Nudity is Only Skin-Deep

My anxiety was relentless. My chest was tight, my jaw clenched, my breath shallow, and I wanted to hide beneath my desk. But I had a voice lesson scheduled that afternoon, so I psyched myself up and walked to my music teacher's house.

I was studying classical voice in the Italian operatic tradition, and something about the act of singing erased my anxiety. Maybe it was the immaculate breathing exercises. Maybe it was the sound of a rich mezzo soprano voice pouring from my lips to fill the room. Whatever it was, it was working.

I sang scales. I sang from Carmen, and my jaw relaxed, my posture grew taller, and I let my hands express the highs and lows of the music. Singing is healing. Singing can scribble out sadness and overwrite it with joy.

Today’s blast from the past comes with a memory from my childhood. There’s some serious shittiness in here, so be warned.

It was 1979, and I was in some tiny community or another in rural Newfoundland. It was a rocky, hilly place, and box-shaped houses spackled on cliff tops. Outhouses teetered on long stilts over the mussel-bearded and barnacle-crusted boulders below. There wasn’t much indoor plumbing to be found, so you had to walk the plank to shit from altitude.

I was about nine years old, and was standing on the bridge of one of my relatives. I could hear the repetive whoosh of waves on the landwash. The nippers and noseeums were getting me pretty good, so I decided to go inside.

I don’t remember who all was there, but I remember hearing “Drugs in My Pocket” by The Monks. I’d never heard music like this before. I was only used to what my parents played on the record player, to the songs I sang about Jehovah in the Kingdom Hall, or to jigs and other Newfie music my dad sang while playing button-key accordion.

I tracked down this weird music I was hearing. One of my cousins was playing it on a little tape recorder. I can’t remember his name or what he looked like. I remember the pretty nun with the beautiful legs on the cover of the cassette tape, and I remember thinking my cousin looked cool and mysterious. This was because he was a teenager. I didn’t know any teenagers. I saw some on the school bus sometimes. I thought they seemed so grownup, yet nothing at all like my parents.

I don’t remember anything else about that day. I remember sometime later, maybe weeks, maybe a year or so, that my cousin, who listened to this interesting song with me, had been kicked out of his house. No one was to speak to him or about him again. “But why?” I asked. Maybe it was because there were drugs in his pocket.

No. It was because he was a “faggot.”

I didn’t really know what that meant. I figured it must mean he’d done something bad, but I didn’t exactly know what. I wondered where he would go. Would he be ok? Could I maybe be kicked out like that too? What if I was a faggot, too?

I never did find out what became of him. If any of my cousins on here know whom I’m referencing, could you let me know?

Today was made with walking interspersed with a whole bunch of other stuff. Here's a video précis of my day.

My morning:





Noon:



Afternoon:



Now? Now I rest.

I pleased myself this morning by totally rocking my workout. After doing a warmup of running 800 m and about 10 pullups (with the skinniest resistance band to help out), I managed 42 14lb 10' wall balls and 72 52lb kettlebell swings. Those swings were hard, and accompanied by much grunting the the pitter-pat of sweat raining off my face and onto the floor.

I displeased myself this afternoon by recording myself singing Star Vicino and then listening to it. My voice is so puny and reedy. I need to beef it up. Beefcake Italian singing! Beefcake!

Oh yeah, and have I mentioned that I'm a super villain in my spare time? ( [Photographic evidence after the cut.] )

I have been having such fun with my singing lessons. This is the song I've been working on most recently. I wish I could take voice lessons every day. I can't remember the last time a class has consistently been so enjoyable.

I've been proofreading all day, and my brains are melting. So I'm trying to heal myself by getting more costuming inspiration. I have a lot of sewing I want to do to make knightky and I Viking wardrobes.

So here are a few pictures of Masha Scream of Arkona looking seriously bitchin':







And here she is with the band.



And then this video, which shows just how damned awesome she is, and stylin' while she's at it.

Music that makes you think of somebody.

This song always makes me think of f00dave:

Music that makes me sad.

This.



And inexplicably, this:

My least favourite song.

There are many to choose from, but this one has bothered me for years, and I was subjected to it time and time again when I simply could not escape it: while figure modeling for artists.



Ugh. Can't stand it. UGH!

My dance performance on Saturday night went over very well. I'm looking forward to seeing video footage so I can critique myself mercilessly. Now I'm working on familiarizing myself with the music for my next performance in November, and figuring out what the heck to do with it. It's extremely different from anything I've ever performed to before, and rhythm and melody don't really enter into the equation. Also, I only have 60 seconds. Tricky, tricky, tricky....



Tickets are available now. 60x60 will be a really unique show. Please come check it out.

I spent yesterday with knightky, and walked his damned legs right off him. Poor guy. But we did get to see the Terra Cotta warriors exhibit at the ROM, which was interesting, but, I have to admit, a little disappointing. The pieces they showed were remarkable, but I didn't get the sense of scope I was hoping for. There were only a half dozen or so of the soldiers, and a couple of the horses. I felt far more overwhelmed by the huge lineups to see the things than I did by the artifacts themselves. I will, however, admit to being taken aback by the collection of ancient Chinese dildos. These were ostensibly only used by women, because apparently, Chinese men had no use for such things back then. Pfft.

Later, we found a playground sized for adults on a back street behind the Toronto public library, and had lots of fun playing on the springy seesaw. I love those things! There should be more playgrounds like that everywhere. I know we're not the only grown-ups who like playing on such things.

In the evening, I went to see Gary Numan. Nash the Slash opened for him. I was under the impression I was the only one in the audience who didn't like him. He had his face wrapped all in bandages, just like thirty years ago. And he wore a white tuxedo with a white top hat. It is definitely a unique schtick, but I just cannot get into his music. I didn't really like him when I was a kid, either. Ah well. At least I could sing along with his closing song, "Teenage Wasteland." I overheard someone in the audience positing that he could very well be a member of The Residents. Yes, I suppose so.

It was a much older audience than I'm used to seeing at shows. I'd say 2/3 of the audience was my age and older. There was no mosh pit. Hehehehe....

Gary was awesome. His band was really good, too. The first half of his show was all early stuff. Although I'm fonder of his later music, I gained a fresh appreciation for his older compositions when I got to see/hear them live. The audience nearly lost their minds when he started playing "Cars" and "Down in the Park."

He did a three-song encore, ending with A Prayer for the Unborn, which is about the saddest song ever, and not the sort of thing I want to cheer all frenzied-like for.

I feel a pretty strong connection with a lot of his lyrics. I think he perhaps shares the darker part of my brains.

Link time.

Equus: This is playing in Toronto next month. It's one of my favourite plays, so I'd really like to see it. Wanna come with me?

Shopping for Zombies: This is not the store I would have figured would do this....

Bacon Lube Taste Test: It's bacony.

adieu canaille: NSFW because of roto-boobies. Surreal fembot-type stuff, with burlesque spinning action (thanks, balthcat).

Student Hides Rick Astley's Song In College Paper: I used to write secret messages like this all the time, but I have never attempted rickrolling like that.

Crocodile on plane kills 19 passengers: I feel bad for laughing. Really, I do. But motherfuckin' crocs on a plane!

Republicans Oppose Franken on Rape Legislation: When the reputation of big business is considered legally more valuable than egregious human rights violations. Disgusting.

Transcending the Material: Knitted skeleton (thanks, longpig and elanya)!