I KNOW. LET'S KILL OURSELVES."

Back to what I was presumably talking about.....

Another show I've decided I simply can't handle is the 1964 Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I just get too upset. I mean, not only is everybody unfathomably mean to poor little Rudolph, just because he has a birth defect......but they're mean to everybody else, too! There's little Hermey (voiced by Canadian actor Paul Soles), the totally Jewish, totally gay North pole elf who just wants to be a dentist and gets treated like crap by the other elves (which is particularly distressing because they're elves, for Chrissake - aren't they supposed to be nice?)....... And then even Santa's kind of a prick. At one point the elf choir, who have been practising all year, want to sing him a song, and Mrs Claus practically has to beg him to sit down and listen and then he's all, like, yeah yeah whatever I've got things to do and while they sing he fidgets and acts like an asshole and then tells them their elf-singing sucks. So no wonder they're mean to Hermey: they're working under extreme pressure, for a jerky boss who doesn't appreciate them. Bet they don't even have benefits.

At some point in this thing, Rudolph runs away and when his mom and his girlfriend Clarice want to help look for him they're told "No. A woman's place is at home. Stay here, bitches." Which always drives me nuts, because for one thing, they're not women...they're REINDEER! Anyway, they do sneak out to help look.....and they promptly land in trouble and need to be rescued. Because they're just girls after all. And don't even get me started on the Island of Misfit Toys! By the time Santa asks Rudolph to guide his sleigh tonight, I'm yelling at the television, "No! Don't do it! Fuck him!".....And when the reindeer suddenly let him join in all their reindeer games - well don't tell me you didn't secretly hate them and their shallow changeability when you were a kid, and cross your fingers that ol' Rudy would get his revenge one day and murder them all in their sleep.

So clearly that's one Christmas special I can't watch anymore. I'm getting upset just thinking about it. I need another swig of Nog and Brandy. Ahhh....mama loves her Christmas cheer.

One that's definitely worth the time is Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, another stop-animation classic (1970), about how Kris Kringle came to be, and notable for its weird scene in which the future Mrs Claus literally lets her hair down and does a musical number straight out of an acid trip, twirling around in the daisies and singing about free love. The animation in that sequence is insane. Also notable are a bad guy called Burgermeister Meisterburger and Keenan Wynn (of film noir and Dr Strangelove fame) as the winter wizard, who gets to utter the unlikely Christmas special line "Hey, I'm not such a loser after all!"

This flick also features a song by Claus (Mickey Rooney) called A Kiss is the Price you Pay, meaning that if all the miserable kids in Sombertown will just sit on his lap and kiss him, they'll get presents. Hmm. Don't know if that song would fly today. I mean, amazing enough that all the overly protective parents of today are still okay with telling their kids a stranger's going to be sneaking into the house while they're asleep - but aside from that don't talk to strangers, of course! Poor little fuckers must be so confused. Gifts, lap-sitting, night visits from one strange old man okay.....all other strangers bad.

OTHER CHEERY STUFF
Best Christmas movie of all time, of course: Die Hard.
I also really like Elf. And in Scrooged, Bill Murray does one of the best prat falls ever recorded on film. Highly worth it for that alone.

Best Christmas song? The Christmas Song ("chestnuts roasting on an open fire" etc.) Duh. I mean it's called The Christmas Song. And if you sing it with pauses in funny places you get to say things like:

Everybody knows a turkey.
...And some mistletoe helps to make the season bright.

Not to mention:

They know that Santa's on his way. He's loaded!
....Lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh.

I'm also partial to Baby it's Cold Outside. It makes me want to rub myself against things. See? Christmas can be fun in ways you never knew.

My favourite holiday image so far this year: About a month ago, went past the Eaton Centre Christmas windows on the streetcar when they had just been unveiled....and saw three grown men, strangers to one another, standing transfixed by a bunch of mechanical elves working in Santa's workshop. One Two Three: Awwwwwww.

