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.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

So was just watching tonight's episode of the Daily Show on CTV Atlantic, and as the credits were closing my eye caught a flash of saffron. More accurately, a saffron robe, a saffron robe which was being ripped off the back of a small brown bald headed man. Yes folks, my boyfriend Jon Stewart closed off with a clip of a Sri Lankan "Peace Rally."

Another reason why I love Jon Stewart.

I wonder if it was a repeat?

I just want to buy a melon.

Check out youtube for more of the same goodness

Can't say that I'm a big rum drinker, but I am a fan of Malibu Rum, mainly because of their "Seriously Easy Going" campaign. For those of you who've had the pleasure of viewing some of the spots you'll know they're pure genius. My favourite one is "Road Rage" but unfortunately even with its superior greatness, youtube doesn't seem to have it, but "Melon" is still an indicator of how witty the campaign is.

UPDATE!! I just found the road rage spot.

So what's the deal-e-o? My cousin is heading out to Jamaica for 6 months on Friday. Although I am feeling a slight twinge of jealousy, I'm not in an overt tizzy as yet, call me crazy but the Caribbean/West Indies (are they the same thing? My geography skills are as good as my math ones) doesn't really appeal to me. Perhaps it's because I spent the better part of my pre-pubescent life being mistaken for West Indian and a significant part of my teenage years purposely misleading people into thinking I was West Indian. (That is a story left for another time, one most probably to be shared with my therapist, when I hit my mid-life crisis.)

Whatever said and done my non-West Indian ass will definitely be at the airport bright and early on Friday morning to drop my cousin off. As aiya and I have speculated she will most likely come back fluent in Patois, wearing neon green spandex with a sash that says "West Moreland Dance Hall Queen 2006" on it, holding a box of custom monogramed dominoes, demanding ox tail stew in a generally surly manner, and well versed enough in the steel drums to give lessons to inner city youth in Scarborough - all of this will take place at the airport when she comes back next February.

Damn. I love the airport. Who knows, at the rate I'm going at maybe JVIS was right? There is a chance that I just might end up as an immigration officer at Pearson.

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.

A House Guest

Aww shiz. Ollie frustrated about the end of his summer being effectively ruined.
*eep* I'm puppy sitting at the end of August! Ollie's going to die of jealousy, but whatevs.

Elisa's puppy Charlemagne, who I intend on calling Charlie, beside some ugly plastic flowers. See how tiny he is! I want to put him in my mouth. She and Dirk are driving to Montreal this Friday to pick him up.

Today's Top Story:

3 Dead After Planes Collide in Caledon.

I've been hearing that phrase looped for the last 2 hours. A guy from church was one of the victims. He has a wife and a 5.5 month old baby boy. I don't think he was much older than Aiya. Went back to school to become a pilot and fulfill a lifelong dream.

I'm a bit speechless at the moment.

This post is brought to you by...

...my inability to do math, and boredom in an English lecture amongst other things.

Um. I can't do math. And neither can Alby, or Tool for that matter. But you guys know that already. Out of the three of us I'd have to say I'm the worst, Alby does accounting all day. And Tool? Well, Tool can at least multiply past 11. Don't know how good she is with long division though. Because long division? That's a freaking whole new ballgame right there.

I'm an artsy, I don't need math. The only time it ever crops up is when I'm vainly attempting to calculate my GPA, and then I just get Fanners to do it for me. However in the last week I've become painfully aware of how much I suck with numbers because the scenarios to use them in have seemingly increased. And it's only Thursday!

Scenario 1
Was buying a spiral bound notebook from Dollarama. As the name of the store suggests, all the items are priced at $1.00, but this particular notebook was 0.99. I had a $20.00 bill on me and some loose change, and I didn't want to break the 20. I tried to calculate what my total would be with tax since the GST+PST comes to 14%. A smart person (or one like me whose hindsight is 20/20) would've priced the notebook at $1.00 for the sake of simplicity. Of course that's not what I did. It ended in frustration, and I resigned myself mentally to breaking the 20. And the notebook? Eventually I sheepishly paid for it with a Loonie, one dime and a nickle. I felt charitable and let the cashier keep the penny.

