Molson Park Memories

On the way to an appointment the other day I drove by the de-grassed slightly cratorish entity of what used to be Molson Park and it made me a little sad.

For those of you outside of Ontario and under 25, Molson Park probably doesn't mean a heck of a lot to you.

But when I was in high school, it was the mecca of my musical youth because every major musical festival with the exception of Lilithfare, ended up at Molson Park and I went to a crap load of them.

City kids had a ton of destinations for music; all ages venues, big ampithatres, hockey arenas, etc. When you live in the sticks and don't drive with very little in the way of public transportation, a place like Molson Park was a godsend. Festival comes through, you team up with a bunch of friends and buy tickets. Because it was only twenety minutes away from where most of my friends and I, one friend could usually get a parent to drive there as long as another came to pick us up and vice versa.

It's weird trying to discuss concerts with kids younger then I am because festivals don't happen as much anymore. If I list the amount of bands I've seen from my high school era alone, it's huge and kids wonder how the hell you were able to afford it but truth be told, for forty bucks I could go to Lollapalooza and see fifteen bands minimum.

And it's too bad, a lot of these kids won't get the fun experience of this style of concert going.

Let's take a look at one of my favorites, Lollapalooza 1995.

While that year's line of bands was the best out of all of them, it was a concert that tipified the Molson park experience.

This concert was a little different as we went with our buddy Dave's older sister who also had tickets and offered to drive. There was Dave, myself, Darryl, Gavin, Linda (Dave's older sister), Rocko (her friend) and some dude (who's name is lost to time. He was friends with Rocko).

We park in this industrial plaza about four minutes walk away from the line up to get into the park.

The first thing we see is the clouds getting somewhat overcast and threatening to rain.

We get in line and suddenly we hear from the road:

"Attention Canada! The Mighty Mighty Bosstones have invaded!"

We turn to see what looked to be an Oldsmobile or 70's era caddy that somewhere along the line took a left turn in front of the wreckers and ended up in the hands of some holigans. It had been painted purple and almost plaid.

Out one of the windows was Bosstones lead vocalist and future Jimmy Kimmel band leader, Dicky Barret with a megaphone, proclaiming how the Bosstones were there to take over our country.

As soon as the car was out of sight, it began to rain.

Come to think of it, I think I only ever went to one concert at Molson Park where it didn't rain while I was in line, but this particular concert taught me a bit of outdoor concert prep that I keep to this day... more on that later.

So as we got closer into the park itself, some one starts talking to a security guard that looked a crap load like pro wrestler Kevin Nash.

Idiot: "Why don't you carry a gun?"

Would-Be-Nash: "Don't need to. I've got this."

Pulls out the big cop flashlight.

Idiot: "What could you do with that?"

Would-Be-Nash: "You can drop a man to his knees just by hitting him here."

And for whatever reason, he chose me to do a slow motion demonstration by bringing the flashlight down slowly into my collar bone.

Now my friends, while I look like the bad ass, I'm a very law abiding citizen. And while I had never planned to do anything criminal at the concert, the action of this giant of a man bringing down a flashlight on my shoulders made any vague notion of wrong doing disappear instantly.

We then enter the park and Rocko and some dude head straight towards the beer tent and we never see them again.

Now the rain has made the grass fields of Molson Park muddy.

And this happens to be the year AFTER Woodstock 94.

So what do impressionable youths who couldn't make it to Woodstock the year before start doing?

Throwing mud.

Gavin was decked out in a white York t-shirt. He was in the middle of a conversation (as The Bosstones who were first on stage had yet to start) his back turned to the stage and majority of the crowd.

I swear the hunk of sod made the sound of a bomb whistle as it headed towards Gavin.

All of us: "Gavin! Look out!"

And as if scripted by Hollywood, he turned just in time to see the cannon ball sized mud ball headed straight towards him.

But not enough time to do anything about it.

The mud clod whacked Gavin in the shoulder, splattering his white shirt with mud.

Two seconds later, The Bosstones started.

The rest of the concert was pretty awesome but some of my memory of who played when is a little foggy. Up next was The Jesus Lizard who none of us had even heard of but were impressed by their show. They were followed by Beck who had just recently became a star of sorts (Mellow Gold had just became a big hit a year before) and was doing a pretty kick ass job.

The middle is really blurry. I know we saw Pavement, pretty sure we saw Coolio and we took a dinner break during Cypres Hill, who were surprisingly good in our minds... until one of them got beaned in the head with a bottle of water.

Then we moved down the hill, knocking people out of the way before Hole started.

We were all pretty big guys at the time, so no one said shit to us.

By the end of Hole's set we were right at the front, just in time for Sonic Youth's set which was amazing.

