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.

show my some skin

As I made my way downtown this morning to pick up my developed negatives (something which is worth writing about in its own right), I could hear some pleasant ruckus heading south down Spadina Ave. at the corner of College St.

Not to my surprise, it was about 150 people all cycling, naked.

I've said it before, but I love this city. I have not once looked out onto the landscape and felt tiresome about living here. No matter how long I've lived here there's still mystery around every corner, in every neighborhood, within every bar. Just when you think you've come to grips with your area, a friend takes you down a back alley and it's a whole new ray of light. I'm not phased whatsoever by the fact that I have to live here for probably four more years.

As for todays marathon, that stuff happens all the time.

Here's a clip from a ride from the past.

whoopdy woo

Sure, we won the Olympic gold medal in hockey.
Yet one thing struck me as I was walking the streets after the victory (I was on the bus for the last half of the game, so you can understand when I say I wasn't in the mood): on New Years Eve, everyone screams "Happy New Year!!", on Christmas morning everyone screams "Merry Christmas!", yet when Canada wins the goal - all we can do is stick our heads out the window and scream, which is something I've never really understood.

The Canadian hockey term certainly doesn't make me a proud Canadian, because that makes little to no sense when you think about it. The only reason people stick their heads out the window on those certain days is because they're merely excited they were born in the country that acquires men and women who skate well.

Being Canadian has nothing to do with people on ice.

As usual, to bring some more clarity to the situation, here's George: