Adult Music

I shaved my mohawk off on sunday evening and went to a jazz concert with my mother. She's good at winning free tickets and getting away from police tickets. This time she scored a pair to see the Oliver Jones Trio at The Center, as a part of the Vancouver International Jazz Festival.

(On a side note, if find the name of the venue mysterious. The foyer's mirrored, convexed main wall adds to the gaudy presence. Alabaster looking marble is thrown around; stair sets and ledges long to be skated but are only ever swept and brushed by hands and hems.)

After a marathon week and a short lived and volitile weekend, my batteries were running low by the sabbath eve. I was fucking tired. My mum seemed pooped too. : (

We both nooded off at various points during the opening act. The Christine Jensen Quartet failed to hold our attention. Too much cacophony, squeals and yells from a sax. One of her songs was meant as a musical reflection of her feelings on the Iraq War, the new one. It sucked. The song sucked, I mean. It was harder to take then the war going on though, because it was in my face and all i wanted to do was sleep. Squeeeeeeeeeek!

Oliver Jones and his boys came on. Mummy and I both woke up. They did a lot of Oscar Peterson renditions and I felt so knowledgeable. I hope i spelled that right.

if we lose our nerve, the sheep win

cryptic/nostalgic/huhduhwha

Itissupposedtobesummerbutformeitdoesntfeellikeitcauseidontliveintheplace
thatsummerfeelsl
ike,tomethatis.Imnotworkingonabeachpleasedsuperficiallikewithmytan,smoking
potandrinking
ondocksnicehousenicergirls.Imtryingtobutitsnotthesame.Iknowimdonewithit
butimnotoverit.

When I was in high school the dimly lit confines of the photo room were a favorite haunt. I took photos lots, fucked with Final Cut Pro and Photoshop. Lets not get into this; I spent numerous hours there, that’s all. There was another guy, Shooter McGavin of the Grad oh-five. He was top dawg but we were friends despite my competitive tendencies and sensitive ego. We even helped the teachers organize a practical arts showcase evening. He went to art school and I went to university.

I still take photos but Travis Jeffers has a business card. I wanted to get the feel back so I asked him if I could help. He said yeah.

Marina Francesca Moscone is another old high school friend. She was a couture kitten then and now. She studies fashion at the Art Institute of Vancouver. The shoot was for her, some final project.

Aleem Kassam graduated a year ahead of me. We became friends when I took Comparative Civilizations 12 in grade 11 (I was smart like that). He manages an upscale Yaletown couch store called Montauk. This is where the shoot was to take place.

I see Travis Jeffers semi-occasionally but haven’t seen Marina or Aleem in a couple years. They’re dressed with precision and both have Bluetooth earpieces. They look like they’ve gone places and I feel slightly ashamed though I know I really shouldn’t. Aleem has gone far, made it onto a Debbie Travis reality series. Once aware of this I Facebook sent him some questions to answer for the Clique. He never responded.

BUT WAIT. He purrs at his computer screen now.
“Oh, just checking my messages now, did you want me to answer these?”
“Um sure”
“Yeah definitely, no problem”
Probably not the first time he has done this.
When I go home I check Facebook and here you go:
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Been recognized walking Robson yet?
actually yes, didn't expect it but a couple people asked if they knew me from somewhere, tv maybe?

Is Debbie Travis a closet bitch?
I cannot confirm that...but she is definitly a Diva in her own right. Lets just say don't mess with her!

How gnarly is the non-disclosure agreement?
The agreement is for sure gnarly but I had no choice, those lawyers and production people intimitated the hell outta me!

What was it like living with your competition?
It wasn't as bad really, we usually would put the work/competition aside and hang out like regular people. BUT there was drama for sure and it would sometimes get tense but I had a good relationship with everyone. It was fun to see people annoy eachother, I found it entertaining as there was no music, tv or magazines to entertain me.
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Like a press kit with spelling mistakes. Surreal to see a guy you used to mock your teacher with on TV regardless.

I’m going to give up and throw up the photos because I cannot easily formulate some sort of conclusion/realization to the feelings I've had on this day. Marina, Travis, and Aleem all seem to know what path they are on and I guess I’m a little depressed because I don’t.




Marina Francesca Moscone
Travis Jeffers
Aleem Kassam

What if?

