Over Indulged.

Growing up, Thathi very rarely ever said no to me. If I wanted something I would get it under the pretext of it being an "early birthday present" or one of those "you can pay me back later" type of deals. This would irritate Ammi to no end and Aiya was never afforded such preferential treatment. I like to think that I'm none the worse, my sense of entitlement only extends so far and in general most would agree that I am a grateful person? Who knows really.

Oliver totally benefits from Thathi's generosity and I think he is way more spoiled than I am because both Ammi and Thathi indulge the crap out of him. Below is a photograph I took earlier on this evening of him lounging in the midst of 7 of his 8 beds. And yes, you read that correctly. EIGHT BEDS.



Here is a clockwise break down starting from 7 o'clock.

The plaid one with the monkey in it sits in the living room in front of the window. He sleeps there in the afternoon sun.

Navajo print? Hideous I know, but it's the latest acquisition and has usurped the original favourite bed in my parents room for the night sleep.

That little sofa! It is the one that makes me go squee. That was his first Christmas present and it's a bit worse for wear these days, there's barely any padding in it so it's got another bed in it to soften things up a bit. This used to be his go to bed, it recently got booted from my parents' room into mine.

The barefoot pillowcase is covering the kitchen floor cushion. He perches on there while we're eating.

Winnie the Pooh's chillaxing on the bed that is permanently fixed in the study.

And finally, the derelict plaid cushion. His very first bed which gets afforded no respect these days. Anyone who's been over will verify this for you, but he literally just carries that around in his mouth from room to room.

Not pictured: the other barefoot floor cushion, it's his "outdoor" pillow and has been put away in storage until the warmer weather is back.

So in light of all these indulgences and what's been going on with the Toronto Humane Society we went by the Vet's office today to drop off some dog cookies for the animal shelter food drive that they're doing for Christmas. The deal was, bring in some dog food and have your pet's picture taken with Santa. Of course this would not do for us because our lovely pet would most likely shit on Santa out of excitement, urinate with no abandon or headbutt him. Oh, and natch, those poor needy shelter animals didn't get gourmet carob, yogurt, carrot and peanut cookies. Those plebes got Milk Bones.


If you only knew how many people have seen these in the cookie jar, stuck their hands in and tried to eat them thinking they were of the human variety. Aren't they cute though?

Every day in the morning I tell myself that I'm not going to read the latest on what's going on with the whole Humane Society debacle, but I do and my stomach churns. Oliver has been getting a lot of extra love these days as a result which I suppose isn't necessarily a bad thing? Anyways, if you get the chance I would recommend taking a stroll through here: http://www.thestar.com/topic/TorontoHumaneSociety


I daily resist the urge to take a bite out of this little face. Daily.

A continuation.

Classes have started up again and so have the long boring subway rides. I realised I had some unfinished business.

You may want to read this first if you want to understand what's going on below.

I think they always knew that if they left any kind of safety net they may have taken advantage of it and gone back. Since both my parents did a fair amount of business and personal travel back in those days we had bank accounts scattered throughout various hubs in Asia-Pacific. Thathi is always amazed by how quickly we were able to close out all the accounts and have all our other affairs ready to go. I think the entire process from start to finish was only six months?

So we left and it was far from easy. I don't think I ever asked my parents what they expected when we came, but I know whatever their expectations were, our first year euthanised those expectations completely. After trying my hand at moving to London the respect I have for what my parents did has increased. There were times when I felt desperate and I would think back to our earlier months in Canada. As a single person I was stressed out and I couldn't wrap my head around how difficult it would be with a young family. But they succeeded and our life here is equal in some aspects to the one we had back in Sri Lanka. No one regrets coming here.

So all those months ago when I was taking the piss put of that person's blogpost Thathi turned to Ammi with conviction and said, "I guess we'll be able to go home for good soon." Ammi gave him the usual rant about Tamils being marginalised etc (whole other blogpost kids. It's something along the lines of a Theodore Kaczynski style manifesto). But she seemingly agreed and I called bullshit.

