October 6th Rideau River scenes

 

 

 

 

 

Montreal Comic Con 2012 - To boldly go where no shan has gone before

There are a couple of events that I've long wanted to witness: the Burning Man Festival in Nevada and Comic Con.  Not because I'm an artist or a free spirit or a huge sci-fi or comic book fan...but because I want to look at the artists, the free spirits and the sci-fi fans. I have read enough about these gatherings to know that they're a feast for the eyes, full of colour and whimsy and imagination, and I'm a visual person; I'm addicted to magazines, I love art and movies and TV.  That I'm intrigued by these kinds of exhibitions isn't really surprising, I suppose.  Plus, I love the enthusiasm that is the foundation of these sub-cultures, if I can call them that.  Or maybe I should say "super cultures".  I'm fascinated by and envious of their dedication to the form and genre, and of the effort they spend in making their costumes. 

Burning Man will have to wait, but last weekend I went to Comic Con in Montreal.  My husband wasn't able to go, so I was hemming and hawing about going by myself.  It just seemed like it wouldn't be as much fun alone. None of the Doctor Who or Buffy fans I know could go with me, so I almost gave up on it.  But, then, happily, two friends volunteered to drive to Montreal with me, so I could go to the conference, they could poke around town, and then we'd meet up for dinner afterwards.  Since I'd left it so long to get tickets, I was forced to get a VIP ticket for the conference.  $220 dollars.  Gulp.  That did mean I'd get a "free" t shirt and a "free" tote bag.  I'm glad I paid more for all the free stuff. 

So we made our way on the sunny Saturday morning to Montreal, stopping first at the Atwater Market for a carb-rich breakfast of chaussons aux pommes (apple turnovers) and almond croissants (almond croissants) from the Première Moisson bakery. The fall displays of pumpkins, corn and other gourds were already out, mixed in with all the flowers and vegetables and fruit, and there was definitely a nip in the air, too.  I love the arrival of autumn in Ontario and Quebec.  After checking into the hotel,  I cabbed it to the Palais des Congrès, full of anticipation and admittedly a bit nervous.  I wasn't in costume, in case you are wondering.  I left the Xena, Warrior Princess outfit back home and went instead as a mild middle-aged woman.

Once I had passed the "Weapons Check" where real guards check the fake weapons, I entered the exhibitor hall and WOW.  The costumes, the artwork.....the merchandise.  There were stormtroopers, a Darth Vader (definitely wearing lifts...he was about 6'8"), a couple of Princess Leias (in both the gold bikini look and the virginal white robes) and several Obi Wan Kenobis.  There was a pint-sized Ewok and a gang of towering Klingons.  What's the correct collective noun for Klingons?  A kakaphony of Klingons?  A kraze of Klingons? Must look that up.  I saw a Navi-costumed woman, whose husband was Obi-Wan Kenobi, pushing a baby carriage. Didn't get a good look at the child.....with that cross-breeding, who knows what the product would have been!  There were furries (or are they called plushies? Don't really know much about this particular group.) They dress up as furry animals.  The kids love them, but, if I'm not mistaken, there's more than a bit of a sexual undertone to that.

Speaking of sexual undercurrents, "sexy" costumes were everywhere: there were women in low-cut PVC catsuits, dressed as gaming heroines or superheroes; there were all manner of Sailor Moons, Star Trek babes, sexy nuns (see left)  and, perhaps most disturbingly, a sexy Snow White. Since when doe she display ample cleavage and wear a thigh-skimming skirt and black leather boots? And have a nose piercing? 

There were people in skin-tight lycra who really, really shouldn't have been. There was even a painted-on costume.  One trend that I did not understand was the wearing of very realistic horse heads.  Must research that....Godfather connection? A play on My Little Pony?  Even more strange:  there was a storm trooper wearing a horse head!!

I think my favourite sci-fi sub-genre costumes were definitely the steam punk ensembles.  Victorian Era meets industrial.  Goggles, metal, corsets and hats, lots of fancy hats.  Fascinating and elegant.

There were  monsters and demons, the Hulk, the Fantastic Four, Superman, Spiderman, Imperial Guards.  A couple of doctors (as in Who) and a Dalek. Shiny neon hair.  Swords.  Light sabres - that actually looked like "the real thing".  It was like the best parade ever.  But while a lot of it was playful and innocent, there was definitely a sexual undercurrent, so it was jarring to see so many little children there.  And gasp-worthy when they wanted their picture taken with the Comic Con incarnation of Snow White.  But I guess we could argue that there's a lot wrong with the image projected by the pure Disney Princesses, too.  Plus, I watched Laugh-In as a kid and was blissfully unaware of the sexual innuendo, of which there was plenty, so I'm thinking that the kids at Comic Con just enjoyed the fun and pageantry, and didn't wonder about the fetishistic side of it at all.








