One more day

And then we're off to Las Vegas Baby!!!

The line up for death is over there.

Wednesday morning I got a call that my uncle John was in the hospital and wasn't going to make it.
Wednesday afternoon I went to see him in ICU.
Wednesday evening I returned to Toronto, and an hour later my sister called to tell me he'd had a heart attack, but they'd managed to bring him back. She got a beep and put me on hold. A minute later the phone clicked back to her with two simple words - "He's gone."

The official cause of death was septic shock (blood infection) due to pneumonia (which he came down with in Feb but never saw a doctor for) which his body was unable to fight due to leukemia. It was a second heart attack which did him in. The man did not take care of himself very well.

It's funny how fate can take some eerie turns. My father's cousin Craig and his wife MaryAnne own the local funeral home. It's been in the family for generations. On Wednesday evening they decided to drop in on my parents for a quick visit, with no knowledge of what was going on. My parents invited them in and filled them in on the situation. No sooner had they finished explaining, when the phone rang.

I was so glad to hear that he had family there when the news came. But how ironic is that the man who deals with death for a living was there to help? My parents hadn't seen them in a long time and it wasn't very often that they would drop by unannounced. I'm just glad it happened the way it did.

Thursday I went with them and my other uncle, Dave, and his wife to the funeral home to make the arrangements. What an interesting process death is. So many forms and questions and decisions. At least now I'll have a better idea of what to do when I'm sitting in that chair making the decisions. I hope that time never comes, but it will have to one day. I think I'll be sure to make my arrangements myself so no one has to.

On Friday we had a private family viewing with an open casket. We all wanted to have a final image of him in peace, instead of swimming in a sea of tubes. My father gave Craig some of John's personal possessions, which he laid out beautifully in the casket. He did a wonderful job and I know it couldn't have been easy. Handling dead bodies all day can make you desensitized, but I think it must be different when it's family. He then closed the casket and we did a 3 hour reception that night.

Saturday was another quick viewing, followed by a quick service in the chapel. My father had written John a letter, which he asked me to read for him. It wasn't easy, but I made it through without cracking. The interesting thing about that letter was I had to transcribe it that morning from my dad's chicken scrawl into something legible. I tried to type it out on my mother's computer, but the damn thing wouldn't work. The printer wouldn't turn on, and the computer would only boot halfway and then stall. I tried to fix it (since that's what I do for a living), but didn't have the patience, so I was forced to write it out by hand. To me, writing something in ink is much more personable than typing on a computer. As such, it was difficult for me to write that letter out. I didn't make it to the end without bursting into tears, but maybe that's what helped me when reading it out. The next day the computer worked fine. Weird.

The drive to the cemetary was a beautiful one. Craig decided to alter the route slightly so that we drove by John's farm. It was a serene and peaceful drive through the country. I was also astonished to look in my rear view mirror and see a line up of cars about a kilometer long. The burial itself was also a short endevour. My father took it really hard. We all did. I just hope that I never have to see him like that ever again. I was more upset at the sight of him than I was at the passing of his brother.

John's death wasn't all in vain though. He still lived at the farm with my grandmother who suffers from dementia and alzheimers. We had tossed around the idea of her going into a home years ago, but he was against it. As a result my father was burdened with the responsability of her well being. John may have lived there, but didn't do much but keep an eye on her at night. My father looked after her meals and made sure that she had someone checking in on her during the day. (I know you'll never read this, but Yvonne you're an absolute angel for caring for my grandmother these past few years.) As I said, John was against the idea, but now that he's gone we can get her into a home with full time care. I'm sure my father's blood pressure will go down a few points.

John's passing also kickstarted some much needed dialogue in my family. Dave and him hadn't spoken in more than a decade. Dave is a little coocoo and drinks too much as well. This causes him to create lavish ways in which people have wronged him, and causes him not to listen to logic or reason. Dave and dad had also not spoken these past few years either, except through lawyers. Again, due to Dave being an absolute idot. The death seems to have brought him around a little bit. He actually came down to see my parents, and was very agreeable to all the funeral arrangements instead of being an obstinant, arguementative clod. Dad's been trying to get him to agree to separating the family land that they all have their names on for years (mostly because Dave's been hindering anything he's wanted to do with the farm for no good reason). Now, he might actually agree to something reasonable.

