Posts tagged instagram
“Lord Neddard Stark of Winterfell!” shouted I. He didn’t get it so I curtsied toward m’lord and skulked away to rouse rabble elsewhere. WHERE MY GEEKSES IS AT?
Big ups to Telus and Casie and the CFL for making my first Canadian football game an amazing one. I may not follow the sport, but I LOVE me a some big excitement, and as far as events in Toronto go this month go – heck, even this YEAR – the Grey Cup was a huge one.
My entire weekend, save for a Saturday shoe and dress shopping spree, revolved around it pretty much. The streets around my office were closed off for the 100th Grey Cup Festival and parties / concerts/ meat eating contests could be found every which where.
Casie’s got a nice take on our time at the CFL Awards player’s party Thursday night here, and if you’re interested in the actual football stuff, you’re looking at the wrong blog.
According to some text messages, we were on the teevee a few times during the actual game, which makes sense because we were sitting directly behind game MVP Chad Kackert‘s folks.
But y’all KNOW I’m not about to spend 20 more minutes of my life scrubbing through football footage looking for two bouncing blonde heads (at least, not tonight.)
Here are some more anecdotes and photos from Sunday’s adventure (Storify a yeah-yeah…)
And that’s all she wrote for now, for it’s late. SO LATE.
Mmmm to the hmmm, it’s true. I finally saw Bring it on: The Musical at the old Canon Theater in Toronto (Now called “Ed Mirvish Theatre” or something) and jeepers effing crow was it good. Shockingly good. Mind-blowing good. Punch a snarky hobo in the mouth good!
I’ll admit that I kind of cringed my way through the first leg of the show, with all of its annoying one-dimensional characters and soulless dialogue.
Fortunately, it got better by leaps, bounds and basket tosses when a steezier crop of cast-members hit the stage.
Voila, three of my favourites — Nautica, Bridget and La Cienega:
To quote the Chicago Tribune’s Chris Jones in his review, the directors would be better to do away with “all those lame cheerleader gags, snappy one-liners in the hackneyed, played-out “Clueless” and “Mean Girls” modes, and all the other campery and frippery that bog down at least the first 25 percent of this show, an opening quarter that is, to put it frankly, so bad that it nearly chokes the entire evening.”
Nearly. One is always better able to appreciate excellence when there’s a little bit of “meh” up in the mix, after all. As lame as the Truman High stuff felt, I was still entertained by all of the pretty voices and costumes and dancing.
Expletives started flying from my mouth, though, when “the crew” from Jackson (ie; the rough inner-city school preppy-rich-white-girl Campbell gets transferred to) strutted onstage.
This is the moment Bring it On: The musical went from Cheesy to “HOLY SH*T! DID YOU SEE THAT? OMG I LOVE THOSE OUTFITS. OMG I LOVE THAT NAME. OMG I WANT TO DANCE LIKE THAT. OMG THIS IS HILARIOUS. YOU GO LEPRECHAUN, YOU GO!”
I think it was loud enough that nobody could hear me popping my mouth off while the action was hot, but an audible “FU*CK YES!!!” was definitely heard by more than a few people when the first act ended on a punch and flash. I got some looks.
I have no etiquette when my senses are overloaded. Ask the ride attendants at Cedar Point who watched me flying-kick a garbage can out of sheer joy when I was 19. They were not amused.
Big ups if you get that reference.
Moral of the blog post: GO SEE BRING IT ON if you can. I promise, it’s like nothing you’d expect from a musical based on a movie that regularly plays at 2 in the afternoon on crappy Canadian Music television stations (Not that I don’t love the film. It is a classic.)
There are cheerleader fireworks, break-dancing leprechauns, hot basketball players rapping, quadruple threat 20-somethings just beating the stage up for hours, taking our names like MOVE. It was funny. Splashy. Dope. Entertaining enough that after 2 and half hours I STILL WANTED MORE. If you know me at all, you know how crazy that is. I can barely sit through an entire episode of a sitcom these days.
Here’s another video compilation. Neither do the energy of that show justice, imho.
When we left the theatre, Ashley and I were pulled over to Yonge-Dundas square by a sick, throbbing beat — like fruit flies to a bowl of apple-cider vinegar, crack-heads to an abandoned shopping cart with a quarter in the lock at No Frills.
Ohhh yeah! I had totally forgot that DESIfest was on this weekend.
First off – BWAHAHAHAHA to the name of that song. Secondly, that girl is GREAT live. I hope she explodes mainstream. I could find almost nothing online yet, but this Stranger Family she’s part of looks HUGE in India.
Because CIBC is so muliculturalistic and stuff, they were giving away paper turbans from a van. There weren’t any left when we rolled up so I swiped one from the ground under a garbage can. What Lauren wants, LAUREN GETS:
You pretty much need a PhD in Rubik’s Cubery to assemble one of these puppies, FYI. We had to walk into a Popeye’s chicken and sit down for 20 minutes to put just one together.
