A Few Snaps from the JT Show

Me at the O2 arena. We arrived, parked the bike, and got in the queue with Simon LeBon and Elle Mcpherson...apparently in the UK even celebrities queue...
Two of JT's dancers. Yes, we were actually this close to the stage...
Special surprise guest: Timbaland.
Justin and I made eye contact here, and a lifetime of conversations passed in a second...siiiiigh...
Justin bringing sexy back.

Yes. I did scream like a girl for the entire show, and yes, Edy rolled his eyes the entire time...but I did catch him singing along with "Cry Me a River" and "What Goes Around Comes Around"...

Open your mind! Save the environment! Or...just drive a smaller car!


Edy is hard at work 24/7 on Live Earth, hobnobbing with Al Gore and whatnot. He's been working until 9 or 10 every night...I got to see him last night at least for dinner. As I was walking to the bus stop to head to Oxford Street to meet him, he and his friend George from work drove up to the bus stop in the Live Earth Smart Car...there was hardly room for 3 of us so Edy had to sit in the boot (err...trunk)...cornpuff, Ruby...


You can almost, almost see Edy's coveted all-access pass to Live Earth. There are rumours my Justin will be playing. In which case, I must meet my Justin. By whatever means possible. If it means stuffing Edy in a closet and impersonating him for the day, so be it. My Italian accent is pretty good. Edy seems to be enjoying the trunk here. I will resist making any comments about having junk in my trunk.

Moi, dans le Smart Car. Sur Rue Tottenham Court.

Home Away from Home, in London



So here I am back in London, with the strong sense of deja vu I get everytime I come here...deja vu coupled with a slight sense of unease since I know I shouldn't get too comfortable, I'm not back for good. Arrived here at 2 pm on Saturday, June 30, after a squishy flight on Air Transat. I was sitting with two women about my age who were on their way to do a 30 day walking pilgrimage from Camino to Santiago...they were pretty cool and one of them was celebrating their birthday on the 30th...so when we took off in Vancouver on the 29th, it was MY birthday, and when we landed in London on the 30th, it was hers. We thought this should entitle us to some sort of upgrade, but it didn't, so we satisfied ourselves with flipping through celebrity magazines to comment on the relative fatness (or non-fatness) of various celebs while eating Twizzlers.

It's raining and unseasonably chilly in London at the moment, just like Vancouver. Edy and I came home and I had a wee nap, and then we headed out to my favorite pub, Churchill Arms, on Kensington Church Street, for some thai food (yes, there is a thai restaurant in an English pub). It's cheap even by Vancouver standards, at about £6 a plate. Because of the rain the pub was even more crowded than it usually is (on a good day, you have to be aware of your elbows as there are people in the line of fire no matter which way you turn), and to top it all off, June 30th was the last day anyone can smoke in a public place in the UK, and so I honestly think everyone in the pub was chain smoking, just for the hell of it...even the non-smokers. It was a crazy, loud, people-and-smoke-packed re-introduction to London.

Yesterday we went to Wembley Stadium for the concert for Diana. We zipped through traffic on the bike and made it there in time to hear Elton John open the show with "Your Song," and the hotness that is Prince Harry (and the semi-hotness that is Prince William) say hello to the crowd. Our seats were quite good and we were sat next to an attractive Britney Spears lookalike and her equally starlet-ish friend, who kept simpering and smiling our way like we were supposed to know who they were. Pretty soon little girls came up to snap their pic and we asked around and found out that one of them had been a contestant on Big Brother. Oh. That explained it.

We were seated stage left and had a hard time seeing anyone who was upstage, but there were many screens and I still thought we had a good view. The acts that played are too numerous to name as the show went on for about 6 hours, but I will risk being seen as uncool by saying Rod Stewart has a new fan in me. The man was amazing! He rocked that stage. He kept kicking footballs into the audience and was just having a great time. Duran Duran was also great, as was the lead singer from Supertramp and Tom Jones...it seemed to be the night of the old wrinklies, as Elton John was of course fabulous and we were all up dancing for "Saturday Night." The older acts knew how to work the crowd more than some of the newer artists. Fergie was pointless. She lipsynced her way through "Glamorous." Kanye tried to fit like, 4 songs into seven minutes, so he would sing part of one, abruptly stop, and launch into another. I loved Lily Allen, who sang "LDN" and "Smile," and was adorable in a bright blue sundress, backed by a brass band. Natasha Bedingfield sang "Unwritten" and Nelly Furtado did "Say it Right," "I'm Like a Bird," and "Maneater," decked out in gold earrings, gold heels, gold cross necklace, and gold microphone. There were lots of celebs introducing acts throughout the day...Jamie Oliver walked past our section to go introduce P. Diddy and he was very cute. Cheers went up from the section next to ours when the princes made an appearance. I think they wandered in and out of various parts of the stadium all night to say hello to the crowds. It was obvious that the audience loved both the princes and were very proud of them.

