Use All Your Shit!

If I were to have my own cookbook, the cover would be exactly Phoebe Gilman's Something From Nothing, except the old mans face would be substituted with my own.

When I cook, I can literally take anything in my house and make it into something relatively tasty. It's always been that way. Mind you, I wasn't so good at it when I didn't know anything about balance, texture, flavor bases or combination, but I still tried.

I've always wanted to have my own cooking show called Use All Your Shit!
It would go like so: I would show up to peoples houses (not invite myself over like that Australian prick on Take Home Asshole), to which I would open their fridge and pantry doors and concoct something delicious out of what they thought was "nothing".

I'll give you an example of this.

As of now, and for the past few days, I've had virtually nothing in my fridge. Lets say I had five items in there at most.

Last night I made deep fried vegetarian spring rolls with cheese, a homemade batter and even a dipping sauce from scratch.

Tonight I made a rosemary-infused cream of chicken soup with spinach, red onion, and diced carrots. For dessert I had a puree of strawberries and maple syrup on toast with a glass of red wine.

I swear to you - if you looked in my fridge you'd see nothing but stray bags of barely-there vegetables, a stick of butter, and rolls of film. I'm not normally the type to gloat, but I'm really fucking good at being creative in the kitchen. I could make you a roast chicken out of shards of glass if I wanted to.

ps. Except for that one time: I made Mike eat this "casserole" I made that was made only from wonder bread, sliced ham, white onion, and egg. That was fucking horrendous, and crunching into that burden still haunts me to this day. Sorry Mike.

"i'm a rude dude, but i'm the real deal"

John Bean filmed a short documentary on me the other day. It pretty much revolved around my sordid (and colorfully narrated) past with Ryerson. For some reason, I've always loved being interviewed. Especially when it's something I'm comfortable talking about, and when they let me swear (unlike Rogers cable).

Speaking of swearing, lately I've been analyzing the language you and I all use. More specifically, the cute little sayings we just roll off the tongue without questioning the meaning, or the origin (I got a book off Glen a while back on the origins of everyday sayings - I'll lend it to you). I've been thinking about the power of our language, and how most of us subconsciously blabber on without understanding what it is we're actually saying. In reality, the thought of misusing words and phrases scares the shit out of me, because we are only as good as the language we use. Otherwise you're doing yourself the fine favor of misrepresenting your own intelligence.

I'd have to say my big interest in language came from the work by George Carlin. After listening to his work (I'd rather not call it a comedy routine, because his stand up was more lecture than anything), I began comprehending the language we use, and why. Carlin had that really sharp way of speaking, which can be drawn from his love excessive swearing, and hatred towards modern euphemisms and soft language that conceal the truth (his speech on the transformation from "shell shock" to "post-traumatic stress disorder" is a classic example). I listen to his tapes on a daily basis because of this.

Below is Modern Man, something which I consider to be one of the greatest stand up rants of all time. The amount of culturally relevant sayings he crams into this short segment is unbelievable. I can probably recite about a quarter of it, which isn't bad considering it's really hard to remember it all.

where the great plains began

I was sifting through my video camera the other night and completely forgot about this video.
It was originally shot for Dan, as we both share a love for the song, and for The Tragically Hip.
So, as I crossed the hundredth meridian over a year ago, this video was filmed.
Excuse the horrible singing, but if you knew how Gord Downie sang live, you'd understand.

truly brothers

Everyone, feel free to print and frame this, or make your permanent background.

escape from the city

fuck it.



i get tired of people, in the general sense, quite easily. i circle streets at night and realize what a dismal thing humanity really is. i haven't quite decided whether life is truly difficult or impossibly easy, and i don't lose sleep over it.

i've decided to send out an open invitation to all girls who are interested in cutting all strings and moving to the country with me.

we'll wear denim, sleep in, kiss a lot and have a dog.
i'll drive you into town in my truck when you want, and i'll pick up the paper.
we'll build a library in our bedroom and our floors will creak louder than the weather vane on the roof.
things will be quiet most of the time, until we decide to spin records and dance.

no experience necessary. only requirement is that dirt under the nails needn't be a problem at times.

the flavor

Things have almost cleared up.

I can actually see most of the rug in my kitchen now, and I've even started cooking.
Between work, school, and necessary naps, my average rate of unpacking is about two boxes a day. I've even begun to cook and re-assemble my pantry.


I've been trying to figure out what it is I like so much about this area, and I've concluded that it's the flavor.

I've said that word time, and time again this summer, only because I truly understand the meaning of the word. Flavor is when you step outside your door and the air smells like garlic and lawn. Flavor is when you walk down the street slowly with a cigarette and say "bongiorno" to your neighbors. Flavor is when you see two grown men arguing about each others mothers' pizano's.

