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Do you think this practice of using a single HTML file for each calendar season is working? I don’t, but I do not have so much as server-side includes running to make the recaps modular. I acknowledge this failing. It will have to improve eventually. (Some parts of my sites do run on databases, just not this one.) We may be installing Movable Type.
I am also unfucking my stylesheets.
2002.04.28 – I did Ottawa last week to “give evidence” to the House of Commons Standing Committee on Canadian Heritage. The place isn’t that boring, though perhaps it is instructive that the most interesting sight is the cavalcade of low-floor articulated buses. You can read the transcript.
Oh, and guess what? The very first Google search result for tvo volt is, in fact, this site. (tfo volt is fourth and fifth.) So, I mean, link to me or don’t link to me. It’s your fucking funeral. Olivier Dagenais’ page, which never offered any content whatsoever, has been stale for half a year. Mine I update every week.
Without me, you would toil in complete obscurity. In the 21st century, a TV show doesn’t exist until it has a fan page.
Could this possibly be the Gay.com personal ad of Charles Duchesne? I know the answer. And this too is in the public record. But I have a lot of sympathy here, if only for myself: If such a handsome, fit, well-dressed, moderne sweetiepie can’t keep a boyfriend, we’re all fucked.
Happy Pride!
All (reggae) videos all the (spring)time: “I Know a Place” de Bob Marley (no relation) and not, in fact, Petula Clark (no relation); «Aux armes» de Big Red; «Je sais pas jouer» de Pierpoljak; «Ragga dub» de Dubmatique (groan); «Opération coup de poing» de la Brigade et Pierpoljak (indicating the paucity of French reggae videos; it’s a matter/antimatter combo anyway).
«N41!»
Frankly disappointing. The operatic interstitials did not work for purely cinematographic reasons: Videotape cannot simulate the high-key, overexposed, coronal character of old black-and-white film, which could explain why Heart of the World was not shot on video. Typography of intertitles was entirely wrong. Not enough actual opera singing from Joey Whatshisface (no relation); one assumes that scheduling does not entirely explain such a lacuna.
On the other hand, William Portal–esque black-light effect with Simon and Mathieu was great. So great, in fact, I could not figure out who the not-Simon character was for a very long time. That hairstyle, gargoylish as it may seem, suits Mathieu well. What’s it like even to have that much hair to style?
Better luck next year.
Can someone tell me at which moment Indochine turned into the Glass Tiger of France?
A telethon for stoner-loser-hosers in “Acadie.” Just what the “educational” network run by the spousal equivalent of the premier-elect ought to be doing.
Escaping under the radar, shurely?!
Katimavik is blatantly promoted, apparently from the Rosedale bridge (Roehampton? I keep forgetting the street). There are certainly worse things to blatantly promote. Abusing the Volt Katimavik intern is clearly improper and should not be done if cameras are rolling.
No, it can’t be in Rosedale. I must track that bridge down.
Simon’s music “chronicle” as a nutter worked about as well as, say, Sonia Vani as fortune-teller.
Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay (is he really 19?) tells us how to buy a Windows clone from a chop shop.
What kind of a computer does he use all day?
Not a bad concept (intrinsically white-trash homosexualist, but handled well) in interviewing unsuspecting and wary Francophones on why the hell they’ve still got their Xmas lights up. I assume this happened in Montreal, an implicit admission that you can’t put together six consecutive interview subjects who speak French in Ontario. Of course, I could be wrong. “NOT THE REAL” Mathieu (Chantelois) did claim it was from the Ontario suburbs.
What’s up with the rerun already? What could possibly be going on?
Volt gets its staff drunk and makes ’em take a Breathalyzer. Now, why can’t I figure out which episode this was from my formidable archives? Could be a composite.
All videos all the time. «Le petit castor» de Yélo Molo, surprisingly unracist this time, but I’m sorry, French ska is its own punchline. »Du Hast« von Rammstein (opera–metal–disco!). “Electroconfusion” de Smoother. «S’étend l’amer» de Projet Orange.
April Fool’s.
Cute.
Where was Simon?
