Cycling through Freiburg
Whilst in Freiburg, in the south of Germany, we cycled through narrow roads, small villages, green reserves, up mountains, through vineyards (as seen here), past villas, down S turns, and through the ancient city with a hotel that dates back to the 1200′s. Freiburg was pretty sweet.
STOP MAKING ME LAUGH, DAMMIT. it’s my kryptonite.
oh yeah, see the sumptuous ornate historical village behind us? YOO-ROPE, bitches.
The accidental tourist
I rented the vélibre, which is Paris’s Bixi bike, and cycled all around Paris trying to be a bit of a tourist, even though I’ve been coming to Paris for 7 years and have seen almost everything… Here I was trying to see things I hadn’t before. It’s always important to try and make the familiar strange. Weimar flanneur til the end.
Les follies bergere! D’ou viens tu bergere? Hahaha, kidding.
Ah, Pere Lachaise cemetery. I first came here in 2006 with a boy who is now a ghost looking for Jim Morrisons grave which we never found. I ended up finding him a year later when I came here with Sonja, but I never found Oscar Wilde’s or Edith Piaf’s grave, so that was my mission this time around. I wish I had found Wilde’s back in 2006, because since last year, they put it behind a barrier and wiped off all the lipstick kisses. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.
See!
Outcasts always mourn
Walking around Pere Lachaise in the December chill was a haunted experience, if you will. In fact, as I searched for Wilde’s grave, I paused along the way to peer into the tombs of those fallen from 300 years ago…. How the ancient gravestones employed calligraphy that dates it. The faded inscriptions, the names of those once loved now forgotten, turned to dust… The stories of babies who are forever tiny, men who were murdered and their mothers inconsolable, obelisks to lost wives and fallen soldiers, monuments to passengers who fell out of the sky …. And I couldn’t deny it any longer. As the sky turned to dusk at the ungodly hour of 4pm, I caught the scent of death. I smelled death at every corner. She was like a sick reminder that no one gets out alive.
I have been to Dublin where Wilde is from, and they adore him there. Monuments to his glory, his most famous quotes engraved in marble, and his home now a museum. Dublin is a city if writers. Too bad they’re now consider our way of paying tribute (ie kissing the grave) “defacing.” Wilde would totally tell Ireland to sod off and let the ladies smooch his stone!
Being able to pause and reflect at Wilde’s foot for a long time on my own, I remembered my favourite quote of his: “She lives the poetry that she cannot write.” And I decided right then, amongst the putricine and cadaverine, to live and live and live. To live for all those who no longer have the luxury, and also for myself.
Edith Piaf.
She once sang these lyrics. For those of you who don’t speak French, this means God reunites those who loved (after death).
Edith’s secret child who died at 3 years.
I walked out of the cemetery, into the bustle of the 21st century, enjoying Paris’s promenades, and vowing to make something beautiful out of all this.
Pai by motorbike
Remind me sometime to tell you about the day I spent on the back of a motorbike with Greg from Clapham, exploring waterfalls and hippie art drumming circles that are only to be found in Pai.
Because you’re gonna wanna hear this story.
Chiang Mai mountain biking
I just did some downhill mountain biking from an elevation of 1500 metres! Look at me, I’m hardcore!
I’m also fucking endearing.
I have done mountain biking twice before, once in Whistler and another in Cuzco, and each time I get stronger and more comfortable. Look at the views! 
We also visited the temple Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep on the way down. Very lovely if somewhat a little too much gilt idolatry for my liking.
still, some of the frescoes, like this one, were pretty lovely and moving.
Tomorrow I’m off to Pai! The “SituAsian” adventure continues!
Oh and if anybody knows a guy named “ali” or “ally” from Glasgow Scotland who also did mountain biking today in Chiang mai and is travelling throughout Asia for a while, tell him I think he’s beautiful and pretty and I wanna hang.
So. So. Pretty.
Hey that’s my Bangkok bike
Sometimes, walking is too slow, and the subway and taxis are too fast. So the best way to see a place whilst travelling is oftentimes the bike!