I used to live at the mall. I'll call it the mall, because the streets were always flashing with signs and something was always being pushed on me. Religion, Black History Month, Cadbury coupons, silver Elvis dancers, and an endless horizon of advertisements. If my current neighborhood was a slice of pizza, the mall would have been a napkin.
Around here, everyone walks slowly and does their own thing. I wear whatever I want, and do whatever I want, whenever. Most importantly, it's quuuiiieeeeet. Hear that? No sirens, Andy.

However, one downside to all of this is the sheer amount of walking I do any given day. My feet are literally two burger patty's. I have to wear different shoes everyday so that different parts of my feet get worn down. Even worse than that; I usually carry a pin around with me in case I need to pop a blister in the middle of my day. I need a new bike badly.

"hey man, you look tired"

Hey friends. I've missed you so.

I don't have any internet at my new place for the moment, so I've been squatting at a few choice wireless hot-spots for now.

Super busy. I think I'm one of the only people that gets sleep in their eyes while they're still awake. Boxes, boxes, and boxes. Just when I tackle the first load, another wave of cardboard seems to find its way into my new place. Speaking of which, I've fallen in love with that space. I couldn't imagine, at this time in my life, living in a place that I didn't like. It wasn't really an option. It really feels like a place where I can rest my head (or smack it off the shower fixtures).

I've got to get going, but I'll hopefully be doing a lot of writing in my [imaginary] spare time. I've had a lot on my mind and would love some ventage. Miss you friends.

things I've learned at 1806

I'll preface this next bit with some notes. I've lived here, in the same room, for three years, and I know every in and out of this neighborhood within a four-block radius. I've lived with some serious characters and have experienced some pretty amazing times. There's been some quiet times, and some really loud times. If these walls could talk, there would probably be a lot of bleeping-out.

The Sound

My room at 1806 is partly separated by glass from another bedroom. Apparently, everything can be heard coming from my room in the other bedroom, and I mean everything. Yet the strange thing is, I've never heard much of anything come from the other side. It's almost like a one-way-mirror, except for sound. Strange, indeed.

The Lifts.

The elevators are incredibly smart here. I've never seen elevators like it. When idled, one sits at ground level, another in the middle, and the other at the penthouse. They juggle perfectly as if actually controlled by one very considerate man.

The Delta Chelsea.

This hotel sits across the street from my room. It ruins what would be an incredible view of south downtown Toronto. The shortcut through the lobby is the only real redeeming quality about the place, which I've probably passed through over 500 times. It's also extremely ugly. On top of that, I never saw any full-on sex coming from any of the rooms. How lame is that? Every night I'd look out my window to see if anything was going down, and nothing. I've seen some weird stuff however. I've seen a blowjob in progress, an old guy masturbating naked, two naked people laying on the bed with the lights on, and a whole lot of people changing. So, for all my real friends, do me a favor and go have sex at the Delta. Not so that I can sit and watch, but so that I can finally say after three years "Oh look, people are having sex at the Delta. Neat". On a final note - Blair and I are still trying to figure a way to blow up the entire building, just so he'll have a nice view.

The Alarms.

My condo is allergic to smoke. Even if you burn toast, the smoke alarm goes off. There's been some perticularly hilarious stories surrounding that device. The interesting thing is though, howcome the alarm never went off after we Jamaican Sauna'd the bathroom? I've seen steam come out of that bathroom that would honestly rival Niagara Falls.

The Changes.

Something is always wrong with this place. They're always shutting off the water, closing the gym, renovating the pool, fixing soggy ceilings, tearing up floors, bleaching something, and removing something else. I'm going to guess that there were only a total of 21 days where nothing was wrong with this building. I'm sure the site coordinator loses sleep at night.

The Halls.

The hallways smell like Toys R' Us. I noticed that the day I moved in. Do you know the smell I'm talking about? It's dominantly a fresh plastic smell, mixed with the odd stroller that passes by.

The Water.

It's god-damn delicious. Toronto water in general is the tastiest water ever. I have no idea why either. If the water here could be embody an inanimate object, it would probably be a milk shake, because that's how good it feels to drink. Going from another other towns water to Toronto's is like going from Marble Cheese to Double-Creme Brie. Get the picture?

The Tank.

I was never busted for practically living in my studio. My studio space is a large storage unit located one floor below street level. Two security cameras point directly at the door, and yet I was never hassled for being down there for hours at a time. Sometimes, a few people will accompany me, back in the good old Think Tank days. We'd stay there for hours. I'd have girls down there (intentionally or not). I play albums on full blast. I empty piss jugs and used oils/chemicals into the small drain outside the door. I clean by brushes at the Car Wash bay (and I usually do a pretty good job of spraying all the colors into the drain). Strange things come and go from that room as well, such as: a gigantic mirror, a five-foot wagon wheel, bee bee guns, an oven door, countless canvases, and lots of busted furniture.

