Sweeney Todd, October 13 - 30, 2010

Well, third time's the charm, people! After playing the Beggarwoman in 1998 in Victoria and Mrs. Lovett in 2003 in Montreal, I'm honoured to be part of Fighting Chance Productions' version of Sweeney Todd this October at the Jericho Arts Centre. I'll be performing as a member of the ensemble and understudying Mrs. Lovett. Get all the info on the show here. This cast is phenomenal and I guarantee it will be a fabulous show. From here on out I'll be a busy bee balancing rehearsals and work, but really, what more could I ask for?

1413 Days to Go: Road Trippin'.

I'm home and chilling (literally) with Curriecat, the latest episode of True Blood, and a huge oscillating fan set to "high," after a whirlwind weekend road trip with my mom and dad. We set off for the Okanagan to pick up 160 pounds of peaches to can, but stopped along the way for some lake swimming, wine tasting, and fruit feasting. It was a very welcome break given how stressful things are at the moment.

After dinner at my favorite Acme Cafe on Friday evening, we set off on our adventure. We stopped for the night at Harrison Lake, where we had rented a lakefront condo. Our innkeepers were friendly but eccentric; when we called them from the road to tell them we would likely be late for our 8 pm check-in time, they cheerfully informed us that they'd leave a tarp out for us to sleep under. Of course, they were waiting for us when we arrived, but playfully turned all the exterior lights out as we pulled up to their office. We bought ice cream cones and sat on a bench facing the lake, watching the stars, and turned in for an early night.

We awoke yesterday morning to a lovely day. I went for a run around the lake, before it got too hot, and came back to find my parents sitting on the same bench by the lake, sipping coffee. After I showered, we were off to Agassiz for breakfast at a little cafe and a fuel up for the Murano before we hit the road for Osoyoos.

We arrived at Spirit Ridge around 3 in the afternoon. The spa and resort is set on the hill above the lake. The property is dotted with stunning metal sculptures by Okanagan artist Smoke Marchand, and surrounded by vineyards. Our "desert suite" wasn't ready when we arrived, so we went over to the Nk'mip Cellars, which is the first First Nations-owned winery in North America, for a wine tasting. The combination of work fatigue and intense 30-plus desert heat meant I was a wee bit tipsy before we left the cellars, Mom and Dad to go to church and me, to visit the Osoyoos Indian Band's Desert Cultural Centre. I'm sure it was very informative, but when I found myself staring at a drum for an inordinate amount of time, I decided to totter back to our suite for a nap instead.

We heard a rumour there was a Wal-Mart in Oroville, Washington, a mere 15 minute drive from Spirit Ridge, and decided we'd go across the border for dinner and some cheap shopping (who could resist the siren call of Advil PM and Cheddar Cheez Combos? Certainly not me). We were sadly deceived about the metropolis of Oroville, a downtrodden little ghost of a town where empty fruit boxes stood piled on corners and the main street was virtually boarded up. We pressed on to Omak, which was not much more inspiring than Oroville, but did in fact have the much sought-after Wal-Mart (yes, I know, I know. I preach about buying local, and then off I go to Wal-Mart. I know. It's just AMERICAN Wal-Marts, you understand), filled with Hispanic cowboys who work the surrounding fruit fields.

The entire drive to and from Omak was eerie. Only minutes away from the bustling businesses of Osoyoos, this part of Washington state seemed practically deserted, businesses and homes boarded up, roads unlit and crumbling. The only places that seemed well taken care of were the churches, of which there were many: Baptist, Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, LDS and Jehovah's Witness. We didn't see a soul until we reached Omak. As we passed each "town," I would Wikipedia the place on my iPhone and ask my parents to guess the population. The story was the same, from Oroville to Tonasket, on and on: under 1,000 people, an economy fuelled primarily by agriculture but hard hit by the economic downturn, median household income around $20,000. Our excursion seemed to firmly eliminate any doubts as to who was recovering more quickly from the recession - two countries, one region; sharing a river, climate and industry; one thriving, one desolate and barren. While I had started the drive cracking jokes, I felt sombre as we continued further on into the state. I felt relieved when we returned home to Canada and Spirit Ridge, safe, sound and solvent, later that night.

