Baby, You're A Star!

These are the celebrities I most resemble.

I think it's just because I have really scrinchy eyes and a defined chin. (Technology is fucking amazing.)

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go and get ready for prom. Zach Morris will be here to pick me up any minute now...

(Now playing: "Dirty Lives", Love as Laughter)

Mini Jupe et Watusi!

Tonight, I finally understood how people can just completely lose their shit when - ohhhh, I don't knowwwww - a L'il Bow Wow or L'il Jon or L'il whoeverthefuck song comes on at a bar. I might think it's garbage, but they love it so goddamned much, it physically overtakes them.

When Mimi La Twisteuse played "Les Filles" by Charlotte Leslie and "Rouge Rouge" by Christine Laume and "Ah-Hem-Ho-Uh-Errr" by Christine Pilzer (although I requested that one) tonight, I very likely embarrassed myself and my companion by singing along, chair-shimmying, hand-gesturing and basically just being too too into it.*

A far cry from detachedly bobbing my head or quietly tapping a foot at an indie show.

Anyway. Next time around - no martinis for Sofi. (Or maybe just one.)

I hope I made Deena's night. I should have chatted with her a little more.

This is a very disjointed post.

I am very disjointed.

I'm glad Gedge mentioned to me that the scene was somewhat lacking. I was a little disappointed. Expected some form of moddy utopia and got a smattering of hipsters and a bunch of fratboys (one of whom I worked with at the same summer camp in 1998), but I suppose I am relatively new to this particular "scene" and should not judge so harshly. Besides - fratboys can enjoy '60's Francophone pop songs too, can they not?

I was almost certainly born too late.

Note to sober self: Wear fishnets in correlation with cute skirts more often. Like, all the time! Time not spent in fishnets is time wasted!



This chick's hot. Her music's even hotter.

(J'suis la roller girl.)

(Now playing: "Attention Au Garcons", OP4)

*Feel free to gmail me if you want the mp3 to any of these amazingly fun songs. Guaranteed to get your ye-yes out!

Every Day I Write the Book

Chrissy tells me that her play, The Spadina Monologues, would never have been written had she not been living downtown.

She says that growing up in the suburbs of Montreal, and then in the suburbs of Toronto, stifled her creative development. I agree. I feel stunted. I feel slighted.

Write what you know. But what if all you know are fences and mowed lawns and concrete parking lots strewn with broken glass and tied-off condoms? What if all you know are doughnut shops, gas stations, strip malls and power fields?

Someone I know did manage to make literary lemonade out of this suburban lemon. He is a bit of an exception, I think.

But then again, Carole Pope grew up in Scarborough. Mike Myers. Eric McCormack. Jim Carrey. All successful. But more importantly, they all managed to escape this place.

I am trying to write at least 200 words a day. There has been a novel living inside of my head for some time and it's time for me to let it out. I am on page 19 at the moment and I know where it's going. It's not about a jaded university graduate trying to make her way in the world, either. I think it's maybe a story worth telling.

I'm doing some other writing, too. I try to write for Chart whenever I can, but it's going to get more difficult once I start my new job (I will be getting paid to write about music, incidentally). UmbrellaMusic has also come a-wooing. They mail me CDs, which is very accomodating indeed. I am also going to contribute to a new online city guide.

The suburbs will have me for a while.

I am going to try to be an exception, too.



(Now playing: "The Way We Get By", Spoon)

If Ms. Stronach's Shenanigan Wasn't Jaw-dropping Enough For You

Here is further evidence that the apocalypse is TOTALLY nigh (taken from CNN.com):

NEW YORK (AP) -- CBS on Wednesday canceled "Judging Amy," "Joan of Arcadia" and the Wednesday edition of "60 Minutes" as the nation's most popular network tries to attract younger viewers.

The network will add two new comedies and four new dramas next season, including a series in which Jennifer Love Hewitt talks to dead people.

(Now playing: "From Oakland to Warsaw", Destroyer)

Sexual Perpetual EmotionMachine*

I am feeling a little bit broken.

Those who claim Toronto is too big have probably never run into a former lover twice in the span of twenty-four hours.

I have to get off of a streetcar prematurely because I am coughing much too much. I stumble upon the Spadina Quay Wetland, which I did not know existed. In the middle of a majestic nest, metres away from a major street, a swan is preening himself. There is a burgundy-and-yellow Coffee Time sign in the background. It's so incongruous that it could almost be funny - if it weren't so goddamned heartbreaking, I mean.

He looks at me and I look away.

I wonder if he realizes how beautiful he is. Or if he ever will.

Hours later, I attend a dear friend's poetry reading at the Gladstone Hotel. I ask him to sign my copy of his book, as a cheesy gesture.

I only read what he has written on the subway ride home:

For Sofi: You are a heartbreaker. I long for time with you.

I am feeling a little less broken.

