There Are No Third Tries For Second Chances

Back when Queen St. West between University and Spadina was a food wasteland, Trimurti was one of the first to bring tasty and inexpensive dining to the area. It was the restaurant where I introduced some of my friends to wonders of Indian cuisine - something they had always associated with "stinky" food. But I haven't been back in a while since there are now great Indian restaurants closer to my neck of the woods.

Since I was in the area for a production of South Pacific, I decided to revisit this restaurant. The atmosphere is still quiet and relaxed, with attentive service from the waitstaff. I hope it was an off-day though, because the food was sub-par. I was a bit worried when the complimentary papadam came out soft instead of crispy, and the accompanying chutney was weak in flavour. Maybe it was the humidity. Then the vegetable samosas came out. Two overly large pieces, quite greasy with a tough shell. The potatoes inside were bland and a bit coarse. Oh, dear. The entrees didn't fare any better: a Gosht Saag (lamb in spinach with spices) and a Murgh Sonfi Simla (Tandoori chicken sauteed in onions, tomatoes, and aniseeds). Two of the blandest Indian dishes I've ever tasted. We ate barely a third of the dishes and only 1 of the 2 naans (they were good though).

I'm at a loss for my poor dining experience since it seems Trimurti is still quite popular. The restaurant was two-thirds full on a Sunday afternoon with some tables seated with obvious regulars. There were some South Asian diners in the crowd, who presumably have eaten enough South Asian cooking to know the good stuff. But I know what I ate - and it wasn't great. As an aside, one of the South Asian couple I saw was one of the most attractive couple I've ever seen: the man was handsome with strong features, and the woman was absolutely stunning.

Disappointed, and a bit bloated from the grease, I headed over to Second City for a night of stand-up comedy. This is a recent experiment as this venue is typically known more for sketch shows. For $15, there was a line-up of 7-8 comedians including two "walk-ons". It was a mixed night with more comedians bombing than not. One totally flamed out - it's hard to do angry comedy. Two got a few chuckles, but the short time allotted to each comic wasn't a good fit for their brand of long, drawn-out stories. A couple of them got people laughing at about half their jokes. The two funniest comics were the walk-ons - people who signed up just before the show. One was a wild-haired "ginger" who did non sequiturs and one liners ("They say you are what you eat - that's why I eat human"). The other was a blonde who told crazy, wildly exaggerated, stories. By the end of one tale she was going clubbing with her change in a mason jar, her accessories in a bucket, and all of them stuffed inside a condom. And naturally, without that condom, she needed to resort to dick-punching as a form of birth control. She's got some good material and I believe she'll be appearing in an HSSE (Heterosexual for Same-Sex Equality) benefit in September.

A Semi-pleasant Afternoon

The musical revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific by Bartlett Sher got rave reviews on Broadway. The touring version also got positive reviews when it arrived in Toronto. Having been on a bit of a musical kick lately (Haunted Hillbilly, Ride the Cyclone, Fairy Tale Ending), I decided to check out this classic on Sunday afternoon.

Let me say that although I did enjoy the 3 hours or so, I didn't feel much more than a pleasant engagement with the musical. It was like going to a matinee of a movie you'll forget in a couple of hours. So I'm mostly going to focus on what were the negative points for me. It wasn't just me though as this performance got only a single curtain call from the audience.

South Pacific has 3 main strands: the budding relationship between Emile de Becque (Jason Howard) and Ensign Nellie Forbush (Carmen Cusack), the affair between Lt. Joseph Cable (Anderson Davis) and a native girl named Liat (Sumie Maeda) engineered by her mother Bloody Mary (Jodi Kimura), and the hurry-up-and-wait lives of Luther Billis (Matthew Saldivar) and the other sailors.

Nellie, a simple girl from Little Rock, Arkansas finds herself charmed by the Gallic sophistication of Emile. Though they had just met, there's a strong attraction between them except for some obstacles. First, their age, though this is essentially glossed over in the play. He is 44 (as Cable would put it, "He can't be in love, he's 44!") and she is in her early 20s. Second, her racial prejudice makes it difficult for her to accept Emile's half-Polynesian children. I find this a bit unfair to Nellie. Yes, she does have trouble with his, in her words, "coloured" kids (or more specifically their deceased mother) but for all of his supposed more liberal stance, let's not forget that he's a French plantation owner during a time (1940s) when France is still laying claim to its colonial territories. Conveniently, no one asked what his workers thought of him. Finally, he has a dark secret. He fled France because he "killed a man". Unfortunately, this twist is so risible that I heard some titters when Howard made his confession: "Nellie ... I keeled a man". Yet there is still a sense of passionate predestination in their romance, though a marriage proposal after 4 weeks may boggle modern minds.

