skin//skinned



I have two cats and a dog napping in my room. Kitten is on my laundry bag, on my bed. Winston is on my bed too, chewing sleepily on a mutilated E.T. doll. Leviathan has decided that my 'zine box of newspapers from the forties is his new favourite place to be. I can't say I blame him.

Today I was modelling for a life-drawing session, and it was going great. All the artists were crowing about what good energy the poses had, and I was working my ass off for them (pardon the joke). I use whatever is around to do interesting poses. Today there was a stool, among other things. I was setting up for a fifteen minute pose, (they're my favourite). Where I would sit on the stool with my feet on the platform that I pose from.

The stool was too close, I fell backwards onto the floor with the stool beneath me. Oh dear.

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even embarrassed (let's be honest, I fall a lot) but everyone was so freaked out that they suggested we take a break.
I protested, said I was great and we should do the fifteen minute pose. But then this little old European woman in the back, with crazy frizzy short hair (who'd said nothing thusfar) pointed at me in horror and screamed:

"AAIEEE! BUT LOOOK!!! SHE EEEZ BLEEDINK!"

Sigh. I couldn't argue with that. I was bleeding from three places. Two scratches on my back and one on my side were trickling blood. By this point one of the older artists goes wide eyed and says "I need a cigarette!" and we took the break early, so that I could clean my wounds.

So this other artist puts down her brushes and says "I'm getting you a coffee!" and runs to the nearest shop for it. So five minutes later I'm wrapped in a bedsheet sipping coffee and telling a bunch of overexcited artists that I'm really feeling super and can do a fifteen minute pose any time now.

So we did, and I was more energetic than ever just to prove that a scrape or three wouldn't slow me down. And at the end all the artists were stoked to show me their work. I was commenting and chatting when I got to the little european woman, who peered at me from owl glasses. I looked at her sketch, and there I was in black and white, with three little red scratches drawn in pastel.

I should get danger pay. really.

radio. radio. swing it low. radio
Today is radio day! After a month long hiatus I am back at Trent Radio on Thursday nights at 10:oo pm for the joy that is Reading Between the Lines.

So the locals can turn their dials to 92.7 fm. The non locals get the joy of getting the live streaming here.

throat singing. neck breaking.


I'm not as good at knowing what to say on blogs as I used to be. Last night I saw Tanya Tagaq, along with Kinnie Starr and Skeena Reece. It was a fantastic show. Throat singing, hip hop, beats, poetry and stand-up to make your ears bleed. I danced. Check out their stuff.

This morning, I rolled out of bed just in time to do a wee show of my own. I played a quick set at the Seasoned Spoon cafe, to celebrate their opening this season. I got free soup out of the deal, and everyone liked the Vegan song, so it was time well spent. I even added a verse about Aramark, the food services group that controls on campus with an iron fist. An iron fist I tell you!

So now I sit here, on Mirabelli's loveseat. Listening to noise. And blogging about it.
Zzsuzsa in fifty seven minutes.

you can leave me behind, and I wont mind. I wont mind. I.

listening to :: xiuxiu's I luv the valley oh!, massive attack's teardrop. and some sigur ros

For the non-locals, it would be important to note that today is a grey sort of day. It's cold and I'm hiding inside little-Dan's huge sweater, and wearing socks inside my apartment for the first time in months.

The cats are sleeping, it looks like someone came in and just tossed them onto the furniture, Kitten is on my bed wedged between books and bags of clean laundry. Leviathan is lying sort of precariously on the back of a chair in the livingroom.

I've been smoking black cigarettes lately. I like inhaling smoke more than I thought I would.

I think it bears mentioning that my life is pretty wonderful right now. Seriously.
Work at the Bridge is better than it's ever been, cooking on Wednesday's is a joy. Drop in is the best possible way I could spend friday night. I love the people I get to know at the bridge.

