>Random flicks – January 1999

>After a loooong hiatus, here beginneth 1999. Let’s all remember to party like it’s… yeah.

Turns out 1999 was a thin year for theatre-going for me.

A Civil Action, Parkway 5 Cinemas, Windsor, 10 January 1999

As with a lot of the movies I have gone to see over the years, I barely remember this one. I seem to remember Ashley Judd and Morgan Freeman in this movie – Ashely seemed to do a lot of court movies in the 90s…

…and I am completely wrong on that one. From IMDB:

The families of children who died sue two companies for dumping toxic waste: a tort so expensive to prove, the case could

bankrupt their lawyer.

Funny. I don’t remember anything about this movie. It has Travolta, Duvall, Macy, Shalhoub and Quinlan in it.

Hrm.

What I do know is that this was the day after my 23rd Birthday, and it’s a Sunday night, so I must have been bored and/or hung over for the movie.

Hm.

Varsity Blues, SiverCity Windsor, 26 January 1999

I remember this movie well, for two reasons:

1) James Van Der Beek and many, many other hot “football players.”

2) It was crap.

I don’t get how Americans obsess so completely over the most trivial things. They don’t just enjoy sports, they FUCKING LOVE THEM. I’ve been to a few professional sporting events here in Canada, and while I had a great time, I don’t recall seeing the need to devote my life and spare time to obsessing over it. Maybe I’m just non-committal that way. But the way in which Americans obsess over football is baffling to me.

It wasn’t until later in 1999 / early in 2000 that I came to realise how intense this obsession was. At the time, I was hanging around with a wingnut Canadian (who happened to be my housemate) and a couple of really cool Americans, and we ended up planning what ended up being a great roadtrip to Tampa, Florida for New Year’s. I figured that if everything did go tits-up on January 1, 2000, what better place to enjoy it than on the Gulf of Mexico? After a long, uncomfortable drive from Windsor to Tampa in a 2-seat-masquerading-as-a-4-seat Mustang convertible the wingnut housemate somehow won a 3-month lease on at work, we made it to Tampa, and it was great.

My football education (well, my education in American Obsession, really) came at the Citrus Bowl in Orlando on New Year’s Day, where Michigan State was playing the University of Florida. One of my American friends was a Michigan State alumni, which was his first obsession. The Football was his second. As Canadians, the wingnut and I didn’t get this level of obsession – even the most die-hard Hockey fans I know were not so much die-hard as die-lightly-but-only-if-I-have-to fans. We got our education in the whole culture of the game, the rivalry, the importance of the Bowl game, etc. on the way to Orlando.

The stadium is in a slum. There is no better way to put it. I was sort of expecting to not see the Mustang ever again, and I was thinking of whether or not I had enough money in my account to pay for the ticket home. But still, thousands upon thousands of people drove into the area for the game.

We were in the upper bowl. I have never seen anything like this. I was neutrally dressed, but the stadium was divided into Green on one side (Michigan State) and Orange on the other (Florida). The few Florida fans on our side looked like they were going to get killed.

It was quite the experience. Over the course of the game, I learned new songs, new chants, new moves, and by the end of it, I guess I kinda understood on a very base level what it was all about.

But I also found it sad that this was all some people aspired to. And that so much was made of it.

>Random Movies, 1998 – Part II

>Here is some more about the movies I watched in 1998.

The Avengers, SilverCity Windsor, 15 August 1998

The avengers is another in a long line of TV-to-film adaptations that really didn’t work. On paper, it really should have. Uma Thurman, Ralph Fiennes, and Sean Connery. It had star power.

What it didn’t have was a good plot. Or a good catch.

There are some movie franchises, like Bond, that have been able to roll with the punches, and maintain the original feel while sti

ll adapting to the changing times.

This didn’t manage to do that.

There’s Something About Mary, SilverCity Windsor, 1 September 1998

Cameron Diaz. Ben Stiller. The Farrelly Brothers. Spunk on your

ear.

