Happy New Year from the Schmidt Kids

Watch the magic as I, once again, trick my sister into thinking we're taking a photo - in video mode. I've watched it almost 100 times I think.
May the new year bring happiness and success to you all.
Cheers!

"commanding presence"

This post concerns itself with one building: the Aura Condominium currently being built in College Park, downtown Toronto. This building boasts itself for being the largest residential condominium in the country. Seeing as I lived in that neighborhood for three consecutive years, with some affection I might add, I feel somewhat responsible for voicing some concerns about this massive undertaking.

First, I will list my credentials. I lived in The Liberties, Tower III for three years. I know every inside and out to that neighborhood; from the secret passages underneath the Delta Chelsea, to the rooftop access to the LuCliffe building, many of the local business owners and government workers by name, the wind speeds of Bay street, the angle the sun passes during the winter months, the ridiculous service charge at the ATM machine in the convenience store, the timing of the advanced green lights on Gerard street, and that weird little shack covered in pigeon shit that houses a zamboni. I know it all. I have an affinity for College Park in general, and although the two parking lots that once occupied the corner of Yonge and Gerard may not have been the best use of space, building a 75 storey tower certainly isn't any better.

When discussing the problems with the Aura tower, it is important to mention where and what surrounds the building.

Yonge Street, located just immediately East of the building is notorious, among many things, for being the longest street in the world. Littered along this street in this neighbouhood is a surplus of adult movie stores, chinese restaurants, low-end retail outfits and strip clubs for several blocks until you hit the tourist-eyesore that is Dundas Square. At the corner of Gerard, Yonge is four lanes wide, consistently halved by turning cars in either lane and congested by massive amounts of commuters and tourists.

Gerard Street, located just South, is the site of the main entrance/exit to the Aura tower. Conversely to Yonge, Gerard is only two lanes wide with sidewalks on either side (one belonging mainly to the Delta Chelsea's main street entrance, which also includes an airport shuttle that arrives every 30 minutes). Aside from condominiums, Gerard is currently occupied by cabs, drivers frustrated with one-way streets, and emergency vehicles.


My main concern is the utter congestion of College Park. The building is barely completed and the majority of the 75-story tower has been sold (which is standard for building practices). If you consider that the building will be almost completely filled by the time of completion, we're looking at at least two thousand people, if not more, additional occupants to the area. Although the building praises itself for being connected to the PATH system (you still have to take a $3 subway one stop to get there), it is only presumable that at least half of the towers occupants will have vehicles.
After seeing the day-to-day construction of Aura's parking facilities, which can be seen here, it is obvious that the parking accommodations are completely massive, appearing to exceed 7 storey's below ground.

Remember when I mention the two lane's of Gerard street? Now throw the extra cars into the equation.

Today, turning on to Gerard is an annoyance in itself. Confused travellers heading into the Delta are slow, cabs consistently pull over sporatically, people J-walk, and there are emergency vehicles constantly (Toronto General's ER is one block away). Did I forget to mention there are also two bike lanes? The utter mess that I can only forsee will be chatostrophic. The morning and evening rushes will be straight hell and will only create more problems for the emergency vehicles. The corner of Yonge and Gerard will be permanently jammed from all the "don't-give-a-shit-I'm-walking-here" locals. Bay street will be one permanent horn sound, and University will no doubt be congested by the turning South cars heading towards the QEW.

That's just cars.

Bringing those thousands of people back into the equation, let's talk about College Park the building. For those of us who've experienced the 180,000 square foot shopping centre more than once, it's easy to classify the centre as feverish. Seeing as the building houses a 24-hour Metro grocery store, as well as College subway station, the foot traffic alone is enough to peeve any pedestrian. Adding thousands to that equation brings Advil commercials to mind. For starters, the Metro is already insane. I honestly believe that not only will the store itself not be able to contain the demand of the customers, but will not be able to supply the amount of produce needed to feed that many urbanites. Shit, they already run out of red peppers as it is. The only real times to get any quality, uninterrupted shopping done is between the hours of 12a.m.-5a.m., and even then the place is not empty.
Upstairs, the Winners will flood and the Tim Hortons line will extend only further out the door, at all hours of the day. The College subway station will bottleneck, as it is one of the smallest stations situated in the downtown core, and one of the most utilized.

Although the building, once completed, will be an urban architectural marvel, I believe the ripple effect it will have on that neighborhood will be more detrimental than the planners originally foresaw in terms of transportation, supply and demand, and functionality. I didn't need to write this article, because the fact of the matter is I'll probably never live in that area again. But given my realtionship with the neighborhoud, as well as my close friends that still live and work there that will have their lifestyles ultimately altered (as well as their view), I felt it necessary to voice my detest for the entire project, which I have from day one.

For more information, you can visit the Aura website.

PORTPHOTIO pt. 1

As with any of my creative endeavors, I feel the need to further explain myself.
Recently I posted PORTPHOTIO; an online video rendition of my film-based photography portfolio. There are a few things I should mention before/after you watch this video.

For starters, there are two different photo projects within the video: "Mind Spaces" (0:25-1:45), "If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is" (2:30-3:10), and "I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here" (3:40-4:20), which only contains half of the finished series due to time restrictions.

The Mind Spaces series, which I have written about before on this site, illustrates how the basis of our knowledge can be defined by simple four-walled rooms, whether through means of education or life experience. If The Ladies Ain't Happy, Nobody Is is a series of cyanotypes that depicts a 5-minute incident that took place between a group of boys and a single girl in Positano, Italy. I Could Have Sworn They Were Just Here is a creative documentary project based off the idea of abandonment and traces of human presence.

