foxtongue: (Default)
I <3 commercial drive


I recently stumbled upon a guerrilla back alley library about a block away from my apartment. It was full of odd titles, mostly romance novels and soviet tracts, but sprinkled liberally with terrible summer beach books, too, the sort you buy at the airport for the flight then never read again. I borrowed a copy of The Third Policeman and left behind A. A. Milne's Now We Are Six, one of my favourite books from early childhood. If you would also like to donate, or even just browse, it can be found in the alley between Francis and Pender, a half block west of Commercial Drive.
foxtongue: (Default)
I dragged 40 pounds of books over to Pulp Fiction on Main St. yesterday, only to have them buy two titles, basically reducing my trip to $8 for an hour's work. Boo. Then, on the long walk home, after a lovely streetside conversation with BJ, one of my cart wheels snapped off. Double boo. Luckily, after about half a mile of unsuccessfully attempting to drag a broken cart, some very nice guy on a bicycle pulled up and said, "Did you lose a wheel? Yeah, that's ruined. Hold on, stay here, you going far? I'll give you a ride home.", spun away, then came back and picked me up in a big shiny jeep with a canadian flag on the back. (Turned out to be Oliver's neighbor, because this city is small like that.)

So that was my tiny, merry adventure, and once again, like many of them, it involved hopping into a car with a total unknown. Thank you random man, for making my day so much better!

New score - Jhayne: 1. Stranger Danger: 0. Win.

The other exciting thing that happened yesterday was that I recieved my very first HST return. Not a huge chunk of money, not even remotely enough to get me in the clear, but enough that I've been able to kill some of my debts. I paid off the $70 I owed on taxes, set aside what I owe Karen, and half of what I owe Paula, put some cash towards my EI debt, and today I'm paying off the ICBC transit tickets someone put in my name while I was in Montreal, so I can continue working on getting a driver's licence. Sounds mundane, perhaps, but it feels bloody brilliant all the same.
foxtongue: (have to be kidding)
Dear annoying man who always bombs around my apartment with an offensively loud dirtbike at inappropriate hours,

It is two:twenty in the morning. You do this a lot. It is always a problem, but right now especially so. Please stop. There are three inches of snow on that cobblestone street. Today you are waking the neighbors and you might die. Though you are apparently a terrible human being, I'm sure there are people who would be sad if you were dead.

Thank you.

Signed,

the girl who always wants to steal your fucking spark plugs.


edit: I just confronted him. he was out getting smokes, in this snow, without a helmet, with a stoned passenger, who also had no helmet. he might maybe seem nice, but dude, really?
foxtongue: (Default)
rubus strigosus
Mushrooms and bok choy simmering in butter and black pepper, the windows all open, sentences running through my mind, practiced words falling off my tongue like dry, pressed flower petals, to divide fractions, invert the second fraction and multiply, to multiply fractions, multiply the numerators, then multiply the denominators, reduce all to their lowest terms, attempting a memorization of everything I can before my tests this weekend. A gift, but terrifying. I am more hopeful than I was a week ago, but I can't stop feeling doomed. According to the website, the five tests take seven hours and twenty-five minutes to complete. Doomed.

Tests aside, this upcoming weekend looks fun. Not only is there going to be a steampunk minicon at Barclay Manor on Saturday, World Cup is wrapping up this weekend, which means my neighborhood, Commercial Drive, will be closed to cars and open to PARTY!! Flags, shouting, free food, noise-makers, facepaint, dancing, music, and thousands of people gleefully losing their minds from how utterly freaking awesome it is that some guys in ridiculous socks kicked a ball around some other guys in ridiculous socks and between some posts. Wahoo! Seriously, though, it's epic. EPIC. People travel from as far away as Portland to celebrate here. I came out of the last celebration with a frighteningly scarlet sunburn because my trusty SPF 75 was washed off by an intensely enthusiastic restaurateur shouting ITALIA! ITALY! ITALIA! and spraying the crowd with shaken bottles of champagne. Fwish. No more sunscreen. And rainbows everywhere. Did you know champagne makes especially pretty rainbows when misted through the air? Me neither, not until that party.

