Tid bits.

Of course originally found on I Can Has Cheezburger?
What a gorgeous day. Looks like winter has finally decided to shove off. I was making my way to Sid Smith for a Lit lecture in the afternoon and the ice cream truck was out! Pretty soon the dicky-dee guy will be tooling 'round 'bout the neighbourhood. (I think dicky-dee is just a Toronto thing innit?)

It's been warm enough that I've pulled my bike out of the garage and ridden it to school. And by "school" I mean the place I teach French. Before the snow came down and ruined my traction I used to wear a pair of pants under my skirt. Couldn't be arsed to pack more shit into my backpack than I needed to and because of the strict dresscode at the school, going in pants was out of the question. Fortunately it was so cold out that I avoided coming in looking like my boyfriend Jim that time he decided to take his bike into the office, ie sweating like a pig. The thing is last Friday was another great mild day albeit a bit muddy, so I thought I'd ditch the pants under the skirt because I didn't need the extra insulation.

I also forgot that Friday was garbage day. Fat girl in skirt + backpack + bike + garbagemen = more honking than I really deserved.

As of today I have exactly four more weeks to go until I head off to the motherland. There's a lot of hype surrounding this trip. Not only will this be the longest stretch of time I've ever spent in Sri Lanka but I've also got Dash coming with me for the four months! I'm beyond stoked about that. Also, there have been a lot of promises made and frankly, I don't know what to believe anymore.

Will I be getting packets of murukku? Or even peanuts for that matter?

Is it possible that Christo, Umi and the Auditor pull through for fantabulous weekend getaways?

Or will Dash and I be holed up at my grandparents' place watching Hindi DVDs on our laptops?

So many questions and clearly not enough answers.

Also, if you have noticed the influx of random photos on flickr, I make no apologies, the acquisition of a pro flickr account means that old skool pictures will be posted. And don't worry ladies, that elderly internet perv is a relatively harmless fellow.

And some quips. Because it's been awhile.

Aiya and I while watching the funeral scene in "The Departed" on dvd last night.

Me: Is that supposed to be a gun salute?
Aiya: Yeah, it's a 21 gun salute, because they fire 21 shots.
Me: No way Ms.Marple, you could've fooled me. Anywho, aren't there 21 guys standing there?
Aiya: Yeah that looks right.
Me: So are the 21 men going to shoot 21 times?
Aiya: No, I think it's just 21 bullets need to be wasted. You know, I don't think there's 21 guys there, it looks more like 10.
Me: Well, how is this going to work then?
Aiya: It's easy, maybe it's not 10, there's probably like 6 guys, so they'll shoot thrice.
Me: But that only equals like what? 18? It's not an 18 gun salute.
Aiya: Okay, then afterwards one guy fires off another 3 times.
Thathi: Or, 7 guys just fire thrice.
Aiya and Me: Ohh.
Aiya: Yeah, that could happen too.

Further proof that a calculator isn't a luxury item in our house.

Haterade.

My general hate for M.I.A. has been well documented. See exhibits A, B and C . Suffice it to say, M.I.A? No likey. It's not because I'm a music snob. (Because shh, I am.) I have readily (and publicly) admitted to having more than a few guilty pleasures ie Justin Timberlake (see flickr -- specifically the photoset from Wasaga). I like his album I will not lie, but I like it for its airheaded goodness.

As I remarked to Tool, as soon as I listen to his lyrics I feel guilty, because usually I tune out what he's actually saying "If I told you you were beautiful/ Would you date me on the regular?" Who talks like this? And for ffs am I 15?

But no. I will not hate on Justin because I take him for what he is a pop musician who knows he's a pop musician.

Enter M.I.A.

Perhaps if she or her label were not marketing her as the most innovative thing since a monkey picked up a set of cymbals and bashed them together, I may not hate her. Her production is slick. I like the beat, I like the sound of her voice, and yes, she has all the makings of falling into the guilty pleasure category right along with Justin. Her lyrics suck just as much as his do "don’t order me about/ I’m an outlaw from the badland." What a badass eh? Only a graduate of Central St.Martins could be so hardcore yo. She sort of reminds me of a UK version of, dare I say it, Avril Lavigne. But with just a smidge more street cred. (To give credit where it's due, M.I.A. is a great visual artist.)

If I found Avril's music infectious, I could add her to my list of guilty pleasures, but she sucketh. M.I.A. on the other hand has me torn. I really want to like her, because she's sort of like me, minus the LTTE father etc (why quibble). But more so because she's a product of the diaspora than anything else. If you watch the above video you can see the slickness of the production and the kids running around (I'm a fan of the little gyrating boy in the shorts). But wtf is up with the last frame? Yes can we please randomly throw in the LTTE symbol at the end of a video that has absolutely nothing to do with their cause? Thx.

M.I.A. you make pop music, which you call "dancehall" to a puritan it isn't even really that. (*cough* like how Avril Lavigne is not punk, or even "light" rock, she is pop.) Stop with the fake politics, it ain't going to sell records. If you didn't take yourself so seriously, I can guarantee you a top spot in my very large collection of guilty pleasures.

Moving along.

Now these are Sri Lankan musicians at their best. If we diasporic types were to put together an ensemble like this, I hands down could be the fat chick with the beads, slothy the fellow who tries to rap in English (since I hear he can't speak Sinhala), and drac as the Anarkali-a-like. I'm sure he can shake what his momma gave him after a few drinks, and by all accounts if he grew his hair again nothing would be amiss. He's got the slender girlish figure of an 18 year old already. Which leaves that guy with the curly-ish hair left. Aiya's too fat, so any other takers?

