Evolution by numbers.

Exhibit A

When we migrated to Canada Loku Mammah gave Thathi a pair of flannel pyjamas (which of course he refuses to get rid of and have now become a sort of family heirloom. Don't ask. Apparently this is how we honour the the memory of our loved ones, with flannel intimates). I've only ever seen him wear them once, and that was after major dental surgery. Not overly sure what dental surgery and pj's have in common, but whatevs. It was weird. Like bizzaro weird. Thathi quite simply should not wear pyjamas. Ever. It's wrong.

For as long as I could fit, I used to sit in the folds of his sarong like it was a swing, this was made easier due to the copious amount of time Thathi sat in front of the TV watching sports. I was like Roo and would quite happily while away my time pretending to understand what was going on on the TV or reading a Bernstein Bears book. Thathi's sarong and my childhood go hand in hand together.

Aiya never started wearing a sarong until he went back to Sri Lanka for the first time at 19, the heat was too much for him to handle. Now, like Thathi, in the dead of winter he still prefers a stripped cotton sarong to a pair of flannel pyjamas.

Of course the Sri Lankan sarong wearing male has had to undergo an evolution of sorts in order to survive Canada's harsh winters. They have learned to adapt.

1. The double chin
This extra layer of flub is important to maintain warmth, a type of insulation if you will. Thathi has had this along with the beard for as long as I've known him.

Aiya fortunately has always been a fat ass.

2. The '80s sweater
It is absolutely necessary that a sweater or sweatshirt from an incorrect era is worn in conjunction with the sarong. The more it clashes the better. Thathi gravitates towards off the rack Sears sweaters, but that's just a personal preference of his.

3. The remote control
When watching any type of sporting event at home, it is an abomination to do so in anything other than a sarong. Okay, maybe just at our house. But still.

4. The annoying family member
Nowadays Oliver is the only family member that can actually safely sit in the folds of Thathi's or Aiya's sarong. When Ollie was a puppy he used to flip over on his back and play with toys. Now he's an old lazy ass who just curls up and goes to sleeps in there.

5. The threadbare sarong
By all accounts a worn sarong is better than a new one. The crispness of the cotton makes it uncomfortable to sit in, and from what I've gathered it's no fun to wear either. However to achieve that worn feeling quickly, tossing said sarong into the dryer a few bajillion times would not hurt.

6. The white socks
The feet need to be insulated. 'Nuff said.

7. Gap of hilarity
This just may well be grasping, because I mean, this entire get-up is pretty absurd on its own. I feel like the sock gap between the bottom of the sarong and the top of the tube sock just pushes it over the edge though.

Happy Birthday Albehhhh!

Alby and Tool, bringing sexy back since the mid '80s

Aww. My little Alby is growing up so fast. Happy Birthday! I wish I could make it out to Molly's and watch you get hammered tonight. But alas, that's what happens when you decide to get your edumacation in the middle of a wheat field. Not my fault.

All the best babycakes, and remember, eventually a boy who can do math will come your way.

And just for you a special birthday edition of quips from lunch at Spring Rolls.

Tool: Should I tell him that he gave me incorrect change?

Me: Don't give him a good tip, he sucked.

Alby: I don't know Tool, that is a lot of cash he gave back to you.

Tool: Hang on, (counting furiously) I gave him 10 bucks and I've got like 12 bucks in change. WTF.

Me: Hot damn, clearly he now deserves a good tip.

Tool: No I feel bad, he's going to get into crap when they check the till.

Me: And that's a problem because?

Tool: Well. I know what it's like to screw up the change and stuff. (Calls waiter over.) Excuse me, but I think you gave me the wrong change back

Waiter: Oh, I'm so sorry, I thought you gave me a 20 instead of a 10. (Returns proper change)

Tool: Damn you concious. I mean conscience. It's conscience right?

Me: Oh, Tool.

A thought on the plague that is VD.

When terriers and lolipops are brought together

Ollie and I? We no likey.

In fact if any of you decide that it'd be nice to call me up in anticipation of your festivities, please spare me. And that includes your post game analysis too.

