Odd buildings

These funky buildings in northern Toronto are curved in a way that looks vaguely human and alive.

As one drives on the highways approaching them, the roads' gradual curving approach makes the buildings appear to undulate and twist.

It is unsettling.

They appear to have weird organic corners... maybe "elbows" is a better term? And spine-like protrusions. And maybe they are offset from plumb. They look like a cluster of skew mushroom-arms, twisting and writhing upwards.

I wonder what the original design goals were, and whether the architects achieved the necessary balance of sleek modernity, marketable balcony-space and window-views, and appeasement of Lovecraftian Elder Gods with the unspeakably twisted rooftop temples (unphotographable, not documented here).

This post's theme word is stele, "the central core of the stem or root of a vascular plant" and usefully also "a funerary or commemorative stone slab." The skyscraping steles stretched upwards, their hapless residents ignorant of the unsettling past, the warping present, and the horrible future.

Frightened Rabbit

Q. and I went to see Frightened Rabbit on the recommendation of D. and J. It was raining; we walked to the venue, which was in a sketchy neighborhood; we waited in line. Once we entered, the venue was (at first) too cold, then (when crowded) too hot. The concrete-floored pit had no chairs, so we stood through the entire experience. The stage designer opted for the unusual choice of lighting the audience directly with strobe lights throughout the performance, while leaving the onstage performers cloaked in darkness. The other audience members provided targets of observational humor (before the concert began) and sources of aggressively misanthropic behavior (during the performances).

The opening band was decent. The headliners did nothing for me (or Q.). We went home and listened to the Bastion soundtrack as a palate cleanser, and felt much better.

Conclusion: We have, without our own knowledge, become old and crotchety. We do not like being up late, being out late, having to stand for a long time on a hard floor, or breathing other people's secondhand fumes/body spray/aerosolized hair gel. We do like one song to contain different chords, comprehensible lyrics, and stage lighting which illuminates the performers and does not induce seizures.


This post's theme word is cockshy, "the game of throwing missiles at a target; such a throw," or "an object of criticism or ridicule." The cockshy hipster audience provided much ammunition for our cockshy mockery.