Tag: ray

also ran into Shane, who gave me a We Are More pin.

Of everyone I know, Lung loves it best when I’m unemployed. He comes by almost daily to shake things up. It’s downright wonderful. Yesterday he met up with me and Michelle for tea, (her new seeing eye dog is adorabibble), then for a drive out to her place, where she showered us with books and gave me a simple air cast, so I can walk around without regularly collapsing in a sprained heap. Next week I’m going to start going out to her place to help her clean.

Today we’re going to visit Dominique and her tiny daughter, then drop in downtown to soak in some of the Olympics excitement and meet up with Mishka, who has a 4:oo Mariachi gig at Robson Square, playing on the stage downstairs next to the rink. The Olympics have been an exciting time for her – she’s going to be playing with Dan on CBC on Friday. I talked with her about it on the phone last night before their first rehearsal and it was absolutely lovely to hear just how far she’s over the moon! I’m always delighted when my friends connect, and even more when it tickles them so. Fingers crossed I’ll have the chance to take photos at their gig. (David told me after that I missed Dan and Shane being silly at Chapters yesterday, which was a bit of an damnit! moment, but then we got the ginger ice-cream out and the world was alright again.)

Later this evening, 8 pm later, Jess Hill will be playing at Cafe Monmarte with Erica Mah. Even though I’m not sure Lung is game for it, I know Ray will be, so I’m guaranteed to go. She’s amazing. You should go too!

Yes, as a matter of fact, if the situation presented itself, I would do it.

Staring into the sky, wondering at the blue, mesmerized, I caught the corner of my bag on the edge of a newspaper box and immediately turned to apologize. The world is turning, bringing my patch of Earth into sight of the sun, yanking flowers out of their buds, insisting we all move forward, drag ourselves out of wool coats towards the light. I am meeting Michael for lunch again, as I have every day since we met on the bus two weeks ago. We sit in the park when the weather is like this and eat our sandwiches lying on a blanket made of our overlapping jackets. Soon it will be summer and we will no longer need our coats. What then? Perhaps I will keep a cloth folded in my desk for our noon hour picnics. Perhaps by then we’ll be dead. Why think about it now, when the sun is out and company waits?

what really happened at columbine

Laid out on the bed like a window display, later, Michael and Emily, Randa and her kitten, Nicole and Ray, hiding from hockey, from being outside. Someone laughs, percussive, a wildfire spreading. I smile as I stand in the doorway, warmed, another full pot of tea in hand, (the mellow red packet marked JOY in black letters), feeling welcome in my social space for the first time in a very long time, following the breadcrumb sound like a trail in a forest. It has been too long since I’ve had friends over, since I’ve done anything but hide out of town, too busy dismantling the quicksand feeling of holding onto a stalled relationship to have people over during the week or really go out. Already it’s gotten dark, but we don’t care if it’s getting late. We’re sitting in the comfortable jewel-tone pillow heart of our own entertaining light.

” I don’t want you to be disappointed”


66-year-old pianist Yosuke Yamashita, via Japan Today

A letter marked in chalk, the name dusty from neglect, the sound of sheets wrinkled September in my bed. The words are statements, the antithesis of lyrics. The paper is silent, lifeless except in memories that supply the absent voice. Well, I suppose that’s it then. Every time the phone rang, I almost wondered, but I couldn’t live like that – hopes hovering pointlessly over the receiver as my hand grasped and woke up my voice from where it had been hiding in the time it takes to light one cigarette, the time it takes to say hello.

One signal, a thread of blueprint, I wanted a reprieve, but that’s not what I received.

Rechargable Biologically Based Battery

It was meant to be Ray’s Mariachi Madness birthday party tonight, except that he came down sick. Some of us went through with the plans anyway, as they were a little too weird to casually pass up. The venue, up on third, proved to be a hole-in-the-wall school of some sort, split between Spanish and music classes, decorated in what I can only label Tijuana Church Basement flea market.

