Leaving Las Vegas

You could say that I'm leaving Las Vegas. Providing, of course, that by saying 'Las Vegas' you actually mean 'Bloor and Sherbourne, Toronto'. Toronto is a funny place to live. You spend all your time being alone in a crowd- but when you go to leave, all you can think of are the individual faces. It's exactly how I felt when I left residence last year. In the midst of depression, anxiety and the onslaught of a failed academic year. Those last few weeks at Glendon saddened me because I was thinking about the people who made me feel comfortable there: Andrea mostly, and for some strange reason, Anthony (oops, forgot I was supposed to quit mentioning him...see earlier blogs for clarification). With this current move, I didn't feel a single pang of loss about leaving the city until I went to sleep in that room for the last time. My bed is right up against the window, and on the 28th floor, so there's a lot for the eyes to behold. I lay there dazzled by the millions of tiny lights that keep the downtown core all lit up, no matter what time of night or day. Sitting up so high and looking down at everything like it's a kingdom tends to bring about a sense of treason when I remind myself that I'm leaving. And what am I leaving it for? Hamilton? Good God. If that were true, I'd have some serious thinking to do. However, it's not so crazy when you remember that I'm leaving it because I'm going to be living with Mark, ideally for the rest of my life. So who's to say that said 'life' might not lead me back to Toronto eventually. Strangely enough, one of the things I anticipate that I'll miss the most is travelling back and forth on the Go bus. Some of the most memorable incidents of my adult life have occurred there. It's only fitting then that on my final transport 'home' to Hamilton included the following:

(First, let me say that I've heard all the jokes about Hamilton to which so many Torontonians are partial. It's no secret that the City of Steel is most famous for its equally unique and pungent odour. Keep that in mind while taking in this story)

Whilst getting off the bus at King and Caroline last week, I was joined in my exit by two young French lads. What were the first words uttered upon their descent of the GO bus stairs?

"Euh, Ça sent de la merde!"

Ah well. Once you get a Frenchman telling you your city smells like shit, you know how far gone things really must be.

Seriously.


Toronto at night

Don't you worry bout a thing baby cuz you know you got me by a string baby.

Some of you might be surprised to know that I have a deep dark secret. What is this deep dark secret, you ask? Well, it's not for the faint of heart...but here goes...

I am wickedly addicted to America's Next Top Model.

For those of you who think less of me after being made privy to this knowledge...I guess I don't blame you. But come on! A dozen waifish girls prancing around mispronouncing the names of designers and getting drunk as shit on national television is just more than I can pass up on a wednesday night.

I have to say though- every time they get into a judging session and announce that Janice Dickinson (one of the celebrity judges) was the world's first supermodel...a little flag goes up in my mind. "How is this possible?" I say to myself, "How could a famous supermodel turn out this way?". At the end of the day, Janice Dickinson is just plain scary looking. When it comes to plastic surgery, there is a line to be crossed...and she crossed it ten years ago. If anything, the show serves a purpose as a warning to aging women that plastic surgery is the devil.


Janice in her hayday


Welcome to the silicon valley.

Chronic Absenteeism due to Horrific Packing Incident

Ok, so I haven't posted in a few days. I've been delinquent. What can I say? "Delinquency's my bag, baby". I have valid reasons though- I've been packing up shit like a madwoman. What I've come to discover is that I have way more crap than anyone, even me, could possibly comprehend. The thing is, I've moved three times in the last year- and each time, I go through all my stuff and throw half of it out. Therefore, it's a mathematical impossibility that I apparently have one MILLION times more stuff now than I did the last time I moved. A mathematical impossibility, I say!!

Packing is bullshit.


Mark: "Can't we just burn it all and start again?"

Sanity is over-rated

So I hear that Jenna Hagan - friend, former co-worker and primary school-teacher is under the impression that I am suffering from crazy. Crazy, you mean like a FOX? (cuz that's what I thought at first) But as it turns out, Nope, just plain, old run of the mill, talking to yourself on the street, crazy.

