Long Point
I love the city, but there are times I really wish I was home, dipping my feet into the waves — and hoping that I’ll never grow a third arm. (It is Lake Erie, after all.)
Three arms or two, I just wish I could share this part of the world with everyone. Sigh.
Blitz trip to NYC
Whoa, I’ve been taking a lot of trips this month. If it wasn’t for you, Megabus, and your ridiculous deals, what the heck would this lil’ gal do?
Unfortunately these ridiculous deals come with a sleepless 12-hour bus ride, which at one point was fine, until most of my visits were spent massaging my neck and napping. Wow, this is truly the act of a pampered visitor. Napping in New York? Sacrilege!
(Come on, the weather was lousy. I deserved this.)
Collingwood Elvis Festival 2010
I expected to arrive on Collingwood’s main street to clamouring throngs of 60-something Elvis fans, wiping off slobber as they gazed at gyrating impersonators. I expected the crowds to be buzzing like annoying mosquitoes and the shrill screams to challenge even the loudest gang of World Cup vuvuzelas.
So… when we rolled into town and had to squint just to find only three Elvises walking down the street — amongst sparse and disinterested crowds, no less — the final destination of our weekend road trip felt a bit anti-climactic.
Then again, had we arrived on Saturday, I’m sure there would’ve been more of that see-and-be-seen action. In general, Sundays are the lazy day of the week. I mean, did Elvis even work on Sundays? Probably not. Elvis impersonators would likely follow suit.
We had to give it a try, though. This was our final destination, after all. Our first stop was the open market area, which was also sparsely populated with people, and had limited offerings of standard Elvis fare, which included many glittery jumpsuits, karaoke videos, belts, and snowglobes. The kitsch factor wasn’t as high as I thought it would be, with nowhere near as many fanatics as I imagined. In fact, 50% of the stalls had nothing to do with Elvis. Even the food was standard carnival upchuck. (The ubiquitous funnel cake and pulled pork sandwich made their appearance.)
It seemed we arrived just as the festival was winding down, considering the silver-coated Elvis busker was taking off his costume right on the main street, wiping off his glittery facepaint like he was clocking off in a factory. It was hard to mask our disappointment.
But as it turned out, ground zero of the festival was backed up in a huge parking lot east of the main strip, a $20-something ticket for the Elvis championships, which was filled with fans watching grown men swivel and snarl for the big poobah crown. And yes, the 10 Elvises we spotted (and followed) were fun, but all hot n’ sweaty, almost ready to take off their jumpsuits, unleash the pompadours to the closet.
After 15 minutes of loitering around the fence, we’d had enough. There’s only so much gawking through fences one can do, especially when you’re not a huge Elvis fan to begin with. We were also hungry, wanted to get out of the sun, and had our minds set to stuff our faces with carbs and ice cream… which, I suppose, is an action Elvis himself would full-heartedly support.
After all, it was only fair to celebrate The King in my own way.
I need an assistant
Does someone want to sort out my tax paperwork? I can think of probably 1,249,132 things better to do than this.
This blog post is one of them.
“Start a War” – The National
“Start a War” – The National on La Blogotheque
This is one band that consistently sends chills down my spine. This is one video that does the same.
Despite lead singer Matt Berninger’s predictable fixation of grabbing the mic with one hand and sticking the other in his armpit, their live performances always grab me by the neck and seem to scream, “Fahged about the world and listen here!”
So when I heard about the special event on May 15, I got a little excited. My eyeballs will soon get some more live armpit action, thanks to this benefit show for Red Hot, raising awareness for HIV + AIDS.
Sweet. What a perfect excuse to stay inside on a Saturday night.
The art of documentary
Mark Landsman's Thunder Soul at Hot Docs 2010
Considering documentaries represent a large part of my spare time, it surprises me how I’ve never actually been to Hot Docs. How dare I call myself a Torontonian!
I actually paid for a 10-movie pass this year, a whopping $98, which is a bit of money to plop down for a part-time worker and, as a former employee of the Toronto International Film Festival, have seen my share of free movies over the years. However, $98 seemed absolutely acceptable to me, considering documentary filmmakers rarely make the big bucks that their Hollywood counterparts make.
As a hobby documentary maker — albeit in still image form — this makes me sad. It’s widely known that the whole photojournalism field is suffering now that the traditional newspaper is facing a big blow from the Internet. I mean, how hard is it to create an income model? The Internet is a freaking cash cow, but no one’s able to get their act together and see how advertising can fit in. Hurry up, already! Grr!
Despite this, I feel the people who really shine at documenting will be given their due soon. Mobile twitpics still have their place, but the newspapers will really have to focus on what voice they want to spread across the Internets, and it will require some trained, paid staffers to do that properly. Is this just a pipe dream? I certainly hope not.
I’ve been thinking narrative slideshows are a start. I’ve seen a few on the NY Times site, and they were really impressive. Though I do appreciate standard videos, still photography makes me grip my arm rests; in slideshow form, it becomes a striking movie in itself, and with adept use of sound, it can be even more powerful. I keep meaning to turn my Goodbye, Sunshine series into something of that nature, but things like work and clicking on gmail, flickr, and facebook tend to encompass most of my day. Why do personal projects require so much discipline? You’d figure it’d be a priority, but it stays on the backburner. How do people do it?
As for Hot Docs, the $98 pass was well worth it, and I was so happy to see most of the shows sell out. Gives me hope that maybe there is a future for the documentary filmmaker. Fingers freaking crossed.
