22 December 2005, lunch time
I’ve had my share of bus drivers that like to wait till you sprint all the way to the front door of the bus before driving away. They dangle the prospect of catching your bus, and then take it away. Jerks. One of the guys that drives the 191 Rocket in the morning is a bus drivers from the other end of the spectrum. For starters, he waited for a lady who works in my office before leaving, because he knew she is sometimes late for the bus. As we were pulling out of Kipling station, he noticed someone had just missed the bus, and turned around and came back to get them. That was nice. If you miss the 191 Rocket, you need to take the Kipling and Dixon buses, which both suck in equal parts.
[1] Life
19 December 2005, late morning
Amazon never ceases to amaze me. The order I placed on Friday shipped to me today (Monday). First of all, I chose free shipping, so it usually takes them 2-3 days to even process your order. Also, it normally should take them a couple days to deliver the package via Canada Post. Next day shipping wouldn’t have been any faster. I think they must be working extra hard for the holiday season.
[3] Life
16 December 2005, the wee hours
They let us leave work early today due to the volume of snow falling from the sky. The ground was very wet. When I got home, I decided I would shovel the walkway and sidewalk of the house I live in. I haven’t shoveled the snow in ages; it was very satisfying. I think the fact it took me 5 minutes to clear the snow around my house had something to do with the pleasure I found in the activity. I never want to shovel my drive way in Scarborough, its very long. I milled around at home for an hour before leaving to meet my cousins on Queen St. The snow hadn’t let up, and I shoveled the ground once more before leaving. My cousins and I met at the Chapters on Queen. I don’t feel bad loitering in a Chapters. I’m not sure why, but there is something faceless and corporate about the stores; I think it’s because they are so huge. After dinner I returned to Chapters to look for possible Christmas gifts. I found none. I made my way back home. The snow had still not let up. The ground was a slushy mess. The bottoms of my jeans were soaked. I decided I’d clear the walkway and sidewalk one last time before calling it a night.
Stand in the place where you live, now face north
Think about direction, wonder why you haven’t before
Now stand in the place where you work, now face west
Think about the place where you live, wonder why you haven’t before—Stand by REM
[5] Life
6 December 2005, lunch time
My poor t-shirts from Threadless are trapped at the Shoppers Drugmart at Woodbine Mall. There is an angry lady that works there, so I have given up trying to talk to her about getting the package moved to another postal outlet. (When I asked about having the package moved, or delivered again, she replied, witch much disdain and contempt, that they aren’t a Canada Post, they are a Shoppers Drugmart. Like I didn’t know?) If you don’t know, Woodbine mall is a sad excuse for a mall in and around Rexdale. It sits alone, surrounded by pretty much nothing. The race track isn’t too far away I suppose. Canada Post chose to deliver the shirts at 6:50, last Tuesday night. I have to pay duty on the shirts, which is why they didn’t leave them at the reception desk. Why they would deliver the shirts to an office at 7:00 at night, I’m not entirely sure. Having to pick-up something I had to pay to have delivered is annoying, but I can live with that. Talking to people from Canada Post on the otherhand is beyond aggravating. My advice to you: if you ever need to pick a package up from a postal outlet, just suck it up and do it, don’t talk to anyone. My plan is to trek out to Woodbine this Wednesday, on what may be the greatest adventure of my entire life.
Update: A post man came and dropped my package off for me. It’s a Christmas miracle. I still hate the lady that works at Woodbine Mall, but all is forgiven Canada Post.
[7] Life
25 November 2005, the wee hours
The Carlu is on the top floor of one of the older buildings in Toronto. It has a very rich history; after several years of neglect, the venue was restored in 2003 and used to host events ever since. It’s a strange, but cool, place to have a concert. I went there last night to see Echo and the Bunnymen. The band was big in the 80s, but for whatever reason never got really big; a true indie band I suppose. A strange mishmash of people filled the venue. Heather, Ben, and I were probably some of the younger people in the crowd. We bought some 7 dollar Stellas and waited for the band to play. The opening act was reminiscent of Guns and Roses and Radiohead stuck together. They played a short set. Echo and the Bunnymen didn’t take the stage till 11:00, which was quite late considering this was a wednesday night show; I would have expected with an older crowd out they would have started things earlier. I suppose that doesn’t matter, they were quite good live. They look and sound very much like a hip 80s band. You may recall hearing the song The Killing Moon in the movie Donnie Darko. They played that song, which was from 1984, and what I would imagine was a mix of old and new songs. I liked their stuff, and will need to track down some compilations or something. They’re touring in support of a new album called Siberia. If you have a chance to see them, I think you should. They are definitely a cool band.