But I could not get down with Cable and Liat. For one thing, they're obviously pushed together by Bloody Mary. Even if she's is Liat's mother, there's too much of a mama-san vibe there. Cable doesn't seem to fight too hard about it though, his supposedly straight-and-narrow upbringing in Philadelphia notwithstanding. Unlike Nellie, a white Southern belle, there's no genteel courtship, fancy dinner parties, or marriage proposal for Liat. It's straight to the sack, or rather grass hut, for her. And if most cultures use the metaphor of the Spring Season for an innocent girl just discovering love (For example, Kudelki's Four Seasons), then what to make of Cable singing "Younger Than Springtime" to Liat? Add the fact that he's probably at least a foot taller and 100 lbs heavier; she barely came up to his ribs and looked to be only as big as one of his leg. All I can say is ... weird psychoses alert!

Jason Howard makes a serviceable Emile, though his sonorous voice with its French accent sounded distractingly like Victor Laszlo from Casablanca. I actually do not like his operatic voice, with its rounded enunciation, applied to these modern songs. Carmen Cusack is a plucky Nellie, a bit self-conscious of her narrow experience but ready to embrace this new wide world. I did not like Jody Kimura's Bloody Mary with her pidgin English and strong asian accent ("You like? You like!"). I don't much find the old "Me love you long time" schtick that amusing. If Emile can speak perfect English but with an accent, so can Mary. Anyway, Bloody Mary can be played Asian, but also Black or Pacific Islander. In the latter cases, if their English aren't perfect, it still wouldn't be in the "Me chinee, Me no dumb" category. So it's a mystery why they went with this caricature. Anderson Davies played Lt. Cable oddly, all wide-legged hero stances and mannerisms.

Ultimately though, a musical has to stand on the strengths of its songs. For an acknowledged classic, I found only 4 songs to be worth listening to: "You've Got To Be Carefully Taught", "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair", "This Nearly Was Mine", and last but best, "Some Enchanted Evening".

Johnny Stromboli

Closest match to Johnny's

Ever since I read about stromboli in a food article I've been on the look-out for this tasty-looking snack as I am more of  a fan of savoury treat than sweet pastry. Yet despite the presence of numerous Italian restaurants (as well as pizza joints) in Toronto, there doesn't seem to be any offerings in town. A few months ago, a Taste T.O. article lead me to Slice of New York, which has a location on Edward St.

But the fare was disappointing. First, being a primarily take-out place, the stromboli is already pre-cooked and is only re-heated in the pizza oven. This only makes the dough slightly warm and toasted, leaving the inside blandly cool. There is a decidedly lack of stuffing, probably to keep costs down. Finally, for some reason, it has a shiny sheen that you usually see on store-bought dessert pastry. It's definitely better to stick to the pizza at this place.

But last Friday before going to see Sheezer, I accidentally discovered that John's Classic Pizza at College and Clinton, a place that I have passed by hundreds of time, also offer stromboli. So exciting! The meat option came out piping hot, with that great cooked dough smell. Each piece that I sliced was filled with gooey cheese goodness, with pepperoni and italian sausage. There's also tomato-based dipping sauce on the side. It was tasty for the first half, then it palled. The problem is that unlike a similarly sized pizza slice, there's a lot more dough. And the cheese and meat didn't quite have enough flavour to balance it out. It would have been better if there was the addition of some fresh herb, or a spicy and herb-infused sausage. Alternatively, images of stromboli on the internet show it over-stuffed with ingredients, and so not so much dough - which I suppose wouldn't make business-sense.

But now I know where to go for better-quality stromboli (I'll try the veg option next time) as well as fresh calzones. The pizza made there also look good enough for a try-out on my continuing quest for the best pizza in Toronto.

Weezer, Geezer! Where'd You Get Those Sheezer?

