Archive for January, 2009

27
Jan
09

Perry more hot than cold at the Commodore

By shawnster 2 Comments
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The hottest ticket in town this past weekend, Katy Perry played the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver a couple of nights ago. For those of you who have been living under a rock, Perry is the 24-year-old diva behind the megahit “I Kissed a Girl”, along with singles “Hot N Cold” and “Thinking of You”. Gossip-wise, she apparently used to date some schlub from Gym Class Heroes. (God, I’m glad my career no longer requires I keep up to date on albums by the likes of Fallout Boy and Gym Class Heroes. Now, I only have to keep up with what’s happening in dating and relationships!)

img_7179The show sold out in five minutes, at least according to a stage comment Perry made about her popularity in Canada. Packed shows at the Commode ain’t what they used to be, in the bad old days before city council declared martial law on downtown nightlife. Now under corporate ownership, the venue’s management ensures fire safety and capacity laws are strictly enforced. Yawn.

To no one’s surprise, I’m sure, the audience was mostly girls who haven’t yet reached the age where their illusions of romance lie in tatters, although Perry herself dropped a few hints of adult-type cynicism about male-female relations. “You know how you break up with a guy but you keep having sex but then you wonder why you’re good enough to sleep with but not date?” she said by way of introduction to one song.

Minor controversies have dogged Perry’s meteoric rise—critics have charged that “I Kissed a Girl” is simply a play for attention by this former singer of evangelical pop, never mind the fact that talented singer/songwriter Jill Sobule had a minor hit with her own song of the same name back in ‘ 95. But hey; Perry didn’t create a world where girl-on-girl action is the most-searched term on Google (okay, I’m guessing), and it’s not her fault a new generation of Girls Gone Wild have taken to the track like beads at Mardi Gras.

“Ur So Gay”, another Perry song getting some attention, has also nettled the nabobs of negativity with its portrait of a heterosexual dude who wears more makeup than his girlfriend. But at 24, Perry can Perry be blamed for writing lyrics that seem to have come out of a high schooler’s notebook?

Personally, I’ve always had a predilection for girl-pop myself (I know, I’m so gay), and I like Perry’s style—her black bangs and polka-dot dresses and primary colour world—and think “Hot N Cold” (especially the Yelle remix version) and “Waking Up in Vegas” are great songs for the gym treadmill, especially when there’s nothing to watch on the bank of TVs except the ugly mug of Lou “War on the Middle Class” Dobbs. At 60 minutes, Perry’s set was about 20 minutes too long, but I could say that about most bands I see. A friend called Perry the latest It Pop Girl, a la Avril Lavigne; I’m more charitable (probably because of the treadmill), and would go so far as to say “I Kissed a Girl” is just a new generation’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”. This is just how the kids have fun nowadays. And who am I to argue with that?

img_7178

25
Jan
09

Gearing up for Katy Perry

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

The girlfriend’s passed out. Perfect! This means I get to watch a DVD of The Office while she sleeps, waking up once in a while to complain that she feels ill. We’re at the Radisson Hotel, near Seatac. At 4 a.m. tomorrow she’ll be up getting her stuff and heading to Hawaii to bunk with her sister and visit with her dad and step-mom.

As airport hotels go, the Radisson is a lot better than the Red Lion, where I once stayed with Former Wingman. The Red Lion front desk didn’t even give us our wake-up call, which you think would be just basic in an airport hotel. The Radisson also has a decent room service and ice near the elevators, which seems to be a declining amenity. And a swimming pool. If only I’d brought my Speedos.

Do I wish I, too, was going to Hawaii tomorrow a.m.? Hell yeah! But apparently the Texas Twister’s dad wants his girls sans boyfriends for a week, which I guess I can understand. I’ll have to party it up on my own, back in Van.

That’s okay, because once she’s caught her shuttle I’ll have the hotel room to myself. A leisurely drive back to Vancouver will follow, after a stop at one of my favourite bookstores (Elliott Bay). And tomorrow night is the sold-out Katy Perry concert at the Commodore, which I’ll have a full report on for you on Monday.

I have to say, my pop-tart curiosity is at an all-time high: will Ms. Perry rock? I’m going to find out.

24
Jan
09

Negril, Estelle, but no Javaughn

By lenatic Leave a Comment
Categories: Lena

It is sooo hard to blog about Jamaica in the daytime. Perfect sunny weather, endless daiquiries to be had–why am I inside? Because it is harder to blog about Jamaica in the nighttime, when everyone else is out at the clubs. Or, this week, at Jazz & Blues.

I’ve been at Jazz & Blues two nights running, and have many pictures to show you, mostly of Estelle,  AKA Miss “You’ll be my American Boy” protege of Kanye West. I always wondered what it was about her that got Kanye, who is one of the most over-competitive and non-chivalrous producers currently in existence, to roll over on his back like a puppy for Estelle. You don’t see him doing that for Beyonce, Rihanna, hell even Lady Gaga. But having seen Estelle live, I now understand all. The woman has charisma, she has a powerhouse voice, she has Tina Turner legs in a tiny silver spangle dress, and a sexy cute attitude that transcends all male chauvinism. Seriously. She got some Jamaican dude up on the stage, demanded that he bump and grind with her, and then teased him mercilessly for not knowing how to move his hips.  She schooled him and rocked his world in front of thousands of his countrymen. Then she gave him a kiss and sent him home. Go Estelle! Love that girl. 

