Spike and Mike: Vancouver
Jan called and asked me if I knew anyone who would let Scott and one crew member stay at my house while they promoted in Sacramento. And for some reason I said, "Sure."
Most likely the reason was that having the festival pay my rent for a month would be almost worth putting up with Scott, and I figured he'd be less annoying in my house, where he wasn't my boss. We let him and Brad, the poor kid working with him stay upstairs in the attic which had been converted to a pretty cool bedroom.
Scott was less annoying and as I got to know him he was a decent guy. He only had respect for people who demanded it and I think he had a taste for the kind of girls that didn't. Party girls. He smiled and laughed in public to the point that it was kind of creepy and in private he talked, obsessively about Spike. An accurate impersonation can be done of Scott by adding, "The thing about Spike is..." to the beginning of every sentence.
So Scott was here and in no time at all I was putting in some hours flyering. I enjoyed it, and when they offered to let me work with Frank and Homes in Van Couver I couldn't say know. I missed Vancouver before and Dan had the time of his life there. My buddy Brett, one of the smartest and most trust worthy people I knew, egreed to take care of my Aquarium business while I was away. I could have my cake and eat it too.
I was flown into Seattle where the guys had just finished a show and we drove from there to Vancouver. We were not supposed to be working in Canada so we told them we were coming up for vacation but dropping off all the merchandise at the theatre as a favor to our boss. This worked every year and wouldn't be a problem. What would be was that Homes had lost his liscence. We burried him under some shirts and crossed. We were told to pull over. We all sat, waiting to be searched while Frank was inside the small office. Finally Frank came back and we were on our way with our illegally smuggled coworker safe and sound.
Our lodging in Vancouver were in a somewhat divey but kind of cool older hotel located above a gay bar called The Duff. The Duff featured nude male dancers on the weekends. "In the buff, at The Duff" read their flyers. This meant the hotel was full of gay men partying, chasing each other up an down the halls and having a good time on the weekends. The rest of the time it was fairly quiet.
Frank gave me a tour of Vancouver that first night. He loved this city and was working on finding away to move there. He was even seeing a local girl and they'd gotten pretty serious. I was listening to Frank talk about this great city when suddenly I noticed teenage supermodels on every corner and standing on the islands in the middle of the road, and they all had their thumbs out.
"Woah! What's with all the beautiful girls." I asked.
"They're hookers." he answered, matter of factly.
"No way. Why would girls who look like that be hookin'?"
"These are the Avenue A hookers. Up here, we have avenue B."
Now there were women instead of girls, with better curves but tackier clothing, but still with their thumbs out. These women were more to my liking, and definately unlike any hookers I'd ever seen. I remembered when Dan and I had snuck up to Van Couver with Allegra on one of our days off in Seattle. We'd seen a hitchhiker and she was gorgeous. We pulled over and Dan asked her if she needed a ride. She asked him if he needed a date. He said yes, and was at first perplexed that Allegra drove away. Now I understood that she was not so unique. If the universal for hitchhiking, here stood for hooking, how the hell did one hitch?
I was afraid of what my come next and my fears were well founded. Of course there was an Avenue C. Woman with Missing Limbs or many decades of experience under their belts didn't bother putting their thumbs out. They stood and waited and scratched. It was sad to think that this is where avenue A led to.
The Duff did not take up the entire first floor and there was room enough for a restaraunt where we took most of our meals. They put jelly AND penut butter on the table so for the price of toast and coffee I'd have a meal of PB and J sandwiches. They also had falafel and they extended me credit which made them my favorite. I'd arrived in town flat broke. Somethings never change.
Before that first pay check came I had charged quite a bit at the restaurant and I needed to cut corners. I bought some Ramen and I made it in one of the disposable Ice Buckets. I was drinking it and it seemed kind of waxy. Homes was laughing but Homes often laughed for nor reason so I didn't think much of it. Finally Homes told me to go look in the mirror. The wax from the ice bucket had of course melted when I added the boiling water to the Ramen and was now coating my lips. I dumped the bucket in the trash and laughing boy and I went down stairs for falafel on credit.
It was a different experience being on tour with a girlfriend waiting at home. I enjoyed smoking pot and drinking Molsen with Homes and Terry, a new guy who reminded me a bit of Ron but I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. They taught me to play dice and we would spend a few hours between the day shift and the night shift listening to music and getting a bit high while throwing the dice and trying to make it to five thousand.