Scenario 2
Wtf is up with taxes? Seriously. Usual rule of thumb when tipping your waitstaff in Toronto is to give them whatever the tax is. But what if you can't add the tax up? Then be thankful to God that you've gone for lunch with Whoren, who although will ridicule you, and make fun of your inability to add said taxes up, will eventually stop laughing long enough to do it for you.

Scenario 3
Usually when I head out to the grocery store I park by the loading bay. In order to get to the store entrance from this particular spot I've got to pass the grocery monkeys taking their smoke breaks. The beer scale rating system is awesome, and often never lies, aiya swears by it and apparently the grocery monkeys like it too. A lady walked in ahead of me and I heard different numbers being called out. 4, 3, 8, 2. I personally had her pegged at 6. But that's only because I'm such a tank and can hold my drink. So according to my calculations (at the time) this lady's difference between the grocery monkeys was only 5.

Scenario 4
Was arguing with the Auditor about the time difference between Toronto and Colombo. It went something like this...(Minus the gratuitous use of emoticons, b/c we're both slightly heavy handed with those.)

Auditor: It's not 12:30 yet.
Me: Actually it's 12:35 now.
Auditor: Oh, so it's only a 9.5 hour time difference then.
Me: Is it?
Auditor: It's 10:05 here.
Me: hang on, isn't that 10.5 hours? Because if you add 2 hours to 10:00 that makes it 12:00. Then if you add another 30 minutes that would make it 2.5 hours? But I don't trust my math.
Auditor: Let's work backwards. Now, the time there is 12:30 and it's 10:00 here. Ok?
Me: Yes. That much I get.
Auditor: Let's go back 30 minutes. Your time is?
Me: 12:00.
Auditor: 12:00. And what's my time when yours is 12:00?
Me: You're right! It's 9.5. I told you I can't do math.

So what's the moral of this story children?
Surround yourself with people who can do math. More specifically people who use math for a living, like auditors and architects. Architects who randomly make the dean's list ;) (Congrats!) Unfortunately if your architect has had major knee surgery, he'll be prone to be very mean. They get mean when they're bored, and then they say things like the below (on their blogs) when you can't do math, and use TV as a justification.

"I've been stuck at home a lot lately, since I can't move around much. Been watching some tv, and found this show, "“Glenn Beck"” on CNN Headline News. I love it. The guy is as right-wing as you'll find on TV. All my lefty organic-eating, share-the-wealth, spread-the-love, 3-cheers-for-taxes, tree-hugging, friends will hate it I think. But I love it. It'’s really informative though, not just propaganda. Check it out lefties. ;)"

For the recrod, I hate taxes. Only because I can never calculate them, otherwise? They're great!

Sunglass-itis

Whoren looking hot! Sunglasses and photo stolen from Alby

By the time I turn 30, I think that I'll be clinically blind. What's frightening is that 30 isn't all that far away. And ya, sucks about the blindness too. Due to my reliance on glasses and my unwillingness to shove small pieces of plastic (soft or not) into my eyes sunglasses have always been a bit of an issue for me. More than an issue, a veritable pain in the ass. Getting the style of frames I want along with prescription can be a bit daunting, due to the strength of my prescription (nearly blind remember) more often than not I'm told it would be "unsafe" for me to wear what I want. So where does this leave me? Going to Sri Lanka of course and getting a pair done up for way cheaper at some dodgy little place. What the hell, I mean I'm eventually gonna go blind, might as well do so in a pair of sunglasses I like.

The only problem with this set up is, sometimes I forget that I've got my sunglasses on. They're aviators (the square kind, not the hackneyed Ray Ban-esque ones), the lenses are brown and transition gradually into a weaker tint. I have unintentionally, on more than one occasion sat through lectures with those bad boys on. Once I was at Robarts studying, and didn't notice that I was still wearing them until I got home. Ya. After spending 40 minutes on the subway, and 20 minutes on the bus. In my defence I hadn't used the washroom all day, and left my compact (hah!) at home. I wore the blasted sunglasses until 10pm that day. In scenarios such as the above, I just look like a big ass, it's not really a big deal. If anything I'm providing other people with some entertainment.

