Goodbye to a Friend

Just wanted to take this opportunity to say goodbye to my friend Jimm Barr. He joined my annual group golfing buddies three years ago and his presence immediately affected the group in the most positive and hilarious way.

When I first met Jimmy, he was confused whether I went by "Andy" or "Andrew", so I asked him to choose for me. He replied "I like Andrew. It's longer. It's a good name, so why shorten it?"

Jimm, among so many things, was once a sniper for the RCMP for numerous years, as well as a highway patrolman in the Northwest Territories, and an undercover detective in Vancouver's Lower East Side. The man was a walking, talking story. Upon hearing of his death I was greatly saddened. Our annual meeting was always something that I looked forward to.

 

All my best to his friends and family. 

Andrew.

I Fucked Up a Photo

It was only until recently that I realized where my photographic style is heading / has always been. My father and I were laying on a beach in Florida last week. We'd taken a spontaneous road trip to Naples, FL for a week and found ourselves an afternoon to relax that wasn't actually spent inside a car. There we sat, beneath a 40 degree sun, facing the Gulf of Mexico. I think I was thirteen the last time I saw that water. There was, as there is every summer afternoon in Florida, an incredible storm system developing everywhere around us. Blue skies were turning into black and winds began to pick up. However, this didn't stop most of us from visiting the beach.

Directly next to me was my Mamiya 645 medium-format camera. I purchased it in early May and it hasn't left my side ever since. It literally changed the way I visualize, approach, and execute photographs. The decision to switch to medium-format simply stemmed for my current distaste for both 35mm film (in terms of it's grain seen upon printing) and digital (I don't know if I've ever put my heart into a digital photo my entire life). My Mamiya is fully, fully manual; some shots I'm not even sure will pan-out because I've tried to shoot them on the fly and each exposure requires careful attention to several aspects.

So there I am: dad, a storm, my camera, a beach, and myself. My dad suggested I take a photo of the oncoming storm. To his credit, my dad taught me composition at a very young age. "Get some of those ferns in the foreground, And" he has said to me at ages five, fifteen, and twenty-five. I agreed with him and pulled my camera out whilst being protective of swirling sand. I veered through the viewfinder and opted for a vertical composition (holy shit folks, this is like the punk rock version of photography). However, I noticed something very personally satisying that was creeping into the frame from below: my fathers tanned, hairy, sweating stomach. This balanced the photo perfectly. From top to bottom: the towering storm system that is contained by the frame, descending towards hoards of umbrellas, bodies and sand, only to be anchored in the lower-third portion of the photo by a glistening male stomach. I quickly made the correct exposure adjustments, cranked the advancement lever and took the photo.

For me, all I could think of was how much this photograph summed up "Florida": Sure, there's a view, but there's also a lot of tanned old people.

And that's exactly what attracts me when taking personal photographs. By "personal" I mean images that are intended for nothing other than advancing my own body of work. For lack of better wording, I enjoying aesthetically pleasing photographs with something fucked up about them. Something perhaps that is small in the frame, but just captivating enough to make you question why it's there. To continue the story, I wanted my dad to take a photo with my camera, in an effort to experience a sort of "passing-the-torch-full-circle" moment between the two of us. The only direction I gave was "shoot that way", to which I pointed towards the other end of the beach. As he walked away, I noticed a large family tearing down there beach gear to go home directly in his path. I thought it would have made a great photo to see an oncoming storm and a dissatisfied family heading for the hills. He walked right past them. Seeing as I wanted him to take the photo he wanted (which was not doubt a conventional landscape), I kept my mouth closed and watched him handle a camera older than any of his children.

I want to say this is a rather recent discovery, but not only have I been practicing photography in this fashion, I've been living it. For instance, whenever I put on an outfit, I make sure there's usually one fucked-up aspect to it ie. a nice collared shirt/sweater combination with some nice jeans and white shoes that have been painted black and have blown so far open you can see my socks. Like showing up to a well-dressed b.y.o.b. event and holding a 40 oz Olde English. So, to say that this recent "refining" of a photographic style is news to myself, it really isn't, because I live it every time I walk out my door.

