Showing posts with label Do the rave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Do the rave. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Ticket:
$45
Homemade bloodied wings:
$22
H&M t-shirt:
$15
Hair colouring:
$123
Coloured contacts fitting:
$29
Party favours:
$22
Realizing that this doesn't work, never has worked and never will work, that this fantasy life is by no means conducive to my real one, that it doesn't even succeed at replacing what I'm missing, not for a second, that after three years it's time to accept that this really needs to be finished:
$256. No, not priceless. Can't you add? What a stupid thing to say.
$45
Homemade bloodied wings:
$22
H&M t-shirt:
$15
Hair colouring:
$123
Coloured contacts fitting:
$29
Party favours:
$22
Realizing that this doesn't work, never has worked and never will work, that this fantasy life is by no means conducive to my real one, that it doesn't even succeed at replacing what I'm missing, not for a second, that after three years it's time to accept that this really needs to be finished:
$256. No, not priceless. Can't you add? What a stupid thing to say.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
While riding the bus on my way to work one day, I happened to look up in time to see a young woman - one could even say ‘girl’ in the colloquial sense - offering the bus driver a cookie upon boarding. I was rather delighted at seeing this as I enjoy random acts of kindness towards strangers. They’re reeeeeeally good…, she said temptingly to the driver, who required little temptation to indulge in an early morning sugar rush.
From the back, I could see that she was tallish in heels, a nice overcoat, and kicky scarf and had slightly tussled loose curls spilling to just below her shoulders. What a lovely girl, I thought, the perfect combination of classy (scarf) and bohemian (baked goods). I should note here that while the baking was in a Tupperware container rather than a vintage tin, I imagined that she was new to the latter temperament and still gave her some Boho points. It wasn’t until she turned around that I saw just how new she was.
The thing was, I knew this girl, or rather, we had met on a few different occasions at parties - raves, to you not in the know. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a long black cape over a fuzzy pink bras. Yes, Heaven had lost an angel. We were at a small outdoor party in some rural town and spent most of the night together, exchanging stories of our lives and telling the other how amazing we thought they were. The real truth was that I found her a bit repulsive. I mean this not in the callous sense, as there was nothing inherently wrong with her, but there was something about the package that made me uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the slightly nasal and lispy voice that would have been very appropriate in a porno film or her lips, which were almost too full for her face, like Julia Roberts without the nice eyes. Still, she was very nice and complimentary and in my then-current state, flattery is the surest way to garner my affections or at least my time.
This night would go on to repeat itself a month later at an all-night affair in a campground an hour and a half outside of Winnipeg. The meeting was again by fluke and my heightened senses caused me to remember her only with fondness, which was how we ended up making out in a field with my top off. Somewhere around that time, I stopped enjoying myself. Perhaps it was when a rogue car, driven by other partiers shone its headlights on us and jeered. I imagine that for the average, heterosexual male, this would be tinged with a certain amount of self-satisfaction, if accompanied at all by embarrassment. However, for me, all I could think was that if I was going to get caught on top of a girl, this would not be the one I would choose. The events of the rest of the night unfolded in much the same way: watching the northern lights dancing like a ballet, listening to music in my car, invoking poetic analogies (“Violins are like one night stands; cellos are forever”). All the right things with the wrong person, which is how one could characterize most of my rave experiences. I always had this fantasy of making an amazing new friend at one of these things. Perhaps everyone else there does as well and that’s why we’re all so nice to one another in 30 second soundbites. Anything more is too much of a commitment and I certainly didn’t want to commit to her. It sounds monstrous to be so dismissive of another person, but where were we but a zoo of unhappy animals acting on both base and altered instincts. Whatever the reasoning, this was not the person I should have been with.
I ran into her last year just as I was getting on a bus. Normally rave folk have no appeal to me outside their natural environment, but something in her dogtooth jacket combined with the fact that all my friends seemed to be leaving the city inspired me to exchange numbers. We made plans for lunch the next week at the food court near where I worked, but I had to cancel due to a forgotten rehearsal and never called her back to reschedule. The guilt was slightly gnawing for a while before I realized that I didn’t feel bad about bailing but rather what she must have thought of me for not calling her back. Clearly this wasn’t about her and never was.
I pretended to be grossly engaged in my half-read-and-due-in-two-days library book and didn’t look up until I heard the pop of a Tupperware container and then the sweet, nasal lisp of her offering the driver another cookie as she was getting off the bus.
