Wolfing it down

I don't look in the mirror much. I think I've said that before. I do it when I shave. I do it occasionally when I brush my hair after a shower, though when my hair is shorter like it is now, I don't always need to look in the mirror. Sometimes I look up when I wash my face. That's about it.
I avoid the mirror because I don't want to see my body. So of course it only makes sense that I have no idea how big it is, or how much bigger it has become.
It's almost too obvious to call this denial. It's willful denial.
So I think I told you, about six weeks ago I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. As I understand it, this can mean a lot of things. I don't think it means that I now have diabetes, like people who were born with diabetes. On the other hand, I just found out that a guy I know who also has it, takes drugs for it. I thought I had the kind where you don't need drugs but if this guy, who's lost 40 pounds, is still taking drugs, I may have to reassess.
My doctor didn't prescribe drugs. Not at first anyway. I thought it was a non-issue. But last time I was there, about four weeks after the diagnosis, she took some blood and said she'd see if I needed drugs. She hasn't called yet but I'm not sure she would. Maybe I need to call her.
I don't know why drugs would be so depressing. I guess I just thought it was a matter of "lifestyle change" and this was just a kind of warning, rather than an actual condition.
Anyway that's neither here nor there. If I have to take drugs, I guess I will. In fact, I'm about to start taking another drug so I don't know what the big deal is. As long as it works.
The other drug is Zyban, by the way. The anti-smoking anti-depressant. I took it the last two times I quit smoking. I'm not sure how much it helps but I figure I'll take all the help I can get. The last time I quit I know it helped me get over my girlfriend leaving me, which happened just before I quit, so I know it has some effect. This time my girlfriend is not going to leave me. On the contrary, she'll like me more. But I am a little depressed for other reasons lately so I think I'm going to welcome a little crutch.

Anyway, a couple of weeks after I started my new diet, I bought a scale and Miss Music and I weighed ourselves. Or more accurately, she weighed us. I didn't want to know the number. I thought it would be discouraging.
In the subsequent weeks, I tried to trick her into giving me some indication but she wouldn't budge. But at the last weigh-in, a few days ago, I mentioned a number that I thought might be in the ballpark and she laughed. Not a cruel laugh, just an involuntary one.
"That wasn't it?", I asked her. She shook her head.
"Nowhere close?". "No, nowhere close".
Fuck!!!!!!!!!!

Now I'm going to tell you the number but suffice it to say that if this had been the number, it would have meant that I needed to lose fifty to sixty pounds. That would have been bad but somehow it felt manageable. But by saying "nowhere close", she's giving me the impression that I needed to lose more like 100 pounds.
Of course, on one hand, it doesn't matter how much I have to lose. As long as I change my diet and lifestyle and do it as a permanent life change, then I'll get healthier and even if I never reach some target weight, I'll be doing better than I was when I got the diagnosis.
And that will be good.
For instance, I will tell you that in the three weeks or so since she weighed me, according to her I've lost five pounds.
And that's without much exercise, since my knee is still fucked up and I can't take those daily walks that I intend to begin someday.
Five pounds. And that doesn't include how much I might have lost in the first couple of weeks before we bought the scale. And I'm only saying that because in the last few days, I've found it marginally but noticeably easier to do up my belt and it doesn't seem like five pounds alone would do that.
Trouble is, I'm still back on the fact that my estimate was nowhere close. If I was nowhere close, that means I'm really really fat and that's a lot different to me than merely being fat.
Now of course, on some level, I know that the number is unimportant and that, if my girlfriend loved me at that weight and people didn't run away covering their eyes when I hobbled down the street, then on some level I was.... presentable.
And of course, I know it doesn't matter so much what I WAS, but what I'm now determined to become.
And it's not even so much about what I might become but what I'm becoming. Five pounds is better than no pounds and it's a lot better than gaining weight. And if I lose twenty or thirty or fifty and I'm still fat, it'll still be better than where I was when I started out.
I KNOW ALL THAT.
But there's this lingering, haunting feeling. It's completely illogical but it's like maybe when I didn't know how fat I was, I would have gone to some party but now that I kind of have a more accurate picture of how fat I am, I don't want to go to that party.
Not that there is a party.
But today the film festival - TIFF - begins and even though I always sort of want to avoid it, I think I want to avoid it now even more.

Let me get to my real point here.

And I know I just talked about this in my last post. But that just shows how little (else) I have to think about these days.

I'm changing my diet. I'm quitting smoking in less than two and a half weeks. I have a girlfriend.
The diet thing is the easiest one on that list. It's a one-day-at-a-time thing but on most days, it's not that difficult to avoid things that are bad for me. Which is different than actually eating the things that are good for me but some days I manage that too.
I still can't quite imagine quitting smoking even though I've done it twice before. It's not so much that I can't imagine quitting but more that I can't imagine NEVER again having a cigarette.
Or more accurately, becoming a person who doesn't smoke. EVER. Doesn't go outside and smoke with the smokers at a party. Doesn't worry whether he has enough smokes to last the night. Doesn't have anything to look forward to, in the sense of "After I get out of the dentist, I'll have a smoke". And I know it sounds strange to say it in those terms but smoking is a way of sort of divvying up the day.
It's something to do.
Something to do especially when you have nothing to do.
The idea of spending the day at home, as I have for the last couple of months, puttering about on the computer and avoiding bill-paying (as I am right now), just feels so much more empty if I eliminate cigarettes from the picture.
It feels way more like nothing.

I know I'm not alone in this feeling. The other night my friend Randall and I were talking about our mutual friend Brian, who we were drinking and smoking with.
(Actually it was a pretty glorious night. Brian was in from South Africa and the last time we all got together like that was probably a decade ago.)
Anyway, curiously Brian had started smoking quite late in life. Around 37, I think. So when Randall and I first met him, he didn't smoke.
And we both agreed that we kind of resented him for it.
"It's like we'd be out drinking and we'd be with him and he was apparently having as much fun as we were and he was able to do that without smoking".
Yeah.
The prick.

