Oi! Get off my lawn.

I feel old. Some uncharitable people would go as far as saying that I am old. With the increase in weddings and birth announcements amongst a slew of other cringe worthy life events I think I'm headed for my mid-mid-life crisis. Although I have a sneaking suspicion I've been battling that since I turned 21. I'm not grappling with any huge existential questions though. I just feel old. Literally old and creaky.

Friday night I was supposed to head out and while I was waiting for my ride I thought sprawling on the sofa would be an appropriate use of my time. Until I woke up at 1 am with a crick in my back and a strong desire to throw my PJs on and crawl into my very inviting bed. Hmm. You can guess the ending of that story. I have officially become that person who really can't be arsed to go out. My work peeps have been harassing me for weeks, fortunately my excuse of 'being a student' is fantastic and usually even makes them sympathetic. I'm not entirely sure what ruse I'll have to put forth once my courses wrap up. Oh. Who are we kidding. I'm going to be a student for life.

Speaking of work, there's been some positive movements on that front and although things are still being tweaked, I may be finding myself a more frequent guest at HQ. This means I'll eventually need to invest in corporate drone-wear. I've been seriously making an effort to expunge the student from my wardrobe and I think I've done well?

There hasn't been a jeans purchase since August 2008. Sneakers? My true besetting sin? Been able to keep that beast at bay as of May 2008. Going shopping sucks now. (I lie! Retail therapy how I love thee!) I'm on a pretty strict self imposed budget. Between my fees, textbooks and pathetic attempts at saving there isn't really much cash left for clothing or sensible shoe purchases. It's hard though! When I see shoes my first immediate impulse is to think 'wow, those would look fantastic with my jeans in X wash.' Then I need to remind myself, 'but they'll look like total ass with dress pants/a skirt/a dress.' In the ideal world I'd still get the shoes if only to wear them on casual Fridays.

There are stores that I don't even venture into anymore. I can't even trust myself to browse to see what I'm missing out on. It's too depressing. The only cold comfort I have is that even in my age appropriate attire teenagers still stop me to say they like what I'm wearing. I feel the need to point out that these are savvy dowtown dwelling teenagers, not suburban ones.

But after a little incident in class this evening I'm not so sure how discerning these kids really are. I popped over to the bookstore before class and was subsequently a bit early for my lecture (because I always over estimate the amount of time it'll take to get things done). While flipping through my book a sweet looking girl came through the door, smiled at me and sat down a few seats to my left. Apparently she registered late and this was her first day. She started asking me questions about the class, how big, how many assignments etc.

We veered off topic (surprise!) and started talking about music. That's when my fellow classmates started to trickle in. As the room filled up she stopped talking about K'naan and asked me if this class? Is it intro to first year research methods? To which I laughed a hearty laugh and informed her that she was not in the presence of undergrads. She scrutinised the class a bit more and said 'yeah, there's no way in hell that these guys were ever undergrads in any life. They look like professors.' With that scathing judgement she picked up her shiz and got the hell out of there fast.

The lesson I'm choosing to take away from this tale of misunderstanding is that I'm a hip old person. (But still old because most of my classmates are around my age add or subtract a year or three.) That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

What's so Bad About Dying Anyways?

When you're a kid there will always be certain things which are the shit because you honestly don't know any better. Martin Streek definitely fell into that category.

Growing up Aiya and I depended on the radio for new music. If a new single came out we used to record it off of the radio. I feel like a dinosaur, but I still have cassette tapes, lovingly labeled with artist name, song, date and time. CFNY was my station. Even now when I see Allan Cross walking around downtown I become a total tool. I had a radio in my room that didn't have a recording device on it, just a straight up battery operated radio. When I was in elementary school Martin Streek was an integral part of my life. Thursday night he used to host a show called the Thursday Thirty which counted down the top 30 songs for the week and also introduced new artists. I'd usually fall asleep before the end of the show, but it was Martin who introduced me to Sloan and Radiohead. I'd head to school on Friday mornings feeling like such a badass. Michael and I used to talk music when we should've been doing math, but we used to compare notes and swap artist names. He was an avid Thursday Thirty listener too.

With the dawn of our dial-up internet connection my dependence on the radio slowly began to wane, but all of that changed when I started to work in Sri Lanka. Because of the time difference between Toronto and Colombo I used to catch the Thursday Thirty streamed live on Friday mornings at work. Between that and reading Torontoist and Now online, home didn't seem so far away. I've always said that I become much more patriotic when I'm away from home than when I'm actually here. For a couple of hours every Friday morning I used to feel like I was at home. Without the familiarity of Martin Streek's voice and on air style I doubt I would have felt the same way. That's when I started to understand why the migrant community in Toronto tried so, so hard to hold on to where they came from. Really I was no different, tuning into a Toronto radio station, reading Toronto street magazines. Obviously when I do it's way less fobby. But still.

I found out that Martin had committed suicide via Torontoist on Tuesday morning. When I was on my way home from work Josie Dye (who for the record I cannot EFFING STAND. She and the Dean Blundell Show epitomise everything that's awful with what CFNY now known as edge102 has become) was talking to David Bookman about what had happened. Bookie was just about to take over the afternoon drive shift and one of the first songs that he played in Martin's honour was actually The Lines you Amend by Sloan. It's actually one of my favourite Sloan songs of all time and oh so fitting.

Bye Martin. Toronto is not going to be the same without you. I will miss your voice.


photo from exclaim.ca

Captain Cold Feet

I've had to put my sandals permanently away because sock weather is upon us kids and I can't deal. My head space has been a bit weirder than it normally is and despite having more things than usual to blog about I can barely muster two coherent sentences let alone a fluid post.

Spent the better part of the afternoon staring blankly at my computer screen trying to write a wee 300 word essay on why I'd be a suitable candidate to join the Canadian Foreign Service. Right now I'm slightly more interested in exploring why Cutty Ranks just never seems to gets old.

Dear David Emerson, (Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Trade)

Although I will never, ever vote for your party (in the current election and all subsequent ones to follow) I listen to good dancehall music. This should alleviate any concerns you should have about my levels of competency and ability to be a super secret spy.

