walking on sunshine at the ukraine hall and richards

last night, after all the excitement of fake shark real zombie and you say party! we say die! at the ukraine hall and bend sinister at 1/2 alive, i found myself separted from my friends and led, as if in a dream, to a secret grotto of hedonistic pleasure on the top floor of some large residential tower. my next memory is waking up, entirely naked, stomach deep in a hot mud bath with my arms spread out luxuriously upon the warmed marble tile into which the tub was set.

looking down, a girl i recognised as katrina leskanich of katrina and the waves was gently massaging my feet, stopping occasionally to suck on my big toe when she had a mouthful of iced dom perignon to tickle me with. we were soon joined by the rest of the band who were all very eager to hear about my night.

"well," i began, "you guys are probably huge fans of my blog so i don't need to tell you how much i love all ages shows, and not just because of the little girls," i winked and katrina giggled while rolling my big toe in her mouth, "i'd never heard of the first band, i/i or something, but they did their best to break the spirit of the dancing teenagers by playing a noise rock set that would not end and at one point, in a bizarre homage to spinal tap, playing a bass guitar with the mic stand, i half expected him to try to tune the mic stand before continuing."

"and the audience was willing to sit through all that?" asked vince in honest amazement.
"yes, the teenagers in the audience even managed to dance to the wall of wailing guitars and feedback."
"fucking incredible!" shouted an exceedingly drunk alex.
"fake shark played a really energetic set, except at one point some dickwad in the audience hit the drummer in the face with a football. kids."
"and then you say party played? how were they? they're huge back in england! did they play the gap?" asked vince again with as much excitement as last time. before i could answer i let loose a fit of giggles as katrina began licking in between my toes with champagne bubbles on her tongue.
"actually, i didn't stay for their entire set, i went to bend sinister at richard's on richards so i don't know if they played the gap or not." i sheepishly admitted.
"are they a band?" hiccuped alex who could barely keep his balance on the poolside.
"yeah, they're from vancouver and awesome and very similar to les savy fav in that their singer is a hairy fat guy who screams his guts out, except he smashes a keyboard with his powerful hands as well." alex and vince nodded at eachother, wished me a good night and left the room. when they were gone, shy kimberly who hadn't said a word the entire time undressed quickly and slipped into the tub, sliding up beside me she said, "you sure do a lot of talking for a guy with your reputation." i laughed, put my arm around her, and drew katrina up to my side.

party photography is the greatest thing since parties

there is a native american legend about a groundhog and a man named bilmu ray. in this legend, bilmu ray, who has made many bad choices in his life, is serving as his tribe's weather shaman, predicting how much winter is left, when he is cursed by an evil groundhog to relive the same day over and over again until he mends his evil ways and becomes a good man. they play this native american legend like 4 times a week on the channel that used to be TBS. anyways, the point of that fable is that man, by nature, seeks to extend his experiences because only by reviewing the previous day can he really make sense of what has happened to him.

party photography is, in many ways, analogous to that ancient indian story: you run through the actual party without thinking because time is precious, but you can take as much time as you want to thoughfully evaluate how good looking the dude you were making out with when you were drunk last night actually was when you see a picture of both of you together the next day. this is the only way we can learn.

now that i'm not in highschool anymore and i actually get invited to parties (with real live girls) or even if i don't get invited nobody minds that i'm there, i can finally understand what all the fuss is about: all your friends are there, the music is great, the girls are pretty, and the morning after i can see myself being awesome on the internet without having to do anything except party.

why, just the other day i was leaning on the railing of my veranda, admiring the splendid view of my family's estate, sipping sophisticated adult drinks with my beautiful and over-educated friends, when, during a brief lull in the friendly contest of wit which is our idle conversation, i made the general comment that party photography is a part of the actual party, extending it well into the week. for example, i said, you go out on friday or saturday and on monday you're on lindsay's diet scanning the index looking for every picture with a little bit of you in it and it takes you right back to the party. it even affects people before the party, the knowledge that a photographer is probably going to be there induces people to dress up or at least wear pants for much of the night which is arguably an improvement. i then went on to say that the knowledge that they would be able to get their picture taken as though they were really important must provide some incentive for the common people to leave their meager homes for the night. all present expressed their agreement with this profound observation.

