The Victoria World Naked Bike ride was such fun for 2006, the thrid year in a row that surpassed all my expectations.
Unfortuantely, the main news paper in town saw fit to print only a very deragatory letter:
Maybe their helmets saved them
Times Colonist
Published: Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I was downtown on Saturday afternoon and came across a field of bicycle riders riding up Government Street totally naked on their bicycles.
I was totally disgusted by this spectacle. Where were the police and why were these people not arrested for indecent exposure in the public in broad daylight? In mid-afternoon there were families with young children walking on Government Street as well.
Young children do not need to see this sort of behaviour and if I was just to walk up the street naked I would be arrested in a minute and charged. I think in the future this sort of naked bicycle riding in public should not be tolerated. Why was this even allowed in our beautiful city?
Cyclists should keep their clothes on and parade in a respectable manner. This did not get any of my sympathy and/or respect.
Ed Schaefer,
Saanich.
My response was tragically never printed, so I thought I would post it here.
I recently found this beautiful site in which people mail postcards of their secrets to this guy and he posts the best ones. Well, one of the secrets was that this girl takes photos of her feet and emails them to this guy who buys her stuff.
I am a firm believer that everyone is a prostitute and some people are just really really expensive. I like to think I'm far more expensive than any earthling could afford BUT, I think I could easily be convinced to whore out my feet if there are any guys or gals out there who want photos of them in exchange for stuff, or money, or whatever.
I have nice feet. They're really small. My toes are so tiny and cute. Can't you just imagine them walking all over you? I tell you, you want pictures of my toes. I've never met anyone with smaller toes than me. My big toe is adorned with a pink skull. Don't you just want to suck on it? Yes, my hot naked feet are yours for a price.
The only forseeable problem any self respecting foot fetishist might have with my feet is that I don't shave my legs. But again, I have my price and I'll shave em if it's right.
That's right, I'm rebecca, biology student, erotic artist, writer, foot whore.
Let me know if you're interested.
Up until recently, I’ve been sort of regretting leaving you all for fresh air and less than evil politicians. I’ve been living in a bit of a cultural void and have been dreaming of the move back home. I’m sure you’ve heard me kvetch. “I miss art! I miss excess! I miss nonwhite people! I miss single men!”
The reality, I am pleased to discover, is that I was really giving my all at living a humble existence. So as not to upset my Canadian comrades, there was a stint in a commune, the basement of a professor, an apartment complex for single mothers, it was all really one horrible manila stucco wall and beige carpet after another. But no longer! I got sick of feigning hippie-dom and decided to flex opulence for my last year in this fair country. I moved into a beautiful studio downtown and this is my call for you to come visit me in it.
“Flexing opulence” might be a bit strong when one considers the exchange rate, but it’s really quite lovely and I’ve got a spare bed. It’s funny, all of the Canadians who have come over so far have been flabbergasted by the lack of walls and keep giving me suggestions for dividing it up. Pah! I say. There will be no dividing! I think living in NYC makes people really covet open space, while here, in this country of few people and lots of land, coziness is something to strive for. Plus we can camp on the roof! No one will kill you, they’re Canadian.
If you still need more reasons, please find your corresponding sexual and gender identify among the list below:
To all the GAY BOYS:
Like so many cowboys hundreds of years ago, the northwest is your frontier. As I’ve written in previous spams, the gay guys here need signs. There’s simply no way to tell the rugged, Carhart-wearing, bearded, butt bangers from the rest of the guys. And as you can imagine, I both love them and hate them. One of my new friends is a fire fighter and a tree planter, as well as being newly single. Plus most of them are smart enough to realize that everyone should do yoga. Manifest your destiny my lovelies!
To all the STRAIGHT GUYS:
1) Vancouver Island has what are called “Island girls.” I think they are incredibly boring but they would be worth a ton in the romance economy in Manhattan; they have assists, if you know what I mean. Victoria is the single healthiest place in Canada, and their butts show it, so do their yoga pants. Everyone is tan and has that glow from living outside in good air. I’ve never seen so many natural blonds in my life. While my own natural pseudo blondness was worth a bit in that romance economy I remember fondly, it’s totally generic here and considered even less blond than it was back home.
2) There are far FAR more females living on Vancouver Island than males. Although it causes me much grief, it does make for interesting social dynamics to analyze. Girls here are, of course, sort of known for being easy. And the men who are single rather than settling for one of the ubiquitous females who are far too good for them, are sought after to the point that they get all up on themselves and are just generally lame if you’re interested in having sex with them. I have friends who go “wife shopping” at local craft markets on weekends. So a real, genuine, interesting, smart, funny guy who could dazzle the locals with well made clothes and stories of wild city antics would do amazingly well here, even on a weeknight.
