for the crowd

Journey to the Centre of the Goth
January 11, 2009, 1:58 am
Filed under: Anecdotes, Opinion | Tags: , ,

Aw, isn’t it sad that my first post of the year is about Goths. ūüė¶ Ha ha ha. Etc. This is a semi review/anecdotal piece about Edmonton’s Goth club, New City Suburbs. If you’ve ever been interested in attending the ‘Burbs, or are looking for fresh perspective, then it’s your lucky day, homeslice.

suburbs, yo!photo by sfllaw (under this license)

Okay, so I tend to view the Gothic subculture in Edmonton as being comprised of members who all inhabit the same universe of dark clothing and musty places. I’m not talking about people who have a Gothic taste in things – bats, maybe skulls, antique furniture and red roses, or just people who dress in severe, classic lines of black. I’m talking about the ones who throw themselves into a subculture in order to belong; it seems to me to have little to do with personal tastes or preferences but more like a demand to hold a certain viewpoint, dress with a certain (but manufactured) flair, and to sometimes demonstrate a certain lifestyle. If it makes you happy then that’s cool, but that isn’t really my thang.

To me, nearly every ‘Gothic’ store in Edmonton feels the same. Cramped, overheated, reeking of incense, and filled to bursting with overpriced clothes in polyblend fabrics that claim a price tag with a ridiculously high number on it. Why anyone would spend over a hundred dollars on a poorly-made polyester dress (which may or may not be put together by children in Asia) is really beyond my understanding. Still, I’ve always been intrigued by the subculture itself, at one point in my life (high school, yo!) even wanting to become a part of it, and usually failing. (I may have been a misfit, but I was a misfit generally unaccepted by most of the other misfits.)

Last night, my friend and I wanted to go dancing, and I finally went and dove into one of the larger pockets of the Goth Dimension, called New City Suburbs – two floors of Gothic hell. Oddly enough, this friend of mine – a good Christian girl who willingly attends Church and is a rarity among self-admitted Jesus Freaks (you wouldn’t know she’s so devoted unless you try to do something with her on a Sunday) – has been to Suburbs quite a few times. So at least I had a semi-reliable escort.

I became very distraught as we approached the crowded-with-smokers entrance. “I don’t want to do this! They’re all… Goth.” I was pushed unconcernedly inside. So much for friends and their famed understanding. Inside revealed itself to generally be the nightclub version of those clothing stores I mentioned, but it wasn’t as glamourously BDSM as I had expected. Instead there was an eclectic mix of partiers, but most of them subscribing to the ‘stranger’ style of dressage, though there were a few ‘normal’ people hanging around. I guess the best way to describe it would be… you know those really low-budget vampire flicks? That’s where the vampires get their victims.

Like every other club, Suburbs attracts people who dress in a certain code – with pubs the girls are in jeans, in nightclubs the girls are in scraps of cloth that pass for miniskirts, and thus with Suburbs black was the dominant colour. Still, I can’t count how many boys I saw in baggy sweaters, loafers, and knit caps, let alone girls in a similar costume wearing gigantic glasses with the lenses missing. And it was like most other clubs to me, where someone spilled a drink on my nice jeans, I was knocked into repeatedly by the same drunk girls who whirl around in circles thinking that they’re not doing anyone any harm, and I was pawed a few times by the same sweaty overweight boy (apparently he stood behind me as I was dancing for awhile, leering, and then grabbed at me, and pretended to have done it by accident when I turned around. Then he put his arms around my friend and I as if he wanted to dance with us; I said ‘no’ and pushed him away. Then about ten minutes later he tried to get me to dance with his friend; I said no again, I was already dancing with someone. Then after that whenever he tried to walk across the dance floor, he’d put his hand on my shoulder as he went by in a fake ‘oh, excuse me’ kind of way. Note to men: I don’t care what you look like, acting like that towards a girl is never cool, all right?).

