Posts from — March 2011

This weekend Michelle’s parents were visiting from New York, so we decided to give them our very own VIP treatment.

Michelle spent the better part of the beginning of the year curating an exhibition at the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives to celebrate the 100th Anniversary of International Women’s Day. Michelle and her fellow curator Roberta Wiseman had designed the space to resemble a women’s centre like the kind in which I first cut my feminist teeth when I was but a wee thing, with bulletin boards, posters, banners, and slogans painted on the wall. It opened on March 3rd with a great reception—cookies and tea were involved.

As a dedicated volunteer to the Archive and recently a lead archivist, Michelle has the keys to the kingdom. Quite literally, she has a key to get into the Archive during off-hours. So we decided to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon treating her folks to a private viewing of the exhibition. They were suitably impressed.

Michelle gave them a tour of the CLGA’s lovely new abode, a gorgeous Edwardian Italianate on Isabella Street. Being history, art, and architecture buffs, the folks were well pleased with the space and the collection. Michelle’s exhibition is on until May 12th at the CLGA, 34 Isabella Street. I encourage you to check it out.

Just around the corner on Church, there is a little gallery called Akasha Art Projects that I happened to know was going to be having an opening that afternoon. The owners are two lovely women, artists themselves, originally from Vancouver, who had done much of the framing for Michelle’s exhibition, and I had been over to the gallery to see their last show. This new opening was a solo exhibition of photography by Marni Grossman, a West Coast artist who captures the evocative, often ethereal landscapes of the Pacific Northwest.

Mama Schwartz was captivated both by the images themselves and by the pigment printing process the artist had used, giving the photographs an almost painted feel. I myself was transported back to my earliest youth, when these very landscapes made up the world around me. It was a dramatic exhibition and the folks were thrilled. And once again, I recommend anyone in the Toronto area visit Akasha Art Projects to see the gallery—upstairs at 511 Church Street.

Having whet our appetites with our art expeditions, we were ready to find some food. Every time the folks come to town, we are charged with the task of finding a new and suitably expensive place at which to let them treat us to dinner. If it doesn’t break the bank enough, they accuse us of being too proud to accept their generosity. The truth is that the finer dining places in town can be pretty short of vegetarian options, though, so we try to go for a nice middle ground—something romantic enough to suit their fancy for the fancy, but nothing too terribly upscale.

This time we had chosen a place in Little Italy that had an enticing menu for all parties. However, when we arrived without a reservation, it turned out that the tables were all booked. The maître d hesitated for a moment, and then informed us that the restaurant had a special private members’ lounge upstairs. As no members had yet arrived, he didn’t see why he couldn’t seat us there, as long as we didn’t tell anyone. Thus, I am not going to tell you the name of this establishment. I made a promise to a fella.

He led us out back outside and over to a door a distance down the street. It had a little grated window on it, and I was momentarily thrilled at the prospect that we would be made privy to some sort of speakeasy code word to gain entrance, but it turns out that the maître d had a fob key that did the trick. Modern times, man. What will they think of next?

We were led upstairs to a quiet, comfortable booth in a dimly lit room. The server brought over bread and menus, leaving us to get settled. I opened the menu to find a list of club rules. It was fantastic. Apparently this private club was one for appreciators of fine spirits and cocktails. There were the expected don’t-pass-your-membership-card-around kinds of rules, along with more prescriptive fellas-please-don’t-hit-on-the-ladies and don’t-get-too-drunk admonitions. But my favourites included the rule about people under the age of 25 having to be accompanied by an adult and not ordering generic drinks that you probably heard about on a TV show.

Incredible. We were greatly amused. The room soon began to fill with those fine spirit aficionados, but nonetheless, we were never rushed through our dinner. The service was second to none. Even when they brought me a dish I hadn’t ordered, resulting in my having to wait for my meal while the others began to eat, the server was quick to make up for the mistake by offering us extra wine. I’ll take that! In the end the food was delicious and the ambience quite impressive.

So we enjoyed our visit to the secret little speakeasy—truly the most accidental of my VIP experiences to date!—and will very likely be returning to that restaurant, although I suspect that the next time we’ll be sitting in the dining room with the regular folk. Note to self: reservations required.

Last night I was treated to some serious VIP indulgence at a chic new club on Richmond Street that my best boyfriend Mike Chalut is helping to launch, Black Moon. I don’t think I have yet witnessed the kind of star treatment that I received last night from everyone involved.

