Just a little bizarre.
So I'm driving home tonight, one-thirtyish, coming home from work. Late relief shift on 76, which means 5pm to 1:14am on Royal York South.I think I mentioned something about the RYS earlier. Anyway, I'm on the way home, listening to Foo Fighters' There Is Nothing Left To Lose.
That is one fucking fantastic record. A couple of solid FM hits and several prominent movie songs make this a fairly comfortable album for non-Foo afficionadoes, but this album is so cohesive and... right. You know when you have a record and you could never, ever hit 'shuffle'? This is one of those. Every song is a perfect apertif for the next and a sublime dessert for the last. This is the third record, and the first where Dave Grohl handed the drumsticks to a scrappy fella named Taylor Hawkins. There were three singles released: Learn to Fly, which everybody knows, Breakout, which was a movie track from Me, Myself and Irene, and Next Year, which is a cool strummy acoustic-esque song with awesome Taylor Hawkins drums. But the real gems here, I feel, are album tracks like Stacked Actors (dirtiest guitar since Big Sugar covered Dear Mr. Fantasy), Generator and MIA. I could listen to this thing all damn day.
So where was I?
Oh yeah. Driving home. I don't know if anybody who reads this lives in a city. Joel kind of did for a while, but after a while in Toronto, you kind of start to navigate not so much by signs, but by the skyline, if you're approaching the city from the outlying areas. I know this sounds dumb, but T.O. has a very distinctive profile (you can imagine why), and you kind of triangulate with it subconsciously to get your location. It works downtown, too. If you can see the tower and anything else (building, intersection, whatever) you know where you are and what direction you're facing.
So as I come home, eastbound on the Gardiner, I don't look at signs, I just make turns until everything's the right distance apart and then I'm at Spadina (the road on which I live; rhymes with certain naughty bits). But tonight was weird.
We've had one of those not-quite-rainy-but-black-thunderheady-humidish kind of days, and for some reason, we have a lot of very low-lying cloud cover over the downtown core. It was patchy, but VERY VERY THICK. So as I was coming into town, i felt a vague unease, and began to think I had missed my exit. I hadn't, of course; I'm not retarded (shut up, Joel, I'm not.). I tried to think why, and then I noticed that the CN Tower did not exist. When it gets like this, you can still generally see the tower but it's blurry and misty, but tonight it was just fucking gone. But First Canadian Place, the second-tallest thing in the city, was lit up and clear as a bell. For that matter, most of the rest of the city was clear and fog-free. There was this localized cloud cover right over the SkyDome (I refuse to call it the Rogers Centre) and the tower; Even up close (and I drive past it at a distance of about 300 yards), I could only see the barest outline of the bottom of the tower, and nothing at all of the upper three quarters.
So, having satisified myself that the Tower hadn't been kidnapped the day after its 30th birthday (true), I turned up the Foos and went home.
Yep.
Chuck.
ps: Rob, that little asshat, fell into backstage passes for 54-40 at the Harb tomorrow night. Bastard. He had to call me up and ask me what songs they did.
That is one fucking fantastic record. A couple of solid FM hits and several prominent movie songs make this a fairly comfortable album for non-Foo afficionadoes, but this album is so cohesive and... right. You know when you have a record and you could never, ever hit 'shuffle'? This is one of those. Every song is a perfect apertif for the next and a sublime dessert for the last. This is the third record, and the first where Dave Grohl handed the drumsticks to a scrappy fella named Taylor Hawkins. There were three singles released: Learn to Fly, which everybody knows, Breakout, which was a movie track from Me, Myself and Irene, and Next Year, which is a cool strummy acoustic-esque song with awesome Taylor Hawkins drums. But the real gems here, I feel, are album tracks like Stacked Actors (dirtiest guitar since Big Sugar covered Dear Mr. Fantasy), Generator and MIA. I could listen to this thing all damn day.
So where was I?
Oh yeah. Driving home. I don't know if anybody who reads this lives in a city. Joel kind of did for a while, but after a while in Toronto, you kind of start to navigate not so much by signs, but by the skyline, if you're approaching the city from the outlying areas. I know this sounds dumb, but T.O. has a very distinctive profile (you can imagine why), and you kind of triangulate with it subconsciously to get your location. It works downtown, too. If you can see the tower and anything else (building, intersection, whatever) you know where you are and what direction you're facing.
So as I come home, eastbound on the Gardiner, I don't look at signs, I just make turns until everything's the right distance apart and then I'm at Spadina (the road on which I live; rhymes with certain naughty bits). But tonight was weird.
We've had one of those not-quite-rainy-but-black-thunderheady-humidish kind of days, and for some reason, we have a lot of very low-lying cloud cover over the downtown core. It was patchy, but VERY VERY THICK. So as I was coming into town, i felt a vague unease, and began to think I had missed my exit. I hadn't, of course; I'm not retarded (shut up, Joel, I'm not.). I tried to think why, and then I noticed that the CN Tower did not exist. When it gets like this, you can still generally see the tower but it's blurry and misty, but tonight it was just fucking gone. But First Canadian Place, the second-tallest thing in the city, was lit up and clear as a bell. For that matter, most of the rest of the city was clear and fog-free. There was this localized cloud cover right over the SkyDome (I refuse to call it the Rogers Centre) and the tower; Even up close (and I drive past it at a distance of about 300 yards), I could only see the barest outline of the bottom of the tower, and nothing at all of the upper three quarters.
So, having satisified myself that the Tower hadn't been kidnapped the day after its 30th birthday (true), I turned up the Foos and went home.
Yep.
Chuck.
ps: Rob, that little asshat, fell into backstage passes for 54-40 at the Harb tomorrow night. Bastard. He had to call me up and ask me what songs they did.
posted by I am being paid to do this at 1:45 AM
3 Comments:
okay, so this person can fuck right off. I'm leaving this here as a testament to this douchebag's douchebaggotry. I should probably enable the security code thingy on this blog, but fuck that guy.
yeah dude, I've seen that guy on other peoples blogs too - you're obvoiusly far too trusting of your blog commentries. ( I just made that word up )
ya 'tard
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