But yesterday? I bought produce with my sunglasses on. More specifically produce that needed to be checked for blemishes. Sunglasses on, typing away at a computer + sunglasses on in a library that's flooded with super bright artificial light = not being at all prepared for the fall out of buying fruit with sunglasses on.

Please excuse me but I got to ask...

Are you only being nice
Because you want something*

What follows is a really lame ass attempt at a real post. This one's for you my 4 loyal readers. I know it's been awhile so enjoy the esotericism while you can, because it's just a matter of time before I become facetious again.

Remember William Sampson? And Maher Arar? Sampson proved to me that soft power diplomacy in the Canadian context is a bunch of bullshit, because uh, we kind of have no power, soft or hard. I came to the painful realisation that if one day I found myself in a similar bind, my country would most likely fail me. Arar's issue is just frightening on so many different levels. I mean seriously. All you can do is look at what happened to him and say wtf? The whole idea of dual citizenship now makes me queasy. It's so evident that if your "other" citizenship happens to be in the wrong country, you're pretty fubared.

Are your spider senses tingling? Could this be a rant about the government's responsibility to uphold my Charter Rights? So close, yet so far. (Remember that earlier bit about this being lame ass? This is where it comes in.) See I was reading the newspaper and came across these two great articles about what it means to be a Canadian in light of what's been going down in Lebanon.

Canadian woman taking the piss out of a Lebanese soldier. For more heart warming pictures go here.

Given my predilection for wanting to get the hell out of Toronto as soon as possible - I love you t-dot, but even those in the most stable relationships need space - you can imagine that this would be a matter of concern for me. I sympathise with everyone who had to be evacuated, I'm sure that Lebanon must be a real hell hole right now. But what gets my quince is that a vast majority of those evacuees were permanent residents of Lebanon. Who were (sometimes ungratefully) airlifted out at the expense of the Canadian tax payer. There were reports that dual Lebanese-Canadian passport holders who hadn't lived in Canada for decades were given preference over Canadian permanent residents! Something just doesn't equate. You decide to leave Canada, settle down in Beirut, run your business raise your kids and be active members of life in Lebanon and then when shit happens you turn to Canada to bail you out?

Now fast forward to when I have given into my predilection. Myself and my (drop dead gorgeous husband) François have been settled down in Côte d'Ivoire for a couple of years and our kids attend a tony private school in Abidjan. Some sort of serious destabilisation within the country happens, and all foreign nationals need to leave as soon as possible. Hubby is a French passport holder and can easily leave but he works for an IGO and is obligated to stay as he is "essential" staff. I still travel on my Canadian passport, and my brats are dual nationals of both France and Canada. Here's the issue, they're both under the age of 8 and they've never lived in either country because François and I have been globe trotting for the last 13 years. We have neither contributed to society in Canada or France we do however work in the development sector and as such it would be "ethically" okay for me and the brats to be evacuated by the Canadian military.

I guess what this poorly executed post is actually trying to get at is this. What difference does it make if I've lived in Abidjan for 13 years as the wife of the CFO of Nestles West Africa (because, come on guys, you so know that François could handle that shit) or in the capacity of a bleeding heart aid worker. Both circumstances in my opinion are no different from the other, but it's all about perception right? As I've mentioned before, (and also annoyed most of you in person by voicing,) they're both inherently selfish. At the end of the day both a Canadian and a Frenchman have willingly left their countries of origins to make a life for themselves elsewhere. Do both scenarios deserve the same kind of attention in such a situation? The taxpaying public of Canada is definitely going to be much more sympathetic to the bleeding heart than they are to CFO. But is it fair?

So? This conundrum is now another one of those "factors" I'd have to think about before hightailing it out of here. Dual citizenship has been off the list for awhile now, as has the Middle East. Fortunately though François is brainier than a brain pudding and he'll be able to figure something out eventually.

*The Eraser. Sorry, I just can't stop listening to it!

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.