And that's where I learned another lesson.

So to end the post, here are the two things I came away with that year:

1) Garbage bag rain coats. After suffering through the down pour in line and I think at another concert directly following it, I began bringing a new garbage bag with me each outdoor concert. They could go into your pocket and when it began to rain, rip a few holes and boom, disposable rain coat.

2) Ear plugs are your friend. My first year of college, one of my teachers mentioned he can pinpoint a concert that did hearing damage and asked us if we could. I could not only pinpoint the concert but the act, where I was, what song and even what part did the most. During Sonic Youth's set, not only were we up front but we were also near a huge monitor stack. During the feedback solo in Diamond Sea (from Washing Machine), I know, without a doubt, I lost hearing. Ever since, I very rarely go to shows without ear plugs.

I miss Molson Park.

Pat Robertson: Religous Scumbag or Crazy Old Man?

I'm glad I set up this blog.

For those of you who read it, I usually write on other blogs and websites about pop culture stuff. I write about music and comics and tv shows and movies. But every once and a while I feel the urge to write about something that doesn't fit into any of my other web writing commitments.

Which brings us to Pat Robertson.

For those of you who kind of recognize the name, he is the eighty year old leader of the Christian Coalition and host of the 700 Club.

He has also ran for President on a few occasions.

And despite not having any formal church position (due to his running for various government positions) Pat is a very strong name in the Christian Right.

And apparently either ignorant or well into senility.

Haiti's current major earthquake troubles, poverty and a whole ton of issues are due to a pact with the devil.

No one in public position such as his would say something that dumb right?

Not only did he say it, he said it on tv.

Take a look.



Now what I assume he is referring to is Bois Caiman Vodou (yes Voodoo) ceremony held in 1791. Napoleon was not in power at that point but he, he's 80, I'll give him the little details.

Now that ceremony was part of what started the Haitian revolution against their oppressors. What Robertson may be referring to is the following prayer that is usually attributed to that ceremony.

"The god who created the earth; who created the sun that gives us light. The god who holds up the ocean; who makes the thunder roar. Our God who has ears to hear. You who are hidden in the clouds; who watch us from where you are. You see all that the white has made us suffer. The white man's god asks him to commit crimes. But the god within us wants to do good. Our god, who is so good, so just, He orders us to revenge our wrongs. It's He who will direct our arms and bring us the victory. It's He who will assist us. We all should throw away the image of the white men's god who is so pitiless. Listen to the voice for liberty that speaks in all our hearts."

Now I am a Christian. I have identified myself as such for years. I don't go to church on Sunday, I don't read the Bible everyday, I just happen to believe in an Almighty and I think that Jesus had some really good ideas and if not the son of God, was definitely sent here to teach us something.

I am fully aware of the Bible being filled with a whole bunch of things that don't make any sense.

That being said, being the believer that I am... I don't see this as a prayer to the devil, Satan, Beelzebub, Legion, the little girl from the Exorcist, Ozzy Osbourne, Marylin Manson or any number of other possible demons in this world.

Nope, I look at that prayer and I see:

1) We're mad.
2) We can not believe that God is giving them the power to keep us down.
3) We believe in a God that wouldn't do this to his creations and we believe that he will help us prevail.

Now if you want to choose the route that "All gods but my God are not gods and blasphemy" alright, I can maybe see that. It's bigoted, generally retarded but it is your right.

And that seems to be the way Old Pat sees things. What bothers me is he is telling this story without any context other then his which is historically inaccurate.

Like let's take The Dominican Republic. They occupy the other half of the island and they used to be Haiti during the period in question. They seem to be doing alright and they would have been part of "deal with the devil".

As far as my research goes, I can't see any point where the Dominican Republic renounced their side of the deal.

No I think years of depots, dictators and shoddy construction practises are to blame for the wide spread destruction.

Especially the construction practises. Haiti is poor and they make due with what they got, and when you don't have much you tend to skip a lot of corners. Had general contracting rules from the West been implemented, the death toll would probably be a lot less.

So who's to blame?

I couldn't really tell you precisely but as I previously stated years of government corruption is the start. If the government had not been corrupt there might be more money. More money, less faulty construction, etc etc.

I am certain it has nothing to do with the Devil, unless the Devil you're speaking of is greed.

30 Ukrainian Midgets

Everyone has a few very good party stories.

They are usually the stories that make everyone laugh and giggle and become sort of legend amongst your friends; "Oh you have to hear Alex's story." or "Brent get over here and tell that repo story."

I have a few decent ones but I do have two show stoppers. These are stories that not only are you made to tell over and over again but after being told, no other story at the party seems as funny.

