July 5, 2008

Trying to focus as I listen to the sounds of this bloody hotel, a persistent and burrowing whir—a fan perhaps—cleaning staff and some screaming brats using the hallway for a playground. This is the least of my hotel tales. Back to yesterday, which seems like a long time ago, always the case when traveling, no? Spent the day tying as many loose ends as possible. Roderick called me from the airport to let me know we were on different flights! It hadn’t occurred to me that the agent at Flight Centre would do such a thing. I have no idea whether it was intentional or not but in the middle of my packing, I had to call West Jet to switch flights and pay $50. for the privilege. I would have been late too had I not been alerted as the flight she had me on was leaving a half hour earlier.

Then as I was closing up the suitcase my niece had given me in exchange for a larger one she needed after a shopping spree wouldn’t allow her to close it up, only to discover the zipper was broken! I had to scurry down to the crawl space and find another bag, a much heavier one and one that I don’t relish boosting up into the overheads on the plane. I have been meaning to find and purchase the ultimate carry-on bag but I haven’t had time. As I always say, it’s on my list. In any case, I managed to get to the ferry on time, catch a cab in Horseshoe Bay and get to the airport. I had to check bags this time because I needed to bring our merch-CDs and my book. Red eye to Toronto a typical red eye, awful airline food and too cramped to sleep. I usually bring my own food but guess what, I didn’t have time. Therefore, we were pretty bagged by the time we landed, collected our luggage at the baggage carousel and collected the rental car, both endeavours taking a painfully long time, party due to the clerk and I haggling over car models, insurance and gas. They always try to sell you on a more luxurious model, an *upgrade* and scare you into buying their insurance. Checked in after a hairy drive through rush hour traffic, hotel entrance seemingly inaccessible with all the one-way streets, a lot like Vancouver in that respect. Our fully paid for room was not ready so they put us on the fifth floor after I insisted I would not wait in the lobby. We settled in a bit, decided to go deal with the equipment rental, found a pleasant little cafe along the way that served delicious huevos rancheros and coffee. I am trying hard not to pig out, eat too much, been eating half the serving, wrapping up the rest and eating it later. Restaurants serve such huge servings. it’s ridiculous. In this case, Roderick finished my eggs for me as he polished off a side of sausage.

Walked the rest of the way to Long & McQuade to rent the gear. It was hot, we were tired and the store was typically filled with aspiring rock gods wanking on guitars, loudly. Fortunately the store had the pedals we needed, and the amp, and the guitar. Roderick likes play a Telecaster. We were barely holding it together, figuring we would crash when we returned to the hotel but when we got back to the room we were serenaded with loud tapping and drilling sounds from above. Roderick called down to the desk, we both tried negotiating but they claimed they didn’t have another room available. It’s infuriating when you know you are being bullshitted. So much for Hilton hospitality. Roderick went downstairs. I didn’t hold much hope but was thrilled when he returned to say we were moving to an Executive Suite on the 30th floor. Must have been the look in his eye that persuaded the manager to do the right thing. Finally we were able to nap.

Still pretty wiped out when we went down to Cryptic Chatter, in a cute, funky little place called the Renaissance Cafe on Danforth in east Toronto. We do our best. I had a hard time hearing myself onstage, monitors made everything sound muted, distant. We play well despite the casual nature of spoken word gigs, usually set up for one person, a poet, not for musicians or a *band*, so it’s always going to be a challenge which is why I’m emphasizing that we need to expand our repertoire and become more of a cross-over act. The open mike session included a Brit on his way to the Fringe festival, a nebbish Willie Loman type character on about his cat, accompanying himself on a wood xylophone and Yehuda Fisher, performing an impressionistic Vancouver poem, Roderick improvising on guitar for him. Nice to finally meet Yehuda, we’ve been virtual acquaintances for years. Valentino Assenza is a very amiable chap, good host and I liked his poem, voice. My friend Lannie Brockstein showed up and it was good to see him again. We met the last time I was in Toronto when he came out to see Bent Tail, my spoken word act with Julie Vik. He’s so shy but did a fine job of reading his work. He had a car so drove us around downtown and pointed out landmarks, including several comic book stores, which I suspect is revealing. We discussed tribalism and how the Nazis exacerbated anti-Semitism. People all over the world hate each other and have been warring for eons. We went up the hotel’s scenic glass elevator, Lannie reminiscing how he and his buddies used to attend comic book conventions in the basement, ride in the elevator and drop their Spiderman and Superman action figures down the elevator shaft but not revealing why. Dropped off the gear, went out for a bite to eat at a place on Bloor. I enjoyed having an in-depth conversation about poetry with someone while Roderick zoned out and watched wrestling.

Endured a long drive to Ottawa, my butt numb and sore by the halfway point. We play tunes loudly, Roddy at the car radio controls. We often share the same (bad) taste and guilty pleasures, cranking the volume on Private Eyes Are Watching You, Billy Ocean and the Price Is Right theme.

