Oh, my God! They killed Kenny!
So they got rid of Frankie the Fembot. I have to wonder why poor Nadyne wasn’t promoted to hostess. She’s got seniority, plus talent. One likes Fred, of course, even if he has a hard time mustering the sarcasm occasionally required by the show. He’ll do fine, and along the way will give me rather little to rebel against. I just think that keeping Nadyne a reporter but bucking her down to Ottawa reporter is one humiliation after another.
In today’s “emission,” we fake a kind of reality program. Reality only seems to importune itself when Fred concedes that Renée has her work cut out for her digging up French-speaking guests here.
We do seem to be recapitulating the typical TFO cheapskatism of shooting exteriors within a two-minute walk of the hideous Square du Canada.
One notes further that the new kid, François Lachapelle, made fun of Fred’s accent in English. Picking at scabs, shurely?! Later, Monsigneur M. Tremblay acts all boxer-like, which is really rather droll. “Well, you know, the crowd, I could really find that was in my behind, right in my behind there, and it was really, really good to felt. Thanks.”
Is it imaginable that Nadyne’s parents moved to Rockland and she went along? But loving the session in which Nadyne tries to get “mum” to utter the word vaginite. Didn’t we see something along these lines before?
Something to do with the election, hence pre-empted.
Should I comment on the new bobblehead theme?
How about the flickering pixelated TFO bug?
Ah, yes, les Franco-Boyz. Now, where’s Simon when you need him? Where was he at MusiquePlus? «Une vie en français, c’est possible. Voici ce que ça donne.» Dead solid, and it’s all about Mathieu Pichette, who does deadpan at Gémeaux-worthy levels.
Music “chronicle” with the new moptop, Frankie Lachapelle. Thirteen Tale for the Hurban Bo’emia. Under de Raadar. “Shaun Pididi Kahm.” This kid ain’t gonna last a month in Toronto.
Rock camp with Nadyne. Old Sassy headline: BE A GIRL DRUMMER. Isn’t it suspicious that there are so few places, that they’re breeding hateful leftist girls<slash>rock critics, that they are, in fact, gestating another Yo La Tengo? Wasn’t that already a worst-case scenario?
French-speaking anglo studio manager is quite winsome, though. I worked with a similar sound engineer once, actually. Love the light streaming into the house there.
The problem with all the new interstitials Volt has shot is, of course, the fact that the wardrobe gives them away: They were all shot the same day!
Video countdown (though we don’t call it that anymore) hosted by Fred and Francine dressed in virginal white amid some kind of weed field. And they warn us that we’re knocking off one countdown episode (by any other name) in favour of a repeat compilation. This is progress?
“Makes No Difference” by Sum-41. «Les cactus» by Vanessa Paradis, though that one lasted only about 30 seconds. “I Just Don’t Give a Fuck” by Eminem, a word uttered twice on air by Francine. (It’s First Videos by Major Stars Night here at Volt.)
«Alger» by Jean Leloup. «Kung fu minou» by Papillon. Interesting back projections there, but it’s another mid-tempo French rock band trying to be cool. If you’re French but labouring to be cool, isn’t that like being gay but labouring to dance? Unclear on the concept, or what? «Marcel Galarneau» by les Cowboys Fringants.
What in the Whore of Babylon is Fred wearing today? Is this a cream-yellow blouson?
By the way, the new method of presenting intertitle captioning for viewer phone calls works surprisingly well. Chunking of titles is still terrible.
Why am I only now noticing Fred’s fauxhawk?
Frankie (“Frankie Jr.”) covers the minor political parties, while never mentioning homosexualism even once, not even in discussing the Family Coalition Party.
Now new Fashion Volt. Not a particularly good mod dress on Renée, but the concept works on her! And how are Félix’s “military” pants significantly different from cargo pants, and wasn’t it two years ago that long-sleeves–under–short-sleeves became so popular even JS on Volt wore it?
One underwent paroxysms of laughter during Nadyne’s reportage on reportage. You realize I’ve done that mike flubbing myself? I did a stunner of an interview and kept the mike pointing at myself all the time. Great.
I see our new téléroman this year is Studio Météo. Veterinarians’ Hospital, anyone?
More on the interstitials: It seems there’s a body-parts æsthetic with Nadia all dead on the centreline and such.
Flash mobs. I don’t think so. It just goes to show that Internet usage is so widespread even in dullsville Toronto that independent sects will pop up, even if they’re filled out with gormless Web-developer girls. (You can always tell by the bad hair, the glasses, and the quasi-Aspergerian look in the eyes.)
And now our innovation for the year (the one and only): Guest “chroniclers.” Francis Chalifour, who’s quite haughty but works well on camera, explains the history of skateboarding. Dogtown and Z-Boys, anyone? Also look up Sick: A Cultural History of Snowboarding. Hogtown Sports is a great source for overpriced postmodern jackets.
Studio Météo is starting out well, due mainly to Renée as Ginette. I already miss Crystals et Monique.