bike bike bike

This video is just hilarious.
Not only does it hit on a somewhat personal level, but the entire inner-city bike culture.
Although this video seems to be geared (no pun) towards downtown bike messengers, anyone who's ridden on a bike at least once on a busy street can relate. Seeing as I ride my bike for usually an hour a day, I can humorously sympathize with the points made.

rollin'

we're playing again, tomorrow night, at El Mocambo. 11:30.
since the venue is across the street from our rehearsal space, nobody's driving.
therefore we're all partying for the first time.
having a license can be a burden.

"commanding presence"

This post concerns itself with one building: the Aura Condominium currently being built in College Park, downtown Toronto. This building boasts itself for being the largest residential condominium in the country. Seeing as I lived in that neighborhood for three consecutive years, with some affection I might add, I feel somewhat responsible for voicing some concerns about this massive undertaking.

First, I will list my credentials. I lived in The Liberties, Tower III for three years. I know every inside and out to that neighborhood; from the secret passages underneath the Delta Chelsea, to the rooftop access to the LuCliffe building, many of the local business owners and government workers by name, the wind speeds of Bay street, the angle the sun passes during the winter months, the ridiculous service charge at the ATM machine in the convenience store, the timing of the advanced green lights on Gerard street, and that weird little shack covered in pigeon shit that houses a zamboni. I know it all. I have an affinity for College Park in general, and although the two parking lots that once occupied the corner of Yonge and Gerard may not have been the best use of space, building a 75 storey tower certainly isn't any better.

When discussing the problems with the Aura tower, it is important to mention where and what surrounds the building.

Yonge Street, located just immediately East of the building is notorious, among many things, for being the longest street in the world. Littered along this street in this neighbouhood is a surplus of adult movie stores, chinese restaurants, low-end retail outfits and strip clubs for several blocks until you hit the tourist-eyesore that is Dundas Square. At the corner of Gerard, Yonge is four lanes wide, consistently halved by turning cars in either lane and congested by massive amounts of commuters and tourists.

Gerard Street, located just South, is the site of the main entrance/exit to the Aura tower. Conversely to Yonge, Gerard is only two lanes wide with sidewalks on either side (one belonging mainly to the Delta Chelsea's main street entrance, which also includes an airport shuttle that arrives every 30 minutes). Aside from condominiums, Gerard is currently occupied by cabs, drivers frustrated with one-way streets, and emergency vehicles.


My main concern is the utter congestion of College Park. The building is barely completed and the majority of the 75-story tower has been sold (which is standard for building practices). If you consider that the building will be almost completely filled by the time of completion, we're looking at at least two thousand people, if not more, additional occupants to the area. Although the building praises itself for being connected to the PATH system (you still have to take a $3 subway one stop to get there), it is only presumable that at least half of the towers occupants will have vehicles.
After seeing the day-to-day construction of Aura's parking facilities, which can be seen here, it is obvious that the parking accommodations are completely massive, appearing to exceed 7 storey's below ground.

Remember when I mention the two lane's of Gerard street? Now throw the extra cars into the equation.

Today, turning on to Gerard is an annoyance in itself. Confused travellers heading into the Delta are slow, cabs consistently pull over sporatically, people J-walk, and there are emergency vehicles constantly (Toronto General's ER is one block away). Did I forget to mention there are also two bike lanes? The utter mess that I can only forsee will be chatostrophic. The morning and evening rushes will be straight hell and will only create more problems for the emergency vehicles. The corner of Yonge and Gerard will be permanently jammed from all the "don't-give-a-shit-I'm-walking-here" locals. Bay street will be one permanent horn sound, and University will no doubt be congested by the turning South cars heading towards the QEW.

That's just cars.

Bringing those thousands of people back into the equation, let's talk about College Park the building. For those of us who've experienced the 180,000 square foot shopping centre more than once, it's easy to classify the centre as feverish. Seeing as the building houses a 24-hour Metro grocery store, as well as College subway station, the foot traffic alone is enough to peeve any pedestrian. Adding thousands to that equation brings Advil commercials to mind. For starters, the Metro is already insane. I honestly believe that not only will the store itself not be able to contain the demand of the customers, but will not be able to supply the amount of produce needed to feed that many urbanites. Shit, they already run out of red peppers as it is. The only real times to get any quality, uninterrupted shopping done is between the hours of 12a.m.-5a.m., and even then the place is not empty.
Upstairs, the Winners will flood and the Tim Hortons line will extend only further out the door, at all hours of the day. The College subway station will bottleneck, as it is one of the smallest stations situated in the downtown core, and one of the most utilized.

