"Don't give up! Don't give up!"

"Do you remember,
once upon a time,
when there were open doors?"

Things I saw this morning on YouTube:

See above.

I was led to this ad by a funny and interesting article, to which I was led by another article; and in fact I was led to the previously mentioned article by this article, so, um, thank you Gawker?

Anyway, it seemed an appropriate theme to explore today, as PF and I are about to head north to the new, fabulously accessorized home of my super gay ex-roommates. These ex-roommates are both super gay and just plain super, and thus I am very much looking forward to spending the next two days with them. Also, I am obviously too lazy to find an original photo for this post. (Wow! Twice in one week! My slothy nature is really shining through, isn't it?)

Happy weekend, everybody! Go out and kiss somebody you adore.

TRACK LISTING: Erasure, "Chains of Love"

"This one goes out to the one I love."

"This one goes out
to the one I've left
behind."

Things I saw on Gawker this afternoon:

Reading into the past.

It's a bit heartbreaking to find inscribed books in thrift stores or giveaway boxes on the sidewalk. It's also highly intriguing; one has to wonder what circumstances led to these books being discarded. Inscriptions are usually notes from one person to another, so it seems safe to assume that most of these books were once gifts. Of course, many of the other donated or trashed items were once gifts as well, so why do inscribed books deserve a higher degree of sentimentality? What gives them more value than other gifts -- the fact that the greeting card is permanently attached?

Sometimes books simply must go. After all, we can't hang on to every little thing forever! Yet not every inscribed book found by a rummaging stranger can be a simple case of someone going minimal, with no hard feelings. There must be some instances in which the book's giver and receiver had a real falling out; or, perhaps, the giver died and the receiver found it too difficult to keep the book around. In either situation, the book is too strong a reminder of days gone by.

A few months ago, PF and I found an inscribed book at a monolithic chain bookstore in a downtown mall. It was a guide for fathers-to-be that I'd seen before in a bathroom belonging to the brother of a friend; the copy that we held was not the same one that I'd seen, as evidenced by the names in the inscription. Mazal Tov!, the giver had written in closing, in blue pen, accented by a hand-drawn Star of David. On the cover was a sticker that discounted the price of the book by 50 percent, which outraged PF. "How could they put this back on sale?" he asked, as he prepared to bring the book to a cash register and demand that it be removed from the shelf for good. It's strange that a bookstore would resell a personalized item, but what hit us so hard was this sense of sadness, that the decision to return this particular book was not a happy or easy one. I imagined many depressing scenarios, from a rift between the giver and receiver to a miscarriage forcing the formerly expectant father to get rid of a now unnecessary guide. All guesses drew the same conclusion: the book was too strong a reminder.

"Maybe the guy just needed the money he'd get from returning this book," PF suggested, referring to the receiver, or maybe even a giver with somewhat late second thoughts.

"Yeah," I agreed, "or maybe the pregnant couple already had a copy of it." Why shouldn't this be the reason for the return?

PF handed me the book and I placed it back on the shelf. These logical explanations soothed us, as if we needed closure, too.

TRACK LISTING: R.E.M., "The One I Love"

[NOTE: The image above is the cover photo of an album we have of prints we've found abandoned in various places, like junk shops and the middle of the street.]

"I gotta take a little time."

"I better read between the lines
in case I need it when I'm older."

Things I saw as I emerged from the subway this evening:

The final pages of a wonderful book. It was difficult to say goodbye!

I've happily read quite a few editions of Savage Love, and I've been amused by Dan Savage during television interviews, but I didn't expect to be so moved by one of his memoirs. I won't deny that I cry easily, but I very rarely shed tears while reading. (The Commitment made me laugh, too, but I very rarely don't laugh while reading, so -- considering Savage's finely tuned sense of humour -- it's a given that I would at least chuckle.) To find myself choking up on multiple occasions while devouring Savage's observations on "love, sex, marriage, and [his] family" was remarkable; it convinced me that a work that touches me so deeply is a work that deserves to be bought and placed on my bookshelf. (I am also convinced that the next book I read should be The Kid.) The promise of having my own copy of The Commitment in the near future certainly eased the task of returning the book.