I was browsing through the local free weeklies last week, and there was a number of positive profiles of an all-female Weezer cover band called Sheezer. Apparently, there's quite a buzz about them in the Toronto indie scene since last winter given that they've only played 2 shows (and as more of a lark than anything else), and the name even came before the band (2 of them had to learn new instruments.) The (mini)-hype is because they are all members of other local bands. Their hotly anticipated 3rd show was to be at the Garrison on Friday. I had never listened to Weezer in the mid-90s, and the Garrison's sound system is underwhelming. So I would have passed on Sheezer except that the group photo had a shot of Laura Barrett. As I like her brand of weird, quirky songs I decided to check out the group. First, of course, I had to familiarize myself with Weezer's first two albums (The Blue Album and Pinkerton) with a couple of listen thanks to youtube playlists.

Laura Barrett, who was actually shorter than I am up close, had chopped off her long hair into a fetching jaw-length short cut. Yay! Then I learned that she was moving to Vancouver. Boo! No more songs about crystalline banyan trees that tinkle like wind chimes!

I made my way up to the front row by the time Sheezer came on at a very late 11:40 pm as they were the only band on the bill. But the wait was worth for me and sold-crowd of 300 or so. Sheezer put on an energetic show that was tight, skillful, and exuberant. Most of the women took turns doing lead vocals except for lead guitarist Alysha Haugen. Magali Meagher (The Phonemes) was the elder stateswoman, keeping things cool on rhythm guitar. Robin Hatch (Sports: The Band) was sweaty on guitar, synthesizer, xylophone, and harmonica. Dana Snell (The Bicycles, Gentleman Reg) contributed a fine voice and a fierce muscularity to the drums. Boy, she smashed those skins but good. The surprise was bassist Laura Barrett (Hidden Cameras, herself) and lead guitarist Alysha Haugen. I couldn't believe Laura only learned to play bass a few months ago for Sheezer; her usual instruments are the piano and kalimba. But there she was, in full nerd rocker with her short hair and glasses, hopping around covered in sweat, laying down some catchy bass lines. I remarked afterward that this was quite a difference from her usual gig and she enthusiastically agreed.

As for Alysha, before tonight she was known as a local music promoter; no one had any idea she could rip out those jangly solos and screeching chords with such ease. With her short curly hair, glasses that kept slipping down her nose, and not a drop of sweat to stain her dress ... well, she did have that sexy librarian/teacher vibe going (if librarians rock out between the book-shelves.)

The night was a smashing success. It'll be interesting to see where Sheezer go from here as each member has her own musical pursuit. Why not open for Weezer? Heck, they might out-draw those old fogeys.

As for the geezer bit, I guess this song from Weezer sums up my attitude at this time. I hope they're not being ironic.

…And I don't wanna be an old man anymore
It's been a year or two since I was out on the floor
Shakin' booty, makin' sweet love all the night
It's time I got back to the Good Life
It's time I got back, it's time I got back
And I don't even know how I got off the track
I wanna go back…Yeah!

Win, Lose or Thai

Thai food has lost a bit of its cachet. Being almost as common as "chinese" food, and often as mediocre, I don't often go out for it anymore. There's even a fast food franchise, Thai Express, at my local mall food court.

I tried Sukho Thai on Parliament Street as I was in the area to check out an art installation by Silvana Bruni in the Distillery District, having heard good things about the restaurant. On a strip dominated by African stores, it's a tiny narrow place, dotted with a smattering of tables. On one wall is a profusion of framed personal photos. Though the reviews describe the place as packed, it was quiet on this Saturday afternoon, though there was a steady stream of take-out customers.

I ordered the Khao Soi, having only been recently made aware of curry-style soup. The bowl seemed substantially bigger than the menu photo. Instead of noodles in a curry dish, it was kissing cousin to a bowl of Vietnamese pho. The noodles were adequate, but I especially enjoy the crispy noodle topping. The large cubes of beef, no doubt left simmering for hours, were supremely tasty. The tender meat reminded me of Vietnamese beef stew. The broth was delicious but left me mildly concerned. It tasted strongly of curry and coconut milk, but I usually pour a bit of curry on my rice, not slurp it up by the spoonful. With each gulp, I was thinking: "How many calories am I ingesting?!" The cassava cake dessert was too sweet and did not have the starchiness I was hoping for, probably from the layer of caramel. A nice place to grab a quick and tasty meal, although its small size, and having insufficient ventilation for with the kitchen in the back means that you'll come out smelling of fried food and grease.