Also coming up: The Vancouver Folk Festival from July 16-18th, the Celebration of Light nee The Symphony of Fire, (USA July 21st, Spain July 24th, Mexico July 28th, and China July 31st), and a castrated Illuminares Lantern Procession on July 24th for those who want to try and cram thousands of people into a small building after parading their children through Crackton.
foxtongue: (canadian)
365 day ten: never come back
365: day ten

One of the interesting things about my neighborhood is discovering who's actually in it. I went out into the clammy rain to wave to Martin from my apartment balcony earlier, as he's only recently come to the realization just how close as neighbors we are. Too far for tin-can phones, but close enough for quiet shouting. Shame Neried's moved, she could have gotten in on the fun as well.

TED Talks: Gever Tulley, 5 dangerous things you should let your kids do.
foxtongue: (ferret)
A Corpseflower webcam. (What a great band-name.)

My cluttered white desk is a small island in the cement foyer of the Dance Centre. It tethers me to this place, this screen, this set of keys. Through the glass wall in front of me, a small map of Davie street walks past - blue jeans with cell-phones, dogs, speculative couples, their arms crossed, held, ipods wearing socks with sandals, gore-tex jackets, camouflage, gossip and hoodies against the invariable threat of rain – indifferent. The new leaves on the trees outside are an unrealistic green that goes well with the electronic music surfacing from my computer. The phone stays silent, the building almost empty, there is very little for me to do, but wait and write and read.

I went to dinner with Alastair's family this week, or some of it. His sister has brought her husband and new-born baby over from Scotland for a week. It is both comforting and strange to finally meet them. I missed them by barely two weeks when they came to visit in California. We went to Marcello's, then to take pictures off the roof of Alastair's building, where my cats live. As hard as I could, I couldn't make the sunset beautiful, so I took pictures of them instead. I had only meant to come by and check in on the cats, (I had them spayed this week), but I ended up staying until eleven:thirty at night.

Standing at the bus-stop after, I found out there had been a shooting up the street, this time at the Roma Café. Street rumour says it was Over a Girl, but had no other details, except that the bus was rerouted and not to wait. The papers, as far as I’ve found, have had nothing to say.

I really like the Roma Café. Along the front windows are painted the NHL logo, the football league logo, the NBA logo, and a blue-robed Virgin Mary all in a row. I was stood up there once by a translator I met at Bukowski’s and it gave me a chance to properly appreciate it, though I hardly ever go. The music clashes with the pure Little Italy décor like plaid with polka dots, all tawdry 80’s and 90’s pop played loud enough to shove irony off a cliff.
foxtongue: (oh?)

trying to shut you up
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

-prelude-

New Years EVE Skytrain Dance Party at VCC Clark. Meet at 7:45 on December 31st, bring everything - music, costumes, party favours, instruments, etc. "At 8pm we hop an Accordion Train to the Future." Total Trip time 1hr. 8pm to 9pm.

Act 1.

The Dancing Fields. A movement, they kiss. Every smile is a line inscribed. He makes her laugh. This is not a new thing, but another attempt. Her distance allows for the illusion of successful intimacy. This is the first time he's met her at the door with his hands.

Act 2.

Heart of the World news. The current owner has put the Bollywood films up for sale on Craigslist. The letter of my contract says As Is, meaning, everything in the building is coming with the building that was there when I saw it. I'm sure that it was implied somewhere that this was to mean only fixtures, but I'm willing to kick for a discount off the price. I think we can roll with this. The realtor, though he seems nice, as it is his job to do, is still going to receive a silly amount of money, no matter, so I don't feel I'm cheating anyone by complaining.

I'm also thinking about what it would mean to us if we bought them off Craigslist ourselves. Currently the films are stacked all over the theatre in big spilling reels and awkward tin boxes that we'll have to organize, box up, sort, etcetera. If we buy them off Craigslist, not only will we be paying less for them than if they're included in the theatre price, that will all be taken care of for us, and we'll have to spend significantly less time cleaning the space up for performances. It might be worth a shot.

-intermission-

W.C. Fields began his career as a juggler, so good that he performed for royalty and heads of state. A portion of his routine was committed to celluloid in 1934's The Old Fashioned Way. There's a clip of it up on YouTube.

Act 3.