24/7

It's too convenient here. It's literally impossible to go hungry in this area. There are four 24-hour establishments within five minutes of each other, and I couldn't even tell you how many times I've visited them at 5 a.m. There's a Panago next to my front door, a Subway, and a Falafel house around the corner. The convenience is also one of the major factors in leaving this place: I just don't want it that easy anymore.

Blair.

I love living with Blair, because he thinks I'm a pretty cool guy and really hams me up when I'm in the kitchen. He laughs at all my bad jokes and catches all my movie references. He is easily persuaded by his vices, and I've practiced that persuasion many, many times. His hobby is cleaning, which is good, because my hobbies create a lot of mess. He thinks I look like Sinatra, and once said I'm like the Dos Equis guy. No wonder I love Blair.

lights on, I can't sleep.

I completely forgot about this next piece. I wrote it while drinking beer in our hotel room in Cornerbrook, Newfoundland. I originally intended it to be longer, but the ideas are all there - and there they will stay.

Life is funny like this.

Most of my personal time is spent perusing through the isles of everything I think I believe in. Since being on tour, there have been a lot of waiting periods, particularly before the shows themselves. At these points, I'll usually find myself in only a handful of places.

I spend a lot of time in the bathroom, for instance. There's something about the silence and tranquility of bathrooms that really calms my nerves. I usually stand in front of the stall, read ads on excessive gambling, pants completely zipped up, until some other guy walks in. At that point, we'll exchange maybe two words until I wash my hands and leave. I also love our van. I'll sit in the drivers seat, listen to some music, and play poker on my phone. I roll down the windows, just to catch some breeze and to listen to street chatter.

I also like a nice cigarette sometimes. Now, don't go assuming that I'm Joe Smoke. I'm in no way addicted to the stick; I merely appreciate the calmness that nicotine brings me, and this is nothing new.

The nice thing about smoking is that it gives you an excuse to be outside. Hear me out on this one. When it comes to socializing, I thoroughly believe that at least 90% of any conversation when meeting new people is useless dribble. There's so much bullshit slung amongst people these days, it's scary. So naturally, I'm not standing on a patio just to meet people, because I can meet people any time I want. Anyone can. All you have to do is use your vocal chords, even badly. I'm there to catch some fresh air and maybe a puff. If somebody wants to talk, that's fine. I'll talk. Otherwise, I'm not going to seek out individuals because they have cooler clothes than me.

Lastly, I'll walk. Particularly in foreign places, I find myself wandering the streets for the majority of my stay. Every dark alley is explored, and even the odd fence is jumped. I think the idea of getting into trouble excites me, only because I'm curious to see how I'd get out of the situations I put myself into. Words like "trespassing" and "restricted" spark my curiosity, so I'll usually challenge them. I've also taken sincere pleasure in watching others partake in something as simple as walking. Human beings are far too interesting to assume you have them figured out. Just watch.

pink cloud tracing paper

Sometimes, life just isn't fair.

Before summer began, I spent over two months working on the same painting. It barely budged. I would constantly work, re-work, and re-adjust on the same canvas - which is a terrible ordeal for the same piece of fabric when working with oil. I could never settle on a color scheme, nor an image itself. This is the type of thing that misdirects my ambition the most.

However, freakishly, today I nearly finished two in two hours.

Where is the justice?

I only have one real explanation for such ordeals:

Normally, I'll enter the studio with an idea in mind. Seeing as I predominantly work in landscape, I'll have an idea for color schemes, cloud shapes, and terrain. Some days, like today, are just considered "Hail Mary's". That's when you take everything you thought of before hand and just throw it out the window.

I had a very shape-shifting talk with MB one day, about a year ago. I was yammering about my approach to painting and how, if I don't know something, I do my research. If I'm ignorant to a fact, it would usually induce a big coffee, a big walk, and a big read. I'd never leave anything to chance. I would examine every approach (even chemically, at times), study color wheels and different brush strokes before I even thought of touching oil again.

I'd heard everything she was saying before, but really did need to hear it again.

There are times, artistically, when you really need to let things take their course. This afternoon, for instance, my nose never left the surface of the canvas. I threw every tendency to reevaluate the piece out the window, and let imagination take it's course. Colors shifted seamlessly. Blending happened naturally. I should have prefaced this article by saying that landscape artwork is vastly subjective. I once asked my friend Scott (way back) how to paint proper clouds, to which he answered "there is no real way to do it". I took that advice very literally, and decided to base an entire series of work based off that statement.


I am currently working on Absolute Nothings . This series will be in the works for the next few months, and will combine ideas from past works, with a slight twist. I'll keep you all posted on the progression, which may be a long time coming considering there is mathematical research involved.

ps. Flash portfolio website is in the works.