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IN THE SUBURBS
Hello Wednesday! Ok, we know I’m not much for mornings but I do look forward to my fancy iced coffee when I finally drag my bones out of bed. My beloved espresso machine was out of commission all weekend due to a leaky gasket (sad face). Do you love your coffee maker too? Maybe you’ve even given yours a name (Kym, I’m looking at you). First, I walked down to the café for a coffee and a croissant because this temporarily solves my caffeine problem and sharpens my wits for solving the issue. Back at home I didn’t waste any time, I disassembled the group head (I’m a mechanic’s daughter after all), found the issue, and ordered the part on Amazon Prime. Fixed it today!
One other bit of housekeeping before we continue; Daydream Trash by Shannon Hemmett is a reader supported publication. This post is free for all subscribers but if you’re able to support my work with a small monetary contribution you can subscribe or upgrade your subscription below.
I’m loving the longer days, we arrived at rehearsal for Leathers last night and it was still light out after 7pm; the sky and streets tinted blush pink. It’s getting warmer too. We had a dreary winter here, even by Vancouver standards. Aside from the snowfall at Christmas, it’s felt like the weather was grey, 7 degrees Celsius and raining since, I don’t know, November? I think that’s when we got home from the European tour. It’s a bit of a blur—more on that later.
Out of all the places in the world we’ve travelled to play shows, Vancouver still remains the place we call Home. I’ve had the feels a few times on the descent into YVR, fragile after long stretches on the road, comforted to see the Coast Mountains as the plane peeks below the clouds.
I was born in Vancouver, and my parents still live in the suburban bungalow where I was raised. Over the years, I became an apartment dweller to be closer to the city, and most of the original houses in our neighbourhood have been torn down, paved over, and replaced with McMansions that fill the entire lot. Our little house remains a time capsule on our street. My Dad takes care of all the cute Walt Disney birds that visit the yard. They gather in the cherry tree and watch him within arm’s reach as he refills the seed and suet in the feeders. In the wintertime he ensures the hummingbird feeders never freeze. We have a backyard that I still enjoy sitting in when summer comes. The laundry on the clothes line drifts in the breeze, there’s a towering Oak tree almost as old as me (I planted it myself in pre-school), and Flanders poppies, like the ones in Nirvana’s Heart Shaped Box video, spill out of the flower boxes along the house. The sun exposure in the evening hours makes me feel like I’m living inside a Sofia Coppola dream sequence; sunbeams kaleidoscope into infinity, while I read or play guitar for the birds and butterflies. It’s such a vibe. Home.
Jay and I watched Palm Trees and Power Lines (Dir. Jamie Dack, 2023) this weekend, which is a film about Lea (Lily McInerny), a detached 17 year old girl who falls for a man twice her age (Jonathan Tucker) during the summer before her senior year. It completely nails the atmosphere of being a bored teenager in the summertime. There’s a scene early in the film of Lea sunbathing alone in her backyard, a lawnmower running somewhere, and it was so compelling and real, I said to Jay “Ooof, I just remembered I’ll never be that young again…” Master filmmaking, I felt it in my gut. Palm Trees… is not a horror movie by typical categorization, but there’s a subtle unease that begins to accumulate as Lea navigates her new romantic relationship. It’s difficult to say more without spoiling the experience of the film here, but we do recommend checking it out.
You may remember Jonathan Tucker as one of the teenage boys from Sofia Coppola’s film, The Virgin Suicides (1999), also a brilliant coming-of age film.
Today, I’m tattooing a cool black cat for my friend Jody, so I better sign off for now and get my workstation set up for her arrival. Until next time.