Long post ahead... epic weekend behind.
It’s weekends like these that stay forever in your memory. That help you grow and learn, move on and make new. Weekends like this are for cherishing. They remind us of the amazing people around us and of the endless opportunities life provides. They remind us that nothing is ever simple, and that nothing is ever set in stone. They prove that our daily lives don’t have to be complex, planned and analyzed- that they can just be lived, be experience, be created. Living on the fly can be relaxing and exhilarating all at once.
Thursday:
As noted below… Spontaneous good, healthy fun… with some alcohol added in. Meeting new people and creating your own fun, rekindling old friendships with lifelong friends, pushing your limits.
Friday:
The anticipation for The Streets concert was practically unbearable. Gill and I bought these tickets way back in March I think. June 23rd will forever be remembered-a story for the kids… how I became a true band groupie. Gill arrived sometime around 5. After chopping off half my hair (very happy, but miss it… it’ll grow back) and after rounding up Evan and Bob… off we went on the Subway to find the Phoenix Concert Theatre. Instead of taking the bus down we walked through the concert village of St James Town. Must have been 3 or 4 prostitutes on the way. Very interesting spot- so thrilled I didn’t live there this summer. Failing to pass any street meat on the way, we overwalked our destination to find a convenience store stocked with Jamaican Patty’s. Back up to the concert to be asked what my first name was by the stupid ignorant ugly bouncer, and into the venue. I’d never been to the Phoenix and immediately liked it. It’s just so… NOT pretentious and so UNorganized. The opening show, Lady Sovereign, was wailing on the mike as we walked in. After about 10 minutes more of ear splitting angry rapping from the teeny bopping side pony infant on the stage, a quick pee, a few more beer… and on came The Streets. The Phoenix is a small venue. Maybe 800 people in total there. That itself means an amazing ambiance and feel, but add the incredible stage presence and outstanding lyrical and vocal talent of Mike Skinner and Leo the backup guy and you have one instantly memorable show. The energy and the emotion from that stage blew me away. Feels good to feel like you are a part of something- and they made every single person in that audience feel as if they were being sung to, as if they were meant to be there and as if they mattered.
After a mind blowing performance, some crowd surfing and some free alcohol from Skinner himself, all was over…. Or so we thought. The Phoenix cleared out pretty fast except for a few lingerers. We weren’t sure what to do with ourselves next. After pleading with a roadie for the piano set list (now posted on my wall in rememory, with a new CD entitled The Streets Concert 2006) we headed outside to mull around out there for awhile. Most of the crowd had dispersed when we spotted Skinners tour bus. Gill replaced Kira as the outgoing go getter and dragged us all over to get signed tickets. Skinner was checking me out. Or so I’m told. Signature received and still mulling around. Gill keeps telling me he’s checking me out. We made conversation with some of the other people around us-roadies, the drummer, random people. Gill decides it would be a good idea to write my number on Skinner’s hand. It looked like a 3 year old’s writing. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. His eyes are absolutely mind boggling: intense and so full. Evan coaxed us into a picture with him. He asked, and they dragged me over. To bad the picture didn’t capture the words he whispered in my ear. Something about “I want you.” We all sat down on the concrete divider. Then old man “champion” showed up. My new favorite homeless person. He was the queen of England, the Prime Minister and President of Canada and a bus driver all at once. He was fabulous and entertaining. And he was wasted. Skinner gave him a beer and he waddled off. And then… Something about being grabbed by the hand and led between the tour buses… looking back at Gill, Evan and Bob and shrugging my shoulders… being led upstairs backstage to some random make up room. Given a beer. Asked my ‘second’ name. Given a back rub. Asked what I studied in school. Asked my age. Interrupted by the go-go girls. Enter the rest of band. Jokes all around. Pulled to another room. Told I’m beautiful. Nervous giggles. My neck and ears and collarbone… and One kiss. Being led back down the stairs to the bus, to the band, to Evan and Gill and Bob. More beers for everyone. Fruit. A fun whistle. Another backrub. Something about Chicago. Something about thinking about being with me all night long. Something about kisses in unspeakable places. Over and over and over. Time to go… we walk down the street as 3 groupie girls remain… most likely to be taken on the bus, used as pleased and discarded at the border.