Summah

As I've mentioned a few times already, I love Toronto, unashamedly and unabashedly. Although I'm not a huge fan of the sweltering, flesh cooking heat that we've been experiencing as of late, I still believe that summer time in this city is the best. You're not dealing with slush, salt, boots, and my personal favourite: wet cuffs on your pants.

Anywhere I've been, no matter what the length of time has been, I'm always struck by how kicking this city is. However, after my stint in Sri Lanka this year I've come home a touch confused. Is it just me or have Torontonians become more desperate? Or perhaps it might just be people who make the mistake of taking summer school? It doesn't matter what Canadian city you live in, as soon as the weather hits 14+ people (namely boys) will bust out the shorts and birkis assaulting as all with their iridescent white legs. It's not pretty, but it goes to show the love affair that this country has with the summer. This love methinks translates into the need to hook-up. Granted this issue is probably foremost on most single people's minds during the cold season as well, but it just hits a fever pitch when it's warm. Perhaps it's because hotpants have made a comeback? But really I don't know.

Here is a bit of an anomaly. The last time I checked, I was festively plump. Added to the plumpness I have a terrible farmer's tan from two months in motherland and yellow legs. The brown person's answer to pasty whiteness. Now friends, these are the facts. What I don't understand is the increase in drink offers since coming home. Can someone explain? Do I suddenly look like an alcoholic? Or perhaps it's because as I hinted above, I'm dealing with a new type of desperate? I mean, as Whoren has so kindly pointed out on numerous occasions, only really geeky people do summer school. And I agree. So maybe these summer school geeks are just more desperate than normal geeks in the summer?

Does anyone have answers to these burning questions of mine?

And so, here are a few random observations.

Toronto the Good

Regularly working A/C on the TTC. Dude. If you've ever travelled in one of the faulty cars, you know.

Saigon subs!

The dumpy fellow in the faded black t-shirt who offered to hold my books while I launched World War III against my umbrella, who during that particular torrential downpour deemed it appropriate to flip inside out. Multiple times.

The graffitti on the door of the last stall in the lady's washroom at Pratt. "Don't be pretentious on a bathroom stall." Love it! Mostly because it's only pretentious bastards who use Pratt ever. Damn artsies.

Toronto the Bad

Buying an ice cream cone, and then having the ice cream man try to bum smokes off of me.

The cute hipster watching the World Cup final behind me at the Beac who was about 6'2 and had a waistline I would die for.

Not being able to meet up with the core four more often.

Having to stoop and scoop.

Aiya moving out.

Late Breaking News

So. Um. I'm back?

Two months in Sri Lanka.

Worked once again with the most brilliant people I've ever met, and most probably that I'll ever meet period.

Met a really dodgy Auditor. (A Clyde to my Bonnie if you will. Or is it a Bonnie to my Clyde? Maybe even a Butch Cassidy to my Sundance Kid? A Thelma to my Louise? And now? All this outlaw talk? It's just left me confused.)

Discovered I have an Alcoholic Cousin Who Has An Affinity For Vodka. (Here after ACWHAAFV). Confirmed the general suspicion that it is indeed the Tamil side of the family who knows how to party.

Watched another (more sane) cousin walk down the aisle and felt a bit queasy because, my God. We're getting old! Time's not waiting up for me and I still feel like I'm 15.

Met a friend from Toronto in Colombo and was told that I had acquired a slight Sri Lankan accent. Nearly died. My worst fear realised. Full blame rests on the shoulders of the Auditor and the ACWHAAFV. Have attempted to drop said accent but it creeps up ever so often, especially when accidentally blurting out "yeah men."

Conned an entire city into believing that I am indeed a good person with morals and a level head on my shoulder. (Yeah, is your stomach cramping from laughter too?). The farce my friends is now officially international.

Engaged in some suspect behaviour that made me feel like a bonafide Sri Lankan (and not a hyphenated one) for the first time in my entire life.

Came home 3 weeks ago. Incidentally on Canada Day, couldn't have orchestrated a better day to land.

So, that kind of sums up all the main points of the last two months pretty well I think? Suprisingly succinct isn't it? Have no fear though, I'm still long winded and verbose. Just really lazy today that's all.

