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





Anasia





Application (Audio & DJ)





April O'Peel





Atomic Vaudeville





Automatic DJs





Bassnectar





Bent Matter





Bettina May





Bevvy Swift





Big Toe’s HiFi





Blenda





Boreta





BreakBeatBuddha





Brigee K





Burgundy Brixx





Buzy Bee





Calibre





Chadio





Chily





Chocha





Creaking Planks





Cure





Danny Corn





Darla Devine





Deaga Sound





Decibel Point





Delilah Dare





Dewey Decibel





Dunks





DJG





DJ She





DuRose





edIT





Electrabelle





Eradik





Erica Dee





Evil





Frank Grimes





Fungineers





Glitchy & Scratchy





GoGo Amy





Heidrogen





Here Be Monsters





Hexadecibel





Holistic





Hubbz





Ill Gates





Illesha





Indigo Blue





Insiders







J F Killah





J Pod





Jay Auto





Jenny Magenta





Joanie Gyoza





Johnny Dubbs





Joe Ave





Josh Martinez





Kelsey Faery





Kilowatts





Kir Mokum





Kraddy





Krista Lomax





Krusha





KT Couture





K-Tel





Librarian





Lynx & Janover





Lola Lockeheart





LongWalkShortDock





Luciterra





Manousos





Mat The Alien





Max Ulis





Melody Mangler





Michael Red





Mimosa





Mister Fister





Moka Only





Moses Mayes





Mykro Douglas





Myles Away





Neighbour





Nog





O'Feel





Ooah





Opiuo





Phresha





Phowa





RaBit





Random Henchmen





Rhek





Rico Uno





Robb G





Ronin





Satellite Space Disco Orchestra





Screaming Chicken Theatrical Society





Self Evident





Sex Attack





Shameless Lee





Shamik





Shimon





Skream





SpiltMilk





Starkey





Starlot Harlots





Steamboat Fattie





StickyBudz





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)





Tusk





Utern





Vasho





Vibesquad





Villainy Loveless





Vincent Parker





Vinyl Richie





Wood n’ Soo





Woodhead





... & of course, Sweet Soul Burlesque. 

... & of course, Sweet Soul Burlesque.


Guess that's all folks.

Top hats n' slip mats,
xoxo
CP



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 http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=6848753899&v=app_2344061033#!/event.php?eid=140637479301146&ref=ts



SLUGABED - BLUE DAISY - ILLUM SPHERE - NASTY NASTY – MICHAEL RED & KRISTA LOMAX w/ CALAMALKAhttp://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=105037542885475&ref=ts



OMAR S - JASON LEV - SCOTT http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=125981497446395



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



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.



Xoxo

Cherry, Cara, Joe, Jon, Willis & CP

Lady Gaga gets JUDGED by Crystal Precious

Fuck.

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.

FINAL GAGA JUDGEMENT: Approved.

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,
xoxo
CP

Why Acid is Bad for Your Hair

Ok.

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.

Rrright.

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.

xoxo
CP

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,
oxox
CP

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

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.





mmmummmmcccunchcmmmumm.
xoxo
CP

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!!!!!!

Um.

Ok, so. The West Coast is already skinnier than other parts of the country. It's true, check Stats Canada http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/82-620-m/2005001/c-g/adults-adutles/4053576-eng.htm. 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
xoxo
CP

CHURCH

So here I am, 4am, Sunday morning... again my weekend flipped me hard upside down and nearly killed me... but it damn, was it ever fun. NOT expecting the Bassnectar afterparty at Dollhouse to get so slammed, but apparently I was the only person who wasn't expecting it since apparently he's some cultural icon now or something. Full in an hour with 200 hundred people outside and two stretch limos sitting there? No wonder the po-po showed up and shut the party down (even though they were nice and waiting until about 5am). This of course was a first for us but it was bound to happen at some point and I'm not sorry (I'm not worried about any future visits or anything). In fact if Vancouver's finest hadn't kicked everyone out I'm pretty sure the party would have gone until noon. It was a fitting end for our staff Christmas party, considering that it was called CHURCH. The Basscoast grrlz really set it up; Liz ended up having to stay up in Whistler for the night to take care of her little one after paintstakingly setting up the alter (bummer) and called to tell me that her phone had been going off all night with people trying to get in and saying that the line-up OUTSIDE was even fun... Church party indeed. I even managed to get Ronin into a cute alter boy outfit before the show, but only for a moment (it was a hot moment though). Another well-known DJ accidentally took the wrong acid and was high for the whole next day AS WELL and just finally came back into the world. Whuppppps, careful of that stuff coming from Nelson people. It's for real. Also cuts of images from the haziness... shots of us spanking Self Evident's hot ass behind the decks, Andrea our right hand grrl LITERALLY shop-vacuuming the unfortunate clog in the main toilet with the help of a random amazing couple (!!!) and all the while, a giant statue of Jesus with his bleeding heart thumping steadily to the bass in front of the booth. Did I mention the show at the beginning of the night featuring Melody Mangler & Voodoo Pixie sucking either end of a fat candy stick on their knees? AND I wasn't wear pants the whole night, PS. Yes, this is my real life.

But now another week begins; one week before I head back to the shivering city of Winnipeg to reflect for two weeks and put the finishing touches on my SassMaster Plan for life A.D. (After Dollhouse, of course). I'm ready for it for sure. These nights of epic debauchery have been fun and fabulous and a needed change from the machine... and I still plan on helping to make stuff happen like this... just maybe not so OFTEN. Another time, as I've said before, there will be a way to maintain space in the city for these kinds of events without the grind. I absolutely know it. I'm proud to see that so many of the underground peeps are now able to throw shows in nightclubs; makes it so much easier on everyone. No rental fees, no security fees, no need to turn it down (words I hope to never utter again in my fucking life)... whereas our space came out of a need. It's been nearly impossible to fill a room or get a decent night anywhere in this city at a conventional nightclub for us in the past, and it's still nearly impossible to get a Friday or Saturday. Hard work and the attention music is getting is now changing that. The support is there, the artists are getting the attention and as far as venues go, this city hasn't seen the last of us yet (ummmkayyy?). Part of it I think is that mainstream culture is just SO generic right now, I daresay almost more than ever before. I mean, I know there's trends and stuff but it just seems like they're spitting out the same shit in different piles over and over and over and over, and people are needing something else. BADLY. Unfortunately it means that some of the art we've worked so hard to get out there gets co-opted into harsh crap that totally misses the point, Pussy Cat Dolls and "McDubstep" remixes of your least favorite pop songs included (don't even get me started about "McDubstep"... trust me, you'll hear more about it in a future post). But there's always the flipside and it's really a small price to pay to get to reach out to so many people who may hear something that cracks open their entire world.

The need for escapism and alternative culture continues. I'm just not sure that the party element is what I actually personally need at the moment. It's kind of been something that I've valued and so I've put a lot of heart and sass and spirit into trying to provide at least somewhat nurturing options for the thinking person's party... but it's also to create a space for us to meet each other, and a platform for alternative artists, including myself. It has been rewarding... but how often have I actually taken the chance to really stand up on that platform? And how many other ones like it are out there? I wonder...

I'm thinking it's almost time to find out.

xoxo
CP