Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Lollapalooza Look Look
On a whim my friend Mel and I decided to buy tickets for Lollapalooza in the summer of 1992. I remember asking for the day off from work the same day I bought the tickets. The other woman (Ja-NET) who worked at the office overheard me and instantly decided that she needed to go too and would need the day off too. My boss almost didn't give me the day off because Ja-NET had more seniority than me and I answered the phones... I would've gone anyway and screw him, but I did end up getting the day off.
On the day of the concert Mel and I drove up to Barrie using the back roads because we feared highway traffic jams. We packed all these fresh veggies, dip and sandwich fixings in this soft-sided cooler Mel borrowed her aunt, along with tonnes of bottled water.
I remember parking and getting into the grounds and then basically immediately getting separated from Mel, and me the with picnic bag. Thank god we had said "If we get separated meet back at the car right after the last band."
The day passed in a mostly drunken state of drunkenness. I remember I was wearing a tight oat-coloured t-shirt, cutoffs and doc martens. I coincidentally met my friend Cam in a beer tent and he was soooooo drunk. He was so happy to see me. He kept hugging me. We got so hungry that we ate all the food in the cooler and we shared it with all the hungry people around us. If I recall there was no food or water for sale. Only beer! Times have changed I guess.
At some point I ditched the cooler and I remember later my friend Mel was really mad at me about that. I said I would buy her aunt another one but I never did. Who wants to carry around a cooler at Lollapalooza? Anyways, people always ditch their blankets and everything after these shows...
I basically hung around Cam and his buddies the rest of the day. I made out with Cam's friend Sage behind the beer tent. During Soundgarden I was in the mosh pit and someone ahead of me got kicked in the face by someone who was body surfing around. The kicked-in-the-face guy turned around and was being helped out of the pit. He had blood all over his face and he was holding his hands to his nose. Then he pushed into my chest with his hands and I had two big bloody handprints on my boobs. Nice.
I remember almost nothing from the second stage except Cypress Hill and smoking tonnes of weed and listening to their stupid race-on-racist music and thinking that it was just whack. And everyone around was white.
And then freezing during Red Hot Chili Peppers. So cold.
Skipped it in 1993 and 1994. Made it in 1995.
I remember Luscious Jackson...? But not Moby...? That Beck sucked. My friend Mary and I held hands so tightly in the mosh pit during Elastica. I stayed in there until after Hole. I was thisclose to the stage and Courtney blew my mind with her one doc marten foot up on the speaker. Then Sonic Youth came on and that was like taking bad-tasting medicine.
And Stereolab. And Shonen Knife.
On a whim my friend Mel and I decided to buy tickets for Lollapalooza in the summer of 1992. I remember asking for the day off from work the same day I bought the tickets. The other woman (Ja-NET) who worked at the office overheard me and instantly decided that she needed to go too and would need the day off too. My boss almost didn't give me the day off because Ja-NET had more seniority than me and I answered the phones... I would've gone anyway and screw him, but I did end up getting the day off.
On the day of the concert Mel and I drove up to Barrie using the back roads because we feared highway traffic jams. We packed all these fresh veggies, dip and sandwich fixings in this soft-sided cooler Mel borrowed her aunt, along with tonnes of bottled water.
I remember parking and getting into the grounds and then basically immediately getting separated from Mel, and me the with picnic bag. Thank god we had said "If we get separated meet back at the car right after the last band."
The day passed in a mostly drunken state of drunkenness. I remember I was wearing a tight oat-coloured t-shirt, cutoffs and doc martens. I coincidentally met my friend Cam in a beer tent and he was soooooo drunk. He was so happy to see me. He kept hugging me. We got so hungry that we ate all the food in the cooler and we shared it with all the hungry people around us. If I recall there was no food or water for sale. Only beer! Times have changed I guess.
At some point I ditched the cooler and I remember later my friend Mel was really mad at me about that. I said I would buy her aunt another one but I never did. Who wants to carry around a cooler at Lollapalooza? Anyways, people always ditch their blankets and everything after these shows...
I basically hung around Cam and his buddies the rest of the day. I made out with Cam's friend Sage behind the beer tent. During Soundgarden I was in the mosh pit and someone ahead of me got kicked in the face by someone who was body surfing around. The kicked-in-the-face guy turned around and was being helped out of the pit. He had blood all over his face and he was holding his hands to his nose. Then he pushed into my chest with his hands and I had two big bloody handprints on my boobs. Nice.