I seriously have no idea what would have led her to such conclusions. No idea at all. Ahem.


Am I crazy? Do I LOOK crazy?

It's a mad, mad world

What a crazy day. Being that I'm growing bored of my current schlepping phase where I just sit around Mark's apartment watching Much Music and making gorcery lists, I decided to go out and aggressively acquire a job. I've been doing the passive thing for weeks now, where I've handed out dozens and dozens of resumes and patiently waited for a phone call. I've decided that I'm sick of all this waiting to starve to death bullshit. My plan? to go to West Town Bar and Grill and take hell with me.

I have the owner's business card, which Mark obtained for me after selling him a cell phone at Telus Mobility. So my plan of attack was to go in there and ask for Brandon and then just launch into it.
I rehearsed the speech on the way over to Locke Street (What? I'm not so good with the off the cuff stuff (that rhymes))and it didn't occur to me until later how crazy I must have looked.

There I was all decked out in my neo-boho wear (white tunic with turquoise jewellery, faded jeans and green corduroy jacket) sweating like a maniac because it was an unheard-of 27 degrees today...and in the midst of downtown traffic, I could be heard ranting the following:

"Listen up bitches, I just moved here from Toronto where I worked for a year at a bar on Bloor street called The Groundhog Pub. That's right, BLOOR, as in Yonge and Bloor, bitches. Where it was crazy-assed busy all night and all day and I rocked that joint six days a week so I think I can handle a few wamby-pamby Locke Street antique hunting mofo's. Got it? GOT IT?! (then a brief pause for effect while I dramatically inhale and speak in a very low whisper...)

I have my own apron. I will see you tomorrow"

As it turns out, crazy is harder to pull off than you might think. When I got to the bar and asked for the owner, a perky blonde waitress told me that he wasn't in, but that she would give him my resume. I paused for a minute, internally preparing for my diatribe and then....

I totally chickened out.

That's right. I smiled, told her my name and mentioned that I was available at any time to schedule an interview. Then I turned around and walked my boho ass out of there whilst eyeing the trendy antique shop across the street.

Meh, maybe schlepping is more my style anyway.

Bellucci coochie coo

When looking through my photo archives, I came across this photo of Monica which was my desktop background at one time. It's a well -known fact that Monica Bellucci is number one on my top five list of women who could convince me to bat for the other side.

Can you blame me?


Is my obsession with Bellucci unhealthy? Probably.

All I ask is that you don't carry my heart around with you while you're losing your head...

Have you ever cared about someone so much that after they hurt you, all you wanted was to see them writhe around on the floor in sheer, unrelenting agony while you laughed at them like the maniac that you are?

I have.

Only, once I got what I wanted, I didn't really want it anymore.

I like to consider myself to be the type of person who is acutely in tune with other people's weaknesses. As a result, when I'm angry, I intentionally attack those weaknesses with full force. Whatever you care about, it couldn't matter less to me. You couldn't matter less to me. I've basically been living my life like that forever, completly undisturbed by the masses.

Last week, I decided to take a shot at someone that I used to love. Basically, he's been the subject of about a year's worth of artistic ramblings (check out the poetry section of my website here and see for yourself). In a way, I’ve been trying all this time to get a reaction.

Well, I did.

Take away the bitterness and unabashed use of profanity, and I guess you could say that he acted more betrayed than anything. I guess he never thought that I was the type of person to go online and sell him out. I never thought that I would be the type of person to offer an ounce of forgiveness to anyone who ever crossed me. But right now I’m sitting here thinking about past conversations and I guess I wasn’t really that sad that it was over, just upset that I didn’t get to end it first. I think that when he said he’d love me always no matter what happened between us, that in my heart I knew that was a warning. I knew what it meant. He didn’t, and I knew that he didn’t. But hey…I’ve never really excelled at immediacy.

Mea Culpa (and I’m sorry Donavan).

