Thought Crime = Hate Crime

Check this out. I guess Thought Crime is now Hate Crime. And I thought the rationale (and use of bullshit legislation like The Patriot Act) used down south against the RNC protestors was bad... Have a look and what big brother is doing to the Hamilton Anarchist Bookfair.

The Mob Takes Over Vancouver Art Gallery

Your humble narrator was one of the combatants in a recent “flash mob” pillow fight at the Vancouver Art Gallery. (I have come to realize that using quotation marks absent of a direct quotation has taken on the appearance of using “air quotes” in personal conversation. The only person to effectively do this was Chris Farley as Matt Foley. Alas, Chris Farley is died a tragic, and arguably, pre-mature death. So should all people who use “air quotes” in conversation…)

As in most things in modern life, there were more spectators than participants.

Though the large number of participants (and admittedly, the tipped off spectators) made for an interesting display, I would rather have been involved in a flash mob with a few dozen people arriving surreptitiously, performing our action and departing unceremoniously.

In anticipation of the proposed mob, I readied my gear, hiding my pillow (containing a shameless photo op for my blog) as directed and jumped on my bike to enjoy the all too rare sunshine. My usual online spelunking turned up another event, the Grand March for Housing. Is there anything better than biking around downtown on a sunny day, taking in the city, the people and experiences? In a word, no.

As I waited on the other side of the Gallery as the Grand March for Housing ended, I attempted to identify other participants. As per the rules for this flash mob, people were not to hang around and were to hid their pillows. I detected a half dozen mobsters surveying the area, planning their approach. Two younger women had smaller pillows secreted under their sweater as though they were pregnant with decidedly square babies. Another young woman had a star shaped pillow strapped to her back like a backpack. One tall gentleman had a leopard-patterned pillow secreted in a plastic bag. All the participants were attempting to look nonchalant and doing a pretty good job. As I counted down the minutes, my mind raced planning numerous scenarios for mass participation in such an action. I could have procured one of the work vans and filled it full of pillows. Next I could have organized a number of confederates to all take the same bus wearing business suits and direct them to get off at the nearest bus stop. I could park the van by the stop and direct my troops to report to the van single file while checking their watches as though they were late and distribute pillows to each of them before leading them into battle. Nice.

Actually, this gives me some other ideas…stay tuned.

Back to the mob, at 2:58 pm I locked my bike and walked over to the other side of the gallery, unsheathing my pillow from my backpack. I noted a congregation of people in the area and a few other people walking towards the area with pillows. While this fueled my anticipation, what I saw when I arrived changed everything.

Yes, there were people with pillows. Hundreds of them. But there were as many people on the steps with cameras. And someone with a megaphone giving directions. And it was not some annoying VPD stormtrooper. And no one was fighting with pillows or otherwise. So much for spontaneous action. So much for impromptu performance art. So much for shocking an unsuspecting public.

At several minutes after 3:00pm following a garbled message on the megaphone, the fight began. And it was fun. I guess. More people arrived as the fight raged on. A few people forgot the ‘No Feathers’ rule. Other than that everything appeared to go off without a hitch.

My lack of experience with flash mobs does not allow me to label others as poseurs or an entire event as poseur-ish. So I won’t. I have never been fond of pejorative labels (or hipsters for that matter…note to self: write future blog post on things that annoy me); I would rather celebrate the positive. In this sense, the event was cool but it could have been cooler. Less overt structure. Less suspecting spectators. This also raises a number of questions about how to organize an effective, large scale, public action without overt structure. It simply puts the onus back on the individual to know what to do when the time comes. And then to do it. You just need the right individuals.

Dr. G

Art and Anarchy

On Friday the 13th, I attended the Art and Anarchy at 16 East Hastings in the Occupied Territories of the Downtown East Side.

There were some fantastic exhibitions including more items from Zig Zag, a local First Nations, I featured last year. Check out Zig Zag's Resist 2010 Artwork here. (Thanks to The Blackbird, your photos are outstanding!)

The most compelling works I saw was the Tent City Barricade by David Cunningham. It was a sculpture created using items from a tent city in Vancouver. Elements of it were reminiscent of our over glamourized Canadian war memorials abandoned pill box machine gunners nests in Vimy Ridge. The visceral undertones of conflict were highlighted by a line of Molotov cocktails leading to (or away) from the sculpture. The bottles, with their calico cloth wicks, could be viewed without context against the light coloured wall, save for the bottle to the left or right. Very powerful and well executed.

I spoke to the artist David Cunningham and found him to be a very gregarious, intelligent and engaging.

I can't say I had any interest in checking out the Vancouver 2010 "Cult"ural Olympiad but I am certainly glad I took the time to check out this provocative and confrontational show.

I certainly don't pretend to have the most sophisticated artistic pallet...