This morning we left Osoyoos and after a swim in the lake, headed to Burrowing Owl to pick up some wines to take home, and then out to the Similkameen Valley to finally pick up our peaches, which were waiting for us in Keremeos at Parsons Fruitstand. The family has been farming their land since 1908, and my dad had made arrangements with the current owner, Quentin Parsons, for our load. The place was hopping when we arrived, and another Parsons family member, Maurice, dragged a wagon positively laden down with cartons of peaches out to the Murano. My dad remarked on how busy the place was. "This year's been a good year, I think." Maurice said with a smile. "Quentin hasn't been complaining like he did last year." While the car was being loaded with peaches, I quickly picked up cherries, honey, nectarines, plums, tomatoes and a fabulous fresh blackberry milkshake. I looked around at the customers sitting in the orchard eating hot buttered corn, or lining up with pounds and pounds of glossy cherries and fragrant peaches, and thought it might be nice to be a farmer. Difficult, but nice.

And then we were homeward bound on the Hope-Princeton highway. We stopped in Hedley (population: 400) at the Gold Dust Pub, located in the old mine manager's quarters, for lunch. The place was...well, rustic, and I felt a little uncomfortable as locals stared at us as we entered the place. I was relieved to be able to climb into the backseat of the Murano for a nap on the final leg of our journey, falling asleep to the sound of my parents' voices, just as I had when we travelled these roads when I was a kid.

Snarls of traffic on Highway One from Chilliwack to Vancouver, and now, here I am home again, jiggity-jig, wishing I had a few more days to enjoy the finer things in life, like family, fruit, wine and sunshine. I had a dream last night that I bought an Osoyoos motor-court, one of the rundown 1960s properties that line the lake, and restored it to its former glory, complete with a fabulous destination restaurant, coffee bar and wine shop. I bugged my dad, the tourism expert, about it the entire ride home, fishing for advice on whether this was one of my approximately 1,578,342 pipe dreams that might actually work. I think tonight I'll go to bed dreaming of little white washed bungalows dotting a beach somewhere...

Harrison Lake, Saturday morning.

Vineyards as seen from Burrowing Owl Estate Winery.

Osoyoos.

Similkameen Valley. There is a proposal currently to make this area a National Park, on which residents are apparently evenly divided.

MMMM. Peaches.



1418 Days to Go: 30 Days of Music - Week One, Summarized.

So over on my Twitter (@danwithatwist) I've been playing along with the 30 Days of Music meme. While it's great to think about the role music has played in my life (which in general, can be characterized as "central", "monumental," and any other adjective that means "of epic importance"), I'm finding I can't really express it in one tweet. So here are a few more thoughts on the songs I picked this week, and why.

Day 1: Your Favorite Song
This is a totally unfair question. It changes by the day, the year, the mood. So, I had to think about songs that have consistently moved me and inspired me, at different points in my life. Songs that have stood the test of Dani-time. The Beatles always fit into this category, and for me, "A Day in the Life" is probably the most perfect Beatles song. I've always been equally devoted to the "Lennon" songs and the "McCartney" songs and this song has the best elements of both. I love the bizarre lyrics, I love that it's really two songs in one, I love the cacaphonous symphony at the end of the song, followed by the one dramatic chord. Do I really have to explain? It's the fucking Beatles, people.

Day 2: Your Least Favorite Song
Really, I could have chosen from any of the shallow electro-pop songs from the late 1990s, but I chose the song emblematic of the genre (if you can call it that): "Barbie Girl," by Aqua. Life in plastic is NOT fantastic, and singing that I look like Barbie in a baby's voice is just. not. cool. Other songs that would fit into this category? "Cotton Eyed Joe," "I'm Blue," and really, even "Mambo Number 5." All of these could be obliterated from the planet, as far as I'm concerned.

Day 3: A Song that Makes You Happy
Alot of songs make me happy, but the song that right now is the "Oh my god, I'm almost done my run and I just need to keep going for a few more minutes" song, and also the "dance in my bedroom with a hairbrush microphone" song is "Remedy" by Little Boots. It's really easy, in the exhausting grind of my work week, to turn off, become a worker-zombie. I love the lyrics "No more poison killing my emotions/I will not be frozen/dancing is my remedy, remedy." I mean, how can you not get up and dance to that?

Day 4: A Song that Makes You Sad
"Moon and Moon" by Bat For Lashes is so beautiful, and tremendously sad. Natasha Khan's voice is haunting and there is always a tone of longing present, even in her more positive songs. In "Moon and Moon", her voice is tremulous; there are notes of hope ("If I had you here..." she sings, dreamily) as well as of resignation, to loss and loneliness: "I won't see you no more." I feel that for so many people who have passed through my life - if I had them here...oh, the possibilities in the impossibilities.