Although the building, once completed, will be an urban architectural marvel, I believe the ripple effect it will have on that neighborhood will be more detrimental than the planners originally foresaw in terms of transportation, supply and demand, and functionality. I didn't need to write this article, because the fact of the matter is I'll probably never live in that area again. But given my realtionship with the neighborhoud, as well as my close friends that still live and work there that will have their lifestyles ultimately altered (as well as their view), I felt it necessary to voice my detest for the entire project, which I have from day one.

For more information, you can visit the Aura website.

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.

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.

happy 200

200th Post. Something monumental I guess.

To celebrate, I'm throwing in some Three Stooges for good measure. I'm not sure what my hankering is all about to watch Three Stooges clips all night, but maybe it has something to do with the show Dan, Darcy and I played tonight here in Toronto.

Because clearly Dan is Moe, Darcy is Larry, and I'm Curly. Enjoy.

hitchhiker's guide

After so many major consequtive purchases, I literally have a few dollars to my name at the moment. When asked if I wanted to go out tonight by my dear friend Kudzai, one story came to mind immediately.

The story of a penniless, stranded Douglas Adams and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy goes as follows:

"Adams claimed that the title came from a 1971 incident while he was hitchhiking around Europe as a young man with a copy of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide to Europe book, and while lying drunk in a field in Innsbruck with a copy of the book and looking up at the stars, thought it would be a good idea for someone to write a hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy as well."

The book went on to sell more than 14 million copies.

I plan to do something similar tonight.

I'm literally going to take the twenty dollar bill in my pocket and blow it on beer with one of my best friends in effort to drink and dance my way into some flash-of-genius-stupor that will send my artistic career into another (if any) stratosphere.

I really enjoy putting myself in holes like this. At times I consider money to be simply a privilege; something to be enjoyed and dealt with at a later date. It's one of the great freedoms we allow ourselves to relish in: the ability to do whatever we want with our earnings. The simple fact about money that doesn't scare me one bit goes like this:

I know I'm not going to die.

I have food in my house and money coming my way in various directions. I know I'm not going to go hungry or homeless tonight, so it's time to put my inspiration on the stove and let it cook for a while.

FLIK

Remember a Bug's Life? That shit strikes again!
Very funny weekend with J-Ro and Jeffrey Vuitton.

americanos with cinnamon

Well friends, it appears we're back at it.

There's been serious talks about recording the next Hue record. We've applied for the government grants, talked to past produced Mikey T, scoped out studio locations, and have begun honing in on certain songs and possible other considerations for the album. The more interesting part of all this is we're possibly recording in March. That's not very far away.

The process of writing and recording is a very fun and tricky thing. Personally, when I sit down at the drum kit to write parts for new songs, I do it somewhat vaguely. Like in painting, I'll rough in an idea to expand from. Timing signatures, fills, splits, cymbal work, absences, different sticks and percussion etc etc. From there, after about a dozen or so run-through's, I should have a pretty good idea of what I'm doing. However, when writing an album, everything counts and you have to be prepared to play those same parts for the rest of your life. I've never actually regretted a single drum line that I've written, but some are just more strenuous than others (like Until Then, which is around 7 minutes of the same thing).

However, it's all quite exciting. I love the process. I pride myself on being fairly expedient in the studio; we're aiming to record all of my drum parts for this record in one day, maybe two. Like the recording process of the last record, I'll have an americano in my hands at all times. I can't drink one of those things without feeling the tight hug of studio headphones wrapped around my ears, and the smell of sound-proofed foam covering the walls.

The writing process has also been quite refreshing this time around. Seeing as we've added two new members to the lineup, the variety of sounds, instruments, and harmonies has opened up gigantic sonic possibilites. The rehearsals have been sounding as good as listening to a record. Writing with five people is a lot of fun, especially since it's less of a stage circus because there is little instrument change-overs when playing live.