Much love to the wife and kids!

Aiya and I beat a hasty retreat during a super horrifically awkward family dinner on Monday night and managed to catch another "Road Talk."


Mace from rasti on Vimeo.

Clearly the dancehall thing has been recurring all week. Also just to be clear, he doesn't wear fugly crocs. Aiya prefers these. Something about the breathable cork yadda comfortable yadda.

Shutter Speed

Jebus. I'm too lazy to blog properly (surprise). I present you the last lightening speed month and three quarters through the eyes of that snazzy new camera phone which I acquired along with a haircut at Pacific Mall.


This is what Toronto looked like when I left. I had a week and a bit of do nothingness before I took off unexpectedly to Colombo for the funeral. The original plan had been three weeks of do nothingness interspersed with leisurely getting my shit together for the Big Trip to London. I used to take Oliver for a walk every day during that spell and this is what a typical day would start off looking like. Apparently Toronto's still sort of like this? Perhaps my parents are just big exaggeraters?


Thathi and I were walking through the Katunayake Airport on our way to pick up our luggage remarking how it sort of feels nice to be back in Sri Lanka despite the utterly unfortunate circumstances. Seriously, look at that snow covered horror above. Now look at those luscious bouganvilla flowers in my grandparents' garden. It was nice to get away from one of the worst winters on record. When Ammi and Punchy made it into Colombo the heat had already started, I managed to miss that completely. However there was a few insane downpours, nothing compared to last year when that bit of the Galle Road collapsed. But still. I do recall a very unpleasant trishaw ride with Mansage from the Cinnamon Grand to Agra which involved rolled up pant legs, leaping over puddles and rubber slippers (which were worn in mutiny).


While I'm not a huge cat person this is my homeboy. Kitty, for that is his most unfortunate name, and I used to have a mutual understanding. He was less than a year old when I came to Sri Lanka last year. In exchange for play fighting in the mornings before leaving for work he would let me cuddle him for a brief spell in the evenings when I'd actually make it home at a decent hour. Although he used to make an utter fuss, I know he liked it. His throat used to vibrate, with a normal cat this would be purring, but his autism prevents him from showing affection, and that's as close as he'd get. No noise at all. The morning that my grandfather passed away he bolted and hung out on top of the water tower for nearly 5 days. He still refuses to go into my grandparents' bedroom. I don't know what he did after I left but the little beastie used to curl up in a ball and either sleep with me on my bed or on the floor beside me.


The final purchase that I made before I left Colombo was an umbrella from Arpico (pictured above). You know one of those silver coated jobbies. I figured that going to London without one would be just plain retarded. Gayan and I sped over as fast as we could to Dehiwela the night before I left. I needed to be at the Commons for a birthday fête and final goodbye. It was sad, and rushed. Tears were shed sly words exchanged and then it was time to go. The night before Mansage and I had a very fitting and hilarious goodbye that began at the Coffee Bean meandered to Clancys and then a mad rush back to the Bean. He even kept the blubbing to a minimum. It was so not enough time to see everyone I wanted to and there were so many people that I didn't even get a chance to see let alone call. I've always believed that any trip to Sri Lanka has to be at least 4 weeks long otherwise it's an utter disappointing and rushed experience.


I am hardly ever late for anything. Usually I am ridiculously early. This is a trait that Alby and I have both exhibited since time immemorial. So when I landed in London from Colombo and came back to Thorn's place at about 11:00 PM we weren't really worried about me being able to make my 6:30 AM flight that next morning. Oh how wrong we were. I was flying Easy Jet from Stantsted and in a series of events befitting Murphy I managed to get to the gate just as it was closing despite having started my journey at 3:00 AM. It was one of the most stressful things evar. Spain was great though, Barcelona's such a gorgeous city. I've got way more pictures which will eventually be posted on flickr. Seeing Gaudi's work in the flesh was phenomenal. I found myself at Sagrada Família on Easter Sunday and it was so overwhelming. The religious significance aside, as a piece of art it just left me dumbfounded.

Generally I don't like buying lame souvenirs and what inadvertently started off as an innocent scarf purchase in Dakar has now become my "thing." I buy scarves from every place I visit, managed to get the two above for 2 Euros. Which I thought was pretty awesome and of course now I'm regretting not getting more.


Getting lost in a city is the best way to discover it. This is what I say because I legendarily lack a sense of direction. On this particular day I was waiting for the ex-workmate to finish off some shiz and meet up with me for a day of shopping. So I wondered around Leicester Square and found a section that sold antique books. It was like I had died and gone to bookheaven. If the exchange rate wasn't 2 CND to a Pound I could've easily walked away with the entire store.


Went and met Aunty C at St Pancras a few weeks ago. She came and spent the day with me from Leeds and couldn't have picked a better weekend. The photo does not do justice to how kickass that clock really was. The two of us had a great time just wondering around the city. I managed to get us spectacularly lost at one point when I took the map.



A carved rock outside the British Library. They had a whole bunch of them around the entrance.


I still can't get over how "British" everything looks.


Seriously, how cute is that? Mind you it would've been way better if my unsteady hands didn't go all parkinsons on me. There actually are red phone booths in and around certain parts of the city.


Okay, so it does rain here on and off but it doesn't bother me! Is there something wrong? Am I unknowingly prepping for life in Vancouver?


Camden has become one of my favourite parts of London. I spend too much time and too much money there.


I go to church in Brixton. How bad ass am I? Witnessed my first building fire. Must say I really was not impressed with the way the firefighters and cops handled things. But that's another post altogether.


Gigs! With Thorn! It feels like home. But not really. Live music always makes me feel like I'm at home, no matter what part of the world I'm in. The London indie scene is really good obviously. Different than the Toronto one for sure. I think the calibre of musicianship is much better here but the creativity is lacking. But that's just me. Also? British indie boys? zomg. ftw!


Some of the little sculptures and pieces of art that are found in and around London are just strange. This is very close to one of the first places I worked here. I mean look at it! It's looks like a giant hot dog ffs. Click on the photo to make it larger and see if you don't believe me.


