Hey everybody.
I hope everyone's emerged from their respective tryptophan haze from this weekend. I know I have. Mainly because I don't eat turkey, but that's neither here nor there.
Thanksgiving weekend started with a bang on Thursday night with an annual event I look forward to more than Christmas, Hallow e'en and the season premiere of American Idol combined - THE PUMPKIN PIE PARTY! Hosted by my dear friend, the divine Meredith Shaw, in her nothing-short-of-regal childhood home nestled in the heart of Rosedale.
Pictured the left: the hostess with the most-ess, to say the least-ess. Making her grand entrance popping out of a gigantic pumpkin pie. Only Meredith could manage to emerge completely unmarked by pie innards, by the way...
Anyballs - FUN TIMES BY ALL. I arrived pretty late as I was performing at Yuk's downtown for a crowd made up of people from Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous. Yeah. Not the most festive bunch. I think I ended my set by saying "Thank you, I'm Andrew Johnston! Good night and remember - stay the course!" I was being entirely patronizing. So sporting the mood of absolute career fulfillment, I saunter in there at like 9:30, and get right down to business, mackin' on some pie, y'all. The spread was truly awe-inspiring... every year, bitch manages to discover 5 more species of pumpkin pie or some shit. It's fucking nuts.
Another thing that was f-in' n's was the fag quotient this year. There was a record-high amount of homos up in there - many of whom I didna know. Just something that struck me funny.
As the night wore on, the more 'boisterous' contingent of the party retired to the back deck where Meredith encouraged us to make smores over the open fire. Try as she might, it didn't happen... and believe me she tried. I agreed to assist her in trying to start the smore trend. We toasted smores and over-acted like we were having fun, but kept on getting looks from everyone 'round the fire as if to say, "Stop trying to make smores happen! They're not gonna happen!"
Too bad.
We then moved into her living room/parlour - which looks like it's equipped to host aristocracy - and ogled the Royal Doultons, one of my favourite pastimes at Chez Shaw. Betcha didn't know that about me - I have a bit of an eye for figurines. A bit.
After a blitzed night out a Crews on Friday, I made m'way back to Brockville Saturday on an outrageously packed train... I felt like some sort of Central American refugee or something... only obviously less pungent. There's a bit of a ritual that's developed upon my arrival in Brockville: I get there and am greeted by the Mrs., equipped with smoked salmon rolls and a Diet Coke, because why the fuck should I wait until I get home to binge on niceties. We then make our way to the local Jumbo video where I go in, well-intentioned enough, to catch up on a whack of films I haven't seen. But instead of getting "Evening", "Away From Her", "Miss Potter" and other more legitimate fare, I get "Knocked Up", "Blades of Glory" and "Year of the Dog".
At this point my mom wants to stop at Walmart so she doesn't need to go later. I hesitantly agree. Okay... have y'all been to a Walmart lately? Do you know how fucking HUGE they've gotten?! The Brockville maga-WalMart is easily as big as a stadium. Easily. I was terrified upon setting foot inside. The first thing I see is a sign advertising a missing child that had disappeared two weeks ago. I, in dead earnestness, wondered if the child went missing IN this actual WalMart and still hadn't been found. I really wouldn't rule it out. Wow. Anyway - WalMarts. They're gettin' big. It's nuts.
When I got home, I forewent watching any movie I just paid for, but instead flipped on the TV and what happened to be gracing the airwaves? "UNCLE BUCK"! The John Candy vehicle circa 1989! I don't know how many times I watched that fucking movie when I was a kid... let me tell ya...
So I just simply HAD to revisit it now. As with every time I've recently sat down to reacquaint myself with things I loved as a child, this movie offered a wealth of entendres that went straight over my head as a child. One that jump to mind: They're in the bowling alley. Tia is sitting the game out and this slimy guy twirling a toothpick around in his mouth comes up and starts hitting on her. She says that she can't speak because her throat is very sore. He says "I got a cure for that". As a child, methinks "Cough drops? Lemon lozenges? Throat spray?" - and the greatest thing is that not only can I remember that reference, but I can remember the actual rhythm and thought process by which I digested that. Anyway, as an adult watching it, I automatically understood that he was suggesting she give him head. I had no idea was fellatio was at the time! But I learned... believe me... I learned...
Anyway - revisiting Uncle Buck was lovely. Then came "Year of the Dog", which was interesting... I wouldn't say I wouldn't say I didn't enjoy it... I wouldn't say that I absolutely did enjoy it... It was quite interesting. Molly Shannon was just as delightful as she ever is, and I found her dramatic capability very unexpected and will likely go unappreciated and underused. How the hell sad was it when her dog died? Answer: SO! I was like "moral of the story: Don't become someone who's livelihood hinges on animal companionship."
