Pixies memories

It’s early December 1992 — almost ten years ago! — and I’m in my girlfriend’s residence (to my American friends, a “residence” is what you call a “dorm”) room. We’re both studying for our fall term finals. I’m hanging out at her place — partially because it’s still very early in the relationship and we can’t get enough of each other, and partially because my other two housemates are exes, and one of them might’ve brought a boy home. I’m up for some boy-girl drama tonight, but not the kind that might be taking place at my flat.

This building — Waldron Tower, a.k.a. “Wally World” — was built in the 1970’s, so it’s a combination of ugly and unergonomic. The hallway layout doesn’t make any sense and the rooms are tiny. The only advantages they have over the other, larger residences room on campus is that this building’s rooms have lots of electrical outlets and their own sinks. A large Marc Chagall poster (her favourite artist at the time) and a few souvenirs of her trip to Europe that summer (her first trip overseas) cover the wall above her bed. The room is covered with Post-It Notes with Cyrillic writing on them; labelling objects is her way of building her vocabulary for her Russian class. In the corner of the room is her ghetto blaster, which is tuned to the only decent radio station in town, the university-run CFRC. Rob Bolton, who now is one of the people behind Global Pop Conspiracy, is on the air.

I’m lying on the bed, furiously writing down key information for my computer networks bring-any-handwritten-notes final (I still have those notes; you can see them here). She’s at her desk, cramming for her Russian exam. After putting the finishing touches on my notes on the 7 layers of the OSI network model, I pick up the phone and call the radio station to make a request. “It’s for me and a fray-end“, I say, using the then-current country-twang slang term for person with whom you’re going out, but not quite ready to label as ‘girlfriend’. Truth be told, I was ready to use the term almost from the get-go; I just didn’t want to scare her off. Rob, hipster DJ that he is (even in spite of adopting the now regrettable sobriquet “DJ Rave”), understands.

I suggest that she find out how to write “stud muffin” in Russian on a Post-It Note and affix it to me. I get a smack on the back of the head, followed closely by a peck on the cheek. She scribbles “XOXOXO” in the margins of one of my pristine notes. Normally, this is a capital crime in my books, but coming from her, it doesn’t bother me a bit. Days later, I’ll see this little note from her while writing my exam and smile; the combination of my good note-taking, studying and the boost from her scribbling will net me an “A”.

The song that’s playing on the radio comes to an end and Rob comes on.

“This is for Clark Hall Pub’s DJ Joey…and his fray-end,” he says, and Gouge Away comes on. I reach over for the ghetto blaster and turn up the volume a little.

This gets me another kiss, and I think to myself: it’s good to be the king.

Mena “Movable Type” Trott has a whole mess of memories associated with the Pixies’ album Doolittle (on which the track Gouge Away appears). Check it out.

Attention Queen Street panhandlers

The “spare change for weed” signs were funny the first time. Now that you’ve all had them for a while, they’re no longer effective, and when last I checked, weed was not a basic necessity of life.

To the sour couple who complain whenever I play on the same block on which they’re panhandling:

• I’m offering entertainment in exchange for money. What are you offering?
• I give you and a lot of other panners a cut of my take out of kindness, not because there’s some kind of rule of the street that entitles you to some of my money because I’m raking in more than you, even if I have a place to call home.
• Sulking and scowling isn’t a very good way to convince people to give you money.
• Rather than whine about how street muscians are “taking all your money away from you”, why don’t you get a fucking job? You’re not missing any limbs, and other than an attitude problem, you don’t seem to have any mental difficulties. The sense of entitlement is tiresome coming from dot-commers, and doubly so coming from you.

(You might find it odd that I’m putting a message to panhandlers on the Web, but I know at least a half dozen who read this blog. With Internet cafes popping up all over the city and charging a measly CDN$3 per hour, even people without homes are getting online.)

R.I.P. Dee Dee Ramone

You’ll be missed.

My brush with World Cup greatness

While walking to get some lunch, a Japanese cab driver pulled over in front of me and called me over.

“With that blond hair, you look just like this Japanese soccer player! For a moment there, I thought you were him, but he’s playing in Korea right now.”

I’ve just checked the profile of Team Japan. The guy who comes closest to looking like me is Kazuyuki Toda (I’ve put his family name last):

and here’s me (I’m the one on the right):

It’s a bit of a stretch, but getting mistaken for a soccer star’s always nice.

It’s a beer commercial out there

Molson has blocked off the street where the office is to shot a commercial for the Molson Indy. The official Molson pace car is parked in the middle of the street, the film crew is decorating the street with Molson Indy flags and banners, and a gaggle of uniformly surgically modified women in red Daisy Dukes and ultra-tight white Molson Canadian halter tops is milling about, waiting for the cameras to roll. With Hooters across the street, the scene seems a little redundant.

How am I supposed to work with such distractions, cheesy as they are?

Global Pop Conspiracy Social

Global Pop Conspiracy’s regular Thursday night Social is tonight. Yet another evening of great pop, cheap drinks and cool people. It’s at 593a Bloor Street West (upstairs; it’s west of Bathurst, on the south side of Bloor). Cover is a mere $5 and yes, you must be of legal drinking age in Ontario (that’s 19, my American friends).

Last Thursday was fun, what with a great crowd showing up, Rob Bolton, Sean Monkman and Kevin Siu spinning great tunes, the giant turtle showing up, and meeting Jim Munroe, who wrote such nifty books like Flyboy Action Hero Comes With Gasmask and Angry Young Spaceman, both of which hold honoured places in my book collection (along with Cory’s and Karl’s stuff, of course).

There are lots of photos from last Thursday and more info about upcoming Socials at this page.

Be there!