Pride Night

My favourite hang-out spot in Guelph, the -bar, is trying to start a Pride Night on Sunday evenings. I went for the first time yesterday.

Trying to get the GLBT community out to anything in Guelph is a challenge. It's a conservative community; I don't mean Guelph, but its gays and lesbians. They live quiet lives, rarely emerging from their dinner party circuits except to visit Toronto, Kitchener or Hamilton. Somebody tried to start a gay bar years ago, before I came out, but it quickly went out of business. Since then, several different establishments have tried GLBT bar nights with varying success, mostly drawing crowds from the university. Monthly dances sponsored by the Rainbow Chorus are unique in drawing the 30s to 60s crowd.

The -bar has a classier ambience than most of the Guelph bars and potential to draw both the student and older crowds. Pride Night will feature a d.j. and require a $2 cover charge. It is just getting started and unfortunately last night it was dead. This is to be expected now that exams are over. I chatted with Brett, the organizer, who formerly ran queer dances at The Underground on Thursday nights. He said the -bar has a reputation for being exclusive, but frankly I don't see that. They're planning a "grand opening" on January 11 with free food, so we'll see how that goes.

I sent an email around to my friends yesterday, but everyone was away or busy with Christmas activities. Only Marg showed up, but we had a pint and a post mortem of the chorus's season. We agreed that we have to drag her cousin and his partner, xtc_cub, out to one of our concerts someday.

I better have breakfast and get dressed. I have to go rent a car in an hour, and then pick up my daughters. The sky looks heavy. Hopefullly I won't have to deal with snow or rain on the long drive.

How lovely are thy Australian branches

For several weeks I have been trying to decide whether to buy a real (traditional and cheap) or artificial (clean and convenient) Christmas tree. Today in the car the phrase "Norfolk Island pine" slipped across my tongue, so unforeseen that it must have been Freudian. This morning androkles expressed concern over the way Christmas has spawned a global domination of pine trees, so my idea came as a slight gesture towards him. Norfolk Island pines are not pines at all, more like a giant clubmoss imported from Australia. They make nice houseplants. Marian applauded the idea, so we decided to stop at our favourite greenhouse instead of the Christmas tree farm. For a price midway between a real and artificial tree, I have a permanent, live addition to my indoor jungle.



Marian was too interested in decorating herself and her clothes—with duct tape, it's an adolescent thing—to help much with the tree, but Brenna gave expert assistance. While I strung a single strand of gold lights around it, she started unpacking decorations. Unfortunately the whole box, which has sat in the basement since last year, reeked of mouse piss. By the time I had finished the lights, Bren had unwrapped a few ornaments.

"Why don't we decorate it all in gold?" she suggested.

I think my taste has influenced her too much. Gone is the little girl who wanted as much gaudy colour as possible. Marian vetoed the all-one-colour idea, and I negotiated for some variation. We turned out a mostly gold and purple number with traces of blue, white and crystal. To finish things off, Brenna tastefully strung a row of glittery wicker snowflakes around the edge of the basket. It is awfully lovely, way too Martha Stewart for anyone's health.

Most of my decorations are survivors from my marriage and first two or three years out of the closet when I hadn't yet found my direction in life. I'm so glad I turned into a jeans and t-shirt fag instead of an exquisite decorator queen. Still, it would be wise for me to start investing in some Christmas tree kitsch for next year, otherwise my beard and chest hair are bound to start falling out and my daughters' minds will be permanently damaged.

I'm sure Martha wouldn't approve of the mouse piss, so I stowed the box of unused decorations back in the basement and we all washed our hands.

Brenna.com

Earlier this year I was surprised to discover that one of my LJ buddies—I think it is chrisglass—has a friend with the same name as my daughter, Brenna. Subsequently, I found out about Brenna.com. If you have an unusual name like Brenna, or Van for that matter, you will know how nice it is to find ( this sort of thing. )

I couldn't resist ordering one for Christmas for my little packrat. I picked it up from my business mailbox today. I just have to wrap it and I'll be more or less ready for Christmas.