Banff 2009 - Favorite Things

• Snow falling as I turned off Hwy 1 to Banff
  
• Dancing with Mr. Mystery at the BBQ
  
• Walking into a room of 800 strangers alone and picking the Producer out of the crowd in less than 5 minutes
  
• The Producer being even nicer than I thought he would be
  
• The weird wi fi access that forced me out of my room and into the foyer, where I had to engage with the world
  
• Getting Paul Gross to autograph my copy of Passchendale
  
• Paul Gross’s delightful interview
  
• Paul Gross’s terrible weave for the Gunslinger
  
• Everything Paul Gross
  
• The shocked look on the face of the head of the Shaw Fund’s face when I told her my hand injury was from shark bite
  
• The Empress’ success
  
• Thankful I packed socks
  
• The Flash Forward flock approaching through the lobby – Mr Mystery and the Empress expected, Shooter and Delicious a wonderful surprise
  
• Having my weekly Flash Forward assignment to do “something outrageous” be so outrageous that I can’t put it in writing cause that would be evidence
  
• The great bathtub in my little jewel box of a hotel room under the eaves
  
• The petite Ramsey’s Lounge and its handsome and accommodating bartenders
  
• Drinking too many Strongbow and laughing too loudly with Delicious and Shooter in the middle of the afternoon
  
• The kindness of strangers – including the agents!
  
• The long gloaming and twilight of the mountains nearing solstice
  
• Learning to navigate the labyrinth that is this extraordinary hotel
  
• The cut of Ron Moore’s suit (Battlestar Galactica, Roswell, etc.) and his revival of the usage of the word ‘frack’
  
• The gift of a large bourbon and useful poker tips from the Appalachian Princess
  
• Joe Novak’s Rookie Forum
  
• All the surprised and delighted comments on Po’s graphic design of both my card and the Rain Girls two sheet
  
• Grabbing the courage to pitch to the CTV exec at the Women in the Director’s chair launch party
  
• The CTV exec liking the pitch and asking for materials to forward to Space
  
• The cheese burger with the million dollar view in the Rundle Lounge
  
• So excited about my Rain Girls two sheet I made everyone at the table take one, including the reluctant friend of Mr. Mystery’s, only to discover later she is a big development exec - oops, should remember to ASK people before shoving paper
  
• Someone with a biz card with a 30 Rockefeller Centre NY address asking for my permission to forward the Rain Girls pitch to the “West Coast group” 
  
• The great rah-rah emails and Facebook posts from absent friends
  
• A goodbye hug from a development exec
  
• Feeling frackable just about every moment of every day!
  

Banff 2009 - 7:40 p.m. - Dear Duder

Tonight you and I had dinner together in the Bow Valley Grill and as my writing skills are far too weak to describe the view of the snow capped peaks and the onset of the long slow summer twilight, I will skip to describing the room briefly. Baronial Scottish is the intent, fairly well executed, but the thing you would like the most I think are the squirrels on the carpet. Yep, vast swaths of green and brown and gold under foot with oak leaves and birds and squirrels. Curiously, no acorns, but hey, maybe it is spring or maybe I need my contact lenses upgraded.

We began our celebration with my signature drink a Fear of Commitment – not poorly executed, but not with nearly the bang-on alchemy demonstrated by the Rumble Lounge Bartender. Llym, not Liam, as  it is the more traditional Gaelic spelling. Alas, it is his night off and the lounge a mere 12 staggering steps from my garret room is closed, so I had to forsake my planned evening of too many martinis and too much flirting for the grown-up restaurant.  Fortunately, you recently posted the short fiction piece “Stir Sticks I” to your blog and thus I was able to enjoy your acerbic wit and insightful commentary on the plight of the modern accounting professional during my otherwise solitary repast.