Now that I'm getting older, I'm seeing that sometimes great stories get lost. I could get hit by a car and this entire story could be wiped out. Or old age could eventually set in and the story might be gone forever or fragmented.

It is for those reasons that I am committing the following story to the internet.

It is 100% true.

I have at least 20 living witnesses that can back this up.

It's a story about little people.

Back in high school, I was a big drama nerd. I was in school productions, the drama club, announcements, etc.

One particular year I wrote a play called Searching For God. In retrospect and without too much ego, it was a solid play for a teenager to have written and had some really solid jokes in it. The problem came when I decided to direct it as well.

I was not a particularly good director especially since I had made the decision to cast it with a lot of the regular drama club members who I was friends with.

Now this isn't to say they didn't have talent. I stand by all of those casting decisions because

1) All of them were decent actors.

and

2) I knew I could count on them to get the job done.

But between the skills and getting the job done, most of them would torment the crap out of me by forgetting lines on purpose or randomly placing a stuffed Cookie Monster doll around various places on the set where it could be easily be seen.

So needless to say with just over a week left of rehearsals, I was not pleased when my Drama teacher/staff supervisor on the production came to me in the morning and said the following:

"So Brent, just to let you know, your time for rehearsal tonight has been cut by..."

Now I'm sure he said something else but all I heard was I was losing more time and what I assume panic sounds like in audio form. We weren't ready, this was completely unfair and I needed that time.

But the good student I was, those words did not come out of my mouth.

In fact by the time lunch rolled around three periods later, I had kind of forgotten about the conversation.

And by the rehearsal I had completely forgotten about it.

So the run through is finally going okay and we are about an hour into it. We are on a roll.

Then behind me I just glance over and see Big Ken walk into the auditorium.

I'm not sure if Big Ken was the head custodian of our high school but he should have been. He was the only custodian to have the total respect of the students and one of the few custodians I've met that respected the students back.

Of course this might of have something to do with the fact that Big Ken was about six foot five tall and probably as wide. He looked like a taller John Tenta (WWF's Earthquake).

Anyways, Big Ken was head past me to the fire exit door. Our main auditorium was also the cafeteria and also had a fire exit that went straight to the parking lot outside.

I didn't think much of it as Big Ken was the custodian and there was no way on Earth I was going to tell him to do whatever job he was about to do elsewhere.

And then he opened the door.

In streamed what seemed like an endless supply of dwarves!

Little person after little person ran in. They were carrying cages with doves and other animals. Stage sets and props were being brought in and dropped on our stage with little to no heed of the fact there were people currently occupying that space.

The main actress' face screwed into a look that seemed to be 50% laughter and 50% horror.

It is at this point I start getting a little flashback of the previous conversation with my drama teacher.

"So Brent, just to let you know, your time for rehearsal tonight has been cut by an hour or so. There's a (word missing...what was that?) little people's circus coming in to perform for a couple of local children's clubs."

Reluctantly I get to our stage crew and the actors and ask them to strike the set, the main actress on the verge of giggles.

Now being the nice guy, I thought I'd give these little folks a hand. I walk over to the main little person who seems to be directing the traffic of the others.

"Hey there, do you guys need a hand?"

He looks at me blankly.

"Do you guys need any help?"

Looks at me blankly again but this time he adds a shrug.

Wait! That missing word reappeared in my memory.

"...Ukrainian little people's circus..."

So I then knew what the problem was.

This man did not speak English. And being the typical westerner that I was at the time...

"DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?"

At which point their evil full sized overlord walked over and in a thick Soviet Bloc accent replied.

"No. We are fine."

I then went to confront my cast in the hallway.

They are lined up along two sides of lockers looking to me, their eyes filled with suppressed laughter. Not even thinking, not even trying to make a joke, the first words to leave my mouth were:

"Okay guys, well it looks like rehearsal has been cut a little short..."

Darryl, one of the crew and a background actor for the play, instantly fell to the ground laughing. Gavin, the lead actor had tears rolling down his face. Everyone else was laughing or burying their faces into arms and shoulders of others to try and stifle the uncontrollable outburst.

Now there is kind of a sad but slightly funny anecdote to the story.

About two weeks later, my stage manager, Greg, brought in a copy of the Toronto Star.

"We were right."

It contained an article about a troop of Ukrainian circus performers (it had to be them, how many troops of little people circuses would operate in Ontario within a three week span, let alone a Ukrainian one?) who were stranded by their manager who had taken off with their money and left them to their own devices.

Eventually the poor guys were happened upon by two guys who spoke Ukrainian and helped get them in touch with their government and get them back home.

But see, he was evil.