I was out on Saturday night at an art show held by one of Jason's friends. Jay held it in his ultra-hip studio in East Van, where there were interpretive dancers, musicians and singers performing for an ecclectic mix of students, fellow artists, friends and family. The proceeds of the show were going to the BC Cancer Agency. The pieces he had done - the theme was "Move" - were amazing. Collages of pencil-drawn people in close proximity, to make profiles, shapes... very unique and cool.
As I walked up the stairs to say hello to Andrea and Matt, I heard "Hey Tri Girl!" from below... I was like HUH??? I look down and see Tamara a.k.a The Straight Poop), although it took me a second to line up my planets! We've never actually met!
I talked to her through the stairs briefly and said I'd be back. Little did I know that my nausea would make a guest appearance! Throughout the performance of Peter, one of the interpretive dancers, my stomach was churning and my goosebumps rose and fell. Not good! So I stayed put. When I was feeling better, I looked down below, but could not spot the fair-haired Tamara! Crap!
Alas, another time?
A note on the interpretive dancers... I don't think I'm cultured enough to appreciate it. Before Peter started, he was standing in a blanket wrapped loosely about his 60-something naked, tattooed and bejewelled body. I remember thinking "If he's not careful, that robe is going to fall off!" But then he let it drop to the floor. I'm no prude, I like to hang at Wreck and be naked too. But it was kinda weird because he was all by himself. Anyhow he did some chanting and huffing and puffing and sounding to accompany his erratic movements. I was trying to see a pattern or meaning to it (i.e. interpret!) but my brain was stuck in choreography-mode. It was lost on me. Sigh.