TCAF and a Shout-out to Mothers

Lo, I emerge from the swirling vapours of the Blogosphere once more to offer updates on the life of a queer gal in Canada. I know, my posting has been fickle as of late—the new round of reasons are two-fold:

1. I landed an internship at a Toronto-based publishing house! I am two weeks into a three-month gig as I write this, and DAMN—time, she flies. I admit, I am quite low on the totem pole at the house (re: mail-room queen and coffee bitch), but I get to sit in on all our marketing/publicity/sales meetings, I get to attend our massive sales conference on Monday, I am making connections in the industry, AND I am getting loaded down with free books. Sweet, indeed.
2. Moffatt's airport crashed two weeks ago. As in, all Internet connections were severed for three of our tech-based gadgets (my laptop included, raahraahraah…). Our only working computer in the interim was our central hub—the computer located in our very public living room. Needless to say, I haven't been able to log a great deal of queer-based Internet hours for quite some time. BUT NO LONGER!

So, there. About three weeks in a nutshell. Odd how life rushes in all of a sudden, hmm? I have transformed into an average, though highly literate, train commuter who now has that precious foothold in a world I've dreamt of since I was a young'un. Here's hoping I can make the most of the experience while I am safe within our publishing house's embrace…

BUT ON TO WEEKEND FUN!

Saturday, May 7, 2011

TCAF TCAF TCAF TCAF!!

I attended the Toronto Comic Arts Festival in 2010 and had a blast perusing the wares of self-published artists, webcomic creators, and other graphic delight-ors. I was raring to get in on 2011's action and, as the skies would have it, we were gifted with gorgeous weather for the adventures ahead…

Ah, but all was not to be.

I arrived at noon which might have been the most hectic time to get there. I like smaller crowds. I like moving with care around vendors' tables. I like arriving at expos and festivals at the first morning light, when the artists are alert, spunky, and optimistic.

I arrived when all that ended, it would appear.

Also, vendor layouts proved problematic this time around—on the ground floor, one press had an entire line of tables set up for their artists, right? At the far right hand side of these tables, the press set up their most popular artist to sign autographs, sell books, talk to patrons, etc. Makes sense to place the heaviest hitter for the house at the main doors to the Toronto Reference Library, of course. However, as a result, the only place for fans to line-up for this creator extended in front of the other artists' tables. So, about seven to ten artists represented by this press were effectively blocked off from the public by a wall of fanboys. Not cool.

Also, on the second floor where most of the webcomic artists set up, TCAF opted to place Kate Beaton in the centre of the room. For those readers not familiar with the wonder of Kate Beaton, I suggest you check out Hark! A Vagrant right now. For those readers who do know of her staggering greatness and her nerd-centric comics, you will understand why it is not productive to place her in the middle of a room of vendors. In 2010, she had a corner table where a large queue of nerds could wait without blocking the tables of other artists. In 2011, fans were able to block vendors on both sides of the aisle. What the heck, folks. I was getting flashbacks to the sharp elbows of FanExpo 2010, here…

Now before I get other people decrying me for these critiques of TCAF, I do offer massive points for their inclusion of Prism Comics, a non-profit American group that promotes LGBT comics and creators.

I don't recall stumbling across or hearing about a queer-centric table at past TCAF events—for the most part, graphic novels with queer elements were dispersed throughout the crowd of vendors (which still occurred this year, of course). But still, it was a treat to browse through Prism's dedicated collection and to see that rainbow burst from a single table. Xtra! had a great article on Thursday discussing the evolution of queer comics and the trouble with censorship—and just how fantastic it is to know queer comics are both recognized and celebrated at this year's festival. Brilliant stuff, if I do say so myself.

***

I spent all of one hour at the event—the vendors I'd looked forward to visiting had no new material (??), and the crowds were making it difficult to reach tables in the first place. Again, I chalk it all down to the time I arrived there. In 2010, I was there about an hour and a half earlier and I had no trouble navigating the area.

As a consolation, I opted to revel in the warmth and walk over to my favourite little Japanese shop in Toronto—Sanko!

The Advocate and I discovered this gem on our Toronto adventure weekend in 2010, and I make as many excuses as possible to visit this place when I am idle and strolling through the city. I admit, Sanko is a far trek from all the areas I tend to inhabit in Toronto. I feel I am on a pilgrimage whenever I head over there, which just goes to prove how much I love the spot. Since I spent zero cash at TCAF, I used those funds to purchase a wicked expensive pack of green tea infused with sakura (aka. cherry blossoms) in addition to two onigiri and a bottle of iced jasmine green tea. Since we are at the end of the sakura season, the pack of loose leaf tea was a score on my part. Bah, I should have gone earlier and loaded up. Paf. I will have to make a note on my calendar for next year.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

And here we are at another Mother's Day. Plans this morning consist of A) buying an ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins (because the maternal parental has been mentioning it all week for some odd reason), and B) sending the paternal parental to a smoked meat location to pick up lunch (and a veggie sandwich for me to graze upon). We're having the grandparents over as well, so it'll be a multigenerational affair.

Actually, this Mother's Day comes with a new dynamic—the Sister is, at most, about five weeks away from having her baby. Imagine that, we are mere weeks from adding a new birthday to the calendar in our home. Our plans this afternoon involve working on the first part of baby's first birthday gift. We're going to make a movie, Moffatt-style, that documents the time before the baby arrives. I need to preface this project a touch—we tend to make strange films in our house. It more or less started with my 2008 graduation, in which the Sister filmed bizarre clips of my commencement, and the Brother edited it into an even more bizarre plot line. We have a strange sense of humour in our house, so I'm sure this child will ask us, "What on Earth were you all smoking when you made this video for me?!"