I wish I had more money. Or conversely, I wish I was making some money. Did a bit of shopping today. Picked up some sweet Clarks for Aiya and decided to get a pair of shoes for myself as well. The dude at Footlocker was absolutely incredulous when I told him that my feet were a size 6 US. This is normally the case since I think I defy some sort of science laws. There is no way that someone of my size should be able to be held up by feet that are so tiny they look like they've been bound.

Plenty more things that need to be seen and explored. Of course I'll take 'actual' pictures with the Nikon eventually, I'm really digging the little Sony though. I usually don't die for electronic items, but I'm a fan of the camera. It's so convenient.

R.I.P. Robert.

Few people have moved me like Robert Goulet. Now there'll be no need for nuts to ward him off at 3:00 PM


It was a good ride while it lasted. Of course Will Ferrel immortalised the man, Aiya and I still sporadically scream out "GOULET" at the most inopportune moments. Aiya's ipod's name? Goulet.


From one Canadian to another, R.I.P.

High heels and more taggery by a consonant amongst others.

I'm glad that I didn't wear heels today. Corporate servitude often decrees some sort of shmancy and totally impractical footwear and I more often than not willingly acquiesce. We are a family of shoe whores all four of us actually. As Ammi pointed out once if I was forced to beg on the street my piece of soggy cardboard with black Sharpie scribbling on it would say "WILL WORK FOR SHOES."

Dropping a load of cash which I don't have on a pair of kicks is money well spent but as I hauled ass to the Women's College Bookstore after work, and got to the door wheezy, winded and five minutes after the official close a thought fleetingly struck me. I was glad I was wearing a pair of $20 white leather flats, at that moment I don't think I have ever received more bang for my buck.

It's been pointed out to me that as of late I have become more of a hermit than even I am wont.

Out loud I blame this on the work/school schedule. But deep down inside we all know the real reason is because I've busily been getting my geek on.

First off, the referendum cometh and so does the provincial elections. (Aside: you guys better be getting your vote on! October 10.)

World Cup Rugby! Like I've pointed out before buff boys+shorts=WIN! Next.

Fall sweeps. There is good TV on again. Friday night I caught up with everything I had missed during the week. Okay, when I say "week" I mainly mean Thursday.

Private Practice, America's Next Top Model (hi Nigel!), The Office, My Name is Earl, The Office, Ugly Betty and Grey's Anatomy.

*SWOON*

McSteamy is back in my life, I suddenly feel whole again.

How is it that I was unable to watch any TV on Thursday? I was at effing work until 10 PM that's why. Apparently this is the norm in the department I'm in. A few of you were concerned, and even horrified at these new extend-a-mix hours. "Yes, yes you're getting paid time and a half, but still!" "This is a dangerous precedent." "How do you expect to juggle your school work with hours like this?"

All valid points chickadees but here's the thing. TIME AND A HALF. Possibly one of the greatest creations of all times. Also, dayum. The corporate world sort of knows how to take care of yo'ass. Even if yo'ass is not that important in the larger hierarchy. I had forgotten what it felt like to give a 110% and not be completely taken for granted, to be *gasp* actually given a cab chit to go home and dinner (from some place decent).

Preaching to the choir etc, but now I'm starting to realise why you right wing capitalist shake your head in dismay when I start outlining what I'm going to do with my life. (Hi Roshan!)

I feel dirty.

Some Loose Ends

So many moons ago N tagged me and although I am tardy, I have not forgotten. So here are the five current discs that I'd take with me if I found myself stranded on some desert.... Wait a minute? I had all five of these on my ipod when I was in Sri Lanka. (See what I did there?) They're so self-explanatory that I'm not going to bother with any prose. In no particular order:

1. Pet Sounds - The Beach Boys
2.The Joshua Tree - U2
3. The Birth of the Cool - Miles Davis
4. Give Up - The Postal Service
5. X Amounts - controller.controller

*NOTE: the CD player which is used to play the above, by some scientific cunning is attached to George Clooney's six pack. No desert island is complete without him.

And in the spirit of being a half ass, I now tag the resident fascist.

The Douchebagel* Chronicles

Josh Hook, Dave Monks of Tokyo Police Club at last night's Mod Club show

The end is nigh children. Tomorrow is the last day of classes and then I spend the next week and a bit trying to read a year's worth of novels for Major British Writers. Someone remind me again why I thought it would be a good idea to pick up English? Gah.

It seems everything's starting to wrap up, last night I caught Tokyo Police Club with the lovely Marissa and Jenny (who Thorn so willingly pimped out to me for the incredible low, low price of a TPC button. Very reasonable). It's safe to say that it was the last show I'll be taking in before I leave. *sigh* After which I'll get to pleasure my ears with this and that saddens me greatly.


Great Lenin's Ghost

So the show? It was awesome. The two openers were so good! Great Lenin's Ghost did a kicking cover of Nelly Furtado's version of Maneater complete with butt wiggles and kitschy little outfits that reminded me of Crayola Crayons. We're Marching On were great as well, I'm really glad I picked up their CD, been listening to them non-stop today. Oh live shows and indie music how I will miss you for the next four months. I will have to quit cold turkey, and this does not bode well for me. We all know how I have zero resilience. Who knows, I just may come back a total B&S head. Gah.


Dave Monks of Tokyo Police Club joining We're Marching On for a bit of jamming. Or molestation of a snare drum. Whatevs.

Anywho along with the bleak prospect of having no ready access to good live music, Aiya's saying goodbye to the Beac, which means I get to say goodbye to my guest list privileges. He can no longer swap free meals for unlimited guest listing at the swank hotel he's heading too. Damn it. Speaking of guestlisting, seriously, how hard is it to screw up my white name? It's only 2 letters ffs.

Also. Sceevy hipsters? Will they not just chill the freak out? Seriously.

During TPC's set some douches decided it'd be cool to start MOSHING, because TPC is totally moshable and all right? Poor Jenny she kept getting whipped in the face by the business end of a moist jerry curl belonging to a fairly dirty guy rocking a played out bandana and unnecessary rotten onion stench. (Why hello there run-on sentence!) I could literally see the sweat (hair product?) flying off of the curl and polluting the air as it made contact with Jenny's face. And re-enacting that in my head just made me vomit a tiny bit in my mouth.