3) All the better if you’re not white. Have you ever wanted to feel exotic? Have you ever wanted people to play with your hair and laugh because they were having so much fun? Have you ever wanted someone to feel your arm, look you at you, cock their head in amazement, and go on feeling? Well, Victorians are sweating with jungle fever, or rather, they would be if there were any people who were not white around. There are a lot of hippie, rich, guilty, politically-overcorrect leftists who would KILL to be able to have an actual black friend. Your opinion at a dinner party would be really really important. And the girls would see having sex with you as a political statement: “Don’t judge us MOM! We’re in LOVE” and all that. It could be fun.
To all the GAY GIRLS:
It’s a well known fact that when you have a population of all one sex, those who were teetering on the precipice of sexual experimentation go full blown homo. So the sexual dynamic mentioned above works in your favor as well. Everyone’s a lesbian. Eating pussy is practically a prerequisite for certain women’s studies classes. But what is interesting is that you have this female majority mixed with CRAZY leftist mindsets and you pretty much get a matriarchy run by dykes. I, personally, can’t stand them.
Given the cultural street cred given to non-whites, non-straights, and non-gendereds, looking like an actual female makes one an outcast from the gay girl community. Why? Did you think being a lesbian was only about muff diving? No no NO! It’s about dressing like a boy and being a dick! Politics and fashion. Lame-o. But if you have short hair, you will be welcomed with open arms and legs.
To all the STRAIGHT GIRLS:
We can go to the beach, it’s really lovely.
But romance aside, I LIVE IN A RAIN FOREST PEOPLE! Yes, a real one. It has moss and crazy ferns and waterfalls and everything. Plus some of the trees are thousands of years old, with whole ecosystems in their branches. The single most spiritual experience I’ve ever had was walking into their company. The energy is palpable.
Also, it’s worth remembering that marijuana is the single largest export of British Columbia for a reason. The coffee and beer here are also amazing. I don’t know what it is about the west coast that they take their substance usage so seriously but I’m now a huge snob of all items mentioned, and you can be too!
So there’s my argument. Sex. Air. Out of control photosynthesis. Public pot smoking. A fabulous place to stay. And me!
You’ve got one year left. I’m driving back home next spring. I’m teaching until the end of June but have a flexible schedule. Mid to late summer would really be ideal. Get yer grey butts out here while you can. Plus I miss you like crazy.
Sending you cross-continental love vibes,
~ alex
Today I was reading on this beautiful lawn on this beautiful day with the wind caressing my face and ruffling my school papers. I was under a tree and these tiny little pieces of dirt kept on falling on my papers. It made me think about how fast succession happens and nature will cover all traces of humans with dirt. Such tiny little movements, but they add up to such great powerful actions over time. Like streams carving mountains. I briefly wondered if the pieces of dirt were falling from the tree but kept on working. Later, I looked up at the tree again and noticed little caterpillar nests. Looking at other trees, they were everywhere. I surpressed thoughts of gross bug nests and thought about the cute green caterpillars within. "It's all part of nature la la la." I kept working and more little pieces of dirt kept falling. There were even cute tiny insects running around on my papers. Nature everywhere.... Suddenly, I had a thought, and looked closely at the dirt. Yes, they did bear a striking resemblance, though miniature, to the droppings of my leaf bugs on my desk. It took me a few more moments to register that I was being crapped on by caterpillars. I tried to be cool about it: “part of nature, hmmm hmmm hmmmm, so tiny, really just processed leaf, hmm hmmm hmmm” but I got up pretty quick and moved to the center of the field.
Occasionally I get bored with my life and set about finding cute guys to write lengthy and flirty emails with. Even if they're far away, it just gives me an optimistic feeling when I turn on my computer, you know?
So anyway, my brother had this friend Yochai who I met in New York. He was a philosophy major from LA and thus the first thing he said to me was about my armpit hair and why I didn't shave. (let it be known that he has a beard). Debate ensued! It was heated! I left for Canada and a while later considered him a good candidate for an email affair. Alas, it digressed in to a mud slinging WAR! I was called a "goat sucking wench"!
But the whole thing is hilarious in retrospect and I posted it for your amusement. Let it be a warning to those who think it could ever be a good idea to put a gender studies major and a philosophy major from LA in the same room.
The entire thing is in "more"
hi yochai,
i was stalking my brother's friends and came across you. i'm gabe's little sister - the combative one with the pit hair - remember? anyways, i've since moved to canada and i thought i would let you know that no one shaves here, not even the men, not even into beard designs. it's partly nice that everyone's so chill but it get's quite dull at times...i miss fashion and people that argue rather than sitting around agreeing with each other. so thanks, for arguing with me, because i've grown to cherish what discussions i've had in the past seeing as my future looks awash with intellectual masturbation... ah well, at least the air is breathable...
~ rebecca
_____________________________
Dear Rebecca,
Don't worry - the whole thing is a wash - even the people who argue. They too will soon end up in some kind of rut, squabbling about the good 'ol days - regurgitating the same cliches (while pointing out what they are doing, as they're doing it, for fear of being found out, so they reveal themselves early on - but little do they know that no one gives a damn anyhow.)