This Just In
Very little time these days for leisure writing children. This naturally can be a problem when one does not have any leisure to speak of. I'm in the thick of summer school. And yeah, I ask myself every day wtf I was thinking when I decided to sign up for not one but TWO courses. As a result there are a limited amount of subjects I can blog about coherently. (But wait, when was I ever coherent?)


- Yet another grainey photo that proves I'd be an amazing spy!But this is in the name of fashion, Robert Best from Project Runway

My spare time has been spent on the following: Enlightenment philosophy and its role in political theory and the concept of lost love in the collected works of Anton Chekhov. Why such light hearted and fun subjects you ask? Papers my friend. Papers. That's all I have time for. Well. And reality TV of course. I outed my dirty TV habits awhile ago and you're already well aware of my penchant for Bollywood and collegiate humour (more specifically anything with a Wilson, Stiller or Ferrell). And now with the new season of Project Runway airing a bit earlier than usual, do you understand why I haven't been blogging? I mean, that's all the justification you need. (That and the fact that Zizou took up most of my time when I came home. But we won't talk about that just yet.) I'm behind Robert, because, um how freaking cute is he? The little pot belly and tank-top combo? Loving it! And, I'm waiting like everyone else for Vincent to have Woody Allen-esque breakdown on national television.

Well my pets, hopefully my updates will be more frequent, but I wouldn't count on it (due to the aforementioned laziness.) First let's see if I even survive this coming week. That's right! Ammi's at home and Hezbollah's got nothing on her.

A Diabetic coma awaits me.

So, leaving for the motherland today at 7:00pm and as usual it hasn't sunk in yet. Looks like the next two months will be full of eating, eating, and more eating which will entail copious amounts of deep fried things, things soaked in sugar, and enough carbs to make me the fourth tenor.

Still haven't found my camera. I have a sinking suspicion it was stolen, although I'd like to think otherwise. We had some real random people through the house these last few weeks, and given my inability to be "careful" with my things I guess it was inevitable that eventually one day, someone would walk away with something of mine. But why did it have to be so close to a vacation?! Well, to the bastard who took it, I hope you're enjoying all those blurry Coldplay pictures and shots of Oliver frolicking at various different times.

Anywho, as there will be no photo updates unless I find my camera within the next 6.5 hours (which if that were to happen. OMG,) I shall point you in the direction of the travelogue. Remember to bookmark! And see you all in 2 months.

Catch me HERE for the next two months. Updates are forthcoming.

Just one more 24 hour period...that's all I'm asking for.

Every year as part of their United Way fundraising campaign, Ammi's office has this great option of letting their employees "buy" a day off of work for 20 bucks with all proceeds going to the charity. Not only is it an excellent way to get practically everyone in the office to give money to a very worthy cause it also leaves folks with one less day working for the man. Everyone wins. Now only if the United Way had some sort of great mystical power to actually add an extra 24 hours to the week, making it 8 days instead of 7. (I think the Beatles were really on to something with that. Always ahead of their time those bastards.)

Anyways, why the pressing need for the 8th day? Well. I like many others in this world suffer from debilitating procrastination. As a result of this unhappy trait I often find myself working feverishly at the 11th hour on any given thing. Time management? Uh. Not really one of my strong points. However if wasting time on the internet was a major league sport, I could lead my team on to the championships undefeated and then go on to defend the title comfortably for 2 decades.

I have one last exam left on Thursday and I've had a three week study break (along with one other exam). It has been a great success pissing away all those free days which could have been spent on something more constructive than eating cookies. (mMm. Cookies.) Currently I am attempting to read 2 semesters worth of pointless drivel on the history of Canadian Foreign Relations. Exciting stuff let me assure your. I'm leaving to Colombo on Friday and normally wouldn't think of packing or even doing my laundry until Thursday night, making it a point to never sleep before flying and staying up for at least 24 hours before super long distance flights. It's the only way that I can actually sleep restfully on a plane. Unfortunately it seems like my plan for procrastinated packing has been thwarted. I have lost my digital camera.