Can you think of a better movie?

I have to imagine that puerile humour, along with some good friends, and the beginning of my 4th year of university all contributed to what made this movie so great.

By the beginning of my 4th year, I was living in an apartment with Chris, a good friend and music theatre nerd, and I had just come off the summer from hell. I can only imagine that this comedy helped me laugh away the stress from a bad summer.

It must have worked, because…

There’s Something About Mary, Palace Cinemas, Windsor, 18 September 1998

This was also about the time that I figured out what was wrong with me.

Well, I’ve always known, really, what’s wrong with me…

I have a thyroid problem – an underactive thyroid, to be precise – that I’ve been taking medication for since I can remember. As a result, I have always been a plump boy, no matter what I did.

This summer, as you may recall, was the summer I worked at a YMCA “camp” for the Windsor-Essex County Family YMCA. I worked with jackasses, for the most part, but something else contributed to my bad summer.

I stopped taking my thyroid medication.

What happens when one does this, essentially, is that your metabolism starts to slow down. I did, during the summer, notice I was tired a lot, and often went to be early so the asshats I worked with could go and do something fun, but other than that, I didn’t notice much. Except for the shin splints.

When I stop taking my meds, I often get shin splints. It’s why my calves are so big – as a kid, I often neglected to take the medication, and got the shin splint, and kept walking around anyway – I was a kid, I wanted to go places, I’m not gonna let my stupid legs stop me. That summer, I got a lot of shin splints. Still, I didn’t clue in.

When I got back to civilization and realised, hey, I should be taking some pills or something, I went to the clinic on campus and got the necessary bloodwork. I got a call a few da

ys later ordering me to come in as soon as possible.

When I walked in, the nurse brought me to the back. The doctor came in, sat down, looked at my file, looked at me, back at the file, back at me, and said:

“I am surprised you walked in here. You should be crawling around.”

Lecture lecture lecture, prescription, 3 weeks later, back to normal.

The funny (well, coincidental) thing is that my godmother died last year. I found out that she apparently died of a thyroid problem. She had gone 40 years without seeing a doctor, and in the last 10, the doctors think that her thyroid just went and she was gradually slowing down for the last 1 decade, until she finally just stopped.

Sufficed to say, I now take my meds every single day.

Pleasantville, SilverCity Windsor, 17 November 1998

This is the flick that introduced me to Toby Maguire and Reese Witherspoon.

This was also, if I am not mistaken, my first date with a boy.

For short, stocky, furry boys in Windsor, there was pretty slim pickins. I had fallen in with a group of skinny blonde boys, which was an interesting experience.

I had, however, through the miracle of the internet, met a guy in Waterloo who was cool. He had come down to visit, and we went on a date to see this movie. We shared popcorn. We held hands. It was cute.

Star Trek: Insurrection, SilverCity Windsor, 15 December 1998

I am a big Trekkie. Not huge, not own-my-own-uniform huge, but big enough that I have had conversations about the relative merits of the different ships.

I am also one of those Trek fans who thinks that there can be no wrong done when it comes to Star Trek.

And even with this less-than-stellar plot (it was really like a big episode) I really dug it.

Here Endeth 1998

>Racing Demon, Royal Alexandra Theatre, 8 October 1998

>I’m a bit baffled by this one.

I vaguely remember being at this play. I had to look up what it’s about, and it’s some sort of British Anglo-Political play about the state of the Anglican Church and the story of someone who is, from what I can gather, an Anglican priest. I, again, vaguely, recall being at the Royal Alex to see it. I got a student ticket to see it, and I am going to assume it was a rush seat as I know I had never heard of the play before. I know this because, being a Drama Kid, I have a pretty good memory of the plays I’ve read, seen, or been interested in. This is what makes this odd… It’s rare I see a play that I don’t have some recollection of.

