Sunday, December 5, 2010

Ten Years Later... & the Crystal Precious Fabulous Guide to Being Fabulous. By Crystal Precious.

Woke up rock-star styles this morning at Brotel (affectionate term for house of many bros) surrounded by fun awesome hotties and vinyl. Pretty rad. I actually immediately puked though because I'm SUCH a classy babe. I haven't puked in like, 2 years so you know it was a good night. Cut to me catching myself in the bathroom mirror, full-on still wearing fake lashes and rhinestones and hotpants and these dope Puma wrestling boots that OUT OF NOWHERE showed up at Dollhouse one day and never left. Typical Sunday morning uniform. Time for eggs.

Every once and awhile I realize how much the DH gave me and continues to give me every day of my life. Like, wow. And obviously I don't just mean in ideal footwear... but I'm not discounting those gifts either. Prime example, after two years of watching those wrestling kicks chill in the lost & found... I slipped them on and angels sang from above. I was happier than Cinderfuckingella. I'm such a lucky bitch. It's INSANE. I give thanks. Trust.

OH YEAH, I got to see The Gaff last night and hang out a bit, record collector supreme. Prairie boy after my own heart. Can't deny it, there's something about those funk-lovin' Homebreakin' kids that just gets me right in the heartface. Such sweethearts, and funny as fuck. Woodhead has been killing it lately too, I fucking love that guy. He's actually one of the first people I ever met in Vancouver... almost 10 years ago.


Has it really been 10 years since I moved from the Peg that cold-ass January with my random cardboard boxes and a steamtrunk full of books? Yeah. Why the fuck I thought heavy-ass books would be a good thing to move I don't know. But I was 19. I knew nothing. And you know, on that note I have to say that I'm HELLA stoked to hit the big 3-oh this year. My twenties have been HARD schooling... although I always wanna keep learning, obvsies, or I'd be like, super bored. But the survival stuff, the grindstone, paying the dues, the blood and sweat and tears and anguish of getting through those little voices that say "you can't you can't you CAN'T... you don't deserve it, or you're not ______ enough, or that just doesn't HAPPEN for people, you can't, can't, you can't make it happen.... etc etc etc." THAT was the hardest part. For me getting over that shit was harder than any other aspect of anything, harder than all of the proverbial elbow grease. After you finally kick the shit out those voices it's alllll gravy, like a slip n' slide down a river of rainbows. But it took me a long hard time to squish those little fuckers. Sometimes they still try to make noises but I got good heels on me now. They stay down.

When you think about it my dream (now my life) must have seemed somewhat implausible, I suppose. I mean, I'm a neo-cabaret performer, for eff's sake. I fucking STRIP-HOP for a living. It's my FUCKING JOB to wear neon orange pumps and host parties and toplessly swear about the patriarchy and spin ass tassles and shit. So basically I'm now undeniable next-door neighbour proof that the implausible is still possible. Might not be easy, but it's possible. And wow, has it ever been worth it. I'm proud that I hung in there, although there were some times my doubts started poisoning everything like autotune. I guess at the end of the day sometimes you just gotta turn the radio off... and put your dope friends' music ON.

I'll always have roots here. I'm a BC bitch for life. The West Coast is just where my head and my body and my heart feel the bestest... always... something about nature, I don't know. :) What can I say, I'm a hippie and shit. But lately I'm SO SO SO SO looking forward to getting out there and terrorizing cities far and wide. I just wanna tear a STRIP outta the world, literally. I wanna to see castles and ruins and eat exotic cheeses after shows in old old OLD theatres... I want to hold my hands up to the walls of the OG Moulin Rouge, stretch on pianos like Deitrich and spit rhymes like Dante. I want to drip in Grecian pearls, run my hands over Italian leather and click heels on cobblestone streets. I wanna feel bass in different hemispheres. I want to spread my sass wider than legs on Sunday morning. And then I wanna come home and dive into the ocean and wash it all off in the studio. And dance. And dance. And dance.

ADVENTURE TOWN, darlings. I'mma run for mayor. True story.

These new tracks are the first step I think... lovin' em. There's some really interesting (and surprising) words coming out of me right now and I'm just sitting back and tyring not to get in my own way. The imagery comes next, twisting up some hard-core future pin-up shit. After that I gotta figure out the live show, still obviously working with the Sweet Soul grrls as well. The music is working more and more into the hosting aspects of the burlesque shows and that's dope. It's all fitting together. So it may be some group jaunts, but also the flexibility of doing some solo missions here and there as well. Might be nice to just bust a move with a good technically skilled DJ and hit clubs on a sprawl, like a East Coast leg or a Cali trip. Two turntables and a microphone. Add some tassles. Boom. Done.

So yeah. If I'm not blogging as much or being as out on the town it's cuz I'm scheming happily in the sass cave with a mechanical pencil and a plate of home-made guac. It's all coming out, just in different ways and on my own time... it's good. And personal development is high on the list for me right now. Physical shifts for me as well. I'm training. I'm prepping. I'm making room.

Recently I was re-reading some of my old blog posts (remember MYSPACE, omg, so OVER) and came across this one... thought I'd re-post it cuz I feel that 25 year-old CP was pretty cute. Not gonna lie. I know, SHOCKER.

love love love
LOVE. really though. (love)


Crystal Precious' Fabulous Guide to Being Fabulous. By Crystal Precious


SO lately (okay, so maybe not just lately) it has come to my attention that my fabulousness levels are going totally off the chart. Also my delicious narcissism, but I've never denied that (just remember the key, just because I think I'M fabulous doesn't mean that I think you're not, ummkay? I realize that being fabulous doen't mean being a snobby elitist bitch from hell, although playing the part can sometimes be fun if done so with proper amounts of satirical irony, But you all know this already).

ANYWAY, in due accordance to rule number 12 in my 12-Step Guide to Being Fabulous, I've felt passionately compelled to compile the following tidbits for anyone that wonders, "How DOES Crystal end up being so fabulous ALL the TIME? GOD It must be hard." Well, actually, no. No it's not.

Welcome to



1. Say the word ..Fabulous.. as much as humanly possible. Say it at home, at work, in dinner, in bed.. say it so much that your friends make up drinking games where they have to take a drink every time you say it.

2. Make sure that your friends are complete lushes. It's best if your friends have dedicated nights for being a lush (for example, Cara Milk has a "Lush Night" every Thursday at the Sweet Soul Designs studio where her employees are enjoy manditory cocktails or red wine. FABULOUS).

3. When arriving at a party, immediately peruse the floor for cheese platters and upon finding one, park your bag / purse nearby. This reminds you to go back for more cheese in case you accidentally get drunk.. you think to yourself, "Where's my purse, is my purse okay.. oh! I forgot about the cheese!" Very convenient.

4. Always wear clothing that is border-line too small for you. If you accidentally shrink something or gain a few extra pounds, throw on an extra special garter and WEAR THAT FUCKER ANYWAY.

5. Try to encourage your extremely good looking or interesting friends to be in a constant state of undress. Examples: Throw underwear/lingerie parties, produce burlesque shows, make your apartment a pants-free zone, and make out with as many of them as possible. Trust me, it just seems to make everything better.

