Twister part II

Oh yeah, and last night at Mary & Mary's Twister cocktail party, an astounding number of men I've never met before told me they surely knew me from somewhere. Bizarre. But the strangest of all was one that went away muttering, "maybe from rugby." ?????

Anyway, I'm actually off to watch Nick's rugby game over at Laurier park. Maybe I'll run into the guy.

boycott Korova

Did I ever think I would say that? Korova, which I loved from the first moment I wandered in and landed in a crowd of kids jumping to Franz Ferdinand. Where I've pretty much spent the last two years, since back when Amy was trying bartending there, and we weren't ejected at 3am.

Oh, countless foosball tournaments, the time I won at pool, using the window to spy on the street below... just a ton of personal memories.

But, honestly, who is that bald loser? Last night there was, get this, a *line up* to get in. And next to the line-up was a constant stream of exodus, with each person telling us that the place was nowhere near crowded and they didn't understand the line. What made me furious though was this guy at the door yelling at people: "can't you even follow basic instructions?" But the very same "smart" guy would yell down "line up over here"... and not say "to the right, to the left, in the center". Where the hell is "over here", dude, we can't even see you from down here, but we still get to enjoy your insults. Oh, yes, I'm dying to go into your bar.

Worse, worse, worse: after choosing the foosball and drinks next door for a while, we got a call from inside Korova to go back. No more line. Well, at the end of the night, Mr. I Own This Place So I Am Entitled To Be A Skank is being equally rude to the Djs, who as usual are the principal point of going to Korova in the first place. I hope they quit.

And I hope he sits on a hot plate.

Twister

Something I realized this week (and you'll see how ironic this is in a sec) is how quickly I forget things. Say I'll have this brilliant, supposedly life-changing realization. Well, reading my 2004 diary entries the other day, I discovered that two years ago I was experiencing practically the very same "life-changing" "realizations", I've just forgotten all about them in the meantime! In fact, if I remember correctly, I forgot them about two seconds after thinking of them; at the very instant some goodlooking, nice boy walked into the scene. Damn!

Dr. Phil says (I will start sentences like this unapologetically) that the past is the best predictor of future behaviour. Does that mean that at age 31 I'm locked in whatever pattern I've been playing out since god knows when? And even this train of thought I'm having right now has been played out in my mind before, who knows how many times? And when I say "who knows" don't ask me: my mind is swiss cheese.

So what should I do? Dr. Phil says (uh-huh) that the only thing that can change the pattern of past behaviour is some seriously dramatic event. He doesn't usually give examples when he says this, so I'm not sure if going "oh my god! look what i'm doing, i'm repeating things!" constitutes a dramatic event. Feels dramatic, but is probably low on the global scale of drama. I wonder, does this mean I should be *more* dramatic? Relax, that was a joke.

For now I've taken the analytical observer pose. That means, I'm sort of stalking myself. Watching and waiting. I take mental notes and then I tell myself all about them, in lengthy conversations over hot cocoa and biscuits. We chatter all night, me and myself. Sometimes we don't see eye to eye, but in the end, we're good pals. I wonder what will happen, though, as soon as some goodlooking, nice boy walks in the room mid-chatter.

Kickball is like Life

Well, another game of kickball with the girls & boys. In case you haven't noticed, kickball (soccer-baseball where I come from - oh wait, that's Montreal) is a big thing these days. Like this year's Ultimate, only cooler because we care less. Everyone knows coolness is inversely related to your level of ernestness. Which makes me terribly un-cool, but anyway...

There are leagues of kickball players, and it was the sport du jour this summer for 20 & 30 somethings, and since I'm a 30something who hangs out with 20somethings, it works out nicely.

I kind of wasn't feeling it today though. Possibly related to being 30something among 20somethings, what do I know. But, *as in life*, I sucked it up and played. Not my best game, I admit. I'm an usually enthusiastic kickball player (unsual since I was kicked out of softball when I was 10 for "not hustling enough" and I'm an astoundly unathletic person) but not tonight. Still, *as in life*, it was worth it to stick it out. Good for the health, you know?

