Happy 100

this marks my hundredth post!

i hope you've laughed, learned, or been entertained in some way.

here's to another hundred.

the list

10 Reasons Why I Want to Marry an Asian

They Age Well.

Even to this day, I'll walk through Chinatown and still double-take matured asian women. The strange thing is, when you go over to an asian girls house to meet her parents, the mom is usually just as attractive as the daughter. I can only assume this is due to years of drinking green tea instead of coffee, holding umbrellas when it's sunny out, and special attention to personal appearance. On top of that, they don't gain weight. I've seen 80 year old ladies who are probably the same weight as when they were in high school.

Her Rich Parents.


I can honestly say I've never met a poor asian family. Sure, I've seen them on the streets before, but I bet even the poor looking ones have a lot of money stashed away in old bags of white rice. They (as a race) have such an incredible work ethic and only really accept success from themselves, and their peers. It's the same reason why Asians own, have made, designed, or sold you pretty much half of everything you see and own. The dominant two businesses I've caught on to (in terms of families with money), comes from either owning convenience stores or restaurants. I've had friends who's parents have owned one of those (or multiple franchises) and drive Lexus' when their 'Cedes are in the shop.
Her parents will support her and I in times of need, and in times when we don't need it at all. Her dad will take me to his rich golf course and I will kick his ass off the tee, but his Asian precision will kill me on the green.

The Future.


Let's just say that when the Asian populace has power over everything, I'll have a head start. I can't really decide on any more jokes for this bit, so I'll move on.

The Cute Kids.

For starters, I have no idea what my kid would look like if I procreated with an asian honey. I'm counting on the strong asian genetics to wipe out any trace of gingerism my kid may have, which is cool. I'm not really keen on the survival of my own race, because I'd rather be a dying breed than part of a thriving sun-burnt populous.
All I want is a fat, asian, buddha baby. Even more than that, I want a pregnant asian wife. She'll passively complain about her back and holy shit will I be there to help her. I'm pretty sure my asian kid would never learn how to walk because I'd never put it down. I'm also sure I'd never have to buy my baby clothes either, because my asian in-laws would smother it in weird fobby shit and my parents would buy it even more baby clothes, just so it wouldn't have to wear that weird fobby shit.

The Food.

Simply put, asians love their food. There's not a single asian on this planet who doesn't love to eat. Not only do they know how to eat, but they know how to cook. They don't really have a choice. Do they? I've always assumed that every asian has had a crazy grandma around them since birth, constantly holding a hot plate of food. I'm almost certain that a knack for cooking is just an inherent gene they all have. Aside from that, I'm sure her parents will own a restaurant anyway. A restaurant that would openly feed me at no charge until 5am.

The Fun.

I've always been a great admirer of the asian culture. Not so much that I brush up on my Japanese characters in my spare time, I just like to observe. One thing that I've always known: Asians love their fun. They usually travel in huge groups, soberly running down the street laughing in smiling, probably coming or going to karaoke and bubble tea. And I don't blame them. Not only is most of that clean shit really fun, but the ones doing it are usually hilarious. The fine balance is finding a wife who can not only lay into the booze now and then, but can challenge me and not cop-out after two cups of sake.

The Sex.

I can only deduce that it would still be good after years of marriage. We'd eat, go for a run together, and then bone. Rad.

I'm Not Picky About It.

I've seen every shape and form of asian girl, and none of them really sour the relationship thing. Everything from straight-up American-apple-pie-accent, to the straight off the boat variety; it's all kinda cute. Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Korean. Kim-chi, Sashimi, Pad Thai, Egg Roll. I'm not picky about it.

The Smarts.


Asian or not, my wife has to stand on her own feet intellectually. The last thing I want is to do all the talking for the extent of our marriage. I don't want to talk about how donkeys have the loudest farts in the animal kingdom for the rest of my life. I need a lady who can teach me a thing or two every once in a while. So why not marry an asian? Lord knows they've got the brains. I think that's the beauty about being with somebody who's career relies mainly on smarts. She'll come home all stressed from work and I'll make dinner, kiss her on the forehead, pinch her butt, put on an album, and then paint her something. It's a Ying-Yang thing.

The Respect.

