REALLY DEEP STUFF

A Boy and his BAT(MAN)

Posted on July 26, 2014 by Colin James Morrison

BATMAN – as imagined by my 9 year old nephew Kyle!

As the superhero of my youth, I dreamed I could fly.
Literally.
So, as a young lad of 6 or 7, I’d grab my mother’s finest tea towel, tie it a bit too tightly around my neck, and jump, joyfully and willfully, off of any ledge, platform, or stairwell I encountered. Naturally, this led not to me soaring through the sky like some super-powered avenger as I’d planned, but rather sprawled out, bruised and battered on the floor, surrounded by cracked tables, shattered lamps, overturned sofas, and, for my crowning achievement, a large piece of glass stuck firmly in my right leg (something that has left one mean looking and DEEP two inch scar to this day!)

At a loss of what to do and fearing I’d probably kill myself if I carried on this way, my parents sought to put a stop to my high flying heroics. Suddenly my stash of capes – or, my mom’s tea towels – moved to a higher shelf, my Spidey action figure was nowhere to be found in my toy box, and my Superman pajamas were mysteriously missing from my closet. But it was all to no avail, because these super-villainous parental figures of mine couldn’t stop me! Why, I had too many crimes to solve, and evil to keep in check, and nothing they could say or do could ever thwart my passion for superheroics! Finally resigned to this, they opted for a new tactic: they would steer me away from the big blue boy scout Superman, he who could leap over tall buildings in a single bound, or Spider-man, that wall crawling, web slinging masked menace, and instead feed my crazed obsession with someone a little more grounded and down to earth. Someone a little more human. Someone called…. the BATMAN!

Batman? But wait a darn minute… he doesn’t DO anything! He doesn’t even have ANY cool powers! He’s not from some distant alien planet! A radioactive spider didn’t mutate him! He’s just some dude in a pointy-eared mask! But my dad said that’s where I was wrong… and started telling me all about his old favourite television series, starring this Batman and his boy sidekick Robin, who fought crime as they cruised through Gotham City in the Batmobile. These were characters that’d been around in comics ever since he was a little boy, and what was most special about Batman was that he was just a normal man who stood against crime.

And I thought, “WOW, I’m a normal dude and I stand against crime. That’s just like me!”

Still, I was suspicious about their distraction. “But what about the bad guys?” I’d ask, because as much as I was an expert crime fighter, I secretly LOVED the villains. (Truth be told, I always wanted Wile E to catch that damn Road Runner, and when it came to Archie and the gang, Reggie was totally da man!) He then proceeded to tell me all about the clown prince of crime, the Joker, and the hideous and tormented Two Face, the dangerous and deranged Penguin, the clever but dastardly Riddler, and the sultry and cunning Catwoman. With a cast of characters like that, how could I refuse? And so before long, there I was, crouched on the edge of the sofa, almost overcome with excitement, ready to watch some old reruns of my dad’s old favourite show, fully prepared to be completely and utterly amazed…

And then the show started and…
I HATED IT!

Who were these buffoons clowning around and winking at the camera? This was supposed to be about the very serious business of superheroes thwarting super villains – there was no time for FUN!! Why did Batman have big ol’ eyebrows on his mask? Why did the Joker look like my aunt when she wore too much makeup? Why did Catwoman purr instead of talk?? Why did that man they called Robin, who was supposed to be a kid but who sure looked like a man in TOO short shorts, keep yelling “HOLY” all the time? (GASP! Had I been tricked?? WAS THIS SOME KIND OF CHURCH?) Whatever foul deed was afoot, leaving the room in disgust, I swore I was DONE with THIS Batman dude.

But that didn’t last long.
Flash-forward a few weeks later and I’m at a corner store with my mom, and I’m allowed to choose just ONE comic book from an overstuffed spinner rack to accompany me on a long car ride. This is so it will:

1) keep me quiet so I don’t torment my younger sister, who unbeknownst to her has already been secretly cast as the Incredible Hulk to my Superman for this very ride, and

2) stop me from bouncing and flailing around too much so my infamous motion sickness doesn’t make an appearance and force me to projectile vomit all over the car, Exorcist style.

Stuck with the hard task of choosing just one, I remember being drawn to a cover of this dollar size digest comic book called Batman Family starring Robin, Batgirl, and, as the tagline read, “Batman, the Dark Knight Detective!”

“WAIT A MINUTE, Batman is a DETECTIVE!?! NO ONE told me THAT!” And so with the realization that Bats and I both might be a super sleuths – a piece of information I’d clearly missed up to this point – he suddenly appeared much more interesting to me. Maybe his super power was his big brain, and he used THAT to solve crime, just like I did! Well that did it…I had to have the book. And for weeks I carried it and brought it everywhere. I read it so often that the staples started to come apart at the seams, and the pages became smudged and hard to read. But…the capes! The spandex! The batarangs! The super sleuthing! I was HOOKED!