Of course, for me, I don’t just want to cycle in the city. Give me the boonies, the trails, the national parks, the jungles, and the swamps! And give it all to me in the middle of a monsoon! I’m tough as nails, I am!
ride your bicycle until you are so tired you can’t think
on roebling in williamsburg
The Good Bike project refuses to die
seriously, i’ve been photographing The Good Bike project for over a year now! And examples are still popping up all over the city. This pink one was on queen street east.
i wonder if this is doubling as a ‘ghost bike’ because it begs the viewer to remember someone who has passed.
the stickers of dedicated have worn off of this one … “For…we’ll” is all you get now.
check out my Good Bike project category for more examples.
Stop driving
Huron Street prefers cyclists.
this reminds me of all the amazing Stop sign art that i found in Brooklyn over the winter holidays.
speaking of brooklyn …. guess which gal is going back to NYC for more graffiti hunting at the end of June?
DIS GAL!
i’m there for two weeks, AND i’ve snagged myself tickets to Late Night with Jimmy Fallon! (Last year i went to The Daily Show with Jon Stewart). i’ll be staying in Queens, house-sitting for one of my girls while she’s off to a writing retreat, but apart from a few quick jaunts to Manhattan, I will be spending most of my time in BROOKLYN! cannot wait for all the amazing street art and graffiti i get to find!
this is literally the best part of my year, when i get to fuck off to Bushwick and disappear for hours down back alleyways and behind dumpsters looking for that which is ephemeral.
some girls buy stiletto shoes on fifth avenue….. and some girls buy second-hand Chucks for $3 and hang around abandoned buildings.
you know…. whatevs.
see you soon, new york!
Listen Bird: 330 lbs of pure bullshit!
the great thing about riding your bike around toronto is that you get to explore the nooks and crannies those stupid cars can’t squeeze into…. AND ya don’t hafta worry about parking. a couple weeks ago, i’m riding my bike through the annex and found this Listen Bird!
no where but up!
then i’m scooting south from the annex into parkdale and find this OTHER Listen Bird!
this Listen Bird looks like it’s a bit old, but it’s still awesome! it’s referencing out shiteous mayor rob ford.
Rob Ford once described himself as 330 lbs of fun….. lots of other street artists have poked fun at that…. and LB says he’s 330lbs of pure bullshit. last name WIN, first name EPIC.
I have a pretty cool collection of Listen Birds that i’ve found around toronto and montreal if you’re so inclined to click!
Hey, that’s my bike
cycling weather is returning, and i’ve souped up my bike! it’s all ready to go, so seeing this stencil in the back alleys nears beaconsfield and argyle was pretty fortuitous. urban culture has always been tightly woven with bike culture. most graff artists i know get around via bike, and are huge cycling enthusiasts. i like it when they end up creating bike-art……er….. “bart.”
this particular red lady cycling was stencil’d 3 times in this particular area.
here’s one.
here’s two.
and here’s three, which is interesting because it seems to be incorporated (or part of) a stencil mural.
i dunno what that black thing to the left of her is supposed to be.
those are clearly building tenements.
there’s a yellow stencil of the cyclist just over to the far right …. like an echo.
and this was below the mural … “earth seed” with some sprouts. i have seen this handwriting in stencil form before. this person never stencils the same saying twice, but i see this calligraphy all over the place.
no clue who is behind it, but high fives and fist bumps nonetheless.
you live out where the street ends, in a basement apartment with one of your friends
found this little wheatpaste dude at bloor west and concord.
cycling hipster with the kryptonite lock in his belt loop, holding up a peace sign.
a couple summers ago, i was house-sitting on college street for a former flame while he was in vancouver. it was a hot august, so i rode my bike everywhere, and it was glorious. i couldn’t count how many people on college rode their bikes with their kryptonite lock in their back pockets of their jeans shorts. it’s kind of a hipster rule of thumb. i love bike riding so much, i can’t wait until the weather gets somewhat decent so i can hope back on Auntie Elsie (that’s my bike’s name….my previous bike was named Bea Arthur…. old lady bike names FTW).
if you take a good look at the bike this wheatpaste dude is riding, it’s a city bike with no gears. while these bikes are pleasing to the eye, and lightweight, they are SHIT BIKES. i need gears! my bike is a 21 speed with shocks and err-thang. i need to go bombing uphill. fast fast fast! no-gear rustbucket hipster bikes are uber stylish but shit-rides.
can’t wait to get cycling! ACK!
