Tag: vancouver

dear mercy get me outside during daylight

It’s official, the ticket’s been bought. My new job as the photographer for Bloodlines Magazine is sending me to Kamloops. I fly out on Wednesday, shoot some portraits, stay the night in a hotel, make sure to get a shot of myself jumping on the bed, then fly back Thursday. Beyond the portraits, my time is my own. Does anyone have any suggestions for what there is to do there? The Tourism Kamloops website is a bit discouraging, as it mostly presents curling and Oldtimers Hockey as the thrilling pastimes. (One of the “Fantastic restaurants” it offers is McDonald’s.)

Classic SF movies rendered as Russian folk-art woodcuts.

I’ve just come back from going to FUSE with Ray. A bit of an unfulfilling night, as I’d already seen what the Vancouver Art Gallery has up this month, but I’m glad I went, got our of the apartment, all the same. I’ve been slowly becoming trapped in the mire, knowing that all it takes it to put on some shoes, throw on a coat, and walk outside, but being unable to gather the energy. My year and a half of only work for Heart of the World seems to have sapped my social life almost dry. I barely see anyone anymore, I rarely go out. I’m aware it’s unhealthy, though, so who wants to do something this week? My work claims me sporadically, so I don’t have a very set schedule, but I’m sure if we try, we can work something out.

the odds

Little boxes made of ticky-tacky, little boxes, little boxes, little boxes, all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.

There were police dogs barking all over my block last night. About half past ten, four cars flared up, sirens going, loud red-blue lights drenching everything with a sheen of epileptic shock. Dogs poured out on leashes, perhaps there was a chase? There was no way to tell from my apartment and I was too firmly In For The Night to consider leaving. Perhaps someone ditched a gun up the street again. A few weeks ago, it was firetrucks. Crackle and roar. Someone had set a pick-up truck on fire around the corner. Broke in a window and doused the thing with gasoline.

And the people in the houses all go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes, little boxes, all the same.
And there’s doctors and there’s lawyers and business executives,
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.

Monday evening, police wouldn’t let me onto Alex and Chrissy’s block for thirty minutes. Instead I sat on the edge of a curb in the middle of a growing number of thwarted pedestrians. Cruisers lined up were everywhere like a child had been playing god. When they let us through, police were going door to door, uniforms, typical questions, “did you see or hear anything suspicious?” With them came information, kidnapping, a woman walking on fourth fifteen minutes before I came along had been grabbed and pulled screaming into a shabby blue car that drove away at speed.

And they all play on the golf-course, and drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children, and the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp and then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes and they all come out the same.

The city falling into strange shadows, a forgotten language of violence, was it this bad before? When did the slide begin? Feet are washing up on the shore, only right feet, and in sneakers. We’re up to three so far. This is the headline that catches my eye at the bus-stop. It makes a break from the farm where they’re still digging up missing women, mostly prostitutes. Why can’t we legalize that already? Protect these people, keep them from street-corners, makes it taxable. I was told that our marijuana laws were repealed for the Olympics, replaced with ridiculously high-handed decisions. Six months for a gram of possession. Prison for intent to sell. Even the people who think it’s beautiful here, perfect to raise children, that mountains and ocean should be enough, even they should realize something’s wrong.

And the boys go into business, and marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes, little boxes, all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.

I’m thinking of going to take pictures


Two Lovers
Originally uploaded by Jonathan!.

From Vancouver Public Space:

3 Minute Kiss Freeze

Looking for something equally loving to do today? The following idea comes courtesy of a VPSN member who was inspired by the recent frozen-in-place revelry at New York’s Central Station.

Here’s what’s you do:

Grab a friend, partner, family member, pet or… ? and head down to Waterfront Station for 5:00pm!

At 5:00 pm start walking through the Waterfront Skytrain station, on February 14, 2008. Time your time piece to the atomic clock.

At 5:20 pm, FREEZE in a KISS. The kiss can be on the lips, on the cheeks, on the hands, on the wall, whatever – explore your creative options.

Make sure your alarm on your watch is set for 5:23 pm, at which point we will all casually move out of our kiss and keep walking moving as if nothing has happened. Yes, it’s basically like a flash mob but toned down a notch.

Waterfront station on google maps.

wonderful! friends! performing!

One-night-only!