Barbara Gordon Batgirl, DC DIRECT

And so the obsession began, and it’s continued unabated to this day Comics were the medium in which I came to understand “the Bat”, and discovered the things about him that I related to or admired the most. And in my imagination, comic book creators like Frank Miller, Denny O’Neill, Jim Aparo, and Neal Adams literally scripted and animated my childhood, just as the new champions of the Bat Family mythos like Scott Snyder, Gail Simone, and Jim Lee excite and inspire me today. But others have grown to know and love him through many different mediums: the Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan movies, the Batman Animated Series, the Arkham Asylum games, or, yes, even, Adam West and his crazy television antics. And soon we’ll enter the era of “Batffleck” as Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill bring the ultimate bromance to life in “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice”. What’s interesting about Batman, and what sets him apart from most other superheroes, is that he CAN exist in all these different forms and interpretations – over his 75 years he’s been a vigilante, a “cop”, a detective, a space faring superhero, a scientist, a jokester, a grizzled war veteran, and a dark brooding anti-hero – and still remain as valid, relevant and truthful to the times today as he was way back then. Batman’s origin – as a young boy he witnessed his parents murder in a dark alley and vowed to to one day rid the city of the evil that took his parents lives – has stuck mostly to its basic premise over the course of time, and there’s a reason for that – it simply works. To echo what my father said many years ago, what’s at Batman’s core – what makes Batman BATMAN -is that he COULD be someone just like you or me. What makes him most a hero is that he’s someone who became obsessed over a terrible childhood tragedy, and then used that tragedy as motivation to achieve a state of physical and mental perfection in order to become the absolute pinnacle of what a human being could be. Soneone who would stand as guardian of his city, its greatest protector, so that no one under his watch would ever share the same fate he did. Taking tragedy like that and somehow turning it into triumph is something we can all relate to and admire.

Because that’s noble. That’s heroic. That’s BADASS.

And that’s Batman.

Drawn by my then 8 year old nephew Kyle 🙂

SISSY THAT WALK!

Quote | Posted on May 18, 2014 by Colin James Morrison

I love RuPaul.

I love that I live in a world where a working class 6’5′ tall gay black man in a wig, makeup and a fancy dress can grow up to become a truly iconic pop legend who now arguably stands, at the age of fifty four, at the height of an already long, enduring and impressive career. Currently storming the Billboard charts with a new album (Born Naked) and single (Sissy that Walk) and ruling the airwaves as creator of a truly unique “what the hell were they thinking, and yet DAMN it works!” television show called RuPaul’s Drag Race, the original Supermodel of the World appears to be, as always, an unstoppable force of nature.

If you’ve ever watched RuPaul’s Drag Race, now in its sixth glorious season (well, seventh if you count All Stars!) then you’ll know it’s one of the most endearing, funny, smart, creative, and entertaining hours of reality television around. What you probably don’t know is that RuPaul and his/her show (pick a pronoun….Ru don’t care!) has done much to give the art of drag a new and enduring visibility and open acceptance in our modern culture. For the uninitiated, Drag Race is a competition show centred around the search for American’s next drag superstar, starring RuPaul as both mentor (as the suited, bespectacled, and very male RuPaul Andre Charles) and host (as the utterly fabulous, beautiful, and beguiling RuPaul). Fourteen drag queens from across the US compete, using all the charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent they can muster (did you catch that?!) to bring their soccer mom, business executive, or party girl “realness to challenges that use their comedic skills, acting chops, designer sense, and runway fierceness. As they “lip synch for their lives” to avoid extermination….I mean elimination (it’s as exciting as it sounds!), the one who outperforms gets to “shantay” (that means stay) while the other sashays away. (Side note- I swear RuPaul and these catch phrases has practically given me an entire new language!) What’s striking about some of these colourful exits is that competitors leave, not with hard feelings and recrimination, but on an almost transformative high note, with our esteemed host singling out their strengths and unique talents before sending them off into the world where they might step into their own very special fabulousness. In other words, no one’s flipping the bird and dropping the F bomb before they go back to being a poor loser in the real world. (And maybe THAT little fact has something to do with why so many eliminated queens have gone on to foster some pretty fabulous careers of their own, like Willam Belli, Detox, and Shangela to name a few, while past winners like the almost otherworldly Sharon Needles, have carved out iconic careers themselves….while those seeking their fifteen minutes of fame on Survivor and Big Brother are usually both disposable and forgettable. Like, pass the mind bleach so I CAN forget kind of forgettable!)

