Spring is on its way!
I really felt it for the first time today. I was on my way back from an audition this morning and the sun was shining so brightly I had to roll down my car window to let some of the heat out; the air was so mild, so full of promise that I rolled the window down ALL the way and drove home like that.
I enticed Mrs. M to bring Little M out for coffee with me; we sat at the Corporate Masters' Cafe and enjoyed the sun streaming in from the windows, and afterwards walked around a little in the fresh air.
I could smell the approaching Spring, as if it had sent airborne heralds of its coming to wash over me with gentle, playful winds. The sun was overhead in the clear blue sky, I smelled the damp of melting snow and emerging humid grass and a slight tinge of the sea-- brought over the mountains just for us, special delivery.
To say that I adore Spring is to say that a man lost in the desert for weeks adores water. I try to put a brave face on Winter, with its secret quiet hush; its cold, sometimes cruel drama; its merciless pervasiveness, only because I know that eventually Spring must come.
And today I felt in my bones that it is very close, that it is almost here. My heart leapt for joy; my face broke into a smile to reflect the sunshine; I skipped (more than usual!) along happily.
I shared with my family; "Lookit! Lookit!" I wanted to say. "Just LOOKIT the...the Emergence all around you!" Little M is too young to know but Mrs. M knew exactly what I meant. She loves Spring too, though perhaps not as exuberantly as I.
It's not official yet, the Equinox hasn't come, but I'll say it now anyway: Happy Spring, everyone. Go buy some flowers for yourself or someone else. Think of it as encouraging the season to come just that much sooner.
I'm in shock over the furor that North America is in over Gay Marriage.
Suddenly it seems as if our society has found its new Negro to marginalize, ridicule and threaten to change nation's constitutions over.
Gays. They're out, they're loud, and they're in our faces. And by god, their unreasonable demands for equal rights are threatening our lives! Yes! They want to get MARRIED. And that totally denigrates the very institution of marriage, and directly threatens to crumble the marriages that have already been established...
...doesn't it?
Oh wait, that's right: NO. It doesn't.
I am constantly ashamed of the human condition. I don't mean it as a perpetual shame, but rather that as soon as I begin to feel proud of what we can and have achieved, someone has to stand up and whip the crowd into a mob, an unfeeling stupid animal with many faces, all of which are etched in fear and outrage.
I used to think the Reverend Phelps was a comedy act; a tasteless "American Stereotype Nutjob" that paraded around with a teeny tiny little cult following.
And now I wonder if that's what my ancestors thought when the Ku Klux Klan started.
Hatred unconfronted is hatred assented to. It's fact. And it's now. It IS HAPPENING. It's easy to distance the events by blaming, say, the American Moron In The White House-- oh, I'd guess you'd call him the President-- and say he has created a climate of dangerous fearmongering and intolerance. Or the government of the province I currently live in, whose red-nosed obesity of a Premier has loudly vaunted that this province will NEVER have gay marriage; apparently he has declared himself immortal and will be in office in perpetuity.
It would be easy to say that these are the reasons why this current misanthropic culture du jour exists. But that's overgeneralizing. "This culture" is made up of PEOPLE. Of INDIVIDUALS. Some of whom shout loudly but don't know what they're saying, or even why they're shouting. They're just going along with the crowd. These are our friends and neighbours, they live next door, we share space with them and see them every day.
And then there's that person in the mirror. Are you the same person you were yesterday? Is there a person that was out in a crowd, shouting slogans, yelling, damning other human beings with their voice? Is that the person in your mirror who today is a mother of two or a single man in fear of being discovered?
Courage. That's what it comes down to. Do we have the courage to OPPOSE FEAR? Do we have the courage to defend an unpopular minority not because we're part of it, but because we must fight fear and injustice?
Lepers used to be shunned or set on fire. Because they had a communicable disease. They used to round them up, barricade them into a small village and set it on fire.
Ludicrous, no? Perhaps they had reason. After all, these were the Dark Ages we're talking about. They had no way to study, understand or control disease; survival was at stake.
