everybody poos

While taking a shit today, I began to wonder who else was shitting at that same moment. Then I began to laugh, because I started thinking about celebrities shitting. After cycling through about a dozen shit-lebrities, I laughed hardest at the thought of Victoria Beckham shitting.

Think about it.

Posh Spice pinching off a huge loaf? Haaaahahaa!! I'm trying to imagine her struggling-poo face.

I'll try to think of some more funny ones.

Nicole Kidman, Ghandi, and Bruce Wayne are all funny too.

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.

come on everyone, lets see some smoke

For starters, I've finally finished making some adjustments on the photos I took for the 5x4 performance last month. I don't believe I've mentioned this performance on this blog before, but it was a stellar performance orchestrated by my two good friends Cara and Alicia. They approached me about photographing the event, to which I immediately agreed. We've worked together on a couple projects in the past with great success. The girls are lovely to work with and produce wonderful work.

5x4 was a performance piece that involved 20 performers interacting with 20 regular household items for over an hour. Each person was given a taped-off section, amongst a grid of other performers, to interact, personify and become involved with the item of their choice. Objects ranged from garbage cans, armchairs, mannequins, tables, books, to coat racks. Abstract soundscapes played and each person climbed, wrestled, lifted, and moved their object to it's within it's physical limits.

I was actually quite disappointed to hear that this would be a one-time performance. Each and every onlooker was fully engaged in this very physical performance. Although wildly entertaining and interesting, time is money and these spaces are not cheap to rent. At least the performance will live on through photographic proof.

Speaking of photography; this experience was actually a rare treat to capture from behind the lens. For a minute it almost felt like one of those silly tutorials that camera shows will put on where they'll have one or two well-lit models in a studio setting that fat old white guys will photograph to their hearts content, except on a much larger scale. The treat was that I had free range to photograph 20 individuals freely in a beautifully lit setting. I decided to avoid the distractions of flash photography, and went fully manual to avoid that "beep" when using auto-focus. I definitely did not want to be "that guy" who's clicking, flashing, and stepping on everyone throughout the entire performance.

The rest of the photos can be viewed on my flickr account at:

www.flickr.com/filmsnotdead

stan's the man

I just simply love these shoes.

In my opinion, the classic Adidas Stan Smith II's are some of the finest shoes ever created. They're sleek, comfortable, stylin, and more importantly, durable. I've dragged these shoes (literally) through the mud, across nearly every terrain imaginable. They've been with me through it all: everyday walking, skateboarding,mountain trails, bars, running, dance parties, on the beach, driving, playing on stage, climbing the cn tower, puddles, and the paint studio. They've seen everything from my own crowning achievements to heartbreak. From summer afternoons to shitty winter mornings.

One thing I've always done with these shoes is paint them. I believe that maintaining the color of these shoes is some sort of a duty that I must uphold, as an owner. So, while sacrificing looking like a douche bag, I paint them. I usually stick with plain gesso paint. Although water-based, I find this paint to be more durable than your standard acrylics. I dabbled for a while with the idea of oil paint, but I simply never had the time to let them dry, as well as the price of the paint itself. You can usually tell how old the pair of shoes are by seeing how thick the paint is getting on the surface, almost as if you were taking a cross-section of a tree and counting the rings to see how old they were.

Then, when the day comes, I'll paint them another color. At this point, the shoe has lost all structural integrity and has fallen towards the shitter. The laces are crusted together with paint, the toe cover lifts open like the hood of a car, and there is virtually no grip whatsoever. At this point in my head I'll say to myself "Fuck this. They look so stupid anyway, I might as well paint them another color." I like to call these ones Limited Edition, when in reality, they are just old-dirty-painted-runners. My favorites have to be the blue pair, only because they've been gesso'd so hard that it looks like a desert floor from all the cracking. To be honest, as stupid as they look, I (think) I get more respect for wearing them. I've even heard some people say they love them (drunk girls).

The only considerable downside to loving these shoes is that, for me, they are nearly impossible to find. With fancy new shoe designs hitting the counters every week (no thanks to kids between the ages of 15-27, who love that ugly America's Dance Crew multicolored shit with laces), the older models get pushed further and further back in the orders. Here in Toronto, I've visited every downtown Adidas location, which is an embarrassment in itself, with no luck. In fact, I've been without a fresh pair of Stans for almost six months now, and it's getting annoying. It's not that they're not in stock, it's just that they usually aren't carrying my gargantuan shoe size of 13.5. Also, because of the hours that I work, I usually don't feel like walking to one of these locations every day, so I'll set aside one day a week to go to these stores to ask if any are available. According to their employees, the shoes are always that "other" location. Nay nay.

So, I've finally decided to throw in the towel and shop for them online.

I really don't have a point, or even a clever line to go out on.
All I have is this amazing picture of a bull eating shit by the hand of a flaming matador, which has probably proved more entertaining than the entire purpose of this blog entry.

Bulls are funny like that.

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.

reminders

I've had a few things on my mind lately that I've wanted to make an attempt at elaborating on, explaining, questioning, and showcasing.

The purpose of this post is just to remind myself of things I'd like to write about in the future.

My Philosophies on Service

Nina Simone, The High Priestess of Soul

Things I'm Really Into At the Moment

The Studio

Young People

Alan Cross, Why Aren't We Friends?

Toronto Fans of Music, Clap Your Goddamn Hands

Attainable Coolness

Favourite Food Network Personalities, Part 3

Swearing Do's and Do Never's

George Carlin

5 Days Downstairs

hook ups

I read a really interesting article in the Globe and Mail yesterday.