An Italian cafe, Cafe Calabria. Double-consonant beverages and nude white statues of mythical heroes with santa hats perched on their faux-marble heads. A Mediterranean cover of Bryan Adams' Have You Ever Loved a Woman, "Lei mai ha amato una donna?", piped past hanging cakes that frame the renaissance revival ceilings. Two nights in a row I sat there, nursing a delicious hot chocolate to within a drop of its life, and waiting for friends who never walked through the door. Tonight, the second night, I winked at the man behind the counter who called me "bella" and decided to try to be a regular.
foxtongue: (moi?)
I do these every year and I have yet to regret it. The Eye of Newt Collective is an exceptionally good group of musicians, I've been an avid fan of the NOW Orchestra ever since I was a little kid. The people who come out to these tend to be of the fun and educated sort. I'm going to be at this tonight, you should be too.

Also, in lieu of a Friday night party at my house, we're having another Sunday Garden party at my night-time house,so drop by this Sunday, at Victoria Drive between Grant and Graveley, anytime between 2 pm and 8 pm. Bring instruments, and food if you like, we're stocking up at the farmer's market tomorrow, and we can throw together a meal for 6-ish. (And of course there will be copious amounts of red wine.) Then, at 8:00, we're trooping down to Grandview park for the outdoor screening of the 1927 silent classic Metropolis, (see below).




Silent Summer Nights

Celebrate the End of Summer in Style

Grandview Park, Commercial Drive at William Street, Vancouver
September 1 - 3, 2006
Screenings begin at 8:15pm - FREE !

Do something a little different this Labour Day weekend—stroll into Commercial Drive's Grandview Park for the sixth annual Silent Summer Nights, three glorious evenings of the best in silent film. Park your blanket under the stars and enjoy great cinema, all to the thrilling accompaniment of original live music by Eye of Newt and special guests. A Labour Day classic.

Weather Update, Sept 1, 2006: It's Sunny—see you there!

The Gold Rush

Charlie chaplin - the gold rush
(1925) Friday, September 1, 2006

The film Charlie Chaplin most wanted to be remembered by - The Gold Rush is the quintessential Chaplin film, with a balance of slapstick comedy and pantomime, social satire, and moments of tenderness. A Lone Prospector, a valiant weakling, seeks fame and fortune in the mad rush for hidden gold in the Alaskan wilderness.

Featuring live accompaniment by Stefan Smulovitz (viola/laptop), Viviane Houl (voice), Pepe Danza (winds/percussion), and Peggy Lee (cello).

Three Monks

A da - three monks
(1980) Saturday, September 2, 2006

Winner of a Golden Rooster and a Silver Bear, A Da's animated Three Monks is an adaptation of a Chinese folk proverb:

"One monk will shoulder two buckets of water, two monks will share the load, but add a third and no one will want to fetch the water."

Featuring live accompaniment by Stefan Smulovitz (viola/laptop), Viviane Houle (voice), Pepe Danza (winds/percussion), Peggy Lee (cello), with narration by Andrew Laurensen.

Metropolis

Fritz lang - metropolis
(1927) Sunday, September 3, 2006

Possibly the crowning achievement of silent cinema, Fritz Lang's blockbuster fuses the frenetic storytelling of twenties pulp fiction with Lang's personal fascination with the dark side of human nature. A vast towering city's exploited subterranean workforce threatens to overthrow the technocratic elite who callously rule them from above - even if it means destroying the city itself. Lang's dystopian vision of the future pits science against religion, love against death and revenge against redemption.

Featuring live accompaniment by Chris Kelly (sax/laptop), Randall Schmid (guitar), Pete Schmitt (bass), Skye Brooks (drums)

Eye of Newt's Silent Summer Nights is a Rumble and Radix co-presentation.

This event is supported by Black Dog Video, The Wise Hall, Artrageous, and Now Orchestra.



foxtongue: (welcome to the sideshow)
attempting to beat Francesco
After one intensely trying game of bowling with our afternoon "boyfriends", it was decided that we probably couldn't manage another. Instead we went to the J.J. Beans across the street and settled in to try and talk. (The staff thought we were brilliant). Conversation with Memo was pleasant, his default seems sweetly liberal, stone-faced or cheerfully surprised, but attempting to discuss the world with Francesco was too socially dysphoric to succeed for very long. His views are almost traumatizing to encounter. Thankfully, Oliver was there with a friend, and joined us before we got desperate. (When Francesco said, "I'm certain I speak for all the guys here when I say that naked men are disgusting." it was like time stumbled over his tongue and slapped us all in the face.)

boyfriend two: Francesco
We sat together for almost an hour before Francesco left. Dominique admits that she worries now about encountering him. She thinks to cross the street before going past Abruzzio's. I told her I have no such worry, being distinctive gives a girl practice dealing with strangers. Later I saw him across the street when I was shopping for nectarines and I almost waved, just to be contrary, but instead decided it wouldn't be politic after he'd called me creepy so many times.