It was a one room affair, similar to a community theater show you might find in a film, complete with low, vaguely unflattering lighting, walls awkwardly studded with various traditional decorations, and streamers that may have been left over from someone’s Mexicana wedding. The stage was a raised area with banisters, like an ornamental bridge over a very tiny stream, but instead of a stream, there was a row of potted plants. Most of the attendees spoke rapid Spanish, as did the host of the evening, leaving our friend Mishka, the violinist, looking like a deer in the headlights. A deer in a jacket three sizes too big and a ridiculous hat, mind, but a deer nonetheless.

Not that we were doing much better. At one point, I turned to Wayne and mouthed, “what have we gotten ourselves into?” He replied, “hell if I know, but it’s awesome.” Not only was there Mariachioake, which is exactly what it sounds like, there was also a Mariachi Idol contest that involved volunteers from the audience getting up and howling, and, for one song, the band was led by a five year old boy who sang at the top of his lungs at the prompting of his pregnant mother in the back who guided him through the lyrics with hand signals.

It was like culture shock, but in our own back-yard. If the backwards dancing midget from Twin Peaks had stepped from the audience and taken the mic at any point, I would not even blinked. Staying until the end of the show already felt like suspension of disbelief.

I highly recommend giving it a try. If nothing else, the food is delicious and the beer very, very cheap. Friday nights at 150 e3rd ave, just off Main st. Music starts at 9 o’clock, goes until approximately midnight.

like a walked-into-a-bar joke

Tonight’s music: AIRtest.
found via Warren, who has this description: “It’s techno, played by a jew’s-harpist and a vocalist/beatboxer from Hungary and a didgeridoo player from Germany. Acoustic Goa.”

My usual Sunday office job bailed on me today, (no one had booked the building for the Sunday after New Year’s, so there was no reason to have anyone there. Scary, financially, but not unexpected), so Ray and I decided to step out and see The Golden Compass instead. Not really sure what there is to say about it, except that it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. I like the idea of a children’s movie that’s anti-indoctrination, but was not particularly thrilled with the formulaic, predictable plot or the overly drawn out fight scenes. Oh! And the bear! Ian McKellen playing a warrior polar bear prince, that’s great! Now could you please not let his character lose gravity every time he runs? Basic animation principles, people, basic!

Ah well, I also pointed out the poor copy and flawed marketing in the Earl’s drink menu booklet, too, when we went to dinner before the movie, so perhaps I’m really not in any position to be attempting to discuss design like a normal human being.

“The impulse to travel is one of the hopeful symptoms of life.” Agnes Repplier

Mike flies from SF to Australia later today, so I made a little video to send him off. It’s terribly amateur, it being filmed at four in the morning, but I’m pleased with it anyway. It’s the first thing I’ve made with the tripod Ray just gave me for the holidays.

I don’t know how many of you were aware, but I didn’t have one before. Generally what I do is pile books into more or less stable stacks to whatever height I require, then pray that the cats won’t knock it over in the ten long seconds between pressing the timer button and hearing the shutter click. Occasionally I’ve been lucky enough to temporarily steal one off someone for a day or two, but that’s about it. My set-up is ghetto to the extreme. I’ve used flashlights and metal mixing bowls to light things, as well as hand mirrors taped to reading lamps. Having a tripod will be wonderful. Now let’s hope for some sunlight.

Kristen was at breakfast, a lovely surprise.


Friday night the star-fall was beautiful. Some were so violently bright, it was like we should have been able to hear them shred through the atmosphere. On our backs in a row under the too-cliche starry night, we irreverently cracked jokes about proverbial movie endings, but still gasped every time the sky impossibly ripped open with light.

The language of morning, music, two silk black cats, a matching short kimono, claws hooked into the chain of a pocket watch like an eccentric playful ribbon. Knocking down the mess. Sorting papers, shifting things into drawers, off the floor. Work at three o’clock.

Mechanical heart removed after organ heals itself.