Randall said he was quitting again. He'd quit a few years ago and while I admired him for it, when I saw that he had started again, I was sort of relieved. Even happy.
I know that's terrible but when you smoke, you have a strange relation to your smoking friends. It's like a club you don't want them quitting unless you quit too. You feel strange around them when they're out of the club and you aren't. And for sure, you feel a lot better when and if they rejoin the club.
It's like you can't stand your friend being a better person than you.

Now that I'm determined to quit, I hope Randall succeeds too.

I don't know where to place the "having a girlfriend thing" in this new equation. But I guess the strange thing is that as much as I want to lose weight, as much as my body has brought me down, depressed me, haunted me, as many times as I've wanted to quit smoking, as often that I've thought I'd had enough of being alone... there was obviously something... satisfying (?) about being that guy and I'm wondering who I'm going to be if all those things change.
Or not so much who I'm going to be as HOW am I going to stand being this other person?
Will I feel pressure to return to my former self?
Even if it means getting fat and unhealthy and alone.

I know that all sounds a bit ridiculous. As I wrote in my last post, Miss Music has theorized that my fat was a way of keeping people away and as much as I'd like to scoff at the over-simplification, there's a part of me that has a hard time disputing it.
It's not that I wanted to keep my friends away.
And as I think I told you, when I got confirmation that this woman I'd been attracted to - and who acted like she was attracted to me - had to reject me in the end because of my weight, I was kind of crushed.
Obviously I wasn't consciously trying to keep people away.
But there's no doubt I'm self-destructive.
I think that's what it comes down to. I like being self-destructive. That's what I know. It gives me pleasure. It obviously isn't good for me but not being good to myself makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
I'm not going to say that I'm happiest when I'm destroying myself.
If that were so, one would have to wonder about all the self-destructive things I never got into. Never got addicted to heroin. Not an alcoholic. And I've often been tactful in the presence of people who could help my career.

Anyone who saw my last film, is probably thinking right now of my piece which we call "Fucked Up Lite".

Of the three areas here, the wagon I don't think I'm going to fall of of, is the diet wagon. As fucked up as I may be, I don't think I'll ever willfully try to pack on the pounds.
But even as I write that, I can't be sure.

I've been watching a lot of TV shows about diet and obesity. I don't know if there are more of them on these days or I'm just more aware of them. The other day I watched a real hard-to-watch one about super obese folks called "I Eat 33000 Calories a Day". These were those can't-get-out-of-bed folks.
Worse than I've ever been or likely ever will be.
This woman was talking about this big plate of cookies that was artfully out of focus in the foreground of the shot. She said that the very presence of the cookies gave her a warm feeling of anticipation.
I could relate to that.
But lately I've been practicing moderation. The other night our neighbors took Miss Music and I out for dinner. It was Indian food and I avoided the rice and the nans and went for the whole wheat chapatis.
(Can someone confirm for me the idea that whole wheat is so much better than white flour that I have no need to feel guilty or is it more accurate, as someone wrote me today, that "starch is starch"?)
Anyway after dinner, the four of us went a few doors away for gelato (at the gelato store I talked about in an earlier post.) At first I was determined not to have any. But they encouraged me to go for it. They were having large sizes, heaped high with delicious sugary coldness. I asked for a small one and then asked the server to sheer it off flat. So it was like half a small one. When I was finished I felt guilty. "I didn't need that". But on another level, I felt like "I'm really doing this".
So when the woman on TV talked about the big plate of cookies, I imagined myself having just one. I imagined myself taking that first bite and really appreciating it. And then slowly eating it, savoring every bite.
That's more or less what a normal person would do.
You eat one. You say "that was good" and then you stop.
But I've never ever been that person. Never. And like almost everything else I'm talking about here, as much as I enjoy imagining myself being that person, I'm just not sure I can do it.
It's unnatural.
For me and for that woman obviously, what's natural is to hoover down the whole plate. You can really enjoy the first one and you can probably really enjoy the second one and even maybe the third. But after that, it's not about enjoyment. It's about reaching for another one, knowing you shouldn't and then doing it anyway.
And repeating that for every cookie till the plate or the bag or the container or the box is finished.

It's obviously self-destructive. And clearly there's self-loathing there also, hating yourself every time you shove one down your throat after telling yourself you should stop. Hating yourself and loving it at the same time.

I still do that sometimes but these days I do it with blueberries or peanuts. It's probably still not good but hey... I've lost five pounds, right?

Anyway I know that I sound really silly talking about about the impulse to stay fat, keep smoking and somehow crawl back to my state of solitude but when I saw that plate of cookies and realized how easy it would be for me still, to just wolf them down, that it's still in me, that it takes no imagination to see myself doing it and that on some level, it feels like the "real me", I guess I started to understand where my head's been at lately.
I don't know why the impulse to self-destruction (of the mild or extreme type) is so seductive. I do know that the idea of a "healthy person" has always filled me with contempt but that's just the immature side of me. Or maybe it's just me.

Sometimes I think that though I obviously indulge in self-loathing, I don't hate myself enough. Or more accurately, I like myself too much.
I like who I am. I think I'm a cool guy. Others appear to agree with me.
If I got there by being self-destructive, maybe there's nothing wrong with being self-destructive. So why should I change?
Then again, I think I'm cool enough that I can retain some of it even without cigarettes, sugar and solitude.

Or maybe not.