I did some research to find out what was going on that would put me in Toronto in October of 1998. It was mid-first-semester of my 3rd year of University. I should have been in Windsor. But when I looked up the date, it all came back. October 8th is the beginning of the Thanksgiving weekend.

This is the weekend I came out to my family.

The REST of this weekend is very clear to me.

We were gearing up for a big Thanksgiving weekend Up North, so I had come in on the Thursday so I could drive up to Kirkland Lake with my aunt and her family. I guess I went to see this play, and being young and all about “the experience of theatre” I picked this one cause it was cheap, and I was probably able to get the rush seat.

The next day was the Friday, and I was out and about most of the day. I have always loved Toronto, and to have the time to wander about and see the city was always a treat. Still is.

I remember, however, coming home to my aunt’s in the afternoon, and being very very nervous. I had come out to all my friends in school back in April, at a pub (thereby hijacking my friend’s birthday celebrations), and for the months from May – October, I remember being very, very nervous that word would get home that I was a big ‘mo. Even though I was certainly closeted before coming out, it was a different feeling. When no one knew, there was no chance of being exposed. When someone knew, then it became an active quest to not let the cat out of the bag.

Plus, I didn’t want my grandmother finding out through the grapevine.

So, in the basement of my aunt’s townhouse, without any warning, I blurted:

“How do I tell Gramma that I’m gay.”

I should mention that I hadn’t actually come out to my aunt before this, so instead of getting a nice, gentle easing into the news, I vomited the information and the problem on her all at once.

She was, however, great about it. She said, Gramma loves you, it doesn’t change who you are, so I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Very solid advice. I later, of course, learned that she was having a mini freak-out inside, not because it came as a total shock, but because of the means of delivery.

So that night, we all piled into the mini-van and headed north on the 400, then on Highway 11, for the 7-hour journey into the heart of Northern Ontario.

After a harrowing drive (I discovered how anti-lock breaks work because of a near-collision with the car in front of us and the ensuing side-trip into the median grassway) we made it home.

I don’t think I have ever been so tense in my life.

On the Saturday, my aunt and the crew decided to go visit friends, so I was left alone in the house with my grandmother for the first time all weekend. I was positively nauseous. Every bad coming-out scenario ran through my head, from being kicked out to slapped to my poor grandmother dropping dead on the spot. Of course, it never crossed my mind that it might go well.

We were in the basement of the house, and my grandmother was on her hands and knees in front of the preserve cabinet, digging through the jars of preserves and pickles, trying desperately to foist whatever she could on me. My gramma loved making the preserves, but for some reason, she didn’t like eating them. There was also the problem of the Blueberry-picking-mania that had occurred some 3 or four years earlier, where she decided, in a fit of productivity, to go blueberry picking every day for a month. We were up to our ears in blueberries for years thereafter.

So Gramma was digging through the preserves, holding them up to me one-by-one asking if I wanted this one or this one or this one, and I was behind her praying that I might just pass out, because I knew this was it.

“Gramma, I have something to tell you.”

“Do you want these?”

“Gramma, I have to tell you something.”

“What about these? Alright, what is it?”

“I’m not sure how to tell you.”

“I’m going to give you these pickles too. What’s wrong.”

“Gramma, I’m gay.”

Pause.

“Do you want these blueberries?”

I stood there for a minute, reflecting on the appropriateness of the response I got to what I had just said.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“And…?”

“Well, it doesn’t change who you are, does it?”

“Well, no…”

“Well then, it’s fine. (pause, as she finally looks at me) What, did you think I was going to disown you or something?”

Cue me bursting into tears.

It was a very liberating moment. I was sort of shocked at how well she took it, and for a little while, I was very, very proud of my grandmother.

Until…

We were later upstairs, everyone had come home, and we were getting ready for dinner. It was the usual family chaos, loud voices, people running around, very much the norm for my family.

Backstory: I have taken medication for an underacting thyroid since time began.