From the back, I could see that she was tallish in heels, a nice overcoat, and kicky scarf and had slightly tussled loose curls spilling to just below her shoulders. What a lovely girl, I thought, the perfect combination of classy (scarf) and bohemian (baked goods). I should note here that while the baking was in a Tupperware container rather than a vintage tin, I imagined that she was new to the latter temperament and still gave her some Boho points. It wasn’t until she turned around that I saw just how new she was.
The thing was, I knew this girl, or rather, we had met on a few different occasions at parties - raves, to you not in the know. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a long black cape over a fuzzy pink bras. Yes, Heaven had lost an angel. We were at a small outdoor party in some rural town and spent most of the night together, exchanging stories of our lives and telling the other how amazing we thought they were. The real truth was that I found her a bit repulsive. I mean this not in the callous sense, as there was nothing inherently wrong with her, but there was something about the package that made me uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the slightly nasal and lispy voice that would have been very appropriate in a porno film or her lips, which were almost too full for her face, like Julia Roberts without the nice eyes. Still, she was very nice and complimentary and in my then-current state, flattery is the surest way to garner my affections or at least my time.
This night would go on to repeat itself a month later at an all-night affair in a campground an hour and a half outside of Winnipeg. The meeting was again by fluke and my heightened senses caused me to remember her only with fondness, which was how we ended up making out in a field with my top off. Somewhere around that time, I stopped enjoying myself. Perhaps it was when a rogue car, driven by other partiers shone its headlights on us and jeered. I imagine that for the average, heterosexual male, this would be tinged with a certain amount of self-satisfaction, if accompanied at all by embarrassment. However, for me, all I could think was that if I was going to get caught on top of a girl, this would not be the one I would choose. The events of the rest of the night unfolded in much the same way: watching the northern lights dancing like a ballet, listening to music in my car, invoking poetic analogies (“Violins are like one night stands; cellos are forever”). All the right things with the wrong person, which is how one could characterize most of my rave experiences. I always had this fantasy of making an amazing new friend at one of these things. Perhaps everyone else there does as well and that’s why we’re all so nice to one another in 30 second soundbites. Anything more is too much of a commitment and I certainly didn’t want to commit to her. It sounds monstrous to be so dismissive of another person, but where were we but a zoo of unhappy animals acting on both base and altered instincts. Whatever the reasoning, this was not the person I should have been with.
I ran into her last year just as I was getting on a bus. Normally rave folk have no appeal to me outside their natural environment, but something in her dogtooth jacket combined with the fact that all my friends seemed to be leaving the city inspired me to exchange numbers. We made plans for lunch the next week at the food court near where I worked, but I had to cancel due to a forgotten rehearsal and never called her back to reschedule. The guilt was slightly gnawing for a while before I realized that I didn’t feel bad about bailing but rather what she must have thought of me for not calling her back. Clearly this wasn’t about her and never was.
I pretended to be grossly engaged in my half-read-and-due-in-two-days library book and didn’t look up until I heard the pop of a Tupperware container and then the sweet, nasal lisp of her offering the driver another cookie as she was getting off the bus.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Just woke up from such an odd dream. Must write it down before I forget.
Unity and I are going to a rave. I'm pretty sure we're wearing what we wore on halloween. We get past security and enter into this big, white tent-like structure which is apparently at the top of a hill, so once we get in the door we can see hundreds of kids just chilling on the incline. Near the bottom are rooms that break off and they have bal pits in them, like they ued to have at McDonald's except that all the balls are black. Everyone is having a really good time and we find a spot on the left side of the incline where we deposit all of our stuff. I then notice that the bottom of the hill where the tent ends is actually the kitchen of a house and that it leads to a deck and garden. The rave is half indoor - half outdoor. So we're just chilling when a girl walking up the incline turns back to us and says "They won't let _____ in." ____ here being a guy we know that sells drugs. Unity states very positively that, "Oh well, guess I'm doing this party clean." (Cannot even dress to you how much that reaction would NEVER happen.) I go back up the hill to check out what's going on. I go back out past security and the next thing I know I'm standing in front of them with the dealer as he's saying to the security people (and these aren't rave security, it's like full on night stick guys) that he put his stuff in his car. They said they would need to search both of us. "Fine," he says, and pulls down my pants. Don't remember feeling overly vulnerable at this point and yet my underwear (white bozer briefs...I don't know either) are clearly around my ankles. The guy has hidden his stuff in the folds of my apparently massive underwear, but the security guys see it and demand that he takes it out of my gitch and show them. He opens the bag and it's little baggies of suckers and a couple white pills in each. Flash forward and I'm back in my spot on the hill, laying on my jacket, having gone and been social for a bit. The dealer comes running up to me with a black knit winter glove and a security guy with a big moustache and patrol vest following him. "Do you want any blow?" he yells. "No," I say, "I don't want that shit!" but for some reason I take the glove anyway, stuff it under my jacket and dump out the contents. The security guy chases the dealer into one of the black ball rooms and the comes and sits down beside me. He's just chatting away making friends and when he's not looking a glance under my jacket and notice 5 white pills about the size of my percribed prednizone. I take one as his head is turned but not having any water, must disolve it in my mouth. If anyone has ever taken an oral steroid, you know: it's fucking not fun tasting. Then, feeling slightly buzzed, I go off to find Unity.
