If you know anything about me you’ll know my number 1 absolute favorite book is Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, an absolute masterpiece about his experiences in Dresden during the firebombing (which incidentally killed more people than Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined).

Well for fellow Vonnegut fans, he has recently written Cold Turkey, a state of the union address from a beloved American literary icon. Go read it, you’ll be glad you did.

Next blog: Iraqi prisoner abuse and America’s history since it’s birth of the torture and killing of people of colour.

Immature

Sometimes I catch myself giggling over things which are so immature. I’m gooney I know. Surfing Bipolar World I came across a question about CBT (which in this context means cognitive behavioural therapy) which always makes me think of the BDSM term CBT, which means cock and ball torture. And I’m always so confused, I’m like, why does cock and ball torture help with manic depression?

Who knows, maybe there’s a CBT afficianado reading this whose all “Yeah, I do feel better after a long session of CBT!”

Being a part of so many different communities, like the bipolars, the bi-gendered, the dykes, the butches, the halfbreeds, the aboriginals, the leather folks, the video artists and the filmmakers, makes life very funny. Sometimes when cultural groups collide you can get some really amusing moments.

I remember one time during a video production this dyke friend of mine had some friends coming by who didn’t know she was a card carrying homo. So she told all of us “Don’t tell them I’m out!” (Which is funny for the sole reason that she obviously WASN’T out). So this aboriginal friend of ours said “Okay, so if they ask, ‘is so and so out’, we’ll say ‘No, she’s in.'”

Immature can be fun though, there are a lot of simple pleasures out there. Like watching a three year old north korean genius named Mo Kin play the zylophone.

I hate being grumpy. This whole experience has really dragged me down for quite a while, I felt so frusterated and pushed to the edge. I hate the edge. Whenever I make work I go a little bit crazy and it’s nice to have a curator who accepts that and gives me room to breathe, and support. It all makes me very relieved to remember that I’m a video artist. It’s so easy to show at festivals, just give them a tape and they go on their merry way.

I’m also glad to be returning to my feature screenplay. It’s been like a neglected girlfriend, waiting and sighing for me to return. Yet for some reason some people don’t really regard me writing this thing as making work. I don’t know why, it’s such a big project and it’s taking a lot of time and thought. People are weird man!

I’m also glad to be returning to my short video project “Love & Numbers” (working title). It’s a lot of fun for me making videos, I just love the process so much.

I’m thinking again about this creative process thing, people have often given me shit about the way I make things, how long it takes for me to make up my mind about certain aspects. And usually in the beginning when people see what I have it all looks like a bunch of nothing.

I think my main problem is that I’m an artist who needs secrecy to make my work, for various reasons. One is that the process of making work can take so much out of me emotionally, because I try to give the viewer an emotional reaction, I think that’s what good art does. I also know that it all looks like a lot of frantic nothing in the beginning, and I don’t like how people devalue the images I get just because it doesn’t tell a story or seem like art to them yet. And finally, I’m a manic depressive, and I can’t help but have a manic depressive way of creating. For me that translates into a lot of last minute changes as I finally put it all together, which to some people seems flighty.

Why is it so hard being an artist? This is why I like to live a hermit-like existence, away from the people who like art to be made in a certain way and be all about nothing.

Anyway, back to our regularily scheduled program next blog. I think my grump-fest is over. I am soooooo ready to stop thinking about this damn show.

Lists! (with a nod to A., who knows who she is)

Things people gave me today:

Timbits.

White carnations.

Oreos.

Orange Blossom Peak Freans.*

An opera ticket.

Ketchup chips.

A calendar of pictures of bouquets.

*Once when I was a little kid and first learned to read, I read the phrase “By appointment to Her Majesty the Queen,” on a pack of Peak Freans. I was terrified and reluctant to eat the cookies in case we had accidentally gotten the Queen’s special cookies and would be in violation of some royal degree, which would involve us losing our heads. (I ate them anyway.)

My Favorite Candy:

Candy Corn.

Cinnamin Hearts.*

Excell.

Juicy Fruit.

Blue whales.

Nerds.

Mint Aero.

Candied Ginger.

Red Lips.

Carmel Popcorn.

Glossettes Raisins.

*Every Valentines Day I have nobody to neck with so I console myself by eating copious amounts of cinnamin hearts until the first layer of my mouth is burnt off. (I could hear you go ew! :P)

My Favorite Movies:*

Mullholland Drive.

The Wizard of Oz.

Show Me Love.

The Celebration.

Ma Vie En Rose.

Zentropa.

The Hours.

Fight Club.

Children of Heaven.

Nowhere.

Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story.

Dancer in The Dark.

