Music Memories: Garbage

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHrRBqMy-0Q?rel=0&w=480&h=390]

This musical memory isn’t really for all music by Garbage but rather one particular song “I’m only happy when it rains.” For some reason, the summer after my first year at Uni, we listened to that song on repeat and it became our anthem.

It actually brings back one weekend at the lake. We were staying at my friend Brad’s acreage in a trailer his parents had out there. We went joyriding on quads and went down to the lake for a look see but it was pretty dismal the whole day hence way “I’m only happy when it rains became a song on heavy repeat. As it turned to night, we cracked open the beers (as you do when you’re barely 20 and at a cabin (of sorts) party. Brad was putting on the moves and went to kiss me but I had one too many beers. Not good.

Now I don’t like getting sick in front of people - whether this is due to stomach flu or due to a situation of my own making. So, as I had a habit of at that time, I disappeared which meant, on this occasion, I crawled into the woods behind the trailer and lay under a bush. I was like an animal gone off to die in the woods.

It didn’t take long for people to notice I was missing. As we were close to the lake and I’d had a lot to drink, my friends worried that I decided to go to the lake. What if I fell in and drowned? So a wide scale search began. I, in my drunken mind, didn’t want to be found until I felt better so I stayed hidden under the bush. Someone walked within maybe 5 feet of me calling my name but I didn’t make a peep. The voices disappeared in the distance and I staggered out of the woods and crawled into one of the single beds in the trailer. One that I was specifically told was already taken and I couldn’t have. But, I can honestly say, this did not cross my mind.

Turns out the bed was meant to be Brad’s. He was mighty pissed off that He had just spent an hour looking for me and then came back to find that I had stolen his bed. I couldn’t be moved so with a frustrated huff, he pulled the pillow from under my head and stomped into the next room. Let’s just say he didn’t make any moves again and our about to be kiss was never attempted again.

Music Memories: Beastie Boys

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBShN8qT4lk?rel=0&w=480&h=390]

When I was in University, I applied for a job posting to work in the post office. I was hired on the spot and was scheduled to work Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to start the following week. I turned up at my scheduled time and my new boss started walking OUT of the post office. What?


I diligently followed and she walked me into the arcade next door. For some reason, one that wasn’t clear on the job posting, the job I actually got was to be the quarter girl at the campus arcade and pool hall. She introduced me to what I guess you’d deem a Skater Boy named John. He showed me the ropes. How to work the pool table computer system, how to unstick the air hockey if a puck got stuck (you’d lift one end and drop it. Fixed.) and how if you didn’t abuse it, you could get a free Nantucket Nectars drink and a packet of crisps if you said a machine ate someone’s money and you had to give a refund. The tank game always ate Loonies so it was prime target for our free snack abuse.

The next shift was to be on my own. As a tomboy, I was comfortable around the massive amounts of testosterone and video games. And I could read on the job, or stare at the boys, most of whom were sport majors as the gym was right across from the student union where the arcade was.

When I arrived, there was a note from John. It was hilarious and totally put me at ease. And best of all it was filled with Beastie Boy lyrics. And that day marked the first of many notes. All of which were filled with Beastie Boy lyrics. The more obscure the better. I’d go home and skim the cover liners of CDs to bring in the perfect wording (yes - there was a time before looking up everything on your iPhone). For a whole year, we wrote back and forth. And the next year, when I didn’t have time to work at the arcade, I left the notes behind. My first year of Uni was marked by the Beastie Boys and I can’t help but think of the din of a dozen arcade games played at once, the smell of boys, iced tea and Cheetos whenever I hear a little “Fight for your right to Party.”

My first time at Wembley for the FA cup

I will admit that I’m not an avid football fan. I don’t have a jersey and I don’t have an official team to support. But I am a fan of live sports. So when an extra ticket sprang up for the FA Cup semi-finals Manchester United verses Manchester City, I had to go.


The game would be epic. I knew the rivalry between these two teams that divided a city. You either support one or the other with a duty to hate anyone who chose the other side. I’ve always seen Man U supporters of being the more fevered of the two but maybe it’s because Manchester United was used to winning so much that anything less than that would evoke ire.

I left the house in a red mac without even thinking of how that would be perceived by either side but with Man City blue fingernails, I figured I could straddle the fence. As we got closer to Wembley on the tube, the louder the chanting got until the carriage was bursting with sound. It carried us up the stairs “Knick Knack paddywack give a dog a bone, Manchester City can f**k off home.” My first view of Wembley was fairly amazing. It spread out in front of me like a sea of blue and red. The crowd was electric and I joined the surge of testosterone heading down Olympic Way.

