Canadialand 4: Horsecarried Kevinage, euhm, drawn.

Just to put everybodies worries at rest, no, nothing happened. I am travelling with older (but massively spry and frighteningly acute) women, who seem to all come equipped with minor but annoying medical issues. And one of those had us trudging to the local medical centre at ten of the o'clock last night.
Woodstock, Ontario being what it is, you don't trudge hither and then shortly fro, no (no no no no), you trudge hither and about three hours later fro. The first hour and a half wasn't that bad, but after Aunty N and N were called in, I was left to my own devices, which consisted of one OK magazine, one People Magazine, one toy train set, three half chewed books about recognizing numbers and certain ducks, and fond but useless memories of the very cute guy that was wheeled out of the waiting room as we entered it.
I had been deeply contemplating the "If you have a stroke"-poster on the wall for twenty minutes by the time we could do the second half of the trudging. Hey, the guy was cute and all, but being in a waiting room under close scrutiny of the lovely people of the nursing staff swiftly exhausts the options your brain provides.

And the day started out so well. We noodled down to the centre of town for a very, euhm, interesting parade in the full Canadian sun (Sunburn? Nah, there has to be combustible material left for something to be called a burn) after which we sojourned to the farm of In and An. The parade, mostly made up of big men in small cars, small women in big cars, clowns (shudder) and various local marching bands did have going for itslef the fact that it had one man so determined to reach heaven that he decided to walk there himself when he died, about three years ago. Somebody gave him a flag to carry. Lush.

Once on the farm, we were being treated to a beautifully chargrilled or deliciously deepfried version of the thing An managed to shoot the previous couple of months. It was glorious. I made my well-received olive bread, which was good, but it really can't hold a candle to a man holding a 6 kilo turkey above a vat (yes, vat) of boiling oil.

After dinner, we all got a chance to ride one of In's horses. The name of the horse I can't remember, but I can say that riding skills disappear over time, and everybody who says otherwise lies. That thing stalled withing seconds of me hoisting myself over it's back, and it wasn't a weight issue. I think I wasn't gentle enough with the clutch. All In's helpful comments (Use your legs, he stops moving when you stop riding, don't let him see the fence (Excuse me?)) in spite, I did not have any sort of feeling for that animal.

My mother, however, did. Which made me proud. My mother, for those who don't know her, is not a large woman. This horse, for those who don't know it, was a large animal. My mum had spent three solid days saying things along the lines of "I've never even touched a horse, they scare me, they are so big, I am not getting on one of those, no, never", which she kept up until about three minutes after she had started leading it around the paddock. In walked with her, but she still did very well. It was a bit shaming, I have to say, so I stuck to petting there incredibly friendly half-Husky half brown Lab.

Today was spent shopping in London, finally netting me my promised birthday present from my mum in the form of a Swarovski crystal bracelet and yet another pair of wicked cool shoes.
Wallets depleted, we spent a while in the house of yet another cousin, B, with his wife T. B and T are flippers, buying house, fixing them up and selling them with a profit. Their current house is in flux, but going to be gorgeous. For today as for the holiday, I'll be posting pictures at a later date.

We closed of our last day here  at the house of Aunty G and Uncle M, and I am currently in the lobby of our hotel writing this. I am also exhausted, sunburned, a little bit hungry and I haven't had more than 13 minutes of straight reading for 5 days. I am looking forward to going hoooome.

See you all soon,

Kevin.

Canadialand 3 : Moisture Moments & Coming out, well, sorta.

For those who are unaware of how the set-up is here (Everybody but about three of the people who are on the actual trip), some additional information: My little group consists of seven people. There is me; your dashing hero, K. Then there is my mother and her sister, H and W1. Along for the trip are two cousins of my mom, N and W2, W2 also the only other male presence in the group. Closing of the ranks are two of my mothers's aunts, my great aunts Aunty N, and Aunty R. We are visiting another of my mother's extended coteries of aunts, Aunty G (who turns 80 tomorrow) and her uncle, Uncle M.

I can say it is a good mixture of people. All seven of us exhibit moments of incredible mental acuity that do, but barely, outweigh the moments of intense "Ah yes, I should have seen that coming, can somebody come and help me now please"-stupidity.
But more importantly, it is a good mixture of different styles and senses of humor. Where I personally tend more to the situational, punny type of jokes, we have with us a physical joker (W2), some who find the funny side in day to day situations (H, W1, N) and those who are generally appreciative of the concept of humor (yups, everybody). It makes for some interesting car trips, I can tells ya.

Yesterday brought us to the stunning Niagara Falls. On my previous visit, my brother and I managed to make about 67 photos of water (And this is the falls from another angle, and this is the water underneath the falls, and these are the american falls, and these...) and yesterday would have been no different if my camera hadn't experienced a small moisture moment of it's own during the "Explore the Roar" boatride. At some point all my photos developed a soft-focus, ABBA-video-like effect that was charming, but not intended. Luckily a few minutes in the sun fixed the issue.
I still say the blasted thing had nothing to complain about, it might have gotten a tad wettish, I personally, along with W1, managed to pick exactly those spots on the boat where, for some reason, water just happened. (Hey look W, a free spot on the railing, let's stand here an-SPLOOSHHgggkkkggburblerble"Is that a trout in your ear?")

