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You may have noticed we put up promo shots yesterday. There is one missing this morning.
In this particular shot there is a body part of mine showing through wet cloth that certain parties saw fit to report their offense to facebook....
Now, you need a little context here... My daughter Frances has recently come under fire for posting shots of herself showing cleavage, and she was basically harranged by her elders into taking the shot down because that moral authority felt it inappropriate that a young woman of her age (13 years) should pose in such a manner.
I let her take this shot at me. She reported my photo to facebook... Ostensibly because of the "ew" she exhaled upon seeing it, but I think deeper than that, she, like they, felt it inappropriate that a woman of my age (36 years) should pose in such a manner.
I made a couple of notes before it was taken down:
1. I am NOT nude
2. It is perfectly legal for me to appear topless in Ontario, Canada.
Now, let's not get all excited and imagine me running naked down the street here.... this isn't what I'm talking about.
A widely practiced (and time tested) method of promoting one's self (and a large part of one's evolution as an artist) is exploiting (or exploring depending on your point of vew) your sexuality. Women (and men) since the dawn of time have been disrobing in the name of the muse....
I am no different.
I try and do it with taste, and conviction. I stay away from the obscene, the lewd... I am always veracious.
That facebook doesn't want my nipples on it's site is fine.... it's not my site.
That Frances doesn't wanna see my nipples is nothing new. She was the only one of my babies who rejected the breast after being offered the bottle... feeding time became so frustrating that I gave up the effort to win... it was more important to me she enjoy eating her meals without frustration than sate my biological functions....
Meh... boobs are boobs, and business is business.... and as her mother, it's more important to me she eat than I feed some higher moral ethos......
You've been in a band (and kept it relatively together) for some years now... I need your advice... desperately.
There's a musician I work with, oh boy. Click. And the beauty of it? WE're like brother and sister. He's got a larger writing credit than mine, but my camera credit is bigger than his... but I digress. We get on like fire and ice.
This does not translate well in our interpersonal relationship. Oddly enough, following your example, he's my brother in law. We are both quite psychotic (by some measures...lol...) but control freaks at the same time. We are both drama QUEENS. (occupational hazard I suppose). We are also both unrequited, frustrated, creative icons.... hahaha... in our own minds.
We are now shouting nasty names in public places and behaving like absolute brats. People are saying "you're not my kin" anymore, and I'm kindof stepping back.
And turning to the one place that has never had that up and down... well, it has... but somehow has managed so with somewhat "grace"... under what must have been the hottest fire.
When you infect someone else with yourself... how do you control the output? Is there a throttle? I realize that maturity and communication are key... or are they?
Is it about keeping it childlike? knowing that tomorrow everyone will be happy again and return to playing in the sandbox... knowing that what they all went through made them stronger, happier, healthier people...that testing faith is the only way to prove it?
I realize these questions are rhetorical... just thought I'd share...
I'm such a strange girl...
I think I come from another world.Share
Is this the site of the cure? In the future... will people come back here and read about The Cure? What will they think then......
"March 8th, 2199 -
Day 78 of my journey. Have developed strange orange rash. The SoHK Interface (sum of human knowledge) returned several pages of results, including an obscure reference to some place on a planetoid in the unisolar system formerly inhabited by humans.(search terms cure+orange+rash)
Upon further investigation, it appears events were held in this locale which featured musical performances.
I do wonder what it is they were trying to cure?
I must say I found this civilisations approach to relief from disease quite interesting to say the least. While the music did nothing for my rash, I did find it improved my mood considerably. I found it quite like keeping company.
Cure for orange rash: Oatmeal."
Rattlin my muck...
Ok, that was joy.Share
Went and gave the new shoes a whirly last night at Pelly's open mic, and boy was that fun! Now I have a really good reason to quit smoking... and next time I'm bringing water onstage.... THIRST!
Oddly enough I felt no extreme emotions over the thing, with the exception of the elation... what an adrenaline rush. The BMR boys love what they do so much, it was the easiest thing I've ever done. Like a hot knife through butter.
