Music – Page 7 – Rant and Roll

Shine bright like a diamond

Hey you beauty cats.

Holy smokes, today I am le tired.

Last night was stand-up comedy fest 2012 – aka my first time at the microphone in front of buckets and buckets of people – at it was AH-MAZE-ING.

Seriously, it one of the most brilliant nights of my life.

I ended up being the de facto headliner of the evening (as I was the last comic to perform) and I kind of want to say that I killed.

The audience laughed at all the right places (and at some bits that I never really considered all that funny), and even better, they laughed loudly.

I also had a number of other comics approach me after my set and ask me if I had ever done stand-up before (some actually thought I was a performer that my teacher had booked to close off the night).

So fair warning, I’m about two steps away from quitting my life and becoming a professional runner/stand-up comedian (although I should probably remain an amateur because that way I can compete in the stand-up comedy/running Olympics.)

Phew.

Fry-up time!

Shine on you crazy diamond.

So if you’ve been paying attention to any of this year’s holiday fashion trends you would know that sparkles are currently all the rage.

And as such, I feel like a crazed attention deficient hummingbird every time I enter a clothing store.

Everything is shimmering and glittering, and I want to try on each disco-ball inspired piece.

Just yesterday I was at Joe Fresh in hopes of procuring a sparkly skirt (one that I could wear to the myriad of Christmas parties and get togethers I have coming down the pipe over the next month) and I was near blinded by an absolute deluge of sparkle.

Talk about sensory overload.

I did end up purchasing a lovely little number (I am kicking myself for not snapping a photo, but will be sure to take one this weekend) that is absolutely perfect, with just the right amount of glitz and glam.

In the mean time, check out these nails:

Oh baby.

Next!

I’d stop the world and melt with you.

I don’t always cheese on toast.

But when I do, I cheese on toast with two kinds of cheese.

Sharp cheddar. Parmesan.

Oh baby.

Out of a canon.

I spent the summer after my second year of undergrad in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

It’s an absolutely brilliant city and I urge you all to go should you ever get the chance.

One of my jobs was working the front door at a fab little bar/restaurant down at the waterfront, on the nights they had bands or performers playing.

The nub and gist of my position was the more people I could convince to stay and pay cover, the more money I would take home at the end of the night.

Now when I say I loved my job, I am not lying. Above and beyond the fact that I made a crap ton of money (due to my oustanding powers of coercion), I got to listen to amazing music pretty much every night that I worked.

In particular, there was always one musician who – week in and week out – continually knocked my socks off.

Ladies and gents, may I present to you –

Matt Andersen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unh4gbcanoI

Most of his stuff is much bluesier, but I cannot tell a lie, I’m digging this foray into the country tunes.

It gets me fired up.

Oh baby.

…

So there you have it you crazy loons.

I will post the link to my stand-up set on Youtube as soon as it is uploaded.

In the mean time, enjoy your weekends, eat some cheese and toast, and be your brilliant, beautiful, bonkers selves.

Because goodness knows, you’re what makes the world go round.

Hey, who’s gonna sit by you?

So like ten gagillion other individuals out there, I take public transit to and from work every day.

I may sometimes begrudge this fact (say, on an extraordinarily rainy morning, or anytime some tactless fool lets out an absolute whopper of a fart), but for the most part, I am a-okay with my status as slave to the skytrain gods.

I like to sum it up thusly: I love riding the metro ninety-eight per cent of the time. The other two per cent I’m all THE SKYTRAIN IS BROKE I BLOODY-WELL HATE THIS NONSENSE AND ALL YOU BUMS DULLARDS AND HACKS WHO TAKE MY SEATS AND TALK TOO LOUDLY ON YOUR MOBILE PHONES CAN GET THE HECK OUT.

Ahem.

So, in this vein, (and as a somewhat sequel – or is it prequel? Ridley Scott Promethequel?) to my “Things I think about when I run”), may I present to you – dear readers:

Things I think about when I ride Skytrain.

Pleeeeeeaaaaase let me get a seat.