It's funny how things can trickle down from generation to generation. I also had not spoken to my brother in about 10 years. Neither had my sister. In fact most of my family can't stand him or that bitch wife he married. My parent's kept in touch because he has 2 kids. Unlike Dave, who made things up, my brother did some pretty terrible things a decade ago, which I find hard to forgive. If he'd only take responsability for them, then maybe we'd talk.

As it was, he was at mom and dad's on Friday, and since we were all going to the funeral home, I offered him a ride in my car as well. To be cold and angry takes so much energy, and I just didn't have the resources to pull that off. I needed every ounce of energy to support my dad. Plus that point in time wasn't about him and me, it was about my father. There are times to set differences aside, and this was one of them. My sister was even nice. We ended up talking a few times over the next few days, and I could tell how much it meant to him. I was even nice to the bitch-wife. Apparently this didn't go unnoticed by my mother. She made some sort of comment to Q, with tears in her eyes, about how nice it was that we were talking again.

It's been a long, tiring few days. Only now that it's all said and done am I letting myself feel tired and emotionally drained. Having Q there helped me tremendously though.

Sunday, however, was my 29th birthday. Q and I just bummed around town and went out for a great birthday dinner. I had a fantastic steak, 2 Belevedere martinis made just right (straight up, dirty, olive), and topped the meal off with a deliciously decadent chocolate sin cake. (thanks for the birthday wish snooze!)

Today was spent doing mundane things like laundry. Thank god Q and I are off to Las Vegas on Thursday.

I need a fucking vacation.

And then there were two

My uncle John died tonight. He was the second of 3 brothers in my father's family.

John was admitted to the hospital late last night, after a pretty rough weekend. Apparently he was feeling rough on Friday, but was still mobile and alert. Within 3 days he'd lost 8 pounds and all but collapsed. Being the type of man who hated doctors, he refused to go until it got to the point where he was coughing up blood and almost unconcious, so he couldn't resist my dad putting him in the truck and taking him to emergency.

John was a heavy, heavy drinker and an equally heavy smoker. He wasn't fat, but didn't exercise much and ate very poorly, if at all. Many years ago he went to the hospital because his legs simply stopped working. His liver had all but shut down and his body was all off balance because all he consumed was alcohol, coffee, cigarettes and red meat. He was on protein overload and deficiant in every other vitamin and mineral. When he got out he tried to quit the sauce, but all his buddies were beer drinkers, so it didn't last long.

This time around the doctors found lukemia, his kidneys were shut down along with the liver, which led to septic (infected) blood, and there was fluid around his heart. He also started having seizures because of the severe alcohol and nicotine withdrawl. It was after the second seizure this morning that he lost conciousness and never returned. It was after the second heart attack tonight that his body never returned. When the first heart attack happened, the hospital called my father and asked what they should do if it happened again. He simply asked that they let him be. I know that's what he would have wanted, and what my father would want in the same situation.

When I saw John in ICU today, I didn't see a person lying in that bed. What I saw was the shell of a human being with 6 IV's, surrounded by numerous screens with colours, graphs and beeps, and this monsterous series of tubes shoved into his mouth and down his throat. He could no longer breath on his own. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever seen someone on a ventilator, but it's not a pretty site. There's something eerily disturbing about watching this unnatural breath being pumped in and out of a body. It's one of those images that gets etched and burned into your mind, never to be erased or forgotten. Kind of like the time a girl committed suicide by jumping off a bulding and landed beside my car. It sounded as if someone had dropped a hunk of ground beef onto the pavement (thankfully I didn't see the body). I've never forgotten that sound.

But I digress. As I mentioned, John was a heavy drinker. It all started almost 20 years ago, and no one really knows why. He used to take care of me a lot as a kid, but as the years went on, the alcohol took over. He eventually lost his job and opened up his own business at home doing body work on cars and such. More of an excuse to sit around and drink, from what I saw. The last time I saw him was sometime last year. He was around 57 but looked more like 77. Grey hair, with an old weathered leathery face, enlarged nose, and droopy, blood-shot bags under his eyes. He looked even older today.

