Tag Archives: Music

Castle

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Just the other day, I was walking back to around my old stomping grounds, where, finally having only four years between me and a real life, a real career, and owning some real estate, was very imminent.  I could spend those four years partying and celebrating my imminent status, or, I could spend my time, studying, and eventually, buying my way into some status.

The truth is, no student is every the “perfect student.”  As soon as you get the letter in the mail, you immediately start ranking the courses, and the classes.  There will be those that I will spend an hour a week on, outside of the three hour lecture, and there are those, where, I will go to every lecture, do every essay, write every exam, and even send my Professor email about.  Which is of course the equivalent to waiting, preying, and pouncing on the poor Professor at the end of lecture.

Well, this is how it starts, and it is, I guess, a plan that should work, but then, facing reality, I never really attended every lecture, I only listened to what I wanted to listen to, and I only wrote what I thought was the truth, or, should be the truth.  Why?  Because I was “partying for four years” my just accepted, imminent status.  To this day, I am unsure what it is that should come from a four-year-degree.  I am appreciative of my status, as it is a sieve and a sorting machine to everyone, including those who do not attend college and university.  How true?  Maybe true.

As long as I am not dependent on the public to garnish my wages, which is dependant on my ability to look beautiful to the general public, then , I consider myself lucky.  Having people who are the educated, the qualified, to hire and fire me, makes me assured, and confident, that “yes” I do have a job, I do, have talent and enough brains, and smarts, to be worthy of it all.

So, back to the other day.  I just happened to have to meet a client near the University, just off-campus.  As I was leaving and walking back to my car, I happened to notice a new cafe lounge. I was in the place where a cheap dive was.  This place used to attract students in the area almost every night of the week.  Lots of bands, and sometimes just a DJ, so, Rave-like, anyone could spend $5 and dance the entire night.  Well, now, there was a place called “Castle.”  On the sign, was the “subtitle,” Board Game Cafe and Lounge.  It seemed to me that some student, like me, who used to hang out at the students’ lounge on campus, like me, thought it would be cooler to walk off the grounds and visit a place that could offer board games.  My question, immediately, is … “I can play a board game while drunk?”

As I was in a hurry that day, I did not open the door and walk in.  But, in my imagination, is that two possible things can happen…..  The interior could be completely quiet, much like a library, where gamers will play with each other on the board games, whispering all their moves, muffling their cries of victory, or there could be nice “lounge music,” a darkened interior, and a sea of voices, a clink of glasses, and the sounds of gamers playing with each other at a board game.  Both can fact the same result: not enough of either type of student.  I am not sure I can make it off-campus in, let’s say, the extra two or three hours I have between classes.  And Saturdays, back in my day, were the best day to rush my homework, so that I could drink myself drunk that evening and sleep in the next day.  There were times I even consistently invested in Sunday Brunch for a semester with one of my other classmates. So, in any case, I feel “Castle” is caught in between two groups of students.  Those who are quiet and those who want to get drunk doing something different, like cow-tipping while drunk, if you’re in the country.  The people who truly have the time and money to just “drop by” Castle, are those who are newly graduated.  Those, perhaps, not quite into the starter-job, yet, but still have some money, and time, and are sill keen on that student-single-fun lifestyle.

As for myself, I saw this store front, and felt nostalgia for that two-storey dance pad.  I loved leaving all the books, all the paper, the computer, and the laptop at home, in my rented room.  The thing I would love to go to Castle for, is any drink I can’t have at home.  But, nowadays, this place has come too late for me.  I am owning a car that I cart my kids and husband around in.  All those extra hundreds that could be spent if I were more frugal?  I buy trinkets–jewellery, cute-toy hangars, a chocolate bar, appetizers, desert, and the prettier body wash and body lotion.

I wonder, when there will be no more babies born, what will happen to these “Board Game Cafe and Lounges?”  I have curiosity to go in, but i also have the experiences to know that these novelty, niche, experiences, tend to disappear.  It is too quiet or too much activity.  I move slowly now, and even in my middle age, I will only move at any speed, if I am not distracted by silence.  It’s funny.  I have yelled at my kids so often, to be quiet, and here I am admitting that I don’t work, that I don’t do anything, if all I have is silence.  The radio will always be on.  The typing from the next cubicle keeps up pace.  The phone rings.  And what I call silence falls in between.  This is a world I work in, and I have found, it is a world that I love.  So, kids and husband!  Keep it down!!

