late nights

Now that we are over-the-hill, my sister and I like to sleep early. But on a rare occasion, something will strike a chord so deep in us that we must stay awake into the bowels of the night and dance around in ankle socks with wooden spoons out of sheer joy:

1. Macaroni + cheese



2. The night before Hallowe'en, because costumes are glorious. For example, pumpkins. Hehehehe.



3. Getting engaged!!

Not me -- HER! She's giddy! We're all giddy! He got down on bended knee at Ambleside and everything. And then he got stuck in the sad 'cause he has a bad knee, but he's alright! And now she has a rock that'll break yo' arm!

Sigh.

ENGAGED!!

baby got back

So, I've had enough of feeling like a boring Vancouverite. I'm determined to make something of this city while I'm still here, and embarked on a two-pronged cultural attack on myself this weekend.

First up: independent film with subtitles, natch.



Filmed in French and Spanish by a filmmaker from Amsterdam, the Underground Orchestra is a documentary about street musicians who play in the Paris Metro. Most of them are political refugees who can't return home and support themselves by collecting spare francs in exchange for their play. There was laughter (Beethoven is the Jim Morrision of classical music). There were tears (Mario! And his harp!). And it's playing for a few more days at the fancy, the pantsy, Vancouver International Film Centre. Go watch it with at least two of the craziest people you know, and a bunch of artsy old people.

Next: indie rock band, not from these parts


Short-haired lead singer who scolds annoying people who push aside girls and talk during the shushy songs? Adorable keyboardist in a green dress, with red curls, who smiled to herself quietly throughout the set? Bassist with a ponch? The World's Most Amazing Multi-Instrumentalist in the World (World x 2!)? A SPEAKER WEARING A TARTAN SCARF?! I'm glad the fact that I only sort-of-kind-of know one Camera Obscura song didn't stop me from going to the concert. It was quietly enthusiastic, and a pleasant way to pass a summer evening. However, girls who are physically unable to stop speaking shrilly through every single song must be bapped on the head (next time, I won't be stopped, sir). Listen to them with your favorite Scottish translator.

Finally: first win on ebay

The thrill of victory lingers on. I am flush with it. Flush, I say!

Woopwoop! Things to do! In Vancouver? You don't say.

happy be having four

With another Thursday comes thoughts of forming bands, practicing harmony, and the goodness. Today, we did the near-impossible: we had a 4th! And Vista is der bomb!

In celebration of quatre, I share a little playlist I listened to on repeat on the Seabus (the M.V. Burrard Beaver). I call it "The Mashed Potato":

1. "I Saw Her Standing There" - The Beatles
2. "Do You Love Me" - The Contours
3. "Cut Chemist Suite" - Ozomatli
4. "Promiscuous" - Nelly Furtado + Timb-o

Bleb. Time to sludge through one more day and then rock the insanely too-hot weekend with some sleeping in and hat-making. Yes, PLEASE.

look, Dylan

Enough with the ranting. That's clearly dulling me down and making the fans/stalkers unhappy.

And how can I spend time complaining when I haven't even mentioned that I saw The Luke Perry!!!



Luke Perry of the permanently concerned forehead, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Original Motion Picture fame and my-voice-is-raspy-from- fighting-with-Brenda voice.

Ya damn right I did. Just one of the many lucky benefits of belonging to Camp Awesome. Phewf.

1 love

Once again, despite our best laid plans, it was the Weekend of Three (not that I'm complaining):

One Polack, one Chinaman, one female.

Toto, Mariah, Bono.

Robots vs. animals vs. fruit.

One amazing drummer girl, two fantastic indie boys (ok, perhaps more than 2).

A double voska dour, one very happy gentle giant.

//

It's either the monotony of the road or too much Cameron Crowe, but something about driving down the highway makes my mind wander. I start thinking about the places I've been (not many), the things I've seen, and where I hope to end up. Add that to a summer of job dissatisfaction and the beginning of the end of being a student, and it all sums up to looking keenly forward to the chance of starting over again. A new city, a new home, a new musical instrument (YES!), a new pair of shoes, a new plan. Hopes are high, and with it a whole lot of fear, but even I'm getting tired of thinking that all that good stuff out there is for other people and not me, and weary of always settling for my contingency plan (for further information, please click here).

Contingency plans are about as great as getting stuck with the glue that's lost its stick during craft time: it leaves a bad feeling on your skin and holds you up from putting all the little pieces together, until you get frustrated, and have to ask the nice kid who looks like Danuel Pipoly to borrow his, go back to your seat, peel the half-stuck construction paper from the now-sticky-but-not-sticky-enough yarn, and start again. Which is fine. Except for the anxiety of having to work twice as fast because everyone else is almost done and soon they're going to be lining up to go fly kites outside, and you don't want to be the last kid stuck in the classroom, making paper bag puppets all by yourself (not that paper bag puppets aren't the Most Awesome Thing EVER).

In other words, don't go to law school when you really don't want to be a lawyer.

Alright alright alright. Enough being grumptastic. What can I do to make your day bright again? I know.

must be the caliente

Besides mentioning the usual porn banter, and teaching an adorable Mexican man how to say "groping" in English (he giggled, cupped his cheeks, and said "dammit"), there isn't much more I can say to describe the mysterious convergence of soju + Mariah Carey at the bitch last night.

Well, maybe there is one thing I can add:

I don't wash you. YOU wash you.

props

Apartment hunting + line of credit woes = GAH!

What happened to the good ol' days where you just fought to death for a piece of land? Or traded it for your most plump boar? Huh? Boar? Anyone?

clean yourself

I am attempting to clean my wasteland of a room. And in the words of Joey Russo: "Whoh."

While sorting through piles of receipts, clothing, and magazines, I have developed a list of Super Fantastic Things To Do As A Reward For Cleaning (The SFTTDAARFC List):

1. Make a root beer float. Go to the beach.

2. Lifeguard chairs. I do believe it would be sweet to have one of these things in my yard. Do they have regulation lifeguard chairs? Are they collapsible and portable? Look into this.

3. Convince a certain "person" who lives in a certain downtown "apartment building" that it would be an excellent "idea" to give me the "key" to his private outdoor "pool". (DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT). I'll be so good! I won't eat before swimming. Only drink.

4. Acquire a Buffy the Vampire Slayer boardgame. I've lived long enough without one.

5. Get my hands on a steak.

Alright, so I only have 5 items on the list 'cause I've only been cleaning for about 6 minutes. Wearing crinoline + an apron seems to be helping. Perhaps some Buddy Holly will also move things along.