Sure, at times things get formulaic, with certain “characters” or archetypes showcased each season….someone inevitably “plays” the ingenue, the villain, the front-runner, or the dark horse. But regardless, Drag Race pulls the curtain back on the great illusion by showing us the true lives of the real honest to goodness MEN that live behind the glittery makeup and the sequined gowns. For some, it’s a passion and a calling, for others its a form of creative expression and for others still it’s simply how they make their living, a job like any other, even if it’s unlike anything we’ll ever know. What’s often remarkable about the show is that it finds the balance between showing the light and not taking any of this all too serious, and yet uncovering the dark corners and the earthy realness of it all. While it pokes fun at its subjects, it never makes fun of them, and it always presents the queens in a very real, very human light. These queens have experienced their fair share of trials and hardship, with many facing hatred, discrimination and non acceptance on an almost daily basis n their “real” lives. Some are very forthcoming about their stories, while others more guarded….but eventually everyone tends to break down in what’s proven to be some pretty vulnerable and refreshingly unscripted moments. Well, that and the vodka helps!

For all it’s participants, Drag Race is a study in fearlessness, strength, and resiliency . It portrays a group of people who are true survivors – battered but never broken – and we see an evolution for many as they discover things about themselves as yet unknown, and have the chance to form an even stronger and fiercer persona before unleashing it upon an often cruel, ignorant, and now unsuspecting world.

As impressive as it is for a fifty something gay black man to create such an iconic character as RuPaul- an achievement so staggering to me it bears repeating – it’s equally impressive that a show in theory by a man in a wig in a dress ABOUT a bunch of men in wigs and dresses can even find a place on network TV let alone carve out such a large and faithful following. Someone took a pretty spectacular risk to make this happen, and we can all be thankful they did. Such role models as these queens – and yes, they’re role models – could not be found when I was younger. I grew up surrounded by Rocky and Rambo and the A Team, where men were men and guns and fists stood in for mid-life crises, receding hairlines, and erectile dysfunction. As nostalgic as one might get for Three’s Company and Chrissy, Janet and the gang, the closest touchstone I had to “queer” personalities on television were the comedic stylings and yet so homophobic antics that went on between Jack Tripper and Mr. Roper on Three’s Company. With that as my mirror on life, I shudder to think how unfabulous I would’ve turned out minus my sister’s Donna Summer and ABBA records!)

I didn’t always understand drag queens, or the desire to dress up (I haven’t always been this enlightened creäture before you, you know). For one thing, these shoulders would not look pretty in anything spaghetti strapped, I can barely walk a straight line in sneakers let alone heels, and don’t think for a second you can ever tame these eyebrows. But in all seriousness, I suppose my not understanding came from a place of fear, or perhaps some feelings centred around some internalized homophobia once upon a time. But not anymore. RuPaul and Drag Race helped change that….helped change both my understanding, my perception, and my world view on what drag really means. On what being gay really means. On what being YOURSELF really means.

In our world today, there are literally millions of school age LGBTQ children. And among that staggering statistic live an inordinately large number of scared, helpless, hopeless children who spend their day planning – not what they’re going to wear or what team they might try out for or what movie they might like to see – but instead how to survive from being bullied, harassed and shamed for being who they are, or how to hide and suppress what they really feel inside just so they might find some peace on the outside. They have to plan for their safety each and every day, how to look, how to talk, even how to move…and those that love them need to equally fear for the harm that might come. How awesome is it that some weird gay kid who’s struggling to find their place in the world – that are being bullied for being too femme or too butch, that are being tortured because they were born a boy when inside they feel like a girl, or vice versa – can now turn on the TV today and see this colourful cast of admirable characters living their lives out loud, leading the charge for the rest of us as they do what we all want to do…be their own true masters of their own true destinies. And if you disagree with that, then I guess you’ve never felt that pain or been that scared kid…or had to worry about one.

I hope RuPaul’s new single Sissy That Walk, in all it’s success with its huge dance beats and simple yet catchy lyrics, becomes an anthem for those leading the way, for those that have walked the road already, and for those about to head down the path. Not “just” a gay anthem, but an anthem for us all.

“And if I fly, or if I fall
Least I can say I gave it all
And if I fly, or if I fall
I’m on my way, I’m on my way…

Now SISSY THAT WALK”

Sissy that walk, butch that stroll, glam that runway. However you do it, just be that beautiful, unique creature, unlike ANY other, you were born to be.

THANKS for that message Mama Ru.

Go to YouTube to watch the official Sissy That Walk video starring RuPaul and legends in the making Bianca Del Rio, Adore Delano, Courtney Act, and Darienne Lake.

Gay Stuff, In The News Stuff, Political Stuff, Pop Culture Stuff, Society Stuff, Uncategorized

SOCHI’S Gay: Ellen Page, Michael Sam, and a Tale of Good Timing

Image | Posted on February 18, 2014 by Colin James Morrison

There’s something to be said about good timing.

