Ok smartie, go to a party
Girls are dancin the crowd is showin body
A chick walks by you wish you could sex her
But you're standin on the wall like you was Poindexter
Next days function, high class luncheon
Food is served and you're stone cold munchin'
Music comes on, people start to dance
But then you ate so much you nearly split your pants
A girl starts walkin, guys start gawkin'
Sits down next to you and starts talkin'
Says she wanna dance cus she likes the groove
So come on fatso and just bust a move

It's now been over ten days since the last entry and I thought I’d start us off with a little Young MC. What have I been doing? Well most, if not all, of you know I spent the last nine days in Vancouver. It all started with a desire to get down and boogie. Kitty and I slaved for hour after hour, striving to lay down the perfect dance mix (you might ask, as my Torontonian friend did, "don't you have a job?"). After much griping, the mix was made and we set off for Vancouver. Its test run, on the drive up, proved that a few not so boogeying tracks slipped through the cracks. But all was not lost. As I made the drive to Vancouver I repeatedly grooved out (I’ll take some flagellation for that one) to “Bust a Move”, so much in fact, that it began to appear to me as a prophetic hymn (of the (post-)modern variety), foretelling the wild partying that was to come (I considered employing the alternate spelling of that last word, but decided that I am too old (or perhaps not drunk enough (I’m currently only on my third glass of wine)) for those kind of shenanigans. As you’ve by now realized however, I am not too old to add this little footnote of sorts alerting all of you to the possibility.)…add another bracket if needed for completion)

In the end, the desire to boogie was somewhat thwarted. Many partygoers seemed more interested in making their own music, and some others had had a bit too much to drink even before their arrival. The real low point for me and my boogieriffic mood was when some young (ahh....to feel old) pretentious twerp quipped something like “its time to put on some real music.” Apparently his intellect took up so much of his ass-crack that it hurt to “get down and boogie”. But I digress. Despite my necessary wining peregrinations, I still had a jolly good time (and I do mean that in all serious, I employ “jolly” simply because, as an ex-pat Canade living the land of “gun-totting xenophobic troglodytes”, I’ve had to become more British than the Brits). The real highlight of the party was the tour of Mr. Mah’s studio. It was, like great jazz, an experience that managed to be cerebral, and yet still filled with soul. I also thoroughly enjoyed the tour of Parker’s room and its legendary memorabilia, and quite simply, it was very nice to hang out with a great group of friends for the evening.

Monday morning (aforementioned party was Sat night) saw Kitty and I make a whirlwind trip to Seattle in preparation for the upcoming week. My Torontonian friend gave notice the day before of his imminent arrival in Vancouver. I particularly remember his airport arrival, in part because I had not seen him for six months, but also because I had an experience that in some ways seemed quintessential of the human condition (or, at least the condition promulgated by our beloved media). Two others and myself were standing near the baggage carousel, intently looking towards the doors out of which he would soon appear. As expected, the recognizable grin soon popped out of the crowd. A brief moment of doubt was dissuaded by his time-honoured gait. At this point I felt a quandary of sorts. Should I continue standing in my present spot, excitedly awaiting his presence with a big fat grin, or should I run forward like a lovelorn lover, too impatient to wait one more second. I’ve always preferred Donne’s image of two parting lovers (So let us melt, and make no noise, / No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; / 'Twere profanation of our joys / To tell the laity our love. ) and hence partly assumed that I’d prefer a similar exchange between uniting lovers…..perhaps I should jettison the extended metaphor (of sorts) here and clarify that there is no “lovin” between us, simply a very deep friendship…., but the point is that a great part of me wanted to run forward and lay a big fat hug on my Torontonian friend.

The rest of the week was beleaguered by too much fun and not enough sleep. Generally a day started off with a late breakfast (replete with requisite coffee and grease to assuage the remanents of the previous night’s activities) attended by those who were otherwise unoccupied. This was then followed by an assortment of activities, but most frequently by swimming, and then next by more coffee drinking. Frequently a break was made for dinner after which the evening activities followed. Much alcohol was consumed during these evenings, usually starting at the beginning and then continuing through to the end. A frequent course of events for these evenings was “drink, talk, hang out a bit, drink, hang out,, drink, and then hilarity ensues.” Of particular note were a fun filled evening of near nudity, an evening of fraternizing with the old crew and our underlings (read = high school chums and those who graduated after us), and an epic game of trivial pursuit. Who knew it could be so hard? Perhaps Genus IV is best left for sober occasions.

That about brings me up to date. I do still have this last week in Seattle to detail, but that can wait for tomorrow. Actually, I’m sure there is more to say about Vancouver 2003, but that can wait till my next entry. I think I’ve said nigh enough for the night.