And I see Mathieu “AU NATUREL” Chantelois sitting there with a smirk, as if drug-addled. One assumes a certain air of gravity would have been in order to retain verisimilitude. Then again, it is Monday. It takes a while to piss these things away.
I think Simon and Mathieu “AU NATUREL” Chantelois have the largest active vocabularies of the staff. What up with that?
«On est dans une époque de cochonneries télévisuelles. Les gens devraient arrêter de bitcher puis de remarquer la qualité et l’intelligence de ce qu’on a mis en ondes.» How amusingly self-contradictory, yet astute as an assessment of intelligent fandom (hating and loving). Is 525 K of text not enough for you? And anyway, if you don’t want bitching, get off the air and unplug your phone line.
According to the goldfish (raccoons, shurely?! – Ed.), there is some expectation that Volt will cover homeless homosexualists. Well, if you chat up any street kid, you have a 2 in 5 chance of finding one. Beyond that, it comes down to a question of Barbra Streisand albums and matching M&M T-shirts.
Or is this some kind of coded message, of the sort Russell Crowe hallucinates?
Cute.
Do we assume the Grocery Gateway segment accurately depicted the apartment of Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay? ¶ Server rooms are always oddly Modernist with their raised floors, unreal cleanliness, and diffuse lighting. An admittedly not-uninformative segment, but could we focus more on who actually picks all the various foodstuffs?
Is it just me, or does the English word “Internet” sound clumsy in French? Has something to do with the first two syllables’ having secondary stress.
Good orange shirt on the new kid, too. I guess he’s solved that problem.
Organic foods with Nadyne, continuing her Earth-mother kick. (Whole grains à go-go – colonic irrigation, anyone?) I’m with Mathieu on the general taste of rice milk, no matter how many ümläüts it may carry. Each and every grain is discernible. Soy milk, on the other hand, is viable (the super-expensive EdenBlend particularly), and my carnivore friend agrees that cereal tastes better with soy milk.
The segment on off-beat dancing (hyphenation may be mandatory) did not adequately show. It merely told us that some chick likes it, Mitsou endorses it, and an academic can sufficiently inflate theories to make them float. Even in literature, we place a premium on showing, not telling. The segment was at least handled with a certain unexpected professionalism.
The usual boring-as-shite rerun. Actually, slightly less so, but not “original content.” And I’m all about originality here.
Rockons!
«La peau» de No One Is Innocent (as Freud established a hundred years ago), who, strangely enough, may be on to something: It seems strummed basslines work well with (the) male French. «Téléthargique» de Groovy Ardvark, as tedious as ever. «Donnez-vous la peine» de Mass Hysteria, which almost works. «Les gens» de Lofofora, which still doesn’t. «Narcissiques anonymes» de TSPC.
You realize, of course, that I may end up as the only person in Canada who subscribes to PrideVision and MuchLoud and no other diginet? I’m all about originality.
Excellent segment on leeches; very game of Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay to actually volunteer to get Vincent Priced. Leeches’ use in modern medicine is of course well-known (at least among the crips – ever needed your hand reattached?). Next up: Maggots! (I am not kidding. They feed preferentially on necrotic tissue. If you have a badly-decomposed wound, the little buggers will clean all the dead meat away and leave the rest alone. According to the literature, patients are willing to put up with it. It means you actually get better.)
Next up after that: Forensic entomology. There’s a brittle forensic entomologistrix down at the ROM, if memory serves. Ask to see her copy of the wonderful book Entomology and Death. Bring your Alice Cooper albums for her to autograph. Buy the T-shirt!
Keep up this good shit, by the way.
I was just saying to myself last week, I says “Where the fork are Crystal et Monique?” I had a mild heart attack to see my fond dream realized today. Until I realized my dream would be realized with a rerun. Chitchat with d00d at bar is still too culturally specific.
A nice metasegment with “BRIDE OF” Chucky pushing the music he likes. (Can we get a rocker chick on the show to cover that genre?) I wonder what his secret might be for staying so slim, apart from spending the equivalent of another full workday in the gym each week. Even when I did that, the results were limited. Some of us build up, some of us don’t. I’m all leg when what I want to be is all tricep and lat. Well, I mean, it’s heredity.
Don’t you love the mile-wide gay belt and accompanying Subaru-grille-badge-sized belt buckle?
