Yesterday I turned my hair pink again, ate an almond dream bar from Live ( a kickass raw-vegan restaurant), and spent my evening hanging out at the Trash Palace. The Trash Palace is an absolutely amazing underground cinema that I discovered when it was used as the venue for the launch of Derek McCormack's The Smow that Smells. Last night, we watched Flatfoot, a dubbed, 16mm cop movie equivalent of a speghtetti western. It was 3 amazing reels of a very fat man slap-fighting skinny criminals, eating spaghetti, and dispaying his hairy chest for all to see. Then, as a bonus, we watched an ancient episode of Hammy the Hamster.

All this takes place in a crazy little basement cinema that doubles as a printing studio and seems to be made, papier-mache style, out of old movie posters, decaying props, and action figures. The two guys who appeat to be in charge are called Stacey and The Mouth. There is popcorn, Pabst Blue Ribbon, shots of JD, even homemade chocolate chip cookies. It's a place that seems to have been pulled directly out of the darker, MST3K-er recesses of my brain.

Now I'm mildly hungover -- one of those hangovers that has more to do with a vague feeling of delicacy rather than pukiness or a pounding headache, and as such is almost pleasant. I am trying to determine how much of a suck I am -- do I stay in my pajamas, do my marking early, and take a series of naps today? Or do I actually put on some pants and venture out into the world, maybe become better acquainted with a new neighbouthood? Either way, I really need to get this pink off my forehead. The dye never stays exactly where you need it to.

I've been neglecting this blog a bit, which is a shame, something I'd like to correct. The last few weeks have been important in a thousand tiny ways. My bosses seem to love me and my contract was renewed, which means that I not only have an income guaranteed until the end of January, but also that I am succeeding (in whatever small way) at the most rewarding job I've ever had.

The job joy helps, of course, but it's more than that. Little wonderful things have been happening every day. My roommates are some of the best friends I have ever had, and are more loving and considerate and supportive than I knew was possible. The leaves are toasted all buttery warm and I can still get by with my lightest jacket. Yesterday, while leaving work, I found a dragonfly on the sidewalk, probably nearing the end of its life. I picked it up for a moment, let's its prickly feet grip my skin, felt the cellophane delicacy of its wings. A young man walked by me, pink-haired and punky and holding a huge bug, and actually smiled at me. There is so much smiling.

Labels: Toronto