Hard Work

I have worked hard all my life.

I don’t think it is a stretch to start at the beginning. Being abandoned and then raised in an institution for a while and then moving to live with an adoptive family must have put demands on me that most of the kids with whom I was raised didn’t face.

I was a keen student. I loved homework because it was something constructive to do and without siblings or any family life, there was lots of time to fill.

I even worked at play. I was organizing plays and parades at school and in my neighbourhood all my life — even at university. And I would buy scads of season tickets to a local theatre and then re-sell them, at no profit, to friends so that we could attend performances together and then go for drinks to talk about what we had seen.

I organized lectures too. When I read a book once, I was so impressed, I wrote to the author. And before you knew it, I had brought her to Vancouver and sold tickets to a speech she gave. I did that five times.

I organized tours, too. I took 52 people to Expo ’67 in Montreal from Vancouver — there and back in a train car I rented from the CPR. It was an incredible party. And I took 15 people to Florence for three weeks where I had rented a hotel wing, a huge art studio and a bus for us.

I founded things too. I loved starting things and it is hard work. I was mostly self-employed but sometimes I would become an employee of a client.

And then one day, “it” broke. I don’t know what “it” was, but it broke. I have thought of “it” as my work ethic, but that is not what broke. I still work very hard ethically. It was my will to work that broke — my will, my ambition.

So I retired. And then I focused on travel. I worked hard at travelling by going to India, twice, almost back-to-back; each time for three months. And then twice, again almost back-to-back, to Africa for extended trips.

Then came two books, two plays and the screenplay and then I “retired” again.

The first time, when my will to work broke, I retired from working for clients. The second time, I retired from working for myself. That is to say: I retired from travelling first and then from monetized long-form writing in June 2015. I just can't do "it" anymore. I don't have any ambition.

It ain't writer's block either. This writer is done. I have nothing to prove and nothing new to say worthy of the long form. I am writing a script that will likely never see the light of day. It's my first script undertaken with no ambition for monetization. My joy lies entirely in writing it and having no deadline. 

It’s been six months since my second retirement and all is very, very good. I believe my joy with life is due partly to this blog where my writing satisfies me in much the same way as a porn-lover’s masturbation does for him/her. Cooking is my other drug; it is a source of endless very short-term creative projects.

So the adage is not true. Money does bring you happiness; my life of full-time self-indulgence is underwritten by the benefits derived from all the aforementioned hard work (and some very good fortune).

HELLO by Conkarah and Delmah.

Human talent and creativity thrills me. This little girl shivers me.

It's a reggae version of Adel's Hello. Conkarah is from Jamaica and
Rosie Delmah from The Solomon Islands

Day 1 Dirty Apron Cooking School: Brunch

The first class at Dirty Apron Cooking School was great. Matt, the chef, was very nice and as soon as I got there I met Steve and Toni, a couple with whom I liaised throughout the day.

I got the only bad work station, being a single. I will know better next time about how to secure a space. But it didn't really matter because I did fine. I did not need any help.

All the workplaces were well prepared, people clean up whilst you eat what you made after each "round." There were two rounds: The first was kind of eggs Benny. We made a nice herb potato rosti that I did a nice job on, upon which we layered oven roasted thick bacon, then a poached egg topped off with a sun dried tomato Hollandaise sauce. It is pictured above.

Then we ate what we had made and wine and juices were served with nice linens. There were 22 of us and we all ate at one long table and while we did, staff cleaned out work stations.

Round two was spicy cheese scones and brioche French toast served with a grapefruit riesling sabayon we made. It was a delicious way to make French toast and it was refreshing to have it without syrup.

They were very well organized. I look forward to my next classes.

Clerical Castration

1560: The first children are castrated for use in the Sistine Chapel Choir.  1589: Pope Sixtus V issues a papal Bull approving the recruitment of castrati for the choir of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.  By 1625 all sopranos in the Sistine Chapel choir are castrati.    By 1789 there were more than 200 castrati in Rome’s chapel choirs alone.   During the 17th and 18th centuries in Italy, some 4,000 - 5,000 boys aged between 7 and 9 are castrated annually for the Church.

