Scattered Impressions of Injury and Recovery

I'm not an athlete and I don't take physical risks, but I've always had a disregard for the positioning and protection of my body. I might whine about painful shoes or a sore throat, but that only happens when I'm feeling self-absorbed or when the pain has become excruciating.

So it's galling -- but unsurprising -- that I've buggered up my right shoulder with a series of small injuries, boundary-testing, half-baked corrective techniques and general lack of concern. Over two months I progressed from an aching joint to acute tendon inflammation, atrophied muscles, and a possible cartilage tear. By gradually restricting the usage of my right arm to the half-dozen movements which don't cause me pain, I've managed to forget -- both mentally and physically -- how a healthy arm actually moves.

When I try to do certain everyday things with my right arm -- rotate my palm, put my hand over my stomach, reach to the right, or even THINK about putting it ANYWHERE behind my back -- I am met with either shooting pains or total weakness. The pain is bad but the weakness is just plain disconcerting...the muscles simple stop working. I begin to feel like I'm pushing my arm through a concrete wall, even though there's nothing visible in the way. I have, quite literally, withered my shoulder muscles.

An interesting thing about this injury is what it does to your sleep. I've gotten to the point where I finally CAN fall asleep without too much pain, but during the night my tendons strain and tense and bunch up, and by 3am I wake up in agony and have to do my exercises again. Then I sleep on the couch, whose shape keeps me in a position which doesn't hurt my arm too much.

The good news is that my ailment is relatively common and it is possible to fix it, but it takes a lot of time and work. I am amazed at the skill of my physiotherapist as she twists, shakes, and wobbles my skeleton and says "Aha, this is the exercise we'll do next." And after a week of exercising, that invisible concrete wall moves another few inches and I can bend my arm just a bit more.

Often I'm left standing at a machine with two handles at the sides, like an exercise bike for the arms. I have to pump away at it for ten minutes or so while staring at the single framed newspaper article hung on the wall, a story about a local boxer who benefited from physiotherapy. Each time I use this machine I pick one word from the article at random, and I read the article slowly until I find a word which starts with the same letter. Then I continue reading until I find another word which starts with the letter that the previous word ENDED with. I can do this three times before I'm ordered to use another machine, something more stimulating with pulleys and weights.

Sometimes a co-op student puts lubricant on my shoulder and rubs a small metal object over it, an ultrasound device which is incredibly painful when it somehow resonates the bone in my forearm. Once the physiotherapist wrapped a belt around her waist, then put my arm through the belt and rocked it back and forth as though she was comforting it. Unfortunately that caused my arm to freeze up in excruciating agony for several minutes -- a sensation I've previously described after slipping on ice or falling down while drunk -- so I don't think we'll do the belt thing again. When this "freeze up" happens it is followed by two days of dull ache in my bicep.

Usually, however, I leave physiotherapy with an extraordinary feeling of relaxed well-being. We always end with fifteen minutes of electroshock...well, they hook electrodes up to my shoulder and I gradually turn it up until my arm is jumping around like a fish in a bucket.

Today I made overtures to the Guelph hospital in order to get an MRI, since the therapist (and by extension me) is concerned that the cartilage in there is torn. Apparently it can take up to five months to secure an MRI so I have plenty of time to prepare myself for the giant needle they'll be sticking INTO my shoulder, though the figure-skating worker at the medical supply store told me that "there are ways to get in faster." She didn't tell me more...she just sold me six feet of rubber tubing for my daily exercises.

I also got an X-ray in a tiny, deserted, run-down clinic that appears to be run by a husband and wife comedy duo. I got undressed in a closet and then stood in a dark room in front of hundreds of pounds of equipment. The man put a rubber girdle on me and ran back and forth taking pictures, occasionally slipping them into a cupboard marked "Exposed." Terrible scrabbling sounds came out of this cupboard even though nobody was around. I turned to the left and came face-to-face with an enormous poster of a muskrat, the only decoration in the entire place.

The prognosis so far? Months of exercising, expensive physiotherapy appointments, and drinking WITHOUT falling down. In the meantime, frenetic drag shows at Club Renaissance are strictly verboten: quick-changes involving zippers between my shoulder blades and slipping dresses over my head are simply not going to happen. But I'll still be doing shows in Guelph near the end of March, since they're relatively sedate and I'm sure I can wrangle a dresser from the chilled-out organizers.

A Cowboy Junkies Musical Moment

Tomorrow night's another Club Renaissance "Glamourspunk Night," and in a quest to find new songs to perform I've finally tackled the holy grail: "'Cause Cheap Is How I Feel" by Cowboy Junkies.