Arrived at a much nicer hotel, the Westin on Colonel By Drive, settled in and called my pal rob mclennan who kindly volunteered to help me in the bath. I managed to freshen up and joined the smart ass and his friend Brendan, on the prowl with wife and kids away. We tried consoling poor rob, who is in the throes of a breakup, all this happening since the last time I saw him, in Edmonton last September. I’m sure rob is just as loquacious and charming with everyone but I like to think we enjoy a special rapport. I was a good girl, didn’t drink too much and got to bed so I could get a good sleep. Booked all the hotels through Hotwire, which I found convenient and easy to use. The Westin in Ottawa was pleasant, with impeccable service, the opposite of the Hilton in Toronto.

The next day’s performance at Dusty Owl may as well have been at 8 AM on a Sunday as 2 in the afternoon. Tiny stage, couldn’t hear myself again but we had a good time. Steve and Cathy are lovely people and I was very happy to see them again. I met Amanda Earl, laughed at her Jesus poem and delighted in mountain man Jim Laravill’s neo-traditional folk tale/homage to the north.

Everything was all over so early, I went for a walk after the show, down to the river, past the Ottawa Yacht Club, down to a secluded spot I decided was a little too secluded after two big men on bicycles appeared. Sure they were harmless but I don’t take chances. Took a few photos with my new camera phone on the way back including a giant spider, a replica perhaps of the one I saw at the Tate in London and a hanging sign with Lucas’s name on it. Went into a Chapters and had to explain who rob mclennan was. I wanted to buy his book about Ottawa, the hidden city. What a screwed up store. The poetry section consisted largely of the likes of Ted Hughes, Alan Ginsberg and Robert Creely. I had a hard time finding even one Canadian poet, finally bought Skin Divers by Anne Michaels. Oh, why do I bother? And why do they sell her books and not other Canadian poets?

We are both suffering neck pain, both of us, and I’m enduring one headache after another.

Just arrived back in Toronto and I swear, I must be under a curse. If I don’t get a hotel room next to the elevator I get one next to construction!

The drive down from Kingston went smoothly, stopping once for gas and a bite to eat. Roderick bought half a dozen Tim Horton doughnuts, which quickly grossed him out. He threw the remaining at the sea gulls mobbing the area after I joked that perhaps the OPP officers at the other table would appreciate them. Anyway, we arrived at the hotel safely and in good time, went up to our room only to hear tap, tap, tap and drilling noises. One has to wonder! What the hell is going on? Roderick suggested that perhaps Hotwire wasn’t such a good deal after all. However this hotel’s staff—the Intercontinental—unlike the Hilton, hotel, were very accommodating however and promptly moved us to another room on the other side of the hotel, a much nicer room with more space and light, so I guess complaining can work.

We had a good time in Kingston, though it made me realize that we need a rider! I had one for my Visible Verse workshop after a few frustrating experiences. There was no PA. Diane had a little speaker set with a wireless mike which would work fine for a poetry reading but not for what we do. It wasn’t her fault, we should have discussed all this in advance but as I always tell Josef, I cannot possibly think of everything all the time! (Christ, it seems every time I find a little quiet time for blogging, I have a bloody headache.) Anyway, I commented that we don’t have a PA yet at my place and use our stereo. So that’s what we did. We raided their stereo, took the speakers and the receiver down to the coffeehouse. Still sounded crappy but it was better than nothing. As I have been explaining, I need a monitor because I have to cue off the vocal parts on the backing tracks. Nearly impossible to pull this stuff off without those cues. All this adversity will make our act tight, ultimately, but it’s painful. We patiently sat through an hour of open mike, which nearly killed us we were so tired and stressed. We had made it to Diane’s house with barely enough time for dinner and to change. The baristas at the coffee house were upset with us and Roderick explained they should take it up with the organizer of the event, Diane, who didn’t seem too concerned. I hope it didn’t screw things up for her. The audience were friendly, a kooky assortment of poets and writers, one enormous woman telling tales of life in Alaska and Roger Dorey, relating his experiences at the Blues Festival, partly through song. He said the audience was mainly middle-aged and white-haired like him.

Got to hang out with my dear galfriend Erin Foley after, have a drink together and catch up. She is one of my favourite people out here, a very talented young writer and a lot of fun to be with. She always makes me laugh. There might be some kind of tribe vibe going on there. We spoke of Ireland and noted that Foley and Haley are quite close. I met Carolyn Smart, a professor of English from nearby Queens University. She has invited us to perform there, so that is in the works. Perhaps we will be back sooner than I thought. I just have to get some work done on the rest of this tour! We have a few days off from performing so I will have to devote some time to that most arduous task.