How about crowd surfing? A TPC concert is not a concert if there's no crowd surfing. And why yes. I did laugh my ass off when the idiot in the yellow shirt was dropped on his face after 20 seconds. I was fortunate, I didn't really get too caught up in the fray, I think Marissa had to deal with the brunt of the douchbagel shoving. But she's hardcore yo, she totally repped Malvern and shoved back. The feminist movement would've been proud.

They need to make more music though. The show was too short damnit.

(oo check out more pictures at le flick, I pretty much posted up everything I took. Yes. Repetition is good.)

Hmm, I should be writing an essay. Also, next Friday children! I expect to see you all at the most politically incorrect/insensitive/tasteless send-off ever. Remember to dress according to the theme, my ghetto pool table awaits you.

*copyright drackity.

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?

Tagged by a consonant.

The boys from Sloan. The last concert I went to (with thorn of course. God bless guestlisting)
So. N tagged me, and I didn't even realise this until yesterday, after I had responded to slothy's taggering. Here it is, the music meme.

1. CD or vinyl
- OoO. Well, for me, when it comes to personal every day use, neither. I'm all about the ipod. However when in a night spot, give me vinyl any day of the week. You must agree that for some unkown reason the Dream Warriors and a Tribe Called Quest just sound so much better on 12 inch

2. An album you’ve been meaning to listen to
- Not a big Oasis fan, but I have been meaning to check out their latest which dropped at the beginning of this month.

3. Grammys
- Load of tripe. Bring on the Mercury Prize instead.

4. Your favourite album is
- That? That's just an EVIL question. It's like asking me whether I'd rather die of decapitation, burning, drowning or combination. But I guess if I really had to choose, it'd probably be The Postal Service's GIve Up. That album never gets old, and every single depressing song on it has at one time or another in the last 3 years rung true in my life.

5. Invite 10 Music people for dinner. Who will it be?
Not in order of importance, but order of popping in my head.

i. Stephen Colbert and the Decembersits for the December 20th battle of the guitars. And I'm counting that as one. Suck it.

ii. Nirmala Basnayake of controller.controller to ask her WHY in God's name she did it.

iii. Bono. Simply to tell him that he used to be my idol when I was in highschool but now not so much anymore. I would include Angelina Jolie into this mix as well. I have essentially the same message for both of them. Stop with the nauseating faux humanitarianism. *cough* (red).

iv. Youssou N'Dour, he's all kinds of awesome. Got into him when I was in Sénégal. Speaking of the Sénégalaise, I'd probably also have over the man who handmade the incredible d'jembe I schlepped back from there. (Even though he was a French beach bum.) And yeah, don't nit pick, they count as one.

v. Leslie Feist, if I was a boy, i'd marry her.

vi. If I could bring back people from the grave, then Bob Marley for sure. And with that new found power, my Uncle who passed away and loved him.

vii. My paternal grandfather, because he has kickass taste in music, I'd also make him bring his record collection which features (to name a very few) Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, and Dizzy Gillespie.

viii. Seu Jorge, makes some killer samba and he grew up in a freaking Favela for Pete's sakes. Oh yeah, and also his covers of David Bowie songs in the Life Aquatic are untouchable. With that said, David Bowie would also be invited, as Mr.Jorge's date.

ix. The Clash. That needs no explanation. Okay fine, for the uninitiated, how can you not have one of the most influential punk bands (in my opinion) at such a dinner? R.I.P Joe. Hmm, since we're talking about influential folks, in lieu of Joe (since he's dead) Afrika Bambaataa is also welcome at my overflowing table

x. Sufjan Stevens, I think he's one of the most innovative and prolific musicians of our time.

--> There's a lack of Toronto artists here, only because I've run in to all the ones I've wanted to ever meet at the Beac. Granted it wasn't dinner at my place, but it was dinner. Aiya just keeps 'em coming back for more.

6. Appropriate punishment for those who play Celine Dion’s "My heart will go on" while pretending that it’s still 1998
- Remind them that 1998 wasn't all that great. Seinfeld came off the air, Frank Sinatra died, and Bill Clinton was impeached.

7. Choose your favourite instrument and its best player from your point of view.
- I don't like this question. But no one can touch Ron Burgundy's Jazz Flute.

8. The one piece of music that can move you to tears
- Perhaps a bit cheesey, but I ain't ashamed. It's a toss up between How Great Thou Art and Great is Thy Faithfulness. Shut up. My inner Anglican is very strong.

9. You are an executive at a major label and have the power to green light one album a year. What would you do?
So many things to do!
- stage a coup d'etat that would effectively make me the lifetime-sole authority-leader of the ship type thingie at said record label, ensuring that i have a musical dictatorship that will last until i am either usurped of my power or die. Then i would go about doing a variety of different things such as:
- give Nirmala all the money she and her controller.controller cohorts need in order to continue recording
- buy over SubPop records ensuring that all the indie goodness coming out of there never has to be influenced by anything other than pretension.

Now I wield my great power and tag sloth, and drac (because, I think he probably hates memes with a passion. Prove me wrong drackity!)

How could another Sri Lankan be so cruel??

I'm going to miss you too.
All good things have to come to an end eventually I guess. What exactly is a "day job" anyways? And Nirmala how could you be so cruel? It's just downright mean spirited. I don't know how good controller.controller's going to be now that she's gone, considering she was like their heart and soul right there. The trappings of being incredibly kick ass musicians who make no money I guess?

And I know, they announced the split in October. Is it wrong that I live a hermit like existence under a rock? Will you not let me grieve in peace?

I bid you adieu and wait with bated breath for the day when you guys decide to reunite. The Toronto music scene is just not going to be the same without you, nay the Canadian one won't be the same either. Melodramatic? Maybe? But you know it's true.

Boo.

And in other news, that piece of shit "musician" M.I.A. is still "recording."

There is evidently no justice at all in this world.

I leave you with what could have been.

Hey. It's Britney Spears! Sing a song for me Brit!