Within the video there is also a large amount of travel photography. Seeing as I always bring film cameras with me when I travel (something I do to large scale at least once a year) it is only fitting that I incorporate that work into my portfolio. Within, countries such as Canada, the U.S., Cuba, Australia, Italy, Fiji, New Zealand, can be seen, whether through landscape or portraiture. This is by no means my entire travel catalog. In fact, I have another 15 rolls of used film sitting in my freezer awaiting processing - another reason why I included "pt. 1" in the films title - indicating that this will most likely be an ongoing process.

Thirdly, I should touch on the digital aspect of this project. Aside from a few select photo's that were printed either chromogenically or inkjet (which I can clarify if anyone was really curious), the bulk of the work was shot on film and printed within a darkroom. Considering that I have an equal (if not more) amount of digital photography, I deemed it necessary to leave that work aside for another video project, which could easily occupy a similar amount of time. Separating these two was critical in my mind.

The video format idea was simply an accessibility idea. Seeing as my artistic website is not complete, I felt a different means of showcasing the work was needed. Considering that we live in a media-friendly age, I thought it best that the viewer relax and enjoy having myself flip through the images for them. Oh, YouTube didn't pick up on it, but the song playing is Sentimental X's - Broken Social Scene. It was the least annoying and most time appropriate song on my computer.

Lastly, how has the pun "portphotio" not been used yet? Sure, if you look it up on Google you will see a slew of sites, but most of them direct you to unknown domains and leave you stranded on foreign territory. If you type in "portphotio" on YouTube, it's the only video by that name. To me, being the YouTube junky that I am, that is some sort of milestone. After searching just now, "Paintfolio" doesn't exist either. If anyone reading this steals this idea, you better lawyer up asshole, because I thought of both.

On a lighter note, I really hope you enjoy the film, because it was intended for you all to see. Keep in mind that this is by no means a completed project, but rather an ongoing one.

Andy Schmidt 2010.

ps. If the video does not fit due to its widescreen aspect ratio, view it here.

the night is young, and so are we

This is a story about two boys in the woods at night.

Recently, while visiting back home, myself and a great group of friends attended a housewarming party in the Pond Mills area of London. After several hours of good times and a multitude of alcoholic beverages, it was time to make the trek home. Seeing as Pond Mills is an area that I would almost qualify as desolate (in terms of London's outline), we decided against taking a cab until we'd arrived at a major road on foot. I had a pretty good idea where we were about 20 minutes into the journey, and I knew that we were nowhere near cab territory. I'm talkin' country-road-no-streetlights-in-sight kind of nowhere. Two friends decided they would call a cab and wait. I had other plans.

I convinced my friend Bryan that we were going to make a fucking pilgrimage, like men, like our grandfathers fathers would. There we were, two boys, walking through the woods, approaching the morning light. I had convinced Bryan to make this journey based on the fact that it would be a funny memory and that it's what two Canadian guys should be doing in winter.

This is something I do on a very regular basis. You see, my theory is twofold.
1. There is absolutely no reason not to make memories, or at least attempt to. I would say more that 50 per cent of any of my actions provides me with some satisfaction, whether it's crossing the street on a diagonal or taking the longest way home. Adventure drives me, as does the quest to make a good story. The need to be entertained, or entertain, is at the core of any of my actions and decisions.
2. If you're going to get shit-faced you might as well use it to your advantage. I can't tell you how many friends I've used this line on, only because it makes absolute sense to me. What's the point? Getting drunk is not very easy to do. Yet once you finally achieve inebriation, you just throw that money away (in a sense) by hitting the sheets? (unless you're about to have sex, which is totally different). All of my closest friends have experienced this with me in one way or another. Three that come to mind are scaling buildings (do it safely please), swindling hospital security guards into allowing us to use a shortcut through the lobby, and hijacking a boat in Toronto harbor in order to use the bathroom. Those last two happened on the same night by the way. I could literally write a memoir on every intoxicated (mis)adventure I've had over the years. Call that what you want, but remember I'm the one with the tales.

So back to the woods.
I cannot put into words the feelings I get when on Canadian safari. During this night, we jumped creeks, hopped rusty fences, battled chest-high grasses, evaded headlights, and ascended underpasses - all in an effort just to get home. We laughed, struggled, and helped one another make the journey home, which was a staggering 7 kilometers. In fact, the photo seen at the top of the page behind the header is one of the fields we crossed.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is often too easy. It's easy to hop in a cab and be escorted home, and I'm not saying I don't take advantage of that sometimes. I suppose what I'm getting at is that sometimes you have to sacrifice your own personal comforts in an attempt to have some fun and make memories for yourself. It's also to important to remind ourselves that not only is life easy, it's fucking short. The night is young, and so are we. Let's hop some fences already.

*top photo. Bryan and I, Vancouver, 2007

King Shit

For a while now I've been tampering with the idea of scoring. Not scoring chicks. Scoring films. I'll blame it on the combination of my most recent university elective "Music and Film", as well as the Pianomation project. The course has given me a lot of insight as to the purpose of music in films, as well as the multitude of ways and styles the music can affect the viewer.
Its actually come to the point where I might begin to offer my services to film students seeking unique original scores.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music. I've had no formal training on any of the instruments I know how to play (except the Chinese dizi flute, which I can actually read music for as well). My familiarity with drums, bass, guitars, piano, percussion etc. are all bi-products of years tinkering (I'll call it tinkering for the sake of not saying "rigorous practice"). I will most often pick up an instrument and play until I'm satisfied with something I've done. Does this lack of training hinder me from my ambitions? No. Does the fact that I will probably never willingly seek lessons make me lose sleep? Not at all. You would be interested to hear how many of your beloved musicians have no idea how to read music, such as Billy Joel, Phil Collins and famed composer Danny Elfman. None of them have a clue, and that's fine by them.

