Well, shit.
I’m violating the golden rule right now, and writing a column about having writer’s block. Fuck.
It’s not that I have nothing to say, but it’s a matter of dividing my writing between different magazines and fanzines. That’s the problem with being such a hot fucking punk-rock celebrity – my hot fucking talent is in high demand (or something)! I’ll leave the half-cocked angry political rhetoric to my column in Proane Existence. I’ll leave my all-ages scene gushing to the report I submitted to Maximum Rock-n-Roll. Hell, I’ll leave most of my random scraps of crap to my shitty zine Body Count. For you fine folks, I’ll abandon my usual grumpy/arrogant/punk elitist persona (for this month only! That shit’ll be back with a vengeance next month!). This month, I have a tale of dashed hopes, forgotten dreams, crushed glory, and other lies.
It all started in June of 2008. I was living in Victoria at the time.
One weekend I decided to go to Vancouver and take a load off. As soon as I got off work, I rushed out and cashed my paycheck, then got on a city bus to the ferry terminal. I should have taken the date (Friday, June 13th) into consideration when the clerk at the terminal told me the boat was going to be delayed. I went to the gate and waited with half of Victoria, apparently. We got herded to the next gate, and found out that the incoming boat had lost an engine. Great – this was our boat to Van.
Finally, around five hours later, we arrived at the bus terminal in Vancouver. Met up with SP and her friends, then got some beer and headed to the Alf House near East Hastings. There was a backyard show going on, and I got to see MARGARET THRASHER, which is always a fun time. This house is so fucking cool, might I add... a punk house straight out of some 80s punxploitation flick, but way fucking cooler. It's in a fairly undeveloped area, so that's why they were able to have a goddamn show there. Of course, the place is filthier than the Castle Pub’s washrooms after a Motherfuckers show, but that’s what I expected anyway.
Afterward, SP and I made the futile attempt to go to Pub 340, but the fucking bar and sidewalk in front of the damn place were both packed to the tits with... TEENYBOPPERS. Was it some weird high school grad thing? I don't know, but there was no way anybody was getting in. Fucking terrible. Pissed off, we went to a quiet pub to finish off the night. When last call came around, SP walked me to the shitty backpacker's hostel I stayed at last time I was in town. But hey - wouldn't you know it? The place was absolutely full! The guy told me to try the Cobalt, but I figured I'd find something else. So I spent the next couple of hours walking around looking for another hostel. As luck would have it, I was not stabbed during my quest, which led me right back to the Cobalt. Doh. Okay, fine - I dropped some cash and crashed out in the worst room I've ever stayed in. Again – everything I expected and more.
Next morning, I was brought back to consciousness by the sound of a speed freak talking to herself in the hallway. Great. After inspecting the doorknob, I figured that even though I had two nights in this palace, I should take all my shit with me anyway.
After wandering around town a bit, I met up with my pal from Calgary and her partner. We wandered around, and I gave a half-ass tour of downtown Vancouver. I mentioned the S****tology Center on Hastings, and we decided to check it out...maybe get one of those legendary E-Meter stress tests, or get to watch the next Mission Impossible installment for free, or something. But before we could go and mercilessly mock the cultists, we noticed a crowd of folks with signs and masks outside the S****tology Center. Turns out they were protesting against the many fucked-up practices of the C***ch of S****tology. In fact, these protests take place around the globe on a monthly basis. Wow. I got some info, and engaged some of the protesters in good conversation. I decided to censor the name of the “church”, because who knows if their spies are watching me RIGHT NOW.
Later that evening, I met up with SP again and we drank in a park before heading to Pub 340 where we accidentally saw some stoner metal bands... Not really my thing, but I dug the guitar tone of the one band. The initial plan was supposed to involve us going to see some burlesque show at the Cobalt and then to an all-night fest at the Emergency Room. Well, after countless beers at the Cobalt, we ended up crashing following the burlesque show. (Great show, by the way - I really appreciated the diversity of sizes that was represented) Since SP was couch-surfing at the moment, she ended up crashing in my room.