After having been wetted, we had good burger inflicted upon us by the daughter of Aunty G and her husband, In and An, who are providing is with BBQ this evening. I'm looking forward to that.
Yesterday we also had a piquenique party for Aunty G great-granddaughter, who turned 2 and might well be one of the most precious children I have ever seen. Amazingly focused and aware of what she wants (sticks) she sort of moseys around picking things (sticks) up, judging them (stick or no stick) and then carries them around. Crowning moment of Awesome for my mom and I was were she selected our present as the top one, refusing to open her other presents untill ours was opened and added to her current collection (of sticks)

To give you an indication of the group dynamics... I made a joke. Obviously, it was a bad joke, for I am I. My mother chose that moment to pick a piece of lint of my shoulder, but I thought she was coming in to give me a swift (deserved? who can tell(I can: Yes)) smack. So I ducked. So she missed my shoulder. And then said "do you think I'm gonna hit you?", and pretended to hit me for real, but missed.  And smacked W2 on the knee. Three-stooges-style-youtube-gold. Sad but true.

We closed the day of visiting a big souvenir store where everyone managed to find something moose-themed but me, but I have a few days left. They did sell fudge, which caused me to remark "I don't eat Fudge, I just pack it". I do think this is as close to actually coming out ass I am going to get this holiday... :)

Anyways, off to my BBQ, where I am going to try to create some good olive-bread and garlic mayonnaise.

Love, ey,
K.

Canadialand 2 : Son of Canadialand

Today was... Churchy. I am here visiting relatives who happen to be moderately to extremely religious. I am not. This is not a problem, as I do consider myself a spiritual person and respect the religious beliefs of others. Where it does become a problem is when those others religiously believe things that I don't agree with.
Even that is possible to overcome, I can dissemble like nobodies beeswax, but in this case...

I spent the morning having lunch in the church/meeting hall of the local Salvation Army branch, where my great-aunt and uncle are active members. I also spent the morning carefully avoiding all personal pronouns when discussing my current lovelife. "My ex and I broke up a few months ago"... "The house belongs to my Ex so I am just taking my furniture"... " I went to Australia with my Ex and stayed with....hi....hi...my never-to-be parents-in-law". It's both interesting and tiring. It becomes even more interesting (but slightly less tiring) when you have to explain why you don't have kids/wife/girlfriend, being all young, strapping and studly as I am. I have now resorted to telling people that "no lady has managed to catch my heart" and "I'd like to, but they run darn fast on those strappy high heels of theirs".

I fooled nobody, I think, but I like to feel like I did. At least I didn't swish. I did enjoy the moment at the table with the cake where somebody was explaining how being Gay didn't happen here only for a young boy to come up and asked specifically for the piece of cake with the purple flowers and the marzipan ladybugs. He pointed at the piece, limpwristedly, and swished off happily back to his mom. Hmmm, no gays.

On an unrelated note, it turned out the boys name was Keegan. Which is kinda cool, as I was named after a soccer player called Kevin Keegan. But for the grace of God (which he still basked in), there went I.

I have to say darn, as all forms of swearwords are heavily frowned upon. When I went to Australia with Tafkab I was warned to keep it clean, but since I heard both of his parents cursing within minutes of arriving I thought I was safe. Here, no such luck.

So far, we've caught up with local family members, easily distinguishable because they are the only few who are not dressed almost exclusively in tans and dark greens, or ohter colours best described as "Motley". The weather has turned a bit sour today, which is less pleasant, especially as we are planning to go to Niagara Falls tomorrow. A trip to Toronto is no longer on the books as we have been almost fully booked throuhout the week we are here.

So far, none of the usual family mishaps have occured, allthough I did almost walk straight through a flyscreen several times. I am hoping for a good slapstick moment in the next few days.

Greetings from lovely Woodstock, Ontario, home of the motley crew.

 Kevin

Canadialand!

So, first of, being picked up at 5.45 sucks. There is no nicer way to say this, it is par excellence a time that you should only see when you stay up to experience it, never because you wake up for it. And yes, I now sunrises are romantic, but let's face it, DVDs have them in better colour than real life.

But, having stood up at fudging5fudgingo-fudgingclock in the morning, being woken up by your mother singing in the shower, you might as well make the best of it. In my case, the best means grumbling nigh-uncontrollably until you hit the airport. At that point, the grumbling turns into so much despairing eyes raised towards the heavens that my occular muscles have developed carpal tunnel.

But it is actually very nice and warming to be coddled in the warm and inviting bosom of my family, even if that warm and inviting bosom is also remarkably stuffy and for some reason stuffed with dead animals. I kid you not, every single story either starts with a dead animal or ends with one. Unlike most of my conversations however, none ends with a punchline.