Now, I'm not saying I'm King Shit when it comes to making music, but by fuck do I love making it. I'm going to risk sounding like an idiot when I say making music is one incredible experience. Seeing as the options are limitless, it's just you versus your instruments. The number of possibilities for harmonies, arrangements, instrumentations, timbres, placement, rhythm, etc. are sitting there waiting for you. It's seriously amusing, and I wish for you all to experience it one day.
I remember my first experience scoring a film. A friend made a silent spaghetti western in his apartment and asked me to provide an impromptu soundtrack. Using a dictaphone, an acoustic guitar, and a jar full of peppercorns, we crafted a soundtrack in about an hours time. The finished product was as satisfying to me as pulling a perfectly exposed print from a developer tray. There's something about seeing a completed piece that just gives you the willies.
I'm fairly new to this idea, and I'm sure my first few attempts would be the audible depiction of a child's first steps, but it scratches me where I itch.
Who knows for sure though. Like I've said before: I could probably compile a list of more than 30 artistic endeavors that have never transpired due to time and money.

Mirrors Please

I need a hand.

Well, I actually need some mirrors.

As seen in the rough digital sketch above, I've been toying with the idea of photographing landscapes with large mirrors reflecting the image into several parts of the landscape (the semi-transparent represent the mirrors). However, I don't have many mirrors this size.
If any of you know where I could find some, somebody who has some to spare, or any other information I'd love to hear it. In honesty, the larger the better. If at all possible, some sort of stand as well that it can lean on. Otherwise, I may have to write a blog post directed towards my welder friends. Mirrors without borders are most preferred.
I'm writing this here because I know so many of you are great seekers, foragers, collectors, hustlers, pack rats and researchers.
I'm not asking that you break your day over this, but to just keep your eyes open. Chances are usually good that you'll find one on the sidewalk somewhere. If you snag any leads, let me know through email (andrew.allan.schmidt@gmail.com) asap and I'll reward you with a hug and some beers. You guys are the best. Thanks for looking.

Andy.

the machinists

Yeah it's been a while. For some reason I'll leave the house in the morning wanting to write something, then lose interest over the course of the day, for whatever reason. I could however, spout off on a certain diet that I've been on as of late.

My friend Aaron and I decided to depart on one of the more radical diets known within Hollywood (for film buff's, Christian Bale used this method to lose something like 60 pounds for his role in The Machinist). As I'm sure Aaron looked into the mirror with the same sort of discontent for his body as I did, we decided to hold hands and take the plunge together. That was eight days ago.

The diet consists of mainly apples (of any variety) and canned tuna, with a few personal exceptions (he eats carrots, I eat leafy greens), you know, just to spice things up. This diet/cleanse/whatever I assure you, is not as healthy as it sounds. Even with a daily dose of multivitamins, your body still requires much more than acidic fruit and fish. I realized this days into it. We loosely set personal goals for ourselves. Mine was to either last until this upcoming Friday (rounding off at about 12 days), or to lose ten pounds. I weighed myself on a friends scale across town on the first day, weighing in at 194. I haven't been back since, but I'll ball-park that I've lost about 8. I can see my ribs when I suck in for fuck sake's.

I was attracted to this diet for two main reasons. One, two lose a fare bit of weight. It's not that I'm wildly overweight, but I've just become pretty lacklusted about the way I see myself over the past few months. Not like "eating disorder" bummed, but I'm sure you know what I mean. The second was just the pure personal will to do it, as well as the deprivation of what I hold so dear: food.
I can make almost anything in my kitchen or yours. I love to cook, and I do it everyday. Yet this apple/tuna has got me really bummed because I can't even combine the two into something edible. Sure I can bake apples, but the taste remains.
One of the more challenging aspects of this hunger is just living where I do, and being surrounded by unbelievable cuisine. Little Italy, Little Portugal, Chinatown and everything ethnic in between. Although not so terrible now, the cravings were almost unbearable at times. I actually saw spit shoot out of my mouth once on the street, I kid you not. So in this respect, it is not the process of being hungry, but the reward that will come once it is all over - whenever that may be.

There have been some tough times I'll admit. I actually almost fainted in the computer lab at school last weekend before clinging to a vending machine with my head between my legs, punching in #143 to get some Crispers. All Dressed, of course. At that point, I knew these days were coming to an end. I can't say I was surprised though: apples aren't much aside from water, and tuna, by now, I've cut out of my diet completely and either eat salmon or cous cous. It's safe to say I ruined tuna for myself for a while, which sucks because I cringe at Gold Seal's promotional tuna posters spattered around the streets of Toronto.

I'll post a final weight loss figure on this site once I stop for good.

Oh and a big plus is that you get drunker WAY faster.

me and pretty

Almost 2 years ago, I briefly met a gentleman named Bernard Purdie. He was playing a show with Cut Chemist here in Toronto. I shook his hand. To most that doesn't mean much, yet what many don't know, is that "Pretty" Purdie is the most recorded drummer of all time. I really don't need to sit here and list his credentials, because if you have the time you should do that yourself. The list is staggering (he's recorded on over 4,000 albums).

I came across this video earlier today and it simply reminded me of "the passion" (direct Lizard King quote). It reminded me that it's not the task to learn or love something; it's the love. As I sat and watched Purdie simply tap the drum skins, I remember that this is what passion looks like. A love for doing what you do. It's that kind of passion that makes me believe in everything I love doing. I believe true passion is not giving a shit about the outcome, but more just looking at your objective and jumping into bed with it, with only time on your side.

Go have fun doing what you love everyone, and maybe watch a little "Pretty" while you're at it.

have a nice fucking day!

I have no idea what provoked these. I think it's because every time I see the image directly above, I utter the words "have a nice fucking day!", because it just screams energy, even though it's insanely grotesque haha. Come to think of it, most of them are pretty fucking ugly. Enjoy, and use them in any way you'd like. You can't say quality blogging is dead.

drifters

I firmly believe that an artists value should not only be validated through the content of their work, but also the incessant need to create it in the first place.