Shane Koyczan and Dan Mangan.

Doors at 8, show at 9. Tickets are $10. The Biltmore, 395 Kingsway and down around the corner.

~~


Also this week, the PuSh festival presents Dances for a Small Stage number 18, playing Thursday and Friday night 7 to 10. Tickets are $15 at the door. Upstairs at The Legion, 2206 Commercial Drive.

“Mix fabulous contemporary dance, an intimate cabaret space and a ridiculously small stage, and find yourself at Dances for a Small Stage 18. MovEnt’s Day Helesic and Julie-anne Saroyan bring Small Stage to The Drive! Head over to The Legion on The Drive for a unique evening of dance in an atmosphere that is relaxed, casual and full of fun. With drinks in hand, sit back, relax and enjoy contemporary dance works performed by exciting artists in an usual and hip environment. This is new dance, made to measure.”

Featured this year: Kidd Pivot/Crystal Pite, Alison Denham, Joe Ink/Jacci Collins, Rob Kitsos, Meghan Goodman, Kim Sato, Science Friction, Patrick Pennefather, and Peter Chu (Las Vegas).

oh hell, I think I just missed Michael Green’s birthday.

365 day twenty-one: did I?
365: day twenty-one

The sky was strangled by pale blue today, cerulean seen through milk, so novel that people could be seen stopped in the street, staring. Clear as pastel glass, but no more kind than that. The sunset brought cold as immediately as it does in the desert, as if all the warmth in the world could not soak into this city’s tightly woven bones, too attached to woolen gray skies and shadowed clouds to dream of summer.

“Can’t We Talk?” a simplified explanation how the conversational styles of men and women differ.

I’d tap that

The Black Rider, a play written by Tom Waits, Robert Wilson, and William S. Burroughs, is currently playing at The Art’s Club Theatre down on Granville Island. All I know is it’s an expressionist faustian tale and apparently “fucking splendid”. It stars Jon Baggaley, Kevin Corey, Rachael Johnston, Colleen Winton, Michael Scholar Jr., and my friend Mackenzie Gray, who (when his cell-phone isn’t crazy-glued to his ear) tells gloriously Orson Wellian stories about Canadian theater as if it were Hollywood in the 1930’s.

Nicole, Ray, Brett, Beth, her mother, and I are going on Tuesday night. Anyone else want to come? Tickets are steep, but seriously, look at those pretty, pretty writers.

I’m like a singularity magnet

Kiosk, by Bruce Sterling.

I didn’t make it to Sweet Nothings last night, instead I was caught in a crime-scene on my way to the art gallery/tattoo parlour where Claire and Noah have their paintings up. I knew going down that there had been a murder, two people shot in a black SUV outside Gotham, the overly expensive steak-house across the street, but what I didn’t know was that by the time I arrived, the police were locking down the entire block.

I had perfect timing. As I walked from the bus-stop, cutting between buildings, they literally blocked off all the exits with police tape around me. I tried stepping under it to get out onto Seymour where the gallery is, as I tried to find my way out, and I was shouted at to get back, this is a crime scene, then I tried the alley to the same results, then the way I came in to the same results. Finally, having used up three of the four cardinal directions, I decided to hell with their shouting, I was going to breach the damned line, and ducked under the tape out onto Dunsmuir.

Next thing, I was sitting hand-cuffed on the hood of a police car as four cops shouted at me for sneaking in, possibly tampering with evidence, and theatening to arrest me for obstructing the law. It must have made an odd little scene. Four large men shouting at me in my long black coat, a top hat with a pretty ribbon, and gold lipstick, as I explained as patiently as I could that no, I had simply gotten off the bus, I was not involved in any way, and yes, you can go through my things as much as you like and would you please take these damned things off me, I am not twelve years old, thank you, stop treating me as such.

There were so many police present at the scene that I can’t imagine there were any left in the rest of Vancouver, so it took twenty minutes for them to find anyone who could verify my story. When it finally came crackling over the radio, “what, you mean that chick in the top hat?” I was testy enough to bitch them out for being unprofessional enough to call me a “chick”.

The rest of the night was lovely, however. Frank and Claire, once they were allowed out, picked me up at the Tim Horton’s across the street, and we stayed up immensely late taking incredibly silly cleavage-filled photos at their place. So there you are, internet, you’ve been warned. Breasts are imminent.

