My Hot Night with Maria in the Shower at the Waldorf Hotel

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Friday night. Pre-Rapture. The dance floor in the boiling hot belly of the Waldorf on East Hastings. I was there. That’s right: Friday, May 20, 2011, I absolved my sweaty sins with Maria in the Shower, celebrating the release of their latest CD, “The Hidden Sayings of Maria in the Shower” with the kick-ass, virgin-tempting show they called PANSTEREORAMA.

My first brush with the glory that is Maria in the Shower was in 2008, when I went to the Ukrainian Hall to see the Dusty Flower Pot Cabaret‘s magical production, “Valley of Ashes”.  I recall marveling at the spectacle, the rusty sorcery, and the puppets. I also remember thinking to myself, “Hot diggity, this music is great.” I then became interested in something else, I dunno, university or whatever, and forgot to ask myself where some of that music came from.

As it turns out, some of that music came from Maria in the Shower, so when I saw them for the first time doing a set of their own at this April’s ArtsWells Fundraiser at the Rickshaw Theatre, and then again last Friday at the Waldorf, I wasn’t seeing a new band so much as bringing into focus musicians I had already experienced through attending Dusty Flowerpot productions. And holy petunia, it was worth it. Wonderful as they are as a component of a larger theatrical production, on their own these musical men are overflowing with showmanship, theatricality, and a pure and unadulterated love for what they’re doing.

Photo credit: Brayden McCluskey

Before Maria in the Shower, I had never seen someone play an accordion and a trumpet at the same time. I had never seen anyone play a stand up bass while standing on their stand up bass. For that matter, I had never seen anyone playing a trumpet while standing on a stand up bass that someone else was playing. Trifling logistical details perhaps, but the kind of details that make me shout, “Holy F—” and scream a LOT.

All of this would have been cheap razzle dazzle had Maria in the Shower not had the musical chops to back it up. And they do. I got swing, I got jazz, I got a bit of Klezmer, I got trumpet and accordion (which are two of my favourite instruments after cellos), I got songs of burning hot passion and just plain fun. Poetry, love, death, religion, sex: I got it all with music I could dance to, sing to, feel through, that was at once totally irreverent and totally sacred.

At one point, I remember seeing the band onstage, with all their fey and sweaty fans dancing below, listening to a song about love that sounded like a cry from the most wounded man in the world, and thinking that THIS is exactly where I should be. This is exactly the kind of place and show I should be at when I am 25. I am idealistic, I am full of romance, I am nostalgic for a history I never had, I have energy and sensuality and a thirst for a performance that’s so damn good it makes me grit my teeth.

Maria in the Shower is so damn good they make me grit my teeth and fantasize about running away to join a gypsy caravan. I’m pretty sure I left the Waldorf pregnant through immaculate musical conception (totally appropriate pre-supposed-Rapture) and through the raw sex appeal being created all over that stage by musicians who are very good at what they do (and is anything more magnetic than that? No.).

I just hope the baby plays the trumpet. Fingers crossed.

My “Five for Five” Project: Happy Birthday to Me

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I recently celebrated my 25th birthday. It’s a milestone for me in many ways. If you had told me on my 24th birthday how much my life would change before my 25th, I either would not have believed you, or I would have broken down in tears, terrified and confused by the foreignness of the description. People that were once a large part of my life are now gone, some irreversibly. New and wonderful people have entered it. Ideas, environments, and goals have changed.

Though my loved ones have always made my birthday a special day for me, in my teens I started disliking the event. Many a teenage journal contains the phrase “I’m another year older and it still doesn’t make any difference.” At the time, I meant that I was another year older and I still had no boyfriend. Poor me.

This year, that phrase meant something different. Somewhere along my journey towards this milestone I was instilled with the idea that my life should affect, in a positive way, other lives. Though I do try to be generous, environmentally conscious, and kind, I know so many amazing “Save the world” over-achievers in Vancouver that I feel selfish and lazy by comparison, and my little kindnesses (even my large ones), look like child’s play. Before I turned 25, I wanted to do Something Nice.

I had many grand ideas about amazing and awesome ways to celebrate my birthday by being a Top Notch Philanthropist. But I’m not a gala planner. I haven’t thrown a birthday party for twelve years (we had pizza and an ice cream cake back in ’99). My grand ideas became smaller and more simple, eventually shrinking to one doable plan.

I became inspired by a video on YouTube called Adeu, Barcelona!. Though I had no plans as ambitious as the artist’s in this video, I liked the idea of giving small gifts to strangers.

I wondered to myself, if I was a stranger going about their day, what would I like to find, no matter who I was? And I decided on money. I love to find money. It makes me feel lucky and I wanted to spread that luck around. Since I was going to be turning 25, I decided to donate $25 to this cause. The Five for Five project was born. The idea was that five people would find $5. Sweet and simple. They would also find a bottle of “Miracle Bubbles” (I needed something heavier to attach the money to). I also think that blowing bubbles is one of the great and simple pleasures of life.

On Mother’s Day, I attached five $5 bills to five bottles of Miracle Bubbles with the following note:

For you:

My 25th birthday is coming up. I would like to share the good luck I have experienced in my life.

Finding money always brightens my day. I hope it brightens yours. Treat yourself or give it away to someone who could use a treat.

Why the bubbles? If finding $5 doesn’t make you happy, blowing bubbles will. Thanks for being part of the city I love.

