you can't escape the crying

I'm afraid to report this, but I fear I've gone and made the ultimate spy mistake.
A mistake so sever, it will force me into early retirement.

I've become emotionally invested in my mission.
I've failed to remain an absent presence, a literary fly on the wall.

spy fail #5: having feelings
##beingaspyisimpossible

Saturday night at mainstage I learned important lessons in dying. I ask you, how does one stay distant from that? I tried my hardest to keep my gaze upon the suspicious crowd, but to no avail. I was thoroughly caught up in the lessons of Paul Quarrington's life and death.

To add to it, Charlene made sure to thank all of the volunteers who help make the festival possible by doing things such as handing out surveys, greeting people, serving wine and much more.
I thought my suspicions were confirmed, that my mission was still on track. She hadn't mentioned the bloggers. Charlene did see us as a lower class of volunteers, and there was reason to remain on the lookout for more attempts to bring us dowm.
We were unmentionable, even in her heartfelt thank yous.
I mean, we didn't even get magnetic badges this year.

And then she gave us our very own thank you.

Apparently her brother had never been to a Thin Air event until this year.
And the reason he came?
He read the blog. It inspired him to check out an event or two.

With this uncomfortably warm and melancholic feeling in my heart as I left Saturday night, I knew my mission was doomed.

And if that wasn't enough, in pondering how I might report to you one last time, I came across Jay's final post. Ever.

I swear it didn't even make me cry. ##imstillabigsensitiveliar

And he spoke the truth of this mission, as I believe we all have.
Thin Air teaches us about ourselves.
My first conclusion, so many nights ago, was correct.
We are drawn to this celebration of writing and self expression, not because we are all a bunch of book snobs dressed in tweed with our red wine accessories, but because we are people who seek. Seek out truth and understanding and compassion and laughter. We seek out language to engage and connect with.

Being a spy isn't the only lonely job in the world.
Being a person is a pretty damn lonely job too. Especially if you are a writer.
This is why we have Thin Air.

We find people like us, and a space is created, if only for 1 week each year, where we are held up.
And so together we explore weddings and cowboys. Hunting and kugle. Ectoplasm, fathers and the redemptive qualities of coffee.
It is the magic of people working through their lives, with words.

As we learned in the documentary on Paul Quarrington, the boogie man isn't death, the boogie man is not being creative on a daily basis. And when creativity can be brought together and shared, something happens that not even the best spy can name.
##iclearlyhandnochance

And so, as I hang up my stick on moustache on last time, I say to you all
Thank You. For all that you give of yourselves through writing, reading, talking and being.

None of us are the same because of it.
##somuchfornotgettingsappy

Over and Out

* * *
Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way. She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist.

Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.

We were good as married in my mind

there was definitely something queer in the air last night.
Besides the obvious i mean.

I've been pondering how to convey to you the debauchery of the evening past, without of course, giving too much away.

I would have to say it started when Charlene walked on stage wearing a pants suit. Immediately I knew something was off.

Jay, Stacy, Chandra and I serendipitously met up in the lobby and decidedly stuck together for the remainder of the evening. I knew this would compromise my stealthiness slightly, but what with the electricity in the air, I figured tonight I may need to throw caution to the wind, and see if that would lead to further developments in my case. Sometimes, you just have to lose some to win some.
##thatisnottheexpression

It became painfully obvious that the four of us were having the most fun. It wasn't the wine. What was it??

I pointed out to Stacy the error of Charlene's ways, as she she informed the crowd that if they wanted more information on the festival to check out the information table in the lobby.
"Wrong!" I yelled (to Stacy only. And perhaps the few audience members in close proximity)
"You mean check out the blog!" (but still, I yelled it)


Spy fail #4: Do I even need to tell you. Really. I yelled about the freaking blog for crying out loud.

She did proceed to mention the blog, as she informed the crowd we were "creeping around the events" (direct quote)
My stomach sank. My suspicions were confirmed. Charlene was onto me.
Worse yet, she suspected us all. Had I compromised the safety for my fellow bloggers, i wondered, as I threw back my red wine.


As for the other indications that there was something afoot, they are almost too many to name. I will provide them in list form:
A guitar named Verna, a post modern mash up, Pink Triangle by Weezer. Vagina jokes with surprisingly heartfelt laughter from unnamed Thin Air staff. Stacy going for a run at intermission. Jay giving blog hugs. Fashion shows, beaver references, WD40, and Charlene calling on the spirit Akna. And actors.