Also, is there a definable notch shaved in the “BRIDE OF” Chucky beard growth to accommodate the nasolabial crease? The recherché Nº 3 haircut and beard growth make an ordinary black pol(i)o shirt look fashionable.
I generally approve of Charles. In fact, anything resembling an attentive reading of these pages indicates I call things exactly as I see them (a commodity you should prize). Even despised former correspondents, and the disagreeable present-day correspondent, garner praise when warranted. I just think Charles, Simon, Nadyne, and Mathieu are the stars of the show, in that order. Everyone else? Well, I dunno. You have no right to complain. You work in Toronto, in French, and on Mac (even you, Tanguay). So just grow up a little and take it.
I reiterate my contention that Chucky should give us a running lesson in how to make Web sites with Flash. Why not? It’s educational, right? The fact that punters will not have Macromedia developer kits means nothing. They don’t exactly run fucking rally courses or get their sigmoid colons hoovered out, either.
I miss Max.
And a somewhat light-hearted but factually solid piece on epilepsy. This is of course the right way to handle disability and illness: Nonchalantly, if at all possible. Generally it is.
Except for the rerun, a bang-up episode. What’s up for tomorrow? Oh, drat.
Jewish American Princess prom advice from the gentile giraffe or FIRST STEPS IN MARRYING A RICH HUSBAND. Materialist arriviste twaddle.
It’s very lower-class, the advice. Upper-middle-class people don’t have to reach that far, and engage in tacky excess like hiring a “limo.” And dirt-poor French hosers in disheveled mullet haircuts look about as credible in “formal” wear as Bart Simpson shoehorned into his Sunday best.
It is that bad.
«Détect-o-Mo» segment gets better every single time. It is that good. Priceless moment on this viewing: Steve “THE DIGGER” Diguer confusedly addressing the camera. («Ton Détect... o-mo?»)
Chucky in a wig! I am so there. I really need to try a few of those. The Mountain Witch look, perhaps?
I seem to recall seeing the costume designer for Amerikanski QaF on PrideVision. I guess we all know what line of work to get into should full-on Wallpaper<asterisk> condos be somehow desirable, which they are not. This too is arrivistesque.
I love the d00d’s shoe closet, though. Despite being a veganist, I am a shoe queen.
Snaggletoothed Bruce McDonald directing QaF. Like an antisemitic Jew. I don’t think so. (Are y’all going to see The Believer? I sure am. Try surfing to the Showtime site on that film. Just try that. Think of it as your devoir for the morning. And remember, your Internet usage is monitored. In so very many ways. Don’t believe me? Look up the site. Look it up.)
HowTF can Mathieu not know what QaF is? Does he only watch French TV? Or perhaps he takes the morally consistent position: He watches no TV out of work hours at all. I’d be down with that.
Britanski QaF is so massively superior to Amerikanski that the latter desecrates the good name of the former. Read the TWAT fora.
Oh, and here’s a case of not sending a tweeked-out Quebecker to do a man’s job: “Queer as folk” is merely a euphemism for “queer as fuck.” The line about the Northern maxim “there’s nowt so queer as folk” is a cover story. I specifically remember the QUEER AS FUCK and QUEER AS F*** T-shirts discussed in The Face circa the early ’90s. (I wrote one storyette for The Face, actually.) No one on the Volt staff has sufficient native English skill, let alone English cultural knowledge, to get this right – certainly not Mathieu “FULL FRONTAL” Chantelois.
Videoclip: «Ma liberté» de Mélanie Renaud.
The all-video show, in which Francine acts like a beard. A first-ever occurrence, shurely.
You’re all curious about the status of my Charles Duchesne Memorial Facial Hair. Version 1.0 was a disaster. Out of habit, I shaved a shape more reminiscent of Everlast Version 2.0 facial hair, also known as the chinstrap beard.
I eventually gave up and hacked the fucker off. Fortunately, it takes mere days to regrow. I think this one’s gonna work.
Simon securicam footage is still excellent. I don’t know why I love it so much. He needs to do more of those things – entirely novel concepts, but equally accomplished.
