My first appearance on mainstream television, ladies and gentlemen. Or – shall I say – just the ladies. Canada’s The Social, a lively interactive chat show featuring some of the country’s sassiest broadcasters. Check out the segment here.

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In the nude pumps, according to my friends, I did “an excellent impression of Kate Middleton” (sigh), but I would like the jury to note, Kate never spoke on national telly about babies on acid.

On January 17th I lost my hero. This is my tribute in The Globe & Mail to Don Harron – a true feminist, in the very best sense of the word.

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I Remember: Don Harron

February 6, 2015

London — Everyone remembers the comedian, most remember the broadcaster, many remember the thespian and some remember the scholar. But I will always remember and treasure Don Harron, the champion of female equality.

Don – my grandfather – was fully and truly a feminist, in the most joyful sense of the word.

As his alter ego Valerie Rosedale, the upper-class pearl-necklaced wealthy cousin of Charlie Farquharson, put it: “Equality for women was a terrible step down.”

There were countless ways in which he celebrated the virtues of the female mind. He loved seeing women triumph in all things, from politics to the arts.

You do not need to have known Don personally to see this. His artistic creations render his convictions obvious. With his musical adaptation of Anne of Green Gables, a book penned by a woman about a girl, he brought to life the story of a penniless but brilliant young heroine.

That a song titled “Gee I’m Glad I’m No One Else But Me”, sung by a destitute girl could be crafted by a man in the 1950s – an era hardly renowned for progressive politics – is noteworthy. Moreover, Don was keen to represent Lucy Maud Montgomery’s text as faithfully as possible. He wished to do justice to the author’s intentions because he respected her as an exceptional thinker.

Another celebration of female talent, his musical The Wonder Of It All, gave Catherine McKinnon (his wife for 35 years, longtime creative partner and friend till the day of his death) an ideal platform for her incredible voice.

The subject of the musical was Emily Carr, a uniquely Canadian genius whom Don wanted to honour.

Don did everything he could as a man of influence (and as a husband, father and grandfather) to let girls know they could do anything a boy can, and probably do it better. I know I might never have become a writer had he not wagged his finger at me when I said I wanted to study biology.

“Just don’t you ever forget: You are a writer.” It was clear that whatever his children and grandchildren (male or female) wanted to do, he would support us wholeheartedly and he believed in us.

I have encountered many men who claim to consider women as equals. Some worshipfully, some academically, and many resentfully. But Don believed in gender equality with a sincere warmth that I will always remember.

– Zoe Cormier, London

If you Google image search for “trashy American hair”, more than half of the results are of black women (and their hair looks perfectly fine, as it happens). Considering they make up 10% of the US population, that’s beyond depressing – it’s nauseating.

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I discovered this because I need to get my hair professionally done and I wanted to give the stylist an idea of what I *don’t* want, which is chemical-laden helmet TV anchor hair, like a Republican politician’s wife.

Turns out that most of those pics lead to stories about American Apparel being under fire for not wanting “trashy” unstraightened hair on black models. Charming.

If you haven’t seen it, watch Chris Rock’s documentary Good Hair. It’s a work of art – and the film he was born to make.

I’ve always found doing just one thing at a time difficult and boring. I always watched TV while doing homework in high school (neither activity was interesting enough on its own). I always listen to music when I write. I always listen to podcasts when I walk.

Latest combo: stand-up comedy for an hour a day while I practise ashtanga yoga. Yes, I know you’re supposed to focus on your breathing and count your inhalations and blah blah blah, but if people in gyms can watch television while running, I can listen to stuff that makes me laugh while doing uttihita chaturanga dandasana.

Anyways, Pete Johansson‘s show “I Am Very Funny” made me laugh so hard today that I fell over today while doing dancer’s pose.

Next up: Everything filthy and offensive by Doug Stanhope. Yep: I’m going to practice ancient meditative exercises that derive from Eastern Philosophic traditions whilst listening to a drunk libertarian prick rant about prostitution and drugs, because that’s how I roll.

