the boy cried blue

It's fading by now, but for about an entire week my hair was dyed blue.

I was once asked what my favorite feeling was, after being about four pints of beer deep. I replied honestly: "spite". Although I may have jumped the gun on it being my favorite feeling, it is certainly high on my list. This leads to...

Several months ago I asked my mom if she would be upset if I showed up to Christmas with blue hair. She nearly shit at the very thought of it. I told my band I would dye my hair blue for our upcoming show, yet they didn't believe me. Granted, I didn't that night, but their doubt remained pretty steadfast.

For weeks I would casually remind others that is was coming. Disbelief seemed to be the name of the game, almost as if I was the boy who cried blue.

Almost another week passed by when I made an actual effort to purchase the dye. This was it. Go time. Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time I ever dyed my hair. In fact, I was dying my hair for almost all of 2007, after trying to match my hair to a fake beard I had bought for a halloween party, which was dark brown. I later found out that you can just as easily buy women's hair dye to use because, in reality, it's the same hair, and they have about 400x the options.

So one night, after partying late, I asked two friends to assist me in dying my hair. They agreed and before I knew it I was rinsing my head off into a shower, looking down to what looked like a shot from a Psycho Smurf shower scene parody. It was blue.

And it was the right time: I didn't have a job and I had an entire week off school. Life is very different when your hair is blue. I found myself balancing on the edge of embarrassment and entitlement, as if having that color of hair is reserved for a very specific class of society. Although I really did enjoy walking up to a counter to address the clerk with my hat on, order a coffee, and just before paying I would take off my hat to catch that look from the person serving me. I feel that they either took one of two things away from my appearance: that this guy is a total nut, or knows exactly what he's doing because nobody in their right mind would ever have that hair color.

I suppose it was just one of those things I had to do in my life. When I look back on the photographs of my life, I want to see some fucking blue hair.

I guess what you can take away from this piece is don't be afraid to dye your hair and that disproving people's disbelief in you is one of the most satisfying and dignifying experiences in life. Keep your promises and try not to be full of shit, more or less.

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.

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.

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banger and mash

I've got so much to say about girls, relationships, and sex, but can't properly explain myself because Manic has turned me into turned me into a fucking jittery-handed monster and I'd probably end up writing non-sensical shit.

Speaking of which, something I should bring light to: my segment in Talkin' Schmidt about ex-girlfriend etiquette has been receiving some flack lately. I don't really care. Every single guy I've talked to about this subject has fully agreed with me. One thing I will grant the female viewers is that, because of editing the segment due to time restraints, a lot of footage was cut, which probably would have helped in the explanation.

It all really boiled down to jealousy and attachment. Like most men in relationships over six months, we tend to view our women as "my girl". You look at her from across the room and say "that's my girl", which is a mentality that stays with you long after the relationship has ended. You see it in the movies all the time: when the divorced wife begins seeing another man, the ex-husband usually loses his mind with jealousy. It's not much different in this case. You become attached to that girl on so many levels that when it comes time to separate, most of the feelings for that person remain engraved on your heart and slowly fade like hieroglyphics.

So in my case, when I see an ex-lover with new man, what the fuck did you think I'd feel? I'm not some cold-hearted knucklehead with no concept of sentiment. I look at the guy and say in my head:

"If you hurt my girl, I'm going to rip off your cock, marinade it for two years, and then serve it to you in a restaurant and you'll think it tastes good".

What I said during the segment makes full sense. It's only human to be jealous of some man touching your girl. And although it may have been me that ended the relationship, I have every right to still feel strongly for the well-being of ex-lovers. Even so, I always remain civil when in the presence of the two of you - I shake hands and make you look really uncool - but just remember that the jar of brine is never too far away, if you catch my drift.

Percussion Gun

I was fully prepared to write an entire piece about the trials and tribulations of 2009, but decided against it seeing as I'd much rather finish cooking my meatballs and fried spring rolls. End of the decade, blah blah blah. Lotta shit went down, and you don't need to read about it here.

I was actually surprised to hear that 2009 was an awful year for most of my friends. I personally thought it was fucking awesome, but only through the powers of circumstance.

Throughout the year I visited Poland, Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, Hungary, England, New York City, New Baltimore, Detroit, Quebec, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. I managed to dodge one of the worst Toronto summers (including the garbage strike) and hung around for the warmest November in over 100 years. I even broke a bone.

As in any year, most of you may know that, although I believe resolutions are bullshit and meaningless to a degree, a new resolution is to be made for myself.

After a discussion with a professor on the topic of promotion in the art world, he stated in clear black and white that nobody can begin representing your work but yourself. This is in fact true. I don't know what I was waiting for, but I have a studio absolutely full of work that could be hung at any moment. This is where the resolution comes into play.

