"It's Patrick. He took out life insurance. Good for you, son!"

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING,

OVERZEALOUS WIFE at 0:11?

BOTTOM LINE:

BEWARE FREELOADING CELLIST.

happy 2010!

screw capitals. i originally wrote "f*ck capitals" but i don't feel angry today and that sounds angry. i feel pretty good for someone who basically cried herself to sleep in her clothes at 5am. full moon. the good thing about the moon is it's not going anywhere, so i can pretty much cop out and attribute my emotional upheavals to it for the rest of my life. hey speaking of the moon, there is this awesome movie i saw called Moon, starring Sam Rockwell, that you should totes watch. see how I was trained well enough to still capitalize proper nouns? i have never understood when people say "such-and-such proper" like usually about a town or city limits or something... but it's one of the coolest sounding things to hear someone say. they are either really cool or they looked it up one time like i'm about to, and drop it casually to seem cool. screw cool.

Interview with the Shakespeare

This voice is, to the best of estimation, a combo of Good Fellas-and-Will-Hunting, and this episode of Wire Tap on CBC Radio 1 where Jon Goldstein's father, Buzz, recounts the events surrounding his secret recording of an epic pop song called "Reach for the Top" in the eighties. I listened to that episode alot.

ANNA: Would it be cooler if I was dating... what's that guy I like, with the big nose?

BRENNA: Jason Biggs?

ANNA: Yeah, Jason Biggs. Would it be cooler if I was dating Jason Biggs or--

BRENNA:--No. What ever else it is.

HMV (harboring much velocity)

I love things. Hard.

I love things especially hard the safer it is to love them, the less likely they'll change, leave, want a new girlfriend, or be anything other than what I want them to be. This is why I love movies and TV shows the most, where I am surprized and excited and I fall in love. I crush on them like i'm 14 and they never let me down. Until, of course, I change. Then I seemlessly orchestrate a break up and they go right on as if nothing happened. This seems to be the dynamic I strive for in all my relationships and is it healthy? No, of course it's not. It's not even love. Love is about mutual benefits, interconnection and fulfillment for both parties. Love is the bee to the flower, not the girl with fear of abandonment to the DVD box set.

You know the date where you meet their best friend and they are obviously in love with their best friend? Try watching a movie with me.

I know I'm freshly in love when I don't want anyone else to be able to look and or enjoy the thing I love. Yesterday I wandered aimlessly into HMV and found the newly released Freaks and Geeks Yearbook Edition DVD set on the shelf. I have been dreaming of this set, talking about it and preparing for our first date ever since I knew it was in development. I became an android and scanned my entire life's history for a loophole which would allow me access to this glorious item costing $129 when I only had five quarters until midnight (the hour when spirits roam, carriages revert to pumpkinism, and my cheques clear.) I remembered this other time I aimlessly wandered into another HMV--It being of course much easier to wander into music mega-stores than smaller, more exclusive music stores. I don't question my belonging in a demographic broad enough to house that guy looking for a Daniel Johnston CD and that girl buying an adaptor that plugs into the lighter jack in her car so she can listen to Rihanna on her way to visit her long distance boyfriend who's living with a host family and playing regional hockey. I don't feel sheepish and inadequate in that store. I'm not afraid of talking to the employees in that store, and good thing I'm not, otherwise the nice girl would never have told me she could open a Q-Tip CD for me. That's allowed. Can you believe it, people? HMV can just open CDs (AND FREAKS AND GEEKS BOX SETS) then reseal them.

My point in all this is that after I had gotten my fill of the Yearbook edition, I wanted to burn it. If I had to leave that store--and I HAD to leave that store--I didn't want anyone else to be able to walk in and buy it. I wanted the entire heap of them burned. I'm not entirely exaggerating this urge. It's primal, and it doesn't just apply to DVDs, people.

It's not safe to love me, it's not safe for me to love you.

KEEP ARMS IN (transit tales)

Here is a picture of my favorite subway train... Toronto's own H4.
This is what I imagine myself riding up to heaven in.
Right up to heaven in the clouds, with a great big gold fence around it...
Heaven's like a big gated community with only dead comedians
and dead English bulldogs and HBO on demand.
(The dead comedians aren't like, laying around decomposing.
They tell jokes and stories and everything, and same with the bulldogs.)

Tonight I opened the window of the streetcar to get a little air and see what would happen. What happened was someone in a line outside Big Bop called me a dog, then barked. There's a small silver plated sign on the frame of the windows in streetcars that reads "KEEP ARMS IN" in a beautiful font. Truly, it's like something from a Wes Anderson movie. But it doesn't say anything about keeping your head in... or barking back.

I saw a guy I went to high school with earlier tonight on another streetcar (Well, it WAS the Bathurst Streetcar, but it was southbound and the whole open window dog thing was more of a northbound type of experience.) and he introduced me to his brother, whose name is Keirell. This is not ok with me, this name. It's embarrassing for everyone involved when I'm forced to go "Keiran? Kira? Purell?" It's not his fault. I guess I'm projecting. But after I knew his name, the guy I know asked me if I'm still doing theatre which always makes me really tense and panicky, like I have to explain myself and defend my life, cause apparently everyone else's revolves around me doing the thing my high school yearbook said I was gonna do. So I launched into this horribly overenthusiastic pitch about my writing and songs and performing and referred to my show as "evolving" into sort of a "part-standup, part-songs, comedy/concert" brilliance-fest, and just generally smiled alot and swung back and forth on the silver bar by the back door of the streetcar, hoping no one I knew would get on at the next stop, so I wouldn't have to introduce his brother, whose name was lost in space at this point. But they got off at Dundas and I was left alone, with a streetcar full of people who had just heard me big-up myself like I was at a reunion, from Bloor to Dundas. No one asked for an autograph, but I didn't have a pen on me anyway...

I noticed the other day that if you're blind, you can ride transit for free in Mississauga, but you need a card that proves you're blind. I was thinking though, of just standing at the door of the bus pretending to be blind and rifling through my bag being like, "No, no, I'm gonna show you the card, I insist... just let me find it... it's just gonna take a second, it feels like all my other cards..." I'm almost positive they'd cave and let me on.

It's a 40 minute bus ride from the Living Arts Centre, (where I get to hang out with 20-30 different kids each day, teaching them stuff that pops into my head, and also some required drama basics) to the subway station (where I... get on the subway) then another 15 to Ossington Station (where I catch ye ole 63 Northbounde) then another 15 to Earlsdale, Earlsdale, Memphis, St. Clair West (where I live) and one day I had to pee when I left the Living Arts Centre. I decided that if the bar on the corner of Earlsdale and Oakwood, where the bus stops, was closed, I would just pee in my pants, borrow some money and do laundry at Bruno's Laundromat, later that night, like after dinner. But if it was open, I'd pee in there. I started devising this plan at Square One, Mississauga's answer to the West Edmonton Mall, so I was plotting this pee for over an hour by the time I got off the bus and walked into the bar. It WAS open, so I peed in the basement of Fuoco, in a real toilet. You may have seen this bar, or you may see it in the future. You'll know it by the sign that is made of vinyl, like you'd see on a beer tent at an outdoor concert. It'll be the one with flames on it and the word FUOCO, and the...nope, just that sign will be enough.

Maybe I'll see you soon on public transit. Good things seem to happen there, so don't be scared. If you're too warm, just crack a window. That's what they're there for!