Happy Hour

Daniel Radcliffe is a total dreamboat. I just love everything I see of him and read about him.

…

It’s 4:30. The low winter sun is like a lighthouse; it comes and goes from my living room as it passes clouds. The hippie crystal wind chime hanging in one window sends rainbows everywhere. It’s disco happy hour at Chris’.

I saw the shoots of plants coming up everywhere as I walked the wall today and the pockets I walked through drenched with the scent of winter flowering Jasmine made my heart beat for summer.

The sunshine is like a drug. I feel high from it.

Tomorrow is my first cooking class. It’s called “The NEW Brunch Class.” It is with the Dirty Apron Cooking School where the focus is on mains. I have registered for three classes — all French cooking.

My Gay Pantheon

I referenced “my gay pantheon” in my last post. Here is the complete (gently annotated) list:

CHRIS' LGBT HALL OF FAME

Najinsky / Diaghilev

Together they revolutionized dance; Diaghilev was the consummate impresario and Najinski revolutionized choreography. George Balanchine is their legacy.

Oscar Wilde

He is my self-appointed Godfather. I revere him. He is #1.

Gertrude Stein / Alice Toklas

Imagine being a part of their salons with so many truly great artists.

Oliver Sacks

My #2 saw the person, not their disease and his book, Migraine, brought me incredible peace of mind.

Rudolph Nureyev

            Just watch him.

Walt Whitman

            Leaves of Grass.

Freddy Mercury

            Sanctified by AIDS, his passion for music in every form moved me greatly.

Pyotr Tchaikovsky

            Swan Lake.

Jean Cocteau

            No man can do more with a single fluid line.

Michel Tremblay

            Hosannah; For the Pleasure of Seeing Her Again; Les Belles Soeurs.

Franco Zefferelli

            Romeo & Juliet.

Leonardo da Vinci / Michaelangelo

            Duh.

Harvey Milk

            My #3 is our foremost martyr.

Alan Turing

His brilliance, his martyrdom.           

Brian Stonehouse

His incredible bravery and then his incredible designs for fashion make him a hero in so many ways.

Hugh Pickett

My father’s dear friend helped me accept myself.

Yotam Ottolenghi

He seduced my tastebuds.

Elton John / Boy George / Ellen Degeneres

Everyone needs some fun.

HONORARY MENTION

Abraham Lincoln

Respected historians believe Lincoln may have been gay. For me, The Gettysburg Address is the finest writing I have ever read. I have seen the manuscript.

Luther Burbank

He, too, only may be gay, but his botanical achievements undertaken for the betterment of mankind and done for no remuneration make him a true hero. I have been to his farm.

Dr. Evelyn Hooker
             Her research got homosexuality removed from the list of mental illnesses. She is not
             gay. She has written me a letter. I am smitten.

I Love Yotam Ottolenghi

Yotam Ottolenghi (right) with his partner Karl and their son Max.

I finally took the time to look through Plenty More, my second cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi. I marked all the recipes that had immediate appeal: Pea and Mint Croquettes; Crushed Carrots with Harissa and Pistachios; Spice-Stuffed Potato Cakes; Eggplant Kadaifi Nests; Root Vegetable Pies; Black Currant Friands and Apricot, Walnut and Lavender Cake.

But when I saw one photo, I died. And when I read the name of the dish — Meringue Roulade with Rose Petals and Fresh Raspberries — it makes me cry. I love that. I love being sensitive and feeling that this recipe — in its taste, look and name — contains all that is beautiful in the world: taste, look and even in the choice of the words. Just say the words out loud and melt.

And then, as happened when I discovered my life-long hero, Oliver Sacks, was gay, I had another emotional high when I read, this morning, triggered by a sentence in this book, that Mr. Ottolenghi is gay and, therefore, another star in my gay pantheon.