This past weekend was insane. I had the great pleasure of being given a press pass to Rifflandia, an annual music festival here in Victoria. I was teamed up with my new friend, and fellow Nexus employee, Shane, who had a grandiose plan for a pure gonzo experience of Fear and Loathing proportions....and they didn't exactly fall short. The weekend was awesome. Substances were consumed (nothing dangerous) crazies were encountered (mostly the pretentious kind, not the dangerous kind), and a lot of awesome music was enjoyed (and a lot of music was also sarcastically scoffed at).
Here is a small recap of bands that really stood out to me:
Beach House It might have been the pot cookie talking, but this band was fantastic live.
Zeus These guys were just plain fun. They did a cover of a Genesis song, and it was AWESOME. Their lead guitarist also completely nailed that Beatles' Rickenbacker tone that I love so much.
Holy Fuck Pure madness. Don't care for their recordings, but I'd seem them live again any day.
Library Voices Loads of fun, super energetic band.
Timber Timbre Pretty sombre, gave me a sort of mellow Murder By Death vibe that I liked quite a lot.
Other than being introduced to these wonderful bands, I also learned a few things. First off, press passes are a golden gift from God, and by God I mean my superiors at the paper. The kind of gift that lets you jump ques, go closer to the stage than any non performer, and generally push your way through a crowd with that sense of purpose that only an asshole photographer can really have.
Speaking of pictures, I really really need a faster lens for show photography. I was shooting with my 55 mm that only goes to f 3.5, and though I got some great shots, I also missed a lot of other opportunities because it just couldn't get in enough light. I will not be able to afford anytime in the next 10 years so I will merely cry. People also tend to like crappy music. It's depressing.
Also, in my short life as a show photographer, I've been in a lot of different crowd situations. I've photographed punk/hardcore shows where people are pushing and hitting each other, and metal concerts where I've seen people get concussions, but I've never had more difficulty navigating to the stage than at Holy Fuck's set at Element. The crowd was more or less a lot of hipsters and people on E dancing in one large sweaty mass. This mass was near impregnable, and easily offended by anyone trying to navigate its narrow corridors. That being said, my favourite shots of the weekend were of Holy Fuck. Great show.
I'll be putting pictures up soon on my website, and they'll also be in the next issue of which is out on Wednesday. Check out Nexus' website at http://www.nexusnewspaper.com
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Fuck the homeless.
Every Saturday morning, here in Victoria, I have orchestra rehearsal. This is different from the normal rehearsal periods I have become accustomed to (usually evening, ending at around 10: 30ish) These rehearsal start at 9:15 AM, which means I am expected to arrive approximately 20 minutes early to set up and get prepared to play.
Now, I like to think of myself as a prepared morning person. When I know I have something to do in the morning, I am pretty okay at going to bed at an acceptable hour to allow getting up early enough to do it in a manner that is not too groggy or grumpy (in case Jeremy is reading this, things have changed since I was 17).
Unfortunately, my upstairs neighbours have different ideas. I was rudely awakened last night at 3:30 in the AM to a group of drunk 20 somethings yelling and stomping directly above where I sleep. My immediate reaction was to pound on the ceiling in the hopes that they would realize they are disturbing someone who is obviously trying to sleep. I did this at regular intervals for about 20 minutes before finally cracking. They apparently did not take the hint.
I proceeded to get dressed and go upstairs and knock on their door. After three sets of very solid and authoritative knocks, I could hear movement and talking behind the door. From what I could discern this is the conversation that took place:
"Dude, someone is at the door"
"maybe it's the person downstairs. What if they're a dude and they want to fight"
I took a deep breath. The door opened. A young man, probably around my age, perhaps a year or two older, opened the door and seemed surprised to see a young woman waiting on the other side. I introduced myself and politely suggested they quiet down. I explained that I had to be up in approximately 3 hours, and need the sleep. He seemed agreeable. However, his accomplice behind him had a smirk on his face, and conceded that they would "quiet down". I insisted, and added that I could actually overhear finer points of their conversations above my bedroom (one such conversation involved someone saying: "Do you know who I am? Do you know who the fuck I am?" -- I don't, and apparently neither did whoever they were talking to in this anecdote).
