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.