Requisite Monty Python reference:

Pope: I'll tell you what I want! I want a last supper with one Christ, twelve disciples, no kangaroos, no trampoline acts, by Thursday lunch, or you don't get paid!

Michelangelo: Bloody fascist!

Pope: Look! I'm the bloody pope, I am! May not know much about art, but I know what I like!

And I know what I like. And I really enjoyed the Art and Anarchy show.

Dr. G

Let The Real Games Begin

Last Sunday I attended the 2nd Annual Poverty Olympic in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. The was live music, skits depicting the real kind of games being played on poor, mascots (Itchy the Bedbug, Chewy the Rat) and provocative presentations. For those who could not attend, here are some highlights:

Cost of Richmond Speed Skating Oval = $178 million
Cost of for increasing welfare by 50% for 5 years for all 25, 115 single parent 2 children families = <$66 million

Cost of Whistler Nordic Centre = $122 million
Cost to build ten 64 bed treatment centres with detox beds and transitional housing unit = $109 million

Cost of Olympic building and Trade & Convention Centre & RAV line = $6.044 billion
Number on waitlist for subsidized housing in BC = 9,909
Number of social housing units that $6.044 billion could build = 30,220

You can check out more here.

For me, the highlight of the afternoon’s events was watching a player dressed in a business suit with horns (looking as though he walked right off the cover of The Corporation) get an old school ass-kicking by two young school children. It was, in a word, awesome. I got so caught up in the performance that I forgot to take a picture.

I met some really great, engaged people and had some interesting conversations about security culture and the cost of the Vancouver’s 2010 Olympic Shames. I also saw Zig Zag (an artist I featured in a post last year entitled If You Stand for Nothing) and some of his newest work.

The Poverty Olympic made effective use of satire and comedic social commentary (truly dying arts) to show what a joke the 2010 Games really is.

Fuck this corporate circus.

Fuck the billion dollar security tab for a two week party for the rich.

Fuck the 2010 Games.

The are not the celebration of the human spirit and do nothing to further our creative evolution as a species.

Human life found at Spartacus Books

Finally, something resembling a human experience at Spartacus Books. Let me start off by pointing out two things. First, I am a fan of Spartacus Books. Keep that in mind. Second, I am aware that book stores are usually relatively quite places and that the mood is usually tranquil. This notwithstanding, the vibe I usually experience at Spartacus is more comatose that tranquil. Until last Sunday…

Spartacus Books is a non for profit volunteer book store that recently relocated from the heart of Vancouver's Downtown East Side to just on the edge of the Downtown East Side. The store carries unique and provocative selection of books and zines on a variety of topics such as class warfare, feminism, ecological issues, anti-racism, anti-corporatism, anarchism, social thought and conflict. I almost always find something great there. To date, however, the vibe has left much to be desired. Now I admit, at first glace I may not look like the most approachable person on Earth. I prefer black (it’s slimming) or surplus clothing (camo is sliming to the point of invisibility in the right environment). I have what some have described as beady, intense eyes. While the windows to my soul may be tinted, I assure you that I am a very pleasant person. Nevertheless, I have been told many times that I have an angry look. Reminds me of one of Bill’s (Hicks for those of you joining The Ride late…) bits:
“Don’t you hate those people who say the expression ‘Do you know it takes more energy to smile that it does to frown?’ I point out to them that ‘You it takes more energy to say that then it does to leave me alone?’

But I digress…

Where was I? Oh yes, Spartacus. As I was saying I entered expecting the typical Spartacus interaction that usually involves a completely disinterested man or woman sitting at the counter or one of the web terminals. I enter and invariably say “hey”. Usually they are too involved in what they are doing to respond verbally but they will, on occasion, look up and make eye contact.

I proceed to look around and sometimes make the mistake of asking the person about something I am looking for. They usually say “I don’t know”, “I’m not sure” and sometime even muster a “Hmmm, I don’t know sorry”. One time I was told “You’ll have to look around.” What the fuck do you think I’m doing? An interpretive dance called ‘Beady eyed dude in black seems to be looking for something’. Thank you Spartacus volunteer for furthering the narrative of my life. Perhaps if I take the time to ask, my looking around pantomime is not achieving the results I need. Now remember, despite appearances, I am not an angry person. It reminds me of time I asked about some t-shirts they were selling at their old place. Picture a rack of approximately six t-shirts. Picture me walking in, doing a half hour of interpretive dance that concludes with me sashaying over to the aforementioned shirt rack. They are all small. I confirm this by looking at the tags. I medium, 5 small. I then have the following conversation with the gentle soul behind the counter:

Me: “Cool shirts”
Gentle Soul: silence combined with a look of apprehension
Me: “Looks like you have only smaller sizes”
Gentle Soul: “mmm”
Me: “Do you have any bigger sizes?”
Gentle Soul: looks at t-shirt rack with is approximately three feet away, pauses and says “I don’t see any.”
And yet I keep going back.
It’s not that the people are unfriendly or even aloof. They just don’t seem to be engaged at all. As a quite side note to my larger than medium readers, I did purchased a sweet Arm-me t-shirt a long time ago at their old location.