My faith for Thai food reasonably restored, I checked out Vanipha Lanna on St. Claire West. This restaurant has been in Toronto for awhile. I believe it finally moved to St. Claire about 5-6 years ago. Being a Lao-Thai place, I had to try the Larb Gai, a Laotian specialty. This is one of my favourite dishes, simple to prepare, but the combination of minced chicken with fresh herbs and a lime chilli dressing is wonderful. Unfortunately, the traditional sticky rice accompaniment is not part of the dish here so I had to order it as a side. The "correct" way to eat Larb Gai is to use your fingers and scoop up the chicken with some sticky rice, even if other diners look at you askance. Lanna's version was excellent, but I would have liked a bit more chopped herbs and significantly more chilli kick.

I also ordered Gang Hung Lay, a dish unfamiliar to me. However, the fact that the meat came whole (medallions of pork tenderloin) instead of typically chopped up was intriguing. It was a tasty dish, with an slightly sweet curry. This is a first for me, as Thai curries are usually richly coconut in flavour (green, red), indian-style (yellow), or tangy with tamarind (musuman). Perhaps it was the slices of apple in the dish. The ginger also gave the curry a bit of zing. It seems that this curry does have tamarind in it, according to recipes online.

The service at Vanipha Lanna was prompt and attentive. I appreciated the fact that the waiter was nice enough, as I was a single diner nursing a beer, to tell the chef to get my dishes out first before the table of 8 that had ordered long before me.

Death Becomes Them

Having read such a great review for Ride The Cyclone, a musical from Atomic Vaudeville Theatre, amongst other positive reviews, I wanted to check out this show at Theatre Passe Muraille Mainspace for Summerworks. I stood in line for 1.5 hours to get a ticket and a good spot for the performance on Saturday. Let me preemptively say that it was so fantastic that I went back on Saturday and stood in line for another 2 hours to see it again, just in case this troupe from Victoria, B.C. do not mount in production in Toronto again. Although like the Globe and Mail reviewer, I hope they make it big with this hilarious musical.

The Amazing Karnak (first cousin to Zoltar?), recounts a sad tale. He can tell you the time of your death. This being a downer, his carnival owner switches him to "family fun mode". But he has another power: the ability to bring the dead back to life to tell their story. And so he does, at least until his own demise at the hands of a bass guitar-playing rat named Virgil.

The dead are 6 members of the St. Cassius Choir, high school kids from the small Saskatchewan town of Uranium (previously introduced 3 years ago in Legoland.) There's Noel Gruber (Kholby Wardell), the only gay kid in town, who lamented his banal death in a cabaret torch song about wanting to live (and die) a passionate life as an opium-addicted prostitute in post-war Paris. The over-achieving head of the choir is Ocean O'Carroll Rosenberg (Rielle Braid) who transformed herself from her need-to-please childhood balancing act between her Irish and Jewish kin into a skilled, and under-handed, debater who can argue any side of an issue. That is, until the angel Karl Marx showed her that "only your soul is keeping score". Misha Bachinski (Carey Wass) is an angry Ukrainian immigrant who'd rather be a gangsta rap star and leave Uranium to marry his Internet girlfriend from Kiev. Ricky Potts (Elliot Loran) is a non sequitur-spewing, comic-book quoting, piano-playing savant who may be the ruler of a distant planet populated by giant cat people. Constance Blackwood (Kelly Hudson), Ocean's much put-upon BFF, is tired of being labeled a mousy Uranium-lifer. Finally, there is Jane Doe (Sarah Jane Pelzer), who was unidentified because she had lost her head. She staggers about in a doll's head (Ms. Pelzer wears ringlets and black contact lenses), freaking out her fellow choir-members with depressing statements.

The cast members are excellent: singing, dancing, moving props and scenery - always in motion. When they are not doing the solo for their character, they help act out the other people in the singer's life story. So there's a real sense that it's a bunch of "theatre kids" who enjoy putting on show so they can sing, dance, wear silly costumes ... even in death, and even if the topic is someone's sad life. The songs are catchy and hummable, spanning all genres from musical theatre, glam-rock, rap, gospel, and so on.

Underneath all the humour and funny songs (except for Jane Doe's melacholic number), there is sadness. These teenagers won't grow up and leave their teenage angst behind. They won't get a chance to do something with their lives - to "live a life of glory" as Karnak says at one point. And for all their funny patter, as Ocean lamented at one point (although a bit over-dramatically) : "[their] death has really affected [them]". This sense of regret and loss elevate the show to more than just some catchy tunes and one-line zingers.