“If Everybody Looked the Same” de Groove Armada with half-arsed subtitles; “Frontier Psychiatrist” des Avalanches; «Nos cheveux» d’Hervé Hovington; «À ma place» d’Axel Bauer et Zazie; “March of the Pigs” de Nine Inch Nails.
Adventures in Language Accessibility: Drab, Soviet-style dubbing makes its début on Volt.
Now, I mean, Nadyne at the hair show. Pig in shit, or what?
I have to concede that the glittery bodypaint used on the shirtless heterosexualist model looked strangely magical and timeless, like something the Incans or the Egyptians would have used. Vampires have walked the earth in glitterpaint.
I don’t care if the Best Hair Queen in Canada has a fucking magic wand. What the hell did he do to Nadyne’s hair? Rocker chick is one thing. Rocker chick with finger in electrical outlet is another. What is this, flat latex paint mixed into her tresses? She’s not tall efriggin’nough already?
For some reason, the gigantic nail clipper bothered me. It is hard to imagine a clean nail clipper.
Reportage on hair loss? On going completely bald? Minutes and minutes on end, without ever hearing the word alopecia? And I don’t see why anyone would voluntarily style himself after Bert Archer.
For the record, I can’t shave my head. Rudiments of the hairs, being so dark, would be too visible. And at which location on the body would I stop?
Mathieu “MONEY SHOT” Chantelois attempts to console Mathieu by laddishly gripping his shoulder. And deep inside, well concealed behind a self-preserving wall of KEEP YOUR COOL OR GET BASSETTED®, Mathieu thinks Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape.
But really, a superb monologue by Mathieu on the painful memory (heavily ridiculed in these phosphors) of bleaching his hair. That sort of colour could only go over in Ottawa, or perhaps at the Pow Wow club in Montreal nigh on twenty years ago.
Good strong segment there despite the popups. I thought we were dubbing this show?
But, I mean, Mathieu getting advice on waxing his forearm from a fag ashamed of his old nudie photos. I don’t think so. Next he’ll be pushing Mathieu to drop E and do circuit parties. Some of us, as we grow up, actually encourage straight guys to be straight, even if they are French at the same time.
Peals of hirsute, balding, out-of-shape, sarcastic, yet tellingly girlish laughter could be heard yea unto Sporting Life as Mathieu read the complaint about Voltiste grammar. («Votre show c’est de la marde. Vous pouvez pas parler correct pis faire du sens. [BLEEP]tit de f[BLEEP]ker.»)
I personally adore the word pilaster.
Calembour! There’s finally a word for pun! And it’s only 250 years old.
Marc makes an indirect point (his forte, shurely?!): Where are the searchable French dictionaries?
The «Polisses» segment remains tremendously disturbing, even with the self-kneecapping disclaimer, which I see now was there the last time. I wonder if the sketch turned out heavier than was intended.
Certainly a curious moment to elect to rerun a segment on suicide bombers.
More videos than you could shake a contact sheet at.
The first 20 seconds of “Virtually Insane” d’Anonymus are a triumph of nonlinear editing. (How’s I miss it the first time?) Can we have more frigging speedmetal on the show, please?
“Another Morning Stoner” d’And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, a name that may kill off my pretense of using de in these listings once and for all. (Unless of course someone can muster a revival of We’ve Got a Fuzzbox and We’re Gonna Use It.) They sound like At the Drive-In (concatenate! And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead At the Drive-In) after a HOT EMO INJECTION.
“Attitude” by Alien Ant Farm. There. It’s officially dead. But what is this, a blasted emocore set?
«Printempts été» by Jean Leloup. Lycanthrophobia!
There seems to be a certain reuse of the THX 1138/“Mark of Gideon” bodysuits.
Sugar? We already had Tito handle this, didn’t we? Not uninteresting nonetheless. Too brief, arguably.
Good explication of Crest® Whitestrips™. But shouldn’t that have waited until trying them out for the recommended two weeks?
Music “chronicle” with Isabelle Pelletier. I guess “Charlie” was busy tending to his beard, or, perhaps more likely, repeatedly plugging the word duchesne into my search engine. (Only mentioned in the Volt pages. What did you expect?) Good to see sexy talentless quisling Edwin getting verbally bitch-slapped (not like JS in the “Satan’s pancartes of signalisation” segment, shurely?!).