Just be good to yourself - shave/don't shave, whatever, just know that what ever you do - whether by attraction (or motivated by repulsion) you (and I - and all of “Gods” beautiful creatures) will eventually find root and refuse to venture out - for our own system will have served us well for too long - let's all hope it's a good one!
Be safe and if one day you are tempted to shave - don't be afraid - embrace the fear for the hair can always grow back!
Sincerely,
Yochai
_______________________________
what? what does this mean, “will eventually find root and refuse to venture out - for our own system will have served us well for too long”? is this some philosophy jargon i am not privy to?
regardless, yochai, i think it would behoove you, and possibly the women in your life, to shave your underarms. just to see how it feels, what type of effort it requires, and in general to further your empathy. do it in winter, when no tank tops shall reveal your trial. BUT, once is simply not enough, the feeling of a razor scraping the skin off of ingrown hairs is priceless, as is the sting of deodorant on said exposed follicles. you'll have to shave at least once a week for at least a month. but who knows, maybe you'll grow to like it... it does seem the number of hetero men rejecting all body hair and lining up for waxing is increasing exponentially... you could be ahead of the curve!
i hear the boys in LA are already waxing off their beard designs... get excited for the pure joy that is aesthetically enforced gender roles, they're comin your way baby. ok, enough of that. you know, i stole your CD from my brother and the zeppelin remix continues to impress me. it's actually my fave zep song, that and cashmere. i only wish it was longer and you didnt mix out so fast.
thanks regardless,
~ reb
________________________________________________
Dear Rebecca,
Well allow me to retort:
”will eventually find root and refuse to venture out - for our own system will have served us well for too long”; is not philosophy jargon. As I’m sure you’ve witnessed – perhaps even by direct experience, that most people, the older they get, have “rooted” themselves in the way in which they process the world (optimist, realist, pessimist, masochist, etc.) They will, as a result, forget to every once in a while, reevaluate the changing times and realize the one constant is change (of course depending on which philosophy jargon they are clinging to).
Regarding your whole suggestion for me (and perhaps all men) to shave their armpit to suffer the slings and arrows of that outrageous misfortune that you women must bear – how about shaving your face every day, depending on the speed of the shadow, and to bear all the nicks and burns for the world to see (with tiny pieces of tissue paper). But I assume you’ve already empathized with us in that regard. (Please don’t bring up bearing children, when it comes to that, you’ve got us hands down – unless you give credit to passing a stone.)
The shaving curve among men is probably only a curve for its media exposure (I don’t know what you’ve been reading). Have you considered occupations such as: bodybuilding, bicycling, swimming, wrestling, just to name a few (and not to mention the ever increasing in popularity: adult performer).
Other than that – just don’t get the fear. I’m glad you liked the Led Zeppelin and I certainly will try to sustain the mix for longer next time.
Sincerely,
Yochai
__________________________________________
Dear Yochai,
Yes, but say my state of rooted-ness is one of acceptance of fluidity? What if I am stuck in my approval of ambiguous gender roles? I once dated the most macho man ever, who insisted on trimming all of his body hair... Does that make me a hypocrite? Of course at the moment my proclivity for hairy men hedges fetishism, so given the typicality of the stereotype, does that make me a hypocrite? Am I fated and required as well to reevaluate my far too open policy on corporeal hygiene?
I’m bating you – be careful. You must always be careful around women like me that aren’t hippies...
Regarding shaving your face every day, I simply cannot imagine the annoyance. Which is why, were I born a man, I wouldn’t. Possibly into long goatees and lamb chops once in a while for fun, but in general, I can assure you, the non-shaving policy would cross the gender lines.
PLUS, last year I came to the *painful* realization that it is the DUTY of those of you with exceptionally virile follicles NOT to shave your chins if you care at all for the skin of those you are making out with.
But this is exactly why you perplex me: because you seem to have opted for the less-socially acceptable, more comfortable path regarding hair. Yet you also seem to prefer (require?) women to adhere to less convenient, more typical feats of beauty. I’ve met many a man like yourself and all of you seem at odds with logic. Regarding shaving among men, I must admit my statistics come from my own social circle – which is arguably a completely skewed portion of the population given how many homos I surround myself with. BUT, I have noticed it in the straights as well: look at any men’s magazine, Maxim included, and you will be hard pressed to find a lick of chest hair on the men. People who pamper themselves are more profitable, so cultivating them is in the companies’ interests... Your sons will buy fragrant hand lotion, just you wait...
And as for said “fear,” I actually shaved like 4 years ago just to see what it was like. I didn’t like it – it’s ITCHY! And it made my skin dry and it only lasted for like a day. Plus body hair on a woman like myself has it uses, mostly to fend off men with unrealistic fantasies of femininity, you should see the power of the underarm on some drunk at a bar, the yawn stretch is one of my favorite moves... It’s fuckin funny...
All the best,
~ Rebecca
_____________________________________________
Dear Rebecca,
You’re an evil goat-sucking witch. You should be tied at the stakes and properly flogged (like back in the hay-day, satisfying whatever freakish fetishes you may have at this particular time). You should be killed for using words like proclivity – have you no shame?
