We made this video last month with Isla and Mairi Greig. Isla is one of my oldest friends in Toronto so this was easy. Mairi is a dancer with the Toronto Dance  Theatre. I've been thinking a lot about dancers and how dancing takes so much commitment and is a way of performing that doesn't necessarily provide the same instant gratification as for example being a "famous" musician / artist (maybe I read into it too much?). Not to undermine anyone else's hard work. But dancing seems to be mostly about honing your skill and endurance and determination because so many dancers I know practice within a professional peer group that doesn't coincide with their social circle. It's like a secret world or something. Anyway, I'm obviously so impressed by that. 

Barb Lindenberg and I will be working on a video from her spring performance Another Thousand Mountains this month and I'm really really excited. Here is a link to her work and here is another video she was in recently. BYEEE FRIENDS HAPPY SUMMER sorry I don't have anything dramatic or gossipy to report! 

Valves from caitlin durlak on Vimeo.

Mami was an Israeli rock opera before my time (late 1980's). I was a child when it was first performed and the timing was meaningful because it came around year 20 of the occupation. During high school I remember hearing the Rape Song at dance parties in the kibbutz and everyone, boys and girls, sang along screaming the words. I just stood there feeling fucked up because it's a dark and terrifying song and the ease with which the kids yelled out the words tells a lot about that particular time and the culture I grew up in. The story is about a poor Jewish waitress from the south who moves to Tel Aviv and has to work to support herself and her disabled husband who was injured in the war until one night she gets raped by seven angry Palestinian waiters at her shitty little restaurant. The rape part is marginal to the entire story that ends with Mami being brainwashed by doctors and the media and then eventually sent back to forever live in her poor hometown. I still remember all the words to the song.

From HaAretz:

"His (Hillel Mittelpunkt) rock opera, "Mami," which he wrote and directed 16 years ago, was also a big hit with the IDF, though in a somewhat different way. A few years ago, Mittelpunkt met Ehud Barak. "He came up to me and suddenly started singing, `Mami, Open Your Legs,'" the playwright recalls. "I was quite amazed and asked him where he knew the song from. He told me that the cadets at the training center sing that song when they do their morning run."

Mami (Sweetie)
"The Rape Song"
1987

Waiters:
Sweetie oh sweetie

Spread your legs

For seven depressed

Seven Palestinians

Sweetie oh sweetie

Spread your legs

For seven depressed

Seven Palestinians

Twenty years of occupation, we will no longer wait

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

Twenty years of occupation, we will no longer wait

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

Mami:

Listen for a moment

Before you pull down your pants

Ishmael and Isaac were brothers

And we have one father in heaven

You were born in a refugee camp

Hot summers

Cold winters

I was born in a development town

We were born the same

I've been used and abused like an Arab worker

Over the counter at the gas station

You are down

I am down

We're both fucked

Waiters:

Sweetie oh sweetie

Your sad story put depression in our hearts

Only, there's no choice

We are determined

Tonight we'll redeem our honour

You banished our children in the name of demography

You stole our fields in the name of geography

You closed our schools in the name of pedagogy

You called us Nazis and cockroaches out of demagoguery

We'll fuck you sweetie oh sweetie in the name of ideology

Sweetie oh sweetie

Spread your legs

For seven depressed

Seven Palestinians

Sweetie oh sweetie

Spread your legs

For seven depressed

Seven Palestinians

Twenty years of occupation, we will no longer wait

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

Twenty years of occupation, we will no longer wait

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

Mami:

Listen for a moment

Before you pull down your pants

Ishmael and Isaac were brothers

And we have one father in heaven

It wasn't by my girly hands

That your children were banished

It wasn't my sealed mouth

That said "cockroaches" about you

They weren't my tired feet

That marched in Hebron and Nablus

And it's not my husband in his wheelchair

Who is your Zionist nightmare

Waiters:

Sweetie oh sweetie

We'll fuck because we've been fucked

Your government is our tragedy

Sweetie oh sweetie

We'll fuck because we've been fucked

Your government is our tragedy

The Palestinian people aspire to be free

Do not take this rape personally

Twenty years of occupation, we will no longer wait

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

With erection and semen we'll redeem Palestine

Nader Hasan at Whippersnapper, 2 yrs ago (photos c/o Whippersnapper)

Nader has a show at AGYU now - go see it. My faves: a digested dollar bill still smeared in shit, a long carpet made of flags of the world's 100 wealthiest countries (not included at AGYU) and some dead mice still in mouse traps rotting away in clear boxes. I envy that kind of comfort with physicality because I can't do it. Something happened in the past ten years and now the idea of poking holes in a closed biological system makes me sick to my stomach. So, no gory movies and I will probably never become a nurse. Not so bad. Anyway.