[2] Life | Music
22 November 2005, the wee hours
I missed this site’s anniversary by a day. A Funkaoshi Production has been online for 2 years now. Not much has changed on the site in that time. I still write about the inane details of my life. I still watch a lot of movies. I still bitch about America. I imagine these things will be standard fair for the upcoming year as well. Hope you guys are still enjoying things here.
[2] Weblogs | Life
22 November 2005, the wee hours
As I had mentioned in passing earlier, the washer and dryer where I like are far from typical. The units sit in one corner of my apartment’s kitchen. The apartment is quite small, and there really wouldn’t be a better place to put the two machines. I didn’t realize till after I had moved in that space was not the only reason the washer and dryer were there. The washing machine at my place isn’t connected to any of the houses plumbing. “How does that work?” you might be thinking. When I moved in, my roommate showed me how to work the washer. It is an involved process:
- You need to wheel the washer from the corner of the kitchen it is in over to the sink. How else are you going to get water into the machine after all.
- You must plug the washer into the plug outlet on the stove, which is the closet outlet to the sink. The thing needs power. Now you are ready to start washing.
- You’ll need to turn on the tap, and set it to the temperature you want. (All the dials on the washing machine that set the temperature of the water are useless.) If you want different temperature water later in the wash cycle, you need to remember change the setting of the tap to the warm or cold accordingly.
- Pick the type of cycle you’d like to do and you’re ready to go.
Once I have finished a load of laundry, I get to use my dryer, which doesn’t really do anything at all. I use it more out of habit than anything else. After “drying” for 2 or 3 hours, I have somewhat damp clothing I can fold and put away.
[4] Life
2 November 2005, late afternoon
Sanaz is taking part in the Miss Universe Canada pageant. If she wins she gets to be Canada’s representative in the Miss Universe pageant. You may recall Canada won the pageant last year. I actually took the photos Sanaz used for her application. I still haven’t seen them, though I’ve been told they turned out really well. The photos I took were probably much tamer than the ones on Sanaz’s Miss Universe page. There is a link from her page, where you can go vote for Sanaz to win the People’s Choice award. My cousin won this award the year she participated in the pageant. Go vote. I want to be able to say I know two past winners.
Update Nov 17th 2005: Sanaz won the people’s choice award. Good job those of you who clicked and voted. I now know two winners.
[3] Life
30 October 2005, late at night
So I’ve left my bachelor apartment in High Park Village behind. For the next little while my base of operations is in the Bloor West Village; I’m living around Jane and Bloor now. For those who don’t know Toronto too well, this means I’ve travelled two subway stops from where I used to live; that is to say, I haven’t moved all that far. The new place is cool enough. I now live in a duplex, in what I imagine to be a very old house. I have a roommate now, Lori, who is quite nice. I have a washing machine and a dryer in my apartment, a welcome change. (I will have to write about this washer and dryer pair—I have plenty to say about them and I’ve only been in the place for 2 days.) I have a living room, and I have a television, something I’ve been without for a good year or so. So far, so good.
Update: The internet here is much slower. I think I’ll be OK.
[1] Life
28 October 2005, lunch time
My bed lays in pieces in the foyer of my apartment. My plan was to set it on fire—it’s made out of untreated wood—but, I don’t really know where I can go and do that in the city; it also seems like more trouble than it is worth. Instead, I plan to just leave it next to the giant garbage cans in the parking garage of my building. Someone else can take the wood and burn it if they want, or perhaps do something productive with the bed. When I bought the bed, I had planned to lacquer it some sort of mahogany brown. It would look nice and cool. That never happened. Just as well, the bed started to break about a month or so after I bought it. It’s a piece of junk bed from Ikea, and the slats had a habit of falling through the bed. I ended up stuffing cardboard boxes under the bed to help hold them up, though this was only a partial solution. I dismantled the bed late last night. Only my mattress separates me from the floor. I am moving soon. I will have a roommate, and live in a small duplex. I feel like I’m going backwards in time.
