Blog - Pardon My Hindi

I love talented bands. And I love talented band members who can make it solo without crashing and burning. I also love any man who can wear tight red pants and a studded leather jacket without looking like a bad Kiss reincarnation. In other words, I love Julian Casablancas.

I checked out his show in Toronto on Friday and partied to his drunken, 80s techno-pop choruses. And because I wanted to avoid having my precious Canon completely destroyed, I took some pictures with my phone.

Welcome to the TTC y’allz. I like taking rattling buses to concerts.

Good job, bro. Good job.

The Japanese have successfully convinced me to buy another one of their products.

Now where can I get one of these packs of noodles that’ll make me scream bloody murder?

Also, how hot are those yellow tights on the Cheese Guy?

Kali Ma out!

You ain’t seen nothin’ till you see a bunch of out of focus Lego figures kickin’ it Michael Jackson style, frame for frame.

This kills the anal camera person in me but entertains the creativity raging in my brain. ZOMG.

I love art because of one man - Neil Buchanan.

I was flipping through channels the other day and BAM! I was struck with nostalgia. It was none other than Neil on his show Art Attack. He’s no Picasso but rest assured he will give you step by step instructions on how to make a TV set out of cardboard. The crisp British accent, the enthusiastic encouragement, the brightness of his sweater - I was eight all over again.

And when he was done making the beautifully detailed TV set he encouraged me to put it over my head and pretend to host my own show. Coincidence?

I thought Buchanan was my biggest inspiration till I met my closest friend’s mom. Now this lady knows what she’s doing.

This isn’t just a misspelled label, it’s a sign of motherly nurturing.

Love you, Mrs. K and your frozen samosas.

After two weeks of unbelievable patriotism, shaking our heads to Colbert’s anti-Canadian commentary, trying to get our hands on under produced Olympic merchandise, listening to the Canadian national anthem over and over again till we were singing it in our sleep, Canadians everywhere are proud to say that hockey is our sport. We created the darn thing back in the 1800s so nya nya nya.

Following much delirious excitement caused by Sidney Crosby’s gold winning goal, a bunch of us decided to join our fellow Syrupsuckers at Dundas Square for quite possibly the biggest party I’ve ever seen in Toronto. I tried taking some pictures amidst continuous high fives and fist pumps as the Toronto police watched us lose our shit.

Love watchin’ ‘em drunken bros singing out of tune. THESE are our true stars.

If you look closer you might find the communal can of Molson Canadian/ mickey of Canadian Club being passed around.

Fist pump x 10,000

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