Lauren

Newspaper stand, Granville and Georgia

The weather wasn’t as great as I would have liked as I headed downtown, bubbles and bills hidden away in my bag, but it was a worthwhile experience all the same. I felt like a secret super hero.  You know how wonderfully sneaky you feel when you see a person and you know you’re going to give them a good surprise? That’s how I felt about everyone I saw. Any one of these people could potentially find one of my little presents.

On the corner of Granville and Georgia I saw an old man sitting on the sidewalk. He had a bushy white beard (like Santa) and a cardboard sign that said “Broke and Hungry”. I set one of the Bubbles with the $5 attached in his hat. I walked farther down the street and watched from afar as he took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, waved to me, and began to read his note.

In the Fine Arts Section, VPL

No one likes to be watched when they read, and I was feeling too shy to talk to the man, so I continued down the street to set out the rest of my little presents.

For the most part I tried depositing them in places out of the rain. This is why one of them was placed in a newspaper stand and one in the Vancouver Public Library, in the Fine Arts section (also rewarding literacy, hurrah!).

After I left my last present in a flower bed, I walked back to Granville and Georgia, with the intent of introducing myself to the man with the snowy beard. I thought that maybe it had been rude of me to impose this project on a person (instead of letting them find it) and walk away. Unfortunately, he was gone, but I hope that $5 was helpful and that if he doesn’t like bubbles he was able to give them to someone who does.

Flower bed outside 900 Howe St.

I headed home that Sunday feeling happy and a bit foolish. I know my little Five for Five project is just a tiny drop in the ocean of kindness and sacrifice that is required to save this crazy world. Maybe leaving five $5 bills lying around in downtown Vancouver will prove to be the stupidest and most useless thing I’ve ever done. But somehow I feel good about it. With no intended audience, anyone who found my little gift will be someone who found $5. And the huge debt I owe to the universe for the amazing good fortune I’ve always experienced might be just the teensiest bit repaid.

At any rate, it was for my birthday, and if I want to literally leave money lying around, no one is allowed to mind. So there.

Election 2011: A small high five and a lot of nausea

/ Lauren / 2 Comments

On May 2, 2011, Canada voted. I was nervous, I was hopeful, I was trying to be optimistic about the outcome, and I was not prepared for the results.

As the kids say, “I’m so so stoked right now” that the NDP is the official Opposition. Canada has never seen what the NDP can do when given both the power and responsibility to be the main (not fringe) voice of dissent and contrary opinion in Parliament. A party that has often largely been ignored in the past has been granted an opportunity to define itself.

I am stoked for Elizabeth May and the Green Party too. History will be made when Parliament resumes and the Green Party has a representative in the House of Commons for the first time. May will have her work on Parliament Hill cut out for her. It’s work she’s been chasing for years and I say good for her for finally getting a crack at it.

In a weird way, I am a little bit stoked that the Liberals took such a drubbing. As a person, Michael Ignatieff is intelligent and educated and I believe he truly does care for Canada. I didn’t mind the Liberals the last time they governed either (though I was a teenager then so I’m not sure that says much). But after three years of reading my Maclean’s cover to cover and following Canadian politics online, I still had no idea what the Liberal Party, under Iggy, really stood for. Unless Maclean’s simply sucks at their Canadian politics coverage (which I will never believe), it seems to me that the Liberal party did not have a cohesive and consistent message that was memorable or vital to Canadians. A few good ideas? Yes. But a few good ideas do not a political platform make. You can blame many things for the situation the Liberals now find themselves in–the Conservative’s ceaseless character assassination of Ignatieff, a split leftist vote between the NDP and Liberal candidates that paved the way for a Conservative win, voter apathy–but at the end of the day the party just seemed lost to me. Not at all the “natural governing party” the Liberals claimed to be. Obviously they need a few years to get their poop in a pile and now they’ve got it.

I am also giving myself a little high five because the candidate I voted for won and will be representing me and my riding in Ottawa. Congratulations to me.

Now for the nausea.

For the next four and a half years, Canada will be governed by a Conservative majority. Since I align my personal beliefs more towards the political left, the policies of this government will no doubt grate against my socialist sensibilities. Even with an NDP Opposition, a majority gives the Conservatives carte blanche to pass pretty much any bill they like and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

But that’s democracy. Canada voted (well, 60% of us) and apparently the will of Canadians is a Conservative majority. Democracy means you don’t always get your way. Of course, democracy is more fun for me when I get my way, and people I disagree with don’t get theirs, but that’s not how it worked out this time. If I wanted my own way all the time I would need to become Queen of my own tiny isle, and I’m not prepared to do that right now. What really sticks in my craw about this election outcome is that the first government ever to be found in contempt of Parliament is rewarded with a majority. Clearly Canadians are not paying attention. Policy schmolicy. No matter where your beliefs fall on the political spectrum, you deserve a government that will not lie to Canada’s elected representatives.

Unless, of course, you vote for a party knowing full well they were found to be in contempt of Parliament and you just don’t care. Or, if you don’t vote at all. Then, I guess, you get the government you deserve.

I’m disappointed. Being an artist and a woman and a young single person (no middle class family benefits for me right now) who cares about social justice, I don’t think there’s anything in that blue bag for me. I love Canada and I love what it has traditionally stood for. I don’t want these things to disappear.

