moving

Slippers and TOMson are both pretty much vacated from their park pad and yesterday Daydream was finally kicking things into gear, so I went over to help him move. It was brief, as I had to scamper off to improv, but it got me thinking (surprise!).

Moving. It might be the thing that makes me crack. Makes me grow up.

The idea of going through my things, having to decide what to keep and what to toss, then sweatily stuffing it all in a vehicle lacks a certain appeal.

Don't get me wrong. Moves can be okay; I enjoy some sorting, tetrissing a vehicle to its absolute limits brings a smile, and there's always pleasure in finishing a task. I even have fond memories of moving myself and my sister after my first year at grad school. In that instance my life had been all brain and my body, feeling ignored, was happy to sweat it out.

BUT...

there's so much to loathe as well.

Finding a new place can be a pain, and until you know where you're going there's a fog of uncertainty perturbing life.

Then, when time syncs wonkily and you need to be out of your old the same day you're into your new, stress levels balloon.

Recruiting friends, securing vehicles then getting it all done. Limited muscle and space means choices must be made, and who likes to make those?

And this is all in terms of the relatively light life I currently lead. Half my stuff sits in my mum's basement but I still dread the thought of packing what's on hand. I'll eventually want to live in my own place (rented or owned) and that means more stuff even.

I like to imagine myself living lightly, but the reality of my room reveals my true nature. I've come into more than a few maps since arriving in Toronto, there are pieces of a child's bed and a three-legged chair across the room, and look at what I happily took off Slippers' hands in the last few days.

(If anyone wants to play board games...talk to me quick because I am turning some of these things into things. And by second things, I mean stuff for a wall [art?]. Bocce will remain bocce however - call me if you want to play. Anytime. I'm think a winter tourney...)

So... Moving and growing up.

I'm lost.

The premise of this post, now that it's written, seems to be growing up means getting lazy and rich - being able to collect stuff, wanting a place to keep the stuff and being able to arrange said stuff in a particular fashion.

I don't think I know what growing up means.

Let's try this.

Someday I want to live somewhere I know will be my home (base) for an extended period of years. And if I have to focus, find a career and make some money to do it, so be it.

Someday. If I have to.

Resolved!

Explicit Fantastic - 80's Glam Porno Slam

Surprise!

I thought I was going to see Sweatshop Hop, maybe dance my face off a little bit, then head home. It turns out they were only one of the acts for the evening, and the dancing was restricted to a thin aisle between the stage and the front row of seats at the Metro Theatre.

That Metro Theatre? Yes. The one on Bloor with all the lovely ladies on its posters. Lovely ladies not wearing any clothes.

Instead of straight up dancing the show was various bands and MCs - Kids on TV, Henri Faberge and the Adorables, Sweatshop Hop - doing their thing on the stage while porn played on the big screen behind them. It is a porn theatre, so what do you want?

Henri Faberge and the Adorables had some great 1920s films playing for their set, and porn from this era can best be described as frantic.

Filmed with the same technology as other movies of the time, the jumps and starts, slightly faster than life pictures contribute to the film's feel as much as the actual content (the medium is the message I guess). The effect has always struck me as particularly suited to the early silent comedies, think Chaplin, but it really adds something brilliant to people stripping one another down and *ahem* doing what one does once naked.

It's no surprise that new technologies are turned towards titillation early on, but I wonder if anyone has done a study focusing on how quickly this happens? Was Edison doing more than tinker in his work shop? Are there are a bunch of old timey radio sex noises stashed away in an attic somewhere? At least I now know that nuns and a bit o' the whip were early pornographic themes. Anyone who says the internet is ruining society needs to know we've been ruined but functioning for a long time already.

Kids on TV had much more stylistic and post produced stuff playing during their set. The images tiled on the screen, different effect filters used, altered contrast and lighting, etc. It was great that the bands' respective personalities were reflected so clearly through their choices in porn.

Pornography is the new hat.

Arriving before 10 for a cheaper $10 cover (yeesh) for a poorly attended and slightly confusing event might sound like a disappointing night all around, and while I could have come up with different things to do with my time and money I'm still glad I went.

For starters I got to dress up in my 80's glam outfit, which apparently means my brightest short and shirt combo. More than that though I now know what the inside of the Metro looks like. The above link tells me it was a late arriving art deco theatre, finished in 1938, and it really is a beautiful space. Soaring ceilings, varied crystal chandeliers strangely arranged in two clumps of three on either side of the auditorium, and row upon row of plush red chairs. The chairs were very comfy and had all sorts of spring and recline to them. When considering what normally shows in this place, I'm not sure if that's such a good thing at other times. The place smelled of incense, apparently to cover up the 'bleachy' smell the early arrivals noted, and I have subsequently found out it was probably better that I didn't closely inspect my chair before sitting.

Lovely.

Last night was also great because it was the first time I've seen sex toys in vending machines. Something else to check off the life list.

Finally, maybe I've been watching too much Mad Men lately and therefore contemplating the dawn of the counter culture that emerged through the beatniks et al during the 50s and 60s, but there was something pleasantly 40-50 years ago about a group of musicians and creative types renting out a porn theatre as a performance space to put on a show, subvert social norms, have a few drinks and a good time.

And if there's a beautiful girl playing keys on stage while shaking her nipple tassles the best she can, all the better.