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.

Here comes Peter Cottontail...

Hopping down the bunny trail, hippity, hoppity, Easter's on its way.

Happy Easter kiddies.

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.

Haterade.

My general hate for M.I.A. has been well documented. See exhibits A, B and C . Suffice it to say, M.I.A? No likey. It's not because I'm a music snob. (Because shh, I am.) I have readily (and publicly) admitted to having more than a few guilty pleasures ie Justin Timberlake (see flickr -- specifically the photoset from Wasaga). I like his album I will not lie, but I like it for its airheaded goodness.

As I remarked to Tool, as soon as I listen to his lyrics I feel guilty, because usually I tune out what he's actually saying "If I told you you were beautiful/ Would you date me on the regular?" Who talks like this? And for ffs am I 15?

But no. I will not hate on Justin because I take him for what he is a pop musician who knows he's a pop musician.

Enter M.I.A.

Perhaps if she or her label were not marketing her as the most innovative thing since a monkey picked up a set of cymbals and bashed them together, I may not hate her. Her production is slick. I like the beat, I like the sound of her voice, and yes, she has all the makings of falling into the guilty pleasure category right along with Justin. Her lyrics suck just as much as his do "don’t order me about/ I’m an outlaw from the badland." What a badass eh? Only a graduate of Central St.Martins could be so hardcore yo. She sort of reminds me of a UK version of, dare I say it, Avril Lavigne. But with just a smidge more street cred. (To give credit where it's due, M.I.A. is a great visual artist.)

If I found Avril's music infectious, I could add her to my list of guilty pleasures, but she sucketh. M.I.A. on the other hand has me torn. I really want to like her, because she's sort of like me, minus the LTTE father etc (why quibble). But more so because she's a product of the diaspora than anything else. If you watch the above video you can see the slickness of the production and the kids running around (I'm a fan of the little gyrating boy in the shorts). But wtf is up with the last frame? Yes can we please randomly throw in the LTTE symbol at the end of a video that has absolutely nothing to do with their cause? Thx.

M.I.A. you make pop music, which you call "dancehall" to a puritan it isn't even really that. (*cough* like how Avril Lavigne is not punk, or even "light" rock, she is pop.) Stop with the fake politics, it ain't going to sell records. If you didn't take yourself so seriously, I can guarantee you a top spot in my very large collection of guilty pleasures.

Moving along.

Now these are Sri Lankan musicians at their best. If we diasporic types were to put together an ensemble like this, I hands down could be the fat chick with the beads, slothy the fellow who tries to rap in English (since I hear he can't speak Sinhala), and drac as the Anarkali-a-like. I'm sure he can shake what his momma gave him after a few drinks, and by all accounts if he grew his hair again nothing would be amiss. He's got the slender girlish figure of an 18 year old already. Which leaves that guy with the curly-ish hair left. Aiya's too fat, so any other takers?

Thy Compassions they Fail Not*

Alby told me that Paulanne had cancer when we were grocery shopping at Loblaws. It was December I had handed in my last paper for the semester and was meeting her at Bayview Village. We were in the produce section and I was molesting a bell pepper (I can't seem to pick good fruit or vegetables without groping them.) I remember turning and looking at her saying "Oh shit." We both then fell into a passionate tirade about how she was much too young to have cancer, neither of us at that point realising that it was the terminal bone variety.

I didn't know Paulanne very well. I was the costume director for the musical "Annie" which she had a part in. Labro and I got to know her while freaking the shiz out backstage. She was an incredible human being, and I couldn't believe that she was Adam's older sister. She and Brittany (Alby's kid sister) were really good friends.

Even though Paulanne and I weren't close, I still went for her funeral on Saturday. It was a surreal experience to say the least.

I've never been to a funeral for someone so young before. I suddenly felt really old. Older than when Jambon looks up at me with her "wtf" face, when I screw up the name of Dora's friend Boots. It was a different kind of old.

While I was standing by the marble staircase at Bayview Glen waiting for tool to show, I saw so many people that I knew, who I used to see on a practically daily basis 5 years ago. Here they all were brought together because of Paulanne. It wasn't even just limited to people who we used to go to school with either, because there were familiar faces I spotted in the U of T Trinity choir, and even the Bach choir as well.

Bumping into old friends at funerals? That's the stuff that happens to people in our parents' generation. Not to us. We're young, we're in our 20s this stuff shouldn't happen to us now. We shouldn't be experiencing this. But I still do think that it was Paulanne's time to go, although it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. It was pretty clear to everyone who was close to her in the last few months of life that she was getting herself ready to go.