Ricky Gervais did a set right before Elton John came out to close the show and he was hilarious. He asked if we wanted to hear a song from David Brent, which of course we all did, so then he yelled, "Right, Gareth, my guitar," and Gareth walked on to a huge cheer from the crowd, and the two sang a duet of David Brent's "Love Highway."

Wembley is beautiful, and so well designed you never stand in a queue for long, either for the toilets, the concession stands, or getting in and out off the building. The only thing Edy and I noticed is that, despite hundreds of police and security guards milling about, security appeared to be pretty lax. We just walked right up and into the stadium, presented our tickets, and we were in. No metal detectors. No bag check. That was a little alarming, given the recent bomb scares here in London, but there must have been some plan in place because the entire event went off without a hitch...Edy and I had a great time. Next up: my beloved JT at the O2 stadium on July 3rd...

Concert for Diana

We went to Wembley on the bike to avoid crowds on the Tube. The only problem we didn't figure on was parking...you had to have a special pass to get into the lots and we weren't exactly important enough to have gotten one of those passes (shocking, I know). Anyways, we ended up slipping a fiver to a kid who was manning the parking lot of a strip mall across the street and he let us chain up the Ducati at the bike racks. Huzzah!
Wembley was open and there was some sunshine coming through, which looked promising...
Edy.
Moi. Looking a little jet lagged, I'd say.

Can you feel the lurve?

More Concert for Diana

Andrea Bocelli singing "Music of the Night" during an Andrew Lloyd Webber medley. It sounds cheesy, and it was, but, to musical theatre nerds like me, it was also awesome. Sarah Brightman (the original Christine from "Phantom") and Josh Groban sang "All I Ask of You," and the three most famous Josephs-Donny Osmond, Jason Donovan and...some kid I don't know who I think won a reality show here in the UK-sang "Any Dream Will Do." And the entire stadium sang along with them.
The crowds at Wembley steadily increased as the night wore on...
The little thing in the white suit is P. Diddy. Who sang, predictably, "I'll Be Missing You." Now, I'm not the biggest P. Diddy fan, but the man can entertain. He really moved the whole crowd in a way that not many of the other performers did. He did his P. Diddy dance, there were smoke machines, there were girls with violins...it was pretty cool.
Yes, we are still here, 6 hours later.

I woke up this Saturday and realized I had absolutely nothing that I had to get done. No need to go to the office, no laundry, nothing. The feeling was alien, unfamiliar. After waking up with the sun to feed Currie, I laid in bed and listened to CBC radio, watching the sun pouring in the window. I couldn't sleep in-I think the combination of work and Currie has knocked that ability out of me-so I got up and padded into the kitchen to decide what to make for breakfast. I opened the fridge and peered in. I decided on buckwheat pancakes and fresh strawberries, which I ate on a plate balanced on my lap as I watched my favourite guilty pleasure: British real estate shows. Ah, Phil Spencer and Kirstie Allsop. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

As I was doing the dishes I looked at the clock and thought I probably had time to get to Saturday morning yoga class...so I went downstairs, strapped my yoga mat on my back, hopped on my bike, and headed downtown. I chanted, I "om'd", I downward dogged, and an hour and a half later I was back out in the sunshine on my bike, pedaling towards Coal Harbour. I laughed to myself-two years ago my idea of a perfect Saturday was Borough Market, followed by a pitcher of Pimms in a pub by the Thames. Now, two years later, here I was on a bike, in flip flops and Lulu Lemon, post-yoga, blissfully happy. How did I get here?