I went upstairs to get a drink near the beginning of the night, because I was dying of dehydration. I asked for a coke. The bartender gave me a gin and tonic (how the hell does that happen?). Loathe to waste a good drink, I had to find someone to give it to rather than give it back to the bartender and demand something else (also, I was driving and wasn’t drinking anything alcoholic). Then I went to try the bar downstairs. I picked one bar that appeared to have a smaller lineup, manned by a girl. She was one of the worst bartenders I’d ever seen; there were people clustering all around the bar, holding money up in plain sight, and what did she do? She paid attention only to the section of the bar right in front of her. She served about ten customers in the time I stood there, all people who were in that one metre-long section of bar that she kept returning to. I don’t understand it; bartenders make most of their money via tips, and her tip jar was understandably pretty low. Possibly she was a new employee, but still, she had to catch on sometime, right? Eventually I stalked back to the dance floor with the resignation that I’d just collapse of dehydration sooner or later. Of course, the third and last bar that I tried had fast, friendly service, though unfortunately in the last drink I had of the night I sucked something solid up through my straw, and when I spat it out it revealed to be a very small fly that had probably dived into the ice well earlier in the night. Joy of all joys, right? It’s a good thing I’m not squeamish.

Now that all makes it sound like it’s a lousy club and I wasn’t having a good time – on the contrary, I danced a hella lot with my friend, and besides a few incidents there was a minimal amount of people leering, and absolutely no men sneaking up behind me to grind themselves against me. I even ran into someone I knew, which was a pleasant surprise. The music was the music I like to dance to; mostly electronica and techno, and sometimes with popular songs really low in the mix so that you had to listen carefully in order to catch it. The DJ’s (I think there were three of them, all told) seemed pretty young to me, and there were a few glitches during the night and sometimes the pacing was pretty bad and sometimes cranked to a halt (it’s not a good thing when half the dance floor is standing there for over thirty seconds, looking unsure) and one of them liked to dance around and milk the crowd, which kinda got annoying, but I was there to dance, not be entertained, so don’t take my word for it. People were climbing on the stage to dance around and were really getting into it, unlike the clubs where DJ’s are locked in a little booth or shoved into a corner.

Surprisingly, for such a big club, on the first floor there appeared to be only one ladies room boasting two stalls. Also, one of the stalls was out of order. That means that during the night, if you have to go to the bathroom you’re screwed when that one drunk girl takes up that working stall while she’s puking. And who likes putting unnecessary strain on their bladder?

Anyway, based on all that, I can’t tell anyone whether it’s a good club or a bad club, since everyone is looking for something different. Of course, I urge anyone who is interested to go out and experience it for themselves. Cover charge was eight bucks, fyi, and that was for a Friday. I don’t know whether to complain about that, since bars’ll usually have the cover charge to stop their drink prices from climbing, but with the new laws requiring a minimum drink price, I really don’t know how the economics are playing out. Also, water came in bottles and thus they charged you for it ($4) instead of just giving you water for free in a glass, and that might be a factor in your enjoyment of the night. Personally I just order pop and then eat all of the ice cubes. Or drink my friend’s water, harrharr. That might be cheap, but at least I’m a notorious tipper.

So that’s all. For now. Hopefully this post was of some help/amusement to… anyone, really.


Great Big Sea: Concert Review, Yo
December 3, 2008, 6:23 pm
Filed under: Music | Tags: , , , ,

My reviews are a joke, mostly I just talk about what I did that night. Haha… oh well. This is another of those times, because on¬†Sunday night I had the pleasure of seeing Great Big Sea… again.

The great thing about these guys is the fact that going to one of their concerts isn’t actually a big event. I don’t stress about it, wondering if I’m going to have a good time, if I’ll be able to see them again a year from now, and et cetera. GBS is always around, ever since I was a kid. They swing by about once a year, and going to their concert is like going to a party where you vaguely know the people throwing it, but it doesn’t really matter (and unfortunately you have to pay for your drinks). After the first couple shows, you get the feeling that these are guys who would be just like any regular guys if you ran into them at the pub, probably because they would be.

If you’re unaware, Great Big Sea is a folk music group from the East Coast, and listening to their music always makes me want to quit whatever it is I’m doing, move to the coast, and start up a bed and breakfast and then spend my life in blissful harmony by the sea. And… yeah, pretty much that’s what the music makes me feel like doing! Lately, with their newest album, they’ve hedged away from cheerful Newfie music and are all over the board, with a bit of rock and country thrown in, which certainly stirs things up a bit.

So the concert was at the Jubilee Auditorium, which is a very nice venue and actually where my graduation ceremony was held, not that I really recognised anything (It’s not like I cared enough to pay attention at the time). I ended up buying two drinks – gin and seven, and then Grand Marnier over ice. I wasn’t about to overdo it, because I was with the same person I hung out with at Halloween, and I was both miserable and embarassed¬†on November 1st¬†when I called her from work in between bouts of throwing up behind the counter, exclaiming¬†“I am SO SORRY I got that drunk last night.” so I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. Anyway, that still cost me like twenty dollars. Sigh.