I saw a man getting arrested on my way to the game. The cops were telling him to put his arms out on the chainlink fence and he was, like, "whoa, calm down", as though they were at a picnic, and the cops had just given him another beer. Geez.

I also saw a man's penis today, which should not be such a special occasion but it was. I was walking along Napoleon and arrived at Laval. In front of me was an apartment's window and something on the other side caught my attention. I was absent-mindedly staring as I crossed the street toward it when I suddenly realized... is that a...? I think it is! First I thought it was a plastic penis, a toy. But as I came closer, I saw that it was a real penis, attached to a real man. The guy was obviously an exhibitionist: he was standing by the window, facing out, with the blinds drawn to his waist level, wearing a t-shirt and nothing else (maybe socks, I couldn't see that far down). And there was his manhood, lettin' it all hang out in the fall afternoon sun, just standing there. It was quite a nice one too, but I had to laugh. The whole situation was so bizarre.

My first exhibitionist and I'm 31 and three-quarters.

The Double

I'm addicted to quickening my breath, to the verge of fainting or wanting to throw up, which I don't. I don't know why, and I won't admit how I do it, but I do.

I'll put it like this: when I was young, and we lived in tranquil Montreal West, I would leave our house in the middle of the night just to walk around the block and be outside in the dark, when there was no one else there. As a grown-up, in the city, this sounds normal. But in MoWest, there really is no one on the street at night that should be there. Another thing I liked to do was lie in the middle of my street, because I knew no cars were coming but they *could* be. I know it all sounds lame now, but it was thrilling, and that's what I'm talking about. Making a contemporary, white, comfortably well-off, sometimes traumatic, but socially well adapted life exhilarating, if only in my imagination.

And then I spend the other half of my time trying not to be like this at all, because I actually despise it. It's like those kids who feel compelled to eat crap on a dare. Of course it's disgusting, but the worst part isn't the crap, it's your stupid addiction to doing it. The part you can't control.

Do you ask people questions you don't want to hear the answer to? Have you read someone else's email? Do you eavesdrop on people talking about your loved ones? Do you read the gruesome news that haunts you? Did you ever ask a kid to beat you up? Do you sabotage? And if so, can you tell me why?

Lectura Obligada

Parece que pasa más y más tiempo entre posts en castellano... Y qué raro, siendo que una parte importante de mí se expresa mucho mejor en este idioma, que díficilmente llamaría materno (aunque técnicamente, si pensamos que mi madre me lo enseñó...anyway).

Partiendo por lo banal, empezó el otoño acá. Hoy en la mañana me puse guantes para ir al trabajo. ¿Cómo se lo imaginan? Hacía poquísimo más de 10 grados y me resisto a la irracionalidad de creer que si una se hace la loca con el frío, el frío no existe. Así que asumo que la otra vez que hicieron 10 grados me *dio* frío en las manos, y me pongo los guantes, aunque sea horrible admitir que estamos ya en época de guantes.

Luis me ha mantenido al tanto de lo que para él parece ser una competencia entre las nuevas novelas de nuestros amigos y conocidos: Pancho Ortega, Ernesto Ayala y Alvaro Bisama. Según Luis la mejor es... bueno, quizás no deba contar su opinión. jeje. En todo caso, para que sepan que he leído entrevistas y críticas a las tres. Ayer leí una entrevista a Ernesto en Revista de Libros, que me gustó bastante. Como siempre, Ernesto tan humano por escrito, jaja. Perdonen, es una maldad mía haberle dicho una vez a EA que era más humano por escrito que en persona. La entrevista me gustó porque encuentro que él queda bien, y cae bien, piola como es, y sobre todo porque aunque no he escrito en no voy a decir cuánto, me identifico con cómo él describe el proceso. Saber de lo que pasa en Santiago con la publicación de estas novelas me hace extrañamente agradecida de que no me haya metido nunca en ese rollo. Creo que la manera correcta de publicar un libro es que nadie sepa quien eres hasta que no te lean. Así, si no les gusta, se olvidan de ti y punto.

