NaBloPoMo: MAD DASH!

Come on, ladies -- it's the final push in the 2009 National Blog Posting Month. Just one more post and I have done it. I have persevered despite the late evenings. I have scoured all media outlets for potential topics. I have even cultivated the ramblings in my paper journal to furnish this blog with enough content for a solid month.

And here it is.

I am in the last stretch of the journey.

As with any conclusion, it's best to take stock of one's accomplishments:

TOTAL POSTS (including this conclusion): 33 posts

Average Rate of Posts: 1 per day

Tunes for Tuesdays Profiles:

• Brenda Holloway
• Amanda Palmer
• KT Tunstall w/ Billy Bragg
• PJ Harvey

So here it is, the highlights of November 2009:

• Declared an e-crush on a fellow blogette
• Divulged my Brain Crack to the Blogoverse and started planning to make it real
• Discussed the allure of transgendered individuals and indulged my drag alter-ego
• Experienced the heart-breaking downfall of The Doctor
• FINALLY watched The Fountain
• Got wasted.... twice
• Outlined the goals I hope to accomplish for 2010
• Achieved my 100th Post on Cute, Queer Canadian
• Attended my first Bachelorette Party/male strip club and lived to tell the tale
• Discovered that writing is where my heart is at

I know I never posted about that last topic, but it's true nonetheless. I think this month made me realise just how important writing is to me. It's so easy to lose track of the things you love during the mundane actions of the day-to-day, but this challenge has rekindled the excitement I have for the written word.

It's been a wild November and I am certain December will introduce even wilder times. The threat of a snow squall is hovering over the GTA and there's talk of 15-20 cm of snow later this week. Winter's here, kids.

What better way to fight off the frost than to blog your adventures for the world at large?

Do stay tuned.

The White Beauty Myth........

I was going to post about it earlier but lazyness overtook me. So part of channel 4's race thingy was a programme called Bleach, Nip, Tuck: The White Beauty Myth. During that hour long special they followed three individuals who all wanted one thing: European Features=white skin.


Take Mun, mid-twentys who let me tell you is one fine looking guy, however he blames his ethnicity which is Asian for his lacklustre modelling career. To get to the top he believes that you have to look european,  ( Tyson Beckford would disagree but anyhoo...) so what is he contemplating??? Drastic Facial surgery to make his jaw line more prominent and his nose narrower......As i was watching this i was just shaking my head, he wanted to look more european just so that he could 'fit in'. Near the end of the program it was so heartbreaking to discover that all his ideas stemmed from a traumatic child hood experience where he was racially assaulted. 


Same with Jet, an Afro-Caribbean woman who hates her nose because it made her look poor. she lives in a gated community in Essex...i know Essex....where only 2 other black people live. Dolls let me tell you she made me scream at the tv because her problem wasn't just her nose, if it was up to her she would be white. She constantly rejected her identity because it didn't fit in with her lifestyle......she's a glamour model for fucks sake!  Again she wanted to distance herself from her 'blackness' because she was attacked by a group of black girls. I don't condone violence but some of that shit she said would have easily made the most mild-mannered person smack'er  one! Whenever i closed my eyes and heard her talk it was a white person talking derogatorily talking about black people. 


Next was a  lay from Banghladesh who felt she was inadequate because she had darker skin. to be honest i heard of this 'colour prejudice' in Asia where the lighter you are the prettier...mind you this phenomena exists everywhere. Anyways i heard friend of mines talking about how they can't marry anyone darker than them , or i have one friend who's quite dark and whenever he's playin around with his mates, one of them always had something to say about his skin colour. His face would just look so hurt, you can't imagine how i felt for him. 


That show was just sad, it sickens me that western advertising has made some people actually attempt to de-racialise themselves. All these advertising companies don't know what sort of damage they do, they are literally making some people want to die. As a black person my skin crawled when one of the women who had darker skin said that she thought that having her skin tone was the worst thing in the world, and how a 'black nose' is a punishment from god????

Traumatized and Such

Hangover: Check.

Sore stomach: Check.

Traumatized?: Double check.

Stories to tell: Oh, you best believe I do.

***

It's all a whirlwind of memory. Picture it: Five girls, two suites at the Sheraton in Niagara Falls, more alcohol packed in the car than luggage. A handful of sparkly leis, a series of Bachelorette stickers pasted all over the car, a "Bride To Be" sash for the Sister. Drinking by 4 pm, late dinner, more drinking.

Headed to Peppermints, the male strip club.

OH. DEAR. GOD.

Arrived at around 8:45 pm -- door cost was $5 before 9 am. We were the FIRST PEOPLE THERE. Show didn't start until 9:30 pm...? Started drinking more to kill time. Befriended the wait staff, the manager of the club, and some of the dancers. One waiter was brilliant and so kind to my painfully nervous/panic attacked Sister. He did his best to calm her down, ease her nerves -- even brought her bottled water that he paid for. I gave him a MASSIVE tip later on because I was so thankful for his efforts.

The manager tried to convince us to buy the "Party Package" -- one girl, twenty strippers, one memorable photo. We declined.

Saw WAY TOO MANY NAKED MEN. OH GOD. Like.... I am still traumatized. Granted, I wasn't too shocked -- been to a burlesque show before, so I know what the striptease is all about. However, the major difference: Burlesque is more about an empowered performer, leaves more to the imagination. Strip clubs: Total opposite.

Drank to cope. Got epically drunk. Am still nursing the hangover. Stomach hates me. Still, had a hilarious time. Highlight of the evening: Watching the Sister's friends react to the men.

Direct quote from Friend 1: "I never even screamed this much at a Backstreet Boys' concert!!"

Direct quote from Friend 2: "I am SO not mature enough to be here. I don't know where I'm supposed to look! Do I look at his face?! But, he's thrusting at me! THRUSTING!"

Direct quote from Friend 3: "Where did these guys COME FROM? I mean, was their audition just to drop their pants? 'Uh, yeah, I've got brains.' 'Oh, but you're package is a bit too small, sorry.'"

... All I could think was how I'd have to put "strip club cover charge" on the Excel sheet I use to track my expenses. It'll definitely be the most interesting bit of change I spent during 2009.

Still, it was an entertaining evening, no doubt. I wish I hadn't gotten so drunk -- I would have liked to check out Clifton Hill at night, especially some of the haunted houses. For now, I must make amends to my liver and ease off the alcohol for a bit. I've been rough on my body this past week and I need a detox.

It's a damn good thing my Mom bought that juicer yesterday....