The only condition in which I'd actually look myself in the mirror and call myself an "artist" (a debate that has been touched upon many times on this site) is that I just want to lay all my ideas down somewhere I can see them. I don't really give a shit if anyone ever sees them; I just need to know I made them. In fact, 90% of all the work I've ever made sits in the dark. However, I experience solace knowing that it even transpired.

It shocks me to hear that some of my closest friends, who's works of art I once loved in the past, have nearly completely abandoned their love for creating more work and/or have barely made any since our last encounter. I don't understand how a once burning passion to created images was simply done and done-with after a certain point in their lives. Isn't it something that should just burn like an ember inside of you?

Personally, I know that once I have an idea in my head, it's go time. I smirk to myself, write or type it in detail (because one time I was drunk and wrote "family security" on a piece of paper and had no idea what the fuck I was getting at the next day), and then sleep on it. That entire night, I'll lay in bed with the sensation that I'd just won the lottery and didn't want to tell anyone. I then damn-near run to my studio within days to get things moving on a canvas. Nothing can get in the way of this kind of speed, because usually I know exactly what the finished pieces are going to look like, almost how a chef can taste the food before it's been prepared.

So for me to hear that ones inspiration to create is all but lost, it confuses me more than anything. I was going to say it saddens and upsets me, but a lack of motivation and drive are not character traits I hold very high. If you want to make it, make it. If not, just keep drifting.

twitted

got myself a Twitter account.

come join me at www.twitter.com/andicles

Blair Whatmore would be glad to hear that nickname still lives.

happy trails.

i sweat

I'm all done my drum recordings.

Am I pleased with the parts? For now, yes.

Am I happy it's over? Fuck no.

We stretched the recording session over two days at the Ontario Institute of Audio Recording Technologies. Since we recorded two songs with some young blood there over a year ago, we were pretty familiar with the studio space. This time around we recorded in a separate room from the control center, which was nice for me because I didn't feel as if I was under a microscope the entire time from everyone watching. Just me and the Lodge.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to explain a few things seen in the second recording diary.



The "acoustic demo's" seen being recorded at the very beginning of the video are strictly for my benefit and will never make the actual recording. They are just for me to play along with and are recorded to a metronome.

I brought six shirts this time mostly for jokes, and for the fact that it's hotter than hell in that room and I play with a little bit of impact to say the least. And I sweat. When I'm drumming, oh boy do I sweat.

What get's me most is when people come up to me after shows, hug me or touch my back, and become disgusted by the amount of sweat on me. What, are you fucking surprised? What do you think would happen to you after an hour of using every extremity to it's peak stamina? Do you think you'd break a sweat after pounding the shit out of something while sitting under KFC heat lamps, on stage, in a 20-plus degree club? You're damn right you would. So please, try not to be surprised when you come in for a hug and I warn you that your clothes may not come out the same once the embrace is over. Because drumming is a sweaty procedure. Trust me.

I should say something about Birdman.
Birdman can simply be described as a "road game" or something to be played amongst close friends. You know that childhood game where you'd make a ring with your fingers and if the person looked into it you get to punch them? It's a more instense version of that.
Basically, if you make eye-contact with someone who's giving you the Birdman face, you have to lay flat on your back - no matter where you are. On the road, in your kitchen, in a restaurant, at the mall: it's all fair game. Meme, BK and I are all really good and crafty at it. It just takes some creativity and a sense of humor and you're off. I think it's hilarious, because it's like the feeling a black person gets when slamming down a Domino, except anyone can play.

The 3 broken sticks? I can't explain that either, because I've been breaking sticks like crazy lately. Even at our cottage show in Kincardine I broke four during one set. Strange.

"2 really tired guys". They went out drinking the night before. Colin barfed under a table at Joe Kool's and I laughed really hard when I heard that. I sided on staying in for a nights sleep.

The fact that the 6 tracks that needed recording was done in 5 hours was a two-sided effort. On my behalf, I was very ready to record and even impressed myself at the speed in which the takes were completed, even though most of the songs were more difficult than the previous recording session. More importantly, our producer Mikey T and recording assistant Jeff worked with a notable expedience that did not go unnoticed. I can honestly say I was thoroughly impressed by their diligence and input they put forth. They met my every demand (such as cue's, playbacks, and coffee breaks) and were patient during equipment change-overs. If there were a manly way to send flowers, those boys would have gardens from me by now.

At the end, the "misunderstanding" was Mike coming in for a hug, which I assumed was a chest-bump. Needless to say, I chest-bumped him and we had a good laugh.

ps. the line from Mike at the end was a Care Bears reference. If that doesn't ring a bell, nothing will.

sit down, stand up

T-Mok and I are going vegetarian and sober this week. So far, so good.

I'm actually not finding the vegetarian part hard at all. There are so many bomb fruits and veg that, in consistency alone, stand proudly next to the finest meats. Assorted mushrooms, avocado, and tomatoes all contain umami which is a beautiful quality that gives certain vegetables and fruit their meaty, hearty taste. Cooking with any of these items is an easy way to sub' meat out of your diet - just learn how to cook with them.

The absence of beer has been the harder of the two.

I'm going to try to write this next part in a way that makes me seem as little like an alcoholic as possible.

I love beer. It's a wonderful thing. That's a point worth making.

Yet however nice it is, like anything, there are limits.
Most times over the summer alcohol is just straight up over-used. I was going to use the word "abused", but that sounds a bit overdone. Abuse usually involves binges beginning in the a.m.
But most of the time, amongst my circle of friends, boozing is just something to do on a nice sunny afternoon or to congratulate yourself on a hard work week over $10 pitchers.

Although fun, it has some restrictions.
I began drinking when I was 19, which is quite uncommon given that most people I've met used to hustle old men or their brothers for Max Ice outside of the LC when they were 13. The bottom line is that I've been drinking long enough to recognize a good time from a shit one. Fifty per cent of the time, it is an absolutely worthy effort to get drunk for i.e. birthdays, essay completion, fridays, exams, sporting events etc. The other fifty usually isn't, and it's something to recognize as one gets older. You can avoid certain outtings by simply dividing what you know of the setting, the day of the week, the occasion (or lack of one), what you're drinking and who's coming. Is getting drunk at that point a good idea? Not really.