Most of you might be able to go back in your collective memories to remember the state of my locker in highschool. It wasn't pretty. By every definition I seem to be a lot like "Monica," a neat freak at heart but also very capable of possessing one area that's a complete disaster, for her it was a closet, and for me it's my bedroom. If you take a look at my near non-existent lecture and reading notes they're organised to the point of having colour coordinated post-its and matching hi-liters along with copiously written notations in the margins, also done in colour coordinated pen. My room on the other hand is probably harbouring Osama Bin Laden unbeknownst to me. I was hoping that by attacking my room in a manner reminiscent to a US shock and awe campaign I'd be able to unearth the elusive digital camera. It hasn't been that easy friends, the camera is proving to be as wily as the Scarlet Pimpernel; my vain attempts to outsmart it through covert operations are no match for its superiour wit and I am now rather despondent.

It is with this poignant tale of heartbreaking grief that I plead for another 24 hours, to not only find my camera but also to finish my readings.

*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.

*ouch*

I'm starting my Oscar Party a bit early this year.

*groan* I got my wisdom teeth taken out yesterday. It wasn't as nightmarish as I thought it would be. Since I had already braced myself for the worst before getting to the dentist's office I was in a significant state of neurosis by the time they were prepping me for surgery. The most paramount fear that was dancing through my head was the thought of loosing my sense of taste. For. Ever. You don't joke around about that stuff with a glut. It's just not cool.

It's a shame that I don't drink. My super cool oral surgeon (hi Dr. Baron!) told me that for a person of my size I'd have a really high tolerance level. They were unable to sedate me! The laughing gas didn't work so I got IV-ed instead. It wore off before the surgery was over, I remember waking up and demanding for a blanket because I was cold. I'm always cold.

A few other random things. The heart monitor freaked me out, and the blood pressure machine squeezed the shit out of my arm. Who knew that my veins were so small AND traveled? Apparently they too have no sense of direction, it took so long to get the needle in my arm. Ranjan Bappa's leaving to Sri Lanka this afternoon, so we went over to punchy's place last night, I was still all frozen so I was okay to go. What I was not okay to do was sit there and watch while everyone was eating punchy's cooking. I was stuck drinking some bland ass Campbell's Gardenay.

So. What are in the cards for me today? Other than stuffing my face with Jello cherry cheesecake (thathi picked some up for me, they're awesome) and letting out the odd groan, I'm going have an Oscar party for two and try to watch as many Oscar nominated movies as I can. Ollie gets the George Clooney mask, and I'm going to wear the Keira Knightley one, my jaw is so swollen and mannish that I can totally play the part.

On the list for today, Capote, Tsotsi, and Walk the Line. Throw in a few episodes of My Name is Earl, The Office and of course Project Runway and you've got yourself a really happy, sedated and swollen camper.

Hmm, now the only thing I need to do is find some J-list Hollywood star to sell my oxycoden to so that I can call it a day well spent.

Happy Birthday Alby!

Don't you think all those 'Hungry Man' commercials are a bit discriminatory? Just the whole 'Hungry Man' brand smacks of male chauvanism. So on this auspicious occassion of Alby's birthday, I nominate her to be the new spokeswoman for the soon to be unveiled line of 'Hungry Woman' entres. Slogan suggestions are welcome.

Happy Birthday Alby! And I know you can out eat any 'Hungry Man.'

And that marks the end of the Febubabies for this year.

Happy Birthday Tool!

Tool at Centre Island, the day we were supposed to go to the Ex, but box forgot the tickets.

Gosh. I can't believe that Tool is older than me. Happy Birthday my little porkchop!

The above photo, is the most viewed picture in my flickr album. Pathetic considering it's my album, and everyone always flocks to that picture first and asks 'who's the hot girl on the swing?'

To which I answer, It's not all hottness my friend.


Alby and Tool in Alby's Waterloo room last fall.

This is what we like to call morning Tool. Watch out boys, this is what you'll have to wake up next to.

Tool. Don't kill me. I love you!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

I think I need some Drake Juice

Photo: Torontoist

Saw this on Torontoist today. Usually, I don't find parody videos funny or ironic, just cheesey. And while this one meets all of the above categories, its cheese factor is far outweighed by the fact that I think I know at minimum about 35 people who are just like Queen St. Man and/or trying desperately to be him.

