PNE

The summer I am 14 I spend nearly every day at Playland. It's free to get in and Anna Franciosi's sister Gina's dating this guy Nello who runs the Wooden Rollercoaster and he lets us on for free whenever we want. He is 18 and I think, pretty damn cool. I kind of like the way he gently manhandles us into the seats and straps us in. I like leaving the comfort of white bread North Van for the risk and excitement purported to exist over the bridge in East Van Halen. 

But the main reason I go is because the boy I love, Love, LOVE is part of the custodial crew. He had broken Broken BROKEN my heart just after school got out for summer, up there on Quarry Rock, with a girl who would go all the way with him. She's not even smart, what does he see in her?? Gawd. I will never love again. It's already been over two weeks. I spend hours in Erin's basement writing poems to him, while she writes poems for his best friend. We eat popcorn and kill ourselves laughing over jokes that no one else understands. Then we moisturize our legs as we read our deep and tender verses out loud to each other.

Anyway I find out on the Berkeley bus that He got a job at the PNE. Jeff Hardy told me. I know for sure there is something between us unfinished still. Jeff totally says he knows it too. Cuz he had been the only one man enough to stare down my dad, who menaces from the living room window, glaring at the boys who come calling. The others have run but he, The Heartbreaker, is the one who knocked. fuck! hot! totally!

No one else's mom lets them go Over Town unchaperoned, so that's how I end up with my cousin's next door neighbour Anna. She is a super cool chick, so it's right on. The first time she and I cruise the grounds it's almost immediately, like a sign from above…Omigod there he is!! We watch for a bit, peeking around from behind the cotton candy stand. Mostly he's wandering around with a broom, smoking cigarettes, a lock of black hair hanging in his eye. He wears his shirt dangerously unbuttoned and looks super bored. fuck! hot! totally! He sees me and I see him and I practically shake with delight. He smiles and so so casually saunters over. 

So I mean it's just so weird cuz now I bang into him every single day here by the Music Express at like 1 o'clock. It must be meant to be or synchronicity or something. 

The only song that ever plays during our transaction blares rain or shine: I see magic in your eyes/I hear the magic in your sighs/Just when I think I'm gonna get away/I hear those words that you always say/
Abra Abra-cadabra Abracadabra

Him: (nods at me)
Me: oh hey. what are you doing?
Him: nothing. What are you doing?
Me: nothing.
Him: this job sucks
Me: ya
Him: wanna smoke
Me: ya
(We light up)
Him: shit that's my boss. see you tomorrow?
Me: maybe I don't know
Him: you look good in that dress
(I wear it to bed)

I run to Anna, we hold hands and jump up and down. 

The next day: the exact same thing. Innocent hearts can just hang out like that. 

Summer.

Draw of the Outlaw

I was just a girl when I met him under that tree in Eugene, but I can't help but think that I shoulda had the guts to run off and elope with that guy from frisco choppers when I had the chance.   I knew he was mine right away.  He sat down on the fence next to me for a long time and said nothing until he held my hand.  And I was in heaven for the whole weekend.  He wanted forever but I was starting to see there was something about him that was a little too south of crazy.  So I left him in a parking lot and cried in the backseat all the 48 hour drive back home to Canada.   On the 49th hour I started theatre school and I forgot all about him.  What a fork in the road.  Maybe I missed my calling.  I could have been a real good ol lady.  

Blue Christmas

An Agosti Christmas Memory: 
This was way before it got all popular on the TV - and her own version had a definite G rating. For some reason the attacks came upon her mostly when she was doing the seasonal baking. Maybe it was The King crooning Blue Christmas in the background that inspired her. She did once swoon on the hood of his car. Anyway, she'd be pulling cookies out of the oven and we'd remember from the year before. "Mom! Mom! Do that thing!!" At first she'd say no, then she'd start to laugh, and then she'd throw the dishtowel over her shoulder and shake her lil white butt like nobody ever seen. And we all would cheer! Yup, my mom could twerk. I'd love to know where she picked that up.

Friday Night Snapshot

Friday night snapshot 

Me and one of my best friends (we call each other Bubbi) are sitting at the bar over 2 huge pieces of chocolate cake discussing the feeling of when something good is over.