Another thing to take into account when writing a record is the songs themselves: not so much the songs on the record, but the ones that don't make it. It's honestly like losing old friends. We have songs we've been playing for literally years that I know won't make this record. Dozens of them. Because as you start to form a record you realize thematically and sonically what it is and where it's going. Some, actually, most songs don't make records because they are either too "this" or too "that". Some rock a little too much, sound like somebody else, or are so over the deep end that it doesn't even sound like it was written by the same band.

Although we'll be cutting songs like chops of meat, the finished product is going to be something very special I think. I want to say it's very different from the last record, which it is, but not too far away. Don't expect to hear any rap or reggae on this record. I will say that we're far less timid this time around, timid in terms of exploration and limitations of the songs themselves. There's grooves, holes, length and chances taken in almost every track. Given that we've had a huge amount of time around to write and demo songs, the work has been allowed to group and expand organically amongst the group, unlike the last record, where the small amount of time to write and record reacted to some material like a miniature dinosaur that expanded in warm water.

Either way, I'll continue to post about any advancements over the next couple months, amongst other things.

amazing!

Before leaving for home, I decided that it would be a good idea to deep clean the house. Here in Toronto, the garbage system outside of waste and recycling also has a bin for organic compost. Seeing as I hadn't changed my bin in a while, it was go time.

There must have been some seriously rotten shit in there, because as soon as I removed the bag from the bin, I barfed!! Blluughghhaaaahhhuuuuwwa!!! Amazing! It smelled so rotten that I barfed right there on my lino floor!

I think barfing is the funniest shit ever. One time my dogs got sprayed by a skunk back home and the sheer smell of the skunky-dogs getting washed in the tub made my sister barf. I thought that was amazing.

I've never personally barfed from smell alone, until about ten minutes ago. It happened instantly. So rad.

I've never had a big problem with barfing. Most of my close friends know this. I used to barf on purpose after big nights of binge drinking, just so I wouldn't feel like shit in the morning. I don't do it anymore. Come to think of it, I've gone through all kinds of drinking ritual phases. Two sweet barfing instances come to mind: one was with Tiff on the Nathan Phillips Square ice rink last winter after drinking super expired McDonalds milk (one halfwit security guard thought we were bulimic, so I made him smell the milk), and the second with Meme in the city hall parking lot on top of a Smart Car, which subsequently led to Meme spewing the most amazing rice barf of all time.

Barf is awesome. Don't be afraid of it, unless you have the flu, then prepare for shittyness.

Honorable Mention goes to Lwam last Saturday night at the Madison, which was based on a gag reflex rather than drunkenness. Beautiful Heinekin barf cascading down a set of wooden stairs followed by the roar of 20 screaming jocks? RAD TO THE BONER.

meow

I just witnessed something very interesting. As I was walking down the street, I noticed four people looking very concerned for the safety of this street cat that was trying to cross the road. On the other side of the road, a homeless man was sleeping on the streetcar tracks with nobody gave a shit. Kinda makes you wonder where peoples priorities lie, doesn't it?

I drove the Tut

I was thinking just now about the upcoming King Tut exhibit coming to the AGO in late November, and a lot of questions arose.

For starters, the coffin of King Tut has to actually arrive at the AGO. How does this happen? More interestingly, who gets to ride shotgun with King Tut? Do you think they stop to pee at McDonalds when King Tut himself is in the backseat? What kind of vehicle do they use? You'd hope it was one of those armored bank trucks, but maybe it isn't? Maybe they leave him exposed in the backseat of a Ford Windstar.

This next part came from an interest I had with famous rock stars entering concert halls and arenas. At some point, they're exposed to the air outside, which is funny to think because at one point they had to walk into the building from their bus - which is something people don't really consider because they view them as objects of entertainment, not living, breathing people who take sharp shits and get foot cramps like the rest of us. In the case of King Tut, could you look over at the AGO at one point and see him being carted from the truck? Because, at a certain time, King Tut has to go from the truck to the museum. Now, I know they wouldn't push the Tut out open on the streets, but you get the picture.

How do they know when King Tut arrives? Do they call the museum like it was a pizza delivery? Like they were ordering from Pizza Tut?

"Hey, uhhh, yeah. I'm the King Tut driver, and we're almost here. We can't find Spadina. What? I'm circling around man, and I can't find Spadina. Dundas? Where's Dundas? Dude, King Tut is in the back, where the hell am I going??"

It's not like they're toting around town with lumber in the back. It's the fucking TUT: one of the most incredible and sought-after artifacts known to man. So who's driving the car? Is that something the driver puts on his resume? "I drove The Tut."

