The morons are winning

The band is The Awkward Stage, a delightful Vancouver pop outfit we caught at the Media Club on the weekend. If you like jangly shit like Belle and Sebastian, the New Pornographers (for whom they'll be opening at the Commodore in late September) or the Smiths, you'll probably like them.

I simply can't get over the number of gigs that are coming up in this town. So far, we've tickets for Fujiya and Miaygi, The National, Tokyo Police Club and Art Brut. Other upcoming gigs include Au Revoir Simone/Oh No! Oh My!, Girl Talk/The Blow/Thunderheist, The Thermals, Spoon, Shout Out Louds, Klaxons, Stars, the Russian Futurists, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, Office, Chad VanGaalen, Justice and the Spice Girls.

Obviously I don't have the cash or energy to make it to all of them, but gosh its nice to have choices.

Weekends and bleak days

bought a digital camera this week, so the self-indulgence level on this blog is about to go through the roof. Lucky for y'all, I haven't figured out how to use it yet.

It would have been handy to have last night when we went to the Spanish Banks for a picnic on the beach. It's a spectacular setting with glorious vistas of the ocean, mountains, and the distant glass towers of downtown, as well as the most amazing view of the sunset imaginable. Since I didn't take any photos, here's an artist's impression:



Seriously, living in this town is enough to give one awe fatigue, but I can’t complain. Beats having one’s soul worn down by banal landscapes and grotesque architecture (hi Edmonton!)

Still, there’s a part of me that will always hold affection for the 780, which is why I’m giving the old girl some love this weekend. I’m planning on checking out this gig poster exhibition that’s being put on by (ex?) Edmontonian Kristen Cheung of Vanity Productions, and featuring works by Browntowners Lyle Bell and Field Marshal Raymond Biesinger. It’s all ages, which should be interesting, as I’ve no idea what “the kids” are into out here. I wonder if they are as awkwardly fashion-and-self-conscious and irritating as the kids back home. I dunno if such a thing is possible, but we’ll see.

LOLocaust

We have a fruit fly problem in our new apartment. I came across the following suggestion for dealing with the infestation on the internet:

Make an oven trap:
1. Remove all available food from kitchen. Clean the dishes, place open items in ziplock bags or the fridge.

2.Open the door of your oven and place a piece of fruit (banana or kiwi peels) in there overnight.

3. Wake up early the next morning and quietly close the oven door.

4. Turn on the oven to 400ºF/200ºC for about 10-15 minutes and majority of your fruit flies will be gone.

5. Clean the oven thoroughly.

I want to try this, but only if I get to tape a sign above the oven door that reads "Arbeit macht fly."

I'm a horrible person.

Dear hipster

Why, hipster? Why are you growing that ratty little moustache? Oh I know: the same reason you do any damn thing. Irony. Or is it post-modernism? I’m not sure. I am sure of this: it’s time you took a good, hard look at yourself. Son, I’m sorry to break this to you, but you are just not Moustache Material.

Before you opt to spare the patch of frizzy, pube-like growth on your upper lip from the ministrations of your Mach 3, ask yourself a question: am I a Moustache Man? If you do not know what makes a Moustache Man, you have no right to wear a moustache. But since I am doing this as a public service, I will give you some hints: Bert Reynolds. Tom Selleck. Friedrich Nietzsche. Joseph Stalin. Do you truly believe your name can be uttered in the same breath as those paragons of pogonotrophy? No.

Here’s the thing: you’re a pussy. A dork. A gaywad. A wimp. You are the kind of guy who would get shoved into lockers and garbage cans by guys who had grubby little ‘staches way back in Grade 9. Do you think your liberal arts degree and “career” as DJ-cum-American Apparel sales associate makes you less of a faggot* today? Do you think growing a moustache now will give you the same air of pre-teen menace as your middle school tormenters? It does not. You weigh 103 pounds and you are wearing girl pants.

I will not dither any further, but ask you this: please shave. Now. If not now, as soon as possible. Don’t make me hold you down and drop a loogie into your mouth or something. Shave, and then we’ll talk about pulling your goddamn pants up.


*Ironically, burly homosexuals are among the only true Moustache Men around. Bless ‘em.

I'll give you laid back.

Yes, I know that I've been remiss in making with the updates and the ha ha. Which is odd, given all that's happened over the last little while (including, but not limited to moving to a new city and starting a brand new job) provides ample blog fodder. Normally, I could chalk that up to being lazy (though out here on the west coast I can at least pass that off as "laid back"), but the fact is, I've been busy.

But I promise, lil' blog buddy, that I'll spend more time with you. Wanna go to the beach?