As it is I'm about to hurl.

Hope your Valentine's Day is actually full of VD.

What? Me bitter?

pfft.

Dear Whoren.

I told you that I'd make it my new desktop. And you're right, it is simultaneously the best and hottest ever.

Original photo by fanners.

Salaam Alaikum.

Coming to a jihad near you

Next month is Black History Month, which means the charming, well dressed African American men with educational pamphlets will soon be outside of St. George Station generally getting in the way and causing people to be late for class. About four years back I was rushing to a politics class at Sid Smith, rocking the same keffiyeh that Ollie's got on when one of the African American scholars turned to me and shouted "Salaam Alaikum, sister!" Under normal circumstances I would've lost my shit at him for condescending to call me "sister," but surprisingly in this instance I returned the greeting "Alaikum Salaam" and got a bit adventurous.

Yes.

I busted out my poor excuse for Wolof as I had a sneaking suspicion that this fellow just may be Sénégalaise, and it turned out he was. What followed was the rapid fire traditional "greeting" which is just one person interogating the other on a myriad of different topics ranging from family, health to business. He was surprised to say the least, when I brought up Daara J.

And that is why I love Toronto. I can get away with wearing a keffiyeh, prattling away in piss poor Wolof and relate this story to any one of you, and in turn none of you would even bat an eyelid. (Although Thorn's very verbose friend would counter that a keffiyeh is one of "the most offensive items of clothing that one could possibly wear. As this clearly and blatantly show support for the PLO and other such terrorist organisations." In all my many years of wearing one, I must say that was the first time anyone has pulled that out of their ass!)

Well, this is life in a robust multicultural city (and yes, my cheque from Ontario Tourism is in the mail, thank you for inquiring). The thing is, I think we Torontonians unlike most other cosmopolitan city dwellers have come to the understanding that, yeah, no shit Sherlock, culture is fluid, and as much as you'd like to box it in, you can't. I also think that I've read too many pages of The Ground Beneath Her Feet in a concentrated period of time, and may very well be spouting off too much Rushdie. (Great book by the way.)

Quebec? Yes, we get it, you speak French, you're a "distinct" society within a "unified Canada." But why harp on that? The polarising nature of the whole separatist debate stagnates Canadian politics to a certain degree. This debate, and "controversy" has been around since the Natives were given the boot. What about cultural inclusion? I'm not talking about coming to Canada and living in your own little enclaves trying to emulate life in the mother land to a T. But look at someone like Deepa Mehta.

Born in India, a naturalised Canadian citizen based in Toronto, makes a Hindi movie set in Varanasi. Which is actually shot in Sri Lanka with a lead actress who is Polish/Indian and was born and brought up in Missisauga. Water, which I've forced most of you to watch at least a part of is incredible, so it should come as no surprise that yesterday it was announced as being on the shortlist for best foreign language film at the Oscars. Canada's contribution I may add. Mehta's film follows in the footsteps of French-Canadian films like the Oscar winning Barbarian Invasions and nominated C.R.A.Z.Y.

I personally don't think there's anything more Canadian than that.

Which is why shows like Little Mosque on the Prairie, can air in Canada and not even raise an eyebrow of controversy in its home country. But have the US media up in arms. Our inbred cousins to the South have got their eye on us! I checked it out last Tuesday night after the Mercer Report like the good CBC supporter that I am.

I was pleasantly surprised but thought I'd wait until the second episode aired before I weighed in with an opinion. I like it. It's smart, funny and it doesn't just focus in on the Muslims in the small town cliche. It also examines the whole idea of Toronto being the centre of Canada, and well, other Canadians being more than a little irked by that. Although one quibble that I do have, I wish they had a "progressive" practising Muslim woman on the show who didn't wear a burqa.

OoOoOo.

That's right, it looks like the diatribe is back!

Bedazzled.

Taken on my camera phone. Because I'm sleuth like that.

So I was at WalMart the other day killing some time when I happened upon the above gem. Why are these things still on the market? I know it's not a real Bedazzler, but Cathy Mitchell? Really? Apparently the Ruskies likey.

