Soft Favourites

It's almost 4pm and I still haven't left my bed yet. I am lying here with a small clock radio improperly tuned to some easy listening top forty station on the am band, and the hits just keep coming. I did awake earlier though, to phone Frannie so that I could apologize for rubbing her hair, telling her that I like to wear women's hosiery, and offering to tuck her into bed before I left her place last night. I don't want any discomfort to fester between the two of us, so it was best to take care of it right away. But I am getting all ahead of myself, so let me tell you how it all came about.

It was friday, and I spent another lazy day at work updating my resume and lunching with Tony. Before I knew it I was sitting in a restaurant that is more like a bar with a massive ceiling, and bad art. Leroy and Enedina were celebrating their final day at a publication here in the home town. I bought a bottle of wine to toast their freedom, but wound up drinking half of it by the time 7pm rolled around. Louella was there with a friend, and not much has changed since Tuesday, except that Louella looks even more lovely with her hair down.

Catching a glimpse of Leroy's watch I realized that I was going to be late for my 7:45 dinner with Julia, official driver for the Portland road trip. After all that wine I had to go to the washroom something fierce, which, combined with my tardiness, dictated a mad man's jog to the french bistro where I was to meet her. It was about four blocks away and named after a man eating, swamp dwelling creature. I had to run through hoards of valley trash on their way to a U2 concert, and endure a mid-40's couple slowly driving up the street in a convertible corvette blasting Beautiful Day.

I didn't realize the restaurant was such an affair. Now I know that it's one of the finest french restaurants in the country, but I wasn't aware of that when I burst into the front door all sweaty, hair looking wild, half drunk, and shifting my weight from foot to foot while getting directions to the washroom from a hostess that made me drool ever so slightly. Julia had watched the whole production from her table, and said it was very cute, which put me at ease as I nervously took stock of my surroundings while I was being seated. Julia looked smashing, I could command respect from the rest of the room in a wife beater shirt with her sitting across from me. She is much like her friend Unice. A tad too young, has money in her family which is usually a style killer, but manages a look that's edgy and classic all at the same time. She was wearing a black dress, a string of pearls, and a green vintage cardigan. We ate a cheese fondue with bouillabaisse, and drank a bottle of gewurztraminer. The whole purpose of the visit was to pay Julia back for the ticket to the festival in the south that she bought me on her credit card. I tried to convince Julia to come to the opening at the gallery around the corner, but she had a ticket to a sold out show, so we had to part ways. Saying good bye on the street I hugged her perhaps a bit too long, and thought about our trip at the end of the month.

Within minutes I was transported into the most wonderful environment. A small collective of artists had turned an art gallery in the old part of town into a suburban recreation room. There was shag carpet, wood panelling, bad lamps, games, tables, couches, a beer fridge, and a loft bed constructed in such a way that perpetuated a clubhouse mentality. All the artists involved wore red sweat suits. It was packed, and the image of a guy in a sweat suit standing in the middle of the room making grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone on a Snack Factory made it seem like we were at the best house party ever. Frannie was there waiting for me and we grabbed a seat at the pseudo computer area, drank wine, and drew on the chalkboard laughing at our silly iChat humour. It was still early but the gallery was getting so crowded it was a bit much so we decided to leave.

Frannie wanted me to come to her place in the west, by the beaches, and it's pretty far away so I was worried about getting stuck out there, and what might happen if I couldn't get home. I only hesitated for a second though, and soon after was headed for the west in her Camaro. She pressed the gas peddle with a sharp and angular brown boot, and it was then that I could see that she had the greatest knee high socks on. And I was thinking how much I liked socks and hosiery, and decided to tell Frannie at once. Instead though, I got mixed up and blurted out that I like to wear women's hosiery. So now Frannie thinks I am a cross dresser.

We got to her place, blasted some music, smoked a joint, looked at the city, and talked about the future. I don't know how it happened really, but it was very late, and I just starting rubbing her hair. I remembered Frannie telling me earlier in the week on iChat how much she longed for the touch of another human. So in my drunken state I suppose I wanted to help her with that a bit. She told me I had the softest hands, one of her favourite things. Then I had this insane vision of tucking her into bed before going home. Which sounds so slimy now, but I just wanted to take some of her lonliness away. Frannie thankfully declined, and although I am certain that my intentions were admirable, no one should be trusted in a woman's room after drinking that much wine. I slept all the way home in the back of the cab knowing full well I would pay for a night of such wild abandon.

