Money for Nothing and Your Chicks for Free K and A Down on the Street A: Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been excited for the Block Party at Victory Square for some time now. Not only because it’s free, but because it announces the bitth of our column. Da da da da.. Nothing and Your Chicks for Free!!! introducing, Money for K: Yes indeed, the time has finally arrived. It’s a great thing, but we should take this intermission (before The Cinch play) to explain ourselves a little bit. This col- umn is a direct reaction to the absence of good places to go in Vancouver. For those of us who only have enough money for 93 cent pizza... A: Ah, I hate pizza. K: ... Vancouver seems to have little to offer. A: Little to offer, for sure, off the beaten path of Granville Street, which seems to expand daily into the young heart of the city. This column will be a testament to the alternative, a vigil for those places of dirty character that have been swept under the rug of gentrification. The good times, now more than ever, have to be about negotiating between a lack of events, venues, and funds. This is a dialogue about creating fun in the absence of the three. K: As Martin Tielli sings in “Self Serve Gas Station,” “No one said this would be easy, but no one said this would be hell.” And I think that applies here because fun is supposed to be easy, but sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the distant knowledge that there are other crowds out there suffering just like us. ‘Cause this is hard in this free park, real hard. And yet we continue (small pause to light a cigarette and squint around at the growing crowd lounging on the lawn of Victory Square). On another note, there are so many pretty people here that I feel ,sort of like ?m watching a Ny/on photo shoot or something. A: Agreed; I was just itching to say something about all the pretty people here in the park. It’s like The Drive and Main Street have thrown up their hipster on Victory Square. Which would be wonderful if I wasn’t sensing a little hipper-than- thou vibe from the crowd. Everyone here is so alternative. I love how obsolete of a term alternative is. If I were to make an album right now, I would call it “oh so alternative,” because we no longer have anything to define alternative against, so hopefully everyone would misread it. I love being misread...oh so alternative (pause for a moment to chat with other park goers). K: You know what I love? The tambourine. That lead singer of The Cinch knows her shit. The tambourine is back like slimy, 70s porno mustaches. But maybe that’s a little too scenester for you. A: Oh no, the more sinister the better. Boys, don your mustaches with pride. Maybe that should be the fashion tip of the week. (Overheard conversation about the Fresh Prince of Bel Air). Oh, and for the ladies, a word of advice: never trust a boy with more hair product than you. K: I would back you on that, but that would mean excluding at least three quar- ters of the boys here—or are those girls with faux-hawks? I can never tell in this metrosexual, omnisexual, hypersexual era. Anyways, here we are going on about the crowd and almost completely forgetting about the music. Here’s Threat From Outer Space—focus A, focus. A: Thanks for bringing us back to the real issues at hand, so easily distracted peo- ple watching. The Cinch was fabulous, A+ for sure, I would say topnotch as well, but the sound was a bit off. But really, who am I to criticize an awesome free after- noon in the park, not much wrong with that (pause yet again as Brother Adam approaches. And an even longer pause finds A and K at the Bourbon for after- Block-Party drinks—courtesy of Brother Adam). K: The Unicorns, who began with the promise of blowing our socks off, sound- ed pretty good in a clean, white, pompous sort of way. But after watching the audience drool over seven minutes of fake cell-phone conversation between the bass player and his mom, I just don’t know. A: Yeah, my socks are still on, and though I definitely wasn’t going to walk out of the park, I also don’t think that I’d be forking up the cash to see them tomorrow at VECC. Avoiding the lines at Pub 340 and the Cambie, here we find ourselves amid beer and chicken wings. No money for food, and scraping together change for beer (and I wonder why I keep losing weight)...typical. All in all, it was an excellent afternoon, so much to hear and look at. Too bad we missed Channels 3 and 4 though; I’ve seen their name around and have been curious. wae ol: =—-_ft 5.8:8: 83.8: % K: Yeah, me too. Also, a call out to the advertisers of the Block Party—where was the dunk tank, my friends, where was the dunk tank? I paid good money to...oh wait, I didn’t pay a cent. A: That would have really made it a rockin’ block party, or a high school carnival. I’d like to give call to My! Gay! Husband! For his excellent music taste, and also that awesome man in the cap and jean jacket that was givin’ “er on stage with The Unicorns. He was definitely par- tying like it was 1999, my out K: Oooh, that reminds me of the little episode you missed earlier. Cloverhoney played (with a miraculous turnover of instruments) and towards the middle of their set they belted out, “No Fun City.” I watched this rather loopy woman in neon boxer shorts pulled up to her crop top amble in front of the stage, occa- sionally flashing her tits to the audience, and I thought, it’s true—this is a No Fun City. When the only person dancing is a woman who seems to be an eternal hip- shaker, and may (or may not) live in the park, we know the youth have somehow gone astray. But all judgment aside, it was a splendid day of free music, and now the only thing ahead of us is the long walk home. A: Ah yes, the long walk home through Strathcona (which is undoubtedly my favorite walk in Vancouver) with one last pause on that amazing blue bridge across the train tracks, and back to Brother Adam’s for stolen ice cream and Bladerunner. Summer is dead! BACK TO SCHOOL SAVINGS! STUDENTS ONLY! 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