My head was spinning.
This mission had taken a sharp turn.
We were no longer on the straight and narrow, so to speak.

Now, every spy has to have a line they just won't cross
##imnotsurethisistrue
And so, while the events that unfolded in the hospitality suite, post reading, add significantly to my case, I am unable to reveal the details of them at this time.
Just trust me when I tell you, the night was chaos of the best kind.

Conclusions are hard to come by at this point. Perhaps the linear approach of my detective mission has been permanently skewed.
Perhaps there are no conclusions, save one.

Just when you think the queer is missing, coordinated chair shuffles happen like a rehearsed dance performance. An involved discussion of salmon vs magenta unfolds and clarification is provided when someone points out that magenta is "like red, but gay".
And someone somewhere eats a cheese curd in a hotel room filled with joyfully melancholic writers.

over and out

Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way. She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist.

Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.

hot on the trail: revolutions and mothers

i think someone or some thing, may be onto me.

I can't be certain, nor could I reveal the information were I certain, but lets just say that yesterday afternoon in the midst of one of the most personally profound readings I have ever attended, the soothing voice of David Carpenter expressing the profundity of engaging with nature in the role of hunter, was suddenly interrupted by the sound of what seemed to be a large plane or tank of some sort, overhead.

I was immediately alarmed, though the Millennium library security calmly closed the door to the the Carol Shields Auditorium, as if this was a regular occurrence.

'Has this happened during the Nooners?' I thought to myself.
'Or does this unidenitfied onlooker only concern itself with monitoring the Big Ideas series?' Afterall, we all know what happens when people have big ideas. Revolutions happen, is what.

(Another clue? Is this why people attend the festival? Are they are looking for a revolution?? Is Charlene ready for this? Does she know? Can she tell? The audience has been a little feisty this year. Nothing like bringing up the long-gun registry or an interest in break and enters during a writers festival.
Oh wait. It was Charlene that brought up B&E's....)

I quickly reached for my sunglasses and sunk lower into my seat.
Stacy shot me a knowing glance.
Could it be the Millennium Library hot on my trail? Was Thin Air using the library to try and scare me out of my mission?
It could make sense, but I am not jumping to any conclusions.
And we all know, I am not the only blogger with a sense that something might be out to get them ##jaydiazvsthinair

More recently, I came across Stacy's hypothesizing of my double agent status and was absolutely shocked at the suggestion.
Once I had googled it.
But I can assure you that the target agent I am spying on (Thin Air Attendees) is one and the same as the controlling organization I am claiming to be a part of (I am a Thin Air attendee). Therefore, the only threats against my life, are the ones I create......
##thatsdeep

With the possibility of being found out at the forefront of my mind, I knew that my cover for mainstage last night had to be as inconspicuous as possible.
The theme for the evening was Family Business.
The only option: bring my mother.

It worked well, though I was so caught up in being an 'authentic' looking audience member, I barely payed attention to the goings on. So much so, that as Stacy, my mother and I sat discussing the first half of the evening, expressing our intellectual musings over the magnificent readings of Uma Parameswaran, Craig Frances Power and Sharon McCartney, I failed to notice that 2 of the 3 were sitting DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF US.

Spy fail #3: Do not discuss the mission, at the mission site. And for f*** sakes, pay attention to your surroundings.

Luckily Stacy didn't think they had been there the whole time. I'm considering asking her to be my side kick. I will have to consult my spy manual to see if spies are allowed to have those ##myspymanualisgoogle

My most recent conclusions are as follows:
Families, hunting, spy work and Thin Air are complicated matters. You can never be too careful, but if you pay attention in the right ways, you will learn more then you bargained for.

All four are breading grounds for revolution. You just have to look for the signs.

And don't forget to keep an eye out, you never know who might be watching. Your mother, a bull moose, Charlene, the Tin Man. Anything is possible.


over and out.


Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way. She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist.

Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.

tweed and truth and the case of the stick-on moustache

spy fail #2: In an attempt to be incognito, i sat in the far back corner of the MTYP theatre last night at main stage. I thought I was being soooo clever. Turns out this meant that eavesdropping was out of the question.

Here are the clues I gathered about men:
hunting, pornography, aging, silver hair and women who turn them down for sex. Winnipeg love and hate, murder, kindness, grief, courage and moderation.