Now, Black Moon actually opened its doors a few months ago, but due to its location and possibly some lack in promotion, it has remained relatively under the radar. It is just off of the main Richmond Street bar strip, and I am not sure it was consistently open. Well, with Canada’s VIP Host Mike Chalut on the job, that’s about to change. Mike has a knack for filling up a place, and with his expertise added to exceptional service and unbelievable cuisine, I am predicting lineups around the corner for this one.

I was feeling extra special about this invitation. The re-launch of Black Moon is actually not until next week. Mike has arranged a media launch with some very prominent folks on the guest list. But last night he was throwing a private party for one of his best girlfriends, so he invited my partner and me for a private dinner to preview the place, even before the media. That guy really knows how to make me feel like a special super-duper-VIP.

And the place did not disappoint. The moment we walked through the door, Michelle and I were treated to drinks and shown to a private table near the window. My first impression of the place could be summed up in four words: absolutely, stunningly, breathtakingly gorgeous. It’s an intimate little lounge, with the perfect lighting to give you the feeling of privacy while still maximizing the space. Sheer curtains provide some separation in the room without obstructing or cluttering the place. And a bright globe of lights over the bar draws attention away from the fluorescents of the business strip buildings outside the window and back to where it should be directed.

I was fortunate enough to have a conversation with one of the owners, Amir Azizi, who took the time to come out and sit with us for awhile to talk about the restaurant. He still has some changes in mind, but he seemed pretty satisfied with how the room is shaping up. He was polite and made it very clear to us that we were to be taken care of this evening. I’m telling you: super-duper star treatment!

The server soon came by with the bread course—gorgeously presented, and with olive oil and balsamic infused with Parmesan. It’s always the simple things that impress me.

Then came the vegetarian dishes. I am a vegetarian with an aversion to mushrooms, so I am aware that when I go to restaurant openings, particularly in fine dining establishments, I will be lucky if I see anything beyond the bread course that will meet my tastes. But the head chef, Kai Zyganiuk, had been made aware of my dietary restrictions, and had made some beautiful tasting dishes for me.

First came a dish of heirloom tomatoes with baby greens and herbs, drizzled with olive oil and sunflower seeds. Delicious. And then came a second dish with roasted asparagus topped with julienne tomato, shaved Parmesan, fresh basil, and truffle oil, flanked by what I considered the pièce de resistance: freshly made ricotta cheese, locally acquired in Toronto’s own Little Italy, wrapped in bok choy, with porcini mushrooms. I know I said I don’t like mushrooms, but you know, I think Kai Zyganiuk may just be the man to change my mind about that. It was veritable food porn.

Then came the pasta course, a trofie pasta with tender, pulled chicken and a pistou porcini sauce. I had only a small bite of a chicken-free part, and it was very good. I assigned Michelle the role of tasting all meat-and-fish dishes, a duty which she carried out with relish. She was impressed with the pasta. It wasn’t quite as al dente as she prefers, but even she admits that she likes her pasta practically raw. From my one bite, I would say it was just about perfect.

After the pasta course, Mike invited me back to the kitchen to meet Kai in person and to see the chef in action. They were busy preparing the salmon dish. It’s a tight space, and they’re running a tight ship back there. Kai explained to me some of what he put into the meals—the man is nothing short of an artist.

I was also introduced to Abdi Ghotb, Black Moon’s other owner, who was on the line along with Kai and the other cooks making the magic happen. I was impressed to see a restaurateur involved in the actual workings of the restaurant. In my own past experience as a cook, restaurant owners were often removed from the day-to-day operation of the restaurant. Mr. Ghotb is both owner and chef, and I think his passion for the place comes through.

Soon the salmon was brought out to the table, atop a bed of delicately braised vegetables. Michelle once again took over the role of official food taster, and she was instantly in ecstasy. Now, I should tell you that Michelle is extremely picky about salmon. It is often served too undercooked for her comfort level, or else dried out from overcooking. This filet, she reported from between orgasmic bites, was grilled to absolute perfection. It was topped with a mild, slightly sweet grilling sauce that made a pleasant contrast to the savoury vegetables. She was in heaven.

There were other dishes on offer, but at this point were both more than sated with what we had been served. Kai made a point of coming out to speak to us about the meal. He was concerned that as a vegetarian I would be leaving his restaurant hungry, and asked if there was anything more he could do for me. I happily reassured him that I had been well-treated, but I certainly appreciated the special care he took to be sure of my satisfaction.

We enjoyed a few more drinks and just soaked up the atmosphere for awhile. The always fabulous Manny Mark, a consultant to Black Moon’s re-launch, sat with us for a bit and talked about how they plan to overcome some of the issues that the lounge had suffered in the past. The bar is exactly one short block from Old City Hall, right beside Sterling Tower and the surrounding Bay and Richmond businesses, and thus will make the perfect spot for a business lunch or let’s-knock-off-early drinks. And with the right host welcoming people in, it will make a swank weekend hotspot.