The only other use for this would be perhaps alby and I purchasing it for Labro's wedding shower? Maybe I should go and pick one up before it flies off of the shelf.

Yeah. How pointless was this post.

Working for the man

It has been brought to my attention that I apparently post too many pictures of Oliver up here. To all the haters, you can suck it. This is him in one of Thathi's shirts, which happened to be in a pile of stuff headed to the dry cleaners

It's the New Year, blah, blah, fishcakes. I'm a student, and have been since I was four, talk to me in September, because that's really when the new year starts for me. What with the advent of a new academic year, and more importanty the new fall tv lineups, that's when I get all introspective and shiz.

Tuesday was my first day of teaching French to young impressionable Canadian minds. Wasn't too bad, although a child did vomit all over himself within the first fifteen minutes of my arrival. Perhaps he was just so overwhelmed at the prospect of learning French?

I feel like Michael Scott more often than not though, my stint as a teacher will end up making his attempts to be friends with everyone in the Office pale in comparison. Is it wrong that I want them to think that I'm the cool one? Probably haha. Thathi advised me to be strict with them, this coming from the man who used to get public beatings at school because he'd piss on other students' head a la that scene in The Power of One.

Since this is the first post of 2007, perhaps a few (none academic) things to look forward to?

1. Going to the motherland for four months. If I make it through all four months, it would have been the longest that I've ever spent there (since we migrated to Canada, when I was 4).

2. Getting my fat ass on a treadmill

3. Going to more live shows

4. Getting engaged. To George Clooney. (Or Colin Firth, I'm not too picky)

5. Finishing off this bloody graduated licensing bullshit and finally getting my good and proper piece of paper and plastic rectangle with requisite bad picture.

6. Working up the nerve to drop everything like it's hot, run away and never be seen in these parts again.

7. Hearing more schizophrenic things like the below on a crowded subway in the middle of morning rush hour, when I have a dull pounding headache. Having this original piece of music repeated for 40 minutes straight has given me a bitter hatred towards rye and coffee in general. Why you may ask? Because it was stuck in my head the entire day.

Some folks like their coffee black
Some folks like it white
I'll have mine with a shot of rye, if you're with me tonight

I probably should've been more annoyed, but the best part was when the singer congratulated himself and said the compostion definitely rivaled anything written by John Lennon

8. Going to the cottage with the ladies again. Three days was not enough!

And that's all I can think of for now.

I'm dreaming of a moist Christmas.

,*No evil terriers were harmed in the production of this holiday greeting.

Abysmal weather to be celebrating Christmas that's for sure. If I wanted sogginess I would've gone to Vancouver, or even England for that matter. Fog? On the 23rd? Maybe we'll get some snow our way between today and the 25th.

*shudder*

It just feels so weird.

Guess this is a little taste of what Christmas in Sri Lanka or Australia for that matter is like.

Anywho, Merry Christmas and all that jazz.

Hope you guys have been chowing down as much as I've been. Because that way I at least won't feel bad for packing on the holiday poundage.

For a good time call...

"Sup my bitchz?"
Ollie in his brand spanking new American Apparel wife beater. What's that? Yes. He is so scene.

Anyone but me. Seriously. I won't be able to give anyone a good time (get your mind out of the gutter) until Thursday (the earliest). You're better off trying to get together with Oliver. Although, he has become a rather arrogant SOB as of late due to the acquisition of new clothing (early Christmas present from Aiya.)

He's been creating waves over at the park. His homosexual lover, Meko (an obese, short legged Jack Russell who lives a few streets over from us) did not waste any time trying to score some action. Went straight for the goods, didn't even partake of the usual nether sniffing ritual.

Chikungunya strikes back
In other news, my grandmother has been stricken with that weirdly named Chikungunya thing that's been rearing its mosquito borne head in various parts of South Asia. I thought it was some made up thing until I wikied its ass. Turns out it's legit.