I want to one day be walking down the street with my Asian better half, see another white guy doing the same, and then hi-five each other as we pass. No words will be exchanged. We just both know we did it. Later that week, I'll show up to a backyard party with my Asian better half, and get glared at by all the other white dudes who married Plain-Jane white chicks with brat kids. Those same brats will tease my Asian youngster. My kid will really want to beat up those kids, because daddy taught him/her not to take shit from anyone.

If only it ever learned how to walk.

to some it comes easy

Lately it appears I've been a part of some good media exposure.

I had an interview in last months issue of Scene , which I wish I had to show you because it was hilarious. The title of the article was called Hue Looks For Northern Exposure at NXNE. The introduction to the article was a bunch of garbage about how a lot of bands have made it big at this festival in the past by playing one amazing show, and that we hope to do the same. I retorted by saying that becoming popular by playing NXNE is unrealistic and very assuming, and that all you can really do is play your best and hope that those in the audience remember your name. If you really want to read the article, I have it at home. It hangs by my fridge.

Secondly, I got a text the other night saying I was on tv. I assumed it was from an eTalk segment filmed earlier that day, where I creeped into Kevin Brauch's shot by standing behind him during his report on Luminato.
Turns out it was another re-run of our segment on Rogers Cable's London Calling. Although the rest of that episode was irreverant trash, our segment turned out half-decent. You can usually catch it on your local Rogers Cable network, between the hours of 3am and 5am.

Then, last Saturday I was at the Bovine Sex Club watching Inward Eye play their NXNE set. If you've never heard of these guys before, you probably will before you're dead. They are probably the closest thing to a young version of The Who. They're an incredible live band, they sound super tight, and most of their songs are rad to the boner. Just when I thought we were a hard working band, I watch these guys and they make me feel like a blubbering vagine. That, and Dave the bassist doesn't make me feel bad for sweating like crazy on stage, because he sweats buckets.
Anyway, on to the point. Our manager Cory Gram-Cracker pulled us out of the bar for some unknown reason. We were all pretty bagged by that point - mostly due to the vodka he was forcing on us behind Reverb before the show started.
Turns out he met some of the guys from Aux TV earlier in the night and they wanted to film an interview with me. I was pretty much forced, which is cool because I like interviews.



You can see my four-second clip at around 5:02. Here are some of my thoughts on that single clip:

a) I looked good. Earlier on in the night I'd seen Riverdance, and then went straight to the shows once it was over. Cool white shirt and a nice crisp vest. Daaaammn.

b) I'm yelling. As you can probably hear in the background, it was noisy as hell. Throughout the interview (which may or may not ever be seen), I continuously needed questions repeated because I couldn't hear jack shit, and then had to scream the answers just to hear myself think. I do wish it was available in full though, because I said some funny drunk shit.

c) I look like Bobby Flay. There's nothing really to add there.

d) The other guests. Okay, if you continue to watch the clip, you'll see some other artists. Those artists include Gentlemen Reg (whom I listen to on a daily basis) and John from In Flight Safety (who I once listened to on a daily basis). This made me shit myself because they both make amazing tunes and I'd never imagine being butted up against them in a video reel.

e) I'm the youngest. That's just the facts.

f) I'm well on my way to the "Big Kahuna". If you don't know what that means, you'll understand in about a month.

The only thing that would put the cherry on top of all this exposure would be if we end up doing this radio interview we've been slated to do in Ottawa in two days.

wet hair

Alright folks, here goes nothing. This marks the last time I'll sit in my condo for the next month. I look at my bed, say a few nice things to it, and then part. I look at my shower and all it's glory, say a few nice things to it, and then part. I look at my fully functional kitchen, cry a bit, and then part.

If you've ever camped, traveled for an extended period, or performed a series of shows over a short period of time, you know that what I'm doing is completely necessary.

As a pack my things, my laptop is running on full tilt as I upload nearly every album I own onto it for the road. It's funny, because this is exactly what happened when I left for New Zealand a few years back, and my parents almost left me at home because this double Jimi Hendrix album I had took forever to upload. Must have been those lengthy solos.

Packing for a months time is a serious challenge. You realize how large your wardrobe is (mine is currently massive), and you can only pack really generic things. The key word is "versatility". Because you can't just throw in flashy pants or shirts that don't go with anything. But that's just me being a woman. You also need clothes that you know will either last a really long time, or won't make it past the first week. Some shirts are just bought to throw away.

When I'm gone, I really want to french kiss a french girl, but I have certain people to thank for that.

Either way, I have to leave now. Send me your address and you'll get a postcard. I promise.