Cute idea to watch Volt with an Ottawan. Predictable aspect: Fag does the segment and only asks girls, especially the nonthreatening mama types. (Eight-year-old son scarcely counts.) Let’s see how long Mathieu “PUBESCENT” Chantelois would last with some tough-arse vulgarian French fathers.
I’m totally with Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay about the manifest boredom of ceramic art. I can barely handle ceramics when used in experimental automotive engines (though just how “experimental” are they?).
I am not in favour of TV-turnoff week. Should we also stop reading while we’re at it? (What if reading and television were put together?) The idea that television “programs” us is passé for anyone under 40 years old, who will never know how to traverse 75 channels in 80 seconds to find out what’s on. They’re the susceptible group. The young kids encouraged to distrust the deleterious effects of television are the same kids least likely to be deleteriously affected.
Videoclip: »Ich will« by Rammstein.
All music videos. “Superstylin’ ” by Groove Armada, which I tire of. “Alive” by POD. «Ensemble» by Sinclair, who is OK in a BV3K/Jamiroquai manner. “Hey[,] Ladies” by the Beastie Boys, clever at the time but dated now. “First Date” by Blink[-]182.
I frankly enjoyed Stoner’s showing up the teen Franco-Ontarian audience for the doomed half-breed dunces they are.
Except:
Didn’t the questions reveal the cultural literacy of the late-20s Volt staff rather than providing a viable, if difficult, aptitude test for the typical pimply teenaged viewer? The Shavian Trivial Pursuit factoid of GHOTI = FISH is a bit much for some kid in Hawkesbury.
How odd, though, that Mathieu “SHAMEFACED” Chantelois should wear his superspecial U8TV “hoodie” onscreen rather than, say, a PrideVision Steamy Knights shirt. One assumes that would highlight the conflict of interest involved in working for an educational broadcaster and also throwing to porn on a competing station.
Could it be... could it possibly be that the park in which Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay interviews the head of Francophone volunteerism in Toronto (its own punchline, shurely?!) is across the road at the old Ministry of Health lot, soon to be a manifold-illegal Minto™ monstrosity?
I dunno. Volunteering. What do you think my 500 Web pages on obscure sites are? I specifically create and post them for reference should anyone else on the planet ever need to know something about that topic. A lasting contribution, rather than, say, transiently playing cards with codgers. You decide.
Actually, no, it probably isn’t that park.
Strange gigantic demipentagram desk we’re using today.
Liked the Stéfie Shock interview. I just love Nadyne’s delivery. She’s a total megastarlet. And the punchline killed.
Yet another English cultural reference<slash>lexeme Mathieu didn’t know: First Amerikanski QaF, now “skivvies” (most recently heard in No Way Out, an homophobic embarrassment with Kevin Costner looking paradoxically ravishing in a white uniform).
SURVEILLANCE CAMERA FOOTAGE! Time for a Canada Council grant.
I want to be able to kick in doors at Square du Canada, too! In a completely nonviolent way, of course.
Élever ses enfants en temps de guerre fausse pub: Nadyne in curlers! The higher the hair, the closer to Chuck Labelle. «Faites souffrir vos enfants pour toute la misère que vous avez vous-même vécu.»
Music mix slightly too loud, though.
However, I don’t get the segment on making your own soap. Just the first thing that popped to N.’s mind? N. strikes me as artsy-craftsy. Making soap is a dirty business: Tallow, Jews, lye. There are too many ill associations. I have had to give in and use “real” soap (currently Dove®, a homograph) because even all-vegetable olive-oil soap simply does not get you clean. Tea-tree oil soap does, though, I must say. So I guess I really don’t have an excuse.
Nuking plastic is also inadvisable. It releases estrogenic stabilizers, implicated in cancer and, of course, hormonal imbalances, and not just in women. (So do composite dental fillings, of which I have no fewer than four full units in one tooth alone.) Cold plastic, depending on variety, remains inert, though. It’s a complex subject that I try not to worry about. Not all that much, anyway. Moral of story: Take lunch to work in plastic container, but nuke it in a vitreous bowl.
