My Vancouver Decade: In The Beginning...

It was on this day in 1998 that I moved back to Vancouver, where I have lived now for the past ten years; I say moved back because I'd lived here twice before. The first time was for six months between May and November 1990 when I arrived here from Ottawa with my then-boyfriend Morgin; the second time I shared a house with my friend James Gill, his boyfriend, and their friend Katherine during the months of November and December in 1991, following my graduation from hairdressing school. In both cases the city seemed to take no time in overpowering me, and in short order I felt I had no choice but to leave. Still, during the almost seven years between my second residence and my third I never felt like I belonged where I was; wherever I was I always felt like an exile from Vancouver, even as far away as Halifax, where I lived for most of 1992.

Recently - at least over the past four or five years - I've been feeling Vancouver beginning to overpower me yet again. Despite many years of a booming economy, like many working class people I have benefited from that boom only minimally; once again I am feeling pushed out by circumstances beyond my control, namely hordes of greedy yuppies, with their relentless pest-like gobbling up of available rental properties to build condos, not to mention the inflationary aura that clings to them like stink clings to shit. Then again, that might just be a cop out; the point is, I need to find out for myself if I am being crowded out or if I am edging myself out.

Probably the reason I've stuck it out so long this time around (apart from the inability to afford a move) is that I really have nowhere else to go; before when I left I could always return to my grandparents' house, and with their financial assistance as well. They're both dead now, and so I guess I have no choice but to make a go of it on my own. It's been a very maturing experience, in the same way meat is matured in a smokehouse; whatever tenderness I might have once had has been toughened out of me thanks to living in a city which seems to grow less friendly by the day. Yet in the city (as in myself) I will occasionally catch a glimpse of the way things used to be, or else some sparkling mirage of what could be, and that glimpse alone is enough to sustain me until the next one, even if months pass before it comes.

* * *

I originally moved here with my partner Dirk following the death of my grandmother; her presence was the only thing keeping me in Kelowna, and her sudden absence not only freed me to leave but also freed up a thousand dollars, which pretty much made our move here possible. Despite the high hopes I had for the life I would have here, I was at the lowest ebb of my life on that day as I drove Dirk's car over the Coquihalla Summit, ironically the highest point of land between my old life and my new one. Had I known how much further down I had to go before truly bottoming out, I'm sure I never would have made that initial descent by car.

My poor cat Boo - unaccustomed to both elevations and car travel - screamed away in the carrier on the seat next to me through the entire trip, almost from the moment we pulled away from our old building; unable to stop to give her more Gravol (thanks entirely to Dirk's macho posturing, insisting that we set some kind of land speed record in our journey) I was forced to endure her ceaseless howling, each yowl of her pain cutting me like a shard of glass in my heart. Given the nervous driver I am anyway, I was pretty well frazzled from the outset, with hours still to go before our arrival. Fortunately I made a travel tape, and I sang just about the whole way there - more than five hours in all, till my throat was raw.

Upon our arrival we moved into an apartment on Burnaby Street in the city's West End, a leafy enclave known for its large gay male population; after a couple of days' respite to become acclimated I set about trying to find myself something of a life. To say this wasn't easy is an understatement of a kind that's impossible to quantify, since I am not naturally given to them, and therefore have no frame of reference. Dirk already had a job, and so it became my job to get a job of my own. In addition to having prospective employers turn me down in droves, I was similarly thwarted in my attempts to volunteer.

Despite years of experience on boards of directors in Kelowna - and having spent a good portion of the previous two years organizing Kelowna's first and second Pride Day Festivals, I was refused the opportunity to volunteer by Vancouver Pride Society. I was similarly turned down by the Queer Film Festival, BC Bears, and a gay theatre company, all despite my eminent suitability in each instance. The irony is that so many queers move to the big city to become more fully involved in gay life, while I became more withdrawn from it as a result of this mass rejection. A decade later, I now participate in the gay life of the city as little as possible; while that has been a broadening experience, it has also been isolating, especially during those times when my acute cravings for affection have threatened to become chronic.