I'll be thinking of you.

Andy.

pon de dungle

the insanity continues.

more shows. no sleep. some fun. lots of ontario.

damn i'm going to miss my friends.

if you were a latino, I'd be fucked

There they are: the two official handsome chauffeurs of the Hue 2009 East Coast Tour.

I don't believe I've ever mentioned such things on this blog, but my band is touring the East coast of Canada starting next week (June 24th to July 25th to be exact). To be totally honest, I'm equally excited and uneasy. It's definitely not the most legit tour ever compiled. On top of slightly shotty tour dates, we're camping. How you like me now? It's going to get really, really greasy. But hey! That stuff is right up my alley.

I've been very fortunate to have seen the many corners of this country at such a young age. It's been some time since I've visited the East, which is nice because I have an altered appreciation for pretty much everything since last visiting when I was 13. Wow, a decade ago? Where does the time go. I still know the feeling of being nearly blown off my feet by the wind, atop a hill in St. Johns. I still remember the smell of the ocean, and I definitely still remember the smell of my No. 5 Dippity Doo hair gel I used at the time. That shit could impale.

Speaking of greasy travelling, Dan and I are no strangers to it. Him and I have traveled half-way around the world together and done some of the most despicable things you can think of, all in the name of survival. Sleeping in parks, eating out of the garbage, shitting in the outback, stealing hundreds worth of drinks, using other peoples towels (fuck), trying to catch food, chasing kangaroos - although I wouldn't call that survival, I just really wanted to box that mo-fo. He took it like a bitch.

Needless to say, we know what we're doing in the wild. We became men at a very young age. Some of that shit I can't even tell you about. Either way, for the tour I'm going to re-open the Spreken Ze Talk blog, just to extend my travel stories this summer.

And it's not even over yet!

The first week of August marks my fourth annual "Men With Clubs" tour. It's basically me and a bunch of retired teachers/principals golfing Northern Michigan for four days. It's really just beer, golf, dudes, and jokes. I love it.

I'll post again before we leave. Show tonight at the London Music Club (big hall), then tomorrow at Mitzi's Sister around 9, then Friday at Pogue Mahones in Sarnia. I have to put up some paintings at Vdara before then.

My life is a circus.

sunday advice

A piece of advice:

Never give somebody credit for being good looking, because nobody deserves it.

Certain things such as style, clothes, hair, and makeup are commendable, but never straight looks.

Because really, their parents happened to rub together just enough, and at that precise moment, said person was created. And by rub, I meant they were fucking. What's creditable about that? 

Some people are fun to look at, and a lot of people aren't. Never in my life have I placed somebody on a higher pedestal than another for the purpose of looks. That's senseless. 

That's also life. 

just another day living downtown

...and if it's not sirens, it's Jack Layton. 

"memosa"

I'd like to see if your friends would show up at your door at 11am with a bottle of champagne.

assault and pepper

Hey Friends!

I've not been a slack as of late. It was just old Ted Rogers holding our internet signal ransom for several days. Yet, a lot has happened.

I might as well start with last Thursdays show at Call The Office in London.

The night itself was an overall success. Seeing as I don't have Facebook, I never really know who's "attending" and who's not. I'd heard word that many old friends were confirmed guests, and nearly all of them showed! This made for some, well, I'll just say interesting events. Even great friend, past-bandmate, and wonderful human in general Nathan Albion made his appearance. Dan and I used to be in a band with Nathan called Gerald Pessy way back in the day. We also almost won our highschool Battle Of The Bands together after only two weeks of playing our instruments.


The show also went quite well. There's a young and shakey kid doing sound at CTO nowadays, which caused us a bit of sweat. Aparently the show sounded good from the croud. People seemed to respond well to the new material. Even the new-new material (a near remix of an untitled song that had been played at several shows) went off without a hitch. That new version is pretty awesome, and a lot more fun to play, even though I stole the beat from a Josh Ritter album.
I have to mention, the Call The Office stage has heat like no other club. I'd rather play in the desert than feel the lights of that place. I always bring a change of clothes to those shows because, combining the heat with the vigor I play with, always makes for a sweaty performance.

The next morning, after some delicious King's Inn Diner lunch, we made for the road. I drove. Upon arrival, we all split for a Triple S before the show. I got Chippy's, located directly across the steet. If you've never eaten there, and have an appreciation for fish & chips, boot your ass over there as soon as possible. We then showed up for sound check.