Day 5: A Song that Reminds You of Someone
I chose "I Can't Go For That" by Hall & Oates. Anything Hall & Oates, really, reminds me of my dad. When I was little, we had a tradition of going downstairs to the rec room in our house on Winchester after dinner, and dancing away. We danced to Hall & Oates (I liked "Maneater." And keep your thoughts to yourself, I was 4), Michael Jackson's "Thriller," "Sesame Street Live," Sly and the Family Stone. Anytime I hear Hall & Oates, I think of those dances with my dad in the rec room.

Day 6 & 7: A Song that Reminds You of Somewhere/A Certain Event
I combined these two, for good reason. I chose anything off Coldplay's "A Rush of Blood to the Head," which reminds me of moving to Montreal...so the album cannot be thought of without remembering the place, or the event. The album came out just a few days after I moved to Montreal, my first long-term move from Victoria. I remember playing the album on repeat every sweltering August afternoon, in my apartment on Avenue D'Esplanade, which I shared with a crazy harpsichordist who looked like Trotsky. The album reminds me of finding my feet in a new city, meeting my new friends, immersing myself in Montreal, which I grew to love.

Coldplay has always timed their albums appropriately to my life: "X and Y" came out when I was studying in London and is inextricably linked with my memories of Edy and I's first months in love. On a darker not, we saw Coldplay in Crystal Palace hours before the London bombings on 7/7/5. "Viva La Vida" was on the playlist the week I left Vancouver for London again. I don't know what comes first, my change in location or the Coldplay album - we'll have to wait until the next one to find out, I guess. And where will it take me?

Day 8 - A Song you Know All the Words To
I was immediately transported back to Calgary House, at Pearson, and lying on Miguel's bed one late night while he tried to "stump" me with song lyrics. We went on and on; I guess I just have a knack for remembering these things. If I'm on your pub quiz team, I'm in invaluable asset in this category. So the song I chose was one that I sang in the beginning of Act II of "Priscilla, Queen of the Damned!" in June at the Waterfront Theatre - "I Got Life" from Hair. Trying to remember the order of the myriad body parts was so difficult - I got my: head/hair/brains/ears/eyes/nose/mouth/teeth/tongue/lips/neck/tits/heart/soul/back/ass/arms/hands/fingers/legs/feet/toe/liver/blood. PHEW! I would shake in terror prior to being wheeled (yes, wheeled) onstage to sing this song. If ever there was a song in which I was going to stumble, it would be this one, but thankfully that never happened.

Well, there's Week 1. Stay tuned for Week 2!

1423 days to go. My new favorite store.

Yokoyaya 123 (for one dollar, two dollars, three dollars, I'm told) is a fabulous and strange mini-Daiso kind of super Asian dollar store in Tinseltown, the equally strange mall on the corner of Abbott and Pender, a block from my place. Yokoyaya is much better than your average dollar store. The products are of a much better quality than say, the Great Canadian Dollar Store, A Buck or Two, or, dare I say it, Quebec's mighty (and my previous fave) Dollarama, and they tend to carry items you might actually want, as opposed to schlock (although they have their fair share of that, too). They have an entire department devoted to drawer liners, and another one just for paperclips. Everything's cheap, and everything's cute. On my last visit, I got a little kitchen scrubber that was sparkly and shaped like the smiling star from Super Mario 3:
See?! Cute. And one dollar. This is why I love Yokoyaya.

Now, I don't mean to be racist or condescending - honest - I'm an equal opportunity lover-of-the-ridiculous, but one of my absolute favorite things about Yokoyaya is reading the English translations on the packaging for some of this stuff. It cracks me up. I bought a pair of supercute pink iPod headphones with black stars on them, whose box informed me "Mix style headphones offers good feeling with vogue and pleasure." Vogue and pleasure? Who could resist! Sold! Here are some things that made me chuckle the last time I popped in:


Ah, yes. Just what I needed. A new Shampoo Hat. Why do they never have 37.5 cm Shampoo Hats when I need one?!

Someone better tell Lil' Jon about this delightful treat.


Why, you're right, $2 plastic poncho. Rain does add a special charm to the red-tinted autumnal leaves! And so do you.

This is FROM USA. Pay NO attention to Japanese writing.