Before I forget, I am certain that my dear unborn boy (god bless his little imaginary heart) will undoubtedly (if you know his old man) use lotion much earlier than needed for reasons that do not need to be discussed – we’re all adults here, aren’t we? Well, are we?
Perhaps not you, sticking to your ludicrous schemes, worrying about your “hypocrisy”; – at least just on the surface. Come now Becky, you know you relish those statements purely as absolution from your guilt ridden complex about giving Adam the apple and fucking up utopia for the rest of us. Don’t push you’re yeast infested deny-I’m-a-hippie-‘cause-it’s-too-sheik mentality.
I paid at the office and we have too many crazy bitches running around as it is. I am in L.A. though and have possibly been led astray by the foul stench in the hair – mainly from sweaty hairy armpits (but I could be wrong).
Enough for now – you’ve gotten me thoroughly upset by this whole inane gimp like banter of yours – bouncing off the walls, making about as much sense as a neutered dog trying to “get some”. Live your world – by god! It must be a fantastic delusion.
Until next time,
Yochai
__________________________________________
Goat sucking bitch is one thing, but listen, no one calls me Becky. No one. Not even boys who get angry at people who like flowery language but insist on tired clichés like “I paid at the office” before falling into desperate attempts to avoid a comeback by lashing out insults most likely concocted to get you an interview on the Man Show. Good luck - I hear they have a peeing contest if the whole word thing doesn’t work out for you.
As for hypocrisy - I hate to say it, but you’re right. I could care less. I guess it was more of an attempt to preempt some sort of comeback on your part, but your feeble paroxysm has assuaged me of that particular trepidation. Oh, I’m sorry, did I say “feeble paroxysm,” I meant impetuous, floccinaucinihilipilificated cacophony.
And listen, Yochai, you simply MUST recognize the hypocrisy of living in LA while crying out accusations of delusions of reality. I picture you on the beach, sun blazing down, surrounded by tall women with firm asses, short men with toupees, and people who generally believe oversized dj shits are only for those cursed with a less than perfect physique....you have your fist raised in defiance, brow furrowed in conviction, and for what? To equate a woman with a leg-humping dog? This is what you use your $100,000 degree for?
You seem very fed up with something. I’m guessing it's us crazy bitches running circles around and around you. I can see how that would be an all too often occurrence in your life; it must be exhausting. I really do feel sorry for you, as philosophy has made you volatile (if I said “irascible,” would it too make you angry easily?). But don't mistake pity for guilt, sucka.
Quite Sincerely,
~ Rebecca
______________________________________________
Jesus Becky....er....Rebecca,
Don't burst a blood vessel. I saw that big sucker on the side of your neck, pulsing away, in pace with your strokes, all the way from here - last night, in my dreams. The horrible pulsing vein, ready to burst - it now all makes all sense. Roswell is bullshit, Jimi Hendrix killed Morrison, and now....oh....lost track of focus. I forgot what I was going to write! Fuck me....oh yes....I was concerned for your very neck, which by all means would gladly get rid of that bulbous object above it - it kept it awake at night, over hearing babbling about strange plans, rehearsed plans: plans to take over the world. Where was I? Oh yes, your bulbous head.
I guess my point is make sure there's a nice bag of Thorazine by your side next time you type. I will not be held liable for any injuries (real or imagined) you may sustain in your moment of revolt. Don't throw up on me baby! C'mon, who're you mad at? A little unchecked aggression?
Until next time, fair well in your heart, because...well, you don't want an early heart attack, do you?
Sincerely,
Yochai
____________________________________________
[I write something very mean about his low self esteem and how I’m surprised he hasn’t told me I just need to get laid] but didn’t save it
____________________________________________
Rebecca wrote:
um, i just reread what i wrote and i think my “self exteem” comment may have been excessively mean. i am sorry about that. i obviously don't know you well enough to say that with conviction. and if i did, i most likely wouldn't.
not that you would care anyways.
but, once again, forget i ever said anything,
~ Rebecca
__________________________________________
Dear Rebecca,
Overestimating? Projecting? The whole thing's a wash anyhow - dontcha know dat by now?
Never backpedal - nothing's mean - you could have easily justified it in a 101 ways to make you feel better about you comments in the morning. No hard feelings - but reading your previous tirade, perhaps I didn't have that great of an impact on you, but something certainly did - no worry, everyone has their moments, as fleeting as they may be.
Don't be so hard on yourself - we've all “been there”;, “done that”;. Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun.
Regarding the getting laid thing. Hell! I've never said that phrase in my entire life -
although it has been said to me. I'd usually paraphrase it: “;you seem like you need a release”;, the man said and coyly smiles at her burning red cheeks.
Tally-ho. Until next time,
Yochai
P.S. “Out of the crooked timbre of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.”
________________________________
FIN.
Elvis died on this day in 1977. I was born exactly 12 days ago that same year. That means, there were 12 days, 12 glorious days, in which both Elvis and I were alive (and living independently of the womb). Some day I will chronicle these days: The first 12 days of my life and the last 12 days of Elvis's. I'm going to interview my parents, maybe my older brother...It will be interesting, you will see.