Remembering Jenna Morrison
i didn’t know her, but her death really affected me, and many in this city.
please, if you drive, remember to share the road and show respect for cyclists.
platinum’s on the rise, playboys in disguise, and i’m just tryin’ to find a mountain i can climb
“they’re gonna be oh so jealous”
before i begin with the photojaculation of my epic trek through the jungle along the ancient inca trail to Machu Picchu, i invite you to watch this video of my hike, which tells the story in a short 120 seconds (with a Justin Bieber cameo added at the end)
now, as promised, the trek to Machu Picchu!
on the first of the four days, they picked me up from my hostel in Cuzco, and i was promptly introduced to the british blokes, ben, paddy, dom, and paul. Seeing as how i lived in the UK for years and years, i felt right at home with my blokes. i’ve always been more of a shit-kicker, competitive, active girl than i have been a girlie-girl, so hamming it up with the boys with quintessential british humour was right up my alley.
the bus dropped us off at the top of these mountains where we could begin downhill mountain biking! see how we’re in the clouds? and look at our gear! i’ve done downhill mountain biking before (whistler last year, where i wiped out twice so bad, i’m quite proud of my war wounds from that extravaganza) so i was aching to get back on the bike! we rode downhill for about 2 hours, traversing over 50 kilometres, and the more we descended, the more the weather changed from epic freezing hail in the clouds to suddenly TROPICAL.
Where we were in the Andes, it was a cornucopia of temperatures, terrain, and toughness.
i’m the type of biker where i always stand up (you’re not really supposed to sit while mountain biking, the shocks make it almost impossible to be in control while sitting), but i’m not so smooth on sharp turns. i need to make my turns wide, which is why “S” turns which are very zig-zaggy are the bane of my biker existence.
i was bombing ahead of the group, mostly keeping up front with the boys (while the lovely Irish lasses Jan, Audrey, Nicola, and Ciara stayed back in the rear), but when it came to the sharp S turns, i was basically riding my breaks.
this above pic was taken at our pitt-stop half way down the mountains. see how the weather suddenly drastically changed?
the terrain also became much more muddy, and we passed by a lot of construction, making the terrain even more dangerous. i hollered “hola muchachos!” to almost each set of construction workers that we passed. they all hollered back and waved. some of them whistled at me. i wasn’t exactly sure how they could tell i was a girl, i was wearing so much gear, and my head was completely covered by the full-face helmet.
i guess my hips don’t lie.
by the end of the downhill awesomeness, we were all covered in mud, soaked from all the puddles, and some of us had pretty good wipe-out stories (ciara’s peddle came off her bike, so she wiped out spectacularly).
monkey on a chain. NOT COOL.
our guide claimed that once the hikers moved on, the monkey was allowed off of the chain.
i call bullshit.
lil thing was frightened to shit, was gripping its stuffed toy and rocking back and forth out of sheer terror.
second day of the hike. i look like a neglected horse in this pic, so i have cleverly covered up my mug whilst editing this pic, but it’s proof of how high we were trekking into the Andes.
and my rack looks nice too.
wai t….what?
i shit you not.
lots of the girls during this uphill hike, particularly Jan and Ciara, were shit-scared of heights, and had the hardest time climbing the very narrow path up into the mountains. i was loving every second of it, and as usual, was bombing ahead with the boys, even overtaking them on some sections (smokers never prosper). i hafta say, i love bragging that i really was one of the boys on this trek.
i didn’t go all that way just to pussy-out.
in truth, i can totally understand why the girls were hanging back, gripping the ledge, and crying their eyes out. the path really was narrow (all single file), and a very steep drop off the side. some sections were extremely slippery, or had loose rocks, and depending on where you stood, a stiff gust of wind would have taken you over the side.
we had to cross many pithy bridges as above. they were situated hundreds of feet above the air, were rickety, and not particularly sturdy after being exposed to all the elements.
damned if i didn’t love it.
this above bridge was somewhat more sturdy, but the violence of the rapids underneath and the wind made it sway and shake. you couldn’t exactly hold onto those railings, and the wooden boards shifted and snapped as we passed.
after climbing hundreds of feet up into the mountains, we had to climb back down again (which, as you can imagine, is much harder than going up. it’s less taxing on the lungs, but requires extreme precision of foot). we hiked along the sacred valley river, with spectacular views, as you can imagine.
