Things I Like Right Now

#1 – This exchange:
Him: “Have you considered getting something practical?”
Me: “No.”

#2 – The fact that this music industry funding debate (shitstorm) has finally nudged me into checking out Japandroids. Damn, they’re good.

#3 – This Japandroids lyric: “We used to dream, now we worry about dying.”

#4 – Awesome businesses in my neighbourhood. Multiple Organics for fresh, local, healthy food – which today meant raspberries, my most favourite fruit of all time; Henhouse for the vibe and the jukebox and the grilled cheese and the brunch and the good-looking patrons; NACO, for the nacondas (which I eat at least once a week) and the vibe and the amazing tequila drinks.

#5 – The point when you’re talking to someone new and the awkward stage suddenly ends and you can have a proper, engaged conversation.

#6  – The fact that I’m flying to Ottawa in one week. Flying! I hate flying. But I’m excited about getting to Ottawa in an hour.

#7 – My new tattoo. Yep, it’s still rad. Good news.

#8 – Katy Perry’s covers of “Black and Gold” and “Electric Feel.”

#9 – The men in suits dancing in Sam Sparro’s video for “Black And Gold” (which I can’t embed.) And the chorus. That chorus! Shit, it’s good.

Dear Lightning

It never strikes the same place twice.

Which makes me want to leave my apartment behind, because you’ll never be back here the same way. (That split-second electricity is long gone, and there’s just a hole burned through my room now.)

I’ll go out into the wilderness all alone and hope that there will be a tree tall enough to attract attention, but with wide branches to hide me so that this lightning doesn’t realize it’s visited me before. I’ll trick it, you see. And maybe, just maybe, if lightning could strike us twice, then so too could a beginning. Maybe we could start again.

Maybe I could open the door and you could wonder and I could wonder, but neither of us would know.

Yet.

Not yet.

Not until the time was right.

Not until we were ready to look around at the forest burned down, find the North Star and start making our way home.

Temper, temper

Sometimes my temper gets away from me, which manifests itself in a couple of ways – either outbursts of physical violence or ill-advised text messages/emails. The past couple of years, I’ve mostly corralled it. The flare-ups are very infrequent as of late.

The last time I punched someone, for instance, was about three years ago. Eons ago! Yes! (It was totally deserved, BTW. Don’t slap strangers’ asses, gross boys. Especially two people who are sisters. They will figure out your game and give you the one-two punch of an actual punch and a drink in your face.)

Last night was one of these rare occasions when the anger bubbled over. It was a Cherry Bomb. For those of you not familiar, Cherry Bomb is a big awesome queer lady dance party. You would think it would be the one place you could go without having dudes trying to get up in your business. But you would be wrong.

Early on, there was a guy who came bounding across the dancefloor like a frigging pinball, slamming into people and generally being obnoxious. He was quickly shoved off the floor in a group effort. Not so bad – actually, pretty funny.

But then there was some guy, who maybe was either super dumb or super drunk, and didn’t realize where he had wandered into. Or maybe he was super dumb or super drunk and just didn’t care. Anyway, he was trying to dance with any girl he could find, doing the dreaded ass bandit sneak up and generally being a touchy feely skeeze. For a while, people politely brushed him off. My friend and I tried it a couple of times, but he was not listening. Finally, he came up between us and put his arms around us. I was fed up with his gross sense off entitlement, refusal to listen and idea that he could just come up and touch us, plus the fact that he was just generally a pain in the ass. So I turned around and yelled, “If you don’t cut it out, I’m going to punch you in the fucking face!”

He made a sarcastic, “Ooo, I’m scared” face, which was pretty enraging. So the temper took over for real and I rammed my elbow into his stomach. He immediately turned and walked away and the next time I turned around I saw him having an exchange with a security guard. I don’t know if he was trying to tell on me, or if someone else ratted HIM out, but in any case, we didn’t see him again after that.

But that wasn’t the end of it. After that there was a guy bounding around, smashing into people, knocking over drinks and beer bottles and taking up an inordinate amount of space on a packed dance floor. He landed on me, so I pushed him away. Then he made this face like, “Why’d you do that?” and continued smashing around like a bull in a china shop. Eventually another friend ended up in a shouting match with him, while his friend apologized to me repeatedly for his behaviour.

So here’s the thing. Cherry Bomb is advertised as a party for “Queer women + our friends.” Guys are obviously welcome. And I think it’s awesome that some guys are cool enough to come out just to have a good time and enjoy the amazing DJs and not be jerks. But the guys who come to act like they own the place are infuriating. More so when they’re jerks at straight bars/dance parties. Because they have plenty of spaces meant for them. Lesbian bars/dance parties, on the other hand, are sorely lacking in Toronto. The fact that some people can’t respect the few that exist is supremely annoying. It’s like some guys can’t handle that there are a couple of places where they’re not the focus and have to try and make it about them. And that makes me punchy.

But! Now that’s off my chest, I don’t want to gripe anymore because I had an awesome time and Cherry Bomb is the best and I wish it happened every weekend. Last night, the guest DJ was the former bass player from Elastica. ELASTICA! And she was wicked. Unreal, actually. She played exactly my kind of music. One of her first songs was Silikon by Modeselektor, which is one of my faves and I pretty much lost my mind to hear it in a dance club – up ’til then it had only soundtracked dance parties in my room. And by dance parties, I mean me dancing around like a fool by myself.