"Naked cyclists get their butts in gear"
by Judith Lavoie, in the Times Colonist, Sunday, June 13, 2004
The crotch and bum were carefully ripped out of Josh Lawrence's velvet shorts, so no one could accuse him of not getting totally naked.
"I feel good about my body," he said, waving some of the relevant parts at the police and bemused tourists who gathered at the legislature Saturday evening.
Rain and wind did not deter about 16 cyclists from taking it all -- or in some cases strategic bits of it -- off for the World Naked Bike Ride round town.
Lawrence felt comfortable being the first to strip, while others, already chilly while fully dressed, waited until the last minute before the ride to bare their assets.
"I have dreams where I am naked and this is not nearly as frightening as in my dreams," Lawrence said.
Dreams also figured in Milen Kovich's decision to ride through downtown Victoria almost naked.
Kovich tempered his nudity with long woolly socks, boots, a scarf, bike helmet and strategically strapped-on bike seat.
"I always wanted to ride my bike around naked. It was a dream and now I am living it -- thank you, Victoria," he said bowing to the growing crowd.
Only a few in the loosely organized group knew exactly what the ride was in aid of, while many said they were there for simply for fun.
"And I wanted to see my female friends naked," added one man as Mandy Daley took the plunge as the first woman to take it all off.
"It's just fun. I think people will take notice," she said, with studied understatement.
The rides, which are held around the world, are to promote awareness of non-fossil fuel transportation and are also a statement against consumerism.
Similar rides were scheduled to be held in Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal, the U.S., England, Scotland, Germany, Spain and the Netherlands.
Rebecca McMackin took 45 minutes to dress for the naked bike ride, covering herself in strips of black electrical tape, much of it strategically located.
"I thought stripes would be good. At least it's totally not that sticky, so taking it off should be OK," she said.
The ride comes at the end of Bike to Work Week and should encourage people to use their bikes, said Mike Wilson, draped in floating, leopard skin print.
"It is a little humiliating though," he said as he tried to tastefully arrange the drapes.
On Saturday evening I spent 45 minutes dressing up for the World Naked Bike Ride. I was the organizer for Victoria and it looked like we were going to have a huge crowd given the amount of emails I had been getting from people, nudists especially.
I had been warned about organizing nudists. They’re a weird bunch. Too friendly. Too eager to talk about being naked. Like Christian fundamentalists. They have that look in their eyes like they’ve found the answer and want to share it with you, naked. Apparently they try to get naked in public all the time but can’t organize themselves for an actual event. But I had heard word an entire colony of them were coming from a town nearby (children and all) to participate in the ride.
Unfortunately it rained and was freezing. Only 16 people showed. But we were all amped and ready to rock out buck. In the end, we were a group of naked cyclists and one clothed nudist. Someone made a joke about them being “fair weather nudists” and someone else observed in all earnestness that “they’re not really nudists, they’re sun worshiping pagans.”
There were two cops there trying to find the organizer and I told them the whole point was that no one was leading anything. My friend Josh then saw fit to tell them I was the organizer and they gave me the cop talk about keeping in line and not harassing tourists. Of course we did neither.
We biked around the busiest spots of the city and the crowds loved us. Only a few people gave dirty looks and thousands of people cheered and seemed thrilled that we were biking by naked. We chanted, “don’t use gass, show your ass” and anything else anyone could rhyme with “ass” (there's a lot). I made up the cheer, “What do clothes and cars have in common? They both start with “c” and they suck!” but it didn’t catch on. Not wanting to waste the opportunity that was afforded by being at the center of attention, we also started yelling things like “don’t waste water” and “be nicer to animals.”
The whole thing was hilarious and I couldn’t stop laughing. I tried to give a speech to the media about how “we are em-bare-assed about the global dependency on fossil fuels” but digressed into hysterics and pointing at people’s butts as they smashed around their bike seats. Apparently the nightly news cameras zoomed in on my butt as we biked away and a friend said he now knows where three more of my stars are. In the end, I realized how much more comfortable I am being a spectacle than a bystander.
We had great articles before and after in the Times Colonist but they’re offline. I’m trying to get them digitally and can then post them.
And photos are being posted here: http://photos.groups.yahoo.com/group/worldnakedbikeride/lst?.dir=/Victoria&.view=t
Check back in the future for more.
Tonight Canada lost the Stanley cup to Tampa Bay and I watched my first hockey game ever. The report back is that hockey is great. The players all have beards and smash each other into walls and are totally hot and get all bloody. The only drawback is that they have on these huge pads so you can’t watch the beauty of bodies in motion like with ballet or basketball. I bet 5 bucks on the Americans for posterity but I really did feel bad for the Canadians because I don’t know one American who even knew we had the Stanley Cup before that (we’ve had it for years) much less cared about keeping it. Plus the irony of a hockey team from Florida is just too much to handle. Although one Canadian did tell me that if they were truly patriotic they would be going for Tampa because there are more Canadians on that team than on the Canadian one. The US buys all Canadian players and the Canadians buy Russians. It sort of makes sense if you think about it.
