Did we do as the Romans do? Well, let me ask you this...
Do the Romans eat mass amounts of gelato?
Do the Romans haggle with various men on the street selling black market goods?
Do the Romans dance through the streets with the Pride Parade taking videos and stopping only once to do a double take of the woman with unusually perky breasts who also has a penis?
In one word-Yes.
In seven words- Yes. We did as the Romans do.
Upon our departure from Barcelona we ran into a couple of cool California boys at the bus station. We liked them immediately, as one trusted us upon first glance to watch his bags as he ran to buy a ticket. Note to Adam: We may be Canadians and, yes, we're a kind breed... but we also rifled through your bags and found that beginners guide to the Kama sutra you packed so carefully under you tighty whiteys.
When in Rome... I suppose. Joking... but seriously, from experience position #37 may result in various pulled muscles so practice precaution.
From Bus buddies to Rome Romers, Adam and Simon became our dinner dates for the next three nights. We thoroughly enjoyed wandering the streets of Rome after dark for hours on end eating gelato and being educated by Encyclopaedia Arnold Ferber. Never have I ever met two boys who know everything and nothing all at once. Conversation never lagged due to their extensive knowledge of architecture, psychology and other subjects that can't quite be placed in a major. Needless to say we won't be swiping at any yellow-jackets, we'll be weary of any men tucking in our shirt tags and any psych majoring fraternity boys that psych you out during a pleasant game of Signal.
Next time we meet, the location is Vegas so we can put those dealing skills to good use.
We eliminated our metro use as we realized you can walk across town in no time at all. Of course we took a gander at all the tourist hot spots; the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, the Colloseum, and the Roman Forum. Because Roman nightlife can be tricky to tackle hans solo, all of these Trojan attractions host their very own pub crawls to which we received countless invitations. As social Canadians with eco-friendly consciences we took it upon ourselves to collect the invites and recycle them. We passed them along to fellow travellers encouraging their participation by nightfall. We had the basics down, most of the offers were alike (€20 gets you admission to 4 cool pubs, free shots, free pizza and pub crawl t-shirt) but as our audience grew tired of the same old speech we opted to throw in an offer they could not refuse. Show up before 9 pm in a toga and get in for half price. Upon arrival, charge naive tourists €5 each for an authentic snapshot memory complete with 'Roman Gods' and your night is paid for. Of course Sparkle Motion could not attend said crawl due to our 'Gig' at the Irish pub just up 'round the bend. However, we would have liked to witness the toga bearing traveller arguing with the Pub crawl chaperone claiming that two lovely canucks had informed them early that day that admission would be half price.
Italian stereotypes are right. The city was beautiful, the men were charming, the food was delicious. We’re leaving Rome with a little more Motion and a couple extra pounds but off to the highlands of Scotland. Looking forward to kilt laden men going commando, Scottish accents and deep fried Mars bars.
Ciao Bella.
Gracias Milla.
xo-Sparkle Motion
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Dear Sam...
Sometimes... Sparkle Motion can overstep the boundries of polite Canadian pleasantries. We're not talking about Soaping Fountains, or Roming around Rome in Togas here... we're talking about inadvertantly soiling the Canadian name, accidentally misreading a fellow traveller, and sending out the wrong message about ourselves, our band, and our country.
Yesterday, while taking a stroll around the Colleseum, we were approached by two young men recruiting hot young thangs for a Roma Pub Crawl. Names need not be named... but these two individuals were not exactly gentlemen, nor were they sober, in any way shape or form. We did our best to keep our composure, but we ended up declining the pub crawl informing these boys that we had a gig tonight at an irish pub, just up the bend, called Finnagins. Pretty sure they did not really believe the whole thing, but no harm no foul right? mmmmm... right. untilll...
About twenty minutes afterwards, we were strolling back through the Colleseum and yet another young man approached us. This one seemed to be more on his game, but we were weary of his intentions. As he pulled out a flyer for the Pub crawl we simultaneously informed him about our 'gig' that evening at Finnagins. One thing led to another, and this lovely young Kiwi took a general interest in our band. He asked for directions and seemed genuine when he said he would like to attend.
We were somewhat cornered. Originally thinking that this young man might be like his peers, we had openly bent the truth just a tad to avoid further harrassement. We did not have a gig that evening, and upon walking away from said Kiwi we actually felt pretty awful.
We appreciate the interest he showed in our Folk Rock Duo. As a New Zealander, he was familiar with our main influence, Flight of the Conchords, and we give him some solid snaps for that alone.
This particular blog is not so much an update, as it is an apology.
We'd like to take this time to say we are sorry to Sam.