I am trying to be optimistic. Perhaps Harper’s Conservatives have merely been suffering from an inferiority complex and now that they have the majority they claimed they needed to govern effectively they will, in fact, govern effectively. I can only hope that now that the threat of a snap election is no longer looming they will consider the needs of all Canadians, even artsy fartsy bleeding hearts like me, and not just their traditional demographic.

Or perhaps things will get so incredibly terrible that by 2015 the 40% of eligible Canadian voters who didn’t vote this year will be prompted to finally get off their asses and participate in their country’s democracy. Or maybe I’ll move to my own tiny isle.

At any rate, Layton’s looking spunky these days, I’m sure Harper isn’t actually an evil robot, and hope springs eternal. We might be okay after all. We’ll see.

June 2011: East Van Culture In the House

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Music. Dance. Circus sorcery. Puppets. Beautiful East Van homes in the Commercial Drive area opening their doors to the public. Is this some eccentric real estate fantasy? No, it’s the return of the In the House Festival invading living rooms with its unique brand of community and magic in East Vancouver.

I have spent so much time lamenting over the hard knock life of those working in the arts that when Mads, an intern from the festival, asked me on Twitter if I would be interested in writing a piece about this year’s In the House Festival, I jumped at the chance to help promote a festival I have enjoyed in the past. I asked Mads if I might be able to ask a festival representative some questions for the post and was immediately put in touch with Myriam Steinberg, the Artistic Director of the In the House Festival, who has been involved with the festival since its inception in 2003. Myriam was so obliging and her answers so detailed I’ve included them here. [My questions are in bold, Myriam’s answers in italics]

The idea of an entire festival dedicated to bringing performers and audience into people’s homes is quite unique. What particular Vancouver cultural needs do you feel the In the House Festival addresses? There are a couple. Vancouver has a dearth of venues that are either financially accessible, or that are open to a variety of disciplines. It’s also difficult to find a venue where people will have focused attention on the performer. At In the House, we provide the space where the audience is 100% paying attention to the artists, the artists can do their thing, explore their genre, test out new material, interact directly with the audience and get paid more than the average “pass the hat” situation that they encounter in lots of bars and coffee shops. On a community level, In the House brings people together in intimate settings which create a trust and hopefully builds friendships and dispels stereotypes about neighbourhoods.

Photo credit: Diane Smithers

Are acts chosen for the festival based on the East Van homes available to the festival, or does the festival recruit homes based on the artist line-up already determined? We recruit homes based on the artist line-up primarily. Of course because some houses are smaller than others, we have to make sure that we don’t put the circus acts in a narrow living room, but instead put something like spoken word or other one person acts [in that space].


How does this year’s festival differ from years past? What are you particularly excited about this year? What have you learned from past years? This is the 2nd year where we’ve added a 3rd night to the festival. We’ve [therefore] been able to add four more shows to the line-up. This year, we are featuring a bunch of upcoming youth in amongst the seasoned performers. Travis Lim does a killer Michael Jackson. I’m really excited to see him perform. At age 9 he’s already won 13 medals for dance! The Whitridge Brothers (11 and 15 years old) are jazz musicians who are included in the already stellar line-up. I think it’s important to give a voice to kids who have amazing talent. Age is no marker for talent.

I’m excited to watch the Cabaret so Mignon (magic, bellydance, music, clowning), to learn how to swing dance in Swingin’ Times, and of course I’m always looking forward to the finale. This year it’s a Blues Circus.

I guess the most valuable lesson I have learned from organizing the festival is to plan and organize well ahead of time and to keep expanding the network that surrounds the scene. It is thrilling to see so much great talent out there, but also to see how many people are willing to help volunteer during these festive days.


Tell me about the performance spaces (the homes). Are audience members permitted to use the washrooms? Are many of the homes wheelchair accessible/can arrangements be made to accommodate an audience member with disabilities? Any other amenities offered by the spaces (food available to buy, etc.)? One of the most important parts about the shows is the fact that they are taking place inside people’s living rooms. It gives the shows an intimate and much more engaging atmosphere you would not find in a lot of other places. We do have port-a-potties available by Festival Central [Napier and Victoria] which we encourage festival goers to use, instead of the house washrooms, but of course people are generally allowed to use the washrooms of the houses during a show. However, they are not allowed to go explore the rest of the house outside the performance space and the bathroom. It’s really important to respect the privacy and safety of the homeowners who are so generously donating their space to a show. The backyards are generally wheelchair accessible, and about half the shows are in a backyard. Some of the houses are as well, but less so. We do have a ton of volunteers though who are available to help [or] we can also install a ramp if we have enough notice of someone in a wheelchair coming to a show. We certainly don’t want to exclude anyone from the In the House experience. In terms of food, there will be snacks and non-alcoholic drinks to buy, although we encourage people to use the “dinner hours” to explore the nice restaurants around Commercial Drive.  

If I were a Commercial-drive area home owner interested in opening my home to the festival, where could I go/who could I contact for more information? You can contact me, Myriam, at info@inthehousefestival.com or 604-874-9325. The website also has information about the shows we put on and what it means to open your home to a show.

How can artists apply for/submit their work for consideration for inclusion in In the House? They can email or mail me a demo of what they do. I prefer to hire performers from the Lower Mainland.

