An Awfully Big Adventure, Day One, Part Two: B-b-b-baby, I Can't Wait

Read "Day One, Part One" here.

4. YO KZA! IT'S GOTTA BE THE SHOES!

So I'm settled in, finally. I'm in Vancouver, I made it to my hotel room, internet is working and all it cost was a sliver of my pride and self-esteem. Unfortunately, I now have to deal with some mistakes I made in planning.

Mistake #1: Shoes

I bought some new clothes for this trip, mostly for the minimal costume for Quizoola!, but stuff I could also wear normally, since I haven't bought new clothes in about four or five years. One of those items was a pair of shoes. Two pairs of shoes, to be exact. I needed some dark shoes for the show, and I saw another pair I liked as well, they were cheap, so no-brainer.

Then I decide that these are the only shoes I'll bring with me.

Since I haven't bought new shoes in four or five years, I forgot what wearing them is like. Wearing new shoes, for me, is like strapping on some kind of Sadeian torture device. I've always had tender feet -- when we got a built-in swimming pool when I was a kid, the cement around the pool, which had tiny, seemingly-insignificant ridges, would invariably cut the soles of my feet. Nothing says "summer fun" like bloody footprints around the pool.

And so with new shoes, they (also inevitably) rub the backs of my heels raw, resulting in blisters, blood, and pain. Now, eventually, they heal and toughen up and everything's normal. It's just such a pisser that I have to do that every damn time. If I was thinking at all, I would've brought my usual shoes to take a respite from the painful adjusting period... but no. I'm too much of a tough guy for that.

So by the time I get to the hotel (which really hasn't involved that much walking at all), my feet are killing me and I'm crying uncle. I need band-aids.

I go down to the front desk and ask where I can get some. There's an odd pause, a passing of glances between the two clerks, and one of them goes into the back and offers me some from their first aid supplies. I take two and thank them, but I'm really going to need a whole pack, so I set off to explore Granville Island and find a little store or something.

So I start walking. And looking. I study the vaguely Disney-ish island map. Nothing. Oh sure, if I want pottery or paintings or coffee or nautical-themed doodads, I'm in business, but nothing like a general store. Oh, wait! The B.C. Wood Co-op! That should work, a co-op.

Uh, no. It's "Coop". They sell wood sculptures.

I wander into the Public Market, which seems promising. Certainly if I was hungry -- there's a farmer's market, all sorts of fresh fish and meat, a big food court, but nothing like a place for sundries. You know, medicine, band-aids, that stuff.

Then it finally hits me, because, again, I suck. No one actually lives here. (In fact, no one works here on Monday.) Yes, there's a hotel, but there's no need for this kind of store, because either a) you live in Vancouver or b) you're staying in a hotel that has all this shit. In other words, Granville Island is not meant to be inhabited in any kind of permanent fashion.

After searching the Public Market twice, I happen upon the Smoke Shop, a closet-sized space practically hidden near an exit. Cigarettes, magazines, cold medicine, and yes, band-aids. One box size, thirty bandages, four bucks. My first Canadian cash purchase. I hobble back.

Mistake #2: Sweats

That was stupid. All that worrying about getting new clothes that I forget my usual outfit. Sweatpants! Is there anything they can't do?

Not having any sweatpants means when I'm in my room, I either have to wear my regular pants or walk around in my underwear. Regular pants are not meant for lounging. That's simply not what civilization is about. Wearing only my underwear, though, makes me feel creepy, like some nervous and paranoid character from a Mac Wellman play. Both options suck.

I opt for creepy.

Mistake #3:

A Culture Club song, circa 1985. A ballad, I believe. Not one of my favorites. I'll take "Time" or "Church of the Poison Mind", thank you.

5. CLEVER THEATER NAMES, PINUPS AND OTHER MISCONCEPTIONS

I meet up with Cathy from Forced Entertainment and we set out to find our space for Quizoola!. It's in the Ocean Construction (Cement) Repair Shop. Oh, I think, that's a clever name for a theater. Keep the historical ties to Granville Island's industrial past. I like that.

After some searching and getting a little bit lost (which, despite the island's small size, is easier than you think), we find it and go inside.