It was a great night for a concert, the weather wasn’t harsh; in fact, the weather was perfect. My pal and I were pretty close to the stage, just enough that we could see the boys performing but not so close that we were craning our necks. We were still seated next to a pair of women, though, who actually had pre-prepared dance movements (hands waving and so on) for most of the songs that they would perform, in sync. My friend and I took note not to become them in ten years.¬†But whatever: the band¬†sounded completely amazing. Possibly it was the way the amplification was set up in the theatre, but also they looked very fresh and energetic, which also probably contributed to the amazing performance.

They were also incredibly weird and silly; possibly the tour is making them loopy (… loopier). Of the boys, my friend and I always have a little crush on Sean, a bit soft spot for Alan, and complete awe for Bob, because he can play anything. He’s like the folk version of Trent Reznor, only, like, more wholesome. There’s also Kris and Murray, who, unfortunately, my friend and I always have a tendency to forget about until we actually see them onstage, just because they’re relative newcomers, but of course they’re both fantastic as well.

With the exception of Kris, it seems, everyone in Great Big Sea sings, and they all play. And they’re all incredibly talented at it. They live and breathe music, honestly. They pull out guitars, bass, flutes, various percussion, violins, accordians… and they play it all with panache. I love it. They’re such good performers, and last night they were over-the-top with Newfie goodness. Generally, half the time when they stop to talk to the audience, they actually play little riffs so their dialogue has a soundtrack, and they did that last night. And then they started composing songs out of nowhere. They did this one long poem/song near the end about how cool Edmonton was, how Calgary sucked, that time they first played Edmonton, and that they ate Cadbury cream eggs that entire first¬†tour because someone gave them a giant box and they couldn’t afford anything else, etc. Also there was a point during the concert when Murray tried to lick Sean. Good times.

Back to the music itself, a lot of the songs they played off their new album (Fortune’s Favour) sounded way better live. I heard their song ‘Straight to Hell’ live at Capital Ex last year and loved it, but hearing it on the album wasn’t as great. Usually the songs sound great both on the album and live, but with the new record mostly it’s awesome live and okay on record. Not too bad a thing, though; the music is still good.

So really, to you Americans out there, if you ever have Great Big Sea pass through your town (because they do, with very little fanfare), give ’em a chance. They’ll knock your socks off, and you’ll leave feeling happy.

Fringe Fest 2008
August 22, 2008, 11:53 pm
Filed under: Events | Tags: , , ,

(from festival city) 

Today I thought I’d be a proper blogger and go out and do something and observe and take notes. Yeah, didn’t really work out that way. But whatevs.

After work today I drove down to Old Strathcona to check out the Fringe Festival. One of these years I’d really like to go and see some shows, but my parents usually aren’t interested in it, and they’d always be who I’d go with. All of the friends I have now are, well, hate to say it, but a little culturally out of it. They’d rather listen to generic rock music and bitch about classes during the school year and get drunk and hook up with each other¬†than go see some decent improv or a book reading. Anyway!

What I really like about the Fringe is the crowd it brings. It’s a lot more eclectic than what you’d see at Capital Ex, and a lot more colourful. Like any outdoor display in Edmonton there were booths everywhere selling things from airbrush tattoos to palm readings to homemade t-shirts, all of which tempted my wallet, and I couldn’t fully resist their siren call. I picked up a few gifts and then loitered.

The Fringe is completely crazy and I never know what to do there. I always visited the Fringe when I was very small and was shepherded around by my parents, or when I am, well, this age, and sometimes a bit shy. There are tons of performances going on but I never try to figure them out. Instead, I stop and admire the street performers.

I didn’t have all day to wander – I wish I did – but I did have time to catch one performance by the most adorable Asian girl ever, named Billy Kid. Or Billie Kidd? Who knows. She had a bawdy sense of humour, was completely out there, and was pretty damn good with her magic tricks. She performed three in a row, and while everyone’s seen versions of the tricks she pulled (and she even showed us the whole ‘fake transfer’ move from one hand to the other that people who do coin tricks use – crap, wait, she told us not to tell anyone that she showed us that ;D) there were a couple stunts she did that were completely unexpected. Like suddenly causing oranges to appear. Or – and this was the finale – producing a melon from under her hat. (It was a cute hat, by the way… like a red bowler hat. Oooh. I want. It would make for such nice outfits).