So well done, all you Comic Con people who worked so hard to create those amazing costumes!  I really admire all the imagination and effort and pride that went into the outfits and, the makeup, and I love the self confidence it takes to be part of the Masquerade. 





Oh Captains, my captains!

So, yes, I paid a lot of money to have my photo taken with William Shatner and Sir Patrick Stewart.  $175 smackeroos.  And, yes, therefore, it is a real picture, not a cardboard cut-out as some have insinuated.  But I ask you this:  would the Comic Con folks have used that particular photo of William Shatner for a promotional cardboard cut out?  It isn't exactly a flattering picture. He looks acutely uncomfortable, like he's having gastrointestinal issues.  But, back to happy memories.  When it was my turn, I said "Hello" to the gents and Patrick Stewart turned to face me and said "Hello, my dear".  What a gentleman.  Shatner just ignored me.

If Walter is gone, then who the heck is this?

 

Walter the Groundhog

And so it is that we say goodbye to Walter the groundhog.  He's in a better place now.  And by that I mean that he waddled into our live trap and Bill relocated him to a lovely forest out of town.  It broke my heart to have to do that, but he was destroying the garden and digging a network of holes in the backyard.  I'll miss him though.  I loved looking out to see if he was sitting by the shed in the golden light of morning.  I loved Bill's faux-enraged yelling of "Waaallllttteer!" whenever he caught him munching on something he shouldn't (like the flowering monarda).  It was reminiscent of Sheldon's "Wheeaatton!" yell on The Big Bang Theory.  So, in honour of my little Walter, I've written a blues song:
 Sung to the tune of a standard blues song.

"Where is my little groundhog,
oh where could he be?
Where is my little groundhog,
he's not sitting by the tree
my little groundhog
g-r-o-u-n-d-h-o-g
Where's my little groundhog
He ain't where he's supposed to be"

Walter, you've definitely left a hole in our hearts.  And under our shed.

My right to bare arms

Since it's summer, I'm much more aware of my less-than-toned and less-than-tanned (read: pasty white) arms and of how uninclined I am to reveal them to the general public.  Which is why, not surprisingly, they are less than tanned.  It's not just me to feel this way.  How many times have I heard women say how much they hate their arms and are loathe to go sleeveless?  Too many. Loads of us cover our pipes up at all costs....and that's not easy to do with summer fashions the way they are.  To wear sleeves or cardigans to conceal the offending body parts on hot and humid days is unbearable.  It's not hard to understand why we're ashamed of our imperfect limbs: we are bombarded by images of ridiculous physical ideals by the media.  Not to mention the "bingo wing" and "welfare arms jokes". But, honestly, how dare I "hate" my arms, when there are people who have lost use of theirs for whatever reason, or who have lost them completely?  Heck, some people are born without arms.  Don't we owe it to them and to ourselves to appreciate and even be proud of our arms?  And, really, shouldn't this appreciation apply to the whole of our bodies, if we're lucky enough to be healthy?  Not a day goes day that I don't see someone out there who is physically challenged in some way. It puts my complaints and body image issues in perspective.  My physique is far from "perfect"....I'm no slip of a girl and I'm no athlete....but my pudgy little body works pretty well and for that I am grateful.  I can play tennis, hug my loved ones, take photos and, very importantly, hold my coffee cup in the morning, all thanks to my reliable arms and hands.  No need to be ashamed of them.  Plus, I can't help but think that I'll be more inclined to treat my body right if I can abolish the shame and silence the negative inner dialogue. I'm starting my own little movement and exercising my right to bare arms.  And, in keeping with the idea of appreciating my arms, I'm going to exercise my bare arms.  I'm going to shut this computer down so I can go and play tennis and start toning those wonderful arms of mine.

Hey Joffrey dudes - you forgot your pants!

March 5th and it's still winter.  Serious winter. March is in like a lion. A freezing lion with big chattering teeth. It was -16 degrees Celsius today, -26 with the wind chill. When it's that cold, your face starts hurting after a couple of minutes outside. And when it's that cold, you die after a few hours outside. Last night it was snowing when I went to bed, but I was relieved to see that the driveway didn't need shoveling this morning. 