I'm sad, but not surprised to see him go. I feel like I should be more upset than I am, but we just weren't that close. What I am most worried about is my father and all the things he is left to deal with - namely my grandmother. She still lives at home, but suffers from dementia and alzheimers. John was not married and so he still lived at home with her, but since he was the way he was, my father was still the primary care giver along with a nurse that popped by once or twice a day. Even though John didn't do much, we felt secure in the knowledge that there was someone there with her at night. Now that's not the case. We talked in the past about putting her in a home, but no one wanted to do it. Now my father doesn't really have a choice. And it's not a choice he wants to make, even though it will end up making his life much easier.

So that sort of sums up my day. It's amazing how a single phone call can change your life. We aren't certain yet, but it looks like that receiving will be on Friday, with the funeral on Saturday. At least the weather will be nice.

Oh, and did I mention it's my birthday on Sunday?

Christ.

Gayest. Brother. Ever.

So K and I went to a free intro to Japanese class on Friday. I loved it. The entire lesson was taught only in Japanese - no engrish whatsoever. We learned vowels, how to ask what something is, how to say "no it is not.. it is called", and how to introduce ourselves. Not bad for half an hour. I think that I'll pursue it if I can fit it in my schedule. It's important to always be learning something new.

My sister D came up on Saturday for a day of shopping and a hair cut. Having 2 kids under the age of 3 can be a little much at times, and she always welcomes a break. She's really liked the stylist I've been going to this past year, so I made her an appointment. First and foremost though, she needed shoes.

We went into Bata in the Eaton Center, where the girls had way too much attitude. I don't deal well. They also did not acknowledge us when we walked in the store (a big retail no -no). So I picked up the shoe she liked and exclaimed loudly "Yes I do think this one is nice. Maybe you should try this on? What size do you take? Oh a 9? Maybe someone could get you a 9 to try on because you are interested in this particular shoe." We got ignored, so we walked out as I said loudly, again, "Well maybe we can come back when they feel like making a sale."

A little while later we returned, and again ignored. Unfortunately these shoes were exactly what D was looking for, and the right price. At this point Q took over the Diva duties and marched up to the counter with the shoe. When they took their time bringing it, he went back to the counter a couple of times and harasses the bitches. Eventually D got her shoe and all was well.

Next stop was t-shirt shopping so off to Sears we went. Both Q and D went to find a bathroom and left me alone in the womens department. We were starting to get pressed for time, so I did what any fag would do in this situation - I shopped for her. By the time they got back and had begun looking for apparel, I appeared with an armful of colourful, reasonably priced, summer t-shirts. When I need to, I can always sniff out a bargain.

From there it was food time and then up to Yorkville for a haircut. While D was left in well-trained hands, Q and I met up with K. The three of us sat at an intersection and promptly cut up any poor soul who happened to catch our eye. It was brutal but fun, and way too easy with all the rich eurotrash women in that area.

After that we all went to a housewares store, and then took D back to Union Station to catch a Go Train home. A very productive day.

So to recap, I:

• Took my sister shopping
• Threw some attitude at the shoe store girl
• Picked out clothes for D to buy (which she did)
• Took her to Yorkville to get her hair cut by the owner of the salon
• Gave her tips on using the hair product she bought, which I use (KMS hair putty rules)
• Shopped for housewares

Couple that with the manicure/pedicure I took her for on her birthday (yes I went too), and I think that officially makes me the gayest brother ever.

It must be spring

This time of year can make you do crazy things. People tend to break up so they can find something new for the season, or they up and decide to get married.

I spent the better part of Sunday at a wedding party for a good friend of mine. Him and his finacee have been together since highschool and are finally tying the knot. Unfortunately, they are doing it up in a cabin in the north end of BC, so his mother threw a party for those of us that couldn't make it up next month.

I got home late last night and didn't check my messages, so I didn't return Dickey's call. Well, as it turns out, he decided to get married too! - As I found out on his blog this morning. Well I can't bitch at him for not telling me sooner, at least he tried. I did manage to reach him on the phone this morning to offer my congrats and he asked me to be in the wedding party. I was very flattered and said yes. I can't wait to see the bridesmaid outfit I get to wear! Just hope they make pumps in my size.

I couldn't be happier for him either. The-Wifey-Formerly-Known-As-Nursie is an awesome gal and exactly his type. Dickey needs a wife who'll say things like "Shut up you big homo" and mean it. Normally if someone I knew decided to get married in such a short time period, I'd be a little hesitant. As it stands, I've never seen Dickey so excited and happy to be with someone and I can't help but be excited for him too.