I know I can't preach to people about the importance of drinking in moderation, because I am in fact one of the biggest drinkers (in frequency and volume) of beer that I know. But every man's got his limits, unless your an alcoholic of course, and that's a completely different story.

The difficult part that I mentioned earlier is strictly derrived from the pleasure that I get from hanging on a patio with my friends and some brews. So when I walked down Queen Street this afternoon, seeing patios like The Horseshoe Tavern, Black Bull, Smokeless Joe's, and The Rivoli completely packed made me sad I couldn't call my friends for a beer. Because it's not always about the drinking as much as it the aroused senses that come with it.

Either way, this no meat and no beer diet is being coupled with 300 sit-ups a day and nine glasses of water in an effort to cleanse myself for next weeks cottage fest in Sauble Beach, because lord knows there will be plenty of meat and beer up there.

cravings

Sometimes all I really feel like doing is watching Boyz in the Hood. I honestly get a craving to watch this once every two weeks, just below The Last Waltz and Citizen Kane.

I consider it a small masterpiece. A little slice of 90's Americana set in the South side of Los Angeles. Everyone's performances are unique and memorable, and there's just enough gritty storyline and character development that it keeps your eyes peeled to the screen from start to finish.

Additionally, it has easily the greatest movie dad in cinematic history. Furious Styles (played by Lawrence Fishburn), is a take-no-shit kind of dad that'll give you "rubbers", eat admiring neighbours' bbq'd ribs, fix your fade, and still pay the bills and love you by the end of the day. If I were up for adoption and Furious Styles walked into the room, I'd be like "Shit yeah, take me home daddyo". Even Rotten Tomatoes gave Furious the top honor in their Fathers Day Special called "Top 5 Movie Dads of All Time" click on it to watch.

Plus, everytime Ice Cube's character is on screen he has an Olde E in his hand (except for the flash back to when they were kids at the beginning). So gangster. In fact, I might host a forty party in my house in the future where we do nothing but drink OE and watch Boyz in Hood quietly and let Furious teach us about sex ed. Shit yeah.

i didn't think we had it in us

What started as an innocent trip to the grocery store turned into one of the most violent and radical days to hit my life thus far.

Clearly, I am talking about the recent G20 summit that hit Toronto this past weekend. To not write this on paper would be a devastation to myself. Tess and I were curious to investigate some of the protests we'd heard might be happening downtown Saturday afternoon, so we used our trip to Metro as added incentive to head towards Yonge Street.

After about 20 minutes of produce shopping, security came over the loud speaker to inform us that the building will be locked due to external security threats. I brushed this off as some power-tripping paranoid tactic used to keep everyone under lock and key from something that was hardly considered a threat. This was a very dangerous assumption. Everyone in Metro was asked to move to the back of the store, where we patiently waited in the seafood isle for nearly 30 minutes. Luckily, a man was there that had an iPhone that could stream CP24, which came in handy when discovering that the entire exterior of the building which we were in the basement of was smashed to shit.After waiting another long stint, we were released, and the shit had already hit the fan. I mean that somewhat literally, in the case of American Apparel.


The windows of over 40 established businesses had been destroyed on Yonge street alone. The Time Hortons and Starbucks at the corner of Yonge and College had taken the worst two beatings I'd seen. Car-sized holes had been smashed through the glass windows. Chairs were thrown amongst the street. Displays were carefully "rearranged". Businesses were looted. It was fucking chaos.

We walked everywhere. Once we made it to Bay St. and Adelaide we noticed a heard of people running down the narrow streets only to be followed by a battalion (how often do I get to use that word, really) of riot police and a vehicle that I can only artfully describe as a tank; a tank that stopped for no man or woman. Police created perimeters around the peaceful protests and refused advancements towards city hall, where Jazz Fest had been poorly scheduled (would you like broken glass and flames with your Oscar Peterson covers in the key of C#?).

Finally, we concluded our day with a little organized chaos, ending up in Queens Park. After sneaking our way around the hundreds of officers clad in riot gear and shields, we were on the front lines. For those of you who haven't witnessed any of the Queens Park events in the media, let me describe it as such.

1. People get mad. People start yelling.
2. Riot police in groups of 30 or more forcefully charge aforementioned People.
3. People run for their lives, scared shitless by large men with shields and bats.
4. People stop running. Start yelling again.
5. Riot police release additional riot tactics, including mounted officers, tear gas, paint balls, and rubber bullets. Police reestablish and expand riot line another 100 yards forward, moving North.
6. People run. Some get gassed, some get trampled, some get arrested and beaten.
7. Six guys yell "Pussies!!"

Hey! Who are those handsome dudes seen at 0:25 in that clip? No less than A-Laye and some shawty gettin his grocery list on. (Huge bigs to DP for finding this clip. A true internet G)

And this goes on for about 3 hours. I was one of the people. Thankfully, I was not one of the trampled or gassed, but the danger was very real. I can hopefully say I'll never experience something that forceful for the rest of my life, but I was there willingly, so I couldn't complain if I did.

To talk about the rest of the actions seen throughout Saturday and Sunday would be irrelevant, because you can't even take a shit in your own home without hearing about the ridiculous actions that took place during the Summit.

I must admit that the violence and irreverence that took place throughout the city was absolutely inexplicable and inexcusable. The members of the Black Bloc, as well as the other "anarchist" zeroes that decided to smash stores acted like a bunch of cowards that obviously weren't concerned with the changing of political policies or overthrowing of governments and corporations. They were there for the single purpose of smashing shit under the guise of civilians.



