2002: November 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
When Fred tapped the photo of twee Frankie Grisé onto the back of twee Frankie Grisé, was this a case of «L’affection entre amis: Quand c’est trop, c’est trop»?
Renée and her stupid hat. She’d be too pretentious naked, appalling enough a thought that be.
What was the name of this whatever-the-hell-it-was French band we learned all about today?
Gadget Boy covers MP3 players. (All the better to play Basement Jaxx with, my pretty?) Admirably, there was no reference to private copying of music as illegal, which, in Canada, it is not. He’s quite serious. I kind of like that.
Whilst spokesmodeling MP3 players, Frankie also incidentally spokesmodeled his commitment-ceremony ring.
Good tight chocolate-coloured shirt Frankie has on tonight.
Are the Pay It Forward 2 Live Crew merely do-gooders or also Christians?
Good blue ribbed sweater on Fred tonight. Oh, wait. It’s the one with the THX 1138 stripe. Strike that. At any rate, an easy but well-handled topic. Fred hasn’t really blown it yet.
The Sugar Mountain advertorial had unreadable subtitles.
A frigging show doesn’t pass by without unprofessional fembot Frankie Grisé breaking up on camera, like Carol fucking Burnett. You’re not doing this for the amusement of the trapped twentysomething Francophones on set. Your responsibility, strangely enough, is to your viewers.
Was this show about anything?
I let the tape run and spent most of my time reading Jerkcity. I’ve got priorities, people.
Videos. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem. (8 Mile is a captioning nightmare.) «On est là» by DJ Shortcut. “Chop Suey” by the Armenians in System of a Down. «Comatose» by Grimskunk yet again.
Well, here we go again with confusing the dates and missing a show on tape. I don’t see how this is possible.
At any rate, perhaps now would be a good time to observe that I seem to be putting more emphasis than ever on the appearance of Voltistes. I have no explanation for this trend.
Within one minute of show opening, Frankie and Nadyne have already collapsed in laughter. Oh, God, they’re funny! They just love themselves, and they relish the absurdity of their own little positions!
Never mind the fact that they’ve got an audience, and what causes the laughter is a reflex of discomfort in response to Frankie’s inability to spit out a sentence with... out... long... unplanned pauses or ithout ucking up a word.
Look at the faggy little scarf she’s got on while they build their butch inukshuk. Maybe they’d like to disembowel a goose while they’re at it. Inukshuks denote a young hunter’s first kill, after all. In Frankie’s case, perhaps it represents a first something else.
Meanwhile, Frankie couldn’t look more natural in drag. But poor Fred. Red tights. Pitiful.
Another strangely solid and enjoyable fashion segment. Could it be because the strangely solid and enjoyable Nadyne is running them? It appears that Félix is growing up. But will he take sick? Will he break his arm?
The problem with fleece scarves is that they curl at the sides and you end up looking second-hand.
Fred’s ultra-tight T-shirts are, of course, quintessentially French, but, good heavens, is he thin!
The segment on street lighting was a golden opportunity wasted. Get Fred up on a cherry-picker changing a light bulb! And the interview source was a big cypher. Great extro by Fred, though, on the myriad uses of a cobra-head lamp lens. His timing is great, and he can at least stay on the plot long enough not to dissolve into laughter.
Crystal et Monique are getting more and more postmodern, also joualesque. I don’t get it all, but I like it.
Long, long, long, interminable, interminable, interminable piece about the double cohort. I suppose it’s “relevant” and at least nominally serves the supposed audience, but don’t put us to fucking sleep.
“You Are My Joy” by Reindeer Section. “Stay Together for the Kids” by Blink-182. Something forgettable by Konflit Dramatik. “Letters to You” by Finch.
Now, we are also advised that Charles “CJAXX” Duchesne is out sick, and poor Félix broke his arm. It’s one calamity after another for Volt. But who stays faithful? Who’s on your side?
Well, Olivier Dagenais, obviously. Right?
Did you notice the upturned eyes and rigor of expression on Francine’s face during the fey host’s opening number, consisting of jumping around and spanning half a minute to clumsily articulate ten words? (Much of that time was occupied with a single word, sensibilisation, which even I can utter flawlessly on demand. Pussy.) Yes. It’s all very symbolic of drug use. Francine wasn’t buying it for a second. She’s good that way.
Actually, “pussy of a host François Grisé” has a nice ring to it.
We’re not quite getting the Poncho de secours Volt fausse pub. I was, however, wondering where S. Lavigne had buggered off to. Fortunately, not Pridevision, apparently.