The Gay Gal and the Bachelorette Party: OH MY.

Oh, my word -- please help me. PLEASE, please help a gay gal out.

It is the Sister's Bachelorette Party tonight. We are going on a road trip of sorts and I am scared. Like, actually scared. There is talk of a male strip club and I am hoping that is just a joke to get her fiance in a tizzy.

Though, knowing her friends and their streak of crazy....

I get the distinct impression that bachelorette parties were not meant for queer women. I mean, all the penis paraphernalia is enough of a raunchy, glowing sign that clearly states, "IF YOU LIKE WOMEN, YOU BEST BE LOOKING ELSEWHERE, LADY."

... Not that I'd be lookin' on a night like this. No, I'll be the one in the corner with her hands over her eyes counting down the hours until I can go to bed. Or, if we pre-drink, then I will be the drunk one in the corner with her hands over her eyes....

Serious, though, even though I am the Maid of Honour, I know my role tonight is to rope in the others and to advocate on my Sister's behalf (e.g. "No, she will not have a stranger do shots off of her" or "No, you will not force her to put on a silly crown and announce to the room that it's her Last Fling Before the Ring" or "No, dirty bingo involving real interaction with strangers is not on our list of priorities," etc.)

So, essentially, I will be the bitch. And I do mean "bitch" in the sense of "female guard dog." All snarl, willing to bite.

Huh.... so perhaps a queer girl is an excellent ally for the straight-gal bride-to-be. I think I may have created a whole new market here, ladies.

Anyhow, I imagine it'll be a late post tomorrow. So, if you can pass along any of your positive vibes to help me through, I will VERY MUCH APPRECIATE IT.

VERY MUCH.

Gay Gal, Straight-ish Past: The Reconciliation Act

There's a new issue that's presented itself since I first started my campaign to out myself en masse -- what to do with this straight-ish past of mine?

Now, granted -- I do not possess a detailed dating past. AT ALL. In fact, the longest relationship I've ever been in was exactly five months.

(It was a relationship that should have ended after three weeks.)

Mmm hmm.

Still though, I'm faltering with the whole reconciliation of past and present. I mean, I went through about a four- or five-year period where I genuinely identified as a bi woman. I faced and fought biphobia within the queer community on our campus, I tried one doomed relationship with a boy I lived with in second year, and I eventually realized I was DEFINITELY a gay gal after one magical night of spin the bottle.

After the whirling internal confusion and the pressing external evidence, I came to the one conclusion: When I pictured how I wanted to be loved and how I wanted to relate with a partner, I could only see a woman there.

And I've never looked back.

However, I still hesitate to talk about that younger version of myself. She was the girl who gossiped about boys and wrote about her "dream guy" to her journals and obsessed over her perceived failure when it came to attracting the gents. I find that girl to be a distant echo or some kind of blurry figure against my current horizons.

But there are still real emotions there. When I talk about the guy I dated in second year, I still feel that sharp embarrassment while remembering what I put up with. And I still sense that awkwardness and that desire to never speak with him again. I mean, I am certain he's a heavily closeted gay man -- takes one former closet case to know another, right? So, why is there still a lingering hurt when I think of that time? And why do I struggle to talk about those experiences in the present tense?

Even if I wasn't outright attracted to him, how do I speak about a past hetero relationship without compromising this genuine life as a queer woman?

I know that my identity as a queer woman is one of those fundamental, central visions of myself. I don't question that at all. It's just those high school crushes and that weird period as a straight girlfriend that's throwing me off.

I'm curious to know if this is a common concern among queer women who have dated men in the past. Can you reconcile both versions of yourself, or do you choose to ignore those days as a misguided youth? Are you willing to discuss those times in detail, or do you just focus on your more recent relationships with women?

Mmm... identity politics are best mulled over before an epic weekend. T.G.I.F. indeed.

Miz Moffatt's 100th Post!

Here it is, the first milestone of the new blog:

It is the 100th BLOG POST FOR CUTE, QUEER, CANADIAN!

So, if you will raise your glasses, I would like to propose a toast -- I dedicate this one to all the fearless, gorgeous, and utterly fabulous women out there who I've profiled thus far and I vow to keep charting the stories/art/progress of women everywhere (with a special interest in those ladies of the Canadian persuasion.)

And here's to all those readers who have continued to post comments and add their stories to my own. We are quite the collective at this point -- unique and sharp is what we are. Makes a blogette proud, I tell you.

So, the next milestone: 500 posts. I might need a few more National Blog Posting Months to catapult me to that next goal. But, it should definitely be a great ride and I look forward to new worlds of wonder where women are involved.

CHEERS!

December Social Goals

Oooh, girl -- I am on the wire with this entry. I made a daring sprint back to the lair after another stunning evening with The Advocate and Ship Sharp.

But first, I have a list.

I have decided that I will squeeze every last ounce of fun, adventure, and magic out of December and keep it all for myself... and also for those nearest and dearest to me. I have compiled a list of the Social Goals I hope to achieve this holiday season and, should each one occur, I am set to have a stunning time.

So, in typical list format, here it is:

• Sushi night with The Advocate and Ship Sharp
• A David Tennant as Casanova Tea Party with The Advocate, Ship Sharp, and The Cuz
• Coffee house Can. lit. reading hosted by an old teacher of mine (Dec. 8/09)
• Toronto Small Publishers' Show @ The Gladstone Hotel (Dec. 12/09)
• Ladies in Writing meeting (Dec. 16/09)
• Attempt the Second for the Lord of the Rings Marathon with the Greatest People on Earth
• Sister's New Year's Eve Wedding/Epic Celebration

Hmm, not a bad sample at the moment. I'm sure other new possibilities will present themselves as the month marches on and I hope I'll be receptive to as many invitations as possible. I'm getting all ramped up for 2010, now -- I want to take hold of this new year and make it my own for once.

Had an incredibly inspiring conversation with The Advocate (after we all finished filming ourselves impersonating Captain Jack Harkness and Rhys from Torchwood. TOO much fun). We talked about London and travel throughout the U.K. and I can feel all that Brain Crack surging back into my mind from every angle. Oh, the lure of it all. The sweet longing for a new city to explore and a chance to find a life surrounded with energy, purpose, and excitement. And to tackle that with some of your closest friends? Um, why am I still discussing this and not DOING it?

2010: It's time to punch some holes through that money fort I've been crafting. I need to get myself out there and paving a new life with all that cash I've saved. No use looking at it through a glass case anymore. Though, the security therein is quite seductive. But no -- I want that money to start working for me.

