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.
As promised our next installment of "How to Combat Writer's Block via Blogging about Dinosaurs" features The Land Before Time. Srsly. This movie? It totally changed my elementary school life. My more astute readers will readily recognise today's title as a quote from Ducky. I vividly recall walking home from school with my peepz and looking down at the sidewalk purposely trying to avoid the cracks. Yeah, we were totally cool back in 1988. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Moving along.
I start work on Wednesday. Or something? (Does a day of wage negotiations and getting to know the client base count?) Curious Yellow asked me to "Pray tell" as have many others. I suppose the best way to answer that is I'm going to be paid to be me. There is copious amounts of travel slated, mingling with interesting people and also corporately whore-ish ones. Listening to music and watching movies is necessary along with shopping. I will be paid to shop. Let that sink in kids. I will be PAID TO SHOP.
I'll try but given my past track record with doing any kind of regulated blogging, holding your breath probably wouldn't be the best option. Does anyone remember the "12 Days of Christmas" that stopped with the 5th day? *cough*
I think we're all having debilitating writers block because of that lovely little web 2.0 app that we've been wasting our time on (s_angry). Here's the thing though, there are still things to blog about, things to talk about, pictures to post up. You've been complaining and trying to figure out how it's possible for a person to leave to Sri Lanka for a funeral go to London for (what was supposed to be) two years, come back, deal with the most scandalous family issues ever, become somewhat self-employed, back to unemployed and then land a dream job in the span of three months.
I suppose this is the reason why you sit here refreshing the page every hour to see if I've posted something new. *PATS* It's okay, your reward will come soon my pretties. Just not right now because all this babbling? It's supposed to be about DINOSAURS. Kudos to kerms for actually getting the ball rolling, I take my hat off (and only my hat, ahem,) to you sir.
So does anyone remember the above TV show? Denver the Last Dinosaur? Aiya and I used to watch it way back in the day. I checked out the wiki on it and couldn't help but chuckle. "The show revolved around the adventures of Denver, a dinosaur who was released from his dino egg by a group of multiracial modern California teens."
Come on, who wouldn't want to watch a show like that on Saturday morning?!
"Oliver, the ape creatures of the Indus have mastered this." Poor Ollie, truly one of the family.
Natch I totally stole the idea of the fourth day from a genius episode of Blackadder.
The second series was always my favourite. Of course anything would've been better than the horrendous first. Gah. Why don't they make more TV like this anymore? Oh wait. They do and we know what happens to smart funny shows. (Hi Arrested Development!)
It's been snowing non-stop outside today. I didn't go to church this morning, the car is buried deep in the garage and there's a three foot snowdrift that I need to dig through to get to it.
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.
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?
Few people have moved me like Robert Goulet. Now there'll be no need for nuts to ward him off at 3:00 PM
It was a good ride while it lasted. Of course Will Ferrel immortalised the man, Aiya and I still sporadically scream out "GOULET" at the most inopportune moments. Aiya's ipod's name? Goulet.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?)
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.)
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