Yo estoy leyendo King Rat, del autor de Shogun. Me compré todos sus libros menos uno cuando estuve en Cape Cod con mi mamá en agosto. Rayé tanto con Shogun que quiero leerlos todos para ver si son tan buenos como ése. Ojalá que sí. Es una tremenda decepción para mí cuando me encuentro leyendo un libro que me carga. En el colegio, un libro así lo hubiera dejado de lado, sin terminar. De hecho, nunca leí el último capítulo de Cien Años de Soledad porque ahí es donde iba cuando fue la prueba del libro y simplemente no tenía más sentido para mí terminarlo. Piensen lo que quieran de mí, pero así es. Cuando no tengo paciencia, no le pido disculpas a nadie. Ahora, en cambio, me mamo unos libros que voy pelando mientras los leo. Igual que como veo tele: enojada en mi cabeza, "pero cómo! eso no tiene sentido! grrr!" jaja. Me pasó con Memorias de una Geisha (cometi el error de leerlo después de Shogun) y con The Virgin's Lover, novela histórica acerca de la reina Isabel I. Odio perder mi tiempo, sobre todo que sé que no tendré jamás suficiente tiempo en mi vida para leer todo lo que quiero (aló, Jonathan Franzen lleva 2 publicados que no he visto, y todavía tengo una colección de James Clavell por delante!). Pero a la vez, me sentiría muy chanta hablando mal de un libro si no tratara de leerlo completo al menos.

Axelito

Who does this guy think he is?

random events for posterity

* I ran into Patrick Watson twice yesterday. And now he's on the cover of some magazine I just saw at Concordia. I believe this to be a sign that it'll rain frogs tomorrow.

* Have you *seen* the lineup of live music acts for this Fall? I just sent out an email to some friends to start planning. Courtney's upset I left out his Barfly Pop Montreal show but, dude, I don't know when it is!

* Sarah and I just saw a film called "Once A Nazi...". That's what I was doing at Concordia. I hate being in that university, it's so studenty I want to studenty-puke. I was never meant to get an education. Anyway, I went for "the social outing" aspect of it. Sarah went for the movie. It was interesting, but I had to walk out before hearing people talk about holocaust denial and random abuse of the audience microphone. I hate public displays of opinion.

* That's it. I'm pretty much out of random things to say tonight. I will spare you the pain of having to read about my plants once again. You're welcome.

I heard you have amazing power in your pantaloons!

I just made up an, ehem, wicked concept. Recent and disturbing events (no, not that, the other one. No, wait, what are you thinking? Not that one at all! Ugh, ask me.) have prompted me to take up the old journey of self-discovery and self-knowledge again.

While I was looking for where to begin, I ran into my father’s sister on msn and talking to her made this light bulb come on: An Emotional History. Just like genealogy, or your family’s history of disease, but related to where you come from… emotionally. I think it’s cool, don’t you?

I started by asking my aunt and my dad (a perma citizen of msn) about my grandfather, and how he was with them. Most illuminating. I also learned a bit about my great-grandfather, Julian’s behaviour, and that was eye-opening as well. I’m particularly interested in my father’s side of the family for this part of the experiment. But I think my mother’s side will also be very interesting once I’m more advanced.

This is all pretty exciting to me, because learning is a unique way to make a crappy situation good. I had a cheesy Aquarianism ready for this post, but I think I’ll keep it to myself for now.

PS Feel free to use my concept, but please remember the credit! ;)

It's so easy

Rent- Pet Shop Boys

You dress me up, I'm your puppet
You buy me things, I love it
You bring me food, I need it
You give me love, I feed it

And look at the two of us in sympathy
With everything we see
I never want anything, it's easy
You buy whatever I need

But look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency we've spent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent

You phone me in the evening on hearsay
And bought me caviar
You took me to a restaurant off Broadway
To tell me who you are

We never-ever argue, we never calculate
The currency we've spent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent
I love you, you pay my rent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent

I'm your puppet
I love it

And look at the two of us in sympathy
And sometimes ecstasy
Words mean so little, and money less
When you're lying next to me

But look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency we've spent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent
I love you, you pay my rent
Ooh, I love you, you pay my rent

Look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency we've spent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent
I love you, you pay my rent

Look at my hopes, look at my dreams
The currency we've spent
I love you, oh, you pay my rent
I love you, you pay my rent
I love you, you pay my rent (It's easy, it's so easy)
You pay my rent (It's easy, it's so easy)
You pay my rent (It's easy, it's so easy)
I love you (It's easy, it's so easy)

things that make me very happy these days

* sitting on my balcony at night, with my feet on the rail, enjoying the silence

* licking the mixing bowl clean

* meeting my friends, and talking to the ones too far away to meet

* spending all morning cleaning my apartment and not having any other obligations

* transplating my garden indoors for the season

* listening to The Arcade Fire

* watching Grey's Anatomy

* lying on my bed, not doing *anything* and not having anything *to* do.