I don’t mean being ON time. As someone who’s spent an absolute lifetime perfecting the art of chronic lateness, I would never speak to THAT. I mean choosing the RIGHT time….that quintessential second to raise your voice and be heard, or that now or never moment to jump to your feet and take action. During the journey of most lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people, there inevitably comes THAT day. When it comes you either peek your head out of that figurative closet you’ve lived in and take some cautious steps out into the world, or you cozy back up in the corner with a blanket and think “I’m just fine just hanging out in here for now, thank you very much” or you go all ninja like and attack the door, kicking and screaming until there’s nothing left but splinters and sawdust. Now truth be told, for most of us the journey to outness isn’t that literal, and for many it often involves variations of all three of those options, sometimes during some very different stages in our lives. Some roads on this incredible journey are dark, with fear, intimidation, and self loathing at almost every corner, and other paths are brighter, full of hope, promise, and some hard-won feelings of acceptance and belonging.

Ellen Page’s moment came on Valentine’s Day, as she stood, nervous but brave, on a small stage in Las Vegas, ready to finally share her story. Here, at the inaugural Time to Thrive conference (sponsored by the Human Rights Campaign, an organization dedicated to the betterment of the lives of LGBTQ youth everywhere), Page delivered a very eloquent, very moving, very personal speech. She spoke of being fearful of coming out and how, as a result – now listen up, because this is important – not only her relationships but also her spirit and her mental health suffered greatly. Page spoke of her belief that gay people should be able to love freely, openly, and without compromise, and that together we have suffered “too many dropouts, too much abuse, too many homeless, too many suicides” as a direct result of people being bullied, mistreated, abused, and rejected simply because of who they are, and for living the life they were born to live.

Now the cynic might look at Ellen Page and roll their eyes and say clearly they knew about the “lesbian thing” years ago, or complain about these celebrities who feel the need to share all the intimate details of their sex lives with the world. Just sorting through my Facebook feed alone the last few days I’m quick to discover comments like “why do these gays feel the need to come out anyway? I didn’t come out STRAIGHT” or “it doesn’t matter to me if someone is gay or not, I just wish they’d keep quiet about it so I wouldn’t have to know” (Alas, it will be hard to deprive myself of these little nuggets of wisdom, but somehow I sense some Facebook UNfriending soon).

As important as Ellen Page’s coming out has been, she’s not the only one making “gay waves” in the news today. Michael Sam, a defensive lineman from the University of Missouri, announced last week that he was gay, and is now poised, post draft season, to become the first openly gay player in NFL history. Sam noted his coming out was driven by concerns someone else might leak details of his private life, and he felt the need to “own” his own truth, saying “no one should tell my story but me”. Sam’s candour has been divisive among the professional sporting world, but for the most part he’s been shown mad support and acceptance, particularly from his fellow players and coaches.

It’s ironic that these two people, heroes to many, have come forward at a time when we’re celebrating the 2014 Winter Olympic Games in Sochi, Russia. The controversy that surrounds Sochi has certainly affected my enjoyment of the Olympic games on a personal level. This is disappointing because, as a guy who’s not so great at sports, the Olympics are my chance to feel like a total jock. Or, at the very least, play armchair athlete and sit around in my underwear, drink beer, and scream at the TV “are you blind?? That was clearly just a twizzle and not a triple toe double loop, you big idiot!”

Like many other parts of this world, the rights of LGBTQ people in Russia have long faced legal and social challenges, with gay people often subject to various forms of abuse, harassment and discrimination. What makes Russia “unique” in this respect is that just eight months before the start of the Games, Russian President Vladimir Putin passed a law making the distribution of “propaganda of non-traditional sexual relations” to minors illegal. The media claimed the legislation was blatantly “anti-gay”, while LGBTQ rights activists took it one step further by condemning the law as a return to the Middle Ages, and the government’s way of effectively banning most forms of LGBTQ culture. Since the passage of the anti-gay propaganda law, the media has reported the arrest of many gay rights activists, as well as an alarming increase in incidence and severity of homophobic violence, including attacks by ne0-Nazi groups against young minors.

This struggle for gay rights that has now played out on the world stage serves some very good and important purposes. It has made the International Olympic Commission reconsider just how hosting the games in a place like Sochi contradicts the principles of their Olympic charter regarding anti-discrimination in sport, and will likely force them to review these principles and more carefully consider proposals from future host cities. Above all, it has uncovered blatant human rights violations suffered by LGBTQ citizens of one of the most powerful nations in the world, and brought to light the discrimination, abuse and hardships visited upon them each and everyday. It is a cry for justice that will not go unheard long after these Olympic Games are done.