Man of Action

This year is going to be all about progress. The word itself has always intimidated me. I get comfortable in some situations and find it hard to detach myself from it. However, I slowly realized that progress really isn't hard at all. It's just a matter of movement, motivation, and passion working harmoniously towards an attainable goal.

The other day I clearly, in my mind, mapped out what I want out of my life. Then I realized I'm 23 years old, and that there is still plenty of time. Yet why wait? Why not jump start things and showcase work at all times? - although I've been technically showcasing and selling work at Orange Alert for over two years.

Man of Action is all about, well, action. Making calls, finishing my website (the lack of it is fully my fault - digging up and documenting past work kills my soul), sending emails, getting work, and making connections. I'm ready, and I'll do it. Upswing, baby.

Happy New Day.

Robin Shouldn't

I always knew they'd make a sequel to Gladiator. I just don't know why they'd call Maximus by the name "Robin Hood". Russell can't touch Errol Flynn with a ten foot dick.

Raging Bull

Okay.
Everybody listen.
Scratch that.
Everyone in a band, or collective, listen.
Take the advice from ?uestlove (one of the greatest drummers/influences/aficionados/impacts on modern music today, from possibly one of the best hip hop groups of all time) and listen to him.
Sunday is Band Day.
Above any politics amongst your group, Sunday is Band Day.
Lately, Hue's has been Monday.
We drink tequila and freestyle.
I talk about cooking for the band, but the tequila is usually the deciding point.
Listen to ?uestlove.

my perfect:

I'm almost certain I've mentioned this before, but Search for Perfection is one of my favorite shows ever. The concept is incredible, Heston is really cool (except for his one whack nail), and it's really well filmed.
On top of all that, it's got the best theme song ever. I could listen to that song while doing anything: going for a run, having sex, studying, grocery shopping, scheming, robbing a bank, pleasure cruising, painting etc.

I recommend you give it a watch sometime.

i got the blues

Let me clarify something:

When denim jackets are back "in", let it be known that I was one of the pioneers on the front lines.

works every time

Some days I just feel like giving Much Music a chance.

I sat down this morning with some peanut butter toast and decided:

"Shit. Since there's nothing but shows about boats on TV, I might as well head over to Much Music. Maybe there's something good on,"

I was greeted by THIS.

I strongly suggest that you watch the entire video before reading anything below, just to put it into context.

First, a strong slew of obscenities comes to mind. This comes as no real surprise. Secondly, and most importantly, you have to ask "WHY?".

For starters, this suburban white-boy honky has no right being on television. He's not even good looking! Usually the formula goes as follows:

A = current looks, with chance of insurmountably awkward puberty stage
B = current voice, with chance for digital tuning
C = personality and marketability
D = chance for product placement

A + B + C + D = $$$

The strange thing is, this kid barely falls into any of these categories. He's not good looking: Usually the big record labels will go for the image first, and then start from the ground up. He's not talented: auto-tuning has more prominence on that track than keyboards. On top of that, the kid can't dance worth dick. Last time I saw something that white I was staring into the sun. The director knew that, so they either put a black kid next to him, or put him on a skateboard. Watch me ollie!

I understand that what I'm saying has been said time and time again, and that it will never get any better. I know why music sucks and I know why it will never change. Lou Pearlman practically wrote the bible of the formula in the early 90's.

My biggest question remains: WHY THIS KID?

He's on DEF JAM for fuck sakes. You know Def Jam? The Roots, Nas, Method Man and Red Man, Ghostface Killah, and this cracker? Why is Usher hanging out with this loser?

How long was I asleep?

london ain't growin'

The polls are in!

My beard currently sits at 70% positivity rate, up from it's previous 45% in London, Ontario.

You see, I don't think the masses of London know what beards are all about yet, because it's been getting great reviews here in Toronto. Words like "becoming" and "masculine" have been drawn from numerous compliments from friends and strangers alike.

I apologize if this beard has been getting too much attention on this blog as of lately, it's just that it's a big deal to me. This is the first beard I've ever had. I've been dreaming of these days since grade 9, sitting in the cafeteria looking at my friends beards, dreaming of hairier days. Dan and I talk about beards for at least an hour a day, every day. They're fascinating to me, and I'm taking my first baby steps at it....

...and still growing strong. To grow or not to grow? That is the question.

heidi wore clogs, and so do you

So last night, Meme, Jess and I went to go see Doves.
I've been really into their latest album Kingdom Of Rust lately, so I had to see this material done live.
The show was fantastic, but this is not what I'm here to talk about.

