Urban Cowgirl Does the Junos

As you may or may not know possums, I am a smidge obsessed with celebs and have been known to migrate towards events that anticipate a star-studded attendance. So when I heard the Junos were coming to town, I knew I had to get involved. For my fabulous foreign readership, the Junos are Canada’s answer to the Brit Awards in the UK, the AMA’s in the States or the ARIA’s in Australia; an annual event showcasing and honoring Canadian music.

Following the announcement that Vancouver would indeed host the event – a mere 3 blocks from my pad – I quickly signed up to volunteer. Ofcourse, with volunteering there is never a guarantee that you’ll be involved in anything glamorous. There’s always a chance you’ll end up selling t-shirts or directing traffic. Luckily I made the cut to be an official ‘seat filler’, meaning when stars and their people go to the loo or hit the bar, you are to scooch yourself into their seat until they return so the seats seem full during the live broadcast. For example, “Oh hello Feist, I’d be happy to keep your seat warm whilst you powder your nose”, and such. This seemed to be my best shot at getting some face time with the glitterati, so I decided to get glam and hope for the best.

Allow me to set the scene: I am seated with Maestro Fresh Wes and his manager who offer me the ticket to my seat, in other words, I’m set for the entire show. Excellent. Not only do I have the best seats in the house, I am surrounded by Canada’s music elite. K.D. Lang and her partner in front of me, Loverboy in front of them. To my immediate right we have Bryan Adams, Michael Buble, Diana Krall, Elvis Costello, Dallas Green, etc. Buble’s Mumsy and Dad were right behind me. Celebrity vantage point – check. I quickly realized, however, that my new BFF Maestro was getting a little fresh with me (pun intended) as he creepishly caressed my hand when I introduced myself and invited me to hit the after parties with him. Sorry Maestro, this cowgirl is spoken for…however I’m happy to play the part of ‘giddy groupie’ to get my ass into an after party.

The Highlights

Nickelback rocked the house, kicking off the show with stripper anthem Something In Your Mouth amidst impressive pyrotechnics.

Russell Peters owned the show as second time emcee, opening with a Bollywood-inspired dance number backed by the Punjabawakis. Loved it. Some of his most notable jabs throughout the night were his references to Anne Murray’s ‘snowbird’, incessant comments about BC weed (which seemingly inspired the set) and a stab at Steven Page’s coke habit.

Sarah McLachlan performed an elegant and moving rendition of her latest single You Want Me 2, undoubtedly inspired by her estranged husband and former drummer Ashwin Sood. Sorrow inspires some of the best songs sadly.

Divine Brown was simply divine. This woman is sex on a stick with a voice to match! Sam Roberts, The Stills, and Simple Plan pulled off a few toe-tappers, despite performing three of the most over-played songs of the past year.

City & Color (insert school girl sigh here) didn’t disappoint and was joined by surprise guest Gord Downie to perform their hit collab Sleeping Sickness. Given I have a mild crush on Dallas Green, I did feel an inkling to trip his pretty VJ wifey as she scooted by me, but luckily I refrained.

Bryan Adams performed his new single (didn’t he retire to become a photographer?) Walk on By with singer/songwriter Kathleen Edwards. Her endearing stage antics and sparkly personality made Mr. Adams himself blush several times throughout their performance.

Hawksley Workman – who has a serious set of pipes - closed the show accompanied by Great Big Sea and Eccodek.

Although Nickelback scored the most statues, Best New Artist and indie darling Lights delivered one hell of an acceptance speech for her big win, making this one of my favorite moments of the night.

The After Party

Thanks to my new BFF Maestro, I managed to secure my spot on the guest list and note which names to drop at the Junos After Party, hosted by do-gooder David Suzuki and the one and only George Strombopolous, ahem, my idol.

I arrived to a discouraging line-up but was delighted when I was easily whisked into the party as I explained I was ‘with Wes’. Ha. Apparently the theme of the event was weirdoes, wannabes and waifs as BC Fashion Week was also hosting a wrap-up event. I was surrounded by hungry glamazons people.