And in memory of Paulanne, someone who I'm 100% sure would've enjoyed the following. Here's a funeral edition of quips:

Seated at Second Cup killing time until Alby's soundcheck was over (Yes! She sang that Josh Groban song during the service)

Tool: Hey, are you going to the funeral?
Me: Yeah, I'm actually just around the corner from Bayview Glen, come early and hang with me!
Tool: What are you wearing?
Me: Erm...
Tool: Is it all black? Is there some sort of dress code? Do I have to wear all black?
Me: (stifling laughter) No you idiot, just wear whatever, no one's going to care.
Tool: What are you wearing?
Me: I'm wearing a pair of freaking jeans
Tool: Light ones?
Me: Nooo, dark washed ones,
Tool: OooOo what kind?
*and that's the point when the conversation disintegrated into fashion talk*

Just before the funeral service started

Me: Blah blah (talking about something totally inane)
Tool: OMG. SHUT UP (in response to my inane comments) *shifts eyes* Damn, we're talking really loudly.
Me: No we're not. Okay. Maybe you are. You never knew how to whisper
Tool: No, seriously, that guy keeps staring at me.
Me: (turns and looks) Oh Tool, he's just checking you out.
Tool: At a FUNERAL?
Me: Look at the girl he's with (point's to bleached blonde wearing stripper style platforms)
Tool: hmm, it makes sense now.

In the foyer while eating meatballs among other things.

Alby: Do you think anyone will notice that I don't have shoes on?
Me: Pfft, there's like a million people in here, no one's going to be looking at your feet
Tool: Uh, people will notice, I thought no one would notice my fugly shoes, but she did (points to me) within like the first 30 seconds.
Alby: Oh tool, but she notices everything.
Me: Yes. Yes tool. I notice everything.
Tool: Damn you. And that noticing everything thing.

Julie, the Bayview Glen caterer walking past holding a tray heaped with samosas

Alby: Oh man I'm starving (grabs a samosa)
Julie: Careful! They're spicy
Me: *snickering* (Grabs a samosa, and waits for the hilarity to ensue)
Tool: (grabs a samosa) Ooo. There's so much food here! It reminds me of Mandarin!
Me: Wth? really? Mandarin? The Chinese buffet?
Alby: Omg. What is in this thing?
Tool: Yeah wtf is this?
Me: It's a samosa! There's potato in it.
Tool: Yeah I know that, but what exactly is it?
Me: I don't know Tool. How do I explain this so you understand. I guess it's something ethnic?
Tool: Oh. Ethnic. (Says so with such conviction in her voice. As if it being labeled "ethnic" makes it more palatable)

- Paulanne Hoskins. February 14, 1985 - March 1, 2007.

*From Great is Thy Faithfulness, they sang it during the service. Which was awesome, since it is one of my favourite songs.

Also I can't get Casimir Pulaski Day out of my head. There's so much of a parallel with the lyrics and what happened with Paulanne. Especially the whole "First of March" deal. Bit eerie eh?

Esto Perpetua.

I'm pretty sure none of us were actually there in '88

"Blue, black and blue, dirty kangaroo..."

Aiya was never given to actually playing cricket, he was more prone to be seated under a shady tree eating a chinese roll from the school tuck shop. Regardless of his actual skill on the pitch the Roy-Tho was always a big deal for him. Thathi used to skip out of work to take him and his ankle biting friends. The festivities were sure to end with him having his flag stolen, cap flicked or other sundry article of school pride knicked.

I've never been to one of these "big matches," sadly the closest has probably been the annual Royal-Thomian that Thathi used to help organise back in the day, and the Metros, when the boys used to play basketball. When we all went to Sri Lanka for Punchy Mammah's wedding in 2000 I begged Rajiv to take me with him, but I was deemed too much of a "liability." I think his friends are clearly just pervy.

Usually large Sri Lankan gatherings make me suspicious, and other than the amusement to be had making fun of people, and watching them get sloshed I'm guessing that the novelty of the whole big match thing would wear off pretty quick.

In any case if I ever do find myself in the motherland during the fever you better believe that I will be begging forcing the auditor to take me.

Evolution by numbers.

Exhibit A

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

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

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

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

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

Aiya fortunately has always been a fat ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday Albehhhh!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: And that's a problem because?

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

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

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

Me: Oh, Tool.

A thought on the plague that is VD.

When terriers and lolipops are brought together

Ollie and I? We no likey.

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

As it is I'm about to hurl.

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

What? Me bitter?

pfft.

Dear Whoren.

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

Original photo by fanners.

Salaam Alaikum.

Coming to a jihad near you

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OoOoOo.

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

Bedazzled.

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

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

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

Yeah. How pointless was this post.

Working for the man

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Getting my fat ass on a treadmill

3. Going to more live shows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm dreaming of a moist Christmas.

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

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

*shudder*

It just feels so weird.

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

Anywho, Merry Christmas and all that jazz.

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

For a good time call...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need a haircut.

Any ideas?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's right. You read that correctly.

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

Let me recap.

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

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

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

Yes. I am that shallow.

Tagged by a consonant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tagged by a sloth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

teh hawtnes

French lock Loic Jacquet

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

These be perilous times I say.

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

w00t ACWHAAFV.

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

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

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

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

Small, creased, pressed, white shorts?
Check.

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

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

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

I *heart* ZiZou: A Reprisal

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


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

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

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

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

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

Brian would still be way cooler.

How could another Sri Lankan be so cruel??

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

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

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

Boo.

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

There is evidently no justice at all in this world.

I leave you with what could have been.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The end is nigh

Original article and photo

Iggy has once again rendered me speechless.

This in itself deserves a vote or two.

What? Me? Pretentious? stfu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that?

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

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

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

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

Oh I hardly knew ya...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!