* * *

Over the past few months, I decided to take it upon myself to use my eleventh year in Vancouver to try and rediscover what it is I once loved about the place, and what (if anything) I may come to love about it once again; in short, I've decided to wipe the slate clean and give the city another try. In doing this, I suppose I've decided to give myself another try as well, for in my typically self-loathing way I don't see my failure to fit in as the city's fault but my own. I realize this won't be easy as the company I work for, in its decidedly finite wisdom, can't seem to see fit to give me a regular schedule for more than six months at a time. As such, I can't volunteer, join a group, take a class, or do any of those things which might enable me to better my own situation, at least not reliably. Still, I figure there's plenty that I can do in and around my ever-changing schedule, and so I'll try to do those things instead.

Fortunately I have this blog, and so in amongst the glib and bitchy scratchings I manage to leave here, over the next year I hope to add reminiscences, photographs, and maybe (if I'm lucky) even insights into the pull this peculiar piece of urban landscape seems to have over me. I initially considered putting it all into another blog, as this project would seem to be entirely off topic for the Pop Culture Institute; then again, so much of this blog has arisen out of my experiences here, making this particular feature pretty much function as a creation myth for the monster I've created. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

With any luck, I may even get a book out of it!

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Marian Anderson Lets Freedom Ring At The Lincoln Memorial

Even though the famed 1939 appearance of contralto Marian Anderson on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial took place on Easter Sunday - April 9th - I decided to post this clip of her performance here not to commemorate that event, but to show what the memorial stands for.

While most of the Presidential monuments - those to Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln - hearken back to classical times, they represent very modern ideals. Washington's obelisk suggests a singularity of purpose (in this case, that of the man himself) without which the Revolution that forged the nation might never have succeeded; Jefferson's pantheon suggests inclusion as befits the author of the phrase "all men are created equal", while Lincoln's Grecian temple (like the man himself) represents the very pillars upon which democracy rests, namely that of people standing together in support of a common goal.
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Happy Half-Birthday To Me

Today is six months since my last birthday and therefore six months to my next one, the exact middle of my personal year. In the same way the weather and the seasons on these two days are mirror images of each other, so are the birthday and the half-birthday mirror images of each other.

Instead of having a party I spent the day alone, in silent reflection. Instead of opening actual presents from people I took note of the gifts I received from the universe, and gave thanks for them. Instead of gobbling down cake and ice cream I reminded myself of the sweets life already contains.

Most importantly, I took the time to think about where I am, where I want to be, and how I might go about bridging the gap between the two. The older I get the more I am reminded, not just about the shortness of life, but the quickness of it as well; waiting for the life I want to come to me simply isn't efficient, and so it's time to go out and get the life I want. Only by following my bliss will I be able to encourage my bliss to begin following me.
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The Old Poll Is Dead; Long Live The New Poll!

An amazing 60 people voted on the old poll, concerning which century is your favourite, and what a modern bunch you are, too. The overwhelming winner, with 23 votes, was the 20th Century.

Check out the new poll in the sidebar, and try to take it in the jovial spirit in which it's intended, please.
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A Compromise?

Owing to the immense popularity of the Pop Culture Institute amongst those few who do read it, for the time being I will continue to publish POPnews - and those posts I can repost without extensive rewriting - until such time as I can justify returning full-time and/or my up in the air employment situation has settled back into some kind of regularity.

Thank you in advance for once again coping with my galloping neurosis.

~ MSM
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A Sad Day

It is with a heavy heart and an acute sense of my own shortcomings that I come to you today to announce the closure of the Pop Culture Institute.

Having spent many hours daily on research and the creation of content over the past 18 months, it's clear to me that after nearly 2500 posts I have failed to connect with the public in any meaningful way; not only that, where I once had maybe 8-10 regular readers, in recent weeks my numbers have dwindled to 2 or 3. I routinely go a week now without a single comment; whereas my original purpose in starting this blog was in the creation of a dialogue, I seem to have created a monologue instead - or an endless droning lecture more like. Clearly my famously lovely personality has once again gotten in the way of my success.

I suppose I could have continued writing it for myself, but the fact of the matter is that even I am no longer interested in it - I've a feeling that the endless hours I've spent crouching over a computer would have been better spent doing almost anything else - and maybe it's that quality that has crept into the work, and turned off my readers. At heart, of course, I am a deeply needy person; my desire for validation makes me weak, I know. I also know that I am the only person in the world with such a need, in much the same way that I am the only person who has ever expressed bitterness or anger or sarcasm. I know this because of the number of times I am accused of such things, by people who would never dream of accusing anyone else of them, and have certainly never been guilty of such things themselves.