The walk was without incident but only just. As I entered the stadium, I looked behind me at the crowd. A troop of police in high vis gear were running up to the approaching crowds, those on horseback leading the way. A smoke bomb must have gone off halfway between the stadium and the station as red smoke started to spread over the crowd and people scattered. I started to wonder what I got myself into.

We were sitting in the club section; the only stipulation for entry was a lack of team jerseys. Maybe this was to help prevent any rivalry in that section as it was the only area that didn’t separate fans. We had our own bar area so we grabbed a drink before we found our seats. I hadn’t realised there was no drink allowed in view of the pitch - I can’t imagine hockey fans at home sitting through 3 periods without a Molson Canadian in hand. But we were allowed food at our seats so we grabbed Scampi and chips.

Our seats were directly behind the goal so we had an amazing view of the pitch. The footballers looked like children but I’m not sure if that was due to our distance away or the size of the pitch or because most of them were barely legal. The first half was jovial and stayed at 0-0 throughout. The second half started well but once Man City got a goal our side of the pitch got decidedly chilly. People swearing under their breath at any wasted opportunity, the chanting turning aggressive.

One of the four of us was a huge Man U supporter. His eyes bored holes into the pitch, his face a perfect picture of intense concentration. In the end, despite their efforts, Man United lost. As the last whistle blew, part of a seat flew over the barrier from above and landed at our feet. I must say I was starting to get worried about getting out without incident.

As we left our neutral seats, we joined the masses of Man United fans leaving the stadium. In the stairwells echoed more chants - they even had a song for when they lost it seemed. There was an uneasy feeling of aggression in the air and once outside, there were a few punches thrown and more than one angry word. I found it particularly distasteful that a few Man U supporters vilely swore at parents and children, one boy teared up as he wanted to defend his team that just won but was held back by his father. “It’s not worth it son.” This is definitely not part of the beautiful game.

Back on Olympic Way, I felt on edge until crammed back in a tube heading for town. I love sport. I love the rush of the game, the expectation of the crowd, the support, the tears, the love. But I don’t love those who turn aggressive, who’s love for their team borders on psychotic. Fine if your heart hurts when your team loses. I understand that. But violence born of love is still violence.

Marathon Magic and the start of my running adventures

Today Marianne and I went to London bridge to see the Marathon. A woman in the crowd asked us if there was someone we knew running in it. There are probably a person or two who might have been but no - I was there to cheer everyone on. My friend who ran in it before said the only thing that kept her going was hearing her name shouted from the crowds. If I could give that same support, I was going to.

Here, in London, on this sunny Sunday, men and women of all ages and abilities are taking to the streets to run for charities around the world. They have spent their weekends, their mornings and their nights slogging it out. Taking their spare time to run for this day. They may lose a toe nail or two, be unable to walk the next day, feel exhastion like no other but they have achieved something many have not.



My eyes teared up more than once as I watched the sea of runners hit the halfway mark. Especially the ones running for family members and friends taken by disease too early in their lives. Or the ones experiencing a life long dream for the first time as they cross the tower bridge.

I keep flirting with the idea of running. I stop start, work and sleep being my greatest excuses. But it’s time to start again. I’m going to start with a Race for Life in July - you can donate here: www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/heatherannetaylor. I’m running for my Auntie Cathy who died 5 years ago today of liver cancer. Sadly she was in her 50s when she passed. Much much too young. We all miss her every day, a Cathy shaped hole in our hearts. I want to make sure that money is raised to help other families in their battles against this disease.

My friend Marianne is going to run too and if you want to join us, we’d love to have you along. Next is 10 K, then we’ll work to a half marathon with the goal of marathon in mind. I was once told I wasn’t built to be a runner, so here’s my chance to prove that I am! I may not be Olympic material but I can help raise money for good causes (and get fit in the meantime!)

So will you take up the challenge? Who’s going to run with us?

Lastbookclub gets Gleick-ed

So today was the first lastbookclub adventure. British Library hosted a reading of The Information by James Gleick. I was slightly late but so was Gleick so it all worked out in the end.

The event started with a reading from the Information. Gleick chose to read a large section from the beginning, which I already read, and also added a few florishes. Next up were some student films - 45 second interpretations of The Information in a visual format. As there were 12 of them and no indication of who made what, it’s hard for me to disect them properly but I did think they were hit and miss. BUT a great idea. How many non-fiction books get creative visual interpretations?