Anyway that's what I'm thinking about lately. To be or not to be... me.

pepsi in my hair

Last night I watched a fairly devastating documentary about stressed-out Iraq war veterans called "The Ground Truth". I've seen a lot of good docs about this war and I have to add this one to the list. It was basically a series of testimonies from returning soldiers who were having problems moving on with their lives after witnessing and participating in so many civilian deaths in Iraq.
There was this one young guy, a sort of gentle giant type, who seemed especially haunted. Like the rest of them in the film, he came back from the war a different person and just didn't know how to move on with all the ghosts and demons he was carrying around. A psychologist in the film talked about "intrusive thoughts". She said some of these men and women had intrusive thoughts 24 hours a day. It seemed like this young man could barely get through the interview without such thoughts.
He attributed his survival, so far, to his wife. Just the other night, his very young wife had said something that really affected him.
"We're in this together", she told him.
He couldn't get over that. All the men in the film talked about how isolated they feel. And apparently a lot of marriages don't survive after these men and women return. But this young woman was sticking by her man and trying to show him he wasn't alone. I don't know that he quite believed it. But clearly the prospect of having that one person on his side, trying to understand him and help him heal, gave him some hope.
I don't know how I would have reacted a couple of months ago, to that moment in the film. I suppose I would have just thought "good for you". But last night, I immediately thought of Miss Music. If there's a kind of person who can say "We're in this together" and really mean it, she's certainly a prime example. I have to admit, the very concept still seems strange to me. Not just unfamiliar. Maybe more like abstract. And it's not that I think it's impossible. I can believe it with other people. I think I've witnessed it. I just find it hard to imagine myself in that kind of partnership.
And that's not because I don't think I'm worthy or deserving, by the way. Or incapable of it. And I don't think it's one of those "I wouldn't want to be in a club that would have me" things, as some of my friends have conjectured.
And I shouldn't say that I can't imagine it. I've been imagining it almost since the moment Miss Music told me she had feelings for me too. Or more accurately I've been trying to imagine it. Trying to accept it. Believe in it. Let go of all the resistance I seem to have for it.

I met Miss Music the day after my latest film "Lovable" had its television premiere, ten days after it had its world premiere. There's nothing that's happening here that doesn't remind me of something I said or talked about in that film. Some people have said that the film was like my little prayer to the universe, asking it to bring someone into my life. I didn't see it that way. Maybe it seems like a false distinction but all I wanted to do was say "I still want a family. And wanting that is the major issue in my life"
Of course some people always suggested I didn't want it enough. If I wanted it more, it would have happened. And as I said in the film, though I hated hearing that, I understood there was probably some truth to it. It wasn't exactly that I didn't want it enough though, but more that I wanted something else too.
My problem, according to other people, was that I didn't believe it was possible. I always knew that was an issue. But it wasn't until Miss Music came along that I found out how deeply I didn't believe it.
I could imagine meeting someone, falling in love, having a girlfriend again. And I suppose I could imagine having a relationship that lasted a little longer than the last few. But that was all I knew so that was all I could imagine. Everything beyond that was just a story I would tell myself. I couldn't really see myself in that story but I couldn't let it go either.

Of course it's still a little too early to say that I'm going to have it with Miss Music. But I've had glimpses of it in our short time together and everytime I have a glimpse, I know I'm seeing something I've never seen before.

A few weeks ago Miss Music and I went to her hometown for the weekend. It turned into quite a comedy of errors. And the first error came within moments of arriving at her family home, which her parents had vacated for a trip to her father's homeland.
They live in an isolated area. It was pitch black or close enough. Miss Music was inside airing the place out. I was outside having a smoke. She called out to me and asked what I was doing. I told her. She said I could smoke on the patio. I asked her where the door was. I could see a door but it didn't seem to have a porch or steps. She laughed and told me it was on the other side of the house. I looked over and spotted it.
My knee is fucked up. As it turns out, it's going to need surgery. I don't stand easily. So I wasn't all that happy standing around in the front yard, having a smoke. The prospect of a patio was a great relief. And now that the door was identified, my relief was in sight.
I was kind of excited as I headed for the door. But there was a step and needless to say, I didn't see it.
I pride myself on having pretty good balance. It sounds silly but it's true. I've tripped over things as much as the next guy and maybe more than most, but I usually right myself. When we were kids we used to play this game which basically consisted of trying to get people to fall on the ice. I was one of the stars of that game. Good at making other people fall, good at not falling myself.
But sometimes, even the best of us have no choice. We're going to fall. In this case, I don't think "fall" quite says it. I didn't so much fall as take off. I flew.
I was holding a can of Diet Pepsi in one hand. I stuck that hand out to break my fall. The Pepsi exploded.
I lay there for a moment, flat on my face, Pepsi dripping off my hair, and just tried to reorient myself. My knee hurt like hell but it had hurt before the fall. I turned over on my back and tried to figure out if anything else was hurt. I couldn't feel anything but I wasn't completely sure. I don't know why I didn't just try and stand up. In fact, looking back on it now, I think that, in itself, was a telling moment. Instead of trying to stand on my own and seeing how I did, I called out to Miss Music.
"Honey, can you come out here and help me out?"
Or maybe I said "help me with something".
I said it in a calm voice. As she walked outside, she had no indication anything was wrong.
Then she saw me. The wet ground all around me.
(Maybe you're asking yourself, "if it was so dark, how could she see me so clearly?" Well that's because there was one of those motion detector lights. But the light only came on AFTER you passed the step. So I turned on the light but only as I flew through the air.)
Apparently her first thought, as she saw the Pepsi soaking the ground around me, was that it was blood. She ran over to me, calling my name. It was a distance of only a few yards but I think she was starting to cry before she got to me.
I guess I realized how I must look to her so I tried to sit up immediately to show her I was actually all right. Gradually, as the relief flowed through her and replaced the panic, she began to laugh. I told her it was Pepsi, not blood, dripping from my head. She laughed some more. But I could still hear the panic and relief in her voice.
I stayed on the ground for some time, sitting up, Miss Music behind me with her arms around me.
I couldn't get enough of it.
It was something I can't say I've ever felt. Such a simple thing and yet completely new. If it wasn't slightly inappropriate, I'd call it novel. Of course I've had girlfriends hug me before. And though I'm less confident about this, I'd say I've had girlfriends hold me before too.
But not like this.