THEN SHE PLAYED THE MASHUP OF ELASTICA’S “CONNECTION” AND THE GOSSIP’S “STANDING IN THE WAY OF CONTROL.” Hearing a member of Elastica spin those tracks pretty much made my week. It overshadowed any anger at grabby dudes and put me in dance floor heaven.

In conclusion, sometimes I lose my temper but only for good reason – except for at the Pride Cherry Bomb last month when I also lost it except in the form of a text message for which I am profoundly regretful – and Elastica is awesome and Cherry Bomb is my favourite and dancing is the best and I super love meeting awesome new people. Also I am the least smooth person to ever live but that’s ok.

It’s 1995 up in here

I went to a couple of yard sales this morning and got an awesome haul of CDs (just what I needed more of! But what can I do? I have an obsession!). I got some amazing classic ’90s albums that I for some reason didn’t own until today: Nirvana’s Nevermind, Primus’ Frizzle Fry, Massive Attack’s Mezzanine. I also got the Singles soundtrack, which has an amazing Smashing Pumpkins song. I only had it on tape until this point, but my tape deck is on the fritz.

I also got two Bright Eyes CDs – Digital Ash in a Digital Urn and Fevers And Mirrors. It reminded me how good Bright Eyes is when Conor isn’t trying to be all Serious Grown Up Musician Here, Take Me Seriously. More emo awesomeness pls!

I love yard sales!

A more substantial  post is coming later today. Subject: Carly loses her temper.

EFF OFF BANKS.

Why I hate banks, pt.1
“You have to meet this criteria to be able to repay your student line of credit as a line of credit. Otherwise, we have to convert it to a loan with a higher interest rate.”
*I meet the criteria*
“Sorry, we can’t do it as a line of credit. And we’re going to demand a co-signer because we think you maybe can’t afford the obscene payments we’re asking for each month. And just because of that, we’re jacking your interest rate from 5.5% to 11%.”

Why I hate banks, pt.2
“Everything looks excellent on your credit report! You have a superb repayment history! Oh but no, we can’t transfer your line of credit to our bank.”

Moved.

I’m a bit of a sap. I tear up easily. In the past week, I’ve gotten misty-eyed over the following things: Michael Jackson’s funeral, The Wiz, sad animal stories, tearjerker songs, my dad’s health, being bored and lonely, boys being jerks, and nothing. As a kid, people used to chastize me: “You’re too sensitive!”

I also get worked up over things that are not sad, but adorable instead. Or a bit of both. Such as last week, when I was getting my tattoo. The tattoo shop was in a second story studio, with a big window overlooking Queen Street. I had to lay on my stomach half the time, giving me a view of what my tattoo artist called “Parkdale TV.” As I was looking out the window, I spotted two old men holding hands and shuffling – laboriously, slowly – down the street. One man was slightly faster than the other, so he walked ahead, leading the other man. But they looked like they were both holding each other up. I don’t know if they were partners or family members or friends or what, but it was so sweet and sad that I almost burst into tears on the tattoo table. Their stiff, tired walks reminded me of my dad, and I was getting a tattoo dedicated to my dad. It was all a bit much. But lovely.

Then today – there was a lineup around the block at MuchMusic, with teenaged girls waiting for one of the actors from Harry Potter. At the end of the masses of shrieking girly girls, there were two girls sitting on the sidewalk drawing or writing quietly. They had a bag covered in rainbow and bi pride pins. My heart was warmed. It gave me hope for 15 year old girls.

Punk rock feminism rules okay

After two years of working on Ladyfest, I was burnt out. I had to take a break. I loved Ladyfest with all of my heart, but it was nice to not have this all-encompassing thing in my life for a while. I no longer had a second job on top of my actual job and/or school.

But lately my guts have been itching for a new project that I feel passionate about. One that will bring feminist action back to the centre of my life. I’ve been feeling like I’ve been lazy lately, living feminism in the day-to-day, but not in any grand way.

So I think it’s time to cook up a new undertaking. There are a few ideas rolling around in my head; I’ll have to wait and see which ones turn into something.

Side note: The title of this post comes from an image in the second issue of the Bikini Kill zine. It’s scrawled next to a picture of a cheerleader wearing a Bikini Kill shirt. Oh hi, future tattoo!

Blood and bone and hair

During the storm, make an incision in your chest.

At the moment when the rain stops, let the water pump through you.

New blood, crystal clear.

And speaking of making things right-

I said last night that there’s plenty of room for error in my hair. There isn’t really a way to get it wrong. That was only half true.

It’s long and summer-coloured (right now) and sometimes it’s lovely but sometimes it couldn’t be more wrong.

In the rooms with girls in ribbed tank tops, for instance.

You seem so out of context

I was cleaning out my old text messages this morning and have been highly entertained by reading out of context messages that no longer make any sense. My two favourites:

“Come visit me! I’m in room 402!”
-from a number I don’t recognize

“Babies! Do it! You’re hot, he’ll love you!”
-Blair

There’s actually one that’s 10 times better than both of those, but it’s not really appropriate for sharing with the whole internet.