I was getting funny looks as we waited for the streetcar afterwards, which I completely understand outside the context of Desifest and related marketing activities.
“HEY!” I shouted (in my mind). “I got this for FREE from CIBC and I worked REALLY HARD to put it together! I am a C-I-B-SULTAN!”
It was so nuce to have Ashley in town. She’s one of my oldest and dearest friends from home – one of the only Chathamites I still actually see, truth be told. She gets the meaning of hilarious in a way that few of my Toronto friends can comprehend.
We had a great time just walking around my neighbourhood(s) and popping into shops, galleries, parks, etc. Some photos? Some photos:
Lastly, I just found some fun things cruising YouTube
I usually have the cartoons on while I blog on Sunday evenings, but the season is OVER and the TV listings are all re-runs, sports and Kardashian Krap. I’m not having that. Thank goodness for weird ancient Disney cartoons and baby sloth videos and the like…
Also worth a look = The Tim Burton zoetrope cake, this story about a stray dog racer and L8R by Azealia Banks. Pretty sure I’ve blogged that before… multiple times, probably. Watch it again. It’s good.
Sweet dreams, puppies!
Shhhhhh. I’m blogging now.
Purrhaps if my iPhone stopped buzzing, I’d be able to get some of the stuff I’m being buzzed about done. I’m a BUSINESS man not a business-man. Ugh, that’s a lie. I’m neither of those things.
I’m just a busy creative who hates crunching numbers and making plans and coordinating schedules and booking dentist appointments and remembering to pull my Optimum card out of my wallet when I go to buy my weekly skid of Life brand diet cola from the mascara & Benadryl store.
Can normal people have account managers for their lives? To organize things?
I just Googled it. Apparently some people DO have managers. They’re called “Justin Bieber” and “Taylor Swift.”
OH YEAH, Biebs? Well I had dozens of managers when I worked at McDonald’s in Grade 10. They hated me and I got written up for wearing nailpolish on the regular. Good times.
Here are a few snaps from the past couple days. For the play-by-play, you know where to turn… but honestly, don’t.
You’ve got better things to do than waste your precious time wrapped up in the minutae of some other human’s life. We all do.
P.S. Sriracha lolipops exist.
Do. not. want.
More bloggage tomorrow. More everything. Bring it on looniverse.
How about a little bit of THIS to start your week off right?
“Feed the Screen Cap” won my Tumblog of the week designation this morning, nary two hours into the work week, based on its simplicity and hilarity and its not-so-vague similarity to that scene in Family Guy where Peter feeds Tom Selleck baked beans from a can…
But then I discovered Lana Del Who and, well… you guys can share the title this week. Let’s feed a screencap of Lana Del Ray Liotta some baby carrots to celebrate:
Speaking of web hotness, the Freelancer Fred advice meme is pretty solid. Depressingly accurate, which makes it all the more solid.
Third and yes, least, The Grammys happened last night.
I’m not into watching celebrity award shows on TV, mainly because most of these shows happen during the winter months when the thought of streaming sunny Los Angeles into my living room fill me with RAGE — and also because most award shows are boring, save for the red carpet fashion coverage.
You know what isn’t boring though? All of the reactionary web content produced during and after the shows. Those snarky Monday morning blog posts, the hilarious animated gifs and, of course, the live Tweets.
Like many people my age, I’ve given up the passive act of “watching television”. Instead, I split my focus between the TV screen, the laptop screen and the smartphone screen, commenting on everything that strikes me as interesting in real time, discussing it with thousands of other people who are all simultaneously caught up in the very same act of synchronized mass cultural consumption.
The programs on TV have become secondary to the mass conversations at our fingertips. Watch the Royal Wedding on a couch in front of the TV? That is SO 2008.
Well, no… It’s 2011, but only because that’s when the wedding actually happened.
Anyhoo, I didn’t watch the Grammys at all because I was driving home to the city from my parents’ house, listening to intelligent public radio programs like the big word user that I am.
From what the Internet tells me, this is what happened last night:
I wonder what she’ll pull out for the next soiree?
Meanwhile, Katy Perry was all like “La la la, I kissed a girl and I liked itttt” with her blue everything while Gaga quietly clutched a sceptre in her seat…
Easy there, Queen Beryl.
From what I gather, not much else of interest happened on the show outside of one Chris Brown performance that turned hundreds of American girls into insensitive fools and one Andy Levy into a comedian for the evening.
I’d love to go to the Grammys one day and interview some of these people on the red carpet. I’d love a lot of things, like some Habitant French-Canadian pea soup for dinner and a passport photo that doesn’t make me look like I’m about to burn things.
BONUS: Here’s another photograph of my brother’s new cat via my Instragram feed…
And a photo of a photo of my parents at 29. That’s Nicki Minaj’s age, don’t you know.