Some of these things have little to do with Ottawa, but...

... permit me to say how refreshing - if not terribly cheesy - it is that The O.C. tonight went gay. And not "gay as adjective" where they're been since Luke repeatedly called Seth a fag in Season 1, but gay as in two boys in a bed, getting busy, albeit completely under the covers. What's more, it happened on the day the House defeated the long-awaited Marriage Motion. I wonder if the O.C. producers timed it this way. They're so with it.

Something else that's with it? The new record by Toronto's Rock Plaza Central. It's called Are We Not Horses, and it's completely fantastic. Apparently, they're coming here in January, which will be great. On that note: I'm hoping to check out Les Georges Leningrad this Sunday at Babylon and Montreal's Malajube next Wednesday at Zaphod's. Reviews will follow in due course.

Queer and Crafty, Ottawa-style

Very few things in this life are as simple or decadent as sleeping until you wake up. Since returning from London earlier this week, I've been doing an awful lot of this. And it's been joyous. I swear, sleep is my favourite state of being. No wonder I like Ottawa so much.

Having said that, I've also filled my waking hours with a smattering of adventures. First on the list was a Thursday afternoon screening of Bobby, the Emilio Estevez-directed pic about Robert F. Kennedy's assassination in July, 1968. The film is good, but not great. Basically, it's a bunch of interwoven stories about people (fictional, of course) who were in and around the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles on the day RFK was shot. The stories are supposed to be viewed cumulatively as a statement on the American psyche on the eve of the Age of Disillusionment.

Well, there were certainly nice moments, but overall I think it was trying too hard to be poignant or earnest and thus, came off a bit saccharin. The final montage is drawn out far too long and the voiceover of Kennedy giving one of his famous addresses rambles a bit too much to follow, distracting viewers from the images on the screen (or vice versa). Call me disillusioned, but I think the film fell slightly below the mark of Oscar-worthy.

The next night, I joined some friends at Cherry Bomb, a queer dance party held at the Shanghai Restaurant (651 Somerset West). It was put on by Certain Sort, and sponsored by the good folks at Venus Envy. It reminded me slightly of Bent, a regular queer event in Vancouver, but Cherry Bomb also had a flavour all its own. The Shanghai isn't huge, so that helps keep the evening intimate. And while I wished there was less sitting and more dancing, folks did seem to be having a good time. I wish for there to be more stuff like this in Ottawa because the same-old, same-old styles of club life get a bit draining, not to mention uncreative. Perhaps the best part of Cherry Bomb was the confirmation that cool and queer can co-exist in the capital.

Imagine then how pleased I was to have this re-confirmed the next morning at the "Not Your Grandma's Craft Sale" at the Jack Purcell Community Centre, organized by LadyFest. Vegan baked goods; homemade cards, magnets, and soap; funky toilet seats, pillow cases and tote bags; and just about everything you can think of silk-screened - it was so great that people hardly seemed to notice it was 35 degrees Celsius in the room. I could have spent all of my money, but I settled on some cards from Etc. and a set of orange vintage napkins with silkscreened deer. I also needed to save some money for Wednesday night, when some of the city's best stores on Dalhousie Street stay open late for a little holiday fun.

As if craft sales and extended shopping hours aren't enough of a hint that Christmas is looming, since the snow has fallen this week, I have noticed a serious increase in the number of people leaving Tommy and Lefebvre (464 Bank St.) with shiny new downhill shape skis. Of course, there's also that great homemade sign across the window of one of the apartments above the Bramasole Diner on Bank Steet - it says "Stop Corporatizing Dear Santa" - to put one in the festive mood. Merry, merry.

Oh, and Ottawa, I'll forgive you this time for Mayor Larry, but let's not let it happen again.

Back from Battle, Gladly

Let's hope blogs and camels have something in common, for how else could I rationalize not giving my fledgling little blog (and all of you, what is there now, three of you?) anything to drink for almost three weeks. The By-Election Battle, as the local media dubbed it, kinda took over my life, leaving me little time for posts. Or anything else. Between you and me, I didn't even get a chance to pop in and say hello to my dear Grandma. Go ahead, you can hate me now, I'll understand.

To be frank, I don't feel an immediate urge to return to London. "Don't feel an immediate urge" is a mild, diplomatic and vaguely passive-aggressive way of saying I would rather swim the entire length of the Rideau Canal than spend another month in the Forest City.

But while I'm stopped at the intersection of Promenade de Politics and Cynical Street, I think I'll take a left and head into the sunset without saying anything too catty. It would be easy to be cynical; it's much harder to take one on the chin and come back another day even stronger. We all worked very hard, and we did so on behalf of a remarkable, funny, original and engaging candidate who has done - and who will no doubt continue to do - great work on behalf of all kinds of folks in her community. Every city should be so lucky to have a few Megan Walkers kicking around, trying to make things better.

Now, before I close the London file, let me send a few honourable mentions to some of the eating and drinking establishments that made an otherwise stifling place somewhat more bearable: The Oxford Arms, The Alibi Roadhouse, Under the Volcano, Cafe One and Prince Albert's Diner. Your gastronomic kindnesses did not go unnoticed.