It was just a moment. And I know I'm making a meal of that moment. But it felt like a meal.

The other thing I've been wanting to write about is my identity.
For probably the umpteenth time, I had a friend - a new father - tell me the other day that having children completely changes your feeling of yourself in the world. It changes your identity. It's not about you anymore.
I don't know why anyone feels the need to tell me that. Maybe I shouldn't take it so personally. Maybe they're just talking about themselves. Maybe it's not the "be careful what you wish for" warning that I often take it as.
"You've been alone a long time. You're not going to be able to make the adjustment."
I've often said that I was tired of everything being about me and ready for that to end.
I'm sure that if it ever happens, if I ever have kids, I'll miss everything being about me. That seems inevitable. But as far as my identity goes, that's already shattering.
And it's not because I'm now someone's boyfriend or not alone as of this moment. It's not just that my identity has changed, with the change in my circumstance. It's that I'm starting to wonder how well I knew myself in the first place. Of course I would have always said that we can't really know ourselves. But I guess I'm starting to think that I've been especially clueless, especially for someone who's made three films more or less about himself.

The other night, Miss Music and I were having one of those arguments we've been having occasionally lately. She says that the honeymoon is sort of over and "the uglies" are coming out. I don't think that's quite accurate. I think it's more about me, whether voluntarily or not, trying to crawl back into my (old) shell.
There's usually a point, ten minutes in or so into the argument, where she's still kind of mad at me but whether she knows it or not, I know it's basically over and any second now, she'll give me one of those little warning smiles she gives me. So when she warned me that there was no point to holding onto my identity because she was going to shred my identity, I just had to laugh.
I had to laugh because I'm not sure how much there's going to be left to shred. I have no doubt I'm trying to hold onto it but more and more I'm wondering if the thing I'm trying to hold onto ever existed in the first place.

This is really hard to talk about and I'm not sure why I'm even trying. I'm not sure if it's identity or personality I'm talking about here. Identity or character.
All I can say is that, like everyone else, I've interpreted everything that's happened to me in this life, through the filter of my image of myself in the world. And between seeing myself through Miss Music's eyes, and seeing myself react to this new circumstance in my life, I'm starting to see how inaccurate that image was.
At this point, if I were to find out that I'm actually a lousy driver, I'd just have to add it to the list of new discoveries.
Alongside the discovery of what a miserable fuck I can be.

The other morning I drove Miss Music to meet some friends and get a ride out of town. For the second of four weekends in a row, she was leaving me. I wasn't all that happy about that and to top it off, I hadn't slept. I was just waiting for her friends to arrive and for her to get out of the car and let me go back to bed.
One of her friends arrived and came over to the car. He said something about going into the store to get something. When he left, Miss Music did a pretty funny imitation of my reaction to her friend, which apparently was more or less the same way someone would react to a buzzing fly they were trying to ignore.
I've always thought I was a friendly guy. Maybe with an edge but still basically a social animal. I've heard that assumption challenged but nothing's ever convinced me I was that far off in my feelings about myself.
And I think I'd still say that I'm capable of friendliness, sweetness and generosity.
But what I'm starting to see is that that, huge cliche though it may be, I've had this pretty profound shell around me. I think I've learned all kinds of strategies to compensate for it. And I don't think it ever destroyed the friendliness or sweetness I was raised with. But it was there. It's still there. It's not just some "edge" that I have, It's a weapon as much as a shield. Or maybe the shell metaphor is completely the wrong one here. It's not just something I carry around with me. It's something that's in me.
A deadly strain of self-possession.

Okay maybe I'm exaggerating. But, if you'll bear with me, I have another example.
I was just diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. That's my latest news. Miss Music was thrilled at the diagnosis. She wanted me to lose weight for my health; now it's more than just something my girlfriend wants me to do.
I have to admit that the timing of all this is kind of hilarious. I've hated my body for a long time now. My fat belly has been the single greatest source of depression for me ever since the other source - my career - took a turn for the better. Part of the reason I hated it was because it made me less attractive to women. In fact a few short days before Miss Music and I started up, a friend of a woman I went out with confirmed for me that the woman in question really liked me but ultimately couldn't get past my corpulence.
So along comes Miss Music and she thinks I'm cute. She may want me to lose a little weight for my health but still, she's not kicking me out of bed. I actually stopped thinking about how fat I was. I stopped worrying about it. I was fat and somebody loved me anyway.

What does this have to do with the issue in question?
Well now I'm really watching what I eat. But the fact is, I would have always said that I watched what I ate. I would have even said that I ate pretty well. But the truth was, the only sense in which I ate well was compared to how badly I could have eaten. Because I didn't follow my impulse to eat fresh bread and melted butter for every meal, I figured I was doing okay.
I thought I ate well but I still got fat.
It sounds like denial to me.
Miss Music suggested that my big belly was my protection against the world. Once upon a time, not too long ago, I would have laughed off such a suggestion.
"I didn't want to be fat! I hated being fat!"
I would have talked about how much I worked out. "Would I have killed myself at those exercise classes if I wanted to be fat?"
I still sort of feel that way.
And I still find it hard to believe that the changes in diet I'm making are going to have the desired effect. I can't imagine being anything but fat.

I also can't imagine not smoking, by the way, which I've promised to quit at the end of the summer.

And before Miss Music came along, I really don't think I could imagine myself being anything but alone.