It's time to jump in and see where the river takes me.

Christmas Season Kickoff: The Office Shindig

So, yeah -- it is still November and I have attended the first Christmas/holiday party of the 2009 season. What can I say, we tackle projects early at our office. Overall, I would define it as a successful show. There was booze, LOTS of booze, and there was an excellent meal and quite the raucous gathering of office drones suddenly brought back to life.

I tell you, there's nothing better than watching the "professional" guise slip away and seeing people as themselves. Well, as alcohol-augmented versions of themselves. Perhaps that is a little more accurate.

I had quite the bit of drink, considering it was a Tuesday night. I started with a beer and I think I might have had about three full glasses of red wine throughout dinner...? Maybe more. We were at one of those restaurants with the magical wine glasses. You know the ones I'm talking about -- right as you're about to take that final sip, you discover that the wine has doubled in volume out of thin air.

In all seriousness, the waiters were attentive when it came to alcohol consumption. And, since I am not allowed to drink at home, I indulged a bit more than I should have. Did I mention this was a Tuesday night? And that I still had to wake up at 6:30 AM this morning? Yeah? Yeah.

I tried to orchestrate the seating arrangement a little to my favour -- yes, I tried to score a seat next to the Office Crush herself. I came close, though. I had one co-worker between us which is still too much distance, if you ask me. Though, I can always get giggly and starry-eyed over the idea that the second I walked into the restaurant, she bee-lined over to me and said, "Oh, please take my drink tickets, [Miz Moffatt] -- I know I'm not going to have anything and I want to make sure you have an awesome night!"

I'm sorry, an attractive woman who's trying to liquor me up? ... Like, serious, did I do something to please a higher power?... because I'm pretty convinced that someone/something out there is rewarding me.

And I will gladly accept.

Had a decent conversation with this one guy who's known as The Asshole in our office. Apparently a copious amount of alcohol transforms him into an inspiring person...? We talked about travels and post-graduate school and he basically said to me, "Do it. Go to London. It's an amazing city and so full of exciting, new ideas. You're not going to find that creativity here in Canada, I can tell you that now. Even if you're doubting yourself or unsure what path to take, go to London. You'll more than likely figure it out there."

I still can't believe it was HIM who said that. This is the same man whose has been a complete and horrid bastard to my Mom on more than one occasion and he's encouraging ME to pursue my dreams? ...... It was a bit of a mind-job, let me tell you.

Got home at around 10 PM or so and promptly called O'Neill. Am more than certain he was thrown off-guard to hear a drunk Moffatt on the line. I miss getting drunk with him, so.... I was acting as a... reminder? No, we actually had an amazing conversation last night. What can I say, we are astounding kids. *VANITY*

But yeah, I went to bed with a dream-like sense of serenity. Now, I didn't quite wake up in that same state, but the remnants were there and that's more than enough for me on a Wednesday morning.

It's official -- the Christmas season has begun. From here on in, I am in full celebration mode. Coincidentally, that also means I am in intense workout mode to counteract the caloric spike I will experiencing in the next few weeks.

BRING IT.

Tunes for [Wednes]days: PJ Harvey

PJ Harvey is pure, unfiltered sex with a British twist. And no, this is not up for debate. It's best to accept it now and pledge your undying love to her and her wicked guitar.

***

I am convinced that PJ Harvey is the physical embodiment of rock 'n' roll. She is unapologetic in her attitude and she radiates this intense, hypnotic confidence that is addictive and delightful all at once. She's got this sly, little grin that let's you know she is in control and it's the best thing for you to sit back and drink in the submission.

And that voice -- she walks a fine line between a sexy snarl, a fierce shout, and an ethereal moan/wail that cuts right to the bone. Whether it's the blues-infused punk from her early years or the hushed, Victorian-inspired sound of her latest album, White Chalk (2007), the sass in her voice is the focal point of her tight compositions and her lust-worthy image.

Most fans out there will know Ms. Harvey for her first hit, "Sheela Na Gig" from the EP Dry (1992). I would argue she hit her stride with Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea (2000), a multinational success that was written in Dorset, Paris, and New York. The flavour of her travels through the massive urban centres of France and the U.S. are palpable in these tracks. The album mixes a lush, melodic pop flavour with her trademark grit and guitar-driven punk energy from her earlier albums. After selling one million copies worldwide, PJ Harvey won the prestigious Mercury Music Award the following year for this stunning album.

And it's all uphill from there.

On this Tunes for "Tuesdays" (if you will permit me to travel back in time this evening), I would like to introduce you to "This is Love." It's simple, straight-forward, and sinister in its sex appeal. When I said PJ Harvey is pure sex, I actually meant she IS sex. If you're doubtful, just follow the link to discover the truth for yourself: PJ Harvey, "This Is Love."

"I can't believe life's so complex when I just want to sit here and watch you undress."

Oh, you are SO welcome, ladies.

... And, in my research this evening, I have stumbled upon EPIC NEWS -- PJ Harvey released another album this year with John Parish titled A Woman a Man Walked By. I hadn't heard news of it until this evening. Girl, the Fates must be VERY happy with me, tonight.

Now all that's left to do is succumb to the PJ Harvey-lust.

Give in to the grit.

Drunk 'N' Dandy

Ladies -- I am quite trashed at the moment. Went to the company Christmas party, drank a WHOLE LOT of red wine.... cannot form sentences....

Am talking to O'Neill at the moment. Like, right now -- we are talking queer issues and politics and plots for December. I am still so drunk. And I have to wake up for work tomorrow.

Life is good.

I am tired.

And I will update with numerous entries tomorrow evening, lovelies.

Exhaustion and Charles II

Ungh.... exhausted... again...

Why am I always exhausted on evenings where theatre is involved?

Since I can barely construct sentences at this point, I thought I would hand out a clever little Easter egg for all y'all. I wrote a joke script about a year ago that pondered what it would have been like if the Israelites had received Charles II of England as their first king.

It's a long story. (The joke and HOW it is a joke, that is.)

Anyhow, excerpt:

Talman: Did the old man die in his sleep or what? I thought he said he was taking a nap. Did he snuff himself out with a pillow when he rolled over? Did he swallow his tongue after it came loose from his snoring? Maybe he ruptured an ear drum and his brain filled up with blood and ear wax until he couldn't think straight and he drowned in his brain the way men drown in rivers and--

Axel: What is wrong with you? I mean... what do you honestly think about all day?

Talman: Dunno...... farming. And taxes.

***

And taxes. *Collapses*

The Fountain: Life and Love, Forever?