I spent much of the rest of Jazz & Blues that nite in the manner I’d begun earlier in the day, which was: laze about, have no set plans, and drink as many Red Stripes as possible. This worked out well for me. We arrived in Negril around mid-afternoon, and spent sunset at the Rockhouse Hotel, which has to be one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. It’s on limestone cliffs, with lots of little cabana-type lodgings, little wooden bridges spanning crevasses where you can see the ocean 50 feet below, a stairway leading down to sea level, where people actually go swimming if the water’s calm and/or they don’t mind taking their lives in hand… and then a swimming pool set into a ledge that lips the sea. I could probably spend every day at their outdoor bar, watching the daredevils jump off the cliffs, and everyone else just sort of moon about thinking how lucky they are to be there…

Because my friend knew the owner, I learned that Rockhouse is opening a new restaurant called Pushcart this very night–and this is where I achieved my one significant thing for the day, which was to score myself an invitation to opening night.  What can I say–I like to be first. So tonite, if I can convince someone to drive me to Negril, I am back to Rockhouse.

Otherwise it’s third night of Jazz & Blues, which is a fun festival, as long as you remember the Jamaican principles of:  relax, be nice, and don’t worry too much about schedules or getting work done off business hours. I forgot this for a short time yesterday, when two of the Jazz & Blues PR girls waxed so enthusiastic about this  16-year-old Damien Marley protege named Javaughn that I decided to make a point of seeing his set, then  interview him. It didn’t work out so well. There was no set time he’d be performing–no finalized lineup in fact. By the time I got to the show, he’d already played–only no one knew where or what time. They also didn’t know where he’d gone.  Since I couldn’t see myself roaming thru a crowd of 15,000 Jamaicans in search of a 16 year old boy–local celebrity though he might be–I betook myself to the VIP tent (AKA free food/booze tent, nice seats) and told his reps to text me if he returned. They never did. Ah well. I guess teens have better things to do with their Friday nights than worry about their careers, Marley protege or no. 

At any rate, off I go. I do have pictures…or anyway, someone has pictures, definitely my friend Robert because he’s a photographer & took at least 17,000 snaps of the concert, including a few of me.  But they will wait. They must. I need to go be lazy.

22
Jan
09

I’m baaack (in Jamaica mon)

By lenatic 1 Comment
Categories: Lena
Tags: , , , , , ,

And like *poof*, I  disappeared.

And like that, I am back. Not just on the blog, but also in Jamaica. And it is nice to be here, I must say. I’ve missed the good times that we’ve all shared: me, you, the 80 year old rasta pepaw with the missing teeth and the parrot on his shoulder…oh wait, I took that picture down didn’t I?  Never mind, I can take another tomorrow. I’m going to Negril and I just know that  the man, or at least several snaggletoothed replicas of him, will be there.

So I took a redeye into Montego Bay and arrived at 7:45AM Monday to discover my reservation was lost. It took a full  two hours to find it and get to my hotel, and by the time I finally was allowed in my room I was just exhausted. Which really does not explain how I got into a drinking contest 45 minutes later.

I swear, I do not seek these things out. They find me.  Or maybe we are drawn together like magnets to iron maidens or something. I was walking back from a quick  lunch, nose in a trashy detective novel, when I heard a loudspeakered emcee enthusiastically cajoling/encouraging/ordering the holiday-makers to come to the front of some bar and join in a competitive beer-drinking event. I looked around to see where the voice was coming from, but couldn’t–it was omnipresent. Carefully, I sidled past a cluster of about six people, into what I thought was a courtyard…and instead found  a lineup of 12 sunburned people, looking at me challengingly. Then I glanced back. Beach bar. Shite. Beer drinkers. Right in front of me. Oh, and my stupid ass. Right in the middle of the competition floor. Nicely done, Lena!

“I’m sorry, very sorry,” I said, backing away and smiling, shaking my head no no no with great emphasis.

 ”OH LOOK, WE’VE GOT A SHY ONE!” bellowed the emcee. 

I decided to try the ”Ignore him; he’ll go away” tactic. It’s often effective. Pretending I couldn’t hear him, I backed up a small flight of stairs and  hid in a corner.

“COME HERE, MI’LADY.”

Nooo, I mouthed, hands up in the universal sign for ”I give up, can’t help you; please leave me alone.”

“YOU SHY GIRL WITH THE BLOND  HAIR, COME TO CRAZY CHRIS. RIGHT NOW. DON’T BE SCARED, I AIN’T GON BITE YOU.”

Oh jeez. This wasn’t going to end. People were beginning to stare. I shuffled up to the bossy mic-wielding madman at the podium.

“Come and have a drink with us,” he said, suddenly  no longer a tormenter but merely an exuberant host. One who happened to have a microphone and an avid audience….but I mean on the bright side I was much bigger thah him. I felt sure I could overpower him if I could get his damn mic off for a minute.

“I really can’t,” I told him. “I mean, I can’t.”

“You in Jamaica now mon, you haf’ to.”

“Ya mon. You in Jamaica,” echoed back several of the bar patrons, as though they were in some sort of weird call-and-response church service.