My grandfather is a stubborn mule. It's easy enough to gather within the first five minutes of being acquainted with him. I'm stubborn, we know that. But his stubborn? It's a firm and fruity sort of stubborn, a vintage stubborn if you will, cultivated lovingly through a combination of age, experience and hailing from a long line of stubborn jackasses. So when my grandmother blacked out (due to the Chikungunya), hitting the ground forehead first, bleeding all over the place, it's only natural that my grandfather switches into mule mode.

Ammi and Thathi hooked my grandparents up with MediCalls for situations such as the above. (MediCalls is like a "I've fallen and I can't get up" thing with a Sri Lankan twist.) They live by themselves in a Colombo suburb pretty far away from the rest of the family. As it happened that day neither of my uncles could rush off immediately to their place. Ravi Bappa was out of Colombo on business, Johnny Bappa was dealing with striking workers, and Lucky Bappa's in Hatton. You guys have seen pictures of my 84 year old grandfather, he's become this cute little frail thing with a wisp of silver hair (seriously though, don't let the cuteness throw you off), there's no way in hell would he have been able to pick up my blacked out and bloodied 84 year old grandmother off the floor.

Therefore instead of calling MediCalls he hollers for the neighbours (who he's been feuding with in one way or another for the last 25+) they rush over, clean up my grandmother and subsequently make the grave mistake of suggesting that they should call MediCalls to get her to the hospital for stitching up.

My severely diabetic, heart patient grandfather sees fit to call up the infamous Susantha (natch) and bundles my grandmother up in a freaking trishaw and takes her to some random clinic around the corner to get things looked after.

That's right. Instead of MediCalls, which would've sent an ambulance and a doctor straight to their doorstep.

Fortunately she's fine now, and had her five stitches removed on Friday. (All the excitement took place sometime last week, I don't know exactly when though.)

I pray to God I will not end up like my grandfather when I'm 84.

Also? I'm now beginning to think it just may be a wise thing to perhaps look around for a place to rent from May to August instead of shacking up with the patriarch of the family.

I need a haircut.

Any ideas?

I get bored at this time of year. The stress of exams coupled with the awful weather makes me feel like I'm stuck in a rut.

Usually this feeling comes on around mid-November and doesn't wane until about the end of February. This is the time of year when I usually go and chop off all my hair. Right now it's just at my waist, my bangs look horrid, they've grown down to my chin and I'm most definitely loosing the battle against split ends. I'll probably head on over to Pacific Mall and let aiya's hair stylist work his magic, the man's a genius.

Throughout the years I've employed various methods of pulling myself up out of the funk.

There was my bout of entrepreneurialism that resulted in me making close to a $1000.00 one Christmas on crocheted scarves. (What can I say, the waitresses that worked for aiya at the now defunct Red Drink Boutique weren't the sharpest tools in the shed.)

It was around this time of year that I first started tutoring high school brats in French. Stressful, and probably not really worth the pittance I used to charge for 45 minutes of my time.

I got my humanitarian on as well, one year I volunteered at a small but very well known NGO and ended up wanting to kill myself.

It was hard to juggle writing close to 1500 Christmas cards and then coming home and trying to study for university exams and doing assignments. Still high off the smell of black Sharpies all I could manage to muster was "Seasons greetings from all of us at The NGO. Hope your New Year is ____ ." (At this point I was allowed to fill in the blank with either "wonderful," "spectacular," "awesome," or "amazing" depending on who the donor was.)

Didn't really do much to help me out of my rut. However the experience came in handy much later on, because I decided that I never wanted to start at the bottom of the pile in a Canadian NGO ever. Yeah, sue me, somehow I think I'm a little above photocopying, getting coffee and writing Christmas cards. (My experiences in Sri Lanka were a million times better)

Interspersed between all of the above were random bouts of hair cutting disasters. Generally I go the haircutting route every 2 years, because it needs to grow back to butcher again. The last "haircut" I got was actually a trim, at the Cutting Station in Colombo (the only decent haircut I've ever had in that country), that was in mid-June. Time for a haircut. Stat.

What's in store for me this year? Turns out I've got a teaching gig.

That's right. You read that correctly.