unfortunately, not everyone thinks the way i and my wealthy friends do. there are some people who see the party and the party photography as two completely seperate things, generally with the party photographer cast as some sort of parasitic leach, building a name for themselves by attaching themselves to the idea of parties, which are generally agreed to be pretty alright. people who think like this are friendless loners who don't have any group pictures on facebook because they are always alone in their dark rooms venting their jealous rage in text form on the internet. alone.
enjoying having your picture taken and then posted on a popular website isn't vain or shallow, it's totally human and fucking awesome! anyone who doesn't feel like a celebrity when a particularly good picture of them gets posted somewhere without them having to do anything either is actually a celebrity or didn't know there was a website to check.

i would go so far as to say that we owe the party photographer our lives. i say this because most people wouldn't remember any of their weekend without the assistance of party photos; those minutes and hours spent partying would be lost to them forever, as if they never happened and they had just aged rapidly without being able to live their lives, so it could be said that they rescue pieces of our lives from the void, just like firefighters or paramedics.

when you are old and gray and full of sleep

getting old is the most terrifying thing most people will ever experience in their lives. the real horror is that it is not a single event, but a whole series of little ones which slowly eat away at you like atm fees. it begins when you notice that the hottest girls are no longer 19 or 20 but instead are 15-16 and your friends will make fun of you if you talk to them and ends in grey, sleepy death. the transition from being too young to being too old is nearly imperceptable, i can't remember when i was exactly the right age for anything and it is possible that i never was, i might have just gone from being a stupid teen to being a dirty old man overnight with nothing in between.

i suppose getting old isn't the worst thing in the world, i can finally be that douchebag older guy who always managed to cockblock me in highschool by making me look and feel like a little boy, and people sometimes listen to me now, which is nice. the problem for me is that to get here i've had to give up so much else. how old is too old to hang around in the dark woods outside of an all ages show with a plastic cup of warm underage beer in one hand, with your other wrapped around the girl you're making out with whom you just met that night? are you still a badass if you stay out till the last bus with your friends because you're afraid of your mom smelling alcohol on your breath after your 20th birthday?

hanging out at an unsupervised community centre with your friends, drinking underage, doing e or getting high, and hooking up in the woods are some of the best things about being young, but for me, and most people i've talked to, these simple pleasures dissapear in the mists of time like the faint echoes of hardcore drifting through the warm summer night when i'm trying to pay my fucking visa bill on time because if i don't those thieves will charge me 20% interest. seriously, 20% interest on a student card, how the fuck can anybody afford that without getting a second job or dropping out of school? it was in this state of world weary forgetfulness that i returned to seylynn hall for the first time in more years than i care to remember. the bill was pretty large, but i had only ever heard of the sessions and curtis santiago and i didn't get there until 10, which i thought was pretty early, but it turns out that shows start at about 7 and end around 11. this is either because the crowd promised their moms that they wouldn't have any more late nights this month or because everyone plans on going out again afterwards. so i ended up missing curtis and being just in time for the sessions, which is a shame because i really wanted to watch curtis rock a crowd of teensters who probably came for a punk show and would also probably go and post about it on nexopia with nothing but a microphone.things have definitely changed at seylynn. to my great surprise the posters deterring "drugs, drinking, and jerks" weren't ironic, as the only drunks there were the inconsiderate jerks i showed up with and i was always conscious of the suspicious glare i was recieving from the group of suburban parents standing behind the merchandise table, but they didn't prevent me and the crowd from having an awesome time. for a brief moment i came close to believing that you don't NEED drugs or alcohol to have fun, but i quickly shrugged it off and laughed at my naïveté.

it was really different to be at a show where the fans seemed to be holding a contest about who can get the most excited for bands they have mostly never heard of. the winner was a little girl who wanted her picture taken with every member of the sessions and i would have taken her picture to post here except i have a no going out and taking pictures to ridicule people enjoying themselves at parties on the internet policy which is strictly enforced.

watching the kids in the audience rock the fuck out brought back all kinds of wonderful and awkward memories of being younger and not knowing anything or having a blog. those kids had such a good time that i'm almost ashamed of myself for being old and boring and writing about it on the internet instead of calling a girl i just met after my parents think i went to bed and talking to her all night. the music was different (i don't think there will ever be another endthisweekwithknives) but still pretty cool, there was a lot less drinking, and i found myself staring at a few of the little girls because parental supervision means nothing to me, but if i were 15 again i'd probably still party there, creepy older guys and all.

