Occasional Notes

I went last night to see Tegan & Sara last night at KoKo in Camden. Great show, really enjoyed it. I did feel a little like a dead cat dragged backwards over broken glass today as I was trying to teach, but there you have it.

Despite that, today was excellent with good lessons and children that behave. All in all, a very nice day.

More exciting, however, is the fact that my sister is currently performing in a play.

What play? I hear some of you ask. As I did, when my mother mentioned it on the phone this evening.

Vagina Monologues.

(My sweet, baby, tiny, itty-bitty, BABY sister? Discussing such matters in front of large audiences??!!)

What part of Vagina Monologues? is the next logical question, of course.

Reclaiming the Word Cunt, my mother replies.

Eep!

She is, I'm told, a smash hit. Very good. Everyone is very, very impressed with her and I am very, very impressed with how gutsy she is at the tender age of eighteen.

Sponsored walk = DONE AND DONE.

And despite the fact that the weather was awful -- not just rain, but heavy, driving rain -- the kids were absolute stars. They were in good spirits, or at least good-spiritedly moany spirits, all the way through, even with rain dripping down their faces and squelching in their shoes.

I personally acquired a mini-pond in each of my Doc Martin's...and I was prepared for the rain with a proper coat and an umbrella. Some of the kids came without either, and in canvas running shoes, and still soldiered on, smiling the whole way.

I am now curled up on the sofa in big, warm, comfy socks trying to get over the slight case of the chills I acquired by the end of the walk. It took us three hours to do the walk -- that was ten kilimetres, plus crossing each of the ten bridges of central London, so we were up and down stairs the whole time as we zigzagged back and forth across the Thames. I don't think I was the only person to end up with the shivers.

All of this is irrelevant to the real main point of this post, which is as follows: THE TRAGICALLY HIP HAVE ANNOUNCED A LONDON DATE FOR SEPTEMBER. And as of a minute and a half ago, I am the proud possessor of tickets to the gig. It's the first Friday back after the summer break -- something to look forward to and carry me through that tough first week of school.

Woot!

Because I always, always do what mcee tells me to:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your livejournal along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they're listening to.


( the songs )

And as for tagging people, I'm going to throw it open to anyone who wants to do it, in no small part because the medication just kicked in and my typing is getting sloppy. If you do take it on, please leave a comment -- I want to know what you all are listening to these days!

I am going to tag lazlet in particular, though, because I've seen and drooled over and lusted after her CD collection and I love her music recs.

I just want everyone to know that if I had a boat, I'd go out on the ocean, and if I had a pony, I'd ride him on my boat. We could all together go out on the ocean. Just me upon my pony on my boat.

Holy fucking fuck fuck.

I forgive Hugh Dillon everything.

In fact, I would like to take this opportunity to issue a public apology for all of the really horrible things I've said and thought about him over the past couple of years since the Headstones broke up. As well, I promise to stop making fun of or yelling at his voice-overs for Chevrolet commercials. As it turns out, the majority of my hostility was based in the fact that I was missing Mr. Dillon. For two years, I have been without his distinctive gestures on stage, his braced-against-a-stiff-wind stance, his straddling the mic stand, his fuck-you grin, and, above all else, his lyrics and his voice. It made me cranky and I took my ill-temper out on him. I am sorry for that.

HDRC rocks. I expected to like them, but not nearly as much as I did. The Headstones were always best live, and so, it seems, are the HDRC. I do think that the rest of the band should forbid Hugh from naming things, though, as the Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir continues to be a stupid name. That, unlike the Chevy commercials, I will continue to make fun of.

On a more shallow note, Mr. Dillon looks about twenty pounds lighter and ten years younger than when I saw him last in Barrie, summer of 2003. And that was at a point when he was already looking fairly thin and young on the scale of Hugh Dillonness. He looks fucking amazing now. Change, clearly, has been good for him.

The opening act, which was rather like a Canadian Franz Ferdinand, showed a distinct tendency to touch, pet, manhandle, and occasionally kiss each other on stage. Right the fuck on. What an unexpected bonus for the evening.

(*slashes obscure Canadian band*)

So, final verdict: Thumbs up. No death in the gladiatorial arena for the Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir. I'm glad I went.

Now it is very definitely time for bed. That is, if I can get to sleep with my ears ringing like nobody's business. I have clearly gone soft after a couple of years of Danny Michel fandom -- I wasn't even standing near the speaker!