A bad case of Humans.

Memo we brought with us to Korean Movie Night and I plan on dropping by Penelope's the next time I go and asking if he'd like to come again. He added himself to my messenger after I sent him a zipped folder of the documenting pictures so practicing the sloshing dregs of my spanish, (scraping off the rust with the lingual sandpaper of babelfish), is on the agenda.

We got my favourite picture of the event, (posted here, to the lower left), before we left Oliver behind. He had things to do, people to see, a bag to pack for a month in Italy. Friday was his last day here. His time was less flexible. Coming with us to KMM would have been too much procrastination to easily brush off, especially with La Fete de la Musique events later in the week. (He's the raison d’être behind Toot-a-Lute, Vancouver's awesomely eccentric folk-group.)

we traded in boyfriend #2 for one of superior quality
Nanoparticles and Lasers Create Cancer-Killing Microbubbles

Tuesday I had a really good job interview. Good people, good company. A respectable reprographics firm tucked in across the street from BJ's house, over between Main and Cambie. Quick to get to, easy atmosphere. It gave me hope. Some of the other places I've been having interviews have been vaguely terrifying. The last one I had, on Friday, was in an office that so reeked of papertrail graveyard that my initial impulse was to turn around and walk back onto Kingsway. A small tele-company, the interview impressed upon me why people popularly use offices as metaphor for prisons. I kept in mind the reprographics firm the entire time I was there, using the memory of their professionalism as a life-raft. "Not everyone is like this."

Wednesday I applied for my daily minimum of ten jobs, then was shut down at the park for attempting to barter my inelegant collection of uncomplicated fantasy novels for muffins and pocket change until Toot-A-Lute came to play. It was alright, the man who bashfully threatened me with a fine was very apologetic, and Paula arrived before I'd managed to drag my heavy bags to the bus-stop. She helped me carry them across to Turks coffeeshop, which is where the rest of the band was collecting, and bought me a tasty breakfast slice of lemon chocolate cheesecake, for which very kind things should happen to her. (Get on that, won't you?) I was meant to meet them at the park after dropping my groaning bags of books home, but I missed them, getting too involved talking with James. By the time I got back to Grandview Park, the stage had been taken over by a salsa class with a boombox.

The Hanover lab is trying to detect the space-time gravity ripples created from merging black holes or exploding stars.

The likelihood of finding them again was similar to snow here in July, but running into Oliver on Monday had reminded me of the Morris performance promised on the Musique Day press package. Kits Point, 8:30, I'd asked Liam about it. Without really thinking, I steered my way to Hastings and caught the first bus downtown. Five hundred steps to Burrard, caught the 22 and wondered what I was doing. Warm sky, crossing the bridge, I remembered talking to someone who used to think Vancouver was a famous city, "Only for our science fiction authors."

Walking through Kitsilano was like remembering a song I always used to sing in my room, something in my head fighting to accurately recall the lyrics, the names of the streets, instead of what life I used to wear. I found the one street, that against all emotional logic, runs all the way down to the end of the point. It ends at the tall totem pole by the Maritime Museum. They weren't so far east, however, they were closer to Kits beach, still dancing. The Morris was over, but everyone had been comfortably sucked into dancing. It was fun. Vicky was there, bouncing away with her friend who plays banjo, and Troll and I fell and scraped so badly that people are still asking what I did to myself. "Oh, these wounds? I went folk-dancing."
foxtongue: (feed me stories)
Greek Day is on Sunday from noon to 9 p.m. Broadway will be closed from Blenheim to MacDonald to make room for vendors, music, performances and dancing in the streets. Bring yourself and your friends and be prepared to shake some poly-rhythmic booty. Liam, Vicki and I will be going.