Rage Against The "Support Centre"

This is the letter I just hand-wrote to the idiots at Scotiabank's national Credit Solutions Support Centre after they sent me the second letter denying me a credit card (ps, I already got one from my branch).

Mr. Frank Moffatt
Assistant [I toyed with idea of abbreviating that "Ass"] General Manager
Credit Solutions Support Centre

Dear Mr. Moffatt,

In all honesty, I find your so-called Credit Solutions Support Centre a gathering of fools. That's right: fools.

I am enclosing two letters I received, I assume in response to my mailed-in application for a new Scotia Value Visa after having a join Scotia Value Visa account for the past 3 years.

As you can see in the first letter, dated September 5, my name is misspelled and you claim I have "minimal/no credit history". In the second letter, dated September 8, you are even more vague and claim simply that my application "does not meet your credit criteria at this time".

I'd like you to know, Mr. Moffatt, that a) I have possessed and made unquestionably responsible use of a Scotia Value Visa since 2003 and that b) I have already obtained a new Scotia Value Visa directly from my branch (not idiots) *because* when I phoned the national Scotiabank call centre I was told that there was *no application* on record in my name.

So I do not thank you for your poor services rendered, and I advise you that whenever possible in the future I will deal only with my branch. You have them to thank that I do not switch banks entirely and suggest the same to all my friends.

Goodbye,
Isabel Brinck

I lived among the Goths

So of all the mixed up adjectives people have used to describe the Dawson killer, we'll stick with Goth ok? Not just because that's what it looks like to me -kind of- on his web pagebut also because it's the same website where that 12 year who killed her parents met her boyfriend and accomplice on and *they* were widely described as Goths so... eh? makes sense.

I spent a rather hefty chunk of the 90s three stories underground, in a 1000-person capacity danceclub that was once a movie theatre. It was called Blondie, and I've mentioned it in passing before. Blondie was dark, rank, cheap, and located in the poorer old city core of Santiago. It was where you went to avoid judgement. Anyway, that's the way I saw it because no matter what you were like, you couldn't possibly be the worst looking person in there. I loved that place.

Like I said, I spent a loooot of time there. I became friends with the party promoter, the owner, the bouncers, with the barmen, with the girl who sold the tickets, not to mention with other partygoers. Mostly, we just ordered cheap drinks and sat on the steps that led to the dancefloor, or in dark spaces near the walls, until we were ready to dance and then we just let her go until closing at 5 or 6am, as deep into the club as possible. It was occasionally visited by rich kids from waaay uptown who discovered it as they entered university and opened their worlds a bit. Those kids stood out like a pimple in the hazy sea of black that were the regulars. And they danced -safely- nearer to the bar, and the stairs leading back up 3 stories to the outside world. If you knew what's what about Blondie, you wouldn't be caught dead there. In a place built to be a refuge, tolerant and accepting, the only way to be really uncool was to, I don't know, wear white sneakers.

Anyway, Blondie was a favourite with goths. There was a lot of industrial techno, and the pop was mostly 80s music (Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, This Mortal Coil, etc). Everyone had a vampire story, it was ridiculous. Too much white face makeup, in hindsight. But honestly, no one in that club was scary. The scariest guy I remember wore a military beret, combat boots and a trenchcoat (what can I say, he did) and everyone said he was around 40. In a club catering mostly to 18-25 year olds, that was a bit creepy. I spoke to him a few times, both of us being regulars and all. I confirmed his age, and I got the impression that the scariest thing about him was that he liked young girls and was himself rather gross. But that's it.