Backstory: I had worked, the previous summer, at a summer camp, where we referred to our campers’ mediactions as “meds,” which is a term I had since adopted into my lexicon, replacing the more vulgar “pills” that we used at home.

I was in my room, looking through my bag for my thyroid medication, when I realised I had left it in Windsor.

I came out into the kitchen, announcing to the general gathering that:

“I left my meds in Windsor.”

To which Gramma replied (or rather, bellowed):

“Oh my God, you don’t have AIDS, do you?”

*sigh*

Maybe the coming out didn’t go as well as I had initially thought.

—

post script: Please visit my other blog, The Ramblings of a Stagerat, to read the companion post to this. Thanks.

>Les Miserables, Fisher Theatre, Detroit, 14 December 1997

>Ooops, out of order. Oh well.

Christmas 1997 was the first Christmas I spent away from home. Windsor is a very long way from Kirkland Lake, and after two years of hiking my butt across the province, I decided it was easier for me to just stay in Windsor. It was shaping up to me “home,” after all…

At any rate, a bunch of us from my program decided to get cheap tickets to go see a matinee of Les Miserables at the Fisher. It was my friend Monique, her then-boyfriend John, and her sister Nicole, among other people. (I seem to recall Monique and Nicole’s mom being there…?)

As much as I hate to admit it, I am a music theatre kid. I love musicals. And Les Miz was one of the shows that I knew, inside and out, all the lyrics, everything. Getting to see it for the first time with these great people in that beautiful old theatre was an amazing experience. From the opening projection to the last note on the button, I remember being on the edge of my seat.

One thing that I remember very vividly, and something I miss about being in theatre school, is the constant feeling of inspiration. Being around creative, exuberant people who love theatre as much as I did, and their creativity and talent inspiring me to write, to create. It was such a fantastic incubator, and something I have yet to experience since. It makes me wish, sometimes, that I could find that community, that place in time and space where I was busy and happy and creative and productive. I’ve tried, as best as I can, to create that experience for my students, but how do you catch lightning in a bottle?

So back I go in time to a grey, chilly day in December when I sat in the upper balcony of the Fisher Theatre in Detroit, watching and listening to a musical masterpiece with my dear friends, in the middle of my 3rd year of Theatre school, and everything was a possibility.

Good times.

>The Tragically Hip, Toledo Zoo, 22 August 1998

>I used to be a HUGE Tragically Hip fan (You will see a few Hip tickets in this blog in the time to come) and saw them as often as I could.

Toledo is about an hour away from Windsor / Detroit. Toledo is, without exception, sketchy. Even people from Detroit think it’s sketchy. And that’s saying something. Anytime I had to go near Toledo, it was done in a car with locked doors flying along the interstate as quickly as possible. This from a guy who has been to bars in some REALLY sketchy parts of Detroit.

Anyhow, Chad and I had gotten the tickets, and in a bit of creativity I am still proud of, I besmirched a Canadian Flag with the words FULLY COMPLETELY across it. I figured if I was going in behind enemy lines to see an icon of Canadianism, I had best go full-out.

So my friend and I (I forget who went, so if it was you, let me know…) went to the Zoo, but we decided to stop on the way at a Big Boy for lunch. Now, if you’ve never been to a Big Boy, it’s basically your run-of-the-mill, American eat-yourself-into-a-come kinda place. Big portions, everything is fried at least once. You know the place.

Another thing I have noticed about *some* parts of the States, particularly those in Eastern Michigan / Upper Ohio, is that the service isn’t horrible. It’s non-existent. And coming from Canada, where most people are friendly, and the service is pretty good, even when it’s bad. This woman (well, I think it was a woman. It had boobs…) was so less than interested in serving us that she came over, stared at us like we were an imposition, and then later threw the food in front of us.

What was cool was seeing car after car around us, on the road, and in the parking lot with Ontario plates. It was fantastic.