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.

i didn't think we had it in us

What started as an innocent trip to the grocery store turned into one of the most violent and radical days to hit my life thus far.

Clearly, I am talking about the recent G20 summit that hit Toronto this past weekend. To not write this on paper would be a devastation to myself. Tess and I were curious to investigate some of the protests we'd heard might be happening downtown Saturday afternoon, so we used our trip to Metro as added incentive to head towards Yonge Street.

After about 20 minutes of produce shopping, security came over the loud speaker to inform us that the building will be locked due to external security threats. I brushed this off as some power-tripping paranoid tactic used to keep everyone under lock and key from something that was hardly considered a threat. This was a very dangerous assumption. Everyone in Metro was asked to move to the back of the store, where we patiently waited in the seafood isle for nearly 30 minutes. Luckily, a man was there that had an iPhone that could stream CP24, which came in handy when discovering that the entire exterior of the building which we were in the basement of was smashed to shit.After waiting another long stint, we were released, and the shit had already hit the fan. I mean that somewhat literally, in the case of American Apparel.


The windows of over 40 established businesses had been destroyed on Yonge street alone. The Time Hortons and Starbucks at the corner of Yonge and College had taken the worst two beatings I'd seen. Car-sized holes had been smashed through the glass windows. Chairs were thrown amongst the street. Displays were carefully "rearranged". Businesses were looted. It was fucking chaos.

We walked everywhere. Once we made it to Bay St. and Adelaide we noticed a heard of people running down the narrow streets only to be followed by a battalion (how often do I get to use that word, really) of riot police and a vehicle that I can only artfully describe as a tank; a tank that stopped for no man or woman. Police created perimeters around the peaceful protests and refused advancements towards city hall, where Jazz Fest had been poorly scheduled (would you like broken glass and flames with your Oscar Peterson covers in the key of C#?).

Finally, we concluded our day with a little organized chaos, ending up in Queens Park. After sneaking our way around the hundreds of officers clad in riot gear and shields, we were on the front lines. For those of you who haven't witnessed any of the Queens Park events in the media, let me describe it as such.

1. People get mad. People start yelling.
2. Riot police in groups of 30 or more forcefully charge aforementioned People.
3. People run for their lives, scared shitless by large men with shields and bats.
4. People stop running. Start yelling again.
5. Riot police release additional riot tactics, including mounted officers, tear gas, paint balls, and rubber bullets. Police reestablish and expand riot line another 100 yards forward, moving North.
6. People run. Some get gassed, some get trampled, some get arrested and beaten.
7. Six guys yell "Pussies!!"

Hey! Who are those handsome dudes seen at 0:25 in that clip? No less than A-Laye and some shawty gettin his grocery list on. (Huge bigs to DP for finding this clip. A true internet G)

And this goes on for about 3 hours. I was one of the people. Thankfully, I was not one of the trampled or gassed, but the danger was very real. I can hopefully say I'll never experience something that forceful for the rest of my life, but I was there willingly, so I couldn't complain if I did.

To talk about the rest of the actions seen throughout Saturday and Sunday would be irrelevant, because you can't even take a shit in your own home without hearing about the ridiculous actions that took place during the Summit.

I must admit that the violence and irreverence that took place throughout the city was absolutely inexplicable and inexcusable. The members of the Black Bloc, as well as the other "anarchist" zeroes that decided to smash stores acted like a bunch of cowards that obviously weren't concerned with the changing of political policies or overthrowing of governments and corporations. They were there for the single purpose of smashing shit under the guise of civilians.



Let me tell you something. Broken glass does not change jack shit. You think a few broken windows are going to change anything? You can throw bricks all day and night and it won't change dick about these corporations you're inflicting violence upon. You think Bell is going to lose sleep over having to call a repair man in the morning to fix a fucking window?
This type of shit is completely amateur and speaks nothing of the words "revolution" or "overthrow". Even as I sit in my chair now, so angered that I can't even get my hands to move fast enough to type, these shitheads are back home getting their moms to wash their black ski masks, lighting a joint, and listening to Rage Against the Machine. You threw a chair. Whoopdy fucking woo.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for the majority of the peaceful protests that took place throughout the summit, but smashing up a few retail outlets simply makes no sense and will change nothing except the status of your boner.

spreken ze talkin' schmidt

I know I didn't make any mention of it at all, but I'm off to Italy and Switzerland for 3 weeks.

