In July of 2013 Lydia's Pub in Saskatoon closed its doors forever. It was a sad day for Saskatoon, and a huge loss for the local music community. I had recently moved to the Broadway area, and Lydia's was one of the main contributors to that decision. It closed on a Monday, and I was scheduled to perform at Open Mic Night the day after. I was crushed.
The next day, July 30th, Melissa Gan and I, who comprise the musical duo Wolfen Rabbits, helped to organize a jam on the red benches just outside of Lydia's, and our friends gathered for an informal acoustic jam. People brought guitars and drums, violin and cello, and we sang songs that people kind of knew, and everyone had a great time. Someone brought candles, and it turned into a vigil of sorts.
Nobody was in charge. Nobody hosted or told people what song to play. Someone would start playing, and those who knew the song joined in. It was a community of musicians gathering to say goodbye to a place that we had played at so many times before, and we were determined to have a great night. And when people saw the gathering, they would stop by to chat, or would park their cars and join us. "Open Sidewalk" at Lydia's was a wonderful success.
It was a sad night. And yet I assert that it was the most satisfying Open Mic Night at Lydia's that I have ever attended. We didn't need the building to have an amazing time. We needed instruments and people, and a reason to get together and remember of all of the good times we had in that building.
After some efforts to look into saving the building, it was announced that the Farnham Block that housed Lydia's will be torn down. And many people are upset about this, and I understand that. It has been a place to gather for so many years in this city, and it is where so many of us have made friendships and lasting memories that will carry us long into old age.
But let's not pretend that the venue was a model pub or venue. The unkempt washrooms ensured a balanced ratio of urine-to-stale-beer stench. The layout of the bar in relation to the stage was impractical at best. I'm convinced that they never cleaned their taps, because every beer on tap tasted awful. (I have yet to experience an Alexander Keith's pint that tasted that bad.) And I'm sure most of us have been terrified at the prospect of trying to unsoberly navigate the Stairs of Death. It was not a clean place, nor a well-designed pub, and it would be unreasonable to pretend that it was simply because they're tearing it down.
I think it is important for not to let our nostalgia falsely romanticize a really awful building. It's not the building we will remember about Lydia's. I don't remember having good times with the bricks, or the stairs, or the dirty floor or soapless washroom or the bottleneck between the bar and the stage. We're forgetting why the numerable crappy things about Lydia's were worth tolerating.
What made Lydia's an amazing place to go was the people of Saskatoon, and the incredible music and arts community that gathered within those walls. But those walls don't make us who we are; we make those walls what they are. It was always what those walls contained that made the difference. Those people are still here in the city, playing music, reciting poetry, and there will always be new places to gather. Losing the building will not wipe our memories, nor will it affect our ability to make new memories with the people who are still around.
I am as sad as anyone about the loss of Lydia's, and some of my fondest memories of Saskatoon occurred within its dirty walls. But I refuse to grieve for bricks and wood while the people that made that space matter are still around me, every day, doing what they did, just somewhere else. Let's remember that the spirit of Lydia's was us, the people of Saskatoon, who on the corner that day in July made music together and had a wonderful time. And we didn't need a run-down building to make those lasting memories with one another. We just needed each other.
Make It Happen
Tomorrow is International Women's Day, a day in celebration of the achievement of women around the world. It is supposed to be a day of respect and love, but today I witnessed something that deeply disturbed me. As I was walking home from work, I saw a man across the street approach a woman right in front of the Tim Horton's downtown. He was very animated as he talked, and it caught me eye, for some reason. But the walk light turned, and so I crossed the street to the opposite corner of the intersection.
Then I heard her, at this great distance, say "get out of the way." I stopped. I looked back, and saw that she tried to go around him, but he physically blocked her path. I saw two men in suits cross over to that corner of the intersection. The men looked her way with passive concern, as I had, but crossed when the walk light turned, just like me.
I stopped. I knew someone should do something. But I didn't want it to have to be me. Why couldn't it be them? They were closer. I stood there. I waited.
And then it struck me what a fucking coward I was for not standing up for a woman who was being harassed in public. She had a man physically blocking her from walking down the street, and nobody was doing anything about it. And if it wasn't going to be me, it wasn't going to be anybody.
So I took off my belt and wrapped it around my hand, crossed the street once, then again by cutting through traffic, and walked up to him. Adrenaline is all I had, because confrontation is not my strong suit. I told him to leave her alone. He looked at me, and was clearly drunk. He turned to me and tried to excuse what he was doing. She snuck past him and into the Tim Horton's. So I thought it was over.
He followed her into the Tim Horton's. She locked herself in the washroom, and he tried to talk through the door. I went outside and phoned the police. A customer came outside to talk to me while I did.
"I wanted to do something, but I have my daughter here," he said to me. His name was Jamie. He indicated that we should keep an eye on him together. As I hung up from reporting the incident to the police, the harasser walked outside.