At last -- I can cross The Fountain off the list of Films I Need To See. Since its release in 2006, this film has stalked me.

And yes, I have a tendency to draw media stalkers.

Novels, blogs, albums, films -- I am not safe from media. I run into reviews for The Fountain even now in 2009. I went through a phase where the movie channel seemed to have this movie on round-the-clock, yet it was always half over by the time I found it. Friends have mentioned it on a regular basis and even family members have seen it multiple times.

Yet, I never could cross paths with it.

Now, the wait is over. The end credits have rolled and I may strike it off the list.

***

What if you could live forever? What if your love could not? Through space and through time, one man embarks on a one-thousand-year odyssey to defy death and to save the life of his one love.

In the past, a conquistador sets out to the ancient lands of the Mayans to find the Tree of Life and save the Queen of Spain from a tragic end at the hands of the Grand Inquisitor.

In the present, a scientist struggles to unlock the healing properties of a plant found in South America before his wife dies from a brian tumor that is slowly snuffing out her life.

In the future, a space traveler carries an aged tree through the universe toward a dying star wrapped in a nebula, all in an attempt to find eternity with the ghost of his lover.

The sacrifices are great and it is difficult to find the success through the sorrow. Can death be defeated? Can our bonds exist without the flesh? Or can we return to the ones that matter most?

***

I know -- it's not the lightest material imaginable. I admit now, I didn't quite grasp the futuristic scenes. It went so far over my head, I think the stars could feel it. And the past segments felt underdeveloped to me. I wasn't sure how the Tree of Life could save the Queen or save Spain for that matter.

But the moments from the present were outstanding. I was always torn about Rachel Weisz. I mean, I'm not blind -- I know she's an attractive woman. I know there are numerous folks out there who would be shocked to hear about the former complacency I felt toward her.

Ah, but the key word here is "former." I, like Hugh Jackman, have been converted.

She was stunning. I can think of no other word to describe her throughout this film. I understand why all three of Hugh Jackman's incarnations would extend themselves for her, why they would seek her throughout one thousand years of human history.

If I could find that one person, I wouldn't doubt I would spend the rest of my lives seeking her out and fighting for her.

The Fountain has tapped into the melodramatic Moffatt this evening it would appear. Perhaps that's exactly what I was looking for at this moment, especially considering I have just started reading Neil Gaiman's Sandman series.

I never questioned Jackman's dedication to her and I could sense the same heartbreak his characters felt when their efforts failed. I could also understand their hollow sense of triumph as their missions were renewed. But wow -- Rachel Weisz. She inspires people to pursue her through time. I mean, if that's not Harem material, I am not fit to judge anymore.

I would recommend giving this film a whirl, but I warn you now -- get ready to fall HARD for Ms. Weisz. I don't think there's a way to lift yourself after this kind of fall, let me tell you.

The Endless Sisters and the Sandman Series

As of this weekend, I have set out to conquer Neil Gaiman's epic Sandman series. Daunting? Never -- I live for this sort of creative mythology. And I like my abstract concepts anthropomorphized.

Quite.

Our local library managed to win some serious cool points after expanding their collection with the ENTIRE 75-issue run of Sandman (1989-1996). Yeah, I know. A suburban library system is investing in comics, graphic novels, and manga? Unheard of. Yet, I am thrilled by this development and I applaud them for their acceptance of illustrated literature.

I've just started in on the second collection, The Doll's House. There are eight more ahead of me and I look forward to uncovering Gaiman's startling, surreal universe of the Endless and beyond. First, we'll take a brief glimpse at the Endless sisters and, hopefully, I will bait a few of you to check out a volume or two of this breathtaking series:

Death

In the Sandman's realm, Death is both the end of life and the being that escorts the deceased to their new existence. Unlike other depictions of death, Gaiman's character also visits people at their birth, an encounter only she recalls. One of the most compelling traits around this incarnation of Death is her nurturing relationship with her younger brother, Dream. She is pleasant, strong, and treats the living with great respect. Despite the fact that mortals often fear the great unknown of dying, Death herself is one to celebrate in this universe. I would even argue she is someone most people would be grateful to meet at the end of their life.

Her vast popularity in the Sandman series led to the creation of two solo limited series by Gaiman titled Death: The High Cost of Living (1993) and Death: The Time of Your Life (1996) in addition to other later depictions produced by other writers. I can understand why Death ranks quite high on numerous lists for Sexiest Comic Book Character Ever. I would have to concur.

Delirium (formerly Delight)

Delirium is the youngest of the Endless siblings and her realm is one of chaos, defined by the constant shifting of colour, an ever-changing personal style, and a blinding mix of strange objects and shapes. Her first incarnation was Delight, though the reasons for her transformation are unknown even by the Endless. She is scattered, non-linear, and her mind tends to wander without limitation. To control her thoughts and attempt eloquence takes great effort on her part and is often a painful process. She is a beautiful mess and is the foundation of the most inventive sequences throughout the Sandman series.

Based on the descriptions I have uncovered for this character, it appears as though she is a complex one -- there are hints throughout the series that she might even know more than her brother, Destiny, at times and that her disorder and her perceived insanity is a result of the truth she understands.

Despair

Despair is the twin sister of Desire and she is often depicted as a silent sibling who resides in her own sense of personal squalor. She wears a hooked ring on her left hand which she uses to carve her flesh and to snare the living, dragging them into their own downward spirals. Her realm in defined as a negative space filled with white fog and mirrors, all of which are connected to the human world so she might look on those who are caught in their own despair. She sometimes acts with Desire when she/he challenges the elder Endless, but Despair is ultimately portrayed as one who feels a hidden sympathy for her brother, Dream. It is revealed that there were two Despairs, the first being covered in red tattoos and decidedly more talkative versus the second Despair. The second appears to be another individual who stands in for the first after the first's death.

Desire

Desire is a fickle character defined by its attractiveness and its compelling aura. Desire is a figure whose gender is mutable -- it can inhabit the world as a man, as a woman, or as both, depending on the situation. It is the twin of Despair and is often referred to as the "sister-brother" by the Endless siblings. I quite enjoy the fact that Desire resides in "the heart of a massive flesh-and-blood statue of itself." I mean, it would appear that Desire knows no modesty, and, I admit, I like the swagger to that sentiment. It is a cruel being and is obsessed with complicating the lives of its older siblings. As a result, Desire often finds itself estranged from the Endless clan. Desire is not bound by the consequences of its actions and often disregards the needs of its sisters and brothers. Desire and Dream have bad blood between each other, a point that is driven home on more than one occasion.

