Strange Things Canadians Like #2

#2: Karaoke



Even though I've often tried to learn (for 'often' read 'sporadically'), I don't speak much Japanese. Itadakimas, oishii, Totoro...it's neither here nor there. Yet I do know one thing: karaoke is Japanese for "humilation".

In the UK there are 2 types of karaoke-partaker. The first kind are those rare and unusual people who actively seek out karaoke venues. They get dressed in their most X Factor outfits, get a group (usually girls) together and go for A Karaoke Night 'daarn taarn'. They all think they can sing like Whitney Houston but sound more like Orville at the end of his career, smoking twenty a day and with a whiskey IV. And they always sing absolute shite like Angels by Robbie Williams.

The second type are even worse; they go to their local, get totally tanked and then realise karaoke is on in the corner. After heckling everyone else and bitching out the clothing and weight of the other singers, they get up and not so much sing as shout down the mic, mostly unable to follow the lyrics to Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping' that are scrolling on the screen in front of their glazed eyes. This type mostly consists of guys, and they often take the stage in packs, arms round each other but DEFINITELY not gay (sure). And everyone involved regrets it in the morning.

It's friggin awful either way, and certainly something to be avoided. There was one memorable evening in El Grovel at uni, when over a pint of cider and black I lost a bet from which my punishment was to get up and sing. Before my turn came around I feigned a toilet visit, walked straight past the ladies, legged it out the door and up to my room and hid in the wardrobe until danger had passed.

In Canada though, or at least TO, they bloody love it. I know a guy who goes around the city presenting karaoke nights, and its a viable career. They have karaoke EVERYWHERE, and I've been invited along to way too many singing events to count.

The thing is, most of them can sing. At my first KN (karaoke night) at the Fox and Firkin I had some definite chagrin seeing the first person get up, which was quickly replaced by shock at hearing them hit real notes and know the words.

I think it's a different mentality. It's completely fine here to say you're a singer; in fact most actors, singers, dancers and wannabe TV hosts will tell you what they do with muchos confidence, and act / sing / dance / present on the spot if you ask them to. They take their choice of career seriously, and are all confident in their abilities. It's strange to the eyes and ears of a person from a country where self-deprecation and modesty are national pastimes.

It's not that drinking isn't involved either, but Canadians have different drinking habits to Brits or Australians - the goal isn't to vomit and get arrested. They will happily just have one or two bottles (never pints) and sing their hearts out.

Are they just happier souls, content to croon along to their favourite Celine Dion songs in full view of everyone? I think so!

Strange.

August?!

It's the end of August! Almost September! When the hell did that happen?!

Time really irks me. When something shit is going down it drags like a gammy leg; when you're having fun it disappears for a while, advances several months then creeps up on you like an evil child scaring its Grandma. Is that entirely necessary?

More shocking is not just the date, but its implications; I've now been in Toronto almost 11 and a half months. My GCSE maths tells me that's nearly 12 - a full year. It's nearly time to go.

Well, not quite. Though my visa runs out on Sep 16th, I'm staying until October 8th, on which date I'll fly back into good ol' Blighty through that Boulevard of Broken Dreams (c Tom's mate) London, where I'm sure I'll either be mugged or not appreciated.

I'm all over the place about going home: proper excited to see all my glorious mates and a certain little baby that I've got total dressing-up rights on, but extremely gutted to be leaving TO and the fabulous people it contains. Three weeks at home keeps swinging between way too much and not enough.

Enough it will have to be, though; on Oct 28th I fly out to Hong Kong, for four days in the East with Tom's brother Chris! I have recently seen some bizarre photos of a restaurant that serves food in toilets. Needless to say my interest has definitely been piqued...

Anywho, on Nov 2nd I'll fly with positive aplomb into Sydney, to set up The Space mark 2 with the wonderful Louise, who I unfortunately had to pack onto a plane back to Aus not that long ago. It majorly sucked to see her go, but I'm all about living with her in her home city! Claire and Craig should also be there, as should Manc Louise, with all of us ready to set up a veritable assault on the Australian non-capital. I've already been booked into a day festival and a rave on a boat, and I'm itching to hit the surf without the need for a gross wetsuit - can't wait!

So much has happened since I last blogged...Louise went home, as did my Scottish friend Eni, I started stretching my ears (which are stinky but otherwise pretty good), Tom and I showed ourselves up as true Brits by insisting on sitting in a tepid hot tub on a roof at a party despite not knowing how to turn it on, and myself, Tom and Vadym attended the Worst Festival in the World (CEMF, held in a Butlins-esque holiday park) which was saved only by indulging way too much and the presence of that deity of drum and bass, Andy C. We also met some great people, including Dave, the wisest 18-year-old in the known universe, and the lovely Leelee and Chad, who not only took flattering sepia photos of us but also piled us into their car with all our gear and drove us home, via Timmies, to save us from what certainly would have been the gnarliest ride in a school bus ever. Oh, and there was the nurse / ice cream man who I convinced to move to Australia, and Alex the lemonade girl who gave us untold amounts of free drinks even though it could have sabotaged her relationship - her boyfriend's mum ran the lemonade stall. Oops.

I also went to see Underworld, famous for that bangin' tune from Trainspotting, who were shockingly and phenomenally excellent in all regards. I've always looked at early-90s rave dancing with a raised eyebrow, but now I totally understand.

I've made acquaintances with yet more Swindonites in the form of Tom's bezzies Andy and Binny, who despite being southern are both Top Lads. I very much enjoyed their company and was sad to see them go.

I'm still at my editing job, and am cultivating quite the tan (as well as substantial sweat marks on all my clothes) from cycling to work in the baking heat every day. I say every day; I mean all the days that its not raining or windy, and only when I don't have a hangover. So some days.

Oh, and I've figured out that these things are wicked:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sztUuNNBxbc
You barely even have to move and they get uberspeedy, then you rock your heels slightly backwards and skid to a halt. Who needs exercise when you can have a Segway to get around on? eBikes are similar - electric assisted bikes, no pedaling necessary unless the charge runs out and there's no power-point around! I'll never snigger at people on mopeds again, they're mega cool.

In the midst of all of this palaver, I find myself with itchy feet and a vague wish for new adventures, albeit ones to experience with the people I have around me. I guess that'll come around all too soon!

P.S. Canadian words I find myself saying; gnarly, super-, awesome and eggs benedict.