And when AIDS became an official epidemic in the 1980's, could anyone else hear the subliminal howls of "burn the village?" I could. It was fear talking. On our televisions, in our newspapers, and in our legislature.
Funny, last time I voted I didn't notice a candidate named Fear or Panic on the ballot. I remember because I wouldn't have voted for them. Nor, I'm sure, would any sensible person who wasn't at that moment being inundated by repeated telecasts warning them that The Gay was out there and their children could catch it.
But we moved on from that, somewhat uncomfortably. We know about AIDS now, moreso than we did in the 80's. "Gay" means "Homosexual" to us now, and we all know what that is and that it's here to stay, whether we agree with the lifestyle (as if homosexuality needed "permission" to exist) or not.
I want to share with you a song I heard today, that was originally written in 1984. It was written by The Bronski Beat, from an album titled "Age of Consent," and it was very politically about gay rights at the time. It is titled simply, "Why?":
"Contempt in your eyes
As I turn to kiss his lips
Broken I lie
All my feelings denied
Blood on your fist
Can you tell me why?
You in your false securities
Tear up my life
Condemning me
Name me an illness
Call me a sin
Never feel guilty
Never give in
Tell me why?
You and me together
Fighting for our love
Can you tell me why?"
1984. Twenty YEARS ago, and it could have been written yesterday considering its relevance to the issues surrounding homosexual love today.
It sickens me to think that in twenty years of my life, the world around me seems to have learned nothing.
I urge everyone reading this, whether you agree with gay marriage, the homosexual lifestyle or just homosexuality in general, to consider very carefully: These are human beings. Regardless of how we may feel about them, or the homeless, or disabled people, or those of a different race than we, or of a different gender, prejudice is prejudice. To deny the right to marry is to deny the right to love. To deny homosexuals the right to practice their homosexuality is LITERALLY denying other human beings the right to love.
And what exactly are our fears based on? Is your marriage less because the lesbians down the street are happy? Are your children in danger because the quiet gay couple next door is playing a Judy Garland record?
I urge you all to think. Thought can conquer fear. From lack of fear comes enlightenment. From enlightenment comes inspiration, and from there comes our future. Join me in helping to create a decent one, won't you?
This week: Superstition.
1. Are you superstitious?
Superstitious: A comprehensive name for all of the pretended arts which claim to produce effects by the assistance of supernatural beings, or departed spirits, or by a mastery of secret forces in nature attained by a study of occult science, including enchantment, conjuration, witchcraft, sorcery, necromancy, incantation, etc.
--Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.
Although I disagree with the use of "pretended" in the above definition, by the rest of it I would definitely fall under the heading of supertstitious.
2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?
Killing another human being in the name of religion. See Catholicism, Judaism, Islam... Oh hell. Just look up Religion.
3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition?
What you send returns three times. It's true. The more shit you create, the bigger a pile you'll be sitting in. It's empirical truth.
4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?
Sure! As an actor, I have a lot of little rituals I do before every performance to put me in the right frame of mind. And the number 317 seems to haunt me; I'm more likely to feel "right" about something if that number is involved somehow.
5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?
Yes, although I view it as more art than science. It's good for a general looksee at the choices presented to one; it isn't meant as a rulebook to live one's life by. Astrology, like any divination, should teach one to listen and look for the common signs in our lives that are trying to show us something about ourselves; we take from them whatever we are prepared to see.
No, I don't mean the state of mental obfuscation, I mean the fan convention based on anthropomorphic art, held in January in San José, California.
PART 1: THE PREPARATION
Mrs. M goes through a lot to get ready for these get-togethers of art-obsessed "furries," in order to sell her wares at a 3 x 6 table in a big room full of other 3 x 6 tables for three days straight.
She reserves her table a year in advance-- that is to say, at the convention itself.
She begins drawing new art for the convention about two months in advance-- giving herself time to create, refine, and mat her originals to show in the art gallery of the convention.
She begins to prepare prints and other copied materials for the table two weeks in advance-- and that's where I come in. I can't actually help her DRAW the stuff, Agents, but I can help her prepare the product once it's ready.