But suddenly, as if on cue, as I made my way towards the library, what is probably the most embarrassing song on my iPod began to play...and my eyes welled up. A POWER BALLAD WAS BRINGING TEARS TO MY EYES. This was in conjunction with Savage's story about relationships, to be sure, but I still felt like a total pussy. On the other hand, I was REALLY enjoying the song, losing myself in the backup choir and the interplay between Lou Gramm and Jennifer Holliday. (Man. I NEVER thought I'd write something like "the interplay between Lou Gramm and Jennifer Holliday" -- EVER -- IN MY WHOLE LIFE -- but there it is. I like "I Want to Know What Love Is" and it makes me weep. NON-ironically. Sigh.) A lump formed in my throat as I walked the side streets and descended the steps near the library entrance. The song faded away.

Immediately following was probably the second most embarrassing song on my iPod (the Rosario Dawson rendition, fair enough, but even my fondness for her can't obscure the reality that this track comes from the critically panned film version of a musical that I hated when I saw it live. Yes, I know that Detective Green was in both versions, and I don't care). However, it seemed as if the title alone -- "Out Tonight" -- highly befitted the ruminations of an openly (and proudly) gay man, to say nothing of the fact that the song is part of a musical. A musical! What else could I do but smile? Oh, and laugh, of course.

TRACK LISTING: Foreigner, "I Want to Know What Love Is"

"And I feel real cool and I feel real good."

"And I'm happy in my prime."

Things I saw today:

The peace and quiet of our apartment as I am given another day to rest and recover from Wednesday's minor drama.

The morning sun beaming into the living room is so beautiful! This juice that I am drinking is delicious. I am very happy to eat a breakfast burrito for lunch! I am well pleased that I can stage an Arrested Development marathon while enjoying a few squares of rich, dark chocolate. I am looking forward to my husband coming home after work; I look forward to returning to my own job on Monday! I don't really want to look back anymore. Anyway, I wouldn't change a thing.

TRACK LISTING: Sinéad O'Connor, "Daddy I'm Fine"

"Tell me love is real."

"Let me hear you say
the words I want to hear."

Things I saw on a street near the office today:

My little personal mystery solved.

Okay, so it's not exactly a conceptual art piece as I imagined, nor an incomplete promotional poster, but it is a pretty clever marketing campaign. A lot of people in this city seemed to pay attention to it, and I can't imagine that I was the only person who was curious about the origin of the "LOVE IS" project. This fascination may create an audience that is willing to seek out and actually pay to see the film, thereby proving the campaign successful.

Now, why this marketing campaign only hit the streets two years after the film was made (as far as I can tell, anyway), I can't explain. I'm sure this new mystery of mine could be solved if I just performed a simple web search for further information (like, oh I don't know, maybe the film's official release date), but...well...forget that jazz. It's Friday and I am NOT feeling it (ie. I am lazy). Googling is Work, too, people!

TRACK LISTING: Buddy Holly, "Words of Love"

"Though sometimes we'll fight, I won't really care."

"And I know it's gonna be alright
'cause we've got so much
we share."

Things I saw on the streetcar ride home:

White-shirted men and women laid almost bare in the downpour.

At the expense of his own dryness, a young man carefully holds an umbrella over his girlfriend and her cat as they make their way along the sidewalk.

All over the city, words of love wash away, even the ones that tell us that "LOVE IS NEVER ENOUGH."

TRACK LISTING: The Ronettes, "Walking in the Rain"

"So we stay at home."

"And I'm by your side."

Things I saw in the apartment today:

Some peace; some quiet; and the calming presence of my husband, as we are both given the day off to figure out how to deal with a small loss. This sort of thing happens, every day and every hour, and this time it's happened to us. That's all.

TRACK LISTING: Depeche Mode, "Here is the House"

"If I walk down this hallway, tonight, it's too quiet."

"I take it,
from his whisper,
you're not that tough."

Things we saw in the ultrasound this afternoon:

Nothing.

Our baby became a phantom. One day, he will disappear completely.

TRACK LISTING: Kristin Hersh, "Your Ghost"

"Make you come home early."

"Make you stay out
all night long."

Things I saw on the way to meet PF for dinner:

Further proclamations.

A few poles down from where I scrawled my own response, someone has followed the "LOVE IS" lead by writing, "your girlfriend." There is a second "LOVE IS" poster pasted directly below, in which someone mentions something about a summer day.

One large block later, on the northeast corner of King and Spadina, someone has filled the white spaces with now-smeared burgundy lipstick. Four "LOVE IS" posters wrap around this pole; all four feature the same smudged shade. One of the replies appears to be "STUPID." Another reads, "A WASTE OF TIME." The other two are lost forever.