***

I'm impressed -- the act of writing these descriptions out has stoked my need to read this series at a faster pace. I've consciously limited myself, though. I vow to take two volumes out at a time so that I don't just speed through it all. We shall see if I can stick to it.

So yes, I would recommend the Sandman series to readers who want to wade through a dense, creative, compelling world inhabited by a lush collection of established and invented mythologies. I find this is the material I crave as the nights get longer and the winter evenings are just barely breathing through the windows...

Negotiating the Space Between Beyonce and Lady Gaga

I know -- I'm a little shocked I'm making this post, too.

Beyonce? Lady Gaga? A Duel of the Divas? What the heck are you on about, Miz Moffatt?!

Bear with me on this one. Last night, I saw the highly anticipated video for Beyonce's latest single, "Video Phone," from her album I Am... Sasha Fierce. I think I'm behind on the times, though, and I believe this video has been circulating the Internet for quite some time now. Still, it's taken me awhile to come around to it.

I have to be honest -- Beyonce and Lady Gaga are guilty pleasures of mine. On the one hand, you've got the powerhouse, bold-voiced, full-of-sass Diva. On the other, you've got the eccentric, edgy, "not-sure-if-you're-hot-or-disturbing" Diva. And now, they've decided to share screen time/radio waves with one another.

The end result:

I will be the first to admit that the concept of "Video Phone" is questionable. The alter-ego of an international superstar is advocating for amateur camera play. I mean... that's the gist of the song. All that aside, I do like the sound of the music. It's a little wide-eyed and other-worldly, maybe even a little bit stoned-sounding. Definitely catchy to this blogette right here, even if the content is sketchtastic.

Anyhow, a few observations:

• Intro: YES. This is what the video SHOULD have been like. I dig the assassin vibe and the whole Reservoir Dogs look of Ms. B's back-ups. Sounds like a showdown which appeals to me. And then....
• ... The man with the camera head appears. Oh no. And then the gents persist through the rest of the video. If I needed a better reason to be queer, that image alone provided one.
• Was it just me, or did you get dizzy watching those three Beyonces dancing while the two ghost Beyonces hovered and lip-synched in the background?
• Question: Why are there so many toy guns throughout the video? I think they must have cleaned out a Toys R' Us for the shoot.
• Right, I like the military swagger of Beyonce throughout the track. Again, not sure what meaning is held therein, but, well, it illustrates why I like a tough femme.
• Lady Gaga: She dominates the scene. I know she has a small part in the song/video, but her presence is so much larger than Beyonce's which I was surprised to see. I mean, Lady Gaga has the equivalent of a cameo in this production and she outshines the star. I am sensing even greater things from this woman in the near future, kids.
• Pin-up Beyonce: A+
• How awkward is that ending? Would you call that sound panting? A groaning of some kind? It goes on far too long. Actually, scratch that -- it should just not have happened. Ever.

So yes -- mixed reactions abound. And now I must go and nurse the shame I feel for admitting my secret music guilt to the Blogoverse at large. Forgive me. *Sobs*

Odds and Ends and Checkin' Ins

I thought I should check in with the ladies this evening. I mean, it's been quite a while since I sat down and took stock. We've got the impressive successes, the celebrations, the sudden illnesses, and a whole lot more in between.

It's best we start as soon as possi--

1. Erin Karpluk wins Best Actress Award at the 2009 Geminis: Yes, the absolute darling of the CBC (and one of the members of my Harem) was recognized for her charming and complex portrayal of Erica Strange on Being Erica. Congrats to Ms. Karpluk for the well-deserved recognition. You can catch her hit show on the CBC (Tuesdays, 9 PM), or check out older episodes over at the CBC's website.

2. Maggie Gyllenhaal celebrated yet another gorgeous birthday on Nov. 16: Well, Happy (Belated) Birthday, special lady. And, if that wasn't perfect enough, I found out Ms. Gyllenhaal is making an appearance on Sesame Street this year to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the classic children's show. See: Photo evidence above. Too adorable for words.

3. The Governor General's Award for Fiction (English): Alas -- Annabel Lyon did not win the award for her book, The Golden Mean. Well, she's still got two shots at winning some of Canada's illustrious literary prizes. Still, what an excellent honour that would have been for a first-time novelist. The award went to Kate Pullinger for The Mistress of Nothing. I suppose I ought to read this novel if it won out against Canada's newest Golden Girl of the Written Word.

4. The trailer for the upcoming film, Bitch Slap, magically appeared when I first opened the Internet this morning. Serious. I didn't set out looking for it. It came TO ME. And now, it comes to you, too.

Ah, trash films with gorgeous women -- my inner feminist cannot process it. Nor does she particularly want to. I get the impression this trailer sums up the film in its entirety. Still -- Zoe Bell is in it. I will watch it. (P.S. -- Don't you love that I followed a comment about Canadian literature with a trailer for a modern remake of a B-movie exploitation film? Yeah, I thought you'd be impressed.)

5. Had a dream about my work crush last night, the first one ever. Hey -- minds out of the gutter. It revolved around us on a date at a posh restaurant. Patrons could pay one price and get whichever five entrees/desserts they preferred. I remember pouring over the menu with her and sampling a large selection of delicious items. There was a dark chocolate lava cake with edible flowers all sprinkled across it. Very romantic, even if it was all fictional.

6. The Advocate and Ship Sharp are sick at the moment. It's confirmed -- the ladies have been H1N1'd. *Pout* I've sent them all my well wishes and have focused all my health particles into wavelengths in order to will them out of their illness. I hope it works, I miss them. *Pouts again*

Canadian Theatre: People WRITE Plays?!

Unngh.... so... tired.... need to... post.. entry.....

I have had quite the hectic/sleepless week. Though, I wouldn't want to change a moment of it.... unless I could add a few extra hours for sleep, that would be great. You think anyone would notice if I messed with our global concept of time? Maybe I could convince everyone that I need my own time zone. Yeah, that could work...

Horror of the Day: Having to explain to a woman at work that theatre IS a valid form of art and that there ARE people who write new plays. After telling her I applied for a playwright program in downtown Toronto, she asked, "Oh, so you'd be taking, like, a novel or a movie and makin' it into a play?"

No. No I would not. I would write a NEW piece. It is a seminar. A writing seminar. Where I would.... write.