This time around I spent two and a half hours at Kinko's, AFTER midnight (they have a midnight madness discount) to get prints copied and comics collated and put together. I ran errands. I picked up paper and markers and badge supplies. I watched the baby in another room so she could have uninterrupted Productivity Time.
For the amount of work Mrs. M puts into getting prepared for this three-days-of-selling, you'd think she'd come back a billionaire. Woman works HARD, Agents. But then, all artists who work the Dealer's Rooms of the Furryverse do.
PART 2: THE TRAVEL
These days, crossing into American Territory is like walking naked and drunk into a Mormon convention. The scrutiny is unbelievable; if you're flying to the US from Canada, they recommend you be there two hours before your flight. This is no exaggeration; it will take you that long to get through Security.
And if, like Marci, you're bringing artwork down for your agent to sell, you get pulled into a little room and get the third degree-- not politely, either. I have never met a border crossing guard of any stripe who did not use The Voice Reserved For The Already Guilty. And there's nothing you can do about that-- it says right in the tangle of international laws that border guards have "broad discretionary powers" to do...whatever the hell they want. No human being should have this much power. I firmly believe that higher-ranking SS troops, fleeing Germany after WWII, went underground as American border crossing guards.
That being said, once THROUGH Security, Airports are just a joy for Marci and I. They mean travel, they mean international elegance and mystery and journeys to parts unknown. Never in our combined imaginations is anyone going to Kennebunkport, Maine. It's always somewhere with more mystery. And no longer are airports just a terminus for planes, a bus station with wings; they have wonderful food courts, lounges even for the common folk, (as well as the swanky private ones for folks with Airline Membership Cards)-- it's just TASTY and so so swish. Somehow, a food court at an airport means much more than the one in your average hometown mall.
PART 3: THE GAME
Marci and I play a game called "Ground Zero," in which we try to discern how far from the actual convention we can spot the furry fans. This year we set a record: Seattle. We had a stopover and as we waited at the gate to board our plane, I noticed a trio of people approaching that pinged my 'dar. At first glance they weren't overtly fannish-- but two trenchcoats out of three always raises my suspicions, especially if one of them is black.
Then I saw one of the guys had long hair in a ponytail. Beep. Then I saw the short girl with glasses carrying a sketchbook. Beep Beep. And THEN I saw the other guy, skinny shorthaired guy, wearing a DOG COLLAR.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
It's a new record, kids.
PART 4: ARRIVAL
Touchdown in one's destination! In our case, San Jose, California. A quick shuttle ride to the hotel-- which turns out to be right across the STREET-- and there we are, checking in to the luxurious business traveller Doubletree. This is one of those hotels with marble floors in the lobby and a bar by the pool.
In fact, it's so swank they give you a cookie upon check-in. These aren't just any cookies. They're Doubletree Chocolate Chip cookies, and they're as thick as a frickin' BROWNIE. And about as apoplectically full of chocolate. Nirvana in a nice warm brown paper bag.
I wanted to check out every night and check in every morning just for the cookies. Turns out you can actually order them shipped to you; dunno if they ship to Canada though.
PART 5: THE WORK-- and THE COMPRESSION OF TIME
From the moment we sat down at Marci's dealer's table to the time the con was over, Marci was drawing and I was filling orders, answering questions and providing prints. That part is a blur. Three DAYS of blur. Marci drew 52 individual pieces of art, 50 badges and 2 sketchbooks. It was a new record.
She premiered her "Fab Eye For the Furry Guy" concept which received many accolades but no real buyers-- but sometimes it takes while for these things to take off.
One of the things that is cool about sitting in the dealer's room all day-- the sense of community with the other dealers. You're all in the same boat, working the same shift. And it's übercool if you're sitting next to someone you know, so you can chat with friends all day.