...of course, before any sleep was to happen, we had to take care of the one little problem, which was the fact that there were two people in my fucking bed when I opened the door. One of whom was a prostitute, the other was her john. Shit. For once in my goddamn life, I made a fuss. I went and got the guy from the desk and told him what was up. He went up and yelled at them, threatening to call the cops, while SP helped the lady gather up her drugs and assorted paraphernalia. I didn't want to be a prick about it, but I made sure to get my money back for the room.
After that was dealt with, we went to sleep.
Next morning, we were woken up by the fire alarm. My favourite! It was a false alarm, so we went back to bed...to be woken up by roofers working on the building next door or something. Well, it wasn't so much the roofers that woke us up as much as the guy in our building who screamed at the poor working stiff "IF YOU KEEP HAMMERING, I'M GONNA PUT THAT HAMMER IN YOUR ASS!" and other empty threats. It escalated to the point where the guy went up to the roofers and yelled a bunch more shit at them. By the end of that ordeal, this asshole was screaming racist shit at the roofers, calling them "Camel jockeys" and shit like that. On the plus side, a bunch of the Cobalt residents were on the verge of shutting the racist asshole up for good too. Jeez, all this excitement and it wasn't even 10 am yet!
Other than finally tracking down a RUN DMC shirt and having some nondescript breakfast, that was my cute little weekend in Vancouver. I moved back to Calgary three weeks later to spread my arrogant prick disease among you bastards.
Love,
Damien!
ENDNOTES:
- I still don’t get why people give a shit about the DAYGLO ABORTIONS. Seriously – they should have broken up after their first LP.
- Same with the MISFITS. Give it up. Fuck.
- Some old bands are still kill. THE BUSINESS, for example. Or fucking AMEBIX!!! (Hey, they have a new 12” out on Profane Existence Records! You should get it – it’s the best thing to come out this year, hands down. 3 classic tracks re-recorded in 2009 with the slightly new lineup. Unlike other “old guy bands”, they still sound fresh and you can tell that they still have the passion. Get the record! It also comes with a cool embroidered patch and a download card. www.profaneexistence.org )
- Yeah, I still have my podcast, Doomed Society over at PE. Check it: www.profaneexistence.org/radio-podcasts
I’m violating the golden rule right now, and writing a column about having writer’s block. Fuck.
It’s not that I have nothing to say, but it’s a matter of dividing my writing between different magazines and fanzines. That’s the problem with being such a hot fucking punk-rock celebrity – my hot fucking talent is in high demand (or something)! I’ll leave the half-cocked angry political rhetoric to my column in Proane Existence. I’ll leave my all-ages scene gushing to the report I submitted to Maximum Rock-n-Roll. Hell, I’ll leave most of my random scraps of crap to my shitty zine Body Count. For you fine folks, I’ll abandon my usual grumpy/arrogant/punk elitist persona (for this month only! That shit’ll be back with a vengeance next month!). This month, I have a tale of dashed hopes, forgotten dreams, crushed glory, and other lies.
It all started in June of 2008. I was living in Victoria at the time.
One weekend I decided to go to Vancouver and take a load off. As soon as I got off work, I rushed out and cashed my paycheck, then got on a city bus to the ferry terminal. I should have taken the date (Friday, June 13th) into consideration when the clerk at the terminal told me the boat was going to be delayed. I went to the gate and waited with half of Victoria, apparently. We got herded to the next gate, and found out that the incoming boat had lost an engine. Great – this was our boat to Van.
Finally, around five hours later, we arrived at the bus terminal in Vancouver. Met up with SP and her friends, then got some beer and headed to the Alf House near East Hastings. There was a backyard show going on, and I got to see MARGARET THRASHER, which is always a fun time. This house is so fucking cool, might I add... a punk house straight out of some 80s punxploitation flick, but way fucking cooler. It's in a fairly undeveloped area, so that's why they were able to have a goddamn show there. Of course, the place is filthier than the Castle Pub’s washrooms after a Motherfuckers show, but that’s what I expected anyway.