My grandfather – playwright, actor, comedian, and larger-than-life personality – Don Harron (September 19, 1924 – January 17, 2015) passed away yesterday. IMG_3297 From his biography (written by his daughter, my mother, the best writer I have ever had the good grace to meet): According to long-time friend and colleague Mavor Moore, “Harn [nickname for Don Harron] contains several opposites: scholar and clown, nationalist and internationalist, sophisticate and sentimentalist, puritan and hedonist, poet and punster, old fart and eternal youth. What saves him from utter derangement is a genius for transmuting the lot into laughter.” He was my rock, my inspiration, my incessant source of solace, and – in his quirky, indescribable way – my hero. 10868106_979900572023535_2734717140388528940_n 8395980424_fe5ce44d9b_o

Anyone who knows me to a reasonable degree knows that I utterly adore glitter. On one occasion, at the Secret Garden Party (a raucous British music festival), I was asked: “Zoe – do you want a shot? A pint? A balloon?”

“I JUST NEED MORE GLITTER,” I declared. By the fourth day of the festival, covering myself in ever greater volumes of shiny particulate seemed the only thing that could keep me going.

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My best friend and I became so addicted to sparkly powder that it began to infuse our innards: she went to the toilet, and her excrement came out covered in sparkles. True story!

So for many reasons, this ridiculous and yet somehow remarkably philosophical blog post by some dude named Nik Cartwright on the “glitter terrorism project” brings me great joy.

Choice cuts:

“Then comes along this guy all out in the open with HIS glitter passions. What the… I wanted to kill him or at least steal his glitter.”

“He has great enthusiasm, I thought, but an infant to the real underlined authority glitter can possess. He lacks the control needed to pull off a major glitter movement.”

“The ringmaster of the glitter wannabes.”

“Stepping out of, for the first time, the conventional glitter box.”

“Glitter Enemas”

“Glitter Fire-Works; gay glitter fire-works!”

“Glitter Porn”

“Uncut and pure premium glitter from my personal stash.”

“A near fatal glitter frenzy upon us.”

“Glitter hangover”

“There’s an underground glitter war out there and now you’ve seem it first hand.”

Glitter enema? Now that’s a step up from a glitter covered turd. Hats off.

I’ll be on Start The Week on BBC Radio 4 on December 22nd at 9am to discuss hedonism, alongside the Royal Shakespeare Company’s artistic director Greg Doran, who is staging Henry IV this month, and Kurt Lampe of Bristol University, an academic studying the tensions between the Hedonists and the Epicureans in the 4th century BC.

I’ve put together a track list of tunes on Rdio to accompany my book, featuring all the artists mentioned. The wonderful range of music celebrates the unparalleled human creation that is music: an infinite variety of forms are available to it, and we seemingly will never run out of new ways to produce sonic creations. From wreck heads to tee totalers, classical composers to electronic masterminds, I hope you enjoy the grand spectrum of beautiful noise that humans can make.

I published an essay in the National Post this weekend about deaf culture.

I’ve made friends with people in the silent world since March this year, and constantly became more and more enamoured with their language, their music and their spirit. I’ve never come across a group of kids with such a brazen attitude towards life – read all about it here.

As I describe in the piece, their language is astoundingly complex and versatile – it still floors me, especially how regional it is and how many different variations you can find in the UK alone.

Little did I know when I was writing this piece – and I wish I had – that the gay deaf community has its own lexicon, “Gay Sign Variation”. And it’s brilliant. This handy guide outlines some of the linguistic and grammatical rules of the dialect – and this is my favourite:

“Another common feature among the men was to sign with their elbows close to their body. Of the 21 men recorded, 16 of them displayed this feature. This is quite opposite to masculine Deaf males who would use a much more open and forward style of signing. It has been commented, jokingly that “this is to ensure their handbag doesn’t slip off their arm whilst signing” (personal communication, Jackson, 2008). This in itself is a ‘camp’ comment and one,which could be described as ‘tongue in cheek’.”

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“Go away” – gay sign variant on the top, normal BSL on the bottom.

Genius.

My book was ranked as the seventh best book of the year by Rough Trade. Sweet.

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