Soft hands, Hard shoes, Raw Meat.

The Rocky video game would not be complete without the famous meat cooler scene.

So much for culture. I didn't quite make the train ride out to the authentic cafe's on Commercial Drive. Offering my seat to an old Asian woman on the train found me having to stand. After a quick survey of the situation I noticed I was the only one without a seat, this imbalance of unity started to make me nervous, so I bailed out at Metrotown. Here I am, Low's on Location in one of two Starbucks this behemoth of artificial trees and ambitious fountains has to offer. I am in the one that is inside a Chapters, the magazine rack is huge and organized, Science, General Health, Woman's Interest, the headings stretch across the wall. It is Sunday evening.

I have been trying to put last night into perspective, but there is none. I was all over the place, on foot. The sound of my thick wooden heeled shoes hitting dull pavement, one of the things I remember best. It was quite a tour. The Sidebar, The Whip, Video In, The Marine Club, and some weird pizza slice place that has a bar in the back of the room of which they serve Okanagan Spring Pale Ale at 2$ for a half pint. I always pass this place on the bus on the way home from work, looks a little rough. The front entrance is always littered with dealer type homies. I was walking from the bus stop, towards the block that it was on, and this odd fellow, that looked like an over the hill WWF superstar walked with me.

"Just don't go there, its a gangster ridden hell hole and they'll kill you if your gay," he warned.

"Actually that's where I was headed," says I.

"Well good luck," and then he yelled something on my way in that I couldn't quite hear, but sounded something like, "Be careful, you look like a homo." I walked out an hour later, unscathed, satisfied that I didn't look like a fag.

My experience at Video In is only now starting to resonate with the insanity that it fully deserves. It was an all ages show, they served pop, donuts and Hostess cakes. Here's a very blunt recap of what I saw in the short time that I was there. Ivan Hrvastska, began the evening by jumping out from the back room in black leather pants, a t-shirt with the arms cut off, and a classic mullet hair style. Although I have no idea why, his hair was all wet with sweat. He played polish music over a cheap cassette stereo, and did some sort of hoppy polish dance all over the room, singing "Its an all ages party!" Next was Steve Steveston, who was actually David Yonge dressed as an ICBC representative. With cheap brown slacks, beige tie, and a beat up briefcase, he sat in front of the small crowd and talked about insurance coverage. Then he got up, with his back against the wall he bent over and began hyperventilating. Quickly standing upright, he had his assistant asphyxiate him with his own tie. Needless to say, Steve Steveston passed out, when he regained consciousness he got up, put on his glasses, and walked of the stage to a sparse applause. Next up was Baby Jesus, very overweight and completely naked except a for a satin loin cloth, he strummed the guitar singing a song about god, followed by a karaoke number that forbids description. You simply had to be there to fully grasp just how strange a large naked man looks while playing the guitar. It would have been good if you were there, no one else was. And although it added to the discomforting aspect of these performances, more people should have seen this. I had been looking forward to this show for weeks, once I found out that Rock'N, another one of David Yonge's projects, was headlining the show. But once I found out that everyone was over at the Marine Club, I couldn't resist a crowd, and a drink. I sheepishly snuck out of the room, hoping no one would notice.

I watched Rocky over the weekend and the scene where a very determined Italian Stallion pounds a side of beef on national television brings to mind something that happened last night at the Marine Club. It was the last show The Neins would play, as half the band has decided to call it quits. I walked in just as they were finishing up, I couldn't get near the stage. I can't remember her name now, or what she looked like, only that when our hands met in a shake, she commented on how soft my skin was. I am not sure how I feel about this, aren't man hands supposed to be rough and rugged? You know, so you can punch out dead cattle! My dad had soft hands too, he's a butcher, and my mom used to say it was from handling meat all day, everyday. Whenever a woman, thankfully men have never mentioned this to me, comments on the smoothness of my hands this is what I relate, that my dad is a butcher, and that handling meat all day makes your hands soft. This has nothing to do with how my hands got this way though, I think I better stop doing this, it makes me out as some kind of creep. I mean, I am not a butcher, and I don't hit beef in a cooler, so yeah, I think I better stop talking about meat when my hands are noticed.

Hanging out with Rick, the very recent former Niens bassist, at the back of the bar, things were winding down. It was approaching last train time, and Rick commented that this would be the last time he would see me having to leave early because of the train schedule. I am moving downtown next week. The train is starting to drive me crazy. I was back on it this morning, and I just couldn't make the long trip all the way downtown. So this Starbucks, in the mall, will have to do as my source of inspiration for today's entry of Low's, as I sit here typing with soft hands. Is it working?