Since U Been Gone

This world is a crazy, crazy place. Just when I was beginning to think that maybe Matt was going to make the shift into permanent activist and champion of human rights- I find out on his blog this morning that he's going into the studio again.

This pleases me greatly because my copy of White Light Rock and Roll Review is all scratched to shit on account of my never putting my cd's back in their cases. Also, all of the burned copies that I made (you know, one for the car, one for the discman, one spare, and the original in the at-home stereo) are either equally trashed, or they've disappeared. Some of you might be thinking that I'm a total piece of shit for burning Matt's cds, but I have valid reasons:

I used to buy extra copies of Matt's cds back in the day when I had no expenses and my mom still made my lunch for me. Back when it was cool to have both the Canadian and American releases of Beautiful Midnight and Audio of Being in all three available colours. These days however, I try to be less ridiculous and when it comes to either extra copies of cds or food- well...let's just say that I've gained about 25 pounds since I began living on my own three years ago.

Wait a minute...

All this time I've been trying to find a diet that I can stick to since I've been gaining all this weight. All this time, it was right in front of me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the Matt Good Cd Binge Buying diet. All you have to do is spend all of your extra food money of double copies of cd's and/or singles and watch the pounds just melt away. (note: this diet may also work when binge buying copies of other favourite artists, but it has never been tested)


The Latest Trend in Dieting

Tell me again why I can't go into the bouncy castle?

Today was my nephew's birthday party. He just turned four years old on Friday. I got him a Lite Brite. He had a pretty kickass party, I must admit. My sister rented a hall out for him, complete with balloon archways, Spongebob Squarepants party favours and a massive bouncy castle. That bouncy castle looked like two tonnes of fun and I totally wanted to launch in there and serve those kids their own asses with all my superior bouncing skills...but then I thought better of it. Actually, if you want to know who really rocked the Casbah this afternoon, it was my niece, Alleya. She's only a year and a half, but she showed the birthday boy (along with the rest of the big kids) who was bouncy boss.

Though it could be said that her diaper gave her an unfair cushiony advantage.


Alleya, Queen of the Bouncy Castle and the Birthday Boy himself, Justus.

We Euchred your asses Bitches!!

Euchre is a championship sport in our household. Of course, being that he feels he is far superior, Mark refuses to be my partner when we play. Instead, he plays with my sister, Tabitha, who discards her husband off with equal zeal. I'd like to point out that tonight, although we lost two out of three times, Cory and I totally kicked ass in that third and deciding round. Mark tried to play it off like he was just drunk...but the sad truth is that he and Tabi have nailed our asses to the floor on more than one drunken occasion. Not tonight though kiddies, not tonight.

Owned.


We may look all lovey dovey...but in reality we're mortal enemies.

New Digs

Okay so it's official. I actually have a place to live in when my lease is up at this apartment April 30. On May 1, I'm moving up the street and around the corner to a two bedroom on the fifth floor. It has spiffy new carpeting, an ensuite bathroom in the master bedroom, walk-in closets and a fabulous balcony all for the conveniently affordable price of $699 + hydro. Wicked. It's definitely a huge weight off of my shoulders. Now instead of worrying about the somewhat precarious existance of living in a cardboard box, I can focus on other things: like being poor.

Fun times had by all.

SUV Nation

Today when my sister and I were heading to the mall in her little Saturn, I noticed an enormous Lincoln Navigator out the driver's side window. When I looked to the other side, there was a more modest Range Rover. In our lane alone, (within eyeshot, anyway) there were six SUV's. As we passed some of them by while getting onto the off-ramp, I also took notice of the fact that most of them didn't have any passengers, just the driver. So I made a comment. It's the same comment that I make every time I see luxury SUV's.


I can hear the trees screaming as they fall. And also...

Why??