Sorry for lying, sorry for judging you based on your not so suave co-workers, and sorry for giving you vague directions to a non-exsistant Gig. That was way offside.
Please forgive the Motion, and we hope that we have not ruined your opinion of Canadians, as you spoke very highly of us.
We enjoyed conversing with you and would love to keep in touch. Hopefully in the future we WILL have some solid gigs and assuming your still interested, we would love for you to come... free of charge.
Once again, we appreciate your kind words, killer accent and dreamy smile.
xo-Sparkle Motion
PS If you ever touch down in Canada, specifically Toronto, you have our info, and we would be more then happy to put you up and show you around.
Toronto Pub Crawl... on us.
Yesterday, while taking a stroll around the Colleseum, we were approached by two young men recruiting hot young thangs for a Roma Pub Crawl. Names need not be named... but these two individuals were not exactly gentlemen, nor were they sober, in any way shape or form. We did our best to keep our composure, but we ended up declining the pub crawl informing these boys that we had a gig tonight at an irish pub, just up the bend, called Finnagins. Pretty sure they did not really believe the whole thing, but no harm no foul right? mmmmm... right. untilll...
About twenty minutes afterwards, we were strolling back through the Colleseum and yet another young man approached us. This one seemed to be more on his game, but we were weary of his intentions. As he pulled out a flyer for the Pub crawl we simultaneously informed him about our 'gig' that evening at Finnagins. One thing led to another, and this lovely young Kiwi took a general interest in our band. He asked for directions and seemed genuine when he said he would like to attend.
We were somewhat cornered. Originally thinking that this young man might be like his peers, we had openly bent the truth just a tad to avoid further harrassement. We did not have a gig that evening, and upon walking away from said Kiwi we actually felt pretty awful.
We appreciate the interest he showed in our Folk Rock Duo. As a New Zealander, he was familiar with our main influence, Flight of the Conchords, and we give him some solid snaps for that alone.
This particular blog is not so much an update, as it is an apology.
We'd like to take this time to say we are sorry to Sam.
Sorry for lying, sorry for judging you based on your not so suave co-workers, and sorry for giving you vague directions to a non-exsistant Gig. That was way offside.
Please forgive the Motion, and we hope that we have not ruined your opinion of Canadians, as you spoke very highly of us.
We enjoyed conversing with you and would love to keep in touch. Hopefully in the future we WILL have some solid gigs and assuming your still interested, we would love for you to come... free of charge.
Once again, we appreciate your kind words, killer accent and dreamy smile.
xo-Sparkle Motion
PS If you ever touch down in Canada, specifically Toronto, you have our info, and we would be more then happy to put you up and show you around.
Toronto Pub Crawl... on us.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Creo Que Estamos Perdidos!
!HOLA!Whoever said that Canucks party hard ... was wrong.
We're pretty sure that Barcies take the throne in that department. Upon learning that the average club opens at 2am and closes at 7am we quickly dismissed all hopes of fitting in. Now, we know what you're thinking "When in Rome, Sparkle Motion .... ", but FYI we are not in Rome and we will retire to our sleeping bags at a reasonable hour. We have a reputation to upkeep. We strive to stay upbeat, hilarious and refreshed, so once 3am rolls around if our heads aren't upon our travel pillows our performances are rarely on par. The life of a touring folk rock duo is not all glitter and gold.
Booming nightlife aside, Barcelona has much to offer in the daylight hours, excluding of course from 4pm - 6pm, at which point all streets clear, shops close and the town is quite for a daily siesta. Enjoyable and necessary, especially for us party-goers. And by "us" we mean "others". Receiving an adequate amount of shut eye the night previous, Sparkle Motion took advantage of this free time to streak through the city, leaving a trail of sparkles and an echo of laughter.
On the beach you'll find a variety of services at your disposal. Along with the pickpockets, you'll have Mass-A-Gee therapy €5, Coca-Cola, ice cold Sangria and licensed tattoo artists - only 3 minutes. If you care to get your bronze on using one of the seemingly available lounge chairs be weary of the shirtless man resembling Might Joe Young roaming the beach. He owns those chairs, speaks no english and will pull the lounger from beneath you're tanning body, lest you pay the hefty €5 charge. We graciously opted for the sand and put our ten euro to better use. Street performers lace Las Ramblas, the main strip in Barcelona and we had big plans to fund their many talents. Though, we soon realized they had none and instead invested whole heartedly in our new fad diet. Gelato: morning, noon, and night.