Again, the man tried to appeal to us that he wasn't doing anything wrong. "I just wanted to talk to her."
"If she asks you to leave her alone, you need to leave her alone," I said. It probably sounded feeble. The woman slipped by and headed down the street while Jamie and I engaged the man. Jamie was more intimidating and assertive. He lectured the guy about respecting women.
Jamie took the lead. He was assertive and took the lead. I was okay with that. He looked way more badass than I did.
Eventually the man wandered in the opposite direction as the woman had gone. Jamie and I chatted a little while to make sure he didn't double back. He walked off toward the river, and the incident was done.
So what's the point of this story? I'm not certain. I mostly needed to write it down because I'm still processing it. It's been a long and strange week, and this incident certainly added to the "what the hell just happened" factor.
It's sad that this woman couldn't walk down the street without this guy harassing her. And it's sad that nobody stopped to help. It's sad that I didn't stop right away. I was just another one of the indifferent passersby who couldn't be bothered to help someone who clearly needed an ally.
I am afraid of confrontation. I cower from any sort of interpersonal conflict. But I am grateful that today I stood up for someone. Nobody should have to put up with that kind of harassment. I don't want to live in a world where women are harassed on the street, and nobody does anything about it. When I think of something like that happening to someone I love, I want to know that there are people out there who will intervene when they see an injustice. And the only way I can expect to live in a world like that is if I am willing to cross the street and fight for those who need, and deserve, a little help.
Then I heard her, at this great distance, say "get out of the way." I stopped. I looked back, and saw that she tried to go around him, but he physically blocked her path. I saw two men in suits cross over to that corner of the intersection. The men looked her way with passive concern, as I had, but crossed when the walk light turned, just like me.
I stopped. I knew someone should do something. But I didn't want it to have to be me. Why couldn't it be them? They were closer. I stood there. I waited.
And then it struck me what a fucking coward I was for not standing up for a woman who was being harassed in public. She had a man physically blocking her from walking down the street, and nobody was doing anything about it. And if it wasn't going to be me, it wasn't going to be anybody.
So I took off my belt and wrapped it around my hand, crossed the street once, then again by cutting through traffic, and walked up to him. Adrenaline is all I had, because confrontation is not my strong suit. I told him to leave her alone. He looked at me, and was clearly drunk. He turned to me and tried to excuse what he was doing. She snuck past him and into the Tim Horton's. So I thought it was over.
He followed her into the Tim Horton's. She locked herself in the washroom, and he tried to talk through the door. I went outside and phoned the police. A customer came outside to talk to me while I did.
"I wanted to do something, but I have my daughter here," he said to me. His name was Jamie. He indicated that we should keep an eye on him together. As I hung up from reporting the incident to the police, the harasser walked outside.
Again, the man tried to appeal to us that he wasn't doing anything wrong. "I just wanted to talk to her."
"If she asks you to leave her alone, you need to leave her alone," I said. It probably sounded feeble. The woman slipped by and headed down the street while Jamie and I engaged the man. Jamie was more intimidating and assertive. He lectured the guy about respecting women.
Jamie took the lead. He was assertive and took the lead. I was okay with that. He looked way more badass than I did.
Eventually the man wandered in the opposite direction as the woman had gone. Jamie and I chatted a little while to make sure he didn't double back. He walked off toward the river, and the incident was done.
So what's the point of this story? I'm not certain. I mostly needed to write it down because I'm still processing it. It's been a long and strange week, and this incident certainly added to the "what the hell just happened" factor.
It's sad that this woman couldn't walk down the street without this guy harassing her. And it's sad that nobody stopped to help. It's sad that I didn't stop right away. I was just another one of the indifferent passersby who couldn't be bothered to help someone who clearly needed an ally.
I am afraid of confrontation. I cower from any sort of interpersonal conflict. But I am grateful that today I stood up for someone. Nobody should have to put up with that kind of harassment. I don't want to live in a world where women are harassed on the street, and nobody does anything about it. When I think of something like that happening to someone I love, I want to know that there are people out there who will intervene when they see an injustice. And the only way I can expect to live in a world like that is if I am willing to cross the street and fight for those who need, and deserve, a little help.
A Poem
One time, I awoke from the strangest dream
And wrote in a book by my bed.
At least as far as I can tell,
this is what it said:
'Fear is a frightening thing
It can consume you and your precious offspring
giving
taking
giving
taking
Giving potential in exchange for life
A life worth living
Extraterrestrial dreams of
Anything better than this
Vote for your favorite flash in the pan
Make a fad forever
Help support inane memes (Donate today!)