Me: It's like when you lose a really great lover. Everyone after 
is just so... lacking, so meh, so useless.
Bubbi: Like when your favourite lipstick is discontinued.
Both of Us: Oh yaaa.

A few minutes of silent contemplation pass.

Bubbi, holding her fork midair says to me, "I think what you are doing is amazing and I… just… want... you to know… that I am always here for you." Her last few words are muffled by emotion. We drop our forks, burst into tears and cling to one another, sobbing, soaking the crook of each other's necks, lost in the bubble of one of our longest friendships. Then, suddenly, a guy from the birthday party table is standing over us.

Guy: It's my birthday and I really want you to come over and have
some cake.

Bubbi and I peel off of each other and look up at him, mascara dripping down our faces, and gesture towards our plates.
Me and Bubbi: Huh? We already have 2 pieces.
Guy: Oh its ok. I have Exlax.
Um wha??? Bubbi and I look into each others' eyes and silently communicate our plan for escape. BUBBI OUT.

Hot Line

Very cold morning on the St Clair street car. A very tall 70+ year old man wearing an impressive fur hat passes me his transfer. On it he has written his email and the number for The Dance Hotline. 
Me: Oh? Thank you. Uh, what kind of dance?
Him: (in an accent I can't quite place) English.
Me: Oh okay. Thank you. Uh so much.

Silence.
His long grey coat is impeccable; his scarf wrapped around his neck tucked in perfectly flat. My head barely reaches his chest, which is still high and strong. But I don't think I should be looking at that.

So I smile at him real quick and look down and slightly back. My grip on the pole tightens a bit. I am aware of other of the other passengers assessing this transaction. My cheeks are pink. My lungs are tight. For some reason I want to bite my fingernails like I did in grade 2. I resist but it takes strength.

We are at his stop and it's safe to look up again. With a fluid jerk of his wrist he flips his phone open and looks at it intently. "I am off to work now." Then he leans in and looks me straight in the eye, "but I get off at 9." He snaps his phone shut and disembarks all in one motion. The furs on his hat, soldiers jumping to attention, now outside in the winter air.

His exit leaves a big space on the car. I exhale. I fold the transfer once, and place it politely in my left hand pocket. I look back and forth but no one meets my gaze. Hm hm hm. What is the Dance Hotline? What is this English dancing? Hey, what the heck is this sensation warming across my ribs? Wait a minute... Wha? Whoa. Big Daddy, I think that's a move you're making! Ha! Well whaddaya know! And then: I consider... maybe, you know, maybe I will call. Not that this is my scene. Or my age range, tyvm. Or that I am even interested or looking. But the timing! And the cajones! That kind of direct and brave connect oughtta be rewarded, non?

I am back.

The egg in my head finally cracks open:  New light comes in and with it the thought: time to end the self imposed exile, the almost political insistence that sorry, I know you want to do things,  but I must right now have a-lot of a-lone time. (I go thru these phases, if you've you known me for a while, you'll have seen.)  While it is important and brave to go deep and in, have your own personal emotional revolution, cocoon,  go from buried seed to a brave and painful shoot,  burn down and rise up, have those huge revelations during the 40 days and 40 nights… well, frankly I am now bored of it. A couple lil moments shifted it all and now I want to be out of the cave and around the fire with The People..  Maybe even BE one of The People. ha! so. Universe. Here I am.

Vancouver in the Spring/What the hell am I doing?

The rain lifts off of this glass and concrete batcave of a city,  and my brain feels a little less cloudy and gray.  This town has gotten crowded and a little open sky does wonders for my mood.  And motivation.

I had planned on starting this blog back in January, before my sojourn to Maui and my gig in Saskatoon. And really, those locations did not have the oppressive monsoon season to provide an excuse for sleeping in and avoiding any work.  I had an excellent reprieve from decades of depressing unending winters that have burdened me so in Vancouver.  So why the delay? Well someone already had the names Augustine and Agostina for their blogs. I had to go back to the drawing board and... ponder.

But now as I stare out of filthy picture windows in my study, the light from the sky charging me up again, I get off my ass, (well actually sit on my ass) and get to this blog.

And so ends my first post.
Stay tuned for review of Tasty Crust locals only diner in Maui, The Cat Lab home of gypsy magic in Saskatoon, how it was to play a mom to someone a couple years younger at the Persephone, and my foray into casting an indie feature in Vancouver.