6. Always have at least 8 HAG-fags around to tell you how fabulous you are. It's best if at least three of them live in your apartment building or neighborhood. They should be well-dressed, well-spoken and have all of the Madonna DVDs that you don't own so you can borrow them. If they protest at being called HAG-fags, tell them to deal. Nobody ever asked YOU if YOU liked being called a hag. And they've been calling you that since like, the nineties. Ummmkay? Mwah! Deal.

7. Have a fabulous roommate that's a talented artist/designer/intellect who enjoys cooking delicious exotic dinners and purchasing good quality wines. This comes in handy when spending time being fabulous at home. It's also good if they happen to own leopard print chaise lounges. That's definitely a plus.

8. This one is important. NEVER wear lipstick that transfers on anything. I firmly believe that lipstick belongs on lips and that's where it should stay.. none of this wine-glass-joint-passing-collar-rubbing smear festival. We live in the scientific age, people! We deserve lipstick that's 100% cock and sandwich proof. Get a forever-lasting lipstick (the MAC one is shit, I warn you. Surprising, I know, since all their other products RULE. But their long lasting lipstick you can never get it off and it makes your lips all dry and flakey. Get the Revlon one. Colorstay Overtime in Forever Scarlet, aka my near-constant hue). IF you are one of those sensitive skin types and you simply can't deal, blot it up or wear something sheer. This allows us to wear lipstick at all times, i.e. to brunch, getting coffee.. I've even worn lipstick while camping and occasionally, while having bubble baths (I am so dead serious, you can ask my mom even). Whatever, just make sure it doesn't get everywhere. It is FO.. SHIZZLE a necessity of fabulousness, I feel.

9. MAKE SURE to have updated photos of yourself close at hand. Remember .. glossy 8 by 10's make excellent Christmas gifts! What better way to congratulate your fabulous friends on having such good taste by offering a hot sassy pic of yourself to grace their walls?

10. DON'T pay any attention to anyone that accuses you of being superficial, un-PC, trivial, blah blah blah. Remember: you are intelligent, aware of current events, have a deeply rooted sense of responsibility to planet earth and all of its inhabitants, and acknowledge that things like high heels were at some point rooted in patriarchy, they're uncomfortable, yadda yadda. It's just that you happen to like high heels. Because they're fabulous. And you understand that it is your absolute RESPONSIBILITY to indulge in things you truly adore, whether that adoration is a product of skewed socialization or not. Because you're fabulous. (By the way, you should not, by any means, feel the need to defend yourself to any critics.. you're too busy. Being fabulous.)

11. Try to avoid polar fleece. I'm sorry, but polar fleece, while temptingly comfortable, is just not fabulous. I have to admit I myself have broken this rule once .. but the item also had fun fur and zebra stripes, so I figured it didn't count.

12. Smile genuinely a lot. This is easier to do when you are happy, excited or stoned, so put yourself in these situations as often as possible, or any others that trigger the reaction of knowing how fabulous you are. See, it's all a big happy circle. OF FABULOUSNESS

There is also a bunch of other shit I haven't covered, like training cabana boyz, NEVER feeling guilty about eating and drinking whatever you want, having sex whenever you want with people that fit your fabulousness standards, and all of that.. but I kind of feel that that shiz is a given and it would be like, embarrassing to have to actually WRITE it. Um, yeah.

ABOVE all, remember the law of numbers! It's WAY easier to be fabulous when surrounded by fabulousness. I speak from experience. So please, encourage your friends to indulge in being fabulous.. It's SUPER underrated.

Except by me.

kiss kiss

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Summer Of Sass: Part 2 - JULY - BASSCOAST

So the problem with setting yourself up to write about something so precious and then leading up to it with MAD, SHAMELESS hype is that inevitably you get slammed with a champion-shized helping of un-ignorable shit-to-do. This blog entry got totally sidelined into a corner to hang out with the package I said I'd send to my mom like, 8 years ago and that giant pile of costumes-to-be... one day I'll learn how to sew, I swear to fucking god. Also I'll learn to keep my hot pink mouth shut about what I'll be posting about before I can actually make time for it. Although you know me. I like to open that pink mouth of mine. Heh heh.

You know what? Fuck it. Boring shit like invoicing can wait a sec. Here goes.

BassCoastProject - The Sequel was easily the best festival of the year for me, and quite possibly the best festival I've ever been to. OH SHEEEEET... yes I DID say that. I'm not joking either. There's a magic about these three BassCoast ladies that draws you in like 80s Jack Nicholson. They got this game locked down. Pay attention to their shit.

First and foremost - the setting, no compromises. And trust me, putting on a party in Squamish Valley is not easy; there's some grumpy old people there who like their peace and QUIET, ummmkay?? These bitches managed to make it happen anyway. Now, blah blah, you know I'm from Winnipeg and you're probably ready for the same old crap about how mountains and NON-brown rivers (gasp!) and trees and pro hockey teams and everything are a really big deal to me. GUESS WHAT. Doesn't matter if you grew up on Paradise Fuckin' Island... Squamish is just straight-up jaw-droppingly spectacular. It's pretty much the prettiest place on earth. Period. The end.

Now imagine a time when temperatures were high, sunshine was rampant, booze was flowing and clothing coverage levels everywhere were really really small. Sigh. Summer. The Squamish valley lays before you like a waiting lover. A fresh, crisp river of sass flows softly along the bottom of your frame of vision and pools into a soft sandy bank, where you dip and swim and grill your bronzed backside at perfect leisure.

Now picture there's an ideally raised sandbar sticking out of the river in your visions' forefront, and that several very attractive half-naked people have lugged eight thousand party-enhancing items onto it. There they sprawl, blissed out with the deep pleasures of simply existing on the West Coast, waiting for you to come share a laugh or two. Welcome to Party Island.

You feeling me yet? GORGEOUS mountain peeks kissing blue blue sky all blanketed in rich lush greenery spreading out as far as you can see... and in front of it some suuuuuper hot guy is running up and jumping on a skimboard to shred a spray of liquid sunlight up into your horizon. You giggle because after catching your breath to take him all in, you realize he's doing it kinda sideways... and you wonder if maybe he just did just a little bump of ketamine. Oooo those boys.... aaand BAIL. Yeah probably. Heh heh heh.

You turn to see a couple cute topless girls swaying their hips in time to the deep n' delicious bass waves hitting the water from the stage. Looking back you comtemplate going to dance... but then you see little blooms of cracked CDs lining the trees like sparkly flowers and decide maybe you feel like exploring instead. Perhaps a meander back to camp to make yourself a beverage. Grab that hash n' tobacco number you rolled earlier. A re-up, if you will.

Pathways take you from the Moroccan hooka tent to a massive hand-crafted pirate ship floating shredded sails high above sets of stacks; you carefully move through the crowd towards the splintered star burst platform and then up the spiraling forest trails to different camps all filled with friendly, intelligent, hot-looking people that you just seem to know. And they're all doing SUPER FUN stuff. Everywhere. All the time.