Oh dear. Chris didn’t have an audience, he had acolytes. And they seemed in a mood to resent anyone who might  prefer sleeping over boozing, or prefer anything over boozing, or even admit to having slept at all in the past week. I know this mindset; it is common in the vacationer nearing the end of their holiday, who knows deep in their heart that that good times will soon be over and bad-weather suckiness will begin. I have been that person. Thus, I understood that  I didn’t want to fight them.

I took a seat next to my fellow beer-drinkers. Now that I was safely roped in, the audience became swiftly bored of me and began to catcall at a Jet Li lookalike in tight black biker short/swim trunk/underwear thingies. His friend got up and launched into a Kriss-Kross Humpty squaredance routine. People cheered. It was all incredibly stupid. But, okay I admit it, I was starting to have fun. There’s something heartwarming about seeing a man make a fool of himself on the dance floor and know it. (Mostly they think they’re hella sexy.)

Anyway. The beer was proffered. It was a small cup, really. This was fortunate, because–and here’s the thing I haven’t yet shared with you–I had already had two at lunch time. No, three. Something like that?  You can’t drink anything with jerk chicken except Red Stripe; it goes without saying. So I had ‘em, thinking I was going to go straight to the room and to sleep…and instead here I was looking like a sweaty pale mess in last nite’s clothes, staring into a foaming cup of Red Stripe that according to CRAZY CHRIS’ latest instructions I would need to either drink or pour over my own head. The good news is, I would be doing this with nine other chicks. The bad: I would have to do it center-stage, standing up, while being photographed.  (If you read my Cabo blog, you know why I might have reason to worry about foreign drinking contests featuring insane emcees and video cameras.)

But the really good news followed a moment later: For the first round I would only have to drink one beer, not 3 or 10 as I had feared, and if I lost, I wouldn’t progress to the next round. And could go back to room, sweet room. Yay!

(At this point, a fiercely and perversely competitive voice began to speak up in my head, telling me ‘You can win this…and dammit you must.‘)

Shut up, I said to the voice.

Do it for California. Do it for yourself, the voice continued.

This is how I ended up taking my damn bikini top off in Cabo. GO AWAY, I said to myself.

And thankfully this time I listened. I came in third. My top stayed on. I did not progress to the finals, did not do disgusting watermelon shots out of the Squeezee bottle that was on offer, and went off to my room to take a nap.

I am sorry to let you down–and I know I did–but I had to. Better things were to come, like that nite, when a man named Sexy Bubba cooked my dinner, tossed my salad and flipped my eggs (I know how that sounds but…it was actually completely culinary). And the next nite when my dear old friend Donahue arrived in a chariot to take me to some cool bar furnished entirely with found objects and shoes. And today when my new BFF Marcia led me to a giant chessboard by the sea,  where I fully plan to play human chess as soon as I can rope 24 people in…and learn that damn game b/c I’ve never figured it out. And also tonite, when my van driver turned out to be a deejay who will return bearing a CD of up-and-coming dancehall artists, just for me. And tomorrow when…I go to Negril. Yay, hooray! I shall be back to tell you all about it. But for now…good night mon, and stay irie.

20
Jan
09

Taboo Naughty But Nice Sex Show pt. 3: Suicide Girls are nice

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , ,

Suicide Girls is an online magazine that’s been giving horny punk rockers, goths and other sophisticated types a place to view tattooed and pierced lovelies in, as the Victorians say, various states of dishabille since 2001, when it was founded in (where else?) Portland, Oregon. My last interview of the day at the Taboo Naughty But Nice Sex Show was over at the booth of the now L.A.-based company, where Vancouver photographer Cherry and a few of the Girls were chatting with visitors and selling clothing and a new book, Suicide Girls: Beauty Redefined. Watch for my outdated Pearl Jam reference as I talk with Cherry as well as Rydell (Calgary) and Meshell and Glitch (Vancouver).

Cherry, Rydell, Glitch and Meshell... I think.

Cherry, Rydell, Glitch and Meshell... I think.

Me: What’s that, short for Glitchowski or something?

(general laughter)

Me: So do you consider yourself models?

Meshell: I don’t like using that word.

Rydell: We just consider ourselves Suicide Girls.

Me: So what’s a Suicide Girl?

Meshell: Somebody who’s comfortable and confident with her body and her style.

Me: But who doesn’t want to be known as a model? Like, the barista next door?

Cherry: Some Suicide Girls are professional models. A lot of us are just normal everyday girls with normal jobs or who go to school.

Me: That’s basically how the whole thing started, right? The girl next door who’s pierced and listens to Pearl Jam.

Cherry: Yeah. But sometimes some girls start modeling with Suicide Girls and then other photographers and agencies approach them and they then become models.

Me: Rydell, is the best way to get into Suicide Girls by knowing a photographer like Cherry?

Rydell: Yes. She’s a staff photographer, I’m more comfortable shooting with her than say with someone else.

Me (to Cherry): How did you become a staff photographer?

Cherry: I was a Suicide Girl to start with. Then I was a photo retoucher. All we really do is take out blemishes, make the colours nice. We don’t do any of the standard beauty retouching. After that, I photographed my own sets of photos and a few of my friends approached me and asked me to photograph them. Then the people who started Suicide Girls liked my stuff and asked me to shoot more sets and start recruiting for them.

Me: How do you recruit?

