A Month of Ink

Before Matt and I had our asses tattooed earlier this month, I hadn’t been tattooed in a long while.  I’m a huge fan of the art form – I wrote my thesis on it tattoos, afterall – and I’m always thinking of new images or ideas to have tattooed on me.  I just don’t really act on it that quickly because 1) it’s very expensive and 2) I’m lazy.  This month, however, seems to be a bit of an anomaly.  Rachel told me about a tattooer from Toronto that was to be a guest artist at Soul Survivors – she does amazing work, particularly old school and traditional imagery.  Given that I have been interested in having an old school sleeve for a number of years, Rach encouraged me to book time with the guest artist and take advantage of her being in Winnipeg.  It all kind of happened in a rush – Rachel booked my consultation and appointment, I convinced my Dad that this would be the best time for us to get some matching old school tattoos, as we had been talking about, and away we went.

My Dad and I, after much discussion and many a Google Research Project, decided on an old school rose.  His appointment was schedule to immediately follow our consultation.  I told the artist, Jenn, what I wanted and some of the images that I was interested in, and she knew exactly what I had in mind.  She quickly drew up a rose after our consultation and tattooed it on my Dad’s forearm.  Sailor style.

My appointment was on Monday afternoon – I sat for a grueling five and a half hours and had all but one of the six images on my arm completed.  There’s still a bit left to go – filling in the heart on the inside of my arm, adding a lock and key, and adding all of the filler (the dots and stars typical of traditional tattooing).  I prepped myself for the pain of getting tattooed – mentally, that is, as I’m never a fan of popping pills or smoking drugs before getting tattooed.  I’d much rather be lucid throughout the whole experience and, really, the pain is all part of it, so, in my mind, if you can’t hack it without painkillers, don’t do it.  I ain’t a cheater!  All gloating aside, I had prepared for the tattooing, but not for the after effects.  I had a really difficult time sleeping that night – moving around was really awkward and uncomfortable, and after removing the wrapping the next morning, I realized that my arm had swelled up to what felt like that of the Incredible Hulk after he gets cut off in traffic.  My arm is huge and beefy, like I’m part cave woman.

At any rate, this month seems to be the Month of Tattoos for me – first my ass and now my arm.  It isn’t quite finished yet so I’m still a bit anxious to have the filler added, to give the whole thing a sense of cohesion.  Until I can make it to Toronto with a couple hundred dollars in my pocket, I will bask in my swollen, new tattoo glow.  At the risk of sounding like a touchy-feely hippie, I have to admit that being tattooed makes me feel so much more connected to my body (parts), and I’m always so much more proud with and confident in my body after it’s tattooed.  The 18-year-old tiny tattoo really is the gateway drug to becoming a tattooed circus lady.  I’m making my way there.

Oh, Mr. Carter

Last night Meg and I watched Tha Carter, the new documentary out about Lil Wayne.  I’m always a bit apprehensive about watching documentaries or reading books about musicians I like, ever since I read a bio about Led Zeppelin, because I’m afraid that learning about them will ruin their music for me.  When I read the Zeppelin bio, I was really disappointed to learn that they were a bunch of fucking fools, especially because I read it at a time when all I listened to was Zeppelin.  I had to remind myself, though, that they were a bunch of 20 year old guys who had been skyrocketed into unbelievable success, and that just because they were talented musicians didn’t mean they weren’t still 20 year old dudes (read: douchebags).  Anyway, this time around I wasn’t quite as nervous because, while I like some of his music, I’m not a die-hard Weezy fan.  I downloaded The Carter III when it came out and ended up deleting it from my mp3 player because I didn’t listen to it all that much.  I’m more a fan of his hits than his whole collection.  That said, I recognize that the man’s got some serious talent and this documentary only served to solidify that for me.