I haven't been able to rouse myself from bed ever since I got home. I found out Katie had some guy over while I was busy galavanting all over town last night. He cooked a lovely Cuban dish for her while she got to relax, and that made me happy in some ways. She deserves that, and I am unable to do those things. I only seem comfortable with a cold shoulder, not warmth and longevity. So even though Katie and I drank a bottle of wine in her lovely claw foot tub the other night, ranking as one of the highlights of my existance, I can't shake the feeling that she deserves something better than someone who is constantly looking for something they can't define. I will keep looking, I am not alone. I can tell from all the sad songs coming out of this little beat up radio, mixed with a bunch of static, of course.

Same As It Ever Was

Well after all, Pickering, I'm an ordinary man,
Who desires nothing more than an ordinary chance,
to live exactly as he likes, and do precisely what he wants...

An average man am I, of no eccentric whim,
Who likes to live his life, free of strife,
doing whatever he thinks is best, for him,
Well... just an ordinary man...

Henry Higgins, I'm an Ordinary Man

Ok, lets get back to it. It's summer. I mean the hot summer weather has been here for over a week, but I have only started to enjoy its benefits over the last 72 hours because of my week long detox from fashion week and other such ills and faux pas.

So I am lying on my bed in my underwear, eating a peanut butter cookie and a glass of milk for dinner, when Remington calls to tell me he just finished eight hours of sewing for some twit with too much money and no talent. Shortly thereafter we were headed for the taps, and enjoyed pint after pint in the burning amber of the setting sun. We talked about how excited we were to see everyone later in the week. Leroy would be returning from the East in the morning, Chic would finally be free after she had been busy the past month with an opening at a gallery here in the hometown, Ivy had just returned with her band of merry pranksters performing their puppet show in little towns all over the province, and I was out of detox! So Remington and I, who are apt to celebrate the budding of table flowers were ecstatic about the prospects of everyone together in the same room. But that won't be happening until Friday, so let us move on.

It was turning dark, and while I was in mid sentence with Remington, raving about the the audacity of the Henry Higgins character played by Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady, his cell phone began to ring. It wasn't for him though, it was for me. It was Katie, wanting to know what I was up to and if I would be interested in coming over for a cocktail. Never one to turn down a drink, especially served in the lovely confines of Katie's apartment overlooking the south, I wrapped it up with Remington and high tailed it over to her place. Imagine my surprise then, when she answered the door wearing the loveliest turquoise lace panties matched with a pair of black fishnet thigh highs. She sat me down on the couch and served me gin and olives complete with serving tray and napkin. It was all done with a little tongue in cheek banter about the rules of the club, and that security would escort me out of the building should I not follow the evenings mandate. Round after round, Katie's black Fluevog heels would click on the floor as she would return from the kitchen with more gin. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. The apartment, with the windows wide open to the city below seemed to fill with heat, smells, and sounds. The city seemed to be teeming with energy and life, anger even. Horns were honking, sirens were wailing, and I could hear some guy yelling, "ya really cool, you fucker!" from the street below as the whole scene faded to black, and Katie and I fell backwards onto her bed.

I slipped into a heavy, dead sleep, vacant of dreams. I awoke early, refreshed and rested. I quickly found myself at a cafe downstairs, sipping coffee and smoking in the sunshine. It was a glorious morning, and I managed to pack everything I would normally do on a day off into the first 40 minutes of the day. I lazed the afternoon away at work on iChat with Frannie, she sent me pictures of all the new clothes she had bought over the weekend and I sent links for her approval of a suitable patio for after work hi-balls. Five o'clock never seemed to come so fast when I bolted out the back door of the office and hopped into Tony's convertible roadster. We were off to meet Frannie and one of her colleagues in the film industry on the eastern side of town. Yet another sunset. This one I watched sink low into the horizon, hiding behind the cityscape, and lighting the glass of the skyscrapers into a glaze of glowing steel and chrome. The sun eventually took refuge behind the mountains and the city began to sparkle in the twilight. I could see it clearly now, from the fourth floor view of Marianela's apartment, Frannie's friend that joined us on the patio earlier with Tony and I. As it turned out, my good friend Louella, who I shared a studio with for several years happened to be living next door, so I knocked on the door to her apartment, and she happily obliged to join us in Marianela's place. It was nice to see Louella, I remember having a mammoth crush on her when we shared a studio in art school together. And well, not much has changed since then, she is simply lovely.