So in case you're just tuning in, BassCoast was DOPE DOPE DOPE. Such rad cross-representation from different crews along the coast... Van. Sunshine Coast. Squamption. Whistler. Pemberton. Cali. Portland. Good repping from the close Calgary crews as well. Different than Shambhala (which of course has its own qualities altogether which I'll get into in my next blog)... but BassCoast just had this inclusive intimacy and attention to detail; a specific and tangible magic.

I can't stress enough how STOKED I was that they really focused on local talent. FINALLY I felt like these women putting the show on understood that uh, actually, the people making music here are WORLD-FUCKING-CLASS and that we should maybe take a sec to honour that and fucking enjoy it instead of spending every ounce of hype, money and energy on giant headliners all the time. Think about it for a second. Mat the Alien? Puhlayse. KING. Vinyl Richie? Legend. And I mean, when was the last time Max Ulis DIDN'T show up a headliner he opened for? Uhhh, fucked if I can remember. Daega or Self Evidents tunes mad me grind lower than anything I've ever heard before. I've always said that this burly-q girl learned to bump in the moshpits... but it was DEFINATELY deep bass music that taught me my grind.

Adam Shaikh? Win. Neighbour? Genius. LongWalkShortDock? Don't even get me started. ALL TOGETHER??? Come ON. And I haven't even mentioned the Calgarians or the Kootenay crews or the Whistler kids or the Cali fam yet. Unbelievable. For real. There's so many names I wanna drop that I'm just gonna post the whole frickin' line-up again cuz it was BRILLIANT - and guess the fuck what - almost entirely LOCAL.

Honestly, sometimes I wonder if it's even truly conceivable to me how much awesomeness is squirting us right in the face over here. I gotta give the BassCoast girls mad props because they NAILED that. Especially because the music is super diverse and not everyone gets the dubstep thing.. and not everyone is open to the 4/4 thing, in response. I think it's hilarious because I am passionate about all of it and I get to hear all sides... then I just wanna go dance. But I think the girls are still working with that and trying to finetune the line-up and the back and forth between the stages so it works ideally and is smooth.

I'm also super happy about how it wasn't all about DJ glorification, because I'm kind of bored of that. I mean I LOVE music obvs, and hot DJs, TOTES obvs, but here the stages were works of art in their own right and the forest was super beaming with awesomeness from all kinds of contributors and mediums.. everything from what people were wearing to how they were moving... live painting, Mcing, a live band here and there... covered.

And then there's the vibe. I don't know about you, but if I'm gonna go to the trouble and the expense and the energy to go to an event like that, at least for me, there's some stuff that "I wanna". Insert pouty princess face here (just kidding). But for real. For it to be a quality escapism experience for me that truly refreshes and resets my sass levels, a couple things need to go down in my head.

First, I wanna feel excited about interacting with the people there.

Second, I wanna feel like there’s shit to explore, places to discover, settings to peak my curiosity, inspire me, make me feel like I'm are in a different world than the one I experience every day.

Third, I wanna feel like at some point, I can let go. I wanna just be happy to be alive. I wanna feel like any drama and difficulties and struggles and injustice aside, the world is an unfathomably wondrous place and that there is so much beauty around me that I can’t believe I get to experience what life has to offer on a daily basis. You know, that feeling you try to make stick.

Aside from that, I wanna feel a sense of unity with the people around me. Like I'm a part of something bigger, like I'm are among people that understand and accept and forgive me for all the things about myself that I'm not quite sure fit into "the real world" I was born into.

And then I wanna be provoked to contribute to this sense of sanctity; to trust that if the people I'm so close to can share the things that come out of them, I can too. Even if I'm just getting started, or evolving, or attempting, or whatever. You know?

Yeah yeah, surprise surprise, I’m a big fucking hippie raver. Whattya know. (Don't die of shock, just settle down now). But believe me when I say that I'm being 100% genuine. Now imagine for a sec what a tall order it is for ALL of those things to happen at a party, and now imagine how rad it must have been that I actually felt all of those things go down in my heart.


K I'm just gonna do one more thing and go ahead and give a few sentences worth of props to Michael Red's sunrise set on Monday morning. Ask anyone who was there - it was thick magic. Just the vibe confirmed to everyone this sense that, well, uh, us here arty kids... we actually make up a real COMMUNITY, not just a scene. And it just seemed so perfect to look around at everyone so elated and blissed out on each other and being together. I'm serious though! Please don't barf. It was awesome. We all swayed around with giant Chesire grins on our faces while the sun started to kiss the earth and one of Vancouver's most respected future-music pioneers carefully squeezed little hearts out of the speakers.

I'd just never felt SO INSPIRED to go home and CREATE after a festival. My good friend Dano and I drove the whole way home in silence, all dreamy-like... ACHING to get home to write... him music, me words... and we both agreed that Bass Coast was IT. The highlight. The future. What's it that Kelsey Faery calls it? The JUICE.

Anyway. I wanted to give huge propz to these women who somehow made that festival happen for me and for so many of the people I love. I really respect them. And I know what they do isn't easy... it goes wayyyy beyond the obvious tasks of decorating a tent or booking a headliner. It means canvassing for unobtainable permits, coming up with non-existant money, becoming a politician to your colleagues and (occasionally) a warden to your friends (never fun).

It also means keeping the flame burning bright even when it's cold and raining and yucky out and maybe last weekend someone set fire to your stage by accident (which barely affected the party because everyone was having such a great time anyway, but still). FOR THE LOVE OF SASS, I'm here to say... keep that fire going ladies. I think I can speak for many when I say that we fucking love you and appreciate what you do so so SO much. Thank you for being the glue that bring us together. It's so so SO of the rad. High sass ups. Foreves.

Speaking of burning. My friend Karlis, who, btw, incurred about $800 in traffic fines to drive his self-built mobile-sauna up to the BassCoast festival this summer (love him... but man do those BC police sure do need a sense of humour), was telling me that one of the things that bothers him a bit about the Burning Man community is that all too often, some of most creative, inspiring and rad people he knows are suddenly putting all their free time and resources into the Playa instead of bringing that same fire into their everyday universes. As someone who has yet to venture to Black Rock City and who thinks often of many beloved peeps who will most likely never go... I'm REALLY grateful for projects that are bringing magic to everything around them all the time. It's the dopeness.

Okay here's some pix:

A sic shot of the valley:

Big love to my ever-loving domestic/platonic husband Shamik for always getting great shots and bringin' em home:

Nothing but hot sass in one direction...

...and the other...

Tank Girl (see Female Action Hero of the Mother Flippin' Moment, right of blog text) playing at sun-down.

here's one of the Librarian from the back..

and here's one of the BassCoast stage from the front (at least this is what the stage was looking like to most people at this point, heh heh heh)

Here's one of me rapping at the Pirate Ship stage.. was super gorgeous, a true Pirate collab (I think Kelsey at the helm). Chili Thom and Ace (Foxy Moron) killing it 45's style all Sunday morning.

Shamik & I chilling over coffees Sunday after K-Tel's Sunday Sermon before jamming a bit onstage:

Me lounging with the Bitchin' ladies (where the crap have THEY been all my life) and Kristi, who regularly gives people sick boners. Party island is starting to happen there in the background..

Who's that in the water? This shot got caught by Eradik...