And finally: Do you have any important information/tips for audience members to make their In the House experience go as smoothly as possible? If you want a guaranteed seat, buy your tickets in advance. Shows tend to sell out. Also, if you’re buying your tickets on site or have a pass, get your tickets from the box office [Napier and Victoria] as early as possible. Seating is first come first served so if you want a good not squishy seat, get your place in line early.

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I am a big fan of the idea of meta-theatre, and the idea that the experience of a performance is not confined only to what is happening on the stage space. The concept of this festival suggests an openness of spirit on the part of performers and audience and a huge amount of trust on the part of those who have turned their homes into a venue for performance. Is this the kind of experience you wish to participate in/support? Check out the festival.

The 2011 In the House Festival runs June 3-5 in the Commercial Drive area.

To purchase tickets through PayPal, click here.

For schedule information and to learn more about the Festival’s performers, click here.

Thanks Mads and Myriam for giving me the opportunity to learn about and promote this special kind of East Vancouver culture. It sure beats the hell out of whining over the sorry state of the arts. 🙂

Adventures in BC: Salt Spring 2

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Ruckle Park, Salt Spring IslandThis year, I was able to stretch the Easter holiday into a five-day weekend. Naturally, my travel companion (TC) and I headed back to Salt Spring Island the Thursday before Easter to enjoy some BC nature and awesomeness.

Good Friday was a beautiful sunny day so after a pleasant lunch at the Rock Salt Restaurant & Cafe with my TC and his sweet relations, we took a little trip to Ruckle Provincial Park, at the southeast corner of Salt Spring. My burgoyne burrito at the Rock Salt was everything I expected it to be though I think I prefer the Mexicana grilled naan I had on my last visit. Once again, the Caesar salad was beyond reproach. One note about the Rock Salt for my readers who have a powerful aversion to cilantro: many of the items on the lunch menu include cilantro aioli so read the ingredients on the menu, or ask your server, before ordering.

Ruckle Park, Salt Spring IslandRuckle Provincial Park is a lovely place for a little afternoon jaunt and I think it definitely deserves further investigation in the future. My TC’s little cousins and I spent most of our time clambering on the rocks on the seashore, looking at sea stars, barnacles, and welks (I called them snails but was corrected by my TC’s little cousin).

Love knows no colour, Sea stars, Ruckle Park, Salt Spring Island

Love knows no colour

In addition to exposure to seaside life and beautiful views, Ruckle Park provides camping year round (even in the off-season for adventurous campers who don’t mind that several of the park’s amenities would be unavailable). Unfortunately, it is not possible to reserve individual campsites at Ruckle Park so if you’re planning a weekend camping trip on Salt Spring be prepared to duke it out for the first-come, first-served sites.

I was not obligated to duke it out for off-season camping because once again I had the hippest, happenest hosts in the whole world who housed and fed us for four nights. On the evening of good Friday they took us to the village of Ganges for dinner at the Oystercatcher Seafood Bar & Grill. I remembered that my TC had amazing fish and chips the last time we were there so this time I got a plate of my very own. Hooray! Amazing! The raspberry mojitos were amazing too. A downside of the Oystercatcher that I have not only heard about but read online as well is that the service there is quite slow. Which is fine if you want to spend a long evening with good friends and good food and good drinks looking over the water. Less fine if you’re out with hungry kids who don’t find adult conversation stimulating. I enjoyed myself all the same. I even coloured a picture!

Saturday dawned warm and sunny. A perfect day to check out Salt Spring’s Saturday Market, held in Ganges every Saturday from April to October. With such great weather the place was buzzing. Kids with painted faces and balloon animals were everywhere. I spent a goodly amount of time sitting in the sun on a grassy knoll thinking warm sunny thoughts and eating a real blackberry popsicle. Afterwords I did some browsing in the market and was impressed by the sheer amount of goods for sale: jewellery, crockery, textiles, soaps, food…. I wanted to buy about a hundred things but I remembered just in time that I don’t actually need anything new and my wallet stayed put in my purse. Financial crises averted. I enjoyed the atmosphere, and the sun, and looking at neat things, and a blackberry popsicle. I’ll buy myself some crockery some other time. Like when I have a fancy cheese that would necessitate the fancy cheese dish I wanted.

I slept in on Easter Sunday and so I missed watching my TC’s little cousins have their egg hunt. It was a good thing for me that the Easter Bunny left me chocolate right there on the bureau that I didn’t even have to hunt for. It was unfortunately grey and rainy most of the day, but these were perfect conditions for staying inside to rehearse and perform a play written by my TC’s 8-year-old cousin. This particular piece of theatre was about four siblings who rise above their poverty by forming a hit rock band. I got to “play” the drums for our musical finale: an airband to “Judy is a Punk” by the Ramones. Our performance was a resounding success and I was able to keep a copy of the script, signed by the precocious playwright.

On Monday we made one more stop at the Rock Salt for coffee and desserts before boarding our ferry home. It was a delicious send-off (lime cheesecake!) but I was not looking forward to real life (and going back to work) in the city.

I sleep so well and feel so relaxed when I’m in the Gulf Islands that I never want to leave. It makes me think I should just quit my 9 to 5 job, pack my things, catch the next boat to Salt Spring, pitch a tent and make my living by…………um………..

Crap.

I guess I’ll keep my 9 to 5-er in the big city for now, and really get serious about my plans to win the lottery. In the meantime, I will try to be comforted by the fact that Salt Spring Island really isn’t that far away. Ho hum.