Here is what I really mean.
I feel saturated in the love of Christ. That raw, honest love that I only really feel when I pay attention to it. It's like a hum behind the rest of sound, or a pulse beneath pavement. I don't know. I feel it anyway, and I want to give credit to it. How wonderful is it that I can walk downtown late at night and feel grace permeating what I see? That I can sense mercy in the actions of those around me? That God is immediate. Present. In my next breath. In yours.

...

I've put my hair up
with two readystrike matches -
cigarettes // campfires

(the smell of burnt hair)

a link. before I sleep.



I've been reading Soren Kierkegaard's "Fear and Trembling" over the past couple of weeks. I needed to read this section, about the sacrifice of Isaac, for class this morning.

everyone loves a parade!


Hey guys. Yesterday was happy happy Pride Day in the sweet city of Peterborough. I woke up at my parents house (I haven't slept over at the parents since christmas!) and immediately got industrious and started making a stencil to spraypaint on a t-shirt.

I carefully cut letters into an old copy of Peterborough This Week. Then, armed with my brothers black teeshirt, a pizza box and two cans of spraypaint, my dad sent me as far into the backyard as possible to start stencilling.


The stencil read "Jesus <3's queers". I originally intended on just leaving it on the t-shirt. Then I was playing with make-up and I put on red lipstick... that wouldn't come off. So in the spirit of flaming red, I made the stencil into a patch on a flaming red tanktop.
The shirt is my new favourite.

The parade was great, I walked with my friends. Then the pride dance at night was a fantastic time, dj Misha kept the floor moving, as it were. And I pretty much danced my legs off. Dahn was clearly the dancing queen of the evening, Des getting an honourable mention for being a dancing roommate.

It was a good time. After all, everyone loves a parade.

A series of illustrations of the members of my household at four thirty in the morning. Today.

the roommate

me

winston
degusleviathan and kitten

goodnight everyone.

we like the toast a whole damn lot (like Rory Calhoun, before he got shot)

I slept in, a lot. Thankfully there are no witnesses and I'm not late for anything, so I can just feel lazy all on my own. So! I am eating toast and reading kierkegaard and being ordered around by the cats.

In the vein of dahn, code and many others, I think I'll post my classes. They are::

- Crisis in Modern Critical Discourse; Return of the Religious - With the one and only Zsuzsa Baross. Of all my courses, I am most excited about this one. Zsuzsa blew my mind on Monday, and the texts for the course look amazing.

- Text and Image - A rare Zsuzsa course I just picked up. I was taking 280, but I think that I'd rather take that next year with her and take this course while it exists. That, and Dahn talked me into it.

- History and Theory of Theatre - With Prof. Magdelena, from Poland! This course looks promising. Magdelena is new, but her research on theatre and marginalized groups sounds fantastic. Plus, I have a seminar with my new friend, Cliff.

- The Making of the Modern Body - Another Zsuzsa course. It looks amazing. In our first lecture Zsuzsa intimidated the shit out of everyone and I furiously took notes on implants and transplants.

Zsuzsa and Magdelena for the effin' win. All right.

(Fal-core)

"Atreju, the luckdragon just wants you to stop singing."







(ps. let's watch neverending story. now.)

my sister is brilliant.
And I am still employed.

To celebrate, let us bask in the wonders of my sister's rendition of the mystical
UNICLAM!!

when meaghan-standard-time bites back.
I was an hour late for work this morning. At the Silverbean. I opened the cafe almost forty minutes late. I set the alarm for 8pm rather than 8am. A classic error if there ever was one.

I was rescued by Desiree, Dahn and Dan who all came running to the 'Bean to help me set up furniture. I was amazed at how fast my friends ran to help me out of a situation that was clearly my own doing.
Thanks guys. You did my heart good.

This brings me to the next action. 'Fessing up to the boss. (Because it's honest. Because she'll find out anyway.)

I've rehearsed it three dozen times at least. At least a dozen of those mental rehearsals have ended in me being fired. What makes it worse is that I had zero intention of messing up the opening this morning. My intention was to show up a half hour early to do an extra good job. I'm generally sorry, and really disappointed in myself.