For sure, a lot of us down there had issues. But mostly we were in our 20s and not really sure what to do with our lives (shocking!) and so we drank, and danced and felt pretty damn good for a few hours every week.

POV

On the radio and tv news about the recent shooting incident at Dawson, this is how I heard the same single shooter -who was learing a long black trenchcoat, and had piercings -described:

- Goth
- Skater
- Grunge
- Punk

I guess we have to start agreeing on what's what. Particularly the girl that described one of the shooter's mohawk as "a retarded hair cut". My favourite.

thankfully, the only Dawson student I know and his friends are ok.

I'm thick...

Acute nasopharyngitis, often known as the common cold, is a mild viral infectious disease of the upper respiratory system (nose and throat). Symptoms include sneezing, sniffling, nasal congestion; scratchy, sore, or phlegmy throat; coughing; headache; and tiredness. Colds typically last three to five days, with residual coughing lasting up to three weeks. As its name suggests, it is the most common of all human diseases, infecting subjects at an average rate of slightly over one infection per year per person.

The common cold belongs to the upper respiratory tract infections. It is different from influenza, a more severe viral infection of the respiratory tract that shows the additional symptoms of rapidly rising fever, chills, and body and muscle aches. While the common cold itself is rarely life threatening, its complications, such as pneumonia, can very well be.

Transmission

The viruses are transmitted from person to person by droplets from coughs or sneezes. The droplets or droplet nuclei are either inhaled directly, or transmitted from hand to hand via handshakes or objects such as door knobs, and then introduced to the nasal passages when the hand touches the nose or eyes.

The virus takes advantage of sneezes and coughs to infect the next person before it is defeated by the body's immune system. Sneezes expel a significantly larger concentration of virus "cloud" than coughing. The "cloud" is partly invisible and falls at a rate slow enough to last for hours—with part of the droplet nuclei evaporating and leaving much smaller and invisible "droplet nuclei" in the air. Droplets from turbulent sneezing or coughing or hand contact also can last for hours on surfaces, although less virus can be recovered from porous surfaces such as wood or paper towel than non-porous surfaces such as a metal bar. A sufferer is most infectious within the first three days of the illness.

Symptoms

Ninety-five percent of people exposed to a cold virus become infected, although only 75% show symptoms. The symptoms start 1–2 days after infection. Generally a cold starts with a sore throat, without any respiratory blockage. From then onwards the symptoms are a result of the body's defense mechanisms: sneezes, runny nose, and coughs to expel the invader, and inflammation to attract and activate immune cells.

Prevention

The best way to avoid a cold is to avoid close contact with existing sufferers, to wash hands thoroughly and regularly, and to avoid touching the face. Anti-bacterial soaps have no effect on the cold virus - it is the mechanical action of hand washing that removes the virus particles. In 2002, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommended alcohol based hand gels as an effective method for reducing infectious viruses on the hands. However, as with standard handwashing, alcohol gels provide no residual protection from re-infection. Tobacco smoking has also been linked with the weakening of the immune system; non-smokers are known on average to take fewer days off sick than the smoking population.

Slow Burner/Learner

I think I finally got what Tom was saying to me a month ago, about how tempting it is to fill in the blanks when you have no information.



Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)
I am waiting 'til I don't know what, cause I'm sure it's gonna happen then. Time keeps creepin' though the neighborhood, killing old folks, wakin' up babies just like we knew it would. All the neighbors are startin' up a fire, burning all the old folks the witches and the liars. My eyes are covered by my unborn kids, but my heart keeps watchin' through the skin of my eyelids. They say a watched boil won't ever boil, well I closed my eyes and nothin' changed, just some water getting hotter in the flames. It's not a lover I want no more, and it's not heaven I'm pining for, but there's some spirit I used to know, that's been drowned out by the radio! They say a watched pot won't ever boil, you can't raise a baby on motor oil, just like a seed down in the soil you gotta give it time.

Choosing Happy Over Cool Since 2003

I just got back from Viva Las Vegas, after a 4 hour delay in Denver, but what the hell. I'm back home and I love home. I don't care if it's 15 degrees; I don't care if it's dirty; I don't care if this is home to carnivores of happy; I'm home, I love it.

Work was good.