It was a great performance and I hope they come back to Toronto to put on this show for a longer run. Certainly, this 6 performance run would not have covered much of their costs. At 185 seats for $10/ticket, that would make their total to be just over $11000 for 6 full-house performances (which is likely). Even if the theatre charges minimally for the festival, there are 6 cast members and probably a few behind-the-scenes people. This article reveals that they needed to have a fund-raiser as well as an $18000 donation from their non-for-profit board to secure enough money to mount the production in Toronto. It's too bad they didn't have any CDs for sale. That would have easily netted them an extra $500+ per performance, assuming a profit of $10/CD.

The audience was a different mix at each performance. On Saturday, it was a mix of younger (20s/30s) and older (50s+) people while the Sunday crowd skewed to the younger set. However, next to me on Saturday was a cute girl in a short bob. She was dressed completely in black and didn't seem to react much (polite clap, no laughing). Her expression was one of bemused interest, like one of those anime girl robots who don't "get humans". I wonder if she's going to go out and buy those black contacts. Both days, most people standing in line around me seemed to be "in the theatre", related to people in the theatre, or friends with them. I stood next to Audrey (from Haunted Hillbilly) on Saturday and talked a bit to Rielle on Sunday while she stood in line with some of her friends. I find it a bit disappointing if true since it would mean that Summerworks is just the same people "talking" to each other. And economically, since we were just on that topic, it would mean that the same dollar is being passed around.

Anyway, I hope this Glee-like, but wholly original, piece of musical theatre gets the wide exposure and success it deserves. And if it returns, I will definitely go ride that cyclone one more time.

Ghost Town

I attended a Friday night performance of The Haunted Hillbilly at Theatre Passe Muraille as part of the Summerworks festival. Based on a novel by Derek McCormack, it is a horror musical set to toe-tapping country music. It's a production of a Montreal outfit called Sidemart Theatrical Grocery, but some of the Summerworks cast differs from their original production.

A slick snake-oil salesman named Pastor Ray (Graham Cuthbertson), while peddling his cure-all tonic Hanacol, tells the cautionary tale of one Hyram Woodside (Matthew Raudsepp) aka The Lonely Boy, a struggling country singer. He has a talent for writing sad songs, but ignoring his wife's Audrey (Gemma James-Smith) encouragements, he covers classics by the likes of Erskine Mole (Daniel Brochu) instead. After falling into the clutches (and dazzling suits) of a gay vampire couturier known as Nudie (Greg Kramer) who is wheeled around in his Cadillac wheelchair by his hulking assistant Dr. Wertham (Kyle Gatehouse), Hyram's fortune begins to rise. Leaving his plucky Audrey, Hyram finds a new love in Bobbi (Alexis Taylor), a sweet hotel maid. Being a horror story and a cautionary tale, a happy ending is not in the cards for anyone.

Being both a comedy and a country tale, most roles were played as broad as a Texan sky, though there were some introspective moments. I'm not a fan of country music, the obvious genre for all of the songs, but the Gospel/Spiritual-inspired ones were the best for me. Though the Southern accents come and go, with some actors more than others, there's something about that accent (and the accompanying Southern slangs) that seems to go perfectly with bald-faced lies, hyperbole, embellishments, and them-fighting-words.

Afterwards, I went to Harlem Underground for some soul food, it being a night for all things Southern. The Harlem Jambalaya was a filling mix of seasoned rice with shrimp, chicken, smoked sausage, catfish, crab meat, and some mussels. The room was so dark though, so I can't tell what any of it was until I actually had a bite. This entree had a spicy bite and wasn't bland, though I'd be hard-pressed to say anything else about it. The Blackened Catfish came with some seafood sauce and sauteed greens. The catfish tasted better in this dish thanks to the grilling but the slightly sweet sauce didn't work for me.

Have Gun, Will Travel

I went to the Bloor Cinema to check out a 2008 Korean western, an homage to all those spaghetti western movies, called "The Good, The Bad, The Weird". It's gotten great reviews from all the papers. Can all these critics be wrong?

Nope, they're right. It was a great movie - much more enjoyable than any recent Hollywood flick I've seen. The premise is simple: It is the 1930s. a Korean gangster sells a map, perhaps to some buried treasure, to a Japanese official. Wanting both the map and the money, he double crosses his customer by hiring a psychopathic killer named Chang-yi and his gang to steal the map back by robbing the train carrying the Japanese through Manchuria. But a petty thief called Tae-Goo robs the train first and absconds with it. Hot on their tail for the reward money is the bounty hunter Do-Won. Throw in other assorted low-life such as the Ghost Market Gang and baddies, the Japanese army!, and you have a rollicking Wild West adventure set in the Far East.

