420something

The annual pot smoker's holiday, April 20th, seems to have become an excuse for 15 year old suburban stoner kids to ride the bus into the city and take part in the activity out in the open rather than at bush parties and various other hideouts usually frequented in order to keep their parents in the dark. 'Yeah man, let's go down to the art gallery and smoke some pot right in front of the cops! It's wicked, man, they don't even do anything about it!'. Yeah, sweet dude... except for the fact that on any given day in Vancouver, you can smell marijuana smoke at least several times while out on your leisurely stroll in the afternoon.

Maybe the 420 rally at the art gallery has always been like this, and I just never noticed since I myself was a young pothead. Since then the smoke has cleared slightly, so to speak, and I just don't see it as such a novelty anymore.

I used to get really irritated when this guy I was dating back in university would bring out his little pipe at the bar and giggle and snort like an idiot while showing it off. Like, cool buddy, you smoke pot and you want everyone to know! Congrats! Needless to say I dumped his ass.

The pot-smoking tourists REALLY get on my nerves! It is true that we are pretty liberal about it here in Vancouver, but come on... don't like up your chonger on a busy shopping Saturday on Robson amongst the young families and puff it obnoxiously. At least go sit on the art gallery steps or go to the Amsterdam Cafe like all the other pot tourists.

Anyways, this was all prompted by my visit to 7-11 on the glorious pothead holiday, when I happened upon a massive lineup of giggling school boys, all waiting to pay for their pina colada slurpees. Are we entirely sure that this whole fiasco was not created by 7-11? I bet their sales skyrocket on April 20th.

Monogrammed Doorags

There was a time when I was totally mystified by them... Who are these people who aren't carbon copies of the granville strip chad? Where are their striped shirts, collars popped? Where are the drunken, suddenly bi-curious cokesluts with frilly minis so short you can read their lips? I had stumbled upon a sea of carelessly flailing thriftstore junkies with frizzy hair! WTF?

It was almost as though they set out each night to look as unattractive as possible. Jesus beards. Putrid christmas sweaters. Tapered jeans hugging their hideously flaccid, pear shaped bodies. Did they even bathe?! They reeked of a coolness that just hadn't been parallelled in my many years in the vancouver scene. Urine. Vomit. The stench was so refreshing, I just had to have more. They just did not give a fuck. And the pictures! Oh how I wanted to be in them! So carefree! Fun! Party! All! The! Time! The best music i'd heard in a while.

We schemed that we would infiltrate this underground society. Then I became busy with my career and forgot the plan, but he kept going. Drawn deep into the endless nights of drunken, coke infested partying that only people who hated life could really get into. I guess nasal drip and vomiting are totally manageable in between ringing through a metallic body suit or dressing a mannequin on granville while dreaming of a real fashion design career. I would hate life too.

I slowly came back to my friend, masquerading with him during some of his adventures, quietly observing and realizing that it actually takes a lot of effort to 'not care' or 'be different'. There is one rule about 'the scene': you must never talk about 'the scene' to civilians, or the evil Chads will descend and ruin everything! Can't blame 'em, really. They do ruin everything. Fuckin' bridge-and-tunneling Granville Chads.

Well guess what? There are douchebags in every scene. Whether it be the Chad in the striped shirt chugging vodka redbulls and doing the white boy finger point to the latest Akon infection in a massive warehouse club on the strip, or the 20 year old fashion student with her beer gut stuffed into skinny jeans, chugging a Kokanee and dancing around like she just discovered the Pet Shop Boys and she 'like omg totally loves the 80s' and bangs anything with a teenstache and monogrammed doorag around his neck.

It's too late for my friend, but I hope to shine the light into this toilet bowl of broken dreams and maybe save someone else.

I stole the image from Adrian's Myspace Group - How To Act Liberal to Bang Artsy Hipster Chicks. One of the best discussion groups on Myspace in my opinion.

Jaggerbarf

There is this bar in Vancouver called The Roxy. It's usually pretty busy, like people wait in line for an hour to get in. I've sent inquiring tourists there and I've been in there a few times myself. The house band has this really cute drummer. But that's beside the point I'm trying to get at here.

You'll notice that every time you walk by The Roxy when the doors are open, there's this wafting odour that emanates from the bar's liquor soaked carpeting. (Side note - I don't believe carpeting is ever a good choice for a night club). For the longest time I couldn't put my finger on what that smell was. Then it hit me like a wasted chick who's boyfriend was just trying to pick me up... the wretched stench of Jagger Bombs, the average bar star's shot of choice, had saturated itself into every porous fibre of The Roxy and was now the defining scent of the place. That, and a hint of vomit. I call it 'Jaggerbarf'.

Every girl who is not a stranger to the bar scene has, at some point I'm sure, experience at least one shit-faced night at The Roxy. I myself am guilty of this, I am ashamed to admit it though, since I try to steer clear of that raging jock-fest every chance I get. But yes, there once was a time when I was that girl, sprawled across the bar, while the bartender poured some juiced down bitch booze down my open throat, and then placed a Roxy temporary tattoo on my back, while Tom Cochrane wailed in the background. YEEHAW!

Maybe I stay away from that place because I'm ashamed of what I became there... a contributor to the Jaggerbarf shrine at The Roxy. That, and I hate Chads.

I'm back!

Okay so I almost forget how to use this thing and I can't post pics anymore because Yahoo has taken over Flickr and I have to sign up for a Yahoo account to use it and all these media mergers are pissing me off including the fact that my place of work just got purchased by one of the biggest media conglomerates in the country which is good I guess for my company except no one really knows what's going to happen and everything's kind of up in the air and our building is being demolished and we're still in it and how's that for a superfast-run-on-sentence-type update on my life for you?!

Oh man I have so much writing to do, I'm so behind. But it's good to be back to what I really enjoy doing.