Cherry: At places like this convention, like if we see hot girls who fit the description, or girls who are confident and come over and start asking how they do it.

Me: Would you put an ad on Craigslist?

Cherry: No. We don’t anything like that. We let the girls come to us. That’s very important, it has to be their decision. It’s something they want to do for themselves rather than the normal model industry.

Me: Glitch, how did you get involved?

Glitch: I just wanted to show a different side of beauty, and show other girls they could have role models other than what is out there.

Me: Is it important to work with female photographers rather than males?

Glitch: Not necessarily. I feel comfortable with Cherry, but I like different creative aspects of different photographers and how they shoot me.

Me: How much a part of your life is about being a Suicide Girl?

Glitch: It’s not a huge part. I check my messages every day.

Me: Have any of your friends gotten involved because you got involved?

Meshell: My best friend. We used to live together, and after I did my first shoot she wanted to do one. Now she’s part of Suicide. We shot our sets in our house once and had a lot of fun.

Me: That’s an important aspect too, isn’t it, shooting where you live.

Meshell: Wherever you want.

Cherry: Or bars, or shops. Or even outdoors. We try to use a wide variety of locations. They have to be real. There are very few studio shoots. The girl chooses how she wants to be represented. She chooses her theme. It can be a complicated story or homage to a film, or as simple as a cute girl hanging out being herself. The whole range.

Me: Get any crazies?

Cherry: Yes. Any society, any community, there’s people who are normal and people who are way out there. It’s what makes it interesting.

Me: What kind of person reads Suicide Girls?

Cherry: Everyone. So many different people. Everyone from straight wives right through to lesbian girls, different types of men. And all kinds of ages, from 18 to.. we’ve got members in their sixties and seventies. It’s like Playboy has a wide readership.

Me: But with less retouching.

Cherry: Yeah. I think that’s what draws people to us.

Meshell: That, and the style.

Cherry: And they [subscribers] can talk to us on the site.

Meshell: We all have blogs.

Me [gesturing at trade show]: Are you going to write about this?

Meshell: Yep.

Me: We’ll see how that compares to mine.

(Nervous laughter)

19
Jan
09

Taboo, the Naughty But Nice Sex Show pt. 2: Burlesque at Maxine’s Hideaway

By shawnster 1 Comment
Categories: Shawn

I must’ve hit the wrong button or something because I didn’t record one of the interviews I did at the Taboo sex trade show and exhibition this past Saturday, Jan. 17. That’s too bad, because Chris has an interesting story—he moved to Vancouver a few months ago and immediately started working for Phat Cat Limousine. In other words, he’s there when stagettes get out of hand. Not bad for a kid from a small Okanagan Valley town, Penticton (pop: 30,000). When I moved to Vancouver from Winnipeg lo these many moons ago I worked the graveyard shift. At the post office. Believe me, there were no stagettes happening there.

Chris, who may or may not be related to the lead singer of Sum 41.

Chris, who may or may not be related to the lead singer of Sum 41.

I did record my chat with Dani, though. She waitresses at Maxine’s Hideaway in the city’s West End. Maxine’s offers burlesque shows featuring the Candy Girl Cabaret dancers (Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays) and the Oh, Boy! Cabaret dancers (Thursdays and Sundays). Taking the footwork skill level up a notch is co-owner Leigh Torlage (wouldn’t “Legs” Torlage be an even better name?), who is a professional choreographer/hoofer (she danced in the movie version of Chicago and teaches at Harbour Dance Centre in Vancouver). The dancers practice seven days a week, assures Dani, stopping only to eat nuts and spinach. “They’re very talented girls and boys.” The show has really started to take off in the last six months, she says.

Dani:  The staff participates. It’s a show lounge, it has a show environment. The dancers are constantly crossing our paths. Some of the staff actually do get up and sing for certain numbers.

Me: What do you wear when you’re staff?

Dani: We’re in the process of getting our uniforms. We will be in corsets and white-collared shirts and fishnets.

Me: So, sexy but classy.

Dani: Yeah. Old-school cabaret style. A little bit burlesque-Chicago feel. Definitely more of a jazz Broadway production.

Me: There’s a lot of burlesque in town. How big is the market?

Dani: I think it’s definitely coming back in. It gives a woman class. Without taking her clothes off and being sleazy. It’s sexy, it’s provocative, but it’s giving the woman power. We have professional dancers, full choreography, very talented people putting on a great show, exploring their sexuality in an old-school cabaret feel.

Me: Sounds like you’re reading that off a cue card.

Dani: No! Thought that one up. I’m in my head thinking, “Oh I hope I say the right thing.”

Me: Could I bring my parents?

Dani: Absolutely.

Me: You don’t know my parents.

Dani: We get the older crowd, the younger crowd. We get a lot of stagettes.

Me: The magic word! Here’s the most important question: Is there parking?

Dani: There’s parking because it’s right by the beach.

Me: When I think the West End, I don’t even want to go near it at night. There’s no parking. Do you live there?

Dani: I have.

Me: Did you live on a street with permit parking only?

Dani: Yes.

Me: Did you ever yell at a person for parking when he didn’t have a permit?

Dani: Yes.

Me: That was me!

Dani: I have gotten out of my car and gone, “You motherfucker! I had to wait four hours in line for my pass.” It definitely is a nightmare in that area.