I was alone, that was the basic fact and while the world around me could be filled with profound and beautiful things, ultimately no person or thing could ever be more than a lovely distraction,
Whenever I said "we're all alone, ulimately", which I think I said a lot, I felt pretty confident of the basic truth there. Even when I imagined having a girlfriend, I don't think I imagined that basic truth changing too profoundly.
And it still seems like that's the logical way of thinking. How can that change?
How can someone truly be IN it with you?

Well, I don't know. But maybe someone can be. Even with a fat, chain-smoking fuck like me.

she'll be my mirror

Last night my (new) girlfriend laughed about how much she was looking forward to our first clothes-shopping trip. Meaning clothes for me, I assumed. She'd mentioned it a few times already. She's not one of those girlfriends that tries to change you - I know that's a mouthful - but she has mentioned that most of my clothes are a bit too big for me and though she's not pushing it, we both know that a shopping trip is inevitable. I do favor oversized clothing, when I can find them. I feel like they somehow hides my hugeness though I've been told a few times that they just makes me look even huger than I am.
I've had a bad knee for about a month now (approximately the same period I've had a girlfriend) and I feel like I've gained a little weight so I'm not particularly interested in buying clothes right now. On the other hand, I'm kind of happy that my new girlfriend - let's call her "Miss Music" or "M" for short - is a thrift store fan and so at least our first shopping trip will be relatively inexpensive.
I started to write a blog entry about her after the first night we confessed our mutual attraction but I never got back to it. I guess there are two reasons for this. One, I don't exactly know how to write about her without betraying confidences or sharing details she wouldn't want shared. This has never been a problem when writing about the women who've rejected me, not because I didn't care about their feelings (though often I didn't) but because they were relatively unidentifiable. But Miss Music is my girlfriend and may be for a long time and even if only one person who knows me, reads this, it could be embarrassing if I'm not sufficiently secretive. And anyone who knows me, knows that's not my strong suit.
I guess the second reason I haven't posted anything in a month is because, on some level, now that I have a girlfriend, I don't really need a blog. I still have things I need to express. Write down. But there's less of it. And the truth is, the only things I really need to express right now are the things that I'd be afraid to say to her. Which I'm not going to share here, for obvious reasons.
I have bad thoughts. I call them "demons" but we all know they're my thoughts, not some satanic visitation. If it wasn't so frightening, it would just be really really interesting.
I've heard of people in relationships, fucking things up because they're afraid of being hurt and they want to push their partner away before their partner can hurt them. Like a preemptive breakup. Perhaps they don't want to break up but if it's going to happen, they want to be the one to do it.
I've never done that and that's not the situation here.
Almost all my relationships before this were with unavailable women. When they weren't leaving me, they were about to leave me.
Miss M isn't going anywhere. She thinks we can make it. And I think she's right. I'd be crazy to let her go. She's pretty well everything I thought I needed and never thought I'd have.
But of course, that's a bit of a challenge for a guy like me.
In my last film, Lovable, I said something to the effect that all these years I've wanted a wife, a family, someone to share my life with, I've obviously wanted something else too. Something that got in the way of this other thing I wanted. I wasn't sure what I was saying when I said it, or when we put it in the film. But I knew there was some truth to it.
Now I think I understand it a bit more clearly, which is why I say these bad thoughts are so interesting.
I guess I knew that if my solitary life were ever seriously challenged, it might be hard to give it up; that the old "be careful what you wish for" scenario would rear its ugly head. I just had no idea how devious and insistent the demons of solitude would be.
I've never felt particularly critical of my girlfriends. Or at least I never looked for things to disapprove of or wondered if someday those things would get to me. And there was probably a simple reason for this. I was too busy winning them back. Daily, weekly, monthly. Panicking because they had that look in their eyes, celebrating because I'd fought for and received a temporary reprieve.
So far that isn't happening with Miss Music and I think I can say that it's not going to. It's not in her character. If she left, she'd be gone. There'd be no winning her back. But as long as she's there, she's there. Or maybe I should say "here" instead. She's here.
There's no drama.
But that's the good news and the bad news. Drama was what I knew. Drama was how I knew I was in love. My friends say "You must be too old for drama" but I'm not sure they're right.
And so that's my challenge. To stay interested without the drama. To stay interested because of all the good things I can have if I give up on the drama. All the things I said I wanted.
It's a battle but so far I think I'm winning.
So anyway, I was downstairs a little while ago, going through my underwear drawer, making a pile of things that no longer fit me, if they ever did. And I thought about the inevitable clothes shopping trip and imagined Miss Music and I standing in the racks, holding T-shirts and sweaters up against my body. Then going to the changeroom and coming out and modelling for her. Grumbling the whole time of course.
One of the reasons I don't like shopping is because it's hard to find things that fit me. Things I would wear anyway. It's really frustrating to see clothes I like, only to find that they don't make it in my size. The other reason I don't like shopping is because I don't like mirrors. I know that sounds strange coming from someone who uses mirrors in his films but in my films, it's just my face I see. And I've more or less made my peace with my face. But that's not the case for my body.
I pretty well never look in the mirror when I go clothes shopping. I'm sure that comes as no surprise to many. If I like a piece of clothing and it fits me, I buy it. If I look in the mirror to see how I look in it, that's just going to ruin things. I hate the way I look in the mirror and I'm not going to be able to judge how this or that piece of clothing looks on me, when all I'm thinking about is how fat I am.
So there I was thinking about this and the Velvet Underground song, "I'll be your mirror", came into my head. If I go shopping with Miss Music, I won't have to look in the mirror. She'll be my mirror.
And a sweeter, more loving mirror you couldn't find.

today I am a (man) landlord

Squeak, squeak, creek, creek, bang, bash.

Man, those floors upstairs are creeky. Almost makes me wish I'd kept that ugly carpet, as some of my friends suggested, but then no one would have rented the place.