Bill and I went to see the Joffrey Ballet on Saturday night.  The performance was lovely. One piece, in particular, "After the Rain", was breathtaking. There was an audible gasp from the audience as it ended, so taken were we with its beauty.  The last piece, "Age of Innocence", was inspired by life as described in the works of Jane Austen.  I just about laughed out loud when the dancers appeared, though. The women wore flowing white dresses, with empire waists.  The men, however, seemed to have forgotten their pants. They were outfitted in sleeveless, panelled white vests and what looked like sheer white Calvin Klein briefs. Shorty shorts, if you will. You're probably thinking that I am very lacking in culture and a proper appreciation for the arts, and that I should just grow up: it's a ballet costume, after all.  So, please remember me saying that the performance was lovely. ...but the costumes did distract me, briefly. No pun intended.  They were hot pants, really, and hot pants did not exist at the time of Jane Austen, as far as I know, though I'm no Austen scholar.  Now, I have no problem with skimpy dance costumes (except on me), but the combination was a bit jarring, esthetically.  The women's costumes were a deft, subtle nod to Austen attire, but the men's made it seem as though a group of 21st century Calvin Klein models had appeared on the set of Pride and Prejudice. Disconcerting. Later in the piece the ballerinas later wore shorter skirts, so my esthetic anguish was eased somewhat.  Everything was short and skimpy. 

Anyway, judge for yourself.  Or, be a better person than I and just drink in the beauty and be astonished by the talent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uItGO9PHd0c&noredirect=1

After the ballet, I got to thinking how unfair it is that inflexible people are so excluded from the world of ballet, and dance, in general.  We should be allowed to grace the stage and express ourselves through dance, too...for  money and glory!  I shall start my own company of inflexible dancers.  I'll call it "Ballet de l'inflexible"  People will marvel at how immobile our joints are!

Charlie Winston Euphoria

Sometime in December, while driving back from the annual Christmas market/Indian food evening with the girls, I heard a song on the radio that literally enchanted me.  Had me in its spell.  I was instantly hooked.  The voice, the melody, the rhythm, the words.  I LOVED it.  At the end of the song, I learned the artist's name:  Charlie Winston.  I googled him as soon as I got home. That sounds rude, doesn't it?  I don't even know him, I shouldn't be googling him (reference to 30 Rock).  Anyway....checked out some videos, listened to some songs.  Really, really liked him.  Fast forward to my birthday and it's like a Charlie Winston-themed party, sans the life-sized Charlie Winston cardboard cutout and Charlie Winston party trilby hats.  My gifts included two of his cds and two tickets to his show in Montreal. So, last weekend, Bill and I braved the freezing rain and blowing snow to drive to Montreal. The driving conditions were so bad that I had to close my eyes and put my earplugs in to avoid freaking out too much.  Those trucks were too close; the roads were too snowy and slippery.  The lengths we go to for art! The show must go on!  We arrived two hours before the show began. Ill-advisedly, we had thought we'd wing it and try to get a table at Joe Beef for dinner, but we were turned away because we didn't have a reservation.  Then we were turned away from its sister resto as well, and from a pizzeria.  No room at the inn.  I was starting to get a complex: were we not hip enough to eat dinner in Montreal?  Clearly not.  I should have worn something funky...but hey, we went straight from work.  So, we walked gingerly along the dangerously icy sidewalks of Notre Dame Ouest and found a tiny, inviting African restaurant.  Five little tables.  It was a good choice; the food was good and the atmosphere was cozy.  It was nice to just chill and chat before the show.

As you might have expected, since I'm bothering to write this, the concert was amazing.  It was at the Corona Theatre...a great old venue.  While Bill waited in the ridiculously-long line for the coat check, I snapped up a couple of tshirts with "Who the funk is Charlie Winston?" emblazoned on the front.  I had promised my friend I'd get him one.  Then, we found a good viewpoint.  The opening band was Current Swell, a group from my home island (can I say that?), Vancouver Island.  Hence the ocean/surf-themed name, I guess.  They had some really interesting, good material.  Great enthusiasm, too.  Then Charlie Winston.  There are no words.  Oh, yes there are!  What a performer!  A little bit magical, dramatic, mischievous.  A consummate showman and talented musician (and a great dancer).  Such style and such dashing good looks.  Swoon.  I hesitate to say this, as I have pledged my allegiance to the great Neil Finn many a time, but I dare say that Charlie Winston's show gave him a run for his money.  The only downside of the concert was when I leaned over to say something to Bill at the same time as he started to put his arm around me and he clocked me in the nose by mistake.  For a moment I thought it was broken and was going to bleed.  And we weren't even in the nosebleed section!

We stayed overnight in Montreal and spent the bright Saturday morning at the Atwater Market and checking out the antique shops before heading home to meet up with my brother before he flew back to Victoria. 

Anyway, ever since Friday, Bill and I have been humming and singing the songs and enjoying the post-concert euphoria and afterglow!

So, in the interest of spreading the word and maybe seeing Mr. Winston in Canada again, I urge you all (all 8 of my loyal followers, ha ha) to check out his website and music!  Or go see him in Calgary or Vancouver. 

 

http://www.charliewinston.com/