the boys and i began to play a game to keep our minds and wits occupied – name as many bands as you can that begin with a given letter. We were on the letter “C” during this section. as each bloke dropped out, it ended up being between me and Ben. i’m pretty sure i won that round.
even though i was roughing it with the boys, i still needed some assistance now and then, which the boys were generously offering. sometimes, all i required was a hand to steady me, especially over the loose boulders or going down a slippery slope.
chivalry ain’t dead.
that’s Ben above. Jan lovingly nicknamed him “Sleazy B” and it just stuck. on our third day of hiking, after zip-lining (video of me zip-lining 500 feet in the air in the Andes is included in the compilation i made here), we hiked along the rail road to Aguas Calientes, which is base camps for Machu Picchu. some of the girls were destroyed after the arduous hike already, and decided to take the train there. so it was basically just me and boys hiking along for about 3 hours to our final rest stop. ben and dom and i had an incredible conversation, that ranged from our careers, to political activism, to capitalism, to agency and more. i think i enjoyed this section of the trek the best, because connecting on an intellectual level with people while also connecting through all the physical activity translated into an emotional connection. we all had been through so much together in such a short period of time. i loved these guys in this moment.
made it!
on the morning of the fourth day (at 4 AM!!!) , thus began the epic climb up to Machu Picchu. the ruins sit atop a mountain, and there’s the option of paying 8 soles for the bus (takes 5 minutes), or climb the mountain for free.
i chose the hard way, to climb.
why?
because FUCK YOU, that’s why.
the fastest record ever set in climbing Machu Picchu was 39 minutes.
I did it in70 minutes. i was the first girl to the top (naturally), and even beat some of the guys up there.
my ass officially hated me afterwards, but as i made it past the gates, and overlooked Machu Picchu for the first time, i started welling up with emotion. i arrived early enough to see the sun rise over the ruins. actually in the video at the top, i edited out my crying-fit. but i have it on film. i may one day share that with people. (not bloody likely)
the interesting thing about the Inca construction is, the only thing that has eroded away over the centuries is the stray/hay rooftops, and the colour painted on them. All the structures still stand, basically untouched. and Peru is infamous for its earthquakes.
despite their penchant for performing human sacrifices on 12 year old virgins, those Incas were way ahead of their time.
they knew more about mathematics, engineering, and astronomy than the europeans did 200 years later.
aw bless.
the incan entrance into their walled city.
600 years ago, approximately 400-500 people lived at Machu Picchu, which is why they only allow that same number of people to visit the site each day. so if you’re going, plan ahead.
i’m so hip, it hurts.
i took way too many scenery photos that, were i to put them all here one by one, would render this blog post the longest scroll ever, so i’ve turned them into collages here for your viewing pleasure.
suffice it to say, the place contains more nature porn than national geographic.
a veritable colour feast
there’s a bird mid-flight behind me here!
after i posed for this, the hooks on my hiking boots became ensnared, and i fell on my ass.
genuine class, i am.
holy fuckballs, CURVES, eh?
i spent so many hours in the blazing sun (we’re above the clouds) writing in my journal all the thoughts and emotions i was feeling at the time. you don’t go to machu picchu to find yourself, because there’s no way you can be lost whilst there.
there’s another mountain that overlooks Machu Picchu, it’s called Huayna Picchu, it’s another 2700 feet up, and you have to pay extra to climb it, and book it well ahead of time. again, only 400 people are allowed to climb Huayna Picchu each day, 200 in the morning, and another 200 later in the morning. after that, it closes. i had booked the climb, but after already climbing Machu Picchu, my body was already rickety, wobbly, dehydrated, sore, and tired.
but fuck all that.
pain is temporary. regret is forever.
i fucking climbed that bitch.
again, i was the only girl to climb huayna picchu, and again, i beat some of the boys up there. it took me 39 minutes to reach the top.
this was probably the most difficult mountain i’ve ever climbed, it was such a steep climb up, i was swearing the entire climb “i better lose 20 motherfucking pounds by the end of this cunt-ass trip!” (i so did, by the way).
this was the view of Machu Picchu from the top of Huayna Picchu. remember how i said in my last post about Cuzco that the incas believed the Condor represented heaven? well if you look at the shape of Machu Picchu from above, it is actually in the shape of a condor.