We flyered on campus and at hockey games, in front of movie theatres and at night clubs. Van Couver had a cool techno scene and we enjoyed some great nights out dancing including going to see the DJ Peant Butter Wolf. He was amazing. A young black kid, too young to be in the club if he hadn't been the DJ. He would throw his fists in the air and yell whenever he did something cool on the turntables. The yell was so sincer, the jubilance of a young man who knows his kicking ass and likes it. It was months later that I looked at a flyer for another party and caught on that Peanut Butter Wolf was a white guy. I have no idea who I saw that night, but he tore shit up.
Homes and I went to a halloween party at the same club and saw a girl dressed as one damn sexy fly. The costume was simple, just a foam bicycle helmet, some buggy glasses and quite a bit of black make up and paint. It made an impression on me. Homes told her she was fly and she rolled her compound eyes at him, giving a universal dismiss.
Homes showed us a new side in Vancouver. He'd always been so positive and cheerful and quiet. Now he talked all the time, telling horendous stories of an asshole dad and a pretty rough upbrining. He was also more negative when we were out flyering. He'd developed a mean streak and his previously sweet nature, which still shone through most of the time, made his insuts sting. Terry just joined Homes in being an ass on these occasions and I would excuse myself.
Luckily I retained my ability to enjoy a bit of solitude. I ate many Samosas and learned about the complex financial geography of downtown VC. Somosas, little pastries filled with curried peas, potatoes and/or carrots were three for a buck on the street we lived on, but a block over where the white tourists were found they were a dollar each. That's three hundred percent more. Move over another couple of blocks to the shops catering to new immigrants from Hong Kong who were settling in VC in anticipation of the Chinese taking their island back from England. Here Samosas were three dollars each. Never mind what a pair of faded jeans with hip holes in the knees were selling for.
Homes and I went to see a midnight screening of Kids. We were very high. I'd seen the movie twice before and never sober. It just seemed wrong to watch such a gleefully excessive flick without some haze in place. I trusted that Homes would work out hisi issues eventually. He was still one of my favorites even as he pissed me off.
I got my first check at last and Homes and I went to an army surplus store to get gloves, thermal underwear, beanies and anything else to help us beat the freeze. The three middle eastern employees were acting strange and then I realized they were watching a disheveled looking man who was creeping around the store hunched over. One of the men locked the front door with us still inside. We got a good distance away from everyone.
The hunched over guy walked towards the door and suddenly all three guys pounced and started punching him. The got him to the ground. I stood their stunned. One of the guys then held up a huge knife that he'd taken out of the disheveled man's coat. I didn't know if he'd just been steeling the knife of if was planning to rob the place or what and I'm guessing nobody else did either. We paid and got the hell out of their. I sure hope the guys was to be turned over to the police and not used as target practice for the store's survivalist clientelle.
The hockey games were fun to work. I don't like American sports fans in large numbers but in Canada EVERYONE watches hockey. It was so cool to see business men, blue collar guys, hippies, raver kids, skaters all going to the same event. I bought some ganga cookies from some Dead Head type who was trying to make money for a ticket to the game. He went in and I at the cookies. I think he forgot to put the ganga in.
That night after finding some real gonga which could be easily and pretty openely proccured on the steps of the library, along with anyother altered state you were seeking, we got a call from Spike. He needed someone to head to Santa Cruz. I was loving Van Couver, but I was getting a little tired of Homes and Terry and I'd always been curious about Spike. Plus I love Santa Cruz. I volunteered and Frank thanked me over and over again. I got to feeling like I'd just signed up to be the first Christian to face the lion.
Frank put me on the phone with Spike. "Jensen, you like seeing girls get their nipples pierced?"
"Yeah, that sounds like it would be interesting."
And that was that. I passed. Spike was willing to work with me. I would leave in a couple of days.
That Night we went to The Ivan Ho bar in the basement of the Ivan Hotel. I hesitate to share with anyone the details of this place lest they think me prone to exageration. The Ho made the cantina scene in stars wars look like a scene out of Cheers. Cafeteria style seating reminded one of lunch break at school right down to the clique's dividing up the space. The old bar flies sat at one table, the young crusty punks at another. There were hippies on the right and prostitutes or at least woman who were dressed to move on the left. The place was too packed to allow folks clamoring around the bar odering drinks. Instead the bar maids walked the floor with trays calling out the booze they were currently dispensing. A tray of rum and cokes, a tray of whiskey shots. The one male tray carrier had pitchers of beer on a giant tray. When you heard a drink that sounded your speed you raised your hand. Our designated driver would have a hell of a time getting a Coke.
