Here are two party shots from Rannie “Photojunkie” Turingan’s camera:
Ah, sweet beer…eases the pain!
The upstairs bathroom is a prime photo location for The Mirror Project.
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First anniversary!
One year ago yesterday, I made my first posting on The Adventures of AccordionGuy in the 21st Century. It wasn’t anything big or ground-breaking:
First Post!
This is the very first posting to The Adventures of AccordionGuy in the 21st Century. I won’t report anything right now, other than that this blog is now up and running.
Since then, a lot of crazy things have happened, and the bloggable ones have all been documented here — go flip through the archives if you have some time to kill.
Much love to all of you for reading all my self-indulgent silliness as well as everyone who wrote in and said they loved the blog, and to everyone who linked to me (especially Cory Doctorow, the best damned unofficial publicist I’ve ever had).
I was going to create a giant list of my personal favourite postings, but since I have to continue my job hunt, I thought I’d do something simpler. In honour of this blog turning one, I thought I’d simply celebrate it with my other favourite one-year-old, my nephew and godson, Aidan William deVilla-Choi.
Aidan says: “If I could read, and if my Mom wasn’t afraid Unca Joey might set a bad example, I’d hit The Adventures of AccordionGuy in the 21st Century every day!”
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This birthday boy thanks you
Before I forget, I’d like to say thanks to everyone who came to the party. My only regret is that with so many people, I wasn’t able to spend as much time with each and every one of you as I wanted!
I hope you had as great a time as I did. You guys rock!
More photos soon!
Here are the first 14 shots taken by Jai Johnson at the party. Jai got some killer shots, and this first set has shots of the bathtubs when they were still full.
If you haven’t seen them yet, check out an earlier installment of photos from the party.
Kitchen panorama! Click the image to see a larger version.
The downstairs tub, still early in the party.
Close-up of the downstairs tub. Note the paucity of watery proletarian beer, and a generous supply of pop for the non-drinkers.
I could stare for hours at this, I tell you.
My bedroom, a.k.a. the chill-out lounge. Jai’s friend P. chats with Keith, Liz and Adam
The back deck. It was an unusually spring-like night, which meant that we could use the deck, making for a little extra room for the party.
Said one guest: “Joey, I didn’t know you invited Marilyn Manson!”
Another shot taken from the back deck, with Iain, Chris and Rob chatting in the foreground and my room in the background. My room’s south wall is entirely glass, and has a door that opens onto the deck.
The upstairs tub, still early in the party.
You can never have too many “bathtubs full of beer” shots. Note the “devil duckies” floating amongst the beer bottles and cans.
The host with the most!
My relatives stake their claim to the living room. From left to right: some guy (can’t tell from the back of his head), my cousin Saturn, his girlfriend Jamie, Mel’s wife Malou, my cousin Mel, my sister Eileen, my brother-in-law Richard.
The downstairs hallway bathroom line.
The dining room, still early in the evening.
Looking into the kitchen from the dining room.
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The party
Updated (captions added) on Monday, November 11th at 10:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.
Folks, I’m too exhausted to caption the photos right now, but here are my photos from the party. Other people took some — if you have any could you please send copies my way?
Very early in the evening. with Fergal, Hector and some guy (can’t tell, the photo’s so grainy) chilling in the living room. Aren’t the white couches so grown-up?
The dining room, featuring back-to-back conversations with Saturn and Liz.
Giant bottles of beer make me happy!.
Make that “giant bottles of beer and cute girls make me happy”. That’s Stephanie on the left, you already know the fool on the right.
The obligatory phallic posing with the giant beer, and it’s not even midnight yet.
CAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!.
“Are you sure you’ve got my head in the shot? I’m really tall.” “Sure, I’m sure! Now shut up and pose.”
My cousin Vince: “Hee hee hee…those were gooooooood cookies…hee hee hee…”
No party is complete without the Thirsty People of Toronto!
“We’re happily married, and we bought our washer and dryer at Sears.”
Random dining room shot number one.
Random dining room shot number two.
Two of the legendary Sunni Choi Girlz, Sandi and Karin.
Two of the legendary Sunni Choi Girlz, Sandi and Karin.
Meanwhile, in the living room… Will checks out my bottle of Becherovka in the foreground while Leila and Hoda look on in the background.