The Americans didn’t think so.

It was equally awesome to hear the Americans realise, slowly, that they were surrounded by us. And by a lot.

The concert was, of course, awesome. The Hip are an amazing band to see live, and Gord Downie, whackadoodle that he is, is a sideshow in and of himself.

Until the jackass ruined it for everyone.

You could see something small fly onto the stage, and you noticed Gord wiggle his way out of the way of the projectile, but because nothing stopped, no one noticed.

So Gord finished his song, and walked back to get a drink of whatever it was he was drinking. He came back with a small bottle.

“I remember my first mickey too.” He said, sarcastically…

But he wasn’t quite sarcastic.

“You know,” he said, looking at the bottle in his hand, “I don’t mind people having a good time at our concerts, but I don’t like people trying to hurt other people at our concerts.”

It had gotten uncomfortable. I was near the back, but you could see a small pod of the drunken douchebag and his friends laughing it up at the front of the stage. There was a general murmur from the audience. None of us had ever seen anything like this before.

Gord Downie was pissed off.

“You know, I don’t think we want fans like you at our show. You can go now.”

There are a cheer that rose from the front. Gord stood there waiting. The pod of douchebags laughed, then started yelling. Then, just over the raised arms of the crowd, I could make out a bunch of yellow coats walk over to the crowd, scuffle scuffle scuffle, then work their way towards the gate. The crowd roared louder.

Gord was clearly pleased, but still hadn’t forgiven.

“In protest to that asshole’s behaviour, I’m not going to move for the next number.”

Now, if you’ve ever been to a Hip concert, Downie “dancing” is one of the highlights.

I have to say, watching him stand there to sing, motionless, was one of the oddest concert sights I have ever seen.

>Rent, The Fisher Theatre, Detroit, 4 June 1998

>The summer of 1998 sucked.

Leading up to this year, I lived in a student house with 6 other people. It was great, until everyone decided to move out.

In the meantime, I was working for the Windsor Family YMCA as a Program Director for their Sleep-away camp.

The problem with this sleep-away camp was that, well, it wasn’t a camp.

Having worked for other YMCAs before, I was used to nice, spacious camps with cabins and whatnot. But not here.

The Windsor Family YMCA had a partnership with Hillman Marsh, an Essex Region Conservation Authority park. It is a marsh. Not a lake. There were no cabins. There was one building used for administration and another used for the mess hall / arts and crafts / general assembly area. The kids slept in tents.

It was not a camp.

There were six staff… The Camp Director, who was this girl named Erin who was really great. There was me, the Program Director. There were two (count ’em, two) counsellors / Lifeguards, and one program person. Oh, and one cook.

The problem, however, was this: The staff was held together by Erin, who was fantastic, but who was also a Chemistry major at UWindsor and looking for a more practical job. Which, of course, she got. Which brought in Peter, a very nice guy who had, from what I recall, very little leadership ability.

Sufficed to say, things went to shit pretty quickly. The one lifeguard was a complete douchebag, the Director spent most of his time cooking dinner (yes, you will recall, we already had a cook), and there was a small-scale rebellion against me because I was, as the staff put it, a “tight-ass.” This was because I made them wear life jackets in the canoes and wouldn’t let them show off during archery by shooting 3 arrows at once from the same bow.

So where does Rent come in?

In university, there was a bit of a 3-Musketeer thing going on. My two best friends were Christian and Chris, both Music Theatre Majors, both awesome guys. At this point, however, we were still in the infancy stages of our friendship.

Chris knew a) I loved Rent, b) I was effing miserable in this job, and c) I was broke.

Chris bought me the ticket, and took me out the night I was home on a break.

It was the first time I had seen the show, and we were so high up, we missed the entire “Take Me Out Tonight” number as it’s done on the top of the set. Mimi fad fabulous boots, though.

Shortly thereafter, I took the spare room in Chris’ apartment, and over the next year, we had a great time.