Now onto better things, I've a standing invite to tap for them boys, and although I did great, I listened to the tape this morning :) My thanks to Alison for her camera expertise.... that was also joy, I love the camera, but having it in my hand all the time leaves me out of the picture... Although the lighting sucked and we can't really see me, we hear me just fine thank you very much, and now I'm counting the number of beats I missed...
And going through the basics.... I wasn't sore at all this morning so I set out to practicing again... although it bores the shit out of me to repeat the exact same movement over and over and over again... the fun part is, once you get the basics down pat... the rest just happens.
Like last night. It just worked. Errors and all I suppose, but me has to learn another beat than horse gallop... So I ran myself through some new moves this morning too...
I dunno.... I'm having so much fun it's hard to remember being the me I was just three months ago, sticking forks in herself... then the three months before that stuck in a cubicle, and then the three months before that being the biggest soul stealing groupie on the planet, and then the three months before that.... losing my mom.
I've thought alot about my mom during the holidays, but not in a mournful way. At first I thought that perhaps I should be feeling mournful, this being my first holiday season without her, and then I would remember those moments last Christmas, the separation during the holidays, her words "I love you" being her biggest gift to me. I wrote about it, and I can still hear her voice saying them if I allow myself to.
So now all these months later, I am T, Tamara, Tappity Tappin on a Tuesday Twilight, tenaciously tipping the tide to temerity.
I felt more myself last night than I ever have. Knowing all that I know about myself, that feels pretty damned good.
It also feels pretty damned good to hear that the entertainment at the Atria is considered "real" as opposed to the "lame" at Reilly's down the street. She may not have brass taps, but it's true... and I didn't even say it, I heard that last night from a guy who waltzed into Atria from Reilly's and had never been there before. He watched a micless open mic...and had fun.
I can't wait till next Pelly night.... I just can't wait.
My first open Mic with the shoes
Tap tap tapping on HEaven's floor...
my calves are rock.
The universe saw fit to provide me with tap shoes for Christmas. I say the Universe, cause they appeared before me at St-Vincents... not at the foot of a tree, or in a wrapped box.
I love them. I rever them. I have worn them every day since acquiring them, once to piss off the entire household at 10 in the morning, and the rest of the time in my room with the door closed alone, and from what I'm told, no one can hear me.
I don't want to develop the same stagefright with this one that I have with the singing. I have sung so much to myself by myself that I find it painful to do so in front of others. It feels unnatural.
I have always danced without fear, and the last thing I need is to lose that...
Or maybe I'll just replace it with something else. I really enjoyed the drums when I picked them up, making that kind of rythmic noise is like a salve for the soul... god almighty you should feel it offa tap shoes.
This is my first pair of tap shoes. I have loved making noise with my feet since I was a little girl and I got my first pair of dress shoes and they made awesome clicky noises (from what I recall, most effectively on concrete floors).
Or concrete covered in parketry (sp?). You know.. little wood squares.... it's heavenly. Good thing the floors were finished before I started tapping on them, cause there's gonna be some seriously worn out spots fairly soon. I've been getting in an hour of practice a day... and my calves are killing me. Although I managed to get a workout in spite of the pain yesterday. No other way around pain but right fucking through it...
I'm developing some tiny little muscles in the oddest places. and taking uber care of my feet. All of a sudden that foot stomping incident I had a few weeks ago is haunting me, and I can't use my right foot fully at the moment. I guess I'll have to stop stomping my feet from now on now won't I?
I've also realized that if I intend to do this show-wise, there is no way I will survive it and continue smoking two packs a day. That's right, I smoke two packs a day. My doctor is shocked too....
I've got this awesome little body that does amazing things if only I'll let it. Despite having a 20 year smoking habit under my belt (5 of them with pot to boot), I have the cardio vascular system of a champion, with a blood pressure level sitting pretty at 117/70. I've come to realize of late that I won't be that way forever, and that if something is to be done, now is the time.
I'm not sure I can give up smoking altogether, certainly not the pot, because I am far too dependant on it for more things than one... some in common with nicotine. I can no longer really assign a purpose to nicotine aside from the enjoyment I derive from sucking on a white stick with friends sucking on sticks, blowing out smoke together in a pretty cloud, looking all cool.