Me and BK are currently sitting in Heathrow Airport in London waiting to make our connecting flight to Rome. Very exciting!

For those that remember from last summer, I'll be continuing my writing on my travel blog, Spreken Ze Talk. I sacrificed my film camera for my video camera this year, which should provide some memorable moments.

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.

Mom, Prague, Czech Republic

mom's the best. i meant to put up this photo a long time ago.

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.

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.

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.

non-stop-summer

Here we go again.

Another year, another week of golf with hilarious old guys in Michigan.

Lots of golf, lots of beer, lots of laughs.

I'll be back on Friday.

No Need To Read This Next Bit

We're back in town

London that is. After leaving Halifax, we thought we might as well drive all the way home, all at once. 27 hours, three caffeinated drinks, four tanks of gas, and more fast food than I'd like to mention later, and we're home. The thing about the energy drinks is that I couldn't get to sleep once my driving shift of four hours was up, so I never slept. I can distinctly recall driving through the GTA around sunup, barely there. My body shut down completely, while leaving me with enough energy to understand whether I was going to crash into another vehicle or not.
The funny thing was, I didn't sleep for most of the day once arriving home. I still haven't fully recovered from that night. Remind me to tell you a funny moose story later as well...

The Wooden Sky

The same night we arrived, we went to go see The Wooden Sky perform in Paterson's backyard. Awesome show. Not only did we get to drink Olde E for the first time in months, we saw a ton of old friends and met a lot of great people. I even saw the boys from my old band The Dustbowl Refugees, which I'll detail at a later date. Check TWS out for sure. Super psyched on their new record.

Golf, Big Time

Myself and the boys went golfing yesterday in St. Catherines. It was Dan's first game and he killed it. Well done my man. It pissed rain nearly the entire time, but we played anyway. Darcy and I both had flying-club incidents, which caused me to "peek" in laughter (which means it doesn't get any louder). I won closest to the pin on a hole, which is always nice. My prize money payed for gas on the way home. Dan and I also cleaned up in the prize draws, taking home the majority of the gifts. I fucking love golf. Alright? I LOVE IT.

Family Time

It's quite rare for me to have any quality time with my family when I come home. I'm usually rehearsing, eating at King's Inn Diner, visiting friends, attending whatever event, or curing a hangover. There's really not enough hours in the day to see everyone. Luckily for this weeks visit, I have plenty of time. Made tortellini prima vera for dad, visiting gram for the first time in a dogs age, made bbq'd corn salad and butter chicken for my ladies, and driving around town with my sister listening to Jackson mix tapes. Awesome.

Retro

By god, was that ever an interesting night.

The Heart

I've mentioned it a hundred times over: I have a bum ticker. It's not all that bad, it just gives me shit every once in a while. There's nothing like the feeling your palpitating heart is about to explode out of your chest. I'd arranged to have an Electrocardiogram with my dad about a week ago, which took place this morning. Everything looked pretty normal, save for my pulse, which pumps around 89 beats per minute, sitting down. Later this afternoon I have an appointment with a cardiologist to have a 48 hour heart monitor installed onto my chest. This is funny to me, considering we have a show to play tomorrow night, and I plan to beat the living shit out of my drums. Hopefully it doesn't run out of batteries and die like the last one. Electrodes are so much fun.

The Beard

I've never heard so many mixed reviews about anything. My beard has hit an all time record in length. Some people think it's handsome, others think it's burly and and out of character. Even last night, two ex-girlfriends of two years gave me polar-opposite reviews. What the hell? Maybe it was too radical a change for some and they're just not used to it. Either way, I'm going to keep it for at least another week I think. At least until I can't take the ridicule.

Haircut

I got a haircut yesterday. I proper haircut. One that I didn't do. My hair was a little pissed I think. I can't remember the last haircut I got professionally. However, it did feel good to get my head rubbed by some cute 'dresser. I think I'm going to marry a hair stylist just so I can get my head rubbed every once in a while. When I was young, my mom would brush my hair to get me to sleep. There's something about that brush that just conks me out. Looks good though.