Walked up Church Street through Pride. Sat on a patio in pure amazement. Evan says I’m scandalous. I say Gill is an instigator. Mostly it was just a great experience. One that would never have gone any farther than it did. It was ridiculous and fun and sooo outta left field. And that was just Friday.
Saturday:
Although nothing can compare to Friday’s adventures… Saturday was just as satisfying if not a little bit slow due to exhaustion. Up at noon for breakfast at Mel’s and then next door in the school field to listen to some tunes and sun tan. At 5 we hoped the subway to Union and walked on down to the ferry terminal to begin the Olympic Island concert experience. Sold out show- over 10,000 people. J Masics, Feist, Bloc Party, Broken Social Scene… just one very solid show. I felt like such a sheep amidst the crowds of people cramming there way onto the ferries. Thank god we didn’t have to wait all that long before we were across and standing on the huge field that played venue for the night. I adore Feist. Her lyrics are powerful and her attitude is flippant and carefree. She has such a beautiful voice as well. Clear tone and a great range. Got to hear my song and then off she went to give way to Bloc Party. We got hungry and ended up standing an hour in line for hotdogs and sausages. Well worth the wait though. A venue like that is great for people watching. And it’s soft revolution music… so it’s an interesting and very eclectic crowd. Bloc Party passed without much interest… they have a few really great songs but nothing I was very familiar with. We took a break and wondered over to the water and looked out to the Toronto skyline. I hadn’t realized how beautiful it actually is. I like our simple and small skyline. At least the downtown core… east lies the industrial shore which stands out like a soar thumb. When the sun went down the scene was even more majestic with beautiful lights and colours. Waiting in the bathroom line was stupid. On came BSS and we ran up as close as we could to get the full experience. The band is made up of over 15 people-horns, guitars, 2 drum sets, flutes, violin… such a diverse group of people and sounds. The instrumental is what makes them so amazing and relaxing. We booted out 2 songs early to catch a ferry. There was no way I was going to stand in a crowd of over 10,000 people and wait. Plus we had to meet Catherine and Justin at the Dance Cave. I love the D-cave. It’s easy. And always a good time. Despite that, here the night went a bit sour. It’s hard to describe it because I can’t even begin to understand it, and because I love Justin- so when I get upset at him it’s hard to maintain. But he is judgmental and proud and overbearing. My Irish roommates appeared from nowhere. Said hi and wandered off. Justin made some sort of asshole comment. Gill and I were on the dance floor, Catherine joined, and so did the Irish… again, some asshole comment. And then when the Irish intervened again, this time with Justin on the dance floor as well, he openly gave a rather disgusted look. When I attempted to introduce them, Justin turned the look on me, and turned away. One: these are my friends that he is snuffing. Two: he didn’t give them a chance- he judged them from afar and stood steadfast in that judgment. Three: he always does this. He is incredibly good at wrecking a happy atmosphere. At this point I don’t care the reasoning behind the way he acts. At this point I am embarrassed and frustrated. Almost indifferent- as there is absolutely nothing I can do or say to alter the way he acts. It’s his prerogative. It’s his pride. It’s his life. I wish he would learn to hold his temper, and hold his judgments. I wish he would relax. I wish he would respect me and my friends and my judgment. And I wish he would listen. I love him and I respect him and I appreciate him.
Aside from that, Gill and I managed a great night of mashing out. It was great to be with Catherine dancing again and to just let loose. Gill and I made our way home early absolutely exhausted. Grabbed some pizza, got a few less than nice comments along the way and then crashed into bed and slept.