I have tenants. They moved in last night. They had a bunch of friends helping them. When he first got up and saw the empty apartment, one of their friends exclaimed "Score", implying, I guess, that they scored with this apartment.
That made me feel good.
It's not a spectacular apartment, just perfectly nice. But I'm glad they like it and I hope they're very very happy there.
It was cool the way it came together.
The renovation of the apartment was supposed to be finished by the end of April, but like the rest of my renovation, it didn't quite work out that way. My plan was to advertise it early in May and have most of the month to find a tenant. I probably should have gone ahead and just advertised it anyway, assuming it would be finished for June 1st. But the guy who was supposed to finish it got a little sick and the days wore on and I lost track of time and before I knew it, it was the third week of May and I figured I'd blown it.
But my guy finished the final few touches and I put an ad in the paper.

I didn't have many bites. A young woman who looked around and said "I like it but it's not me". Another young woman who came with her mother and wasn't happy about the lack of laundry facilities, among other things. And neither of them was looking for June 1st anyway.
I figured that was that.
Like I said, it's not spectacular. I've seen spectacular apartments, even lived in one or two. It's not a Victorian home so it doesn't have any of those kinds of touches. And there's no deck, no laundry, no walk out to a backyard. And it's not huge with high ceilings and lots of windows. And I think you could get a cheaper place, though I'm charging the same as I paid for my last apartment and even if my last apartment was more beautiful, this one is much more livable in many ways.
I expected to have a few more responses on the last weekend of the month because everyone says that the Saturday Star, where I had the ad, is a big day for renters. But I got none.
On the Sunday, or maybe it was Monday, I got an email from a woman who I'll call K. She was interested. I responded to her, I can't remember if she answered me back. But a couple of mornings later - last Tuesday, the third last day of May - she left a couple of phone messages while I was sleeping.
There was just something about her emails and her phone messages that made me think this might work out. So I called her back. When she didn't pick up, I started to think I'd blown it. I'd heard the phone ringing while I was trying to sleep. If only I'd answered it....
But K did call back and said she's be over in an hour. An hour later, she phoned again and said she was getting closer but needed another half hour.
I was on the porch when I saw her turn the corner on my street. She was with a guy, who I'll call J. I think maybe they were holding hands. K was holding a map of the city. J was holding one of those free Renters magazines. K smiled at me when she saw me. But behind that smile, I could see that these were two frustrated and exhausted young people.
As I led them up to the apartment, I imagined her thinking "What fresh hell"... or words to that effect.
But when we got up there, the tone of her voice demonstrated relief, if not excitement. I showed them around, K made some comments like "nice sized closet", though it was a pretty standard size.
I left them up there and went back to wait on the porch. When they came down, K said "We love it". I asked them a few questions, found out a bit more than I needed to know about their fresh couple status, confirmed that they'd be living there together and heard a bit about how frustrating their day had been.
"You can't believe what we've seen", she said.
"Yeah I can", I replied, as anyone who's ever looked for an apartment in Toronto (or probably anywhere for that matter) would respond.
She told me that at one place, they were asked whether they'd be wearing shoes in the apartment. That's a new one. I mean, when the floor creeks, I can understand the impulse behind the question but still, that's a hell of a question to ask someone.

The thing I kept telling myself, last night as they were moving in, and today as I hear them rooting about up there, is "This is their home!" I know that goes without saying. But I think I'll have to keep reminding myself for a while, as I get used to having people up there.
I remember occasionally, as a tenant, thinking my landlord didn't understand that he may have owned my place but it was my home and I deserved the same kind of privacy and freedom that I'm sure he expected to get in his home.
I don't think that's going to be a problem for me. I get it.
But still, it's weird having people IN my house.
Doing the things that people do in their own homes.
Doing, I suspect, things that I haven't done in my home for a long time.

Anyway I guess I skipped the part where I decided to give them the apartment. I liked that they wanted it; I liked that they liked it; I liked that they were relatively small people and so their footsteps would be relatively light.

I guess I thought it was kind of kismet. I left it till the last minute to find a tenant and they left it to the last minute to find a place. They thought they lucked out finding my place and I figured maybe we all did.
It's a gamble.
But it felt really good to deposit those first and last month's rent cheques.

shopping can make you feel human

The only things I wanted to accomplish today were goi to the bank, maybe get a passport photo, maybe clean the floor and maybe do my workout.
The first thing that got crossed off was the passport photo when I realized that I couldn't get a passport in time to be able to go to this American film festival that invited me down. The truth is I procrastinated like crazy because I wasn't all that enthusiastic about attending this festival. I have no idea why. Once upon a time when my friends were getting invited to film festivals, I was crazy jealous. Now I guess I'm a bit jaded. Or maybe it was just the fact that this festival was only two days long and they were only inviting me for a day. So it would be a big bother.
Still that doesn't explain it. I think I'm just lazy. And maybe I need a little rest from this film, after the relative whirlwind of the Hot Docs and the TVO premieres, so close on top of each other.
Anyway I still haven't done the floor or the workout but I think I'm going to get around to both. I hate working out but when I did it a couple of days ago, I did feel good afterwards.
Yesterday someone implied that, even if I worked out and did everything I want to do, I still would never have the body I dream of. What they were saying was that I should do it for its own sake. The fact is I don't think I dream about having a great body or anything near. I just dream of losing two to four inches from my waist so I can more easily find clothes that firt me. If I could be stocky instead of fat, I think I'd be satisfied.
When I'm finished the workout, I know I don't look any better but I feel like I must look better, so that's reason enough to do it. Tomorrow someone's coming over to do some work, who also works as a personal trainer. Maybe he'll give me the skinny, so to speak, on my challenges.
(That's why I'm cleaning the floor, by the way... because someone's coming over and I need an excuse.)