After confronting them, I happily walked back to my suite, climbed into my bed, and looked forward to having a restful sleep. Until the upstairs music kicked back in, and I could clearly hear someone upstairs saying:
"So some chick wants us to pipe down. Apparently she has to work tomorrow. Whatever man, who the fuck has a job on a weekend."
I slept with earplugs. Next week, if this occurs again, I am calling the police. I don't want to seem like the Mom from Joe's Garage, but these boys don't know any nice songs...
The next morning, thanks to their consideration, I woke up at 8 :30 and ran to rehearsal down the street. Thankfully, I only live three or so blocks from the rehearsal hall. Rehearsal went okay, and the bass section was actually dismissed early because the violins had to rehearse the Overture to Nutcracker. I was pleased, and trotted down the street with glee.
As I went to cross on to my side of Quadra, I could hear a man screaming something at what I could only assume was an invisible enemy of his that I was incapable of perceiving. This caught me off guard, so I continued to cross the street in this "gentleman's" direction. About halfway across Quadra, I could hear this man start coughing violently. This coughing went on for at least 3 or 4 seconds before he looked at me and proceeded to spit the contents of his mouth in my direction.
Thankfully, the wind was in my favour and his projectile stopped short. However, the psychological damage of the potential harms that would have befallen me had his spit been true to its mark conitnue to irk me. I hastily continued in the direction of my home,a nd warned an elderly couple of the hazards of this spitting hobo. They were thankful.
I immediately got home and made a martini. Now I need a nap. Fuck hobos.
Rifflandia, however, has been AWESOME. More on that later.
Now, I like to think of myself as a prepared morning person. When I know I have something to do in the morning, I am pretty okay at going to bed at an acceptable hour to allow getting up early enough to do it in a manner that is not too groggy or grumpy (in case Jeremy is reading this, things have changed since I was 17).
Unfortunately, my upstairs neighbours have different ideas. I was rudely awakened last night at 3:30 in the AM to a group of drunk 20 somethings yelling and stomping directly above where I sleep. My immediate reaction was to pound on the ceiling in the hopes that they would realize they are disturbing someone who is obviously trying to sleep. I did this at regular intervals for about 20 minutes before finally cracking. They apparently did not take the hint.
I proceeded to get dressed and go upstairs and knock on their door. After three sets of very solid and authoritative knocks, I could hear movement and talking behind the door. From what I could discern this is the conversation that took place:
"Dude, someone is at the door"
"maybe it's the person downstairs. What if they're a dude and they want to fight"
I took a deep breath. The door opened. A young man, probably around my age, perhaps a year or two older, opened the door and seemed surprised to see a young woman waiting on the other side. I introduced myself and politely suggested they quiet down. I explained that I had to be up in approximately 3 hours, and need the sleep. He seemed agreeable. However, his accomplice behind him had a smirk on his face, and conceded that they would "quiet down". I insisted, and added that I could actually overhear finer points of their conversations above my bedroom (one such conversation involved someone saying: "Do you know who I am? Do you know who the fuck I am?" -- I don't, and apparently neither did whoever they were talking to in this anecdote).
After confronting them, I happily walked back to my suite, climbed into my bed, and looked forward to having a restful sleep. Until the upstairs music kicked back in, and I could clearly hear someone upstairs saying:
"So some chick wants us to pipe down. Apparently she has to work tomorrow. Whatever man, who the fuck has a job on a weekend."
I slept with earplugs. Next week, if this occurs again, I am calling the police. I don't want to seem like the Mom from Joe's Garage, but these boys don't know any nice songs...