Unlike recent Hollywood action flicks which were heavily reliant on a lot of CG, I felt more involved because this movie used actual desert locations and real stunts. Obviously there was CG but it was not intrusive. My favourite set pieces included Do-Won swinging on rope over a shanty town, blasting away with his rifle and a wild chase scene of 5 disparate groups on horseback, motorcycles, jeeps, and vans, all shooting at each other. The image of a cowboy firing at the enemy while his horse is in full gallop (all non CG) was so thrilling that I wanted to go horseback riding after the movie. The movie took all the standard tropes: the stoic hero, the wild-eyed baddie, and even the showdown and made it - it'd be a stretch to say fresh or new - enjoyable. There was a minor issue, a tendency of a lot of Asian films, to have characters reveal some background plot or motivation via expositional speech. But overall, it was a fun 2 hours.

I left the theatre flexing my fingers by my side as if I was preparing to draw my guns before I came to my senses. Pew pew! Pew pew!

Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon

I decided to spend Saturday night checking out some live music at Lee's Palace, a venerable club in the Annex. Perhaps I have false memory of being there some time back, or maybe they renovated, but the layout seemed wholly unfamilar. Most people probably came for Juliette Lewis, but I wanted to check out the first opening band. I missed The Balconies when they opened for Gentleman Reg, but later bought their CD at Soundscapes. I liked their music and had read that they put on a great show. Of course, being the first band on at 9:30 would probably dampen most band's enthusiasm.

I noticed immediately that unlike the people in the clubs I've been to recently, this is a different crowd: less ironic hipster mustaches, more full-blown beards; black clothes and tattoos were the norm, not whimsical dresses and tight jeans. And I'm closer to the average age, as opposed to being on the tail end of the distribution. No time for beer, they were starting already, so I went down onto the sparsely populated area near the stage. The Balconies put on a tight set, enough to entice some of the early crowd into the main dance area by the time their set wrapped up. The drummer and bassist were fairly laconic. But the guitarist, and co-vocalist, with her high heels, tight pants, and Barbarella hair and make-up, was a spastic, jumpy, heel-kicking dynamo.

The area in front of the stage was filling up now. I grabbed a beer and made my way back to the front. Yes, lots of black and rocker logos on t-shirts, but some cute girls, too. A troop of them were beside me, including a short-haired blonde (described by friends as a Canadian Pink), with an overly large Harley t-shirt, cut down the sides to reveal a green, lacy lingerie-like top. By the time the second set finished, we were surrounded by some dames (and incongruously a petite Mary Lou Henner/Retton look-a-like [Lady Frost from the Smoke City Betties?]) from a woman's roller derby team. As for the band, Dearly Beloved, they claim to have formed in 2006. But the two guitarists looked about 20. The bassist (and lead singer), drummer, and back-up singer looked more experienced. They sounded a bit like the Red Hot Chile Peppers because of the complex bass lines. I guess when you're the bassist and lead for a band, you get to indulge in lots of bass wankery. I wasn't as impressed with the female back-up singer, as she seemed a little too Linda McCartney for me (i.e., singing a few lines, playing the tambourine, and doing lots of rock poses and silent shout-outs by pointing her fingers at her "peeps").

It's finally time for the head-liner. I didn't even know Juliette Lewis had a singing career on the side, but obviously her fans do. The people were packing up the area and pushing for the small stage. In addition to the rock girls and derby dames (because of Whip It?), there were now a number of lesbian couples, both the butch/femme combos as well lipstick lesbians, and women in fashionable wear, sporting elbow-length gloves and even head-dresses. Some of them were quite gorgeous, and seemed to actually be older than 25. Juliette Lewis and the Romantiques played standard rock, with some blues-tinged numbers, some ballads, and lots of sing-a-long choruses. Nothing that was extraordinary, but what she had was a powerful, theatrical, stage charisma and some rabid fans.