I decided to stop in at Pure for an impromptu pedicure, flipping through OK! magazines. 45 minutes later, toenails glistening (color: OPI, "I'm Not Just a Waitress," a shiny dark pink), I lazily biked down Denman to Rain City Grill, got a salad at the take-out window, and walked my bike to the beach, where I parked for a little solo picnic. I wasn't solo for long; a couple on cruiser bikes like mine pulled up and wanted to "talk shop," so to speak...the guy had the "man" version of my bike, the Manhattan...a royal blue cruiser with skyscraper detailing, and a black leather seat. I admired it out loud and he said he preferred my bike, but that the sales people at the store had refused to let him buy a mint green and white bike with butterflies on it, claiming it was for "girls only." He asked if I wanted to trade. I laughed. His girlfriend liked my helmet (black retro with a bad-ass SKULL on the back) and we talked about the best places to get cool bike accessories like baskets, bells and the like. Then I climbed back on my bike and traveled along the Seawall towards Sunset Beach and Yaletown.

I called my friends Ruby and Dennis to see where they were and if they wanted to meet for a drink. Ruby was walking down West 4th in Kits and promised to call in an hour. I couldn't get ahold of Dennis, and as I was leaving a voicemail I realized he was over at Science World; the Davis dragonboat team, Oardeal (of which I am an erstwhile member) was competing at a regatta. Since I was already halfway there, I continued down Pacific towards Science World to cheer the team on. Right outside Science World I was flagged down by some bike enthusiasts who had set up an arts and crafts table: it was a "bike bee," called VeloDeco, and they were encouraging passing bikers to stop and decorate their bikes. I dutifully stopped and made a "corsage" for my handlebars-a flower made of tissue paper in pink, blue, white and yellow-and continued on to the Davis tent.

I was greeted by a sea of empty chairs...the team was out in the boat competing. I pulled down the kickstand on my bike and settled into my chair to wait. Before long, the team returned, drenched and exhausted, anxious for the next race. It wasn't long before they were called to marshal for the final, and they filed down the dock to load in the boat while I held the fort...well, held the tent. The team had been gone five minutes when Treena ran back to the tent, breathless. "We need another paddler...can you paddle right?" "You bet," I said. I jumped out of my chair and we ran together down to the dock. Treena already had a lifejacket and paddle for me, so all I had to do was zip up, and jump into the already-loaded boat. Within seconds we were paddling out to the start line for the final race. The "Rocky" theme should have been playing as Treena and I raced down to the dock...the only thing that would have made it more exciting would be if the boat had already taken off and we had to do a running leap into the boat.

I don't recommend trying to paddle in a dragonboat final when you haven't paddled all year. I tried to encourage myself with positive thinking, like, "It's only 2 minutes, Dani. You can do ANYTHING for two minutes." A minute into the race, my shoulder was burning. I was twisting, bending far forward to dig deep and pull as much water as I could, and my muscles were gasping for air. Garry, our coach and steersman, was bellowing commands at us. I frantically tried to focus on the hands of the stroke and to keep my timing in sync. Slowly, the Oardeal boat pulled ahead to win the final.

Victory! We won! I was drenched and laughing at the random directions my day had already taken as we reached the dock. Dennis and I and the rest of the team retired to the beer garden to enjoy the summer sun, oblivious of the UV Index. Ruby joined us, fresh from a visit to the new Holt Renfrew store downtown. After an hour, my shoulders started burning in a different, more uncomfortable and lobster-like way and it was time to leave. We loaded the cruiser bike into the back of Dennis' SUV and headed back downtown. I went home to feed Currie, andbDennis, Ruby, Dennis' friend Patti and I rendez-vous'd up the street at Lolita's for some cocktails (for me: a raspberry mint virgin mojito with an umbrella in it) and dinner. We ate ourselves silly (mmmm. almond-crusted snapper), enjoying the Havana-inspired decor, wide open windows to the street and blaring reggae music, and I rolled myself home early, around 11 p.m., exhausted from the sun and good food.

It was the most random of days. I had expected, when I left home from yoga, to come home and clean my house, as I do most Saturdays. But I felt exhilarated that I had followed my fancies all day...and got back in touch with my spontaneous side. I think I need to check in with it regularly. Oh. Wait. Oxymoron. Nevermind...

An Inconvenient...Truth?