I've been down in the casino every morning at 6am getting my coffee from scantily clad waitresses in Roman dress or the bald guy behind the bar. Three dollars. Three dollars for a random cup of coffee, but whatever. This morning though, I was a bit earlier because of my flight. It was only 5am and it's Saturday so all the drunk kids were out. The hooting, woohooing, your boobs are falling our of your dress drunk kids. A much older woman, looking a bit worn in a shimmery outfit, was sitting by herself at the end of the busy bar. I feel sorry for the staff but I guess they make good money. Everything is different at that time in the casino. The cops were around, and Daniel saw a fight in the Forum Shops. Like our security guy at Events, Marty, used to say: "the underbelly of [fill in conference name]". I didn't really get to see any of the underbelly, but honestly, why would I want to? "Live to see another peaceful day" beat out "a good story" a long time ago for me.

The airport in Montreal was a huge Indian reception. Crowds of young Indians, behind stanchions, holding roses, single roses. Then there was a space in the middle of them and a bench covered with some elaborate scarf. It looked like someone was going to get married right off the plane. But I never got to see the actual event, just the waiting crowd.

My cab driver told me he works 12-14 hours a day every day of the week. I asked him if he only sleeps and works and he said "pretty much. What else is there to do?" and I told him all about getting a life.

***
Visit my cousin's blog. If I was impressed by his paintings before, I'm even more so now. ¿Cuándo me llegará uno de reglo, cof cof?

This one has an interesting anecdote (for me) because it's based on a still from a movie (I think) and my father's in it, and my mother is cut out but she was right next to him. They were walking in a park in Europe in the 70s and were filmed in Fellini's Roma. My parents took me to see it back in the 80s and I remember them: my dad with his beard and still skinny pre-me body (he said he got fat out of "sympathy" for my pregnant mother) and my mother with her thick blonde hair and her huge sunglasses. Celluloid lasts longer than romance, aren't you glad?

*a los que leen español les recomiendo la descripción completa y en primera persona de la anécdota, contada por mi papá en los comentarios del blog de Rodrigo.

some of my favourite people and me, last winter

Holy Mother of God Cannolis

I am not Italian and do not say I can spell the word cannoli so f- off.

I'm in Vegas.

I just bought my new single most expensive item of clothing (Scandal bolero is out): a bra. My single most expensive item of clothing is a US$130 bra (agent provocateur, Hilly; it's hot, and they carry my size!).

Heaven help me.

Osheaga Day 2 and The Rainbow

Well, that was fun. Worth the money, worth the feet and back ache. Worth the weather (which wasn't bad at all), the portapotties (also not so bad) and I don't know what else. It's actually hard to think of things that weren't great about Ocheaga. Maybe the Wolf Parade's lame sound check while they were already on stage ("this always happens to us". Um, could you figure it out then?)

The gang sans Greg (home sick, we're told) but plus "the other" Mary met for a not-so-wet music and dancing extravaganza. We were mostly on our feet today, beginning with Islands. I love the violin child-prodigies touch that I noticed when they opened for Beck too. The girl that also sings is great and I hope she gets famous soon. Neil: cute as always. Remember when we met him at the SAT, Jenn & Nick? Awesome. We were born unicorns.

We ditched the Wolf Parade (I still love the music, but the scene was too much today) to go see Final Fantasy. I have his "Peach Plum" on iTunes, care of the song sharing group. I think it was Carolyn that sent it, but I might be wrong (see more on this unusual ocurrence -me being wrong- later). Lots of fun; I think Brian likes it most. We spotted the dude from Belle Orchestre and Arcade Fire and he seemed to pretty much be everywhere we went for a while.

Best band I'd never heard live until today was The Hidden Cameras, closely followed by Bedouin Soundclash. I heard a girl say THC weren't so hot live, but she was wrawng. They were infectiously upbeat, good to hop to. I did most of my dancing to Bedouin Soundclash, though, and their ska-y, reggae-y whatever it is they do.

I saw the Belle Orchestre I can't remember when but it was at a loft party Charles invited me to. He's friends with the trumpet player, I believe. They were astonishing then and now. But I do think I prefered seeing them in the small but ample loft, filled with spider plants and smoke. The positive of today's show in comparison: less body odour! Oh, and an aside: the drummer is totally Brian's doppelganger. We have photos.