But the really funny thing about the Stanley Cup is the actual Stanley Cup. It’s huge. And it has to be, they inscribe the name of every player on the team that wins it every year so they keep on adding all these rings to the bottom to make room. Once the winning team actually wins and is presented with the cup there is a lot of fanfare over “hoisting” the cup. Each player takes a turn to hoist the cup over his head, kiss it, and possibly skate around in a circle yelling something. I was hoping someone would start making out with the cup as a joke but it didn’t happen. Everyone says “hoist” over and over and it makes you think of what a funny word “hoist” is. The guys who actually present the cup wear white gloves (the sterile kind, not the classy kind) and I’m sure there is some completely elaborate sterilization process the cup goes through each year before everyone starts kissing it. After the game, the entire team shares the cup throughout the year. They pass it from player to player. But the cup itself has been stolen in the past so it has a keeper who comes along with it. It is this man’s job to take care of the cup, so if you have it at your house, you have to let the keeper live with you as well. This strikes me as hilarious and you know he’s got great stories to tell. In addition, the whole hockey thing is operated by the government (ah, socialism) so it’s taxpayer money going to pay this guy to protect the cup. It’s such the classic sacred object, endowed with all this magical power, and men must prove themselves to get access to it. I neglected to mention this to the room.
I watched the game with three guys drinking beer and eating chips and BBQ like I felt I should. At one point, of course, I asked why they thought no black people ever play hockey and this one guy who was actually quite smart answered that black people are usually from very warm climates and the ice is simply too cold for them. There was no descent in the room. I just sort of sat there thinking for a while. It’s so odd, to be in an entirely white culture. Bizarre actually. They're not racist per se, just completely clueless. I’m sure they all think black people are very cool. I’ve even heard the phrase “African Canadian” thrown around a few times. It’s funny. Later I asked the guy if that was really what he believed and another guy chimed in with the simple fact that hockey gear and access to a rink is hundreds of dollars generally. I’m sure I have all kinds of ignorance from living in New England and New York (I know I do) but it’s fun to see other people’s.
Later we went down to the water for a walk and there were seals just hanging out and no one seemed to care but me. There were literally thousands of crabs running all over the rocks, so much so, that each step was sure to kill one. Which made walking quite difficult and a moral dilemma. Did I need to walk there so bad that it was worth the lives of these crabs? I felt like a Janist (those people who don’t walk on grass and wear cloths over their mouths so bugs don’t fly in and die). But then it became obvious that all of life involves the taking of other lives. It’s silly to pretend otherwise and almost disrespectful. Which is one of the reasons I am so down with eating meat these days. Who am I to pretend I am not killing things and why should these crabs be worth less than a cow? Because they're small? Or not as smart? Regardless, I spent a lot of time in one place and it made me have a great realization.
At first I was chasing the little crabs all over, catching cute ones and playing with them. If there is anything cuter than watching a tiny crab rear up and try and frighten me, I don’t know what it is. So of course they were all running away from me. But then I just sat very still and watched them and they got so much closer than when I had been chasing them. Which is a great way to see animals all over: don’t hike through the woods, just find a nice spot and sit there for a few hours, they’ll come by and might even try to check you out. I had my hand in the water when I was sitting there and one little crab came up and started gently pinching me. I thought it was trying to hurt me but it turned out to be eating something on my hand, possibly dead skin. Soon other crabs came and were all eating my hand, fighting over my hand actually. It was hilarious, to be eaten by crabs. It was also so nice because I didn’t need that dead skin. I would love to go diving and get my teeth cleaned by one of those shrimp who have mouth cleaning stations for large fish. Maybe it’s my female urges coming to the fore but it’s really cool to be able to actually produce food myself for other organisms other than bacteria. I really wanna do an art project where I photograph all the organisms living off my body, like the mites in my eyelashes or the E. Coli in my lower intestine. It’s really neat to think of the body itself as an ecosystem, a very diverse one, for such a host of life. I need a dog. The end.
My cousin Aaron just got in a huge motorcycle accident and destroyed his leg. His insurance capped off at $50k and now he’s $200k in debt and who knows what his walking abilities will be in the future. His career as a personal trainer is null and void. So my sister set up this site to collect donations and sell his paintings. He’s an *amazing* artist so if you want to buy one of his paintings, you would also be helping out a great cause.
I just got to Montréal and yes, I am spending my first night staring at a computer. It’s raining ok? Plus I have work to procrastinate from...
Anyways, I am writing for a reason. I haven't really been keeping up with the news outside of having Drudge Report as my homepage. But of course I cannot escape the images of Iraqi prisoners. At first they did not shock me in the slightest. I was hardly surprised. This is war. The very idea that they could train people to kill within certain boundaries and then expect them to act like civilized humans outside of those boundaries is laughable. Far more heinous things are happening to people in Iraq than being stripped and photographed (gunned down while wounded comes to mind). Regardless, all of it, it’s war and it's what we tried to prevent and now that it’s here we should not pretend we didn’t know what it entailed. Maybe Dubya had no idea what it entailed.