Caught the k-os concert on Tuesday night. It was meh at best. I would've liked it if he was strung out like in the above Much on Demand segment, but you can't have everything right? (Seriously, you don't need to watch a lot, just the first minute and 33 seconds, that's enough to get a taste). Aiya pulled through and got me on the guestlist, the beyotch at the ticket booth was skeptical that my name was on the list, and got downright frigid when I told her who had put it there (Kheaven's brother). I shouldn't complain, I mean I got in, what I did find interesting is that they managed to screw up my "white name," it was spelled incorrectly! Fortunately my 5 syllable last name was there to clear up any confusion.

Met thorn's latest squeeze, and we headed over to the Beac after the show for drinks. Bumped into Carlos who had been at the Mod Club too, only he was in the VIP section, not down with the rest of us plebes. While we were waxing poetic on the shitty setlist and amazing tabla player a guy comes charging past the doors (which we weren't even standing in front of) and shouts "Out of my way! Hipster coming through!" As Carlos so aptly put, that guy? He needed to be kicked in the crotch.

Since it was Halloween there were a few suburban faux-hipsters in really un-ironic and ugly costumes. The self-described hipster took one look at Thorn's unfortunate new dye job and thought she had dressed up as Britney Spears. And I laughed, until tears welled up in my eyes.

In other musical news, I'm stoked for the Decemberists show next Monday, it's awesome going to free concerts. Pitchfork did an interview with Colin, good read, but I don't agree that this is their best album to date. I liked the last one, Picaresque, there wasn't a single track on there that I couldn't listen to a million times.

Rugby fans, November 9th is when single ticket sales start for the Rugby World Cup. I'm incredibly jealous that Thaththi and Aiya get to go, and I'll be putting myself in a really grumpy position come the 9th when I try to get tickets to the England-South Africa game in St-Denis. As of now they're going to a bunch of games in Marseilles. (Close to Italy, the two over eaters aren't just going to Europe for the love of the game, but also for the love of the food.) Funny how I'm planning the entire trip, speak French and am going to be stuck in Toronto come September. Boo.

In the meantime though, I guess I can satisfy my needs to oogle yummy men in small shorts and tight shirts on HDTV. The November internationals start this weekend. w00t! I can't wait. It's been awhile since I've had the pleasure of seeing my boyfriend Danile Carter in action.

Oh. And it's November. Less than 6 more months until summer vacation. Mmm. Summer.

What? Me? Pretentious? stfu.

Princess Di just called, and she wants her look back.

I know good pretension when I see it, it's a gift really. Okay, maybe it's not a gift, it's probably more like how a natural liar can spot another liar. (NB: I am an excellent liar-spotter.) Truth be told I am a pretentious bastard, and I come from a long line of them, (not bastards, but we do have a good amount of those in the family tree. And that's another post). Although this is old news, I recently found out that my stodgy old academic institution is #18 on the list of most pretentious universities in the world. Take my word for it, north of the 49th you'd be hard pressed to find a larger bunch of self-absorded, arrogant, asses bandied together in the name of academia.

Now that you know my credentials (and I'm in a giving mood now, sparing you tales from the private school I attended) it is undeniable that I.know.pretension.

Couple this with the other obvious cause for "otherness" (being the browness) and you have a recipe for the most stuck up minority that Toronto has to offer. I was reading this morning's paper when I -- with great glee -- found this article. Not only does it mention an up and coming indie group that features a Sri Lankan, but it addresses the issue of Toronto's white, and very often pretentious, music scene. I would seriously love to see it diversify, I am a music snob, but what is good music if it's not available to the masses? Accessibility is the key, if that means selling your single and having it appear in a car commercial, then so be it.

I like to play a little game called "spot the brown" when I go to concerts, (and other large public spaces). It's always interesting to take a look around and realise that you're the only ethnic minority in a room full of white faces and a smattering of black ones. This doesn't bother me, neither does it bother me that I'm practically the only brown person in the majority of my classes, or that I was the only Sri Lankan in high school (which is crazy when you think of how multicultural our fair city is.)

What does bother me is when people can't see past the otherness. Yes. I'm brown. I listen to indie music. Get over it. If anything, I find myself having to justify my musical tastes not to those who share it (aka white people) but with my other minority friends, brown or otherwise.

I have never felt like this, wanting to be white I mean. (Ya I know, that girl's Indian, and I hate the Indian comparison too, but wth, it serves its purpose for the moment.) One drawback of often being the only brown one in the room, is the awkwardness that it leads to later. For example, people are more likely to remember the "exotic" one with the "beautiful" sanskrit name more than the aforementioned exotic-sanskrit-name-bearer would ever remember the blonde in the corner.

Being an other makes people remember you. This isn't a phenomenon that's limited to me. Thathi works for a fairly large bank, most of his colleagues are white, he's got the same problem. Aiya's a chef, and not a dishwasher, there are no classically trained French chefs in this city who are Sri Lankan. Ammi? She's probably got it worse than any of us, she's in advertising, everyone is old, white and male.

There have been many an occassion when one or another of us has been out in the general public and some random person pops out of nowhere and asks us if we remember them from such and such a place. Fortunately we're all really good liars, we all fake it as if we remember. But really? We so don't.

And that?

That's the closest I've ever become to wishing I was white, so there would be an equal social playing field. Those white folks just always seem to have the upper hand.

Oh I hardly knew ya...

Where the hell did September go? I've been told that we're halfway through October already. Seriously. As the kids would say these days, double you-tee-etch?! So what's been going down yo?

Well. For starters, concerts, and lots of them even by my standards. The Weakerthans, Metric, Buck 65, Holy F*ck, controller.controller, You Say Party, We Say Die! the end of this month brings a little k-os my way and next month perhaps some OK Go and the French Kicks.

TIFF. Managed through divine intervention to catch 2 flicks, Vanaja (which was in my opinion waay too good to have been a MA thesis) and Black Book, both were amazing and I'd recomend them to anyone. Was fortunate enough to have the directors at both screenings, something that's usually a luxury for the gala screeners. But my word. Do people ever ask incredibly stupid questions? One would wonder how they managed to gather up enough brain cells to snag tickets. Despite that however, it is awesome to go into a movie that isn't necessarily hyped to the status of Babel, and create your own opinions unhampered by the mainstream press. Methinks that's the way movie watching really should be. Also, Carice van Houten was all kinds of amazing.