It also shed some light on what are some serious addiction issues.  I read online today that he and Young Money have sued the filmmakers because they claim the documentary portrays him in a negative light.  He didn’t come across as a malicious asshole, but he quite clearly has some issues – he’s addicted to cough syrup, which has caused major tension between him and his manager/dj and is reflected in a lot of his lyrics.  Then again, as I did with the Zeppelin bio, I had to remind myself that this guy is only 25 years old, and has reached an insane level of celebrity in a fairly short amount of time, something that seems, from watching the documentary, totally surreal and would have a pretty heavy effect on anyone in that position (hello, Britney Spears?).  But while he isn’t portrayed as a saint in any sense of the word – he’s fucked up all the time, he thinks child support should be abolished, his grill is a thing of nightmares – the doc paints him as more or less a regular guy who has reached a level of success that few people ever do.  And the amount of freedom that comes with that level of success doesn’t seem to effect him as negatively as it has other celebrities (or, perhaps his addiction is nothing new for someone in his position).  He does seem somewhat humble about his achievements – he’s surprised to see a guy on TV wearing a shirt that says “Greatest Rapper of All Time” with his face on it (although he later raps about how he’s the Greatest Rapper of All Time).  The most interesting for me was watching his recording process, and hearing some of the mixtapes he’s made while he’s on the road.  He’s a huge fan of the auto-tune, though, obviously, and it’s pretty clear why (his terrible singing voice is made tolerable by auto tune).  That said, he admits that its his lyrics that make him the greatest, not his singing.

All in all, I came out of the experience of watching the documentary more depressed than anything.  He is a talented guy, but it seems like it’s only a matter of time before his addiction issues get the best of him, affecting his music and his daughter (who is the epitome of adorable and can rap!).  Although it is pretty crazy that, despite being high out of his mind 24/7, he still records nearly every day, and records some amazing music.

Oh Mr. Carter, tell me where have you been.

Right on the keister.

Matt and I have been talking about getting tattoos together for a long time.  Nothing hokey, nothing mushy, and no names.  We tried to think of something that we were both interested in, and a place that he’d be okay with and that I didn’t already have plans for.  I can remember the night he said to me: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we had pink flamingos tattooed on our asses?”  Hell yes that would be funny!  We talked about it a few times after that, and eventually Matt just said: “Just go across the hall and book it, otherwise we’ll never do it.”  Ink Illusions is across the hall from my office, so I went there a few weeks ago and booked our appointment.  “Where did you want to get it?” the tattooer asked.  “Um, our butts?”  I felt a little awkward and wasn’t sure if he would be grossed out having to be so up close and personal with our asses, but he seemed okay.  “Lucky me!”

Last Saturday we had our appointments.  It hurt more than I thought it would, but it only took about an hour and fifteen minutes.  At first I was nervous at the thought of whipping out my cheek for someone who I actually see and speak to fairly often, but the hilarity of an ass tattoo outweighed the shame of my bare ass.

Behold:

Busted.

So I’m at work yesterday afternoon, and my Dad gets a call from the woman that rents the business unit that’s attached to the front of our house.  I can hear from my Dad’s responses to her that she’s bitching about Matt and I – my Dad’s saying things like “Okay well I’m happy to talk to them about that” and “Yes and they have to have privacy too” and the like.  I walk over to the desk of the student that’s working for us and let him know that Dragon Lady is bitching about me on the phone to my Dad and eavesdrop from there.  I poke my head into my Dad’s office and make eye contact with him and he smiles and rolls his eyes.  When he gets off the phone I ask “Alright so what’s her problem this time?” and am completely surprised by his response: “Well it seems that she can smell pot smoke all the time and is concerned because one of her clients is a cop and has been asking about it.”

Woah…what?

My Dad continues, “She says that she smells it most during the week, and particularly on Monday mornings.  She saw Matt as he was leaving for work at 9:00 a.m. a few Mondays ago, and when she went into the office she was overwhelmed with the smell of marijuana.”