(Now playing: "The Man of Metropolis Steals our Hearts", Sufjan Stevens)

*From "The World is a Heartbreaker" by Sherwin Tjia

He Got Game

(Now playing: "Inflammatory Writ", Joanna Newsom)

Best Sunday Dress

I just got back from a shopping spree. Although buying new things usually gives me the happy-warm-giddy-fuzzies, I'm far from thrilled.

I spent more money than I've spent in a long time - and it was on clothing required for my foray into the world of the working. I tend to gravitate towards unique clothes that reflect my personality. The clothes I bought today reflect nothing but lame.

Purchased:

• One boring magenta crew-neck top
• One boring lime crew-neck top
• One respectable corporate black skirt (knee-length)
  
• One pale yellow 1950's-style sweater with buttons on the shoulders (alright, I kinda dig it)
• One pair of black capri pants that I can only justify because summers are hot and shorts are inappropriate for the office and even though I think capri pants are retarded as a concept (do you want to wear pants or do you want to wear shorts? Just commit to a length, you ass!), these ones happened to look quite nice on me and with some Mary Janes and a pink top, I can totally pretend I'm an extra in Grease or something
• One pair of cream linen capri pants (these I really cannot justify)

Monetary damage: $224.80

Psychological/emotional damage: I feel like such a preppy fuck.

Casual Fridays are going to be so awesome.

(Now playing: "Pink and Brown", Headphones)

The Most Underrated Man in Hollywood

Two words.

Steve. Zahn.



Oh, you'd better believe Steve Zahn is the fucking man!



Back off! Back off! Just back right off, Amanda Peet! No one takes on Steven Zahn and lives to tell the tale! Did you even see Shattered Glass? Did you? No, I don't think you did, Amanda Peet.



That's what I'm talking about! This guy right here!



ZAHN!

(Now playing: "I Can See For Miles", The Who)

The Soundtrack of Our (Love) Lives

Matt wrote a pretty great opinion piece in Wavelength this month that I really think you should read.

When he ran it by me the first time, I recognized myself in his experiences. I think it's a pretty common thing for a lot of people. But then! Oh, then! I got angry.

Because, in my dating lifetime, boys have not only ruined songs or albums or bands for me. They have ruined entire goddamn genres!

Surf music? Check. The first boy who ever legitimately stomped on my heart was in a surf band. To this day, I can't watch a Tarantino film without gritting my teeth.

Electronica? Ditto.

Canadian indie music (AKA my entire record collection)? You betcha.

The latest offender was a connoisseur of rare 60's pop and psych and yeye and garage. (Which is a shame, because that's some great shit. But since he introduced me to most of it, it's inextricably linked to him.)

The next boy I date/sleep with will be named Rocco. He will enjoy synth-based dance music. And when we move on to pastures new, the only thing that will remind me of him will be the smell of Brylcreem.

(Now playing: "Ostrogoth-a-go-go", Les Breastfeeders, which no one has ruined for me. Yet...)

There's a Reason Why I Love This Town

The first time I left Kingston for Toronto, it was absolutely cataclysmic. Not only did I have to leave the city I loved, I had to leave the boy I loved, the job I loved, the friends I loved, the house I loved, etc. I got home and cried into my pillow with all of the fervor of a fifteen-year-old.

I was devastated.

Yesterday morning, I moved back to Toronto from Montreal (via a two-week stint in Kingston) for good. And honest to goodness, I'm thrilled.

In May of 2003, this move felt like the end of the world. Now, in May of 2005, it feels like the beginning of my new life as a growed-up. Instead of crying into my pillow, I danced in my room, Risky Business-style.

I've got a lot of really great friends in Toronto. My whole family is here. The music community is tightly-knit, despite the city's size. Also, Toronto is the media capital of Canada, so my chances of landing a journalism job here are higher than anywhere else. And since I've spent so much of my adult life living in other cities, I haven't had a chance to explore all that Toronto has to offer, so I'm pretty excited about that, too.

Last night's Matt Barber/Pete Elkas/Joel Plaskett show at Hugh's Room (in the company of Miss Lynch and Miss Chan, no less) only compounded my back-at-home excitement. I felt the same warmth/happiness that I felt at the same show at the Grad Club a week or so ago. (And I didn't even have that much to drink.) The fact that Joel acknowledged our Grad Club shout-out made my night. And it made me realize that I was enjoying this particular show just as much as the ones I've seen in Kingston.

Anyway, I welcome my new life in Toronto with open arms. (Even if it does mean leeching off of my parents for a while.)

In other news, the Midways/Tijuana Bibles show (which served its historical purpose as my final show in Kingston) did not disappoint, despite the crappy venue (The Cocamo!), less-than-enjoyable opening acts and sparse-yet-obnoxious crowd.

But really, if the band you're seeing looks like this, how COULD it disappoint?



(Now playing: "No Time Like the Right Time", The Blues Project)