As Torontoist points out, he visits the regular hipster haunts like Rotate This and the Drake with equal aplomb. All the more reason to watch it methinks. But the deal sealer is when he drops his bike and runs away from the Dundas St. W. sign. You've gotta watch out for those porkchops!

Go and clicky!
QUEEN ST.MAN

A Realisation

Ralph Fiennes wearing a sarong in The Constant Gardener

The politics department was having a 'finding your career' thing which I popped into the other day. Most of it was useless, but I found out that yours truly is a prime candidate to become a spy! Although that doesn't say a lot, because this is Canada. As you can see from the above poorly taken photo, reconnaissance would obviously not be my area of expertise. Come to think of it, I don't know what my area of expertise would be. My French is mediocre at best and insulting at worst. I think I'd be a liability more than anything else.

Anywho, by this point my loyal reader, you're probably wondering what Ralph Fiennes has to do with any of this. Well. Simple. He's won me over, and just by wearing a sarong. Ralph is an amazing actor, and we've been best friends since I had to watch Schindler's List a million times in order to 'prepare' for a role in grade 10 drama. (I use the term 'prepare' and 'role' really loosely in this context.) His portrayal of Amon Goeth was so spot on, he's creepED me out ever since, until he went native and wore a sarong.

Although I wasn't really feeling the whole shpiel on the big pharmaceuticals the 'Constant Gardener' was an excellent movie and waaay better than Beyond Borders. My BFF was understated and brilliant as usual. Rachel Weisz's character Tessa? To say she irritated me would be an understatement. She totally got under my skin for a myriad of different reasons.

You know how they say that the things that bug you about other people, are the same things you hate about yourself? Well. 'They' are pretty right. Tessa bugged me a lot because I saw flashes of myself in her. I am the idiot who goes and makes impassioned (read: psycho) speeches regardless of if my audience cares or not. It isn't unusual for me to adopt a patronising tone of voice and demeanor when it becomes obvious that you don't know jack about politics, yet still want to talk shop. The list is endless. She and I most importantly, share the same kind of selfishness that is always mistaken for 'goodness.'

People automatically assume that just because someone wants to dedicate their life to eradicating poverty in the third world, it makes them 'good' and 'kind.' God forbid that I'd want to go somewhere that's politically unstable because that would cause me to become 'noble' or 'selfless' which is just laughable. I don't by any means speak for the majority of people in my field of study, but I'd hazard to guess that a lot of people are in it for the same reason I am. Unending guilt.

I have a guilt complex that's so big, I might as well be Jewish. Remember, I'm the eternal pessimist, you come to me for your daily dose of cynicism and bitterness, thus far I've delivered. I know I'm not making any sort of difference in the world through my actions. In order for me to think like that I'd have to be an idealist. In actuality I'm just a person driven by guilt. You see I feel guilty that I have a life in the 'first world' when I could've easily been born into poverty. Life is funny like that, I know I don't deserve my silverspoon. As a result I can't live with the guilt of knowing that human suffering is going on while I stuff my face with cake. To alleviate that feeling, I've got to do something about it. I don't do this because I want to, it's because I have to. The feeling of being less guilty is great, almost like a natural high. We 'do gooders' are no better than junkies, we're just chasing the good feeling.

Kids, I'm shallow. My passion doesn't lay in helping other people, I'm about good music and clothes, but I hope that I'd be able to recognise genuine passion when I see it. Today I saw a particularly candid and brutal documentary on the genocide in Rwanda. As is often her wont, Professor Handley, who happens to be a white South African, stood up to wrap the class up after the video. While she was talking about the utter failure of humanity in Rwanda (which we all are well aware of,) she began to choke up and fight back her tears. Of course she tried to play it off by rustling some papers. The injustice was so palpable to her.

That's passion. It's passion like that which I wish I had. I guess I'll have to make do with alleviating my Jewish guilt instead.

And this post doesn't really make a lot of sense. Thank you if you've stuck this far ;)