The idea that Matt’s doing bong rips before work is hilarious.  But, that doesn’t really make sense since he starts work at 8:30 a.m. and also he’s not a fucking degenerate.  We’ve figured out that she can smell it Monday mornings the most since the weekends is generally when we partake the most in our medicinal rituals, and now that the furnace is on, it recycles the air from our deviant pot-fueled drug parties into her office (as the building is all connected – it was one big house renovated into a smaller house and business unit).  Apparently she’s been spraying Febreeze like nobody’s business to try and cut out the stench of our out-of-control habit.

So now I guess we have to hotbox the bathroom or blow it through a toilet paper roll with a dryer sheet wrapped around one end (ahh, memories of yesteryear).  We certainly don’t want her cop clients busting down our door and breaking up our hippie love circles.

Halloween en francais

This year I flew to Montreal for Halloween weekend.  Montreal (and its lovely inhabitants) always seem to take my favorite holiday way more seriously than Winnipeg does, so I just couldn’t bear to miss it.  I had a hard time coming up with a costume idea – I eventually went with Gym Teacher – and it wasn’t until I got to Montreal that I realized how low I had set the bar.  Those folks are creative to the max.  At any rate, I arrived Friday morning, just in time to do some shopping (instructions to the cab driver at the airport: “Take me to Simon’s!”) and hit up my friend Brianne’s faculty bake sale at McGill.

The weekend was, in a word, awesome.  Friday night I saw my friends’ band, On Bodies, play at the Playhouse for Faggity Ass Fridays.  The proceeds of that show went to Head and Hands, an organization that does sex ed since Quebec has abolished their sex ed program (worst decision ever?!).  The night was zombie-themed, but I hadn’t prepared a zombie costume.  Luckily, Dallas did my makeup, and did such an amazing job that I scared myself when I looked in the mirror.

Photo by Dallas Curow

We spent the night drinking cheap beer, listening to On Bodies play an amazing show, and dancing sweatily on stage.  Beaucoup de fun.  Afterwards we went to Palaise Royale, possibly the worst restaurant in Montreal, solely for the comedic value.  They have terrible food and worse service, but it was one of the highlights of the night.  Particularly our drunken rendition of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song, as the Anglo-hating waitress tried to ignore us/told the cooks to piss in our food.

On Bodies at Faggity Ass Fridays
Photo by Dallas Curow

Saturday was spent lounging and nursing the headache from the previous night’s beer consumption.  I met up with Karen and spent a lovely few hours catching up with her at a coffee shop before heading back to Dallas and Brian’s to get ready for the night’s festivities.  Peter dressed up again as his lady-self, Petra, and quickly became my Gym Teacher alter-ego’s nemesis.  Coach McDyke has no patience for insolence.  We’re in the process of pitching our sitcom idea.  Petra and the Wolf will be a huge hit.  Dallas, Brian and their friends Jennie and Zach dressed each as different versions of Elvis.  Their costumes put us to shame – they were fantastic!

Photo by Dallas Curow

A bunch of people came over to pregame and watch the Habs play Toronto as Dallas and Jennie made delicious cupcakes and pumpkin cake.  We left around 10pm to head to FouFounes Electrique for their amazing Halloween party.  I cabbed there with Brianne and Petra and we managed to get the most hilarious and terrifying cab driver I’ve ever encountered.  Not only was he driving like a fucking drunken maniac, but he was hitting on Petra like nobody’s business, trying to convince her to stay in the cab with him and smoke hash.  It was hilarious and bizarre.

FouFounes did not disappoint.  It took us a while to get in, but the costumes and atmosphere were absolutely amazing.  I’ve never been to a Halloween party where I was actually scared of some of the people in costume – seriously, if you have a fear of clowns, stay far away from that place.  It was intense.  The costume contest was awesome, the winners of which were a group of guys dressed like green toy soldiers, each with his own weapon and pose.  Runners up were Slash, complete with guitar and mini-amp, and H1N1, complete with giant foam hands and head.  One of the costumes that should have won was a woman dressed up like the most convincing zombie I have ever seen.  She was covered in blood and rotting flesh, her hair was in clumps, and she was twitching and shaking all over the stage.  Creepy as fuck.  Unfortunately, her male zombie partner was acting like a total d-bag so they were booed off the stage.