P.S. Check out the view of the Gulf Islands from my hosts’ backyard:

Gulf Islands, Salt Spring IslandSweet.

YA or the Highway: A tribute to Young Adult Fiction

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Anyone perusing my bookshelf may wonder for a moment if perhaps I am twelve years old, instead of twice that. I couldn’t blame them. Excluding the Maraget Atwoods and Barbara Gowdys I’ve tucked into the corners, my bookcase is a proudly displayed and well-loved collection of young adult fiction (YA).

I used to try to justify my reluctance to move on to more adult fare to my parents. Now I don’t bother. Though I receive one or two great Canadian works of literature a year (my latest, Cool Water by Dianne Warren, was excellent) I think by now my mom and dad understand that my literary growth pretty much stopped in adolescence (by choice and not by intellect).

I do not shy away from the real world or from being informed about adult issues (I read my Macleans cover to cover every week!). But the reading I undertake in my leisure time should be just that: leisure. I don’t want to be depressed or feel guilty about something horrible happening somewhere. I’d rather read about people with magical powers.

I think my feelings regarding “adult” literature (by “adult” I mean adults read it, I don’t mean erotica) were shaped early on by the books my mother would order from the Northwest Regional Library in Saskatchewan. They were all very good books. By good I mean they were thematically interesting and deftly crafted works of literature. However, I began to notice a pattern in the books I was reading. Eventually, whenever my mom recommended a book to me I would start by asking my now-standard question:

“Are there any suicides or pedophiles in this one?”

And my mom would say, “Well….sort of.” This led me to believe that literature written for adults is a never ending parade of misery and misplaced sexual feeling. This is a broad generalization, sure, but if you take a look at most lauded Canadian literature you’ll see I’m not too far off the mark.

Back to YA: not only does it provide me with a more pleasurable reading experience, it is often plain old better than many adult books I’ve read. Why? Because issues surrounding sexuality and violence, that are sometimes carelessly and artlessly written into adult fiction, require a more delicate hand in fiction for younger readers. This subtle allusion to the darkness that lurks beneath those last years of innocence is more profound to me than in-your-face sex and violence (the adult fiction I prefer is also of the more subtle variety).

And then, of course, there’s the magic. In my regular life, I have had to accept that no amount of feathers attached to my clothing will make me fly, and that the ghost I thought I saw in grade 3 was likely the product of spooky stories, darkness, and the company of my hyperactive friends (the mob mentality strikes again). I’ve lost all my baby teeth and the Easter Bunny stopped visiting. I accept the laws of physics and the legal and societal rules we all live by. I have a content and productive life.

Would I rather be a wizard? YES.

Good YA fantasy writers are my heroes. In order to create the worlds that make their books so enjoyable, they must understand them intimately. This involves a commitment to being an adult mentally living in a fantasy land. How awesome is that? Very. Any adult who can keep the spark of childlike wonder and imagination not only alive but robust is my kind of adult. Their books feed my need for a little bit of whimsy while I wait for my letter from Hogwarts to arrive.

So what ARE these YA books I love so much? I’ve compiled a list of my favourites from my collection:

  • The Abhorsen Trilogy (Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen) by Garth Nix         [Necromancers, the stages of death, Charter Magic, a talking cat]
  • The His Dark Materials Trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass) by Phillip Pullman         [Science, religion, parallel worlds, daemons, loss of innocence–Don’t see the film]
  • The Wind On Fire Trilogy (The Windsinger, Slaves of the Mastery, and Firesong) by William Nicholson         [Politics, i.e. how different political systems attempt to ensure fairness and happiness, magic, family, sacrifice]
  • The Emily Books (Emily of New Moon, Emily Climbs, and Emily’s Quest) by L.M. Montgomery         [Must-reads for any little girls who want to write, way less saccharine do-gooding than Anne of Green Gables]
  • The Blue Castle by L. M. Montgomery        [An ignored and repressed underdog gets hers against her stupid family. Woot!]
  • Painted Devil by Michael Bedard         [Scariest book I read in childhood. Puppets, spine-tingling descriptions of everything from a doll’s tea party to wallpaper, a neat history of the Punch & Judy tradition]

If anyone has read any of the above books, or has any tips for other great YA you think I’d enjoy, I’d love to hear from you in the comments section. In the meantime, I’ve got a brand-new hardcover copy of The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet by Reif Larsen waiting for me. Oh. My. Stars. This is going to be epic.

Happy reading!

Simple and Effective: “Jake’s Gift” at Pacific Theatre

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I must confess I haven’t though much about Canada’s World War II veterans lately. When I do, I usually envision navy blazers, berets, senior citizens, and excruciatingly rhythmic elementary school recitations (“In FLANders FIELDS the POPpies BLOW…”). These thoughts aren’t really in my consciousness until November each year.

I don’t usually imagine a ten-year-old girl in Normandy, striking up a friendship with a curmudgeonly Canadian veteran who has travelled to France for the 60th anniversary of D-Day.

This is the premise of “Jake’s Gift”, a one-woman show created and performed by Julia Mackey. “Jake’s Gift” is playing at Pacific Theatre Wednesday to Saturday evenings (with a matinee Saturday) until April 16.

From an “acting technique” standpoint, Mackey is a delight to watch. What is interesting to me is that the character of Jake was originally discovered and developed by Mackey during an intensive Mask Characterization workshop offered by Pacific Theatre in 2002. Having experienced some mask training in my own BFA, it was exciting to see the possibilities for character and narration that can be found and shaped through this kind of work.

