2 OCTOBER 27, 2004 Coffee Night Overflowing | with Talent by Brian E. Gonsso >> Contributor Every year in mid October UNBC hosts Coffee Night, an exposition of musical, poetic and dancing talent for students and PG residents alike. This year the line- up was spectacular with perfor- mances by teachers, students and established writers, proving once again that no matter how removed we are from a major population center, high quality art and culture are alive and kicking in our com- munity. The only little bump in the night was a-student poet showing up late and too drunk to read, but they do call it Coffee Night for a reason and he was able to perform near the end of the evening after several cups. The evening kicked off with songs by Kevin Hutchings, an English teacher at UNBC and a true Romantic poet in every sense of the term. Heather Harris fol- lowed with her powerful and engaging poetry, then our own ryan wugalter led us into the first break with his guitar stylings and enchanting lyrics. — The second set featured The Nasheem Belly Dance Troupe; a show not to be missed for their hypnotic East Indian style danc- ing, poet Rob Ziegler whose uncanny resemblance to W Bush ie the serious and some- times funny pieces he read, and Native comedian Brian Majore whose particular brand of humour was received quite well, though a few white audience members hesi- tated to laugh at some of the taboos and __ self-deprecating humour. They should learn .to lighten up. Dee Horne, a UNBC English teacher read some of her short poems (that some fans would say are too short), followed by Ken Belford, a well known BC poet who read a long poem about rivers (that he might say was too long) but flowed so smoothly over the audience that it was hardly exhaustive to the listening ear. Si Transken, also a UNBC professor, read poems about being a teacher that were very funny and, made both teachers and students laugh on-several occasions. 5 The evening concluded with a couple of student poets: E.H. Gibson, who most people agree read pretty well after he’d laid off the sauce for the evening, and Katarina Buchholz who read a very moving piece about the loss of a friend. So concluded Coffee Night, and I encourage anyone who missed it this year to attend next year, because it’s a rare opportunity to see so many talented teachers, writers and students performing . in the same evening. >> Photo by Belinda Li UNBC English Professor Kevin Hutchinson covers some William Blake tunes at UNBC's 4th.annual Coffee Night held on October 15. Traveling with Tad: Misadventures in India Jewel Smuggling, Gaudy Lampshades and Not-so-speedy Car Escapes by E.H. Gibson >> Copy Editor I first met Tad in Jaipur, the Gem Capital of India and capital city of Rajasthan, the western-most province sharing the Thar dessert with Pakistan. About 70%. of the business in Jaipur revolves around the gem trade, both legal and ille- ~ gal. Tad was a bright eyed American, thirty something with hook ‘shaped sideburns and a dusty red baseball cap. He was almost out of money when we met, entertaining an idea presented by some gem smugglers to transport some really pricey jewels (tax free) back into the States if they paid for his flight. Tad’s plan was to weave the jewels into a really gaudy lampshade or something of similarly poor taste, carry it on the plane and hope that security wouldn’t bother checking the rocks because really, who would be stupid enough to put ten thousand worth of jewels in an incredibly tacky and distasteful lampshade? We deliberated for three days on whether or not it was worth the risk, and in the end he agreed with me that the negative outcomes far outweighed the positive ones. Indian prisons are hellish, and for- eigners aren’t given any special treatment unless they pay the guards exorbitant sums of money, of which Tad had none. He would probably be in a cell with thirty exchanging few words. I don’t know what the shop owner said, but I knew it was bad. My ball sack imploded when the cop started jogging towards Tad with a look that says “All your money now or you go to prison”, and I motioned frantically for Tad where I took the time to explain to Tad how close we both were to being definitively screwed. Tad stuck his head out of the open vehicle to look back, then whipped it around in and hissed “He’s com- ing!”. I checked the side-view mir- ror and sure enough, there was the Tad was a bright eyed American, thirty something with hook shaped sideburns and a dusty red baseball cap. He was almost out of money when we met, entertaining an idea presented by some gem smugglers to transport some really pricey jewels (tax free) back into the States if they paid for his. flight. ‘real’ criminals who would use him regularly as- an exercise machine and a toilet. We fared to the jewel store in a scooter rickshaw where he’d been propositioned, and I waited down the street while he broke the news to the smugglers. Shortly he emerged beaming a smile of relief and started back towards our rick- shaw. He was only relieved because he didn’t see the gem shop owner coming out behind him and tapping the shoulder of a passing cop, then pointing at Tad and to hurry up. He didn’t get the hint, so when he came within shouting distance I yelled “Tad! Get in the f***ing rickshaw right now!”, and dove in myself. I paid the driver a full day’s wage, and when Tad finally pulled himself in I shouted “Go! Go! Go! Fast! Fast!” and just in case the driver didn’t speak English, made the cross cultural hand motions for a speedy car escape. He saluted like a soldier and hit the gas. Only about fifty meters later we got crowded up against a red light, cop jogging between the cars and looking in every rickshaw he passed. I estimated he would be at ours in less than a minute, and the red light was still young. Now I’n not one to pray very often, but this was an exception. I prayed to Shiva, Kali, Krishna, Vishnu, Ganesh, Hanuman, every Hindu God I could think of to get us out of this jam. When I opened my eyes to check the mirror again, the cop was only about five cars back and walking briskly. I resumed prayer, made many promises to the Gods that I would pursue the path of good if they saved my ass just this once. The light changed, and I can’t express the feeling of spiritual superiority watching that cop get smaller and smaller in the dusty mirror. We left Jaipur immediately and traveled the temple circuit for a couple of weeks, eventually part- ing ways in Pushkar after their annual kite festival. Pushkar is the holiest city in India, but no amount of prayer will fix a broken engine - a common joke among taxi and bus drivers. Last I heard Tad was trying to cross Eurasia by bus, train and foot to get to Germany in time to meet his Mum who was also travelling, and possibly score a plane ticket from her. I haven't heard from him since, but somehow I know he made it back to the States. He was way too creative not to get back. I still smile when I imagine him car- rying a horrendously ugly lamp- shade through airport security. Who knows? It might have worked.