Let me tell you something. Broken glass does not change jack shit. You think a few broken windows are going to change anything? You can throw bricks all day and night and it won't change dick about these corporations you're inflicting violence upon. You think Bell is going to lose sleep over having to call a repair man in the morning to fix a fucking window?
This type of shit is completely amateur and speaks nothing of the words "revolution" or "overthrow". Even as I sit in my chair now, so angered that I can't even get my hands to move fast enough to type, these shitheads are back home getting their moms to wash their black ski masks, lighting a joint, and listening to Rage Against the Machine. You threw a chair. Whoopdy fucking woo.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for the majority of the peaceful protests that took place throughout the summit, but smashing up a few retail outlets simply makes no sense and will change nothing except the status of your boner.

i figure...

..if I'm paying for my hydro bills, which includes the power running to my refrigerator, I might as well just start freezing the clothes I don't wear very often, just to see what happens to them. Just trying to keep my gear nice and fresh. Yep, that's it....

I'm freezing my clothes.

show my some skin

As I made my way downtown this morning to pick up my developed negatives (something which is worth writing about in its own right), I could hear some pleasant ruckus heading south down Spadina Ave. at the corner of College St.

Not to my surprise, it was about 150 people all cycling, naked.

I've said it before, but I love this city. I have not once looked out onto the landscape and felt tiresome about living here. No matter how long I've lived here there's still mystery around every corner, in every neighborhood, within every bar. Just when you think you've come to grips with your area, a friend takes you down a back alley and it's a whole new ray of light. I'm not phased whatsoever by the fact that I have to live here for probably four more years.

As for todays marathon, that stuff happens all the time.

Here's a clip from a ride from the past.

Talkin' Schmidt - Travel Edition 3

Here's the topics while on safari:

-Prince of Hicktown aka Persian Sky

- The Truth Behind Bidet's

- Chinese Wanted Posters

- Lo-Fi Travel Photography

- Lazy Modern Technology

-HD-Film (dis)Advantages

-Letting Your Girlfriend Win

- Religious Awakenings/Superbowl Prayer

- Silk Spectre is an Ungrateful Bitch

- Male Bathroom Etiquette Pt. 1/2

- Freestyle Intermezzo

- Unnecessary Sneezing

kingston town

This goes out to my beautiful brothers and sisters under fire in Kingston, Jamaica.

bernini's "david" looks like me

Ahhhhh shit. There goes another one:

spreken ze talkin' schmidt

I know I didn't make any mention of it at all, but I'm off to Italy and Switzerland for 3 weeks.

Me and BK are currently sitting in Heathrow Airport in London waiting to make our connecting flight to Rome. Very exciting!

For those that remember from last summer, I'll be continuing my writing on my travel blog, Spreken Ze Talk. I sacrificed my film camera for my video camera this year, which should provide some memorable moments.

hue video diary one

due to the lack of posts, i'll justify myself by putting this video up

"i've had enough of you man, i'm 'bout to fuck up your plan"

Just when you thought everything was cool, Guru dies.

One of the best rap MC's of all time, and probably my absolute favorite, has passed away from a long time battle with cancer. His flow was so fuckin' cool and never needed to raise his voice above the smooth cadence heard in his delivery.

I used to skateboard in my garage to Gangstarr records for hours during my teenage years, with Above The Clouds usually playing on repeat on some of my very first burned cd's. So many memories attached to this group.

shawty

Since when does Usher need autotuning?

I thought that was mainly used for those who can't produce notes in key?

Let's stick to the classics, because I'm with Jay-Z on this autotuning.

1979 - 2010

I just had to briefly mention the seriously tragic passing of You Say Party! We Say Die! drummer Devon Clifford. He collapsed on stage while playing a show at the Rickshaw Theater in Vancouver this weekend, suffered a brain hemmorage, and passed away hours after at a local hospital.

For those of you who aren't familiar with their work, YSP!WSD! is an incredible dance band and Devon's work behind the kit was always delivered with such an unmatched precision. His style and flare has been an influence on my drumming ever since seeing them for the first time years ago. I've since seen them at least four times, and I am continually in awe at their quality of musicianship and growth attained from countless tours across this country and Euope. I highly recommend you give this band a listen someday. I can't imagine what that must have been like for a bandmate to die during a performance. My condolences are extended to them.

i'm on a boat

Why do I seriously look like everybody?

I see look-alikes all the time that I don't post but some are just too good to pass up. Like this one, from Pierre-Auguste Renoir's "Luncheon of the Boating Party". I passed it while studying tonight and noticed myself sitting the corner of the piece, with a Skid Row beater on no less!!

I gots to get me that hat for the summer.

flashes in a wood shop

As I'd hoped, the shoot went fantastically. Even better than I'd hoped.

I arrived to meet the new principle of Beal, Don Macphereson around 2:30 pm today. He was a really nice guy. Him and I chatted until Dave, the head janitor, arrived at the office. At this point, to my surprise, the two gave me a full-access Visitors Pass, as well as the janitors master key which opens every classroom in the school. This was seriously some sort of dream come true.
The shoot was very expedient, and although I would have loved to mull around my teenage classrooms longer, there was work to be done. Off to Mountsfield.

I knew there was no way I'd get the same treatment at Mountsfield. Oh, how wrong I was.

As I walked the halls to the tune of the intramural basketball game down the hall, I was approached by Linda Moffatt, the principle. She asked if I was Andrew Schmidt, to which I happily agreed (do I look like a photographer or something? maybe it was the gators I was wearing on my feet). Instead of lending me the keys, she gave me two personal janitors to escort me throughout the school, opening whichever classroom I wished whenever I needed it. What a trip.

Special thanks goes to principles Don MacPhereson, Linda Moffatt for their patience with me and for their work among their staff on my behalf. Additionally, custiodian staff members Dave, Bob, and Jenna that were so gracious in lending me their time and stories of their own.