A rerun. Apparently this is one of the episodes I missed. Let’s take it from the top!
Well, we’re all about advertisements today. Frankie’s such a girl and he still cannot spokesmodel correctly. He didn’t hold one of the products right, and the Tricot Volt caught on the end of the banana, which I am sure is the story of his life.
Now, the guest (whatever his name was) who pushes the all-commercials film festival has admirably colloquial French, and it works. He actually communicates. Why isn’t he the host of Volt?
Is Fred trying for a Frog David Beckham look with his upteased and tinted hairdo? He’s still really good. It comes from being someone fundamentally.
Still loving the first instalment of «La Bande 100 pareil ROCK.»
Renée finally decided to quit trying for the Valley of the Beresford Ultravixen feel (batted eyelashes, angled head, pluperfect French, micro-repositionings of her tiny body, overuse of of introductory interjections like «écoute») and give a straightforward reportage on personal hygiene. I believe her claim that antibacterial soap will denude beneficial bacteria is unsupported. Check the Consumer Reports archives. The reason is that any soap is antibacterial.
Bit of a flub at master control, putting up an off-the-air card instead of the intro.
Now. What’s this about Fred doing something in a wheelchair? This is your golden opportunity to test Jeff Adams’ claim to speak French. This I want to hear. Possibly at luncheon on Monday.
Fred does Yélo Molo. Any chance you could ask why they put out a racist music video? And why TFO runs it?
(Ask me what I asked Jacques Bensimon the other day.)
Donna does the Donnas! Fifth Column manquées, really, but still.
And this could have been the most fatuous extro yet by the pussy of a host. «On va vous faire un spécial qui sera hors du commun! qui sera une émission ultra-structurée!»
Video night. «Manipule» by Tagada Jones, which one is still liking. “Stinkfist” by Tool, who are as gods, but must be consumed in small doses; a full album is too much (and requires tedious editing of their overindulgences). “Come to Daddy” by “the” Apex Twin, and I still cannot name the font. “Brown Paper Bag” by Roni Size, which I haven’t seen in a while.
Get Ivana Santili back on the show!
I have unfucked my page anchors. Now, where were we?
Loved the bit where Frankie “KNUCKLES” rings his mom and she ain’t there. I suppose I should not be mocking maternal birthdays.
I am, moreover, loving the anomalous and pointless Deux gars en bleu segments. Rather Pythonesque. It does seem predictable that Volt is using north-Toronto locations. You can’t go for a longer drive?
Boring and incomprehensible segment on whatever those ridiculous Francophone “leaders” in high school might be, with the requisite interview subjects incapable of articulating French in any word order other than English.
Now, on the other hand, the Voltzac fausse pub is tight and solid. Fred looks great in his ridiculously overlarge hat. But where have I seen that suit before? Francine does a Franco-Jewess-vixenette mode reasonably well.
Yet more on Buy Nothing Day. Again. I am just now noticing the details of the Ottawa school where students are interviewed. Only two subjects can really speak French, and they’re both the cute ones. A detail I only now noticed: A cute native French-speaker stands at a urinal interviewed by a red-haired journalistrix. There’s hope for society yet.
Mireille Messier, the financial analyste who is now a Volt, regular is another rare case of a colloquial French speaker who is solid and communicative. She’s informal but credible.
How are Charles and Félix, the latter especially?
I suppose it was a passably adequate «La Bande 100 pareil ROCK» today.
Graphology is hocus-pocus, rather like a magician who turns a drummer invisible. Next you’ll be running a segment on voodoo.
«La Bande 100 pareil ROCK» outtakes? Enjoyable. Why was so little of the off-the-cuff swearing in French? I thought the myth of French Canada held that it was possible to do everything in one’s life in French.
Right. Another clip show. Tabernacle.
Hey! Félix is back, with a really gay dye job and no visible broken arm!
All videos all the time, some with gay dye jobs and unbroken limbs. “The Scientist” by Coldplay, and I have never ever seen a man as beaming with life and goodness as Chris Martin, a spiritual phenomenon I cannot explain. I have to assume the fact that he’s halfway to being a redhead is relevant. “Space Walk” by Lemon Jelly. «Gagner» by les Marmottes aplaties. «La Guitaristic House Organisation» (or should that be “La Guitaristic House Organisation”?) by Rhinôçérôse, whose “alternative” orthography I merely tolerate. And it features breakdancing! Where is B-Boy Fred when you need him? “You Were Right” by the inevitable Badly[-]Drawn Boy.