I'll be honest, and I've said before, Lee's Palace scares the shit out of me. It's a massive venue that has seen some of the best bands on the planet play since before you were born. The walls of the place just ache with history. Not only is it one of the most notorious, but the best sounding clubs in the city. So naturally it was a bit nerve-racking packing our gear in it's hollow state. All of the bands were cool, except the bill didn't have any flow whatsoever.

The order went as follows: college funk, hue, hip-hop, then metal. Goofy.

We were rushed going on, seeing as the previous band ran late. I was literally still tightening my stands while Darcy tinkered the opening chords of our set. A great amount of people showed up, except we didn't make any money because they were all on the guestlist haha. S'all good. We payed for our gas money the night before.

Afterward we all hit Dance Cave and danced uncontrollably. Kevin Black and I jammed so fucking hard to Arcade Fire. I'm pretty sure we created our own dance circle in the middle of the floor just because nobody wanted to be hit by our flailing limbs. Atta boy. Another story that deserves some attention is actually quite funny. Minutes before we left after packing our gear, a fight broke out only a few feet from us. The cops showed up, and one of the guys who sucker-punched another dude approached us and told him to take his wallet. We said no, so he kicked it under our van. All I did for the next ten minutes was stare at the guy while he was being questioned by the cops. But why would he do this? It's simple really. The oldest in the book.

See, when a cop questions you for something illegal, all you really need to do is chuck your wallet away. That way, upon questioning, you can make up any address you feel like and the cops would be none the wiser. You'll never recieve a ticket and never pay a fine.

The punchers girlfriend noticed me eyeing him up and pleeded with me to not rat him out. To be honest, the only reason I didn't was because Darcy was driving and didn't want to get involved. Lucky him, because I was drunk and wanted justice. The most funny part is, she was pleeding with me as I was sitting in a van full of people, and after I continued to shove everything she said to the ground, my only reply to her was:

"Na na na na na na na na, BATMAN!!!"

We all had a good laugh at her expense right then and there.

I went home after that and slept. Then! Just when life couldn't get any better! I awoke to tickets to that afternoons Jays game against the Kansas City Royals! My good friend Andrew Siu and his lovely girlfriend treated Blair and I to some free tickets behind the plate. That was fucking awesome. I don't really have any good stories about that, except that I would shout any obscenity Andrew asked me to, including telling Vernon Wells to "EARN THAT 20 MILL!!!" when he was up to bat. He then struck out.

A week later, Darcy and I attended the annual Alzheimer's Tournament at The Highland in London. This was our fourth year playing, and easily the most hilarious yet. I won't go into too much detail, because I have a tonne of pics and video from that day, which I will post hopefully as soon as my sister sends them. You're in for some hilarity.

That same night a whole whack of us went out to Raygun and party-hardy'd, until we eventually ended up at Caitlin's place, free-styling and putting back drinks until the sun came up. Those freestyle tapes exist somewhere and I'll see what I can do to retrieve them.


Nowadays I've just been working, doing laundry, rehearsing, recording, painting, photographing, working on a website, Luminato, watching playoff basketball with K, walking, organizing, and enjoying what has been one of the best summers in years. My life seems to be one hectic, fantastic moment after another.

DEL

As previously mentioned, I had a show in Scarborough, last week? I'm not sure exactly. My days are becoming so full that I can't tell what day it is anymore, but that's good.

The show went exactly how I thought it would go. I'd show up, hang my single piece (which I'm almost certain was the largest there), walk around for a while kissing babies, then bugger off for a while to enjoy the sun. That day, now looking back, was actually a lot of fun. Dan and I don't really get to just hang out much anymore, so it was fun to kick it together just like old times. The only thing we did all day was crack jokes, and I wish I was exaggerating about that. Later that night we met with some friends and didn't feel like laughing anymore.

I had my wall space good and ready to go. As usual, I was a horrible self-promoter. So bad in fact that I wrote my contact information on what I thought were business cards they provided, which in fact were raffle tickets. hahahah, holy shit. This funny gay couple (who were all over East and DP) were saddened by the fact that I couldn't hang the piece higher on the display. They had a point, but I wasn't too shook by it.

After seeing the light cast by the bulb in the top left corner of this piece I became really attached to that sun spot. I've considered roughing one in.

