Last night I had the chance to attend the swanky Canadian New Media Awards through work. I wasn’t as interested in seeing the awards (which were nice, although somewhat Juno-inspired, right down to the CBC host, a comedian who had appeared on The Royal Canadian Air Farce) as I was in seeing the inside of the Carlu, which has been newly renovated over the past few years.
As I missed last weekend’s Doors Open (one of my favourite things to do in the city) because we were bashing done doors of our own, I went to take a look at the renovated “Art Moderne” splendor. And it’s true, it’s a lovely venue, it’s all golden and shiny, and has a great auditorium. The award ceremony was blissfully short and it’s nice to celebrate the industry even if it’s a bit self-congratulatory (sponsors being nominated and then winning awards, but hey! who cares, it’s all in the name of ‘the work,’ right?).
All in all I had a good time, which is funny because I hate, hate, hate formal-type events where I stand there awkwardly not really saying anything except to the people I already know feeling strange about being chubby and slightly puffy making a pathetic attempt at small talk wondering if everyone else feels as geeky as I do and not knowing if I should talk about movies and books and television and all the other things I’d normally chat about to my real friends but instead being polite and nodding a lot and thinking about how I’d rather be at home eating rice chips and watching Munich because it’s already going to be late until I’ve had a glass and a half of contraband wine and I’m feeling a bit better so let’s dance and keep on going until it’s 3 AM and there’s nothing left to do except drink up the last of your pint and swear that you’ll never do it again tomorrow.
Sigh, if it only happened that way.