Anyway I mostly frittered the day away, just too comfortable sitting on the porch or working on my iTunes cleanup project, to move. It was such a nice day. I wish I had more to do but days like this, it's hard to do anything.
Finally though, I got off my ass. It was bike weather but my bike was outside all winter and it needs a new chain. So that was another reason to move, so I could take my bike to the shop around the corner. It'll be ready Saturday. Maybe I'll ride it to High Park that day and then climb the steps there for exercise. I've lived here in the shadow of the Park for almost a year but haven't been there yet.

Somebody told me my posts are too long. So I'll try to wrap this up.

I went to the bank, deposited a cheque and paid a bunch of overdue bills. I sort of can't wait till I rent my upstairs apartment. I say "sort of" because I also dread it. Having someone living above me. Having to worry about noise, mine and theirs. I really wish I didn't have to rent it but the way I set up my house, it's just wasted space and it should get some use. Mostly of course, I need the money.
After the bank, I thought about going down to the more southerly Polish deli, which has way nicer breaded chicken cutlets than my local place, though my local place has way nicer smoked sausage. And they're really pushy at the southerly place, trying to get you to buy more things and also making it clear that they'd be a lot nicer to you if you were Polish, which I've never felt at my local place.
I wish I could avoid them completely but I wanted the chicken and I thought I could use the walk. After I bought the cutlets, which I'm almost sure they overcharged me for, I went to the health food store. I don't like that store either. They're all sourpusses there. But they have these Indian spicy veggie things, which you just drop in boiling water and they're really really good and really cheap. So I ignored their unfriendliness and gave them my (insignificant) business.
(They're so unfriendly at this store that it almost makes you yearn for the normal holier-than-thou bullshit you have to put up with at other health food stores.)

By this point, I was getting a little tired. It might have had something to do with my jean jacket which was probably unnecessary given the warm weather. It's like this every summer; it takes me a while to shed my protective layers, I feel too exposed at first.
A few blocks from my house, I saw these blueberries on sale. Someone in Vancouver who I interviewed for Lovable. told me she freezes blueberries as a kind of healthy frozen snack so I've been doing the same and it works for me. But blueberry prices seem to fluctuate wildly from two dollars to four dollars a tiny container, so I couldn't resist them.
Then I saw raspberries. They're always expensive and these seemed a tad cheaper so I grabbed them.
It was when I was in this vegetable store that I suddenly felt this strange sense of being connected to all human activities.

I mean right now, I'm back home and I'm listening to my Matt Pond PA records (they're a band, in case you never heard of them) and I'm trying to decide which ones to keep on my hard drive and which ones to take off. The iTunes cleanup project is all about the fact that, for instance, somehow I've acquired SIX Matt Pond PA records and that's just too much so I have to make a snap judgement about which ones to keep and which ones to remove, even though they more or less all sound the same.
When I'm home doing this kind of stuff, I don't really feel connected to the community of man.
But when I was in the store buying blueberries alongside all these pretty mothers and fathers buying vegetables, I did feel like I was part of the world. It was a nice feeling.

Okay my hardwood floor awaits. I have to figure out how to do it and then avoid walking on it for a couple of hours. I guess I'll hide down in the basement, where I definitely won't feel connected to the community of man, even if, God forbid, I give in and watch the American Idol finale.

puppy love

I had two first "coffee" dates this past weekend, one at 4:30 on Friday, one at 4:30 on Saturday, both on patios, one lasting two hours, one lasting an hour and a half, both with women I'd met online, both with women close to my age. And both of them had seen my film. I guess I can't call them blind dates because I'd seen their pictures and we'd chatted a bit but they were blind enough as far as I was concerned.
They were both lovely women. The conversation was fairly easy, we got along, we laughed etc etc. There were moments in the Friday date where I felt a bit like I was interviewing her for some "Lovable" followup and I felt like I talked a bit too much on both of the dates but I think for a first meeting, they both went fine.
Each of them resembled the kind of women I'd been friends with in my life, with a slight edge to Friday's woman. Neither of them particularly resembled "my type" but even as I write that, I'm thinking that doesn't really mean anything anymore, if it ever did. Friday's date was in the West end of the city, close to where I live; Saturday's date I travelled to the East end. That may partly explain why Friday's gal has a slight edge in this non-race.
There was no overt flirting on either date and I'm not sure there was even any covert either. They were friendly meetings. On second thought maybe the one on Friday had some flirting but way in the background. Or at least it seemed slighly clearer with Friday's woman that sex played a part in her online search.
Friday's woman emailed yesterday and said she'd like to proceed. I have a feeling Saturday's woman won't do the same which might mean I'll have to email her and I'm not sure what I'll say. I'm not sure what to do with either of them actually but with Saturday's gal, presumably doing nothing would work.

It's not that I don't want anything to happen with either of these women. I don't know what my proof is but I guess I think, on principle anyway, that if two reasonably sympatico people spend time together and continue to enjoy the conversation, eventually some kind of intimacy would be created, especially if both parties are interested in taking things in that direction. I know that sounds cold and theoretical but it is kind of theoretical for me.

I've had the thought in the last few years that I should be trying to pursue relationships in a more mature way, rather than falling back on old patterns. That means deemphasizing chemistry and sexual attraction which more or less ruled my choices my entire adult life.
I don't think I ever articulated this but I think I must have believed, once upon a time anyway, that sexual chemistry was sort of "God's way" of telling you "this person has been chosen for you". In other words, sexual chemistry may be the first thing you notice but that's just the tip of the iceberg in your potential compatibility and if you spend time with that person, little by little that compatibility will be uncovered.
I guess that almost sounds ignorant now.
There was only one woman in my life with whom I had a strong sexual connection AND a real friendship. But she was so profoundly unavailable that I hesitate to include her. She lived out of town. She wasn't prepared to move and I always had the feeling that if I had suggested moving myself, she would have panicked. I think she liked it the way it was, particularly how the separation made our time together that much more intense. So we talked on the phone a lot, had intense phone sex, and saw each other once a month for a few years before she broke up with me, supposedly to allow me to find a woman with whom I could have a child.... which she was not interested in.
She was pretty well the only woman I've ever been involved with for any length of time where I didn't feel that we were essentially compromising our needs for friendship and companionship in order to play out our sexual connection. So when I fantasize about the possibility of a relationship with friendship, intimacy, sharing, support AND passionate sex, I only have one example from the past and that example is so compromised, I can barely allow myself to count it.
And that makes me think that I should try and de-emphasize the necessity of sexual chemistry. But I'm not sure that's possible.

