At Least I Know I’m Me.

2 Feb

The last night of 2009 I was having a nightmare (being pursued and trapped, that kind of thing) when my conscious mind turned on and I decided to fly. Sunshine, clouds, blue sky, wooded tracts and fields below. Lucid dreaming rocks my world. It’s one of the most empowering feelings. So not only was I in Vancouver, with the Foxies, but I went into the last day of 2009 with huge confidence and joy.

Jess is the head of the Work Less Party, as Nora explained, and they were hosting a New Year’s party at the Lions’ Club that night. Nora and I went looking for something sexy she could wear. We roamed around Commercial Drive a little, and I got a better sense of the neighborhood. It kind of reminded me of Chicago’s Albany Park: very unpretentious and international, lots of little businesses with a friendly air.

Downtown Vancouver reminded me of NYC – only there were significantly fewer people on the streets, and they exuded an entirely different vibe. A vibe like celery. Just being out with Nora for a few hours gave me the most refreshing sense of, “Good goddamn, I am so glad to have a break from the fucken United States.” I’ve been to Hawai’i and Puerto Rico in the last six years (and I don’t count either as part of the U.S., they are colonies, friend), but it has been six years since I had a chance to whip my passport out. Dry spell broken!


INTERLUDE: Four Reasons Why Being a Filthy American Is Preferable to Being a Kanook

I generally don’t get the whole idea of “national pride”. Why anyone feels justified in being proud of where he/she happened to be born is beyond me. But there are undeniable reasons why being from the ol’ U.S. of A. is way sexier than being from that spot up north. Here are a few.

1. The Element of Surprise. Let’s face it: across the world, the bar is set really, really low for U.S. citizens. Because of this, it is very easy for us to deeply impress people simply by knowing more than one language, reading blurbs summarizing the international news, or not wearing sneakers.

2. Cheap Drugs. Booze and cigarettes are really expensive in Canada. It’s taxed to the dickens ’cause of that fucken universal health care bullshit they have going on. They should really consider getting rid of that.

3. Bootstraps. Canadians are spoiled. See the above note on health care. Also, it seems that the government showers its artists with money. How will they ever learn if people are always coddling them?

4. A Pleasant Puritanism. Canadians have more sex than we do. Who has time for more sex? Who would WANT time for more sex? That’s a filthy business.


Back at the house, Chris (who is apparently some kind of genius apothecary) fed us a hangover prevention tonic. Once we’d prettied up, we all headed over to the Work Less Party. Ironically, given the party name, Jess had Nora and Chris and I all working. 😉 We handled the bar. I had a really good time. New Year’s is generally my least favorite holiday. It generally feels empty and lonely and drunk for no good reason, so it was good to have a job to do.

Jess Pre-Party

The party itself was very cool, a nice mix of artists and Normals. There were burlesque acts, stunning, stunning lights, music all night, body paint… It was definitely a party in the Burning Man school. Someone offered me MDMA and I was flattered and baffled. Sven, one of Jessica’s many friends who I was to meet later, was by far the most fabulous motherfucker there.

YES, the mohawk lights up, bitches!

We counted down and no one sang “Auld Lang Syne” and I thought about the time zone spread of people I love, and I decided against kissing the very, very pretty blonde boy with the open face. I went home feeling sticky, beautiful, a little lonely and very glad.


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