Afterward, SP and I made the futile attempt to go to Pub 340, but the fucking bar and sidewalk in front of the damn place were both packed to the tits with... TEENYBOPPERS. Was it some weird high school grad thing? I don't know, but there was no way anybody was getting in. Fucking terrible. Pissed off, we went to a quiet pub to finish off the night. When last call came around, SP walked me to the shitty backpacker's hostel I stayed at last time I was in town. But hey - wouldn't you know it? The place was absolutely full! The guy told me to try the Cobalt, but I figured I'd find something else. So I spent the next couple of hours walking around looking for another hostel. As luck would have it, I was not stabbed during my quest, which led me right back to the Cobalt. Doh. Okay, fine - I dropped some cash and crashed out in the worst room I've ever stayed in. Again – everything I expected and more.
Next morning, I was brought back to consciousness by the sound of a speed freak talking to herself in the hallway. Great. After inspecting the doorknob, I figured that even though I had two nights in this palace, I should take all my shit with me anyway.
After wandering around town a bit, I met up with my pal from Calgary and her partner. We wandered around, and I gave a half-ass tour of downtown Vancouver. I mentioned the S****tology Center on Hastings, and we decided to check it out...maybe get one of those legendary E-Meter stress tests, or get to watch the next Mission Impossible installment for free, or something. But before we could go and mercilessly mock the cultists, we noticed a crowd of folks with signs and masks outside the S****tology Center. Turns out they were protesting against the many fucked-up practices of the C***ch of S****tology. In fact, these protests take place around the globe on a monthly basis. Wow. I got some info, and engaged some of the protesters in good conversation. I decided to censor the name of the “church”, because who knows if their spies are watching me RIGHT NOW.
Later that evening, I met up with SP again and we drank in a park before heading to Pub 340 where we accidentally saw some stoner metal bands... Not really my thing, but I dug the guitar tone of the one band. The initial plan was supposed to involve us going to see some burlesque show at the Cobalt and then to an all-night fest at the Emergency Room. Well, after countless beers at the Cobalt, we ended up crashing following the burlesque show. (Great show, by the way - I really appreciated the diversity of sizes that was represented) Since SP was couch-surfing at the moment, she ended up crashing in my room.
...of course, before any sleep was to happen, we had to take care of the one little problem, which was the fact that there were two people in my fucking bed when I opened the door. One of whom was a prostitute, the other was her john. Shit. For once in my goddamn life, I made a fuss. I went and got the guy from the desk and told him what was up. He went up and yelled at them, threatening to call the cops, while SP helped the lady gather up her drugs and assorted paraphernalia. I didn't want to be a prick about it, but I made sure to get my money back for the room.
After that was dealt with, we went to sleep.
Next morning, we were woken up by the fire alarm. My favourite! It was a false alarm, so we went back to bed...to be woken up by roofers working on the building next door or something. Well, it wasn't so much the roofers that woke us up as much as the guy in our building who screamed at the poor working stiff "IF YOU KEEP HAMMERING, I'M GONNA PUT THAT HAMMER IN YOUR ASS!" and other empty threats. It escalated to the point where the guy went up to the roofers and yelled a bunch more shit at them. By the end of that ordeal, this asshole was screaming racist shit at the roofers, calling them "Camel jockeys" and shit like that. On the plus side, a bunch of the Cobalt residents were on the verge of shutting the racist asshole up for good too. Jeez, all this excitement and it wasn't even 10 am yet!
Other than finally tracking down a RUN DMC shirt and having some nondescript breakfast, that was my cute little weekend in Vancouver. I moved back to Calgary three weeks later to spread my arrogant prick disease among you bastards.
Love,
Damien!
ENDNOTES:
- I still don’t get why people give a shit about the DAYGLO ABORTIONS. Seriously – they should have broken up after their first LP.
- Same with the MISFITS. Give it up. Fuck.
- Some old bands are still kill. THE BUSINESS, for example. Or fucking AMEBIX!!! (Hey, they have a new 12” out on Profane Existence Records! You should get it – it’s the best thing to come out this year, hands down. 3 classic tracks re-recorded in 2009 with the slightly new lineup. Unlike other “old guy bands”, they still sound fresh and you can tell that they still have the passion. Get the record! It also comes with a cool embroidered patch and a download card. www.profaneexistence.org )
- Yeah, I still have my podcast, Doomed Society over at PE. Check it: www.profaneexistence.org/radio-podcasts
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