So the other day, Monday actually, Dominique and I did something extremely silly. We made this sign:

The start of our grand boyfriend adventure
Dominique wrote the sign and, after attaching it to sticks, I carried it. (I lack the skills required to create something so girlish). We only got as far as Penelope's before someone stopped us. A friendly older man in a white shirt thought it was funny and insisted we go in and show the owner.
Penelope's
Already feeling pleasantly ridiculous, we went in and let everyone read it. The owner laughed, said he wished he was younger, then told us to wait, he had just the person. The first man was then sent out to fetch someone as we assembled for a picture to celebrate our first successfully acquired "boyfriend". The man returned with Memo, a tall young fellow, who had no idea what was going on.

Memo, it turns out, has only been in Canada a month and is still learning english. We asked him if he could bowl and, with a puzzled expression, he said yes. The other men, with shooing motions with their hands, told him he was to go with us. He acquiesced, which was nice of him, and walked up the Drive with us while we laughed and explained that Dominique had been worried that no one would say yes.

Clap hands.

Our second "boyfriend" was collected at Abruzzo's, an Italian cafe in the block after Grandview Park. Francesco, a real character, who admitted a block later that he lied in answer to our skill testing question, "Do you know how to bowl?," so he could come with us. I've never met anyone so stuffed with machismo. He was amazing. Dominique describes him as perhaps "the most macho thing to walk the earth," and she may be right. He has a small tattoo of some sort of horned creature on his right arm and when I asked him what it was, he fumbled around and replied with, "Something strong, you know? Scary, and big, dangerous or a bull or something, really manly. Masculine. Strong. Fierce. Maybe like a demon thing. I don't know what it is, but it's, you know, manly."
her first shot

When it came to bowling, the woman who worked there was better than all of us put together. She threw a strike from the seating area. Through pure luck, we each got a strike too, but I was bowling left-handed to save my wrecked shoulder from agony, Dominique can't stay upright to save her life, Memo had never bowled five-pin before, and Francesco took everything far too seriously. He won, actually, in spite of our group effort to beat him. No matter how poor our aim, he had some terribly encouraging comment, like "It's going to be a strike this time, I can tell." or "Oh good try. Good try. You'll get it next time." Memo was an angel throughout, grinning when we had fun swinging Francesco's words back at him, twisting them from irritating to funny. All three of us found it nerve-wracking, but silly too, how little Boyfriend #2 realized we weren't appreciating his help. There was an especially choice moment, just after Francesco realized he was in the lead, when he asked if the winner got a kiss. I think I saw Dominique's hands tighten on her ball for a moment and I know I saw Memo just freeze. Instead of looking at him to answer, I kept my face as straight as possible and answered in a level voice, "I would hope not," I said. "How painfully antique that would be. No fair at all. The winner already gets to win. I say the loser gets a chocolate bar."

But as it's now dawn on the longest day of the year, I'm to bed. This is the television to be continued...
foxtongue: (wires)
There's a new GROW game! This one involves six little shapes interacting in a forest. It's deceptively simple looking compared to the twisty frustration that's the GROW Cube, but one of the trickier realizations was that some items can "level max" without fufilling thier final functions.

  • Rhizome.org: Geeks in the Gallery: An Interview with Artists Tom Moody and Michael Bell-Smith (Part Three of Three)

    The Spaces Between Working Group, that I blogged about yesterday, is showing films again tonight after Commercial Drive Car Free Day has packed up. The community cinema's made under an overhang that's part of an autobody shop at Third and Commercial. I really like it. The venue was perfect for watching Metropolis. Tonight they're keeping to the theme of No Car Day and showing End of Suburbia at 5:50, a documentary that asks if the world can actually supply the demands of the suburbanite lifestyle and what can be done before it destroys what's left, Ikiru at 7:15, Akira Kurosawa's masterwork about a bureaucratic city planner who discovers he has terminal cancer and, without telling anyone, sets out to change his life, and Run Lola Run at 9:40, which I'm sure you're all familiar with.

  • The freely downloadable spoken words of Japanese Cyberpunk Author, Kenji Siratori meets the harsh audio of Nimheil: Kenji Siratori - Gene TV / Neo Drugismo vs. Nimheil

  • foxtongue: (muppet mask)
    Sunday will be the next ANNUAL CAR-FREE COMMERCIAL DRIVE FESTIVAL.



    The Drive will be closed to all motorized traffic from 1st Ave to Venables from 10am to 8pm, with free entertainment from noon to 6pm. (Yes, expect the Carnival band, though fantastically, artists are welcome to perform in the street all they want, with respect to the neighborhood and festival rules).