Free of the future, he lives on the same block as my boyfriend who killed himself the night we were going to be together. I can see his bedroom window from the back porch. It’s unsettling. I’m almost breaking down, every word I’m holding on, trying to gain some equilibrium. My friend is telling stories that flow like an archaeological river. He’s been doing it for hours. Acid trips in London, working with Peter O’Toole, where he was when the Berlin Wall fell down. They go well with the house, his implacable gestures. I try to memorize as much as I can, anchor myself, keep the car running. Catching myself in a simple mirror over his shoulder, the naked frame is a prison, I feel like a photograph hung on the wall.

Walking towards breakfast late in the afternoon, one block down, someone has gracefully drawn absolutely perfect hot-rod flames into the dust coating a black vintage pick-up truck. It looks like something my buried love would have done. In my mind, I rock back on my heels into his body and, with a silent smile, I gesture to my friend, stuck on his cell phone, who sees it and smiles back. Suddenly, everything will be alright.

people keep asking how I am

Fondue was a success thanks to Ryan, Eva, Silva, her two friends, Ian, Ethan, Lung, Michael, Imogyne, Mike, Nick, Duncan, David, Beth, Mike, Alice, and Adam. At one point, the teahouse ran out of seats and I stood, leaning over people to get at the tasty treats.

  • The origin of HIV has been found in wild chimpanzees living in southern Cameroon.
    we look like we're related

    It doesn’t seem real that my birthday is so close again. Just Monday, Monday and the number clicks over another digit. Three to four. My mother got it wrong, thought I was older. It was her graduation from the University of British Columbia yesterday. I got the day off work to watch her walk across the stage to receive paper proof of her achievement. The pride that thrilled through me was burnished bright by the satisfied smile on her face. I took pictures after of her in her cap and gown, holding the blue folder that contains her degree. Then we took pictures of me in the gown on the basis that it’s very likely the only chance I’ll ever have to wear one. Driving home with her through the sharp rain on the motorcycle, I had to lean forward and hug her, the love and respect simply swelled to more than I could contain. She’s survived a ridiculous amount of harm to get where she is, and though it’s not ideal, she’s still scraping to get by, it’s a testament to her tenacity that she persevered and put herself through university as a single mother with three kids. It’s more than most have done.

    Tonight I have dinner with friends, tomorrow I have dinner with Silva, Saturday Ray is rescuing me possibly from my masque-panic hell and sweeping me about town to try and find something to wear, (suggestions bloody appreciated), and there’s (as yet unverified) rumour of a second SinCity to be held at Richards on Richards. (If there is no Sin, who wants to have a party?) Sunday I’m still planning on being down in Seattle with Eliza, though it’s looking less and less likely as the day approaches and no rides have been forthcoming. Monday my mother is bringing me to a soiree at the Mansion, and Tuesday is the last May Mandarin Movie Tuesday.

    • listening to deep forest so as to connect myself with the first link in this entry. it makes me happ


    next to city hall
    Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

    Strangely, I found myself in a house last night that I used to be intimately familiar with. It’s a small place just off Cambie, an odd little duplex left over from the sixties. Almost ten years ago, the tree out front had bicycles lashed to the length of it. It used to be a party house. If there was a crowd gathered out front, I would just walk in. Being there again was like looking through an incredibly distorted photograph. All the furniture was gone, replaced, different, but the underlying structure remained identical. I remember sweeping things off the tile counter that separates the kitchen and the dining room and using it as a small square bed. I curled with candles in my hands in the little window nook, my bare toes against the old thin glass, offering fire to the smokers congealing on the tiny porch next to it. Now Alec lives there, with his twin brother, gradually filling it with strange mechanical bits of home-made light-up furniture and rich vintage finds gleaned from local alleys.

    I met him Friday, at Alicia‘s delightful Anti-Valentines party, and we spent from there until 7:40 this Sunday evening together. If he never talks to me again, I’ll quite understand. However, I found him marvelous company. We stayed up late last night watching Six String Samurai and, honestly, anyone who doesn’t question my sleeping with a knife is probably that much closer to being okay in my books. Thank you Alicia for the goodly gracious idea of inviting him. (Though you’re only half right. He can out-geek me on technicals, but I out-geek him with culture).

