Thursday, 14 January 2016

On January 11th 2016

Was woken up at quarter to 6 by JJ's text message informing me of David Bowie's death with 8 exclamation points. JJ was somewhere in the Laurentians on his way to Maniwaki. "Shit" with 3 exclamation points was the only response I could summon. Spent the rest of the day, the first of my five day vacation, doing things I've put aside for a while. Calling my doctor for an appointment, framing the Metz poster, washing dishes, putting away the Christmas tree and listening to vinyl I haven't had the chance to listen to yet.

by Arnopeople Jan

As it got dark outside, became uneasy spending the evening at home just relaxing. The Quai des Brumes, a bar a few blocks away from home, had an event dedicated to David Bowie. V joined me with a "YES" and 4 exclamation points (she cried when informed of his passing earlier in the day).

Place was packed, one seat left by the bar. Not the usual Monday evening at the Quai. We understood the night would be special. We were all dancing, singing and watching movies in unison you know? (Am exaggerating a bit. Some were talking)

"Ground Control for Major Tom" began, V tells me a story about her boss (let's name her S). In the late 60's, S was living in Boston and had heard that something was cooking up north. A sort of festival. S and friends decide to drive there in two Westfalias without knowing where this festival is. Halfway there, one Westfalia drives back home discouraged. They still don't know where it's taking place. The other continues its trip. S is in the 1st Westfalia, her good friend in the 2nd. Fast-forward time, S is watching the Woodstock Festival documentary and suddenly sees her good friend flashing her breasts among the crowd. "Shit" she must of mustered.

By this time we had drunk a few beers. Had started talking nonsense. I was in the bathroom looking for my key which I thought I had lost. Not finding it, told the girls waiting in line that my mom was going to be unhappy being woken up. I don't live with my mom and am 37 years old. Head back to the table, find the key in my coat pocket. One thing V does when she drinks is she's not afraid to speak her mind. A couple was dancing on stage where Labyrinth was being screened. Yells at them to get off the stage. She's loud not because she had a few drinks but because she's so far away. Am I exaggerating when I say the entire bar heard her? Am proud of her somehow. I really did want to see the scene where David Bowie sings with the goblins. We all did. Also, when a bit tipsy, she quotes me on Facebook since I say many nonsensical things. I guess it's ok. (But V, you've got to double check your spelling).

(David Bowie's career wouldn't have lifted off so quickly if he had curly hair)

The evening was shared with people high-fiving me because of my t-shirt. Didn't have a David Bowie shirt but a high school one. Turns out many at the Quai were from the same high school. It was fun and all until someone told me he was born the year of my graduation. You know.

Had a blast that evening. David Bowie's death somehow brought us all together at the Quai des Brumes. Is there a better way to celebrate someone?

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