"Knocked Up" was terrific. One of the best things I've seen in a long time. I love things that can really marry haute comedy and very accessible entertainment value like that. Not since "Mean Girls" do I consider myself seeing that. Naturally, I thought Kirsten Wiig stole the show as the Katherine Hiegl's boss. Naturally, I also thought the shot of the baby crowing was was of the most disgusting things I've ever seen. No. Thank. You.
"Blades of Glory" sucked all the ass, balls and shit in the world. It was just insultingly bad. Talk about formulaic. Wow. Bad bad bad bad bad.
Sunday, after supper, I was treated to a visit by longtime hometown BFF, Laura Di Labio. Drinks were poured, and we started talking about people from high school, as we usually do, and if information is available, what they're up to now. And talk turned to an uber-religious duo, Ross Silke and Sarah McCann. Oh, they were quite the duo. Not a couple, mind you. Just like-minded super-religious BFF. Sarah McCann, quite specifically, was quite an interesting character... I remember I had her on my ICQ back in the bad old days. Her screen name was "-->>@!!!JeSuSfReAk!!!@<<--". Anyway - apparently she's teaching early childhood education now and had a place of her own.
Building on that, what proceeded was us hypothetically discussing further details in her life... if she has a husband (our conclusion: she does)... how she met him (our conclusion: at church council meetings)... how old he is (our conclusion: Old. Like 60's... maybe 70's)... whether or not they've consummated their marriage (our conclusion: Of course. He's got marital rights and God forbid she stand in the way of them)... what she wore the night of (our conclusion: a thick, totally opaque nightgown that would have been raised waist-high for the deed)... how long the physical act of love lasted (our conclusion: 7 minutes, give or take)... what she did afterwards (our conclusion: called her mother [it was only 7:30 PM, after all] and prayer)... and on and on...
Yeah... this lasted far longer than it should have. Look for it to become a new feature on my blog... "Hypothesizing Adult Lives of People I Went To High School With"...
Anyway - that's pretty much it. I promise no more blogs about my life this week.
Also, I'm on an episode of Video On Trial airing all this week. It's on at different times. On MuchMusic. Check your local listings -
I hope everyone's emerged from their respective tryptophan haze from this weekend. I know I have. Mainly because I don't eat turkey, but that's neither here nor there.
Thanksgiving weekend started with a bang on Thursday night with an annual event I look forward to more than Christmas, Hallow e'en and the season premiere of American Idol combined - THE PUMPKIN PIE PARTY! Hosted by my dear friend, the divine Meredith Shaw, in her nothing-short-of-regal childhood home nestled in the heart of Rosedale.
Pictured the left: the hostess with the most-ess, to say the least-ess. Making her grand entrance popping out of a gigantic pumpkin pie. Only Meredith could manage to emerge completely unmarked by pie innards, by the way...Anyballs - FUN TIMES BY ALL. I arrived pretty late as I was performing at Yuk's downtown for a crowd made up of people from Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous. Yeah. Not the most festive bunch. I think I ended my set by saying "Thank you, I'm Andrew Johnston! Good night and remember - stay the course!" I was being entirely patronizing. So sporting the mood of absolute career fulfillment, I saunter in there at like 9:30, and get right down to business, mackin' on some pie, y'all. The spread was truly awe-inspiring... every year, bitch manages to discover 5 more species of pumpkin pie or some shit. It's fucking nuts.
Another thing that was f-in' n's was the fag quotient this year. There was a record-high amount of homos up in there - many of whom I didna know. Just something that struck me funny.
As the night wore on, the more 'boisterous' contingent of the party retired to the back deck where Meredith encouraged us to make smores over the open fire. Try as she might, it didn't happen... and believe me she tried. I agreed to assist her in trying to start the smore trend. We toasted smores and over-acted like we were having fun, but kept on getting looks from everyone 'round the fire as if to say, "Stop trying to make smores happen! They're not gonna happen!"
Too bad.
We then moved into her living room/parlour - which looks like it's equipped to host aristocracy - and ogled the Royal Doultons, one of my favourite pastimes at Chez Shaw. Betcha didn't know that about me - I have a bit of an eye for figurines. A bit.