    Earlier than that, Friday, I was caught being ridiculous at my workplace by someone off the street I vaguely hope will either never see me again or spread the legend farther. See, the computer had been played with by the owner, James, the previous night and something he did had destroyed the sound card drivers. Silence drives me crazy. It was hours before he called me back and I received permission to do a RESTORE on the system. Hence, singing Gorillaz at the top of my lungs, trying to echo off the very back wall, and dancing on top of the counters in a lull between actual bouts of working. In my defense, it happened gradually. First I was simply singing, then louder, then dancing as I put shoes away and filled out little bits of paperwork. Finally I vaulted up and did the deed, shaking booty for the entire walking world to see. We have incredibly large front windows. People think I’m strange, but really, it’s just that I forget what I’m doing.

    The year 2005 may have been the warmest year in a century, according to NASA scientists studying temperature data from around the world.

    I made a brilliant deal at the club tonight. Nicole and Matt brought me to Sanctuary and by chance we sat next to a friendly stranger. When I first began talking to him, I asked why he wasn’t dancing. When he replied that he’d recently wrecked his ankle, I politely enquired how he’d hurt himself. He clipped a starling while sky-diving, he said. He’d been bringing his seven year old nephew up for a run and had turned on his back to show him what falling through a cloud looked like. Hitting a bird is a one in a thousand chance, he said, in an airplane. Million to one when you’re free-falling.

    I was impressed.

    More so when I found out that he’s illiterate. “How on earth did that happen to you?” I asked, taken entirely aback. He grew up in Northern Ireland. A bomb blast when he was twelve. “Oh right, you’re the people who leave bullets in your post-office walls.” A quarter of his bones are now made of steel, his right hand is warped, and his skull is almost entirely artificial. He still knows Gaelic, however, as that’s what he’d been taught as a child. Home-schooling, apparently, though he’s lost almost all his mandarin. (go figure?) So I struck a deal. First, before I entirely had a grasp of the bizarre situation, I offered to swap some English for some Gaelic. When he’d filled me in a little more, explaining that it hadn’t been for lack of language programs with incredibly impressive pedigree, I offered something different. He chooses the book and I read to him in exchange for Gaelic lessons.

    He stopped mid-thought, struck by that. “I just might, you know. That’s a new one.” I hope he takes it.

    I’ve invited him to Korean Movie Night. I drew him a map.

    singing you’re one of my only friends who knows my love

    Good morning to the new lunar year. On the Chinese calendar it’s my year, the year of the Dog.

    The roof of my mouth feels lightly of electricity. Yesterday was falling backward, a door opening accidently, opening onto a room full of people I never see and don’t think about often enough. I have a new ring, a silver thing like the branch of a mother of pearl tree. I have eyes too open to see sleep properly. The parade through China Town was extremely beautiful. Ray and I bought explosive paper twists, you throw them to the ground and they spark and bang. I fell in love all over again every time I dropped one to the pavement. I took a slew of incredibly colourful pictures, but I will upload them later, when I am not rushing against the time I need to be at work.

    She retrieved a clove cigarette from her purse and put it to her lips. I hurriedly offered her a light with my lighter.

    “I want to sleep with you,” she said.

    So we slept together.

    -Haruki Murakami

    “This General Motors Futurliner was one of only 12 such vehicles ever built. They were introduced in 1940 as part of GM’s “Parade of Progress,” spun out of the 1933-34 World’s Fair, themed “A Century Of Progress.” There are nine known Futurliners that have survived. Three are in operating condition, including this 1950 model which sold at an auction last week for US$4,320,000.”

  • Vintage UK electronics ads.

    The day before yesterday, I felt like terrible company. Saturday night I simply crashed. Blearily I answered the phone a couple times, tried to wake up enough to get myself together enough to go to dinner with my friend, failed, and finally closed my eyes. There was a knock on the door a little past midnight, Andrew and Ian to pick up some electronics pieces, and a bit later, Matthew to tuck me in, but no one stayed and I fell back into uncomplicated darkness, tangling my ferret in my hair and forgetting to dream.