Travel Tick

My career, no matter what it eventually may be, will not be boring by a long shot. Even as I sat in the waiting room today, my skin crawled with the notion of a desk job. The kind of job where the only things that excite you throughout the day are the fan turning on and off, lunch breaks, having to take a piss, and maybe the dirty magazine you keep in your filing cabinet. No thanks, not for me.
Even after being home for only days after traveling, I want back out. The thrills were all there on this trip: the strangers, the scrounging, the filth, the distance. I travel quite a bit for someone my age, only because I allow myself to. I have no sympathy for those who are jealous, because I have no more opportunity than the next person. Initiative is what separates the do'ers from the dreamers. All it takes is some simple planning, some vision, some money, and you're off. Don't wait for your friends to finish three years of school, just go get it.

On that note, I have to go clean the trailer. In two hours I'll be a robot.

wet hair

Alright folks, here goes nothing. This marks the last time I'll sit in my condo for the next month. I look at my bed, say a few nice things to it, and then part. I look at my shower and all it's glory, say a few nice things to it, and then part. I look at my fully functional kitchen, cry a bit, and then part.

If you've ever camped, traveled for an extended period, or performed a series of shows over a short period of time, you know that what I'm doing is completely necessary.

As a pack my things, my laptop is running on full tilt as I upload nearly every album I own onto it for the road. It's funny, because this is exactly what happened when I left for New Zealand a few years back, and my parents almost left me at home because this double Jimi Hendrix album I had took forever to upload. Must have been those lengthy solos.

Packing for a months time is a serious challenge. You realize how large your wardrobe is (mine is currently massive), and you can only pack really generic things. The key word is "versatility". Because you can't just throw in flashy pants or shirts that don't go with anything. But that's just me being a woman. You also need clothes that you know will either last a really long time, or won't make it past the first week. Some shirts are just bought to throw away.

When I'm gone, I really want to french kiss a french girl, but I have certain people to thank for that.

Either way, I have to leave now. Send me your address and you'll get a postcard. I promise.

I'll be thinking of you.

Andy.

if you were a latino, I'd be fucked

There they are: the two official handsome chauffeurs of the Hue 2009 East Coast Tour.

I don't believe I've ever mentioned such things on this blog, but my band is touring the East coast of Canada starting next week (June 24th to July 25th to be exact). To be totally honest, I'm equally excited and uneasy. It's definitely not the most legit tour ever compiled. On top of slightly shotty tour dates, we're camping. How you like me now? It's going to get really, really greasy. But hey! That stuff is right up my alley.

I've been very fortunate to have seen the many corners of this country at such a young age. It's been some time since I've visited the East, which is nice because I have an altered appreciation for pretty much everything since last visiting when I was 13. Wow, a decade ago? Where does the time go. I still know the feeling of being nearly blown off my feet by the wind, atop a hill in St. Johns. I still remember the smell of the ocean, and I definitely still remember the smell of my No. 5 Dippity Doo hair gel I used at the time. That shit could impale.

Speaking of greasy travelling, Dan and I are no strangers to it. Him and I have traveled half-way around the world together and done some of the most despicable things you can think of, all in the name of survival. Sleeping in parks, eating out of the garbage, shitting in the outback, stealing hundreds worth of drinks, using other peoples towels (fuck), trying to catch food, chasing kangaroos - although I wouldn't call that survival, I just really wanted to box that mo-fo. He took it like a bitch.

Needless to say, we know what we're doing in the wild. We became men at a very young age. Some of that shit I can't even tell you about. Either way, for the tour I'm going to re-open the Spreken Ze Talk blog, just to extend my travel stories this summer.

And it's not even over yet!

The first week of August marks my fourth annual "Men With Clubs" tour. It's basically me and a bunch of retired teachers/principals golfing Northern Michigan for four days. It's really just beer, golf, dudes, and jokes. I love it.

I'll post again before we leave. Show tonight at the London Music Club (big hall), then tomorrow at Mitzi's Sister around 9, then Friday at Pogue Mahones in Sarnia. I have to put up some paintings at Vdara before then.

My life is a circus.

assault and pepper

Hey Friends!