Here I wake up and think, "Man that was weird." and promtly fall back asleep. In what is a very unusual case, the dream continues, or rather picks up some 6 hours later...
I wake up on the hill and I'm laying on my jacket. I venture down the hill, through the house part and into the garden which has very high stone walls, like at Raven. I see her holding a pair of sneakers and a couple celebrity magazine, rifling through all the zonked out ravers. (This must be related to the halloween party where the girl I was with was so fucked at the end that she was looking through all the shit people had left behind) The sneakers are for her boyfriend. She found them. Suddenly my brother shows up and is instucted to help us carry all this stuff that we have amassed out the car. The sun is up and my watch reads 8:29. We get on to the highway and I wake up.
I don't know what it means, but it's my mother's fault.
Unity and I are going to a rave. I'm pretty sure we're wearing what we wore on halloween. We get past security and enter into this big, white tent-like structure which is apparently at the top of a hill, so once we get in the door we can see hundreds of kids just chilling on the incline. Near the bottom are rooms that break off and they have bal pits in them, like they ued to have at McDonald's except that all the balls are black. Everyone is having a really good time and we find a spot on the left side of the incline where we deposit all of our stuff. I then notice that the bottom of the hill where the tent ends is actually the kitchen of a house and that it leads to a deck and garden. The rave is half indoor - half outdoor. So we're just chilling when a girl walking up the incline turns back to us and says "They won't let _____ in." ____ here being a guy we know that sells drugs. Unity states very positively that, "Oh well, guess I'm doing this party clean." (Cannot even dress to you how much that reaction would NEVER happen.) I go back up the hill to check out what's going on. I go back out past security and the next thing I know I'm standing in front of them with the dealer as he's saying to the security people (and these aren't rave security, it's like full on night stick guys) that he put his stuff in his car. They said they would need to search both of us. "Fine," he says, and pulls down my pants. Don't remember feeling overly vulnerable at this point and yet my underwear (white bozer briefs...I don't know either) are clearly around my ankles. The guy has hidden his stuff in the folds of my apparently massive underwear, but the security guys see it and demand that he takes it out of my gitch and show them. He opens the bag and it's little baggies of suckers and a couple white pills in each. Flash forward and I'm back in my spot on the hill, laying on my jacket, having gone and been social for a bit. The dealer comes running up to me with a black knit winter glove and a security guy with a big moustache and patrol vest following him. "Do you want any blow?" he yells. "No," I say, "I don't want that shit!" but for some reason I take the glove anyway, stuff it under my jacket and dump out the contents. The security guy chases the dealer into one of the black ball rooms and the comes and sits down beside me. He's just chatting away making friends and when he's not looking a glance under my jacket and notice 5 white pills about the size of my percribed prednizone. I take one as his head is turned but not having any water, must disolve it in my mouth. If anyone has ever taken an oral steroid, you know: it's fucking not fun tasting. Then, feeling slightly buzzed, I go off to find Unity.
Here I wake up and think, "Man that was weird." and promtly fall back asleep. In what is a very unusual case, the dream continues, or rather picks up some 6 hours later...