Frannie took me home in her 68 Camaro, and as we flew underneath the viaducts the engine roared with a sound that cars today are incapable of. My arm was out the open window as we sped along laughing about some of the idiotic things I had said earlier on. By the time I arrived home, I was quite drunk, and I stumbled to my guitar to play some song, I don't remember which one. I bet my neighbours just love me. My last thoughts before finally falling asleep returned again to Henry Higgins, the staunch ageing defender of bachelorhood in My Fair Lady. Then I thought of Katie, and the evening we spent together and how difficult she is making it on my own declaration of bachelorhood throughout the summer, and it's not even May yet!? You just might never hear from me again. I will be sitting above the streets, a gin and tonic in one hand, and a very fair lady in the other.

Intermission

"It seems to me," said Sancho, "that the knights who did all these things were driven to them... but... why should you go crazy? What lady has rejected you...? "That is exactly it," replied Don Quixote, "that's just how beautifully I've worked it all out - because for a knight errant to go crazy for good reason, how much is that worth? My idea is to become a lunatic for no reason at all...

It's heating up, and the windows to the loft are open to their maximum height creating a gaping openness along the north wall which overlooks the hotels and meeting rooms across the alley. I have lay here for the last two nights taking refuge from a week that is still revealing its repercussions even though it ended 4 days ago. I lie in bed and wait... for something, and I listen. The sounds that are offered by the open windows are an ambient mix of sirens across the avenues, drunks yelling in the alley, choppers gunning red lights, heavy smokers clanging in the dumpsters, and the cheesy blues music coming from the bar downstairs. I am in refuge from the first days of summer.

So it seems like as good a time as any to fill you in on my hot weather reading plan while we take a break from the lowly debauchery that has pretty much defined the past 4 months here at Big and Tall. The final pages of Conrad's Heart of Darkness are giving way to sunny skies and lazy days. What better way to fill them with none other than the mammoth Don Quixote. I had been planning on this since I read Auster's New York Trilogy through the tail end of winter, and it was heavily referenced throughout all three stories for its relation to the world of make believe. Last summer it was Dickens. Love, drama, and tragedy. This summer it will be Cervantes. Illusion, delusion. and fantasy. It will last all summer, until fall, when a re-read of On the Road is planned.

So I lay it out for you here and now gentle reader, the things that will be influencing the always impressionable Low over the next few months. You will find that I will lose my self in central characters and plot lines until you find that you have lost your own self in a quiet, melancholic, and epic summer novel. Rendered in brown and yellow.

Right Hear

Ryan? A little music please.

It's fashion week here in the home town. Resulting in perpetual after parties, night clubs with faux starry night ceilings, and black heavily varnished tables positioned in large open spaces.

I join you at this late hour, gentle reader, from the darkest corner of my apartment. I am in bed with a dinner consisting of salsa flavoured potato chips teamed with pepperoni and cheese, packaged in a segregated container with meat on one side and cheese on the other.

Friday, my mother sent me a picture of my grandfather playing harmonica amongst a small gathering of friends in his basement. It's a window into the past. I can't take my eyes off of it, and for me, it's the sound. I can hear what that picture sounds like. The multi layered chatter, the sound of the harmonica, and the rustle of newspaper. Why are they all reading the newspaper?

Saturday I wound up unexpectedly at a tough bar on the strip. And I don't mean that to sound as sexy as it does. There were two fights and three physical evictions before I could find a seat to drink my cheap domestic. I sat in the very back with my headphones on and watched ultimate fighting championship until I was saved by to Adamina and Elema who were on route to a fundraising party for a local radio station.

Sunday Leroy and I went to a cd release party for a band that was recorded by the same studio that is currently hosting sessions for the band I play in. The music was dense even though it was all played by one guy who made loops on the fly with vocals, guitar, sax, keyboard, and little tykes toys. I told Leroy at the beginning of the evening that I would fall in love by last call.

