Once again, in some unexpected way, I’m spreading over the internet. This is a needle in a haystack kind of place, finding tiny magnets. At least it’s not always directly about sex, (I may be an anthropormorphic fox, but I’m an archaeologist in that set), though it does seem to be about my image. My mother asked me again yesterday why I don’t have a paypal button and finally I replied with, “What would I use it for? These are my friends, when I say I’m their whore, that’s not what I mean.“
Tonight I went to the spoken word piece of theater up at the Havana. (The wrap party is to be at my place tomorrow, I volunteered tonight when I found they had no venue.) It’s quite a nice piece of work, full of clever moments and delightful poetry. There’s enough impromptu and audience participation to create something refreshingly new every night. The cast is such an interesting mix of different performance styles that it’s enticing on it’s own. Rowan plays accordion and haiku, Fernando is the Duke of Deadpan, and R.C. is raunchy in the sweetest creepiest way. Matthew, of course, does Superboy. They’re set off nicely by Al Mader singing with his minimalist base about how he’s a lousy lover and the poet Martin Von Steinburg explaining how the city is bringing him closer in love to your bitchin face. Look at this mess. No wonder poets never get laid. The humour is highlighted with the occasional somber moment and waylaid completely by the puns.
Nicole came with me and together we kept Dominique from leaving. We were a proper Globe theater audience, with comments and suggestions at appropriate intervals. Two people are playing scrabble on the floor in a shuffled mess of paper airplanes as the audience filters in from the gallery and the restaurant. From then on is carefully contained chaos, mostly skits settled in a framework made of words. There are long poems and short poems and long introductions to short poems. There is beer on stage, music played, and costumes. At one point R.C. has a television for a head. Rarely does it drag and such areas are quickly done and even faster forgotten, replaced with a new crackerjack distraction. Tomorrow is Last Chance To See, so I recommend leaving your houses and moseying over to the Drive. I uploaded some pictures, but they sincerely don’t do it justice. There was too much movement for a camera, too many sudden outbursts of sound and motion to capture in a still. Lucky I got a little video.
I’m considering rushing up to see it again after work tomorrow.
8pm at the Havana restaurant, across from Grandview Park on Commercial Drive.