It's already a risky song because it's slow and sad, but it's also eloquent and poignant and awfully fitting for a "bar performance around Christmas." The only problem is the extended instrumental portion in the middle, which consists of a steel guitar solo followed by an accordion solo, during which the key and the mood changes from "I'm game" to "I've found temporary happiness" to "I'm simply resigned."

Cutting instrumentals out of songs is easy enough to do, and I do it frequently to prevent me from prancing about on stage with nothing to do. But this instrumental is one of the most important parts of the song...it tells a story in a way the words never could. And the solos are so individual and complete that you simply cannot chop pieces out of them. Believe me, I've tried.



After all this editing frustration I can only conclude one thing: this song is a perfect construction which cannot be dismantled. You can't take a single thing out of it without throwing the whole thing out of balance. That's annoying, but it's also evidence of a really special piece of music. This is one of the world's most under appreciated "musical moments."

I guess I'll just have to come up with some "business" in the middle.

A She-Devils Memory

While digging through old cassettes and Protools project CDs I was delighted to discover a "She-Devils On Heels" promo from 2004. This was from the "third season," when Annie first joined as co-host, and I think the promo sums up the show perfectly. So does this picture.


The commercial was very much a collaboration, though I think Annie's energy was the most crucial ingredient. What I remember most about it was forcing poor Annie to say "Do we HAVE superpowers?" about fifty times. What I remember most about that picture was...well, unsurprisingly I don't remember it at all.

New Flickr Pics!

For those who want a "taster" of my last two months, some new pictures are up on Flickr. Most importantly you'll see my tribute to both ringworms and my flaming car, as well as some shots of Schnapps and I warming up before the debut of our duet last week.

Incidentally, when I was leaving Club Renaissance after the show I asked a woman what she thought of the human/seal duet. "I hated it," she said bluntly, which introduced a shocked silence into her group of friends.

The only rational response to that sort of criticism is to do MORE duets with Schnapps!

Coming Up!

I haven't just been sitting at home playing "Dwarf Fortress." No indeed, I've been planning all sorts of special events.

First off, hopefully I'll see some of you at "La Cage" tonight (Friday) at the Walper Hotel, starting at 6pm. I won't be performing, just playing the music for the performers themselves, but it's always a fun and professional event in support of Tri-Pride...come see!

On this coming Thursday (the 8th) come to Club Renaissance for the next installment of "Glamourspunk!" It's an extension of the regular Ren Glitter Nights, coordinated and hosted by Victoria Parks with some help from me. So far these shows have had some of the best local talent (and the best crowds I've ever seen) so you're probably missing out if you don't show up.

Then, on Saturday May 31st I'll be performing at Guelph's Pride Party and Dance. Last year they gave me my own hotel room...maybe this year they'll give me the entire hotel?

Other than that there are some SECRET plans: operations "Ooh-la-la" and "Maid of the Mist." I can't tell you more, but let's just say that the "Daily Muffy" will be back soon...maybe as early as next week! Stay tuned.

The Photojourney Continues

Over on my Flickr page I've just added some new photos. Besides a few devoted to getting my feet in the shot -- because my feet are an important part of my body -- you'll also see part of Zsa Zsa that you've never seen before:



In addition, I forgot to mention when I updated the photos a few weeks ago, so you can also catch Madison Hart and I doing our lame "Mod" impressions (among other odds and ends):

Glamourspunk #1 Postmortem

I had a bad feeling about the Valentine's Day Glamourspunk show.

Why? Because at the best of times a drag show is a complicated event with lots of different performers and a totally random crowd. And while I do have patience for inter-performer conflicts -- as long as I only need to get involved once a month -- my patience eventually runs out. I don't want to worry about who goes first, who gets cut from the set, who gets to do what...I really just want to perform.

So why did I accept the offer to be a "feature?" Because "feature" is an undefined term; it could mean anything from getting "top exposure" to "running the night." And I sure don't want to run a night!

Fortunately Victoria is good at making lists and laying down the law, giving me the chance to socialize a bit and enjoy the night, and Drew took care of the some of the announcing and the obligatory crowd-inspiring contest. And it WAS a wonderful night; we had a FANTASTIC group of performers with no difficulties that I needed to worry about, and the audience was about the best I've ever seen: diverse, curious, but totally patient and enthusiastic.

I DID actually get up the nerve to bring "Schnapps the Seal" up on stage with me. I think the audience was as confused as I was.

