For this week’s Story Time Tuesday I’ve decided to post a poem. Some of you may have read it before -if you’re a super online stalker. As I’ve been spending a lot of time lately hanging out on Main Street, debating if I should just find some dumb-ass serving job and remembering my days at Goldsmiths with my inspiring writing group, I figured this was an appropriate piece to post. Plus I’ve been too busy editing and rewriting my novel to write something new.

Main and Empty

one week before I got fired

waiting on tables
at East Van’s favorite late night eatery
across from the neon light store/ drug front
down from ten coffee shops in four blocks
next to stores with silk screened ironic t-shirts
locally made jewelry and retro records.

filling my arms with
local brew, sangria and the mix of the day
black beans on basmati
coconut milk and quinoa
mango, tofu, peanut sauce
large nachos the size of my torso.

two guys are sitting at a back table
drinking one p.m. beers
one hides behind Buddy Holly glasses
the other shields with a sleeve of tattoos

we talk
while white people with dreadlocks listen to hip hop
while the smell of spray paint loiters in the alley
while the new cook burns the chili
and I’m shedding dreams like onion tears

after three rounds
they left behind torn napkins
empty cigarette boxes
an insulting 6% tip
and a note


Observations in VanCity

What I Learned from Hanging Out on Commercial Drive this Weekend

Photo I took on Northcote Rd in South London of a tattoo I thought was fugly. Eyes on your calf? Why?!

I love people watching. This weekend and friend and I gawked on Commercial Drive; a street in East Vancouver that’s the epicenter of drumming circles, poetry slams and devil sticking in the city. Well, that’s not entirely true, over the years in between Italian specialty markets it’s been gentrified by sport bars and coffee shops filled with macbooks.

As we sipped our americanos watching everyone and their dog wearing a bandanna walk past we noticed that 90% of ‘young’ pedestrians had tattoos. I wondered: has the city had enacted a law stating that all people under the age of 35 within a 5-block radius of The Drive must permanently brand their skin with a symbol that epitomizes who they are? A snake. A forest scene. A Looney Tunes character.

It should be noted that I do not have a tattoo. There are many reasons for that: they’re expensive, I don’t like being repeatedly jabbed with needles and I’ve never found an image I wanted on my body for all time. I consider myself lucky; I strongly considered getting a crown tattoo on my lower back when I was 22. Yeah. That’s what happens when you know your name means princess… and you’re a bar star.

Another reason I’m thankful for not getting that tattoo is that the me of today would be mortified to have a tramp stamp. I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever I like today I probably wont like ten years later; that’s how growing up as worked thus far. I used to dye my hair every three weeks (pink, orange, platinum blonde). I used to wear army boots with dresses. I used to date a guy who rode a recumbent bike. I would never do any of those things again, so what’s the point of spending $200 on something that I can’t grow out, give away to goodwill or delete from my facebook friends?

Of course, many of my dearest friends have tattoos and I don’t judge them like I did all those fauzhemians on Commercial Drive this weekend. I understand what their tattoos mean and where they came from, but when I see a youngish girl walking down the road with a jack-o-lantern tattooed in blue ink just above her knee I cringe. Or shudder – like I did when I saw a girl with a large tiger face on the top of her thigh! What the hell does that mean? What does a knee/thigh tattoo say about you?  That you’ve run out of space on your arms? Or is the knee/ thigh tattoo the fashionable body part of today, like how barbed-wire armbands were in the late 80s, celtic knots were in the 90s and sleeves have been since 2004?

However one thing I do enjoy about these tattoo trends is that they help to identify what generation a person is from and how old they probably were when they got it. Guy with a Tasmanian Devil on his shoulder blade- he was 18 in 1992.

Based on our informal survey this weekend my friend and I concluded that tattoos are the new way of conforming. Years ago getting one was a way to stand out from the crowd. Today having clean skin makes you different, a freak even. Which is good, because I’ve never been someone who likes fitting in.