I will be leaving it up for an unspecified period of time as I cut and paste those posts I feel like keeping into some kind of archival document. In doing so, I am mindful of the praise and support I have received over the months, even if I have often had to fish for the compliments I've gotten. Given the bait I'm using, I should be grateful to have gotten what I have, I guess.

The greatest human failing is the assumption that everyone else is like you - that your interests are shared by everyone, that your motivations are universal, and that your prejudices are perfectly natural. Clearly, that is where I have gone wrong here. I thought (erroneously, as it turns out) that my zeal for things historical would infect all those who came into contact with this blog. In this I was wrong, and for that I apologize; to those of you momentarily touched or even moved by something I may have written, I thank you.

Being a writer, of course, I can't altogether give up writing, even though the failure of this enterprise (and my failure at it) has only served to confirm what I have already known- namely that my lack of formal education has doomed me to always be a writer, as opposed to a Writer. No doubt there will be other blogs, and in them perhaps even the elusive formula for success I have been chasing for what seems like my whole life. I may try fiction, or photography, or a subject matter which is more specific - maybe in them I will finally achieve the connection of souls which every artist (even a poor one such as me) seeks.

UPDATE: So, you may have guessed by now that not only have I not closed the Pop Culture Institute, but it's even more alive now than ever. The only reason I haven't taken this post down is a) I'm proud of the writing, even if it is a bit* on the self-pitying side, and b) I agree with every one of its sentiments.

When I initially undertook this endeavour I knew it wouldn't be easy; I knew it might be years before I found my audience (if ever) and that those who did find it would do so in a piecemeal fashion, thanks largely to the efforts of search engines. I also knew going in - as how could I not - that I am emotional and moody (a deadly combination), and that among the blog's many posts would appear works which are as deadly peevish as they are peevish in their deadliness. In this, at least, I have not disappointed.

Many thanks are due today to the ministrations of Mr. Gagne, whose management of me in the years that I've known him has skillfully alternated between feather light and hammer blunt; the most amazing thing is how he always knows which method to use when, with his method's remarkable efficacy running a close second. Though all that you see here has been due to my hard work and sacrifice, the fact that it's still here is due entirely to his steadying influence.

*Okay, a lot...
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In Theatres Now: "Baby Mama"

Michael McCullers wrote and directed Baby Mama, an unusual girl-on-girl buddy comedy, starring two of my favourite ladies - Tina Fey and Amy Poehler; although reviews have been typically sniffy, the consensus is that this is a likable (if predictable) romp through the minefield that is expectant motherhood in this day and age.

It's on my list of movies to see, but given my track record in this regard I'm sure I'll enjoy the DVD even more once it's released.
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When Is A Royal Wedding Not A Royal Wedding?

When technically speaking neither the bride or the groom is royal, yet the groom is the oldest grandson of The Queen, the ceremony in question is held at St George's Chapel - within the historic walls of Windsor Castle - and is attended by senior members of the royal family, that's when!

Not that the wedding of Peter Phillips to Canadian Autumn Kelly didn't have all the trappings of a royal wedding including - as has been alluded - a star-studded guest list*, a dowry of £500,000 courteously provided by Hello! magazine, and even a media-generated scandal designed to compete with the persistent drizzle of the day. The service was conducted by David Conner, the Dean of Windsor, the gown was by designed by Sassi Holford, and among the six bridesmaids (elegantly kitted out in mint green) was the groom's sister Zara Phillips.

Owing to the pictures row and various other tensions within the royal family, the day proved just how the personal can be political; even when the persons involved are supposed to be above partisan politics, their personal politics often can't help but interfering. To this end, many senior royals bypassed the official photo shoot and pointedly posed for the national press assembled at the gates of the castle instead, an action seen by many as intended to bring the once publicity-shy but suddenly publicity-hungry Phillipses into line. One bright spot, though, had Prince Harry formally presenting his girlfriend Chelsy Davy to the Queen for the first time, an important first step in her quest to become a royal bride.

Following their wedding the happy couple will be honeymooning in undisclosed tropical climes; upon their return to Britain they will continue to reside in their home on the grounds of Gatcombe Park where he grew up, try to return to their private life and careers in the private sector, and begin working on the Queen's first great-grandchild.

Behind the photo find the full story, lavishly illustrated, courtesy of the Daily Mail.