I'm teaching French at an elementary school. To small children. In January. You guys know that I had a hard enough time dealing with two dogs a classrooom full of kids is just going to epitomise "fun."

Let me recap.

Before I went to Senegal I got the brilliant idea to do some work with inner city ghetto kids. My reasoning was, hey, I'm going to teach psychologically damaged street kids how to read and write in French, might as well get a head start with messed up kids in Toronto. (Incidentally this arrangement also took place at around this time of year.)

I didn't last very long. Why are kids so damn annoying? The kiddies I had in Senegal were angels compared to anything I've ever had to deal with here.

So yeah, I'm really hoping that Chinese guy will come through with the haircut. Otherwise I think I'm going to be totally SOL.

Yes. I am that shallow.

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!)

Tagged by a sloth.

God bless the genius that put this up on youtube. Anarkali's Veet advert has unfortunately provided me with more amusement than I am willing to admit. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of witnessing her onscreen skills, trust me, if this Veet thing is anything to go by, she is a veritable Meryl Streep.

Seriously, who knew that a slow moving fellow like slothykins would not only complete a meme but also tag two whole other people? I was wondering how long it would take, thanks slothy, *squee* does this make me one of the cool kids?

1. Popcorn or Candy
- Um, can I say both? Because I need something sweet to counteract the salty and vice versa. Also, a bottle of water please.

2. Name a movie you've been meaning to see forever
- Umm. There are loads. But right off the top of my head? Raise the Red Lantern.

3. You are given the power to recall one Oscar: who loses theirs and to whom
- This is hard. I hate the Oscars, I never feel like the movies/actors/people who deserve to win them ever do. So shall we just go back to last year? Let the homos thief the Oscar from the racists please.

4. Steal one costume from a movie for your wardrobe. Which will it be?
- Diane Keaton's wardrobe from Annie Hall.
(Aside: Diane? Isn't it time YOU stopped dressing like Annie? I mean, that was 1977, and you're no spring chicken.)

5. Invite 5 movie people over for dinner, who are they? What would you feed them?
I'm going to do two lists, one living and one dead.
Living:
- George Clooney (this will be the night when i make him fall in love with me)
- Nandita Das
- Alan Alda
- Katie Holmes (to save her from Tom Cruise, it's an act of humanitarianism)
- Ken Watanabe (incase things don't work out with George)
Dinner: Given the myriad of dietary restrictions that'd probably be present in such mixed company. I'd go vegan, with aiya doing the honours.

Dead:
- Audrey Hepburn
- Cary Grant
- River Phoenix
- Errol Flynn
- Orson Welles
Dinner: Really? But they're dead.

6. Your favourite film franchise is?
- At the moment it's Deepa Mehta's elements trilogy. Although i want to say Ocean's 11 and 12, because everyone in that was so yummy.

7. What is the appropriate punishment for people who answer cell phones in the movie theatre?
- Theatre? What's that?

8. Choose a female bodyguard
- Ziyi Zhang's Mei in House of Flying Daggers. Anyone who can do that kind of shit with beans is okay in my books.

9. What's the scariest thing you've ever seen in a movie?
- A 55+ mother with her teenage daughter seated and waiting for Wedding Crashers to start.

10. Your favourite genre (excluding comedy and drama)
- Thrillers, although I must add, I'm one of those people who MUST know how a movie ends before I watch it, so sometimes, there's not a whole lot of thrill going on.

11. You are given the power to greenlight movies at a major studio for one year. How do you wield this power?
- I'd make sure that any actor/actress who tries to cross over into music never makes a film ever again, and any musicians who think they can act, well. They just won't get a chance to try.

12. Bonnie or Clyde
- Umm, that's a toughie, I've already tried to pick.

And I'm not going to tag anyone...However, if I do perchance tag Venus, does that mean she'll start blogging again? If that's the case, then consider yourself tagged. (Thanks for the tactic N, and err, consider yourself tagged too?)

teh hawtnes

French lock Loic Jacquet

Oh my little chickadees, things have been rather busy in these parts as of late. Evil papers on a myriad of different boring topics ranging from authoritarianism in Singapore to Satan's portrayal in Paradise Lost. Kill me now.