Mac rant. I hate the new itunes. It's like a slug. Also, I'm glad I bought a silicone cover for my keyboard back in the summer, I knew it would come in handy, and did it ever. Who knew cleaning up Vanilla Coke could be so easy?

How awesome is Belinda Stronach? She's like the Paris Hilton of Canadian politics. But Tie Domi? Really? Belinda you could have done so much better than that.

Oh ya, and I survived a pummeling at the hands of my midterms. Who knows, maybe updates will become more frequent? Nah, why kid like that.

Happy Birthday Babies!!

(image shamelessly stolen from Alby's facebook)

First off, a belated birthday shout out to Copto, and a Fresh one for Labro. Just because I didn't see either of you in the flesh does not mean your birthday beats are not forthcoming. Because they are. And I've been working out, so watch yourselves.

Secondly. I don't really know exactly what I've been doing since my last blog post, but evidently a lot because uh, I haven't found time to sight ye olde blogger-o.

Hmm...well, I survived the puppy and have come to the conclusion that if i can't afford a nanny there's no way in hell I'm having more than one child, two hyper active terriers for one week just about killed me.

I have been watching copious amounts of movies as of late. Some good some bad. Most are better left unnamed because, well, I'm a bit embarassed by my viewing selections.

A few things that I'm looking forward to in this glorious month of September.

Am counting down the 17 days and 40 minutes until I will be smooshed inside of the Horeshoe, standing stiff as a board (can't dance, and head bopping is forbidden because I look like I'm seizing) being mesmerised by the goodness that is controller.controller, because you know that Nirmala is my Sri Lankan idol, suck it M.I.A.

The Film Fest is starting! And you better believe I will be trying to score same day rush tickets for Borat Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, but let's see if my endeavour is indeed a great success. There are a bunch of other flicks I want to catch, but I won't bother mentioning all of them, because that's tedious, and as it is no one reads half of what I write. I know you skim. Don't lie. I'd do it too if I were you.

I have a kick ass schedule, Mondays and Fridays I am free from the shackles of higher education. Which for my slower readers means a four day weekend. Every week. Until April. w00t.

The days are getting cooler which means I can start wearing layers again. And sweaters...mmm...sweaters.

After 9 long and painful years, Abs is back in Ontario! Yay for Waterloo being the only university in Canada to offer optometry or some craziness like that. Looking forward to being able to pick up the phone and call without having to calculate a three hour time difference between Toronto and Vancouver. It will be down right pleasant.

And now? I'm too lazy to continue on with this half assed list.

Quips: Back by popular demand

It's been awhile since I've dug out some of the gems I've been privy to.

Words of wisdom from Aiya
Sucks that Aiya's moved out. But he does come home on Sunday mornings, and kinda hangs out until Monday. You guys know how he is. There's just too much goodness.

In the car, on the way for Sunday dinner
Me: I was on the internet, and i found this woman who breeds...
Aiya: Leprechauns?
Me: No you idiot...
Aiya: Lesbian Leprechauns?

After discovering a stash of phone cards, ammi deemed it appropriate to call all of our relatives.
Ammi: Here's a phone card, go and call your grandparents...
Aiya: Gah...
Ammi: You'll regret it when they get alzheimers
Aiya: No. If they had alzheimers and complained I never called, I'd tell them that I called them yesterday. And they wouldn't know.
*15 Seconds later*
Ammi: Did you call them??
Aiya: Ya. I did. The line was engaged
Ammi: This phone card? It hasn't even been scratched.

Random after dinner conversation
Me: Who's that on the front porch?
Vindhiya: Starts with an "E" and ends in a "K"
Aiya: Uh. Would that be "Eksathk"?
Me: No, I think the "K" is pronounced as an "H"
Aiya: Okay, well I think you're being something that starts with a "B" and ends in a "K"
Me: Hilarious. You should seriously look into stand up.
Aiya: That's right. A bitck. But remember, the "K" is pronounced "H"

On Food
We are a family of eaters. There's really not much more to it, as a result we spend a large portion of the day not only eating, but also talking about food.

At the local Sri Lankan take-out joint on a day when everyone was way too lazy to cook
Aiya: I want "cuttlefish"*
Me: Ya, I'm in the mood for calamari too.
Ammi: Well kids, I'm sorry. They don't have either of those. There's only squid on the menu.
* the posh way of saying "squid" in Sri Lanka. Although, as far as I know, they're two different species. But for the sake of this quip, let's just say they're one and the same.

Whilst watching a terribly written (what else is new?) Hindi movie
Me: You know what, the cinematography in this movie, it's so good. I'm speechless because I'm so surprised.
Aiya: I know, it's pretty impressive.
Me: It's all very Citizen Kane, with the camera angles and stuff...
Aiya: You mean, Citizen Jalebi.
Me: Ummkay.
Aiya: Or Citizen Gulab Jamun. Mmm. Citizen Ras Malai. Now that's something I haven't eaten in awhile. Ras Malai is so effing good.

After lunch at Punchi's place. Struggling against a sever case of 'itis
Punchi: Do you want some ice cream?
Me: Hmm...depends on what kind you have.
Vindhiya: We have a load. OoOoO There's Napoleon. You like that right?
Me: Napoleon?
Vindhiya: Ya Napoleon. You know, with the chocolate, vanilla and strawberry stripes?
Me: Napoleon? I think you mean Neapolitan? Have you been referring to it as Napoleon for the last 19 years?
Vindhiya: Maybe.

Surprisingly I haven't been pushed into anorexia. Yet.
Alby and I could never have an eating disorder. Not because we're totally happy with our love handles (among other things), but it's just because neither of us has the self will or determination to carry out an eating disorder. Keeping this in mind and viewing the below will give you ample evidence that there's enough psychological pressure to push me over the edge.

