Life on Mars

Spit five blocks from King to Queen and see the dichotomy of gender. Clubland lipstick lovers are from Mars; hip young things hiding in Ray-Bans are from Venus. And so the parade of Queen St. cool kids felt out of place today as it made its way towards the other planet.

Free booze and BBQ brought them south to King St., lured in by Fred Perry, Vice, and Red Bull. On top the Cheval roof top patio the barbeque smoked, sent out the signal. On the decks was Tim Harrington from Les Savy Fav, gearing up for his gig at Wrongbar.

NXNE passes dangled from necks but didn’t bypass the growing line. The crowd packed in tight together, sweat stains sinking in as the sun beat its rays down. Amongst the madness we hid up top the tables, leaning into the fake grass covering the walls. Sipped on beers towards daytime dizziness, waited for the phone call.

When it came the gig was up, time for the Raveonettes, Iggy, and the Stooges. Floated through the empty indoor air conditioning, down to the street. Followed a couple out the door, listened to their convo.

She looked around, leaned in to him, and said: “I forgot we were on King St.”

Whatever it was melted in the rain

They were there for the liquor. Face turned away from what was on display, he tapped his beer bottle, shook his head, and explained that as long as a sponsor is buying drinks, the crowd will come.

The pinned-up pages on display were not masquerading as art, were neither a comment nor a question. Once hung on the wall, whatever moments the photos once trapped were turned into a blank canvas on which the light-headed youth decided not to draw.

The irony in the room seemed omnipresent and simultaneously over: no one cared, way too much. Dana Goldstein’s photos looked no different from Jamie Taete’s. Both were purposefully amateur, different only contextually from the photos the guests snapped. The evening seemed as though it would amount to only a photograph of a photograph. Then the cops came, the bar ran dry, and the sky started to pour.

We left the gallery space in search of nothing. In the parking lot across the street we pieced together a make shift furniture set, then sat and waited. When the rain became unbearable we raised a dry piece of plywood and hid underneath. Surrounded by soaked cement we sprinted towards the closest cab and made our way to destination number two. There, it ended with us in the dark, dancing.