I meandered about the party for a few hours sipping on vodka and spotting celebs and the groupies that hovered around them. Ed Robertson from the Bare Naked Ladies was working the room while Sam Roberts and his band b-lined for the bar. K-OS, true to form, was present but shy and hid under a hoodie most of the night. The foxy brunette from Corner Gas was there (what’s her name again?). Then finally I set my sights on George. Strombo himself, looking rather rock-esque dressed in black adorned with his usual chains and black leather accessories. I love this man. We had a brief chat and snapped a few pics. By this time I was well on my way to crashing.

I never did run into Maestro again, but was satisfied with my ample celebrity consumption. Following one final lap of the buzzing room, I jumped in a cab and made my way home. Mission accomplished.

*After party photo credits - Urban Cowgirl

Attack of the killer brellies

I’m a Vancouverite, therefore my knowledge around the fine etiquette of umbrella usage is second to none. It’s animal instinct, a sixth sense if you will. If you live in Vancouver or have visited during the winter months you know what I’m on about.

I have no problem with the rain, because a) at least it’s not snowing and b) it’s snowing on the ski hill. I am also a big fan of fashion wellies, which are once again, in style this season. Thank Buddha. My beef, dear possums, is with the folks who can’t seem to figure out the unspoken rules around maneuvering through our busy city avec umbrella. Following a minor incident between myself and a militant man walking down Robson with his golf umbrella today, might I share with you...

The Urban Cowgirl’s 5 Steps to Umbrella Safety

1) Allow umbrella-free folks access to awnings. Some people take a gamble on mother nature and nix umbrellas all together. These people are either new in town or mentally disabled in some way. I digress, give them the awnings if you’re strutting about with a brellie. What do you need anyway, double the coverage? It’s rain people, not an air strike.

2) Much like driving down the street, stay on your own side of the sidewalk. Ditto for your umbrella. Be mindful of your fellow foot traffickers and make room for one another. Don’t lunge at me with your weather weapon. You don’t drive down the middle of the street, same goes for walking with a brellie.

3) When opening your wet umbrella among a crowd, try to avoid spraying your fellow citizens in the face. Just today a gal got off the bus in front of me and opened her soaking wet brellie, showering me with all the goodness that is Vancouver’s liquid sunshine. It’s not a wet t-shirt contest. I’m just trying to get home lady.

4) Brellie thieving. Believe it or not folks, this is a serious issue in our city. I’ll admit, if push came to shove (i.e. I was out on the town and didn’t want to dampen my hairdo) I would resort to this low level thievery myself. However, we do live in a rain forest...be prepared. Pack your brellie just in case.

5) When traipsing about in the rain with friends, either share your brellie or travel in single file. It’s no fun to break through a cluster of brellie clad people, only to be mildly maimed on your way through.

Summer is just a few months away possums, so until then be mindful of your brellie conduct. Look alive...you never know when you could be under attack.

SATC or Brooklyn and babies?

I love Sex. My friends love Sex, my mom loves Sex...I have a feeling even my boyfriend loves Sex. Dare I say that my Gram loves Sex? Doubtful, as most of the jokes go over her head. I speak of the incredibly popular, cult classic Sex and the City ofcourse. Possums....tisk tisk.

Like many a gal around the globe, I spent 6 years glued to my set watching each and every SATC episode. From Mr. Big and Manolos, to martinis and men that shout profanities whilst climaxing, I still find myself indulging in a Sex marathon now and then. Ahem, reruns that is. (Wink).

Rumor has it that these four fabulous vixens will appear, once again, on the big screen for a ‘final’ installment of SATC. Despite my deep devotion to these characters, I felt more than satisfied following the initial film. It was the perfect ending to a perfect story. Why unravel a perfectly played out plot to make another one? Money ofcourse, but who can blame them.

The film was such a grand event, gathering up my gal pals, heading to the theatre in my frock and heels, finishing up the evening over...you guessed it, cosmos. A tad cheesy, perhaps, but what’s worse is the thought of Kim Catrall canoodling young men and Miranda, played by Cynthia Nixon, making more sarcastic comments about moving to Brooklyn. What on earth do they have to talk about now?

I may as well kick back and watch some reruns of the Golden Girls. It’s amazing how similar the two shows are really...Samantha has the same sexy antics as Blanche, Rose is innocent and optimistic like Charlotte, Dorothy is sarcastic and pessimistic like Miranda and...I guess that leaves Sophia as Carrie? Makes sense, they’re both the wittiest of either ensemble. Picture it, Manhattan, 1997...I was a single gal searching for the fella of my dreams in New York City. Ha.

