I Don't Know How to Ride A Bike... <BR>(and other ramblings): September 2006

I Don't Know How to Ride A Bike...
(and other ramblings)

Monday, September 25, 2006

Music Video Spotlight: Kevin Federline, "Lose Control"

Since it usually takes me about three months to catch up to the general public, I've only recently been privy to K-Fed's unabashedly derivative single, "Lose Control." As far as singles go, it's pretty laughable. But I like the fact that he's so enthused about proving everyone wrong that he's regressed to being painfully clueless about everything, including himself. I mean, if I were him, I'd be all like, "Shit, I'm Kevin Federline. That sucks." But enough about the imaginary conversations that I have in my head. We'll let the artiste speak for himself.

Without further ado...Kevin Federline in "Lose Control."

Don't forget, in addition to having the hip-hop flavour, he's also a little bit of rock 'n' roll.

You'd think that with Britney's Gold card, Kevin would be able to afford a better production, but perhaps the child support payments have prevented him from hiring an actual entourage.

You know that guy is all shifty-eyed because he's worried someone will see him with Kevin Federline. He probably thinks that he's in line for an actual club, or the men's room. And you'd think he'd throw on a nicer shirt if he knew he'd be appearing on television. This guy is actually my favourite part of the video.

Unfortunately, things don't get more exciting than this, including K-Fed's insistence that he's "got them beats that make you lose control." If I wanted to hear a song that reminded me of Europe's "The Final Countdown," I would actually listen to Europe.

Next, Kevin borrows from the vault of horrible hip-hop video clichés...well, videos from the early '90s, at least.

The obligatory and totally random "hot" video hoes. Check.

(I love the product placement. You know goldenpalace.com probably financed the video. And directed it.)

(Not the same girl. Or is it? I guess hiring one girl to double as many cuts down on costs.)

(Ooh. Now I know that ain't Britney! Or maybe it is. Watch out fake Britney! Kevin Federline brushing up on you is probably enough to get you pregnant.)

The obligatory frontin' in the club like everyone is not paid to be there to fawn all over you. Check.

(I like how, despite possible camera time, everyone keeps their distance anyway.)

(You know he's probably drinking something gross like Red Bull and vodka.) (And the crappy blue lighting effects make me feel like I'm stuck in a Japanese horror movie, or Blade.)

The obligatory random person dancing in a crowd while everyone looks on. Check.

You'd think that with all of Kevin's ex-dancer connections, he'd be able to find actual dancers instead of gyrating girl and drunk guy. But then again, compared to Kev's stylings, these two should be on Broadway.

I thought he used to be a back-up dancer? Of course, back-up dancers can rarely ascertain that they have "the lifestyle of rich livin’ & fast cars." Don't mess with Kevin, 'cause he'll let you know that you shouldn't "hate ’cause I’m a superstar, and I married a superstar, never come between us no matter who you are." I wasn't aware that being borderline broke made one a "superstar." If that were the case, then I'd be a superstar ten times over.

Things get more ludicrous when Feddy-Boy says that he's not trying to brag, but would like for us to know that "one ring cost more than your budget...my Ferrari cost more than your little S-Class -- look man, I’m in a whole other tax bracket...40 grand take the whole crew to Miami, and then we pop Cris off like we won Grammies. I take care of my homies, that’s my family." Kevin does realize that none of this is true, right? And that he hasn't earned any of this money himself? I can't feel too sorry for his taking advantage of Britney. She is an enabler, after all.

But I am glad that to hear that Kevin will take care of the guy from the beginning of the video. He's my homey too.

I can't fault K-Fed for not knowing what "self-aware" or "hygiene" means. Who has time to learn new words when they're ripping up the charts with droll puns? I mean, "Step up in the club so fresh and so clean, not the outcast that they label me," and, "Never been to Denver, but I rock the nugget" is pure genius. Well, at least it is to Britney.

Rock on, Kevin.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Random Pet Peeve #1

If you're hungry, don't sit there for two hours waiting for someone to order appetizers so you can start snacking on them and then pay for nothing when the bill arrives. Please order your own damn food.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Christine Does Europe...For The Very First Time

10 days + 1 sexy boyfriend + 1 erratic, A-type personality sister + 1 English frat-boy type brother-in-law - proper sleep of any sort + 1 round-trip ticket to London + 1 round-trip ticket Amsterdam + 1 single-trip visit to English doctor's office = 1 very interesting trip.


The executive lounge at Pearson Airport.
I don't know what we did to deserve this, but it was an excellent start to our 8:00 AM flight.

The accent. I can never get enough of it.

The rolling green hills.
Because they're great to frolic in. And unlike Toronto's usual pukey green landscape, England has about three thousand different shades of glorious green to revel in.

The pubs. I love the fact that most local watering holes seem to come straight from a Lord of the Rings movie set. I half expected to see Elijah Wood in the corner, murmuring about his love for Sam Gamgee.

The tube. Efficient, practical, and extensive. Also surprisingly clean considering that trash cans in London seem to be almost non-existent.