Behind this sweet exterior lurks a parking Nazi!

Behind this sweet exterior lurks a parking Nazi!

Me: Ever since someone yelled at me I’ve been scared to go into the West End.

Dani: Aww. Well don’t be.

Me: But you just reinforced it!

Dani: But I sold my car, I don’t drive, I walk everywhere now. You’re safe.

Me: Ever lived anywhere else? Do you think something like Maxine’s, in a bigger or cooler city, would be more successful?

Dani: I have a big loyalty to Vancouver. I love this place, I love the rain, I love the people. I live in one of the worst neighbourhoods in Vancouver, and I still have faith in the city. It is a No-Fun city—it’s called that for a reason, the liquor licensing, and things are  a little outrageous. But I have faith in the people, that they want their entertainment and want to go out and have their nightlife. I’m hoping with the Olympics the laws will relax a little bit and we’ll get this city boppin’.

Next: an interview with someone pushing energy drink Beaver Buzz, and some Suicide Girls.

18
Jan
09

The Taboo Naughty But Nice Sex Show pt 1: bruises and beer

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Depression isn’t funny. Believe me, I’ve had moments where I’ve been curled up in a foetal position, and that was just when I heard Deadwood was canceled.

However, there is something at least mildly humourous about going to a sex trade show with two really, really depressed guys.

Greetings. I am a mechanical penis. Are you aroused?

Greetings. I am a mechanical penis. Are you aroused?

I thought I’d cheer up my friend N. by inviting him out to this year’s Taboo Naughty But Nice Sex Show, an exhibition of all the latest in lube, pole-dancing, bodypainting and dildo technology. He seemed to get a kick out of it last year, but that was before a whole bunch of nastiness (in his personal life, not at the show itself—we weren’t thrown out by security or anything) went down.

Anyway… I figured it would cheer him up, maybe point him in some new directions, i.e. the dungeon room. But about an hour we were supposed to meet he called and said Is it all right if I bring a friend? I hadn’t counted on it being the suicidal dude he’d bunked with recently at the psyche ward. (I’m not making this up.) So imagine if you will three 40something (well, D., N.’s buddy, looks to be in his 30s) wondering from booth to booth at a sex trade show on a Saturday afternoon, me with my little pocket recorder talking to derby girls, waitresses at burlesque lounges, spokesmodels for energy drinks and Suicide Girls while Tweedledepressed and Tweedlemoredepressed stand off to the side, not saying anything and just generally freaking out my interview subjects.

Nevertheless, I think I got some good stuff, starting with Mickey Mercury and her Terminal City Rollergirls. Vancouver’s own roller derby league, the Rollergirls are girls strong, in three teams, and are now going into their third season. (For more on the art of rollerderbying, see the article “You Just Can’t Keep the Girls from Jamming” by Paul Wachter in the New York Times Magazine Feb. 01 09.)

Apocaliz Now, Mickey Mercury and Missy Masculator

Apocaliz Now, Mickey Mercury and Missy Masculator

Me: Who comes out to the bouts?

Mickey: Our demographic spread is wide. We have older people come out, we have poelpe come out with their kids. Young, old. It’s entertainment, it’s a really good sport, it’s fast-paced.

Me: Pervy old men like me?

Mickey [trying not to look over at N. and D., who are standing nearby shuffling their feet]: Sure, yeah. A lot of people, you know, anyone, anywhere can come.

Me: You don’t bout with each other?

Mickey: There are three teams in the league. We can have up to 20 on each team, on the roster you’re only allowed to have 12. We’ve played Montreal, Victoria, Calgary, Edmonton. Kicked their butts.

Me: What about that team that got in trouble for appropriating the Starbucks logo?

Mickey: That’s Rat City, in Seattle. That would be a dream to bout with them. We first started watching them when we were just organizing our league. It would be wonderful to play them.

Me: Were they your initial inspiration?

Mickey: For me, it was watching Rollergirls back in oh-five. I was blown away that they still had roller derby. ‘Cos I watched it as an eight-year-old girl, watching Skinny Minnie Miller whip around the track. I always had dreams of being a derby girl, and here I am.

Me: How much of your week does it take up?

Mickey: We have a season where we’re competitive but we train all year-round. We’re off-season right now. Training’s pretty hardcore. We train outside, we train on cement, concrete. And it’s two-hour practices, sometimes three. Every Friday and Sunday.

Me: Do you get people who try out thinking this is going to be fun, I’m going to show off my booty, and then find out it’s rough-and-tumble?

Mickey: It’s rough-and-tumble, and you pretty much have to kiss your social life goodbye. This is your new family, your new group of friends.

Me: Is there hazing involved?

Mickey: Somewhat… We call them [new recruits] “fresh meats.” Here’s one right here.

Me: What’s your name?

Missy Masculator: Missy Masculator.

Me: You remind me of my ex-girlfriend.

Missy: Oh!

Me: Just the name.

Mickey: What did we have you guys do for hazing?

Missy: Oh God. We had the hottest freshie contest where we had to gorge on hot sauce. And we had bar-bouting, where we were bouting around a pool table.

Me: Does everyone in the league drink beer?

Mickey: Yeah.

Missy: I think that’s one of the requirements.

Me: Of course, that’s after the bouts.

Mickey: We have after-parties where we wind down and talk about the hits we’ve thrown.