In the last year, I have found myself experiencing tender feelings for two new female friends. I'm saying "tender" because that's the only word I think I can get away with. In other words, in each case there were moments where I felt like I was falling in love but I can't use those phrases with confidence, because those feelings were never returned.
With the first of these women, I decided to tell her how I felt. But before I could, she sensed that something was coming and headed me off by informing me that she didn't feel the same way about me. With the second woman, I've decided not to even think about saying something, not just to save myself the embarrassment but also for strategic reasons. If I ever did say something to her - and I'm not sure I ever will - I wanted to make sure I didn't say it too soon. I think I have a tendency to get ahead of things when I start feeling something for a woman and if there is any potential there, I don't want to blow it. .
I know she likes me. I know that she knows we have a connection. I know that she's noticed how quickly that connection developed and how quickly our conversations reached a level of intimacy. More than a few times she's told me things and then said either "I don't know why I'm telling you this" or "I haven't told this to anybody else".
Like I say, I know I have a tendency to get ahead of myself but once upon a time, when I met a woman and we found ourselves drifting towards each other, spending more time together, opening up to each other, telling each other things we hadn't told anyone else, there was a reasonable possibility we were moving towards more than friendship. These days, that just doesn't seem true.
I can't figure it out.
But maybe the answer is simple. It's all in my head.
I'm lonely and I want a girlfriend.
Or to put it the way one woman in my film puts it, I'm needy and desperate.

That may all be true. It may in fact be inarguable.
But I can't completely discount another possibility. Once upon a time I had something going for me that allowed me to "close the deal", so to speak. Whatever it was, I don't have it anymore.
Which is kind of strange because, on some level, I think I'm "better" than I ever was. I'm happier, I'm way less negative (note how hard it is for me to say "more positive"). I have more to offer, more to share with someone. But there is one thing I clearly have less of. Youth. Time etc.

Trying to figure this out is silly. "They're just not into you, dude". That's fine but it still makes me wonder how, once again, I've fallen for women who can't return the feelings.
But maybe that's all it is.
I'm looking at these women and thinking "This is the kind of relationship I should be looking for. This is the kind of woman I could have a real connection with. This is what my new attitude and wisdom have brought me".
I look at them and think "we'd be good for each other".
But maybe these women are just my new fantasies. Different than the old fantasies but as unattainable as ever. And maybe, ultimately, that's the main reason I fall in love with them. Their unattainability.
And if that's true, then I haven't changed at all.
Which would be disappointing but not surprising.

I suspect I'm not going to pursue anything with either of my weekend blind dates. I hope that's not a mistake.

the sun is finally out

The sun is out after the rain of the past two days. The rain was welcome because I've spent the last week, with my neighbor Julie, planting a garden. A little one in front of my house and a slightly bigger one in the backyard. So the rain was welcome then and the sun is welcome now.
I don't know what's going to happen in my garden. In fact, I don't think that quite says it. I don't have a fucking clue what's going to happen in my garden. I tried to pay attention to the sun requirements of each plant I chose but other than that, it was all a complete frigging whim.
On one side in the back, there are herbs. A few of the usual suspects like mint, chosen partly because I remember that I once had mint in a garden and it seemed to spread easily. And a few herbs I've never heard of, chosen partly because there was a chance they'd flower.
I'm more worried about the plants in the front of the house and that's mostly because they're so near to my neighbor Elizabeth's huge tree. So they don't get much sun and they're dangerously close to a heavy duty root system.
Actually the weeds in the backyard were pretty wild too. We were pulling ten foot roots out of the ground, which would have been longer if they hadn't broken off. I know I'm not saying much but it's always interesting to me all the stuff that's happening under the ground even when you just have a bit of lawn and some weeds like I had up until a week or so ago.
I really hope most of the things I planted survive and flourish though I doubt all of them will and I'm also aware that if they all flourish, I might not like what everything that comes up.
But the truth is, the garden is already a success, even though nothing much has happened yet.
It's about the delineation of space as much as anything else. If I could draw you a picture here, it might be easier to explain. But for instance, in the front, on the strip where I planted the garden, there used to be grass. And as soon as I took out the grass, it already looked better. The dirt alone looked better than the grass had looked.
In the back, there was one strip of garden but it was overgrown with weeds. It was lined with two rows of sunken bricks but you couldn't really see them for all the weeds and lawn.
We dug up the bricks, got rid of the weeds and dug another garden row on the opposite side of the yard, then lined each side with one row of bricks above ground.
That alone made the whole yard look way better. If stuff grows and flowers, all the better... especially if I keep an eye on the weeds.
There's a lot more to do with the yard. It could be a real oasis back there. I could really use a new deck, possibly on two levels. And at the back, I have lots of plans including vines, a trellis, a bit more shade and maybe, if Julie has her way, a hammock someday. Certainly some good chairs are in order. And it still needs to be cleaned up a bit more. Maybe a better fence someday. I suspect one day I'll cut down one of the small trees and perhaps even add another small tree in another location.
I like being out there now, particularly when I have company. But more than that, I just like looking out there when I pass one of the two windows.
It has shape.
I can't believe how satisfying it is. Already.
I didn't think I was going to get it together this summer. I owe it all to my new friend and neighbor. Left to my own devices, I would have put it off.