vancouver – Page 4 – Dreampepper

with the sound of melencholy angels

Everybody Sing, Jess Hill at the Railway Club, backed by Ms. Rad Juli and Michael.

now to finally clean the kitchen after our weekend of victory

Now that was a SPLENDID weekend.

Nicole and I hosted a pot-luck at my place on Friday, based on a delicious giant ham and a big dead bird. I also made Eight Hour Eight Bean & Lentil soup for the vegans and vegetarians, which takes more than eight hours, but involves eight hours of constant stirring, as well as potatoes, steamed broccoli, and garlic portobello mushrooms with red peppers. It was an old-fashioned feast, and about twenty wonderful people came, most with their own delightful contributions, like home-made pulled pork sandwiches or berry wine. My oven lied a little about how hot it was, so we didn’t get to eat any chicken until around 9:30, but excepting that: COMPLETE SUCCESS. We all had so much food and good company that the last guest didn’t stumble out to a cab until 2 a.m. (Tony, sadly, didn’t make it until after midnight, as work prevented him from catching an earlier bus into town, but I set aside a plate for him.) Once again, thank you to everyone!

Saturday was just as great, as it was Duncan’s Dress-Up-Like-Duncan Surprise Birthday Party and A Mad Dash for the Down & Out: Tom Waits Tribute Night! I went to his party dressed as Cake Fight Duncan, in boxer shorts with a cake crown made of a birthday card and safety pins. It was a pleasure to attend, even though we left early to make sure we would get to Tom Waits night in time to get in, and it was a pleasure to catch up with some people I hardly ever see.

The Tom Waits Tribute Night was another sort of thing altogether. Completely incredible, it was gloriously mad gypsy dirty yet soulful and sweet, like circus music dancing through love songs with boots on. Some of the acts played it sinister, sandpaper rough and intense, while others sang as if their honeyed throats were on fire, a broken hearted sound that could only be put out with poetry or glass. My heart could have burst, it was so full with joy and pride for my friends. It was an astounding show, as memorable as a favourite birthday, as inspiring as only an insanely talented trumpet player twisting out a solo on top of a hammond organ can be. I’d tell you some highlights, but I’m sure if I tried, I’d describe the whole show.

The after party was pretty nice too. I spent most of it on the couch, curled up by a fire, swaying into the early morning surrounded by warmth and more music, singing a little and catching up with old acquaintances I dearly adore. Tony and I were almost the last to leave, starting our walk home just before dawn, safe from the chill with each other. We lucked upon five raccoons after only a block or two, a family, maybe, playing together, foraging along the sidewalk. When we got close, we stood very still, until they got used to us as we crept along beside them. One of them, slightly braver than the rest, tiny paw raised, body tense with investigation, came up and touched my leg three times, like casting a spell. It worked, we were enchanted, and smiled all the way home.

Sunday we spent almost the entire day cuddled up in bed, exhausted from being up so late, but glad for it. We forgot completely about the live Jonsi webcast concert, so we watched movies on my laptop, (Return to Oz, Reign of Assassins, & Ghostrider), and poked at the internet until it gave us some of what we need for Halloween, content anyway. Amazon provided Laika’s dog costume trimmings, minus a collar and dogtag, and another site had actual soviet space patches covered in bad-ass rockets and lightning. The next thing we need are matching flight suits, but I’ll be in Seattle next weekend, and there’s a rather epic military surplus store there that should set us up. Aside from that, the only thing missing are my four antennae, which I expect to find at Circuit City or a Radio Shack.

Tom Waits Tribute Night! A Mad Dash for the Down & Out.

The enchanting Jess Hill says, “Each artist will draw melodies from the sky and underbelly of the wide, wonderful, sometimes woe filled world of Tom Waits and bring them to life under the two suns at Commercial and 5th. The last time we threw this kind of party the joint was crammed to the rafters with a SOLD OUT sign by 9pm. Don’t hesitate to commit this date to memory dearies, the venue is a tight squeeze and if you’re late you’ll be outside watching the windows steam up.