You may have made a sharp comment at my ordering of the PEI mussel appetizer given the menu note about the local heirloom cherry tomatoes.  Yes, Coco’s crack of vegetables; cherry tomatoes just a few hours from the vine. And yes not only do they trigger my asthma like nothing short of an old hippie in Patchouli and tie-dye, but the addition of the altitude, and the stress of trying to be f***able every second of every public moment means a fair amount of heavy breathing is issuing from me at even a modest walking pace.  In my defence, I am a) celebrating, b) spending the most of the next two days behind the wheel of the car and c) many of the men in my vicinity have mistaken the heavy breathing as sexual excitement prompted by their proximity so it has actually positively contributed to my f***able mystique.

The entrée of a AAA Albert Ribeye (one must after all do, when in Rome…) was a bit forgettable and over buttered.  To be perfectly honest, my butter de maitre d’ hotel is better.  While the “e” in that should have one a them hats, I really can’t be bothered to find the right keyboard or key combo – blame the very fine Mission Hill Merlot. 

No dessert, at least not here, they have a big giant buffet thing and you know my disdain for the buffet.  Crème Brule is the thing I want and not to be had, so I will wander off in search of other adventures, but will definitely find a spot to witness the gloaming. The mountains have shadows on their shoulders so it shouldn't be long.

Thanks for the company and I look forward to seeing you soon.

Lots of those air kissey things you hate so much,

Coco

 

Banff June 10 - 4:17 a.m.

Ah the entertainment business – where the line between the personal and the professional can be very blurred indeed. As a young struggling actor, I don’t think a single person ever told me that the success of my career would be dependant on my ability to form and maintain relationships. Suppose that might be the reason it never went any where to speak of. In the past month I think I’ve heard my career is dependant on my ability to form and maintain friendly relations from about a million people, oh, about 6 trillion times. Now, I don’t suck at relationships exactly.  Most people, I think, find me loyal and sincere and fun at parties. However I am most comfortable having a couple dozen relationships. Dozen family, dozen friends and for arguments sake another dozen work friends. I do recognize that these million people aren’t saying that I need to be intimate with each and everyone of them. They are saying though that not only do I need to remember their names, but I need to know about their marital status, kids, pets, hobbies, taste in wine, preference for boxers or briefs – as well as memorizing their resumes, box office, market share and relevant charity interests.  Fair enough.  Where I’m supposed to find time to write with all this researching and cataloguing of personal facts I am a long way from figuring out. As to where to draw the lines…not sure I’ll ever be capable of doing that in any kind of way that makes sense to anyone, particularly myself. I’m sort of an all or nothing kind of girl.  You are either on my bus or you are off my bus.  I’ll either do anything for you, or don’t give a rat’s ass.

My first Banff is drawing to a close. I’ll never be a Rookie in the Rockies again. The experience has certainly been transformative; in ways both predictable and totally shocking.  It was both what I expected and beyond my wildest imagination. I expected to meet people and network and get contacts and share ideas.  What I didn’t expect was what it would be like to be isolated in one of the planet’s most extraordinary landscapes at an iconic hotel with 800 people who all care as passionately about a-good-tale-well-told as I do.  The thing that happened to me beginning at Flash Forward has been picking up speed like a freight train at Banff and hurtling me into a tomorrow full of promise and terror is…is what? I’ve been staring at the cursor blinking in the middle of that sentence for 10 minutes. Maybe I should just go to sleep. It is after all 4:27 a.m. and I still have one more big pitch tomorrow. But I’m not comfortable. I have thoughts and feelings about myself and others that are making me profoundly uncomfortable. Feelings that are alien to me.  I seem to give a rat’s ass about far too many of these people.  Their stories fascinate me. Every time someone opens their mouth I learn something new. Yep, you read that right. Ms. Know-it-all and happy-to-tell-you about it feels sixteen again, profoundly alive and deeply terrified of what the future holds.  Good thing I have a long drive to think on these things because right now I don’t recognize what is in my head nor my heart nor even my reflection in the mirror. 