Rhys was able to capture the Q&A at the end with Audioboo. I find it’s these sections that really bring out the real element of the author and his relationship with his work. A couple of the questions were a bit too self-important for my taste (it was the British Library after all). I wish there were a few questions on why he wrote the book and disected the process/ research but I guess that may be up to me to ask at future readings.

I loved reading a book (or some of it at least) and hearing from the author. Getting the book signed was a bonus - like an author’s way of saying thank you. Or at least it is to me. So for future lastbookclub books and events, we’ll be picking books (as often as possible) that coinscide with readings by the author. You can read any book by any one but connecting it with events gives our book club endevours a unique flavour.

Want to get reading? Start with The Information and we’ll go from there.

Want to join our book club?

[caption id=”attachment_1274” align=”aligncenter” width=”427” caption=”Photo by Ben Gallagher”][/caption]

There are many book clubs out there. Ones in libraries, ones at friends houses with candles, cake and crudites, and ones Oprah spreads to the public at large.

Rhys suggested to me the other day that we needed to start a book club mainly because he had books he wanted to read. These books weren’t the standard fictional fare but ones that have the distinct possibility of making your brain hurt.

This can only be a good thing. In high school, I was in an advanced acedemic program so I read all sorts of books I may never have found on my own. Because of that, I took to reading rubbishly light and fluffy books in my spare time to give my brain a break. Popcorn for my eyes and mind really. But that became habit and when I stopped having to read advanced literature and textbooks, I continued on with the fluff.

So this is the perfect time to start a book club that makes my brain think, generates new ideas, and helps contribute to the formation of further knowledge. Of course there are those who say there is an infinite futility of trying to know everything but I will try my best to refute that.

Our adventure starts here. First book up is “The Information” by James Gleick. I’m not going to give a deadline of when it needs to be read by but I’ll stick up a little review when I’m done and link to anyone else who has done the same. Any more books you want to be part of book club? Comment here. Want to do a Twitter/ ustream/ whatever way you like to talk chat about it? Let me know and we’ll do it. Most important thing is to read books you may not normally read about, ones about what makes you, me and the world tick.

If you are chatting about ours and your book club adventures, feel free to use the hashtag #lastbookclub - as in it is the last book club you’ll ever need, or if it doesn’t go well, the last book club you’ll ever want to be a part of.

So welcome all. And remember, first rule of bookclub…

My first ever comic convention

[caption id=”attachment_1268” align=”aligncenter” width=”500” caption=”Photo taken by Ketan Majmudar”][/caption]

Today I experienced my first ever comic convention and in fact the first ever London comic convention, Kapow. Though I had a pass for both days, I could only make it today.

Just before 10 am, I joined the queue for a good 25 minutes with a mix of people - some in costume but mostly guys in t-shirts and jeans - the same guys I’d expect to see at a hack day or any other tech event I’ve been to in London. I actually expected more costumes but I did see enough people in full make up to feel like I was at an actual comic convention. Of course it’s nothing compared to the adventures I’d have in San Diego at the main Comic-Con but it’s much easier to get to this London one.

First off, I joined the hordes to see the millarworld panel. After revealing a couple of new titles (including Hit-Girl), it felt mostly like friendly chit chat. It was early so I didn’t mind so much. And as it was a Q&A, it was really dependant on the questions people asked. It was mostly “is your process the same as an independant as it would be with someone like Marvel?” and the answer was basically yes. Granted I shouldn’t complain as I didn’t ask any questions but despite the repetition, I did take away a few things:

1) John Romita Jr. commented that he is working on a project called Snapshot but as a creator owned piece, this won’t be making him his money. It’s his work on Marvel that will pay the bills. My take away? Even when you are at the top of your game like he is, you still work for free.

2) Mark Millar ended the panel Q&A with a comment about thosse who’ve said he’s sold out. His response? “If I get given free money, I’m going to take it. I’m Scottish.” If John Romita Jr. is anything to go by, taking money isn’t necessarily a bad thing as it can still lead to even better things i.e. the work you love to do. All I can ask, what is selling out anyway? Do people think that good work is only done by people who can’t pay their bills and live a miserable existance. Yes? Oh. Crap. Done that. Been there. Please don’t make me go back…

3) Most importantly, a comment by one of the Millar panelists made me think about my own work. One of his projects started as a screenplay but turned instead into a graphic novel. A couple of my ideas seem too large for confines of a film. Maybe I’ve been looking to the wrong medium for the optimal place for some of my projects. I’d love to work on something small…maybe someone out there is an illustrator who’d like to work with a writer by the name of Heather Taylor? Any takers? And by Heather Taylor I mean me.