S0 how important is the idea of movie actresses and professional athletes announcing to the world they are gay and ready to live their life out loud? I say it’s more important than you know. The whole process of coming out for many is a terrifying one. A gay kid is first already burdened with this terrible knowledge that they are different from everyone else. Their differences single them out – to be made fun of, left beaten down, made to feel their worth as a person is somehow less. And no matter how true it is, even when surrounded by others a gay kid often feels alone in the world… isolated, mistreated, and misunderstood. It’s challenging enough to navigate all the wonders and mysteries and awkwardness of adolescence for anyone, but for a gay kid it becomes, for these reasons and more, so much more difficult. So imagine, if you will, that artsy loner kid who now finds herself a kindred spirit in Ellen Page, or the basketball fan who sees in his sports hero Michael Sam a glimmer of himself. Imagine watching these proud gay Olympians hold their head high and represent their sport and their country with dignity and grace in a place that would marginalize, reject, and condemn them. Accepting you are gay means accepting, in many ways, that as you travel down those roads in life, your path is going to be just that much harder, with enormous obstacles and burdens along the way. But it can also mean that life, despite it’s hardships and its compromises, will ultimately be that much more grander, richer, vital, and fulfilling. We can say “it gets better” but we need to live by those “better” principles, or otherwise the message is meaningless. That means standing up for what’s unfair and what’s unjust. It means being brave and opening ourselves up to the world, being that role model that others need so that they might grow and learn from our strengths and from our weaknesses. It means recognizing we’ve already lost far too many beautiful lights, and taking five minutes, as Ellen so perfectly noted, to recognize each other’s beauty instead of attacking each other for our differences. It means loving and accepting ourselves, so that we’re at a good time and in a good space to do all of these things.

That’s the kind of world I want to live in. That’s the kind of world I plan to live in. Won’t you join me?

Me Stuff, Pop Culture Stuff, Society Stuff

Bollard House (The Great House Adventure)

Quote | Posted on December 26, 2013 by Colin James Morrison

Bollard House- Birthday Cake Style

I really need to start paying closer attention.

You see, I’ve slowly come to learn that when my partner Shawn has just the slightest idea in mind, when he gets some tiny notion in his head, that stray thought that swirls around and around and just won’t quit….then it’s time for me to brace myself, take a deep breath, and change into some clean underwear as we prepare for whatever fantastical journey is just up ahead. If I was only slightly more self-aware, I’d see the signs more clearly. When Shawn is interested or focused on something, it starts to…invade his life, and, in by a process sort of like osmosis, mine. Take for instance when he really wanted to buy this antique Sheraton sofa he’d discovered recently online. Suddenly, the words “Sheraton sofa” start to pop up in many of his conversations. Then he starts to relay warm childhood stories about his memories of Sheraton sofas (because everyone has those, right?) and then he’s pointing them out in books, in movies, and in magazines. Soon he’s googling them wildly at night and moaning about them in his sleep. And the next thing you know, you find yourself barely awake at some god awful hour on a Sunday morning, driving down some dirt back road of some rural township you’ve never heard of, so you can precariously strap to the back of your trusty station wagon your very own Sheraton sofa (albeit one in serious need of some TLC, but never fear, because Shawn has an amazing friend named Aimee who’s a designer and upholsterer extraordinaire on call for just such an emergency. And these emergencies can happen often!)

So with experiences like that under my belt, you’d think I’d be more prepared when he stopped talking about silver trays and pottery mushrooms and folk art and jumped right to a mysterious place called Bollard House. I mean, a house is a lot bigger than a sofa, so that alone should’ve stopped me in my tracks. I’m a bit embarrassed to say I didn’t know much about the history of Bollard House a few short months ago until Shawn casually mentioned it one night, but quickly he brought me up to speed. Turns out Bollard House was built in the 1830s in the township of Halifax, so before our great city was even a city. It was built in a Georgian style, with detailing around its doors and ceilings hearkening back to ancient greek civilization, and in 1863 a triangular addition was created, making the house six-sided in appearance. The house is one long room deep throughout with seven flights of stairs connecting its four floors. It is truly unique in our fair city in that it remains, after all these years, virtually unchanged and unaltered today. It has withstood the ravages of time and stands proudly today to tell the tale. It has had a very colourful history during its long life, including a period during the 1970s when it served as a spa for poodles (yes, you read that correctly!) Bollard House became a registered historic property in 1985, which is approximately when Shawn actually first visited it and fell in love (because as you know, some boys fall in love with historic houses and some fall in love with Batman). And why do I know all of this? Because Shawn knows all of it, and life with him is kind of like having your own personal commentator from PBS and the History Channel, only one that’s much better looking, smells good, and is a great dancer.