And on the typical Theatre Student phone message, I got to sing Mark =)

>Random Movies, 1998

>While going to see plays seems to evoke more memories, with a stronger sense of the 5W’s, my memory of going to the movies is… thinner. Truthfully, I looked at some of the ticket stubs from years ago and thought “Wait, did I see that movie?” Apparently I did, cause I have to stubs. So…

SpiceWorld, Silvercity Windsor, January 28, 1998

I’d like to file this one in my “If there was ever any doubt I was gay…” file. I remember seeing it. I seem to remember going with two friends, Jen and Danielle. I remember being really psyched to see it. I also remember that, at the time, I enjoyed it. But does SpiceWorld hold up over time?

I honestly have no intention of finding out.

Side note: In retrospect, I think that after seeing this movie, I sorta decided it was time to come out, although it took me nearly 4 months to get on with it after this. No, I didn’t come out because of the Spice Girls (although I’m sure that many, many other queers did. I mean, come on, they’re the Spice Girls) but seeing as it was right after my birthday, I remember consciously making the decision that yes, it was time to get out of the closet.

The Wedding Singer, Parkway 5, Windsor, March 17, 1998

I still love The Wedding Singer. I am not a huge Adam Sandler fan, really (although this and Mr. Deeds are some pretty awesome flicks) but there was something about the story, Sandler, and, let’s be honest, Drew Barrymore that just made you love this movie.

Again, I can’t say I remember who I saw the movie with, or under what context, but it’s a show I thoroughly enjoy.

Mercury Rising, The Palace, Windsor, April 11, 1998

Talk about your memory loss. I had to actually look this movie up:

Mercury Rising is a 1998 American action thriller film starring Bruce Willis and Alec Baldwin. Directed by Harold Becker, the movie is based on Ryne Douglas Pearson‘s 1996 novel originally published as Simple Simon. Willis plays Art Jeffries, an undercover FBIagent who protects a nine year old boy with autism who is targeted by government assassinsafter cracking a top secret government code.

…I still don’t remember this movie.

Titanic, SilverCity Windsor, April 20, 1998

Hi, my name is Shawn, and I am $6 responsible for James Cameron.

I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

The Big Hit, The Palace, Windsor, April 25, 1998

Another movie I can barely remember. I think it had Mark Wahlberg in it, and I seem to recall it being some sort of gang movie. I’m doing this from memory (such as it is) before I look it up on Wikipedia…

…RIIIIIIIGHT… I remember it now.

It was fun.

Wow, 3 movies in April. I wonder what I was so bored about… exams maybe?

…There’s a bit of a movie break here, so I’ll come back to the latter half of ’98 later.

>Ottawa 1997

>

The summer of 1997 was a seminal summer in my young life. That summer, I was hired to be a Site Interpreter / Guide Interprete for the Discover the Hill / Decouvrir la Colline program in Ottawa. That summer, I lived in Nepean with my old high school friends, Joel and his sister Mandy, and worked for the National Capital Commission as a tour guide on the grounds of Parliament Hill. It was fantastic, not least of all because of all the great events I got to attend. Here are some stubs:

I have been a fan of Great Big Sea since 1994, when I was introduced to them on my cross-Canada tour. This was my first opportunity to see them live – it was at Major’s Hill Park, which is the huge park behind the Chateau Laurier across from Parliament Hill.

I believe I went with Joel to see this concert, and I do remember being firmly planted behind a tree, so all I could so was see flashes of the band and hear the music. It was still a fantastic time – great music, wonderful people, and one of Canada’s best bands, hands down.

Another amazing event was getting to see Angels in America at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa. Angels in America is a Pulitzer Prize winning play that chronicles the AIDS epidemic in the US in the 1990s.

Now in July 1997, I was a year away from coming out. I remember going to see the play on my own, mainly because I thought that by asking someone to go with me, I might be admitting I was gay, which I wasn’t prepared to do yet. It was still an emotional, changing experience, both from a theatrical standpoint, and from a pre-gay standpoint.

