Sunday, 3 July 2016

Recorded, Walked and Beered by a Hamiltalien

           


            Since Saturday, June 4th, was a hot day and since it was that time of year when I can’t afford the five dollars that it costs to go to the Laundromat, I washed my clothes in the bathtub and hung them out over the railing on the back deck.
            I tidied up kitchen area and put back in the living room and bedroom most of the rest of the things that I’d moved out there to allow for room to fight the bedbugs that I’d had until last November.
            I cleaned the bathroom for the first time in a long time, and though I know that obviously a lot of dirt is tracked in from outside, but that doesn’t explain how some of the spots where I never walk get the filthiest. Since the litter box is in the bathroom though, the cats track a lot of dirt in there, even the toilet when they drink out of it.
            Nick Cushing called and said he was in the neighbourhood from Hamilton, so I invited him up. We chatted for a few minutes and then he asked if I wanted him to shoot some video of me playing and singing one of my songs. We had already discussed this possibility as an exchange for me helping him out with his animated play. He went out to park his vehicle. I took that time to vacuum my couch and living room. Then I set to work washing caked in cat saliva off the couch, which loosened more cat hair, so I vacuumed again, then washed some more and vacuumed again.
            Nick came back with a couple of cans of Old Style pilsner. We chatted some more and then he videotaped one of my songs. I screwed it up a bit and had to stop and restart three or four times. In the end though, Nick realized that the microphone on his camcorder would mostly pick up my guitar at the expense of my voice, so it would be better if he brings a lapel mic next time.
            He asked me if I wanted to take a walk around Parkdale with him. My body wanted me to turn down the offer because it was time for my siesta, but my mind thought it might be interesting to hang out in the neighbourhood.
            We walked east, discussing what’s new and what has changed since Nick lived in Parkdale. Passing the Cadillac Lounge, Nick recognized a couple of people he knew, and so we went inside to chat. Someone else walked in that was playing surf music later that night at the “Shameful Tiki”. Nick, being a tiki freaky had been wanting to check out the Shameful Tiki, so we headed back west and went inside.
            The Shameful Tiki at 1378 Queen Street West in Toronto has got to be the darkest open for business bar into which I’ve ever walked. The only lighting is a blood red glow that illuminates the edges of the walls and the tiki décor that is especially over the top where it is displayed behind the bar, where of course they want the attention to be drawn. I commented loudly about how dark it was, but the hostess assured me that my eyes would adjust, which they did.
            We sat at the bar and Nick bought us a couple of sensible drafts, rather than one of the expensive and exotic bowl drinks, each of which comes with a gimmicky special effect. The “Mystery Bowl”, for example, is accompanied by the banging of a small gong near the bar. Later on, the mist from dry ice was released through a bamboo vent to our right and a deep, recorded voice chanted “Volcano Bowl!” because some women at the other end of the bar had ordered the drink of that name. I would find these gimmicks less annoying if they were more random, rather than only happening as the result of a specialty purchase. Their shtick seemed like a more adult version of the irritating thing they do behind the counter at the fast food burger chain, Licks, where there is a song to go with every item that is ordered, and all the staff sing it to get their enthusiastic employee brownie points.
            The music they played over the sound system tended to be surf or beach themed rock and roll and pop music, such as the theme songs from Gilligans Island or Batman, rather than actual Polynesian music (which I think would have been much more interesting) or even the kind of jazz music that had been associated with tiki pop culture during its first wave of faddism, such was the music of Les Baxter.
            On the small television, above the bar were clips from various exotically located beach movies and television shows or simply of mostly white female dancers doing variations on the hula.
            I joked about Nick being a tourist from Hamilton, which caused one of the bartenders to proudly inform us that they’ve had people drive all the way from Buffalo just to come to the Shameful Tiki.
            I asked if they have live bands there and was told that they have surf music themed bands and go-go dancers on certain nights.
            I commented that this particular type of establishment is very out of place in Parkdale, and offered Nick the opinion that bars like this are novelties that depend mostly on those who just come there once or who only return to show it to another first timer. I declared, “Novelty places like this don’t last!” Nick said, “Shhhhhh!”
            We walked further east to the other side of Dufferin and then turned around to head back through Parkdale and past Roncesvales to the streetcar yard, where Nick hoped to record the sound of streetcars turning, but there were only a few of the trams going straight along the Queensway.
             We walked back east and stopped at Amicos Pizza, which Nick says is his favourite pizza place. I have eaten there on several occasions, but never really noticed anything outstanding about the food, but then again, Nick didn’t say it was because of the food that he liked it. We sat on the patio and had a couple of cans of beer.
            That night was the single release concert of Frequency Zed at Penny’s, to which we were both going, but Nick had to go up to the band’s rehearsal studio in the Junction to get their equipment and I had to go home and get my bike, so we split for an hour or so.
            I had not eaten very much that day, nor had I taken the siesta that normally revitalizes me for my evening activities. On top of that, I had drunk three beer already, so I wasn’t as fresh as I would have liked to be, going to a concert. When I got home, I wolfed down a chicken leg, drank some cold tea and headed out again.

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