July 10, 2008
Amidst all this movement I am working to tie up loose ends of our upcoming family vacation in Quebec, had to fax a travel consent form to Josef, rent a car, and still need to book Matapedia and Gaspe accomodations. Our friend Bazil is working out there for a tour company and after four phone calls I still did not get a recommendation from him! So I guess I’m on my own. Don’t think Expedia will have its virtual prongs up there but you never know. Next on my list in any case. I have also made plans to visit my Aunt Lolly who lives in Newmarket, wherever the hell that is. She’s so kooky, she told me it was 2 ½ hours away from Toronto so I told her I might not make it. I Google mapped it however and it’s actually less than an hour! So I’m going to go out to see her on Saturday. I don’t hold much hope of her revealing anything about my mother and my murky origins but I want to see her anyway. She is one of the few people still alive who knew Corona and like everyone, not getting any younger. Taking good care of myself despite a dearth of time to do so.

Tragic news. Sadly, an acquaintance of Roderick’s, a young woman from Salt Spring Island, was murdered in Shanghai. Apparently she had gone over on a modeling contract, found that she was placed in some very seedy surroundings and circumstances, had cut short her contract and was set to return. Sounds like she may have come upon someone burglarizing her apartment, was stabbed and found in a stairwell. Chinese government now in major damage control, have found a scapegoat/culprit. They certainly don’t need to be tainted on the eve of the Olympics in Bejing. Poor thing. As a girl, I remember what it was like to be hounded and sought after by predators in all manner of guises.

Art Bar went pretty well. Freak thunderstorm just before the show, roof of the club leaking, audience showed up soaked. Terence Go, charming Indonesian-Canadian spoken word artist chatted with me as we waited. He’s a teacher so was familiar with ASD. I gave him my card as he was looking for spoken word venues in NYC. He did a funny bit about gay lingo involving Sesame Street characters projected on a screen behind him. Luciano Iacobelli then read his poetry. This reading series is very well organized. Nik Beat attended and was very complimentary, said he’s been playing the CD all the time and will feature it on his upcoming radio show. Nice when people are so enthusiastic. Many in the audience came up and congratulated us. Lannie came to the show, our number one fan, and once again drove us to the hotel. He came upstairs and played a song on Roddy’s guitar but was too shy to sing the words. We went across the street to find something to eat. The only restaurants open were cacophonous and we begged to sit in the back room at Jack Astor’s. Still loud but as least we could hear each other. I like to chat with my friends. I don’t understand why you would want to shout at each other above noise.

I was on the computer all day and night, catching up on email correspondence, taking care of business. Roderick went out to find a club at one point, ended up eating and taking photos. He’s been taking a series of fantastic pictures—at odd angles and he likes to put the camera on the ground. and apparently the clubs start hopping on Thursdays.

July 11, 2008

Tonight is our show at The Pearl in Hamilton with Klyde Broox. I am going to work on the rest of our Quebec vacation plans today, and the tour, which is painstakingly slow doing it while on the road. Vincent Tinguely from Montreal has emailed me some questions for an article he is writing for the Montreal Mirror so I need to get that done. Will go for a walk at some point. Whenever I stay at a hotel, I think yeah, I’ll go for a swim, I’ll use the gym, pack the swimsuit and gym clothes and never go, so try to be sure to go for a lengthy walk each day which of course is a great way to take in new surroundings, kill two birds with one stone, get some exercise while being a tourist. I had to spend most of my afternoon on maintenance however, got my hair done and had a massage. My neck is messed up and sure do miss my Czech masseuse Karolina. I had high hopes the colour and styling would last longer but my roots are starting to show and my hair is getting greasy. City air.

We joined my friend Kathleen Whelan for dinner at an Italian restaurant, Il Fioronello. I had some pasta with dill and salmon and fresh strawberries for desert. Lannie joined us and we went for a walk together after. It is a lively town. We stopped in at a bookstore, dangerous for me but I restrained myself. The last thing I need to do is haul around a lot of heavy books, got enough stuff. They had a great poetry section and Lannie bought an anthology of works in French. He told me that we are both born under an unusual astrological occurrence, something about the moon’s north nodes and our destinies, that big things are happening and perhaps he’s right, because it seems that they are. Strange dreams. I bought a bus or an RV, something to live in, but didn’t like where it was parked, near a noisy highway so moved it home. 😮 Then I was at a poetry reading and someone told me I was up next. I was scrambling to prepare and when I did get up to read, there was a woman with a large, oddly shaped microphone which she was shoving into my face , from above. I was very annoyed, refused to perform, bolted. Which for some reason reminds me that Lannie said at dinner last night that Luciano Iacobelli talked throughout our performance at the Art Bar the other night, he wanted to kick him. Good thing you didn’t I said, he’s a lot bigger than you. Had I known, I might have said something from the stage like, “Hey Looch, want to keep it down? I listened to your reading.” Oh we Canadians are so polite. From my vantage point, most of the audience was enthralled.