365 day one hundred: duncan & jhayne in.. CAKE FIGHT 2008!
I love the things I can talk my friends into
Month: April 2008
keep the engine running
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photos, unsurprisingly, by lung liu
“This life turned out nothing like I’d planned.” “Why not?” “When I was younger, living in L.A., I only wanted to grow up to be a famous pro-skateboarder. Pretty good at it too, not one of the insane guys, but up there.” “So what happened?” “My father moved us back to San Francisco and I became a musician.”
Saying goodbye, listening to the taste of every word that’s falling from my mouth like a flower petal, pearls spilling on the floor, why doesn’t he hear them? I hope the waiter doesn’t slip. A fortune of curiosity rilling across the floor. Formica table, silver edged, I’ve written about this before. It seems to be a place I say farewell to lovers. Late night, wishing we had picked the music, juke box saviors, noise, funk, tanned in the red light. My taste buds are crying out for the flavour of his sentence structure, how I find myself pronouncing his the word friends. A wild-eyed longing for something new, for all the stories he has to give the world, suffering from never enough. We should have, his future, another time, my past, we could have, but we won’t. Rain check. I want to lick his eyes, tri-coloured, red in the middle like a demon, green edged, the colour of jealousy, getting to fly away and jump away from here, cramped maybe, but I can’t care about that. Amazing. Summertime. Warmth. I’ll see him then, same old city, secrets open, wide, blazing. Press passes. Another stage, another show. Performances on and off, back behind fences, over by a beach, tucked around the lake. Maybe I’ll catch him a rabbit, eight track ears, folding back the soft fur, the sunburned faces of the people in the front row. For once, I don’t mind that I crossed the river. At least he held my hand.
“When I was sixteen, I had a decision land in my lap which would have changed everything. He was very rich, very famous. I see the face of the girl who said yes on magazines.” “I think you made the right choice.” “I think so too, or at least, I like to think so. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but right now, all of it brought me to being here with you, and I’m okay with that. That feels alright by me.”
Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free
On the heels of my time in Seattle, then my time in Whistler, my lover came through town for a weekend. And broke up with me. But it was lovely. My blood is still gently humming contentment from the weekend with the same satisfaction found in tying a good knot. Mike and I had the nicest, kindest, most genial, and convivial split-up I have ever encountered, then spent all of Sunday on The Best Date We Never Had. Seriously. I feel all warm and fuzzy and completely and utterly loved, all the way from the roots of my multi-dyed hair to the very tips of my bare little toes.
Saturday started out badly, we had a worrisome phone-call notable only for the gulf of heart-bruising silence that ran underneath everything we said, but it brightened immeasurably as soon as we met at the club. There’s something baked into his smile which unfailingly cheers me up, like an open door with sunshine on the other side.
The gig was marvelous, everyone had a fantastic time. The albums don’t do him justice, they’re great music, but seeing him live.. it’s an extraordinary, inspiring experience. He twists, dances, and contorts around his instrument, setting a mad pace thick joyful exuberance. I’ve been to his concerts more than anyone else’s and yet I still don’t think I quite have the words to describe what it’s like. There was one boy dancing along at the front so enthusiastically a wind came off his limbs.
Thankfully, it was an early night, with another band playing after, so we got to pack up and go for dinner at a half-way reasonable hour, something which doesn’t happen very often. We went to the best Korean Tapas Fusion place, over on Robson, with James, Lung, Claire, her boyfriend, and my mother, Vicki. Delicious, nutritious, and tremendous fun. We toasted unlikely things, celebrated, and ate the perfect amount of far too much. On the ride back to my place, when it was just the two of us again, we went over the conversation we had neglected before, fitting our words together like the devout gears of a crystal mechanism, casual and insistent, gently examining our language to see where we’d gone and what would happen next. When we got to my place, it was somehow finally okay to go in and sleep alone.
Then all of Sunday, as if to make up for lost potential time, we spent on The Best Date We Never Had. He called when he woke up, drove straight over, graciously crammed into my windowsill with me so Lung could take our portrait, then brought me out to Pnohm Pehn, one of my favourite restaurants, for a few hours of religious experience late afternoon breakfast, then to La Casa Gelati, home to 208 flavours, for double-scoop ice-cream cones. When it was time to scoot over to the gig, we had elbow room enough to sit in the car and talk music before going in and facing set-up, and when it was time to vanish before the show, we settled into a coffee-shop with delicious tea to talk politics and the state of our worlds. (The Cold war, Rush, growing up believing in The Nuke, where we were when the Berlin Wall went down, the natural disasters created by man.)
