Cathy Jones, of This Hour Has 22 Minutes fame is not entirely unfamiliar at the good old Loomis Art Store, where I have been employed for the last 3.5 years. (and where I will no longer be employed at the end of the day. Whoa.) She, like many other Atlantic celebs comes in, looks at artsy fartsy crafty stuff, occasionally acts important, occasionally acts hilarious, and overall, is just Cathy Jones. She seems nice enough. And occasionally, she, or her co-shopping friends will offer useful advice.

Two days ago, the advice was given by her friend, whom I'm told was in a terrible band. "Let me tell you something," said the clean-shaven man, "If you grow a beard and your girlfriend really likes it, don't shave it off. You'll regret it."

At this, Cathy Jones nodded in agreement.

"You, you shouldn't grow a beard." She said to Brodie, "You have a very nice face."

"Not me," I said jokingly. "I grew this beard to hide my horrible face."

"Oh no. You have a nice face too. You have a good chin."

I saw Doug first, when Keeley and I walked into Reflections on Thursday night. (I was lucky to even get in the door, having lost my I.D. I think I owe it to the beard.) We reminisced about Shitty London Ontario for a good ten minutes before Keeley cut in with a more than fair observation: "Hold on," she said. "You guys don't get to complain. I grew up in rural Alberta. I don't think you two know what boredom really is!" Fair enough, on the surface, but it's important to keep in mind, that aside from being centrally located, and having the odd good record store, restaurant, or rock show, London Ontario suffers from a very special kind of illness: Mega-Middle-Class. (not rural enough to have any kind of land-based grounding, not metropolitan enough to really get a lot of cultural variety.) See, we might have gotten good bands more regularly, but there's something to be said about the effects of growing up in a place which is almost entirely suburb, where mall-culture is rampant, and 80% of your friends parents are insurance agents. "It's a different kind of boring." said Doug. Later, Bry and I talked mostly about the golden era of the classic, straight-up 'rock-out' music video, a la Elvis Costello and the Attractions.

I digress.

The Constantines and Weakerthans tour had garnered a lot of attention, and anticipation over the last few weeks, and it showed because lineups stretched for blocks at both the all-ages and bar shows. Both venues were packed past capacity. I'm going to be honest here, and say that I'm probably not the best person to give a fair review of the Weakerthans. Both sets were good, and they hold a place in my heart, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that they don't really excite me anymore. They played well, kids loved them. Some got teary eyed. I tapped my feet to a few old favourites, and that was enough for me. The Cons however, were a different story. (and so he revealed his bias.)

Their performance at Reflections Cabaret was outstanding! The sound was not what it should be, but that aside, they busted through their set with so much energy that it was hard not to break a sweat. (though that could have also just been the hordes of people, and lack of free water.) The Cons are the kind of band (and I know not everyone will agree with me here, but bear with me.) that when they raise their hands up high, the whole room does the same. Their sometimes aggressive, sometimes melancholy blues-based 'post-punk' rock lights things on fire.

Jon Epworth opened up for them, and aside from one technical difficulty, his set was great too. He closed it off with my favourite song, 'Gone'. "Write more songs like that one." I've said to Jon on more than one occasions. "That's the kind of song that people fucking connect with." (All his songs are great, but give me a break. That one's gold!) And Gerry Hubley DJ'd before, between and after all the bands, ending the night with a killer dance party explosion set. The coat-check line was so long, that most people eschewed it in favour of dancing their little feet off for a good hour or so till it cleared out a bit. Dancing on a floor literally covered in broken glass, I might add.

It was a good night. Doug ditched Bry to go to a party with Jon E. and some others. And then Bry and John K. Sampson (J.K.S. at the wheel) almost ran Stacey, Adam and I down on Barrington Street in their giant white tour van on their way back to the hotel.

There's a handful of photos from the Cons set here.

We went out to Clayton Park last weekend to be photographed by Ted. We brought a suitcase filled with knives and some nice clothes. Yeah, knives - we're not all that creative. Ted shot us in his home-studio for no moneys, and he did a really good job. We're not sure what we'll do with these headshots, but Ted can use them for his portfolio. Next, we're getting together for a group shot that we can use in a press pack. The theme is parking-garage knife fight. A la Thriller. Lukas will tell you that now is maybe not the most appropriate time to be emulating the infamous Jacko. Sharp Like Knives will tell Lukas to get over it, and admit that Thriller-era M.J. was seriously on to something.

My favourite photo in this group is Matt. (top left) He has such a serene look on his face. Ted, you take a mean picture.

Alright, alright, we take some unwarranted breaks here at Optimuscrime. And by "we" I mean "me". And by "breaks" I of course mean "unexplained four-week hiatuses with little to no excuse." Oh wait, I just thought of an excuse: It's the frigging internet! I'm busy doing real life things with real life people. So tuff it out, and check in with the other Optimuscriminals if you're seriously jonesing. But all excuses aside, we do apologize for our absence, and we hope to make it better.

As a peace offering, we bring you this: The hottest thing in our iTunes catalogue right now: Holy Shit, it's M.I.A.

The 27 year old Sri Lankan Tamil, living in the UK since age 9 has captivated the attention of this Haligonian Optimuscriminal and a lot of other people in the last year or so. She's even fallen under the scrutinizing keyboards of the Mefi elite. (Which we'll admit, is where we found her, and subsequently fell in love.)

She creates a lot of controversy, both politically, and musically. Is she just another retro trend, or the freshest newest thing going? She may not be genre-busting-material, but this blogger wonders where, aside from the obvious visual cues, people are getting the idea that this lady is performing 80's throwback music. The beats alone are much more reminiscent of trashy dancehall drums than Cyndi Lauper.

Politically, M.I.A. (which is taken from her Tamil father's guerilla code-name) has raised a number of eyebrows, with accusations of irresponsible use of violent and revolutionary imagery. The Tamil Tigers that run back and forth behind her are a symbol of a Sri-Lankan rebel group, who among other things, are known for essentially inventing the modern suicide bomb. (including the infamous bomb-jacket) Though, from interviews, and judging by the mish-mash quality of the lyrics in her songs, it seems less to me like pro-terrorist politics, than simply a collage of her personal experiences. Optimuscrime Halifax would like to see her critics grow up in war-torn Sri Lanka amidst political rebels and uprisings, and not have that kind of imagery take up a large chunk of their brain.

Luckily, she was still left with a fairly decent sized chunk with which to store nothing but trashy dancehall beats, and non-stop kitchen-party dance moves! Trust us when we tell you that Arular is at the top of our "actually pay for" music list right now.

And, ok, so we're not exactly bringing you breaking, up-to-the-minute pop culture. We know that. As Lukas, of Optimuscrime Formerly-Montreal put it: "M.I.A.? Yeah, welcome to Fall 2004, pal." That may be, but keep in mind I live in Nova Scotia. Ok? We just found out about Nirvana out here. And six months late or not, M.I.A. is still glowing hot. I'll admit it, I think I actually have an actual crush on her. It's those neon tights, and those goddamned rubber-leg dance moves. That's the hottest shit I've seen in years! Yeah, that's right a famous-crush. And I'm 24. And I have a degree. And I'm crushing on popstars. At least it's not Hilary Duff, right?

"London calling, speak the slang-a. Boys say wa. G'won, girls say wa wa?"