Category: musing

Oh, yeah. Jim and Val and i picked out two shows at random and got a couple of great shows, both nearly sold out. At the first one we slid into the back row. At the second, we lucked into three seats near the front of a packed bar venue, but had to climb over and under the tables to get to them.

Both shows, completely coincidentally, were offshore raconteurs who, with the aid of nothing but a chair or stool, told long, rambling tales punctuated by much digression and impromptu commentary. Ah, that Brit wit — when it works (and by the time it gets this far afield it always works), nothing beats it.

• The Spy — Aussie performer Jotto Katz is a master of deception, misdirection and sleight-of-mind in this mid-70s tale of espionage and shifting identity. Playing multiple characters, boldly inviting commentary from the audience, boldly ignoring the theatrical suspension of disbelief, and with a line of narrative as tangled as a plate of spaghetti, he truly seemed to be having a good time. So did we.
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• The Further Advetures of Antoine Feval — Wonderfully confident Brit actor Chris Gibbs (now Toronto-based and with a 3-week-old Canadian baby, if his multifarious asides are to be believed), standing on a 4-by-10 makeshift stage against the wall of the top floor of the King’s Head restaurant/bar, addressed a full, full house of wined (beered) and dined patrons. (The remains of a fish-and-chips graced our table for the whole show.) Elocution, my dears: he learned it. It was learned by him. Very Shakespearean. Very Victorian. A long, looping, literate tale told in a plummy accent by a pro. It was delightful to watch the rapt audience following the tale like children.

I’m really enjoying the spoken word shows, and will make a delibelate effort to catch as many as i can during the Fringe. Alas, i’ve learned that mumsy has arranged several visits with the rellies during the coming week, which will sorely limit my Fringing time. I must approach it with military precision.

My 4-hour Fringe shift started with picking up all the garbage on the ground in Market Square — let me tell you about my newfound lack of respect for smokers later — then back to parking patrol. But it was most entertaining because i was right alongside the Kids’ Fringe open stage, and watched the Aussie acrobats, the Story Fairy (okay, not my cuppa), and the people from drumcafe.com (including the Amazon with the shekere, with whom i was enraptured at a drum circle here in Winnipeg two winters ago; alas, she still doesn’t know i exist).

Then it was playtime. Only two today because (a) it’s Saturday and was packed, and (b) i’m getting seriously short of sleep, what with the early-morning shifts and the late nights. Seen:

• Inflatable Buddha — bigger than Jesus — a travelling British band (mandolin, stand-up bass, harmonica, sax, drums) and spoken-word troupe. Great title, but a lacklustre show, i’m afraid. The performance poetry was repetitive, with little in the way of surprising ideas or images. Even the klezmer pieces didn’t have much life to them (and that’s a talent). The lady bassist’s solo ballad was the high point of a show marred by way, way too much rambling dialogue, which i note seems to be a common Fringe indulgence. When i do my Fringe play it’s going to be nonstop action. Others seemed to like it, though. Punters.
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• Mating Rituals of the Urban Cougar — a pure-as-wine spoken-word piece by Toronto’s (ex Vancouver’s) Andrea Thompson. Black stage, one stool, one women — that’s guts. Poor title, i thought, but the show … goose bumps! A testament to the power that lies hidden in story, for those able to evoke it.
  Personal tales, slammy poetry, a capella song, perspicacious social observation. So good i bought a CD, and felt my life take a slight left turn. Check out Juicy on her MySpace page. I will put her in contact with PRAS for a possible show at the Tofino’s community theatre. A venue that sold out seven shows of the Vagina Monologues can hold Cougar Andy for a night or two.

Sleep. Must sleep!

I have long been a bit creeped out when i enter a room full of burning candles. I love the ambience, but paraffin, folks, is a hydrocarbon just like diesel, and hydrocarbon exhaust is hydrocarbon exhaust. I wouldn’t feel good about hanging out in a room filled with burning diesel lamps, no matter how mellow the ambience.

Fortunately there are alternatives: beeswax and soy wax, for two, that avoid some of the downsides of paraffin and also don’t feed the oil industry.

This from a pamphlet put out by Avalon Sunset Candles, makers of beeswax candles:

Many commercial candles are made from paraffin, the greyish-black sludge that oozes from the backside of the petroleum refineries. It’s bleached, textured with a carcinogenic product called acrolyn, chemically coloured and artificially scented.

Did you know? — Paraffin candles create black smoke and soot that coats your home and even your lungs. Fumes from a paraffin candle are like breathing diesel exhaust fumes.

What about the wick? — Health Canada is urging the Canadian candle industry to stop manufacturing and importing candles with lead and zinc core wicks. They are hazardous to human health — even in small amounts. Some candlemakers use lead and zinc cores to make the wicks rigid.

Beeswax facts:

• Beeswax candles produce negative ions that attract positive ions. But positive ions aren’t so positive. They’re the pollutants such as dust, odours, toxins, pollen, mold, bacteria and viruses that are floating in the air. Beeswax neutralizes the pollutants and they simply fall to the ground. The dustier your home, the more “black debris” you’ll find deposited in the wax around the wick.
• Beeswax is a safe, valuable fuel — one of the purest known. It burns slower than paraffin, so it’s cheaper to use. Beeswax burns with a golden halo and is significantly hotter than paraffin. Please note: candles listing beeswax as an ingredient may contain as little as 30% beeswax. If it doesn’t state on the label “100% beeswax,” it probably isn’t.

And here’s a page of info on candles made of soy.

You have to do a bit of searching (in nonmainstream stores, of course) but i’ve found both soy and beeswax candles in Ucluelet, so they must be available pretty much everywhere. Be mellow, be healthy!

I’m coming to you courtesy of free wireless at the Regina Public Library, where an hour ago i visited their in-branch art gallery. (How visionary — are you listening, Ucluelet, with your coming new community centre?)

The show currently running is Pandora’s Box, an 11-woman show of more or less controversial images rooted in the double-edged Greek myth portraying Pandora as the first woman, who brings either many gifts or (via her infamous box) all evils.

In talking with the curator, i suddenly flashed on the idea that the Pacific Rim Arts Society should introduce a little depth and controversy into the WestCoast visual arts scene by commissioning 10 artists to produce a work each that will:

• address at least one significant local issue head-on;
• piss at least one person off (local or tourist);
• probably never hang on someone’s living room wall.

That would be such a welcome change from our endless stream of what i call “eco-porn” — pretty images of idealized wilderness intended to covey nothing but feel-good.

The whole country seemed to be devolving into a mania for the distraction it called entertainment, a day and night mimicry of art that menaced nothing, redeemed nothing and meant nothing but forgetfulness.
–Arthur Miller in his autobiography Timebends