Clearly, you're not driving it to any campground, not with the manolos and chanel suits that match. The fact is that SUV's are one of the single largest contributors of harmful emissions. Sure they have lots of power and many people consider them to be status symbols, but don't forget that a super-sized engine means super-sized emissions. I officially quit smoking a few weeks ago, but I'm reminded of one day this past winter when I was huddled outside with some co-workers having a cigarette. A woman who worked in the adjoining building pulled into the parking lot in her massive SUV, and then proceeded to bitch and complain the whole way into the restaurant about how it's unfair for non-smokers to have to walk past a "cloud of smoke" on their way into a bar, and also about how we're polluting the environment every time we light up.

Now, I'm not saying that isn't true. It's obviously true. My point is that non-smokers are officially winning the battle. Within five years, there will be a Toronto by-law in place stating that in addition to not being allowed to smoke in the usual places (malls, government buildings, airports, bars, pool halls, bingo halls, etc) you cannot smoke on the street, in your car (if you are on city property, this discludes private driveways etc), or on restaurant patios.

But what about the battle of the enviromentalists?

Smoking will eventually be banned outright. Will there ever be a ban on SUV's? Not likely. I'm sure that a fair amount of the municipal and provincial government officials who would be responsible for initiating such a bill already have an SUV or two parked in their driveways at home. And now the province of Ontario is discontinuing the Drive Clean program. Drive Clean was basically the only government initiative that even came close to trying to put a lid on the pollution situation in the province. Sure it was mostly bullshit, but at least it got a lot of big time polluters off the road. It was set up under the ambitious plan that this province would one day be able to say that they tried their darndest to attain Kyoto numbers.

So here we are.

Tabi said I should draw a cartoon of an SUV driving up a road into some beautiful wooded area, with the path of destruction behind it. A lot of people buy an SUV so they can pack it full of shit on their camping trips. But consider this... all that nature that you're driving your SUV out to isn't going to be around for long if you keep it up.

The irony is just fucking sad.

Fuck you MSN

So while I was innocently traversing the Internet the other day, I received an MSN im from my good friend Emily Cox. The message read "It's You!" followed by a link that, when clicked on, would lead me to a picture of myself. I know what you're thinking... only the most novice of computer users (read: a first class idiot) would ever click on such a link. Unfortunately, I am an unbelievably narcisistic person and was woefully seduced by this seemingly harmless link. The romantic promise of seeing a picture of myself on the internet was more than I could refuse, so I clicked on it, naturally. As you can imagine, I was met by a bombardment of critical error windows. The best part was that my MSN account automatically sent the same message to every single person on my MSN list who was online. I'm convinced that this was a secret ploy by MSN to not only make it unbearably clear to me that I'm really an idiot, but to also make it crystal clear to everyone else. But the admission of guilt didn't stop there, Mark and I then had to invite his computer-savvy friend Wayne to come over. We bribed him with cake, blueberry muffins and filtered water in an attempt to convince him to debug the system, which was at that point infected with an HIV class computer virus. So everything's back to normal now, but I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I was prevented from blogging for an entire day. It was truly a blogger nightmare and I don't know if I'll ever recover from the trauma.

Alas, I guess it's just not a bankable day until you've had your ass served to you by Bill Gates and his bastard love child MSN.

Fucker.

Just Call Me Biba

mmm

Check it out. This is the first time I've ever cooked a turkey. All bow to my sophisticated cullinary prowess. That's right bitches. On your knees.

Half wit? Try no wit

While scouring the downtown neighbourhood the other day for apartments that won't cost me my unborn children, I noticed that the front page of the Toronto Star stating that according to recent polls, if an election were held this very second, Harper would be elected.
Are they kidding me with this shit? Sponsership scandal or no sponsership scandal, we can't be that damn desperate in this country. If I had a dollar for everytime I heard the faint whisper of "...is that a dead squirrel on his head...?" (and I'm not talking just PETA supporters) I'd be richer than his campaign doners. Okay so I'm going to just play the superficial coin here because honestly, getting knee-deep into his take on the issues has a tendancy to make my blood boil exponentially.