just like i like it, there were no mosh pits

i was falling through the sky with nothing to slow my horrific descent save for the earth's still cloud-obscured but rapidly approaching surface. with the frictional wind wipping my hair back and stinging my unprotected eyes like cold little knives, i felt my hands instinctively reach backwards to grasp at the parachute that must be there and come up with nothing but air. my fate was sealed.

it was then that i noticed i was not alone: dorian dumont of the teenagers was falling along with me with a serene smile on his olive face. "as today seems to be your last day on earth, how was your last night?" he asked me.
"i really enjoyed your show," i told him, "the vocals could have been turned up a bit, but you guys are all foreign, so maybe it is for the best that i couldn't hear every word, and the crowd was really good, probably the best i've seen in a long time." i used all my strength to turn my head up so i could briefly look into his face, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. he just looked at me and seemed to be asking me to say more.

"i must admit that i wasn't expecting to have the greatest time of my life because it seems like frat guys always get access to presale tickets whenever anyone comes to town. i don't mean to be a jerk about it, i'm sure they have fun too, and thats awesome, but, it seems that whenever they show up at parties in their shiny dress shirts and axe body spray they steal all my girls. i don't have the confidence to approach a strange woman, start grinding with her and grab her ass like grade 9s at a highschool dance...and i know all the girls are judging me for it. it is especially bad when i see them approach girls and lean way in to ask them if they want to do shots with them. seriously, how can i compete with that? i'll never be as romantically successful as them and i know it and i also know that any girl i talk to knows it as well." by this time the tears in my eyes were not caused by the thought of my impending impact or the wind mercilessly cutting at them, but tears of impotent frustration. "anyways," i continued, "there weren't many of them there. probably because they were all at guns and bombs or something which was really nice for someone like me."

"craig," dorian spoke in the most soothing voice i had ever heard, producing sound without even moving his lips, "i am glad that no one tried to mosh at my show, but i noticed that there were about 4 bloggers for every dj, which is kind of weird and something you should all be ashamed of."


at this point all i could think of was how awesome it was when the band asked for girls to come up on stage to sing homecoming with them, but the girls who went on stage didn't know the words but that didn't matter because they played the recorded girls voice anyway. and also i'm pretty sure the girls just went on stage to be noticed, not to sing so everyone won. with that beautiful thought filling my mind i smiled and waited for the earth to come up and strike me.

dorian slowly vanished, leaving me alone again. i began to reflect on the events that had lead me here: last night, after prying off the beautiful women who clung to me like lampreys because they couldn't find any real men to buy them shots, i returned home to my sprawling country manse and flung myself down onto my king size water bed, vowing to update my blog first thing in the morning when i had thought of something kind of funny to write.

an open letter to victoria potter

victoria,

were i not petty and vain i believe that i would have been the bigger man and ignored your hastily withdrawn and terribly embarrassing blog post (since removed) regarding the party at no tofu on saturday the 12th, put on by, among others, the girls of lindsay's diet; however, i am kind and caring so i could not stand by as you made a fool of yourself without pointing out some of your mistakes and laughing.

as i am a dreadfully busy individual i shall not try to refute your arguments, as ridiculous as they may be, but shall instead concentrate my scornful energies on pointing out the inconsistencies and hypocrisies in your venomous attack. i do this not just out of mean spirited fun, but because your article was poorly thought out and executed and it is my single, humble request that in the future, all hateful criticism of events i have anything to do with will be given the respect of a well written diatribe, and i believe that my active instruction is the only way that dream will come true.

the first time i read your post entitled who let the scene out i believed it to be subtle self parody, your portrayal of a lonely youth who self identifies as a hipster and attempts to belittle other people who do the same to build themselves up was so dead on i actually managed a small grin. Sadly, upon rereading my heart was broken and i feel i have been used in some way because i have come to realise that you meant every word you wrote, even the really, really silly ones. in this essay i will be quoting particularly embarassing passages from your "conjecture" and providing my able and unsolicited assitance in correcting or improving them in the areas mentioned above.