My newly invented Christmas salad recipe: Baby spinach, pomegranate seeds, pecans, with a little olive oil and lemon juice as dressing. So festive in its red and green deliciousness that if you partake of too much food and drink at Christmas dinner and end up ill, you get to celebrate the colours all over again! YAY!

You will note that I keep talking about Christmas. I haven't mentioned Hannukah, or Kwanzaa or Winter Solstice or any of those other crazy chinky jew holidays.....'cause lets face it - I don't know shit about them, so I'm not gonna pretend that I do. The extent of my Hannukah knowledge comes from the fact that I was dating a Jewish boy last winter - and all I learned then was that all Jews are really really good at spinning dreidels and that if you keep one under your Christmas tree, it will keep them occupied for hours. I do plan to attend the Kensington Market Festival of Lights pagan solstice celebration (http://www.redpepperspectaclearts.org/) again this year, but that's just because they set a lot of shit on fire at the end. Seriously, it is the best event in Toronto all year - go if you can (December 21st, procession starts 6pm).

THE STUFF

I am trying to rethink my whole "buy lots of crap that no one really needs" approach to Christmas. I mean, my gift from my friend Kendra yesterday was a pretty little reusable jar of dulce de leche sauce that she made herself. I was happy as pie. After all, I really do need more caramelly, gooey ice cream in my life. And she got to be deemed my favourite friend ever without having to brave the malls or break the bank. So yeah, now you know: want to be my favourite friend ever? Give me food. Let the competition begin.

Here is the link to a film that I honestly believe everyone in the world should see, especially this time of year. Actually we probably should have seen something like this years ago, and taken it to heart.

http://www.storyofstuff.com//

It's a twenty minute animated piece about the hamster wheel that is consumer culture....it is funny, and engaging, and very smart. Please watch it when you have time. And then maybe you'll still head out in your brand new SUV and buy loads of crap that no one needs.....but not without feeling very, very bad about it. And so my work here will be done.

THE REST

So tomorrow I think I shall go and get the tree. I do love to kill a tree for my own personal viewing pleasure. And after the pleasant warm fuzzy feeling I got from helping Kendra decorate her tree as her baby snoozed nearby and I occasionally tickled her soft little belly (the baby's, not Kendra's - though who could lose either way?)........ I thought, hey, maybe when I get my tree I'll call my sister and ask her to come over and help me decorate. But then I remembered the fight that consistently brought about all through our childhoods. Every year the family would decorate the tree together, and every year Nancy would curate the tree. Seven year-old me would hang an ornament...and twelve year-old Nancy would move it. Over and over again, everyone would place our angels and stars and bows and see them disappear. Something about proportion or colour scheme or lighting.... Of course, eventually I became her eager apprentice, learning her (quite sophisticated) principles of tree decorating, and then we drove our parents insane together. They just gave up and drank. And eventually divorced. OH GAWWWWWD!

I have successfully evaded Christmas shopping with my mom once again this year. Not that I don't enjoy spending eighteen hours straight in an outlet mall..... but she also has this amazing ability to make you end up carrying all of her stuff for her, and you have no memory of how it happened. Seriously, my sister and I have both been amazed by this for years. It's some kind of hypnotism or sleight of hand or something; we have no idea how she does it.

AND FINALLY....

The advice of the century, just in time for 2008......

HOW TO MAKE YOUR KID BEHAVE THE WHOLE YEAR ROUND.

1. Encourage your child to compile his Christmas list early, say just after this Christmas is over.

2. Post it in a prominent location in your home.

3. Every time your kid does something naughty, sadly shake your head and say "Oh well, I guess that means Santa won't be bringing you this" - and cross an item off the list.

4. Repeat step 3 as needed.

5. Come December 24th, provided there is anything left on the list, buy it. If everything is crossed off, don't buy a damn thing......and enjoy your holiday, knowing that the coming year will bring you a possibly shaky, terrified and nervous, but incredibly well behaved child.