To be totally honest, I have another two dozen questions lined up.

p.s. I couldn't resist that Pizza Tut pun. I'm far too Schmidt to pass that little gem up.

things I've learned at 1806

I'll preface this next bit with some notes. I've lived here, in the same room, for three years, and I know every in and out of this neighborhood within a four-block radius. I've lived with some serious characters and have experienced some pretty amazing times. There's been some quiet times, and some really loud times. If these walls could talk, there would probably be a lot of bleeping-out.

The Sound

My room at 1806 is partly separated by glass from another bedroom. Apparently, everything can be heard coming from my room in the other bedroom, and I mean everything. Yet the strange thing is, I've never heard much of anything come from the other side. It's almost like a one-way-mirror, except for sound. Strange, indeed.

The Lifts.

The elevators are incredibly smart here. I've never seen elevators like it. When idled, one sits at ground level, another in the middle, and the other at the penthouse. They juggle perfectly as if actually controlled by one very considerate man.

The Delta Chelsea.

This hotel sits across the street from my room. It ruins what would be an incredible view of south downtown Toronto. The shortcut through the lobby is the only real redeeming quality about the place, which I've probably passed through over 500 times. It's also extremely ugly. On top of that, I never saw any full-on sex coming from any of the rooms. How lame is that? Every night I'd look out my window to see if anything was going down, and nothing. I've seen some weird stuff however. I've seen a blowjob in progress, an old guy masturbating naked, two naked people laying on the bed with the lights on, and a whole lot of people changing. So, for all my real friends, do me a favor and go have sex at the Delta. Not so that I can sit and watch, but so that I can finally say after three years "Oh look, people are having sex at the Delta. Neat". On a final note - Blair and I are still trying to figure a way to blow up the entire building, just so he'll have a nice view.

The Alarms.

My condo is allergic to smoke. Even if you burn toast, the smoke alarm goes off. There's been some perticularly hilarious stories surrounding that device. The interesting thing is though, howcome the alarm never went off after we Jamaican Sauna'd the bathroom? I've seen steam come out of that bathroom that would honestly rival Niagara Falls.

The Changes.

Something is always wrong with this place. They're always shutting off the water, closing the gym, renovating the pool, fixing soggy ceilings, tearing up floors, bleaching something, and removing something else. I'm going to guess that there were only a total of 21 days where nothing was wrong with this building. I'm sure the site coordinator loses sleep at night.

The Halls.

The hallways smell like Toys R' Us. I noticed that the day I moved in. Do you know the smell I'm talking about? It's dominantly a fresh plastic smell, mixed with the odd stroller that passes by.

The Water.

It's god-damn delicious. Toronto water in general is the tastiest water ever. I have no idea why either. If the water here could be embody an inanimate object, it would probably be a milk shake, because that's how good it feels to drink. Going from another other towns water to Toronto's is like going from Marble Cheese to Double-Creme Brie. Get the picture?

The Tank.

I was never busted for practically living in my studio. My studio space is a large storage unit located one floor below street level. Two security cameras point directly at the door, and yet I was never hassled for being down there for hours at a time. Sometimes, a few people will accompany me, back in the good old Think Tank days. We'd stay there for hours. I'd have girls down there (intentionally or not). I play albums on full blast. I empty piss jugs and used oils/chemicals into the small drain outside the door. I clean by brushes at the Car Wash bay (and I usually do a pretty good job of spraying all the colors into the drain). Strange things come and go from that room as well, such as: a gigantic mirror, a five-foot wagon wheel, bee bee guns, an oven door, countless canvases, and lots of busted furniture.

24/7

It's too convenient here. It's literally impossible to go hungry in this area. There are four 24-hour establishments within five minutes of each other, and I couldn't even tell you how many times I've visited them at 5 a.m. There's a Panago next to my front door, a Subway, and a Falafel house around the corner. The convenience is also one of the major factors in leaving this place: I just don't want it that easy anymore.

Blair.

I love living with Blair, because he thinks I'm a pretty cool guy and really hams me up when I'm in the kitchen. He laughs at all my bad jokes and catches all my movie references. He is easily persuaded by his vices, and I've practiced that persuasion many, many times. His hobby is cleaning, which is good, because my hobbies create a lot of mess. He thinks I look like Sinatra, and once said I'm like the Dos Equis guy. No wonder I love Blair.

everything is broken

Well friends, here we are again.