Less than twenty feet away, someone has completed one of the posters in pencil:

LOVE IS
LOVE.

TRACK LISTING: Al Green, "Love and Happiness"

"It's written on the wind."

"It's everywhere I go!"

Things I saw in the city today:

Declarations of love decorating the downtown core.

This must be an art project, right? Why else would all these "LOVE IS" posters be pasted on poles along public sidewalks, with white spaces ready and waiting for people to fill in the blank?

On Bathurst, just north of Queen, one poster featured the answer "HOT SEX" (complete with X-rated illustration); another was graced with "misunderstood", scrawled on an angle at the bottom right-hand corner of the box.

If it's not an art project, then I suppose that a lot of incomplete promotional posters have been defaced. But if it is, then it just makes me love this city a little more.

TRACK LISTING: The Troggs, "Love Is All Around"

"And the hole in the screen is barely big enough for you."

"But I'm leavin'
the back door open
'til you come back."

Things I saw in the apartment today:

The glaring absence of Baby C, who is now safe and sound in his hometown.

PF and I knew all along that his presence was temporary, but that doesn't mean we miss him any less.

Goodbye, Kitty! Farewell until we meet again.

TRACK LISTING: Old 97's, "Murder (Or a Heart Attack)"

[NOTE: As you may have noticed, the cat in the photo above is not our dearly departed. (The kitty you see -- barely -- is in fact lovely Rudy, the Fat White Prince, who is part of /a's family.) But, you know, artistic licence, etc etc.]

"This strange transformation takes place in me."

"Instead of myself,
everybody can see
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde,
Mister Hyde.
Hyde!"

Things I saw on the internet today:

An unsettling disappointment.

I want him to ABC: Always Be Charming, a-harhar. Can't he just be the gruff yet funny bear of a man who's settled so well into this new, character actor stage of his career?

Maybe it doesn't matter what he does. As the Gawker stalkers point out, we're always so willing to sympathize with or even blindly forgive him. Maybe this is because he can effortlessly and perfectly deliver a line like "Those shoes are definitely bi-curious" or "Does he know you're the Beeper King?" Perhaps it is simply because he blogs for The Huffington Post!

Maybe it just doesn't take much to permanently win our hearts. Sigh.

TRACK LISTING: The Who, "Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde"

"The conscious liberation of the female state!"

"The 'inferior sex'
got a new exterior!"

Things I saw at work today, after being sucked into the Internet Vortex:

People going CRAZY over an extremely straight-talking public access superstar from Atlanta.

Holy shit!


TRACK LISTING: Eurythmics with Aretha Franklin, "Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves"

"Your prerogative in life it seems..."

"...is living out
an ad man's dream."

Why would I buy the DVD of a movie, before actually seeing said movie, just because someone told me it was good? What is this impulse? Does it have something to do with my fondness for-slash-crush on the writer-director? It only faintly reminds me of a television show that I enjoy -- certainly no guarantee that I'll love this movie as much as I love that show -- so what is the deal?

This need of mine to consume is crazy! Have I switched The Gaze from my (inexplicably) beloved Butterscotch Stallion* to the Mocha Pony**? Is it always about boy-hots with me? Bah!

TRACK LISTING: The Fall, "Idiot Joy Showland"

*Thank you, Defamer!
**Thank you, Gawker!

"And it looked like everyone was having fun."

"There's nothing wrong with
just a little little fun."

"I say we put mustard on it!"

One day, Saturday Night Live will release a DVD collection of their digital shorts, and I believe I will be compelled to buy it. Digital Short touchstone Lazy Sunday, A Day in the Life of Natalie Portman and the now-legendary Dick in a Box must be on there, but I'm hoping Young Chuck Norris will make an appearance as well. That's the video that made me love Jason Sudeikis! Well, that and the Two A-Holes (so true! With the gum chewing).

TRACK LISTING: Daft Punk, "Digital Love"

[NOTE (30 March 2007): I am conflicted! I have laughed at many an SNL Digital Short, but now feel somewhat guilty considering that a good number of these Shorts were, erm, "inspired" by other sketches! Even the clip above, that lovely "Business Meeting", is reportedly based on a bit by The State called "Just the 100,000 of Us" (or something)! What does this mean? That Samberg & Co. aren't the wunderkinds people thought they were/think they are? Perhaps they can just chalk this up to "common comedic perspective". PERHAPS.]