Videoclip: “What It Feels Like for a Girl” by Madonna.
All animal videoclips all the time! Some appalling ’80s examples (memorable to those pushing middle age, shurely?!) were, thankfully, overlooked.
There seems to be a clear and present danger of secondary calf growth on Félix. Finally, a performer on Volt with something approaching a body who is not a fag.
“Da Funk” by Daft Punk (why not the French-subtitled version?); «Tu dis mais ne sais pas» by Mickey 3D; “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana (Tori Amos, shurely?!); “Where’s Your Head At?” by the house band of Volt, Basement Jaxx.
Even less self-control was in evidence in today’s opening than, say, the performers on The Carol Burnett Show, who would freeze in place and stifle a chuckle at the ineluctible hye-lariousness of it all.
Condom testing. Interesting, and somewhat tricky vocab. Now do you see why we need the old Suburbans back?
And if I’m not mistaken, my name is taken in vain by Félix “SAYS RELAX” Tanguay, though in the most discreet imaginable way – so discreet it could take the form of an ISO-standard test.
But it’s ever so hard to get upset, really, because I’m all about standards. I write to standards, after all, and my own are in any rate are too high for the Toolbox, or so it is assumed. (Find your own friggin’ link. And remember, you’re being watched.)
Is it just me, or is the Condom Detectives skit just perfect at two minutes flat? Loved the egregious stunt driving of the egregious white Caprice.
Why do I have this strange hankering for Delerium videos lately? They’ve got two good ’uns, including “Silence,” consisting of nothing but strangely profound extended slomo photography of a blind runner and his guide crossing unreasonably beautiful and barren terrain. You could look those up.
Also: The Semaphore Version of ‘Wuthering Heights’.
We finally get to meet the hoser-losers from Tracadie, and they’re even stupider than I could have imagined. Guess nothing much has changed back in what passes for the gene pool.
Wouldn’t it shock the hell out of them to know they were surrounded by homosexualist Voltistes? Their first skyscraper... their first accurately pronounced interdental fricatives... their first fags. There’s a looot of weird shit in the big city.
How long before they get the hell out of Ontario?
Good to see that Nadyne took pity on the d00d from the environmental lobby group (a “special interest,” shurely?!) and allowed him to speak English (every Franco-Ontarian’s preference, shurely?!).
Our video show of the week. «Le troubadour» by les Ordures ioniques. “Rabbit in Your Headlights” by Unkle, which does not bear repeated viewings. For some reason I always get the impression the d00d has radiation burns on his face; this is a remanifestation of a dim racial memory of a newspaper article about two white Americans who crash-landed in Africa in childhood and grew up in a native tribe, though with sun-damaged skin. The star of the video vaguely resembles the male of the pair.
Yes, I know, what could be more obscure?
“Eyen” by Plaid, trying hard but coming over too earnest. “Chop Suey” by System of a Down, who feature a nose equivalent to my own even though I fail to be Armenian. «Cigarette» by Caféïne, with bad captions.
Chronicle of Hoser Meltdown Foretold: Well, I see the losers from Tracadie, ever reminiscent of pitiable, innocent victims of fetal alcohol syndrome, have managed to screw up the simplest possible instruction: DRIVE, VOLT SAID. Get in the friggin’ poortruck and go west.
Where do they end up? Quebec.
With a ticket or citation or pending criminal record of some kind? It’s not clear.
But let’s review. A public broadcaster solicits funds from the public to pay non-employees to drive across the country. Then those non-employees more or less make off with the proceeds, not even bothering to follow the instructions.
Now, on how many counts is this inappropriate, if not outright unethical and sleazy?
And was I able to parse the bandsaw cutting galvanized tin correctly? Has one of these losers embezzled TVO viewer funds to get himself to Ottawa to job-hunt?
Moving right along: The “30%” statistic of queer teen suicides is not quite as overblown as the “wealth” of “the gay community,” but it is certainly disputed. What is indisputable is that queer kids are more likely to contemplate, attempt, and/or commit suicide. Responsible journalism – something I wouldn’t know anything about after ten years – would have at least mentioned the factual basis instead of reiterating conventional wisdom.