This whole thing has me thinking back to the last federal election when I was relentlessly subjected to Harper's grinning mug day after day. Somewhere in the midst of the election I read an online article about how Harper had an increasingly large number of female supporters. The article went on to describe Harper's view on abortion (he's anti-choice) among other female-related issues. It doesn't take an idiot to discern that when Harper talks about being in support of "moral policies" and putting decisions into the hands of the capable, that he's alluding to the hands of his fellow rich, white and male conservatives. Basically, the clincher was the closing line:

Why shouldn't you vote for Stephen Harper ladies? Because it just might be the last decision you make.


Remind you of The Apprentice? I think so.

Million Faces Petition

In my online traversing as a budding political activist, I came across the Million Faces Petition which is a part of the Control Arms campaign sponsered by the likes of Amnesty International and Oxfam Canada to name a few. The deal is you go to the website, sign the petition, and upload a picture of your face (Hence the name Million Faces) along with a comment about your feelings toward controlling arms. Read all about it and sign up here. View my signature and lovely mug here.

It's not easy being green

They say the world is constantly changing. Turning, spinning, warming, and growing. As temporary fixtures in the world, one can safely argue that we are all a part of that growth, ever changing from one day to the next. As a freshly inaugurated twenty-something, I often feel myself experiencing these changes as rapid fire; so fast and fervent that it’s sometimes daunting to separate them and make sense of the spare parts. Thus far, the biggest change of all has occurred on the inside; in the shape of my inner politick. As a high school student of the art-geek variety, I was never the type to consider the political spectrum as much more than a week’s worth of stealth napping and chapter-skimming- but then the unthinkable happened: I turned eighteen during the onslaught of a federal election. Being a savvy, cultured and undeniably exuberant knowledge-seeker, I set out to educate myself on the issues in an attempt to finally select the political philosophy with which I would align myself on Election Day. The night before the election, my Dad sat me down for what I like to refer to as “the talk”. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly “The Talk”, as I had figured all that out for myself with the aid of some rather lurid poetry scrawled on an elementary school bathroom door. But it was equally awkward and unnecessary.

“Now honey, you’re participating in something very important tomorrow,” He had said in an equally paternal and patronizing tone. “And I want you to know that even though you’re young and inexperienced in politics, your vote is your chance to voice your opinion and it absolutely counts…”

Could this be? I was somewhat taken aback by all this seemingly profound encouragement. I quickly sat up straight began to describe all of the effort I had put into researching the election.

“Oh I totally know, and I’ve been doing a lot of research and-”

“-And you should vote Liberal, just like your mother and I do. We always have”. And with that he ended our little pep talk with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the head.

The thing was, I had wanted to vote Liberal anyway. If he had of given me enough time to get into my well-prepared diatribe, I probably could have given him a few reasons to vote Liberal that he didn’t even know about. The point is, as a teenager we’re automatically marginalized and categorized to vote just like Mom and Dad.

Now, historically, the relationship between teenagers and politics (of the non-sexual variety, that is) has been a tenuous one and I was no exception to the rule. It was somewhere around the time that I switched from hot chocolate to coffee and high school to university that I began to seriously take an interest in political on goings. University was bursting with worldly avenues. Organizations like Amnesty International, World Vision, and Oxfam Canada offered a plethora of insight and political awakening for me. I suddenly felt as though I was surrounded by this wild and passionate myriad of conflicting opinions and philosophies. It was as though the dark hall of political ignorance through which I traversed daily during high school had now taken me to a solarium where even my old-faithfuls, music and art seemed to be under the seductive influence of the political spectrum. I found myself entertaining a desperate desire to discover it further and even, ahem, become involved. (Involvement, of course, remains vehemently opposed in the realm of the art-geek).