The show didn't end until 2:30, so I trudged outside into the snow to wait for a cab. The only vehicles on the road were snow removal machines, busily scooping away the accumulation to make room for the next big storm. It was interesting to watch the strangely-articulated machines in action, but after fifteen minutes of waiting I was getting desperate.

Fortunately Miss Kamara's driver was willing to go my way, so he rescued me from the cold and took me back to my place. Kamara came in to my apartment to negotiate an exchange of alcohol and -- guess what? -- she managed to step on the one piece of glass that I missed when I broke my mirror last month.

You know when they say that God looks after drunk people? Kamara stood there wobbling on my stairway, bleeding and saying "ow," coming within a hair's breath of bashing her head or falling over...and she pulled that piece of glass right out of her foot without any difficulty whatsoever. A sober person would have either cut their fingers or jammed the shard further in, but no...she removed it as I stood there, mortified, thinking that I must be the world's worst hostess.

I don't think I'll ever forget that. I felt like I'd just run over somebody's child.

Sit With the Seal!

After waiting more than ninety minutes for my co-host and wine-date to show up, I sat down with Schnapps the Seal to make this abrasive promo for our "Glamourspunk" night. I'm experimenting with the idea that I might be a better hostess if I have a puppet on my arm. This will only work if I can develop a less obnoxious voice.



PS: The audio drops out mysteriously the first time I mention the date because I got it totally wrong. I simply cannot remember details.

The Love Show!

On Thursday the 14th -- that's Valentine's Day in case you needed a reminder -- Drew, Victoria, and I will be hosting a special "LOVE" show at Club Renaissance. It probably won't be ENTIRELY about love...but really, how easy is it to find a song that ISN'T about love in some way? Us humans sure have one-track, euphemistic minds.

So come to the club and cheer us on! And not just on the 14th, but on the second Thursday of EVERY month, because...

...Victoria and I are starting a stint as "featured entertainers," with our own special night that we like to call "Glamourspunk." More news (and a poster) coming soon!

Pictures, Pictures, Pictures!

Originally I thought it would be fun to reenact my "fixing the furnace" experience to the tune of Meat Beat Manifesto's "Plexus." I spent my sacred "Saturday Breakfast Time" coming up with an elaborate shooting schedule. It was to have been a monumental experimental video to rival Luis Buñuel's "L'Âge d'Or."

Then I came to my senses. Screw that, I wanted to have FUN on Saturday, not to hop around shooting some crazy video with barely a moment's notice.

So instead I took a bunch of pictures.



These encompass tonight, mostly, but also go back to New Year's Eve. Enjoy!

The Cab Driver Who Will Not Take Shite

Whenever I deal with cab drivers, I am always tempted to ask them: "How do you deal with so many crappy people?" They always respond in a good-natured way: "Awww, people are generally good, really."

Since this response is so far removed from what *I* see every weekend, I'm always baffled by such diplomacy.

So tonight it was refreshing to get picked up by a cab driver who spat venom about the bad people in the world, then made a U-turn and buzzed the middle-road guys and yelled "NO WONDER YOU NEVER GET A CAB!" Seriously, there really ARE men -- generally men -- who stand in the middle of the road and throw themselves in front of taxi cabs, and I see these guys and I wonder how the world can possibly accommodate such people.

Tonight's cab driver skimmed those guys and screamed at them, then drove around the block and came back to scream again...and it was wonderful! It was a festival of revenge! It was one cab driver's taunting, vicious time to shine, with me in the passenger seat simultaneously supporting him (and brandishing "the finger") and thinking "wow, we're going to be killed."

So it was sort of refreshing to meet the non-diplomatic cabbie who has simply had enough; the cabbie going postal. But somehow I'm happy to have survived and gotten home as well, you know.

Open Drag Night in December

Ahhh, another wonderful open drag night at Club Renaissance. Fellow queens Drew, Ivana, Noir, and Katrina are so fun to be around, and I even got to see Ivana's method of changing her shoe colour (black magic marker...pictures coming soon).

With a brand new dress and an equally new "flamingo pony" dance routine, I was jonesing to perform one of my most favourite songs for the first time: "Love and Truth" by Mother Mother. Beth was sweet enough to hold my alien camera, and this is how it all turned out.

Club Ren's new stage is a real beaut, though I find myself confounded by its three-sided seating. Stages confuse me at the best of times but it's worse if I don't know who I should be looking at. I feel like those nervous TV show guests who are always turned toward the wrong camera.

In any case I may be joining the "All That Glitters" night as a once-a-month "featured entertainer," which I'm happy to do as long as I don't feel too obligated or trapped. Drag shows are fun (and often gratifying), but they are ALSO a lot of (mostly-free) work. I'd hate for a hobby to become a chore.