Missy: Who has the best bruises.

Me: What are some terms for “hits thrown”?

Mickey: There’s the booty block, the shoulder-check, the frontal block. The back-flop, with the back of the shoulder.

Missy: Douchebags. I don’t know if that’s technical term.

Me: Is there a  quality all roller girls share?

Apocaliz Now (joining in): They’re strong. They’re strong and they’re tough.

Suzie Shameless (also joining in): I love it. It’s fantastic. Get involved! Get involved!

Me: They won’t let me join. They said I don’t meet the height requirement.

Suzie: You can be a ref. We like men telling us what to do so we can tell them to fuck off.

Coming up: interviews with Dani from Maxine’s Hideaway, Chris who gets to ride around in limousines all night, and a few Suicide Girls.

17
Jan
09

Heathrow versus Gatwick: conversation with Louise

By shawnster 2 Comments
Categories: Shawn

Last week, my ex, LCP called while the Texas Twister was home. The Twister saw her name come up but didn’t reach it in time. True to form, LCP then called my cell and my work #, where she left a typically hostile message. Figuring I was home and just not picking up, she called my home # again, but this time blocked her # so we wouldn’t see she’d called twice. “I didn’t want to appear like I was nuts,” she said. Except this time the Twister picked up, so she really did seem a little nuts. Ah, life’s little ironies.

LCP and I talked about this yesterday, during one of the longest conversations we’ve had in over a year, since she stopped talking to me. (She has her reasons.) Anyway, my recording device was unfornuately out of battery power, but I got it rolling midway through the conversation, which I reproduce here for your edification. If I do nothing else with my life, making LCP a celebrity in any way, shape or form will be enough reward.

Take it away, Louise…

LCP: I have nightmares about you. One of them was at my house, some indie girl was there, she was invited to movie nite, stuff like that. When I wake up… it doesn’t sound like a nightmare, but it’s a nightmare for me. It is a nightmare dream. She gets invited to movie nite, and I’m thinking Well how come I can’t go, all those brutal things like that where I’m always getting left out or rejected. It’s awful! They’re bad dreams.

Me: That is bad.

LCP: They’re bad dreams. I wake up, all freaked out. (Pause). Yap.

Me: Have I apologized?

LCP: Nope. Too late. Damage done. Damage control done. Over. But to think I still have nightmares and it’s been what, 10 years? 11? Fuck. So anyway. What happened then? You didn’t go to Winnipeg [for Christmas]. Where in Mexico?

Me (sheepish): Mazatlan.

LCP: Oh, figures. Where’d ya stay?

Me: A place called the El Cid resort.

LCP: Was it a nice place?

Me: It was kind of tourist-y. It wasn’t as nice as the place we stayed at. I went back there and revisited it, checked out the pool again. The Royal Villas. Then I remembered being sick, and I remembered you with your piece of rice. I remembered the scale. You bought the scale to bring out there.

LCP: Oh yeah, I brought that scale.

Me: And you never even took it out of its wrapper. Then you returned it when we got home.

LCP: Lucky I didn’t [take it out of its wrapper]. I really fattened it up there. I gained seven pounds. Remember that fiesta night we went to, we ate so much we both lay on our backs and watched our stomachs jiggle?

Me: Yeah…

LCP: How come you got sick? Did you eat meat, or was it water?

Me: I blame it on the omelette.

LCP: Did you get sick this time?

Me: No. But I came back with a wicked cold sore.

LCP: [gasps] I got a canker sore. [pause] You always got cold sores. That’s herpes you know. They’re contagious, huh. Hmmm. Put a Band-Aid on it. I’ve got Band-Aids with Power Puff Girls on them.

[stuff about her parents' visits to Mexico follows]

LCP: Okay but what about this canker. Have you had one?

Me: How often do you have these nightmares?

LCP: Well I was having them repeatedly over the holidays.

Me: Awww…

LCP: I know.

Me: I’m so sorry.

LCP: It’s so bad. But they were long ones. I wish I would’ve written them down. The one about this girl, this blonde girl who was going to movie night, was a really long. It’s so bad and so long and so complicated. It’s like everything merged into one. You guys all went out and I had to stay at my mom and dad’s. It was funny. Well now it’s funny. Okay but anyway. Have you had a canker before on your tongue?

Me: No.

LCP: It’s so bad. It’s either stress, toothpaste, something you eat. It’s not bacterial. I bit mine. I bit it. I fell asleep and bit down on it. It hurts so bad. I’ll send you a picture of it.

Me: Okay, I’ll post it on my blog, with the interview.

LCP: Which interview?

Me: The interview we’re doing right now.

LCP: We’re doing it now? Do I get a kickback? Because I don’t see why I wouldn’t. [stuff follows about this blog and articles I've written for Click by Lavalife.] Didn’t you write one about orgasms?

Me: No. I think I wrote one about giving good oral sex.

LCP: Yeah. Then somebody else did something about the opposite.

Me: She did hers first, then I was asked.

LCP: Do you think you’re qualified to write that?

Me: Well, I…

LCP: [guffaws]

[chat about another incident from our relationship she's still sore about, leading me to apologize and her to swear at me. Then:)

LCP: Hows the cats?

Me: Great. How are yours?