My friend Billy, the dreadlocked wildman who introduced me to the Alcoholic Boys Club had moved up north and I wasn's sure where. I saw a crusty wearing a jacket that said Fat Slag on the back. This had been the name of Billy's band a band that was mostly imaginary. I approached the guy.
"Hey, Fat Slag, cool. Do you know Billy."
"No. I don't know any Billy. I stole this jacket."
"Oh, okay. I thought you might know my buddy."
"Why, is this his jacket. I'll fight you for it." He said it so calmly he might as well have been offering me a spot of tea.
"No, no that's okay. I just wanted to find my pal. Have a good night."
By the time I got the 'have a good night' out his tounge was exploring the young woman with him's molars. I went to use the bathrooms. I found the men's room, full of a good three inches of water. While waiting for a stall, most of which were occupied by more than one person I over heard a great exchange.
"You Doctor Magic?" a big brute of a biker was asking a thin very tall black man.
"No man. I aint Doctor Magic."
"Well I'm gonn beat that son of a bitch's ass. He sold my old lady some buck ecstacy." and with this the biker left and some hippies entered.
"You Doctor Magic." they asked full of hope.
"Yeah baby, what's up?"
"Can we get some ecstacy?"
"Yeah man, step over here."
I had my piss and headed back out. I stopped outside the bathroom and looked around. This place looked like one of those busy, two page Mad Magazine spreads. Too much going on to possibly soak it all in at once. Fights and dancing and gambling and drinking and sing alongs and drinking and fighters making up and starting new fights and panty flashes and puking and drinking and drug deals and amazingly I didn't see one other person like myself who seemed to be shell shocked by it all. Everyone was occupied, everyone participated. So I ordered two more drinks and got into the spirit of it all.
I woke up hung over and worked my last day with Homes and Terry. They were in one of their moods and I was glad I was leaving. Frank had caught Terry sitting on his ass a few days ealier and made Terry walk back to the hotel, a good 45 minute stroll. Terry was still grumpy about it and Homes hadn't snapped out of Angry Homes mode yet. That night we were off work and I figured we'd have some fun but the guys talked shit all night and kept laying into me about my driving. Finally while stopped at a red light I hopped out of the car and went for a walk. I took in a movie, saw some naked dancing at a local club and went home to get some sleep. The next day I would be in Santa Cruz.
>>>>Read the next story, Spike and Mike; Santa Cruz, starring Spike>>>
Most likely the reason was that having the festival pay my rent for a month would be almost worth putting up with Scott, and I figured he'd be less annoying in my house, where he wasn't my boss. We let him and Brad, the poor kid working with him stay upstairs in the attic which had been converted to a pretty cool bedroom.
Scott was less annoying and as I got to know him he was a decent guy. He only had respect for people who demanded it and I think he had a taste for the kind of girls that didn't. Party girls. He smiled and laughed in public to the point that it was kind of creepy and in private he talked, obsessively about Spike. An accurate impersonation can be done of Scott by adding, "The thing about Spike is..." to the beginning of every sentence.
So Scott was here and in no time at all I was putting in some hours flyering. I enjoyed it, and when they offered to let me work with Frank and Homes in Van Couver I couldn't say know. I missed Vancouver before and Dan had the time of his life there. My buddy Brett, one of the smartest and most trust worthy people I knew, egreed to take care of my Aquarium business while I was away. I could have my cake and eat it too.
I was flown into Seattle where the guys had just finished a show and we drove from there to Vancouver. We were not supposed to be working in Canada so we told them we were coming up for vacation but dropping off all the merchandise at the theatre as a favor to our boss. This worked every year and wouldn't be a problem. What would be was that Homes had lost his liscence. We burried him under some shirts and crossed. We were told to pull over. We all sat, waiting to be searched while Frank was inside the small office. Finally Frank came back and we were on our way with our illegally smuggled coworker safe and sound.
Our lodging in Vancouver were in a somewhat divey but kind of cool older hotel located above a gay bar called The Duff. The Duff featured nude male dancers on the weekends. "In the buff, at The Duff" read their flyers. This meant the hotel was full of gay men partying, chasing each other up an down the halls and having a good time on the weekends. The rest of the time it was fairly quiet.
Frank gave me a tour of Vancouver that first night. He loved this city and was working on finding away to move there. He was even seeing a local girl and they'd gotten pretty serious. I was listening to Frank talk about this great city when suddenly I noticed teenage supermodels on every corner and standing on the islands in the middle of the road, and they all had their thumbs out.
"Woah! What's with all the beautiful girls." I asked.