You see, my parents? They sometimes forget what they were like when they were young and tell people that coming to Canada was about safety concerns. They couldn't deal with the suicide bombs and the general tension. Sure. It must've sucked, but it's also a steaming pile of crap.

I think you've gathered by now (especially those of you that know the parents) they're not your run of the mill Sri Lankan parents or even Sri Lankans for that matter. Regardless of if there was a war or not, they still would've hightailed the shit out of there.

Growing up I used to think they were cowards for leaving. I didn't really start to understand what their real motivations for leaving were until I went back to work in Colombo, that experience is very different from being a tourist. After the novelty of the first year wore off I felt like I was suffocating. The culture clash was too difficult for me to deal with and I finally understood why Ammi was happy that I don't have any Sri Lankan friends and Thathi was stoked when I decided working in Colombo wasn't for me. They left Sri Lanka because they wanted to, not because they had to. Both of them were being stifled to a breaking point and I know that feeling well. Whenever I try to explain my own restlessness to other people I can barely put it into words. Toronto is my home and there's no other place in the world that will ever take that place, but it doesn't mean I want to live here forever.

And that's the same reason my parents left. So no, they won't be flocking to Colombo with the other retirement aged members of the diaspora. (Lately there's been barely a peep of such talk.) I also guess this is the same reason that the two of them have been so damn supportive of all my harebrained schemes. The next of which may or may not involve a move to the States, Australia or Korea.

Who knows? I definitely don't that's for sure.

What's so Bad About Dying Anyways?

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

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

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

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

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


photo from exclaim.ca

They flashed a photograph, it couldn't be you.

I was taking one of my last Canadian policy pre-req courses and was meandering over to the Toronto Reference Library from the subway station. Somehow thorn and I had managed to get our paws on an early release of Picaresque and I was lost in the music. It was 2005 and my God, looking at that date I can't believe that it's been four years. That album is still very much in heavy rotation on my ipod.

I still want to get a running start, grab a 2x4 and go apeshit on that pretentious, shit head of a kid who was just about 3 months into one of the most defining years of her life. You see, lately I have been looking back at not just this last year but life in general. The things I imagined myself doing four years ahead of time in March 2005 couldn't be any different than what I'm doing now.

Not only do I work in the financial sector, I actually sort of like it. This is something that would have horrified me four years ago. If I had gotten any inclination of this back then, I'm sure I would've killed myself. The problem that I'm having is trying to explain this to my friends. Lovely, wonderful people who mean so much to me but just don't get it. The snapshot of me now is utterly unrecognisable to the person they used to know. I haven't really been around all that much. Come to think of it, except for 2004 the last 12 years hasn't seen me rooted in Toronto for 12 months at a stretch. I feel that's partially the reason why my inner circle of peeps recall a person who is wildly different from who I've become.

The choice to stick it out in Toronto was a tough one to make last July but I thought it was for the best. The initial reaction from most people was, "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" It felt good to turn down that London job offer (not enough money! Screw you brit a-holes). It also felt good to finally feel part of things. Last year when I was trying to figure out whether or not to go to London or South Africa, I casually mentioned to one of Ammi's business colleagues that, "it would be really nice to have a permanent address where I could get a 12 month magazine subscription sent to."

You know what? It really is nice. Labro is getting married in May and I'm here. Forget the whole wedding hoopla, it's such a novel-high-school feeling for me to actually be watching everything unfold instead of getting email updates and half arsed information rallying via instant message. There's a context to life that's been absent for a long while and it's simply geographical. I never got a chance to properly get to know her fiance because I was never here! It's clear that over the last few years I haven't been holding a monopoly on excitement. My friends have accomplished and experienced incredible things too.

Labro and I were sitting in her livingroom last summer, I had just finished detailing to her about the time one of my London flatmates nearly OD'd on coke in our flat on a Sunday afternoon. She looked at me and with all sincerity said, "life must be so boring for you now that you're back in Toronto."

Being back permanently hasn't been all that bad. In December I got called in for an interview with a firm that I had been dying to work with in a position that was perfect for me. It no longer fit in with who I was evolving into though. That feeling of walking into a room and knowing you're owning it is fantastic. I charmed the interviewers and got offered the job. It felt even greater to say no and I had a surge of validation. (I know. I clearly have issues.)