I trust you've all been soaking up your summer to it's full extent.

I've personally been squeezing the living shit out of my summer. I swam in a Great Lake yesterday and slept in a tent. We can complain about the heat and sweat all day, but when it comes down to it, we all know we'll be complaining about the cold in six months.

I usually like to keep this blog away from my personal life, but for now I'm going to dictate the next week of my life for historical purposes. So that one day, when I have a cushy life, I'll look back on the good ol' days and smile for a minute. I truly believe that no matter how feverish my life currently is, I'll reminisce about how much fun it really was.

In the next week I have to:

Find a Place To Live For September
Course Selection
Rehearsals
Convince Rogers To Sell Me a New Phone
Work Four Days In a Row
Install a New Painting Exhibition, & Remove An Old One
Figure Out How I'm Going To Do All Of The Above

Piece of cake? Easy as pie? Sure, why not.

In related phone problems, the final sentence was delivered the other night.

The screen on my phone is completely ruined. I'm sure the damage somehow correlated nicely with the cut on my arm pictured below. The funny thing is, I can hear when someone texts me, but can't read who it came from. So I've just been calling everyone, which has been kind of nice.

On top of that, I stepped on my ipod headphones. I'm not upset about this, because those buds are so terrible in terms of sound quality.

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.

just another day living downtown

...and if it's not sirens, it's Jack Layton. 

"memosa"

I'd like to see if your friends would show up at your door at 11am with a bottle of champagne.

DEL

As previously mentioned, I had a show in Scarborough, last week? I'm not sure exactly. My days are becoming so full that I can't tell what day it is anymore, but that's good.

The show went exactly how I thought it would go. I'd show up, hang my single piece (which I'm almost certain was the largest there), walk around for a while kissing babies, then bugger off for a while to enjoy the sun. That day, now looking back, was actually a lot of fun. Dan and I don't really get to just hang out much anymore, so it was fun to kick it together just like old times. The only thing we did all day was crack jokes, and I wish I was exaggerating about that. Later that night we met with some friends and didn't feel like laughing anymore.

I had my wall space good and ready to go. As usual, I was a horrible self-promoter. So bad in fact that I wrote my contact information on what I thought were business cards they provided, which in fact were raffle tickets. hahahah, holy shit. This funny gay couple (who were all over East and DP) were saddened by the fact that I couldn't hang the piece higher on the display. They had a point, but I wasn't too shook by it.

After seeing the light cast by the bulb in the top left corner of this piece I became really attached to that sun spot. I've considered roughing one in.

The free coffee, tea and cookies didn't quite get rid of my hangover, but definitely helped the conversations flow a bit faster.

This character, seen above in the tight red sweats, gold bling, and a child's Raptors jersey, absolutely needs to be mentioned.
The man's name was Ian Moo Young, and I'm pretty sure he was absolutely off his rocker. He showed up to the show with a cart full of shit, including a mop, bottles of liquor, and a big red rug. These would all be included in his wacky display later in the day.
At the beginning of the day I became jealous when seeing him speak to other exhibitors. I just wanted him to, you know, flirt with me a little.

Moo indeed was off his rocker. After nearly being thrown out for calling a photographer a "shit" and "an asshole", he fled to East and DP to hide from the women running the event. At this point, Moo went on and on for almost two hours about all kinds of things. I can only really skim the surface when talking about what he said, so I'll try. These are some of his accomplishments:

a) He trained several of the top tennis players in the world, and wants to one day, win the Wimbledon. He said he still schools world-ranking youngsters.

b) At one point, he was one of the top filmmakers in Britain, and directed more than one hundred commercials for many corporations throughout the UK.

c) Was good friends with Princess Diana, and that the only reason they never hooked up was because they were both in relationships at the wrong times. And since this was the case, somebody he called The Duke of Devonshire wanted him dead, which leads to the next point.

d) He's killed people. After being chased into a cave by assassins at night, somewhere in the Southern Pacific, he proceeded to kill one man by throwing his machete at him. He killed the other two assassins by spreading a bad of pigs blood (which he seemed to have on him at the time) on the ground the attract the local tigers. Every time he mentioned someone dying, he let out the creepiest laugh I've ever heard.

e) He's dated supermodels and is the eye of any woman he meets. He planned on asking a girl he met at the show if she wanted to be in his next film. I'm just going to assume she said no.