In any event, I don’t recall Guy, Steve, Charles, or other present-day or former homosexualist Volt reporters and presenters doing so goddamned many queer stories. Some of us aren’t single-issue politicians.
Liked the piece on V.O. actors by Nadyne (“we hardly knew ye”? – but I get ahead of myself). Are you aware that said market is much more competitive than conventional acting? And that Ewan McGregor still does voiceover? (Apparently he narrates the safety instructions on Virgin Atlantic. And his mom owns an audio-description company!) And that a stalwart of Sailor Moon dubbing, Vince Corazza, is one of the better-looking Italians in the history of civilisation? You’ve seen him all over the place. And he’ll be French-kissing guys in the upcoming Poor Super Man, though it will carry a different title. I am so there.
(Single-issue politicians, anyone?)
Useful addendum, though: Exploring the Toronto French market, which revolves around French versions of national bilingual ad campaigns.
Hate the chick’s hair, though, and her heavily-rhotacized joual-streaked pronounciation of heures.
Love the fact that Mathieu has actually done voiceover! How polyvalent of him. I can believe he’d be good at it, though. No problem.
Chronicle of MuchMoreMusic hostessing foretold? Nadyne is congratulated on her last “chronicle.” Now, does this mean forever or just for the season? Available information remains ambiguous, even given the next day’s show.
I wonder if we are witnessing the quickening demise of Volt. They’re architects of their own misfortune if so. But I don’t want to throw shade.
Loved the hangman motif of Charlie’s music “chronicle”! (That is, the music “chronicle” of Charles “SHE’S MADE YOU SOME KIND OF LAUGHINGSTOCK BECAUSE YOU DANCE TO DISCO AND YOU DON’T LIKE ROCK” Duchesne.) I woulda been happy just with the disembodied head. Just ghoulish enough. Just piss-taking enough. But we observe various fit, no-doubt-homosexualist limbs (calves ahoy!) materializing afterward. Someone’s got a very happy boyfriend. Except of course that having everything is no guarantee of happiness.
I think Charlie (do forgive the diminutive, and he was running low on saliva this week) is hereditarily fortunate with the brown beard growth. My own salt-’n’-pepa look doesn’t really work, frankly.
If June 4 is «date de notre dernière émission,» does this differ from «date de notre dernière émission de la saison»?
fawny.org<slash>ca) got heisted from a train to Boston. The strange thing is that I do not miss it. Perhaps Manau were début-du-siècle in more than one way: Apart from mixing rap and bagpipes (the entirety of human history is available for sampling), they’re a band that functions only in the language of singles. Albums are a bust.It is probably very late in the day to be pointing this out, but you do realize the correct way to read these pages is out loud? I realize that’s a challenge even for native English-speakers, but a lot of this stuff is specifically written as a comedy routine. Quick and easy test! Try reading this passage aloud at the staff meeting, in the teachers’ lounge, or at the local bathhouse!
Mathieu “MONEY SHOT” Chantelois attempts to console Mathieu by laddishly gripping his shoulder. And deep inside, well concealed behind a self-preserving wall of KEEP YOUR COOL OR GET BASSETTED®, Mathieu thinks Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape.
Then upload a .wav file of the ensuing hilarity!
More educational content, this time on emergency resuscitation. When do we get to use the paddles?
Videoclip: “Deep Colo[u]rs Bleed” by Systematic. Beautiful skin on the singer. Only adequate NCI captions.
Crystal et Monique host the video show! It’s a dream come true.
«Marie-Lou» by Dumas. “Dope Nose” by Weezer. “Star Guitar” by the Chemical Brothers (Michel Gondry is as a god). “Flat Beat” by M[r]. Oizo. Whatever that song is by Eminem.
A repeat.
Gee, what are the odds? Amateur nudist “NOT THE REAL” Mathieu Chantelois, bent on turning Volt into the worst kind of homosexualist propaganda (the unsubtle kind), corners hapless JS at the urinal and gives something resembling a fair hearing to a doctor espousing urine therapy.
Psychological displacement, shurely?!
Isn’t this a cri de cœur? Isn’t the grating, self-aggrandizing quisling trying to tell us how he really wanted to be photographed – in some tableau involving a used bathtub and a rank of shaven-headed guys with braces and belt loops hanging below their knees?