Sunday:
My roommate Mirela. She moved in a month ago and was talkative and generally calm and nice. She was controlled. Gradually she deteriorated. She started drinking endlessly and continuously. She became irate and irritable. She became irrational and delusional. She became self-harmful. Sunday morning as I took Aaron downstairs to discuss how to go about helping her, she ran out of the house and up the street naked. Everyone else in the house was relatively useless. Gill and Evan were great for support and just for being them and encouraging me and reassuring me- but everyone else… well I guess it’s hard to get involved. Aaron picked her up and threw her over his shoulders while I grabbed a blanket to cover her. We brought her to the basement where she just bawled. She babbled and bawled and talked about wanting to get hit by a car. I went upstairs and called the police-for lack of any other ideas or venues-knowing that most likely they wouldn’t know what to do as well… I called them. Mirela got irritated. I asked her if we could go upstairs and get dressed, we did, and then went down to the backyard to keep her distracted and occupied. I was exhausted and devastated and upset. And crying was hard not to do. Her and I had a fairly honest and open conversation. I learnt far more about her in those 20 min than I had in the month she’d been there. She’s had a pretty terrible life. She came from Yugoslavia - the former-in 1992. She’s 35. She’s worked bar jobs and pub jobs since she came. She’s sold herself out. She’s had mental problems before. She’s been called schizophrenic. She knows. Intermittent in the rational conversation were the obvious calls for help. Yelling to the devil and unknown voices. Talk of satellites and teeth and secret messages. Talk of witches and demons. When the police showed up she didn’t seem all that surprised. They sat down and chatted to her-mostly about the public disturbance she had caused. I took one of them aside and told them the real reason we had called. Because we were worried about what she would do to herself. They took her away. Her yelling at the sky certainly helped. All they could say was 72 hours max at the hospital. She went peacefully. As she got in the car I sat down on the couch with Evan and Gill and just bawled. It’s that sort of pit in your stomach that just can’t be placed. I felt guilty, but knew that there was no reason too. I was worried about her. I was apprehensive about the future. I still am. I got home last night from the baseball game and noticed her light on in her room. So she is home. We had received a call from her to apologize. And to thank us for the offer to continue living with us. I for one hope that she does stay. She needs consistency and she needs people she can trust and people that she can go to. I hope she sees us as those people. She spent 2 days in the rehab and mental health centre. And aside from that I just don’t know.
That afternoon the 3 of us went to the beach. To get away, to lie in the sun, to relax and not think about life in general. It was well needed and well received. Maybe a bit too much sun-but that’s okay. I needed it. Sometimes the things that are bad for you are the very best thing.
Thursday:
As noted below… Spontaneous good, healthy fun… with some alcohol added in. Meeting new people and creating your own fun, rekindling old friendships with lifelong friends, pushing your limits.
Friday:
The anticipation for The Streets concert was practically unbearable. Gill and I bought these tickets way back in March I think. June 23rd will forever be remembered-a story for the kids… how I became a true band groupie. Gill arrived sometime around 5. After chopping off half my hair (very happy, but miss it… it’ll grow back) and after rounding up Evan and Bob… off we went on the Subway to find the Phoenix Concert Theatre. Instead of taking the bus down we walked through the concert village of St James Town. Must have been 3 or 4 prostitutes on the way. Very interesting spot- so thrilled I didn’t live there this summer. Failing to pass any street meat on the way, we overwalked our destination to find a convenience store stocked with Jamaican Patty’s. Back up to the concert to be asked what my first name was by the stupid ignorant ugly bouncer, and into the venue. I’d never been to the Phoenix and immediately liked it. It’s just so… NOT pretentious and so UNorganized. The opening show, Lady Sovereign, was wailing on the mike as we walked in. After about 10 minutes more of ear splitting angry rapping from the teeny bopping side pony infant on the stage, a quick pee, a few more beer… and on came The Streets. The Phoenix is a small venue. Maybe 800 people in total there. That itself means an amazing ambiance and feel, but add the incredible stage presence and outstanding lyrical and vocal talent of Mike Skinner and Leo the backup guy and you have one instantly memorable show. The energy and the emotion from that stage blew me away. Feels good to feel like you are a part of something- and they made every single person in that audience feel as if they were being sung to, as if they were meant to be there and as if they mattered.