Which brings me to my point, finally…

Last Sunday, I stopped by Spartacus on my way to the Poverty Olympics (stay tuned). I entered, began my interpretive dance recital and asked the pleasant sounding chap who was setting up a new printer if he had anything on Mkultra. He stopped, though about it and politely said “Hmmm, you know I don’t think that we do.” Was he lying? Perhaps. Reading for the Spartacus script entitled “Ask me and I bet I don’t know nor will I attempt to help you”. It didn’t sound like it. I even heard him speak to a fellow volunteer regarding a book he would like to buy. Could he be…human? I eventually selected Julie Hecht’s Andy Kaufman: Was This Man a Genius? and walked up to the counter. Determined to test my theory, I asked the gentlemen if he had anything on Bill Hicks. He stated that they did but he did not think he had it now. I asked if it was something written by Kevin Booth and he said he was not sure. Yep, we were on the precipice of a full-blown conversation. I asked him about his netbook and then we got on to the topic of Burning Man (An Anarchist event? I do not claim to be a hardcore Anarchist or versed in all tenant of Anarchism but I just don’t see it. Not at $300 per ticket. Dionysian? Sure. Hedonistic? Sure. Anarchist? Not really.) Not wanting to spoil the moment I happily paid his friendly female co-volunteer for my purchase and departed.

Thank you friendly, engaged Spartacus volunteers for restoring my faith in humanity.

Groundhog Day 2010

Remember the movie Groundhog Day? Bill Murray (one of my all-time favourite actors) is newsman Phil Connors, who finds himself stuck repeating the same day again and again, waking each day at 6:00 am to Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe." A tortured study in futility. No matter what Bill (Phil) does, he is unable to affect change and the ending is always the same. Embarking on my daily consumption of myriad media sources has been a lot like Groundhog day. Especially when it comes to the 2010 Games: cost overruns, secret security budget climbing (maybe at a billion, yes, a billion by now), backroom / illegal deals to change the city's charter to mortgage the city's future, no public consultation, homeless further marginalized and ignored. All for a two week party celebrating a bunch of spandex clad self-involved losers throwing themselves down mountains or around in a circle using various apparatus. What a fucking joke! Though unlike Groundhog Day, this joke is not even mildly amusing. And there's no happy ending...

Let's get back to that billion dollar thing. Reminds me of one of Bill Hicks' more memorable quotes:

"You know all that money we spend on nuclear weapons and defense each year, trillions of dollars, correct? Instead -- just play with this -- if we spent that money feeding and clothing the poor of the world -- and it would pay for it many times over, not one human being excluded -- we can explore space together, both inner and outer, forever in peace."

Let's think locally. Substitute 'nuclear weapons and defense' with the equally useless 'Olympics' and 'trillions' for 'billions' (just to be fair) and you've got the right idea. Just think of what could be done if we used that billion dollars to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, build homes for the homeless. The choices that have been made for us are absolutely unconscionable.

There are those who are attempting to get the message of change out, trying to add to the narrative and getting us to wake up to something other than "I Got You Babe". Want something to cheer for as the Olympics approaches? Check out www.no2010.com.

Letterman Attempts to Atone

On Friday evening, Letterman got it right. 15 years later. For my fellow rabid Hicks fans out there, this needs no explanation. For those less acquainted with Bill's life and work, a quick explanation:

October 1st 1993, Bill performed for the 12th time on Letterman. Bill had been long time favourite of Letterman but due to some of the content of this set, Letterman and his staff decided not to run it. Both the show's producers and CBS denied responsibility. Bill expressed his feelings of betrayal in a hand-written, 39-page letter to John Lahr of The New Yorker. Although Letterman later expressed regret at the way Hicks had been handled (unaware Bill was battling pancreatic cancer), Bill passed away a few months later and did not appear on the show again. The full account of this incident was featured in a New Yorker profile by Lahr and appeared later published as a chapter in John Lahr's book, Light Fantastic.

Letterman finally acknowledged his error, invited Bill's mother Mary onto the show to talk about Bill and aired the censored material. Watching the material was certainly moving. Though the material was tame by Bill's standards and could not have been forseen as his requiem (I don't believe Bill had that in mind), it is classic Hicks. Though Bill is less animated and arguably less sharp than in performances such as Revelations, it is still a must see for any Hicks fan. In case you missed it, check it out here.

No doubt Bill got a kick out of the show on Friday, especially seeing his mom.

You want to see what I believe is Bill's true requiem? Here it is...

FIN