Things have changed though yo, I've now actually got the time and the drive to do things that I enjoy. I am up-to-date on everyone's life! My camera isn't as neglected as it was before and I've got a guilt-free-disposable income. With all of those warm, fuzzy feelings aside, one thing I will concede: you guys are right, I am wasting my life being a drone. But cut my some slack? It takes a bit of time to bounce back from wanting to save the world and working the non-profit circle. Don't think of the current state of my life as "settling," it's not. I'm just trying to figure things out. It is nice to feel so loved and you will be happy to hear that I will be going back to school.

I am looking forward to May.

Road Talks

Aiya and I are lame. We like Ben Stiller movies and fart jokes. Our parents get annoyed because we giggle like maniacs and it grates on their nerves. Despite sporting a fairly significant age gap we get along really, really well. Of course this wasn't the case when he was in his teens. Things only started improving after he left high school.

So he's moved out of the house and I don't get to see him as often as I did before. It does suck but due to a few personal issues that have cropped up in his life he's around a lot more. Even though the circumstances aren't the best it's really nice to have him around. Our time together usually revolves around getting good Chinese food and watching really juvenile movies. The night we were going to see Tropic Thunder (amazing movie by the way, I'm so glad we saw it with a theatre full of 14 year old boys), he suggested that I turn on the video camera on my phone and let it roll.

My apologies in advance because the clips are all turned over on their sides. I'm a technopeasant :(

**disclaimer: Aiya's a total racialist and I feel the need to point out that the hate mail should be directed towards him.


Untitled from rasti on Vimeo.
Yeah I'm a tool. "Road Trips?" Those are things you TAKE not record on your phone.


Untitled from rasti on Vimeo.
A few things Aiya's waxing on about finding a mate, "mara" is what we call Thathi, the official "euthaniser of relationships" title belongs to someone else but I like to mix it up and I don't really know why Aiya's talking in a Sri Lankan accent either.


Untitled from rasti on Vimeo.
He did end up parking in the handicap spot, limping out and leaving me with those two creepy hindustani dudes as company

Beverage Sensitivity Training

There's a new Loblaws that's opened up near the house, one of those giant "SuperStores." While I was meandering through the aisles I found the above gem. Were you aware that beverages could have ethnicity? Apparently they can be divided into cultural, linguistic, religious and geographic groups. Who knew? I wonder how their grand metanarratives are constructed. To think, all this time I always thought that soft drinks were either carbonated or flat.

My hat goes off to the corporate genius that figured mango and pineapple juice are too exotic to be contained in the same aisle as the Welches. These are the kinds of things that seriously have me questioning whether or not anyone pays attention to StatsCan's visible minority predictions for 2017. 9 years is not a long way off and we brown peeps are going to rule the GTA with an iron fist. So instead of using a term like "TROPICAL beverages" it's no surprise that Loblaws opts for the more ridiculous "ETHNIC" route.

Why can't juice just be effing juice?

Shutter Speed

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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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


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



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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

"After a heated but civil debate, Canada's largest school board voted 11-9 last night to open an alternative Africentric school to help fight a 40 per cent dropout rate among Toronto's black teens." - GTA Board Okays Black-Focused School

So it's happened. The TDSB has voted in favour of the black-only schools. I'm absolutely stunned. (So stunned that I can't even figure out an appropriate title for this post.) A friend of ours from high school is teaching math and science in one of the original pilot classrooms, I bumped into a mutual friend of ours on the subway and she mentioned to me how horrific he thought the entire thing was. Yeah, he's black, but does it matter?

This whole thing smacks of racial segregation, it's the kind of insane thing you'd expect of US politicians. The ridiculous "no child left behind" kind of thing. It's a band-aid solution at best, at worst it's going to polarise an already vulnerable and at risk group of kids. I still can't fathom how this could have even been passed.

Apathy I suppose?

Even the best of us suffer from it.