After a mind blowing performance, some crowd surfing and some free alcohol from Skinner himself, all was over…. Or so we thought. The Phoenix cleared out pretty fast except for a few lingerers. We weren’t sure what to do with ourselves next. After pleading with a roadie for the piano set list (now posted on my wall in rememory, with a new CD entitled The Streets Concert 2006) we headed outside to mull around out there for awhile. Most of the crowd had dispersed when we spotted Skinners tour bus. Gill replaced Kira as the outgoing go getter and dragged us all over to get signed tickets. Skinner was checking me out. Or so I’m told. Signature received and still mulling around. Gill keeps telling me he’s checking me out. We made conversation with some of the other people around us-roadies, the drummer, random people. Gill decides it would be a good idea to write my number on Skinner’s hand. It looked like a 3 year old’s writing. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. His eyes are absolutely mind boggling: intense and so full. Evan coaxed us into a picture with him. He asked, and they dragged me over. To bad the picture didn’t capture the words he whispered in my ear. Something about “I want you.” We all sat down on the concrete divider. Then old man “champion” showed up. My new favorite homeless person. He was the queen of England, the Prime Minister and President of Canada and a bus driver all at once. He was fabulous and entertaining. And he was wasted. Skinner gave him a beer and he waddled off. And then… Something about being grabbed by the hand and led between the tour buses… looking back at Gill, Evan and Bob and shrugging my shoulders… being led upstairs backstage to some random make up room. Given a beer. Asked my ‘second’ name. Given a back rub. Asked what I studied in school. Asked my age. Interrupted by the go-go girls. Enter the rest of band. Jokes all around. Pulled to another room. Told I’m beautiful. Nervous giggles. My neck and ears and collarbone… and One kiss. Being led back down the stairs to the bus, to the band, to Evan and Gill and Bob. More beers for everyone. Fruit. A fun whistle. Another backrub. Something about Chicago. Something about thinking about being with me all night long. Something about kisses in unspeakable places. Over and over and over. Time to go… we walk down the street as 3 groupie girls remain… most likely to be taken on the bus, used as pleased and discarded at the border.
Walked up Church Street through Pride. Sat on a patio in pure amazement. Evan says I’m scandalous. I say Gill is an instigator. Mostly it was just a great experience. One that would never have gone any farther than it did. It was ridiculous and fun and sooo outta left field. And that was just Friday.
Saturday:
Although nothing can compare to Friday’s adventures… Saturday was just as satisfying if not a little bit slow due to exhaustion. Up at noon for breakfast at Mel’s and then next door in the school field to listen to some tunes and sun tan. At 5 we hoped the subway to Union and walked on down to the ferry terminal to begin the Olympic Island concert experience. Sold out show- over 10,000 people. J Masics, Feist, Bloc Party, Broken Social Scene… just one very solid show. I felt like such a sheep amidst the crowds of people cramming there way onto the ferries. Thank god we didn’t have to wait all that long before we were across and standing on the huge field that played venue for the night. I adore Feist. Her lyrics are powerful and her attitude is flippant and carefree. She has such a beautiful voice as well. Clear tone and a great range. Got to hear my song and then off she went to give way to Bloc Party. We got hungry and ended up standing an hour in line for hotdogs and sausages. Well worth the wait though. A venue like that is great for people watching. And it’s soft revolution music… so it’s an interesting and very eclectic crowd. Bloc Party passed without much interest… they have a few really great songs but nothing I was very familiar with. We took a break and wondered over to the water and looked out to the Toronto skyline. I hadn’t realized how beautiful it actually is. I like our simple and small skyline. At least the downtown core… east lies the industrial shore which stands out like a soar thumb. When the sun went down the scene was even more majestic with beautiful lights and colours. Waiting in the bathroom line was stupid. On came BSS and we ran up as close as we could to get the full experience. The band is made up of over 15 people-horns, guitars, 2 drum sets, flutes, violin… such a diverse group of people and sounds. The instrumental is what makes them so amazing and relaxing. We booted out 2 songs early to catch a ferry. There was no way I was going to stand in a crowd of over 10,000 people and wait. Plus we had to meet Catherine and Justin at the Dance Cave. I love the D-cave. It’s easy. And always a good time. Despite that, here the night went a bit sour. It’s hard to describe it because I can’t even begin to understand it, and because I love Justin- so when I get upset at him it’s hard to maintain. But he is judgmental and proud and overbearing. My Irish roommates appeared from nowhere. Said hi and wandered off. Justin made some sort of asshole comment. Gill and I were on the dance floor, Catherine joined, and so did the Irish… again, some asshole comment. And then when the Irish intervened again, this time with Justin on the dance floor as well, he openly gave a rather disgusted look. When I attempted to introduce them, Justin turned the look on me, and turned away. One: these are my friends that he is snuffing. Two: he didn’t give them a chance- he judged them from afar and stood steadfast in that judgment. Three: he always does this. He is incredibly good at wrecking a happy atmosphere. At this point I don’t care the reasoning behind the way he acts. At this point I am embarrassed and frustrated. Almost indifferent- as there is absolutely nothing I can do or say to alter the way he acts. It’s his prerogative. It’s his pride. It’s his life. I wish he would learn to hold his temper, and hold his judgments. I wish he would relax. I wish he would respect me and my friends and my judgment. And I wish he would listen. I love him and I respect him and I appreciate him.