Even as we sat there I noticed on multiple occasions passersby taking notice of the place, peering through the window and trying to get a fix on what was going on inside. Even at this private party there were some local celebrities in attendance. Interest is already generating. It’s gonna be hot. Trust me.

Near the end of our evening, a distinguished and jovial gent in a very expensive suit took a shine to Michelle and demanded that we have a few vodka shots with him. He didn’t seem like the type who would take no for an answer in this kind of situation, so we took him up on his kindness and joined the party at the bar. There was a great vibe, people just having a good time with each other. We tottered out after a couple of shots. No need to let things get out of hand. We were full and a bit buzzed and happily satisfied with the evening.

Black Moon is opening with a public launch on Friday, March 25. If you’re in Toronto and you want to get in early on what I think is going to something of a phenomenon, check it out: it’s at 67 Richmond Street West, and you can RSVP with my man Mike Chalut: chalut@rogers.ca. I highly recommend you make that reservation.

So in addition to granting me admission to the seminars and awards ceremonies of Canadian Music Week, my very own delegate’s pass also gave me line-bypass status to all of the gigs and concerts that make up the accompanying Canadian Music Festival. I was almost as stoked for this pass as I was for the Crystal Awards. As you may recall from my foray to NXNE last summer, I do enjoy a free passport into all of the music events I can handle.

And man oh man, was there a lot going on in Toronto last week. Sammy Hagar was here, Melissa Etheridge, Janet Jackson…it was out of the park. Of course, I wasn’t interested in any of those people. I was interested in one name : JD Samson.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Little Queer Station That Could kicked off Canadian Music Week with a queer showcase at the Gladstone. I was a bit late, so I missed out on Kevin Wong, although I heard he put on a fantastic show.

I did make it in time to catch Chris Velan, and I was thankful I did. If you like indie folk rock in the vein of Wilco, Ryan Adams, or Sufjan Stevens, you’re gonna dig this guy. I was really into him.

It was a bit odd that Creature was the act to follow; their music really didn’t fit into the more acoustic indie sound of some of the other bands of the night. But who am I kidding? I didn’t care—they were the band I came out to see. And they were well worth it. They have just enough sass and attitude on stage to keep things entertaining without becoming a stereotype of queer camp. So much fun! I think I danced three inches of my ass off. I would have danced the entire ass off, but they had just the one-hour set, and I had to save some of it for JD Samson. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
Brigitte Bardot

I was going to have to get up early the next morning for those Crystal Awards, so I just couldn’t stay for Gentleman Reg. I have seen him numerous times before; he’s kind of that indie-guy-about-town—he’s everywhere. And for good reason. As my buddy Acey Rowe said about it, “If you haven’t seen Gentlemen Reg live, chances are you’re not a real Torontonian. Kind of like if you haven’t killed a cockroach with your bare hand or had a heart attack at Yonge and Dundas induced by the ‘BELIEVE IN THE LORD!’ guy… Seeing a Gentlemen Reg show is the best and most enjoyable way to confirm your Torontonian status.”

The next day, of course, I won that Crystal Award—you know, no big whoop—so I spent the rest of the day celebrating with my co-winner, other staff from our radio group, and pretty much anyone who would raise a toast with me, and consequently I didn’t actually make it out to any gigs. Oops.

And after all of that celebrating, I had to get up even earlier on Friday morning for the Trailblazers’ Breakfast, celebrating women in radio. It took about everything I had to put on my best networking face and schmooze with some very intelligent women in the business. I was pretty much dead set on going home after work and skipping out on the gigs I had planned to see that night. They were with bands I had never heard of before, and as much as I like to discover new music, I like catching up on my sleep even more.

But then that thing happened. You know the thing where a friend updates Facebook with plans to see a gig you hadn’t been aware was going to be going on, and it’s a band you checked out for the first time at last year’s NXNE and you really loved them and no amount of hungover sleep-deprivation is going to stop you from seeing them again? That thing.

In this case the band in question was The Pack A.D.—Vancouver’s dykey answer to the White Stripes and the Black Keys. As soon as we heard they were playing, Michelle and I switched gears from tired and lazy to awesome and fantastic and excited. We got our gear on and headed down to meet some friends at the Bovine, a Queen Street institution that has been around for about 20 years now. Its façade is decorated with a mass of rusted bicycles, hub caps, and various assorted yard tools in a bizarre sculpture. You can’t miss it.