While I wait for the illustrator of my dreams to appear, I’ll be working on my feature. The main reason for coming to Kapow was actually to meet with my director and producer to talk about the next draft of my current feature script. It’s a monster film in the making so Kapow was really the best place to talk about it.

All in all, I’m extremely pleased with my “unofficial first draft” and so were they which is always a relief. Lots to work on but all to make it tighter and tighter, better and better. We’ll do another draft by the end of the month in time for my producer’s visit to Cannes. Don’t want to get too excited yet but it feels like it’s all going in a good direction. Seems like I’ll have to abandon any attempts at ScriptFrenzy this month but I’ll still be working on a script so it must count for something, right?

Sunday Stories: The Fight

So we were sitting around talking about writing stories as kids and I thought it would fun to blog a few of those I wrote when I was 10. As this mini play was set in England, it’s the most fitting that it would be the first one up.

The Fight

Characters: Tabby Cat (TC) and Yorkshire Terrier (YT)
Time: Mid-afternoon
Place: On a quiet street in an English suburb

(Cat and dog enter from opposite sides)

YT: ‘Ello Tabee. ‘ow are you?

TC: Oh it’s you and your English accent again Yorkshi Porkshi. That’s what your owner calls you, isn’t it?

YT: All me say is ‘ello and ye blow up. Yer such a stupid cat, Tabee.

TC: Ha, you puny little ball of fur. I am more sophisticated AND smarter than you.

YT: Least me don’t cough up dose awful fur balls.

TC: Humph! Wll I don’t have to wear that ugly plaid hat and coat. (laughs cruelly) You look so stupid YORKSHI PORKSHI! (laughs again)

YT: All ye get is food, Tabee. But me get love an’ ‘ttention.

TC: Ask anyone. I am better than you.

(Cat flicks her head and leaves with her nose in the air)

YT: There she goes, an’ all me said was ‘ello.

The joy of when they get it

Being a Canadian writer in the UK has given me a new perspective on word choice. I can definitely say that my vocabulary has increased (my favourites being snog and plunker). But there are some references I don’t get and some my audiences don’t get as well. The main way I’ve worked around this is to use my obscure references in a way that readers/ listeners who don’t get it, can still understand the poem. Like Simpson-ic poetry.

One of my poems is about how I have the musical tastes of a teenage boy (it’s the second poem in this clip that I recorded a couple weeks ago):







Tonight my friend Sara was at my gig at the Poetry Cafe. I start the aforementioned poem and get to a part in the middle about playing hacky-sack. Now. In the poem, I say “Hack-y-sack. Hack-y-sack.” This isn’t random chanting but rather an obscure movie reference. In “She’s All That,” Zack (played by Freddie Prinze Junior) tries to make a girl who he’s dared to date trust him. So he goes to a strange poetry night and she tries to shake him up by signing him up for open mic. He pulls out a hacky sack and this is his poem:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9eRUXficRw?rel=0&w=480&h=390]


For those of you who can’t partake in the gloriousness which is YouTube at work/school/your mother’s basement, here is the poem:
(taking a hacky sack out of his pocket)
It’s a hacky sack.

(he starts to bounce it (hands, feet, etc) to strange music)

Hack-y-sack.
Hack-y-sack

Bounce
Bounce
Gotta keep bouncing.

Can’t let it drop
Never let it drop.

Com’on Zack
Everyone’s watching
expecting
Never let it…

Drop.

Everyone’s counting on you zack.
Don’t let it drop.

Don’t. Ever. Let it. Drop.

(drops it)

Sooner or later, it has to drop.


Sara is a Freddie Prinze Junior fan. She has probably seen She’ll all that a million times. So normally when there is just silence after my hacky-sack part. One belly laugh emits from the crowd. It is so loud and I’m so surprised someone recognized that reference, I burst out laughing too. There is some sort of sputtering. But we had a moment. and finally I feel rectified for putting it in there. It’s funny if you get it. And finally someone did.

As a side note, Ross Sutherland did a poem for someone in the audience using their name. That someone was me. I only got half the poem recorded but it was all kinds of awesome. I may be slightly in awe of him now. Shhh. Don’t tell.