Fridays in the City.

After a busy busy week of at least three meetings or appointments a day, I needed a lazy Friday. And after a good sleep-in, I hopped on the Grey Lady, my new townbike, and headed across town to the Denman Bike Shop (where I got my cruiser, Ms. Bertha Chatelaine), to pick up a new helmet - mine fell off the kitchen counter and cracked. Fail. Anyways, new helmet bought, I decided to keep trundling down Davie, back into my old neighbourhood. I hardly ever go there now, and the place has changed a lot in the three years (omigoshhowtimeflies) since I left.

At the intersection at Comox and Davie I watched a squirrel try to cross four lanes of traffic. I was shrieking for "someone" to save the lil' guy and praying that I wasn't going to have to witness him being squished into a pancake by a cab - but he made it across safely. I decided to pop into Cupcakes for a mini red velvet to celebrate:


To be honest, the cupcakes aren't as good as those at Victoria's Pink Sugar (my brother and I sneak over there for vegan cupcakes whenever I'm in town) but the Cupcakes store is so damn pretty, it's just a delight to visit.

Then I ambled down the seawall, past English Bay, around Yaletown, and back into my beloved DTES. Paid a quick visit to my peeps at Acme, and then home to go for a Rolling Hills run on the treadmill. I mean, awesome. I love being my own boss. I'm starting to worry about getting more clients in the door, but really, it's been less than a month. I have to stop being so hard on myself. I don't know that I'll ever learn that lesson...



I asked this woman if I could take her picture - she laughed and said "I was here yesterday too, but that wouldn't have made for such a good photo." I guess not, what with the pathetic slushy snowfall we had yesterday afternoon...

Lesson of the Day, Revised: Blackmail AND WHINING Always Work.

So during my visit to On the Coast on Friday I whined at the host, Stephen Quinn, that in addition to meeting George Stroumboulopolous, I should also be entitled to tickets to see a taping of his show, in light of my awesome tweetiness. Stephen was immediately apologetic and said that they hadn't been able to wrangle enough tickets to give one to me. But this morning, he phoned and said they'd found a couple, and could I be at CBC Studios by 3 p.m.? I said that I was disappointed he wasn't calling to offer me a job after my 15 seconds of fame, but I'd take the tickets as a consolation prize.

I asked my friend and neighbour Zoe, who writes the blog Woodwardsmile, to come with me. As we approached CBC, Zoe glimpsed a huge line of people outside. We both groaned and decided we were way too old to wait in lines anymore. "Don't worry," I said bravely. "We're on the VIP list," (I had no idea if we were), and marched past the line and into the building.

We were (Thanks, Quinn). We were then escorted by a red-jacketed CBC employee into an elevator and down into the basement, where we met another line. We were dismayed at how long the VIP line-up was, until Red Jacket then ushered us past that line (Zoe, to me, on VIP status: "I like hanging out with you"), and into a smaller studio. George came through and did a quick meet and greet, and then we were into the main studio, in the front section of seats, and the taping began.

First, the production manager taped the audience clapping at various levels of enthusiasm. Then a warm-up act, then George, who answered a few audience questions and cracked a few jokes prior to taping.

George interviewed Elizabeth May, Ice Cube, and Ian Hanomansing (after a quick wardrobe change, as that interview was for tomorrow's broadcast). At each commercial break he'd interact with the audience, taking questions, and telling funny anecdotes. We heard about his appearance in "Hobo with a Shotgun" (he dies), why the Randy Quaid interview for this week got cancelled (Quaid craziness), his views on hip-hop (dead), God (dead), his best interview ever (Woody Harrelson), who he would have liked to interview but didn't (George Carlin), his ringtone (NWA), and much more. During the taping we laughed and applauded on cue. After the show, George spent at least another half hour taking audience questions, and then held a meet-and-greet for the non-VIP guests. I mean, the man doesn't stop.

And I can tell you from briefly meeting him on Friday, he's exactly who and what you see on TV. "Strombo" is not a persona that disappears the moment the cameras are not rolling. He is warm and engaging, potty-mouthed, self-deprecating, and a weird combination of earnest/sarcastic. I'm pretty sure he's exhausting to hang out with for a sustained period of time, because he is so passionate and opinionated about, well, everything. But dammit, he makes for good TV. Long may he reign.

About


I'm a lawyer, singer, actor, writer, and dreamer. I lead a full life surrounded by amazing friends and devoted family. My partner-in-crime is a cat named Currie. I love Jane Austen, popcorn, bubble baths, showtunes, Fluevog shoes, John Donne's sonnets, and chocolate, although not necessarily in that order (and not all at the same time). Most of all, I love that you're here and reading this blog.