Interesting as it is to look at, it’s a narrow and dank space inside, and it’s always inevitably filled with punk and metal boys, which can be a pain in the butt—literally. We managed to get to the front of the stage for The Pack, but we were so wedged in that I could practically feel the bulge of the fella behind me wedging itself into my…well, my behind. It wasn’t pleasant.

Nonetheless, the show was awesome. There wasn’t much room to dance, but I did my best to rock out. The hotness of Becky Black makes up for a lot of discomfort. We stuck around for their set and then headed out to other, roomier bars in which to find libations.
Cobra Matte

And Saturday was the day I had been looking forward to from the moment I looked at the CMW lineup. I have finally caught up with myself! Saturday was all about JD SAMSON. Specifically, MEN was going to be playing at Sneaky Dee’s. My love for JD stems from my love for Le Tigre, which itself stemmed from my love for Bikini Kill and Kathleen Hanna. There was a time in my life when I believed that Bikini Kill was the best band ever to have existed in history. That time was last week. It comes and goes, actually. From time to time I really need to scream out all of my feminist rage.

And at other times, I just really need to dance. Saturday was one of the latter times. Let me tell you, MEN provided everything I needed to do just that. Great beats, great energy, and great lyrics—the whole package. In fact, they even covered a Bikini Kill song! My brain would have exploded if I hadn’t been busy dancing the remaining inches of my ass off. It was fan-freaking-tastic!

After the show, I made my way up to the front, where JD was striking the stage in preparation for the next act. I screwed up all of my courage to squeak out that I worked in radio and would really like it if she would like to contact us whenever she was in town. She nodded, took my card, and said, “Thanks, I will.” I turned into a thirteen-year-old fangirl and *died*.
Off Our Backs

I pulled myself together and made my way over to El Mocambo, where Acey’s derby team was having a fundraising dance party. If there was anything left of my ass to dance off, I did so there. My friends arm-wrestled derby girls with varying levels of success, and we spent about four hours on that dance floor. It was the perfect way to cap off the festival.

I don’t know if it was because it was past four in the morning when I got home, if it was the beer I drank, or if it was the fact that I had danced parts of my body into oblivion, but on my way back to my humble abode at last, I managed to fall up the stairs. What I can tell you about that is that it sure beats falling down.

It was time to call it a night, and you know, I’ll also call it one of the best weeks I have enjoyed in a good long time.

Let me begin by wishing myself a happy anniversary! This week marks one year since I began as a copywriter for my Little Queer Radio Station That Could. Or writing radio copy at all, really, because before that I was writing lifestyle content pieces for one of the other radio stations owned by the company. The Creative Director for the Top 40 and Adult Contemporary stations was leaving, and they needed a writer to fill a position, so they gave me a try. It was a busy time and a tumultuous transition—basically they threw me in the water and hoped I could swim.

My being queer made me a logical choice to fill the role at the Little Queer Station That Could, located downtown in a separate studio and office from the radio group’s headquarters. I had been hoping to make my way over to the queer station since I started at the company—the people there just seemed to have a lot more fun. So I was smitten.

About two days into my tenure as a copywriter, I was handed someone else’s delegate pass and sent to learn the ropes at a series of seminars and panels at Canadian Music Week, an industry event that brings together record labels, artists, radio stations, and reps from all over the globe to share ideas and knowledge about all facets of the music world. I took fastidious notes and filled my head with ideas for taking over the creative world. I also got to attend the gala lunch for the Crystals, an awards ceremony honouring the top creative from all of Canadian radio.

As I sat listening to the year’s finalists, I thought to myself, I can do this. I made a pretty lofty goal for myself at that luncheon: next year, I was going to be among those honourees. I didn’t care if I was an honourable mention or a gold winner, I was going to be invited to this event instead of sneaking into the gala under an assumed identity.

Copywriting turned out to be a steeper learning curve than I had initially anticipated. Between client demands, time constraints, and talent diva-tude, there are a lot of potholes to manoeuvre on the road to the Perfect Commercial. My Programming Director is not always exactly the most forthcoming with praise (for which I can’t really fault him—he has high standards and maintains faith that we can meet them, which is actually a compliment…sorta…right?), and my own creativity could wane sometimes when faced with ways to make plastic surgery sound like something that isn’t totally against everything I ever believed in. Let me tell you, selling out is a buzz-kill.

But in October, there was a promotional opportunity that came up that was very close to my heart: International Coming Out Day. There was no sell to this promo; we just wanted to draw attention to the idea of coming out and drive people to our website. Given the last year’s rash of queer suicides, we felt it was a timely and necessary message that reached beyond just our core audience, but to the wider community.