It has only really been today though, that the true weight of the world has fallen up my mind as the international opinions of the US and us within it became apparent. All day the images have been thrust in my face and a real shame has descended with them.
I got in a cab from the air port to go to the hostel and started a conversation with the Lebanese driver. We talked of riding bikes (he had just learned) and visiting forests (he had never been and would only go with someone who was a "professional". He told me about thousand year old cedars in Lebanon and how they put them on their flag. He asked me where I was coming from and of course I said Victoria. I started telling stories about New York and he said, "you’re not American are you?" I’ve never in my life done this before but I completely lied and said no fucking way. At this point, I am just embarrassed. I can’t believe us. Not just the administration, but you and me. Going on about our lives while this stuff goes on. We don’t have the right. It’s inappropriate.
Normally I totally represent those of us lefties from the States and feel that it is very important that people from other countries know there are people on the inside fighting the fight. But today I completely understood his hate. I felt it too.
In Victoria, people in general can be quite ignorant. I loath their opinions of Americans. They have no idea. I welcome, solicit, and engage in intelligent critique of American culture but it’s a form of social climbing to bitch about us in Victoria. So I could dismiss it. But now that I’m here, I see it’s everywhere. I almost got kicked out of my hostel because I wasn’t a Canadian citizen. Again, I had told them I was "coming" from Victoria and apparently they had meant to ask my nationality. I had to prove to them I was studying here and working for the greater good of Canadians. I went to my room and had a nice chat with a Scottish woman till I said I was American and she promptly left the room. I went to the common room and a bunch of Europeans were sitting around talking about how they would not visit the States right now.
So I guess my point is that we’re hated. Not just Bush, but us. And I can’t dismiss it all the way anymore. I’m not a turn coat. I still think we/I should reprazent our people. And I will, it was just that once. But I genuinely feel ashamed about being an American today. And fucking hell it makes me angry.
So the next obvious point is that the onus is now on us. We cannot allow this administration to continue. It is our responsibility as citizens to stop it. It was our lazy asses who let democracy slide by the wayside and a bunch of crazies come to power. It’s us reaping the benefits of the economic system built on slavery and occupation. It is our responsibility. I know I sound like a Weatherman and I hope you know I’m not. But we cannot rely on the rest of the world anymore.
Personally, I am going to be at the Republican National Convention and I am going to shut it down. I am going to take it very seriously. I think we need to show the world that Americans are not all ignorant and complacent. I hope you’ll come with me and I hope you can think of better things to do in the mean time. Any ideas let me know.
So, I had yet another lavalife date last night. This guy seemed bland but OK, cute, smart, blablabla. I dressed up all typical girl pretty. I’m wore a shirt that was not really low cut, but the top buttons were unbuttoned. (I know that seems like info you didn’t need but keep it in mind). So anyways we meet at this restaurant for dessert in the evening and I suggest we sit outside. We walk outside and, I am not sure, but I think I feel a moth fly down my shirt. We sit down at a table. It’s all very formal and professional. I am not really listening to anything the guy is saying because I am trying to figure out if there is a moth in my shirt. It is far too early in the date to run to the washroom and once in a while I definitely feel a fluttering. The conversation is bland and I begin weighing casually scratching my chest and smashing the moth. But I sort of felt bad for the moth and it was not possible to process moral calculations and small talk at the same time.
Suddenly the conversation turns political and he tells me about how the concept of “precedence” in law is really on of the basic flaws of the American legal system. I actually watched him morph from a typical bland guy into a really cute smart guy. It is at this same moment that I realize that there is a chance that the moth could actually fly out from my chest and this would be completely unacceptable. I would not date someone from whom moths few out, I could not expect that he would either. But of course the whole situation is really funny and the moth is tickling me and I start snickering at the most inappropriate moments.
At one point he asks me why I am on a date with him and not any of the other desperate people on lavalife and I just lose it. The moth decides to freak out and I almost fell off my chair laughing. I can’t imagine what he was thinking but of course I had to say, “Listen, Mike, I have to tell you something… There’s a moth in my shirt.” He stares blankly at me and I start laughing even more. I pull down my shirt and the moth is perched perfectly on my right breast and it flies away towards the light. I’m in hysterics of course and he’s saying something about “If you’re not embarrassed, I’m not embarrassed for you.” In the end, it was a nice professional date, more like a job interview than anything. But he was interesting and I think we’ll hang out again. Alas, the only one who got any action was of course the moth.
I spent all morning today analyzing the gut contents of rainbow trout. It was actually amazing to pick through, pull out the invertebrates, and try to identify them. I found that a surprising percentage of the organisms were terrestrial and it was so neat to feel like I’d made a discovery. I even have a lab coat. The idea that someone could look at me and say, “Get that woman a lab coat” is just hysterical.