*Including (in no particular order) among those already mentioned, the Duke of Edinburgh, The Prince of Wales, the Duchess of Cornwall, The Princess Royal, The Duke of York, The Earl and Countess of Wessex, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, the Duke of Kent, Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie, Lady Louise Windsor, Sir Michael Parkinson (the bride's boss), Sir Jackie Stewart, and Mike Tindall; notable for their absences were Prince William - although his girlfriend Kate Middleton was there representing him he was attending a different wedding, in Kenya, with his ex-girlfriend Jecca Craig instead - and the Duchess of Kent, whose recent conversion to Roman Catholicism probably meant she boycotted due to the bride's recent conversion to the Church of England (which is vastly different - NOT!). Also, although the groom's father Mark Phillips was in attendance - his ceremonial sword was used to cut the cake, in fact - I could find no mention of the groom's step-father Timothy Laurence being there, although I suppose he could have been but no one bothered to notice.
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Queen Visits Turkey

Turkish President Abdullah Gül today welcomed Britain's Queen Elizabeth II and her husband, the Duke of Edinburgh, at the beginning of a four-day visit to Turkey. It's the royal couple's first official visit to the country - which sits on the cusp of Europe and Asia - in 37 years, and comes as Turkey is struggling to enter the European Union; by the Queen's presence in Ankara today the British government is making it known that the UK's position is in favour of a European (and therefore pro-Western) Turkey.

When last the Queen visited Turkey - in 1971 - excited crowds surged past protective barriers and swarmed the royal party's open cars; there was no possibility of such a breach of protocol today. There was, however, a noticeable indication of the religious schism threatening the largely Muslim country - the president's wife, Hayrünnisa Gül, wore a hijab to greet Her Majesty, an act which ensured that military leaders boycotted a state banquet in Ankara on the first night of the visit. The Turkish military are sworn to uphold the country's secularism.

Secularism has been a hallmark of Turkish life since the modern republic was establish by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in October 1923; in recent years, though, that sacred principle has been under fire as Islamic fundamentalism is on the rise in Turkey as it is around the world. A secular, European Turkey has long been a British desire, and the hope is that the Queen's visit (coming as it does less than two years after a similar visit by Queen Beatrix of The Netherlands in February 2007) will do much to encourage that.

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Autumn Kelly Puts Faith In Royal Family

Ever since it was announced in July 2007 that Canadian Autumn Kelly was set to marry Peter Phillips - eldest son of The Princess Royal and eldest grandson of Elizabeth II - royal watchers* have been all a-tizzy over whether or not he would renounce his place in the succession (currently he's eleventh) or whether she would convert from Roman Catholicism to suit the Royal Family; under the terms of the Act of Settlement 1701, none of their number can either be Catholic or be married to one if they want to maintain their right to the throne.

Well, it seems she's done the heavy lifting in this instance; her conversion to the Anglican faith was recently announced. The last time this rather sticky wicket presented itself was in 1978, when Prince Michael of Kent decided to forego his birthright to marry the ersatz Marie-Christine von Reibnitz.

The marriage of Autumn Kelly and Peter Phillips is set to go ahead May 17th at St George's Chapel in Windsor Castle.

*Okay, okay, just me.
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Stanley Cup Semi-Final Heating Up

I don't publish much in the way of sports news; call it a residual effect of having to deal with jock bullies my whole childhood. I found this video, though, which neatly sums up how I feel about the current Montreal Canadiens-Philadelphia Flyers contest; made by and starring super-hot Internet sensation Jon Lajoie, it celebrates the rough-and-tumble working-class ethos of the winningest team in hockey.

Go Habs!
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Star Jones, Al Reynolds To Divorce

When does losing a beard not involve a razor? When it involves a divorce lawyer, that's when.


Star Jones, former cohost of The View, married Al Reynolds (an investment banker) in November 2004 amidst much hoopla - some of it concerning her ability to find a never-married black man in his late 30s. Almost immediately the tabloids went into overdrive trying to find proof of why he'd never been married and, when unable to do that, just saying what everyone else was thinking*.

The Jones-Reynolds Wedding was a tacky monstrosity of corporate shilling which cost Jones her cushy job of nine years, her comfy seat next to Barbara Walters, and whatever credibility she'd previously accrued either as a journalist or as a human being.

As an act of hubris, though, the matter is finally settled. Jones filed divorce papers in March; because the matter is uncontested, the papers are sealed. Through spokespeople, both parties have said they are determined to take the high road. Only time - and the tabloids - will tell if it's too little too late.