So last week I was told by someone at work that maybe, just maybe, I'm a little brusque. A little hard-nosed. I got a great kick out of this. I thought this was a hilarious misperception...I'm about as far from the ball-breaking female lawyer stereotype as you can get. I mean, during a tough week, I still like to close my office door and have a good cry. I have to call my mom when something goes wrong. Yeah, I'm a ball-breaker alright. I brushed it off without a thought.

But today I decided there might be just a little eensy weensy teensy tiny kernel of truth in there somewhere. Not that I'm hard-nosed, but maybe just a little...impatient? Impatient is a little closer to brusque, isn't it? I was at yoga tonight after work. Already griping about the 90 minute class as opposed to my normal lunchtime class, where they whip us through in 45 minutes. As I did yet another pigeon pose, my nose to the mat, I kept thinking, "I don't have tiiiiiiiiiime for this! I don't have the time." My mind was racing with a list of things that I imagined I absolutely had to get done at that instant. So much for inner peace and tranquility and all that jazz. And then it got worse. We were doing our end-of-the-never-ending-yoga-class relaxation, all lying on our mats, wrapped up in our warm blankies. I just started to drift off into a happy place, thinking of absolutely nothing, the list-making finally subdued. And then...from across the studio...

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

The comfy blankie, darkness and new-age music were too much for some guy. He started snoring. Loudly. For a loooong time. And I couldn't let it go. I wanted to throw my yoga block at him. And then throw my neighbour's yoga block at him. He was disturbing my 3 minutes of quiet for the day. I could barely keep myself from stomping across the studio to tell him to shut the hell up. That's when I realized...I might be a little bit brusque.

I guess I should stick to the 90 minute yoga classes...my chakra must be really blocked.

I Love Shoes and Things and I Am Unapologetic

So last night I had dinner at Granville Island with friends (and with alot of Kir Royale) and I wore my HOT SHOES. Yes, the silver metallic Kenneth Cole Reaction sandals which I have previously blogged about. So, anyways, my feet were looking hot so I thought Byron should admire then and helpfully stuck my foot in his lap to show them off. He was like, "Whooa. Nice shoes. Maybe you should, you know, BLOG about them."

I mean, OUCH. Whatever, it's MY blog, and if I want to wax poetic about shoes, or write a treatise that very badly tries to combine shoe shopping with Coleridge, well, dammit, I'm going to do it. And for someone who doesn't blog, Byron was awful scathing about my choice of topics.

Well, too bad. I'm gonna blog about my cool shoes and my cruiser bike. I might even blog about how much I love Sephora.com and picking cute little perfume samples at the checkout screen, and waiting for my black and white box to show up with all my bee-yoo-tiful makeup purchases, and yes, maybe I am a lip gloss whore but at least I shop online for the best deals. So there. I might even change the name of my blog to "Dani Likes Shopping for Girly Things and Occasionally Talking about Politics and the State of the World and Same-Sex Marriage and Environmentalism and Reviewing Theatre but Mostly She Likes to Talk About Shopping," I will.

Am I shallow?

Hell yes. With great shoes.

The Next Pussy Cat Doll is...Asia?!


So the search for the Next Pussycat Doll, aka the most addictive, awful, horrible vapid car-crash of a show to hit TV since the dawn of the reality genre, is over, and...it's Asia. The least popular, cat-fightin', smack-talkin' 17 year old single mother who says "ax" instead of "ask" and proudly declared that she only ate cheeseburgers and fries, has become young girls' newest role model.
This makes me mad on a couple of levels.
1. She sucked. She can't sing but did the whole fluttery-hand-on-the-mic thing a la Mariah Carey. The only thing she did well was flick her weave and shake her booty.
2. She was downright mean and all the other girls hated her. She was also edited so that the viewing audience would dislike her, and we did. One way to make me lose what little interest I HAVE in the Pussycat Dolls is to put the contestant I liked LEAST in the group. Way to go, producers.
3. This whole role model thing. The core audience for the Pussycat Dolls is pre-pubescent girls. Is a 17 year old mother who has been arrested for beating people up, who swears and has a criminal record really the model of "female empowerment" we want to provide?! I guess the answer is, they really only want to sell records.
It's a sad, sad state of affairs. What to do? Well, the answer is clear. I have to audition for Season 2 of the Pussycat Dolls. I'm going to start working on my audition tape tomorrow. ..