tim’s thought property

For a few good reasons, I was part of a Toga Dinner last week.
It involved bedsheets, Pizza Hut, and more than enough hairy legs to suit anybody’s liking.

As you can see, there was considerable involvement from the core of our twisted little minds.
Marc and I spent the earlier part of the afternoon in a Value Village looking for appropriate wear, searching first in juvenile sheets. I was hoping to make use of a Sesame Street sheet, but it was made for a child’s single bed, and I’m at least an Adult’s Double. Well, after trying various sheets, Marc and I settled on a matching pink pair for a $1.99 each. I also found a boss pair of Oakleys, for $1.49, and Marc found himself some mighty-fine working glasses.

When Mike Friesen arrived, he’d brought his own bed sheet. It was a tough fit to put on. Marc and I assisted him, and we can better understand how females may take their time in preparation for a night out. Then, we realized that all our time was taken up by pinning Mike’s toga, and that girls couldn’t possibly ever have problems like this to contend with. We all know that girls do not wear clothes with pins, so there is no real excuse for staying in a bedroom for twenty minutes “getting ready”.

Well, when we got to the restaurant, we had reserved a table for the rest of the crew, who had yet to arrive.
Brandon, Rene and Matt all came with very colourful and unique togas; Matt’s was his own bed sheet; Rene’s was a dashing blue cover, that made him look like he stepped out of DaVinci’s Last Supper; and Brandon’s was a festive orange making him look the most Krishna of all.
The other diners in the vacant restaurant seemed to quietly be amused at this table of some-what-rowdies. We had eyes turning and people whispering and our server had said that we had definitely made her evening.

Marc had attempted to ask out the server, while wearing the glasses (pictured on Rene’s face above). He had decided to play an awkward and bashful oaf to the bemusement of the entire table. Carolyn had remarked that she had taken for granted the antics of our group, they were so common to be around. Yet to others, we still act like a novelty with many “Are-they-for-real?” sort of reactions.

Younger Matt and Joel D came out later in the evening, both not wearing togas. Matt had taken the bus, and Joel had just come from his work. So, they were sort-of let off the hook for pooping the party. By the time we had finished the dinner and were getting ready to leave, I had found that although there was very little coverage, the toga was a comfortable garment to wear. Sure, I had on some running shorts, but I was also wearing flip-flops. Those Romans were on to something. I will give them credit.

________________
photo credit for toga boys, toga strong, toga phone, toga glasses1, toga wonder goes to Carolyn Reimer
photo credit fot toga2 goes to Joel Dixon

Ah, it was that time again.
The semi-annual event known as Steak Night came and went, this January 24th. What started as an honest attempt to go out for a steak dinner, ended up being an event in which a group of rowdy man-boys come together to eat all-you-can-eat ribs; use their white shirts as napkins and generate laughter and good times; all under the pretense of time with the guys.

This small, cross-sampling of friends of mine, had grown into an evening much talked about and reminisced.
It was spawned at a birthday barbecue I had a while back, when a friend of mine, Mark Neufeld and I decided that we should try to go out for a fancy steak dinner. We were cooking steak on a hibachi grill, and felt that we should get it done in a restaurant that knows the job well.

We tried the event at Muddy Waters Steak House, a few times; we tried a backyard bbq once; and we settled on Montana’s. Although, one fateful Steak Night (number 6, if I’m correct), the Montana’s kitchen ran out of all-you-can-eat ribs. We had to cross the street to Kelsey’s, which was quite unsuited for out hi jinx.

The white shirt idea came out of nowhere.
I don’t recall how, but I figured, it would be a riot if we used spotless white shirts as napkins. From the very first Steak Night, with four diners, we used our shirts as gauges of how much we ate, and enjoyed. Although we’ve come to realize that the rib sauce is often quite tasty, it still looks great to be tall, robust, young men, with dirty-as-a-child-eating-spaghetti shirts.

Even though different people come every time,
there is always a sense of familiarity and community.

Whether it’s someone that you met the last time, six months prior,
or someone you’ve met for the first time at the current Steak Night; everyone is welcomed and appreciated.

For somewhere it was said that one should find comfort in camaraderie;
that to eat, drink an be merry was a small part of savouring life. We to tend to navigate close to gluttony, but as time passes, we’ve found that we’re wising up to the stomach’s language. It cannot take but more than twice a year, the indulgence of such carnivorous action.

And if that doesn’t get you to be of sober mind,
then the price seems to. Who can afford to eat Rib dinners all that often, on the salary of students, baristas and servers? Nay, it is a prudent thing to have a tight wallet in these days.
There is also a specialness to the rarity of such an event.
It takes time to wash the stains out of a white shirt….

_______________
-group pictures one, two and three taken by Eric Ens

The Attics are:

Aaron Klassen, drums

Chris Rademaker, bass

Rene Campbell, guitar and vocals

Rob Mitchell, guitar and vocals

A few weeks ago now, on January 18th, the Attics played their last show in Canada for six weeks. They’re off to Eastern Europe for a tour. This was a sort of farewell show, but they’ll be back in March 11th, at the King’s Head Pub. They played a tight set, at a fairly crowded Freehouse. What was the best part of the show? Was it the harmonies with Rob and Rene? Was it Aaron’s turn on guitar, singing Bob Dylan? Was it the closer, with Chris singing Over the Hills and Far Away? I can’t say. I enjoyed it all. The band had a handful of newer songs in the set, the Ocean, Spared, and Rush the Gates.

I haven’t seen the band play since September. It was good to see a show again, I’d almost forgotten the enjoyment of a live performance.

I’m not going to fake some kind of review.
I liked it, and I wasn’t there to take notes about what was good and bad. I went in a photographic mindset, and saw most of the show through the lens, crouching on the floor.

I mean, from my point of view, things were in order, running smoothly.
The audience was enjoying the show, and there were familiar faces all around.

Perhaps the next time I see an Attics show, I’ll go with more of a journalistic mindset, and bring back some kind of review that is more informative and objective. I’m no aspiring music critic, although Aaron Epp is. He’s got some more defined and refined opinions on music than I do.
No matter.
I’m a photographer. I’m there to show what happened, not necessarily say what happened.