Have you never heard of No shirt No shoes No service?
Yeah – from the seventies. Back when you could put a sign up front that said NO MEXICANS.
For the first time in my life, I have been asked to leave a place of business for lack of shoes. This amuses me to no end under the circumstances as I have been a regular customer for the last six years at this particular shop. Not only have I the habit of wearing no shoes as a matter of course, I have in the past also come in with no shirt. Sweaty middle of summer, cooked feet on the pavement and it’s nighttime summer. Sticky, hot, and salt tasting skin, believe me when I say that if they had reason to comment, it would have been then. Keep me where I belong people, let me pad around. No! The young impeccable man who informed me that I wasn’t welcome without footwear doesn’t like me now. I didn’t tell him off, not exactly. I just turned a little on him without saying anything in particular. The way I do, with a grin that kneads into sarcasm with a bloody knife. It’s worth so much more that way. A comment on his hair and he’s ruined. The facade of polite dropped utterly and all I did was compliment it. I think I’m a bitch and I’m not from your country.
Tell me I should have a concience. My fish died today.
Winged Migration proved its excellance by being wonderful to watch in spite of being shown on a rumply sheet screen in a cold orange lit park. Chilly doesn’t describe the numb fingers nor toes, though maybe blue does. A thank you to Ethan for being warm and a biologist.
now – the ZIM!!
Here’s one I took of Stephanie when I ran into her on the Drive the other day. There was so much rain that day it was obscene and I swished around in it, dripping all over shop floors.
I just finished a bottle of blackcurrant juice. Let me tell you, you think Red Bull is interesting? This stuff makes your tongue tingle. Tingle like a 9 volt battery. Take a swig and your head pulls back. It’s amazing. Inside the cap it says, “CZESC, CO U CIEBIE?”, which is as far as I can make out, “Chezch, How Are You?”
Called the scanner filthy names and sweet ones and got it working again. Little thing just needed some sugar. All my fireworks are caught now in digital, and the dyke march. Ones and zeros tracing back months.
Vancouver Dyke March, family under the cut
The work of Carlee Fernandez. Odd taxidermy of the most artistic vein. I’m quietly in love with what is done with the idea of animals here. Fur and form, they are all functional objects for human use in spite of keeping thier heads. The lower life-form solliliquey is obvious and painful. Taking damaged taxidermy, she skillfully squewers sticks into birds. A white rhino is meshed into a ladder, a buffalo into luggage. Go look. Slightly disturbing and lyrical, hers is work that will never make it to this conservative town.
edit: Friday may be Winged Migration, with Chaplin beig bumped to Saturday.
SILENT SUMMER NIGHTS
Presented by Eye of Newt/Rumble Productions/Radix
Friday through Sunday, September 3, 4, 5 at 8:15 pm
Grandview Park, Commercial Drive at William Street
Do a little something different this
Labour Day weekend stroll into Commercial Drive’s
Grandview Park for the 4th annual Silent Summer
Nights, three glorious evenings of the best in silent
(and not so silent) film. Park your blanket under the
stars and enjoy a selection of cinema’s “Great
Showdowns,” all to the thrilling accompaniment of
original live music by Eye of Newt and invited guests.
A Labour Day classic.
Friday, September 3 Modern Times. This
classic is suitable for Chaplin fans of all ages.
Featuring live accompaniment by Pepe Danza
(percussion), Chris Kelly (saxophone and laptop),
Stefan Smulovitz (viola and laptop) and Brad Turner
Saturday, September 4
Trinity is Still
My Name. Saddle-up for this Spaghetti Western/Live
Improv spoof of Clint Eastwood-style outlaw flicks.
Featuring live accompaniment by Brad Muirhead
(trombone), Ben Wilson (drums & electronics), Jesse
Zubot (violin) and dialogue by The SSN Voice-Over
Sunday, September 5 Enter the Dragon. A
classic martial arts movie of grace and timelessness
with a sensational new live score conducted by Coat
Cooke and surprise guests and performed by the SSN
The love incarnate, my adonis, the darling child of fire and paint, he is talking of quitting his job to come see me sooner. End of September rather than November. Weeks difference, days, hours. I can taste how he’s counting. Centuries. If it’s been too long, we will be strangers again. I suspect I will have to remember the heat again. Last time it took me three days of pure company to find him pretty, but when it came, it conquered. Take this flicker of light moving in a line from one side to the other. Sitting on the train, I could feel how. Transformation in breath. The head and heart paid attention for once and agreed. When I met him for the first time again, I was brash. Brazen I conquered and forced myself to force him. Touch this man I don’t know, tell his hands they can hold mine. I drank the moments and we walk together better now that I’m older. His hip fits into mine as my steps fall into his. Hills, not so much. Hills I will demolish in my perfect future. Slopes will be ignored and I’ll learn too to run again. I’m glad I was off the cane by the time he met me. No pity darling, I could find a wild boar to finish you properly, though I am no Aphrodite. As Psyche, I will kill you in your sleep and mutilate the corpse with fucking.
I don’t know how long he’ll be able to stay this visit. More than a week, I’m hoping. Grant me time enough, time enough to recognise him on the street, time enough to make him real. If it weren’t for the studio, he would stay. I don’t know how many times I can say goodbye in a year without snapping. Twist the wire this way, twist the wire that way. Bind my wrists until fingers turn blue, but it will break. He won’t make it here in time for Fringe, which I suppose is a good thing. Certain aspects of the theatre community will be far too interesting this year to bear him perhaps. I plan on striding through if I can, knocking the feet from those who are expecting me to be as small as I was. Alone it will be easier. Slash and burn. I worry a little for Bill, but I don’t know his involvement this year. There must be some. I know he will come to Jacques’ show and maybe one of John Murphy’s. I don’t know what Tom Jones is up to nor Johnathan Ryder. I’m sure the Shameless Hussies will have something up, but I know not if he would go. If I were more certain of what people have been told about me, I would hit up David Garfinkle, but, well, I don’t have tha vaguest idea. I’m cut out of the loop. The noose was let go for a sad faulty knot. If anyone knows – I would appreciate the heads up. This is no guillotine.