Indecision 2008: Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika

Africa has always been where it’s at for me. Granted it’s been awhile since I last set foot on the continent but when I left Senegal I knew that I always wanted to go back. My long term plan was to stick around French West Africa and do the whole development thing. Figured I’d be of more use there, my grasp of the language is not as tenuous as my hold on Sinhala. Aside from Percy Montgomery South Africa never really had that same siren call and hold as as its Western neighbours.

Cue Indecision 2008. Whilst pondering on my pathetic existence and the prospect of going to London it occured to me that instead of slumming in blighty, maybe I could head over to Capetown. I could work and make enough money to travel around the continent. Which come on, who wouldn't want to traipse around Africa? (muggings, carjackings and rape ignored of course.)

But there are some pros and cons associated with hitting South Africa up. Drac's cautionary tales aside there are some serious things to consider.

The case for Capetown
1. It is not the "safe" option.
Toronto, London, Colombo all have a certain amount of safety attached to it. I'm obviously not talking about physical safety (hello suicide bomb attacks in Colombo). It has more to do with things like established social networks, places to stay etc. Going to Capetown is totally new territory, and I'd be in the same position I was when I was alone in Dakar. There is a certain amount of freedom liberty that's tied in with that which I haven't felt for a long, long time.

2. African Lion Safariii
Okay. So maybe not that one. But.

ZOMGWTFBBQ!

I could sure as hell go on a real one though. The travel opps are endless coupled with the fact that it's so cheap to get around I could easily hit up so many different parts of the continent. Especially since travel within South Africa is a bit on the precarious side (see above: muggigs, carjackings and rape). I have high hopes of having the chance to at least fly back to Senegal and touch base with some of the people I thought I'd never see along with going to Mauritius, Ethiopia, Kenya and who else knows where else. Decidedly much cheaper than Europe. My theory is that Europe is a place to traverse when you're old and can't handle the mosquitoes and other various tropical diseases. Which brings me to my next point.

3. Vaccinations
I'm up to date on all my needed tropical disease shots. Including yellow fever, it's all nicely outlined very handily in my government of Canada issued travel inoculation thinger. My doctor here in Toront is South African, I've been going to him since I was like 8. (Yeah like Ross.) He thinks I'm insane. He always has very sage advice for me before I head off for months at a time but one thing he can't fault me on is being made out of lead. (Okay, maybe really soft lead because some might say that I am a porker. I prefer festively plump but whatever.) Some of you have witnessed my strong constitution. I can eat and drink practically anything and not get sick, people are generally jealous of this talent.

The case against South Africa
1. It is pointless going
I have been told quite seriously by many people within the industry and from various unsolicited sources that I would be committing career suicide if I went to Capetown at this stage in my life. Apparently the years spent in Sri Lanka are considered to be "enough" time spent working in a "developing world economy." Employers do not look too kindly on South African experience, transferability does not exist.

2. It is not the safe option
I like to think that if I was able to survive in Dakar where no one spoke English and Sri Lanka where I couldn't speak Sinhala then South Africa would be the safe option. Until a South African friend pointedly told me that I am safe nowhere other than Capetown. That is sobering. There is also that lovely added dimension of being in a post-apartheid racially tense country.

*yay*

3. It's Far
The distance coupled with the visa restrictions would make coming home to Toronto inbetween incredibly costly and virtually impossible. I've never been away from home a solid 12 months in a row and I wonder if I could actually handle it.

Gah.

What happened to the risk taker kids? Where did she go?

Indecision 2008: Has nothing to do with US politics. (But Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert are more than welcome to create a television special)

Oliver senselessly attacking a mini punkin. It's that time of year when I too bust out the claws and teeth.

Oh Kittens, it's that time of year again isn't it? You know? When I start endlessly bitching and complaining about how much my life sucks? But with a different amount of vigour than I normally do? Then I start looking for ludicrous things to do in order to lift me out of my rut? Well last year it was teaching French (incidentally I do need another haircut), the year before that started slightly earlier and was dealt with through massive amounts of angst

I'd like to think that this year is a bit different, to the extent that the angst is coupled with a few new ludicrous and potentially unfeasible plans which will stretch the extent of 4-5 blog posts. Of which this will most likely be the only one. I'm bad with series. Remember? I'd also like to think that unlike the people of America the issues that surround my Indecision 2008 will be much more thought out and mulled over than what makes up their Indecision 2008.

