I remember meeting a group of handsome men...

When my shift was done at the souvenir kiosk outside the gates of Expo 86, I would walk downtown and hop on the newly completed Skytrain for my ride home. Tonight was a late one, and as I walked down the stairs to the station beneath Granville Street, a young man kept calling out to me. Easily ignorable, I tuned him out, bought my ticket, and descended even farther beneath the earth to the platform. He rode the escalator behind me, making rude comments, asking me if I wanted a date, a boyfriend...that sort of thing.

Unrelated side note: Anyone else see the irony of going down into the depths of the earth to catch the "Sky"train? LOL!! The train only went underground for two stations...but this always made me laugh. Anyway, back to our story...

I strode with purpose towards the group of people waiting for the train heading East. The young man stood off to one side, continuing with his tirade of what he was prepared to do for me. Everyone on the platform was wondering what I'd do. When the train slid into the station, he followed me into the car and sat down behind me. I'm no dummy. Just before the door slid shut, I jumped up, ran out of the car and scooted into the next one. He tried to follow, but the doors shut and the train accelerated out of the station, leaving him standing alone on the platform. Hah!!

I was feeling very clever! Then I looked around to see who was in the car I had just dashed into. The only empty seat was in the midst of a group of incredibly handsome men, all dressed in expensive clothing that fit them perfectly. They clapped for me and my clever evasion, indicating that I was welcome to sit with them. I took a little bow, and joined their party. As I began a conversation, I quickly realized that these men were Italian and could speak almost no English. The only Italian words I knew were the musical terms I'd learned from 10 years of piano lessons. I spouted off a few to their great merriment. "Allegro! Pianissimo! Dolce!" Much laughter, white teeth. "Expo 86?" I asked, figuring them to be tourists.

"Si! Si!!" They nodded happily. "La Scala!"

"Are you here to see La Scala perform?" I knew the famed opera company was going to be performing for Expo 86, and assumed any Italian worth his salt would be lining up to buy tickets. "You watch La Scala?"

"No!" insisted the gentleman with the perfect white teeth and immaculately groomed graying hair. "No watch. La Scala!!" He reached for his wallet and handed me a business card. I don't read Italian, but I realized that I was sitting with members from the company! They were with La Scala! "You come see?"

I pulled out my pockets, pantomiming my poverty. "I can't afford the opera!"

"No!" Darn that language barrier!!! "You come see! You come! We show!" How did he get his teeth so white? What? Was he inviting me to come as his guest? For free??? We eventually figured it out, after much hand gesturing, that I was invited to the final dress rehearsal, and that one of my new friends would meet me at the door to make sure I got in. We waved good-byes and ciaos as they got off at their stop.

I showed up at the Pacific Coliseum at the proper time on the proper day, August 23, 1986. Nobody was waiting for me at the gate, but I convinced the person at the door that I belonged there by showing him the Italian business card I had been given. I walked in, totally excited. I had never been to the opera before! I wasn't sure where I would be allowed to sit, so I was wandering down the aisles looking for an empty spot when I heard a welcoming cry. "Hallo!!!" It was one of my friends! He rushed up to me, grabbed me around the shoulder and steered me straight toward the backstage. Backstage! He introduced me to someone who could translate for us, and then I was given a whirlwind tour of the whole backstage area. I saw the costume room, the singers putting on their makeup, the props and backdrops...I felt like I was walking in a dream.

I was led to my seat, right near the front, and watched Verdi's "I Lombardi". Is it any wonder that I felt like my life was charmed? Why would something so magical and fantastic happen to me, merely because I was smart enough to dodge a dummy on the Skytrain? I didn't know why, and I didn't care. If heaven wanted to drop gifts in my lap, I certainly wasn't going to refuse!

I remember starting to smoke...

I had tried a puff or two of other people's cigarette's when I was in High School, but I had never bought my own pack. To me, the level of your addiction was always related to whether you paid for the goods or not. I was only smoking vicariously through other people's habits...

...until I got back from that drama tour I wrote about in the previous entry. I had a summer job lined up, selling T-shirts outside of Expo 86 in Vancouver. I had a roommate and we had a place to live, a little travel trailer in the backyard of a Salvation Army preacher. And I no longer had any reason not to smoke, since I no longer counted as valid anything I'd been taught about behavior and morality.

The first pack of cigarettes I bought myself was More Menthol's. I figured they'd look good with my red fingernail polish. (It is all about looking good, isn't it?) I LOVED how they looked. I'd smoke while I walked to work, admiring myself in shop windows as I passed by. I'd smoke while I drank cups of coffee, learning to blow smoke rings and French inhale. I would smoke at the Luv Affair while I danced. I smoked as I waited for the bus. I loved smoking!

It didn't take long to become addicted all on my own, without any of my friends to blame it on or bum smokes from. Of course, back in 1986, you could buy a pack of smokes for $1.50 at the cheap smoke shop. I soon switched from More's to Peter Stuyvesant's, a Dutch cigarette, when I could find them...and if I couldn't find them, Player's would do in a pinch. I pretty much smoked non-stop for at least four years after that.

I remember an interesting old woman at Expo 86...

It was a very exciting day for me and my friends. One of our favorite bands, Einsturzende Neubauten, was going to be playing the International Stage at Expo. All the way from Germany, they were "industrial" before Nine Inch Nails were out of diapers, and I could not wait to see them live!! Lucky for me I worked right outside of the Yellow Gate at the Expo grounds, so as soon as I got off work, I rushed on to the Expo site and got changed in one of the Ladies Washrooms. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror putting on my silver lipstick with the black lip-liner, powdering my face with white powder, adjusting my fishnets, making sure my hair was pointing straight to the sky...much to the curiosity of the normal women who were merely there to wash their hands. I remember feeling very powerful and alien. I felt Alternative.

As soon as I was ready, I headed to the International Stage to line up. I wanted to be in the front row for this show!! Hooray! There were only a handful of people in line, other Alternative types whom I recognized from around town...but right in front of me, there was a prim little woman, probably in her 60's, with her grey hair in a neat little bun, her hands holding a tidy little purse, and sensible shoes on her feet. What was she doing in the line up to see this noisy, noisy band? I figured she must have read her schedule wrong, so I struck up a conversation with her, hoping to save her from standing in line for the wrong thing.

"So, do you know what you are standing in line for?" I asked politely.

She replied, quite excitedly, "Oh yes. I'm waiting to see Einsturzende Neubauten!"

I hope my jaw didn't drop. I really hope it didn't. I was flabbergasted! "You know their music?" I asked.

"Oh yes. They are one of my favorite Industrial Noise artists." She smiled sweetly at me.

Who was this woman? She stayed for the whole concert, sat in the third row. I saw her take earplugs out of her purse and insert them in her ears before the show started. The show was brilliant: gut-wrenchingly loud, metal grinders and sparks and fire and mayhem--and through it all, she sat beaming. I couldn't take my mind off her! She was, sitting there in her cardigan, more Alternative and Strange than I had ever been. To be that comfortable in one's own skin, to not feel the need to put on a costume to fit in...she shines in my memory like a beacon of Truth and Mystery, an angel whom I am only beginning to be as free as.