I was met with a beige, office expression. "Oh. Well, see, that's somethin' I would never have heard about until you mentioned it. You never know what... opportunities there are until you go out and dig for them, you know what I'm sayin'? I mean, there are people who would have never heard about things like... like writing a play and now you applied to -- what was it, a seminar or somethin'? I mean, might as well try it once!"

I miss creative people.

And, on that note-- *Collapses into a pile of old clothes and blankets*

Tunes for Tuesdays: KT Tunstall and Billy Bragg

Right. I have a narrow window to write here. And look at that, I'm posting at the brutal hour of 7:30 AM EST.

IT'S ON.

Tonight, I have the honour of attending my THIRD Billy Bragg concert. I am BEYOND EXCITED. Excited to the point of NEEDING TO KEEP THE CAPS LOCK ON. AT ALL TIMES.

In honour of his epic wonder and to also rejoice in the utter hotness (and potential gayness...?) of a certain lady he performed with, I give to you: Billy Bragg and KT Tunstall.

Marvel as they discuss the current British music scene and the influence of David Bowie:

As for reckless concerts, I think the five-song duet orchestrated by these two singer-songwriters is tops. Picture it: an HMV on Oxford Street, February 18, 2008. Tunstall and Bragg are given one hour to select AND rehearse key songs from five decades of British music. Their concert will be given to an undecided audience. What you get is a raucous, energetic, and under-rehearsed performance that I absolutely WISH I WAS AT.

Here's their hectic, free-spirited cover of The Human League's "Don't You Want Me." (I apologize for the rough recording, but it's still fantastic):

KT: "I was working as a cocktail." Yeah, I love her too much.

And now, I am off to power through my day and kick it with a strong finish at BILLY BRAGG'S 2009 CONCERT. Oh, someone pinch me now...

Doctor Who: The Waters of Mars

Captain Adelaide Brooke and The Doctor, The Waters of Mars

Here it is -- we are two episodes away from the Tenth Doctor's regeneration. After three intense seasons with David Tennant as The Doctor himself, fans are about to face the inevitable, tragic fall of their beloved hero.

The Waters of Mars laid the groundwork for The Doctor's eventual downfall, charting his mental collapse with agonizing detail. I was invited over to The Advocate's abode to witness the beginning of the end and -- wow. Words cannot describe the upset. I am fighting every urge to list the spoilers here for you, but I will refrain. I mean, hey -- the world can use a few more Doctor Who converts, am I right?

***

It is November 21, 2059. The first human colonists have landed on Mars and established Bowie Base One. Their mission: To determine whether human life can thrive and sustain itself once separated from Earth.

But there's something in the water....

Frozen in the ice caps of Mars is a relic of the past, a water-based entity known as the Flood seeps through their filters and compromises the crew. The infection threatens to destroy their mission and conspires to use their fragile, human forms as a vessel to invade Earth and corrupt the waters of the living planet.

The Doctor is forced to choose between his desire to save the survivors of the mission and his responsibility as a Time Lord to leave fixed moments in history alone.

Time is running out, but water is patient....

***

OH. GIRL.

And, uh, speaking of ladies -- I would like to declare my complete and total crush on Lindsay Duncan, aka. Captain Adelaide Brooke. She OWNS. I mean, check it:

• As a child, she survived the Dalek abduction and invasion of Earth in 2009. A lone Dalek spotted her and spared her -- The Doctor attributed this to the Dalek knowing Ms. Brooke was a fixed point in time. Rather than let vengeance take her, she was inspired to trek out into the stars for herself.
• Studied at both Cambridge University (where she achieved first honours degrees in combined Physics and Mathematics) and Rice University; Selected by NASA to head Project Pit Stop and establish a refueling base on the moon.
• In 2042, she was part of a three-person trek to Mars and became the first woman to land on the alien planet. Afterwards, she pushed for Mars colonization.
• In 2058, she led an international team to Mars and established the first human colony on the planet.

And, in one of the most powerful turns I have seen in a character, she is forced to make the ultimate sacrifice TWICE to ensure that her family's legacy, and therefore the progress of the entire human race, remains in tact. The decision she makes will launch her granddaughter's career as the first human to venture out into the farthest reaches of space. In order to do so, Captain Brooke must defy The Doctor and disprove his God complex in one fell shot.

I have to admit, I love Doctor Who for the sheer fact that the women on this show are complex, powerful, and integral characters to the plot. Rather than resigning themselves to mere companions, characters like Captain Brooke are courageous in the face of chaos and are vital in the lives of those around them. Heck, we all know the Doctor was lost after Rose and it only worsened as he lost Martha, Donna, and all of his other closest allies.

Impressive, indeed.

Ladies, for an entire cast of women to swoon over and pledge your undying love to, turn to Doctor Who -- the universe awaits. And it also kind of compels you, so GONOWWATCH.

Flash Fiction, Queer Style

Nothing is more refreshing and satisfying than an overcast Sunday dedicated to reading. There's something about those looming grey skies that induces the need to brew some tea and settle down with a new novel or a collection of poetry.

I would argue there is no bliss sweeter than disappearing into another world and intertwining yourself with an exciting narrative. But hey, I know I'm a little bit biased what with that degree in English hanging on my wall...

This weekend, I have thrown myself into the tight, breathless, electric world of Flash Fiction and all its subgenres. I've known about this form since about 2005, but I realize now that my knowledge was superficial at best.

Oh, Flash Fiction? Yeah, those are the stories written in 100 words, right?

I had assumed that. Oh, so naive. Turns out the 100 word maximum is just the beginning.

There's short-short, sudden, postcard, minute, furious, fast, quick, skinny, smoke-long, and micro fiction. There's 55 Fiction, 100 Word Drabbles, 69ers (the word limit, not the... position), and more. Some argue the absolute maximum is 75 words while others are lenient and view 1,000 words as the limit.

It's enough to make a writer's head spin.

I was assigned this research assignment by the writing group I belong to. Ladies in Writing is experimenting with its format a touch and we're trying to lure our peripheral members back with this informal lessons. I am the first to take on the task of teaching, hence all the notes on this genre. I have to say, though, as a writer, this form offers an amazing opportunity to render meandering prose to its most basic and vital elements. I love how quickly a story can materialize and I'm sure readers appreciate the abrupt nature of the narrative. Both sides are left satisfied -- the writer feels accomplished and polished, the reader finds an intense and condensed story to delve into during the spare hours of their day.

Mutual, creative fulfillment -- none too shabby.

For this Sunday, I will leave you all with a flash fiction I wrote back in 2005 for an alternative magazine published at our campus. Similar to the poem Efflorescence, this was published for their annual Queer Issue (coinciding with October's Queer Identities Week). Hope you enjoy and I hope you have an excellent Sunday evening, ladies.