[3] Life
27 October 2005, the wee hours
The last time my hair was as long as it is right now was around the time of my birthday. I remember because I was having a BBQ at my home in Scarborough. I walked through my front door, and my mom started yelling at me about my hair. She yells very loud. My youngest brother had an appointment to get his hair cut that day, but my mom insisted that I get mine cut instead.
I get my hair cut in Scarborough from a very lovely lady named Liz for $6. Usually she does a good job. That day she chopped all my hair off. I looked like a mental patient. This was in fact the second time she had done this, the first was right before my cousin wedding. Still, I keep going back. I like Liz. Also, for $6 dollars, you shouldn’t expect too much.
My mom is not in the country right now. With no one on my ass to get my hair cut, it has grown reasonably long and shaggy. This doesn’t bother me very much. I actually like it long; I don’t need to put any gel in it.
[1] Life
11 October 2005, lunch time
“This ain’t the Drake.”
I guess if you haven’t been to the Drake Hotel in 15 or so years, you would be in for quite the shock. The place has changed. An old man walked in to the Drake just as my cousin and I were leaving the bar. His first words to us were, “It’s a little warm for a fire don’t you think?” The fire place was running. He then wandered around in disbelief before leaving the bar with my cousin and I. We took our time leaving to hear what else he had to say. He complained to us about yuppies before going on his way.
The funny thing about the encounter was that my cousin and I were discussing gentrification and how neighborhoods in the city can flip all of a sudden from slum to shiny-happy-land. This has happened most markedly along Queen St. West. I walked with my cousin, along this road, from the Drake all the way back downtown. This took us along pretty much all of the newly rejuvenated Queen St. West. We passed my cousin’s old street, which was down the road from a lonely-man motel he recalls was a second home to many prostitutes. (The motel is still there, I wonder if the prostitutes are?) We passed the park, where people were jogging and walking their dogs. This was a shock to him, as he recalls it being the sort of place you wouldn’t want to walk through. We actually made it all the way back to University road without crossing some tract we thought was even slightly slummy. It’s quite amazing.
Earlier, while my cousin and I were eating brunch at the Drake—the fact that I go for brunch at the Drake makes me a Yuppy and I hate myself—I was discussing Parkdale and how the neighborhood was nice till about the 1950s, got slummy after the Gardiner came up, and is now being revitalized, centered around the Liberty Village area. The bar tender, who had served my friends and I at the Sky Bar during the summer, came over to give us some water, and catching the portion of our conversation, interjected: “It is getting nicer, but I like my Parkdale. I’ll know the neighborhood is done when you can’t get a $1.25 stout.”
[3] Life | Toronto
8 October 2005, lunch time
Go see the Tangiers live. You would be a fool—a damn fool—not too.
Read the rest of this post. (582 words)
[3] Music | Life
1 October 2005, early evening
I suppose at this point in time it is pretty cliché to have a crush on Emily Haines. Nevertheless, there is definitely something about her. The Metric concert at the Pheonix tonight was amazing.
Read the rest of this post. (466 words)
[4] Music | Life
28 September 2005, mid-morning
“Your show was really good”
“Thanks,” MIA replied. She then turned to Parthi and said, “See, your friend is keeping it simple.” Parthi had just finished lecturing MIA on how she should manage her career.
What a night out. Through a series of random flukes, Parthi managed to make the MIA concert one of the most interesting nights out I’ve ever had.
Read the rest of this post. (1084 words)
[11] Music | Life
30 August 2005, the wee hours
My Hotmail account has been deactivated. However, I still have a fair number of people who try to email me there. I think this is because it is the account I use to log in to MSN Messenger with. The problem with a deactivated account seems to be is that emails sent to the account silently disappear. One would expect the messages to bounce, but no such luck. Anyway, the point of this post was to simply ask that you don’t email me at my Hotmail email address. I have a perfectly good email address here at funkaoshi.