Me dipping my bitz in the river & schnapped by Brian Keith...

The sun over the flag... sigh. L'amour.

Click here to see ome AMAZING shots by Rebecca Danielson, who's SUPER talented... just click through to her Flickr set. I really like these shots, they are amazeballs.

See if that warms y'up for a minute like so many homemade perogies.


Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Ultimate Guest List

K whattup. So I'm still effin' working on my summer blog. I know, SHOCKER. But this summer was soooooooo good. I don't wanna miss anything. Photos must be collected. Fuck, everyone's Burning Man photos are all coming back now and it's driving me nuts. I'm making the solemn oath - CP WILL BE AT THE BURN NEXT YEAR. So help me sass. In super cute outfits, on a pink fucking bike. That's just how it's gonna be. The end.

It's been a bit of an emotional week, not gonna lie. Why is it that whenever that happens I feel the urgent need to consume MASS quantities of mood-altering drugs??? SUCH a smart move. Especially for the come-down. Yeah, NO. But hell, it was Dollhouse's last party ever before the dismantling begins next week. Complete obliteration was just sorrrrt of called for. Open bar for like 30, 70 at its peak??? COME ON.

It's really fucking blurry. All I can really remember are those smiling faces. Love everywhere. Cherry in half a leotard. Carpet in the booth. The mad hatter on the wall. Stolen kisses. A stuffed leopard. Red and black tiles til daylight. And then we just.. left.

Fuck. I'm crying now. AGAIN. Fucking drugs. Shut up I'm a raver, ok? My heart feels so BIG this week. I love. And I love. And that's all I can say.

K I have to go pretty quick here so I thought I'd just try to think of all the artists we were lucky enough to see on the stage and the decks. SO many beautiful shows, so much inspiration and straight-up heart-lifting awesomeness. Turns out it's a pretty long list actually. I'm sure I forgot a bunch of people and I swear I didn't do it on purpose. Lemme know who on my Tweet Dock k? Check it, them's our peeps yo:

Aligning Minds


Application (Audio & DJ)

April O'Peel

Atomic Vaudeville

Automatic DJs


Bent Matter

Bettina May

Bevvy Swift

Big Toe’s HiFi




Brigee K

Burgundy Brixx

Buzy Bee





Creaking Planks


Danny Corn

Darla Devine

Deaga Sound

Decibel Point

Delilah Dare

Dewey Decibel



DJ She





Erica Dee


Frank Grimes


Glitchy & Scratchy

GoGo Amy


Here Be Monsters




Ill Gates


Indigo Blue


J F Killah

J Pod

Jay Auto

Jenny Magenta

Joanie Gyoza

Johnny Dubbs

Joe Ave

Josh Martinez

Kelsey Faery


Kir Mokum


Krista Lomax


KT Couture



Lynx & Janover

Lola Lockeheart




Mat The Alien

Max Ulis

Melody Mangler

Michael Red


Mister Fister

Moka Only

Moses Mayes

Mykro Douglas

Myles Away









Random Henchmen


Rico Uno

Robb G


Satellite Space Disco Orchestra

Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society

Self Evident

Sex Attack

Shameless Lee






Starlot Harlots

Steamboat Fattie


Suicide Kings

Taal Mala

Tank Girl

Tarran the Tailor

Teddy Smooth

Team Canada

That Afrikan

The Funkhunters

The Hits

Think Tank

Timothy Wisdom

Tre (ADT)





Villainy Loveless

Vincent Parker

Vinyl Richie

Wood n’ Soo


... & of course, Sweet Soul Burlesque. 

... & of course, Sweet Soul Burlesque.

Guess that's all folks.

Top hats n' slip mats,

Photo: Voodoo Bill, 2008, 42 West 8th.

(here's the note I wrote a little while ago about the DH closing down)

Heya Sasspots.

First and foremost: to all Dollhouse supporters, and especially to everyone that filled out a survey: THANK YOU. We had 976 responses, and 727 thoughtful, well-written blurbs about the impact that the Dollhouse has made in people’s lives over the years. These responses REALLY helped us paint a picture of what our community is all about, who we are, and why we are in need of alternative venues. This information was invaluable, irrefutable and for the first time, very frank. It made quite an impression on the City.

That said, we cannot refute their point that the Dollhouse is essentially a converted warehouse -- with no ventilation, limited washrooms and serious sound constraints (being on the border of a residential zone). These problems have always existed and they will never go away. And to be honest, in the past year a new problem has come up as well – as our community grows stronger and stronger, the space has slowly but surely become too small for most of the events being held there.

So this is both the end of an era, and a new beginning. The City is starting to understand that if they do not help us to build venues and create licenses that suit our needs, said venues are going to pop up anyway, under the licensing radar and not necessarily abiding to noise and building codes. So they are doing something completely unprecedented – if we agree to move into a bigger, more suitable space away from residential zoning, they have promised to work with us to ensure that we are pre-approved for noise, assembly and enough licenses to sustain the space for weekday use by artists.

THIS IS AMAZING. And we are of course looking forward to sharing this accomplishment by using the space to host a wide array of crews, events and performances, as always. But -- it does mean saying goodbye to 42 West 8th Ave. Therefore we will be planning a Dollhouse Open House and a few other opportunities for us to get together this month; and then moving out at the end of September.

Sweet Soul will definitely be a part of the new space, continuing to use it as their rehearsal headquarters and throwing their signature events. We’re looking forward to having them host the 5th anniversary of their infamous Blue Party in our new home.

We’d like to mention that if you’re looking for some next level underground events this month, the 10th Annual New Forms Festival will be hosting 3 nights of mind-blowing music & art:

NFF 10 Opening and SWARM Afterparty!/event.php?eid=140637479301146&ref=ts



For more information on the ground-breaking New Forms Festival, please visit http://

All events will be held at the W2 (Storyeum) while Open Studios undergoes renovations (they will reopen in a few months).

We’ll keep you posted on the status of the new HQ (btw, if anyone knows of a 3500 – 5000 sq. foot space in a non-residential zone with for lease, let us know, we’re open to looking at everything we can). In the meantime, keep those outfits safe. You’ll need ‘em.

Much love, sass n’ gratitude to all that continue to be a part of all of this. Without you, it’d just be an empty warehouse.


Cherry, Cara, Joe, Jon, Willis & CP

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Lady Gaga gets JUDGED by Crystal Precious


I should know better than trying to sleep on a full moon. Seriously, it's like asking Tristan Risk to keep her pants on after midnight... JUST. NOT. GONNA. HAPPEN. So after 4+ hours of roll-groan-read-toss-repeat, I'm getting outta bed to indulge in one of my most favorite activities ever. Oooh, you guessed it. JUDGING.

Pop-culture analysis (or JUDGING) is still one of my all-time favorite pasttimes. I'm not hella academic about it though, surprise surprise. If you want snotty acedemia-type theory, there's lots of that, and some of its kinda interesting. But I'm more into just being a brat and you know, real talk, R. Kelly style.