[Doors open.]

Must…mask…desperation…with…long…strides…and…steely…determination…

SUCCESS!!! Muahahahaha. I AM SITTING! Which means I am soon to be READING!

I get so much reading done on skytrain. I should just ride skytrain all day long.

Reeeeeaaaaaad. Readreadreadreadreadreadreadreadreadreadread.

Shit, we’re here all ready?

Nope. Keep reading.

[Stops.]

[Thinks.]

Ewan MacGregor is SO hot.

What am I going to eat for lunch today?

I should really start eating breakfast.

I like that guy’s suit.

Oh no! Who is listening to Last Christmas? It’ll be in my head for years!! ESCAPE!!!

I probably won’t ever stop pronouncing escape “ess-cap-eh”.

P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

I should re-watch that film. It’s so good.

But seriously though, Last Christmas has got to be an organ donor’s absolute worst nightmare.

Ack. I almost drooled.

I’m only twenty-seven and I drool A LOT. Is this like a thing? Should I get myself checked out? How would one test for drool?

Look at that sunrise. It’s like the most beautiful bruise in the world.

I would know. I get so many bruises I’m like a lava-lamp in human form.

Too weird.

Even for you Ethel.

Eh. Whatevs.

I want to go for a run.

I want to bake mint chocolate chip brownies.

I want to eat mint chocolate chip brownies.

I want that two hundred and fifty dollar Club Monaco dress.

I want to make out with Ewan MacGregor.

I want to watch Daniel Craig make out with Javier Bardem.

You can’t always get what you want Ethel.

But if you try sometime, you just might find – you get what you need.

OH YEAH.

Man, that is such a good song.

Hmmmm. That teenager has been making eyes at me for the last twenty minutes. Better get ready to let him down easy.

Also, the guy sitting next to me has his legs spread so wide you would think his crotch is on fire. I mean, could he take up any more of my space?

[Sniffing.]

Hello cologne!

(We’re not talking the city in Germany here folks…)

Yup.

I am definitely the funniest person in the world.

READ.

You’ll listen to it twice, on the radio

Hi kids.

Do you ever get the overwhelming urge to just shout out: “What do you mean constantly talking about it isn’t going to make me any less tired!?”

It’s been but a four day work week and I’m totally ready to pack it in for the next seven.

Good grief.

However, fab happenings this weekend include running the Fall Classic 10k on Sunday, and then later that night hosting the Storytelling Show on Vancouver Co-op Radio.

If you cool cats wish to tune in as yours truly burns up the airwaves, please fix your dials to 100.5 fm (if you live in Beautiful BC) or else surf on over here to catch an earful.

Nine p.m. sharp!

Also, tomorrow I have two talks with the United Way, and then later that night, the man with whom I share my home (but so rarely see outside the hours of 11pm-6am – if you wish to equate “drooling quietly while asleep beside his comatose body” with “seeing”) are going on a date.

Meep!

We are finally going to check out Skyfall and see what all the fuss is about.

I actually really like James Bond flicks – whether they’re old-school cheese-fests or Jason-Bourne-only-in-a-tux (as I like to say about the Daniel Craig iterations) – so I’m looking forward to watching Mr. Broccoli’s latest release.

In the interim, Fry-up time!

If you think I’m sexy.

So in my post this past Monday, I published a photo of just some of the sweet records M and I listen to whilst up on the Sunshine Coast.

One of the singers highlighted was Rod Stewart, and as I mentioned to one of my lovely commenters, my love for Mr. Footloose and Fancy Free pretty much knows no bounds.

I bloody well adore him.

Just last night, I was driving home from my weekly meet up with my Little, and this song came on the radio:

OMG this tune absolutely slays me.

For instance, I can remember the exact moment I heard it for the first time.

Summer.

I am dancing to this song at my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

I am twelve years old.

At one point everyone – all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, my grandparents – join hands and start dancing as one big group, moving to the centre of the circle and then back out again, whooping it up, laughing, smiling; just having an absolute blast.

