I'm in Quebec City

And attempting to type with a keyboard that quite frankly baffles me. I've been forced to use the characters table just to get English letters and the punctuation you find on an English keyboard (the y and z characters are reversed, for example). For all I know this may look like Sanskrit when I'm done. If so, then oopsie, never mind, I'll fix it in Montreal.

We did Mella Mella at a cegep and it was so awesome. I was proud of us. We then went out for dinner and drinks and I must have fallen on my head and forgotten who I was, because I actually consented to sing onstage with the performer that night. Normally, I'm a little more mercenary than that. If I'm going to expose myself to potential ridicule, I like to be sure I'll get paid for it. But it may have been the tequila shots. I'm just saying. (In case youre interested, I sang I will Survive, Proud Mary and You are the Sunshine of My Life.)

No, all in all, it was a fun time to bond with the cast, these super people with whom I've spent the past seven weeks, and I'm only realizing right now, that in two days, I will not see again for who knows how long. Huh. Theatre is a funny, ephemeral thing. It has a very brief and fleeting life span, except in the memory. Not like film. But that's part of it's charm as well, don't you think?

Anyway, Im off to go get some breakfast before the show.
Soon I will be back in the land of the living‼ Call me‼

For all you lovers out there...

Spend! Spend! Spend!

Don't you think?

This one is in honour of my student, because life will dump on you, and that's guaranteed.
Furthermore, sometimes it really is someone else's fault.
And well, if you can't laugh, you've gotta cry, so might as well laugh, right?

This weekend...

I found out that one of my students had been brutally attacked ("mugged" according to his family) and is currently in the hospital. I had just finished speaking to his mother, and she and the family are all still pretty traumatized about what happened. It's a "long story" and "complicated".

Basically, last week, he had been found beaten by the police, and rather than attempt to find out what happened, they dumped him in jail for a day or two. Because hey, a young black man who's been beaten up must have been up to no good, right? So his condition was complicated as a result of not getting medical treatment right away.

She says it'll take at least a month before he's more himself again. And then she started to cry. So he's in much worse shape than I even imagined. Although he and I have never had "the conversation" about it, I suspect that he was targeted for violence for a very specific and personal reason: because of his sexual orientation: this whole situation smells strongly of a hate crime.

This is just one more reson why I think that people suck.

Oh, urgh...

Everyone in the cast has caught a nasty stomach bug, and we've been the walking wounded for days. But you know they say the show must go on, never let them see you sweat, yadda yadda.
Since the weekend, each of us has seriously contemplated calling in sick because we all feel so bad.

I gotta tell you, I discovered today that there is nothing worse than trying to keep your rollicking bowels under control while in a full squat or performing African Dance in front of adoloscents. Nothing. No, don't even try to top this, because there's NOTHING worse.

In a moment of feverish desperation, I wondered if I could find anything like a cork or a plug. I'm talking desperation, here. I have smiled through my tears before, but not quite like this. We got dropped off at BTW after the show, and I actually had to stop here in the office for the worst of the suffering to pass before I even attempt public transportation. Yeah, it's nasty.

Cleopatra Jones, Baby!

I'm toying with a new layout, and whatnot. You may have observed that myFoxy Brown profile picture has been replaced with Tamara Dobson who played Cleopatra Jones, from whence came my name. Mom thought she was so pretty and she kicked butt, and she liked the name, so the rest, as they say, is history.

Yep.

Jason says: It explains a lot.

FA-CHAA!!!

I think he's on to something...

Should I be reconsidering about vegetarianism?

Just an aside...

Holy cow. Daniel Radcliffe. Equus publicity photos. Wasn't he twelve years old like, a week ago? I'm simultaneously turned on and grossed out. Oops. My brain just s'plode.

(This post took five minutes to compose because I repeatedly made typing errors because my brain stutter-stopped.)

Dun, Dun, DUNNNN!

When the moon is in the seventh house and Mommy and Fabian buy you a tv and you begin the first leg of a touring production of a play that requires you to play upwards of five roles (not all of them human) with singing and African dance and physical work that basically requires that you be in a squat for an hour at a time (either walking about with your booty mere inches from the ground or else to try to shave off a foot of your height) and you're premenstrual and inhaling all the carbs you can find (oh tasty tasty waffles!) and so anxiety ridden that you sleep 3 hours a night then you are ripe for a week of...

THE RETURN OF
THE SOFA OF DOOM!!!

Yes, darlings. Mom and Fabian came to town last weekend and stayed overnight which was so awesome! (It was her birthday, and yet they bought me a TV. How big of a spoiled brat am I? Or irresponsible starving artist, whatever.) Basically, I'd come home from the show with a DVD, a bag of cookies (or a box of waffles!) and other such sugary delights and pass out on my super-duper sofa in front of my beeyoutiful new TV in my brand new comfy pajamas (also courtesy of my Mom-Long Live my Mom!) in under thirty minutes, only to wake up twelve to fourteen hours later in order to just make it for my next call. Working out at the gym did not happen much. So I am now heavier than Miss Tyra. I guess that's what I get for gloating.

But I'm getting back on track this week! (Mainly because I have no choice.) However, I'm probably still going to neglect you. As long as I'm being honest, here. Unless of course you are willing to join in on the sofa sessions of sloth.

On another note: is it just me, or are there a whole lot more crazy people on the metros these days? And why do they all come up to me?