The television series Volt is at least nominally educational. Let’s not turn it into the first five minutes of Belle de jour.
Videoclip: “Smash Something” (I’m using correct orthography here) by Redman.
Yes, censored music-video clips. A case I was on in 1990. Still valid to explore, certainly.
The World According to the Shame-Faced, Raccoon-Eyed Nudist: Music-video channels include MuchMusic, MTV, and “HV1.”
«Dis-moi, dis-moi» by Mitsou. «Manifeste» by Guéria, admittedly an extremely clever and daring idea – faking a separatist-manifesto declaration. Except we only get it at clip intro and extro. Squandered!
“Come to Daddy” by “the” Aphex Twin – never really “censored,” you know, even if Chris Cunningham’s œuvre is poorly screened. (Where the fuck is his movie of Neuromancer?) I’ve seen “Come to Daddy” n times on normal channels.
“Human Nature” by Madonna (uncaptioned: get with the program).
“Baby, One More Time” (no doubt with a forest of parentheses in the official title) by Britney Spears. “If you’re more than, say, 30 years old, change the channel now”: Easy for you to say. Your ovaries are still jumping.
But that’s not gonna last forever, is it?
Well, this is clearly alarming by any fair standard: It is serious to lose two hosts, a producer (S. Lavigne is now heard in full-on French sepulchral mode on Panorama, nu?), and one contributor. And this follows losing an Ottawa correspondent and (apparently) the senior producer.
Perhaps the noble experiment of Volt has run its course. Nadyne may be stuck with closing up shop next year. It is manifestly apparent that only she is suited, experienced enough, and qualified to hostess the show.
On the other hand, I’d say the news is pretty good for Simon. Good to see him following the money. There are relatively few barriers to becoming a writer – certainly not a journalist, a sometimes-salient distinction. Being a Franco-Ontarian is actually a marketable differentiator; it makes him “special,” “regional.” He has, moreover, a fair portfolio, and it is quite possible to make a living in the Quebec market. It gets better: With his vast television experience, he could take a day job on one of the many interchangeable low-rent Quebec networks, and/or simply become a fixture on the various interchangeable low-rent Quebec chat shows.
He’s good, I’ve always liked him, and he has quite a bright future. L’chaim!
Last videos, possibly ever: “Witness the Fitness” by Roots Manuva; «Propulsage» by les Biberons bâtis; “There Goes the Fear” by the Doves; «La France a peur» by Mickey 3D.
We’re promised a one-hour show for tomorrow, then stuck with another frigging rerun.
The one-hour show was, apparently, one of those Volt lies, like my being the one to phone in about bad grammar.
Volt now confronts a near-death experience, akin to a simultaneous need for a transplanted heart, kidney, and pancreas. I don’t know how a show can recover from losing a host, a producer, and a correspondent all at once. Don’t brush it off: This is serious.
Nadyne’s pretty tall and all that, but I wonder just how much she can carry on her shoulders.
(Want the producer or host job yourself? Apply.)
My dire predictions for the outcome of the illicit experiment in wasting viewers’ money – shoveling cash down the gullets of hoser losers from “Acadie,” who are expected to drive across the country without smoking fags, doing shooters, or, one fancies, scoring weed – were vastly exceeded. To recap: One hoser bailed in Ottawa, essentially embezzling what were already ill-gotten funds to move to the Big City™ and look for a job; the dynamic duo never overcame their own limitations (as New Brunswickers, shurely?!), ending up no farther west than Thunder Bay; and they racked up enormous traffic fines. I guess we’re all very lucky indeed that nobody searched their truck.
What happens if the Liberal culture critic finds out about this? Note to morons: It all happened in public, on a TV show. I’m just documenting it here. This malfeasance, this misuse of public broadcasting, this miscarriage of the airwaves, has been fully Googlable for months and will remain so indefinitely, if not forever. Further note to morons: A statute of limitations does not per se exist in Canada, so those involved in this misadventure could face the music at any time between now and the day they move to Montreal, not that half the staff hasn’t done so already.
How would I sum up this season of Volt? A scandal-plagued wank.
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