Here's to another fun night in a long line of fun nights, and here's to telling the world about the joy that is Mother Mother!

Queens, Fog, and Foggy Queens

More pictures! Drag night back rooms, foggy nights, and more "Ilsa on Ice" than you can shake a beer stein at!

In this picture with me is Noir (the "Asian Sensation") and Gina (reigning Miss Renaissance). I'm the one in the dirndl.

Vintage Muffy

I almost forgot about these! The lovely Morgan James posted some pictures from a 2004 Open Drag Night at Club Renaissance. I'll never forget that night, because the DJ didn't show up and I was nominated to fill in for him. Stripping down to your underwear in a glass booth is not something I'd recommend.

Also in the pics is Annie Drogyny, and Morgan James herself. Ahh, the memories!

Vain observations: I look gimpy, but young! I hate those silver platforms. My eyebrows were good. And why the hell am I dressed as a nurse?

Random Thoughts About Last Thursday's Open Drag Night

Things can be really dead at Club Renaissance during the summer. Open Drag Nights have always been sort of hit-or-miss, but the last two shows I've been to have been REALLY sparse.

That doesn't mean they haven't been fun -- in some ways a quiet night is a more relaxed night -- but with everybody scattered into tiny groups around the bar it's hard to know who to "perform to," especially with Ren's three-sided dancefloor. And sparser crowds tend to chat together as opposed to watch the show.

Most confusing is the recent tendency for people to just wander onto the floor while you're performing. They'll come up and try to dance with you, or they just stand there and watch you. During my last number, two very drunk guys moseyed up and started slow-dancing together, and they were offended when I made them leave. Are people beginning to view stage performances as participatory? Do they think they belong on any given stage just because they took a pole-dancing lesson? I don't know.

What really makes or breaks a night for me is the cast, because those are the people you spend most of your time with. All it takes is one off-on-a-tangent diva or one way-messed-up casualty to make everybody uncomfortable. Fortunately, during the last two nights I've attended, the entire cast has been fun and professional. Knock on wood.

As always I continue to search for the ideal performance song, something that works both for the audience AND for me. I just picked up an Alison Moyet CD, and maybe there's a Beth Orton song or two somewhere...

Photojourney 2.0!

Updating the old Photojourney was an incredible pain in the butt. Photos had to be cropped, resized, exported, uploaded...then the numbnails needed to be copied and cropped and overexposed and...geez, it's no wonder I got tired of it!

So I got myself a Flickr account. In fact, I've spent all weekend figuring it out and uploading the 90-some pictures from the last few months, including some odd stuff that I wouldn't have put on the old site. Go on over and have a look, and feel free to comment or whatever else you can do.

Based on my limited experience, Flickr is super-cool.

Drag Conflict

After Saturday night's Guelph Pride event -- which I STILL need to write about -- I started thinking that getting back into drag shows might be fun. I stopped regularly going to shows for a lot of reasons, mainly to avoid the politics, the hassle of preparation, the endless waiting for the next number, the personal insecurity, and the sadness of dealing with occasional damaged people. Not to mention feeling like crap at my job the next day.

Tonight I wanted to see some of the Miss Tri-Pride pageant, and it was also a bit of a test to see if I could get back into Thursday night drag shows without suffering too much the next day. I saw four excellent performers, all with different styles, all whom I feel a great deal of affection for. I watched the well-known phenomenon of a crowd simply not responding in an obvious way to a great performance, which gives me cold chills and makes me start viewing all human beings -- myself included -- as a bunch of Skinner rats in an inbred social experiment that I prefer not to be a part of.

But I also see love, and creativity, and continuity, which I tend not to notice when I'm actually PART of an all-night open drag show. The good stuff is there, but I'm too busy worrying about costume changes and alcohol intake and blood sugar to just relax and have fun. Not to mention that, sometimes, when I have "fun" I become socially disconnected and relate to other people in confusing ways.

My boiled-down generalized point is that -- as always -- there are reasons for and against doing drag. I see a lot of happy things and a lot of sad things, and I also see the best and worst of myself, and the best and worst of the other performers and the audience. I'm struck by the extremely complex, multi-layered social event that is a drag show: competition, comeraderie, sexual attraction, gender confusion, insecurity, stupidity, creativity, viciousness, misunderstandings, jealousy, favouritism, booze & drugs, energy, adulation, honesty & fakery, fakery, fakery.

Do drag kings have it easier? I'm curious. How about strippers? Cage dancers? Karaoke queens?