I've not been a slack as of late. It was just old Ted Rogers holding our internet signal ransom for several days. Yet, a lot has happened.

I might as well start with last Thursdays show at Call The Office in London.

The night itself was an overall success. Seeing as I don't have Facebook, I never really know who's "attending" and who's not. I'd heard word that many old friends were confirmed guests, and nearly all of them showed! This made for some, well, I'll just say interesting events. Even great friend, past-bandmate, and wonderful human in general Nathan Albion made his appearance. Dan and I used to be in a band with Nathan called Gerald Pessy way back in the day. We also almost won our highschool Battle Of The Bands together after only two weeks of playing our instruments.


The show also went quite well. There's a young and shakey kid doing sound at CTO nowadays, which caused us a bit of sweat. Aparently the show sounded good from the croud. People seemed to respond well to the new material. Even the new-new material (a near remix of an untitled song that had been played at several shows) went off without a hitch. That new version is pretty awesome, and a lot more fun to play, even though I stole the beat from a Josh Ritter album.
I have to mention, the Call The Office stage has heat like no other club. I'd rather play in the desert than feel the lights of that place. I always bring a change of clothes to those shows because, combining the heat with the vigor I play with, always makes for a sweaty performance.

The next morning, after some delicious King's Inn Diner lunch, we made for the road. I drove. Upon arrival, we all split for a Triple S before the show. I got Chippy's, located directly across the steet. If you've never eaten there, and have an appreciation for fish & chips, boot your ass over there as soon as possible. We then showed up for sound check.


I'll be honest, and I've said before, Lee's Palace scares the shit out of me. It's a massive venue that has seen some of the best bands on the planet play since before you were born. The walls of the place just ache with history. Not only is it one of the most notorious, but the best sounding clubs in the city. So naturally it was a bit nerve-racking packing our gear in it's hollow state. All of the bands were cool, except the bill didn't have any flow whatsoever.

The order went as follows: college funk, hue, hip-hop, then metal. Goofy.

We were rushed going on, seeing as the previous band ran late. I was literally still tightening my stands while Darcy tinkered the opening chords of our set. A great amount of people showed up, except we didn't make any money because they were all on the guestlist haha. S'all good. We payed for our gas money the night before.

Afterward we all hit Dance Cave and danced uncontrollably. Kevin Black and I jammed so fucking hard to Arcade Fire. I'm pretty sure we created our own dance circle in the middle of the floor just because nobody wanted to be hit by our flailing limbs. Atta boy. Another story that deserves some attention is actually quite funny. Minutes before we left after packing our gear, a fight broke out only a few feet from us. The cops showed up, and one of the guys who sucker-punched another dude approached us and told him to take his wallet. We said no, so he kicked it under our van. All I did for the next ten minutes was stare at the guy while he was being questioned by the cops. But why would he do this? It's simple really. The oldest in the book.

See, when a cop questions you for something illegal, all you really need to do is chuck your wallet away. That way, upon questioning, you can make up any address you feel like and the cops would be none the wiser. You'll never recieve a ticket and never pay a fine.

The punchers girlfriend noticed me eyeing him up and pleeded with me to not rat him out. To be honest, the only reason I didn't was because Darcy was driving and didn't want to get involved. Lucky him, because I was drunk and wanted justice. The most funny part is, she was pleeding with me as I was sitting in a van full of people, and after I continued to shove everything she said to the ground, my only reply to her was:

"Na na na na na na na na, BATMAN!!!"

We all had a good laugh at her expense right then and there.

I went home after that and slept. Then! Just when life couldn't get any better! I awoke to tickets to that afternoons Jays game against the Kansas City Royals! My good friend Andrew Siu and his lovely girlfriend treated Blair and I to some free tickets behind the plate. That was fucking awesome. I don't really have any good stories about that, except that I would shout any obscenity Andrew asked me to, including telling Vernon Wells to "EARN THAT 20 MILL!!!" when he was up to bat. He then struck out.

A week later, Darcy and I attended the annual Alzheimer's Tournament at The Highland in London. This was our fourth year playing, and easily the most hilarious yet. I won't go into too much detail, because I have a tonne of pics and video from that day, which I will post hopefully as soon as my sister sends them. You're in for some hilarity.

