Linny Frittata....
I know you were s'posed to be the first to write in this after our tearful departure, but there's something about eating a quarter of zoomers with your old buddy from university and hanging out at the PNE fair all day that makes you compelled to write...so please bear with me, this all happened today....
It all started at this restaurant in Van called Bons which has $2.95 breakfast all day -- and yes, it is as shady as it sounds. We actually pulled out the zooms onto the table and ate them off a plate with our omlettes. But Linny, you would have loved the guy serving coffee. Probably well into his 60s, thin, white hair - and get this - wearing a full mall cop uniform probably circa 1971. Head to toe, and he had a bunch of weird buckles and chains and keys attached to his belt, some kinda eagle security crest on his sleeve....and come to think of it one of those change organizers that old school cab drivers used to have. Oh yeah, and a skinny, brown leather zip tie. And every time he would approach you he would lightly touch your shoulder, look deep into your eyes, and serenade you...like he actually asked you if you wanted a top up in song. Fantastic...we're still not convinced he even worked there. We will continue to remember him simply as "Coffee Boss".
Anyways, when we finally got to the exhibition grounds, (after the little Chinese dirka dirka lady flailingly hailed us down to our $30 parking spot - best one in the city mind you, so we were told), we entered the gates and Serge, my partner in crime, for a better lack of a term, was just fucked. Now if I could just indulge you on a slight sidetrip for one moment (of course I can, it's my blog), as we entered the gates of the PNE I couldn't help but be reminded about the upcoming quiz I have this week on "the hero's journey". You see, in nearly every good story (as is true in life) the unlikely protagonist goes through a series of events before the story's conclusion. As we were taught in class last week, there are 12 stages - all quite metaphorical and up to interpretation - but still relevant. (Compare this theory to any Star Wars movie and it will totally make sense) We start with ordinary life, then call to adventure, the refusal of the call, the mentor, tests-enemies-allies, crossing the first threshold, approach to the inner cave, the ordeal, the reward, the road back, the ressurection, and finally, returning with the elixir (usually some kind of knowledge or discovery of inner peace). Serge and I went on a hero's journey of epic proportions today.
After passing through the gates we found a little shaded place on the grass to look at our map. In hindsight, we should have just stayed there cause we were on the sole quest of trying to find shade the entire rest of the day. First stop, beer gardens. And believe me, by the time we got up to the front and ordered our drinks, everyone in that lineup knew Serge was just flying. Atta boy. But we found a table, in the sun, and just people-watched. Guy with 5 foot tall legs wearing the Steve Nash jersey, weird Shelley Duvall look-alike in the huge Yoko Ono hat, old man across from us with tool belt-themed suspenders, tough looking ripped black guy with tight black shirt, tight black and white camoflauge pants, adorned with red sequened belt and matching red sequened short sleeve flip outs.
Suddenly we were immersed with music and commotion as a parade of random sports-themed floats enterd the gardens. Those baseballs were huge!! It was all very nice as it passed by and about twenty minutes later I found myself texting Noomie to see how Whyte was goin and to see if he had any wise words for two stooges like us in our condition. And no Nmz, we didn't get the Wunderbars, but god I was thinking about it all day, it would have been awesome. In the midst of texting I look up at Sergio and he's just grippin his MGD and sweatin bullets. "God" he says to me, "I'm so glad that parade's over" It was as if he was directing the fucking thing, I had no idea he was so stressed about it. As I tried to calm him down (by laughing at him) we were soon distracted by this crazy ride off in the distance, shooting people seemingly hundreds of feet up in the air on a giant mechanical arm and suspending them up in the stratosphere for minutes on end.
"That's our calling Serge, we must go there".
He agreed.
Now don't get me wrong, we had no intention of ever going on this ride...even sober I don't think I'd be that stupid, but we knew we had to go there and at least stand under it for five minutes and stare up at it (we were eating fungus after all). So after entering the long corridor of faces, being hassled by carnies, hearing the echoes of Serge's voice repeating "it's a revelation, it's a revelation" (which I later found out was the name of the ride we were walking to and not just Serge tripping balls) we were finally there. We basically looked up at it for 15 seconds, agreed that it was whack ridonkulous, and decided to go find another place to sit down. There was the empty bench, but the sun just stared down at us with disdain. So hot.
"Fun House Serge, that's where we'll find shade"
"Or a haunted house"
"Sure whatever, let's look on the map".