These be perilous times I say.

Welp, things are beginning to slightly look up. I'm awaiting the arrival of my brand spanking new SLR which methinks is stuck somewhere along the 49th in a customs bin. The Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity for Vodka is on a whirlwind 5 day US Turkey Day tour and is gracing me with her presence tonight at the Beac, which should lead to some fun times. Hopefully reminiscent of the summer antics which she regaled me with in the motherland.

w00t ACWHAAFV.

And of course how could we forget the sports? NBA, NHL and added to the mix a ridiculous amount of cricket (which has led to fisticuffs between Thaththi and I over the merits of America's Next Top Model vs The Ashes). Then there's the rugby, where every weekend I get to feast my eyes on things like the above.

Unfortunately they don't show all of the games live in these parts in English, so I had to rely on the TV5 (yes, yes the infamous TV5) feed to get us through the New Zealand vs France match. FIrst off this led to some hilarious results as I was expected to provide simultaneous translations into English. Much to my father's chagrin, Rugby terms were never part of the French curriculum that I've been studying since I was 8. As a result this led me to say things such as "the ball has been liberated," and "he's in trouble for pushing." As always I'm so quick to pick up on the nuances of the language.

What's that? Yeah, I know, I even amaze myself sometimes.

Something I noticed is that aside from the language (put that in for Cap'n Obvious) French commentators, are really nothing at all like their English counterparts, their styles are totally different. I'd hazard to guess that an English commentator would have immediately mentioned something about the "new" uniforms that France was wearing to commemorate 100 years of test rugby with New Zealand. But no. I was left gaping at teh hawtness which was parading itself before my eyes exclaiming to Thaththi that yes, those French bastards have amazing style.

Small, creased, pressed, white shorts?
Check.

Incredibly thought out accessories in the form of tricoloured belts and white socks?
Check.

Hipster-esque, tight vintage jerseys complete with quaint embroidery?
Check.

All in all I thought that the dandy look suited them really well. And then? Half way through the game, the bloody commentators decide to point out that, oh yeah? Those new outfits? They're a one off.

I *heart* ZiZou: A Reprisal

There are many important and exciting things going on in the world, this week has been pretty eventful.


ZiZou getting his Angelina Jolie on. (But in a much less nauseating fashion. Talk about being sunkissed though eh? Seems like he suffers from the same sickness as I do, 3 minute sun exposure = insta-tan. Come on, he did look on the pasty side during the World Cup.)

Britany Spears dumped K-Fed on his ass.
Rummy took his head out of his ass a little bit too late in the game.
CNN has perhaps lodged its head into its own ass even further. If that's even possible.
Ryan Philippe attempted to cover his ass, but failed miserably.

And Zinedine Zidane? The last time I checked, he's still got a nice ass.

My unbridled love for ZiZou has already been documented, and while I was sad that he left the international soccer pitch in such a very strange manner, my only thought was "meh, whatever floats his boat." (Also, as you will see in this Canal Plus interview, in the aftermath of the whole scandal I was thinking "Who told him that wearing a coat over his shoulders like that was fashionable? He reminds me of John Cleese in that Monty Python sketch where he's a WWII padre in Ypres with no arms. It's bad that you head butted. But amputee-chic? Really?")

Little did I ever realise that he would ever be lionised by Family Guy. Behold the youtube goodness below. Also? How freaking awesome is Brian. I swear, if Oliver could talk...

Brian would still be way cooler.

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.

The end is nigh

Original article and photo

Iggy has once again rendered me speechless.

This in itself deserves a vote or two.

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.

And if a shark came up and tried to bite you...

For some reason, I can't get this jingle out of my head. And aiya keeps singing the song and repeating "oh Iiiiii invite you." Don't you think that the lifeguard kinda looks a bit like Summer from Baywatch? It's the hair, I'm telling you.

In other news, I've been up since 3am doing podcasts for work. You best believe that when they're posted I will be making you fill your respective music devices with the dulcet tones of my voice.

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.