Who knows, maybe in a few years there will be a little Dickey running around shaving a mohawk into his barbies, smearing masquera all over the barbie's face and then having it beat the piss out of a bound GI Joe in heels and stockings. I'll provide the barbies.

It's Friday the 13th.

Don't go out alone in your bikini or you'll get trapped in a bubble and a strange man in a hockey mask will come out and kill you.

I've tempted fate

Today I brought my Super 7 lotto ticket in to the local gas station to see if I'd won anything. The man put the slip in the machine and it played it's little tune. Turns out I made $10 on a $9 investment. So I decided to play again - only the attendant gave me a Lotto 649 instead. I wanted to win 25 million and not a measly 21 million (that could mean the difference of thousands of square feet in my new home), so I promptly informed him of his mistake and got him to give me the Super 7. He decided to buy the 649.

After walking out of the store, I realized that I'd created a potential dilemma. What if fate was intervening and the 649 ticket was the winning one? What if I see a news report on Saturday with this guy talking about how the ticket was a mistake and the poor sap gave it back so he decided to buy it and now he's got 21 million dollars? I could never show my face there again.

On the other hand, what if I had taken the 649? Then I'd forever be wondering if I might have had Super 7 winning numbers.

Or maybe I was supposed to buy both and win both and become 46 million dollars richer?? AARRGGGHH!!!

Oh fate, why dost thou mock me so?

I don't know what came over me.

I just signed up for a free Japanese lesson on Friday after work. I don't speak a word of it.

The thought struck me on Saturday while watching Drawn Together. One of the characters on the cartoon speaks nothing but japanese (well who knows if he's actually speaking anything at all). It suddenly dawned on me that I really like the language, the culture facinates me, I love the food and I'm an anime fan. So why not?

Ika tamago unagi sake toro maki nigiri hamachi!!!! Ya!

It started again

I've been working on my photos again these past few days. I have this one which I thought I had finished a few months ago, but something is missing. I can't quite figure it out. I've tried playing around with it and just when I think it's finished, I'll take another look and say no. Maybe it was finished the first time and I don't know it yet. Or maybe it will drive me insane for the rest of my days.Doesn't help that I decided to make a new one and finished that in about 15 minutes.

It's looking like my new show is going to be half prints on canvas and half on paper, framed. Something that struck me last night is what do I do with the prints once the show is done? I already have 14 prints sitting around (and I don't feel like putting them up, I'm bored of them). What the hell am I going to do with 10+ more? There is absolutely no room in the apt (other than some walls) and the storage locker downstairs is full.

I need to quit my job and open up a studio. Time for Q to make more money...

Shenanigans

Dickey decided he and Nursie wanted to go dancing on Friday. I agreed, but when it came time to go out I realized that I didn't feel like going dancing at 5ive and convinced Dickey of the same. Then, 5 minutes before we were to go, my Gemini kicked in and I called him back to say let's go anyways. Q just shook his head.

Well, it wasn't completely empty, and they had renovated since the last time I was there. That's about all there is to say. After a few drinks I realized that I was too old/not gay enough (left my capri's, sandles and sunglasses at home) and luckily so did everyone else. Well, except Nursie. There were other girls in the bar, but Nursie's not a fag hag so she didn't fit in either.

Our next visit to Zippers was one of remembrance - I remembered why I never set foot in the place.

So off the the Eagle we went. The whole night we had kept joking about there being fisting videos. Apparently karma caught up with us. As we stepped into the bar upstairs, I caught a glimpse of a hand and some Crisco on the TV. Nursie took it all in stride - she really is the perfect girl for Dickey. The bartender was more than courteous to the only girl in the bar, but I wasn't surprised really. Of all the gay bars in the city, this one is the least pretentious and most friendly. Plus I always run into someone I know there.

Saturday involved a visit to my parent's for Mother's Day. She wanted us to stay for dinner, so my father decided to BBQ some pork chops. They were thick, and juicy, and marinated. At least they were when he put them on the grill. By the time he took them off, they were charred hockey pucks.

