>let it roll: photo-blog #1
>my 13 rolls of film have been developed (at the divine price of $187 . . . cough).
care to follow me on a photo journey?
Christine’s mediterranean extravaganza: the first 3 days, august 4-7, 2005
one day, i walked round the rear of the opera house to find a quiet but breathtaking street that leads straight to st stephan’s basillica. i made the cars behind me wait as i kneeled in the middle of the street like a madonna altar.
somewhere in dickon’s great expectations, it says, “the eyes aren’t the windows to the soul, the hands are.” this is the first in a series of photos i took in each city with my hands purposefully in the shots, in a variety of poses. i guess i just wanted to remember all the places my hands have been. here in heroe’s square, i love how the centre column appears to be sprouting as my fifth finger.
kevin was from france. crystal was from nigeria. they married and bickered like a portuguese couple, while planning their move to montreal. they made me giggle as our hungarian waiter innoently rounded our bill up. (take note of crystal’s beer mug . . . it’s bloody huge!)
yesterday was my sister steph’s wedding.
if anybody was walking around the intersection of bay and bloor yesterday around 4/4:30pm, and saw 2 stretch limos and 1 rolls royce stop traffic with the dolled-up men and women inside screaming and hollering through the sun rooves as the champagne flowed and dozens of TIFF papparazzi snapped mistaken-celebrity photos . . . yeah, that was us.
interesting greek-orthodox ceremony prayers à la “the woman is subservient to the man, this is god’s law” made all the bridesmaids snort. the groomsmen loaded up on frangelica and tetered in line next to the groom, dino.
i stood out of the sunroof of our limo for a long time, letting the wind patti-labelle my perfect coif.
our heels quick-sanded into the grassy fields surrounding convocation hall, and the photographer and videographer captured lovely and not so lovely moments on film. according to the groomsmen, dino is a “goon.”
we gargle the limo’s champagne to the reception, where we do shot after shot after shot inbetween shaking hands in the receiving line. sambuca, bailey’s irish cream, and other undecipherable liquors. i’m in a spin, loving the spin i’m in.
as a member of the bridal party, i decide to make a grand entrance into the reception hall by acting like a jackass. as we sit for our meal, groomsman jimmy, who has been wrapping his busy fingers around me all night, has his hand so far up my leg that he can count the change in my pocket. 30 shots of frangellica and all that.
i make that comment to ashley in the washroom, and a beautiful woman in green approaches me, shakes my hand and says, “hi, i’m jimmy’s mother.”
now let’s see if i can fit my other foot in my mouth.
we do some greek dancing, where i pick up dance steps on the spot, then fend off a series of drunk groomsmen throughout the remainder of the night. ova cries in my mother’s arms. sitto is kissed my father. mom snickers with my stepmom. my new brother-in-law wipes perspiration off his brow with a folded hankerchief.
i yap until 1am with my old across-the-street neighbour chris bazos who used to treat me like a shit stain. he’s sweet and polite now, and we do 3 sambuca shots while yapping about writing.
“look, i’ve known you for a long time,” he says. “can i still call you chrissy?”
“of course. why?”
“steph said you don’t like that anymore. she said i should only call you christine.”
“of course you can call me chrissy. that’s what my family still calls me. but if i really like you, i’ll let you call me estima.”