I have watched many one-person shows where much of the narrative is delivered through monologues, with the actor playing one or more characters. Mackey chose to manifest most of the story through dialogue, sometimes with up to three characters, switching from one character to another instantaneously. With such fast transformations, many actors would be tempted to rely on a prop or costume piece (i.e. hat vs. no hat, etc.) to indicate to the audience which character is speaking. Mackey did not need to do this. Posture, voice, inner rhythm, even the lines of Mackey’s face seemed to change depending on who was speaking. It was as if her body and face were a hand upon which Mackey could place any puppet. I did not need a costume change to tell me who was who. I saw each character (ten-year-old Isabel, her grandmother, the old veteran Jake): familiar, recognizable, and clear as day.

The exchange between Isabel and Jake is so good-hearted and amusing, and Isabel’s high spirits are so infectious, you are caught off guard by the expression of the loss that lives in the hearts of those affected by war. I, like many others born in Canada, am familiar with the story of the Second World War and our veterans’ contribution to the Allies’ victory. I am fortunately not familiar with the loss of a loved one, nor with the idea of deliberately putting my own life in danger.

Many performances involving the stories of Canada’s veterans (especially those performed in schools, as “Jake’s Gift” has been many times), stray into the dangerous area of sentimentality; superficially tugging at our heart strings but keeping us ultimately and comfortably disconnected from the subject matter. The story of Jake and Isabel is told so frankly, and so matter-of-factly, that I could not avoid being affected by it.

The long and the short of it is that whether they enlisted for king and country, or for “hot meals, a trip to Europe and a shiny pair of boots” as Jake did, many young people placed themselves in harm’s way, and many did not return. Families in Canada were left without a sibling, a parent, or a child. This part of our history as Canadians and it hasn’t felt so true or close to me in a long time.

Another loss addressed in “Jake’s Gift” is the loss of the WWII veterans themselves. As they grow older (and sadly begin to pass away), we lose the living connection to an important part of our history. In a memorable and lonely moment on the stage, Jake dons his navy blazer and Legion beret with trembling fingers, straightening up for a moment to salute like the hearty young soldier he once was. When watching, I did not see Mackey onstage, or even the character Jake. I saw my grandfather. I saw the men and women of the Legion in my home town in Saskatchewan, a generation of Canadians whose pride and strength and incredible sacrifice has been forced to yield to age and the passage of time.

The story Julia Mackey has created with “Jake’s Gift” is simple and accessible, short and sweet. It is neither for nor against war. The story just is, and its lack of complication did not diminish the experience for me. Mackey’s investment in the piece as a creator, an actor, and a person, is evident. To me, “Jake’s Gift” has a bittersweet spirit that serves as a gentle reminder that November is not the only time of year to remember the sacrifices of others, and to, as always, respect our elders, who have experienced moments in their lives we will hopefully never have to know.

“Jake’s Gift” runs until April 16 at Pacific Theatre. Tickets can be obtained at the Pacific Theatre Box Office through visiting their website or calling 604-731-5518. For more information about the play itself, “Jake’s Gift” has its own website, www.jakesgift.com.

Once again, I was able to attend “Jake’s Gift” through the generosity of the lovely Lois Dawson, author of the excellent Vancouver theatre blog, Lois Backstage. Thanks Lois!

Sorry Artsies: I am a closet sports fan

/ Lauren / 1 Comment

Here’s the thing: I don’t watch televised sports. Ever. Well, maybe if the people I’m with are watching and we’re at a pub or in someone else’s living room, but even then I’m usually thinking about unicorns or what I read in Maclean’s that day or quietly getting drunk/trying not to fall asleep. When I’m at home alone, I do not turn on the TV to watch “the game”. Not for the CFL (go Riders!), not for the NHL (go Canucks!). Never. I don’t know any stats. I don’t know anyone’s number. I don’t even know the rules.

If this is true (which it is), how the hell can I claim to be a sports fan? Simple: I want the teams I am a fan of to win. When they do, I feel good. When the buses flash “GO CANUCKS GO” I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside. A feeling that tells me that despite all the things that make the citizens of Vancouver different and diverse, we can all rally around our team(s).

Unless of course, you are a Saskatchewan Rough Riders fan (which I am) and the BC Lions are winning. Boo.

Green is the colour!

In 2009 I had the opportunity to attend my first CFL game with some friends. The Riders were playing the Lions and I was feeling a little conspicuous in my bright green sweatshirt. The closer we got to the stadium, however, the better I felt. There were green-clad Rider fans everywhere! Many were Saskatchewan ex-pats like me, but some actually drive/fly all the way from Saskatchewan to support the Riders wherever they play. Though we ultimately lost that game, we pulled off some kind of thrilling maneuver in the second half to tie it up and I recall being high-fived by a fellow Rider fan that I didn’t know very well and feeling really great about it. And then we lost. But still. That high five is what counts.

When I was stuck in a long line at London Gatwick last May, waiting to fly back to Vancouver, the conversation moving up and down the line among Vancouverites was not about Iceland or the ash cloud (we were only delayed a few hours fortunately) or the lovely things we had seen in Europe. We were all asking each other if anyone knew how the Canucks were doing. It was a feather in my cap to be able to tell someone that we had just lost to Chicago and needed to win the next game to remain in the playoffs. As it turns out, we did not remain in the playoffs. But being able to bond with perfect strangers over something other than hating the airport is what counts.