Your flavorless ham sandwich
Looks at you longingly
Like the pig you imagine it once was
Likening illness to a stew
And the potatoes will fuck your day up
And leave you with a false sense of toast
Punctuate. Everything.
capitalization of letters and
advantages
Start new lines instead of finishing
old ones
Graffiti your heart
Have big dreams and tiny goals
Don't forget to shut the light off when you're done.'
Wellington, NZ
This past week marked a year since I arrived in Wellington, a city which felt more like home than the city I have lived in for most of my life. I have thought fondly of my time spent in New Zealand, and most importantly, the people I met there. The general friendliness of Kiwis remains one of my fondest impressions about my experience there. There was always someone smiling at me, and it helped me to feel like less of a stranger than I truly was. I have discovered that Canadians and Kiwis share an inexplicable connection that makes the process of meeting new people and friends effortless. If you have ever thought about traveling to New Zealand, do so, because none can rival the hospitality of Kiwis.
Wellington is a city full of art and culture. Everywhere you go in the core of downtown, you will find street performers and artists, music of all kinds, and friendly people going shoeless. The city is very pedestrian-friendly and so you see more people in a given day than you would trapped in a vehicle necessitated by suburban sprawl. If you go to the Cuba Street Mall, (which is not a mall by Canadian standards, it's a street) you're bound to see someone you know, even if you know very few people. This constant face-to-face contact with other residents develops a very strong sense of community, one which I have not experienced anywhere else I have ever been. Wellington is a remarkable place.
All of the people that I met in New Zealand have a special place in my fondest memories, during the best summer I have ever had. Well, so far.
Also, I am dying for a Moro Gold chocolate bar.
Wellington is a city full of art and culture. Everywhere you go in the core of downtown, you will find street performers and artists, music of all kinds, and friendly people going shoeless. The city is very pedestrian-friendly and so you see more people in a given day than you would trapped in a vehicle necessitated by suburban sprawl. If you go to the Cuba Street Mall, (which is not a mall by Canadian standards, it's a street) you're bound to see someone you know, even if you know very few people. This constant face-to-face contact with other residents develops a very strong sense of community, one which I have not experienced anywhere else I have ever been. Wellington is a remarkable place.
All of the people that I met in New Zealand have a special place in my fondest memories, during the best summer I have ever had. Well, so far.
Also, I am dying for a Moro Gold chocolate bar.
Long Weekends and the Un-Hangover
My father got married this weekend, and during the course of the reception, I ingested an unadvisable amount of alcohol for someone of my tolerance. Needless to say, the following day was unpleasant. In additional to my chemical disruption, I also did not sleep well, so my day yesterday was a complete write-off.
After an evening of drunkenness, we experience a low, where the highs of the previous festivities are inverted to the lowest depths of regret. The fun is great, but the backlash is a bitch. Well, today, I am experiencing the backlash to the backlash. I feel more rested and lucid than I have felt in a while. The nausea has subsided, and the headaches are no more. I am born again sober, and it's great. I've been productive today, completing several things on my ongoing list of things to do. One of those things was to continue posting on my blog.
So if you're unsure what to do with your next long weekend, I have a recipe that will bring you highs, lows, and moderate productivity. I have included some extra options for the reckless.
Long Weekend Special
Day 1: Consume too much alcohol. Mix in some family and friends for a good time. For a more cake-like texture and a bit of drama, add a splash of drunk texting. For extra spice, drunk text your friends' ex's.
Day 2: Stir in as much water as you can without feeling bloated or full. Eat bacon, but do not eat eggs. Moan and regret for 7 to 14 hours hours on low. Get a good night's sleep.
Day 3: Sleep in, but when you awake, marvel at the glory of not feeling like shit, and remind yourself how good it is to be alive. Eat a Mr. Freeze freezie. Post on blog.
After an evening of drunkenness, we experience a low, where the highs of the previous festivities are inverted to the lowest depths of regret. The fun is great, but the backlash is a bitch. Well, today, I am experiencing the backlash to the backlash. I feel more rested and lucid than I have felt in a while. The nausea has subsided, and the headaches are no more. I am born again sober, and it's great. I've been productive today, completing several things on my ongoing list of things to do. One of those things was to continue posting on my blog.
So if you're unsure what to do with your next long weekend, I have a recipe that will bring you highs, lows, and moderate productivity. I have included some extra options for the reckless.
Long Weekend Special
Day 1: Consume too much alcohol. Mix in some family and friends for a good time. For a more cake-like texture and a bit of drama, add a splash of drunk texting. For extra spice, drunk text your friends' ex's.
Day 2: Stir in as much water as you can without feeling bloated or full. Eat bacon, but do not eat eggs. Moan and regret for 7 to 14 hours hours on low. Get a good night's sleep.
Day 3: Sleep in, but when you awake, marvel at the glory of not feeling like shit, and remind yourself how good it is to be alive. Eat a Mr. Freeze freezie. Post on blog.
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