Bookish Butch – Page 93

Happy Halloween

The sky is very blue and it’s a little bit cold.

The Canadiens lost last night,

it’s OK,

you can’t win every game.

Wanted to wish you all a Happy Halloween.

I’m going to a wine and cheese festival type thing with a friend today,

should be fun.

I’m almost finished My Year Of Meats,

tell you all about it tomorrow.

I’m really starting to look forward to 2011.

I get that way at the end of the year, look forward.

It hasn’t been the best of years,

and it hasn’t been the worst.

Just a really high learning curve,

about myself and my romantic relationships.

I hope you all have or had,

depending on your time zone,

a fun, safe and sweet Halloween.

Later girls

Desert Island Books

What books would I want to have on a desert island?

I have always found that to be a interesting game to play with myself.

In a perfect world, fantasy world that is,

I would land on an island populated sparsely,

with women.

I would wash on to the beach,

closely followed by my giant steamer trunk,

filled with books.

The desert island game would then become,

Fantasy Island.

No, but, seriously.

I have considered this game many times over the years,

played it with friends,

with customers.

To make it interesting I take five books,

two are very small.

All would fit in an overnight bag.

Obviously, a Kindle or some such device would be great,

because of storage capabilities but,

there is no electricity or power sources on a desert island,

and I’m no engineer.

Number one,

84 Charing Cross Road because I love this book,

also it is tiny.

Number two, W. Somerset Maugham Collected Short Stories Volume 4

Again tiny,

and it contains my all time favourite short story,

The Book Bag.

I would bring my favourite novel by my favourite novelist.

The World According To Garp by John Irving.

Also I would bring Rat Bohemia by Sarah Schulman.

I see it as a work of staggering power and originality.

Schulman is one of the best writers I have ever read,

and I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life rereading her.

So, that’s four.

I am very comfortable with these choices.

The fifth is tough.

The situation deserves analysis,

since I have recently been accused of over analysing,

I should figure this out.

I believe the fifth book should be a book I have never read,

just for the sheer discovery factor.

Also, it should be an acknowledged classic,

great work of literature.

It should be a tough read,

to keep me thinking, stimulated and prevent Alzheimer’s.

So upon analysis and reflection,

I have narrowed it down to three,

Moby Dick, Ulysses or War and Peace.

I have read none of these,

all are considered great and,

have been on my to be read at some point in my life, list.

All are one volume,

and fit the requirement of the overnight bag size.

So it comes down to,

do I want to spend the remainder of my days with,

a stoic New Englander, a weird Irishman or a Russian Count.

Do I want to read about obsession and the slaughter of Whales,

a drunken and poetic odyssey,

or the horror and heroism of war.

I think I would opt for Ulysses.

A hard and long read but, based on nothing but,

second hand info,

a happier read.

If any of you,

play or have ever played this game,

let me know your choices,

it would be fun.

Later girls

Words are important

The weather is amazing.

Fifteen degrees Celsius,

October 27 Th,

in Montreal.

Wow.

The Canadiens are on a roll,

number one team in the East.

Double wow.

I’m still reading My Year Of Meats.

The more I read it, the more I like it.

Strange and original.

Feeling Existential

Well, it’s October, therefore grey.

The Canadiens won on Saturday.

It has been really quiet here at,

bookish butch central.

I went out on Thursday night,

to one of my favourite watering holes,

with one of my favourite women.

I had a great time, we both did.

But, since then, I have felt tired and lethargic.

I doubt the two are related,

it’s just a serious case of the slumps.

I’m in a reading slump, nothing seems to grab me.

I find that disconcerting,

I have a whole pile of To Be Reads,

and yet,

all I can manage is the paper and an occasional essay,

in the James Agee collection.

I’m reading other blogs,

and everyone seems to be zipping through tons of books.

I envy, that.

Maybe, I’m just too preoccupied.

I have been thinking about instinct.

I used to be much more instinctual,

listening to the little voice inside my head.

In the past couple of years,

I’m not sure why but,

I’ve started ignoring it,

and making more sensible choices.

I know there is nothing wrong with sensible,

it keeps you safe and relatively happy.

I used to be, I think,

more fearless.

It could also be that,

I am remembering things in a better light.

A sort, of fear has started creeping up on me,

fear of tomorrow, of the unknown, of being hurt.

When fear sets in you stop taking chances,

you go the safe route,

you become complacent and settle for less,

you stop searching for what really makes you tick.

Fear, can save your life but, it can also stifle it.

Instead of listening to yourself,

underneath all the white noise,

you take advice and you do things that seem more logical.

But, you know it’s not about sensible and safe.

It’s about the search and the journey,

what if we only go around once, won’t we regret not going for it.

I think I would.

So, I’m trying to listen to my little voice,

maybe it can tell me what to do,

or maybe I’ll keep just keep looking.

Just so you all know,

October/November and February/March

are often existential months for me.

You have been warned.

Later girls

The Dude

View MyPhoto-1...jpg in slide show

Ladies, may I present The Dude.

