All of a sudden it’s too much green tea that’s the problem. Another scapegoat in a long list. The source of all my body’s weariness yet to be found.

Yesterday it’s the lack of pictures, today it’s my antioxidants.
Still searching.

All in time these dear friends of mine are all accompanied by the much too celebratory music in my ears, but even death can’t keep me from reorganizing my life.

Still getting things done, still sorting through the mass of papers on my desk, still fighting to keep awake while memorizing the flowcharts, the methods, models. Still trying to pack and clean the house for Monday’s move. All the while fighting back the thin saline and my mind trying to wander to the car flipped upside down. Just dangling there in seat-belts.

Unimaginable fragility, all of these bones of yours.

Local Musical Theatre Legend Honoured
High Steppin’ Walk‐a‐thon raises money for Lloyd Nicholson Memorial Scholarship… In Heels!

Vancouver, BC… Thursday, April 1st 2010 (12:30 – 2:30pm) – April Fool’s Day at Langara College will see a raucous celebration of life and music as participants in the First Annual High Steppin’ Walk‐a‐thon parade down 49th Avenue in a marathon of crazy high heels, cleats, and clogs. Adorned with feathers, glitter and glam, Langara College students, faculty, colleagues, and friends will vamp to the funky beat all in support of the Lloyd Nicholson Memorial Endowed Scholarship.

Sponsored by the Office of Langara College Advancement, this explosive event will feature music by local DJ talent r i c c o, with awards granted to the most outrageous participants by a distinguished panel of judges from the Vancouver theatre community.

“Lloyd’s contributions to the local and national theatre community have inspired friends and colleagues to get steppin’ to raise money for the Lloyd Nicholson Memorial Scholarship. The High Steppin’ Walk‐a‐thon is a fitting tribute to a man who loved music and a wonderful opportunity to raise funds for a Studio 58 scholarship. With all donations matched by Langara College, we encourage everyone to slip on their flashiest shoes and race to the start line to participant or donate!”, Sandy Biggerstaff, Manager of College Advancement.

About Lloyd Nicholson:

“It is with great sadness that Studio 58 mourns the passing of instructor Lloyd Nicholson. Lloyd was an integral part of Studio 58. His passion for musical theatre was an inspiration to our students for over 25 years. Besides teaching the students how to sing a song in front of a crowd with pleasure and aplomb, he also musically directed many of our productions. An expert in the field of musical theatre, he brought a richness and depth to his artistry which he passed on to the students. His creativity, musicianship and dedication will be sorely missed by Studio 58 and the Vancouver theatre community. He was one of a kind!”
‐ Kathryn Shaw, Artistic Director for Studio 58.

As well as instructing at Studio 58 for over 25 years, Lloyd served as Musical Director for many productions, including Bye Bye Birdie, The Boy Friend, Guys & Dolls, and Hair. Lloyd was the Artistic Director of the Royal City Musical Theatre, and was just beginning to receive international acclaim for his work on The Drowsy Chaperone. Often referred to as a walking encyclopedia of musical theatre, Lloyd Nicholson was a tenacious and unstoppable force whose talent, energy, and pursuit of perfection will not soon be forgotten.

All are welcome to come and join in the fun and celebration. Monetary donations are matched by Langara College. To make a donation through a direct pledge or a donated item to be used as a prize in the event, please contact the College Advancement Office at 604.323.5673.

Media Contact:
Sherri Sadler
Communications Manager, Studio 58
(604) 323.5652, ssadler@langara.bc.ca

Alternate Media Contact:
Trevor Ellestad
(604) 723.3355
telles00@mylangara.bc.ca

All these expenses, these timely new friends and foes that have filled my belly and helped my ears and eyes experience more, all these expenses, are now welcome and at the same time completely inevitable.

In essence this whole life of mine has been building figure on top of figure, adding up to 9 and then coming back down to 0 once again.

Most of you don’t think about these digets, these numbers are strains on our fingers and fuel for our calculators.