PART 6: THE SOCIAL ASPECT
The social aspect revolves, for those of us stuck in the Dealer's Room, around mealtimes. It's about the dinners-- pick a different group every night and have dinner with them. It's a relaxing time, also an adventurous time if you know someone with a car (since many of us like to LEAVE the hotel to go somewhere neat for dinner.) Mrs. M and I always do our most adventurous eating when we travel; we had our first Thai food while doing a convention, and letting someone native to the city pick the little-known-but-best-food-EVER restaurants is always rewarding.
The highight for us this year was A Taste of India, Indian food at a little hole-in-the-wall place a friend of ours knew. Good food, good conversation, relatively quiet intimate setting. SUCH a nice change of pace.
On our last night in town we also saw Peter Pan with friends. Some of you might think, "why the hell go see a movie when you've travelled all this way...?"
It's not the movie, it's the people. These friends live thousands of kilometers away from us; we don't get to do the movie thing with them. Going out makes it feel like we're nearer, somehow, like we're doing things as if we DID see each other every week. It's a good feeling.
PART 7: THE JOURNEY HOME
Conventions burn one up. It's a lot of living in a short space of time, a lot of energy, a lot of "on!" and go-go-go in a four-day period. One has to pace oneself. I swore off pop of any kind, and drank water only; I ate full meals and went to bed as early as I could force myself to. I wanted to last.
There's a phenomenon called "Con Crud" which people who don't pace themselves get; after the convention, their bodies just give up and they get sick and collapse for a couple of days to recuperate. I managed to avoid that, mostly, although I did have a sore throat afterwards.
The voyage home is always less exciting than the voyage down; exhaustion has set in and all one wants to do is get home, and in our case were nearly prevented from doing so by the -30 degrees C weather in Calgary which-- get this-- might have prevented our propeller plane from landing. It speaks volumes to my technocratic upbringing that I'm shocked that mere weather can actually still affect modern things like plane landings.
We made it home, however. Exhausted. And we paid our bills and life continues on.
I was going to write much more poetically about how wonderful it is to be in California in the winter, to see green and palm trees and gentle sunshine, feel the moisture in the air knowing that the cold dry winter has set in at home; but the reality is that after we got back Mrs. M had to be out doing art jobs every day and I had to watch the baby, which means no real writing time.
And I MISS blogging! So I'm going to end this here and just post what I've got since I have precious little time to gather my thoughts for big epics of this nature.
Peace out.
I suck SO BAD these past three weeks. Getting ready for the convention, trying so hard NOT to get sick, and then getting sick. Plus Mrs. M has been out teaching and painting which means I'm watching Little M, and not getting any blogging done.
I apologize. Here's this week's Quick and Dirty Friday Five:
1. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?
I equate "daring" with "overcoming bowel-moving fear to achieve a goal." So therefore, the most daring thing I've ever done is to dive off a diving board, while flipping backwards from a forward standing position. I was TERRIFIED I'd split my head open but my coach was pushing and pushing me to do it.
2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of?
Skydiving. Every time I bring it up it's all "No no no, never, no," and this helps me to chicken out of doing it.
3. On a scale of 1-10, what's your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it's a lifestyle)
I plant myself at a firm five. I think I take more risks than any one of my friends here in the city; social, economic and yes, sometimes physical. I'm not a risk junkie, but I also fear being too sedentary. If trying something new involves risk, even if it's just eating at a new restaurant, then risk it is. In fact, I really only have like two friends that I would consider people who take more risks than I do, and the greatest of these is Cargo Weasel.
4. What's the best thing that's ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky?
Realizing that the fear is what holds me back from potentially fantastic results. It was like that with marriage, having a child, and travelling alone. In each case the rewards were SO FANTASTIC that it taught me to not dig my heels in just because something appeared "difficult" from the other side.
5. ... and what's the worst?
When the risk is a promise to an adventure that never happens; the thing I hate worst is being sold on something when the thing that's being sold is crap. Like believing someone I KNOW that something is going to be cool, and realizing afterwards that it was, in no uncertain terms, a lame fuckaround. I really have rage issues with myself when something is put over on me because I'm supposed to be able to see this shit COMING, or so I tell myself.