Bollard House

Shawn is a member (and former board member) of the Heritage Trust of Nova Scotia, an organization that fights to preserve some of the most architecturally and historically significant structures in the province, as well as promote and advocate for protective legislation with business interests and at various levels of government. Through the Trust, he came to know this lovely lady named Janet, a champion in her own right who works hard to preserve the built heritage of our fine city. The two hit it off well with their shared passion for preservation (as the Batman lover in the relationship, I suspect these Heritage types all have capes and spandex in their laundry that they wear to strike fear in the hearts of those evil modern developers/destroyers. But alas, I’ve yet to find any costumes in the laundry). Anyway, Janet had recently acquired Bollard House after it’s previous owner had passed away, but was uncertain of her plans for the property, other than her goal of keeping its rich heritage intact. Conversations began with Shawn, he who is ever so opinionated about just these sorts of things, on hypothetically just what one might do with a property like Bollard House. And rather than it involve any knocking things out or tearing things down, any demolition, deconstructing or defacing of any kind, his ideas centred around a whole lot of paint and the occasional swing of a hammer. And before you know it, somehow THAT evolved into the idea of our moving into the house, living their and caring for it, and bringing it back to life, so to speak, while respecting where it’s been. When I first had a chance to tour the house, even I could see her “good bone structure” and recognize the charm and character of the house (it truly felt in a way you were stepping back in time when you walked through her doors), but it was clear the house was going to need a lot of time and love and careful attention. As it were, we were also both pretty attached to our old apartment, a heritage property itself and quite full of charm and character, but it had been obvious for a while we’d outgrow that space. And so, with practically four floors at our disposal at Bollard House, an impressive showcase for all of Shawn’s unique and wonderful STUFF, and the challenge of breathing new life into an old property, how could we refuse such an opportunity?

And so the journey to Bollard House again (well, technically, it wasn’t much of a journey, as we’d only lived four blocks away). From the start, the whole never enough hours in a day and the time needed to do everything that needed to be done was a bit worrisome. I’d recently returned to school, and had made a bit of an insane decision to work full-time and take a full course load. Since “phoning it in” isn’t in my vocabulary, and I tend to be a bit of a a high achiever, I figured it’s all straight A’s or bust. (And, by bust, I mean bust your face if I don’t get that A!) Shawn has a pretty demanding job, one that’s anything but 9-5, plus he likes to dabble in….well, just about everything. Our cat Mungo, a feisty little guy with a pretty demanding sleep schedule, was initially rather unimpressed with this decision to move. I mean, no one bothered to consult with him that his nightly (potential) mouse patrol would now involve four floors instead of four rooms. That’s a lot of work!

But in the end, the chance to do this was simply too good to be true, and the challenge ahead seemed fun. We started cleaning, painting and stripping (not the Magic Mike kind) for weeks on end, often late into the night. I already knew Shawn was as handy as he was handsome, but truth be told, I worried at first about his focus, as he tends to get a bit easily distracted – oh look, squirrel! – and that could potentially slow things down. But never fear…it was clear from the start he was throwing himself wholeheartedly into a mission to restore life to this beautiful home. That’s not to say we didn’t face a few obstacles along the way. The staircases are small and narrow and difficult to move furniture around. Hence, when an old sofa refused to climb the stairs before becoming jammed, it was attacked by a very creative friend with an exacto knife and brought out in small pieces (you don’t want to get on her bad side!). And although we were able to squeeze a small sofa and even an oversized antique linen chest upstairs, the laws of physics said that queen size box spring just wasnt going to make it, and so we spent a few weeks sleeping on the floor until we could get a replacement And finally there was the late afternoon I took my niece Nicole on a tour, proudly showing off all the space we’d now have. When we’d reached the end and I’d shown her small dark room with the slanted roof and skylight that would be my office and writing space, she declared “um, doesn’t this room kind of remind you of the Amityville Horror?”

WELL IT DOES NOW!!

Red rum, Red rum…

Alas, any reservations I had about the work we were doing was put to rest early on. Shawn had let me in on a little secret, one I didn’t realize or know. He said old houses aren’t like more modern, almost disposal ones. Houses like this one just need a little paint and a little sprucing up, a little love, hard work, and attention, and before long they start to respond to what you’re doing, and slowly start to warm and come to life on their own. And sure enough, before my very eyes, it did! We built a man cave in the basement that’s the envy of all football loving fiends across the land (too bad it’s mainly used for Madonna and Gaga blu-rays!) Shawn chose a colour scheme and design layout for our bedroom that makes it look like some high-end magazine photo shoot – remember that saying that your bedroom should feel like an oasis? Our bedroom IS an oasis, and as big as some small apartments.

See, I can help too!

Man CAVE

And that Sheraton sofa? IT is now totally rocking the living room.

I do have one minor complaint about our grand new residence. For one, where’s the ghosts??! (True, I’m opposed to the Amityville Horror of my new office, but come on…ghosts are cool!) I’d convinced myself when moving into an historical home that has experienced as much as this house has over the centuries, that it only made sense we’d be left with a few former inhabitants, or at least an occasional visitor or two. I waited up most of the night Halloween, saying this would be the night. But nope….nothing. I even watched The Conjuring recently (mostly behind a blanket, with one eye open), figuring some ghostly apparition would say “oh yeah, so that’s how you want to play it huh?” and start slamming doors or levitating tea cups around me. Still nothing. (I’d say BOOOOOO but I was hoping the damn ghost would do that!) Regardless, I still talk to the house all the time, like it’s a person. Just check in, see if it likes the new paint colour or the smells of supper and such. Someday it’ll answer back, I know it, and for that reason, I want to stay on its good side!

