The Barry Manilow e-mail (see previous post) got me thinking about other muzak-makers. Yanni sprang to mind. The New-Age musical guru has been lying low for the past few years, it would seem. Perhaps the cultural climate of our post-9/11 world is not very conducive to his dreamy music? Mind you, I was never really fond of Yawni, so he probably could be in my attic and I wouldn't know about it.
I've always liked to think that Greece foisted Yanni upon the world not knowing what a bucket of feta he would evolve into. The man was in a nine year relationship with Linda Evans... why do I find that so appropriate.
Look, Greece gave the world so much - theatre, democracy, science and beautiful homo art and literature amongst others - so a dud here and there can be forgiven. If Yanni should happen upon this blog, please give us an update.
In case it isn't already obvious, I am tremendoulsy bored at the moment.
I have been keeping the ?-Boyf on mute for a while as I try to decide if I want to continue in the relationship or not. In many ways, I've been enjoying the time off more than I expected, although I obviously miss him from time to time.
Yesterday morning, he broke the silence with an e-mail. Attached to the e-mail was (I kid you not) a Barry Manilow song. And he was totally serious about sending it. Here's a taste:
Morning, just another day Happy people pass my way Looking in their eyes I see a memory I never realized you made me so happy, oh Mandy
Well you came and you gave without taking but I sent you away, oh Mandy well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking I need you today, oh Mandy
Yes, the gesture is sweet and endearing, but I also found it quasi-hilarious. Just think, if the silence continues what other musical gems can I expect? Or, will the tunes become increasingly bitter and frustrated? We shall see.
Apparently, there is a huge, 5000 word essay on the Toronto music scene in this Sunday's NYTimes Magazine. It's about time that someone pays attention to the unique and varied bands in this city. Sadly, my orchestra of triangle, maracas and spoons did not make it into the article.
The magazine also apparently references a current "movement" or climate which has often been misunderstood. It is called Torontopia and centres around various DIY groups (in art, music, public space, literature, etc.) who are trying in a variety of ways, to make Toronto more beautiful, interesting and also try to maintain the city's unique character. It does not mean that Toronto is utopia, but these individuals and groups share an optimism that we can get there one day. It seems as though Toronto is finally shedding its colonial inferiority complex and no longer wants to be New York. How could that be a bad thing? If you're interested, the is a book called uTOpia which examines these themes.
Normally, I would expect to find something like this in Hanoi or Osaka. Luckily, the heavens smiled down on me and placed this little treasure in a suburban Toronto Loblaws supermarket.
I fully expect to be presented with a nice, thick stiffy upon adding this magical mixture to boiling water. If not, I'm suing. Oh, and note that it is supposedly "spicy"... Yum!
Last night, I watched a documentary called Memory for Max, Claire, Ida and Company. It's about a group of seniors at an old-age home and examines the deterioration of their memory and the emotional difficulties they endure while at the facility. It is heartbreaking. I cried four times. What was most impressive was despite the occassional failing of their mental faculties, their personalities always come through, which says a lot about the human character. It is a beautiful movie and one that forces us to look at something we all seem to avoid. It is so sad that these people's lives are ending with such loneliness.
The director, Allan King, is a noted filmmaker whose career stretches back to the 60s. He is known for working in the cinéma verité style, providing no narration and just letting the camera document the action. The editing provides a sort of narration along with the subjects themselves. At it's best, this method can be very engaging, as with Memory.... An aside: I find it telling that Canada has a long tradition of documentary making, while our southern neighbour is renowned for fantastical spectacles. Food for thought?
Anyway, the point of this post is simple: hug a grandpa/ma today, folks.
I had a late night last night. Went out for birthday drinks with JR and what I had planned to be "a couple" of beverages turned into 36. I have to say that I am proud of myself and JR for having foregone the shots of absinthe, an idea that seemed alternately brilliant and horrifying.
Anyhoo... today I am très lazy and out of it. I just noticed that my keyboard looks incredibly trashy and I feel sinful even touching it. I know it's partly my imagination, but I swear I can see jizz, scotch, coke, tobacco, minestrone, Pluto, orange juice and a samosa on the 'X' key alone. Gross. I'll clean it tomorrow...
Pictured above is the birthday cake I was blessed with at work. Yes, it does say "Cream of Asparagus Beef Barley", which makes loads of sense. There is a deli across the street from work and we call them on speakerphone every day to ask what the soup of the day is. The soups are great, but the real reason we call is because the lady that answers has the most frantic, heavily Greek-accented, high-pitched voice ever. I've imitated her for the past few months and this has become my calling card. I'll randomly scream out "Creamasparagusbeefbarley" all the time. Hence, the cake. Thanks guys!
NOTE: The cake is mispelled and incorrectly reads: "Cream of Aparagus - Beer Barley". Get on the ball, dyslexic icing-calligraphy pro!
This sounds like it could have been loads of fun for someone like me- someone that's somewhat cynical and finds earnestness just too funny. And of course, I missed it. Actually, it would have been a great date with the (perhaps) Boyf. Although we would both find it funny, he would internally search for subtext in my unconventional choice for a romantic night out. Funny and mysterious... how ideal!
