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.

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.

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.

yes yes, from the northwest

I was planning on gushing about how much fun the golf trip was, but I think I'll celebrate my return to Toronto with something a little simpler..


I can easily say I recite different lines from that song at least once a week. They usually find their way into my diction, and sometimes really cool people pick up on it. Then we high-five.

I don't want to think about how much work I have to do, so I won't. Instead I'm going to hang with friends, sit on my ass, start a painting, buy expensive olives, go swimming, and sip beer on my roof in the afternoon. I'll get to those important life decisions later.

I am a business

So I decided to get my taxes done yesterday. Nearing the end of the session at H&R Block (which was terribly located on the fifth floor of The Bay near the kids clothing section, and they only told me the address of the building), I was asked if I had any other source of income. I bit the bullet and reluctantly said that I was an artist (and not because of tax evasion purposes). After a bunch of questions and fine print reading, I qualified to be a small business owner!

In reality it's probably not all that cool, but this will definitely be beneficial for me seeing as I can claim all of my material expenses on my income tax returns. And that is a lot of money. I roughly estimated that over one thousand was spent within the last eight months. But, you have to give to get I guess.

I'm really looking forward to this. I've always enjoyed personal banking, not business. I still go to my branch to pay my bills and make transactions. In fact, I've never even attempted online banking before. There's something about the tangible exchange of money that just feels more sound in my mind, and it gets me out of the house. Does this mean I have to starting wearing my suits? Sweet! I fucking love wearing suits.

if this post is riddled with spelling mistakes, please cut me some slack. it was done one-handed

kiss me, i'm andy

i'm honestly a bit nervous for tomorrow,
seeing as it's st. paddy's day.
i'll be rolling with some really bad influences and will probably drink my fool face off.
i don't think i've ever had a really ridiculous st. paddy's before.
i know, i know, it doesn't mean anything and it's just an excuse to drink and i've been against it in the past, but this is a day for gingers, and it's the only day of the year where it's actually somewhat cool to be one.
i'll keep everyone updated on what happened and maybe even throw down a drunken podcast when i get home, who knows.

i'm still thinking billy madison

Basically, Mike and I trying to figure out what to watch as we cycle through endless binders of bad movies.