Needless to say, Moo was nuts, and I'm sure only 1% of everything he said was true. Although, his work was interesting and some of the motifs presented were intriguing. Just stuff about how we're all mermaids, and then something about foot fetishes. Whatever.

Either way, the day was an over all success, and it's always fun to drive on the Don Valley Parkway.

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.

the secret machine

Sunday's, believe it or not, are usually the most eventfull day in my week. I'll try to put myself into harms way as much as possible.

After clearing my head from last nights mosh-fest with a good old sleep in, I decided it was time for a proper meal. I settled on a breakfast of homemade hash browns, bacon, carmelized onions, creamed spinach, and fried eggs. This took forever because I haven't fully figured out how to make perfect hash browns yet (recipes are my enemy). I cook by trial and error.
Once I was done eating I called my mum and lovingly wished her a happy Mother's Day. She deserves every bit of it, because I have the best mum on the planet, no matter how much you argue with me.

Now, something I usually do with my Sunday's is to go for a nice long walk. This walk usually starts somewhere around St. Clair station, as I will take the subway up there on the Yonge line, just to walk home. However, I decided this was too short for my liking and headed west on Bloor St. I had a savage headache at the time. Listening to Stockholm Syndrome on full blast didn't help too much either, but who cares?

Upon walking into the Annex, I decided visit the local BMV. Here, I do as I usually do in any book store: walk to the travel and maps section. To be totally honest, I have no idea why this happens. It is simply the most attractive section of any book store to me. I think books on travel and maps are romantic and mysterious, full of honesty and curiosity. I have a serious love for old world exploration maps. I'll go into further detail about this love at another time.

Around this time, I got a call from John Bean. Oh John, my friend. We decided to meet up for a pint a half an hour from the time of his call, so it was time to get some food first.

I stopped by the local Ginger to grab a quick bite. It was here that I also experienced my latest panic attack. I should first mention that panic attacks are nothing new to me. I used to get them quite predictibly when I was young. I couldn't watch an IMAX movie without having a freak-out session. The sheer size of the screen would cause panic. Yet they have become less frequent, thankfully, over the past several years. But by god are they horrible. It feels like a bad drug trip without the excuse. With drugs you can at least convince yourself that there are powers at work that are beyond your control. When it's a straight-up panic attack it's scarier because it's just you and your mind working against each other.


These are your usual symptoms:

• Rapid heart beat, pounding heart or palpitations
• Sweating
• Shaking visibly or inside
• Choking sensations or lump in throat
  
• Smothering or shortness of breath sensations
• Nausea, bloating, indigestion or abdominal discomfort
• Dizziness or unsteadiness
• Feeling light-headed
• Derealization (feeling unreal or dreamy)
• Depersonalization (feeling outside yourself or like you don't exist)
• Fear of losing control or going crazy
• Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations) in face, extremities or body
• Chills or hot flushes
• Skin losing color
• Blushing or skin blotches

However some symptoms are more present than others, the major symptoms I experience are Derealization, Depersonalization, and Paresthesias (and not because they are all big words). There may be others but I am almost always alone when they occur.

Basically, try to imagine that your head is floating, severed from your body, and that you aren't even present existentially. The only way to remind yourself that you have arms and legs is to either attempt moving them or to pinch them, just to remind you that they are still there. Anti-gravitational pull seems to take effect and you'll feel like you're about to be sucked into the ceiling at top speed. You can't read, you can't hear a thing, and the person you thought you were is reduced to a pile of functionless matter. Everything shakes, and everything is scary; even the comics section of the paper you so dearly love.

Luckily, the thought of seeing John kept me grounded enough to stomach my meal and meet him at Bathurst station.

Long story short: we went to the Green Room, downed a few jugs of Tankhouse, and chatted each other up. John is a great listener. He lets me chew his ears off. We talk a lot about film, hip hop, girl problems, old friends, modern day technological problems, and things that make us laugh - amongst other things. Our usual policy is: meet for a beer when the sun is up, leave our beer when the sun is down. Tonight was no different. John is one of those friends that I know I'll be checking out girls with when we're 60. I can just see it coming.



Regardless, that was my Sunday. How was yours?