And it’s so funny to be around scientists. Hippie scientists at that. Everyone hangs out and plays bacci and smokes and talks about the universe but they know what the hell they are talking about. These people hear about social trends and graph them in their heads and actually have the thought of, “I’ve got to get home to graph that so I can see what it does.” They analyze the contents of fish food and say, “Ah, I’ve studied those. They’ve got lots of hemoglobin so they’re good for oxygen.”
I went a birthday party and was cleaning up my dish and had a social custom crisis. I had to get rid of the rest of my ice cream cake and I didn’t want to put it in the compost because I thought they might not want the sugar and artificial stuff in their compost. But I spent too much time in the kitchen and decided to let the bacteria have it. Although, I’m sure it was a total faux pas. I’m sure they will say, “My god, who put ice cream in the compost. Oh, she’s from New York.”
One thing that I do find fascinating, and that I also noticed of the more south west coast, is that they were not founded by Puritans, and it shows. They don’t have any of the same shame about sex, so they don’t have as much insecurity, which – I think – leads to less stereotypical gender roles, gays included. Totally gentle, small, caring, unassumingly heterosexual men can go through their entire lives without thinking they are less of a man in the slightest. Butch older women with sensible haircuts and designer eyeglasses accompanied by identical partners, who may, or very well may not, be lesbians, literally polka dot the landscape.
But they also don’t assume as much about sex as I’ve felt those in New York and New England have; it doesn’t generally seem to be on everyone’s mind. It’s like we got all the Freud and they got all the Jung. I am living with my Professor, and after all the eyebrow raising and sarcastic commentating I got back East, I don’t think one Canadian has even had a dirty thought enlaced in their reaction. It’s actually customary, and neither presumptuous nor scandalous, to go camping alone with a man you just met who might even have a girlfriend. And no, that’s not only from experience, I did a survey.
But I did actually go camping and I did actually spend the weekend sleeping on moss near a river in a rain forest known for its mountain lions, black bears, and two thousand year old trees. We cooked off the fire of this old man who used to be a chemistry field scientist and simply realized he had no place attempting to fit into society. He now lives in the woods and knows the lineage of the local bears and will talk your ear off about how the World Bank rigged the Great Depression. He listed and offered each smokable plant and sap of the local trees. He told me this unbelievable strategy for turning schwag into blazing herb by somehow using dry ice but, ah, I can’t really recall what he said to do...I listened to an impassioned debate over which species and strain of psilocybens were ideal for each type of journey and cursed my negligence at forgetting a pen.
I also had interesting fortune to find out what I’m like when I actually think I’m about to die. I was peeing at two in the morning, petrified of becoming food for some of the local fauna, when this three foot high by four foot long light brown animal (it was a dog) comes running at me (to see what I was doing) and I stood up and let out an actual scream of terror. The dog just bolted but I don’t think I’ve ever screamed in terror for real since I was about ten, but it was actually sort of fun to be *that* scared and live. Adrenalin is neat.
The next morning I woke up all sheepish, but no one had even registered my primal call of distress. They all, understandably, look forward to their encounters with pumas and bears, especially because brown bears won’t attack unless they think they’re being threatened. Pumas, however, will stalk you. There's a story from about three years ago in which this guy was riding his bike and looked back to see one trotting behind him. The cougar keeps getting closer till it’s an all out chase and the cat eventually jumps up and drags him off the bike. He only lived because someone else drove by, jumped on the cougar and beat the hell out of it. And it was only ten years ago since a perfectly sane, lost mountain lion was tranquilized in the parking lot of the downtown five-star hotel. So you can understand my concern at two in the morning while actually in their habitat. But it seems that I’m an anomaly; in general, the people I know are just like, “Eh, yeah, we could get eaten. But we probably won’t.” Not even baddass-like; just
logical.
In fact it’s the same logic that allows everyone the luxury of never locking their doors and letting their girlfriends go off to camp with single men. They think, “Sure it happens, it might, and then we deal with it when it does.” They’re so chill I can’t even fathom where they’re coming from.
And it’s an atmosphere like this in which anarchy actually does start to make sense. Because everyone’s so chill, there's not as much danger, and not as much need for punishment systems or legal codes to define appropriate behavior. In the States, we need that rigidity because Americans need laws like white trash need religious fundamentalism: without it, everyone would be sleeping with their siblings and chaos would rule.
But then you have to wonder if the rules and jails of society are actually creating the environment in which they are necessary. Although we can’t very well scrap the police state altogether with so many crazies on the loose…who knows.
It does seem that things are going to get quite a bit chiller around here for me, as I’m moving into a commune of eco-commie hippies next week. I guess that “cry for help” email was really more of a heads-up over where I might be heading. My recently be-Cali-d friend Megan put it best when she said, “the best part about the west is that you can have a latte AND hug a tree at the same time!"
But I’m still showering, so don’t worry. I’m actually quite sure I’ll get kicked out at some point in the near future when they discover my non-hemp accessories and proclivity for booty house...