Of course the map was all crinkled and falling apart at this point as a result of the relentless fidgeting and wringing Serge put it through while in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves during his spiralling trip. I so knew that was going to happen too, why didn't we get 2 maps. Nonetheless, both of us sat on the bench, hands on knees, staring down at the remaining pieces. This is when Serge pulls out his second gem of the day. We're staring down at the map and all of a sudden he says to me, "Jen....who the fuck is Pedro". I sat looking down at the map for three seconds before standing up, calmly walking away, and bursting into a fit of laughter.
I took a minute, collected myself, and returned. "Like, Napoleon Dynamite Pedro?"
It was clear by the look on his face that this name did not ring a bell to him at all, he had absolutely no idea what I was referring to. I then realized that he has probably been bottling this up for the better part of two years before picking that very moment to finally ask someone what all the T-shirts were about. So as we made our way to the Haunted House I explained to him the intricacies of Tina the Llama, throwing this football right up over those mountains, and of course, why or why not we should vote for Pedro. Oh, did I mention that Serge decided to throw the map out? Yeah, as soon as that hit the garbage can I could envision that part of the movie where the couple is about to walk into their inevitable demise because that dumbass through out the map. Yep, we were doomed.
In any event, before we knew it we were at the front of the line up for the Haunted House, and after seeing that kid run out of there crying, we immediately started regretting that decision. Serge tried to make me bail with him, but I couldn't help being drawn to that lady in the Yoko Ono hat directly in front of us in line. It was the third time I'd seen her that day.
"No Serge, we have to go in. We have to follow her"
So in we went. I think you are supposed to be in there for roughly 5 minutes and I'm sure we burned through there in 25 seconds, it was the scariest thing I've ever done, I don't recommend it to anyone on zoomers and I never want to talk about it again. Not to mention the fact that, after we made our way out of there, I realized that those Yoko Ono hats were one of the giveaways in a carny game and that everyone had one of those hats so it wasn't the same woman I'd been seeing all day. Basically me thinking that she was some kinda Alice in Wonderland white rabbit sign was a huge oversight on my part -- and to Serge I apologize.
We needed shade.
And who would have thought that in the middle of the exhibition grounds there would be a huge sanctuary with a nice hidden lake surrounded by lush greens. (We tried to tell Serge's friends about the sanctuary later and they flat out don't believe us, but it's there, we swear.) We found ourselves a nice little nook in the shrubbery to sit down and reflect. It was the first calming breath we had had all day. As we watched the blue herons soaring up above us (no shit hey? I thought they were extinct! Not at the PNE I guess) we couldn't help being distracted by the crazy death metal noise pollution we could hear behind us, reminding us where we had just come. The funny thing was, across the lake, the sun was shining and we could hear such soothing, alluring music, like Elton John I think (or maybe I just wished that Linny to make our Elton John theme park idea a reality). But we couldn't help feeling as though we were floating in a purgatory mist, being pulled in either direction by the forces of heaven and hell, demanding us to settle our fate. We both knew it, we had to follow the light, I mean our journey had to be almost over, wasn't it? We both looked down at our watches. What?! No, that can't be....What!? Had we really only been in here for an hour and 45 minutes? We better go get another drink.
On our way back to find our original drinking hole, we come across a second beer gardens. This one is actually is actually titled, "The Masquerade". Intriguing, non?
I will never forget this place as long as I live. As much as I believe in the power of the written word, I truly believe I could never do this place the justification it deserves without visuals. Which is why I plan to create a 10 minute filmatic short one day of our brief experience in this time warp they call the Masquerade.
Once we sat got our drinks we sat down and I immediately starting texting again, I don't remember to whom exactly but no doubt it was really important. After a few minutes I realized I hadn't heard from Serge in a while and upon looking up, found him staring at the two men at the table next to us, completely entranced. He didn't have to say a word, these two were certainly special. They were in their early 40s I would say, possibly even twins, and really reminded me of "Da Bears, Da Bulls" guys of SNL fame, with their head to toe sports jerseys, shorts and hats....and just general demeanor. But unlike the SNL guys, they were apishly flailing their arms in the air to one another, frantically yammering jibberish, and pointing out the different prime ministers to one another on random bills they would pull out of their respective wallets. I think it was midway through the second song in their silent kareoke competition that I gave my head a shake and said, Jenny, you have to stop laughing at down syndrome people. But that's just it, they weren't downes, they weren't anything, they were just strange and they spoke jibberish. Enter stage left the waitress walks over to their table and I'm thinking, oh this will be good, she's not gonna have a clue what they're talking about. And that's when Serge and I realized that we weren't a part of any of that world going on on the otherside of our sunglasses. She knew exactly what they were talking about....she understood every word and was soon engaged in a english garbled jibberish conversation with them. What the fuck!?