No, it's not a theater. It really is a (cement) repair shop. Remember all those cement trucks that kept appearing out of nowhere? Yeah, they're in the back. Funny that the one place on Granville Island that's still in used as a factory is the place where I get to perform.

So I'm a little surprised, but I really do like non-traditional theater spaces, so it's i-ight.

(When I was at college, I had an idea for setting a play in the middle of this roundabout, which had a giant planter filled with a big tree in the middle, surrounded by shrubbery, and I'd light it with the headlights of cars parked around it. There was something about the contrast between the asphalt, the cement on one hand and the "natural" tree and bushes on the other. This bit of theater never happened, because a) I didn't really know what kind of play I'd stage there and b) I'm the kind of guy who can't remember to bring sweats.)

There are some difficulties with the space, though. There's a long narrow pit to one side of the room, used for whatever (cement) repair alchemy these guys perform, and it's both a potential audience-member-killing device (there's some talk of filling it with acid) and it would keep the actors separated from the audience too much, which isn't what this piece is about. There are some discussions about covering up the pit, but that don't concern me, cuz:

I'm an artist, bee-yatch!
I don't have to do shit!

Instead, I look around the workshop and I see a bunch of pinups on one wall. Maybe I'm naive, but I'm a little surprised -- I really didn't think people still did that, put pinups of naked women in the workplace. I mean, sure, this workshop is about as blue collar as you can get, but I really, honestly thought that men, regardless of class or race or what have you, kept the centerfolds in the magazine. I thought the days of gathering 'round and gawking at the nekkid ladies died out in the eighties, nineties at the latest.

Then I look a little closer. (Why not, right? That's what they're there for.) And I see that, with the exception of one, all the women are completely covered in their Victoria's Secret-style panties and bras. All the pictures come from Maxim or FHM or whatever.

Now I'm genuinely puzzled. I have no idea what to make of this. I mean, the impulse to look is the same, isn't it? Just because there's some clothes in the way doesn't mean we guys aren't trying to mentally take them off. So why the half-measures? If it's about offensiveness, is it really any less offensive? If it's about sensitivity, is it really any more sensitive? As far as I could tell, there weren't any women employees, so I have to assume that the restrictions are either self-imposed by the employees, or it comes from management. And since there was the one pinup (still fully clothed, only with her bra pulled down), I have to think it's the former. Which, again, I just don't get.

Or maybe they just don't sell Playboy in Canada.

6. DINNER AND A MOVIE

That night, I have dinner with Cathy and Francis (our tech guy), while waiting for Robin to get in from the airport. Cathy goes over "Quizoola!" with me. The idea is pretty simple. Two performers on stage, one with a list of questions. One asks questions, either from the list or made-up, and the other has to answer. When the questioner feels like switching, he or she asks, "Would you like to stop?" If the answerer says yes, the roles are reversed. This continues for two hours, until the third person, who's been covering the door this entire time, comes over and takes over for one of the performers. (This means that, for the six hour duration, someone will be on stage for four hours straight.) Other than these basic rules, pretty much anything goes. It's durational, so the audience members are free to come and go as they please. Sounds simple enough, I think. I was feeling nervous about the whole thing for, well, pretty much weeks, but I start to feel more comfortable.

Oh, and did I mention there's clown makeup? That's the real reason I'm doing this - the clown makeup.

Robin gets in, and we order food. It's nice seeing him again -- it's been a couple years since I last saw him, but a much, much longer time since I had a conversation with him. (Not that I'm much of a conversationalist, as anyone who knows me will tell you.) He has a kid now, and so I listen for any tips for dealing with my own forthcoming brood. It's not really comforting, but then very little I've heard has been.

It's getting late, so I retire to my room and pop in Dave Chappelle's Block Party into my computer, and I watch nearly the entire thing. The joyousness of the thing is incredibly infectious. Although much has been made of the Fugees reunion and Kanye's "Jesus Walks" with the marching band -- great parts, it's true -- I was blown away by Dead Prez, a band I'd heard of but didn't know. (There's a reason that their performance, "Hip Hop" opens the soundtrack album, even though that's wrong, chronologically.) I thought only The Coup brought that kind of shit these days. I have some catching up to do.

Where we saw it: general | We deign to rate it: outta 100
Posted by kza at 02:19 PM