I took video, That 1 Guy playing the Railway Club, April 5th & 6th: Forgotten Whales, How’s ‘Bout Those Holes in the Moon, Buttmachine, Somewhere Over the Rainbow (on the magic saw), Dig (on the magic boot), Solea (w. a bit of Iron man), The Moon is Disgusting (It’s Made of Cheese), Cameo’s Word Up finale, and one just for me, as I threw panties at the stage in Seattle.
After that we went for late night burger and shakes and the waiter thought we were so cute drinking two strawed from the milkshake that he took our picture. I even got a kiss goodnight at the door. It’s like we should break-up all the time, “I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, where should we go for dinner?” So though I’m suddenly single, it was done with such grace that I feel completely undamaged. He figured out the magic combination, like how to kiss angels without being scalded.
fresh from NZ
artpost: one of them is made from Aluminium, Titanium, Acrylic, Formaldehyde & an infant human heart
Untouchable (HIV Camera)
by Wayne Martin Belger
4”x5” camera made from Aluminium, Copper, Titanium, Acrylic and HIV positive blood. The blood pumps through the camera then in front of the pinhole and becomes my #25 red filter. Designed to shoot a geographic comparison of people suffering from HIV.”
go out with a bang, but not, but yes, but no, but YES!!
Last night was stellar! I’ve been getting incredible enthusiastic thank-you’s from all the people I convinced to come down. Here’s a sneak peek of some of what you missed, (but wait, there’s more). There’s one more chance, though! Not all hope is lost!
Tonight! One night only! The Railway Club, doors at seven, show at eight!
That 1 Guy as interviewed by Chris Clark for JamBands.com (2008-03-22):
Mike Silverman is a man of many talents. Beginning his career as a classically-trained upright bassist, he has long since become an individual orchestra, performing a multitude of concise and elaborate sounds with two hands and two feet. Based in Berkeley, Silverman is a fixture on the live music circuit. Armed with the magic pipe (you have to see it to understand), That 1 Guy is undoubtedly one of the most unique and innovative musical acts around. Jambands.com had the pleasure with catching up with Silverman the day before his spring tour commenced to discuss all things That 1 Guy.
Tell us a little bit about your musical background. Where did it all start?
My father was a professional jazz bass player in the 60’s-70’s. By the time I was born; he had changed careers and put his upright bass in the closet. When I was old enough to find it, he was about to plant ferns in it out in the back yard as part of the landscaping (true story). I told him that I wanted to play it. He was just happy to see it getting some use. He was also my first teacher. I got into jazz and classical early on, at about 10 years old. Then rock, funk, punk, blues, etc. My dad always told me that if I played bass, I’d always be in demand because “no one played bass, but everyone needs a bass player”. He was right. By the time I learned where a few of the notes were, I was already in 5 bands, and it never really slowed down for years. That is of course until I quit all my bands to play by myself. Then I invented this other instrument out of steel pipes and don’t play bass anymore at all. Boy, that story has a strange ending. What was the question again?
…to read the rest of the article, click here
culture this afternoon
Today, Sunday April 6, 2-5 pm, Robson Square Theatre
Presented by the Consulate General of the Republic of Indonesia.
Featuring Gamelan Madu Sari (Javanese), Gamelan Gita Asmara (Balinese), VCC School of Music (contemporary Sundanese), SFU School of Contemporary Arts Gamelan, and Indonesian students, performing traditional music and dance and new music.
To find them, go under Robson Square, through the UBC doors, then down the stairs to your right.
Free admission (donations for the musicians gratefully accepted)
For the record, this isn’t the gamelan I played with, but the one my mother used to play with.
global initiatives in your back yard
My friends Jill Binder and Kajin Goh are attempting to create a Vancouver chapter for Pangea Day, a global film festival, “The day the world comes together through film”.
From the site: “On May 10, 2008, a 4-hour live streaming program of films & social consciousness outreach will be broadcast everywhere — everyone around the planet will be watching the same thing at the same time. The idea is a movement to promote World Peace through the medium of moving pictures. Films are powerful. Are they powerful enough to cause a global shift?”