Dazed and Confused.

Dogville.

Party Girl.

Happiness.

*The best movie I ever went to was years ago when I had a date for the Blair Witch project, the projectionists were locked out and we didn’t want to cross the picketline, so we went to my house and . . . uhm . . .

Miscellaneous:

Senator: God must go if responsible for Iraq Prisoner Abuse

Homestar Runner

Disclaimer: From the Edges of Gender and Madness

A show by Thirza Cuthand

Opening night TONIGHT! May 7 at 7pm, and May 8 at 7pm, with a performance on May 7.

At the Alley Gallery, 713 E Pender (use Alley entrance).

Hope to see you all there!

Almost a year later I have finally shipped my stuff from Montreal to my new-old stomping grounds of Vancouver. After a brief perusal of my old junk, I somehow thought it was worth a blog.

First of all, I have to put this all into context. At the time I packed all of it I was in a major depressive phase after a major manic episode that took me to the hospital. And life sucked and I had no friends coming by to cheer me up, in fact at the time I was getting threatened by people I’d flipped out around. And I realized everyone I cared about who would go have a beer with me and let me be myself was way far away in Vancouver. So I packed up and left, with very few belongings because I showed up in Montreal with very little. And you can live for a long time with just a coffee cup, a tin soup pot, a fork, a spoon, and a knife.

Oh but wait, I went MANIC, see, which means I also went shopping, A LOT. I bought $60 cultural studies books, knickknacks and gee-gaws, movies and lampshades and other things which really don’t mean anything to anybody else but me. And coming out of my bipolar emotional ruins I started thinking “Aw hell, none of those things really matter in the end does it? It’s just junk, material goods, why do we need any of this stuff anyway?”

Well I have to say, almost a year later I am looking through all these boxes, and I’m in a pretty good mental state, and I say “Fuckin’ rights this is good stuff! When am I ever going to buy a Buddha again? And dammit, I need my DVD’s and I loooooooove my books, and I’ve really missed this pornography, and my Columbia figurine is beat up but so freakin’ cute!”

Okay, I admit it, I’m a materialistic little chickadee. I feel better when I am surrounded by stuff. It’s just stuff, but somehow it gives me a sense of accomplishment. I know when I need to think about my precarious gender tightrope, I’ve got a Kate Bornstien book to read. When I want to study films I can pop in my DVD of Mullholland Drive or whatever and sit back and analyse structure and themes and all that nerdly film stuff. And when I’m naked, I still have my bathrobe that I wore in the hospital.

Some people call it hording, and it’s true that I do that. Apparently people with OCD often horde. I’m not a meticulously clean person, but having things around gives me a sense of stability and calm. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it’s craziness, maybe it’s just human nature. We pathologize everything these days, but you know, maybe it all just comes down to our own unique quirks.

At the same time I have to say, some of the things I bought were just ridiculous. At my bipolar support group I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan to have a garage sale of all the things we had bought in a manic state. I mean, you can rack up some intense debt in an episode! But no, the Manic garage sale has yet to happen. If any of my dear readers would like to contribute something to the sale, email me!

Dogville

My mother is in town visiting for my birthday celebrations. Since she lives in Saskatoon and the good movies take forever to get there, she wanted to hit the theatres while she was here. So we went to see Dogville, Lars Von Trier’s newest film.

In a nutshell, the plot is this: Grace, played by Nicole Kidman, is on the run from gangsters for reasons we don’t know. She arrives in Dogville, a small town in the Depression. Tom, a man who prides himself on acting as the moral concience of the town, rescues her and offers to help her win the town over so that she can hide out there indefinately. The town slowly accepts her as one of their own, but in order to pay her debt to the town for harboring a fugitive with such a dangerous past, Tom gets her to do work for everyone in the town. This work slowly escalates as she becomes more and more exploited, becoming the scapegoat for all the sins of the town.

To really thoroughly examine this film, you MUST talk about the ending. However, I know people get mad when someone ruins the ending for them, so I’ll just talk a little about the film as a whole and the themes it presents, and then go to a spoiler warning and finish my review.

First of all, I had some misgivings about Lars Von Trier making yet ANOTHER film about a woman sacrificing herself or being sacrificed and victimized. I’m not sure what his obsession with that particular theme is or whether it has honorable intentions. So my mother and I geared ourselves up for the possibility of watching a woman go through hell for no particular reason. And watching the movie, you do feel as though you’ve been pushed too far. At a certain point you wonder why you’re watching the movie, why you’re complicit in watching someone be abused and used.

