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.

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.

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.

fuck chinatown, i'm going italian

"Man, I know exactly how it's going to happen. Andy's going to wait until the last minute, and then out of nowhere he'll find some awesome place. That's how it's going to happen."

That's exactly how it did happen.


About an hour ago, I agreed to live in a bachelor at the intersection of College and Markham! Without fail, I waited until the last week of August to start looking. I was pretty taken with the space as soon as I stepped in for the tour. Big kitchen with nice appliances, great big bedroom, lots of closet space, and a decent bathroom. It's located in the basement of a house owned by a fairly young family. Luckily, my charm payed off and the owners really liked me, so they asked if I wanted in. I happily agreed.

Sure, a little pricey, but it'll work. I think I'm most excited to live by myself. I think I've fantasized about the idea steadily for over a year. I'll probably soon liberate my moms piano from her place so I can relax and work on some stuff I've had in my head for a while. Dinner parties will be planned on occasion, as I am sandwiched between two of the finest ethnic hubs in Toronto. On top of that, I even have room for all my stuff - even my projector. I can't wait.

I'm also planning on painting it a different color, which means I'm looking at you, kiddo.

Blair and I have decided to squeeze the last bit of summer by going to New York for the weekend until Monday. I hope to find another Miles David t-shirt gem.