From this I can only conclude that men are people too. ##statingtheobvious

I was disappointed to see none of my female comrades but I did see a lot of sweaters, leather and tweed. Not of the hispter variety, but of the authentically refined older man variety.

I thought I hit the jackpot when a very classy looking man sat down at the end of my row. Sadly his body language indicated he would not be interacting with me. I don't push. I don't want to be too noticeable. That said, I can't help but wonder if it was my stick-on moustache and tweed blazer that made him shy away.

Turns out, the man was Lawrence Scanlan.
I need to do better research.

Other important events were the cell-phone-ringing- on-stage-right-after-Charlene-told-the-crowd-to-turns-theirs-off incident and when Charlene fired Perry in front of us all.

What with the bar on stage right and McNally Robinson on stage left, Charlene tried to convince the crowd that Thin Air was simply a corporate enterprise guised as a cultural event.

That was clearly a decoy. The tweed gave the truth away.

And speaking of truth, I think I may have gathered the most important clue of all.

It's entirely possible that the reason we all gather every year at Thin Air is not for the wine, or the tweed, but to try and seek out just a little truth from each story we hear.

I'm not convinced this is it, but I will keep this in my notebook for future events and see if it holds true.

over and out.

Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way. She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist.

Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.

the perfect disguise

I am working on my cover.

An important part of being a good spy is to be able to be where you need to be, without people knowing why you are there.

My cover on opening night was totally blown, hence my reluctance to report.

That said, I couldn’t help but notice that all attendees appeared to have been under dressed for the crisp fall weather.

This tells me one thing: everyone was a Winnipegger.

Whether through birth, travels, or heart, all thin air guests on opening night had Winnipeg living somewhere inside them. Otherwise they would have been bundled in proper fall attire, hats and scarves and such. Or, more likely, they would have been at home, not realizing that they were missing out on the magic that happens every year at Odeeena on opening night of the festival. They’d probably be watching Brothers and Sisters instead.

Spy lesson: Do not sit with other bloggers and be introduced to the entire crowd as the blogging crew. No one will ever tell you their honest reasons for attending the writers festival once they know your identity. No matter what colour you dye your hair.

Solution: find the perfect disguise, in the next 6 hours, for attending an evening of men discussing what they want.

over and out.

* * *
Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way.

She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist. Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.

MY HANDS ARE MISSING!

ok, not actually. they are right here, helping me type. I simply used that line as hook, to get you to keep reading my post.

I was the outcast who couldn't make our hot air meeting and I happened to notice that there are lovely pictures of everyone else's hands but mine.

that's fine. totally fine. I'm not even crying right now or anything. ##imabigsensitiveliar

In fact, i think it fits perfectly into my role this year. Like others, I am back again, trapped in the endless lure of the writers festival, and more then that, the seduction of being a blogger. Who knew blogging could be sexy. And seductive. While I too may have spent all last year thinking "There is no way I can volunteer again this year", as soon as Ariel was like "hey Courtney, wanna blog" I was like

"YES!!"(in my head)

but in an attempt to play it cool, simply said "Sure, whatever."

It has become, like Stacey mentioned, a ritualistic part of fall in the city.
But decididly, my role this year needs to change. I am bored with my ramblings on the deep and meaningful interpretations of authors and stories.

Mostly I'm interested in improving my spy skills. Imagine Gossip Girl meets Veronica Mars.

If the pop culture reference is lost on you
## noteveryonewatchesasmuchtvasme

it basically means don't be alarmed if you see me lurking around, in dark corners, with sunglasses and my notebook. Rest assured that I'm just engaging in my spy mission. I will be watching the festival, and the festival goers, with the sole purpose of figuring out why you people keep coming. And what you do while you are here.

Pay no attention to me. This is important data for you to know. it may help you figure out something about yourself. Though i may need to interview you. don't be alarmed. its all completely annoymous. Except for the part where I put it on the internet.

Number one spy fail: telling you about my spy plans. ##imnotreallyaspy

I would love to tell you about the events I plan on attending, but due to the nature of my mission, I'm not able to.

hint: where the rivers fork.
over and out.

* * *
Courtney Slobogian was born in Winnipeg and likes it that way. She is a writer/understated activist/ irreverent feminist.

Some of her work can be tracked down in quiet corners of the internet.

She co-hosts a radio show on CKUW called Tiger Lilies are Poisonous, dislikes cotton socks and is currently working on developing her spy skills.