Since I'm leaving for Vegas tomorrow tres early, I had to cut out during Flaming Lips, but it was pretty much the same show I saw at Metropolis, so it was ok. They're always a blast and a great happy trip, with giant balloons and streamers. The rain started to drizzle and it felt like just a different type of confetti. I think they do more to spread a certain message to audiences than that guy Ben Lee with his "we're all made of atoms, we're all in this together" lyrics.

Superstar tonight was Kid Koala. He *is* the adorable koala, he was very sweet on the mic and he played wonderfully, including his version of Moon River.

Oh, and the rainbow! During Bedouin Soundclash, when we were all happily dancing to Maytone, a beautiful full rainbow appeared behind us. It was perfect.

***
an "I can sometimes be wrong" addendum to Ocheaga 1 post: Tom says a) we heard The Magic Numbers on the CBC the first time and b) I didn't ask him to download them; he just did of his own iniciative. PS I tried to buy the CD today at the merch tent but it wasn't available.

Osheaga Day 1

Oh, yeah. Brazilian Girls, say yeah!

Osheaga, the two day outdoor music festival being held for the first time this weekend, has so far been pretty much everything I expected. Brian and I arrived very early, at about 11:30am and found no crowds ahead of us. Until about 3 in the afternoon, the audiences at the main stages were easily managed and no crowd-maze-ing was necessary to see the performers on stage. This is how we saw The Magic Numbers ("oh what's my name? what's me naaaaame?" Now I can't remember where I heard them for the first time, but the important thing is I asked Tom to download them for me and so I've ahd their songs on my iTunes since then). Oh yeah, and it was *amazing* to see the band in person, because they are *nothing* like one would expect from such high-pitched, poppy tunes producers. They're like Fleetwood Mac fetishists! All men in the band are fat, and wear long black hair in a way that makes you think they're going to break into prog rock any second... The women look exactly like the men. And their voices are beautiful and I love this band. I'm going to buy their record and prove that downloading is only another form of promotion.

Later, we walked through the woods on Ile Ste-Helene, where the festival is being held, to the MEG stage (what does MEG stand for?) to see a band Cecilia recommended: Hushpuppies. They're French dandies and HOT! We chose the keyboardist as the hottest, but what else is new? I only wish that they played songs in French, since they are, en fait, French. They did a fun cover of The Kinks, "I'm not like everybody else".

Maude and Greg eventually joined us, and we met up with Mary Roach, who was working at the Engineers Without Borders kiosk. Until about 6pm, Brian and I had been cat napping and being lazy (great party on Friday) on the hill that faces the main stages, but at 6:15 it was time for Metric and we never sat down for long after that. I've seen Metric three times, I think (La Tulipe when it was called Cabaret du Plateau; Ottawa Blues Fest and last night), and they're always aweome and almost mystical in the way they create a bond, and a vibe with the audience. I felt like crying at the end, in the best way. Everybody loves Emily Haines. It must be very hard to be her. Oh, but an aside: there was a balcony where the backstage passes could watch the stages from. You know, the artists. Well, they never clapped! They took pictures, and watched us, and watched the stage, but they never clapped after any performance. WTF is up with that? (snooty voice) "Well, as an artist, you see, I *approve* of this performance, ta. It's satisfactory."

The best band we'd never heard before was Brazilian Girls, by FAR. So much fun! I heard some guys on the way out saying it was really all about the singer's sexuality (she's hot) but I disagree. I wasn't particularly affected by her sexuality but I was contaged (my word, copyright) by their super catchy, dancey music. I would definitely go see them on their own in the future. As in, pay for a ticket to see just them.

And we wrapped up with one full Sonic Youth (The Geriatrics, heh) song, as a compromise between those that were ready to go home and those that weren't. It was a good song. And I caught "one of those that were ready to go home" totally getting into it...

I came home exhausted, collapsed, and slept a lot. Now it's 11:55am and I'm ready to call Brian to see if we're going to buy rainboots before heading out again. I'm so ready for it, rain or shine! First up: Islands. I LOVE IT.