The movie raises questions about our own basic human morals. We try to live higher lives, to say that forgiveness is essential to well being, that people are essentially good. And yet in all of us there is the capacity to use and abuse another person, to exploit someone for our own gain. That’s something we don’t really want to think about.

*******************SPOILER ALERT!!!! SKIP TO MY BIRTHDAY MESSAGE IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE END OF DOGVILLE!!!************************

The other troubling question which is raised comes at the end. All of us have a breaking point, all of us have the capacity for violence. Grace has become the dog of Dogville, chained to a metal wheel she drags about, with a bell on her collar, she’s being sexually exploited by all of the men in Dogville, except the man she loves, Tom, because she keeps telling him she wants it to be special. He’s not really helping her, though he thinks he is. When he comes to her saying it’s time for them to be lovers because everyone else has had her, she says “Well yeah, go ahead and do it, but you have to be like them and threaten to turn me in to the gangsters.”

So he calls the gangsters. And when they arrive, suddenly we know why she has been on the run from them. She’s the mob boss’s daughter, and she wanted to live a life where people were good to each other and there’s room for forgiveness. But her father tells her she’s so arrogant. She believes in the best in people, but she doesn’t expect it of them. She doesn’t think they need to answer for their actions.

By this point in the movie, my mother and I both hated everyone in Dogville. We wanted the worst things to happen to the people. And suddenly, Grace makes a decision, and in a blaze of gun fire and gasoline Dogville is obliterated, with a special payback to a mother who’s husband had repeatedly raped Grace. It’s shocking, yet feels so righteous. And that’s what’s intense about Dogville. She shoots the man she’d loved in the head, saying some things you have to do yourself. The sole survivor is the dog.

Once I lived in a small logging and ranching town called Merritt, where I was sexually harrassed everyday that we lived there. I was about 13. I imagine that times ten for Grace in Dogville and I completely understand why she’d decide to commit mass slaughter. And as someone who identifies as a pacifist, yeah, it’s unsettling. We all have a breaking point, we would all go to war or flip out if we’re treated like dogs for long enough.

I asked my Mum, if you were in Grace’s position, would you have done the same? Yeah. Fuckin’ rights yeah.

And the other interesting thought, the other unsettling awareness, is that we treat people badly because we percieve them as being powerless. But what about them makes us believe they have no power? How can we be sure? It made me think about Western foreign policy, how we treat developing nations. Meanwhile there are people like Grace there, people with access to a lot of growing righteous anger and weapons.

And to take it back to a simpler level, this question of forgiveness. We throw it around a lot, how people are better if they can forgive. But we have forgotten that people have to work for our forgiveness, someone has to recognize that a wrong was committed and try to atone for it. If we live as a society where we constantly are forgiving people, then no one has to see the consequences of their bad actions. I mean, how is a daughter supposed to just forgive a father who sexually abused her her entire life, for one example. Why should she? Maybe it’s better for her not to forgive.

And finally, the most troubling realization after seeing Dogville is that human nature is too complex for us to ever live in a utopia, in a world free of war and violence and exploitation.

Happy Birthday Me!

Today’s my birthday, which means I might get to eat crab tonight. Mmm, crab and raw oysters I’m so excited. I’m now 26 years old, yay!!! 26 on the 26th.

And what did I see on the news last night but the huge march for women’s reproductive rights on Washington, headed by an angry looking Whoopi Goldberg waving a coat hanger and other stars like Julianne Moore and Susan Sarandon marching. Makes my heart feel so full!! I really hope they get Bush out of office.

Wish me a happy birthday!

Saskatoon Berries are NOT a novelty item

Today I heard the funniest news in a long time. It seems that Britain has decided it will no longer allow imports of Saskatoon berries because they don’t believe they are safe for human consumption, and in fact have classified them as a novelty item.

For those of you who have never eaten Saskatoons, they are one of the most supremely delicious berries around. They are somewhat similar to blueberries, but far sweeter and tangy-er. Blueberries are pretty bland once you’ve eaten a Saskatoon.

Being from Saskatoon myself, I spent many a summer picking Saskatoons with my mum and gramma, getting a purple tongue from skimming off the top of my little berry bucket. I was a pitiful berry gatherer because I ate so many. We used to make Saskatoon pie, oh my god, one of the yummiest pies in the world (next to nectarine pie). In fact, my mom is bringing me some Saskatoons when she comes to visit next.

A funny gourmet prairie fruit, the royals have even been proudly fed saskatoon based desserts. And of course my home town is obviously named after the berry, which has been devoured by us aboriginals for ages and ages.

And now it’s been called a novelty item. I’m shocked. I’m appalled. But you know, if Britain doesn’t want these lovely berries, I am willing to make the sacrifice of eating their share.