It was an excellent article, and a surprising one considering the usual prudence of the Globe. The article was all about how there is a lot of sex going on between athletes during the Olympics. I thought to myself,

"Hell yeah!"

For whatever reason, it never really occurred to me that these people may actually be attracted to one another. Maybe because (like many) I've always perceived athletes as these robotic units that have a single purpose and nothing else: to compete to the best of their ability. But, if you think about it hard enough, there is no better scenario for the worlds biggest hook-up-fest.

Think about it! Thousands of gorgeous, fit, flexible,young, taught athletes, all in the same city at once? Shit, that sounds about right to me. And why not? Athletes get turned on just like everybody else, if not more. If it's not from all the endorphins from exercising so much, it's probably from watching guys and girls walking around in tight-ass spandex. Apparently it happens more in the second half of the games, when most of the competitors have finished their events, are done stressing out, and are just looking to burn off a couple before going home.
I also bet that certain events spawn more sex that others.
Such as, ohhh, gymnastics? (as seen in exhibit A)

exhibit A.

You'd be a damn fool not to.
I also wonder if there's ever been any huge sex scandals throughout Olympic history. I'll give you an example.
For those of you who may not know who Michael Phelps is, you've probably been extradited to an overseas prisoner of war camp. Phelps has currently earned six gold medals in swimming this summer, with two more events on the way, and needs to be stopped.
I wonder if there are any sex-related plans of sabotage in the works to put an end to Phelps' winning streak. Is it totally unrealistic to stage a sexual encounter with a cute little Swedish number, who could either inject Phelps with steroids (stripping him of all his medals), or cause some other form of damage? Maybe the girl could cramp up his feet. You know that feeling you get when you're swimming for too long and your foot cramps up? Ah, that probably wouldn't work. He'd probably hit her with all of his gold medals, which he probably hangs from his boner.

Either way, it was an excellent article. I'm sure it's on The Globe's website.

makes sense

I had the day off today, so I decided to go for a walk. I was craving two things: food and books. I decided to blow my finances on only one of the options and not both, so I decided to go for books. Fortunately, I live only a couple blocks from the World's Biggest Book Store. I've always liked the analogy (when explaining distances), that I could hold my breath from my front door and run there without stopping for another. That's just how close it is.

I had only one book in mind that I wanted to buy, The Revised and Updated Painters Handbook. I've read nearly the entire book at the library, written notes, and copied the important diagrams into my sketchbook, but still decided on owning the real deal.
I also picked up another book, one that I never thought I'd care for until reading the table of contents. The third edition of The Business of Being an Artist covers such topics as:

Exhibitions and the art of selling art (media attention, selling publicly/privately, taxes, the value of a marketing plan)
Relationships with Dealers (finding representatives, bad debts and recoveries, consignment)
Expansion (licensing, self-publishing, publisher incentive,
Commissions (percent-of-art projects, the efforts to contain public art controversy, jurors and bias)

etc., etc.

Another book I came upon unexpectedly was actually the type of book I'd been looking for for some while now. I can't recall the name, but the gist was the hazards and health concerns that come with producing art, mainly dealing with materials, mediums, (and the topic of my concern) solvents.

I sat for nearly an hour looking over charts on different solvents and their properties, harmful or not. I found some information on one that I use quite regularly: turpentine. Now, I should mention that I am not ignorant to the fact that I know what some of these chemicals are capable of doing to my body, I was just seeking further knowledge. One major effect that I came across was something that not only shocked me, but answered a lot of questions as well.
ASTHMA.

That's correct.
For the past 8-12 months I suspected something was amiss in my body. I should have guessed when my CN Tower Stair Climb time jumped from 18 minutes to 26 in two years (all the while, I was living and producing art in Toronto). I constantly find myself out of breath, clutching my chest, and just an overall feeling of discomfort. I originally attributed this to mild heart problems, which is something I've been known to have since being young.
Among asthma, the book listed liver problems and skin irritation, although I would conclude that any liver problems I may have are due to Olde English.

Along with the change of solvents I'll have to make, there have been many big changes in the studio space, which I will elaborate on probably later this afternoon.

be well.

shine on, ginger

I have red hair, and it took me 22 years to realize it.

To be honest, I've never really liked my hair color. In fact, I constantly forget that I even have red hair until somebody mentions something. Some people (a select few), love my red hair. They think it's unique and a nice shade of ginger, especially my mom. I can still remember the disappointed look on her face when I chopped it all off for the first time a few years ago.

There was even a period last year where I dyed my hair brown to cover up the ginger-love. I originally colored my hair to match my fake moustaches, but decided to keep it up, probably because I got tired of hearing about it.

Although, I have recently come to not only the conclusion that I have red hair, but that I actually like my hair. Should I repeat that? I LIKE MY RED HAIR! BOOYEAH!
I guess I've just decided to embrace my genetics, because that's all I'll be for the rest of my days. I've even started cracking jokes about ginger-ism, kind of like how black people bring up slavery jokes every once in a while, except mine are usually about the sun.
I do consider myself a fortunate red head though. Why?
Because I didn't really get any of the downsides to being a ginger cunt. Such as:

a) I can probably tan better than you, and I rarely burn.
b) I don't get a lot of freckles, which I'm bummed about
c) My body hair is blond, and nothing like my red head
d) I don't bruise easily, which is apparently a genetic default for those with red hair
e) I probably won't have red headed children either, considering that I am the only one in my family

So, there you have it. A first-hand proclamation on my new found pride into the world of gingers. So crack all the jokes you'd like Matt Stone, because for the first time I'll actually laugh with you, because I really don't care anymore. Shine on, you crazy ginger.

Photo credits: top - Kathleen, bottom - Darcy

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