Monday I had dinner with Katie. She had just moved into a new place and wanted to christen her kitchen with a special dinner. I arrived shortly after escaping the office to a one litre bottle of Becks in the freezer and an assortment of cheese, olives, and capers, all resting on a warmed baguette. Dinner followed, and I haven't eaten that well in some time. Throughout the evening we drank wine and looked out the window. My favourite thing about the view from her apartment is the assortment of flags standing tall over the disjointed landscape of early urban architecture. There's nothing lovelier than provincial silk blowing in the wind.

Before I could climb into bed after work for some recovery on Tuesday, Remington was buzzing the intercom for me to get dressed and meet him in the bar downstairs. I of course obliged, and found out that he needed a date to attend a fashion show in which he had done most of the sewing for. We had VIP seating and a pass to a party afterwards, which we could only tolerate for 15 minutes.

After a trip to seven eleven for some stay at home comfort foods, I logged into MSN Wednesday evening and found myself chatting with Elema. Before the hour struck we were in the old section of town, sharing thoughts and drinks, until her friend Ionette picked us up for a party to send someone off to Hawaii. Elema's sweater was lovely.

What does all this mean? Why am I bothering you with it? I don't know really, but it has to do with a moment of clarity achieved through the thumping bass of a club, the empty glasses on crowded tables, that sexy model who let her skirt ride half way up her hip as she charged down the runway, the smell of Katies hair, or maybe it was in the back of that scummy bar with a view of the setting sun splashing all over the train station outside. It doesn't matter, because I remember it well. It was an appreciation for the present, however ridiculous it might seem, and a knowledge and comfort in the inevitable truth that it most certainly won't last forever.

The FreeWay

My grandmother died a year ago today. I often still see her, all I have to do is look in a mirror, cover the lower half of my face with my hands , and she appears. In the blueness of my eyes, the shape of my brow, and the bridge of my nose.

What a difference 365 days can make. The summer is coming and I can't believe the way things are beginning to shape up for the hot ones ahead. Unice, much to my surprise has made arrangements for us to meet in Portland of all places. She has put me in contact with two of her friends who I have only met once, and dare I say are extremely sexy. One of them has a convertible, which is ideal for a north western road trip. We are to drive to Quincy, Washington, for a two day outdoor rock festival in something called the Gorge. A natural amphitheatre about 10miles from Quincy. All the best bands that are touring right now will be there, a mini Coachella. Then we will continue on to Portland where Unice will be in town for the shooting of a small indie production. We will party, Unice is crazy, and I can't imagine Portland will be good for much else. I have no idea. I am just looking forward to a steady diet of whiskey and Lucky Strikes. Lucky indeed, her friends will drive her back to LA to visit for awhile, and I will take the train back to the hometown. This all takes place towards the end of May.

July is shaping up nicely as well. Chick emailed everyone that is in the band that I play in to tell us all that she has reserved her friends 5 bedroom beach house that overlooks Long Beach, in Tofino, for a week. So the whole band is in, and it will only cost 100$ a head. She had mentioned this earlier in the winter, but I didn't think she would come through. Apparently it's amazing there, I have never been. It's the edge of the country, any further and you're swimming.

I can't believe it was a year ago that I was in the dusty, gravel covered spring streets in the prairie town that I grew up in. I looked upon the months ahead back then as a burden, something I didn't think I would be able to pull through. I wanted life to leave me behind. I wanted to crawl into that hole that I lowered my grandmothers ashes into on that freezing cold Sunday last year.

Last summer was full of intensity and wild times, most of which I was too scared to write about here, but it was also wrapped in depression. This summer will be different. I will live hard, and free, and no one will get in my way, for it will be the last summer that I will live like that. Someone has to make something out of this mess, rather than put the past on repeat with different characters.

So I plan on seeing my refection often in the small rectangle of a rear view mirror, on a freeway. It will frame my eyes in that certain way, and I know I will be in good company.

West Side Sorry

Now you all better dig this and dig it good. No matter who or what is eatin' you, man, you show it and you are dead. You are cuttin' a hole in yourselves for them to stick in a red hot umbrella and open it. Wide. Man, you wanna get past the cops when they start askin' you about tonight? You wanna live in this lousy world? You play it cool.

--- West Side Story


There have always been artists or poets capable of living in violence.