Thy Compassions they Fail Not*

Alby told me that Paulanne had cancer when we were grocery shopping at Loblaws. It was December I had handed in my last paper for the semester and was meeting her at Bayview Village. We were in the produce section and I was molesting a bell pepper (I can't seem to pick good fruit or vegetables without groping them.) I remember turning and looking at her saying "Oh shit." We both then fell into a passionate tirade about how she was much too young to have cancer, neither of us at that point realising that it was the terminal bone variety.

I didn't know Paulanne very well. I was the costume director for the musical "Annie" which she had a part in. Labro and I got to know her while freaking the shiz out backstage. She was an incredible human being, and I couldn't believe that she was Adam's older sister. She and Brittany (Alby's kid sister) were really good friends.

Even though Paulanne and I weren't close, I still went for her funeral on Saturday. It was a surreal experience to say the least.

I've never been to a funeral for someone so young before. I suddenly felt really old. Older than when Jambon looks up at me with her "wtf" face, when I screw up the name of Dora's friend Boots. It was a different kind of old.

While I was standing by the marble staircase at Bayview Glen waiting for tool to show, I saw so many people that I knew, who I used to see on a practically daily basis 5 years ago. Here they all were brought together because of Paulanne. It wasn't even just limited to people who we used to go to school with either, because there were familiar faces I spotted in the U of T Trinity choir, and even the Bach choir as well.

Bumping into old friends at funerals? That's the stuff that happens to people in our parents' generation. Not to us. We're young, we're in our 20s this stuff shouldn't happen to us now. We shouldn't be experiencing this. But I still do think that it was Paulanne's time to go, although it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. It was pretty clear to everyone who was close to her in the last few months of life that she was getting herself ready to go.

And in memory of Paulanne, someone who I'm 100% sure would've enjoyed the following. Here's a funeral edition of quips:

Seated at Second Cup killing time until Alby's soundcheck was over (Yes! She sang that Josh Groban song during the service)

Tool: Hey, are you going to the funeral?
Me: Yeah, I'm actually just around the corner from Bayview Glen, come early and hang with me!
Tool: What are you wearing?
Me: Erm...
Tool: Is it all black? Is there some sort of dress code? Do I have to wear all black?
Me: (stifling laughter) No you idiot, just wear whatever, no one's going to care.
Tool: What are you wearing?
Me: I'm wearing a pair of freaking jeans
Tool: Light ones?
Me: Nooo, dark washed ones,
Tool: OooOo what kind?
*and that's the point when the conversation disintegrated into fashion talk*

Just before the funeral service started

Me: Blah blah (talking about something totally inane)
Tool: OMG. SHUT UP (in response to my inane comments) *shifts eyes* Damn, we're talking really loudly.
Me: No we're not. Okay. Maybe you are. You never knew how to whisper
Tool: No, seriously, that guy keeps staring at me.
Me: (turns and looks) Oh Tool, he's just checking you out.
Tool: At a FUNERAL?
Me: Look at the girl he's with (point's to bleached blonde wearing stripper style platforms)
Tool: hmm, it makes sense now.

In the foyer while eating meatballs among other things.

Alby: Do you think anyone will notice that I don't have shoes on?
Me: Pfft, there's like a million people in here, no one's going to be looking at your feet
Tool: Uh, people will notice, I thought no one would notice my fugly shoes, but she did (points to me) within like the first 30 seconds.
Alby: Oh tool, but she notices everything.
Me: Yes. Yes tool. I notice everything.
Tool: Damn you. And that noticing everything thing.

Julie, the Bayview Glen caterer walking past holding a tray heaped with samosas

Alby: Oh man I'm starving (grabs a samosa)
Julie: Careful! They're spicy
Me: *snickering* (Grabs a samosa, and waits for the hilarity to ensue)
Tool: (grabs a samosa) Ooo. There's so much food here! It reminds me of Mandarin!
Me: Wth? really? Mandarin? The Chinese buffet?
Alby: Omg. What is in this thing?
Tool: Yeah wtf is this?
Me: It's a samosa! There's potato in it.
Tool: Yeah I know that, but what exactly is it?
Me: I don't know Tool. How do I explain this so you understand. I guess it's something ethnic?
Tool: Oh. Ethnic. (Says so with such conviction in her voice. As if it being labeled "ethnic" makes it more palatable)

- Paulanne Hoskins. February 14, 1985 - March 1, 2007.

*From Great is Thy Faithfulness, they sang it during the service. Which was awesome, since it is one of my favourite songs.

Also I can't get Casimir Pulaski Day out of my head. There's so much of a parallel with the lyrics and what happened with Paulanne. Especially the whole "First of March" deal. Bit eerie eh?

Esto Perpetua.

I'm pretty sure none of us were actually there in '88

"Blue, black and blue, dirty kangaroo..."

Aiya was never given to actually playing cricket, he was more prone to be seated under a shady tree eating a chinese roll from the school tuck shop. Regardless of his actual skill on the pitch the Roy-Tho was always a big deal for him. Thathi used to skip out of work to take him and his ankle biting friends. The festivities were sure to end with him having his flag stolen, cap flicked or other sundry article of school pride knicked.

I've never been to one of these "big matches," sadly the closest has probably been the annual Royal-Thomian that Thathi used to help organise back in the day, and the Metros, when the boys used to play basketball. When we all went to Sri Lanka for Punchy Mammah's wedding in 2000 I begged Rajiv to take me with him, but I was deemed too much of a "liability." I think his friends are clearly just pervy.

Usually large Sri Lankan gatherings make me suspicious, and other than the amusement to be had making fun of people, and watching them get sloshed I'm guessing that the novelty of the whole big match thing would wear off pretty quick.

In any case if I ever do find myself in the motherland during the fever you better believe that I will be begging forcing the auditor to take me.