Um, what was THAT?!?!

And so you know, since no one bothered to run this rather significant life change by Mungo the Cat, he’s still decided to begrudgingly patrol the house. However, he will NOT do so quietly. So instead, with all the grace, dignity, and poise of a baby elephant, you can hear him slowly wander about with LOUD, sharp banging motions, climbing stairs and opening doors (because, yes, he can hook his paws underneath doors and make them move!) as he seeks out and finds new and exciting places to nap. Also, despite the change from four rooms to four floors, and the increased exercise he’s um…gained a bit of poundage somehow (he calls it muscle)…although I suspect this could be part of is revenge plot. In other words, baby elephant ain’t so baby anymore, and you better believe the kitty grocery bills going to feel it!

Oh, and it seems Mungo also likes to um…weigh in on decisions about the house, like paint colours. So much so that he’s now investigated three freshly painted rooms, just so he can give it one meow or two. You’d think with all the paw scrubbing afterwards he might be a bit deterred from being so opinionated, but nope…but then again, maybe he’s just looking for a day at the spa!

It wasn’t me!

And so the cat and I are having a lot of fun living here….but nowhere near as much fun as Shawn. Shawn loves the house, and takes great joy and pride in living here. He’s very respectful to its history, and he takes great loving care of it everyday. And I think for those reasons that the House has been just as lucky to have him as he’s been to have it.

So here’s to the first of many more great adventures at Bollard House. And stay tuned for many more updates, as they’ll be sure to come….I promise, I really am paying attention now!

For Shawn, Christmas 2013

Not My BIG BROTHER

Posted on July 11, 2013 by Colin James Morrison

Racism is stupid. Abuse towards women, on any level, is wrong. Homophobia is just another word for hatred. In our modern world today, what is it about race that defines a person’s worth? What does gender or sexual orientation really have to do with equality anyway?

It seems these days that CBS’ Big Brother believes they have the answer – some quantifiable truth about what makes HIM better then HER, or YOU better then ME. Anyone who’s read this blog, and anyone who knows me, knows I’m a huge fan of the Big Brother series (I even sent in an audition tape for the Canadian version of the show). As entertained as I’ve been by the show in the past, I’ve always been most fascinated by it from a social experiment perspective. A bunch of strangers, forced to live together in a house, cut off from society and the outside world, from all the things they know and love…video taped and audio recorded…as we WATCH and LISTEN to them 24 hours a day, 7 days a week…. until one by one, through some wacky competitions, tests of endurance and trying (and crying!) emotional games, you eliminate them all until one player is left standing, crowned the winner, given a prize of $500,000.00. I’ve both cheered and despised characters in the past such as Rachel and Brendan, Dr. Evil, Brittany, Mike Boogie, Janelle, and Dan. And as memorable as they are, this year’s cast will likely become the most famous of all…. and all because of the toxic, harmful and hateful environment they bring. Big Brother’s no longer fun…. it’s just mean.

Social experiments by nature can have strange outcomes given that they involve humans, those unpredictable and complex creatures that we are. Sometimes social experiments can expose more then they bargain for due to the nature of the individuals involved. And so if you consider BB a science experiment, it’s safe to say it’s one that’s now gone horribly, even viciously wrong. It started out innocently enough. Aaryn, the worst offender of a pretty damn offensive bunch, started out sort of Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls like, but then quickly turned…some sort of Amanda Bynes, pre Civil War maybe. Aaryn viciously makes fun of Asian and African American houseguests by resorting to cruel and untrue stereotypes, and mocks a gay houseguest while constantly attempting to out another she suspects is a “homo”, all the while denying she does any of it. Her surfer boy toy David complained his dirty sheets were the result of African American Candice sleeping in them. Her klansmate…I mean housemate GinaMarie is just some awful caricature of what Brooklyn pageant queens would be (I’m sure there MUST be some nice ones -it’s a big city and a big industry, right?) who perhaps has watched one too many Sopranos episodes and thinks she now lives in one. Big dumb Jeremy, a Native American himself who seems to laugh loudest and longest at the racial jokes, has introduced the lovely word “meat wallet” into our collective lexicon. We can thank him for that, along with “don’t trust the queers” Kaitlin, for sharing said meat wallet with that ol’ romantic test-driving Jeremy. Then there’s Hitler lovin’ Spencer, who admits to bruising his girlfriend, and waited for an audience to call gay housemate Andy “Faggot Andy” to his face. Andy himself has made fun of Asian American houseguest Helen, although at least has had the sense to look pained and uncomfortable during a few others’ racist tirades, while Amanda, self professed fag hag and lover of all things queer, likes to poke fun, a.k.a. humiliate her best gay pal as often as she can. It seems, from what we’ve seen, that perhaps Howard, Elissa, Helen, Candice, Jessie, MacRae and Judd as the only “decent” people in the house (with Judd noting “don’t these people know they are on TV and there are things you shouldn’t say”). At the very least, they haven’t felt the need to demean and disrespect their fellow houseguests over and over again and instead seem to have chosen to take a higher ground. Or wait…. is that their actual stance, or is it game play?