"Jesus Christ, what happened?"

Get-to-know: Mike Cerka

If you don’t know him and love him, or have never had the chance to enjoy his company, you are among the few missing out on this lovely blonde character. Michael Cerka will not shock and appal, and can converse with anyone from children to the feeble and elderly.

In the first of a series of interviews with movers and shakers that the HotClique writers come in contact with, I explore with Mike cigarettes, flying the coup, the footwear industry, and other shit.

(As the photo above shows, I was unprepared for this and wrote on shoe stuffing paper, and only kept brief notes. Some creative license has been taken.)

Ali: So uh, living alone. Like/Dislike?
Mike: It’s a’ight.
A: Duh. Tell me more.
M: Not paying rent is definitely dope.
A: Cool. What about school? You like?
M: …(Talking to someone else about some other shit. The setting for this impromptu interview is Michaels 14th floor prim and proper swinging bachelor pad. We’re drinking.)
A: Yo Mike, school.
M: Yeah, it keeps my mind growing. I enjoy what I’ve done.
(What have you done Mike? Mike went to the moon once in 1969 and got sent forward in time to 1999. That’s when I met him.)
M: The opportunity, chance to go to school for free, and a few more years of living free, on the parents bill.
(That’s why his rent is free. What a deal.)
A: And?
M: And yes I like it and yes I’m doing it to get a piece of paper.
A: Same here. Goodness gracious the papers/Where da cash at?
M: I’m finding out, learning, in my business classes.
A: Now Mike, you’ve been in with the skate/snow industry for a while. You’ve worked the retail end of things and the distribution bit as well; do you dig it?
M: The most popular… the best selling shoe made by a skateboard company is one that is considered to be very fucking gay by all reps.
A: The industry is a new whore that loves fucking. The skateboarders, ones who live from the sport need that prostitute to continue on I suppose.
M: Love-hate relationship dawg.
A: Cheaaaaa I hurr ya.
M:Word.
A: What are you drinking right now?
M: Dude beer.
(I didn’t make the Dude beer joke, fuck yeah. Some things don’t need to be said.)
A: How many supreme shirts do you own?
M: ….(Pauses, counts on his fingers.) One, two, four. Four shirts and four hats.
A: Fuck I like those hats a lot.
M: Same.
A: You smoke and why? What brand?
M: Cuz it’s cool. Whatever comes my way man.

That’s all. Stay tune for more fascinating character sketches as deep and revealing as mug shots.

Gregg Gillis

We went Girl Talk. At the beginning he said, "I'm going to play the computer now."
At the end of the show he said, "I love this shit."
So it goes.

You knew this would happen, s'bound to.

After a hot weekend, red thighs, discos, and all, grays have settled in on us. A change fitting for a coming week after another weekend. The summer has settled on us, me, too; “anytime is train time”, a sticker of my childhood once displayed. Anytime is party time. Moderation of all things, including moderation. When the special events held on certain weekends being to happen every single weekend, then during the week, do they not lose their charm?

“The smell of repetition really is on you.” – Over and Over, Hot Chip

One particular special event was almost forgotten about by HotClique. Our attendance was down; our presence hadn’t been felt there in more then weeks. As a change from vampirism and stomping the usual ground, we went with our dancing shoes on. Freshly bestowed with the saccharine sweet candour of anise-liqueur, the march to the spot was invigorating even though we passed masses of living dead.

Frail beauties of the street, long past innocent but still as close to a carefree state as a body can be with out decomposing. Always a sobering thought to me while sporting a mix of fresh, new-market t-shirts and overly worn summer cut-offs; another product of young minds at work combining high and low.

“We don’t give a fuck,” but we do/did, at least on Saturday night we did. The aspiring Chinese-language singer performing at the Chinatown night market; stuck on Keefer St. with hope of rising to great heights among some circle, some crowd. One block north, these DJs have the very same ambition. Who among us thought a karaoke lounge in a racial den of interesting shops would provide the launch pad for frothy and luxurious and ephemeral careers? Well, they probably had a fair idea that a crowd would gather, and that flocks would make their way from all corners of the GVRD to shake and flail wildly to the new glamorous pop phenomenon. Push-button glam is here to stay, for a while.