***

The Dandelion

*Published in 2005.

We were only seven-years-old.

We sat in a field of prickly grass dotted with the brightest dandelions I had ever seen. My new skirt was already stained green at the hem. My friend thought it looked better that way. She picked a dandelion by her ankle and held it beneath my chin.

"If your chin turns yellow, it means you eat a lot of butter."

My skin stayed pink. I did the same for her and her face lit up. The flower left a yellow smudge that stained her for a whole week, much to her mother's chagrin.

That was the day I fell in love with her.

Transcendent Transgender

Queen Bee Luscious and Dred Gerestant, Venus Boyz

Gender bending, drag, genderqueer, androgyny, genderf*cking -- it is a gorgeous, vibrant challenge to the confines of sex and gender. It transgresses those silly little lines we draw between the constructs of "Feminine" and "Masculine." It embraces the idea that our bodies and our gender are two separate entities and it confronts the boundaries we place between the concept of "Woman" and the concept of "Man."

But what is a Woman? What is a Man? Can we measure the difference or is it mere performance for the status quo? More importantly, what do we have invested in the gender we use to define ourselves with?

In the films Gendernauts (1999) and Venus Boyz (2002), viewers are drawn into discussions surrounding female masculinity and other transgendered perspectives. Alas, I have limited access to both films -- at the moment, my experience of them has been dictated by the clips available on YouTube. But, I cannot deny that the stories are compelling and the act of blurring the binary is an alluring one.

In Gendernauts, director Monica Treut explores the outer edges of human sexual expression, charting the thoughts and the lives of politically- and socially-conscious transsexuals centred around California's Bay Area. The documentary guides viewers through the perspectives of numerous transgendered individuals including adult film star and performance artist Annie Sprinkle, internet activist Sandy Stone, and the patrons of San Francisco Club Confidential, a meeting place for gendernaut activists.

Sandy Stone offers a striking demonstration of feminine and masculine traits during one interview segment. It's impressive to see the immediate shift in demeanour, voice, and action acted out in real time -- makes you realize just how fragile the divide is between both genders:

In Venus Boyz, viewers are guided through New York's legendary Drag King Night and are exposed to a world of female masculinity where women become men -- some for one night and others for their entire lives. Within the space of their male alter-egos, masculinity is both parodied and explored with special attention given to male eroticism and power strategies. In addition, the film branches off into London where women experiment with hormones and transform themselves into self-identified "cyborgs." Gender is performance, subversion, and existentially required.

This next clip acts as an introduction to the main personalities followed through the documentary. I warn you now -- this is definitely NSFW, though, it's the weekend as I write this, so I suppose we're all in the clear. Regardless, some of the film's central issues are raised during this clip, so it's a vital one to watch:

Gender is such a fickle concept. I love the idea that we can inhabit both spaces simultaneously and that we can even go so far as to break free from both.

So, how about you? Where would you fall on the gender spectrum? Or can you even be contained by "feminine" or "masculine" qualifiers?

I feel the discussion has only just begun....

GAME PLAN: 2010

CHECK IT: I am about to plan/research/strategize the heck out of 2010.

The gloves are on, the crowd's electric, and I am seconds away from the bell sounding for the first round.

IT IS ON, 2010.

I know my tendency to make lists borders on the obsessive, but I feel a distinct difference with this one -- I can feel that fire of motivation. It's buzzing through me and singeing my nerves. I am going to make plans and I am going to make them happen.

I am all ego this evening.

So, the initial list:

Writing

• Launch into the first poetry collection; Flesh out those ideas, lady.
• Tuck into the first novel idea.
• SUBMIT pieces to literary journals, magazines, blogs.
• Explore those writing markets (start with Canada and branch out to the U.S. and U.K.)
• Get out there and volunteer for literary events across the city.
• Check out those writing contests, if low entry fees will permit.
• Nightwood submission? Might be cool, might want to get in on that and tag team the theatre scene with Ship Sharp.

Travel

• Research the ever-loving life out of the places you're keen on visiting (U.K., France, Germany, Russia, etc.)
• Figure out rough budgets and such... yeah, I suppose funding might be important.

School

• Research that Masters in Creative Writing (Canadian, American, and English schools)
• Try and contact old profs to make sure they remember you, crazy girl.
• Financial aids like scholarships would be good, too.
• Look into Ryerson's copy editing program (since you've now got another year and a half stretched out in front of you)
• Maybe look into language courses for kicks...? French or Japanese would be neat.

I feel all fired up and dominant and like I am going to take no prisoners, even if they ask me politely not to. I wonder if this is the post-gym endorphins kicking in right about now.

Watch out, 2010 -- Miz Moffatt is claiming you as her own.

Miz Moffatt Takes On Life Reassessments

Does an angel contemplate my fate? Mara86

I wonder what is about Thursdays that invite such contemplation. I've been sifting through prompts for most of the evening to find lighter topics for this post, but I can't seem to push past the trouble on my mind.

I'm in the throes of another "life reassessment" deal -- you know the one I'm talking about. It's that cold rush of restlessness pocked with indecisiveness and a dull sense of irritation at the circumstances. I seem to circle back to this place without ever intending to. I was tipped off this morning after I discovered a woman at work is pushing to extend my contract for the third undecided stretch of time.

Did I mention I've been counting down the days -- nay, the hours left in this current contract extension?

I know, it takes a lot of nerve to complain about a job during a crippling global recession. Trust me, I've heard comments to that effect each time I open up to discuss this topic. Still, I am not satisfied.

I am an administrative assistant for a pool product manufacturer. Yeah. Not great. It was supposed to be a summer gig, ending before the Labour Day long weekend. Had there been school to return to, I would have been free.

The first extension came about because of their workload after acquiring another large pool manufacturer.

The second extension came after a rash decision made by our management to fire a customer service rep. after a minor misunderstanding.

Now, this third extension is being orchestrated by a woman who wants a personal assistant to take on the brunt of the administrative aspects of credits, payments, blah blah, boring office jargon.

I can't do it. I mean, I did make a pretty piece of change while working there for the past six months. But, serious -- I can't do it anymore. I know I've mentioned my issues when it comes to commitment, but I didn't even want this job to start with. It's a stop-gap job, not a career. *Dusts hand of the discussion*

So, the natural question: Then where DO you want to work, Miz Moffatt?

Well, I quite like this gig as a blogette. Heck, you know me -- I love to write about/for other ladies. If I could scheme a way to make this a full-time, paying practice then SIGN ME UP.

