Saturday, 23 February 2013

sung out

I was in between jobs in the late 90s when I saw the VHS copy of Allison Anders' film Grace Of My Heart which is said to be a thinly-based biopic of Carole King.  It was a commercial flop that I assumed went straight to video despite a wonderful original soundtrack written by Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello.  

The talented Illeana Douglas plays aspiring singer/songrwriter Denise Waverly as the film follows her struggles in her turbulent personal and professional life.

The heart of the film is the hauntingly beautiful song "God Give Me Strength".  It's not cheese.  It's deeply sad, poignant, honest, raw and emotional, and has been the running soundtrack of my few days past.  

Do yourself a favour and listen, will ya?

Now I have nothing, so God give me strength,
'cause I'm weak in his ways,
and if I'm strong, I might still break.

And I don't have anything to share
that I won't throw away into the air.
That song is sung out.
This bell is rung out.

He was the light that I'd bless.
He took my last chance of happiness.
So God give me strength.

God, if he'd grant me his indulgence and decline,
I might as well wipe him from my memory.
Fracture the spell as he becomes my enemy.
And maybe I was washed out
like a lip print on his shirt.

See, I'm only human, I want him to hurt.
I want him, I want him to hurt.

Since I lost the power to pretend
that there could ever be a happy ending.

That song is sung out.
This bell is rung out.

He was the light that I'd bless.
He took my last chance of happiness.
So God give me strength.
God give me strength.

Monday, 4 February 2013

you asked for it, you got

Dear @brownchickbythesea:

Thank you for your email.  Sorry I can't honour your sweet & endearing yet borderline creepy request that I take a photo of myself by my workstation.  hahaha (nervous laughter)
But see, my workstation when i write is my kitchen counter, inside my van by the school parking lot, by the pool at the community centre, on a bench in skating arenas or when I feel like a douchebag, I go to Starbucks with my MacBook. (i kid, i kid. i don't go to starbucks)
I don't know what you were expecting, but this is a photo of myself writing you now.
Fabulous rock and roll lifestyle as you can imagine, no??

Thanks for the follow, chica!

PS. Special prize if you can guess where the post title is from.  Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? (NO, it's not from Ferris Bueller's Day Off, genius!)

Saturday, 2 February 2013


I was lining up for lunch at Tim Hortons yesterday when I noticed an elderly woman, in her late 60s, sitting alone in a corner table seriously devouring a book more than the muffin in front of her.  She put down the book, took a sip of her coffee and wiped her mouth with a napkin.  She stared blankly towards my direction as if visualizing and digesting what she just read.  I peeked at what she was reading:  50 Shades of Grey.

I took a second look to make sure I was not imagining it.  This woman, who is somebody's grandmother, is reading about bondage, ass whopping and kinky sex between a dominant man and a submissive girl in view of a busy lunch crowd.  I mean,  honestly..

I suddenly realized how mainstream being edgy and wild has become nowadays.  Literary porn has apparently reached a wider demographic from what I'm seeing.

The 50 Shades of Grey phenomenon started with a subculture of bourgeois 40-something housewives reading this in their hoity-toity book clubs, and having giddy discussions about S & M and a confused innocent young girl getting her ass spanked by a 28 year old billionaire.

It became such a sensation and even caused wide-spread concern as to who shall play the lead characters in the film adaptation.  Mind you, the book is god-horribly written.  It displays the massive disconnect between what is recognized as literary writing and commercial success in publishing.

Yes, I've read the book.  I read all 3 of them.  And all I can say is that 50 Shades of Grey is a book that is ought to be read and USED in the privacy of your own little red room.  It is a pornographic and masturbatory aid for readers, primarily women who do not necessarily enjoy porn, but who can reap the benefits of reading about it, add a little umph to the bedroom.  It is definitely not a book you take to the train and read like a novel, or in grandmama's case, in full view of strangers in a busy coffee shop.

It's been said that when your shoe-shine man starts sharing stock tips, it's time to sell.  Is it not the same thing when you see a Grandmother reading about fetishes and kinky playrooms filled with red leather furniture, you have to admit that the sub-culture of erotica has lost some of its appeal?  When Grandma starts droning about exotic sex practices, exotic sex practices get de-kinkified.

Last night, a discussion on talk radio zeroed in on the dominant/submissive subculture that seems to be very visible now in Toronto.  A mother called in complaining about his 8 year old boy, asking about their lesbian-couple neighbours whom he saw walking in broad daylight, one with a leather collar on her neck, attached to a leash that the other one was pulling.  Did this just put a fork in your libido?

How much farther out there do you need to go to be out there?

Friday, 1 February 2013

Baby Christoph

Look at young Christoph Waltz!  Who knew Col Hans Landa (Inglorious Basterds) was this drop dead gorgeous in his youth?  Oh these Viennese thespians... (Captain Von Trapp, hello?)

                                              ......I hope this helps you get through the weekend!