The next day, however, was an awakening of a different sort.

This was the day I discovered The Arrogant Worms.

If you don’t know who The Arrogant Worms are, you are missing one of the best Comedy Bands in Canada, and you need to look them up and buy their albums now.

Now, although the ticket lists Lorne Elliott as the act, the Worms were opening for them. I went on the advice of a coworker, and didn’t know what to expect. I noticed that there were many odd-looking people around (well, odd for this part of Ottawa, at any rate). Then these three average-to-nerdy looking guys came on stage (the show was at the Astrolabe Theatre, which is on top of Nepean Point, between the Ottawa River and the National Gallery – it has the statue of Champlain with the upside-down astrolabe) and start to rock it. I think I wet myself laughing. The best part of the Worms experience is how participatory their music is (whether they meant it or not). I had loved them ever since.

>Ragtime, Ford Centre for the Performing Arts, Toronto, December 27, 1996

>After my Grandfather died in May of 1995, Christmas wasn’t great around our place. My Grandmother and I spent Christmas of 1995 at home, as it was my first Christmas home from University.

For Christmas of 1996, we decided that it would be easier if we met in the middle, and spent Christmas at my Aunt Linda’s in Etobicoke. It was… interesting.

For my gramma’s Christmas present, I bought us tickets to see Ragtime at what was then the Ford Centre for the Performing Arts (since then, the North York Centre for the Arts, and now the Toronto Centre for the Arts). It was an exciting time in Toronto theatre – LiveEnt hadn’t yet bit it, and Toronto was considered a major player in the world theatre scene. Ragtime was a first – it was an original musical, developed entirely here in Toronto, and it was a huge deal. As a Drama nerd (and by this time, student), I was ecstatic to go see it.

My gramma, however was not.

This was the first time I realised that the only reason my gramma went to see any theatre at all was because I was in it. We had a nice time, but my gramma was significantly underwhelmed by the whole experience.

>Napoleon, Elgin Theatre, May 11, 1994

>From January – May of 1994, I took a semester off of school to work for a non-profit youth agency called Generation 2000. Check out my other blog (Ramblings of a Stagerat) for more info on that…

At the end of the tour, I “lived” in Toronto for about a month. It was my first foray into “living” in Toronto, and although I was “living” in my aunt’s basement on the couch, it felt amazing to be 18 and “on my own.” I use the quotes as, in retrospect, I was merely on an extended vacation and my Aunt is a woman who was always very watchful.

I used to be friends with a woman who worked as the office administrator for the Gardiner Museum of Ceramic Art, and since I didn’t really have a job, I would harass her. One day, comp tickets for a new Canadian musical, Napoleon, came across her desk, and she gave one to me.

Napoleon was about, of course, Napoleon. It was a new Canadian musical, at a time when, to my recollection, not many new Canadian musicals were being made – it was the height of the whole Phantom of the Opera and LiveEnt era in Toronto theatre, and there wasn’t much else in town to compete. Napoleon was at the Elgin, which in and of itself is a venue to see. The musical, to my recollection, was pretty good. There was am amusing trio of woman who acted as the Chorus, singing and gossiping about what was going on in France between the numbers. I have an especially vivid memory of a beautifully sung line by the woman playing Josephine while she tried to court him – acappella, she sang “Stay the night….” and it was wonderful.

The other thing I remember was the set. Well, the set at the end of the play. While Napoleon was crossing the Alps, the stage rose and fell to represent the mountains, which I thought was amazing to see – I had never seen anything like it. I also recall the stage moving at the end as Napoleon walked off into the distance.

The play didn’t last long – the reason the tickets were comped was because it was getting awful reviews and no one was going to see it. In my 18-year-old mind, however, it was wonderful, and I remember thinking, wow, I could do this…