I remember almost nothing from the second stage except Cypress Hill and smoking tonnes of weed and listening to their stupid race-on-racist music and thinking that it was just whack. And everyone around was white.
And then freezing during Red Hot Chili Peppers. So cold.
Skipped it in 1993 and 1994. Made it in 1995.
I remember Luscious Jackson...? But not Moby...? That Beck sucked. My friend Mary and I held hands so tightly in the mosh pit during Elastica. I stayed in there until after Hole. I was thisclose to the stage and Courtney blew my mind with her one doc marten foot up on the speaker. Then Sonic Youth came on and that was like taking bad-tasting medicine.
And Stereolab. And Shonen Knife.
Friday, July 23, 2004
People Who Take Their Sci-Fi Costume-Making Quite Seriously
http://www.ibiblio.org/jmaynard/TRONcostume/
http://www.ibiblio.org/jmaynard/TRONcostume/
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Me and Music
Music and I have a troubled, troubled past.
I would say that my dad was very musical. Our home was always filled with music -- either being played or because of people singing. There were many sing-a-longs around the Steinway during holidays. My dad was an amateur opera singer. He was the pillar of our church choir. He lead the caroling every Christmas in our neighbour, and it was all a very big deal. We always had the best stereo equipment. He and I would sing duets along with the family's Carpenters records and practise our harmonizations.
I had my own childish records growing up: Sesame Street, The Muppet Show, Free To Be You and Me, and The Partridge Family. Then I inherited some Beatles, Stones and Led Zeppelin from my brother and sister. Then somehow I was into "punk" and "rock" -- probably from the newly hatched CityTV. I bought my first adolescent records by myself: Blondie, The Cars and The Rolling Stones.
Around the summer of 1982 or thereabouts I took over my sister's transistor radio and began to listen across the FM dial at night in bed. I also started to keep a journal pretty faithfully, and those two activities seemed to go together really well. I did everything under the covers using a huge square-battery flashlight. Doctor Demento on Sunday nights. Comedy. Theatre of the Mind and The Shadow serials.
Then I found this station called CFNY at 102.1 out of Brampton. They played new wave, a lot of it from England. The DJs were funny and unpretentious (although, some were pretentious). I had the radio on all the time. I used to come home from school at lunch time just to listen to the radio. (That familiar skip in the record of Depeche Mode's I Just Can't Get Enough -- near the end when it's just vocals and beats. CFNY's reception was really bad in the early 80s and my little camp friends from Kitchener-Waterloo and the Niagara region would lament that they could only get it on clear summer nights. And later, my husband and I used to make this stupid elitist joke about young people from the suburbs or like, Welland, coming to Toronto: "They came for the CFNY; They stayed for the jobs").
I also started to buy some of my own clothes with my babysitting money. My writing and music and clothes all seemed to go together and everything worked.
Except, I had these guilty pleasures like ELO, Van Halen, Prince, Run DMC, the Beastie Boys and Neil Young. None of my girlfriends were listening to or talking about any disco, metal, "black" music, rap or whatever the hell Neil Young is. And the Beastie Boys were just a novelty act then. Then my friend Colleen made me a tape and one side was instrumental music from movie scores, and the other side was jazz and it totally blew my mind. Then followed operas on CBC radio. And then country music, particularly female vocalists. In the early days of Napster I would download easy listening 70s music reminiscent of my parent's kitchen and CFRB 1010 on your dial -- Up, up and a-wa-a-ay in my beautiful, my beautiful ba-lloon, BA-LLOON.
And concerts. I went to dozens of concerts throughout high school and university. I saw Madonna and Guns N' Roses and everything in between. I even went to a couple of Lollapalloozas. But these days you couldn't drag me to see live music, with the exception of accompanying a friend who really wants to go (i.e., Jann Arden and The Barenaked Ladies with Ginny last winter).
Now music just bugs me. The advert companies have taken all the cool tunes and sold them back to us in TV car commercials. Is music almost too complicated to keep up with now? I'm getting fucking old. Kids today... I resent the fact that I've basically gone from being a music addict, inspired by and surrounded by "my music" all the time, to only occasionally listening to talk radio in my car.