Now, by getting involved I don’t mean becoming a politician. What I mean is becoming a political activist. In high school I was a part of a warless generation. We were a group of angst-ridden teen-agers with nothing to be angry about. However, around graduation time, things changed for the worse and as I result I experienced a sudden growth spurt. I was no longer interested in my parent’s politics. I understood why the youth of this country shunned political education as it more often dealt with tax cuts, pension growth and religion. I mean, come on, bickering about land tax and the definition of marriage is hardly punk rock. Suddenly when pundits and pollsters called the house I felt the need to ask them questions. Why weren’t the candidates making an effort to discuss issues relevant to “green” voters? What effort was being made to include a reduction of tuition rates? Voting became a serious issue and it snowballed around other serious issues such as Canada’s part in the U.S invasion of Iraq. On March 20^th 2004, I participated in a rally at Nathan Phillips Square with several thousand of my fellow youth that was undeniably political as it marked the anniversary of George Bush sending troops into Iraq. That day, “green voters” proved that stepping up and speaking in your own voice truly does make a difference, as it was shortly after many similar rallies, held nation-wide months earlier, when Prime Minister Jean Chrétien announced that Canada would not support a war in Iraq without a U.N Sanction. Were we partly responsible for that victory? Was I partly responsible for that victory? No one can say for certain, but what can be said is that during that particular week, there wasn’t any stealth napping nor any chapter-skimming.

Of course, getting your feet wet in the political spectrum early on doesn’t come without opposition. I have been met many a time by the familiar paternal voice of the eternal, self-proclaimed “elder” who dutifully lets me know what’s right and what isn’t, what’s real and what’s superficial and all the miles that separate one from the other. They say the world is constantly changing and growing. If it’s true then as temporary fixtures in the world, we’re all constantly changing and growing. If it’s true, then it’s a wild ride and I won’t be caught at a stand-still. As a former apolitical art-geek turned shrewd knowledge-seeker, I can safely say that my newfound political voice is based on my own wisdom and experience – not family tradition

Everytime you close your eyes...

Official Blog Entry #1

Number of failed attempts at maintaining a web log: 3
Number of cigarettes smoked since quitting on Saturday: 9
Number of times I've listened to Rebellion by Arcade Fire today: 25+

And here I am. This is my first official blog session in this format, meaning the format provided for me by Blogger.com. I plan to load up earlier blogs later on. Or not. They were a little boring anyway now that I think of it. A few things have occurred to me recently that I feel compelled to share with my readers. So listen up you two...

'It's not easy being green' is an article that I wrote for my friend Corey Kovnats' independant publication. You'll have the privilege of reading it before it even hits the newsstands as I am posting it later on tonight As well, I am currently working on another article entitled 'God is in the T.V' which examines a culture who worships celebrities, as well as the onslaught of "brute force advertising" and the A.D.H.D phenomenon.

Chris Eaton. I've been looking for an opportunity to discuss my unhealthy fixation on this man, including my plans to seduce and trap him with an unplanned pregnancy, and then I found out that he actually married a York U student a few months ago (a York U student who is not me, that is). Although I am genuinely heartbroken, I believe that I would be remiss were I not to mention his insightful and provocative novel The Inactivist. Buy it, read it, love it like your firstborn child.


Anthony Pereira. It's been suggested that I discontinue mentioning this person in my blog entries as I am getting married next fall and I believe he has a girlfriend, thus rendering it entirely inappropriate of me. However, the fact is that I keep re-starting my blogs and it's sort of becomming a tradition at this point. Anyway, Anthony and I both lived in A-House at Glendon last year. I think I probably only talked to him six times or something but I was practically in love with him for two months. He has that sort of vulnerable, sad, medicated quality that I find oh so attractive. One afternoon, in a brief lapse of sheer nostalgia, I read his entire archive of web log entries and was thereafter inspired to delve into the mad, mad world of Blogging. If you're interested in the random insights of a clever, creative and slightly depressed young lad, then you'll find what you're looking for here

Toe-knee-chest-nut-nose-eye love you.

One More Thing:
I recommend going to HMV as soon as possible to buy Arcade Fire's cd "Funeral". Following that, you'll be all set to challenge my impressive record of times listening to "Rebellion (lies)" on repeat.

Ready, set, go.