Anyway, I had no problems with giving her five dollars at the end of the show. Everyone, if you watch a street performance, you should tip. Tip ’em nice. I mean, if you’ve got no money then whatever, the show’s on them, but honestly, if you do, part with a couple bucks. Those people make a living doing that, it’s something they love and they just want to be paid for the hard work they do. Also, not dropping a couple bucks in the hat is just kind of rude, though I guess the same could be said for people who show up on the street and start doing weird things in front of you¬†and then demand money for it. IT’S ALL RELATIVE and whatnot. What I mean to say is, if you like the show, give ’em a couple bucks. If you don’t, don’t. I know that when I catch the last half of a show and then determine that the performer is sort of an annoying jerkoff, I just walk away. No harm done.

If you’re in Edmonton and haven’t gone yet, then what are you waiting for? It’s free to drop by and just look around, unless you want to donate a handful of change at the door. It’s a great atmosphere, and definitely one of the better representations of what Edmonton has to offer, artistically. So go! Maybe I’ll find someone during the weekend to go see a show with. The festival ends on the 24th, so get crackin’, peoples.

Samantha Schultz
August 20, 2008, 10:33 pm
Filed under: Music, People | Tags: , ,

I met¬†Samantha when I volunteered at Edmonton Fashion Week in the Spring. I thought she was nineteen at the very least. She looked mature and sweet and gorgeous and she had what looked like a slightly younger version of herself tagging along with her that turned out to be her sister, Emily. When I talked to her for just a little bit, I asked Samantha how old she was. “Seventeen,” she replied, and I couldn’t believe it.

I still couldn’t believe it when, during the gala, she got up to perform. She brought Emily with her doing some very light percussion, to help keep time to the song. “This is a song I wrote when I was thirteen,” she said, and then proceeded to wow every single person in the hall without further ado.

Apparently, this girl’s been playing guitar since she was eleven, and she is pretty freaking talented. I’m actually not sure why she isn’t sickeningly famous yet. She’s got a beautiful voice, and a real handle on¬†a tune. Maybe she wants to graduate from school first.

Don’t know why, but yesterday night I youtubed her. Between the gala and now I’d seen glimpses of her on local TV stations, but always kept forgetting to look her up. While cleaning my room (it’s still a mess, harr) I came across a brochure for Fashion Week and checked out the schedule to get her name again. So I decided to give her a quick link¬†on this ole blog here. Really, you gotta support local talent, right?

And the proof of that talent is right there for all to see.

Now, her recorded stuff doesn’t seem, to me, to be wholly complete and dynamic and so on yet, but 1) I can be really hard to please, and 2) she’s sure a Hell of a lot better than half of what’s playing on the radio these days.

Hey, Stuff Goes On In This City

I have a valid excuse for not posting. Really. A friend of mine from the States came to visit for the past two weeks. Unfortunately for her, her first taste of Canada was Calgary, because I took her to see Trent Reznor. (Good show, by the way, even with the drum machine breaking down for a moment there). And I also annoyed the Hell out of her, probably, when every second thing I said was “Do they have [insert object/company/commercial/etc here] in America?” You know. Ketchup chips and et cetera. Apparently they don’t have the same angel in those Philadelphia cream cheese commercials where she is that we’ve got. And no Albert the manservant either. Or that really annoying strawberry-flavoured Mini Wheats commercial. Uh, anyway.

Beyond that, though, there’s nothing like someone showing up from out-of-town that forces you to rediscover and appreciate your own living space. I took her out to the Heritage Festival, Fort Edmonton Park, the Valley Zoo, the Telus World of Science to see the Bodyworlds Exhibit (pretty creepy and unnerving, but I definitely recommend it), and the Royal Museum to check out the Dragons exhibit. I also took her on a tour of West Edmonton Mall. To people that live here, the mall is just a mall, and I am usually among those puzzled and amused by the bewildering amount of tourists wandering around, until I realise our mall is equipped with a themed hotel, an amusement park, a waterpark, an ice skating rink… you get the idea. When my friend was here I even stopped to watch the sea lion performance. It’s a little too much. Apparently now Calgary is going to attempt to outdo Edmonton and build a bigger, better mall. So another friend of mine says. Who really knows if Calgary is that sad.