I love my iPad 2.

So I must admit, I have never been an ardent admirer of the iPad. Don't get me wrong, I'm a pseudo-hipster, so I am genetically predisposed to love Apple products. I remember asking my Dad for an iPod for Christmas the year when the very first generation came out, and they were like, $700. I have at various points had 3 iPods to my name. I'm on my second MacBook (upgraded to the pro - his name is Vincent Van Go). I am surgically attached to my iPhone. But I never really went crazy for the iPad. Sure, they were cool. But I couldn't think of a reason why I needed one. I still can't, really. But last week something came over me, and I put my name on the wait list for an iPad 2. And today - success! And - I love it. So much. I can't figure out how I lived without it.

"But it's just your iPhone - only bigger," protested my cousin Sal this afternoon.

"I know," I exclaimed, drunkenly scrolling through all my recently purchased apps. "IT'S BRILLIANT!"

And it is. Seriously, people, this thing is awesome. I'm typing this on my wireless keyboard - poor ol' Vincent Van Go is sitting charging forlornly in the bedroom. TwistyPad - well, he has everything I need, really. Music, apps, I downloaded Pages so I could word process - ZestyKobo is very upset that I might start using TwistyPad to read e-books, and you know what? ZestyKobo should be worried! Why hit a button and wait 2 seconds for the next page to load, when I can flick through pages, and even read in the dark, thanks to TwistyPad's beautiful backlight? I'm in love with a machine that I had absolutely no need for. BUT I LOVE IT!

OK, off to FaceTime my brother. He picked up HIS iPad 2 today as well...

Stay tuned for my next exclamation of techno-joy: iPhone 5, coming this fall...

Lesson of the Day: Blackmail Always Works

So yesterday on "On the Coast" Stephen Quinn mentioned that if you wanted to win a chance to hang out in studio today with George Strombolopolous, you had to tweet SQ and tell him why you should win. I sort of Tweet-bombed him with the following:

@ I will sing you and @ a song, and even bake you cookies. Maybe we can do yoga? Or swear at it? I'll bring my cat!

@ PS I just started my own biz and you should publicize me. I'm the only dancing, singing, pink haired techno lawyer in Van.

@ PS, I have certain PMs from you regarding certain other CBC hosts (not @). When all else fails, try blackmail. :) (Editor's note: It's true, I DO)

@ also, i'm Fred Lee's neighbour - and really somebody over there should make that up me. :)

Anyways, so word came from Mr. Quinn himself this morning that my blackmail/Tweetbomb campaign was successful so I'll be hanging with two of my favourite media gents this afternoon, at 5:30 on CBC Radio One. Let my take-over of the CBC commence!

Neighourhood Watch: I Love My Bank (Seriously).

When I moved home to Canada, I opened accounts with TD Canada Trust, because they were opening a branch in the Woodwards Building and I thought it would be great to have a place in the neighbourhood.

I love my bank.

I never thought I would say that, but I really do. Today's visit epitomized what I love about it: I went to deposit my first cheque for Danielle Lemon Law Group. When I told Lotenna, who greeted me at the door (and who sat in on the opening of my business accounts), that I was depositing my first "paycheck," I got a big high-five. Then I got a wave from Brendan, who I'd call my "personal" banker (who set up my RRSPs and also my business accounts), and who ran to go get my company chequebook, which he presented to me with great fanfare. Katrina deposited my cheque for me, while chatting about Hawaii (she went to Maui right after I did). Kevin was working the next till over, and he told me I looked beautiful today and complimented me on my necklace. Last week I received a thank you card in the mail from Kevin, who wanted to congratulate me on opening my own business. I mean, how great are these people?! I have never felt like an important person to a bank, and I'd avoid actually making a visit to the branch like the plague, sticking to the online banking and phone. But I actually love going to see these people. We all know each other by name, and I feel like they really are rooting for me. How cool is that?! I guess this is just another reason why living in a "real" neighbourhood, with real neighbourhood businesses, is the right thing for me.

Neighbourhood Watch: Yoga for the People

This afternoon I met my friend Lara F. for coffee and a quick gossip, then wandered down the street to my friend Eliza's shop, Gentille Aloutte. Eliza is burnt out from working so hard - she designs and makes a lot of the beautiful things she sells. "Danielle," she moaned when I walked through the door. "We NEED to go to Yoga." I instantly agreed and suggested a place in Gastown - until Eliza told me about Yoga for the People, a donation based studio located in a scuzzy block of buildings on East Hastings. When I got home, I pulled up the schedule online, saw that there was a class tonight, and headed over to check it out.