The other day while waiting for a streetcar in Chinatown this random guy joined me and my friend. He was carrying a plastic bag and a travel mug. He walked up to the nearest little tree, you know, the wimpy trees they planted along Dundas, and ripped off a branch to hang his bag and his mug on the remaining stump. He said "oh fuckit I got tired of carrying that shit with me all day" as he dumped the branch onto the ground. He wore a baseball cap that said "GREEN POWER". At first I thought it was about weed but no it was green as in "environmentally friendly". He told us a story about beating up a guy who was ogling his thirteen year old daughter, again I thought this was somewhere in the distant past but no, he removed his glove and produced bloody knuckles and then a so fresh it's still crusty tattoo of a naked woman with large balloon breasts who he said was his "woman". When he picked up his plastic bag there were tall cans of beer inside. He seemed upset about everything. It's not uncommon. Life is pretty fucking hard for people my age with thirteen year old daughters and bloody knuckles. I didn't feel mad about the tree anymore.

Today I'm painting while listening to Lenny Bruce all day. If you want something from me let's meet up tomorrow. Free all day.

When I was a kid I would convince my mom to let the three of us stay home from school during rainy days like today and we would watch movies instead, for hours. I feel funny about that now because already at that age I was manipulative. 

One time when I was thirteen it started pouring while we waited for the school bus to take us home and I was soaked but completely happy because I was with friends and we played in the dirty parking lot. Running up and down muddy hills throwing rocks. My hair was wet and fell straight down dripping like icicles and one of the twins stared at me, he said "you're so pretty, let me sit next to you on the bus" and I didn't feel pretty at all then because I was only young and insecure and the bus was a terrible place, someone always smacked you over the head and all the good seats were taken by assholes but at that moment I felt great and it made me smile even more. Attention is weird.

My boyfriend's ex girlfriend was on the bus too, she wore blue lipstick and a bra with plastic see through straps. I couldn't figure her out no matter how hard I tried and she didn't even know that I existed. They were both two years older than me and I always wondered how they got together because he was fairly straight and she looked way more interesting than him. Eventually I concluded that their dating was based mostly on geographical proximity. I got a seat on the bus, close to the exit, it was great. And the twin sat next to me but once we got on he suddenly got shy and I just looked out the window quietly not because I got what I wanted but because I felt embarrassed for him and myself and our little awkward romance. 

Last night I started reading The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin and remembered how sci-fi is always my favourite  to read. I always imagine dark skies and a whistle in the air, during daytime too. Even the most utopian sci-fi books seem dystopian to me because my mind is so small I can't ever imagine a happy life lived voluntarily anywhere else.  Anyway, I'll let you know how it goes.

Those of you who know me in real life also know that I work as a communication assistant/ speech facilitator to the most beautiful woman in town - Anne Abbott. Anne is an artist who was born with Cerebral Palsy and she is non verbal. Which means that she is exactly like you except she can't talk. She's also one of the funniest people I know and when we're together we crack jokes and laugh 90% of the time. Dark inappropriate jokes that I hope no one else will ever hear. Which is why even though some of the text below sounds so brutal I was laughing throughout the entire thing, I could imagine her telling me the same stories and cracking up. Anne uses a speech board to communicate. The board contains an alphabet, QWERTY style, and a whole bunch of expressions that she uses often (two of my faves are "people, what a bunch of bastards" and "quick, the lorazepam"). The way it works is, Anne points to words or letters on the board spelling out what she wants to say and you repeat out loud after her so that she knows you're following. I don't know what I would do if I suddenly lost the ability to speak but somehow Anne makes it seem so easy. When we're out adventuring together we often have to deal with people who aren't used to Anne's communication style and it can be hilarious because they start assuming all kinds of shit about her that isn't true. But it's OK because we usually just roll our eyes at each other and Anne smiles and laughs and we're off to the next thing. You can meet Anne in person every Saturday 8am-3pm at the South side of St. Lawrence market in Toronto where she sells her work, drinks lots of coffees and solves crossword puzzles. I'm usually there too! OK. This is taken from Anne's blog which you can also access here. BYE!

Can We Talk?

Today I went to the U of T's speech pathology department and, with Sarah's help, I gave the following speech:

