Mere hours off the plane, I’m decked out in fancy rain boots, sporting zero makeup, and trudging through the rain to dine at the Na’am. Vancouver, never change.
Leaving L.A. was extremely bittersweet. I’ll write more about it in the coming days, I’m sure, when I’ve had more time to reflect. Saying goodbye to Hayley was hard. Life’s just better when she’s in it everyday. But I was returning home to fresh water and my bed and Miss Alana whom I hadn’t seen since September. (She was off traveling through Africa and India AND writing an amazing blog about it.) And as great as L.A. is and as positive as I always am, real life has to be attended to once in awhile and real life is Vancouver right now.
Krista being lovely while Nisha continues to fight the good fight against taking an attractive photo. Tuscan nachos and thai stroganoff — and sesame fries with cheese and miso gravy, in honour of Hayley.
Now life is a job search, a constant rewrite party, and remembering to blog in between hanging out with everyone else. For the first time in my life I know exactly what I want to do and I am actually, educationally speaking at least, qualified for it. So bring it on (and feel free to send me your film/tv job offers).
On top of all of that I have a new goal: an Arts & Culture mission, if you will. Or, proving: No Fun City.
Vancouver’s such a tiny little city but we have so much potential. I think the most exciting, interesting parts of Vancouver’s arts and culture scene are hidden beneath the surface. Right now a lot of the best stuff is inaccessible* to most people; so while I’m here (for the undisclosed future), I’m going to dedicate myself to taking in and talking about every rad homegrown thing I can find.
So bring on the music, the theatre, the poetry readings, the sketch comedy, and send me events and ideas and suggestions of things to see!
*inaccessible/not on their radar/they have no clue events and happenings are happening
Starting with:
Rain City Chronicles‘s monthly storytelling night. February edition: Love Hangover. What I’m assuming to be is a night of people reminiscing about terrible experiences of love and life for multiple hours in a boozy locale. (So, awesome!)
If you’ve never been to a storytelling night before, I highly recommend it. It’s like you’re at a party and you’re listening to a drunk person go on and on and on about their shitty love life, except that drunk person** is actually hilarious and poignant and potentially re-affirms your own shitty love life with their relatedly heartbreaking tale. And: there areĀ stillĀ tickets available! (Which never happens, so jump on it.)
Many more posts about L.A., the people I met, and the things I learned, are on their way, but they will now be interspersed with the goings-on of the great Vancouver, British Columbia.
**I’m not saying that every storyteller at this event is going to be drunk (Although they might be; public speaking is terrifying.) but it’s an analogy of a drunk person in relation to a… oh fuck it, you get what I’m trying to say.
My backyard today.
Kelly Tatham 