I’m hardly interested in watching a film about kids, marriage counseling and aging gracefully. The reason the show resonated in the first place was the fact that many of us gals have experienced the dating nightmares they had. And further, their fantasy lifestyle allowed us to indulge in that fantasy with every episode. These women represented strength and empowerment - a revolution of the vagina possums! And now another film. I’m just not buying it. A golden girls movie however...now that I might be interested in.

Holla for a Dolla

Without harping on the usual economic hoo-ha, i have a few light-hearted stories to share with you possums. Yes, money is tight, the stock market is in the toilet and even Starbucks is losing money. Yet, over the past few days I’ve witnessed a few acts of complete and utter desperation. Pour example...

Exhibit A

All you can eat Thai - nixed. Upon receiving my Thai take out last night, I was appalled to find that the regular all you can eat deal had been canceled. Not available. No goo deal fah yoo folks. Note big nasty red X...

Exhibit B

Handmade poster plastered on a street light across from my apartment, pleading for the safe return of a lost Louis Vuitton bag. Are you facking kidding me? Who in their right mind is going to return a faboosh bag like that? Frankly, I bet that bad boy is listed for sale on craigslist as we speak. Dito for the digi-cam that was left inside. Some homeless dude is eating well for the next few weeks.

Exhibit C - I’m a child hater

Local charities are coming up with sneakier tactics to guilt you into giving up your doe. I’m all about donating to the causes that are most meaningful to you, however being hounded at the check out is not cool. I was hit hard, TWICE in one night en route home after work Friday.

All i was after was some vino accompanied by tasty tofulati, fat free ice cream sandwiches. Dee-lish. However, I was accosted by the cashier at my local Liquor Store asking if I’d like to donate $1 to dry grad. Dry grad? Why, so they can upgrade to a nicer limo? We all know the kids are going to get their drank on anyway. In other words, that $1 goes to the teens who then want to rip it up on prom night, eventually spending my dollar back at the Liquor Store, resulting in more profits for BCLQ. Genius really.

Feeling rather jaded, I popped over to pick up my ice cream sandwiches only to be under attack, once again. This time by a pre-teen pubescent wanting to know if I’d like to make a donation to Children’s Hospital. Well yes, ofcourse I do theoretically. I suppose if I can afford $7 ice cream sandwiches, I should donate to the kids. Fine. Fack, you got me.

If I find that purse, I’m posting it here...starting bid $500. I’ll even donate 10% to charity. Ha.

Donna Summer said it best possums...




Hockey wife or whore bag?

Over the weekend whilst lunching with some of my favorite luncheon ladies, we were delighted by the appearance of a certain local hockey star. El Capitan himself Roberto Luongo just happened to be popping by for lunch with his brood and was about to be seated a few feet away. Excellent. While my cohorts were gaga over Luongo’s little one, I couldn’t help but take notice of this lovely large man straight away. *Sigh* - I felt like a girl of 20, ahem, something again.

After staring incessantly for a few moments, the Luongo clan was quickly relocated to another part of the restaurant. Not because of said incessant staring...I swear. Rather because his family is the size of Sicily and couldn’t fit in our corner of the restaurant. Ho hum, twas a nice encounter while it lasted. However, as my gal pals and I were saying our goodbyes, a rather irate Mrs. Luongo was making quite the scene outside.

This woman began to shout at her hockey star hubby, siting that some couple inside the restaurant was her cause for frustration. Something to tune of “that couple wasn’t just looking at you, they were staring...they’re always staring at YOU, what am I, chop liver?” Ummmm....yes actually, quite right, you are indeedy chop liver. Luongo = local hero and hockey rock star GOD. You, Mrs. Luongo = puck slut, raving lunatic bisnatch. Why oh why do hockey players always seem to end up with these relentless ingrates. Complete with her Burberry boots and Gucci baby bag, no less. Barf.

The entire episode was reminiscent of Trevor Linden’s retirement ceremony where his wanker wifey behaved in a very similar manner. What is wrong with these women? For once, it would be nice to see a hockey wife worthy of these ice gods.

In other news, I caught the season opener of Celebrity Apprentice last night and realized, Ben Mulroney’s mom may have had a steamy affair with the Donald. Is Donald Jr. Ben's long lost brother?. Possums - dicuss. Evidence below...