1424 days to go. Summer in the City.

I'm writing this perched on my Juliette balcony, trying to catch some breeze as the city air is becoming stifling after weeks with no rain. Below me, a man is perched on the brick steps of SFU reading a book, and his dog is sitting straight up, leaning on his master's back, and people-watching. I wish Currie could come outside with me and people-watch too. Instead she is lying on her back, flapping her tail and meowing at me. My Venus Flytrap plants are working overtime trying to eat all the flies swarming around our sauna of an apartment.

Work has been incredibly busy of late (how many times do I say that in a day? I wonder), and tomorrow will be no different - I have a call at 7 am followed by a meeting at 7:30 a.m. Last week I tried to also cram a social life into this busy work schedule, with fair-to-middling results: most of the time I was so tired I didn't want to go out, but clenched my teeth and went anyway. Also, the frenetic pace wore me down and I'm sick again. Nothing like being a sickie in the heat of summer.

On Saturday some friends and I went on a walking tour hosted by the Vancouver Police Museum called "Sins of the City." We got a deal on Groupon, otherwise I would never have even heard of the Vancouver Police Museum, which is housed in the old Coroner's court on East Cordova. It boasts the only morgue that actually allows visitors. When I arrived at the museum, my friend Kate and her husband Theo were taking mugshot photos of themselves in an old jail cell.

The tour was fascinating and sordid. We heard more about Errol Flynn's autopsy, and his genitalia, than I would ever have cared to know. We wandered through Japantown, which, shamefully, I hadn't even known existed at all, let alone blocks from my house, at Powell and Gore. A large festival with live music, lots of kids running around, and women in beautiful Kimono was going on in Oppenheimer Park, and I resolved to come back.

We looked at houses that had belonged to madams fleeing San Francisco after the Great Earthquake - their names, like "Marie Lopez," still tiled into the entryway. We toured the trap doors of Chinatown, used to help gamblers escape from the police by moving from house to house without seeing the light of day. We were regaled with stories of Gassy Jack, and his barrel of whisky, and learned about the six acres that had formed the original township of Granville, in modern-day Gastown. I realized, as we heard one fascinating tale after the other, that I know next to little about my adopted home town. I have read countless books on London history, and growing up in Victoria, you absorb it - but Vancouver? Still a mystery, yet to be revealed. It's time to make a visit to the library, I think.

The tour at the Vancouver Police Museum runs every Saturday afternoon from 4 to 6. I highly recommend it.

As for me, I (sadly) don't think I can do the whole out-every-night, work-every-day thing. I'm going to bed at 9 p.m. tonight. I must be getting old or something.

1431 days to go. Currie Again.

So now Currie has contracted pancreatitis, which means her pancreas is inflamed and leaking enzymes into her abdomen, which is not comfy. There's no antibiotics or anything they can give a cat to clear it up - they just have to stay hydrated and take it easy. The scary thing about it is there are often complications - abcesses on the pancreas can develop, or often cats experience liver failure because they are nauseous and don't eat. So, back to the vet tomorrow to pick up some fluid injections and antibiotics to prevent abcess growth.

Despite this, Currie seems to be a little better. She was waiting for me at the door when I got home from work today, did a flop-and-belly-stretch, tried to scratch the couch a little, and even jumped up on the kitchen counter. So I think it's probably clearing up, slowly but surely. This does not make me any more relaxed of a pet parent; God help me if I have real (well, human) children.

Lunch at the Mill in Coal Harbour, sitting outside beside the water park in the sunshine, did me some good and took my mind off Currie for a few minutes. An old Pearson friend, Andy, is in town before her Pearson reunion on the Island in a few weeks, so we had a good ol' gossip catch-up. We hadn't seen each other since I left Montreal in 2004, so we had a lot of boys to catch each other up on. We're still not through, but we have tomorrow night before we go to see Hair at the Waterfront Theatre on Granville Island to get through the full roster.

I'm so looking forward to this long weekend. Work has been steadily insane since the beginning of this month and I need some time to putter around my house, do laundry, Swiffer, read a book, eat cherries, bake a pie - my usual 1950s Housewife comfort routine.

Speaking of 1950s (well 1964) housewives, did you see the premiere of Season 4 of Mad Men? Betty Draper married that old dude? And she won't get out of Don's house?! Out you go, Betty, I'll happily shine Don's shoes. Mmm. Jon-Hamm-in-a-suit. Yes please.

