A glorious weekend part 1: The DJ stinks

Please excuse the silence. I've been under construction. But a shave and a haircut has made all the difference. Friends visiting you in the Peg work wonders too, especially when for the first time in weeks you haven't brought any work home for the weekend. So it was with a clean face and a clear couple of days I played host to Andrea, who came for a few days and joined me for the Shrimp CD release party, the Fringe Festival, and much merriment.

Shrimp played a balls out (ovaries out?) show, and my fellow writer David and Andrea and I played some balls down pool, at the Royal Albert Arms, the premiere punk venue in town. Interesting history, this place has. Apparently the Royal Albert is where every Winnipeg kid started drinking when they were, like, 14 years old. And back in 2003 a dude with certain mysterious but obviously fundamental issues turned himself into police and directed them to the body of a man he'd killed and mutilated and left in his room upstairs along with Susan Sarandon's stolen necklace.

Oh, and you want to keep talking about music venues in Winnipeg? Well the last place I saw Shrimp play was The Collective Cabaret, which has its own gruesome story. Back in October, 2002, The Collective's resident DJ, Eduardo Sanchez, went missing. In summer 2003, Winnipeg's smoking ban went into effect, and with the layer of tobacco stench stripped away, people noticed quite a different, singularly unpleasant odour. Finally in December 2003, the smell led searchers to Eduardo's mummified body in the wall. He'd asphyxiated after crawling in there months before. Local lore says he was found with a bag in his hand, and that the bag contained his drug stash -- but who knows what really drives a guy into a wall and to his death.

So, you know, could be there's more to appreciate about a city-wide smoking ban than just the difference it makes to your lungs. Could be banning smoking leads to some exciting CSI moments.

Next: A glorious weekend part 2: Food, fringe, frolic.

Geekus Canadensis

While the term "cryptozoology" dates back to the 1960s, "cryptid" is a product of the 80s, coined by a praire man no less:

“Cryptid” is a relatively new word used among professionals and laypeople to denote an animal of interest to cryptozoology. John E. Wall of Manitoba coined it in a letter published in the summer 1983 issue of the ISC Newsletter (vol. 2, no. 2, p. 10), published by the International Society of Cryptozoology.

I bring this up because master thespian and uber-geek Carlos Diaz pointed me to the website for an awesome-looking new graphic novel and all-around money-making property called Cryptid, brought to you by Peter Jackson's Weta and such artists as Mike Mignola and Frank Frazetta.

Update on the mysterious Ass-Cock: since I wrote the post about this local cryptid, the signs have all been replaced, and now they read "dock". I smell cover-up.

Little men

File under bizarre Winnipeg connections:

Last night's guest on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart was Shawn Wayans, there to promote his latest film. You've seen the trailers for it on TV and you've been frightened. Little Man. Yeah, it's the one in which Marlon Wayans' head has been sutured via the magic of computer effects onto a little body. Something to do with him being a criminal who's hiding out and, courtesy of his stature, pretending to be a baby. But we're not talking cute little Elijah Wood turned into a hobbit. We're talking something inspired by absynthe-fueled nightmares. Something out of Diane Arbus' works.

Point is, Shawn Wayans mentioned that the actor who plays the body portion of the title character is a nine-year-old kid, Linden Porco, who stands about 2 feet 7 inches. He's a Little Person. And he's from Winnipeg. A little piece of the prairies making his way in Hollywood. Just hope he doesn't end up like his hero Verne Troyer on The Surreal Life...

Suck on this

And Toronto's haughty response. From the Toronto Star website:

Come now, Toronto. We can't let Winnipeg run away with this completely meaningless honour, created by a homogenizing corporation in an attempt to shill cups of cola-infused schlock.

Oh wait, yes we can.

And we can with our noses held high and both our pride and our power suits unsullied by the syrupy failings of the plastic scooper spoon.

Teeth and complexions rejoice.

And the rest of the country dislikes us becase... ?

Slurpee-rific

Thanks to James Cordiner for the heads up on this one. The good citizens of Winnipeg, it turns out, are sponges when it comes to Slurpees. From the Winnipeg Sun website:

For the seventh straight year, Winnipeg can call itself the Slurpee Capital of the World. A spokeswoman for 7-Eleven Canada said yesterday Winnipeg had the highest average number of Slurpees sold per store in North America for 2005, narrowly edging out Calgary and Detroit.

The article mentions that today, July 11, (7-11, get it?), 7-Eleven stores will be giving out free Slurpees. So skip on over to your nearest Slurpee provider for a free way to beat the heat.

Little stage on the prairie

The Winnipeg Folk Festival took over Birds Hill Provincial Park this weekend as it has been doing every year for the past 30-something years. In fact, it was born in the summer of '74 only a few months ahead of Yours Truly. Drawn by a desire to see my contemporary and a hill (when was the last time I got to see a hill?), I booted it up to the fest yesterday afternoon.

Let's get one thing straight. There is no hill at Birds Hill Park. It is just as flat as the rest of Manitoba. Very disappointing.

Luckily there was a lot of music. Yes, most of it earnest, politically/socially/psycho-sexually-inspired but insipid, boring music (if Bruce Cockburn falls in the forest, does anybody hear?). But the hippies liked it. And it was worth wading through the crap to hear one woman rock out on her 6-string at one of the satellite stages (yes, it was actually named Little Stage on the Prairie) in front of a hundred people.

Amy Rigby. Didn't know anything about her till yesterday, but she's been keeping it real(ly cynical) since the 80s, where she was part of New York's CBGB crowd. And she's still going strong -- only now her songs are about middle-age and divorce instead of youth and drugs. And in the lukewarm bath of folk in which I found myself, she was like a transistor radio accidentally knocked in. F'rinstance, at one point she says: "This next song... I hesitate to do it. Because it's summer, and this is a festival. But this is a song of outrage." And then she launches into "Men in Sandals." But we're not talking cutesy novelty music here, folks. We're talking bust-a-G-string ferocity (yeah, she broke it -- and the G-string jokes were flying). And her written-from-a-man's perspective Nashville-inspired tune "I Hate Every Bone in Your Body But Mine"? Gold. Pure gold.

My writer friend and returning-for-the-summer prodigal daughter of Winnipeg, Ellen, with whom I was at the festival, had the same thought I did: put Amy and her music in a movie. Now we're going to have to wrestle over who gets her.

Doesn't look like Amy has plans to hit Toronto anytime soon, but if you can get yourself to Joe's Pub in NYC on Friday, November 10 -- it's worth the trip to fall for the chick who sings "Dancing with Joey Ramone."

Vive le Quebec suplex!

Canada Day in Winnipeg. Osborne Village was closed to cars and given over to expanded patios, sidewalk sales, classic rock cover bands, and, er, wrestling. No kidding. Honest to goodness old school wrasslin', with burly men in tights slamming each other into the canvas with theatricality and gusto. The main match, pictured, pit a Montreal separatist against a Canadian patriot. Guess who was the good guy and who was the bad (Clue: the kids in the audience were chanting, "Mon-tre-al sucks! Mon-tre-al sucks!" Ah, the prairies...)? Sadly for the country, Montreal kicked ass and won. Of course, only by breaking some rules behind the ref's back. Fun part was an old woman in the audience actually running up to the ring to grab Frenchie's legs when he was cheating most egregiously. Didn't stick around past that, but I have a feeling Captain Canuck won in the rematch they advertised would happen a little later. Opera for the Budweiser crowd.