And that's the truth. Smoking has been a part of my vista since birth, I am never going to eliminate it entirely from my life, and it's stupid to try. What I'm going to do is get it under control so it no longer sucks anything from me. Years off my life, a life that could prove to be so awesome that I'd wanna never leave...
And now that it has tap shoes, I might just wanna stay a little longer....
We're only human after all... and so is this blog software... pt. 3
Sortof. My life has changed significantly since that day.
I’m still chasing The Cure….
I'm still a wife, mother and mother of four, and two cats living in Oshawa, Ontario...
But now I keep myself busy writiting, and
What began as a failed attempt to produce a
demo for an “Idol” show audition, turned into a reality series chronicling the
lives and pursuits of independent musicians in <st1:city><st1:place>Oshawa</st1:place></st1:city>,
and the Greater Toronto Area, within the backdrop of my pursuit of a career as
We now bill it “Our answer to Idolatry” and are in
production for a fourth year. 2009 will
see me put on my first live performance, as well as my first original material.
We have an awesome scene here, and it is truly a joy to
bring these boys to the world.
Throughout our three years of production we have taped and interviewed
over 100 bands and musicians.
I’m very proud of what we do, and thankful for our
collaborators without whom, we wouldn’t have anything to do.
And thankful to The Cure for lighting a fire and keeping it
going for 21 years…..
(21 is three 7’s… hmmm….)Share
We're only human after all... (pt. 2)
Their manager came out first (I didn’t recognize him, but he
beelined for the girl). I took this as
an opportunity to avoid addressing Robert directly, and sauntered up to him and
asked if he’d get Robert to sign my copy of Greatest Hits. He told me I could do it myself. Disbelief.
I didn’t think I would be able to, I didn’t even know how to
address him, or call his attention to me, but I knew that if I didn’t, I would
never ever forgive myself.
I said: “Excuse me… Robert”
and he said: “yes”
and I said: “Would you sign this for me”
and he said: “sure”
and then he did.
Then he handed back my CD and sharpie…
and I said: “Would you pose for a picture”
and he said: “Sure”
and then as we posed…
he said: “is that an HP?”
and I said: “Yes”
And then we shook hands, said nice to meet you… and it was
We're only human after all... Pt. 1
What you see is not necessarily what you get.....
Good morning. My name is Tamara, and I welcome you to this, my umpteenth
blog I maintain on the internet. I'm feeling rather lucky to be here, I
have reservations blogging just anywhere, but somehow I feel quite comfy
here... gee... I wonder why?
I have been a Cure devotee since I heard the first chord of "In between
days" in 1987. I have subsequently made EVERY SINGLE DATE they have
ever played in my locality. Usually miraculously... Especially this
last show in May, in <st1:city><st1:place>Toronto</st1:place></st1:city>, at
Another miracle I get asked about alot would be the time I managed to meet
Robert in 2004.
The story goes a lil something like this:
I found out through www.thecure.com that the band were due to travel to North
America to do a festival date and junket in Washington, en route to film the
video for "The End of the World". Having worked in the airline
industry (and still having contacts there) I was able to check the carrier's
manifests for passenger names tagged VIP. I found Bamonte.
I cannot describe what the drive to the airport was like, aside from the
weather was rainy and shitty, and OH my GOD this is the opportunity of a
We arrived at the airport shortly before their plane was due
to land. We spotted the label rep
immediately, as she was holding a sign that said…lol… “Bamonte”. (It’s at this point I have to wonder if this
woman knows who she’s representing, I mean, do you really need a sign to
recognize The Cure? Is Robert’s hair not
enough of a sign?).
What was supposed to be a quick in and out turned into a
three hour waiting ordeal. Because of
storms in the area, the flight had landed, but was not allowed to gate till the
All I could think of was that here I was, waiting on Robert
Smith, who’s probably exhausted from traveling and working, has just spend
three hours in a plane, is now sitting waiting three hours more, probably just
wants his bed, and I’m going to bother him for an autograph.
When the flight finally deplaned, I frantically tried to
plan what I was going to do when he arrived.
What if he was so bothered he wasn’t kind? I knew that I could get tremendously hurt.
(damned character limit. pt . 2 in another post)Share
god almighty I can have a blog here.Share
Big plans... big big plans...