New fonts for Chyrons now.
Transplants, “Diamonds & Guns”; Jean Leloup, «La vie est laide»; System of a Down, “Toxicity.”
Wow, is the Volt holding pen small.
Nadia covers the beautification binge in Ottawa. Heart-warming, really. Gosh, it looked cold, though.
Excellent skit about poor Francine and her unheralded birthday. (February 26. Don’t you frigging forget it.) It is now clear that having your desk on the Volt set isolates you from the rest of l’équipe. Continuity error: The day after her B-day, Francine leaves through what is obviously a commercial steel-and-glass door at grade, then, seconds later, appears to be walking past the house she allegedly lives in, with its screen door ten or so steps aboveground. And then one more time on the third day, which turns out to be a dream.
Love this shit.
Then Frankie fucks up the Volt URL.
Like straight guys and girls’ tits, whenever I watch Fred all I can think about is his dense lush chestnutty hair. Good informative segment on what, working vacations?
Well, I see Volt is so hard up for Franco-Ontarians to interview it is now yet again turning its attention to its own staff, even if they are Mexican. (Or is it Cuban? I seem to think Mexican.) Wow, Boris is making a new film. Will it be as laboured as the first? And will it be run continuously on TFO like the first?
Mireille is back pushing finances.
Renée, no doubt cribbing from a for Dummies book, offers stale and obvious advice on how to engage in a job interview. Good for wallflowers, quislings, and washups. Then again, they’re usually across the table from me, and I eat them for breakfast.
The Voltistes climb the CN Tower. Sexy red-haired wheelchair racer boy Jeff Adams did that ages ago.
Some Belgian band with a homely redhead. Love the accent, though.
Donna dedans de l’Entertainment: «Limp Biscuit.» Well, it’s a question of swapping polarity, right?
Good interview with Loco Locass, who are in fact as articulate as Fred says, even with their un-Belgian accents. Let’s hear more from them.
A collection of music videoclips. «Mes 18 ans» by Longue distance, a tad sappy and girly, which could explain why Francine likes them; »Du Hast« by Rammstein: »Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet treu ihr sein für alle Tage? Willst du bis zum Tod der Scheide sie lieben auch in schlechten Tagen?« (still love the metal/disco/opera, but »Feuer Frei« has captions in English!); “Falling Apart” by Lagwagon; “Romeo,” unaccountably, by Basement Jaxx (still; again); the annoying «Bongo Bong» by the annoying and vastly oversold Manu Chao.
The alarmingly tall and slim Fred – note that I am declining comment on Frankie’s nun drag at show opening – accompanies Lyba Spring on a tour of a museum of contraception, whatever that might be.
And then something about archæology.
Crystal(s) et Monique! They say nothing today and rely on braying catchphrases.
Yet another crushing Volt disappointment. Next Fred is gonna turn up circumcised.
Happy birthday, Fred and foreskin. (Name of an Irish pub from a kit, shurely?!)
We’re gonna review vibrators today?
I’ll take the baby-blue one. It matches my eyes.
Is it just me, or in certain Gars du balcon segments is an ExpressVu dish mounted on the white-brick, echt-Toronto wall and in others not?
No, apparently the ExpressVu dish appears merely in wide shot. I gather it was always there.
Spectacular intro for Radio Volt. I can’t believe it. How’s that for fluency? And I haven’t had such fun watching a piano played with single fingers since A Charlie Brown Christmas.
Love the trip down memory lane with Stoner’s radio show.
What is up with the luminous and sparkling eyes of one of the guests today, who are talking about something vaguely related to theatre in Northern Ontario, which sounds like a make-work project to me? Enjoyed the word poétrie from one of the guests. Poésie, shurely?!
I suppose I need to live up to my readers’ expectations and note that Fred, in his five o’clock shadow and lime shirt, is looking fine today. Only a Frog or a black negro of colour could get away with it. Or possibly a Mediterranean.
I dunno. Can you be French in Toronto and really be happy? Note that bilingual ≠ French.
Oh, newsflash for Volt: The Apple Music Store doesn’t work in Canada, and downloading music for personal use (“private copying”) is explicitly legal (Copyright Act, Part VIII, Section 80 – Google it yourselves, kids).
Staff picks. (Where’s Félix? Where, for that matter, is Übergruppenführertrix Marie Masse?) “Verbal” by Amon Tobin, mispronounced by our gay host, and MC Decimal R.
Fred picks something by pretentious git Daniel Bélanger, «Dans un spoutnik.»
What’s Nadyne into? The Reindeer Section’s cloying and infuriating twee rock-critic bait “You Are My Joy.”
Nadia, ur-leftist of the leftist Voltistes, selects “Boom” by System of a Down, which isn’t even music.
JS has a good laugh about the persistent online ribbing of his Beastie Boys obsession. Really, where else is it coming from? Instead, he opts to buy a vowel: “Annie” by Slainte Mhath.
And we’re back to our slabserif font, Serifa or whatever it was, for Chyrons.
It’s the last week of the “season” and all we get is a repeat?
You know it augurs ill when Konflit Dramatik is part of the intro.
Something to do with talent contests. Actually, at least one of the contestants seemed credible. Naturally, it was the black chick.
What remains unexplained is why Nadia Campbell, the Ottawa correspondent, is so frequently found in Toronto.
Fred, it has been revealed, is much less of an appalling singer than would be expected, and looks good in capri pants.
I just can’t take chubby homely guys seriously, particularly if they delude themselves that they have actual musical talent.
Which is the true fate worse than death and which is the fate equivalent to death:
The latter was simply an exercise in Volt pluggatio.
I like Fred’s asymmetrical raglan-sleeved sweatshirt well enough, but for fork sakes, buy some new clothes over the summer.
“Garden party”? They’re in some kind of park, probably north of St. Clair.
Actually, this episode is simply a best-of. As is tomorrow’s. Been there, done that.
Our chief lesson learned this year: A quisling fembot homosexualist host parachuted in from Quebec can, in fact, grow a spine before our very eyes.
Come back next year, Frankie.
A-a-and... we’re out!