LCP: They're fine. They're fat. [Family cat] Nietsche’s still okay. She’s like 21. [Pause] Hip hop died.

Me: Aww…

LCP: I don’t know if you ever saw the bunny.

Me: I saw the bunny. You bought it for [her niece] Jenny and it ended up living at your parents’. Your mom must have been heartbroken.

LCP: Oh my God  it was so bad. We took her to the hospital. We told them to do everything they could. It was going to cost two thousand bucks. ONE NIGHT, two thousand. But she died as soon as we left. [pause] She’s been cremated. She’s in the dining room.

Me: And Nietsche’s still alive.

LCP: Yeah… doesn’t this girl have any cats?

[Conversation follows about the Texas Twister.]

Me: She’s currently unemployed, but right now she’s in Switzerland right now for a job interview.

LCP: Uhm, wait a minute. Unemployed? You got one of those? Good luck.

Me: Well she had a job when I met her.

LCP: They always have jobs, and money when you meet them! Once that’s over they lose everything. They have no money no job and no prospects. Anyway. [Talk follows about LCP's ex-boyfriend Ben and his marriage last year.] He’s still around. [Pause] I get to find out how much money he has now. ‘Do you know how much money I have now? Eighteen thousand dollars.’ Oh really, Ben? You can pay my insurance, because every year I have to pay two hundred dollars more for that nice job you did in my place. [Here, LCP launches unleashes a flurry of questions about the Texas Twister—her education, whether people invent things anymore, where she's from, and her recent job European job interview.] Did they pay for her trip?

Me: Yep.

LCP: WHAT??! [spluttering] How does that happen to people?

Me: Some companies have deep pockets.

LCP: Wow. Well that’s wild. Did she fly with Lufthansa? Or British Airways?

Me: [laughs]

LCP: I just want to see how long you’d stay on before getting off, it’s such a lark, the whole conversation.

Me: I don’t know. Air Canada to Gatwick. I don’t know what she flew from there.

LCP: [incredulous] Oh, she went to Gatwick?

Me: You have an opinion on the subject?

LCP: I would take Heathrow.

Me: Why would you think Heathrow?

LCP: ‘Cos that’s where I flew. It’s bigger and better. Gatwick’s kind of weird. Isn’t it close to the Beatles place?

Me: Liverpool? I don’t think so.

LCP: [more questions about the flight, where the Twister is going, when she gets back] Wow. She has jetlag? She should take melatonin with her. It works.

Me: She has weird sleep habits.

LCP: She a Pisces?

Me: No, she’s a Capricorn.

LCP. Ohhhhh, weird. So she’s 25?

Me: 29.

LCP: What is she doing with the old-bob?

Me: I don’t know!

LCP: That’s interesting. That must be nice. [under breath] Stupid. Aren’t you going to be 44? [gasps] You are! [chatter about LCP's biological clock and the TV series Lost.] But I like Batman [The Dark Knight]. Didn’t you get that picture I sent of the Joker? I was supposed to send you another email after that but then I forgot. Cos you didn’t like Batman and I was going to say something about that. How could you not like it? I’ve seen it four times. I love it! I had the DVD right away when it came out. I saw it three times in the theatre. I’ve never seen a movie three times in the theatre. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie twice in the theatre. [Pause] You know why I liked it.

Me: Heath Ledger?

LCP: [obvious tone] Yeah. I LOVE him! And ’til he died I didn’t even know who he was. I never even knew what he looked like. I knew nothing about him, now I can’t believe it.

Me: Have you gone back to watch Brokeback Mountain?

LCP: No I won’t watch that. It’s too sad. I just watch the Joker. I just want to see the Joker. I love the Joker. I wanted the Joker to kill Batman. I just wait for his parts. They’re so amazing. All the subtle things he says. You only get it… the first time… but if you watch it a few more times you’ll catch even more and more subtleties. His little funny things. He says a lot. A LOT. Phhhht. I’m in his [Ledger's] fan club.

Me: Literally?

LCP: Well, on Facebook.I bought the Joker calendar.

Me: Can I be your Facebook friend?

LCP: Oh… [thinks] Maybe. Yeah, I guess. But I hate you. But okay.

Me: Okay.

LCP: Bye.

Me: Bye.

14
Jan
09

Hey, it was the Twister’s birthday!

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn

I think I’m  now officially ahead in the birthday gift sweepstakes.

If you recall, I wrote awhile back about “the home birthday advantage.” This is where, when embarking on a relationship, the person who has the birthday first has the advantage— he/she can see what their mate has selected, and then calibrate where the relationship is at, and what to buy him/her for their birthday.

Well, I felt I was doing pretty good already, considering the Texas Twister’s (I can call her that now because she’s out of town) birthday gift to me was a robe. Which she wears.

So I was already starting with credit in the bank when I bought her a bunch of art supplies. But then, thanks to the folks at Tourism Vancouver, I was able to go the extra distance.

Every year, the outfit helps promote Dine Out, a two-week event that sees various local restaurants offering a special fixed-price menu.  When I whined about not being invited to the opening night, Tourism Vancouver set me up with the Wedgewood Hotel, which is offering a Dine Out Package that includes dinner in the restaurant and a night in one of its junior suites. Needless to say, it behooved me to take advantage of this package, especially since it would help me score big points with the girlfriend.