&nbspBrave New World, by Aldous Huxley.

spending the night up (finished green wing)

I’m going to be attending a lovely art show in about twelve hours from now – Sweet Nothings, “an eccentric collection of fantastic art and photography from a diverse group of artists ” Held at the The Fall Artist Gallery and Tattoo, right across from the skytrain exit on Seymour Street, it will feature:

Noah Stacey, Onwyn Stacey, Kathy Rankin, Sean Arden, Tamas Szathmary, Jesse Daniel, Mike Moore, Damien Pannell, Michael Mueller, Claire Roberts, Cheol Joo Lee, Leia Herrera, Christine Dibble, John Harrington, Lisa Griffiths, Stephen Dinehart, Kevin Kraft, Nick Carota, Rodger Grodan, Dave Clement, and Erin Marranca, with live Painting collaboration by Noah, Tamas, Mike Mueller, and someone billed as “D-TRAN!”.

Now me, I worry about extraneous exclamation marks, but hey, whatever. It’s somehow seven in the bloody morning again and I am still, again, awake. Functioning, not so much. (No food, no sleep, make Jhayne a something-not-as-smart). Perhaps it is paranoia, but really, I would like to think that we’re all familiar with the fact that exclamation marks are a warning sign.

Multiple exclamation marks are even worse, a sure sign of mental deterioration, they not only denote a certain sense of forced wackiness, but also an uncomfortable personality, the sort to chatter enthusiastically about nothing at all in particular, ever, but will want you to love whatever it is just as much as they do. Maybe, in fact, you’ll help them stave off the inevitable, unspecified government agents who are coming with crystals to suck out their brain to give to aliens.

Ah well, at least nothing was underlined.

Vote for Mike as That 1 Guy!! (he’s stuck at second)

I should go to bed.

Night night.

that humming might simply be nutrition, too.


365 day sixteen: drop
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

Dine-Out Vancouver started this week, an annual food festival that involves wickedly-worth-it expensive restaurants offering three course menus for either $15, $25, or $35 per person. (This doesn’t include drinks, tips, or taxes). Running from January 16th to February 3rd, it’s a wonderful opportunity, delicious, cheap, and super fun. There’s almost 200 restaurants involved, which can make it seem a little over-whelming, but they all have searchable on-line menus posted, and easy to find phone numbers for reservations. (The trick is to always call them in. The place you pick might claim on-line that they’re full up, but anyone with experience with this knows better.) They’re sorted alphabetically, by price, or by the type of cuisine they offer.

I almost always forget, of course, until it’s practically too late, but not this year. Ellen reminded me in time to keep an eye on the date, so tonight Mishka, my mother, and I went to Feenie’s this evening to take advantage. I’m a bit of a secret foodie, so it’s one of my favourite restaurants. You can keep your salty Kettle of Fish, your over-hyped Gotham Steakhouse, I’ll take Feenie’s any day. They may serve deceptively simple dishes, but it was started by a fellow who appeared on Iron Chef and the food, of course, is lovely, utterly lovely. Tonight didn’t disappoint. I had braised veal cheeks with an exquisite sour cherry gelati I would love to have enough to bathe in some day. My blood-stream’s still singing, hours later, a little happy song of contented tasty yum. Obviously I need to start roping other people into dinner.

So now you’re all properly In The Know, where are you planning on going?

this just in

As forwarded by Randy:

As you may know Steve Duncan, Diane Laloge and our very own R.C. host a spoken word poetry program on Co-Op Radio called Wax Poetic. Some of you have been guests on that show. What you may not know is that Co-Op radio’s license is up for renewal and the station is looking for public support so the CRTC can get a feel of the benefit of the station and our show. The station has received plenty of support in regards to their public affairs programming and now they are also looking for support from the arts community.

If Co-op Radio and Wax Poetic have been of value to you as an artist, please let the CRTC know this. There are instructions on how to do so at www.coopradio.org or just go to here and look for Vancouver Co-operative Radio. The deadline to submit your support is Jan. 23, 2008.

The CRTC is particularly interested in how the station helps the development of local talent (like you!). If you could tell them how Co-op Radio has been of benefit to your work as an artist, that would be very helpful. Thanks for your help and please feel free to contact Leela Chinniah if you have any questions about this.