The next morning, thanks to their consideration, I woke up at 8 :30 and ran to rehearsal down the street. Thankfully, I only live three or so blocks from the rehearsal hall. Rehearsal went okay, and the bass section was actually dismissed early because the violins had to rehearse the Overture to Nutcracker. I was pleased, and trotted down the street with glee.
As I went to cross on to my side of Quadra, I could hear a man screaming something at what I could only assume was an invisible enemy of his that I was incapable of perceiving. This caught me off guard, so I continued to cross the street in this "gentleman's" direction. About halfway across Quadra, I could hear this man start coughing violently. This coughing went on for at least 3 or 4 seconds before he looked at me and proceeded to spit the contents of his mouth in my direction.
Thankfully, the wind was in my favour and his projectile stopped short. However, the psychological damage of the potential harms that would have befallen me had his spit been true to its mark conitnue to irk me. I hastily continued in the direction of my home,a nd warned an elderly couple of the hazards of this spitting hobo. They were thankful.
I immediately got home and made a martini. Now I need a nap. Fuck hobos.
Rifflandia, however, has been AWESOME. More on that later.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
For Torie:
My official Fuck That Guy of the Week is the woman who is on the phone with Glenn Beck in this radio call in: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axFUo1hAlQY&feature=related
Look up Glenn Beck if you don't already know him, because he is priceless. The only good thing I can say about this woman is that she makes Glenn Beck's voice screech higher than an infant's over a conversation about public health care. Check it.
Look up Glenn Beck if you don't already know him, because he is priceless. The only good thing I can say about this woman is that she makes Glenn Beck's voice screech higher than an infant's over a conversation about public health care. Check it.
My homework has gin stains on it.
I have a strong disdain over having to take an English composition course this year. Our last class started out with an overview of common grammatical mistakes that I notice and correct everyday in other people's facebook statuses. This class makes me sort of feel like I'm Scott Bakula in Quantum Leap, and he's trapped in the body of a girl in a grade 9 English class, and his job is to keep himself from pulling out her wisdom teeth with a piece of piano string and a door handle.
Here's a list of things I'd rather do than go to class:
Here's a list of things I'd rather do than go to class:
- Give Dick Cheney a vodka enema for $10 000
- Practise cello
- Drink myself into an alcohol induced coma
- Cuddle with Burt
- Punch Ann Coulter into a coma
- Rape a comatose Ann Coulter
- Burn every copy of Twilight (the books, DVDs...everything) and Across the Universe
- Hug Darcie
- Make a sandwich
- Eat said sandwich
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
You can't plant me in your penthouse, I'm going back to my plow...
So, here we are. Three months devoid of posting, and for what? Well, I've moved to Victoria. Seemed weird at first, but I'm feeling settled. I'm more busy than I have time to explain! I'm very thankfully a part of Nexus, Camosun's student paper, and I'm really enjoying working with them. It's forcing me to take my photography seriously, which is awesome. I'm feeling pangs of missing home, however. Josh is far away. I have Burt. It's great. Cats are such wonderful companions. I'm reading a book called The Immortalists, about how Charles Lindbergh was obsessed with not dying or some crap. I'm only like four chapters in. I need to finish reading it so I can return it.
Here's a list of things I've done in Victoria:
Here's a list of things I've done in Victoria:
- got a library card.
- rode my bike around town
- saw a bumper sticker that said "I'm only speeding because I have to poop"
- Talked my way out of Josh getting a parking ticket
- carved a triceratops out of clay
- gawked at the horrible amount of hipster trash
- met some really extremely cool people who aren't hipster trash!
- learned how to play "Bennie and the Jets" on piano instead of practising cello
- fallen madly in love with a tall dark and handsome cut throat business man from Madison Ave.
- baked cookies
- cooked amazing butter chicken
- got high with Torie and Skyla and stole someone's pears from their pear tree
- got hired as a photographer for the campus paper and do some photo shoots!
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