The love I feel in that moment is so overwhelming I feel as though my heart is either going to burst from my chest and or leak out of my shoes. I so badly don’t want to cry, so instead I smile so wide that my cheeks ache and I swear I can feel a softball wedging its way halfway down my throat.

So even though they are good tears, I don’t want to make a scene, as I am sure no one would be able to understand the myriad of emotions that are running rabid about my body.

In the end, I actually have to go to the bathroom to gather up my wits, as eventually no amount of nutty smiling could keep my tears inside of me any longer.

My body is wracked by deep, guttural sobs, and I desperately blot at my eyes with scratchy paper towel.

It’s a strange (sense) memory, I know, but I will always, always long this song.

And Rod.

I will definitely always adore him.

You talk to a log?

So.

Twin Peaks.

Erm.

I just watched the first episode on Netflix last night.

M kept explaining how he thinks the show is a blend of a Kids in the Hall sketch and how he wishes he life could be.

I don’t know how to take this. Like, at all.

Anyways, I know that the people who love this show, love it like I love a Rod Stewart song, so I definitely don’t want to alienate any rabid David Lynch fans out there.

Suffice to say that I haven’t watched nearly enough of the show to formulate a decent opinion, so I will hold my tongue until I have the chance to immerse myself further in the program.

The one thing I will say is that so far is – V.V. WEIRD.

(But, again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.)

Just a v. v. weird thing.

Onwards!

Sweet, sweet charity.

If one of you could please purchase this and send it to me, boy would I ever be thankful:

(I don’t even need the hat.)

Also, I can repay you in excellent shrimp fajitas and apple-blueberry crisp.

I have references.

…

What are you mad hatters up to for the weekend? Are you Twin Peaks fans? Also, let me know if you need my mailing address.

Finally, please pray for mojo that the downpour stays away and I’m not washed down the drain on the course come Sunday.

Because if I’m not running like the wind, I’ll be streaming by like the rain.

Some kind of madness is swallowing me whole

So.

I broke the weather.

After posting my piece on Monday about how us West Coasters were living in perpetual summer, literally overnight we went from this:

To this:

So to all my fellow BCers – I apologize profusely.

I never meant to bring on the Exorcist fog.

In a bid to win back your hearts, I dedicate this Friday’s Fry-up to you all.

Here we go!

Just a walking down the street.

Yesterday the world let me that I was looking pretty good.

Now you may ask yourself, well, how do I know this?

I will, of course, spill all my secrets, but first: you must acknowledge that you definitely read that last sentence in the voice of David Byrne.

(And remember: this is not your beautiful house.)

Second, I know that I looked good because other than having spent the majority of my work day making kissy-duck faces in my compact mirror (spoiler: that didn’t actually happen), I counted a few dudes giving me the old how-do-ya-do as I walked the length of the downtown core on my lunch break.

(For those of you not familiar with my antiquated euphemism, I mean they checked me out.)

Okay first off – I don’t normally notice these things. And if I do, I either get really angry because the level of douche accompanying the check-out is off the charts, or get all shirty and do really stupid things like winding myself on parking meters.

IMG_2107 - Copy — How I normally feel about these things.

I should also stress that when I first started to notice this happening, I initially just assumed I had food all over my face because a.) I often have food all over my face and b.) I’m not just that conceited okay?

However, as it kept happening even after I completed my secret, ultra-inconspicuous “face wipe” (my ace in the hole for successful social outings and for Keeping the Passion Alive™) I started to kind of dig it.

I stopped thinking about Justin Trudeau’s twenty-six page photo spread in Maclean’s magazine, how foggy it was when I woke up this morning, national security threats in the form of Chinese telecoms, Russian spies in the Canadian navy, if I was going to eat asparagus ravioli or cheese on toast for dinner, and just how much I hate it how my other winter coat is just a tiny bit longer than many of my dresses, so when I wear it, it looks as though I’m not wearing anything at all on my bottom half.

I allowed my mouth to form the faintest of smirks.

I slowed my gait ever so slightly, switching gears from “charging bull” to “lolloping giraffe.”