Talking about what I saw once in the schools is worth 2,000 words in itself. I'll get to that some day.

ps. Do I look like a janitor in the above picture? That's my favorite photography shirt. Maybe it's because you can't see that it's tucked in. And shit, if being a janitor means having keys to every room in the house, it doesn't sound so bad after all.

dotting the h's, crossing the b's and a lot of purple and gold tape

I was very recently (the pic was taken in bed after the last phone call made, where I still remain) granted full access to both of my childhood schools.

For those of you who may have been following this progression, for my term final project I am ambitiously photographing every classroom I've ever had from kindergarten to university. I'll post my statement some day, but it really boils down to how the roots of our knowledge (socially and academically) can be quantified within the walls of our learning institutions.

ps I can recite that sentence in under two seconds, as I've been reciting it verbally and by email for weeks.

The idea wasn't the hard part of the project, nor will the actual photographing of the rooms themselves. It's the red tape. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming.

In the case of Mountsfield Public School ( my home from grades JK-8), the case is being taken all the way from the permission of the entire staff, to the Thames Valley District School Board. I had to write a detailed form of my intentions, justifying that no children or staff are to be involved. Additionally, they made me assure them that even small images of students that may be seen in the room must be taken down as well. Now that's some tape forya.

With Beal, the current principal I talked to was rather chipper with my idea and granted me full access to the entire school pretty much as soon as I voiced my idea. Aparently Beal has a slightly higher appreciation for conceptual art than the protection of it's students - which I'm all for. That's always been the case there. On top of that, I get to walk around with Mr. Haney, who was the head of the Art department even when I was there.

Principles are very funny to talk to. As usual, when I want something over the phone from somebody who doesn't know me from Sam Hell, I try to start the conversation off with a positive bang by putting an upper inflection on my "Hi! How are you today?" People are usually impressed by this, because most phone calls are bullshit anyway. Yet you see, with the case of principles, they pretty much answer to nobody. Remember when they'd walk into your classroom when you were a kid with those cool suits, 'staches, and fat guts (generalizing huge here)? They were like kings walking amongst ants, and you knew it too. So when a civilian number such as my own reaches their phone line, my greeting is shot down quite quickly with a "good", then deafening silence.

Try it sometime. Try to get something from an old principle and see how far you get before the ice melts to water. Since we both know you won't and have no reason to, you can probable imagine through my experience what it's like. Both shoots are slated for next Tuesday, then it's CARPal-tunnel-photoshopCS4-hands for 24 afterwards.

it continues....on and on...

I seriously can't kick this look-alike shit.

I was dancing at Sneaky Dee's a while back and this guy comes up to me, convinced that I'm Tony Hawk. He actually had to spin me around to make sure The Hawk wasn't actually dancing on stage. I had to convince him I wasn't the real deal. I wasn't The Hawk.



Secondly, Terri, as usual, whips up another crazy look-alike out of thin air. This time, it's some random jabroney boyfriend of Monica's seen in the first season of friends.



Keep 'em coming folks. Just keep 'em coming.

guero

Back in London, once again, for the weekend.

Came down pretty much to hang with family and get some work done for school, because lord knows I can't concentrate in my own home. The unfortunate thing is I forgot my video camera, which is too bad because we're both sitting on a mountain of mini and extended things worth mentioning (I have a lot of really short ones this time around).

Holler at me Londoners if you read this. I'll be around tonight.

rivoli

A lot of people don't know this about me, but in my spare time I like to wander around Toronto using Google Maps "Street View" option (if confused, try it out for yourself - it blew me away when I first used it). I don't really look for funny moments or people bailing on their bicycles. I just look for me.

Tonight I came pretty close to my goal. Even though the face is blurred out, there's a small chance that could actually be me. The only problem is I'm usually not walking that direction on Queen West, and the only white plastic bags I carry are from New Ho King, and that's always past 2 in the morning.

Who knows for sure though.

koodo

Photographer Tom Feidler once told me:

Don't let school get in the way of your education.

I think of that every time I step through the door.

EX_JEW_FOR_JESUS

I sent this email to my dear friend Tiffany tonight and thought I'd share.

----------------------------------------

Hey Tiffany,

I mentioned a movie called Religulous tonight and thought I might as well send you the link, seeing as I'm an atheist and am sure you might find a couple laughs in this movie. It's not too long, and Bill Maher is a funny enough man to watch 1:40 hours of.

A little known fact about me. I almost drowned to my death when I was 6. I was running around the pool at my childhood home with my brother and slipped into the deep end of our pool. Once I hit the bottom, all I could recall thinking about was this really amazing Ninja Turtles van my parents had bought for me earlier that week. It shot little pizzas. My mom grabbed me by the arm soon after and saved my life. I still remember that van, yet the pizzas remain buried within the furnace system of my early childhood home because they were really hard to find once you shot them at evil opponents.

Andy.

Religulous.

-----------------------------------------------

happy 200

200th Post. Something monumental I guess.

To celebrate, I'm throwing in some Three Stooges for good measure. I'm not sure what my hankering is all about to watch Three Stooges clips all night, but maybe it has something to do with the show Dan, Darcy and I played tonight here in Toronto.

Because clearly Dan is Moe, Darcy is Larry, and I'm Curly. Enjoy.

the winds of shit

It's Danny's birthday today. My main man is 24.

Tonight there will be a party of some proportion. I'm kind of scared.
It reminds me of the morning of St. Paddy's Day, where you know some shit is going to go down.

I can feel the shit pressure rising, and the shit barometer dropping.

thought of the day

Hitler ruined a perfectly good mustache for everybody.

ringing ears

We had rehearsals today for the first time in almost a month. Jess was in Portugal and Andrew was pissing out his ass in Peru (Dan and I sympathized, as we had similar stomach problems in Fiji - needless to say, we all had a good laugh).