A lot of them were screaming, stretching out to her, and "rocking" out. I was never more glad for my ear plugs when I felt them vibrating furiously to keep out the high-decibel shrieking all around me. One 50 year-old man was apparently in a state of ecstacy, pumping his arms non-stop, and screaming "Yes, yes, yes" or "I love you" for several songs. I don't know what happened to him for the rest of the set. Some of the women started moshing, thrashing around into each other. I was bemused to realize I was being pushed around by women shorter than me. "Maybe I should start doing weights as well as yoga!" I thought. But then, some of them are in professional roller derby so I don't know if that would have helped. One lesbian dancer clambered up on the stage, cavorted around for a bit with Juliette, then dove off the stage. We caught her and shoved her to the back. Then more climbed on. I was psyching myself up to catch a girl who looked to be 170+ lbs, but by then security had had enough and ushered them all off.

Juliette started the show in a short jacket with black feathery fringes but doffed it and spent most of the set in tight jeans and a see-through red top. Her hair was dyed blue and there were red makeup over her eyes. Her band didn't go for the same Mad Max look but were composed of a guitarist in full fu-manchu and black, an afro-ed drummer right out of stoner casting, a bassist who might be Ming Na Wen's long lost twin, and another guitarist who could be 1st cousin to Miles Zuniga, the lead singer of Fastball.

I left at the end of the set and before the encore, a bit soaked in (other people's) beer and sweat. As I rode the subway home, I started chatting with a 76 year-old man. He had spent the day walking from Mississauga to Fort York in a Support-The-Troops walk. 40 years ago, he had married his 18 year-old bride at the age of 36. Well! Maybe I should have chatted up Canadian Pink; she was at least 22.

echo {con,in,{d,r}e}ception

I was having a BBQ at a friend's place. First, I marveled at the houses on her street. Who knew you can find suburban style neighbourhoods in Toronto? Then I was astounded by her news: she's pregnant again. This will be the 3rd child in 5 years which seems fairly remarkable for modern times - although I do notice that mothers around my local park usually carry in tow children quite close in age and sometimes more than two. I guess she'll probably be extending her stay-at-home mom status to at least another 2 years and counting. I find it a bit troubling as she studied to be a doctor for probably 10+ years: 4 years undergrad, 4 years med, and several years of residency. Consider how much money went into her education from taxpayers' money to subsidize the universities she attended, and to pay for the doctors, medical staff, and hospitals where she trained. On top of that, we need her skills. But I suppose in theory she can still contribute 20+ years of service in her lifetime.

I went into the movie Inception with anticipation though I hadn't heard much about it. However, the reviews seem to be all positive. But I was disappointed by the end. What was a great premise became just another shoot-em-up Hollywood film. Not too many spoilers but here's my complaint. The 2 main impetus of the movie are flawed: the reward Cobb anticipates for his inception job makes no sense, and neither is the reason why the job is harder than expected. The supposedly ambiguous ending is not at all, given the rules of the movie, and it's a disingenious for Christopher Nolan to suggest otherwise - or perhaps he overlooked the consequences to his own plot details. Finally, the possibility that the entire movie may not be real doesn't appeal as I've grown tired of unreliable narrator, time travel, and other movie tropes where things don't really happen because there's a built-in "undo". For another take on dream vs. reality, try Paprika.

On the other hand, I enjoyed Salt. Its premise isn't wildly original, but the movie executes it well. But the central mystery - is Evelyn Salt a good guy or bad guy - isn't really much of a mystery though given the standard Hollywood story arc. And if that's too abstract, it becomes rather clear that despite her furious take-down of her various pursuers (CIA, secret service agents, etc.), none of them was actually hurt - most are simply knocked unconscious. So nice of Angelina Jolie given that most them were shooting at her, but we can't have a good guy acting badly against "innocent" bystanders. She also looks too skinny to fight convincingly, unlike Sigourney Weaver in Aliens or Linda Hamilton in Terminator II. Ms. Jolie is a bit of an odd duck. I never found her to be the great beauty that the media has claimed: neither conventionally attractive like a Charlize Theron nor mannishly handsome like Julie Roberts or Hilary Swank.

At a small get-together, someone was telling a bad date story. Various guests commented on some particularly odd details, though I didn't contribute much, and 10 amusing minutes passed. Afterward, I was thinking to myself. If I was the story-teller, I would have summed up the tale in about 3 sentences. As the listener, I would have nodded and grunted: "That's a bad date alright." Having used up 1 minute, the remaining 9 would probably pass by in uncomfortable silence. And that difference is probably why I'm still single and don't throw dinner parties.