Anyway, this first part will include interviews with the grandparents (soon to be great-grandparents), my parentals (soon to be grandparentals), me and the Brother (soon to be aunt and uncle), and the expectant parents (the Sister and the Brother-in-Law). My siblings and I have only a handful of videos from our childhood—there's one from the days before the Brother arrived, and then we each have one video documenting our fifth birthdays. But yes, our plan is to let the baby know what we were all thinking about before it entered the scene and to offer it a glimpse into the excitement we are all feeling. Ah, it should be a good project, I tell you.

On that note, I am off to run my errands and to get prepped for our lunch. I hope the world is treating you well, dear reader, and I look forward to posting more content through this rebooted airport connection—YAAY!

Strange Days Lead to Strange Nights

I return -- the last crush of final assignments and panic-inducing sales conferences are finito, and I am free until January. But, last night. Oh, last night..... I can't quit you.

And by "quit you," I mean I cannot process just how events spun so off track.

Original Plans:

• Attend the last overview course, learn about scholarly publishing.
• Meet-up with all the kids from our program at 8 PM, and attend Ship Sharp's fundraising event at The Boat.

Straight-forward, right? The process was A-->B-->C, and then home again.

But no. No, no. I realize now just how much 2010 is not the Year of the Moffatt.

The Real Events:

• Drove 40 minutes to Kipling subway station to allow for a later night out. Started strolling to the underground path when I realized: Where are my keys? Imagine me pawing the window, staring at the keys nestled in the front seat cup holders.
• Called Mom so she could drive the back-up keys over. I did mention I was 40 minutes from home, right? And that I couldn't leave the car alone since the keys were so visible? And it was about -5C at that point? Did I also mention Mom has never been to the Kipling Station before? And that there are no clear signs indicating where the Kipling Station is? Did I also mention I suck at giving directions? Yep.

• Arrived downtown ten minutes late for class. Booked it across Yonge-Dundas Square where I wiped out on the pavement. And I mean wiped out. As in, four people were around me in four seconds helping me up and asking, "OHMYGOD, are you okay?!" My knee is swollen this morning.

• Ran into A and B, two girls from the program. Turns out our lecture was moved to another building, despite the fact that all night courses take place in ONE building only. None of us knew where the other room was, and a security guard offered the most confusing directions imaginable. Translation: Class is cancelled.
• Ran into K, who was also confused over the sign, but arrived later than the original group had. Decided to go to B's house to hang out before The Boat.
• Had an awesome time at B's for a few hours. Played the most cerebral version of Kings ever. Also discussed: party subs, December birthdays, how much older I am than everyone else even though I don't look it (yaaay!), how wild K's family is, how straight-laced mine is, plans for our publishing careers.

• 9 PM. B's friends still hadn't arrived. S texted B, told her he was heading out soon. Beer cut through rising nervousness, at least for a short while.
• 10 PM. B's friends arrived. No one but the publishing kids wanted to leave.
• 10:30 PM. Still trying to corral people who were at various stages of drinking/creeping sobriety. S arrived at The Boat with no one else from our program there.
• 11 PM. Managed to get people on the street. K and I were sober, everyone else was not quite. B tried to direct a crowd wandering in at least three different directions at once.
• 11:30 PM. Realized the people who said they were going to stop in at Pizza Pizza to pick up a slice were gone for 20 minutes. They sat down to eat. We were all waiting outside. Did I mention we were still on Front St. at this point? And The Boat is in Kensingtion Market area? Check out the interactive map --> here. Also, the Dundas St. W. streetcar had gone off the tracks earlier in the afternoon to add to the confusion.

• 11:45 PM. K and I split off from the group. K was exhausted, had to work the next morning at 8 AM. I had steadily lost hope for the second half of the night.
• 12:00 AM. Arrived at St. Patrick Station. Could not orient myself to the map. Realized if I made it to The Boat, I would just have to turn around to make sure I got back to Kipling Station before the trains stopped at 1:30 AM.
• 12:30 AM. Back at Kipling Station, defeated. Read a text from The Advocate asking about my whereabouts. Felt very cinematic at this point, surreal.
• 1 AM. Back home, icing my knee. Wondering how this would have looked as a bizarre, arts hauz film. Collapsed in bed.

***

In a nutshell, it was a strange night. I don't often experience strange nights like that. I felt disoriented, and not on account of the beer, either.

I had a three-hour window where the world was right.

We were all sitting around, sipping drinks, talking arrogant about the future. I was in a good place, mingling with new people who were interested in attaining the same goals as me. And the thought of connecting this new network with the established network of people from high school felt right. I was buzzing at the prospect of one artistic crowd blending with another. I'd been talking about The Boat all week, and the ladies were excited to get there and dancedancedance.

And then I watched the night unravel. I felt removed from it, oddly. I was watching the beer pounded back, I was watching the clock ticking forward, I was watching the red-and-green CN Tower lit up from B's window -- the whole scene was like a glass floor cracking under foot. I traced the lines out, and knew there wasn't a single thing I could do to stop it.

And then I knew 2011 has to be different. In all possible senses, it has to be.