Music and I have a troubled, troubled past.
I would say that my dad was very musical. Our home was always filled with music -- either being played or because of people singing. There were many sing-a-longs around the Steinway during holidays. My dad was an amateur opera singer. He was the pillar of our church choir. He lead the caroling every Christmas in our neighbour, and it was all a very big deal. We always had the best stereo equipment. He and I would sing duets along with the family's Carpenters records and practise our harmonizations.
I had my own childish records growing up: Sesame Street, The Muppet Show, Free To Be You and Me, and The Partridge Family. Then I inherited some Beatles, Stones and Led Zeppelin from my brother and sister. Then somehow I was into "punk" and "rock" -- probably from the newly hatched CityTV. I bought my first adolescent records by myself: Blondie, The Cars and The Rolling Stones.
Around the summer of 1982 or thereabouts I took over my sister's transistor radio and began to listen across the FM dial at night in bed. I also started to keep a journal pretty faithfully, and those two activities seemed to go together really well. I did everything under the covers using a huge square-battery flashlight. Doctor Demento on Sunday nights. Comedy. Theatre of the Mind and The Shadow serials.
Then I found this station called CFNY at 102.1 out of Brampton. They played new wave, a lot of it from England. The DJs were funny and unpretentious (although, some were pretentious). I had the radio on all the time. I used to come home from school at lunch time just to listen to the radio. (That familiar skip in the record of Depeche Mode's I Just Can't Get Enough -- near the end when it's just vocals and beats. CFNY's reception was really bad in the early 80s and my little camp friends from Kitchener-Waterloo and the Niagara region would lament that they could only get it on clear summer nights. And later, my husband and I used to make this stupid elitist joke about young people from the suburbs or like, Welland, coming to Toronto: "They came for the CFNY; They stayed for the jobs").
I also started to buy some of my own clothes with my babysitting money. My writing and music and clothes all seemed to go together and everything worked.
Except, I had these guilty pleasures like ELO, Van Halen, Prince, Run DMC, the Beastie Boys and Neil Young. None of my girlfriends were listening to or talking about any disco, metal, "black" music, rap or whatever the hell Neil Young is. And the Beastie Boys were just a novelty act then. Then my friend Colleen made me a tape and one side was instrumental music from movie scores, and the other side was jazz and it totally blew my mind. Then followed operas on CBC radio. And then country music, particularly female vocalists. In the early days of Napster I would download easy listening 70s music reminiscent of my parent's kitchen and CFRB 1010 on your dial -- Up, up and a-wa-a-ay in my beautiful, my beautiful ba-lloon, BA-LLOON.
And concerts. I went to dozens of concerts throughout high school and university. I saw Madonna and Guns N' Roses and everything in between. I even went to a couple of Lollapalloozas. But these days you couldn't drag me to see live music, with the exception of accompanying a friend who really wants to go (i.e., Jann Arden and The Barenaked Ladies with Ginny last winter).
Now music just bugs me. The advert companies have taken all the cool tunes and sold them back to us in TV car commercials. Is music almost too complicated to keep up with now? I'm getting fucking old. Kids today... I resent the fact that I've basically gone from being a music addict, inspired by and surrounded by "my music" all the time, to only occasionally listening to talk radio in my car.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Out but not down
Walking around feels weird. My knees feel strange. The good one feels overworked and achey. The bad one feels fragile and weak. I think that my cane looks affectatious, but the crutches are too unwieldy. Work is boring, yet I am glad to be here.
As my knee gets stronger I am more and more convinced that I will be doing my weekend to end breast cancer walk. I have almost raised $5000, which is amazing. I am proud of myself.
I enrolled for zone food to be delivered to my house. The phone interview with the zone lady made me so hungry because she described the meals. I am sure they will be fine.
Walking around feels weird. My knees feel strange. The good one feels overworked and achey. The bad one feels fragile and weak. I think that my cane looks affectatious, but the crutches are too unwieldy. Work is boring, yet I am glad to be here.
As my knee gets stronger I am more and more convinced that I will be doing my weekend to end breast cancer walk. I have almost raised $5000, which is amazing. I am proud of myself.
I enrolled for zone food to be delivered to my house. The phone interview with the zone lady made me so hungry because she described the meals. I am sure they will be fine.
