the lion and the lamb ain't sleeping yet
Listening to a lot of music these days, as always. I've been unusually pleased with the albums I bought two weeks ago, and I think I figured out why this morning. I finally have something that the Boy doesn't know about. In some ways the worst aspect of our separation is that he started keeping secrets right away, while he was still living with us and our lives were open to him. Now that he's gone, I'm curious about all manner of things. Is his bathroom as filthy as it was when we dated? Is he cooking real food or stir-fries and pasta? Is he already dating? Is he thinking about dating? Does he spend as much time thinking about us as we do thinking and talking about him?
These are questions I won't ask, nor would I trust his answers. (See above, re: secrets.) Music was/is a big part of what we have in common, and there is something about having music he's never heard that makes me feel a little less vulnerable. I suppose that moving on needs to start with the feeling that I don't need him to enjoy Arcade Fire with me if I'm to enjoy it at all.
Aaaaand speaking of music, I suppose we're all wondering the same thing: how did the third night of the Brampton Indie Arts Fest go? Well, fabulously, of course. I went home for a bit after school, then went to my parents' for dinner and Blake noodling while I waited for Nic to come home. He was an hour late (which I should have expected but somehow didn't) and I had to drop him off at Kenny's house before driving myself to the theatre. There was barely time for a driveway dance-party before he was into the house and I was gone.
The main stage was late, so I saw a bit of Courtney Lynn's set and bugged back to the main theatre in time for the beginning of that program. I caught all of Dan Griffin's set, which was so lovely that it felt instantly familiar, and so intimate that he could hear me boo'ing when he asked if everyone had had a good Valentine's Day. (Hee.) Somehow I managed to get a free copy of his CD (no, not by stealing it, thank you) and will be passing it on to someone else who will love it.
Back to the Secondary Stage for David P. Smith, a quirky solo accordion player from B.C. who isn't Geoff Berner. He was a lot of fun, and there were so few people in the theatre that I could stretch out on the floor in front of the stage and pretend I was at StanFest.
Back to the Main Stage for Dr. Steve Mann's States-of-Matter Quintet. I love the hydrophone, but it was kind of disappointing seeing it so far away after last year's up close experience. Not that I played it last year, but I liked that I had the option.
Intermission! I did something I never ever do: buy and drink a regular Coke after 10. It got the job done, though, and I went back in for Becky Johnson in considerably better spirits. (Weird, spastic, funny monologue about an agoraphobic with social anxiety accepting a write-in election for school president.)
The next act was billed as "A Celebration of Canadian Beards: 50 of the GTA's finest beards will swarm the stage of the Rose Theatre," and I was beard-spotting all night, trying to figure out who I would see. Only one beard was present, and though it was a great beard, I can't help but feel cheated.
I went to the lobby to complain to Nic and stood around chatting to him and Kenny and some of their friends. Kenny is an old friend and old bandmate of Nic's. He has a moderately successful music career and knew enough about tech to get he and Nic employment as teenage roadies at a variety of festivals and concerts when we were all in highschool. Kenny is also probably the weirdest functioning adult I've ever met. As a kid, I found his company hectic and unpredictable in the extreme, but he can also be as charming as Satan, and this was the side on display Friday night. I think we made a playdate for him and Blake.
nic and the gross bald spot he's shaved into his head
his eyes shut under the radiance of his own sneer
I went back to the theatre for Maypole, a film inspired by a Joel Giroux poem and scored by Gavin, another old friend and bandmate of Nic's. The follow-up was Dorit Chrysler, an awesome blonde sex-kitten theremin player. She was poised and talented and kind of spooky in a way that totally fit the sound of her instrument. I liked her a great deal, even though the Coke had worn off and I was getting sleepy again.
Two more films: Golden Age, a hilarious animated short following the later lives of various imaginary candy and cereal mascots. Then, Nic's film: A Day or More in the Life of a Russian Furniture Maker! A Grade 12 story that had received a 60% was produced by Kenny into an OAC project that got a 90%. This was that film. Silly and clumsy in parts, but fun and weird. After it was done, Kenny got into the puppet booth to chat with Curtains, the puppet MC. (He and Nic had been talking about doing it, but only Kenny had the guts when all was said and done.) Somehow, seeing Kenny as a puppet only made me like him more, especially when that puppet plugged my brother.
Because all enjoyable experiences need a palate cleanser, the next act made me want to tear out chunks of my hair to distract from his voice. No names, because I don't want him to ego-Google and get sad. But it was the first time I truly understood what it would be like to listen to Vogon poetry. Ugh.
The festival closer was an outfit called Samba Punk Sound System, a group of percussionists somewhere between a marching band, a drum circle and a house party. They encouraged dancing, and when they started up, I knew that all my time in the hippie dance circles of StanFest would compel me onto that stage. I waited until two girls ahead of me started dancing up the aisle, and did a different dance behind them so they would know that I wasn't biting their style. We got onto the stage, joined the guy who was already dancing up a storm, and started the wild rumpus. At one point during that frenetic first dance, I opened my eyes and saw my brother and Kenny playing drums at the other end of the stage. I danced over, one of the two girls following my lead. Nic caught my eye and grinned. And then I danced until the drums stopped, at which point I realized that I had lost my breath some time ago and could taste blood at the back of my throat. So when the next song started, I got up and danced some more. Absolutely glorious.
When it was over and we had shaken hands all around and gone back to our seats to watch I Met the Walrus, I tried to catch my breath. The endorphins were still sizzling, and I found that I didn't care much about anything. Even the lingering cough didn't bother me (although I decided that dancing had somehow given me the TB, and delighted in accusing the other dancing girls.) When the film was over, I caught up to Nic and Kenny in the lobby. Kenny held his palm up. I high-fived it, smiling.
"I have got to thank you. You took it up a couple of notches."
I smiled bigger, wondering what this was about.
"I was sitting there with Nic, trying to get him to go up. He was complaining about his wrist. And I said, how can you stay here when your sister is up there, owning the place?"
Like I said, charming as Satan. And I, for one, welcome my Satanic acquaintance.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*