*He's a giant homo; not for nothing has his nickname been "Big Gay Al" for the past four years.

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Madonnathon: "Papa Don't Preach"

In celebration of the hypocritical mewlings of Pope Benedict XVI, whose first official visit to the United States this week coincided neatly with the third anniversary of his elevation to the pontificate, as much as in celebration of Madonna's new album Hard Candy (which drops on April 29th!) here's a personal favourite Madonna video of mine, one which was the subject of much ferocious debate amongst us in the 11th grade* following its June 1986 release.

Papa Don't Preach was the second single from her album True Blue; the video, directed by longtime Madonna collaborator James Foley, starred the then-unknown Danny Aiello as Madonna's father, Debi Mazar as one of her friends, and Alex McArthur, who plays her boyfriend; in response, Aiello later recorded an answer song entitled Papa Only Wants the Best and despite that managed to become a star anyway with his appearance in Moonstruck the following year.

Papa Don't Preach was covered by Kelly Osbourne in 2002.

*High school being the forerunner of the blogosphere.
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Viscount Severn Christened

Viscount Severn, infant son and second child of the Earl and Countess of Wessex (as well as the Queen's eighth grandchild), was christened today in a private ceremony at the family chapel in Windsor Castle; officiating was the Dean of Windsor, Bishop David Conner. The baby's five godparents are Denise Poulton, Jeanye Irwin, Alastair Bruce, Duncan Bullivant and Tom Hill.

Unlike most royal babies since Princess Victoria in 1841, young James was christened in a new gown, a replica - made by Angela Kelly and the Palace's in-house dressmaking team - of the Royal family's heirloom christening gown, which is now being preserved by order of the Queen.
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Madonnathon: "Borderline"

Of the five singles officially released from Madonna's self-titled 1983 debut album, only Borderline hasn't aged like milk; which is not to say that Lucky Star doesn't bring back memories or that Holiday isn't a great sentiment - Hell, even Everybody, Burning Up, and Physical Attraction can be a great blast from the past. But that's exactly what they'll be, is a blast from the past. In the summer of 1984, though, Borderline seemed like a blast from the future - a tantalizing glimpse into what she would achieve...
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Pope's Positive Message For The US

At the start of his first visit to the United States today, Pope Benedict XVI wished to state first and foremost that his message to the people of that country - and not just the 75 million of them not going to Hell - was a positive one.


I'm positive that the Vatican and the Holy Mother Church stands at the forefront of the global struggle to obtain human rights for all people. I'm positive that queers (especially the uppity ones) are not people, which is why I can say what I'm saying while keeping up a positively scathing attack on them and their equal rights. I'm positive that in commanding you all to verbally and physically attack queers whenever you see them (or think you see them), you won't have any trouble carrying out something which isn't terrorism at all, but the work of God, who is the God of love. I'm positive that this sort of hypocrisy is just the sort of thing people have come to expect from the Roman Catholic Church.

I'm positive that life begins even before the moment of conception, just as I'm positive that death begins at the moment of birth. This is why it's so important that every fetus made be born, even if it only lives long enough to be baptized a Catholic. Whatever degradation, squalor, and violence it encounters from the moment that holy water hits its precious face is probably its own fault, since it's a filthy evil thing born out of an even filthier, more evil act. I say this because, as a "celibate" I know so much about sex, and as a religious leader I know even more about science.

I'm positive that the leaders of this great nation are willingly and gladly partaking of a Crusade against unbelievers, doing everything they can to wipe out the infidel scourge now overtaking Europe which the wussies of the 12th and 13th centuries failed to do when they had the chance. I'm positive, as well, that the Roman Catholic Church - alone among world religions - is entitled to a seat at the United Nations; I'm also positive that once we get on the Security Council, it's "Look out San Francisco!" Two words: dildo nukes!

I'm positive that poverty can be eradicated; in fact, as I sit in my marble palace filled with priceless art treasures I can't help but be reminded of the way Jesus himself lived, and thinking what a chump he must have been for not having more bling. Same with all those poor people starving on our doorsteps; obviously they haven't prayed enough, or they wouldn't be starving on our doorsteps now, would they?

And finally I'm positive that when I get back to my luxurious hotel suite this evening my handsome male secretary Georg Ganswein will give me an extra long hot oil rub; seeing as it's my first visit to the United States as your pontiff, he's also promised me the full release. I can't wait; in fact, I'm as giddy as a choir boy who's just joined Hitler Youth.