I think what really appeals to me about sports fandom is that it seems to be one of the last bastions of community, ritual, and tradition in an increasingly individual-centric kind of society. Gone are the days when the snowshoe dance/ husking bee/ box social was the event of the season for an entire neighbourhood. Gone are the days when everyone in a community belonged to the same clubs and wore their pins, ribbons, or uniforms with a sense of collective pride.

In many ways, the loss of this kind of “group think” is very positive, especially for people or groups who had been traditionally marginalized or ostracized. Now the idea is that we should all be free to be who we want to be, and pursue our individual goals and dreams. This is all very well and good, but it can get a little lonely. I think we all crave something that unites us, something we can cheer for and be excited about and support, something that exists outside politics or religion or anything else that currently divides us. I think sports fandom has filled this hole.

Think about it: the Stanley Cup playoffs are coming. At what other time of year do romantic partners and employers all over Canada endure the hideous/glorious ritual that is known as the “Playoff Beard”, clearly visible on the faces of hockey fans? In what other situation would the statement, “I can’t shave my hideous beard or my team will LOSE” not be considered totally ridiculous?

While some believe sports fandom encourages drunken hooliganism (which I’m sure it does), it is also one of the last socially acceptable ways in which an increasingly “cool” society can publicly display their excitement and enthusiasm for something. Do you want to dress all in one or two colours? Wear a cape? Paint your face, or (gasp!) get a logo tattooed on your body? High five (or occasionally hug) similarly dressed strangers on the Sky Train? Is it for the team you love? Because if it is, it’s okay, and it’s awesome.

Look Ma! I support an NHL hockey team!

This is why, despite not having watched a single Canucks game this year, I recently purchased a Canucks t-shirt on a lovely spring day. This is why I donned the shirt on the next game day, even though I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m a lazy fan, sure, but at least I’m stylish.

It’s not about hockey or football for me, or about the individual players or how well they play. It’s about an entire city getting behind something. It’s about communally cheering (or swearing), and being proud (or disappointed) together. And yes, it’s cliche, but it’s about heart. The collective heart of a group of people who all want the same thing is quite rare nowadays, and it moves me.

To my artsy friends, I’m sorry. I know for all intents and purposes I act like I don’t give a crap about sports…but damn, do I ever want Vancouver to win the Stanley Cup this year. And you’re just going to have to be okay with that. After years of denial, I finally am.

P.S. Go Whitecaps FC!

One Electric Ride: “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train”

/ Lauren / 2 Comments

Glass City Theatre‘s production of “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” at Pacific Theatre is not for the faint of heart. It is not for those of us whose enjoyment and appreciation of a show requires a happy ending. It is not for those of us who are comfortable in our assessment of the way the world and people work and do not want to be challenged. It is for those of us who are interested in a solid, uncompromising script, difficult themes, and unapologetic performances.

The play, written by Stephen Adly Guirgis and directed by Angela Konrad, takes place on Rikers Island, New York, where two men, one a convicted serial killer, the other on trial for a murder he doesn’t think was a crime, spend their days in solitary confinement. For one hour each day they are brought outside to  separate cages to spend some time in the fresh air. Sometimes friends, sometimes enemies, the meat of this play can be found in the conversation and complicated relationship that builds between these two prisoners during their time together at Rikers. This particular production also boasts a simple, effective, and altogether stunning set and lighting design by Itai Erdal.

Not having been raised in a religious household, I occasionally find myself nervous when I attend performances at Pacific Theatre. I sometimes worry that perhaps the spiritual mandate of the company (which operates on the property of the Holy Trinity Anglican Church) will result in productions that exclude a non-religious viewer (like myself) or otherwise prevent my enjoyment of the work. So far this has not happened. Yes, religion is a central theme of the play. Lucius, the convicted serial killer, believes he has found God and tries to convince Angel, who is still pleading innocent for the murder of a cult leader, to do the same.

This plot could have easily alienated a viewer like me, but it did not. The strength of the script lies in its forever altering lines between black and white, right and wrong. Upon first appearance,  Lucius is presented as a sympathetic character, even though we know he has murdered eight people. Angel is also presented as sympathetic, a victim of circumstances. And yet, as much as we begin to like these men, as much as one has found God and the other’s lawyer insists that he is innocent, the fact we must always contend with is that both have taken human life. Is there ever a good and moral reason to do so? Is an unspeakably horrible upbringing an excuse to cause so much pain to victims and their families? Can you ever reach a place, after you have done something wrong, where you can make it right and be forgiven, whether it be by God, or by society, or by yourself? Even if a jury were to find you innocent, if you have broken your own personal laws of right and wrong, what then?

While the entire cast is strong, Carl Kennedy (Lucius) and Robert Olguin (Angel) are electric together. There is such an overwhelming energy onstage it verges constantly on either giddiness or violence. The script can be very funny. And there is violence. But it is not the characters’ actions that are violent (they are prisoners), it is their words and their lives that are violent. I found myself on teetering on the edge of tears during the second act (I was not the only one), not because the acting or directing was “milking” a reaction out of me but because I simply couldn’t bear the strain of watching the struggle to make right out of something so horribly horribly wrong.

