Writer, Burlesque Performer
Corsetier, chocolatier, baker, ta-ta shaker, hip swayer, tight lacer, trouble maker, red lipstick, magic tricks, swizzle sticks, voodoo kicks, and an urban myth. Hello, my name is Tristan Risk. You may or may not know me as a burlesque dancer/circus darling/foodie/model/actress/social butterfly/and Vancouver history enthusiast. <br> <br> I have spent a great deal of my life as a performer, touring Canada, the U.S. and Europe with the burlesque troupe <a href="http://www.voodoodollz.com/" rel="nofollow">The Voodoo Dollz</a>, causing social unrest and commenting on it, contributing to the underground burlesque studio Dollhouse Studios, and writing about it. I currently perform with Vancouver-based burlesque troupe <a href="http://www.sweetsoulburlesque.com/" rel="nofollow">Sweet Soul Burlesque</a>, have worked with compassion clubs and as a corsetier for Lace Embrace Atelier.
Blue Food was everything I wanted in that shiny, plastic, over processed world. Everything I had been taught by marketing experts to covet in the number of other girls' dolls, to whose mom bought them Booberry for breakfast. It was empty calories, high fructose promises, and false happiness. The crashes, both sugar and stock market, were inevitable.
I feel like my autumn will have slightly more structure as I look forward to mastering my disrobing technique. My reading will consist of classic pillow books, and I'll continue to expand the vocabulary of my body language.
09/09/2014 05:17 EDT
I hazard a guess that the noise made at 7.30 a.m. could have been a pipeline being sneakily installed across the landscape, en route to Kitimat where, as a outlet to the Pacific, oil tankers could come and truck oil over the ocean to Asia. Far-fetched? Not really. When you consider that to the north of Terrace, B.C. ghost town Kitsault was bought for the price of $5 million. Cash.
09/08/2013 07:41 EDT
One evening, when one of the guys had too much beer and was getting rowdy, Black Betty, the taller of the two women, told him to calm down. "Or you'll what?" he sneered, "You'll call the Mounties on me?" Black Betty didn't hesitate to come around the bar, grab him by the scruff of his neck and the back of his belt and pick him up and throw him out the door. She came back in muttering, "I don't need any Mounties to help me run my bar."
04/01/2013 07:16 EDT
I don't understand Vancouver condo owners. I just don't. Now, this is a broad, sweeping generalization but most of them, from what I can tell, are completely contrary creatures. Potentially even, dare I say, a little bit nutsy. They have strange habits that leave me in danger of having a permanent mark on my forehead from repeatedly slapping myself from hearing about their latest actions and escapades.
03/07/2013 11:54 EST
I fail at being Canadian. I don't know the first thing about curling and I don't care for hockey. Last Friday night, at an incredible burlesque show, while there were a number of hugely talented people doing a fundraiser for the arts, attention was riveted to a bunch of ice-skating gorillas. I can't say I'm surprised, but I am a little bit disappointed in my Vancouver brethren.
02/08/2013 06:04 EST
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