Almost every week for the past 2 years my friends and I have attended Open Mic night on Thursdays at Cafe Deux Soleils about 5 blocks from my house. Basically, any artist that wants to play puts their name in a jug when they come in. Then, around 9pm the host (used to be Craig, now it’s red-headed hotness Fraser) picks 15 names. The people who get chosen have either 2 songs or 10 minutes on stage when their turn comes. It’s mainly music, although there are a few people who unsuccessfully attempt sad comedy acts, or poetry readings that aren’t really heard because of the buzz of the crowd.
Now, let me tell you. Open Mic used to be cool. My friends and I would be able to go, grab a booth seat super early, hang out and have tea or wine (depending on the mood) and have a good time without feeling out of place. We knew most of the performers, and most of the crowd. I remember never being able to sit at my table the entire night because there would be way too many people I would want to mingle with. I remember meeting new friends and bringing them there. I remember developing different relationships with certain people and bringing everyone together. We would enter and Craig would wave the cover charge (a whopping $5!) because we were regulars.
There are so many great memories of how Open Mic used to be. From the graffiti in the washrooms to the corner booth seats where the cushions are slowly disintigrating, to beard and moustache boredom, writing and being completely smashed, I called that place my comfort zone.
But the past couple of months nobody I know has been going. The crowd has changed almost completely, and we don’t have much motivation to go anymore. That, and the group has slowly shrunk from about 10 to 3. The last time we were there it was just weird. Thus, we just haven’t bothered.
But last night we had our hearts set on it. We’d show them. We would conquer all that is man, grab our usual seat and make it feel like we were the place’s backbone once again! That was the thought on the way there, anyway. When we got to our destination, our seat was taken, and we didn’t recognize anyone. We sat down and ordered food while more and more unfamillar faces flooded in. The crowd used to be all ‘drive hippie locals’ that you would run into 4 times a week just walking from your house to the bus stop. Now the crowd is just… chauchy.
[See also: Chauchy – 1: An adjective to describe a person who is completely preoccupied by their personal possessions and identifies their status purely by the size of their city-driven, over embellished, environment destroying Dodge Ram or rice mobile.]
Thanks Urban Dictionary. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.
Anyway, I guess to make this long story a little shorter, the verdict: we stayed for 35 minutes of the actual music, then left. Every time we go to Open Mic, we either don’t know anyone, or run into people we didn’t want to see. Open Mic has lame sauce written all over that shit. That, and there’s always some Jack Johnson wannabe that always makes it up on stage (no offense Jack).
We need a new hangout place. Any Vancouverites have suggestions for me?
Now with that said, I got my parcel from my uncle today! It was so speedy! Goodness how I love Canada Post right before Christmas!
Uncle Terry writes:
In the summer of 1995 when Grandpa had surgery I stayed with Grandma for a week. Every time she would pass her fridge she would tell me that she bought these angels for her Amber. She said because they had red hair, they reminded her of you. I had brought them here to be sure you got them, thought they would have gotten lost in all the confusion of packing up their house. Sorry it has taken us so long to get them to you! Hope they bring back lots of great memories of your grandparents!’
I remember seeing those on her fridge when I was about 10 years old, and her loving those things. Now they’re on my fridge, and even though they’re just magnets, they’re special. They remind me of Grandma and Grandpa’s old house, and how truly wholesome my family is. ❤