The people of America are soon to be choosing a leader, and me? Well I'm at a crossroads kittens one that sees my feet planted on firmly on three different continents and has my big toe dipping into another. You see I am suddenly faced with a plethora of options and work possibilities. Come February 2008 I could either be in London, England; Capetown, South Africa; Toronto, or even potentially back in Colombo.

The courses are all finished up the first week of December and I'm a free agent. The work contract will be all neatly tied up leaving me with a small pile of cash that could fund a life and a trip some place other than here. Do I want to take advantage of the 2 year visa I'd have no sweat getting to London? Or does the excitement and novelty of Africa beckon again? Maybe I'll even stay in Toronto, shack up with Alby and the fascist, grow up and actually start behaving like an adult and not a nomad? Or there's the option of taking the safe easy way out and going back to Colombo? That still seems depressing though.

As it has been pointed out to me so sweetly in the past, I am childish, immature, indecisive and for good measure, I talk a lot. This is why I'm appealing to you dear 4 loyal readers, perhaps you can help me make my decision?

In other news, it's US Thanksgiving weekend and the ACWHAAFV is coming! Yay. I'm excited, we had a blast last year.

A nautical cove?

I haven't blogged in awhile. Clearly.

But today I'm getting my pirate on, and you should too. Also. Toronto, thanks for the invites to all those great mariner-themed partays, but I unfortunately cannot join ye. Yes. That's correct. Why you ask? I've managed to get myself a 9-5, and that's a bit problematic.

"Better a lapdog to a slip of a girl than, than a git!" Oh Blackadder. How I miss thee.

meh.

gah.

That seems to be all I can muster these days.

Heading back home to Toronto in a few days. I have said good-bye to Colombo so many times but I don’t think anything will compare to the one I’m prepping myself for. The complacency that I’ve found myself in has started to become a wee bit stifling, not just to a level of mild annoyance, but to the point where I’m actually a bit frightened.

Thorn and Alby are packing up to head off to London and Korea for an undisclosed period of time. That shit’s exciting yo.

Me? What am I up to? Pursuing an English degree that should’ve been my primary focus years ago and potentially coming back to Colombo in January.

OoOo Exciting. I hope you can sense the sarcasm reverberating through the internets kids. Because believe me, I can feel it.

I used to be the one who would dream up grand and elaborate schemes, relate them to you, have you blink back at me in wild bewilderment and then watch me in abject horror while I left, did and got everything I wanted.

But wtf has happened to me now?!

Aside from some humorous incidents, a few unfortunate mindf*cks, and engagement in a bit of suspect behavior, this time in Sri Lanka has been meh at best. The novelty has completely worn off, there is nothing new on offer in Colombo. You know things are bad when your boss tells you to get out while you still have your sanity.

Sometimes when I’m in the throes of depression and bitterly complaining due to the lack of interesting people my own age to hang out with and things to do you sadists will inform me of your summer happenings in sunny Toronto. (Seriously. You’ve got to stop doing that you bastards.) Before that was okay, I could handle it. While you were eating street meat and gearing up for concerts I’d be dodging dysentery and food poisoning, which was fun because it was so incredibly far removed from my own reality.

The thing is, I’m pretty fortunate. I often get told that my combination of degrees will make me one of the more well read and erudite Tim Horton’s employees, but truth be told I do believe that the field work I’ve done will lend itself to work elsewhere, not limited to Sri Lanka. And with that in mind along with everything else, I’m wondering if it’s worthwhile being friendless and miserable in Sri Lanka, or whether my angst is better spent being friendless and irritatingly excited in some other foreign shit hole.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions.

The Douchebagel* Chronicles

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

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

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


Great Lenin's Ghost

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*copyright drackity.

Tid bits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So many questions and clearly not enough answers.

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

And some quips. Because it's been awhile.

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

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

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

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!

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.

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.

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.

*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*

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