Now, I don't mind yoga, but I don't love it. It's something I do because it's good for me, like flossing my teeth, and it's something which I don't do nearly enough of (like flossing my teeth). But after one class at YFTP, I might be a convert.

I was a bit tentative walking into the studio, but the instructor, Rachel, was lovely when I told her I was new, and she showed me around, pointing out the little cubbies where I was to leave my stuff, and the box topped with a bronze Buddha statue where I deposited my donation. "You'll love this class," Rachel promised as I laid my mat out on the floor beside the other students. "This class is like doing yoga in my living room. I call it the Family."

And it was like a family, oddly enough. The dozen or so students were friendly and welcomed me. Before we began class we all had to introduce ourselves and share something with the class - when I told them I was on a new journey and had started my own practice, they all clapped and complimented my pink hair. Rachel cracked a few jokes, asked us what we wanted to be inspired by tonight (we all agreed on the promise of renewal in springtime, and being open to new possibilities) and soon class was underway.

I have never had that spiritual "a-ha" moment in a yoga class before, and have mostly found my previous teachers' efforts at "spiritual chat" during class to be inauthentic and rehearsed, but in this class I laughed, I sweated, I shook with exertion, I connected to myself, and I came near to tears at times - not tears of sadness, more tears of release. Rachel was such a kind teacher, remembering everyone's names, laughing, making up words like "buttness" to describe poses where we were supposed to stick it out - and sometimes speaking in a funny accent she called her "Indian guru" voice but was more like an English nanny. All of us students laughed and talked and smiled our way through the entire class, encouraged by Rachel, and I felt like I was a part of something bigger than myself, some communal effort, although I was also completely focused in what I was doing, and trying to keep up with the poses. At the end of the class, as we lay on the floor with our eyes closed, Rachel started singing in a clear and sweet soprano voice, in words I didn't understand. The melody was haunting, it was definitely a prayer of some kind, and I could feel my heart opening as she sang. That's when the tears came.

After we had finished, we all chatted as we cleaned our mats. Other students asked how I had enjoyed my first class. I explained, with slight surprise, that actually, I had had a blast. That I had never had fun in yoga before. "We know," they all replied, seriously. "Us either! That's why we keep coming back." One student told me that she just feels "good vibes" at YFTP and that it is such a special place for her to be. Another student, a sweet girl in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt, congratulated me on my new path and told me earnestly, "It's all about the journey." I sidled up to Rachel after the class because I just felt compelled to hug her, and she opened her arms casually, not stopping the conversation she was having with another student, and embraced me. I left the class feeling happy but shaky, spent, and somehow vibrant, and centered.

What an absolutely special place YFTP is, with its warm, exposed brick walls, vases of tulips on the altar, and fantastically welcoming people. I did feel like I was in someone's living room, and that I had every right to be there. That I was part of the Family. And yes, somebody help me, I'm becoming a hippie. Who flosses. Namaste.


Shameless Self-Promotion

I'm giving a free concert at the Vancouver Public Library (350 West Georgia Street) on Monday, April 4th. I'll be singing the songs of Cy Coleman as part of APPLAUSE! Musical Society's Musicals 101 Program. Cy Coleman is the legend behind musicals such as the Will Rogers Follies, Sweet Charity, On the Twentieth Century, See Saw, Little Me, and I Love My Wife. Come see me belt out a few show tunes!

The rituals of home.

Every Saturday morning, after I've had my coffee and a good lay-about, I change the sheets on my bed. My mother always changed the sheets on her bed on Saturday mornings, too, and I adopted this Saturday morning ritual from her. Currie loves sheet changing time; we have our own little Saturday morning sheet-changing ritual now, too:

Stage One: Currie runs from wherever she is in the house to stake her territory on the bed and prevent it from being changed. Right after I snapped this photo she attacked my hand. No matter what sheets, the incumbent sheets are her favourite and she vigorously defends them against change.

Stage Two: the new sheets are introduced. Here Currie is closely examining the new pillowcases while defending the previous pillowcases, one of which is draped over her.

Stage Three: new fitted sheet is permitted to be placed on the bed. Rolling around commences.

Stage Four: Flat sheet is placed over the Currie Cat. Lump of Currie remains still under flat sheet for some time.

Final stage: New duvet cover. Currie is well pleased.

So that's our Saturday sheet-changing ritual. My cousin Sally changes her sheets on Thursday night, because Thursday is laundry day and she folds the laundry while watching Greys and Private Practice. What's your bed making ritual?