I was soon distracted however, by the combination of the jazzy blues coverband on stage and Serge slapping my arm whilst pointing across the room.
"That guy, Jen....that guy's got a swastika tatooed on the back of his neck!"
After I convinced Serge that pointing at the psycho was probably a poor idea, I looked over at him. He definitely had a skinhead look about him, and I'm thinking, that's insane. Yet as I start to stare over at this guy, watching him crane his neck, bending down to tie his shoe, I look back at Serge confused.
"That guy with the black shirt on and snake tatooed on his arm?"
"Yeah".
"Serge, that guy doesn't have a swastika tatooed on the back of his neck"
"Yeah he does, I saw it"
"No really, I'm starting at the back of his neck right now, he doesn't have one"
Serge is now squinting over at the guy, shaking his head in disbelief.
"But I saw it....what the....no really, I saw it. I don't see it anymore, but why would I make that shit up?"
That's exactly what I was thinking. Why would he see that in his head? Here's like my one buddy I could cling to all day, my safe-haven, and all of a sudden he's unconsiously expressing repressed white supremicist tendancies that he can't even control himself? Who is this guy?
Luckily, we're soon distracted once again by a waitress at a neighbouring table....
Serge pipes up, "What's weird about that girl"
"I don't know, she's got really big abs, it's kind of disproportionate to the rest of her body."
Somehow both of us managed to bypass the Adam's apple and go straight to the abs.
Without even speaking, our eyes wander about to the other waitresses prancing around....are they all?....no,....well maybe.....I don't know.... Suddenly even the women patrons in the establishment were looking a touch androgenous....where the hell are we? For the first time all day we felt like we were the straight ones.
The music is getting louder, it's culminating, my heart is starting to keep time...
One of the SNL dudes next to us is playing an air trumpet while his buddy is dancing with a plastic chair....she-male #1 is drawing nearer....enter red sequened belt camoflauge guy (when did he get here...and why?) Just finish your cooler Jenny, then we can leave
Serge grabs my arm -- I look up and, as if in slow motion, skinhead guy is brushing past me. Even through the lenses of both of our sunglasses I could feel the evil penetration of his glare shooting right through my eyes, into the back of my skull. As he walked past us Serge and I both turned in unison. And there it was, clear as day, a swastika on the back of his neck.
We left the masquerade after that, never to return again. If all those people in there were just actors in a play called "Let's fuck with Jenny and Serge's heads today" they won. Bravo.
Linny, there were so many details of the day that I am forced to leave out (if I added in all of them no one would read this damn thing....I'm positive Cory already got bored and went and ate a sandwich or something). But I thought I would leave you with one last nugget. It happened sometime on the road back to the entrance gate, somewhere between the pig races and Mushroom Mania (yep, we entered a fungi room teaching us all about the different kinds of edible mushrooms, can you believe that?). I had to pee soooooo bad and thus we found ourselves in a mad dash amongst a sea of nameless faces to find a ladies room. You just can never fine em when you need em. Finally I see the sportex up ahead with the "IAMS Challege" banner out front. K good, dog show, they will for sure have washrooms.
Sure enough, they did, and I told Serge to just wait by the empty bleachers while I cued up. When I finally got to my washroom stall, the sign on the back of the door read "Do not flush anything down the toilet except ___________. Thank You. Someone had erased part of the message, and instead had written in a dark ball point pen "Campbell" Do not flush anything down the toilet except Campbell. I don't know what it means, but I laughed by myself for 43 seconds. I thought of you.
When I got back out I could tell I had left Serge by himself for too long cause all he could do was look down the main floor shaking his head exclaiming "They can't play hockey in here!"
"I know Serge, we're at a dog show, it just hasn't started yet. Why don't we go sit down in the arena seating for a while"
We proceeded to reflect on the trials and tribulations of the entire day. Why were none of the waitresses in the Masquerade serving us? Where did that swastika go? Why don't we have a map to find out where that santuary is, cause no one's gonna believe us?
We must have been doing this for the better part of an hour cause people were really starting to file in (of course they were those manic people who undoubtedly place wagers on poodles and stuff). All of a sudden Serge's eye catches the banner across the arena. IAMS Superdogs.
"Holy shit Jen, we're at a dog show!"
Priceless. Immediately upon coming to this realization he explained to me that he would probably puke if he saw any dogs right now, and so we left.
And home we went.
This entire rant was more something I felt compelled to record for my own benefit, because tomorrow morning I know I will simply sluff it off as a "fucked up day", and forget it all together.
In any event, I hope this makes up for my lack of correspondance throughout the entire duration of our bloghood. And I can't wait to hear from you.
Love,
Jenny Hottata
