Okay, yesterday was a day crowded with life and incident. Woke up around six and reheated naan and chanar bhatur (sp?) for brekky, with mint tea. Jeff dozed while I went downstairs and did a very scant and not very repetitive 20 minute workout…. okay, of all the movies, in all the world, on all of IMDB, which movie is on TV when I come downstairs? A Monty Python movie, and I walk in in the last minute of the Parrot Sketch, which segues into the Lumberjack Song.
Good morning, Burnaby!!!
While I’m in the weight room, this Asian dude in his early twenties, dressed a la Jackie Chan (ie, no shirt) and holding a clear plastic container that you could tote two or three dead babies in (just to give you some idea of the volume) comes in, fires money into the drink machine, removes a soda at speed, and departs like vapour under a door.
At this point, the day signs are all REALLY pointing to a truly spectacular day. It was not until 24 hours after this moment that I discovered that I had not, indeed, packed underthings. Time is no more linear than memory is.
Ahem. Anyway, working backwards from this moment, I watched Coronation Street, drank coffee, took a shower, woke up, dreamed all night about somebody (Patricia knows who, and is laughing at me), crashed at Patricia’s, came back to Patricia’s from Leanne’s place, watched fireworks, ate Greek, shot the breeze, hung out at Lexi’s (and got just enough into a Colette bio to get my mouth all ready for more – who could resist something called Secrets of the Flesh by Judith Thurman).
Prior to that I spent a glorious afternoon with Katie K and got sunburnt. Prior to that I went to an NDP fundraiser at which Jack Layton spoke. It was the 12th annual NDP Pride Brunch.
Now, whatever your private opinion of Jack Layton, here is one simple truth that will not go away. He was one of the first Canadian politicians of any stripe who stood with gay people. Like, marched in Pride Day, voted in favour of it at City Council meetings in Toronto, took the time as a young politician to hear what it was like to be a gay man in Canada in the sixties and seventies and on hearing the story thought, “This sucks, and I’m going to DO something about it.” When he gets up and starts reminiscing about ‘my first Pride’ he’s got 25 or so years of Pride to be proud about.
Moved by the mindless obedience which characterizes so much of my behaviour, I bid on something – a night in a hotel, and won. Zoing…. Now my brain leaps forward, into the fireworks, which, apart from Michael jeezly Bolton music (Patricia’s disgust was subtle but effective) were truly, deeply wonderful.
To return to something like conventional chronology, after our brief repast and some messing around on the intertnests, Jeff drove me to the hotel where the NDP function was, which, strangely enough, was four blocks from Lexi’s place. Among other speeches there was a list of four recent queer rights issues raised in countries overseas – Bolivia, Poland, South Africa and India. I was particularly impressed by the references to trans issues because there are definitely ongoing legal and humanitarian issues about transgender and transsexual rights, globally.
But holy cats, imagine marching in the first Polish Pride Day! Ten t’ousand marchers and seven bleeding thousand cops, militia and regular army to stop you from getting your faces stomped in!? I’m marching in Pride this morning and the only gun that will get pulled on me is a super soaker. One of the organizers of the first Polish Pride will be a grand marshal of this year’s Pride Parade. I’m sure it will make a nice change from what he went through in Poland.
As you may ascertain from the foregoing, it was a busy day. I only drank three beers all day, I stayed close to a bathroom, I didn’t lose my blanky, and all was well.