I seriously would have taken them off about 15 min before he did. He somehow thinks that all meat should be cooked until every last ounce of fluid has evaporated, leaving a thick, black crust. It also makes it very difficult for me when steak is on the menu. I like my steak to moo when I cut into it, which means I have to watch him like a hawk.

But the absolute worst part of the BBQ experience is he got this "fork" which you stab into the meat and the colour coded lights on the handle light up telling you if it's rare, medium, well done, or urn-ready. Kinda like Homeland Security for meat. I want to throw the goddamn thing in the garbage. How does it know the difference between pork/chicken/steak? How do you know if you've held it in long enough to register the temperature correctly? And the worst, worst, worst of it is, my mother and father will continuously stab the meat to check it. Anyone who BBQ's knows that you're not supposed to pierce the meat, let alone stab it multiple times. I guess this helps speed up the drying process.

And let me add just one more thing - before the arrival of the magic fork, my father burnt the shit out of everything he cooked.
After the fork arrived, my father burns the shit out of everything he cooks.

Thank god my mother cooks most of the time.

Nothing to report

Well, a pretty uneventful week so far.

Gonna go dancing with Dickey and Nursie this evening. I have absolutely no idea where since none of us can think of a place we like. Any place I've liked over the years hasn't lasted very long. I like to think that's due to my avant garde sense of style, which very few people in this city appreciate. That must be it.

Going to see the folks for Mother's Day tomorrow. Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there.

Word.

Guess what?

Today at 5:05:05 am or pm it will be:

05:05:05 05/05/05

and it only happens once every 1000 years.

Time to buy a lottery ticket!

Something smells fishy around here.

I just passed a man on the street who had a tin of sardines. The cover was peeled back half way, and I watched in horror as he held the tin to his lips, tipped it back a little, and gleefully slurped in all that succulent sardine syrup.

Let's just hope that no one decides to market it as a cool, refreshing summer beverage.

You put the fish in the Coke you nut....

Procrastination - pour homme

This is in response to Dickey's post which was in response to my post about being a lazy artist.

We can do a joint show called Procrastination. It will be held in some remote warehouse off in the west, west end because we waited too long to book it.

Then, in a mad rush, we can put up some hastily made flyers and advertise in weekly papers because we've left it too late again.

In the meantime we'll stress out because the show isn't even done yet, and all the time that we thought we'd leave for finishing our pieces at the last minute is taken up by last minute show preparations.

Then the sound system won't be available because neither of us confirmed it so we will have to use one of our stereos.

While the show happens the speakers will explode due to the exposed wires sitting in pools of water and my pieces will start falling off the wall because I just grabbed the first thing I found at the hardware store (cheap string).

The room will suddenly be filled with deafening, distorted music interspersed with the sounds of crashing pictures and breaking glass. In other words - a complete success.

Laurie Anderson eat your heart out.

Suck my dick. Lick my ass.

I love Miss Kittin. She has the best Frank Sinatra song ever.

mp3

An ode to Mr. Mann

I spoke with my good friend Mr. Mann from Tennessee the other day. We had dropped off each other's radar for a while, but are starting to get back on track. I was telling him about my blog and he asked if he had an alias too. I realized then that I hadn't mentioned him yet.

So Mr. Mann, here's an entire entry devoted just to you. Together we learned that if you drink enough vodka and Red Bull, your friends will think you're on drugs and you might as well be. I think that with enough of it in your system and loud enough electroclash screaming from your stereo, you can actually step out of the space/time continueum.

I want to go come down to Memphis again. I'll be waiting for my ticket in the mail.

I'm a bad artist.

That didn't come out right. Actually, I am a good artist. However, I haven't been as dedicated as I should be. I haven't done anything in months. Mostly because I was ill and couldn't stare at the computer for hours on end. But mostly due to a lethargic lack of motivation.

Now that I am on the mend I have no excuse not to work. I have half a show completed with the other half in my head. Won't take much to do. Just some effort.

I need some motivation people.

Sundays are fun again

9:00 Desperate Housewives (this generation's Dynasty)
10:00 Boston Legal (if it ever comes back on the air)
11:00 Family Guy (it records at 9:00 - love my PVR)
11:30 American Dad (on at 9:30 - again, luv my PVR)
12:00 The Simpsons, if I feel so inclined (did I mention the PVR thing?)