Random dining room shot number three. I believe that’s the back of Peter’s head.
Random dining room shot number four. The dance floor is now in full swing
We love girls who wear glasses! Char and Steph hang out by the bar.
The twins — Holly and Hoda sit with Leila, while “P. Willy” cheelz: “Dese mah bitches, yo.”
“We’re also happily married, and we renovated our kitchen thanks to Home Depot.”
Celebrity vist #1. Local recording artist Kat Goldman (in red) pays a visit to the dance floor. That’s Paul on the left, and I-can’t-tell-whom on the right, checking out the food.
Greg, Vince, Karin, and someone’s shoulder.
Possum, Stephanie and me. That’s Diana in the background.
Dance floor shot number one.
Dance floor shot number two. That’s Mira, the world’s sexiest substitute teacher on the right.
Dance floor shot number three. The first of many crotch shots taken at the party.
Dance floor shot number four.
Dance floor shot number five.
Dance floor shot number six.
Dance floor shot number seven.
Dance floor shot number eight.
Aftermath
Iain Deans actually having a Zen moment. This kind of thing is very rare, and we are very lucky to have captured it in a photo!
The dining room/dance floor.
The kitchen.
The living room coffee table. You know it’s a good party when someone brought Clorets.
The upstairs tub. Only pop remains, and not much of it, either.
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The party (quick summary)
It was the longest, loudest, most crowded, latest-running bash ever held at this house, with the dining room functioning as dance floor and the last guest leaving at 6:30 this morning. I’ll post some photos as soon as I’ve:
- had breakfast
- cleaned up the mess
Thanks to everyone who came!
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The value of a snappy comeback
Playing music on the street involves more risk than playing on stage. You have to contend with Mother Nature, the grande dame of bitch-mistresses who always sets the thermostat too low or too high and can send out millions of creatures to bite or ooze goo on you. There’s the matter of outdoor acoustics; storefronts weren’t designed for optimum audio reflection, and there’s also noise from traffic both vehicular and human. There’s also the matter of a transient audience — you don’t have them nicely corralled the way you would at a club or concert hall.
Another problem is etiquette. Etiquette varies with surroundings. Put people in a well-appointed symphony or opera hall and dress them in formal wear, and they’ll suppress their coughs until the intermissions. At a jazz concert, people will keep their conversations down to whispers or low murmurs. A bar has to be incredibly divey before anyone would even dream of hopping up on stage and joining the band (WARNING: Not safe for work — nudity and general sleazy content).
The street is something else entirely. There’s a kind of tragedy of the commons that applies to etiquette out there — the street doesn’t belong to anyone, so any kind of behaviour generally goes. For the most part — and this goes double for Canada, double that for a busker-friendly city like Toronto and double it once more for Queen Street West, where I’m reasonably well-established — street audiences are pretty good. They’re friendly, they’ll chat with you, they’ll even apologise if they haven’t any change to spare and if you’re a very lucky accordion player, you’ll even get smooched every now and again. With tongue, even!
You will also get the occasional jerk. It can’t be avoided, and it’s something with which you’ll eventually deal.
Most can be talked down or dismissed. There’s the person who’s miffed because you don’t know the chords or words to their favourite song. There’s the street kid who feels that you’re interfering with his God-given right to the spare change in everyone’s pockets. There’s the bald guy who wanders up and down Queen Street yelling about Jewish/Arab conflicts. There’s the skinny dude who is always convinced that I have in my possession a pound of weed and why couldn’t I be a dude and give him some?
Then there are the assholes. Once an old Eastern European woman looked at me with eyes of fire and said that a “Chinese should not be playing the accordion. Only Polish.” She even gave me the finger. Kiss my dupa, ma’am.
And last night, some guy who was a combination of angry drunk and frustrated drunk (when he wasn’t giving me a hard time, he was annoying a woman for not giving him an easy time) kept walking up to me and asking me “Why are you doing this, man? You’re annoying me. Stop it.”
To which I replied: “Hey, jackass — do I go to where you work and slap the dick out of your mouth?”
(Thank you, Mr. Show, for that line.)
His friends got a good laugh out of it, dragged him away and gave me a fiver.
Never underestimate the value of a snappy comeback.