I even managed to steer clear of all manner of dangerous sidewalk detritus, such as parking meters (more commonly known as my diaphragm’s nemesis) and MEN AT WORK signs.

After all, it’s my klutzy nature that is one of the many reasons I don’t normally pay attention to how the surrounding populace reacts to me as I charge about town.

Also, I’m normally too busy checking out all the other weirdos and what’s going on in their lives. I just waiting for the day that I come across someone with braided nose hair and a roving eyebrow.

(I figure I’m about two levels short of achieving this goal.)

But hey, some days are the exception to the rule right?

And some days, well, you just look exceptional.

I find you a-MUSE-ing.

When I say that I currently cannot stop listening to Muse’s 2nd law album, I actually mean to say that I cannot stop listening to this song on repeat:

IT’S SO GOOD GUYS.

If I was fifteen years old, I would listen to this some on loop while visualizing what it would be like to make out with Christian Bale, fretting over whether or not post-braces I would be attractive enough to get a boyfriend.

Then I would lip-synch the absolute crap out of it.

As a twenty-seven year old, I can honestly say the process isn’t that much different.

Just kidding! Christian Bale is SO twelve years ago.

Although, I am concerned about just how love I love this song:

I was out driving the other night and it came on the radio, and I was all “TURN IT UP AND CHAIR DAAAAAANCE!!”

When I came home and youtubed the lyrics my jaw nearly hit the floor.

You see, I’ve been trying to keep my life one hundred per cent Justin Bieber-free and to have his girlfriend just waltz her way into my unassuming heart was a bit of a shock to my system.

But then, what could I possible do except let loose a resounding MEH?

I mean, the main lyrics to this tune are: I love you like a love song baby.

That stuff is my kryptonite. It’s impossible for me not to love it (like a love song.) And as I’ve said before: I will never stop loving cheesy and heck pop.

Must. Stop. Saying. Love.

Onwards!

Spreading the word.

Today is my first talk with the United Way Speakers Bureau, a campaign that runs until the end of December. I will be out spreading the good word about Big Sisters and the importance of mentorship in the lives of young women.

This is a cause that is very near and dear to my heart and I am stoked to be out there sparking interest in this truly phenomenal program and organization.

If you have ever given thought to volunteering as a Big or just want more information, please let me know and I would be happy to chat with you more about my experience.

You will change lives.

It will change yours.

…

Happy weekend you beauty cats! I can’t wait to hear what you all get up to.

I only wanna be your one life stand

Warning: excessive use of hyperbole ahead.

Also, falling rocks.

(Just kidding.)

THIS PAST SATURDAY I WENT TO THE BEST CONCERT OF MY LIFE.

And yet I feel tongue-tied trying to communicate how absolutely earth-shatteringly awesome this experience truly was.

As such, everything inside of me is screaming USE YOUR SWEARS USE THEM ALL USE ALL THE SWEARS.

But I won’t.

So it’s hard.

But the question remains – how do I get you, dear reader, to feel that same exhilaration I felt stepping into that club?

How to make you feel that same energy, coursing the length of my body?

Tingling the ends of your fingertips? The dips of your earlobes?

Tickling the backs of your knees, slipping down into the folds of your shoes?

To hear the murmur of the crowd, a beehive of anticipation?

A vibration.

How do I make you crackle and snap with the electricity of it all, the flash of the lights, and the intensely, indescribably, intoxicating sounds careening off of the stage, permeating every last crook and cranny of the sweat-slicked, pulsating room?

How do I make you dance until your blistered, blisters cry nay command you not to stop, never stop, your mouth a perma-grin, a high school smirk stained with salty secrets, and the knowledge that all of this is so good, and all of this will never be so good.

So if I cannot do this, I will just say – GO TO HOT CHIP.

Go.

…

Elsewhere in the cosmic kitchen:

Zen.

Brunch.

Weirdo.

Cat.

View.

…

Tell me where you’ve been to
Nowhere that you shouldn’t do
Tell me what you’re good for
I can tell you something too.