[2] Technology | Life
29 August 2005, the wee hours
Tyler was in town for the weekend. I spent a good chunk of Saturday with him. After wandering around downtown trying to track down shoes with Sean the two of us headed off to Matt’s place for what would turn out to be dinner — we had planned to sit around and do nothing. No sooner had we started the trek to Matt’s place when it began to drizzle. We walked in the rain for a few minutes, taking a detour through a small side road which ran through a very swanky neighbourhood behind Bloor.
The first house on this street had a small pole out front, and leaning on this pole was an umbrella. I asked Tyler, “Hey, do you want to steal the umbrella?”
We took a few more steps forward and then I think it registered in Tyler’s head what I had said. He walked back, picked up the umbrella, and we were on our way, shielded from the rain — somewhat anyway. The umbrella was small, but quite fancy. It was broken, so we decided the owner must be some rich Yorkville resident who decided they’d just buy a new umbrella rather than use this old broken one. I think we decided this story was the best because it is the sort of scenario that lets you feel OK with stealing somebody’s umbrella.
It could not have been more than a few minutes after we found the umbrella that it started raining quite hard. If we didn’t find that umbrella we would have been soaked.
Don’t you see, Vince, that shit don’t matter. You’re judging this thing the wrong way. It’s not about what. It could be God stopped the bullets, he changed Coke into Pepsi, he found my fuckin’ car keys. You don’t judge shit like this based on merit. Whether or not what we experienced was an according-to-Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is I felt God’s touch, God got involved. — Jules, Pulp Fiction
[4] Life
20 August 2005, the wee hours
Chun-Yi: Legend of Kung-Fu opened in Toronto tonight, and I thought it was amazing. The show is part Kung-Fu, part dance, part acrobatics, all mixed together quite seamlessly. Shima and I showed up a few minutes late, so when we were escorted in to the theatre the show and just started, and we had to watch the first portion from the back. The aisles and stage were lined with Chinese dudes doing Kung-Fu. It was awesome. The show basically didn’t let up from the start till the end. The transitions between scenes were just as impressive as the scenes themselves, usually involving 20 odd people performing some crazy martial arts sequence. I am not sure how long the show is running for, but I think it is well worth checking out before its run is up.
Life
7 August 2005, early afternoon
“Sorry we can’t let you in, it’s past two.”
“But our friends are in side.” I replied to the first bouncer.
“Sorry those are the rules,” he replied right back. The Drake is quite tight ass on the weekends.
“Dude, you’re skinny,” a second bouncer interjected. He had an afro. I’ve met him before. We both have the same zip-up FCUK top.
“What?”
“Want a cookie?” he asked.
“Uh—sure,” I replied. I like chocolate chip cookies as much as the next guy. “This is a pretty good cookie. So, can you let us in?”
“Hell no. It’s two o’clock.”
And so Yathavan and I sat outside of the Drake hotel for 10 minutes or so, waiting for Rishi, Constantine, and James to come out. I chatted with the bouncer who gave me the cookie for a few minutes. It turns out he is dating a friend of a friend. It was a long day for me; I had been to: the Danforth for the Taste of the Danforth festival, Little Italy for Drinks, Harbourfront in a vain attempt to see Born into Brothels at the South Asian Festival, Carvill’s house to eat, Laura’s house for some drinks and to see Heather off, Neutral to listen to some British music in a somewhat dank bar—all before finally end up at the Drake Hotel. The day was long but fun.
For the record: you can’t do much in Toronto after two, but trying to go out is still fun.
[10] Life | Restaurants and Bars
21 July 2005, lunch time
“Could I get the VHS or Beta CD,” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Uh—Hey, I like your band too.”
“Thanks,” replied Nirmala Basnayake, from controller.controller. She smiled and sort of curtsied.
I already owned the controller.controller CD, so I didn’t want to buy it again. I also didn’t want her to think I liked VHS or Beta more than controller.controller. I’m not sure why I felt like this; I doubt not being accepted by strangers keeps her up at night, but I still felt obliged to throw out the compliment—it was true anyway.