"They're hookers." he answered, matter of factly.
"No way. Why would girls who look like that be hookin'?"
"These are the Avenue A hookers. Up here, we have avenue B."
Now there were women instead of girls, with better curves but tackier clothing, but still with their thumbs out. These women were more to my liking, and definately unlike any hookers I'd ever seen. I remembered when Dan and I had snuck up to Van Couver with Allegra on one of our days off in Seattle. We'd seen a hitchhiker and she was gorgeous. We pulled over and Dan asked her if she needed a ride. She asked him if he needed a date. He said yes, and was at first perplexed that Allegra drove away. Now I understood that she was not so unique. If the universal for hitchhiking, here stood for hooking, how the hell did one hitch?
I was afraid of what my come next and my fears were well founded. Of course there was an Avenue C. Woman with Missing Limbs or many decades of experience under their belts didn't bother putting their thumbs out. They stood and waited and scratched. It was sad to think that this is where avenue A led to.
The Duff did not take up the entire first floor and there was room enough for a restaraunt where we took most of our meals. They put jelly AND penut butter on the table so for the price of toast and coffee I'd have a meal of PB and J sandwiches. They also had falafel and they extended me credit which made them my favorite. I'd arrived in town flat broke. Somethings never change.
Before that first pay check came I had charged quite a bit at the restaurant and I needed to cut corners. I bought some Ramen and I made it in one of the disposable Ice Buckets. I was drinking it and it seemed kind of waxy. Homes was laughing but Homes often laughed for nor reason so I didn't think much of it. Finally Homes told me to go look in the mirror. The wax from the ice bucket had of course melted when I added the boiling water to the Ramen and was now coating my lips. I dumped the bucket in the trash and laughing boy and I went down stairs for falafel on credit.
It was a different experience being on tour with a girlfriend waiting at home. I enjoyed smoking pot and drinking Molsen with Homes and Terry, a new guy who reminded me a bit of Ron but I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. They taught me to play dice and we would spend a few hours between the day shift and the night shift listening to music and getting a bit high while throwing the dice and trying to make it to five thousand.
We flyered on campus and at hockey games, in front of movie theatres and at night clubs. Van Couver had a cool techno scene and we enjoyed some great nights out dancing including going to see the DJ Peant Butter Wolf. He was amazing. A young black kid, too young to be in the club if he hadn't been the DJ. He would throw his fists in the air and yell whenever he did something cool on the turntables. The yell was so sincer, the jubilance of a young man who knows his kicking ass and likes it. It was months later that I looked at a flyer for another party and caught on that Peanut Butter Wolf was a white guy. I have no idea who I saw that night, but he tore shit up.
Homes and I went to a halloween party at the same club and saw a girl dressed as one damn sexy fly. The costume was simple, just a foam bicycle helmet, some buggy glasses and quite a bit of black make up and paint. It made an impression on me. Homes told her she was fly and she rolled her compound eyes at him, giving a universal dismiss.
Homes showed us a new side in Vancouver. He'd always been so positive and cheerful and quiet. Now he talked all the time, telling horendous stories of an asshole dad and a pretty rough upbrining. He was also more negative when we were out flyering. He'd developed a mean streak and his previously sweet nature, which still shone through most of the time, made his insuts sting. Terry just joined Homes in being an ass on these occasions and I would excuse myself.
Luckily I retained my ability to enjoy a bit of solitude. I ate many Samosas and learned about the complex financial geography of downtown VC. Somosas, little pastries filled with curried peas, potatoes and/or carrots were three for a buck on the street we lived on, but a block over where the white tourists were found they were a dollar each. That's three hundred percent more. Move over another couple of blocks to the shops catering to new immigrants from Hong Kong who were settling in VC in anticipation of the Chinese taking their island back from England. Here Samosas were three dollars each. Never mind what a pair of faded jeans with hip holes in the knees were selling for.
Homes and I went to see a midnight screening of Kids. We were very high. I'd seen the movie twice before and never sober. It just seemed wrong to watch such a gleefully excessive flick without some haze in place. I trusted that Homes would work out hisi issues eventually. He was still one of my favorites even as he pissed me off.
I got my first check at last and Homes and I went to an army surplus store to get gloves, thermal underwear, beanies and anything else to help us beat the freeze. The three middle eastern employees were acting strange and then I realized they were watching a disheveled looking man who was creeping around the store hunched over. One of the men locked the front door with us still inside. We got a good distance away from everyone.