After a blitzed night out a Crews on Friday, I made m'way back to Brockville Saturday on an outrageously packed train... I felt like some sort of Central American refugee or something... only obviously less pungent. There's a bit of a ritual that's developed upon my arrival in Brockville: I get there and am greeted by the Mrs., equipped with smoked salmon rolls and a Diet Coke, because why the fuck should I wait until I get home to binge on niceties. We then make our way to the local Jumbo video where I go in, well-intentioned enough, to catch up on a whack of films I haven't seen. But instead of getting "Evening", "Away From Her", "Miss Potter" and other more legitimate fare, I get "Knocked Up", "Blades of Glory" and "Year of the Dog".
At this point my mom wants to stop at Walmart so she doesn't need to go later. I hesitantly agree. Okay... have y'all been to a Walmart lately? Do you know how fucking HUGE they've gotten?! The Brockville maga-WalMart is easily as big as a stadium. Easily. I was terrified upon setting foot inside. The first thing I see is a sign advertising a missing child that had disappeared two weeks ago. I, in dead earnestness, wondered if the child went missing IN this actual WalMart and still hadn't been found. I really wouldn't rule it out. Wow. Anyway - WalMarts. They're gettin' big. It's nuts.
When I got home, I forewent watching any movie I just paid for, but instead flipped on the TV and what happened to be gracing the airwaves? "UNCLE BUCK"! The John Candy vehicle circa 1989! I don't know how many times I watched that fucking movie when I was a kid... let me tell ya...So I just simply HAD to revisit it now. As with every time I've recently sat down to reacquaint myself with things I loved as a child, this movie offered a wealth of entendres that went straight over my head as a child. One that jump to mind: They're in the bowling alley. Tia is sitting the game out and this slimy guy twirling a toothpick around in his mouth comes up and starts hitting on her. She says that she can't speak because her throat is very sore. He says "I got a cure for that". As a child, methinks "Cough drops? Lemon lozenges? Throat spray?" - and the greatest thing is that not only can I remember that reference, but I can remember the actual rhythm and thought process by which I digested that. Anyway, as an adult watching it, I automatically understood that he was suggesting she give him head. I had no idea was fellatio was at the time! But I learned... believe me... I learned...
Anyway - revisiting Uncle Buck was lovely. Then came "Year of the Dog", which was interesting... I wouldn't say I wouldn't say I didn't enjoy it... I wouldn't say that I absolutely did enjoy it... It was quite interesting. Molly Shannon was just as delightful as she ever is, and I found her dramatic capability very unexpected and will likely go unappreciated and underused. How the hell sad was it when her dog died? Answer: SO! I was like "moral of the story: Don't become someone who's livelihood hinges on animal companionship.""Knocked Up" was terrific. One of the best things I've seen in a long time. I love things that can really marry haute comedy and very accessible entertainment value like that. Not since "Mean Girls" do I consider myself seeing that. Naturally, I thought Kirsten Wiig stole the show as the Katherine Hiegl's boss. Naturally, I also thought the shot of the baby crowing was was of the most disgusting things I've ever seen. No. Thank. You.
"Blades of Glory" sucked all the ass, balls and shit in the world. It was just insultingly bad. Talk about formulaic. Wow. Bad bad bad bad bad.
Sunday, after supper, I was treated to a visit by longtime hometown BFF, Laura Di Labio. Drinks were poured, and we started talking about people from high school, as we usually do, and if information is available, what they're up to now. And talk turned to an uber-religious duo, Ross Silke and Sarah McCann. Oh, they were quite the duo. Not a couple, mind you. Just like-minded super-religious BFF. Sarah McCann, quite specifically, was quite an interesting character... I remember I had her on my ICQ back in the bad old days. Her screen name was "-->>@!!!JeSuSfReAk!!!@<<--". Anyway - apparently she's teaching early childhood education now and had a place of her own.
Building on that, what proceeded was us hypothetically discussing further details in her life... if she has a husband (our conclusion: she does)... how she met him (our conclusion: at church council meetings)... how old he is (our conclusion: Old. Like 60's... maybe 70's)... whether or not they've consummated their marriage (our conclusion: Of course. He's got marital rights and God forbid she stand in the way of them)... what she wore the night of (our conclusion: a thick, totally opaque nightgown that would have been raised waist-high for the deed)... how long the physical act of love lasted (our conclusion: 7 minutes, give or take)... what she did afterwards (our conclusion: called her mother [it was only 7:30 PM, after all] and prayer)... and on and on...
Yeah... this lasted far longer than it should have. Look for it to become a new feature on my blog... "Hypothesizing Adult Lives of People I Went To High School With"...
Anyway - that's pretty much it. I promise no more blogs about my life this week.
Also, I'm on an episode of Video On Trial airing all this week. It's on at different times. On MuchMusic. Check your local listings -
Smell ya later,
--- Aj