VHS or Beta
Camouflage Unit were the opening act for the night. Dave and I arrived midway through their set. They were quite good, though a little bit unpolished when compared to the two bands that would follow them. I will have to see them again next time they’re playing in the city; they have a very interesting sound.
VHS or Beta came on shortly after Camouflage Unit, but spent a very long time doing a sound check. When they started playing I turned to Dave and said “They sound like the Cure.” He agreed. The lead singer sounded like he was channeling Robert Smith’s voice—it was uncanny.
Mind you, the band was good in its own right. Dave and I were at the front of the stage, surrounded by people dancing along to their music. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. The band were good live; looking and sounding like something out of the 80s, but not quite.
Touring alongside VHS or Beta was the photographer from Last Night Party. Shima will be glad to know that the party Dave and I were at was nothing like the parties featured on the web site.
controller.controller
The band Dave and I had come to see were controller.controller. It had been a pleasant surprise that VHS or Beta had been so good, but we had come expecting good things from controller.controller. When we saw the band last they were the opening act for Esthero and put on a really good show.
The band took to the stage more or less one by one. The drummer got on stage last, wearing a balaclava. The last time Dave and I saw the band, he had some sort of mask on. I guess it’s something he always does. The lead singer, whom I spoke to earlier, was wearing a white tank top and mini-skirt, and stood out on stage. She would have stood out anyway I suppose, being a small brown girl surrounded by some tall-ass white dudes.
The band opened with a new song, which was a great way to start their show. They seem to have written a lot of new material, and I would imagine have enough songs for a full length album now. They alternated, more or less, between old songs and new songs. People were really enjoying the show. Lee’s Palace was totally rammed full of people. Dave and I, in front of the stage, discussed what we’d do if there was a stampede and we needed to avoid getting crushed. Well, I discussed as much anyway. Everyone was dancing around us.
The stage at Lee’s is really small, which I think suits a band like controller.controller. Nirmala Basnayake dances, quite seductively I might add, through most of the songs the band plays. The bass player and one of the guitarists would flail around on stage like rock stars when the songs got particularly intense. I thought on more than one occasions one of the guitarists would smack the lead singer in the head with the neck of his guitar, the band were so close together, weaving in between one and other, and so in to their music. You should go see controller.controller live. It’s quite the show.
The show ended late, and Dave and I made our way home. Hopefully Dave got back to Scarborough before the TTC grinded to a halt.
Music | Life
16 July 2005, terribly early in the morning
Dave and I saw K-OS perform tonight. The very talented John Legend opened for him. I hadn’t heard of John Legend before, but apparently he sings the hooks in all your favourite songs. K-OS put on a good show, with a entourage of B-Boys, a full band, and an excellent DJ all accompanying him. The third or forth song of the night was Commandante (track 6 on Joyful Rebellion), which begins with the words, “This is an Anthem.” For tonight, K-OS decided to throw in a, ”—as in Fuck George Bush,” before continuing with the rest of the song. The crowd, myself included, cheered. One of the members of K-OS’s band was from Scarborough. When K-OS mentioned this, it drew the loudest cheer of the night. I enjoyed the show a lot; K-OS is quite good. It is a shame that he has gotten so popular the only way to see him is in a huge venue like the Amphitheater. I like smaller venues much more.
I continued the night at the Horseshoe to see the Deadly Snakes (I missed the Tangiers) and then ended the night at Sneaky Dees, where I had a very satisfying Coke-a-Cola.
[5] Music | Life
27 June 2005, lunch time
The Sky Yard is the name given to the Patio on top of the Drake Hotel. It’s a very nice patio, half covered, half open. There are plenty of large sofas and day beds for people to lounge around on while they eat and drink. I met Carvill, Dave and Martha there for drinks and lunch yesterday.