Photo by Brianne Selman

Photo by Dallas Curow

Photo by Dallas Curow

After a night of $1 beers and many a photo-op, we headed to The Main (naturally) for some late night poutine.  Poots and a pickle.  Story of my life.  The Elvii were even serenaded by a drunken old woman who stood on her table and flashed us while cooing “final curtain call!”  It was slightly disturbing and majorly awesome.

My flight didn’t leave until 7pm on Sunday, so we went to Fuscia for brunch on Sunday afternoon and watched a few episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia – which is fast becoming one of my favorite shows.  The weekend was a total success, save for the minor heartbreak of losing my camera somewhere between the serenading flasher at The Main and the cab ride back to Dallas and Brian’s place.  I had a billion Halloween photos on that thing (and had kept such a close eye on it all weekend), so I was pretty distraught to find out it had gone missing.  So far, no sign, so it looks like it’s gone forever.  Someone else will find it and hopefully enjoy all of the hilarious photos of Petra, the FouFounes costume contest, the Elvii, and everyone else’s amazing costumes.  I guess the upside is that I can now justify buying a new, fancier camera.  In the meantime, though, I’ve managed to borrow my parents’ camera, so I’m not completely without the ability to document my escapades.

So, despite losing a bevvy of photographic gems that really do deserve to be shared with the world, this weekend was exactly what I had hoped for.  I just found out that our flights to Mexico this winter have gone down in price, so I’m able to get a credit with WestJet, which seems to me to be the perfect excuse to head back to Montreal and spend another weekend acting the fool.  Poots and a Pickle.

Photo by Brianne Selman

Nice stereo!

This past weekend Matt and I hosted a surprise birthday party for our good friend Antonio.  Despite my incredible butterflies and overall lack of faith in myself not to blow the whole thing, it was a success.

Surprise!

One of the highlights of the night for me came when a bunch of us were standing outside having a smoke.  While we were standing around talking and smoking, two very drunk people came walking up the backlane carrying a radio/tape player that was blasting music from a local radio station.  They joined us, asking for a smoke or some change or to spare a shot of vodka.  The guy, carrying the radio, even did a magic trick for us, while his wife complimented April’s hair over and over again.

Drunk Dude: Hey wanna hear a magic trick?

Us: Ya sure.

Drunk Dude: K, can I borrow you for a sec? *pointing to my friend Deirdre*

Deirdre: Uh, sure.

*Deirdre and Drunk Dude stand off to the side while Drunk Dude whispers something in her ear*

Deirdre: Uhh, okay.

Drunk Dude, to the rest of us: Okay, okay, guess from one to four.  One to four.

Us: Two?

Drunk dude: From one to four.

Us: Three?

Drunk Dude: Ahhhhhh.  You got it.

Best magic trick ever.  After the rest of us finished our cigarettes we bid adieu to our drunken visitors and went inside.  It was then that April told us that the radio that Drunk Dude was carrying looked incredibly familiar.  She noticed a sticker on the side of it that confirmed for her that Drunk Dude was, in fact, carrying around the radio that had been stolen out of her sister’s car – parked behind her house, three blocks away – two weeks ago.  Amazing.

Night Terrors

Meghan showed me the trailer for Paranormal Activity a while ago – she introduced it with “this looks super scary and WE HAVE TO SEE IT.”  She’s into scary shit like that, while I can terrify myself if I think about the basement too much.  Given that her hermano-in-law works with me, I was eventually convinced to join the family trip to the movies to scare the living shit out of myself this past weekend.

