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Jeepers, I thought last night was unexpectedly exciting, what with successfully hooking Nicole up with Nick for the holidays, finally meeting Dominique's new little baby, SURVIVING NICK'S NEW VAN CATCHING FIRE, (no one was hurt. I pulled Nicole out and we put the fire out with snow), and admitting rather bashfully to someone that I wrote about our personal life on the interblags, but today's news sort of trumps it, so I'll just get it out of the way and talk about yesterday in the next post...

I've just been hired as a cameraperson for Chanukah on Ice.

"Skate to Chanukah music or watch and nosh latkes and doughnuts.
Monday, December 22, 2008, 6:00-7:30 pm.
West End Ice Rink, 1750 Haro Street (Between Denman & Bidwell).
Admission: By donation. Skates are free."

Which sounds, on the surface, like it's going to be a Yiddish Icecapades, people dressed as sparkling, spinning dreidel, singing songs and throwing glitter under a rainbow of lights, but apparently it's something a thousand times more hard-core bizarre. Something I would never have the wit or imagination to think up myself.

It's a Candle Lighting on an Menorah made of ice, a meter high and shaped like hockey sticks.

Did you get that? Shaped like hockey sticks.

g.t.f.o.

Nov. 7th, 2008 04:48 pm
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X-Ray Crowd, by American painter, graphic novelist, and illustrator Eric Drooker


The Westboro Baptist "Church" are coming to my neighborhood in Vancouver to protest a small play running at the Havana about Matthew Sheperd, a gay American University of Wyoming student who was hate-crime murdered near Laramie on the night of October 6–October 7, 1998. (These classy, classy people are also planning on picketing Obama's grandmother's funeral.)

From their awful site, godhatesfags.com:

C1/28/08 Vancouver, Canada - Havana Theatre - Matt's in hell & God Hates Canada! 1212 Commercial Drive With signs in hand and smiles on our faces, we shall travel the great distance from Kansas to Canada - AGAIN! When Canada determined to fight against God, they took up a satanic mission which must be addressed. We cannot make you behave, but we can tell you some words, to wit: Ps 9:17 The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God. Just because you are really, really evil and hateful does not mean WE will not lovingly tell you the truth because that's our job, man! Matthew Sheperd is in hell, 10+ years now, and will remain there for the remainder of time. Deal with it! AMEN!

If they manage to cross the border, a group of us are planning on attending as well with counter signs that state GOD HATES SIGNS, (based off Isaiah 44:24-25), GOD SENT ME TO SELL YOU ATHEISM and any other appropriate anti-slogan we can think of. As Mike Levens points out, "http://www.godhateseveryoneexceptforus.com should provide some inspiration". What we're going to do once we're there is still up for discussion. Some people are planning on arriving in angel wings, which I think sort of buys a little too deeply into their belief structure, plus is something for them to rail against, which they thrive on, and some people are planning on attempting to stand with the Westboro people with anti-signs in hand. "... just kinda sidle up to them. Act like you're in on their cause and want to support it. Act surprised and offended if they try and distance themselves. Join in their stupid slogan-chants but get the words wrong." Me, I'm more for the second plan.

To go with this, a collection might be taken up to donate money to the matthew shepherd foundation, accepting pledges that will increase with every hour the Westboro people protest.
foxtongue: (Default)
A-a-are you gonna take me home tonight?

Methodically exploring aisles in Canadian Tire, I'm smiling at the Classic Rock station playing over the sound system, warmed by my kissing connection with the bass line, looking for a shallow storage box, and beginning to doubt if they have what I came for. Everything looks cheap under the halogens. Even me, I suppose. The drab stacks of unpacked christmas lights in the last aisle are intimidating and smell like packing plastic.

Ah-h down beside that red firelight.

The shop girl I find, no make-up, earrings like the claws of an animal, says she likes my pin-stripe pants, but she doesn't know if she can help me. The next person, an improbably tall young man whose staff vest is too bright, says he likes my hoodie, but they don't have what I need. As I leave, the cashier comments on my shoes. I say thank you and hang my head against the rain and the fashion conscious staff. They were not what I'd hoped for.

Are you gonna let it all hang out?


Fat bottomed girls
You make the rockin world go round.

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