That same night a whole whack of us went out to Raygun and party-hardy'd, until we eventually ended up at Caitlin's place, free-styling and putting back drinks until the sun came up. Those freestyle tapes exist somewhere and I'll see what I can do to retrieve them.


Nowadays I've just been working, doing laundry, rehearsing, recording, painting, photographing, working on a website, Luminato, watching playoff basketball with K, walking, organizing, and enjoying what has been one of the best summers in years. My life seems to be one hectic, fantastic moment after another.

the simpson house

Who knew there'd be one more?

The incredibly lovely lady that is Jess graced us with her presence for a few short days this week at 1806. Jess, you are welcome back anytime, as you know more about the Food Network than any of my friends, aside from being flat-out hilarious.

bondark presents

Just a little note saying I've updated my Flickr account with some stuff I shot at Yellowstone over the summer. Keep in mind, it's all digital black and white. I'll begin printing my film when I win the lottery.

desaturated stories

One of the huge advantages to working in a coffee shop is the intense amount of people you meet everyday. On occasion, you will grow such strong relationships that you'll have a chance to hang out with some of these people outside of work, which is always fun. Joleen and Zubeen are two of our favorite customers. They invited me, as well as others, over for a game of Cranium and drinks the other week. Cranium instantly became my new favorite board game, probably because I kicked serious ass.

The game is divided up into four categories. One is trivia, another is charades, one is making objects using putty, and the last is drawing on a pad without looking down. I'm usually fairly good at these sorts of physical games, unlike Monopoly, where the greedy-asshole-bullshit-backstabbing-gutless side comes out of all your friends. My game of Monopoly usually ends by forfeit or fist fight.

Hova.

Hova.

This is Kudzai. He is easily one of the most genuine and honest friends I've ever come across. We've been close friends for almost a year now. He was born in Zimbabwe, moved to Atlanta as a refugee, then over to Toronto a couple years ago. He is always an hour early for anything and is more reliable than an elevator (note: elevators need repairing about every 500,000 miles). He is absolutely hilarious and can stretch a tiny story into an epic hour-long laugh fest.

I made these chicken wings last week after coming home belligerently drunk after a night on the Stoop. The kind of drunk that makes you call your friends the next day to apologize for last night. Anyway, I was really hungry when I came home and decided to make an entire box of chicken wings. Everything was going as planned: I set my timer for 30 minutes so that I could nap until I had to flip them in the oven. So I woke up, flipped the wings, and went back to sleep - sans timer! I woke up the next morning to the smell of barbecue. I had a big smile on my face because I thought my wings were done. Turns out they were done after about four hours of being in the oven! My brother woke me up to question what I was up to the night before, and informed me that he took out the wings around 6:00am that morning after going to the bathroom. Even after a week, my condo still smells like honey garlic. Look at those things! They look like petrified dino-turds.

Carribana was fun. I saw a really good steel drum band competition down at the Harborfront Center. This is easily the biggest singular cultural festival in Toronto. Although I didn't get to experience the parade, I did notice the extra million people flooding the streets and the nonstop partying in the streets until all hours of the morning. Darn Jamaicans!





This was taken outside of the Famous Red Rooster in Burlington during our mini-tour this summer. Although the pay is decent, the staff is nice, and the food is good, the crowds are terrible. Being heckled is brutal. If I could, I would take every narrow-minded, drunk, arrogant, American Eagle, jock asshole and let Jeffry Dahmer make cool new suits out of them. If you don't know who Jeffry Dahmer is, look it up, because it'll make that joke a lot funnier to you. Either way, I don't think we'll be playing there any time soon.

I challenged myself when taking this photo above. Bike said he was only going to run through the sprinkler if I took a decent shot of it. Well, the Waco Kid strikes again. Not only was it completely dark out (allowing zero visibility to focus), but he was running full speed at the thing, giving me no time! Needless to say, I want to blow up that photo and hang it over my couch.
Below is a photo taken standing between the median on University Ave. before entering Queen's Park. It's pretty tight in the middle, so it's fun to lay there and listen to cars zing past your head with friends late at night.