Quick and Dirty

This just a quick and dirty post as I should be at the CBC opening cocktail and instead had a panic attack at the crowds and ducked into the tiny little lounge near my room for some Dutch Courage and a snack.  Large woman can't be seen to eat at a cocktail party.  Sigh. Was that my Mother's voice? Besides, bartender Llyam (the old irish Liam) has mastered the Fear-of-Commitment. Calamari was awesome with capers and lemon and those tiny little olives - much more authentic Italy than last night's  Carabonara log.  Seem to be having some trouble hitting my stride here kids. I introduced myself to two table mates just before the opening keynote (both women) and if you can picture lead ballon with puzzled embarassed looks  - they both shook my hand - fairly gently, but looked mortified like they might catch something - and then sooo Canadian - didn't laugh at my "Sharkbite" comment likely fearful that I was actually serious.  Okay Shaw blah blah fund, whomever they work for - not gonna have me on their "must work with list" Maybe next year I'll hire Buttercup and Leading Man to come with as my entourage. Hey free luxury time in Banff - producers everywhere - and actor's wet dream, not?

Okay. Enough avoidance. Will sign bill. Will pitstop in room to dump laptop and stagger to the next building. will take glass of beer and find a wall to prop up. trying to look f***able. (that was the dirty part)

Wow, do I miss My Boys

And no, I am not referring to small children or assorted pets that I’ve kept in a secret cupboard under the stairs for years and years. I mean my Boys, my guys, my posse of mostly younger sexy smart  men who have entered the Cocoverse at various points in my checkered career and due to their unswerving devotion and unflagging amusement at all things Carolynne still pop up from time to time to lend a hug and a hand where required.

Mostly when I miss them it is the hugs that I miss.  They all give the absolute best of the best hugs.  One of the standards of admission to the club really.  They throw their arms open and step right on in.  None of this A-frame shoulder squeezing pseudo hug crap.  If you don’t get an “ooof” or a sigh of contentment, or best of all a faint crackle of vertebra popping, you ain’t doing it right. Some of them even have the strength and enthusiasm to lift me off my feet. Yep, you read that right some young men are soooo happy to see me that they assume the strength of ten men. Some of them even have the courage to hug me that full-hearted way in front of their women. Well, maybe a little more briefly. The correct length is between 5-7 steamboats by the way.  In truth if you don’t feel you can achieve the standard of hug I’m looking for, I’d prefer a couple of cheek kisses and we can all pretend we are very continental and sophisticated.

The girlfriend hugs are nice in theory, but they always leave me feeling like a bit of a dancing bear.  They are all so teeny and breakable. Girlfriends give the best rah-rah emails though – lots of CAPS and smiley faces and exclamation points and chick power slogans.

All this rumination on my absent friends is because I’m feeling a bit exposed up here in the mountains.  Suddenly feeling like base camp is too far behind and the air is a bit thin and when did I sign up for summiting solo?

You may have noted that earlier when referring to My Boys I said “mostly when I miss them” that means that this time, this day the hug would be super, but mostly I NEED TECHNICAL SUPPORT! That is the other thing my boys bring, calm assured manipulation of the zeros and ones until suddenly I can bloody well do what bloody well needs to be done. Like solve the mystery of why suddenly I can’t get my iPhone pictures to upload to iPhoto I’ve checked and unchecked and rechecked all the freaking boxes and it keeps telling me it is about to replace the pictures on the iPhone with those from iPhoto.  I have done it before, witness the few photo’s I managed to get onto facebook.  I even managed to post one to my sister’s wall. I’m not a total incompetent you know. Or how about Entourage – I find the web support page that tells me how to adjust Entourage so that I can receive from home – except they use Comcast as an example and I am shawmail so I just left that – but nooooo.  So now I’ve probably bloody screwed it up for getting email back home too. ARRRGHHH. Not to mention that webmail won’t download my email from raingirls which is really super as I am about to hand out 500 biz cards with exactly that email address. Not to mention I really ought to replace the pdfs of my CV and the Raingirls one sheet and takedown Gatehouse for another day, but I’ve suddenly developed a fear of my own content management system. Sigh. I guess I can still try phone support. But I bet I doesn’t come with a hug.