1432 Days to Go. Cat Updates.

Well, as pictured, Curriecat is home from the pet hospital and stoned out on drugs. She reminds me of that YouTube video of the poor kid coming home from the dentist and he's still totally high and asking his dad if "this is real life." It's funny but he's obviously in such distress that you feel bad for laughing. Curriecat is kind of like that at the moment. We had a relatively good night - she came out of hiding a couple of times for treats, and ate some dinner and drank some water, but there was much growling and she was not in the mood for cuddles of any kind. She was in an even worse mood when I had to start tackling her to the floor and holding her down to give her her meds, via syringe. I don't think she'll be coming out from under the bed even for treats now - she's on to me. She seemed comfortably ensconced under the bed with her mousie, with the fan blowing cool air on her, when I left for work this morning.

While I was at the pet hospital to pick Currie up, I got an update on the poor kitty who fell last Sunday night. A police officer brought her in, and she was DOA (thank goodness). She has been registered with the city pound, but no one has claimed her yet. This makes me think that my first gut reaction that she had been thrown - based on my own unscientific assessment of how difficult it would be for a cat to climb out the window or climb through the balcony bars, and the ongoing stream of stuff people seem to be throwing from the roof "for fun" - may be correct. Otherwise, why wouldn't her family be looking for her, putting up flyers, speaking to building management - anything. People are so strange. I like animals way better.

1438 days to go. Hollywood.

Tonight my friend Briana and I went to see the Lion King (for what it's worth, we thought the pageantry and score was amazing but the book and performances only so-so...and there were some serious sound problems). Before the show, we had dinner at Nuba, my favorite Lebanese place which is nestled in the basement of the old Metropolitan building (I think it's called the Metropolitan?!) at Cambie and Hastings, down a long, wide staircase.

After the show, I left the Queen Elizabeth Theatre and I headed down through Victory Square, towards home. I was a little worried as I approached, as I saw several police cars and ambulances with sirens. Then I passed a van that said "Bomb Squad - Special Operations." Even more worried now. I had visions of poor Currie Cat being blown to bits and concluded that while I only suspected it before, I really was cursed. I hustled to the intersection, where there appeared to be orange and white barricades holding back crowds of bystanders and evacuees.

As I hit the crosswalk at Cambie and Hastings, I was stopped by a Vancouver Police officer who was directing traffic. As I waited, slightly panicked, I took a closer look at the parked police cars. They all said "Boston Police." The entrance to Nuba had been transformed into a Subway station, complete with a fake tiled wall at the entrance. Suddenly I noticed the scores of people with walkie-talkies rushing around, and the klieg lights. As I waited to cross the street, a huge truck passed through, dousing the streets with water, and I heard someone yell "Cue the rain," and water began to fall from large siphons posted high around the intersection. Then I saw a man who looked suspiciously like Joshua Jackson, and a techy walk by in a "Fringe" t-shirt, and realized I'd walked into an episode of the show. I felt stupid and relieved.

The W is fast becoming a favorite spot for TV and movie shoots - I'm hoping one of these days someone will stop me in the street, tell me I'm perfect, and put me in a movie. Hey - it could happen, right?

1441 days. Sad times.

I was lying in bed just now when I saw a dark shape fly past my window, and slam into the glass just outside, eye-level with my bed. The thud was so strong that the pictures on my wall shook, and the windows rattled. Currie and I were both startled, and I looked out the window fearfully - I had a sickening feeling that I was going to see a person. Instead (and not any better), it was a dead kitty who had fallen or been thrown over a balcony. I haven't stopped crying since. The police have arrived with the SPCA, but as the 911 dispatcher made me check on the cat a few times, it's clear it didn't survive. The dispatcher said that was probably for the best. Right now I am extremely thankful for the screen door which keeps my own kitten from venturing out on the balcony.

I had to go outside and give a statement to the police. I put Currie Cat in the spare room with the door shut, which the 911 dispatcher had recommended, in case officers needed to come into my suite. Currie Houdini did her usual tricks however and managed to escape, and stood at the screen door to the balcony, yowling and me and the police offices in the courtyard below. Slightly embarrassing and kind of funny, but I'm too tearful and heartsick about the other poor kitty to really make light of much at the moment. Currie did catch sight of the little cat on the glass and looked and me in wonder. How to explain to a cat? I think I'll just give her a treat instead?