Jane’s Walk 2010
Patisserie Royale, 1801 Lawrence Avenue East
Despite what seems like a Jane’s Walk tradition of rain, I was pleased to see people up and at ’em, jumping on the walking tour bandwagon last weekend.
I guess I’m most pleased that younger people are starting to surface at these events; in my years as walking tour junkie, I felt like I needed grey hair, a blue rinse, and an art history degree to fit in. Time’s a-changing, though, and everyone’s coming out. Yes! [Let’s pause as I do the walking tour dance.] [Okay, done.]
My personal favourite was the Hidden’licious tour at Lawrence + Warden led by Councillor Michael Thompson, with support from the Ministry of Health. There were about 20 people on the tour, I’d say — much less than I imagined for a tour that offered free food samples, but it was still quite impressive given the inclement weather and the distance from the downtown core. What’s more is it opened my eyes to a new (and very tasty) district of the city, one that I can visit in a mere 45 minutes for the sole purpose of stuffing a 5-star falafel, a Lebanese pastry, palouries, fried jack fruit, mutton rolls, veggie patties, and a steak pie down my throat. And yes, I did all of this as part of the tour.
(Don’t you worry: I walked it all off.)
RIP Otis
Otis, top right, in his more active days
At approximately 1:42pm, en route to a Hot Docs screening, my bike — affectionately named Otis — screeched a final “ca-chunk” and refused to transport me anywhere past Spadina and Sullivan.
Of course, I’m being a little melodramatic here. I’m sure if I had actually gotten it repaired and tuned up two years ago, it wouldn’t have come to this sad end so early. But honestly, I didn’t have the stomach to shell out more money to repair the damn thing than it cost to ride away on ($55). I mean, seriously. Would you?
In my heart, I knew this end would happen, and I knew it would happen this year. The battle wounds began early, almost as soon as I rode it off the lot. First came the brake cables, then the ill-functioning gears, then the front wheel. The back wheel burst ceremoniously after a trek down to the Leslie Spit, and the brake pads started crumbling soonafter. It soon evolved into its current tattered mess, its old beauty hidden behind various textures of duct tape.
But I have to say these quirks have made me love it more. Ever since I was a child I had a hard time owning nice things. The nicer things I had, the more upset I would become when they were gone. Take, for example, my beautiful Apricot Strawberry Shortcake doll and my brightly coloured Mickey Mouse towel that I left in the Simcoe Swimming Pool locker room. The latter, in fact, still pains me to this day.
These blatant flaws gave me firm confidence that no one would take Otis away from me. I knew I would adapt to love him, despite his quirks. He was mine. All mine.
Until now.
He’s dead, and I’m… well, I’m kind of sad. And it’s made me realize that it doesn’t matter how beautiful or how ugly it is: my heart still breaks when I have to let go and move on.
And now that this new bike chapter is nigh, I’m realizing that I have to be a little more discriminate, find something I am truly in love with rather than taking whatever cheap thing that rolls my way. I want to invest in something a little more reliable, nurture it, take it in for a tune-up once in a while, make it last.
Hmm. Sounds oddly like my perspective on relationships. Slowly but surely, methinks I am growing up.
New, beautiful bike: here I come.
(After thought: Heck, who am I kidding! I am clearly a cheapskate, and any prices above $100 makes me choke. Garage sale, here I come.)
Matt + Kim’s “Lessons Learned”
By a loooooooong shot, here’s my favourite video of 2009, featuring the eternally peppy Matt + Kim.
Goodbye, Sunshine: Available now!
Goodbye, Sunshine: photography memoir by Connie Tsang
It’s here! I received my copy in the mail today, just in time for the show on Saturday. Very satisfied with it, especially after two years of uninspired procrastination.
Give momma some love and get your copy now.
“Hei Shou and Maryam retired from the Chinese restaurant world in 2007, bidding farewell to a lifestyle of 40 years.
Goodbye, Sunshine is an ode to their final business — Sunshine Restaurant — a small-town diner they called home for almost half this time.”
Fucked Up takes the Polaris Music Prize cheque
National broadcasters are probably up in arms now that Fucked Up nabbed the Polaris $20K cheque for their album The Chemistry of Modern Life.
The music prize barely gets enough press as it is, so I’m curious if the news outlets are actually going to pick up on the story. What? A hardcore punk band with a name unsuitable for playgrounds? Humph!
Whatever the media opinion on their music, though, Fucked Up’s live show is epic; their show at last night’s gala awards ceremony was a case in point, with guests Final Fantasy and Lullabye Arkestra joining in to take the freaking cake.
My full coverage of the presentation is now up on CBC Radio 3’s flickr page.
Conjunction Collective show set for October in The Junction
My buddy Jennifer and her friends are curating an awesome multi-disciplinary art show titled Civilization + Its Discontents in the Junction, on display from October 24th to November 14th.
I’ll be participating in the photography room, showing snaps from my parents’ old restaurant (Goodbye, Sunshine)… IRL.
Details to come later, but for now, mark your calendars for October 24th, 2009, and check out the website for general exhibit information. WAHOO!
Happy Canada Day from Harbourfront Centre
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend Canada Day besides hanging out near the water’s edge and snapping shots of some great Canadian indie bands.
Check out the photo series here, including a sneak peek backstage (like, omigod) from the Sirius/CBC Radio 3 gig.
ARDENSTREET | words + photography by connie tsang 