Our dirt bikes bring all the boys to the yard. Damn right, they're better than yours.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

If we were Crackers, we'd be Sociables

There’s nothing like a low-key weekend in, watching movies and relaxing. This past one was not one of those weekends…

Friday: Into the (Brown) Eye of the Shiticane

Friday night Alana and I, plus Brett and Gary from work, went downtown to the Hard Rock Café to see “Mr. Lahey and Randy of Trailer Park Boys,” a live performance by John Dunsworth (Lahey) and Pat Roach (Randy) of the beloved Can-con show. As much as big of a fan as I am, this was as disappointing as Randy’s gut is concave. The material was so-so, with the highlights being a drunken Lahey rant about shit-seeds growing shit-apple bushes, and later a gut measuring contest. But a lot of it felt like filler.

Worse, though, was the crowd of drunken frat-monkeys who insisted on interrupting the show with insightful screams of, “Fuck you, Lahey!” At least, that was the protocol when they weren’t climbing on stage and grabbing the mic to say even more clever things and making us wish a giant Ewok log would swing down from the ceiling and knock them clean out of their party shirts.

The best part of the night was a fight between a dude and some lady, which resulted in the dude being arrested and the lady reserving the right to continue wearing an amusingly ugly blouse. Of course, there were sweet styles all around, from the ‘80s super-cougar rock chicks in stretch jeans to cheesy armband tattoos that appeared to be mandatory if you worked there.

Oh, and the soundtrack for the evening was a cover band so middle of the road they should’ve had yellow stripes painted on them. They yawned out every bar band song you never want to hear, from Mustang Sally to Low Rider – each with an extended jam in the middle. We left when they returned to the stage for intermission.

From the duct tape patches on the booth seats to the Van Halen memorabilia to the aforementioned armband tats, the Hard Rock just doesn’t seem interested in moving on from the early ‘90s. I think, in part, grunge shone a harsh light on that whole rock star sheen they embody.

Saturday: All Your Cats are Belong to Us

Time to celebrate two things – Alana’s birthday and Some Cats co-founder Chris’ arrival in Toronto to be the latest former Gatewayer to work at Dose and complain that there’s hardly anywhere around here that serves Grasshopper. The Winterlicious Festival meant that thirteen of us got a swank dinner for a set price at Cajun restaurant Southern Accents. After a satisfying eat and enough Zydeco music to last the decade, if was off to the Victory Café, where a bunch more folks met us for drinks.

Now, if we would’ve called it a night there, I might’ve stayed on top of the double vodka tonics, but instead they tricked me with their alluring sparkle. The illegal booze-can we went to started to really fill up when the other bars closed after 2AM and liquor flowed heavily. The Mahones were playing in honour of the owner’s birthday, so it was a hard drinkin’ ‘til the wee hours of the night kind of a party.

Alana and I got a ride home from Rod, the owner of Rue Morgue, and decided it was time to cook veggie dogs. After that much liquor, it seemed like the right thing to do. Lights out.

Sunday:Hurling to Hellboy

I awoke wondering why I’d slept with my head in vice, and then I realized it must’ve been to make it easier for that bear or whatever it was to take a crap in my mouth while jumping on my stomach. I rarely, rarely barf, but that morning called for a dual hurl. Hello veggie dogs! Hello orangey Cajun whatnots! More sleep and watching Half Baked was the cure, and by the time I got a call that night to go into the office, I was much better.

The reason a few of us met up in the games/loungey area of Rue Morgue was that director Guillermo del Toro (Chronos, Blade 2, Hellboy) was visiting, along with his buddy and frequent cinematographer Guillermo Navarro, who’s also shot a bunch of high-profile movies, including Desperado, From Dusk Till Dawn and Jackie Brown. Del Toro is a big Rue Morgue fan – his fave mag, alongside Vanity Fair, oddly – and has hung out with some of the other RM staff before, so he wanted to visit. It was lots of laughs with two hilarious and extremely nice guys who love to talk film and make fun of all the weird Hollywood bullshit that comes with making movies. In the photo above you’ll see, from left to right, me, Guillermo Navarro, Guillermo del Toro, my co-workers Jovanka, then Gary, and Jovanka’s boyfriend Bob. (You’ll note that I put the camera on the setting that hideously makes my neck disappear and my face shrink.)

The next day they invited us down to the Deluxe studios where they were doing colour corrections on their new film Pan’s Labyrinth. It was film-geek heaven getting such a glimpse behind the scenes, and I felt really lucky for the opportunity. Plus, the footage we saw is absolutely stunning, and director Christophe Ganz popped by, as he was doing post-production on the Silent Hill movie across the street.

If you listened really carefully, you could hear Harry Knowles pop a boner.

It was just one of those nerdy, boozy, Lahey kind of a weekends. Happy birthday, Alana; welcome to Toronto, Chris!


Anonymous collin said...

Well, la-tee-da. Alberta rules the country now, so, yeah, think about it.

2:53 AM

Blogger enthrall said...

And what we don't rule, we can buy with some oilbucks.

3:51 PM


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