The other night I was walking home from a friends house when I was approached by a confused-looking man. He was a trustworthy-looking guy with a very thick European accent. He asked me if there were any stores open that would sell him liquor. It was 3:30 in the morning. I laughed and told him that's not how it works in Canada, and that not even a restaurant would sell him booze by this point. He looked very disappointed because I'm pretty sure he promised some people that he would return back to the hotel with some hooch. I saw the confusion in his eyes and desperation and said "Hey! Come on upstairs, I think I've got a little whiskey left." So we did. Turns out, the guys name was Juraj Lehotský. He was a Slovakian director and was in the city to premier his film at the Toronto International Film Festival. I snapped this photo of him below.

Juraj was an extremely nice guy. Through his broken, drunk english there was a lot of truth and passion for his work and life. He's married and recently became a father in his hometown of Bratislava. We sat and drank straight whiskey until the sun came up, talking about his film and how girls can tear you a new one. His film Blind Loves is a beautiful full-length documentary on blind couples living with the struggles only communication through limited senses. He gave me a couple tickets to the premier, where we met again and laughed about the previous events.

With the camera out, his directorial instincts took hold and he began snapping. He got down on his knees like Fredrico Fellini and snapped this photograph of me. I tried to explain to him how that camera works, and that there is no auto focus. I'm guessing through his drunk-goggles he assumed the photo would be as clear as a bell. Either way, I love it and feel quite privileged that such an accomplished filmmaker took my photo. I don't know, it's just neat to me.

there's always one!

And it's true: there is always one song that comes out during summer that kicks undeniable ass.

Electric Feel by MGMT

Damn, this song is good.

Every summer, one single comes out that just has that certain something about it. We all know the criteria: nice tempo, great groove, catchy, non distracting lyrics, and replayability. Come to think of it, it's comparable to great sex and may even make you want to have it.

It's one of those tracks that makes any songwriter or musician throw down their gloves and say, "Yep, you won this one." As ridiculous and narrow-minded as that sounds, it's just fucking true. In fact, you should probably be listening to this song while reading this.

www.myspace.com/mgmt

This song just has that groove that makes you scrunch up your face and say Daaaammn, all while your shoulders, hips, and feet move in perfect unison. It's nostalgic to Simply Red's Sunrise, which makes me move in quite similar ways. The production and mixing is brilliant. The vocals and drums are as loud as all hell (which they should be), it's soaked in reverb, and combines some sort of guitar/keyboard/bass line that I can't seem to wrap my head around. The formula is easy simple enough that tweeners to geezers can get down to it.

I find myself dancing to it at work, even though it's never played. My feet tap, and I mouth the words when my back is turned to people. It's the only good thing that Mtv is playing nowadays, not that I'm ever watching. And what's with Mtv playing only short clips of music videos? Just when you get into it, it's commercial time. I still don't understand.

Either way, listen to the track. Hell, the video is even good: An organic party-orgy set in the amazon with animals backing the band and random glimpses of forties? That can't miss. Oh, and if you don't like it, listen to it the next day, and then the next. I didn't like it much the first time I heard it, now I listen to it several times a day. Enjoy.

better yours than mine

I think it's time for this one to go.

I decided the other day that I want to donate this painting to the Sick Kids hospital here in Toronto.

I came to this conclusion based on several good reasons, such as:

It would satisfy me more than anything to know that kids were enjoying it 24 hours a day, opposed to being glanced at every so often by someone who just got home from work. Aside from being overly expensive to make, this piece is large (over 8 feet long), and very textural; something kids can rub their hands over without causing any damage.

The decision was formed around one simple question: who would I rather enjoy this?

It currently sits in the studio, upright, collecting dust, and needs a home. There's no other place I'd rather see it hanging than Sick Kids.

Have you ever seen this hospital?

It's really amazing. I usually take my friends there because it's right down the street and I love spending time there walking the halls and riding the glass elevators up and down. There are even massive animals suspended from the ceilings and walls, beautiful murals and even nurses in costume. From a child's point of view, I can imagine it being the kind of place that you'd break your foot just to get in the place.

I think it's settled then. I've looked up the number for the donations department at the hospital and will likely give this person a call later today.

For more info on the hospital, go to www.sickkids.ca