Afraid the kid will step up to the plate and be so good that he'll actually earn his entire list of ninety outrageously priced gadgets? Never fear: he will make a valiant effort as the list dwindles, but dwindle it will - no kid can be that good. And you can always resort to crossing things off for the most minor infractions. "Oh, sweetie.....you didn't tie your laces very well. You know, Santa hates that. Too bad he can see you."

(This plan has been parent approved, and is guaranteed not to backfire until some kid in the schoolyard informs your child that there is no Santa Claus and the reason he got nothing three years running is that his parents hate him. Then get the hell out of town and hope your offspring doesn't track you down. And don't come crying to me, lady.)

Well my sugar plums, Happy Holidays. And to quote those freaky little Whos in Whoville, remember:

Christmas day is in our grasp

So long as we have hands to clasp!

And if you don't have hands.....well then I guess you're screwed. In that case....Happy New Year! May someone buy you hands in 2008!

I simply must go (baby it's cold outside)....

The Tourist

(everybody's) after my regina

From TORONTO
November 8th, 2007

LOOKING BACK ON THE SNATCH

Ten days since I left Sasnatchewan, Much-Neglected Reader.....and it's all like a distant prairie dream. There were elves, and hippopotami, and little green men.....

Actually there were green men, plenty of them, but they were more than usually big fat Roughriders fans, shirtless and painted despite temperatures well below zero. They were even bigger when driving around town in their humungous pickup trucks honking their extra-loud, custom-fitted victory horns. Seriously, these guys are nuts - like Leaf fans in Toronto, except their team actually wins stuff! Imagine that!

Football is the only professional game going in the whole province of Saskatchewan, and the Riders the only franchise. So you can imagine what a big deal they are. The neighbourhood I stayed in my first two weeks in town was near Mosaic stadium, which I discovered one day by riding around on my borrowed bicycle, following the huge roar of the crowd and the bang of fireworks until I was standing across from it. In profile I could see bodies hanging out over the upper level of the stands. Overzealous fans, or visiting B.C. Lions supporters being dangled, I couldn't tell from where I stood. Either way, all in good fun.

Surprising that there's no NHL team. Apparently Sask is the province that produces the highest proportion of Canadian players in the league. (You can look it up 'cuz I won't bother.) All that flat, all that cold (winter goes, oh, eighteen months a year) make for perfect outdoor practise rinks, yet there's no home team for any of these dudes to grow up and play for. Apparently there's a debate every few years over whether Regina or Saskatoon should get a team, with some people pushing for a franchise in the middle of nowhere halfway in-between. But that's retarded. Meantime, hockey-loving Saskatchewan-ers (-ites? -ians? I really have to look that up....research assistant? Where are you?) aren't sure who to cheer for, so they're split between all the other Canadian teams, with only the very bravest or most idiotic souls admitting to a love for the Leafs. One day I saw our Production Manager, who grew up in Ontario, walking around the office in a Leafs jersey, but he said he as yet had never ventured out of doors with it on. As long as he paired it with a "Real Men Eat Wheat" Riders hat, he might just survive.

Yes, there is the classic unimaginitive hate on for Toronto in Regina as everywhere else in the country - or maybe it's just a huge indifference. Two of us in the cast were native Torontonians, and the other two were from Ottawa and Nova Scotia. I learned this cool trick - at talkbacks and teatimes after shows, mingling with nice seniors who'd seen the play, I'd inevitably be asked where I was from. If I simply said "Toronto", I'd be met with blank stares and awkward silence. Or better yet, the oh-so-hilarious, "My condolences." If, however, I said "Toronto", and then immediately grabbed my castmate and said, "But Jody here is from a fishing village near Halifax", there would be sudden squeals of delight and friendly smiles. People would surround Jody and hug her and give her baskets of puppies, while I discreetly skulked off to a corner to cry while shoving free pastries into my mouth. Up yours, old people. (But thanks for your support. Please don't die and leave the theatres empty.)