I admit, I've been thinking about writing quite heavily in the past month. I've had a rather love/hate relationship with the written word -- an array of teachers and friends have urged me on to take up writing in some aspect, full-time. And yes, I rebelled for long enough. I wonder if it's the instinct of middle children to do the exact opposite of what everyone is advising them to follow. (Guilty as charged). I fought against it and operated with this overwhelming disbelief when folks would compliment me on stories, poems, entries, essays -- you name it. I'm starting to see the error of my ways...

***

Ideal Image: I can picture myself sitting in a smart, clean cafe on a quiet street corner in France, or maybe a cozy pub somewhere in London. I'm there during their off hours, so the staff is bored, though friendlier than usual. I'm sitting there with a laptop, maybe a cup of tea or a light beer, tapping out some verse or some short story fragments in preparation for a creative writing class. I'm off in my own thoughts, but still a part of the action of real life.

***

I've been debating the whole Masters in Creative Writing again. I'm wary of it. I mean, if you're a writer, you shouldn't need to pay an institution to do so. But then, those Masters degrees can connect you with peers and with established writers. And heck, I'd welcome the chance to revisit those bizarre student hours again. I could even look into European schools and shake off the Canadian soil from my shoes for a while...

Ah, romantic notions. I feel as though some unknown spark has ignited a new desire in me, one based on travel and writing.

Let's see if we can't fan it a little, shall we?

Canada Remembers

Mrs. A Mackay Operating a Riveting Gun at Pictou Shipyards Ltd

Photographer unknown, Pictou, NS, January 1943

I have an affinity for Canadian women who worked throughout The Great War and The Second World War. I can't conceal my unabashed adoration for their work ethic, their fearlessness, and their dedication to the war efforts at large. During those crucial years of the twentieth-century, women across the nation were called upon to fill the holes left in the workforce after recruitment campaigns plucked young men from Canadian soil. These same women entered a world that appreciated their skills during the crisis and heralded them as the veritable angels of the home front for their personal sacrifice and focus.

And yet, I feel as though these same women are erased from the Remembrance Day ceremonies staged throughout Canada each year.

I understand and honour the vital position men played as foot soldiers, naval officers, and air force men and I respect the work men carried out on the home front as well. I would be a hypocrite to think otherwise. All of my grandfathers were involved in various aspects during the Second World War: my maternal grandfather fought in the Italian campaign and was involved with the liberation of Holland; my step-grandfather was a teenager in Poland during the Nazi invasion, yet he managed to escape and fight with the British RAF; and my paternal grandfather was still living in a Canadian orphanage at that time and cared for a large number of boys who had lost their parents.

But I still find myself unsettled by the thought of so many talented and courageous women being ignored on November 11th.

What of the women like my paternal grandmother, only a schoolgirl when WWII broke, who helped with various clothing and rubber drives and even involved herself with special projects including the infamous "knit a scarf/mitts for a soldier"?

And what of my maternal grandmother who worked as a riveter and welder in one of Canada's munitions factories, a woman who entered her young adulthood with a sense of freedom unknown to her own mother's generation?

I am a historian at heart and these are the personal stories I work to remember.

I found an excellent website for readers out there who are interested in The Second World War and the stories told from all fronts. The National Film Board of Canada has access to an in-depth collection of archival footage and photos from various Canadian perspectives in regards to WWII.

Check out The Home Front section to find videos documenting the "Rosies of the North" and a wide variety of propaganda pieces and recruitment media targeting female audiences at the height of the 1940s. It's a reminder of the vast effort women poured into the war years and of the equal sacrifices made abroad and at home.

Lest we forget.

Tunes for Tuesdays: Amanda Palmer

Her voice kicks it like a boot to the jaw. She is bold, brash, and dominates the stage with a sinister sexiness and a glitzy swagger. With drummer Brian Viglione, the world was introduced to the intoxicating sound of Brechtian punk cabaret via The Dresden Dolls. And now, in her solo status, she is poised to own the world.

She is Amanda Fucking Palmer.

***

I cannot stop praising the wonder that is Amanda Palmer. Now, I'm sure the prologue up there hinted at that just a tad, but I needed to be clear. She is an explosive force when paired with a piano and I love the fact that she revels in the beautiful mess that is life. I swear, she thrives in the face of hardship and turns it into a punk-flavoured powerhouse of an album, every time.

Ms. Palmer launched her career as one half of the Boston-based duo, The Dresden Dolls. With her raw sound and razor-sharp lyrics, Amanda Palmer bridged the gap from indie band to established artist while still maintaining her electric and eclectic sense of style.

Palmer's first solo album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer? (2008), is a compelling release -- and I'm not just saying that because it's Amanda Palmer. It's an emotional tour-de-force and showcases an artist who is willing to pick at every metaphorical scab necessary to achieve an honest and sharp sound.

On this edition of Tunes for Tuesdays, I would like to draw your attention to the track "Guitar Hero" from Who Killed Amanda Palmer? -- Ms. Palmer taps into her glam rock alter-ego on this track and injects it with her fierce, uncompromising vocals. Crank those speakers and flip the eff' out:

LOVE IT. She is the embodiment of modern punk, that's all I'm gonna say.

Some other Palmer facts to swoon over:

• Published The Dresden Dolls Companion in 2006, that featured lyrics, an autobiography of the duo and of Ms. Palmer, sheet music, original artwork, and a 20-minute DVD showcasing the making of the book.
• In June 2007, The Dresden Dolls toured with Cyndi Lauper and numerous other artists for the True Colors Tour which included her debut at NYC's Radio City Music Hall.
• Conceived of at least two musicals, both performed in her home state of Massachusetts.
• Teamed up with photographer Kyle Cassidy and writer Neil Gaiman to produce the book version of Who Killed Amanda Palmer. The book is a series of short stories based on a portfolio of images shot for her solo album, all featuring the corpse of Amanda Palmer littered throughout various settings.

Umm, and speaking of Neil Gaiman -- the literary titan is now dating Ms. Palmer. It was confirmed during a press conference in July 2009. I mean, can you imagine the creative potential there? I know the ladies have lost out this time (Ms. Palmer is an out and proud bi girl, so yes, we DO have a chance), but the artistic projects that could stem from that pairing are mind-boggling.

Amanda Fucking Palmer will kick the ass out of any Tuesday, guaranteed. So strap on those combat boots and break out the glitter because Ms. Palmer is about to take over your iTunes, kids. 

Don't resist it.