Colin's Comment

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Satan called me on Thursday. Fat Joe Satan to be exact… Fat Joe Satan is a rock and roll behemoth. He is rude, crude and very entertaining. He called me at the radio station, I couldn’t speak for long as we were going back on air but he said something about giving me copies of a CD and DVD I’m on with Fat Joe Satan and his band… well, this guy on drums I can’t remember the name. It was at an opening at the New Tiny gallery on the ragged edge of Chinatown, Fat Joe’s band was playing, a Japanese kid from the student hostel next door was accompanying them on bongos. Fat Joe got me up onstage to sing a song or something, I didn’t know what to do. So I started telling the story of The Terrible House of Sickness, an East Van punk rock house I used to hang out in the 1980’s that were into drugs in a big way. They were friends of Stinkey’s. Stinkey and I were the annoying straightedge nerds, he’s since developed a taste for Guinness, and I was the asshole from the rich suburbs slumming it. The rest of them at the House of Sickness created a vomit club, the Meter Heavers Achievers, that made a game of vomiting on the light meter just by the porch. They had grades, awarded points of accuracy. They were the first people I ever heard of to make crystal meth in their kitchen, real pioneers. When one of them died of an overdose it didn’t seem like as much fun. I’d already done a mini-comic, “Tales of the Terrible Teatotaller“, about the Terrible House of Sickness so I knew the story well and I told it as a spoken word piece. Apparently on the video all you can see is my stomach as the camera was fixed in one spot, and me tripping…

So I gets fat Joe Satan’s number from a mutual friend and call him. The phone rings, and rings… and rings… rings… and I’m waiting for the answering machine when I realise with a thrill of rising horror that there is no answering machine! Gaaah! In this day and age how can you not have an answering machine? This means I’m going to have to- choke - CALL BACK! I thought we’d left those dark days behind us, the days before cel phones, E-mail, voice mail and answering machines* when if you wanted to communicate you’d have to call someone on the phone you’d have to call and call and keep calling until you got lucky and they answered the blasted phone themselves! And if you wanted to communicate with someone far away (that was too expensive to phone) you wrote a letter! A LETTER?! How did we ever manage? Of course, my odd brother Leslie doesn’t believe in answering machines. He has one, of course, but he doesn’t always listen to the messages. And he refuses to leave a message on my answering machine. He just calls back. If he doesn’t reach me, well, that’s okay with him. I try to convince him to talk to my machine but he outright refuses. I hint it might be impolite not to leave a message (one thing Leslies hates is rudeness) and he tells me, no, it isn’t. It’s hard to argue with such logic.

Anyway, I called back, I’m going to get together with Satan over tea sometime when he gets a break from his job… picking up corpses from their homes and delivering them to the morgue… I’m looking forward to it…

*I should point out I have neither a cel phone or voice mail… who’s got that kinda money?


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