Seven Spanish Senators

I don't know who else caught the Chretien tribute on TV tonight. I saw about 40 minutes of it, and I don't know if it's my advancing age, or what, but I rather enjoyed what I saw.

I turned to it just as a wicked jazz trio were cooly burning down the joint (don't get me to explain the physics of that). Sorry, didn't remember the name of the piano jazz guy (which, by the way, is perfect Canadiana: a big tribute to your leader, and many of the performers are not household names), but they kicked it.

That was followed by the hosts' banter. One host was Justin? Trudeau, the other's name was Caslladh Shdohidsh (my ears avoided hearing her name). Their schtick was pretty standard, although Justin seems like a kinda hip, comfortable guy. In fact, their banter seemed very relaxed and off the cuff, even though it obviously wasn't. So, kudos to them (can someone please inform them that I deemed their efforts kudos-worthy?)

Of course, one of the crosses we Canadians have to bear (bare?) is the bilingual official functions. I don't mind it when people speak French then English. I don't like the interpreter, though. An interpreter is necessary if one is watching the House of Commons (then again, so is Nembutol), but when it's a casual speech or emcee situation, the interpretation really bugs me.

It was at this point that Karyn called out from the bath "What is that? It sounds like an American rah-rah propaganda type show". I said that this show was, in fact, just the opposite of what the Americans would put on air, and that the next act was living proof of that theory.

The next act, of course, being some aged senator (no, not Daniel Alfredsson) and his two cronies performing a version of Seven Spanish Angels. Good god, I thought. Were BNL booked elsewhere? Gripping the couch cushion, I prepared myself for the worst. Turns out it was the highlight of the 40 minutes that I watched. They were fantastic. Not the greatest singers, looked nervous and all that, but it was totally charming. And charming in the best way, not in the 'grade 4 recital' charming way.

The Barra MacNeils performed next, but I yawned through that bit of done-to-death East Coast Representation. Then came Cirque de Soleil. Outstanding.

The last thing I saw before I switched to Survivor was the hosts announcing: "And now, Oscar Peterson!!" Oops, Oscar's not ready yet. Fill Fill Fill...fill fill fill...fill fill fill. They were still filling time when I turned the channel. When I turned back during a commercial, I saw a couple of awful "congrats' from the common-folk, and then the end of Paul Anka (as opposed to Paul Anka's end...and I am, you know... opposed to Paul Anka's end) singing what appeared to be a vegas-y rendition of My Way. So, maybe the 40 minutes I saw were the best?

All in all, this was a much longer post than I expected. But, then again, so was Chretien's reign, so it all works out in Paul Anka's end.