The movie certainly was terrifying.  It reminded me of the first time I saw The Blair Witch Project.  It was subtle and realistic and horrifying.  But it was really well done.  Usually I can deal with scary movies by reminding myself how far-fetched they are, or that I can defend myself against knife-wielding strangers, or that I’ll never go on a road trip in an old car in the country at night.  But movies like this, and especially ones that don’t have an overly religious tone, are really effective because of what they leave out.  Paranormal Activity as a topic of interest is huge – there are TV shows about it, books about it, shit all over the internet about how people hear weird noises and have lights turned on and off in their houses without reason.  This movie feeds off of all of that uncertainty and curiosity, but it never shows you what you’re scared of – you don’t see a cloaked demon or a bloody ghost or anything like that, so you’re left to bury your head under the covers at night hoping that your lights stay off and none of your doors open and close on their own.

The movie had only two central characters and was shot on a hand-held camera by the actors themselves.  Apparently it only took $15,000 to make.  I don’t want to give any of it away, but perhaps my experience that night as I lay in bed – too scared to move or open my eyes or get rid of the comforter that had me sweating and afraid that our bedroom curtains were moving on their own – is enough of a guarantee that this movie did it’s job.

I don’t cry like a little bitch when I can’t open my milk.

Matt and I went to see Louis CK perform at the Walker Theatre this past Friday and there’s no other way to say it: Best Standup Ever.  We got tickets months ago (using the same gift card we used to buy tickets to the aurally-disastrous Timber Timbre/Final Fantasy show a few weeks ago).  We’ve been anticipating it ever since, as we’re both huge fans.  Friends of ours also went and my brother managed to get tickets in the fourth row by showing up to the box office a few hours before the show (son of a bitch).

Expecting there to be at least one opener, I was getting a little antsy as we waited in our seats for the show to start.  Half an hour after it was supposed to start, the lights suddenly dimmed and Louis CK walked out – which I’m sure was as much a surprise to me as to everyone else, as the audience immediately started laughing.  All it takes is for him to be in the same room and we’re in a fit of laughter.  He went on for about an hour and a half, with ten minutes of encore, of consistently hilarious stories and jokes that left my side aching and my face plastered with a ridiculous, goofy smile by the time the show was done.  The only downer was the dude sitting next to me: he hardly made a sound, which was super irritating because it made me hyper-aware of how much I was laughing and how I potentially sounded like a hyena.  Fucken guy.  Other than his somber ass, I had the best night.  Louis CK has some serious talent – I hadn’t heard any of the material he delivered that night before, and all of it was awesome.  He even had the audience laughing at homeless people, little kids, pedophilia, and old man genitalia.  I honestly thought to myself at a few points during the show: “I can’t believe I’m laughing at pedophilia.”

We all congregated outside after the show – Matt and I, a few of our friends, comedy friends of Matt’s that were there, my brother and his friend – and stood around giggling and smiling and repeating our favorite jokes.  I was on a crazy high.  Even though Louis CK was in the lobby signing autographs and stuff and despite my penchant for trying to get thumbs-up photos with famous people, I wanted to leave on that high, so we left.  We had a few drinks with some friends and called it a night.  Dane Cook can officially suck it.  Louis CK is the shit.

Zombieland

On Saturday night a bunch of us went out to see Zombieland.  It was one of the best Zombie movies I’ve ever seen.  If not the best.

What struck me the most was the gore – this is a true zombie flick in that they don’t shy away from brains and splitting heads.  They show you everything.  And you really want to see everything, because that’s what you’re there for.  You don’t go to see a zombie flick for the dialogue or the social commentary or the oscar-winning performances.  You go for the gore, for the stumbling, bloody, flesh-eating undead and the few characters left who are there to kill them.  And this movie delivers.  The opening sequence is jaw-dropping in its honesty when it comes to gore, and hilariously so.  The voice-over narration by the film’s main character – played by the Michael Cera-esque Jesse Eisenberg – makes watching a woman fly through the front windshield of her car, her head smashing against the pavement, almost funny. It was shocking, at first, but it made the film incredibly entertaining.