The Wedgewood itself has always been known to me more for its bar, the Bacchus Lounge, an elegantly wainscotted room with windows looking out on a busy city street. It’s the kind of place where, if you breathe nothing but cigar smoke for nearly five minutes, you might forget you’re in Vancouver. Heck, once I was there, and not one person was wearing a Vancouver Canucks team jersey. And that was a game night!

Anyway, it’s old English style, I guess—as befits the name. Wedgewood is that flat-pastel-coloured earthenware (pottery? ceramics?). But I have to admit, I only know this because this morning in the lobby the Twister pointed out a display case and said something about how her Nana (English grandmother) has some Wedgewood. Of course, when she told me, I nodded like I knew what she was talking about, though my family’s idea of nice dishware is a new Slurpee cup.

king size birthday bed!

king size birthday bed!

It’s kind of neat staying at a hotel in your own city, as long as you’re not taking up residence because your house burned down or something. I kept thinking of a song, “Tourist in Your Town”, by local band the Pink Mountaintops. And when she saw our room (a junior suite with a bedroom curtained off for a living space), the Twister nearly twisted out of her skin. Pictures were taken, hugs were bestowed and accepted, and an ego—mine—was boosted.

me in the jr. suite, rockin' the remote

me in the jr. suite, rockin' the remote

Down in the restaurant, a piano man with a smoky voice and a jazzy style played standard lounge tunes like “As Time Goes By.” The Twister and I looked in each other’s eyes… hers were limpid, I think the poets say. The modern French cuisine began to arrive. I started simple with a salad of baby spinach, anjou pear and blue cheese with a lemon dressing. Nuanced. She, the roulade of smoked salmon, soused cucumber salad. The roulade (which, by its appearance, I take to mean a slice roled up around some cream cheese) was mouth–watering. Now, I’m not normally a duck guy, but her duck confit was enough to make me sell my collection of Howard the Duck comic books. I think my filet of spring slamon, with a ragout of white coco beans and salted cod, manila clam and soft herb cream, was excellent, too. I ate it so fast, though, I can’t remember.

Dessert came next, but I’m afraid of losing you with my bad foodie prose so I’ll stop there. Suffice it to say, I was getting a pretty positive reaction from the Twister. After dinner, we went up to our room and a couple of friends, Fanny and Clem, came by. The two recently married Quebecois shared with us a bottle of sparkling Sonoma Brut and kept the Twister company when she went out for a balcony smoke. The tres urban balcony view looked out on a swath of sky, the backs of office buildings, and a back lane.  After the Frenchies left, I put on a DVD documentary I knew she’d flip over, and she did.

But that was yesterday. Now her birthday is over, thank God, and I can go back to being my usual annoying, inconsiderate self.

leaving

leaving

12
Jan
09

Dear Mom,

By shawnster Leave a Comment
Categories: Shawn

Thanks for the Christmas gift. No, really.

I mean, I know we don’t really celebrate Christmas, or anything, really. The whole season has always been kind of a nebulous concept in our family. Growing up in a Jewish household that didn’t really observe Chanukah while our Christian cousins were showered with gifts was kind of confusing, but I’m over it.

Still, you do make your attempts, and it’s appreciated. When we chatted on the phone the other day and you said there was a box on the way, I didn’t get my hopes up. I know from past years when you’ve bought gifts for me unsupervised that they have been a bit on the uhm, questionable side. The Comfy Pups foot massager being a rare exception.

Then again, I thought we had things worked out on my birthday last year. You asked what I wanted, and I said gift cards would be perfect—I even mentioned the stores that would be most useful to have some credit at. You came through with a couple of gift cards, and that was excellent. Great gift.

However, this Christmas you were up to your old tricks. But when you said on the phone that a box was on its way, but that it just had “a few little things,” I was warned.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for what would come in the mail on a quiet Saturday afternoon.

To put things into context, in the previous week, three boxes from Crate & Barrel have arrived, all from Nicole’s family. These were great big boxes exciting to open. Even more exciting were the contents: wineglasses, which we are sorely in need of, and a wine rack, which makes us look sophisticated. I think there was even a mortar and pestle in there, unless that was a separate package. But I digress.

Anyway, I have to say I was impressed by Nicole’s family’s selection. Then came the arrival of your box, which it turns out was just one of the gift boxes I sent you guys, recycled. Hey, I admire your attempts to go green, so no problem there. But then I opened the package…

At first I didn’t know what to make of the glittery black and silver scarf, and gloves with tinsel-y cuffs to match. “Oh,” I said to Nicole as I began extracting the six-foot-long scarf, like a magician pulling an endless string of kerchiefs from a hat, “This must be for you.”

img_7089Okay. So then I pull out the next item.

Those Playboy slippers must be, uh, for me. How questionable.

But they didn’t fit. So I was starting to think gee, you’ve sent Nicole (whom you’ve never met) a six-foot-long tinsel-like scarf and gloves to match, and slippers embossed with the Playboy logo and name. And me, your ever-loving son? Nothing.

But now I realize that the cuffs and scarf are actually great for cat dress-up. So I forgive you.

Love,

your son

Shawn

Max wrapped in his tinsel Christmas scarf.

Max wrapped in his tinsel Christmas scarf.

« Previous Entries

 

January 2009
M T W T F S S
« Dec   Feb »
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031  

Category Cloud

Archives

a