  Hello, my name is Anne Abbott and this is my communication assistant Sarah.  Sarah will read a speech I wrote beforehand, and then I will answer any question you may have.
  When people ask me what the most difficult thing about my disability is, I always answer quickly and without doubt. "Not being able to talk," I tell them. "That's the most frustrating thing I have to deal with in regards to my disability."
  Even as a child, I was a social, outgoing person, I always wanted to interact with people, to connect with them, to share with them. I wanted desperately to communicate with my family and friends.  Before I learned how to read, I used hand gestures to try to convey to them what I wanted or how I felt.  It was like playing charades 24 hours a day, and this form of communication was, to say the least, very unsatisfying.
  When I learned how to read at the age of seven, one of my teachers had the bright idea of giving me a "speech card", which was a piece of cardboard with the alphabet written on it, so that I could point to letters and spell out words and sentences.
  This type of communication was definitely an improvement, and I took to it like a duck to water!  Admittedly, there were a few drawbacks to this method, though.  For one thing, I wanted to use big, important words like my older brother and parents did, but I often misspelled them.  Needless to say, by trial and error, I became a good speller in spite of myself.
  Great lovers of books and word games, my family had no trouble communicating with me with the speech card.  My closest friends learned how to communicate with me this way too.  Some of them had no problem figuring out what I was trying to say, while others stumbled over words, forgetting what letters I pointed to and in which order.  I learned how to be patient with people, to spell out the same words over and over for them, and to rephrase what I was trying to say if they just couldn't grasp what I was spelling out.
  It was strangers with whom I had the most trouble communicating.  Whenever I'd go into a store at the mall, a sales person would usually come up to me and ask what I wanted, could they help me in any way?  When I signaled to them that I wanted to spell out words on my speech card, they would give me blank stares or call another sales person over to help them figure me out.  As if they thought I was hearing impaired or not quite right in the mind, they would then discuss between themselves how terrible it was that I was alone, that nobody was with me to take care of me.  Was I lost?  What was wrong with me?  Feeling rather frustrated and humiliated by this, I would usually end up by giving up and leaving the store.
As a young woman, I yearned to be more independent.  I wanted to do my own banking, to purchase food and clothing by myself, to be able to travel on Wheel Trans on my own.  I just wanted a chance to lead a "normal" life like everybody else.
  To be able to do this, I felt, I needed a different method of communication.  I had seen Stephen Hawking on tv demonstrating how he communicated with his speech synthesizer, and I longed to find a way to get one for myself.
  I went to see some people at the Bloorview MacMillan Rehab Centre in Toronto and asked them if they could help me with my problem. Unfortunately, they told me I was too old for their program.  They suggested that I buy a child's toy called a Speak & Spell from Canadian Tire and use it as a communication aid.  It didn't say the words, they told me, but it had a screen that held eight characters at a time so people could see what I was spelling out to them.  Better than nothing, I gave it a try.
  A year later, the Bloorview MacMillan Rehab Centre contacted me and told me that they had lifted their age limit from their program, was I still interested in getting a speech synthesizer for myself?  I gave them an emphatic "YES!"
  Since then, I've had six different types of speech synthesizers, including three laptop computers, all of which gave me great independence.  Finally, I was able to get my own apartment, do my own banking; and go out shopping for things I needed.  In fact, when I got married 18 years ago, I used my speech synthesizer to say my own vows.
  Unfortunately, there are many drawbacks to owning a speech synthesizer.  Like everything mechanical these days, they seem to like to malfunction at the damnedest times!  About 15 years ago, at a conference in London, Ontario, I had programmed a speech into my speech synthesizer and just before it was my turn to speak, my speech synthesizer decided to die on me. I, of course, had to ask someone to read my speech for me instead.
  Another problem with speech synthesizers is that some of them don't pronounce words very clearly.  For instance, there was one, where, if I spelled “buses” the correct way it would pronounce it "boosus".  If I misspelled it on purpose by adding another "s" -- "b-u-s-s-e-s" --  it would pronounces it correctly.  Sometimes, however, even creative spelling doesn't work.  I used to spell the word "loonies" every way I can think of and it still sounded strange to me.
  The mis-pronouncement of certain words and phrases has landed me into a lot of trouble over the years. There was one time, in Loblaws, for instance, I was doing my shopping and had several packages of meat in my lap, and I wanted someone to help me put them into the bag on the back of my wheelchair.  I caught the eye of an elderly gentleman and spelled out to him on my speech synthesizer, "Can you please put these things into my bag for me?"  Somehow he thought I meant I wanted to be lifted further back into my wheelchair.  I shook my head adamantly, trying to signal to him that this was not what I wanted.  He didn't seem to understand this, however, and kept trying to grab me under the arms and lift me upwards.  A crowd soon formed around us and some of those people joined in to help the elderly gentleman.  Finally, I broke free of their grasping hands and repeated my message.  Fortunately, someone in the crowd with good ears understood my message and helped me put the groceries into my bag.
  I must admit that of all of the speech synthesizers I’ve had throughout the years, laptop computers included, I really prefer using my speech card when I'm communicating with the people I know best: my family and close friends.  I've heard that a lot of non-verbal people like myself feel this way.  Using a speech synthesizer takes a lot of energy and I think most people who use these machines get worn out quickly, just as I do.  On the other hand, using a speech card to communicate takes less time and energy because the person you're talking to knows you so well they almost read your mind.

  I guess the best and simplest form of communication would be to actually be able to verbalize for myself.  Since no one has figured out how to make this possible yet, I'll just have to use the tools at hand, imperfect though they may be, until something better comes along.

  Thank you."