Now we all know that there's just no stopping the culmitive effects pop-culture icons have on the impressionable young minds that, I hope, will one day stab Stephen Harper in the face. And I DEEPLY care about said young minds because clearly I am far too busy rapping, stripping and buying hot shoes to do that myself. You can thank Bjork, Courtney Love, and Missy E for that... so, you know, I keep tabs. Plus, some of the shoes in those videos are really fucking awesome.

So today I'mma blog about the Gaga concert I so fortunately got to attend on MOnday night... so yep, this is gonna be all about Gaga. If you don't like it, iz coo', I see you next time. No judgement. No borrowing my shoes either though.

So. 2008. This Gaga bitch turns onto the scene just in time to give Madge the ol' curtain hook she's been beggin' for ever since that fucking song where she raps about yoga and pilates. PUHLAYSEEEEE, grrrrl, you've been dead to me since Evita. Slight ressurection for "Hung Up", but that's it. Can you please shut the fuck up now and go spend your money? It's OVAH!!!!

Meanwhile, Gaga rolls in and is an INSTANT superstar, releasing 2 albums in 2 years and showing up everywhere in the craziest outfits EVER. She goes from the Commodore to the Queen E to 2 sold-out nights at GM Place in two years flat. I witness hundreds upon hundreds of kids dressed in various versions of her much-photographed outfits file giddily to their $150 seats, pausing only to stock up on $40 T-shirts and have their photos snapped in front of large Virgin Mobile logos. I really liked this guy in line trying to eat chicken fingers in his Gaga garb. Ummm...

...might have a bit of a problem there. Here's cute 13 year-olds making each other up. Awwww. They were EVERYWHERE.

And here's a stadium shot of the show (I'm gonna switch to pro pix now cuz they're better quality). Whoa. Can someone say: BUDGET, BITCH.

So - Really? Bitch is 24!!! How could this BE??? Isn't she just another shock-rock glam-spanking gimmick factory? And how come my sister Heather (the littlest one of two, fyi) is on the phone IMMEDIATELY wondering if I got to meet Gaga when normally she ignores any and all of my phone calls??? (Heather, stop doing that. I can TELL when you're screening, I'm cool now. I swear.)

Obviously, being the glamour junkie that I am, I've been following Gaga the whole way. Werd is that Gaga, or Stephani someone-or-other, named herself off of Queen's "Radio Gaga" track. She was, in fact, classically trained as a pianist and singer in NYC. From what I can glean based on several conflicting stories, she left school to become a hip tortured artist with all her hip tortured artist friends, started writing songs & dressing like a freak (WHOA. SHOCKER. NO ONE I know does ANYTHING like THAT). But apparently she began killing it around the Lower East side doing ghetto glam cabaret acts at, you guessed it, neo-burlesque shows.

Her act somehow worked its way into Lollapalooza and Gaga ended up getting noticed and signed, not to be a performer, but to write songs for pop-stars like Britney and Fergie. Apparently it was AKON, of all people, that told Interscope to get their shit together and back her up as a performer on her own. Bet that guy's pretty proud of himself. I bet he even thinks it might make up for fucking with Kardinal Offishall's musical credibility and also annoying the shit out of me for the last four years. Ummm... no it doesn't. Sorry. Nice try though.

But back to the Gaga show and JUDGING. The whole show was pointedly dripping in New York. From the colours (black, grey, green, neon lights, graffiti, blood) to the sets (subway car, scaffolding alluding to Rent-esque scenes, dark knarling trees of Central Park at night). The dancers all looked like they were plucked right out of NY promoter James Coppola's personal entourage: studded vests, chunky eyebrows, shaved sides and all. And then at the end... the Fame Monster came out with giant sparkly teeth and swirling tentacles, ripping off her clothes (I liked that part). It actually felt a lot like burlesque. Really, really expensive burlesque. Check the monster, it was CRAZY:

A word about skill. Bitch PERFORMED. I believed that she sang every note, and well. I would say better than on the recordings even. It looked like her dancing parts were pared down specifically so she could do that. I watched her quickchange like a motherfucker, I saw her rock those outfits weighing whatever they'd have to weigh (more than a steak or two at the Keg, ummkay) and as someone who's worn some heavy-ass shit, I was impressed. And she was STOKED. And she SCREAMED at us. She sang and swore and screamed and carried on and rolled around in blood and played a decreped, burning black piano. Not gonna lie, it was pretty dope. And I'm JUDGING right now. JUDGEMENT.

I have to say, after seeing her show up close and personal (thanks & love to Rita Star for hooking that shit up, btw, so baller, I'm a lucky-ass bitch): I'm pretty convinced that Gaga's the real deal. It seems like she really, honestly, is coming up with this shit herself, and that whole show was a representation of her specific vision. It was DEFINATELY something you wouldn't see a label or sponsor come up with. It wasn't one of those no-brainer, this-is-pretty, it matches the video, you're-gonna-love-this-trick-now kind of show. In fact, the whole thing was pretty grimey, and as a neon sign blazed in the background "ugly-pretty"... and admittedly, not what I was expecting at all. I was kind of expecting Cher. Young, trashy Cher. I got schooled. It was like, art.

This was about as close to Cher as Gaga got... except that this dress was BREATHING. I don't know how else to describe it. It was expanding and colapsing on its own, not mechanically, but fluidly, naturally. It was mental. And look at the shiny!!!

Ooh, and one more, just a minor keytar. You know, whateves.

Ok, and I should put up at least one of my own pix so you can see that I was actually there and not just making all this shit up. But most of my pix are un-blog worthy... time to stop being so drunk all the time, apparently. Here's one of of the crazy plastic dress subway car routine:

Notice how the camera dude is TOTALLY IN MY WAY. Geez, guy. You think I'm this close to the stage so I can LOOK at the BACK of your HEAD? Who CARES that you're doing live feed???? Oh the abuse I suffer. Honestly.

Now I wanna get one thing straight. Just cause I was impressed doesn't mean that the show was completely to my taste. It wasn't, not completely, and to be honest, in general, a lot of Lady Gaga's stuff isn't, particularly her music. Personally, as far as pop goes, I'm into sick, crunkin', modern hiphop. "Slave 4 U" had that, and it murders me still to this day. And "Vogue" captured that early nineties house vibe from whence it came so DAMNED WELL. But "Bad Romance"? I dunno. I'm always waiting for that little kick of the new shit, something to make the song new, fresh... "of this time". Haven't heard it yet. "Just Dance" comes the closest, I think. It's the only one I've listened to alone in my underpants.

Also: grrl is dark. The monsters are for real. Subjectively, I'm really into funny as much as I'm into glam... especially when things are so funny they're just plain ill. But that's CP-steez. Gaga-steez is dead fucking serious. It's a whole other realm of Diva, far beyond the tongue-in-cheek place where I like to hang out. And she's RIGHT IN THERE with the politics, right on the mic, which is something she could get away with but that I couldn't really do. For me I'm into lyric-embedded propaganda and number themes; she just went right off. HEAVY on the homophobia rejection tip, which is cool obviously, giving the gays props for being brave and shit. And for buying her records, natch. Not a dumb bitch. And although I still kinda winced as I always do, when it comes to mid-show pop-star PSA's, I have to say she was sweet about it. That is, if you consider someone who says "motherfucker" about ten times during the course of the night sweet, which I do (again, friends with Tristan Risk). Then she plugged her sponsor for giving $25 K to homeless LGBT youth for every show she did, which was interesting to me because I was wondering what the hell they were doing there. That show sure as hell didn't need them. It's sold out across the continent. Hmmm. Corporate slanging for homeless gay youth? Yeah, I'd do it.