After moving to the front (which is the best bonus to seeing shows with small, cute girls), we began to get our dance on and the tunes were bumping. All of a sudden, I could feel myself being stepping on, and stepping on someones foot. I didn't care because everyone was having a good time and this is, presumably, what happens at shows. Not to this guy."Hey man, you're stepping on my feet. This is my spot."

"What?"

"I said this is my spot. I've been here for the past ten minutes."

"So?"

It turns out that there was a blubbering vagina standing behind me. Some Dexter-Zero was chewing me out for dancing on his toes.

Oh, I'm sorry hun, I've never slow danced before.

First off, who comes to a rock concert, moves to the very front, and stakes a claim amongst hundreds of people? Your spot? Who the fuck are you?! Yukon Cornelius? Maybe if he had a pick axe, monster beard and a hunger for gold- then I would have taken him seriously

Secondly, how can you come to a show and not expect to get your feet stepped on? I could understand if he wasn't dancing and I was just causing a scene, but he was, as was everyone else. I've gone to shows with perfectly white Stan II's on, moshed for two hours, then proudly gone home with someone elses blood and dirt covering them. A real musical experience should be about passion, love, appreciation, and expression. Don't just stand there like a paper napkin. What a fucking pussy. My buzz was killed by this Joe-PC. Grow some balls for gods sake.


One thing that I know in life is that the world is full of uptight, unenlightened, anxious, high-strung matters of waste that we call "the public". People are no longer passionate about anything, and are so afraid to express themselves that they retain mid-life Osteoporosis just from sucking their boss' dick or from nodding "yes" so much every day.

People like this just make me want to stick fireworks in their pants, just so they'll feel something for once. They have pickles so far up their asses that even their breath smells like dill. I have only one piece of advice for these people: Verbally disagree with someone at least once a day. After a few weeks, you'll sleep sounder. I promise. Why? Because it's one of the many free things in life that are good for you. I'll jump back to that topic at a later date when I have more examples.

Am I out of line? You're damn right I'm not. Let's eat some pickles.

give a fuck? me neither

Tomorrow I am taking part in Del's 13th Annual group exibition.

It's in Scarborough. The ultimate success will be me not getting mugged.

If you really, really feel like coming, the show is located at 275 Bangurgh Circle, Scarborough Ontario. I'm bringing my best friend to help set up and drink coffee together. Other than that, it's just an opportunity for me to kiss babies and sling bullshit.

the wild

Lately, after several large-party hangout scenarios, I've continued to unravel things that I truly stand for, and against. Par example:

Within the past few years, I've noticed somewhat of a rapid resurgence in the use of racial slurs and general racially-charged name calling that I thought was on its way out with our grandparents. Now, I have tried to understand this phenomenon (and trust me, it is) from many points of view, including the one about how racism is not as serious as it once was, making it a more widely accepted brand of comedy. However, like anything, there are limits. I hear and see these same limits being pushed every day. I don't think I've ever felt as uncomfortable as I have over the past year about these issues. I was raised in a home where discrimination was not even a frame of mind and not once did I ever hear my parents or siblings crack a joke surrounding ones race, except for the one about bad Asian drivers when my sister got in a car accident.

Now, I know these jokes are delivered with harmless intentions by most of today's youth, but this exact frame of mind has held racism a priority amongst modern cultural dilemmas for decades. It is something that I seriously will not stand for and have never found amusing. For instance, just the other night I said to someone "If I had a gun I'd shoot your fucking dick off," after said person referred to a young black girl as "darky". Disgusting. I can only take so much more of it.

Another serious dilemma that I won't stand for is chauvinistic behavior towards women. This is another issue that should have been out the door a long, long time ago. The fact that such disgusting behavior is still present amongst many "gentlemen" makes my fucking blood boil. Which brings me to my next point...

The humiliation of jocks. This is the stuff of my dreams. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than keeping that American Eagle frown right-side down. As far as I'm concerned, most of these unenlightened zeroes take up far too much space on this continent and serve no purpose other than keeping the beer and khaki industries afloat. So guys, a little heads up from old Andy: I will take your girl aside, dance the shit out of her, and give her right back like a true gent while you grip your pint and wonder how legs move like that. I will smile, and probably wink at you, and you won't like it.

But what would motivate an individual to do such things? Simply put - revenge. I was fortunate enough to attend multiple schools that were full of meat-heads in the making. We all know the type: bullies, goons, cooliosos, jocks, thugs, dickheads. The kind of guys that will end up snorting blow out of their polished briefcases before going home to measure their dicks in front of the mirror before watching the big game or cheat on their wives. These are the guys that I like to mess with strictly for my own personal gain, and I really don't see anything wrong with that.