The sights.

Family. I met my little cousins for the very first time, and they are the most precious girls in the world. They schooled me on all things Barbie, but I still think I did a pretty good job with her make-over. I should also state that it's not a very good idea to try to talk to children after you've had several glasses of wine and start ranting and raving like a lunatic about what makes a good boyfriend. I think from now on I am going to be referred to as the "crazy auntie from Toronto."

The friendly bus drivers. Toronto could learn a thing or two about this. Also: Double decker buses. They really rock.

The abundance of countryside. I might just throw in the towel one day and take residence on a field to raise sheep and horses. Maybe I'll even have an ox. It's truly breathtaking to be surrounded by all the lush green and the fresh country air.

Bath. A really elegant city without any airs of pretentiousness. Preserved beauty with a cosmopolitan flair. And where else can you have violinists playing on the street?


The relaxed atmosphere. No one's ever in a rush in Amsterdam, which makes it the perfect place to kick back and relax, especially when you might need a break from a very high-maintenance sister.

Impromptou bar hopping. Bars are ample and the liquor never stops. I get the feeling that public drunkenness is a rite-of-passage in Amsterdam.

The bars. Oops, did I already mention this?

The Red Light District. I won't really miss it, per se, but walking through this infamous district did pique my curiosity more than it should. How does one go about applying for a position here? Who cleans these rooms? Are these prostitutes covered by a quality medical insurance plan? I hope so.

Meeting Günther. Okay, so his name really isn't Günther, but I don't think we had a chance for proper introductions since he was a) drunk; b) stoned; and c) probably crazy. We bumped into him during one of our many frequent bar stops, and he was fabulous. And by "fabulous," I mean hilariously drunk.

Vacationing with friends. Even though Erin and Dwayne live in Toronto and we see each other regularly, there's just something about being in a new city together that really makes you appreciate the friendship. They made the 6:00 AM flight to and from Amsterdam very worthwhile.


Heathrow Airport. Heathrow Airport is hell on Earth. Getting there 3 1/2 hours before your flight only to find a large line-up for baggage check-in is ridiculous. It also doesn't help when employees are often disgruntled, rude, and ready to scream "terrorist!" at the drop of a hat. I think my experience was also marred by the fact that on the flight to Amsterdam, we were "randomly" searched and x-rayed, and on the flight back to Toronto I had my carry-on withheld, searched, and swabbed for potential explosive residue. I also love the fact that after the contents of my bag were thoroughly examined, including my wallet and digital camera, I was left to scramble and throw everything back in myself, trying to find my dignity along the way. Maybe it's my shifty eyes that make me a target for random searches...but either way, the mass hysteria has got to stop.

Flying with Air Canada. The flight back to Toronto was excrutiating, and the stewards and stewardesses on the plane didn't alleviate the pain of the experience. The airplanes are old, the staff is often condescending and dismissive, and the food sucks. I know the last is a given, but would it hurt to spruce up the menu once in a while? I have grown weary of breakfast omelettes, especially ones that don't even taste like egg. I was also chagrined to hear a very disturbing exchange between two employees, which culminated in one of them muttering, "It's the Asian thing all over again." That's...great. No wonder Air Canada went bankrupt once before.

Customs. I don't ever again want to hear anyone ask me why I am in London, why I'm leaving London, why I'm in Toronto, where I'm coming from, why I chose to wear red today, what souveniers I brought, why I suck at organized sports, or what my favourite breakfast cereal is. In a beautiful dream I had once, I got to reply, "None of your business!" Of course, I know better than to talk back because I realize that spending $1200 on a plane ticket entitles me to take the abuse of hoity customs officers.

Gastrointestinal troubles. I don't know if it was the flight, the airplane food, or a simple twist of fate, but having these sorts of problems while you're in a foreign country really sucks. For the first part of the trip, I was incapacitated with pain and nausea, which led to my visit with a very nice English doctor. He looked severe but was very gentle and mild-mannered, and was kind enough to give me a call the next day to see how I was doing -- which is a heck of a lot more than most guys would do. Ha! That was a joke...sort of. But seriously, I do think a part of me fell in love with him on that fateful wintry day.

The overheated tube. Like a sauna, that tube is. I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like during England's heat wave.

Sleeping in airports and airplanes. Because it's very uncomfortable, and I have no idea how Ben does it.

Roundabouts. I am certain that I would never be able to drive in England. And the fact that these often make me car sick would not bode well for my driver's test.


The downtown core. Very tourist-y and kind of dreary. Also: The Anne Frank Museum does not look like anything that I'd imagined, unless Anne lived in a four storey condominium and had a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows right on her second floor.

The tourist shops. I'm all about the kitsch, but even I have to draw a line at penis-shaped salt & pepper shakers. Seriously, I'd pay to find out who would actually use these in their home.

The tolls for public washrooms. Exuberantly capitalist, if you ask me.

Despite my complaining and simple musings, I'm glad I finally got off my ass and actually went somewhere. The trip was good times, and I wouldn't trade in the experience for the world.