And then she said to everyone: "This is for everyone who's been told they weren't pretty enough, or smart enough, or skinny enough, or talented enough, or a good enough singer or a good enough songwriter or a good enough dancer... because everyone told me I'd NEVER, EVER be a pop star..." - insert gutteral scream - "... but now I'm here to SET YOU FREE. When you go home, don't love me more. Love YOURSELF more."

Was it a bit cheesy? Yeah. But it did sorta feel sorta poignant what with all the electricity in the room and her being the big famous superstar with the mic and all. It also seemed pretty genuine coming so intensely out of her gut like that. It was a LOUD scream, my friends. Like, um, grrl. Settle down cuz I'm scared you will lose your voice and apparently you're gonna need it for the next 30 years.

So in the end, even though I'm still not ok with peeing on your hair and calling it a dye-job, I'm pretty much down with anyone that famous busting out their true artistic visions all over our asses. For such a hi-seller, she's definately not a sell-out. And if she's telling the younguns (and me) that not everything needs to be like-able or coated in pretty, you know, I'm down. That's art, baby. Nice to actually see some on that there MTV these days.


Now if she could just tell everyone to STAB STEPHEN HARPER in the FACE.

Oh yeah, and if you're wondering where my "What I Did on My Summer Vacation" blog is... guess what. It's still summer, bitches!! Now go milk that sun this wekend so I can put my final touches on it. MWAH.

smilez n' stilettos,

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Why Acid is Bad for Your Hair


So let's say you're this attractive and highly sassed female with long dark hair that is generally pretty good as far as hair goes, but is OH-SO-HELLA annoying to keep up. You're still a long (and I mean LONG) way off from throwing in the towel and chopping it off 80s mom-style, so you suck it up and spend half an hour every couple days combing out knots, products and various tree matter for the sake of your own superficial personal hair satisfaction. Lalalala. La.

Then. Suddenly. You realize that outdoor raving season is coming. Even the THOUGHT of this makes your hair DIE of FEAR and RAGE about the wind and sand and heat and river washing and that bullshit biodegradable shampoo (I don't give a SHIT what the fucking label says or how much it smells like nature or whatever, straight-up, that shit just doesn't work. PS: neither does the deoderant. I'm not saying this from using it, I'm saying it from having to smell friends who use it --- from wayyyyy further across the room than I actually want to. Sorry dudes.)

SO. Anyway. You decide that you're going to be all smart and pre-emptive, and so you pick out a rad leave-in conditioner at the Shopper's along with your sunblock, black nailpolish and bottle of 5-HTP. Aha! Now everytime you hop out of the raver river, you can just spray your hair with those amazing, oily, petroleum-based sulphates that somehow make your hair look fucking amazing. That way you won't end up with one giant dreadlock come the end of August like you normally do. Whoa. You are like, SO smart.

So you take the bottle to all your summer raves and everytime you hop out of the river / shower / just randomly because you're remembering to, you spray it in and try to comb it through. But. For some reason your hair still isn't cooperating. It seems like this year, the elements are just too much for it. It keeps sticking to itself and being annoying and frizzy and it sort of looks like the reason Axl Rose started doing cornrows. That reason wasn't good.

Fast forward to the day you get home from the last rave... okay, let's be real. Fast forward to the week AFTER you get home from the last rave and you actually start thinking about unpacking. You start sorting through all your crap... and low and behold... the leave-in conditioner is there. You pick it up to place it on your little shelf in the bathroom next to the crimper. Then you notice something strange.

There... on the label... in tiny letters... you notice that it actually doesn't say LEAVE-IN CONDITIONER at all. Instead, it says MAXIMUM CONTROL HAIRSPRAY.


SO all fucking summer long, you haven't noticed AT ALL that MAYBE, just maybe, the reason why your hair feels like a giant ball of glue is because you've been SPRAYING IT ON REPEATEDLY. And that even though the two leave-on conditioner and hairspray bottles looked identical enough on the shelf for you to grab the wrong one, it didn't even once occur to you to actually like, wonder what the fuck is going on / check the label as soon as it began riding the FAIL train. Because really, the only reading you've managed to do for the last two months were the of the DJ line-up and food cart menus. And that was kind of hard.

So yeah. Maybe NOT being on acid all the time would've been helpful for that whole situation. But you know, it also might've been helpful to like, you know, NOT be on acid while attempting to put on my fake eyelashes in the dark with a flashlight and a handmirror. It only took me 2 hours before I decided that I'm not allowed to do my make-up unsupervised at a rave anymore.

I've only just begun, my friends. I've only just begun. Stay tuned for the re-cap... I haz pictures. OOOOOohhhhh BassCoast. Shambles. SO SO SO SO GOOD. And bad. For my hair. And several braincells that have now left us and gone to a better place.

K, so, soon. First I have this one big fucking dread to deal with.


Friday, July 9, 2010

Life A.D. (After Dollhouse) - Week 1

Holy effing crap. As IF it's been since April that I've posted anything. I seriously feel like it was just yesterday... or at least last week. Maybe because the last 2 months have been 100% pure hell, interspersed with amazingly contrasting moments of 100% bliss. In the past 60 days I've moved out of the Dollhouse, reorganized everything I own in my entire house (like, EVERYTHING, and trust me, it was nutter), threw a massive international festival and performed in the biggest burlesque convention in the world. And ALL in cute outfits. WHAT the FUCK.

Unfortunately among all these accomplishments there's a whole list of shit that I haven't been doing that I was really supposed to, like, for example, FIND JOB. But hey, that's really nothing new. Let's face it. That just tops a list that's still somehow longer than my mom's answering machine messages. Although I guess the idea was that moving out of the Dollhouse would provide all this space and time for me to enjoy a more well-rounded life... and that includes finding more work, performing more & creating more, making more money, and generally getting on with chasing my dreams. Unfortunately since the Dollhouse is now officially one week in my past, I no longer have any excuses to keep me from getting started on that shit. Feck!

Although I'm telling you right now, leaving DH it has DEFINATELY not hit me yet. It's pretty strange. Nothing's felt different. I think it's cuz I've still been there every other day, swearing at the piles and piles of burlesque debris dug out from every glittering corner. WHERE the FUCK did all that shit come from???? The other day we were cleaning out the Pink Office and we found some true artifacts. For example, this very important sign:

You'll notice that this sign was totally laminated because we actually used it. We had it up near the door to the main room. Lemme tell you, the only thing worse than douchebags are douchebags that drink a bunch of booze and then think "Hey! I know! Let's drink GHB and then have our heart stop and our eyes roll back into our heads and make the DH people freak out and call the ambulance because we have subconscious deathwishes / and / or douchebag friends who assure them that this type of behaviour is like, totally safe!" Not that that ever happened or anything (everyone was fine, don't worry). But yeah. Important sign.