If you were to consider – and stay with me now – the game, as a microcosm of American society today, is a higher ground what we truly need to see represented? As a strong African American male, does the fact that Howard knows how rampant the racism runs in the house yet chooses to do nothing about it, keeping his head in the game and the eyes on the prize, make him weak? Is the end result, the prize money, the endorsements, whatever might come…. worth all the hurt and the hits his pride must take time and time again? I suppose the same could be said for all the houseguests under Aaryn and gang’s vengeful wrath. What does it say when Helen puts aside her feelings and tries to form a secret alliance with Aaryn, the woman who condescends and viciously makes fun of her at every turn? I wonder first what it does to her psyche, but then I wonder what it does to ALL of our psyches. I watched a teary eyed Julie Chen respond to the racism controversy the other day, stating that hearing Aaryn’s comments brought her immediately back to the ‘70s and being teased and verbally abused by her peers, and how shocking it was to realize that those ideals still exist today. I remember hearing Spenser use that charming term “Faggotty Andy”, which quickly brought me back thirty years to a couple of female classmates pointing at me and flailing their limp wrists and mouthing the word “fag.” But not like it happened thirty years ago…. but as though it happened just yesterday. Somehow I doubt Julie Chen and I are the only one flashbacking amongst all of this. CBS seems to feel that these contestants will suffer consequences for their behavior on the show and in real life, and that whatever those consequences will be will somehow be enough. And sure enough Aaryn, GinaMarie, and possibly Spenser will all find themselves jobless upon exiting the house, and unless the KKK is recruiting poster children I doubt we’ll see many endorsement deals. But even that doesn’t satisfy me, or seem quite enough, and it shouldn’t satisfy you. I believe they need to set a reset button on the whole thing. Cancel it. Or if the show must go on, start over, fresh and new with a whole new group of people. Or as a ratings grab, bring back some old favourites. Bring back the Brittanys and the Dans – hell, bring back Rachel – but get these vicious, dangerous people out of the house. They won’t lose viewership. Fans WOULD watch that. Stop giving these terrible people airtime to spew their horrible, hateful beliefs. There is a precedent. A UK version of Big Brother has done this in the past, cancelling the show after a large public outcry against blatant racism towards an Indian contestant which eventually resulted in both a lost season and sanctions against the network responsible for airing it. But of course CBS won’t do anything of the sort. Ratings of a once struggling show are on the rise, and everyone (including me, obviously) can’t stop talking about Big Brother these days. Part of me wonders if CBS KNEW the firestorm that would likely erupt in the house. How could this many bigoted, self centered, ignorant people get past network censors? How could someone like Aaryn possibly screen as SANE and pass a psychological exam? Perception once was that CBS was hiding the racist, editing people like Aaryn in a positive way until outcry began over the live feeds. But was this a strategic move by the network to spark the controversy, and light the flame? Controversy brings attention, attention brings ratings, and ratings bring money. Period.

I feel sorry for these people, both the victims and the perpetrators. I guess, unlike them, I count myself lucky in that I grew up in a family that taught me good ol’ right from wrong, in a house with very strong female role models in my mother and my sisters. I’m blessed to have attended a school with children of many different cultural backgrounds and ethnicities, from whom I learned how rich and diverse our world could be. I’m so fortunate I reached a place where people of the same sex could feel safe and discover feelings or explore relationships with another in an accepting environment. I’m not racist, sexist, misogynistic, homophobic….you won’t find an “ist” or an “ic” here, no matter how hard you look, and I’m proud of that. Big Brother’s a train wreck, yet I can’t look away, as much as I wish I could. Part of me wants to see the day when Howard or Helen finally snap and right all the horrible racist wrongs that have happened. Or that ultimate comeuppance or just desserts that will fall people like Aaryn, GinaMarie, Jeremy, and Spenser. Because surely that day will come, right?

Kudos to Big Brother Canada for avoiding this kind of drama and playing the game with a bit more class. I mean, they made a breakout star out of a 6 foot queer black man with a love of cross dressing and glitter….let’s see BB US try THAT.

It’s sad that in 2013 THIS is the world we’re shown. And I for one am so glad it’s NOT my world. I truly hope it’s not yours either.

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