On our second day in Barcelona a team of Canadian Groupies showed up at our hostel, screaming our names and throwing pebbles at our window. So rarely do would we entertain their naive fantasies of hanging with the band but this particular bunch had something to offer. They had followed us from Toronto, through France to Barcelona, outfited in our signature red bandanas, just hoping to briefly praise our talent and beauty. With hesitation we joined them for a Tapas dinner and soon realized that their sarcasm and wit was akin to our own. Over the next two days a strong band-to-fan bond formed as we shared many jokes and scoops of gelato. We owe all our fond memories of Barcelona to our six new friends: Sammy, Sasha, Fahad, Brock, Hani and Julian. A reunion is in order upon our return to Toronto, where we will discuss your standing as our numero uno fans.
JUST remember that THE TIP is included in the fun (wink wink).
Quisiera un laxante ligero rapido, por favour,
xo - Sea con Quinn
Sunday, June 1, 2008
O.S.P.- Operation Soap Paris
On Friday, May 30th, 2008 at 11:46pm we were washing dish soap out of our ass cracks.
Now let us tell you why.
One day prior we had taken part is a free tour of gay Paree. Highlights included the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, self-castrating Saints and various fountains of the city. Now if self-castration is not your thing, maybe you like victimless crimes.
During the tour de France we were most taken with the spectacular display of water features around the city. Not only did they vary in size and location, but also in ability to create impressive current. The movement of the water sparked a similar movement of thought in out brains. We gazed at the fountains asking the question, "How could we exploit this local landmark for the benefit of the tour?" We found ourselves pondering, "What goes well with H20?"
"Naked Women?"
"Juice Crystals?"
"Dish Soap?"
"...Dish Soap."
It was no longer the question. It was the answer.
After locating the perfect fountain in the Place de Colette we spent the following day orchestrating a flawless plan of action.
We were sure of two things;
1. The louvre (located only steps away from said fountain) was free on friday nights
and 2. We would have to go in prepared. This meant
-black attire (head to toe)
-mapped out escape route
-running shoes
-copious amounts of dish soap
Friday evening rolled around and we departed from our Hostel at 19:00 hours. We took the metro to the Place de Colette to scope the scene. The square was a buzz with friday night party goers but we were not phased. After taking some preliminary photos to study, we breezed through the Louvre... our minds busy with the coming events of the night.
Following our uneventful, and frankly, quite distracted tour of the Louvre we approached the square from the North-West and decided the time was now. It was 23:00 hours and the area had calmed. But for how long?
We used a quiet corner near the fountain to load up. The technique we had planned was quite simple in theory. We would each place 1 bottle of Paris´finest yellow dish soap under our sweaters on our backs, tucking the nozzle into our pantaloons. We would then approach the fountain in a non-shalant manner and take a seat on the edge. From there it would be all down hill. We would life the nozzle out of our pants, open the bottle, and allow the coapy goodness to flow freely into the water. Afterwards we would ditch the bottles, and walk away slowly, progressing into a light jog.
Little did we know, things would go terribly ary.
Well, the plan went swimmingly up until the point where we sat down on the fountain edge. Perhaps our first mistake was putting the nozzle directly into our pants pointing south. We´re not sure, nor do we care to place blame. All we know is when we sat down the bottle promptly opened and gravity took over, sending the dish soap streaming down the cracks of our asses.
We´re not sure what you guys are into, or if you´ve ever experienced dishsoap being squirted down your ass, but one thing we do know is that it is not pleasant... at least not when you aren´t prepared.
Your first instinct would be to promptly remove the dishsoap from your pants, but instead we sat there, wide-eyed contemplating our options. As the liquid slowley moved in and around our bum areas we made the split decision to ditch the entire bottles into the fountain.
We were paralyzed for what seemed like awhile, wondering if this slight variation of our original plan would render similar results, until we saw the suds begin to form in the water.
At this point we darted. Leaving soapy like ass-prints on the fountain ledge.
As we sprinted though the side streets of Paris, our minds racing, we started to feel a chemical reaction occuring, dans le pants. The friction between our bum cheeks created sweat which then mixed with the soap to form a sudsy residue, visible on the outside of our tight black pants. we ducked into an empty doorway to rethink our plan and tie sweaters around our waists. The soapy pants issue now tied us to the scene of the crime.
After collecting our thoughts we ventured back to the Place de Colette.
Adrenaline pumping, we entered the square, this time from the North-East. As we peered around the corner we saw the most marvellous sight. It was at that moment that we realized this was quiet possibly the reason we had come to Paris. Soapy bubbles overflowed from the top teir of the fountain. Suds poured onto the surrounding sidewalk. People walking down the street stopped and stared. They took pictures, they gazed in glory, wondering why they had not thought of this themselves. They were overcome with the beauty and bewildered by the result of such a simple concept.