A big thank you to my good friend in Toronto for the picture.

It was a dark day and The Dude was not in one of his better moods.

But, you can see what a pretty beast he is,

right?

I can’t find a single thing to read in my piles of books,

it makes no sense.

I always feel off quilter when I can’t read.

I’ll try tomorrow to finish My Year Of Meats.

Meantime I wanted you all to meet, The Dude.

He is named after The Dude in The Big Lebowski,

one of my favourite films.

About a lovable bum in a series of insane situations.

If you haven’t seen it,

watch it next time you are in the mood for the absurd.

Later girls

Memories are made of these

It’s raining.

I told you all yesterday,

that I was feeling wonky,

yes,

that is the technical term.

So, in an effort to beat the doldrums,

I thought I would write about,

some of my favourite things.

Some of my likes and loves,

you are familiar with,

Blundstones, Swatches, L.L. Bean shirts …

Others are memories of things long gone.

A lot,

have to do with smells and sounds.

My Grandmaman Lydia,

used to make cake,

this cake was known as gateau blanc,

which literally translates as,

white cake.

This was a vanilla cake, moist but,

not too moist,

the perfect combination of air and texture.

My cousin,

an admirable baker,

makes grandmaman’s chocolate cake.

It is most people’s favourite and delicious,

but,

I’m not most people and,

the white is still my favourite.

I miss her and the cake.

My Granny Grace,

the anglo side of the family,

died when I was just a kid,

and I remember her big belly laugh,

some people say I inherited it,

genetics also gave me the belly.

Life isn’t always fair.

When my godson, Jerome,

was just a baby,

I used to smell his hair while he slept.

A perfect smell,

which I can’t possibly hope to describe.

He’s a big boy of eight now,

sensitive and sweet.

My ex and I had a cat, Bud,

he was a talker and a pacifist.

That cat refused to kill anything.

He would talk and talk,

probably telling us to join,

Greenpeace or Ducks unlimited.

My dad and I watching Looney Tunes,

waiting for the day,

the coyote would fnally catch the roadrunner.

Some of my favourite things are sill around,

mom’s meatloaf, cold on tap beer, espresso coffee.

Some I haven’t seen in a while,

a Julia Roberts movie,

the post coital shine in a woman’s eyes.

But, hey hope springs eternal.

I still haven’t seen Eat, Pray, Love,

so that hope is afloat:-)

My grandpa always carried peppermints,

in a baggie in his pocket,

and when you were feeling low,

he would say “want a peppermint?”

It was a cure all.

I can’t walk by Kerr’s Scotch Mints at the grocery store,

without thinking of him.

Not all my favourite things involve dead people.

It’s just as you get older you “know” a lot of dead people.

I love to go for greasy Chinese food,

and my heart swells when I hear Pavarotti,

sing Nessun Dorma.

Lady Gaga, PBS, Joan Baez.

Flannel sheets, autumn leaves, crusty bread.

The Dude, Tom Yum soup, bookshelves.

Hot showers, cheddar cheese, long kisses.

These are a few of my favourite things.

What can I say,

I’m a sentimental old flake.

Next post Books,

I promise.

Later girls

Thanks for putting up with me.

Bitchin’ boots with a bitchin’ name

I’m feeling a little bit wonky, must be the full moon.

Howwwwllll.

The weather, well you know,

it’s the weather.

No hockey before Thursday night.

But, I don’t care,

I’m going out with my favorite drinking buddy.

Set up the pitchers barkeep.

I’ve had a rough week, but,

on a positive note,

Blundstones have a new boot.

Crazy Horse Brown chisel toe,

in Nubuck.

Check it out,

are you drooling yet?

I know my fellow butches are and,

the femmes well,

you know it’s hot.

Right?

I’m talking myself into a pair as we speak.

On other fronts,

still plodding my way through My Year Of Meats,

very weird book,

haven’t made up my mind if I like it yet.

But, you will all now by November 1st.

Just wanted to check in,

mostly to show you the boots.

Later girls

p. s Cass, you know this title is for you (wink, wink)

Saint-Andre, Grandmaman would have liked that.

This morning in Rome,

at the Vatican,

Le Frere André (Brother Andre),

of St Joseph’s Oratory fame,

was made a saint.

I am not a practising Catholic,

and I never have been,

but,

like most Quebecois,

over the age of forty and born here,

I have been baptised and had my first communion.

We live in a post Catholic society,

and yet,

St-Joseph’s Oratory,

which can hold almost two thousand people,

was full all day and all night,

leading up to the canonisation ceremony at 4h30 am,

our time.

I remember when I was a young child,

going to the Oratory with my aunt.

It is an impressive Basilica that sits atop the Mountain,

our Mountain, Mont-Royal.

My grandparents and I also visited Ste-Anne De Beaupré near Quebec city,

and Le Cap De La Madeleine near Trois-Rivieres(Three Rivers).

Le Cap, is a shrine to the Virgin Mary,

and Ste Anne’s is a shrine to her mother.