Dust off your bowler hat, and garter belt, and hurry down, the bourbon won’t last forever!
See you at sea, in the alley and below the moon on October 16th at Cafe Deux Soleils”

Particularly exciting are Jess, Tarren, and Maria in the Shower. They rock more than socks. They rock EVERYTHING.

good thing we didn’t get the wok, too

Today I am putting together a set of Ikea shelves as an act of devotion, running the pieces through my hands like rosary beads, expressing a sweet swell of affection with every screw and wood dowel. On half a whim, Tony and I went to Ikea yesterday, fount of all things storage solution, to unearth a set of shelves to go under my computer desk and slaughter all of the spaghetti cord monster clutter there. We found some that seemed perfect – tiered, white, with a cut away back for cords – but fifty freaking pounds. Not being drivers, either one of us, it was decided that walking the flatpack box to the skytrain would count as an adventure, if a somewhat dubious one, in part spurred by the fact that we both need significantly more exercise and that the station, while a few blocks away, was in no way far. An idea which would have been completely fine if we had walked down the correct highway, which we did not.

Instead of turning down Highway 1 we stubbornly continued along Lougheed, completely ignorant of our missed turn. Eventually we found a gas station and called a cab to rescue us, but not before Tony, bless him, insisted on carrying the unwieldy box alone for about twice the distance as would have been required to get to the train station, all up-hill, proving without a doubt that he is willing to carry my damned metaphorical books as far as a boy can and still walk the next day. And so, today, here I sit, surrounded by computer parts, boards, and pages of wordless instruction manual, assembling the shelf like Lego for grown-ups, breathing his name into every piece so that it may stand in my room as an unobtrusive yet significant statement to love.

there is no such thing as too much devotion

At my insistance, Tony and I blew off all of our other plans to go to the Crash Test Dummies concert at the Chan last night, which turned out to be an acoustic show promoting their new album, Ooh Lah Lah, the first music they’ve released in six years. (Also for sale, Ellen Reid’s out-of-print opus, Cinderellen, which we also scored. Purr.)

It was epic. I am inspired.

Oh my stars.

That is all.

this weekend tis of geek

50 years of cyborgs: I have not the words.

First footage of this year’s Dr. Who christmas special.

I had the excellent luck of sharing the train back to Vancouver from Seattle with Cherie yesterday morning, as she happens to be the Guest of Honor at Vcon this weekend. It was a delightful treat to see her again, it’s been wretchedly long since we’ve cut up a dance floor. She’s been too busy promoting her steampunk novel, Boneshaker, and being nominated for the Hugo to be social. Luckily, with such delightful reasons for absence, the heart can only grow fonder. The sequel, her latest book, Dreadnought, just dropped this week, and I’d recommend snagging as soon as you can. I brought Boneshaker to Burning Man and read it three times just on the ride there.

I’m also going to be attending Vcon this year for the first time. So many friends are involved that it’s more than a little silly that I’ve never been. (For example, Micheal, the fellow that picked Cherie and I up from the train station, brought us to my place, interviewed her, then took us for lunch, turned out to be Pauline’s father, because Vancouver is small and the sci-fi geek population even smaller than that.) It starts this afternoon and goes until Sunday, with a Steampunk themed dance on Saturday night.

so listen

Vancouver is erased today by the souls of dead trees, smoke from fires up North and in the interior. It sifts down to the street, obscuring the horizon, clouding the city with a fog of trapped white ashes so thick you cannot see downtown from my balcony, like a television trick to hide the edges of a sci-fi set. The mountains are shadows, almost invisible in spite of their size. Above us, the sky is mediocre, streaked with only the barest smudges of pale teal, while the sun is reduced to a dark orange spot with visible edges, the burned heart of a glass flower fresh from the forge, bright yet safe to look upon directly. Light is muted in every direction. We are living in a light box. There are no black shadows.