I didn't go to work today so that I could take care of Yoda, who is ill. I am very bored and have been stumbling into numerous blogs and websites through random google searches. As bored as I am, I am grateful that I am not some of the people I have come across on the web. There are some individuals that are painfully uninteresting. So much so, that it has given me the mental equivalent of gas pain. Strangely, these useless creatures seem to subconsciously understand that they are stunningly banal and try to fool others with an irrational and excessive use of exclamation marks*. Example: "The best part of my meal was the milkshake. Not only did it taste good, but they brought it to the table in the metal mixing cup! " Does this champ scream this sentence in his head when he edits his review? There is nothing that warrants an exclamation point in this excerpt, unless one finds air 'surprising'. And no, this was not written by an eight year old. I would much rather be forced to live on an island populated solely by caged parrots for the rest of my life than have to sit and endure a milkshake with this nerd. At least parrots have a gimmick and even if they just repeated "table" for 20 years, I imagine they would be better conversationalists than Milkshake Boy. As a human, MB should contribute more to the world than his brilliant ruminations on diners. If he cannot, he is below a parrot in the intellectual food-chain.
Why, you ask, do I pay him so much attention? I have no clue. I suspect his profound dullness is paradoxically fascinating. I find the image of him coming home, full and bloated, sitting at his computer, trying to remember his forgettable meal at "Jimmy's Diner" and then sharing his irrelevant experience with the world to be sensational. Does he have a huge ego and think that anyone cares, or is he really lonely and/or practicing his typing skills? Sometimes I think that Earth needs a bouncer. But then I wouldn't have MB to laugh at, would I?
* according to several grammar resources, an exclamation mark should only be used to emphasize, express surprise or issue a command
I've woken up before noon on a Saturday for the first time in years. Clearly, my goal of re-discovering my bad boy roots this week has failed. Alas, no snorting coke of a hustler's ass... However, this hasn't bothered me as I have been high on St. John's wort the whole time. Last night I stayed home and watched Jules and Jim, which is perhaps my favourite film. I love the story, I love the way it's shot and I love Jeanne Moreau. It is, to my mind, the most intelligent and interesting depiction of a love triangle I can think of. Having been in numerous love triangles (all bizarre, as New Order would know), I may have a higher level of interest in the subject matter. Regardless, I recommend it to all.
I've noticed this many, many times (and I don't wear it as a badge of pride or anything), but the mens that make me grow a chubby are very rarely on People's Sexiest Men list.
I was just reading up on RRSPs and got slightly excited about it all. What happened to the days when I would get hammered gawking at hustlers at Sneakers until 3am and then head off to dodgy after-hours on Wednesday nights? Why wasn't I aware of this change until right now? Where did my dirty self go?
Now, I go home and bake McCains fries in the oven and watch the news on both the BBC and CBC before turning in. Maybe not everyday, but that's what it feels like. Ew! And I drank a soothing cup of Rooibos before bed last night! Am I 500 years old?!
I seriously need to get out... The goal for this week is to re-discover my bad-boy side, even if for one night.
Harpo was sworn in today and looked just as meticulously coiffed and robotic as ever. However, Harpitron 2006 also had some surprises up his sleeve, like naming an unelected senator to his cabinet. Interesting, since that is rare and the Conservatives always bawl their eyes out about the undemocratic nature of appointed positions. What a dweeb. Based on today, I can't see this government to last very long.
Enough fiesta politica, though.
I read an article in the Star this weekend about Canadian athletes and their tendency to choke when it counts. Figuratively. It turns out we're a nation of insecure and nervous ski jumpers. This article got me thinking that I would be the slowest (two-man) luger because I'd want to savour every moment of some ass on my groin. Just look at the picture above. Furthermore, a boner would make it difficult to maintain the necessary wind-resistance to be competitive. My dreams of a gold in Turin are shattered.
There you have it... No real insights today, just random thoughts. I took some St. John's Wort earlier, so don't ask for too much.
PDD's post about resumés the other day reminded me of a game I played once.
If there is someone in your life (especially workplace) that evolves into your nemesis, you can take revenge in the following way. Now, this game assumes that your nemesis has a successful career and is enjoying their work, or is generally happy in their life.
Go to a fast-food restaurant or teeny-bopper clothing store.
Ask for a job application.
Fill in the application with your nemesis' details (give their cell phone #).
A few days later, ask the nemesis to join you for lunch at the restaurant or look for a gift for your cousin at the store.
Repeat application process at several fast-food outlets and/or retail stores.
Watch for encroaching signs of frustration, confusion and self-doubt.
What is it with US sodiers shooting at Canadians on a somewhat regular basis? This time, they opened fire on a consular vehicle carrying four Canadian diplomats. What's up with that? Are they blind, trigger-happy or out to get us?
Totally unrelated... I slept for 14 hours last night. I'm ready to do the same again today.
