Sperm Hand

I'm in Calgary for the next little while working on a show called "Munich Now" for One Yellow Rabbit (www.oyr.org) at the ever-amazing High Performance Rodeo. The "Rodeo" is arguably the most lauded and exciting international performing arts festivals in Canada. This is my fifth festival in six years, one year because of boring bureaucratic issues, and all with One Yellow Rabbit.

Promo aside I am here for a few weeks and in the past when I've been in Calgary I have worked out at World Health Club. Due to some drama within the organization my Edmonton membership doesn't work in Calgary anymore, I was left a bit far afield when it came to exercising and the training plan I was on!

10k, motherfuckers!

But you wanna know where "Sperm Hand" fits into all this and you're sitting there reading this and thinking... "BORING! BRING ON SPERM HANDS!"

I'm getting there. I swear.

As you also may or may not know it's January and many many humans have embarked on resolutions to "get fit!" and "lose weight!" and whatever else. Personally, I'm not a big resolutionist and try to avoid sweeping statements and promises I am sure to fail at! The perks of resolutions is that MANY fitness and wellness options are on sale! Since I can't hit up my usual gym and it's VERY difficult to join a gym for a single month without paying in blood and gold I decided that January would be a yoga month. I found a great studio with a great schedule and signed up.

Now we're getting to Sperm Hand.

As you begin to spend more and more time at place you start to recognize the regulars. I've been at yoga 4-5 days/week and have begun to see patterns of people; create memories of their austentatious mats; and observe the apparent religiosity some people feel toward lulu lemon.

One such of these is a stunning middle-aged women. She has a beautiful, strong and balanced practice and can stand on her head like a champ. Basically, a yoga hero. She also has this beautiful mat with what look like hand drawn flowers on it.

The problem? This goddess has no ability to control the volume of her voice. At all. She is loud enough to the point that I sort of hate being in class with her.

I get there early, choose my spot as enjoy the 10-15 minutes before class trying to put aside whatever bullshit I'm obsessing about and just be present. If I can't do this I'm almost assured to be a fallen warrior. Get it? I fall over in warrior postures...

So, a couple of days ago this woman plants her may in the row in front of me and one mat length to the left. Just before she settles into her pre-practice posture she says, in her abrasively loud voice,

"IS THAT A SPERM ON YOUR HAND?"

"pardon" I whisper.

"WHAT?"

"it's a balloon; not a sperm. it looks like a balloon."

"I SWEAR IT'S SPERM."

"it really isn't..."

I'm still trying to whisper but I'm annoyed and so are the people around me. It's a very serious studio full of people who take their practice very seriously. The lithe yogini beside me looks ready to to breathe fiery lion's breath all over this woman...

While I'm siting there trying to speak quietly to her she has gotten up from her mat and come over to me. I look up and she grabs my hand...

"FROM THIS ANGLE IT LOOKS LESS LIKE SPERM. SORT OF A BALLOON."

"it is a balloon."

"WHAT?"

I don't respond.

"WHY DID YOU GET THIS? EVERYONE THINKS IT'S SPERM!!"

Everyone? Really? I would love to see the data that proves that EVERYONE ever thinks my cute little balloon is sperm.

And back she goes to her mat and lays down happy in her certainty that the balloon tattooed on my hand is, in fact, sperm. It's isn't.

I sigh, and try to relax again. I look over at the my yogini neighbour and nod an apology. She smiles and whispers, "I like the balloon".

Needless to say I spent the majority of that 75 minutes barely holding onto my balance and fantasing about pummeling her with a yoga block. Are those blocks like bags of oranges? Would they leave no marks while causing massive internal injuries? Hmm...

Ok. Not really. Killing people is stupid. Killing stupid people feels even more stupid.

And, I actually feel pretty ok with sperm, just not tattooed on my hand and not screamed about at me in yoga studio.

So, sperm?

 

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cop shop

i was in grade 8 (maybe 9) and dressed like as weird courtney love/cher horowitz/wanna-be riot grrrl hybrid and some boys in my class broke into an absent teachers filing cabinet and stole some... candy! being the chubby candy freak i was (am) i ate one of those candies. as a result of my lack of self control i was "spoken to" by the police who informed me that eating that candy was my first step down a path to a life of crime and prison wifedom. they tossed around phrases like "accessory to theft"...

 

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the end. (or why all the clothes on the top half of my body were on inside out this morning)

last night was a fun night. nothing too "wild or crazy";  just a group of lovely friends, some old and some new, spending an evening together and celebrating the end of a huge era.  

and drinking a lot.  

so much so in fact that this morning when i got up to get dressed for work i put all the clothes on the top half of my body on inside out. t-shirt and hoodie. I am assuming my bra is on right side in because i don't remember having difficulty fastening it. wait, am i even wearing one?  

checks boobs.  

yes. ok, i am wearing one.

but there it is. clothes inside out and the weight of at least 12 oz of either gin or vodka hanging like a gauzy veil over my brain...  

i remember the night though. well. in vivid technicolor. that feels nice.  

but anywho, last night's festivities of an end got me thinking about my own changes.  

i wrote this elsewhere:

I've dubbed this summer the "no bummer summer" - good times with good people and a celebration of all the wild and wonderful things my hometown (and its festivals abundant) has to offer.

But it seems like I need to come up with a similarly clever rhyme for autumn. The "no fall fall" perhaps? I'm open to suggestions.

I'm being a bit glib because writing this buzz blurb is making me sad...  It is a very bittersweet moment for me in my professional career and I should just be out with it:
August 30 will be my last day as Programmer at Theatre Alberta. I am passing on the Programmer's torch, a position that I have held onto very dearly for the past two years, and will be taking on a whole new set of challenges as a freelance artist.

Were it possible I would thank and each and every one of you personally, I would. I wish I could! Without even knowing it you (yes, YOU!) have challenged me and guided me through the many twists and turns of our programming calendar to help facilitate opportunities that were what you wanted and needed. I have learned so much about this province, its amazing theatre communities and I am forever optimistic about our bright future!

I have a million favourite memories and will look back on my time at Theatre Alberta with great fondness and love. If the measure of a great place to work is the difficulty to leave, consider Theatre Alberta the best place!

I can't wait to see you all again!
Much love.

Michelle Kennedy

Programmer

soon that title will no longer apply but much of the sentiment will remain. it's been a roller coaster of a couple of years here and now i'm getting off the ride.

onto new things. bigger things. different things.  

i'm feeling a bit unable to write about the FEELINGS of it all just yet so i will put a pin in that. mostly, i just wanted to talk about how i was so hungover this morning all my clothes were on inside out.