L-A: I’m going to keep this a bit short, but that’s because this week’s favourite thing:
Arcade Fire!! YESSS!
Concert review: an awesomesauce, amazeballs cornucopia of awesomeness.
The highlight reel of the fashion:
- plaid! So. Much. Plaid.
– at least one pair of suspenders.
– about one newsboy cap per every 10 people
– two friends, both in cute boots, cute shorts, and pantyhose all ripped to hell. I can’t figure out if this is a coincidence.
– Ladies of Arcade Fire: adorable! The glitter dress was probably my favourite.
I do want to address one thing with the band. And that is Win Butler’s style.
I get it Win Butler. You’re an artist. In fact, you’re kind of a genius. I actually had moments where I was verklempt by the music. (word to the wise: don’t think about sad things when these folks are making music. Especially live. Because then you’ll be the girl who is all choked up and teary eyed in the middle of a concert).
But I don’t get your shirts Win Butler. And I fear that you’re only encouraging a generation of hipsters to think your shirts are okay. And whilst you are a rock star and can pretty much do whatever you please, someone is going to copy your style and end up looking like this:
Or worse still. Like this:
Is that what you want Win Butler? Really? Is it? Because that’s what your shirt looks like. Buttoned up and 1993 all over again. (My apologies to these good folks of the Class of 1993 at a high school I’ve never heard of. It’s not your fault. We’ve all been there before. Clearly you were a victim of your time).
Please Win Butler. For the love of Anna Wintour, choose a different style. You influence people. So choose wisely. I’ll even accept loads of plaid with suspenders.
A final note on the concert: as awesome as it was, I’d still like to see an Emily Post’s Guide to Rock Shows. Like, lessons could include: if you’ve put in serious beer tent time, don’t push your fellow concert goers around until you’re in the middle of the crowd and then start taking photos of yourself. You can take photos of yourself in the beer tent. Also: Don’t talk during the songs. In this case, The Suburbs was so not the time to chat. Songs are not chittychatty time. Which is why I had to tell you to shut up (y’all were the first to annoy me enough to say something about it, so that’s an honour in itself. Congrats!). And no, I don’t care that you were trying to help your buddy out. Because he was Mr. Flailing McDouchepants for standing like a wall in front of me and knocking me about while he tried to flail to the music and stay close to the girl. Can’t say I didn’t feel a little bit pleased to see she ditched y’all during the encore. She probably needed to go take another picture of herself.
Since Ally isn’t here to make fun of me for my “hipster” music, I’ll add this on her behalf:
And with Ally on vacation, I’m usually hard pressed to get a crap video worthy of her. But thank heavens for Intern Glynn and the videos she sends me! (seriously, they should have listed her as one of the job benefits. Right up there with a dental plan).
Honestly, I’d never even heard of that song before last week. Probably not entirely surprising considering my usual taste in videos. I actually find it hilarious. I think there’s a message in there somewhere. But I was too busy laughing at some of the lyrics/focused on how much the outfits looked like they were straight out of Save the Last Dance.
Final favourite thing: long weekend! That’s right! It’s random August long weekend. We call it Natal Day. Other folks call it Civic Holiday (which is probably the best name for a holiday – you’re calling it like it is. A day off work for no other reason than it’s the middle of summer). But potato, potahto: it’s a day off work. And I’ll be off in PEI to meet my new nephew and Ally should be off cottaging and spooning a box of wine, so the likelihood you’ll hear from us on Monday is slim. We apologize to those of you who don’t have Monday off (like the good folks of PEI) and were planning on reading us at work on Monday morning.