Woody Harrelson did his macho-loner schtick really well, which worked charmingly with Eisenberg’s “Columbus” who, even though he seemed to be a Cera double, had enough of his own character to distract me from the similarities.  His improvs were great, too – “Oh you almost knocked over your alcohol with your knife.”  The cameo from Bill Murray was, to say the least, amazing (“Do you have any regrets?” — “Maybe Garfield”).  Even Little Miss Sunshine held her own.  This movie didn’t take itself seriously and, even with the somewhat hokey love story, managed to be hilarious and entertaining all the way through.

Go see it.

Bad Shows and Bowling

Let me start this off by saying that I love going to see live music – no matter who the artist.  I’ll buy tickets to a show if I think it’ll be a good time, even if I’d never buy their CD (read: download their music illegally).  It really takes a lot to make me leave a show halfway through, let alone before it’s even begun.  And by “a lot,” I mean Timbre Timber.

Matt and I bought tickets to see Final Fantasy months ago – we had a gift certificate for Ticketmaster and I had remembered listening to Final Fantasy in Karen’s car when I lived in Montreal and really liking him.  Matt had never heard him before, but the tickets were only $20 and he was game for a good time.  Unfortunately, the night of the show coincided with Rachel’s birthday party (which was rescheduled from a few weeks earlier), so we planned to hit up the show and then head to the birthday party after.

The show was supposed to start at 8pm and was held at the newly re-vamped West End Cultural Centre.  We got there at 8:20pm, knowing that shows in Winnipeg NEVER start on time, but hoping we’d miss some of the opening act – Timbre Timber – as we weren’t crazy about what we heard of them on Myspace.  We got to the WECC and ordered a couple of beers (served in glass bottles – fancy!).  I was ready for a good time, so I was a little disappointed to walk into a dark room filled with people sitting quietly in neatly-aligned chairs.  We sat down and the opening act immediately took the stage.

The band consisted of three members – one on violin, another on a lap guitar, and the lead singer on guitar with a kick drum.  For what seemed like an eternity, the whining, never-ending notes of the violin and guitars filled the room, coupled with the low, whispery voice of the lead singer.  At one point, Matt leaned over and whispered “Nobody’s even clapped yet.”  That was because the song hadn’t ended.  But it did – 20 minutes later.  Twenty fucking minutes!  We realized we’d walked into the worst show we’ve ever experienced.  For the next song, the singer asked that the house lights be turned down, and the sounds of birds chirping filled the room.  The whining, drawn-out sounds continued on for what seemed like an eternity.  Someone a few rows ahead of me read the paper.  Another man answered his cell phone.  The people behind us left and came back a few times.  It was, in a word, awful.  Matt leaned over halfway through the coma-inducing atrocity and whispered, simply, “you owe me.”  He was right.  It was horrid.  We could hardly keep ourselves from laughing at the situation.  Nobody in the audience made a sound, and when the band was done the singer thanked everyone for “being so quiet.”  Not the kind of opening act I wanted to see.  Ever.

We chugged what was left of our second beers and got up to leave.  I could hardly remember what Final Fantasy was like, and we figured if this opener was any indication of what was to come, we needed to get the fuck out of there before it was too late.  On our way out we saw some folks I know who, too, thought the nature-sounds and whining violins were a bit too much to handle.

We made it to the birthday party at Academy Bowling Lanes before anyone had even started bowling.

We spent the rest of the night drinking beer and knocking down pins.  Rachel was ecstatic that we were there for her birthday, and Breccan and Rich told everyone the exciting news of their recent engagement.  It was an awesome night.

Glow bowling, complete with top 40 music videos

The newly engaged couple!

STRIKE!

I found out a few days later that Final Fantasy did, indeed, play an amazing show.  I’m sorry I didn’t get to see it, but then again, sometimes you just gotta bowl.  Shomer fucken shabbos.