Getting Close to Sloan

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The band Sloan was a big deal ten years ago, and everyone who was anyone was into them.  They were the band that never lived under a rock.  So, it was a big deal when my friend excitedly telephoned me to leave everything I was doing at home and rush downtown with him to get exclusive tickets to a taping of their interview and mini-concert at the television station.  This, as my friend knew, was exactly what I did.  I recall studying for a chemistry class since the pre-exam test was happening the next day.  I actually had habits like this, dropping studies and homework for fun my friends  were all into and doing.  Just to say, so that it is said, I actually failed that test and I think I had to make up the marks in summer school the coming summer break.

So, around dinner time I made it to the line-up, which was around the block already when I got there.  When I saw the length of the line, my first thought and feeling was disappointment as I was sure the studio was not as large to fit all of us into the audience.  My second thought was hope.  I immediately mentally hoped that my friend had made it down earlier and got in line much earlier.  Lucky us, both situations were true.

We happily greeted each other and hugged.  It was our common greeting.  Apparently, he had been there for more than an hour by the time we met up.  We became accountants and counted the waiting teenagers in front of us.  We felt that it would be a fifty-fifty chance of either getting in last or not getting in at all.  We crossed our fingers and tried to relax and calm down.  Who knew what the television people had in mind….  We had watched the show enough times to know that there could only be fifty in the audience. It was a small studio, meant to capture the intimacy of fans and their idols.  So, we were nervous and hopeful, and afraid of disappointment.  We talked little, but that was our habit.  We were good friends and were comfortable as friends.  Often the only reason why we would be around each other was to talk about music, to find a place to go hang out and dance (the city hall had Friday Night concerts outside in the Square where there was a beautiful shell-shaped stage), and to walk through the city looking for music stores and buying CD’s.  We could make a whole afternoon of four hours a trek through mid-town to downtown.  We would go home satisfied with purchases and hoping we didn’t make wrong purchases.  CD’s were still something of a precious purchase.  It was always fun to open up the case, after tearing off the plastic wrap, and looking through the booklet of art and dedications.  As well as listening to the whole album and trying ourselves to critique the songs as if we were professional music critics.

Well, the line started to move forward as the front doors of the building opened up.  It was actually happening!  The ushers and gophers were counting  us and determining who to let in.  I wondered if we would be lucky enough to see a producer!  It moved slowly, which kept our excitement up, but, it seemed everyone would be let in!

In about twenty minutes, we had inched our way to the doors.  There, was a woman, trendy but professional, with a clip board.  She looked at us and smiled, and then tore two strips from something attached to the clipboard, and handed one to each of us.  She explained that we should ring it around our wrists and keep it there to get into the taping of the show next weekend.

Excitedly, we walked off to the side, away from the front doors and the line-up.  I was so enamored with our next thing thing to do, that I almost put the wrist band on immediately.  It was paper, and would not have survived a week’s worth of showers.  My friend stopped me just as I was looking at the sticky part of the band and anticipating pulling off the paper and sticking the two ends of the wrist band together.

It was a school night, and since we had not had dinner, we debated whether we should spend another hour downtown, or, whether we should rush home?  One of the things I was chronically short of all the time, was pocket money, and an unexpected expenditure like dinner on a school night was going to make me poor as well as late for school the next morning as I would most likely sleep in.  We laughed, and decided to stop off for pizza, and then, go home.

The week went by quickly, and, perhaps because I was very excited, and my friend was too, it did not seem to drag.  It seemed that almost as soon as I had gotten the wrist band, the time came up that I had to put it on for the show.

As requested, we arrived an hour before the scheduled taping and, surprisingly, they did not open the doors until twenty minutes before the start of the show.  As this point, many ushers and gophers came out the open doors and moved us into the building.  First, we put our jackets and coats in a coat room….  There was no security and we were told to remember to take our coasts and jackets with a us afterwards.  Then we were ushered into a waiting area.  Here, there were a few benches and chairs, and as each group made its way into this room, a producer spoke to us and gave us general information and “rules of conduct” as well as a short information on what would happen and how long it would take.  The gist was that we would only be in the building for the hour of the taping and we would be expected to leave as soon as the taping was over.

This whole time, I was excited, and becoming more and more excited.  I smiled a lot at my friend.  We grinned at each other about how silly it all was.

Then, from the waiting room, we finally went through a short, darkened hallway which led into the studio, which was dimly lit for ambiance.  Here, ushers and gophers were everywhere.  The band would be in the middle and the audience would surround them, the instruments and the video jockey.  The lighting was warm, and seeing the band’s instruments made us excited and giddy.  My friend and I were directed to stand with three rows in front of us by the big “garage door” windows, which were open despite the coolish weather.

Without warning, the bands latest signature song began blaring….  Apparently, being excited and too distracted, I had missed the entrance of the band, despite the VJ’s intro and admonishments to welcome them.  “Money City Maniacs” opens with a siren and sudden guitar wailing.  I was surprised and in love!  My heart flew out of my chest and I screamed with the rest of the audience.  I think I remember jumping up and down and clapping my hands to add to the noise.