Aside from that, Gill and I managed a great night of mashing out. It was great to be with Catherine dancing again and to just let loose. Gill and I made our way home early absolutely exhausted. Grabbed some pizza, got a few less than nice comments along the way and then crashed into bed and slept.
Sunday:
My roommate Mirela. She moved in a month ago and was talkative and generally calm and nice. She was controlled. Gradually she deteriorated. She started drinking endlessly and continuously. She became irate and irritable. She became irrational and delusional. She became self-harmful. Sunday morning as I took Aaron downstairs to discuss how to go about helping her, she ran out of the house and up the street naked. Everyone else in the house was relatively useless. Gill and Evan were great for support and just for being them and encouraging me and reassuring me- but everyone else… well I guess it’s hard to get involved. Aaron picked her up and threw her over his shoulders while I grabbed a blanket to cover her. We brought her to the basement where she just bawled. She babbled and bawled and talked about wanting to get hit by a car. I went upstairs and called the police-for lack of any other ideas or venues-knowing that most likely they wouldn’t know what to do as well… I called them. Mirela got irritated. I asked her if we could go upstairs and get dressed, we did, and then went down to the backyard to keep her distracted and occupied. I was exhausted and devastated and upset. And crying was hard not to do. Her and I had a fairly honest and open conversation. I learnt far more about her in those 20 min than I had in the month she’d been there. She’s had a pretty terrible life. She came from Yugoslavia - the former-in 1992. She’s 35. She’s worked bar jobs and pub jobs since she came. She’s sold herself out. She’s had mental problems before. She’s been called schizophrenic. She knows. Intermittent in the rational conversation were the obvious calls for help. Yelling to the devil and unknown voices. Talk of satellites and teeth and secret messages. Talk of witches and demons. When the police showed up she didn’t seem all that surprised. They sat down and chatted to her-mostly about the public disturbance she had caused. I took one of them aside and told them the real reason we had called. Because we were worried about what she would do to herself. They took her away. Her yelling at the sky certainly helped. All they could say was 72 hours max at the hospital. She went peacefully. As she got in the car I sat down on the couch with Evan and Gill and just bawled. It’s that sort of pit in your stomach that just can’t be placed. I felt guilty, but knew that there was no reason too. I was worried about her. I was apprehensive about the future. I still am. I got home last night from the baseball game and noticed her light on in her room. So she is home. We had received a call from her to apologize. And to thank us for the offer to continue living with us. I for one hope that she does stay. She needs consistency and she needs people she can trust and people that she can go to. I hope she sees us as those people. She spent 2 days in the rehab and mental health centre. And aside from that I just don’t know.
That afternoon the 3 of us went to the beach. To get away, to lie in the sun, to relax and not think about life in general. It was well needed and well received. Maybe a bit too much sun-but that’s okay. I needed it. Sometimes the things that are bad for you are the very best thing.