So terrible, that he will not even be named! But babe, you know who you are.
Me: I'm thinking about getting my belly button pierced.
Him: Really?
Me: Ya. Feeling a bit bleh these days and want to *do* something that doesn't involve getting drunk and making out with random guys.
Him: Well, ya that makes sense. But there's just one problem.
Me: What? That it'll be painful and I'll pass out?
Him: No. You have a gut. And no one will see the piercing, because it'll be completely obscured in its environment.
Me: It's a wonder that I don't have an eating disorder yet you know that?
Him: Loose the gut, and then get the piercing. That's my advice to you. It's foolproof.

While taking pictures after an overly large lunch when alby was able to break free from the holds of her Jewish over night camp and escape from Bracebridge for the day. Or wherever the hell that place is located
Alby: It looks like shit.
Me: Ya. We can't, we've spent like the last decade trying but we just can't.
Alby: Labro, just take the picture again, we both look like ass.
Labro: Is there anything that I can do...?
Me: Emergency face transplants perhaps?
Labro: I meant in terms of camera angles...

One of those occasions where were all just sitting around shooting the shit
Labro: (Looking at Copto) You know, loosing weight wasn't that hard. It's all about quantities...
Copto: Erm...
Me: Labro. Look how much weight he's lost. He's so thin now. I don't really think he needs any tips
Whoren: Ya, maybe you should be directing it this way. (Looks my way)
Me: Ya, I'm the one who needs it.
Copto: Ya, your words are wasted on me, she's the one who really needs the advice. (Turns my way)

Random Thoughts
I couldn't figure out where to stick these.

Whoren: So does he have a moustache?
Me: Whoren. What the hell?
Whoren: No seriously. Does he?
Me: Why would you even ask that?
Whoren: Well, you said he was Sri Lankan. Does he wear army fatigues too?
Me: You geek, he's not a Tamil Tiger.
Whoren: Ya but he should have a moustache. Otherwise it's just not right. Do you have a picture?
Me: Just this grainy one on my phone. He's the brown smudge on my right in blue.
Whoren: Whoa. He looks like he's 8 feet tall. That's a really tall guy. Does he play ball?
Copto: If he played ball, I could kill him. Guy we could kick his ass.
Me: (To Whoren) He's tall. But not as tall as that loser. (Glares at Copto.)
(Back to Whoren) As far as he's mentioned he only plays cricket in a hardcore manner.
Whoren: At least he's athletic. But really, it's a shame about that moustache

Aiya: Guess who I'm going to see August 27th?
Me: Um. I heard Ice Cube is coming?
Aiya: No. Listen to this.
Me: What is it?
Aiya: Just shut up and listen to it. It was like your summer theme song.
Me: Hmm, wasn't aware that I had one.
"Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira starts to play.*
Me: First of all you're an ass. Secondly, I didn't know Wyclef was coming, and why aren't you taking me?!
Aiya: Um. I'm going to see Shakira.
Me: Shut. The. Mom. Up.
*Long pause*
Me: I just don't know what to say. I'm so shocked.
*In my (albeit flimsy) defence, one could hardly call it a theme song. I just happened to be at this place called the Onyx one evening with some friends, and got asked to dance by 4 guys. At the same time. What can I say? Sri Lankans like Shaki.

*sigh*

Broken Social Scene
So.

This is my last week of classes before finals, which means that 3 week study break I'm getting will be spent trying to get my shit together for 2 months in Sri Lanka. Right now I'm not overly excited about that prospect mainly because I will not be in Toronto on June 24th, and I really wish I was. When you lead an existence as shallow as mine the thought of dying of heatstroke in Colombo loses its appeal really fast when you realise that you could die of heatstroke at Centre Island. Yeah, once again, another summer of missing the Broken Social Scene Olympic Island concert which is one of the kickingest concerts of the year. The preliminary lineup this year seems pretty good, Feist, Bloc Party and who knows who else will be added. You know what adds insult to injury?

1. I could have gotten cheaper presale tickets earlier on this week because I'm an Inside Edge Member.
2. One of Aiya's part-time waiters is freaking IN Broken Social Scene. Which obviously translates into FREE tickets.
3. Rotate This and the usual haunts are also selling tickets, which means exploitation via ticketmaster (today at 10am if you want tickets!) wouldn't have been a necessary evil.
4. I'm already missing the Toronto Jazz Festival, which is also pretty kicking.

Instead I get to look forward to a summer spent in a capital city where "entertainment" means:
A) Going and watching painful and poorly made theatre. I've seen highschool plays better acted and written than the stuff I've slept through at the Wendt.
B) Getting drunk off your face, then proceeding to operate a motor vehicle whilst inebriated and bragging about it the next afternoon to your equally stupid friends.
C) Going to clubs where they play realllllly bad music, so bad that you just feel sorry.

Added to the above is the lack of good live music. It's either all covers (of bad music) or weird Sri Lankan metal bands (I.Know.) To put things into perspective, this is the country that professional musicians go to because their careers in the west are already dead. i.e. Peter Andre, Shaggy, Bryan Adams, Kool and the Gang and Engelbert Humperdinck are the ones I can name off the top of my head.

(What I think is the saddest thing is that people will actually drop a load of cash to go and see the above washouts. When I was there last year Engelbert was about to grace Colombo with his presence, tickets were going for 10,000 Rs, which give or take is about $100.00).

There are a lot more things to complain about, but I'll refrain from doing so right now.

What?

I'm not bitter.

OK. So I might be a little.

Damn you Broke Social Scene, couldn't you have done this concert in say, August?

*sigh*

The Lord can take me now, for I have seen Coldplay in the flesh.

A really poor example of how awesome the concert was last night. Taken in the nosebleeds by my crappy digital camera

I can't even start to babble incoherently about last night's concert, because I'm still in a state of absolute shock. Alby and I have been hyperventilating about seeing Coldplay for months now. It was every bit as awesome as we expected it to be and then some. A few random musings, as you can read loads of reviews by professionals here and for the previous night's show here.

1. I am very glad that I trusted my better judgment and took my binoculars despite the jeering.
People weren't laughing when the show started though. We had crap seats, and that mofo was powerful enough that I could see the rings on Chris Martin's hands and Richard Ashcroft's pasty white feet and funny looking toes.