The free coffee, tea and cookies didn't quite get rid of my hangover, but definitely helped the conversations flow a bit faster.

This character, seen above in the tight red sweats, gold bling, and a child's Raptors jersey, absolutely needs to be mentioned.
The man's name was Ian Moo Young, and I'm pretty sure he was absolutely off his rocker. He showed up to the show with a cart full of shit, including a mop, bottles of liquor, and a big red rug. These would all be included in his wacky display later in the day.
At the beginning of the day I became jealous when seeing him speak to other exhibitors. I just wanted him to, you know, flirt with me a little.

Moo indeed was off his rocker. After nearly being thrown out for calling a photographer a "shit" and "an asshole", he fled to East and DP to hide from the women running the event. At this point, Moo went on and on for almost two hours about all kinds of things. I can only really skim the surface when talking about what he said, so I'll try. These are some of his accomplishments:

a) He trained several of the top tennis players in the world, and wants to one day, win the Wimbledon. He said he still schools world-ranking youngsters.

b) At one point, he was one of the top filmmakers in Britain, and directed more than one hundred commercials for many corporations throughout the UK.

c) Was good friends with Princess Diana, and that the only reason they never hooked up was because they were both in relationships at the wrong times. And since this was the case, somebody he called The Duke of Devonshire wanted him dead, which leads to the next point.

d) He's killed people. After being chased into a cave by assassins at night, somewhere in the Southern Pacific, he proceeded to kill one man by throwing his machete at him. He killed the other two assassins by spreading a bad of pigs blood (which he seemed to have on him at the time) on the ground the attract the local tigers. Every time he mentioned someone dying, he let out the creepiest laugh I've ever heard.

e) He's dated supermodels and is the eye of any woman he meets. He planned on asking a girl he met at the show if she wanted to be in his next film. I'm just going to assume she said no.

Needless to say, Moo was nuts, and I'm sure only 1% of everything he said was true. Although, his work was interesting and some of the motifs presented were intriguing. Just stuff about how we're all mermaids, and then something about foot fetishes. Whatever.

Either way, the day was an over all success, and it's always fun to drive on the Don Valley Parkway.

heidi wore clogs, and so do you

So last night, Meme, Jess and I went to go see Doves.
I've been really into their latest album Kingdom Of Rust lately, so I had to see this material done live.
The show was fantastic, but this is not what I'm here to talk about.

After moving to the front (which is the best bonus to seeing shows with small, cute girls), we began to get our dance on and the tunes were bumping. All of a sudden, I could feel myself being stepping on, and stepping on someones foot. I didn't care because everyone was having a good time and this is, presumably, what happens at shows. Not to this guy."Hey man, you're stepping on my feet. This is my spot."

"What?"

"I said this is my spot. I've been here for the past ten minutes."

"So?"

It turns out that there was a blubbering vagina standing behind me. Some Dexter-Zero was chewing me out for dancing on his toes.

Oh, I'm sorry hun, I've never slow danced before.

First off, who comes to a rock concert, moves to the very front, and stakes a claim amongst hundreds of people? Your spot? Who the fuck are you?! Yukon Cornelius? Maybe if he had a pick axe, monster beard and a hunger for gold- then I would have taken him seriously

Secondly, how can you come to a show and not expect to get your feet stepped on? I could understand if he wasn't dancing and I was just causing a scene, but he was, as was everyone else. I've gone to shows with perfectly white Stan II's on, moshed for two hours, then proudly gone home with someone elses blood and dirt covering them. A real musical experience should be about passion, love, appreciation, and expression. Don't just stand there like a paper napkin. What a fucking pussy. My buzz was killed by this Joe-PC. Grow some balls for gods sake.


One thing that I know in life is that the world is full of uptight, unenlightened, anxious, high-strung matters of waste that we call "the public". People are no longer passionate about anything, and are so afraid to express themselves that they retain mid-life Osteoporosis just from sucking their boss' dick or from nodding "yes" so much every day.

People like this just make me want to stick fireworks in their pants, just so they'll feel something for once. They have pickles so far up their asses that even their breath smells like dill. I have only one piece of advice for these people: Verbally disagree with someone at least once a day. After a few weeks, you'll sleep sounder. I promise. Why? Because it's one of the many free things in life that are good for you. I'll jump back to that topic at a later date when I have more examples.

Am I out of line? You're damn right I'm not. Let's eat some pickles.