But it’s 2 more hours until we’re all the way in Burnaby

I keep stumbling upon pictures on social networks of your receding hairline and the school that you now teach at is the same one that I went to so long ago.

I keep wondering how so many of you finished up with the classroom so quickly, and how so many of you just don’t care that you’ve escaped it entirely since high school…

I keep thinking about how many of us are left in limbo still, just hoping to see the finish line.

All of a sudden Fall came back again today, blew in the door, and made all the houseplants shudder in their pots.  The clouds floated curiously on top of all the blue that is left on the horizon, and kept us secretly warm from the air pressure that’s been knock knock knocking since the end of October.  I’m reminded of Halloween last year, the cold, the body paint, the strips and strips of movie film that I’d sewn onto that black t-shirt of mine.  This was long before I knew the meaning of clothing that fit well, all the while just displaying my belly button to the world.

This was all long before New Years, the night that redirected everything.  The night I met so many of you.  And it’s cliche and simple to think that on a night like New Years we should be so redirected, but when I look back at the pictures, I certainly look older, simpler, and more worn out.

And we’ll all find the wrinkles to form on the back of our hands, and I’m sure that if I ever combed my hair there would be bushels of hair between the teeth.

For now I’ll ignore these signs of a wasting mind, and just continue to build upwards, skin tightening, hair thickening, eyes brightening.

And you help me to wonder, Jar Hippy, just who is following my every move?  Just how many people take notice to me speed walking around this fair Vancouver campus of ours, scarves trailing, shoes clicking??  How many observers are completely filled with rage to see the texture of my jackets, the countless disposable coffee cups that I also tote around?…  How many of them would want to consume me too?? Or completely deconstruct me?

There is something about those of us that silently sit in the corners of the room, looking still and transfixed by the books in our hands and the music in our ears, while completely hypnotized by the bodies in the room and the jars that they drink from.

And I’ve watched you run across 49th, and I’ve seen your body move in ways that a gay gold star would never understand.  For the male form in all of its simplicity would never know the complexities of your layers and layers of feminist propaganda, or truths, or sentences that surround the center of every page and each period; all of it padding for something deeply interesting and intriguing inside.

I’ve learned how to walk in my best saunter, and still, I’m standing tall, strong, and new in this skin, and some might care to tell me that it’s all temporary.

And still, I must wonder, Jar Hippy, if I can feel such rage and fascination towards you all these months and days,

then surely there is hope for this new happiness too…

Apparently, these “two dudes”, and the congee noodle house’s poor sign once again know the taste of the pavement.

I think you may have tried at once to carve our names into a tree, and the outcome seems a foreign thing.  I cannot seem to piece it all together, although I know that we were certainly those people who cling to the terrace and cling to each other.  And perhaps we disgusted the masses, or brought them to curse obscenities to love, and tell it to go and fuck itself.  And for these things that would have normally disgusted myself as well, I am far from concerned.  I am newly comfortable, I am newly aware of the changes in myself, and the recollection of feelings that I’d almost given up on.

It’s hard not to jump.  It’s hard not to want to dive in, swim, and just dissolve into solution.  And there are those that would tell me to slow down, to take it easy, to embrace this pace.  And I’m trying to calm this racing mind and the things that want to keep fighting and flighting all the way to the end.  I know the feel of my adrenals, I know the temperature of my stress, and the way it tastes.  I know the eventual return to the masses, and the feelings inside when all the voices get at each other.  I know how easily happiness and sadness change into madness, and every step in between.

I’m standing still.  The diving board is quivering under the weight of these feet and legs.  My toes grip the surface, feeling curiously sandy and aware, of the texture of everything. And the sand might like to simmer and boil just like the tempers of all those cursing profanities at love, telling it to rot on the edge of the board and never quite test the temperature of the water.

The spectators disturbed… by the sound of the cars, or the pace and the taste of the wind on the first of November, all of them distracted, fail to notice my knees.  The joints and the muscles all bending, descending toward my calves.  And my arms spinning backward, my wrists facing frontward, I bounce and rebound, and sail furiously forward.