Eight hours of not sleeping later, we land in Toronto, at remarkable temperatures and practically no cloud coverage. This in no way explains the turbulence we had, I think we hit a deer or something at 10000 meters.

We've been here for two days now, catching up with the local shoots of our large and remarkably uniform family tree. I'm not able to post pictures, as my camera has not actually achieved thelepathy, but I will soon enough. So far, it's been a lot of fun.

I've not actually caught up on my sleep, as these people seem to be physically unable to go to bed at a reasonable hour, which explains why I can't actually anecdote at you just yet, but I'll be back after tomorrow, when I am going to a church service, after which we have a two-hundred person dinner, after which we have a surprise party. My horoscope actually says that what looks like a family gathering will turn into a date-like situation. It's going to be interesting, this church thinks gay men should be killed. I agree, obviously, for the most part, but not in my own, specific, case.

Wish me luck,
Kevin

Chloe

I hate things. This is not a surprise, nor is it a secret. Especially when it comes to movies I have a tendency to hate things to the exclusion of positive characteristics. Sometimes, however, I hate things so much they don’t even register anymore, which means I occasionally find myself in theatres surrounded by things I hate (cold, people, sticky floors) looking at things I hate even more (Valentine’s Day was a wonderful case in point). I sat through Happy Feet, realizing halfway through that I hated tap. I sat through the Wolfman, realizing halfway through that I hated Benicio del Toro. Clarification: I did not hate tap or BdT in the movies I hate both full time, all the time, just so, so much that I never noticed they were in the movies until the movie had well and truly started.

I deeply dislike Julianne Moore. I find she lacks depth as an actress and banks on little else but her oh so cool and clean and fragile “beauty” in whatever role she plays, and I thought her casting as not-just-to-my-mind-iconic Clarice Starling was a travesty only eclipsed by the rest of that heaven-renting disaster of a movie (Entertaining? Sure, gore almost always is. Good? Hell no).

I also dislike movies that are casted based on currently popularity of the cast rather than making effective (and affecting) use of the available pool of talent. Give me well-cast unknowns rather than badly cast bigger names. But I realize I am ranting against an unavoidability here, and I would never cast myself as Don Quixote, no matter how sturdy Rosicante, or how lovely Dulcinea. Some windmills refuse to be anything but giants, but some giants refuse to be anything but windmills, so it all works out, I find.

However, I do not hate either Julianne “Tales from the Darkside” Moore OR obvious casting so much that I avoid movies based on those aspects. I should, maybe, but I don’t.

I have been lucky in that regard as it has allowed me to see two movies with both Julianne AND relatively popularity induced casting over the last few weeks, and hey, colour me pleasantly surprised.


The first was “A Single Man” which is, apart form one small flaw, so very very poignant and touching and just all round good that it almost made me forget that I hate Julesy (and mohair sweaters) because she (like everybody in this movie) was just insanely, heartrendingly, believably on her acting-game. If you have not seen this movie yet, go see it. Now.

Reeling from finally having seen Julianne do something that did not make me want to slam her into a wall again (how else to explain that lack of profile) I decided to give the badly reviewed “Chloe” a chance as well. It has Julianne. It also has Amanda Seyfried. I do like Amanda Seyfried, somewhat, but I feel she is being overused at the moment. And I thought her somewhat to light and bubbly for the premise of the movie.

A premise that is as old, predictable and classic as it is simple: Woman (Jules) expects her Husband (Liam Neeson, another one for the “Oh really, you wanted a fatherly figure with an edge? Gosh” box) of cheating on her and decides to hire a prostitute (Seyfried) to seduce him, later suffering Horrible Consequences™ for her unwillingness to tackle the situation directly (Symbolism! Moral!).
Now, in this movie the Horrible Consequences™ are not altogether too horrible to behold. Yes, there is a little blood and some violence, but it could have all been a lot worse, and I seem to remember several movies where it did.

Seyfried seemed well set to massively disappoint, but I have to say, she didn’t. Her role as a prostitute could have been played darker, edgier and with a little more fatale glamour, but I think that the simple fact that she did not, that she kept it light, even comically teeny, made it all the more dangerous, all the more understandably seductive.
Because of course, this movie is about seduction. Not necessarily the sexual kind, but a slow and subtle game of leading astray is constantly being played. It is not always played well, obviously, sometimes the tactics and moves are a little… shall we say… pedestrian? But played it is and to relatively good effect.


I really enjoyed this movie. It was slow, but absolutely gorgeously filmed and many of the locations, outfits and shots echo a certain lush emptiness that matches the feel of the movie and the character’s very well, if a little too well in some cases. I’m not going to spoil the movie that much but to use the traditional beautiful-but-mottled-mirror-obscuring-a-face trick to imply a person’s slightly skewed way of seeing themselves has been done to death now, lovely as the imagery is.

Go see this movie as well. I’m not saying I don’t still dislike Julianne “can somebody beat her some” Moore with quite some passion, but I need to give her snaps for these two movies at least.


This post to ease myself back into some sort of regular blogging. My apologies for the long hiatus, I will strive to improve.


K