The rest of the show was just as exciting.  I had never been this close to a band, or to anyone famous before.  I thought that they were closer to God than I had ever thought anyone was.  Seeing them in actual size only increased my esteem of them…  Even though they were short at about 5’8″ and 5’10”.  They seemed to have some sort of supernatural power or exceptional genius that made them famous and revered and loved.  From that night on, I have never been able to look down on musicians of any type.  To be able to create a song….  from nothing but strings and electricity, amazes me.

I have lost touch with my friend.  I think he is now married and living in a small town….  But I have never forgotten that week and the night of the taping.  Even now, when my wrist band is lost, probably ruined with water in a dump site somewhere, my heart still jumps at the memory of “Money City Maniacs.”

Secret World of Educational Societies

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“I want to see you pull yourself out of that bag!”  When my friend said this, I wanted to punch him as hard as I could in his upper right arm.  We had started the evening, close to dinner, and we had got off transit and were now walking towards Hart House.  It was an exciting evening for me, and I was imagining what it was going to be, being impressed by what it all was.

I had been carrying a big bag…  Big enough for my friends to continually call it “Elissa‘s Suitcase,” …for close to a year at that time.  I was also always digging in it to find all the little things that get lost in big bags–keys, lipstick, hand creme, mirrors, day timers, and the odd Novel that I happened to be studying.  There were also essentials that came and went, like umbrellas, extra totes, phone, transit tokens, and concert tickets.

On this particular night, we were going to “hang out” at the Hart House Graduate’s Lounge. A Jazz Band affiliated with the University’s Music Program were performing.  Friends of friends, and our friends, heard of the concert and we were all invited to go and sample the quality of the music.  Anything that is good and new, and that would make a student look smarter or richer always got my attention.  And, often, my financial support as well. So, with this mood and atmosphere, we were walking through the late spring evening chill, the night sky reaching into twilight.

When we get to the stone steps leading into the Victorian era stone building, kept warm by radiators and fireplaces, when the windows that swing open are shut, and we get into the line-up that has formed from the inside and is beginning to spill onto the stone steps.  Everyone in the line-up are our age….  Young adults….  Who have a certain type of sophistication.  That, that says, French beret on head of long hair, in leather and pants, and dark glasses (only glasses, if we don’t own those shades), even if, in North America, it is closer to being in a long shirt over leggings with hobo bag matching that cute leather jacket.  So, we fit in.  And we were excited.

The tickets to the concert were considered cheap….  Any concert any student could get into could cost over a hundred dollars…  buying not only an evening with the band, but an evening with proper acoustics, access to alcohol, and the chance to be milling with large groups of people who think like you.  So, we were thinking that having everything we could want, and paying less than fifty dollars for it was a true, “Score!”  We loved it, even before it had started!

We were excited!  We were not in line for very long.  We stood and move by inches for about five or ten minutes.  And, having our tickets checked by the ushers, we followed the sound and scent of people towards the lounge.  Once inside, there were bar stools, regular tables, and room for standers.  The lounge felt different than a regular bar because we were surrounded by wood, a heightened ceiling, and stone at intervals as well as at the fireplace. There were painted portraits of past deans and presidents.  And, I would’ve swore, the scent, alternating, of weed and vanilla cigarillos!

We preferred to sit on the bar stools, at tall, round bar tables.  It was difficult to spot, but the bar was against the wall  where we came in through the door.  My friend suggested he get us both each a beer, and I agreed.  I started rummaging in my big bag, and my friend, yet again, said in his sarcastic, derogatory tone…  “I want to see you get yourself out of that bag!”

“Oh…  You be quiet…!  And go and do your job!  It’s one beer for you and one beer for me!”  as I told him loudly, my bag fell, upside down, spilling everything of mine inside the bag on the sticky wooden slat floor.  It was my world with its secrets revealed  My things of importance, my things of worth, and all of it was getting dirty and getting dirty stares in a public drinking house.

I felt as if some random stranger had reached up my skirt and felt me up.  I felt dirty, and the situation disgusted me.  But my friend was nice.  He immediately came to his knees and began to help me pick up everything and put it back inside the bag.  As he stood up with the filled bag in hand, he said to me, “You have the best bag!  Love it!”

I wanted to say something derogatory to him…  But I didn’t.  He should know how to treat a girl who is his friend.  Betrayal is not a way to treat someone.

The rest of the evening was not bad at all.  We stayed the night and my friend was nice.  We still liked each other, and that was important….  I did not regret anything that happened.  The warmth and safety of where we were and who we were is what has kept this memory for me.  I think we will forever always be friends!  Whether or not I still have my big bag!