Carvill and I arrived early enough we could still order brunch — which we did. I had a club sandwich, Carvill had some French toast. The food arrived just as Dave and Martha did. I can safely say I was given the biggest club sandwich I have ever seen. The waiter told me he’d be impressed if I could finish it. I told him he wasn’t going to be impressed; I gave Dave half of the sandwich. Carvill’s French toast was quite yummy — the random fruit it was served with was excellent.
Our waiter was a gay man — least I assumed so from his name tag which said, “Fag”. He had an awesome beard/mustache thing going on. I wonder if he was disappointed he couldn’t go party it up at the Pride festival taking place yesterday. If he was upset, you wouldn’t know it; the service at the Drake was excellent.
Martha and Dave each had a beer. Carvill and I each had a coke, which was served in a giant glass, and was real coke. That, perhaps, was the best part of the patio experience.
[9] Life | Restaurants and Bars
24 June 2005, the wee hours
I basically own all of Faye Wong’s albums. I’m not sure if there is any other singer in Hong Kong as talented as her. She has enjoyed mainstream success in the country, but at the same time manages to hang on to her artistic credibility—this is quite rare in the Hong Kong pop music scene. Between 1994 and 1996 she put out some of the best albums I’ve ever heard, starting with Random Thinking and ending with the absolutely brilliant Impatience.
I found myself listening to Ingratiate Oneself this week. Its kind of cool listening to an album you haven’t heard in ages—especially since I hardly listen to Chinese music anymore. Much of the album is pretty standard HK-pop fare, though you can see signs of the direction her music would take once she left Cineoply and was given a lot more creative freedom at EMI. Standout songs include the bizarre Exit and the charming I Fear. Her cover of Here’s Where the Story Ends by the Sundays is also quite cool. (It was—and perhaps still is—very popular in Hong Kong to cover English music in Cantonese, while leaving the arrangements identical. Faye Wong sang the version of Dreams by the Cranberries you may have heard in Chungking Express.)
In many ways I find listening to Chinese music very nostalgic; it was very much a part of who I was when I was in high school.
[4] Music | Life
22 June 2005, lunch time
“Do you still go to Dixon and Atwell?” I asked the bus driver walking toward the 191 Rocket. I was a bit late getting to the station, and at some point the bus stops going where I need it to go. I learned that it does this the hard way, getting off the bus out in the middle of nowhere.
“No,” he replied. He sounded insulted that I asked him.
“When is the last bus that goes up there?”
“What—do I look like a god damned bus driver!?” I’m paraphrasing this sentence a little bit, but suffice it to say we got in a bit of an argument. Some bus drivers are angry. I mean, its OK to hate your job, but if you’re in the service industry you really should make an effort not to take it out on the people you have to deal with.
He actually told me to check the schedule inside the station—though he was less than polite in the way he worded things. Now, I’m not against checking the schedule, but seeing as how I was outside, talking to him, I thought it’d be reasonable to just ask him. More so, the schedule is one big lie. According to the schedule buses arrive every 5 minutes—my ass.
The guy was starting to rant at this point, asking me if I had a computer, because it was my job to find out when the buses run, and his job to drive them. I started to walk away after telling him to be cool (hunny bunny).
I felt sorry for him. The way he slouched when he walked, the way he kept up his appearance. He looked like someone who needed a hug.
[4] Life
16 June 2005, terribly early in the morning
I was sitting down at Kipling station, waiting for my bus. Standing a few feet away from me was a boy with what I thought was a cigarette in his hand, puffing away. It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t smoking a cigarette. It was 8:30 in the morning—that seems awfully early to be smoking weed. He finishes his joint and tosses the roach on to the road. He then lights up a real cigarette. The boy is going to the airport. I know this because he asked a bus driver how long till the bus to the airport arrived. I am guessing he is meeting people, since he has no luggage on him.
As I watched this scene unfold, the Kipling 45E gets ready to leave. It’s the express bus that drives North up Kipling. Just as it is about to leave, the bus driver spots a woman running towards the bus. A man, standing near the bus waves to the driver to let her know there is a women running, trying to catch the bus—just incase the driver didn’t notice. The driver opens her door and waits. Just as the woman reaches the doors, the driver closes them shut and drives away. That was cold.
I got on my bus shortly after and headed off to start my day at work.
[14] Life
