WEEKLY MUSINGS 007
Saturday, March 29th to Friday, April 4th: The Junos, The Thin Skinned, and The Dancer Under a Mirrored Moon.
Thoughts I thunk this week:
Even the Juno’s have trouble with shameless self promotion.
Why does being obnoxious to men make me so happy?
Thin skinned and dressed by your granny? Pick a struggle babes.
Respectability, at the cost of your people, is too expensive.
Aight, so boom…
SATURDAY - The Juno’s came to town this weekend. Did they tell anyone? No, but that seems to be the wave in Vancouver.
The festivities started on Thursday, with a few activations downtown, and the main one being at the Vancouver Art Gallery. Vendors and DJs on the south side and a tented area with performers on the north plaza.
I caught the tail end of MadeByWe’s set. As usual, the kids had the crowd moving and throwing long back.
The vendors were super cute - I picked up some earrings and my first football jersey. I had no clue who Jerome Bettis was, but a quick Google showed me he had a black wife and no serious drama, so it felt like a safe bet.
Ended the night enjoying Elbo Patties and watching Prianka perform. She really gave - the mic was on! Did it need some tuning? Maybe. But full choreo and an outfit change made up for what she lacked vocally.
SUNDAY - My new favourite pastime is fake fighting with “my man” - see 001 for context. There is something so thrilling about conjuring a scenario in my mind and making it his problem. I’ve never been that girl, but since we’re cosplaying as a straight couple, it felt only right to play up all aspects.
He has a coworker who has been mentioning him more frequently in her stories. They’ve known each other for years and its literally just wholesome memes. But when I crash his DMs like the Kool-Aid man, the idea of him rolling his eyes at my foolishness makes me giggle.
Next up, yelling “Who’s texting us?!” every time he picks up his phone around me. Can’t wait to bring our relationship to the next level!
MONDAY - Monday was the tax deadline for Canadian Trusts. This means nothing to most people, but for me, it means working overtime to ensure paper filings are submitted to the CRA on-time.
After 9 hours, 30 individual filings, over 3000 pages, and the endless humming of the printer, my nose hairs were singed, and my hands were as dry as your granny’s heel-back in February.
I was spent!
TUESDAY - Respectability won’t get you the respect you’re seeking.
We’ve opened a new floor at my office, which means new equipment and technology that we need to learn. My team waited over 20 minutes for the contractor to show up and give us a full tutorial of the space - a meeting room with desks connected by daisy chain for power. By the time he arrived, we had already figured out how to rearrange the furniture and how the technology was configured.
Without an introduction or apology, the contractor walks in, smelling like a fist full of quarters, rushed about like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. He started rattling off facts about the tables and telling us how they connect to each other. My team-lead tried to interject to let him know we had already covered all of that, but he cut her off and just kept rolling.
I looked around the room, and saw that everyone looked uncomfortable, but no one wanted to say anything. Me being me, I couldn’t take it and stopped him mid-sentence.
My voice was cold and direct, matching the tone he had taken earlier. He was stunned. He stopped short and asked me if I was in charge. Do I need to be in charge for you to listen to what I have to say?
I told him no, and he asked my name. I told him, and he finally introduced himself. I let him know that we had already covered much of what he mentioned and just needed to know what other configurations were possible. He checked himself and finally started talking to us like we were sensible folks. My teammates made sure to stifle their smiles once they saw his attitude change.
I could tell my interjection made some of my teammates bristle, but I couldn’t care less. I was not letting this man come in and disrespect us because he thought we didn’t know anything.
As a team of mostly women, we face this issue far too often - male contractors coming in and thinking we’re too ditsy to swing a hammer. Knowing full and well they’re supposed to be taking our direction, they make countless attempts to undermine us.
I’m Iyanla to the bullshit.
A friend of mine shared their own experience of the room staying respectable at their expense. I won’t get into detail, but essentially, in a space full of peers, this person was talked down to and skipped over, while their colleagues kept quiet. They were left feeling dejected and disappointed. A person who has stuck their neck out countless times for others, was being left out in the cold, while the folks they had warmed, said nothing. There’s a hot seat in hell for people who stand for nothing. And an even hotter one for those who standby and watch good people be mistreated.
WEDNESDAY - Complimenting men feels risky these days. What I thought was a sincere gesture was quickly deemed inappropriate.
A coworker of mine recently went through a breakup, and unfortunately, it was showing. Shirts left untucked and wrinkled; light wash jeans on a Monday; hair unkept; nails gnawed down the quick. Homie was showing all the signs of being down bad from losing his girl. I felt like I had to say something, but knew I had to be delicate about it.