"You are here; so am I."

"Maybe millions of people go by,

but they all disappear

from view."

Happy anniversary, PF.

TRACK LISTING: The Flamingos, "I Only Have Eyes for You"

"They always claim they know me."

"Comin' to me,
call me Stacy."

When I was much younger, I loved Kids Incorporated, and when I say "loved", you best believe I mean LUVVED, l-u-etc etc. Alright, granted, I only loved it from 1984 through, like, 1987 (a year or so after the departure of the artist formerly known as Marta Marrero -- at least that was her name in the pilot and first season credits -- and certainly before the arrival of The Ghost Whisperer). In 1987, I turned 11 and soon considered myself above such trifles as children's shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of contemporary pop songs, especially when there were newly-minted teenage shows in which the cast broke out into plot-modified covers of classic pop songs, thank you very much. Also, I think WROC stopped carrying Kids Incorporated around that time, so, you know, whatever.

But! from 1984 through 1987, half an hour of every Saturday morning was devoted to watching Kids Inc. I worshipped the wee performers, but none more so than Stacy. Sure, Gloria was cool and Renee was smart, but Stacy was my age, so (naturally) I chose her as a role model. I wished my hair was blonde; I wished my first name was Stacy; I wished my last name was Ferguson; and so on. I even bought puffy, plastic, rainbow-themed, personalized "Stacy" stickers and decorated various items with them, as if that wasn't TOTALLY WEIRD.

I didn't keep track of Stacy after I'd moved on from Kids Incorporated, probably because this was a pre-Google, pre-computer ubiquity era, but I do remember seeing some Wild Orchid years later and thinking, "Hmm, those girls are wearing a LOT of makeup...oh...no...did she just say her name is Stacy Ferguson? Wait. Is that RENEE beside her?" I remember thinking that this sort of low- to mid-level fame made sense as part of a post-Kids career arc, like being a somewhat indistinct member of an R&B-lite girl group was a completely logical next step for a former syndicated television player. I mean, how many "Toy Soldiers" could the world handle, right?

When my childhood idol resurfaced as a Black Eyed Pea, I didn't make the connection between Fergie and Stacy Ferguson (and no, it had nothing to do with (alleged) plastic surgery rendering her unrecognizable). Sometimes I still find myself gripped with mild disbelief, like when I'm riding to work on a streetcar and it just hits me, She's the motherf-ing DUTCHESS! Wha?

TRACK LISTING: Fergie, "Fergalicious"

"See these eyes so green."

"I can stare
for a thousand years."

On Sunday afternoon, my cousin's wife broke the news to us gently: "I'm afraid you two have become cat people."

It's true. We speak about the kitty as if he were our own child, our own flesh and blood; when people casually inquire about him, we ramble on at length, never failing to go into detail about each and every quirk our cat possesses. We know we're boring the listener, yet we cannot stop ourselves. It's very much as if the cat has turned into a baby.

Look at the little one! Isn't he precious?

I can't wait until we start dressing the kitty in sweaters! He is going to LOVE that.

TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)"

"Boy, talk about changes!"

"I guess you never quit
tryin' to make sense of it."

Speaking of unexpected twists of taste, who would have thought that I'd end up counting Tom Petty as one of my favourite musicians? I guess we all grow up eventually.

Of course, there's always a downside to "maturity" -- like, how did I come to truly enjoy "I Want to Know What Love Is"? I used to HATE that song, even as a child, and that was when I would listen to almost anything! (Just to provide some perspective here, "anything" included La Toya Jackson's "Heart Don't Lie".) What gives? I hit my thirties and suddenly I've got that song on my MP3 player and I'm hoping against hope that no one on the subway notices that my eyes are welling up with tears? Seriously?

My teenage self would be appalled, and probably with good reason. I got old and I got old fast.

TRACK LISTING: Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, "Ain't Love Strange"

"Oh, where've you been?"

"Where've you been?"

It's not like I hated Doogie Howser, M.D. or anything, but I certainly didn't expect that I'd actively love Neil Patrick Harris in my later years. (It is but a crush, I know, and yet! the comic timing! So enchanting.)

Damn you, Friends: The Next Generation!

TRACK LISTING: Arthur Alexander, "Where Have You Been All My Life"