Won't You Be My Neighbour?

There are a number of regular haunts in my neighbourhood that I frequent for food: El Jacal for Mexican, Vena's for roti, Caribbean House for Jamaican, Rikishi for Japanese (or Mazz Sushi if I'm feeling light in the pocket) and so on. However, there are even more restaurants between Lansdowne and Ossington that I usually walk by. As the area is gentrifying, I decided that I better check out some of these other places before they disappear to make way for hipster-friendly hot spots. Yes, it hasn't escape me that since I only go to restaurants and not to other local businesses, it's rather ironic of me to decry hipsterism. In my defense, I own so little consumer goods that I can't use these other services.

The Empire is a shawarma place a few doors down from the defunct Paradise, once a repertory movie theatre. It's been around for at least a decade but I'm sure it has probably changed hands a few times. I've eaten there once about 10 years ago. Since it looks like every other shawarma place, I tend to pass it by. The $3.49 chicken wrap didn't interest me so I went upscale and got the $4.49 lamb wrap. To my surprise, the lamb was a juicy chunk of meat still wrapped around a bone. The meat is shredded and added to a large pita wrap (if you get it with the works). Quite a tasty and filling meal, though the second time the lamb wasn't quite as juicy. First time round, I got a salted lassi drink, which was a mistake as my taste buds simply could not get used to the sour + salty + silty flavour. Second time round, I grabbed the bottle of Coke (imported from the Middle East) I had spied on my previous visit. Not being a cola connoisseur, I can't tell you if it was made with cane sugar or HFCS.

South Indian Dosa Mahal is a non-descript (except for the bright pink walls) restaurant that specializes in thali platters, dosas, and a variety of fried food (to go) near Lansdowne. Customers look to be locals with a fair number of older indians in traditional garb. I usually get my dosa fix at Madras Masalas and only come to Lansdowne for some roti so I've given this place a pass. For my first visit, I tried the chapatti chicken thali which comprises 3 chapattis, 2 vegetarian curries, and a chicken curry. Everything was delicious except for the chicken. It had that greasy, cartilage taste of cheap meat. I should know - I've eaten more than my share of it growing up. You might want to try the lamb/goat or stick to vegetarian options. My second visit was a take-out of kottu roti: chopped up roti with egg and spices. A delicious and filling (2-day) meal when augmented with some vegetables and leafy greens at home. I shall have to return for the dosa (Dosa Mahal is ranked 1 spot higher than Madras Masala at blog.to) as well as the fried take-out.

Holy Oak came to the neighbourhood in March 2009. It is a small restaurant that does brunch on week-ends and have a dinner/lunch menu. It also hosts some local acts at night. As such, it caters more to the hipster crowd but I won't fault it for that. It reminded me very much of Grapefruit Moon down to the art on the wall, the mismatched tables and chairs, and even the estrogen-rich atmosphere (the owners and staff seem to be all women.) However, the brunch offerings were better prepared. I had an egg omelette with zucchini and eggplant smothered in harvarti, with a side of fruit salad and some herb-dusted potatoes. At $9, it's cheaper than Mitzi's on College though pricier than dear old Billy's Souvlaki House. I'll probably be back to try the organic beef sliders (mini-burgers).

Kathy's Kitchen serves country-style hungarian cuisine. This is stick-to-your-ribs schnitzel and other food low on greens and high on carbs and protein. I came for the chicken praprikash but they were all out. I settled for the beef stew on a dumplings. Some beef cubes were slightly cold and some were hot and a bit black - a sign of microwave reheating in my opinion. It wasn't bad but the reheating didn't do it any favours. The dumplings were actually little white balls of dough (photos here) and had no flavours of their own except to soak up some of the sauce. Without any vegetables, I can't imagine this dish (and others like it such as the aforementioned chicken praprikash) being a draw outside its original ethnic group. For dessert, I had langos, a fried dough slab (a bit like Ottawa's famous beaver tail snack) slathered in garlic and cheese. It tasted like a chinese You Tiao and a Vietnamese Banh Tieu. Fried dough always taste good, of course, but this was a little bit too much of a good thing. I'll head back here for one more round but nothing is really catching my eye here (except possibly Kathy's grown daughter). The owner mentioned to a customer that business has been slow. I wish them the best but I don't have much hope for this place - neither the food itself (e.g., Hungarian cuisine) nor their version of it hold that much appeal.