COME BACK AND GET SOME

There's something weird going on in Saskatchewan right now. People can't seem to decide whether they're coming or going. First, all the young people started leaving to take advantage of the boom in Alberta. Some would go out there for jobs; some would go away to university and never come back. Then they started to realize that the cost of living in Alberta was insane, and got lured back. There's actually a big ad campaign telling people what a great idea it is to come home to Saskatchewan (don't know why I saw it in the Regina paper - they're already here, people! - but I did). So the young people have come back to realize that there's nothing here for them. The mass return has driven rents and house prices up, and there aren't enough jobs....so everyone's starting to leave again. Everytime I met a young person they would tell me about their plans to move to Vancouver, or Montreal.... "Or Toronto?", I asked, and was promptly slapped across the face.

If you're wondering why I'm a sudden expert on all things Sask it's because, between getting my hair cut and dyed (over two sessions) and my fake show nails done a few times, I had plenty of time with my Regina mole, Angie at the salon. She told me all kinds of interesting inside info, such as this juicy tidbit:
Top 3 places IN THE WORLD to get laid ever, according to some article I can't seem to find:
#3. Woodstock Festival, Bethel, NY
#2. Cancun, Mexico, spring break
#1. Craven Country Jamboree, Craven SK (a twenty minute drive from Regina)
Here's a hilarious article from the Leader Post about the sex fest that is Craven. http://www.melodytrip.com/MTNews/Default.aspx?NewsID=6370
Check out this awesome sentence, which is supposed to prove the writer's assertion that the fest is NOT just about hooking up: Of 50 people between 18 and 27 years old surveyed, only 23 actually admitted to having slept with someone they met at the festival.

Sheee-it! Only 23 out of fifty? Sounds like pretty good odds to me! Hell, a catch like you or me would be covered in incoherent drunken college students in no time! July 10th -13th 2008, people, mark your calendars. And pack your antibiotics.

SPEAKING OF YOUTH.....

Encountered one of the strangest things I've ever seen on the streets of Regina. Jody Stevens, Harry Crane and myself are walking home along 14th Street, sometime around eleven p.m., when we hear a whole lot of shouting behind us. We look back to see an approaching minivan, out of which are hanging several small children, I'd say between the ages of six and ten, all shouting , "Motherfuckers! Motherfuckers Motherfuckers Motherfuckers!" at the top of their lungs. They shout it at us as they pass, turn the corner and shout "Motherfuckers!" all the way down the street. We didn't get a good look at who was driving. Was it an adult? Was a parent driving his kids around residential neighbourhoods so they could hang out of the windows with no seatbelts, screaming obscenities? Was it a bullied babysitter? Or a ten year-old who'd found the keys? Which of these possibilities is more disturbing, I'm not sure.


At least we didn't encounter "The Smileys", a local gang of 12 to 18 year-old girls famed for dragging people out of their cars at stoplights and slashing their faces to give them a Glasgow (or, I suppose, Regina) smile. Shudder. You gotta wonder whose idea that was. Well, nothing to do again on a Friday night...Hey I know! Come on, girls, cheer up.....only seven months 'til Craven.

Regina is home to "Canada's Worst Neighbourhood" (Maclean's Magazine). It also has the country's highest per capita murder rate and the highest rate of STDs. It all goes hand in hand, as Jackie Francis, who was performing a show called "Rage" at the Globe pointed out: "Hey, if somebody gave me gonorrhea, I'd probably kill the bastard." Big poverty crisis in Regina right now. A lot of fucked up people. Scary repurcussions.

ON THAT NOTE.....

My stage manager Sarah and I went to the Saskatchewan Science Centre! It was fun! We tried out lots of experiments and she explained them to me because I am not smart! We saw beautifully shot but kind of annoying IMAX movies with lots of bad dramatic recreations in them! We whined because the dinosaur exhibit pretty much sucked! We learned about potash! We won Olympic medals in the Sports section! We made giant soap bubbles and stood in the recreated jaws of a prehistoric shark! Yaaaaaaay!!!!!!