    It's a grass-roots event, entirely funded by local businesses, (word has it they turned down corporate sponsorship from Pepsi this year), and run by volunteers, with performance stages at either end and in the park, a roped off street hockey area, a contingent of crazy chopperfest types, (the Burrow-y people with the strange bicycles). Last year there was an approximate twenty-thousand people wandering about and enjoying all of it. (Which might explain why it was impossible to find anyone). According to their website, "new this year is the WORLD CUP ZONE in Victoria Park. In honour of the ongoing World Cup of Soccer, the Festival will celebrate this truly global sport and the Drive's cultural heritage with a showcase of international entertainers as well as family activities hosted by the Vancouver Whitecaps."

    Last year's first-ever Car-Free Commercial Drive Festival was wonderful. Regrettably I missed most of it because I was too busy with other things, (Sunday Tea, The Mad Hatter's Tea Party at Trout Lake), but even late, the street was a sea of clearly happy people. This year I'm going to devote my full Sunday to it and run around to see as much of it as I can, camera in hand.

    ---

    Monday, Korean Movie Mondays is showing Shadowless Sword this week, a Duelist-like, style over substance, sword-fighting film. As Duelist immediately catapulted itself into my top twenty within the first half hour, I highly recommend dropping by. Remember, if you're reading this, you're pretty much invited. Psychic lady building, 8 pm. If you don't know where to go, just say.
    foxtongue: (ferret)

    ultra uwe scheid
    Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.
    The angel raises her head, her eyes focusing with an audible click.

    Sometimes I'll wake in the middle of the night, the sky still dark and broken by occasional stars strong enough to shine through to a city. My eyes are blind without my glasses, I can't see stars, but on these rare times the darkness lets me compensate. Around me might be other people, might be only blankets. I think, "Where am I going to be?" and I feel myself leave the bed, leave my breath and body full of bones and interlocking chemicals systems and slide into the Other City, where my heart resumes beating. I have an entire life there, a place by the water, a favourite coffee shop, but I can never find it on purpose. Instead, it washes over me, into my cells like some illusive memory of being in the womb. Like when the body remains lying still on the bed, but every neuron firing tells you instead that you are weightless, floating in a fetal position, turning in warm black water.

    Amateur band performs Super Mario theme on marimba.

    There's a wonderful music store on Commercial Drive that you should all become addicted to. The staff are friendly, with an admirable grasp of anything pleasantly obscure, and the selection is excellent. They sell odd little instruments in the front window and are always playing something you've never heard but instantly like. They've been doing it for at least twenty years. It's like it was created for some warm love-story movie that left them behind when Hollywood knocked, but with less pretension. Aiden and I were caught earlier today by a sale table they had on the street. I walked away with Rickie Lee Jones and I'm still wondering if tearing myself away from the afro-european funk they had playing was the good idea I told myself it was. Already I caught myself singing it on the bus while I was reading my borrowed John Barnes. (One for the Morning Glory is now required reading, yo. Find yourself some kids and feed it to them, chapter by chapter.) There's the reason I hardly ever go in.

    I went in a couple of weeks ago, though. Second time this year. I bought a street kid some guitar strings. His name's Cody, he's working at Juicy Juice on the Drive now, (go support him). Ryan and I met him a few months ago, his first day in Vancouver having left him begging for change outside of Love's Touch. When we ran into him with his newly acquired guitar, I traded it for a joint, man, and he smoked it with me too, so it's like I traded it for only half a joint, I brushed off my gift by telling him that one-string Deep Purple is a punishable crime. It's probably true somewhere.



    edit for all of you who jumped onto messenger and asked me: I do not, in fact, remember the name of the store. It is on the block across from Beckwomans and the Santa Barbara market, (the place with the orange bags that's a few shops down from the BBQ place that catered Jenn's wedding and the bicycle shop), and is in between the Elizabeth Bakery and the incredibly oldschool italian cafe that goes frankly mad whenever soccer/football comes around right next to the equally brilliant bookstore and the nice little laundromat.

    Sunday!

    Aug. 29th, 2003 09:55 am
    foxtongue: (Default)
    I'm passing word about though on a Sunday night thing. There's movies in the park at Grandview Park, (the one on the Drive across from the Havana), and I'll be there Sunday. My mum is to be a guest musician. Anyhoo - Jason and the Argonauts. You should come!!

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