Friday, July 16, 2004
I feel like Renata
I used to work with this girl named Renata who would come into work like once every two weeks and no one ever knew where she was or what she did. They kept trying to fire her but she kept not showing up. Every morning some poor HR schlub had to wait near Renata's desk to see if she was coming in or not.
Finally after about 3 months they finally caught Renata actually at her desk and she was canned within about 10 minutes of arriving (at 11am, of course!). I feel like that girl. I went on a holiday and missed 6 days of work; then I took family leave time and missed 3 days of work; then the following week I blew out my knee and have missed 8 days of work. I've barely been here this summer.
I used to work with this girl named Renata who would come into work like once every two weeks and no one ever knew where she was or what she did. They kept trying to fire her but she kept not showing up. Every morning some poor HR schlub had to wait near Renata's desk to see if she was coming in or not.
Finally after about 3 months they finally caught Renata actually at her desk and she was canned within about 10 minutes of arriving (at 11am, of course!). I feel like that girl. I went on a holiday and missed 6 days of work; then I took family leave time and missed 3 days of work; then the following week I blew out my knee and have missed 8 days of work. I've barely been here this summer.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Junkie
On Monday July 5th I blew out my knee when I got a base hit and was just about on first base. My knee just popped and caved and I went down. I have abrasions on my hands, knees and elbows. I screamed on the way to the emergency room. We waited 6 hours in emergency, from 10pm until 4am. When I finally got seen by a nurse she gave me two percocet and then I became a junkie.
First, nothing happened. Then my head felt a little stuffy and my neck went slack. I felt myself starting to drool. The sharp pain around my knee stopped. I could shift and turn on the gurney so I did, even though I almost couldn't be bothered, because when you're high, you're lazy. I didn't sleep but rather I just stared at the colours of the separator curtain.
By 9am I wasn't high anymore and an orthopedic surgeon was manipulating my knee and leg and I was screaming again. My right leg was put in a complicated splint. Because of the pain I gagged and threw up in a basin.
Around 10am I was seated in a wheelchair in a hallway sweating profusely from the pain. The surgeon gave me a doctor's note to take off two weeks from work, and a script for tylenol 3. I handed it back to him and asked for percocet. He prescribed 50. Yay.
When Nick came around 11am I demanded that we go directly to the hospital pharmacy and that he buy me a bottle of water. As soon as I had the little white paper bag in my hand I took two pills and waited for the slackness to wash over me. I took 6 that day.
Over the next couple of days I would mete out the pills to myself as treats and rewards for waiting through the pain so that I could stick to "1 every 4 hours" more or less. It was not easy. I would've loved to take 2 every 2 hours.
Now it's been two weeks and I don't need them anymore. I probably can't do sports for a year. I am not even sure if I can do my cancer walk.
On Monday July 5th I blew out my knee when I got a base hit and was just about on first base. My knee just popped and caved and I went down. I have abrasions on my hands, knees and elbows. I screamed on the way to the emergency room. We waited 6 hours in emergency, from 10pm until 4am. When I finally got seen by a nurse she gave me two percocet and then I became a junkie.
First, nothing happened. Then my head felt a little stuffy and my neck went slack. I felt myself starting to drool. The sharp pain around my knee stopped. I could shift and turn on the gurney so I did, even though I almost couldn't be bothered, because when you're high, you're lazy. I didn't sleep but rather I just stared at the colours of the separator curtain.
By 9am I wasn't high anymore and an orthopedic surgeon was manipulating my knee and leg and I was screaming again. My right leg was put in a complicated splint. Because of the pain I gagged and threw up in a basin.
Around 10am I was seated in a wheelchair in a hallway sweating profusely from the pain. The surgeon gave me a doctor's note to take off two weeks from work, and a script for tylenol 3. I handed it back to him and asked for percocet. He prescribed 50. Yay.
When Nick came around 11am I demanded that we go directly to the hospital pharmacy and that he buy me a bottle of water. As soon as I had the little white paper bag in my hand I took two pills and waited for the slackness to wash over me. I took 6 that day.
Over the next couple of days I would mete out the pills to myself as treats and rewards for waiting through the pain so that I could stick to "1 every 4 hours" more or less. It was not easy. I would've loved to take 2 every 2 hours.
Now it's been two weeks and I don't need them anymore. I probably can't do sports for a year. I am not even sure if I can do my cancer walk.