The hunched over guy walked towards the door and suddenly all three guys pounced and started punching him. The got him to the ground. I stood their stunned. One of the guys then held up a huge knife that he'd taken out of the disheveled man's coat. I didn't know if he'd just been steeling the knife of if was planning to rob the place or what and I'm guessing nobody else did either. We paid and got the hell out of their. I sure hope the guys was to be turned over to the police and not used as target practice for the store's survivalist clientelle.
The hockey games were fun to work. I don't like American sports fans in large numbers but in Canada EVERYONE watches hockey. It was so cool to see business men, blue collar guys, hippies, raver kids, skaters all going to the same event. I bought some ganga cookies from some Dead Head type who was trying to make money for a ticket to the game. He went in and I at the cookies. I think he forgot to put the ganga in.
That night after finding some real gonga which could be easily and pretty openely proccured on the steps of the library, along with anyother altered state you were seeking, we got a call from Spike. He needed someone to head to Santa Cruz. I was loving Van Couver, but I was getting a little tired of Homes and Terry and I'd always been curious about Spike. Plus I love Santa Cruz. I volunteered and Frank thanked me over and over again. I got to feeling like I'd just signed up to be the first Christian to face the lion.
Frank put me on the phone with Spike. "Jensen, you like seeing girls get their nipples pierced?"
"Yeah, that sounds like it would be interesting."
And that was that. I passed. Spike was willing to work with me. I would leave in a couple of days.
That Night we went to The Ivan Ho bar in the basement of the Ivan Hotel. I hesitate to share with anyone the details of this place lest they think me prone to exageration. The Ho made the cantina scene in stars wars look like a scene out of Cheers. Cafeteria style seating reminded one of lunch break at school right down to the clique's dividing up the space. The old bar flies sat at one table, the young crusty punks at another. There were hippies on the right and prostitutes or at least woman who were dressed to move on the left. The place was too packed to allow folks clamoring around the bar odering drinks. Instead the bar maids walked the floor with trays calling out the booze they were currently dispensing. A tray of rum and cokes, a tray of whiskey shots. The one male tray carrier had pitchers of beer on a giant tray. When you heard a drink that sounded your speed you raised your hand. Our designated driver would have a hell of a time getting a Coke.
My friend Billy, the dreadlocked wildman who introduced me to the Alcoholic Boys Club had moved up north and I wasn's sure where. I saw a crusty wearing a jacket that said Fat Slag on the back. This had been the name of Billy's band a band that was mostly imaginary. I approached the guy.
"Hey, Fat Slag, cool. Do you know Billy."
"No. I don't know any Billy. I stole this jacket."
"Oh, okay. I thought you might know my buddy."
"Why, is this his jacket. I'll fight you for it." He said it so calmly he might as well have been offering me a spot of tea.
"No, no that's okay. I just wanted to find my pal. Have a good night."
By the time I got the 'have a good night' out his tounge was exploring the young woman with him's molars. I went to use the bathrooms. I found the men's room, full of a good three inches of water. While waiting for a stall, most of which were occupied by more than one person I over heard a great exchange.
"You Doctor Magic?" a big brute of a biker was asking a thin very tall black man.
"No man. I aint Doctor Magic."
"Well I'm gonn beat that son of a bitch's ass. He sold my old lady some buck ecstacy." and with this the biker left and some hippies entered.
"You Doctor Magic." they asked full of hope.
"Yeah baby, what's up?"
"Can we get some ecstacy?"
"Yeah man, step over here."
I had my piss and headed back out. I stopped outside the bathroom and looked around. This place looked like one of those busy, two page Mad Magazine spreads. Too much going on to possibly soak it all in at once. Fights and dancing and gambling and drinking and sing alongs and drinking and fighters making up and starting new fights and panty flashes and puking and drinking and drug deals and amazingly I didn't see one other person like myself who seemed to be shell shocked by it all. Everyone was occupied, everyone participated. So I ordered two more drinks and got into the spirit of it all.
I woke up hung over and worked my last day with Homes and Terry. They were in one of their moods and I was glad I was leaving. Frank had caught Terry sitting on his ass a few days ealier and made Terry walk back to the hotel, a good 45 minute stroll. Terry was still grumpy about it and Homes hadn't snapped out of Angry Homes mode yet. That night we were off work and I figured we'd have some fun but the guys talked shit all night and kept laying into me about my driving. Finally while stopped at a red light I hopped out of the car and went for a walk. I took in a movie, saw some naked dancing at a local club and went home to get some sleep. The next day I would be in Santa Cruz.
>>>>Read the next story, Spike and Mike; Santa Cruz, starring Spike>>>
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