I love science centres. Please get me one for Christmas.

HOW DUMB AM I? (Vote now.)

Went to a movie at the art-house cinema located in the basement of The Regina Public Library. Halfway through the film, a doc called When The Road Bends: Tales of a Gypsy Caravan, we begin to smell smoke. Everyone starts to wonder if there's a fire in the projection room. The ladies behind me start freaking out and won't shut up, which I realize now is probably a natural and logical way to behave. At the time the rest of us kept ignoring them and trying to focus on the movie. Eventually we were evacuated by the fire department (turns out a vandal started a fire across the street) and the weight of my idiocy struck me. I mean, imagine the whole lot of us had been trapped in a burning basement because we didn't want to stop watching some stupid gypsy movie. That's exactly the way I'm gonna go - with people shaking their heads the next day over the newspaper headline "Artsy Morons Perish in Fire" and trying not to laugh. It was a good gypsy movie though. I wonder what happens in the end.

LISTEN UP, CITY GIRL

People are very friendly in Regina. I had a surreal experience in Jestures Diner one day, when I popped in for some greasy diner food and felt a bit like I'd wandered into an episode of Corner Gas.

When I asked the waitress how she was doing, she plonked down in the booth with me and told me all about her brother-in-law, who does the dishes, having just had a seizure in the kitchen, about her finding him, the ambulance coming, the replacement guy having car trouble, the runaround her sister's been getting at the hospital, how she hadn't had a chance to have a smoke.....then she went off for her smoke, the cook came over, told me he wasn't gonna make me the hot turkey sandwich and fries I'd asked for, he refused, he was going to make me a chicken cacciatore and a side of pasta with homemade pesto and a baby greens salad by the way did i like pine nuts, told me all about his life, the restaurant-makeover he's trying to pull on these guys while he helps them out for a month, the place he's opening, his life story from Regina to Europe and back again.....meantime the sister comes in, tells me all about her husband in the hospital, the medication and socks she has to go home and get....the waitress comes back having finally gotten her smoke break but upset about having sat down on a soaking wet chair outside and gotten her ass all wet........ I was there for hours, and ended up telling my life story to the chef. I guess the thing is this: ask strangers in Toronto how they're doing, and they'll say, "Okay." Ask someone in Saskatchewan, and, well, she might just tell you. And if you sit and listen, you'll probably have a pretty good time. Not to mention a sitcom pilot you can use later on.

QUEENSLAND

It's an awfully Queeny town, Regina. And I don't mean it's full of gay men.....although who knows what those shirtless green-painted guys get up to. No, I mean frickin' Queen Elizabeth is everywhere (Hey, there she is in the park! She just ducked behind that tree!). Everything is named after her, and other royals. The city hall building is called Queen Elizabeth Court...two of the major streets are Victoria and Albert.....there's a statue of the young queen riding her favourite horse in front of the beautiful old provincial legislature, right by Lake Wascana, around which a bike path is marked with arrows encouraging you to ride on the left side......the Globe Theatre has a picture of one-time visitor Prince Edward placed in a more prominent position than the portraits of the founders of the theatre and the past A.D.s...... Okay, we get it already! Your town is called frickin' REGINA! The buck stops.....oh, who the hell am I to say where the buck stops? But it stops somewhere, let me tell ya. I just wish they'd buy that statue of Freddy Mercury that's out front of the Elgin in Toronto for We Will Rock you, the Queen musical, and add it to the mix. Maybe put it next to Queen Liz in the park.