If you’re interested, they’re having a meeting tonight at the End Cafe on Commercial Drive, (just north of Broadway SkyTrain Station), from 5:30 – 7 o’clock. I’m told that they are often late to their own meetings, so don’t be discouraged if you don’t see them right away.
the places livejournal takes me
Seattle was beautiful, a week of people I like and trying unfamiliar intersections on for size. Compass points. The stars and sea. Music, driving, carrying the city in my head. Robin brought me down, we talked love, I stayed with Joseph, we talked sex, and I bathed in every minute of living somewhere new. The nutrition facts of being away: elevated mood 90%. I would have been content to simply stay. Mike agreed I should. Walk out the door and never, ever return.
My favourite time was sitting in the hotel hall with Adam as we asked each other ridiculous questions designed to let us know each other as fast as humanly possible before we had to make the mistake of letting the next day wake and stretch arms and happen. He effortlessly touched the place I hide my face, a perfect replica of what I need to be content with life, reminding me to keep reaching out to others. It’s all a matter of numbers. Odds. Carrying each other like islands with similar species. Eventually, something’s going to give, somebody will stay and be a little bit of everything. Chaos theory, psychographics, the aching joints of disharmony, all of it faded away in the flowering safety of spending time together. Tangled in his hair, my hands remembered how easy it can be to like somebody, what it’s like to want to have someone else around, as if I could break the sound barrier with only our names. It looked like I killed a child in his shower.
Ross drove me kindly back into Vancouver on Monday, where I was at loose ends. I had forgotten to make any plans past Return, Unpack, and Clean. I stood at my window, glaring at the bland clouds, purring black cats tied to my ankles with neglect, thinking, “the drugs just don’t work today.”
Then Jacob Appelbaum called.
Come on down, he said, this is where I am, he said, where should we go next? A week unfurling, futures whispering, why not? Yes. Please. Rescue me. So I met him to the Jupiter, (forgetting they host the worst karaoke to ever issue from human beings), then found myself in a hotel room where the last of the hackers were trying to unsuccessfully party down on a Tuesday night. Tables covered in con-badges crowded the room, pizza boxes sat semi-ignored near the balcony door, and no one seemed to remember names. It would have been sad if anyone had been more awake. Eventually I caught a ride home from a Berkeley fellow, bared my teeth at sleep, and collapsed into Thursday.
Jacob, now Jake, called again. Come out, he said, we’re at the Vancouver Aquarium. Loud music, blurred laughter. Yes, of course. Bringing Ray, knowing he wouldn’t make it too late. They handed us tickets at the door, Complimentary Drinks From Microsoft, as I was highly amused how easy it was to swagger in. People standing everywhere, a string of blaring speakers probably bothering the fish. I scouted, looking for bleach blond hair to catch my eye. Jake was in the back, standing with Julia and speaking German with another girl I’m not sure I ever met again. We floated around the building, trying to find a way in to see the lemurs, but failed and eventually found ourselves outside with the dolphins and belugas instead. For five hundred dollars, I promised, I would strip down to underwear and swim with the dolphins. Sadly, only about three-fifty was ever raised, so I stayed dry, not willing to risk pneumonia without my rent being essentally gauranteed. Oh thwarted adventure. The Baby Buddha cried.
Eventually Ray went missing, as was expected from a Thursday late night, and whosoever was left was packed into school busses and brought back to the hotel. Another party, same room, more people, better everything. Topics: Internet security, computer user anarchism. Fascinating, technical, I liked it, (it was odd), though I felt that I might flounder at any minute, left behind by the jargon of the industry. Jake invited me to Whistler in a conversation lull, and when I said yes, he and I danced in a corner of the room with Sergio, a fun Argentinian fellow with short hair except for one long, thin, braid, who I ended up staying over with.
I woke in a king sized bed to an announcement at a ten o’clock that felt like seven a.m. THIS IS NOT A TEST. EMERGENCY SERVICES ARE ON THEIR WAY TO ASSESS A POSSIBLE EMERGENCY. ALL ELEVATORS HAVE BEEN LOCKED, PLEASE USE THE STAIRS TO EVACUATE THE BUILDING. WARNING CODE ONE. PLEASE REMAIN CALM. My first waking thought. “I’m not navigating 18 stories of stairs until I smell smoke. Especially,” as I opened my eyes, “it appears to be snowing outside. Ha.” Instead of pulling myself from the wide, warm blankets, I curled myself deeper into my nest of utterly first class pillow and went back to sleep, chewing a complimentary chocolate. Until the warning sounded again, then a third time, at which point I gave up, got up, and walked out, soundly forgetting my camera on the table until the moment the door clicked shut behind me.