Anyway, another thing we did was attend this year’s Animethon. I usually attend every year, even though I inevitably just get annoyed. I mean, I’m a nerd and I know it. I’m friends with people who can’t stand “gamers” and so on, and usually carefully ignore my own weird-ass obsessions because as far as they’re concerned I’m still pretty cool and at least I shower. But I also have friends who are into pretending to be elves.¬†Whenever I go to Animethon, though,¬†I feel like I’m surrounded on all sides by crazy people who spend half their lives dressing up as people that only exist in a cartoon. Then again, whenever I go to places like concerts I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of idiots, and to go even further with that, whenever I go to a NIN concert I have to wonder why Trent has such a giant ratio of unattractive people for fans. I mean, can’t Nine Inch Nails fans go for a run, ever? This prompts me to turn to people I know and spitefully say, “Ah, the gothic subculture. One of the few places where it’s okay to be fat.” Wow, I’m a bitch. Oh well. Anyway, back to talking about the Animethon.

I missed last year’s because I was supposed to be attending the last day but, due to late flights and my inability to watch overburdened single¬†mothers with babies struggle, I missed my flight and was stranded in Salt Lake City for a night. This year, Animethon practically robbed me at gunpoint, demanding a twenty-four-dollar entrance fee¬†for Saturday. “It gets you into a lot of events” was the stern lecture I recieved when I expressed my disbelief at the price. Wow. That’s a far cry from the good ole days where you showed up with a donation for¬†the food bank, and then would pay ten dollars to gain access to the vendors’ room if you wanted to. Also, they failed to give us our day passes; we had to go back ten minutes later when we realised this (because I asked the guy who was handing out booklets and schedules and he waved us by saying we didn’t need any such thing) and luckily they remembered us, but not before looking down on our ignorance (until I pointed out the mistake was theirs, though. So whatevs).

At least I recieved commendations for my bravery from a few fans, since I showed up in my new pair of black stiletto boots that could literally kill a man. One guy hugged me, and another, after I told him I was also wearing a corset under my dress, claimed that I recieved an Honourary Iron Man Award. Well, at least the majority of anime fans and the like, when all piled together, are really, really nice. My bitterness comes from the fact that I’ve known a lot of them that are just pricks and think they know everything, even about stuff they know nothing about, like, you know, life. Yeah.

What else to talk about? I can talk about seeing Bodyworlds. I admit to being incredibly freaked out, especially when faced with the pregnant woman. And the man that was set up in slices. Completely, utterly insane, and unapologetic, too. Very cool. I was hooked into wanting to go see it after a morbid episode where I was sitting down on my break at work to read the paper and read about the guy who was walking around at Capital Ex and The Taste of Edmonton mostly-naked with his musculature system painted on his skin. That was acceptable and normal until I looked at the photo and realised that the guy taught me in junior high. Mortifying.

The only thing I can say is that for big cultural events like, for instance, the Heritage Festival, I wish it wasn’t so goddamned expensive. It was still a lot lighter on my purse than Capital Ex was, though, especially its wine-tasting area. Yeah, they were selling little bits of food to go with the liquor and everything was sold by tickets, and one table was selling these cute, tiny little¬†lamb pies for five tickets each. One ticket = one dollar. Five dollars for that? No thanks! I spent it on half an ounce of scotch instead. Yeah, I got pretty sloshed at Capital Ex, thanks for asking.

So that’s that! Edmonton. Lots of stuff going on here. But unless you pick wisely, it’s no fun if you’re broke. Psh. But let’s not end on a downer. Here’s a fun song to make everything better. And all that. I love this song right now. Not sure why. Heard it for the first time in a long time¬†on the way to the airport because I was listening to the radio for once. Gasp.

“The moral of the date rape story, it does not pay to be drunk and horny”. Classic.

How I Am Now A Saloon Girl (or, holyshitIhaveacorset!!!1)
July 13, 2008, 10:06 pm
Filed under: Fashion | Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve wanted a corset for awhile. Like, a long time. But I’ve especially wanted one since about October of 2006 when I first tried one on, properly, with a competent salesgirl who actually knew what she was selling to me. I figured that now was the time that I finally cave in and fork out a retarded amount of cash for a piece of satin and steel.

Now, I’m no longer what you’d call a Goth (oh, the horror!) but I still wanted a corset because

1) It does amazing things to your figure,
2) It’s versatile, able to be worn above and under clothing, for modern, kinky, or Victorian looks, and
3) It does amazing things to your figure.