I wake up on the hill and I'm laying on my jacket. I venture down the hill, through the house part and into the garden which has very high stone walls, like at Raven. I see her holding a pair of sneakers and a couple celebrity magazine, rifling through all the zonked out ravers. (This must be related to the halloween party where the girl I was with was so fucked at the end that she was looking through all the shit people had left behind) The sneakers are for her boyfriend. She found them. Suddenly my brother shows up and is instucted to help us carry all this stuff that we have amassed out the car. The sun is up and my watch reads 8:29. We get on to the highway and I wake up.
I don't know what it means, but it's my mother's fault.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
I think I understand addiction. Not the actual process of being addicted, as I'm not actually addicted to anything, Tori aside. I do think though that I can appreciate what is the driving force behind addiction. And I don't mean any specific kind of addiction (such as drug), just the general concept of addiction.
It's like this. You are given something or experience something that alters your reality in a way that you couldn't have imagined and it's exciting and fun and makes you so happy. Then suddenly it isn't there and there's a noticeable void where it once was. The knee jerk reaction is to try to reclaim that happiness as quickly as possible because, my God, it was so much better, wasn't it? However for most people with logical reasons, we understand that there is a reason we are no longer experiencing these sensation that is most likely healthier than the actual sensation itself (long overdue breakup, come down off drugs, etc.). Despite our urges, we maintain self control and even when we so desparately want to call that ex-lover or pop another cap (I'm not really sure how many 'we's there are that read my blog that fall into the latter category, but moving on). Addiction occurs when those urges are satisfied and we give in.
It's not hard to guess that this whole revelation is due to the party (read: rave) I went to on the weekend. It just wasn't great. The first third was awesome as usual but after that the vibe just went weird and I spent the last 5 hours just hoping for something good to happen, anything, any human connection, and it never did.
I talked about this quite a bit with U the next day, and for the first time we really discussed the negative side to the scene. It's a very superficial neverland, where most people are really gushy and nice at the beginning but it's so surface and the moment it seems you might want to actually discuss something serious or there's a problem, they're like, "Um, yeah, so later..." I'm starting to get to know people and be recognized a bit more by now, which is cool, but it's frustrating that it's so fake.
So now I have all the pluses and minuses of the scene and I really need to assess how much further I want to delve into it or if perhaps it's time to draw back a bit. Also, I love going with my girl, but she is so much further along then I am as far as knowing people and I feel like I want at least one other really solid person there with me as sometimes I am so overwhelmed by my surroundings. I still feel like such a wonderous child there, in an odd limbo between absolute love and social terror, being there on my own. I'll have to figure it out.
In the meantime, apologees to all you fine people who have to put up with me in the couple days afterwards.
It's like this. You are given something or experience something that alters your reality in a way that you couldn't have imagined and it's exciting and fun and makes you so happy. Then suddenly it isn't there and there's a noticeable void where it once was. The knee jerk reaction is to try to reclaim that happiness as quickly as possible because, my God, it was so much better, wasn't it? However for most people with logical reasons, we understand that there is a reason we are no longer experiencing these sensation that is most likely healthier than the actual sensation itself (long overdue breakup, come down off drugs, etc.). Despite our urges, we maintain self control and even when we so desparately want to call that ex-lover or pop another cap (I'm not really sure how many 'we's there are that read my blog that fall into the latter category, but moving on). Addiction occurs when those urges are satisfied and we give in.
It's not hard to guess that this whole revelation is due to the party (read: rave) I went to on the weekend. It just wasn't great. The first third was awesome as usual but after that the vibe just went weird and I spent the last 5 hours just hoping for something good to happen, anything, any human connection, and it never did.
I talked about this quite a bit with U the next day, and for the first time we really discussed the negative side to the scene. It's a very superficial neverland, where most people are really gushy and nice at the beginning but it's so surface and the moment it seems you might want to actually discuss something serious or there's a problem, they're like, "Um, yeah, so later..." I'm starting to get to know people and be recognized a bit more by now, which is cool, but it's frustrating that it's so fake.
So now I have all the pluses and minuses of the scene and I really need to assess how much further I want to delve into it or if perhaps it's time to draw back a bit. Also, I love going with my girl, but she is so much further along then I am as far as knowing people and I feel like I want at least one other really solid person there with me as sometimes I am so overwhelmed by my surroundings. I still feel like such a wonderous child there, in an odd limbo between absolute love and social terror, being there on my own. I'll have to figure it out.
In the meantime, apologees to all you fine people who have to put up with me in the couple days afterwards.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)