We took some quick photos before fleeing the scene to wash ourselves of our sins and suds.
Which brings us up to 11:46. 3 Ducks Hostel. Showerstalls on the second floor. There was no need to bring the soap. We had everything we needed.
Later that night we returned to the fountain dressed in different outfits, sans soap. The water had been shut off, but the memory and the suds still remained.
We left a card.
"Au Revoir xo-Sparkle Motion"
Goodbye Paris.
"Suivre le Rire"
Now let us tell you why.
One day prior we had taken part is a free tour of gay Paree. Highlights included the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, self-castrating Saints and various fountains of the city. Now if self-castration is not your thing, maybe you like victimless crimes.
During the tour de France we were most taken with the spectacular display of water features around the city. Not only did they vary in size and location, but also in ability to create impressive current. The movement of the water sparked a similar movement of thought in out brains. We gazed at the fountains asking the question, "How could we exploit this local landmark for the benefit of the tour?" We found ourselves pondering, "What goes well with H20?"
"Naked Women?"
"Juice Crystals?"
"Dish Soap?"
"...Dish Soap."
It was no longer the question. It was the answer.
After locating the perfect fountain in the Place de Colette we spent the following day orchestrating a flawless plan of action.
We were sure of two things;
1. The louvre (located only steps away from said fountain) was free on friday nights
and 2. We would have to go in prepared. This meant
-black attire (head to toe)
-mapped out escape route
-running shoes
-copious amounts of dish soap
Friday evening rolled around and we departed from our Hostel at 19:00 hours. We took the metro to the Place de Colette to scope the scene. The square was a buzz with friday night party goers but we were not phased. After taking some preliminary photos to study, we breezed through the Louvre... our minds busy with the coming events of the night.
Following our uneventful, and frankly, quite distracted tour of the Louvre we approached the square from the North-West and decided the time was now. It was 23:00 hours and the area had calmed. But for how long?
We used a quiet corner near the fountain to load up. The technique we had planned was quite simple in theory. We would each place 1 bottle of Paris´finest yellow dish soap under our sweaters on our backs, tucking the nozzle into our pantaloons. We would then approach the fountain in a non-shalant manner and take a seat on the edge. From there it would be all down hill. We would life the nozzle out of our pants, open the bottle, and allow the coapy goodness to flow freely into the water. Afterwards we would ditch the bottles, and walk away slowly, progressing into a light jog.
Little did we know, things would go terribly ary.
Well, the plan went swimmingly up until the point where we sat down on the fountain edge. Perhaps our first mistake was putting the nozzle directly into our pants pointing south. We´re not sure, nor do we care to place blame. All we know is when we sat down the bottle promptly opened and gravity took over, sending the dish soap streaming down the cracks of our asses.
We´re not sure what you guys are into, or if you´ve ever experienced dishsoap being squirted down your ass, but one thing we do know is that it is not pleasant... at least not when you aren´t prepared.
Your first instinct would be to promptly remove the dishsoap from your pants, but instead we sat there, wide-eyed contemplating our options. As the liquid slowley moved in and around our bum areas we made the split decision to ditch the entire bottles into the fountain.
We were paralyzed for what seemed like awhile, wondering if this slight variation of our original plan would render similar results, until we saw the suds begin to form in the water.
At this point we darted. Leaving soapy like ass-prints on the fountain ledge.
As we sprinted though the side streets of Paris, our minds racing, we started to feel a chemical reaction occuring, dans le pants. The friction between our bum cheeks created sweat which then mixed with the soap to form a sudsy residue, visible on the outside of our tight black pants. we ducked into an empty doorway to rethink our plan and tie sweaters around our waists. The soapy pants issue now tied us to the scene of the crime.
After collecting our thoughts we ventured back to the Place de Colette.
Adrenaline pumping, we entered the square, this time from the North-East. As we peered around the corner we saw the most marvellous sight. It was at that moment that we realized this was quiet possibly the reason we had come to Paris. Soapy bubbles overflowed from the top teir of the fountain. Suds poured onto the surrounding sidewalk. People walking down the street stopped and stared. They took pictures, they gazed in glory, wondering why they had not thought of this themselves. They were overcome with the beauty and bewildered by the result of such a simple concept.
We took some quick photos before fleeing the scene to wash ourselves of our sins and suds.
Which brings us up to 11:46. 3 Ducks Hostel. Showerstalls on the second floor. There was no need to bring the soap. We had everything we needed.
Later that night we returned to the fountain dressed in different outfits, sans soap. The water had been shut off, but the memory and the suds still remained.
We left a card.
"Au Revoir xo-Sparkle Motion"
Goodbye Paris.
"Suivre le Rire"
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