First off, I wanted to be careful about who I bought my corset from. There are lots of places in Edmonton to pick up a corset, all of them ranging in quality and reputation. One of the more popular places to go is Sancutary, the “gothic curio” shop just off of Whyte Ave. There was no way in Hell I was going to go buy from there, though. Apart from one or two exceptions, the staff there aren’t exactly going to bend over to please you. They don’t want you in there unless you’re going to buy something – they detest window shoppers to the nth degree, becoming huffy when you try on clothes without purchasing them. When I walked in there and asked if it was possible that I could try on a corset, the girl shook her head and said “Only if you plan on buying one”. Wow! That’s great salesmen skills right there. Thanks, but no thanks. “Alternative” stores in Edmonton seem to go both ways – either they’re wonderfully sweet and friendly and helpful, or they’re downright pretentious.

So I¬†chose Rowena’s, right on Whyte Ave, which is a store that has always been kind to me, ever since I was a wee ninth grader that wanted to be an elf. That, actually, was the store where I first properly tried on a corset.¬†I went in there on Saturday last week to try on and fully intending to buy, but luck wasn’t with me that day – all of the corsets were too big for me, save for one that was just too damn small.

I resorted then to the stash of business cards on my desk and pulled out the¬†one for Nightshade Corsets. I picked up their card near the beginning of the school year when I went to the Sex¬†Tradeshow at the Agricom (and it was delightful, thanks! I bought my mother some Egyptian cotton sheets for cheap. “Hey, mom, I’m at the sex trade show.” “What’s that?!” “It’s like a trade show for sex, but I was wondering, would you like some egyptian cotton sheets?” “Ooh, yes please!”). I’d never gone¬†to the store¬†before, but I figured there was no time like the present. So yesterday I showed up with one of my friends in tow, and we started poking around.

I have to say, Nightshade Corsets has all similar stores beat, because the place was actually air-conditioned and didn’t smell of incense everywhere. It was comfortable to go up and down the narrow store inspecting the wares, because you weren’t sweating your ass off, and the atmosphere was pretty light since, strangely enough, the walls were white instead of maroon or black. So, I found the right store.

The second thing I wanted to be sure of was that I got the corset I wanted, and didn’t walk off with anything cheap or daringly overpriced. What I needed was something black, and plain¬†– no frills or patterns, no bows or Chinese fabric. And I wanted the real deal, too, with steel boning and actual support, not just cheap plastic knockoffs that don’t do anything. The sales girl, who was one of those viciously thin women that pretty much look elegant all the time,¬†asked me for my price range and I said somewhere in the realm of $200, and we were off.

I probably tried on about a dozen corsets, all in varying sizes and styles, trying to get the right fit and neckline for my body type. It’s possible to go in and have your body sized to get a custom made one, but I thought that would just be overkill – if there was a corset that fit me without all of that hassle, then great!

I ended up starting to try on some of the higher end corsets. I was laced into one that didn’t fit correctly, but that would give me the general idea of the difference between the three hundred and the two hundred corsets. I walked in front of the mirror and almost fell over. I was an hourglass. I was a particularly fetching liqueur bottle. I was a freaking saloon girl. I, like every other girl who has tried on a good corset, immediately felt like this:

Suffice it to say it was pretty sweet.

I grimaced at the price tag, but looked at my figure again. “It’ll be worth every penny,” my friend¬†counselled. “You’ll never throw it away.” Ah, too true. I’ll probably still have it when I’m old and leathery and dribbling into my oatmeal.¬†So of course, with a sigh, I bought it, but I haven’t regretted it.

So now I am armed with my brand new corset, and I am pleased. I rushed to show my parents, pulling it out with a smug look. My dad laughed and my mother shook her head and claimed she didn’t understand why I’d pay so much money for it, but I didn’t take her seriously because I get my spending habits from her, anyway. Besides, when I tried it on later last night, she had a demonic amount of fun lacing me up, even putting her knee to the small of my back and nearly breaking my ribs. Apparently she didn’t believe herself when she warned me that corsets were dangerous.

So anyway, if you’re in or around Edmonton, or wouldn’t mind the shipping, visit, or go straight to the source and hit up 108 ave and 124 Str. They’re stocked up to their eyeballs, and they know what they’re talking about. They also sell crotchless panties, but that’s another thing entirely. And no, I’m not being paid to tell you this. But I should be. Or at least get a free pair of fishnets for my troubles.

