switch Jo for Tooti and this is a Kinsey scale illustration.
I’ll never forget how we convinced our high school French teacher that we should watch “Facts of Life Goes to Paris” in class by telling him it would totally be educational.
He actually went for it, but then again, he also let us watch Stallone’s First Bloodin class (!) so I’m guessing he’d probably plowed through all the fucks he had to give as quickly as he’d motored through our required curriculum.
Also, how fresh is Blair’s dress? Don’t tell me you ladies aren’t all drooling right now.
2) View of the 900 block Granville Street, Theatre Row] - 
3) Thurlow at Robson - July 69.
4) Automobile movement to English Bay. - June 69.
5) Building at 1100 Hamilton [Street] - [197-?]
6) 1200 Hamilton Street west side. - 1981. (Where the infamous Gandy Dancer was located)
7) 1200 Hamilton Street east side. - 1981.
Reblogged because the “infamous” [gay club] Gandy Dancer was the first nightclub I ever went to in Vancouver (using fake ID) when I moved here in the mid 80s. (It’s also the first place a lady that wasn’t my mother touched my bottom!)
There had been an 8-track in the chartreuse MGB in which I failed my first driving test, until my brother insisted we get it replaced. The only actual 8-track tape I remember us having was Ray Stevens, but that was more than enough for me, because it contained novelty hits like “The Streak” and “Gitarzan,” which I LOVED (and which I’m sure has been sampled by Kanye or someone else recently). My dad, who also had a favourite Hootenanny cassette and liked albums by Jim Nabors, was not known in our family for his musical taste.
While it was happening, I was on a boat off the coast of Quadra Island fishing for salmon with some friends of my mother’s. Our day started around 5:30 AM, and when I flicked on the TV briefly before we went out for the day, they had just started showing the first pictures, and I didn’t know what to think, but couldn’t stay and watch because the boat was waiting. We fished for 6 hours, and I snapped this picture during that time.
When we motored back in at noon, all the flags at the resort were at half-mast, and people were gathered in front of any TV they could find. Flights in and out of the tiny island were cancelled, and in every way that mattered, it was as if the entire world had changed while we had been out there sitting quietly on that [surprisingly calm] ocean.
The Beatles played their first & last show in Vancouver on 22 August 1964 to about 20,000 fans at Empire Stadium. With only 100 police on duty and tens of thousands of hysterical fans, they played for just 29 minutes before police and manager Brian Epstein shut it down. John Lennon famously told Red Robinson to get the fuck off the stage when he came out to try and quiet the crowd down. About a dozen fans had managed to get in by crashing through the gates. Earlier in the evening, thousands of fans gathered at the Hotel Georgia, where the band was expected to be staying. A red car with a guy that sorta looked like Ringo got swarmed, and fans swiped a couple of police revolvers, leading the police chief to disarm his men. Dozens of fans were treated at the PNE and at St Paul’s for minor injuries and hysteria.
As for the performance itself, the Sun’s music critic was less than impressed:
Aside from their haircuts (or lack of them) and Mersey-side accents, I perceived nothing that made them better or worse than any number of less ballyhooed groups, either as vocalists or instrumentalists. They sounded just as loud, just as monotonous, and just as unmusical … I do not know how it came, why it came and when it will go away. But go away the Beatle phenomenon will, and with it will go The Beatles. The day has yet to come. When it does, music lovers everywhere can rejoice – yeah, yeah, yeah.
Source: Vancouver Sun, 22 and 24 August 1964
As I mentioned before, my mom was at this show. It was a full two years before she moved to Kingston, where she met and married my dad, so she was probably still on the BC Lions cheerleading squad, dating the quarterback who was ALMOST my dad. That would have been weird.
Oil Can Harry’s was a cocktail bar located at 752 Thurlow Street from 1966 to 1977. It had a cartoon villain theme and featured live RnB & jazz performers, which included Gil Scott Heron, Charlie Mingus, Tina Turner, BB King, Nat Adderly, Jimi Hendrix, and Heart. More deets here.
Source: Vancouver Sun
Oil Can Harry was also the nickname of a car my dad used to own when I was a little kid.
My brother and I were OBSESSED with this movie growing up. (But to be fair, I was pretty obsessed with gumballs as well.) Remember what it was like, having to just wait for stuff to come on TV? Cannonball Run totally bogarted that airtime, one of the main reasons my brother and I were obsessed with this movie. Let me know if it’s actually any good.
In the Bond movie I had my hair dyed an impossible yellow color, and that became my motivation in a lot of scenes: I had a secret subtext, which I never discussed with anybody. Every time I had a scene with somebody I’d be thinking: What do you think of my hair? Do you like my hair? Do you like what they did to me? That they made me look like this? So next time you see the movie, every time I torture somebody I’m really thinking, You see what they did to me with this hair?
10 years ago, I smoked a joint with this BAMF, and it still ranks as one of my fave anecdotes ever. I only tell the story in person, because if everyone else who’s heard it over the years has had to suffer through my bad Walken imitation, so do you.
Some idiot named Tim Kwong was identified as the person who flipped over the first police car on Wednesday night (the one that set the fiery dominoes falling) and he’s pretty much Public Enemy Douchebag No. 1 in this city right now, so nobody is surprised he turned himself in and is now throwing himself at the feet of Facebook in the hopes of absolution. I’d say this response is a pretty good indication that for most of us, including this downtown ER nurse who self-identifies only as “J.J.”, his “appoligy” is not accepted.
(PS: the hospital in question, St. Paul’s, happens to also be the same one where my mother was born.)
That’s me in the pink, being held by my mom. My brother is in yellow, and I can guarantee it’s the last time he ever wore that colour. My aunt Cheryl and uncle Jack (RIP) are on the left, and my still awesome grandad and uncle Jim are on the right. My dad’s blue striped ensemble will always make me laugh.