When you go to parties in Vancouver aimed at the atypical hipster crowd, one expects to have a prevalent “scene” presence. By scene, I mean these kids who get dressed up in silly unimaginative outfits, dance around like they are absolutely the hottest thing in the room and try a great deal to look plain and have a bed head when they’ve spent two hours before the party to get said look. These kids are also obnoxious, and most won’t laugh or actually cut loose for fear of looking not so chic and calmly cool.

first and foremost, thank you for telling me what i, the reader, expect when i go out, that is very helpful because usually i end up being either unprepared for or horribly surprised by whatever awfulness greets me when i go to any party anywhere so you can imagine how excited i was when i read this; unfortunately, i do not expect to have a prevalent scene presence. if i were erik deveraueuaueuaux and people recognised me in public then perhaps i would, but i am just me, the reader, so while i might expect to be greeted by a scene presence when i step into the scene (lol) i don't expect to have one.

secondly, you refer to the crowd as "atypical" which bothers me because, if these really were atypical hipsters (as opposed to hipsters of the typical variety) shouldn't it follow that you are unable to make sweeping generalisations about them which betray a tearjerking desire to be loved, accepted, and thought of as an intellectual for six paragraphs and a conclusion? your miraculous ability to do just that forces me to conclude that you either meant to type typical but didn't because of some sort of nervous tick or, more likely, you believed that the extra a transported the word from the everyday to the realm of the geniuses and you just ran with it.


furthermore, your unflattering description of hipsters as attention starved (lol, starved) , vain, elitist losers marks you as a hipster wannabe from 4 years ago. i also remember when it used to be totally hip to hate on hipsters for all those reasons as if you were somehow different from them, all the while being secretly envious of their success and attempting to make yourself appear better in comparison. i am willing to accept this description because it is time honoured, partly accurate, and reminds me pleasantly of all the scene hate and envy that makes vancouver nightlife such a treat, but then you rescind your accusation that they 'dance around like they are absolutely the hottest thing in the room" and replace it with the charge of being too cool to have fun, in the immortal words of a cultural icon, which is it, bitch: ms briggs or ms mathers?. you are guilty of trying to stuff too much stuff into your hybrid hipster stereotype.

Imagine a whole room utterly packed to the ceiling with these people. My friend Meg and I walked in, and you could cut the scene with a knife. Everyone was either dancing like maniacs or standing around and having muted conversations drowned out by the pounding beats. We spent most of the evening watching people, and taking a few photos. It was very entertaining, in a stressful sort of way.

"i went to this party with my friend and i didn't know anybody else and also nobody would talk to me because they were all too busy talking to their stupid selves and i was really nervous because i have social anxiety problems and then there were people dancing but they were enjoying themselves and didn't notice me and that really hurt my feelings so i had to pretend that i didn't care and i was only there to gain a deeper understanding of mankind by 'people watching' when secretly i was crying on the inside and just wanted to be noticed and oh god i want to be invited into this group more than anything...i am so alone."

the next three paragraphs are largely alright, although, if you are trying to accuse a room full of people of being pretentious snobs just living to judge or be judged in the manimal kingdom, perhaps you should be a little more forgiving of their clothing? i mean, if you're already judging people for being too judgemental then perhaps you shouldn't judge their body coverings? i'm not trying to tell you how to do your job or anything, i'm just sayin' is all.

The best part about the night was while we were waiting in the coat check line, this girl (pictured below) stopped in front of us and after a few seconds said “…well?! Aren’t you going you going to take my picture?!”. She then proceeded to make a kissy face while wildly waving her arms around in a sort of pseudo trance dance. Needless to say, I took her photo if only to laugh at the ridiculous occurrence later on.

if i were a party photographer at a party hosted by a party photography website with a professional photographer who takes pictures at parties, i would be absolutely horrified if someone asked me to take a party picture of them. although, i would take the picture but only so i could be really mean about it and judge her from the safety of my room... if only my mom would fuck off. i would then post that picture, along with all the other ones i took that night, on the internet and ridicule them because those people should have known better than to let me take their picture. additionally, i have never done anything remotely embarassing while drunk (unless i write mean blog articles while intoxicated) so i have license to say whatever i want about their mildly silly but harmless behaviour.

yes, i had absolutely nothing better to do and i admit it with pride.