The PD had an idea to have someone come out on air, maybe with some prizing, but that idea was soon shot down. There were just too many ways it could go terribly wrong. Instead, my BFF Producer Jonathan and I thought we could just have staff members tell their coming out stories, and invite listeners to share theirs with us via email. It was a celebration of our stories and a call to action.

Still, there were members of the staff that wanted to kill the promo. They didn’t like the idea of coming out; they didn’t see why it was relevant or necessary. Some of them were disinclined to talk about their experiences and didn’t understand why anyone else would want to do so. I am inclined to believe that they remembered what it felt like to be told not to flaunt their sexuality, and they had internalized the admonition. I understand that position. Hell, I lived it for my entire early life, and even now I have trouble holding my partner’s hand when I return to my conservative hometown. All of this only makes my position on the matter even more adamant: our stories are important because when we share them with each other we feel less alone, and with any luck we love ourselves a little more.

Jonathan and I really went to bat for this one. We believed in the message and we believed that we had the ability to treat the event with dignity and respect even while promoting the radio station. After no small amount of debate, we received approval from the right people and went ahead. I gathered together some of the staff members who were willing to talk about their coming out experiences, and Jonathan recorded them. I wrote a promo that spoke to the idea of coming out as a powerful and personal decision. We invited the community to join us in sharing in the celebration. We put everything we had into this promo.

Photo Credit: loudervoice

Early in January, I was walking by our Music Director’s office to let a guest into the office, and I heard him casually say, “Congratulations, stark.” I was like, “What’s that now?” He showed me the email he had just received. The first line read: “On behalf of the 2011 Crystal Awards Committee, congratulations! The entry you submitted has been selected as a Finalist for a 2011 Crystal Award…”

And I think it was at that moment that my mind blew up.

I burst into the studio to let Acey, the afternoon co-host, know that her guest, a local restaurateur, had arrived, and I fairly screamed out the name of the guy in my excitement. Acey was a bit confused as to why I was quite so ecstatic about this guest, but she responded goodnaturedly, “Great!” And then I told her about the email and she jumped into my arms and squealed. Acey’s pretty cute, so it was a good day to be stark.

I spent the next two months trying not to get too excited. I had already achieved my goal to be invited to the Crystals as a finalist, and that in my first year in this particular leg of my career. I felt already like I had won.

But still, you know, I had some hopes. I wanted to bring home a Crystal. It wouldn’t just look good on my resumé. It would make me feel like I had really found something that I was doing well. So I bided my time until Canadian Music Week, when the Crystals Gala Luncheon would take place.

Last Tuesday the tickets and passes for CMW came in at last. This year I didn’t have to go as Alex McDonald from programming; I had my very own delegate pass! I am thrilled by small things. The Crystals were going to be awarded on Thursday. Jonathan and I made plans to coordinate our outfits to be as fabulous as possible, and when we met that morning, I have to say, we made a pretty sexy coupla queers.

We were nervous as hell and drinking all the wine that we could coax out of the server. He was already somewhat disdainful of me after I had demonstrated my inability to choose the correct fork for the salad—I’m not used to $130-a-head lunches after all—so he gave us a bit of the stink-eye, but what can you do, the wine was a necessity for two reasons:

1. We were, as I said, nervous as hell.
2. The comedian they had hired to emcee the event was awful.

Thus, wine was required. In copious amounts.

We sat with our PD and shared a table with some other folks, including someone who admitted that he had been part of the independent judging committee that had looked at the radio promotion campaigns. He said to us, “You know, I shouldn’t probably be talking about this, but I remember your promo. It immediately stood out from all of the others.” That was promising news!

Our category came up and we awaited the verdict in anticipation… I swear I sweat half my weight in the ten seconds it took the emcee to introduce the category name.

I heard him announce it through the pounding of blood pulsing in my ears: We won Bronze! Out of around 500 entries from all across Canada, our little queer promo from our Little Queer Station That Could came in third. I was ecstatic!

The PD was not. In fact, his first response was to mutter, “Fuck!” He later apologized and allowed that it was actually a great achievement. He just thought that we deserved gold. I did, too, but I was less inclined to be put off by petty details. Hello, top three in all of Canada. And this from a couple of first-timers at a 50-watt radio station! I am quite satisfied with that status.

…For now. Next year the goal is GOLD.

If there was anything we did all year for which we could have been recognized, I personally am so proud that it was this promo. Jonathan and I fought hard for this thing to happen, and we put our blood, sweat, and other various bodily fluids into making it happen. I am so honoured, I have been beaming for three days straight. I’m a Crystal Award Winner!

International Coming Out Day Promo