This lil' lite o' mine...

I'm gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!
That is the theme song for the day.
Big shout out to Lil'Dude who talked me down off the ledge last night and reminded me that I've been planning this Banff thing for two years so the fact that total health and recovery from head cold was mandatory before getting in the car and sallying forth. That sentence didn't really make a whole lot of any kind of sense but whatever. I just need to pack up my Mac Air - remembering the power supply and mouse - take out the trash and head for the bodega to get some water and snacks for the road. Got Dave Matthews band, Jesse Cook and of course my boys - the Canadian Tenors - loaded on the iPhone, not to mention Lisey's Story by Steven King and a few yuks from Ricky Gervais. I will start out with my pal Duder's playlist though as it is custom cool for running or driving. I have 500 biz cards and 100 one sheets for Rain Girls thanks to Po!!!I printed 10 cvs late last night. Why is it that updating the CV is always such a deadly painful task? It seems to take fracking hours and hours fiddling with formatting and then you read it a billion times but never see the typo till you've already printed ten? Anyhoo - finished (at last) my last few Flash Forward thank yous for which the hand is NOT thanking me - but hey, gotta be the best way in the universe to start a road trip - rested, calm and full of thanks for the great people in my universe.

I wonder why it is so hard to write when my feet hurt? It’s the switchover to flip-flops of course; always a yearly event fraught with peril. As lovely is it is to let the little toosties out for their annual romp in the air and sun, the period leading up to the unveiling is filled with doubt and apprehension. Do I need to trim my nails? Shave my big toes? What about the hoof like texture of my heels? Sand it off or retain for a few weeks as armour against the insults of the outside world? Then there is the epic question of shaving or waxing. And thus with such pressing issues filling my head, how could I possbily be expected to write? Or spell possibly?

To Blog or Not to Blog...

A couple of my friends and colleagues have been encouraging me to blog. They seem to think that I have interesting things to say. I'm not entirely sure why except that I seem to manage to surprise or shock someone someway somehow with something I say pretty much every day. I suppose that must be because verbal chicanery is kind of a passion for me. Good thing I'm a writer. There are those that think being a writer is something you do. It's not. Being a writer is something you are. or maybe more accurately, it used to be something that I did. now it is something that I am. I've been a bit reluctant to blog. A couple of times I've made a run at it choosing fairly narrow slices of my life, like weightloss or things I give a Rat's Ass about. Then I lose interest. Carving off a little chunk of me and casting it out into cyberspace has always felt a little bit false. like I'm pretending that those bits are more important to me than other bits simply because I'm sharing them. So I'm going to blog about pretty much whatever I'm in the mood to blog about. Likely there will be vast tracts of text about writing and creating and stories cause I am now a writer for better or worse. Like my friend Duder who blogs about her life but so much of it involves running because that is what she is that if she ever collected them together she'd have a fascinating book about running.

Not that I think I'll be fascinating. Maybe I'll just aim at the reality TV role (you will hear much of my opinions on TV shortly) and be the car crash that you can't look away from. Okay, I admit watch all those dancing shows. I must. I am a dancer despite all present evidence to the contrary. I once danced with the Kirov you know - okay it was as an extra but I fit the costume so I did get to be a harem girl and do a dance step across the stage - me and two other chicks - in front of the plywood elephant so that we could hide the wheels. I also enjoy the food reality shows because, come on, who doesn't like food? I don't do relationship shows like "The Bachelorette" cause I don't do relationships probably. Same with the singing shows - I'm a bit funny about music and about music performance. My time working in opera taught me many many things. It taught me about brilliant music. And about yah, okay music. Don't think that means I think all opera is brilliant, and pop music sucks. Far from it. But within each musical genre the clear clarion bell of genius rings. Listen harder. That means you CBC Radio 2 and your new format promoting Canadian singer songwriters - great premise - lousy execution. Tom Allen I love you, but I now listen to your show to hear you talk and turn the station when the music starts. Something really wrong there.