DISCLAIMER: The contents of this speech may have been paraphrased, read between the lines, and sifted from tons of bullshit. It also definitely contains nuts.

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Reader's Choice Tuesday*: Daffodils

Today's Reader's Choice is from Sr. Mainar (aka Javier) a frequent commenter, who asked for more of my photography. I figured that given the season and the subject matter of the previous post and the fact that I asked for reader input only to seemingly ignore it, this would be an elegant solution to various conundra.










*When I originally came up with the idea for Reader's Choice I called it Reader's Choice Monday, since Monday is my day off, and the best chance to get some extra writing out of me. But then I thought... Why couldn't every day be Reader's Choice Day? So now it is. ~ MSM
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Prince William Earns His Wings

Today The Prince of Wales (in his role as Air Chief Marshal), his wife the Duchess of Cornwall, and surprise guest Kate Middleton were on hand to see Cornet William Wales earn his wings as Flying Officer Wales at RAF Cranwell, near Sleaford, in Lincolnshire.

It's all a part of the heir presumptive's military training, which has already seen him serve in the Army and which will next see him tackle duties with the Royal Navy. All of which is in preparation for his one day being Head of the Armed Forces, of course.

It turns out Prince William was a quick study at the controls, flying solo after just eight days of training.

Prince William was just one of 25 graduates who received their wings insignia from the Prince of Wales, who was also on hand to distribute trophies for excellence. It must have been a poignant moment for Prince Charles, who was one of the first to graduate from Cranwell in 1971.

During his twelve week course, William learned to fly light aircraft and helicopters, making him a competent (but not operational) flier; the full course for an RAF pilot is four years long and includes jets and heavy aircraft as well.
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Madonnathon: "Beautiful Stranger"

Beautiful Stranger has such a cool vibe - reminiscent of the Sixties - likely because it contains heavy samples of a song by The Mamas & The Papas called The In Crowd. Madonna's co-producer William Orbit had used the same sample previously on Ray of Light, and again on the song Amazing.

The song was written for (and included on the soundtrack of) Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999), a film which itself heavily sampled from its predecessor and continued to reuse the same gags in its successor.

The video was shot by Brett Ratner on May 1st, 1999, at Universal Studios; it costars Mike Myers as Austin Powers and features cameos by Michael York as Basil Exposition and Verne Troyer as Mini-Me.
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Madonnathon: "Ray of Light"

After the catharsis of an address to my readers, how better to follow it than a Madonna video; and so, having just parted the clouds of the past hundred days, what should appear but a Ray of Light? This was the song - from the album of the same name - which saw me through a much darker time than this...

Ten years ago on April 1st my grandmother died; that she was more like my mother than my mother was needs to be said. Additionally, she was my best friend. She used to piss me off from time to time, but then that's what I look for in a friend, and what I wouldn't give to have her pissing me off still. She still haunts me dreams, though; in fact, I dreamt about her last night. She smiled at me and said, "You're driving yourself crazy again. I wish I knew why you did that." I wish I did too, grandma, I wish I did too.

It was a confusing time was 1998; although I was in one of my rare relationships, my then-boyfriend was a cold fish from an emotionally abusive Christian family, and so I got no support from him. I was mad at the way the doctors had failed to treat my grandmother - diagnosing a gall bladder attack when in fact it was a heart attack she was having - and my mother's blind faith in them and the toxic little pellets they're so fond of dispensing meant that I grieved mostly on my own.

I might have been alright if I hadn't still been hurting from the death of Princess Diana the previous August, but as it was, it felt like yet another of those times when the universe decided to pile on Michael. As it is, it would take me almost an entire decade to pull out of it, and in fact, I may not be all the way out yet. No one ever fought as hard for peace of mind as I have, though, so I may come to it still.

Fortunately there was a frenzy of activity to keep me busy then; the day my grandmother died we'd moved across the hall into a larger, brighter apartment. With her death the decision was made to move to Vancouver, which we did. Through all the packing and cleaning and moving this album was more or less the soundtrack, and hearing it still takes me back to that time. For a long time I couldn't listen to it, for the painful memories it brought up, but lately I've taken to playing it again. Now it reminds me of movement and progress and change - all of which I need more than anything right now.
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