April has not been the cruelest month for Jakob, but it hasn’t been without its petty digs either.
With small variations to audience size and general hygiene of the room, his cynical predictions for the gig at the Comfort Zone on the 10th were shockingly accurate. The problem with being pessimistic, he realized, is there’s no joy in being proven right. Of course, the problem with being optimistic is rarely being right at all.
Significantly less than the predicted 17 patrons, there was no one in attendance save Joe Strutt, fellow performer Sexy Merlin, the abnormally surly soundman, supposedly some bar staff, and the unsung video projectionist. Even the promoters appeared to be absent from the premises, perhaps uncomfortable watching Moonwood jam for their own benefit in the vacuum of space.
And who could really blame them? The environs were less than inviting. On stage Moonwood were huddled around a puddle of some sticky red substance. The substance appeared to be either congealed blood or, possibly, raspberry jam.
Since no one could fathom how several tablespoons of jam might end up on the stage, yet any number of plausible scenarios where blood had been spilled instantly came to mind, it was assumed to be blood. Remembering the vials found at their last show in the venue, Jakob joked it was “V”—the drug made from vampire blood on the television show True Blood. Jakob made this joke as he studiously tried not to kneel in the crimson splotch while he plugged the leads into his stompboxes. Gallows humour.
The morning of Tuesday, April the 15th, saw snow fall on Toronto and in the evening there was a black-out in the west end. Neither event affected Jakob in any directly negative fashion aside from how they have given coworkers an additional excuse to make small talk.
The making of small talk, of course, unlike being left alone, is an unalienable right for some people. Especially when prompted by such an unusual event as an annual occurrence. Every year since he moved to Toronto in 2007, it has snowed in April. Yet it is, somehow, perennially unexpected for most Torontonians. He lives, he’s decided, in a city populated with goldfish.
After the third of fourth shallow interaction based on the subject, he recalled a quote which gets hauled out of moth balls every year:
“Snow in April is abominable,” said Anne. “Like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.” ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Ingleside, 1939.
This year marks the dodranscentennial, at the very least, of Canadians being shocked to discover they live in Canada.