That bike path around Wascana Lake is a lovely ride by the way. Wascana is a very impressive man-made creation. It was first made by damming in the 1880s and then, as a make-work project during the depression, 2100 men dredged and widened the lake bed and built two islands in it using only hand tools and horsedrawn wagons. And wishes, hopes and fairy dust. The park is 9 and a half square kilometres (bigger than NY's Central Park, apparently) and lovely, and I would have spent much more time in it had it not been for the goddamn bloody stupid terrible cold weather coming so soon after we got to town. (Can you tell that winter is my favourite season?) We did get snow before leaving on October 27th, FYI, though not much. And I rode my bike until the bitter end, which made me (usually) the only person in town on a bicycle, especially after all the other actors' bikes were stolen. Not a big bike town, Regina. You'd ask somebody if something was walking or biking distance and they'd say "Oh no, it's way too far", and it would turn out to be a five, ten minute ride. People often looked at me like I was an alien. And tried to run me over with their giant pickup trucks after Roughriders games. Hey I eat wheat, too! Ow! Stop hitting me! I'm not really from Toronto, I'm from Scarborough, I swear!

GOODNIGHT, GLOBE

I'd work at the Globe again anytime. There's a great staff and a sense that they really care about the visiting artists and the audience. The artistic director, Ruth Smillie, returns to the theatre ever single night at showtime to personally deliver the most comprehensive curtain speech I've ever heard, which covers everything from "Turn off your cell phones" and "Unwrap your candies" to "Always use a condom" and "Don't forget to floss." Amazing.

I liked the crew a whole lot, and sure wish I'd gone out with them more. We went, on one of my last days in town, to see The Sadies (an alt country band from Toronto who made sure never to mention that fact in their set - I'm beginning to see a pattern here) at a nightclub called the Distrikt, which has been the Regina home for The Tragically Hip, Bad Brains, Blue Rodeo, Cowboy Junkies, stinky yet famous Nickelback, among others....and I had an excellent time. Turns out the crew had never asked any of our gang out because they had the impression at first we were all snobs thanks to, you guessed it, my wearing shades all through the first day of rehearsal. Thanks a lot, corneal ulcer! You ruined my life! Well....my Regina social life. But that sure counts when you're in a strange town with fuck all to do. One night I actually found myself watching the Coyote Ugly reality show on television (a bunch of impoverished Southern girls compete for the crown of best whore/bartender and cry when they get voted off) and I thought, Okay HERE! HERE is where the buck stops! And so I stopped it. Take that, buck!

A trip to Moosejaw, and a dip in the Moosejaw Spa mineral pool, was a much-needed relaxing getaway/cast bonding experience. Moosejaw is pretty and getting touristy but not yet fake and Banff-y, if you know what I mean. It still feels like a real old town. And Nit's Thai Food is the best Thai Restaurant I've ever experienced, and a lot of clever reviewers say it may be the best thai food in the country, so I'm not alone. Not such a hot idea doing the mineral spa and steam room and an enormous meal when you have to perform a comedy that night, though. I think we added twelve minutes to the show. And did the whole thing lying down.

Some of you know I'd been planning a jaunt to Vancouver and L.A. after the Globe gig was done. What, you may say to yourself, Caring and Inquisitive Reader, is The Tourist doing back in Toronto? Does a Tourist not tour? Hath not a tourist eyes? If you prick her, does she not bleed? (Well, okay, you're not saying all that, but a little Merchant of Venice never hurt anybody.) Anyway, A) The funds ran out, B) After a month and a half away I just had that homesick want-my-own-bed feeling, and C) I wanted to come home and get laid. So I came back to T.O. and promptly......

Split up with the squeeze. Not much clever or funny to say about that.
Except......that once again, all your smart, funny, charming, stylish, good-looking, single and, of course, rich friends are welcome to apply to P.O. Box Hottest Damn Chick in The GTA dot org. I'm also accepting suggestions as to what the fuck I'm doing in Toronto with no work lined up and winter coming on. Maybe I'll start a band. Or become a ninja. As always, your comments below are welcome - and may just change my life.

All the best up you and yours,

The Tourist