Why am I telling you all this?

Because, I believe my grandmother,

would have been delighted to see Le Frere André canonised.

These events made me think of her,

and also of our collective history.

When Le Frere André died in 1937,

over a million people filled past his coffin in Montreal.

My grandparents amongst them,

they had not met, yet,

they met later that year,

and married in 1939.

Brother Andre is an important symbol of our past.

A small, frail and uneducated man,

who had a dream to build a chapel to his St-Joseph.

For the longest time,

the only heroes French Canadians had to look up to,

were Le Frere André and hockey players.

I am glad he is a Saint for all the hardworking,

small salaried, self sacrificing people,

who came before me.

My ancestors, my people.

Although dominated and kept down by their church,

they also found comfort and solace,

in the little doorkeeper of Notre Dame College,

who performed miracles,

they saw him as one of them,

and he was.

This canonisation is a little bit a tribute to them.

My Grandparents would have liked that.

I’m glad for them and their memory.

Later girls

Every little bit, helps.

It’s raining and grey,

that’s the down side of Autumn.

Rain.

I’m siting at my desk,

which has a view of the Birch tree across the street.

The tree’s leaves are Yellow with a tinge of Orange.

My cat, The Dude, is sitting on the windowsill ,

his head in profile,

he appears to be the same colour.

Even at his advancing age,

he’s eleven,

he is still interested in birds and squirrels.

He and I have lived together for eight years now.

He is a sweet beast and a good friend.

I believe I have never mentioned him before,

a grave oversight,

he is an important part of my life.

Cats,

or dogs,

if you are so inclined,

make life better, smoother.

I think it has a lot to do with unconditional love.

When the world is picking on you,

you walk in the door,

and your four pawed friend,

is glad to see you.

You can’t beat that.

Moving on,

before you all think I have become some sort of,

strange cat lady.

Last week,

this lovely man who comes to my store,

spoke to me about this,

It Gets Better project.

I’m sure most of you have heard about it.

It was news to me.

After a well publicised rash of gay teen suicides,

brought on by bullying,

this project was created.

Basically,

adults,

gay and straight and all things in between,

record videos where they tell teens,

that it will,

Get Better,

that they will survive.

That eventually you find community,

that time and patience,

makes things better.

I may be over simplifying but,

you get the gist,

right?

I applaud the effort.

I think it comes from a good place.

Reaching young people through,

You Tube and all is a no brainer,

many of them spend their lives in front of screens.

So, nothing wrong,

with virtual role models and comfort.

When I was a teenager,

movies and books had a big influence.

Watching, Desert Hearts,

in which two women made love to each other,

and nobody died,

like in most previous dyke movies.

That was a seminal experience.

My parents being marginal people in their own way,

always expressed people’s right to difference.

Being Gay was fine,

different and more difficult,

but OK.

I know they worried,

about my happiness, about my choice,

and what loving parent wouldn’t?

Of course,

it was never a choice,

I was born,

Butch.

I have read a lot of criticism of this project.

About how it oversimplifies the problem etc.

That familial homophobia,

and society’s judgment of sexual minorities won’t go away,

as a result of well meaning celebrity video interventions.

Probably not, but,

it sure doesn’t hurt.

None of society’s ills and injustices,

are rectified through one thing.

But, many little things,

become the building blocks of change.

If this project,

can help teens to see that being different,

is not wrong,

just different,

well,

Bravo.

Later girls

Good things do come out of Texas.

I love the fall, but, sometimes I think I’m the only one,

me and French tourists.

Very quiet at the bookstore this week.

Last night the Habs lost in overtime.

Yuck, what a bummer.

On the positive side,

yesterday,

I met someone who I have been corresponding with for a while,

the delightful editor of kissedbyvenus.ca, Alexandra.

She was in town with her partner,

who is just as nice.

We met for coffee and,

honestly,

it was as if we had known each other for years,

yakking away.

The magic of blogging and the Internet,

meeting of like minded people.

I’m almost finished Cadillac Jack and honestly, I love it.

I’m going to read more McMurtry, something about his style,

and colourful characters, speaks to me.

He makes me laugh and I learn things,

almost without realising it.

It has this good ole boy quality to it.

Cadillac Jack, is about an antique scout who travels all over the U.S,

in his Pearl coloured, peach interiored, Cadillac.

While telling us this story of Jack,

and the antique people he encounters,

McMurtry, is commenting on the culture of acquisition and,

the pillaging of National treasures by richer, more dominant States.

It’s not a new subject but, it bears revisiting.

Especially in this quirky and light way.

Everything should not be for sale,

to the highest bidder.

He also has a real sense of people and how they speak,

an observer and chronicler.

His observations on political types and bureaucrats as well as the very rich,

priceless.

Funny without meanness.

I find him just as interesting,

as some of his eastern contemporaries,

Updike et all.

A whole lot less self-absorbed,

and funnier than Roth,

for instance.

Good things do come out of Texas.

I have read two of his books,

so far,

and I intend to read more,

a keeper.

Later girls