2. Richard Ashcroft is a badass.
I could have seen controller.controller eight times with the amount of money I spent on my Coldplay ticket. If the opening act was crappy, this would have made me question the value of my investment. However I didn't find myself in that situation, because Richard Ashcroft brought the house down. Even though he is ridiculously gangly and all sorts of fug, I wish he had taken his aviator glasses off. I thought my head was going to explode when he ended his set off with Bittersweet Symphony. I have loved The Verve since I was a brat in the 90s, they were an absolutely essential part of my BritPop experience. I totally agree with the writer of this article, if circumstances had been different and members of the band had been able to get their shit together, it could have EASILY been The Verve headlining at the ACC last night.

3. I enjoyed the show in all of its sell-outy goodness.
When you're an indie snob, it's a given that you a) never EVER admit to enjoying mainstream bands and b) never go and see said band in an stadium for a concert. I saw screw that. Seeing as how I had never been to a mother concert that had 17,000 people in attendance and all the requisite pyrotechnics, I was utterly floored by the whole experience. I'll definitely be buying the DVD when it comes out.

4. Chris Martin made me feel like a lard
I think it's wrong that a 29 year old man should be so thin and rubber-like. But perhaps that's jealousy on my part, I can't imagine being able to do all the running, leaping and jumping he did over the course of the evening let alone two nights in a row for the entire tour. Must be all the yoga he does with the wifey.

5. Alby did not provide me with waterworks or any other form of hysterics, and for that I was disappointed.
When we got past the hissing scalpers and managed to get inside of the ACC we were greeted by loudspeakers piping out The Scientist which is our favourite Coldplay song of all time. Alby started to get teary eyed, and I looked on with glee thinking that the evening's waterworks were getting underway a littele earlier than anticipated. She totally psyched me out, I don't know what's going on, but Alby's becoming a hard ass. She didn't weep, pass out, or do anything remotely Albyish. Although I'm hoping it's because she was inhaling drugs during Richard Ashcroft's set.

6. Played the best game of 'spot the brown' ever.
As you know, a favourite leisure activity of ours was to play a little game called 'spot the brown' where you'd count the amount of brown people in a specific locale. Most times, I would be the only one. Coldplay was a sea of white, I don't think I saw a single black person in there, unless they were the big burly security guys forcing people to throw out their potentially lethal bottled water. However there was a smattering of brown, we had three guys sitting in the row ahead of us, the horribly stereotypical type. You know wearing pressed severely pleated khakis and dress shirts in some variation of indigo blue. They were also responsible for getting two rows in our section baked. That's right, they were smoking up at a Coldplay concert.

7. I don't know how to WOOOO properly
I can't sing. Therefore it should come as no surprise that I can't even do a fangirl scream properly. I either yell in my normal voice range, or one that is so high it can shatter glass. Since Alby was sick last night and wasn't deafening me with her screams, she was able to hear the horror which I inflicted on the greater Coldplay audience.

8. Stop with the PDA.
I don't care if you're TomKat or another dog sniffing Ollie's nether regions, PDA is i) so trashy and b) so unwanted. If I wanted to watch someone being groped in public I'd go to a club in Woodbridge.

Quips
A special Coldplay version of quips. (I know, I haven't done this in a long while)

Richard Ashcroft: Everything is about branding, I used to be McVerve, but now I'm known as Cocashcroft

Alby and I simultaneously: Oh gosh, who ever knew he had a son let alone a wife! (upon hearing that it was Richard Ashcroft's son Sonny's 6th birthday yesterday. For those of you who care, they were at the zoo yesterday and they saw porcupines and what Ashie thought was a chimpanzee, but turned out to be an orangutan. He dedicated a song to both his son and wife Kate)

Chris Martin: (During God Put a Smile Upon Your Face) God gave you style and gave you the Arcade Fire (!!!!)

Chris Martin: Playing with Richard Ashcroft is like if the Beatles played with Michael Bolton. That's how huge this is.

Chris Martin: Good-bye Toronto, see you in a few years.
Alby and I: BOO.

Tool: (In a post-show convo) Who the hell is Richard Ashcroft?! I've never even heard of him.

And this was supposed to be a short post. If you've stuck this far you must be a real Coldplay fan. Click here to see the rest of my (crappy) clips from the concert, and here to see someone else's amazing photos from the show on the 22nd. I've posted some pictures as well, but you all know where to look for those.

Because I don't post enough pointless pictures as it is.

Oliver - in a fit of uncharacteristic generosity - decides that he'll help Ammi with some of the work she brought home. 3 hours spent on the internet, and absolutely nothing was done. I think he was downloading torrents and chatting on MSN all evening. What can I say, he learned from the best.

Oh. By the way, did I mention?

I have a paper due tomorrow.

*sigh* Kids. There really is no end in sight. I think there will be pure swampage from now until finals. (In terms of school work, not uh, sewage.) Even though it's not that far away, and I'm looking forward to burning er, re-selling my textbooks, I still feel woefully unprepared. Well here's to diversions (read: distractions) such as poorly behaved animal friends, shopping and tickets to the Arctic Monkeys' show (yes I broke down and bought them!) to take our minds off of the inevitable.

Hope all of you are keeping afloat. Remember, reading week is just a month away! *woot*

Exploitation via Ticketmaster

Cover of 'Whatever People Say I am, That's What I'm Not'

So I crawled out from under my rock just in time to realise that the Arctic Monkeys tickets for March have already gone on sale. As expected Rotate This was already sold out so I set my sights on Ticketmaster. I'm still debating whether or not to take the plunge and get them though...that $6.00 surcharge is killing my inner Shylock. (I guess it serves me right for not being on top of things). Also, I think that I will implode that week in March. Imagine? Arctic Monkeys, and then Coldplay? All in the same week? Too much good British music squeezed into a very limited timeframe? Should I just start getting my immigration papers to the UK ready now? Shall stop using question marks?

Well. If anyone has an extra ticket, you know who to call.

For the record, I don't really consider this grovelling. It's more like an appeal on your kindness and greater sense of humanity. You could be like a UN Goodwill Ambassador of music, like Angelina Jolie in the third world. It'll make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, but in the long run, it really does nothing.

If that's not convincing, then really I don't know what is.