--- Guy Debord

On the suggestion from a friend awhile back I decided to buy a DVD of West Side Story. I have never seen a film begin the way this one does. It opens with an abstract pattern of lines on the screen accompanied by an excellent score of Leonard Bernstien music that moves through many moods and emotions. As the music changes, the screen floods with colour, burnt reds, teal blues, and acid pinks. This goes on for up to five minutes or so until finally, the abstract image begins to fade away until you realize that it was the outlines of the southern tip of manhattan you had been looking at all that time. Then the film begins to zoom in on the city, until it is panning over an aerial view of row house neighbourhoods and urban decay, finally stopping on a tennis court, where kids are milling about. The camera stops over the gang of kids, and comes down to introduce them to the viewer, and the drama begins.

It's what I thought of as I saw the city from a distance, on the west side, as Frannie was preparing our dinner. She had a lovely apartment with a balcony overlooking the beach, and the lights of the city burned bright through the reflection in the glass of Frannie in the kitchen. Her hair in pig tails as she lit the candles on the table set for two.

We drank wine, and ate a lovely Canadian dish of pea soup with Easter ham with carrots. I brought a baguette for the soup, and a Kit-Kat for desert. After dinner we chatted some more and I found myself, not tired, but comfortable. So comfortable in fact that my head got closer and closer to the couch until I was lying on it with my head close to Frannies lap. I wanted that moment to last much longer than it did.

But, gentle reader, as I am learning over the course of my dramatic existence, nothing is forever. So within the hour I found myself blasting Led Zeppelin-III and smoking a joint as I walked back towards the city that seemed so far away. I could have taken a cab, there were no shortage of them tearing up the avenue, back towards the city after dropping off drunks in the suburbs. But I have enjoyed my epic walks lately, and decided to continue on, even though it was looking like a long haul. Within the past seven days, I have walked over every bridge that connects the peninsula of the downtown core with the rest of the mainland. Quite an achievement really. As I slowly approached the city, I thought of it as a whole, and all the stories that were unfolding inside of the night, underneath all that concrete and glass.

Earlier before going to Frannie's I had been with Remington and Leroy at an opening for some artists. I didn't look at anything on the walls, instead I headed straight to the bar where I knew I could find my closest friends. Over a beer I told them of my day. How I had read a story about my performance at a local club earlier in the week in one of the city weeklies, and how I woke up in Katie's bed that morning after she had gone to work. We had been drinking the night before at a bar across the street from her place. I don't recall leaving, or passing out in her bed with no clothes on, so it was a bit of a shocker to wake up at her place. It's not something I had intended on doing. I dragged myself to her couch and rested my cheeks in the fists I made with my hands. How long can I keep this up I thought.

The drinking. The fucking.

I decided to take a shower. It was one of those gorgeous claw foot tubs, with a makeshift shower and a curtain encompassing the tub to keep the water from getting on the floor. I stood in the shower for almost a half hour, losing track of time as I often do with the hot water streaming down my back, and last nights debauchery running through my mind. I decided finally to shut off the water and get to work, but before I could even pull the shower curtain open someone was banging loudly on the door. I didn't know what to do. Standing there naked, I hoped they would just go away. Instead the knocking got louder and more urgent. So I said, "Hello, Katie's not here right now," which thinking about it now was an odd thing to say. As I made myself known to the person at the door I looked at the floor to see that I had flooded the bathroom floor. The unknown visitor confused by my assumption that he was looking for Katie responded with, "No! There's water coming into my apartment. Is there a flood?" I assured him that I had screwed up the shower and that everything was okay. He seemed satisfied enough with that and left. I got dressed as quickly as possible and headed to work. Remington and Leroy thought this was quite funny, but at the same time I think they are a little worried about me.

As the city was finally within reach, after close to an hour of walking through the empty suburban streets I thought if all the buildings were suddenly to vanish, I would be able to see everyone in the city all at once. Standing naked in the openness. The people I love, and the people I hate, they would all be together, unable to hide the secrets of their lives behind a high rise, or a bathroom door. It would just be one open space, filled with people.

As soon as I made it over the huge sprawling bridge, I decided I had enough, so I hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take me home. I leaned my face against the cool glass of the cab window and figured this would be an excellent time to roll credits.