Also we somehow ended up with keys to pretty much everyone's car that has ever parked on 8th Avenue EVER.

And let's not forget the impressive collection of unclaimed IDs & bank cards, some of which we of course charitably donated to younger relatives (who are practically 19 anyway, jeez!!!). As for the rest, not gonna lie, we may have found SOMETHING to do with them...

Rrrrright. So yeah. Among the other office debris there was mostly half-used make-up, a kajillion safety pins, several mystery pills (hmmm.... the BLUE pill? or the RED pill?), a tibetan prayer bench, a collection of Winnie The Pooh plushies and many many other hilariously random artifacts whose presence make no sense whatsoever. Still missing: the sane part of my brain I'm pretty sure I left in there somewhere around 2006.

And so. The last "keeper" things have been moved to the cute little East Van home I share with some pretty amazing people (sigh of gratitude). I look forward to sipping tea and mercilessly recounting tale after tale of horrible, horrible debauchery right here on this very blog. Oh will it ever be FUN. And I have PICTURES. Mooo hahahahahahahaaha. HA. (ha).

This of course will need to happen amongst the crossing off of things on the dreaded Shiz CP Has Been Totally Avoiding, like doing my taxes, fixing my bike, installing my speakers, finishing my mom's hilarious clowning website.. oh yeah, and finding some work so I can write hooks under a roof (useful, those roof things). Also I wanna start formally corset training again... I did a month in April and noticed a huge difference in my curve situation, but then producing the fest and moving everything out of the DH made wearing a corset everyday seem just straight-up unrealistic. Melanie at Lace Embrace says that it would have been fine but I don't know, I was a bit scared my stress juice would like, tarnish it. I got Tallulah to take some pix of me "before" the training started though so I'll post them up here when start over. I'm just so fucking addicted to corsets. I think I'll wear my black one tonight.

I guess I still feel like a weird mom in the sense that going to the DH tonight to see Calibre will be like going to your grown-up kid's new house. You're proud and scared and feel a bit useless and yet accomplished all at once. Coincidentally Funkhunter's Dunks called me something pretty funny the other day... Mama Rave. Is it good or bad for someone to call me Mama at age 29 I wonder? Hrmmm....

Anyway. Gonna do some promoting for the BassCoast (because I LOVE THEM) and then get ready. I still have about 3 boxes of crap to organize in my room but whateves. A girl's gotta have a dance break.

bassface n' lace,

ohh the emotional rollercoaster... here's a new pic by Peter Schmidt of me at Taal Mala's urban steampunk palace...

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Why Valentine's Weekend Made Me Hurl

Shockingly, I did NOT actually throw up from overexposure to tiny sweatshop-made "I Love You BEAR-y Much" plush toys, NOR did I vomit as a result of a heart-shaped drugstore chocolate (you know, the kind that tastes the same as regular chocolate but is more expensive because it's heart-shaped but is now on sale, so is pretty much the same price but still somehow seems exotic because it's in the "seasonal" aisle... I like that aisle. A lot). No, as close as I came to barfing at that crap several times this week, my sudden onslaught of horrible, horrible illness was brought upon by the seemingly innocent smile of my two-year old pseudo-niece neighbour. Apparently, for whatever reason, such children are capable of INFECTING you with the virus of SATAN and then ACTIVATING it on you when you are, say, about to go onstage to open for one of your favorite Ninja Tune recording artists. All I can say is, thank GOD I didn't have my fake eyelashes on yet. That shit is hard to re-apply, and I simply cannot go onstage without my lashes. That's not ok. (They were applied soon after and the show went well, yay, PS, Kid Koala is awesome & a super sweet n' sassy guy, natch).

BUT. More illness ensued. I am now happy to report that I am on the mend after a whole weekend of the Valentine's barfing, so CLEARLY now that I can type again I immediately must indulge good ol' fashioned CP-style blog rant. Can we PUHLAYSE talk about why the hell girls keep trying to get their straight boyfriends to get all super stoked on giving them cookies and flowers and teddy bears and shit? What the fuck is wrong with these bitches? I mean maybe it's the partial dyke in me, but for real. That shit is G-I-R-L-I-E shit. (ok, ok, F-E-M-M-E-Y shit for the transgressive gender-role types... ps, I should probably warn you I'm not gonna be the most PC bitch ever in this blog, but I swear you'll get what I mean.. I don't mean to exclude you, I swear. I'm good like that. Also: rent Clueless, it's awesome). But for real. Bears? Fuzzy stuff? Chocolate? Heart-shaped cookies? Pretty flowers that smell pretty? LADIES: I'm all in. No one loves that shit more than me. I have a whole studio covered in glitter, for crying out loud. Now let's get our cute little pink underoo'd asses over to my house and all eat pink sugar cookies together and squeeze our teddy bears while giggling and listening to Gaga (omg, GAGA). No, but really. Let's femme that shit up all the way and celebrate our giddy girliness with a big ol' traditional choco-binge while giving each other those cute strawberry shortcake Valentine's cards and watching 80's rom-coms starring John Cusack, then wrestle and talk about where we got our lingerie, because it's fun. And because honestly? STRAIGHT BOYS (and a lot of butchy dykes) DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SHIT.

Well, maybe the wrestling in our underwear part. But the other stuff? Not the straight dudes I know. Even the die-hard romantic straight dudes. Sure, they're stoked that you're all excited and gushy when you get that teddy bear and they love to see you smile. But most of them aren't gonna get STOKED on picking that shit out. And they are probably NOT going to bake you cookies with little pink sparkles on them either. And despite the hurt feelings of some of my lady-friends who complain that their manly counterparts aren't being attentive enough when Valentine's day rolls around if they don't get a heart-shaped box on their doorstep, I HONESTLY don't really think it's an affront to the relationship. I just think that sometimes, dudes don't "get" the pleasure that comes from eating a heart-shaped chocolates out of a heart=shaped box, even though they taste the same as the chocolates NOT shaped like hearts and are just more expensive, as previously discussed. Because really, when you think about it, it's sort of irrational. It just happens to be that sort of irrational that makes perfect sense to us.

This is one of the reasons why being truly bisexual is both a gift and the weirdest thing ever. Trust me, the list of reasons goes on and on. Because while I do honestly and genuinely see the girlie appeal of a Valentine's femme-fest, I kind of want to barf my guts out a little whenever I think about slow-dancing or single red roses. And it's not because that shit is cheesy...because trust me, I LIVE for cheese and have many Tea Party albums (please still be my friend). Nope, it's something else... the same sort of macho thing that makes me wince whenever I hear "soft rock" and get excited whenever I see a really nice sound system.. thanks A LOT, Vancouver audiophiles, you have spoiled me forever. But I know that other girls get what I'm talking about, sexual orientation / femme-yness aside... it's like, a mushy/macho factor... wow, I'm really going out on a limb with the label/gender role thing today. And slashes, apparently. But how else would I describe it? It's like a gag-reflex. The one I no longer have after this weekend.