Bringing me to what bothers me most about this whole thing. I hate it when my actions don't line up with my own intentions. I hate it when I want to be kind but end up treating others poorly. When I mean to work hard and instead act out of laziness. When I mean to be good, and end up being the classic sinner. All that kills me, because I don't measure up to who I want to be.

So, I guess I confess tomorrow, feel bad and move on. I'll work on making my actions reflect my intentions... with the foundation that God likes me regardless.

On with it then.

man in the womb

This man sits staring.
Left lost in hand.
You want a real solution?
Well we're doing the worst we can.
Bodies make the scariest sounds.
As Johnny sings, he sings the blues.
So come on and spread your gospel.
You've got change on your mind.
So get down on me, get down on me.

(by zao)

The evolution of a feast.(Currently:: Listening to Leviathan purr on my bed.) I am tired. So I think I'm going to sleep.

I spent the day cooking at The Bridge with Dahn, Little Dan, Chris and Kerri, as is our habit.
For the uninitiated, every Wednesday night the Bridge Youth Center (where I work) holds a community feast. It exists to address the needs of hungry people in Peterborough. In our neighbourhood there are lots of hungry people, and a lot of loneliness from the looks of things. The feast exists to address both of these issues.

The meals for the past two weeks have been vegan. The vegan food is great. But strangely enough, it's not really the main reason why I'm stoked on the meals of late.

I am happy about the meals for the past couple of weeks because ::

- We have served food in a sit-down style rather than a bread-line.
This serving style has minimized wait time and stress. More importantly, the sit-down style has given the meal a dignity that I had previously thought impossible.
I am uncomfortable with breadlines because they are a traditional marker of poverty. If you really really need food, you will stand in line for it. But anyone with enough cash for groceries would never have to stand in line and wait to be fed. I want to work to minimize the Us and Them dynamic within community meals, this is a fantastic step.

- We are serving food that is really good.
The temptation to just serve whatever is donated is pretty great. We get donations of food and we operate on a shoestring budget. It costs a lot to feed 150 people dinner, and most of it comes out of pocket. The issue with the food that is donated though is that we probably wouldn't serve it to friends. I would never have friends over and serve them coleslaw from a bucket or mock chicken sandwiches. I would serve them the best thing I could whip up, to honour them. The people who eat food with us on Wednesdays are my friends. I refuse to succumb to the idea that I should serve them anything less than what I would serve at a dinner party at my place.

- We are serving food that is healthy.
Diet makes or breaks health. We want to serve food that is nutritious and balanced. The trick is to convince people who are unaccustomed to healthy food that the whole health thing is really a good idea. So far, it's going pretty well.

- We are spending more time building community.
I like being able to sit, and talk and eat with people. Food is a good equalizer. We all need it. An when you sit and eat with people, something great happens. Conversations happen. I connect with the kids at the centre about their days. I meet the parents of the drop-in kids. I meet cool old people with good stories. It's good. It's breaking down barriers of isolation and working towards something more kind.

It's great to feel good about Wednesdays at The Bridge. Thanks to Little Dan, Chris, Dahn and Kerri (who make it happen). I am blessed when I cook with you.
To food! To community! Thank God for both. :)

Goodnight.

move this! (cue tetris song)
my house looks as if a tornado of sorts hit it...

ah yes. HURRICANE DESIREE.

After a day of moving stuff around tetris style, I think we may perhaps be making some headway. Perhaps my apartment will be clean and set up by... the end of this week.

Ah jeez. I have no idea how two people can claim to have ownership of this many small kitchen appliances...

coffeemaker - ZEY DO NOT AUN US!
sandwich press - Ve aun ourselfs!
electric kettles - Yes! YES! VE AUN ZEM!!
toaster oven - brothers! sisters the kitchen is ours! No longer will we be commanded to make toast, to endlessly reheat history! I call for a battle!
Microwave - TO WAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

shit. my kitchen is going to pwn me.
I need to leave.



TO DAHN'S!