Canada Day
July 1, 2008, 4:49 pm
Filed under: Anecdotes | Tags: , , , ,

Way to go for me, yeah? It’s been over a month since my last update. Naughty, naughty me. All I can say about it is that I was not exactly busy (though work tires me out horribly), but I certainly didn’t have any focus at all to write. Well, I guess I’m still unfocused, so. Better late than never.

But hey, guess what? Today is Canada Day. I’m not in the best of moods and I’m feeling a little down, but I’ve slotted the Nine Inch Nails DVD Beside You in¬†Time into the player (when I was living in Mexico, that DVD was like my comfort blanket) and I’ve cleaned the house up a bit.¬†Cleaning’s great for making you feel like you’re sorting things out, and it doesn’t hurt to have a clean space when you’re going to have company over.

Last year I stood on the bank of the North Saskatchewan River and watched the fireworks exploding over downtown, but this year I’m throwing a little pool party (by little I mean there’s probably just going to be four of us… When it comes to gatherings in my own home, fewer is better). We’ll swim around and eat Smores and drink cheap vodka coolers. That sounds like a pretty decent time by me. I don’t really have the energy to paint myself in red and white and go crowd-surfing somewhere.

I’m pretty clueless as to what other people in Edmonton do on Canada Day. I figure¬†we just party. I don’t know how much nationalism we put into it. It’s hard to generalize things, especially when it comes to national feeling, and especially since Edmonton is the weirdest mixture of people. If you go further south to Calgary,¬†you find a¬†bigger city but the culture isn’t so fantastic. Up in Edmonton, though,¬†the hardcore conservatives and prim do-gooders exist side-by-side with the crossdressers, the pierced, and the loudly opinionated.

And see, we’re officially supposed to be the “City of Champions”, but a long time ago we stopped churning out champions. I used to wish I’d be one of them, but I realise now that if I ever become famous for whatever reason, it won’t be¬†as someone that takes home the gold medals. Edmonton is now owner of a brand new name: Festival City.

Edmonton has a shitload of festivals¬†going on, all the time, all year. People might look around at the dirty industralized areas in the north or the bland neighbourhoods popping up along the west and south, and say that Edmonton has no culture. But nah, we’ve got lots of culture. And¬†we celebrate it, all the freaking time.¬†“Festival City” is just another way of saying that Edmontonians know how to party, as can be¬†witnessed¬†when walking into any bar on Whyte Avenue at midnight on a Saturday.

This post is going nowhere. See! I told you it was unfocused.

maple leaf, yo(photo by Just-Us-3)

I can’t even say ‘the point is’ because there is no point. Suppose I should just stick one in nd make do with that. Well. I am celebrating Canada Day quietly, because I like quiet as much as I like loud and obnoxious. And I’m not feeling very great today because at around three in the morning an ex-friend, who I discovered after a few months of knowing him that he was a liar and hid all of his psychotic tendancies from me (blowing his cover when he¬†abandoned me in Calgary after I got drunk and still wouldn’t even kiss him), started texting me scary,¬†frightening things and then lecturing me on how bad a friend I am and that he’ll never forgive me for not forgiving him. Truth is, I don’t care what he thinks about me, because what’s important is that I know I’m amazing and he isn’t. I didn’t respond to him, and I’m blocking his number tomorrow, but when someone disrespects you like that it sure puts a damper on things.

But you know, he’s just one asshole in a sea of assholes, and I’ve got friends to make Smores with me and listen patiently whenever I open my mouth and start babbling about Trent Reznor. And it’s Canada Day, and I love this country, even though it’s confused and sometimes pompous, and I love Edmonton with all of its gritty corners and graffiti and amazing little boutiques where the girl manning the counter is the one who made the jacket you’re about to buy.

Maybe you’re Canadian or just in Canada¬†and you don’t like it here, but think of something you do like. Even if it’s how the wind feels, or the maple leaf trees, or the loonies and toonies in your pocket¬†(because whenever I go to America, I get flustered by the dollar bills). Go outside and watch everyone else celebrating, too, and it’ll catch on. Trust me. And if you’re already in the mood for a little bit of partying hardy, great! But of course, don’t drink and drive, know when you’ve hit your limit, stay safe and take care of your friends, because without them you’d just be partying by yourself… and that just blows. Am I right? Yah damn straight.

Happy Canada Day, chicos. Sorry I fail at post-writing. Kiss kiss!