But for real: Femmes of the world who may feel slighted by the glaring absence of your heart-shaped chocolates? Pretty sure that your boyfriend / butchy / transgender / whoever person loves you A LOT and wants to hump your brains out on Valentine's Day, or any day, really. His reluctance / neglect to participate in ultra-girlie consumerism gifting is not necessarily an affront to you, more just sort of like that weird wince-y feeling you get whenever you hear that Celine Dion song from Titanic (EWWWWW. PS: I was SO expecting that bitch to turn up at the Olympics, nice work on avoiding that crap-pile, VANOC, I fully give you props for that). And unlike my sadistic sister Chelsey, I don't feel that a lack of cheesy Valentine's gifts is hard-evidence that the guy isn't into me or isn't sucking it up enough to prove that he's in for the long-haul. We can do other shit. I just have it figured out that I like to get my grrlie fixes from my grrlz... it's just plain easier that way. I like doing other shit with my manly man. And you KNOW what I'm talking about.

And so. I feel that Valentine's Day should basically be re-named to "Do Fun Girlie Valentine's Day Consumerism Shiz with your Fun Girlie Friends and then go Hump your Non-Girlie Partners After That" Day. Then everybody wins!!! Don't you think the world would be like, wayyy happier and easier?

Yay. Also: be very wary of small children who seem crabby and ill early in the week. Do not disregard their germs because they have tiny faces... THEY WILL STILL INFECT YOU.

And on that note, now that I'm keeping solid food down, I DO believe it is time to go buy heart-shaped chocolate... ON SALE. In the "Seasonal" aisle. My FAVORITE. Mmmmmmmmm.

Oh yeah, I promised I'd post those pix from my last Shimona Henry shoot, because some of the bloggy peeps aren't on the FB. You should see the other ones she did for my new site. SHWING.


Monday, January 4, 2010

Small Reminder - MDMA is not Dinner

Whazzzzzup, back from the Peg for a week now and STRANGELY enough, I miss my crazy fucking family... I KNOW. Weird considering I was almost going to murder somebody about 8 days ago. If only there were some way of spending time with your family without actually having to like, you know, talk to them and stuff. That would be just great. Actually I sort of find that cooking for my family sort of works. This somehow makes me feel like I'm spending time with them when really they're just kind of in the background, plus then when the food is ready they can't say anything for a bit because their mouths are all full. THEN, afterwards, they have to be all nice to me because I just made food suddenly appear in front of them and everyone loves THAT.

Oh.... except ravers, apparently.

Anyone else notice this conversation last week? It has several different variables but mainly goes something this: Blah blah blah, holidaze were good but I ate too much, blah blah, oh my GOD I am like SO FAT now at my 5 to 8 pound weight gain because my mom made a shitload of my favorite cookies and chocolate was everywhere and I sat down to this gorgeous, delicious giant dinner and then, horror of horrors, everyone expected me to EAT IT. IT WAS AWFUL, THERE IS NO GOD, DON'T LOOK AT ME, I'M HIDEOUS, HIDEOUS!!!!!!


Ok, so. The West Coast is already skinnier than other parts of the country. It's true, check Stats Canada Probably due to all the bicycling / MEC wearing / yoga practicing and of course the plethora of available soy products, as well as the Asian influence (how many fat Asians do you know? That's what I thought. By the way, who do I have to kill to get some more hot black guys to move here??? SERIOUSLY)... but I ask you... is it possible that all these factors have resulted in extra sensitive body image and more sneaky high-school style anorexia? EVEN in progressive and love-filled lands such as: Of the Ravers? (NB: I use the term Ravers loosely to describe the electronic music scene as a whole - techno / hip hop / tribal / hippie / dnb/ dubstep / etc etc. It's a term reclamation and stufff). It's weird, because recreational choices that often include marathon dancing, yoga, mind-expanding drug-use and vegan-ism aren't exactly a recipe for obesity. In fact you would think that the assumed accompanying neo-hippie mentality would perhaps encourage people to take care of themselves by eating enough. So why do I keep encountering more and more shrinking women on the dance floor who say they are simply "forgetting to eat"? Hrmmmmmmmm.

Now if you've ever uttered that line, please know that I DO realize that it IS sometimes quite genuine to get caught up and lose track of everything. My mother, for example, is a crazy work-a-holic who will go for hours without so much as a nibble... one day she prescribed yogurt to me for my upset tummy because it once "helped my stomach stop hurting when it was empty". Um... you mean HUNGER? Rrrrright. (I love that woman). BUT I'mma be straight up now..."forgetting to eat" as a habit can start to look like a weight management technique after awhile, even if it's subconscious. After all, you didn't forget to put on clothes today and that's also necessary - oh wait, bad example cause I SO never wear clothes - ummm... ok, retry. You didn't forget to go to the bathroom today, right? Better example. Yes.

Now I get that a lot of time not eating is a mere result of lack of planning. Things are stressful, there's a million to-do's and food is a lower priority at that exact moment. This actually used to be a big Sweet Soul move in the first days of throwing shows... we'd be so busy and have forgotten all about food. Then we'd remember by the time it was simply too late to go get something. You can usually tell which events those were by the subsequent photos of us looking SHITFACED by about 10:30 pm (usually one of our eyes is kind of closed, our grins are lopsided and my boobs are hanging out, like more than normal). Now we make time cause we got sick of peeling each other's faces off the floor. In general, I find that if you can plan your outfit, you can plan your dinner. PS: MDMA is not dinner, ummkayyy?

You've probably noticed that people who don't eat not only get more wasted, they also get "hangry". You know "hangry", it's a combo of "hungry" and "angry" and occurs when your brain keeps thinking about food instead of how to act like a nice person. I've also noticed hanger in some extreme I-ONLY-eat-organic-seaweed people which can also start to look like sneaky anorexia sometimes. Cause I know lots of vegans, and they actually eat a lot of shit. Some of it's even tasty!

Ok. I should take a time-out to assure you that I'm not saying this to hate on anybody. And I know that you can be naturally thin while having healthy eating habits. And those who struggle with their self image, I'm not judging, I love you, I'm there on and off like anyone else. BUT. Those who are forgetting to eat. Please remember how powerful you are, especially within a subculture that doesn't buy into conventional TV-land. Social influence quickly replace media influence in such circles and trends spread quicker than my legs in 2006 (good year. sigh.). What I mean is that for every cool-looking chick who forgets to eat, another four also start forgetting. Then suddenly everyone's friends are trying to maintain this weird starvation weight by not eating and they start taking more drugs or speed or diet pills to maintain their energy levels. AND MEANWHILE, EVERYONE IS HANGRY. It's a world I don't enjoy. Reminds me too much of ballet school. You wanna see HANGER? Try CP at age 14. Not pretty. No pun intended.

Ravers of the World: let us eat. I promise everyone will still look nice in their gorgeous hand-made organic bamboo cotton backless dresses. And for fuck's sake, no jumping off the Lion's Gate bridge because you ate that extra box of chocolates this Christmas. It's the holidaze, for crying out loud. You were drunk.

And now here is a gratuitous un-graded, un-retouched shot of my un-starving bum captured by Tallulah. Send it to all your hot black friends immediately and tell them to visit Vancouver. (Yes, I know it's a stereotype, but there's also another stereotype about hot black men that I've also found to be pretty true, so whateves. Do it).

Heh heh.

kisse n' kix