One day, he got himself together and came in looking like a full-fledged adult. I made sure to compliment him and encourage him to keep it up. In the following days he started putting that shit on and coming to my desk to show me his handy work. He was combing his hair again and even bought new glasses. The man was making a comeback.
This past Wednesday, while giving me his live fit check, he told me his mother and grandmother bought him his whole outfit.
I said, “I love that the women in your life are rallying around you since your breakup.”
His friends, who were behind him, snickered and his expression fell. I felt awful. I could see his confidence wane.
I quickly apologized and went back to my desk. I asked my coworkers, and they all gave me this uneasy look. “It wasn’t that bad, but you didn’t have to mention his break-up” - was the consensus.
Is it me? Am I the drama?
THURSDAY - Had a work dinner at Dahlia on Thursday evening. Situated in the Azur Hotel, the atmosphere was elegant and inviting. High ceilings, gorgeous chandeliers and the promise of “a menu that celebrates the style of the French Riviera & Italian Coastline.”
The plating was divine. The flavours? Left a bit to be desired.
Steak Tartare: Presented well, but didn’t taste like anything. 4/10
Marinated Olives: Surprisingly warm. 7/10
Dahlia House Bread: Tasted like sourdough, but the menu said it was brioche. Suspicious. 6.7/10
Pappardelle with Lamb Merguez: Noodles had a great texture, but overall, it needed more seasonings. 4.6/10
Ricotta Gnocchi with Seared Salmon: Plated beautifully, but the only prominent flavour was the fishiness of the salmon. Didn’t like the texture of the gnocchi. Overall, just mushy and fishy. 2.6/10
Charred Broccolini: Solid work. 7.8/10
Truffle Fries: Covered in cheese. Kinda ugly. I didn’t try it myself, but folks at the table weren’t impressed. 4/10
Overall, this is a great place for those watching their blood pressure. For those seeking flavour over ambiance, I recommend DL Chicken on Commercial.
FRIDAY - Kingyo Izakaya review: Spectacular. Give me 14 of them, right now!
To celebrate my favorite DJ's birthday, we went to Kingyo Izakaya on Denman. Great ambiance, an open kitchen and great staff. The drinks were nothing to write home about, but the food was spectacular.
Salmon Tartare: Meh. Skippable. 5/10
Brussel Sprout Karaage: Delicious. Everyone needs their own. 8/10
Fresh Sashimi Salad: Perfectly dressed and delightfully fresh. 8.3/10
Blue Fin Tuna Tartar: Well balanced and presented nicely. 8.6/10
Blue Fin Tuna Tataki: Chef’s kiss. 9/10
Crispy Chicken Karaage: Hot nuh bloodclaat! 9/10
My Ebi-Mayo: Too much mayo. 7/10
Truffle Carbonara Udon: Rich and the noodles had the best texture. 8.7/10
Seafood Bibimbap: Piping hot and served in a stone bowl. 9/10
Black Sesame Panna Cotta: Took a minute to figure out if you liked it, but once you did, it was nice. 7/10
Overall, the prices were fantastic, and the food was fresh. I will be visiting again soon!
Once our bellies were full, naturally, it was time to shake ass. Since we were already in the West End, we decided to go to 1181 on Davie. The stage was set for me to learn that white people can actually dance.
We’ve all made the joke about the white-girl-dance: hands above your head, hip thrust, hair toss, little shimmy, accentuated with a full body roll and a little 2-step. I’ve never understood these movements, but now I realise, I just wasn’t seeing them in the right context.
On a tiny dancefloor, smoke machine on full blast, strobe lights threatening you with a seizure, these moves narrated the story of their people. Cocaine nights, followed by a walk of shame, into a boozy brunch.
These moves were the non-verbal battle cry of the girls and gays who were fighting for their freedom from Daddy’s credit card. They danced until their shirts were wet and their faces smeared with their partners’ bronzer.
I’ve never seen so many men dance with their girlfriends in one moment, only to rip off their shirts and make out with a random man, the next. All the while, the girlfriend is doing her best Charli XCX impression. It was a sight to behold.
Where was I while all this was going down? Perched on the back of a banquet, sipping my tonic water and making note of my anthropological findings. I felt like I had infiltrated a secret society, where the white girls dance under a mirrored moon, FOR THEIR LIVES! Exhilarating, really.
Truth be told, I just couldn’t find a beat to shake my ass to. That night confirmed I don’t like to dance. I find no real enjoyment in moving my body just because music in playing. I require my hips to be activated. I need a bass line and a melody that feel raunchy but not drug induced. I like to pelt waist, not toss hair. More power to the folks who can though. Y’all the real MVPs.
Anyways, see you next week.
xoxo,
Melissa Renee.