So with them back, we had a really fun Sunday afternoon jam and went over most of the material we've been working on, as well as a couple new diddy's. On top of that, it had to be the loudest jam to date. The boys bought a beautiful new VOX amp for electric guitars, which means we now play with two electrics, bass, keyboards, and drums all at the same time. As you can probably notice from the photo, the space isn't huge. This is the first time I've ever left a rehearsal with my ears ringing probably because we played Rooftops today about six times, which is about this loud and this fast.

Here's a pretty irrelevant shot of my studio. I thought I'd take it because my wide angle lens gives me a pretty nice view of the place. You can check out some of the notes on my Flickr. There's some funny treasures in there.

hitchhiker's guide

After so many major consequtive purchases, I literally have a few dollars to my name at the moment. When asked if I wanted to go out tonight by my dear friend Kudzai, one story came to mind immediately.

The story of a penniless, stranded Douglas Adams and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy goes as follows:

"Adams claimed that the title came from a 1971 incident while he was hitchhiking around Europe as a young man with a copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to Europe book, and while lying drunk in a field in Innsbruck with a copy of the book and looking up at the stars, thought it would be a good idea for someone to write a hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy as well."

The book went on to sell more than 14 million copies.

I plan to do something similar tonight.

I'm literally going to take the twenty dollar bill in my pocket and blow it on beer with one of my best friends in effort to drink and dance my way into some flash-of-genius-stupor that will send my artistic career into another (if any) stratosphere.

I really enjoy putting myself in holes like this. At times I consider money to be simply a privilege; something to be enjoyed and dealt with at a later date. It's one of the great freedoms we allow ourselves to relish in: the ability to do whatever we want with our earnings. The simple fact about money that doesn't scare me one bit goes like this:

I know I'm not going to die.

I have food in my house and money coming my way in various directions. I know I'm not going to go hungry or homeless tonight, so it's time to put my inspiration on the stove and let it cook for a while.

whoopdy woo

Sure, we won the Olympic gold medal in hockey.
Yet one thing struck me as I was walking the streets after the victory (I was on the bus for the last half of the game, so you can understand when I say I wasn't in the mood): on New Years Eve, everyone screams "Happy New Year!!", on Christmas morning everyone screams "Merry Christmas!", yet when Canada wins the goal - all we can do is stick our heads out the window and scream, which is something I've never really understood.

The Canadian hockey term certainly doesn't make me a proud Canadian, because that makes little to no sense when you think about it. The only reason people stick their heads out the window on those certain days is because they're merely excited they were born in the country that acquires men and women who skate well.

Being Canadian has nothing to do with people on ice.

As usual, to bring some more clarity to the situation, here's George:

danny in three

I finished this piece a few weeks ago for a required school assignment. I'd been toying with the idea of manipulating photos through various mediums over the past few months and have recently jumped head-first into the pool.

I suppose I was originally inspired by the works of Christo and Jean-Claude a few years back. I was obsessed with Christo's draftsmanship when applying pastel and various other mediums to schematic photographs. For those of you unfamiliar, first: what have you been doing with your life, and second: here's a link.

There will be a lot more of this work coming out of my studio these next couple months. My newest series is driven by memory: I plan to blow up (massive) old black and white photographs and apply washes of color in attempt to recreate how I remember them at the point of when they were initially shot. Exciting, no question.

find me outside

Finally, an updated Flickr account. I used to be so heavy into that.

Last weekend I spent some more time in London "researching" my term project. I'll say researching because I showed up to the schools, which were locked. I have no idea why I didn't put this together in my mind days before leaving. However, on a more positive note, the principle of HB Beal has just granted me access to the school at my disposal. Fantastic.

Another reason for being in London was to purchase what would ultimately lead me to applying for welfare. That's right: the coveted Sigma 10-20 wide-angle lens. I purchased it mostly for my term project, which solely revolves around the photographing of interiors. That, and it has a 10 year warranty - which is great because I'm pretty hard on my lenses for the most part ie. my Nikon stock lens vs. Rivoli pool hall floor circa 2007.


So, it's safe to say I've been using this lens extensively, which is at least ten times a day. On top of that, I picked up a portable flash from my moms house over the Christmas holidays, which allows for much more dynamic lighting scenarios as opposed to that flat-in-yo-face-flash. That's also been a ton of fun to practice.

Oh, and Bike and I got to play in the snow most of the day Saturday. Great packing snow.

startin fires tour

Show tonight in Kingston.
Yeah.

i can see claritin now my rash is gone

After four days of incredible partying, dancing (my legs are whooped) and Valentineage, the dust has settled, slightly. I'll be heading back home for a few days later this afternoon, mostly with intention to visit family, friends, and shoot my term project.

This will most likely entail the drainage of my savings, seeing as I'm purchasing a brand new Sigma wide-angle lens for my digital body. But hey, that shit lasts forever, and who doesn't want a wide-angle lens anyway? Hopefully when I'm home I'll shake this cold, which has been perpetual for over a month now. On top of that, last night I experienced my all-time worst allergic reaction. A dark red rash spread over the upper half of my body covering my face, chest, neck, and arms. Seeing as I was scared shitless, I called my dad at 6 a.m. (karaoke, you understand), to which he granted me some sound advice and went to sleep.


The funny thing about this all is that I photographed the whole process, because I thought I was about to die. I showed my dad these photos and he wants to use them as allergic reaction examples when he teaches. Always glad to be of service.


The shitty thing about this is that I have no idea what I was allergic to. I came home after the bar and made my usual feast: oven-toasted pita with pepper, pan fried portobello mushrooms, arugula, hummus, and a big glass of pink lemonade. What the hell was I allergic to? I threw everything out this morning, including the giant pitcher of pink lemonade, which may have been the culprit of it all. Bummer, 'cause I love the pink.

But alas, after taking some Claritin, my face is back to normal. I also now have an epi pen.