The play is a struggle.  The characters struggle. Heroes, villains–everyone is both. “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” shows us a world where nothing is completely saved, and yet, nothing is completely lost either. Much like ours. A constant struggle to find the right. What is the answer? I don’t know. Struggle struggle struggle.

I appreciate leaving the theatre with more questions than I had when I walked in. I appreciate the occasional challenge to my own moral compass, and the opportunity to put myself in the shoes of a person whose eyes I will hopefully never see through.

“Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train” runs until April 2 at Pacific Theatre. Tickets can be obtained at the Pacific Theatre Box Office through visiting their website or calling 604-731-5518.

Final notes: I received a comp ticket from the good-hearted Lois Dawson,  all-around Super Vancouver Theatre Woman and author of the theatre blog Lois Backstage. She gave me a comp because she’s awesome. I was not asked by Pacific Theatre or Glass City Theatre to write a review of this production.

Adventures in BC: Salt Spring Island

/ Lauren / 7 Comments

I think by now I have made it pretty clear that I love Vancouver, and East Van in particular. But sometimes, this city is a drag. Day after day of grey sidewalks and grey skies makes even my imagination grey.

Enter a very appealing proposal that I use my recent three-day weekend to go to Salt Spring Island. I had never been before. I said yes. I may have even said, “Hurrah!”.  I was pleased.

Apparently, one can take a little float plane from downtown and be on Salt Spring in under an hour. The CHEAP way to get to Salt Spring involves ferries and several hours. On the way there we took the ferry from Tsawwassen to Swartz Bay and hopped onto what can only be described as a cute but dumpy little ferry to Fulford Harbour. Once landed we were literally twenty paces from a lovely little eatery called the Rock Salt Restaurant & Cafe.

I wish I had taken a picture of the interior of this restaurant: yellow walls, big windows, and stained glass everywhere. It was a children’s drawing come to life. Although Salt Spring was all aflutter that Raul Pacheco had recently posted a very positive review of the Rock Salt’s Burger Deluxe in his blog Hummingbird604, I decided to go with the Mexicana naan sandwich and it was delightful. I don’t consider myself much of a foodie but I think it’s worth noting that the Caesar salad that came with it was good too. I have been to many restaurants that served great main courses but sub-par salads and the Rock Salt was not one of them.

The view from the home we stayed in.

Our hosts for the weekend were relatives of my travel companion: a very hip couple and their two adorable and energetic daughters. Within 20 minutes of arriving at their house, we had listened to three radio plays, watched two hip hop dance routines, and one incredibly literal sock puppet show. I really must take the time now to thank our hosts whose warmth, humour, and hilarious children made my weekend.

My first evening in Salt Spring was spent in good company, dozing in front of a wood stove and listening to Joanna Newsom. There was also some drinking of Glenmorangie. I know nothing about scotch. Apparently this was a very good scotch. I believe I have tried scotch, once before, on Mayne Island (what is it about the Gulf Islands and scotch?), and I had a few sips of the Glenmorangie this time, but unfortunately, not having acquired a taste for scotch, the quality and the glory was a little lost on me. Made me feel quite warm though. Warm and tingly. And oh-so-fancy.

I slept through my nights in Salt Spring in the kind of deep dark you can only have far far away from the city. The wind was howling in the trees and I was snuggled in a comforter. I cannot think of a more cozy arrangement.

As beautiful as Salt Spring Island is, one cannot control the weather. In March, the weather is rainy. This meant a lot of indoor visiting (more dance routines) and naps. My little outing for this particular adventure on Salt Spring was a trip to the village of Ganges to have lunch and poke around in the shops.

One shop that was a particular favourite of mine was Black Sheep Books, a used book store with two floors. This place is literally stuffed floor to ceiling with books: new(ish) books, antique books, travel books, children’s books, all carefully shelved in their own labelled sections. The shop also had several out of the way nooks, perfect for those who have always dreamed of having a romantic tryst in a book store. The upper floor houses a collection of books and original prints by Nick Bantock, an artist and author of the “Griffin & Sabine” trilogy. According to Wikipedia (and our hosts for this adventure), Bantock is based in Salt Spring. Sadly, I did not see Nick Bantock (whose work I know through his book “Averse to Beasts”) but I feel as though I have had a brush with literary fame all the same.

At the marina in Ganges. I love boats.

For lunch, we stopped in at the Oystercatcher Seafood Bar & Grill. I had the Biltmore Chicken Burger which was fabulous (can’t resist any sandwich with pesto) but I think next time I will order the fish and chips. I tried a piece of my travel companion’s and it was perfection, as far as fish and chips go. The texture and the taste were exactly what they should be. It’s probably worth heading back to Salt Spring just for that.

It was a sad day when we had to say good-bye to our amazing hosts and head back to the busy city. This time, we took the ferry that stops on Mayne and Galiano before heading to Tsawwassen. The trip between the islands was beautiful but the crossing over the Strait of Georgia was a little rough for my liking. I spent a lot of that time squeezing my eyes shut and wishing I had taken the float plane.

Seasickness aside, if I had to sum my adventure up in one word I would say it was restorative. I am not from the city. A city is not the home of my soul. No city, no matter how beautiful, can make up for how fully relaxed I felt the moment I reached Salt Spring. I have a feeling my little weekend excursion was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship with a charming and beautiful island.

Passing through the Gulf Islands on the ferry home