wow, machu picchu really looks so far away from up there. like a dot. a little bit of harvested land.
at the top of Huayna Picchu, it’s not like you could roam around for a stroll. it literally was a rocky mountain top. it was either crawl along those boulders or fall off the side.
me at the top, overheating, tanning, huffing for air, but also filled with the joy of living.
i breathe in and am filled with the wonder of living.
life is something incredible that i don’t think i will ever understand, but it is finite, and incredibly short.
the world is too big to stay in one place your whole life. it offers you precious gifts in one place that you could never get in another.
don’t feel like you can’t travel because you are tied down or disadvantaged in some way.
when you look back on your life, many years from you, you won’t remember the nights where you went to bed early.
from L-R, Jan, Ben (aka Sleazy B), Paddy, Paul (aka The Great Skinzerelly), Hugo (our guide), moi, Dom, Audrey, Nicola, Ciara, and Jonno.
we all shared something wonderful in one little week, and i may never see them again. but we all share a secret that no one else does.
love yous guys.
of course, on the train ride from Aguas Calientes back to Cuzco, the multitude of Australians about had to do some planking.
MAY IT NEVER DIE.
* * *
so there you have it.
with my multitude of bad health diagnoses lately, i have been crossing off as many adventures and experiences from my bucket list as possible. these opportunities may never come again, and i am now acutely aware of my own mortality.
but i’m not letting anything dilute my happiness.
so many people believe that life is pain, and the horror of existence permeates every choice in life.
after this experience (and difficult period in my life), do i believe that?
the short answer to that is, no.
the long answer is FUCK NO.
graffiti and street art from the streets of Peru
if you haven’t yet checked out the Motorcycle-Diaries- trailer-esque video of me hiking along the ancient Inca Trail, through the Peruvian jungle, to Machu Picchu, do it now.
i’m fucking endearing in it.
before i can blog about the experience, i need to blog about the amazing graffiti and street art that i came across in Peru. Peruvian street artists and graffiti artists really are brilliant. they are, by and large, engaged in politics, inspired by injustices, but also motivated by matters of the heart. poetics sayings, emotional images, and fire-infused couplings of the two are to be found all over the country. i took more photos of the street art than i did of the Andes i was hiking through!
CENTRAL LIMA
after flying 10 hours (with a stop over in El Salvador) from Toronto, i was exhausted and smellin’ like Eau De Czech, but ready to photograph the art populating the night.
“ivo justice” i wonder if ivo is a man undergoing a trial? or incarcerated? at first i thought this said “no justice.”
LIMA (near airport)
Peru just elected a new president, and i think that’s him
i like this photo more for the scenery that compliments the graffiti, than just the graffiti itself.
samesies.
zona, i’m told, was peru’s most famous footie player.
near Chinatown in Lima. this fatty with the scowl on her face wouldn’t move, even when asked, so i could photograph the mural behind her. she kind of looks like the guy in the mural. turns out her presence adds something to the photo
an accidental photo i took while zooming in a moving taxi. turned out pretty cool.
MIRAFLORES (area of Lima)
definitely political, just can’t make out the writing.
pulso danza, or “dancing pulse” was everywhere in miraflores.
see!
and another
and again!
hell yeah fuck yeah
brilliant. take the existing brickwork, turn it into a piano.
“revolution. if not now, when?”
tv
stallion
surprised this wasn’t in chinatown
so much going on here…
monopoly dude…
albert einstein….
“mi luz” means “my light.”
aw.
on the left, she’s been made to look mad. on the right, she’s eating a dick.
i like this sticker, of a young cap’d boy holding a rifle. sounds like a revolution to me.
brilliant stencil of the outgoing president. the old president was named “alan” but by putting a G in front of his name, and adding “del robo” at the end, it turns into the saying “knight of thieves,” which i think is a play on the saying “prince of thieves.”
nicely done, Tink.
aw.
i wasn’t going to photograph this at first because it’s just advertising a pub (as you can see from the drink in one hand, and the fork in the other). that is, until i noticed it’s exposed, raging cock.
sell fresh crazy someplace else. we’re all stocked up here.
you look like you was talking to me.
gringos ruin everything.
this was along the pacific ocean boardwalk.
BARRANCO (area of Lima)
Barranco is a totally bo-ho po-mo district of Lima, fulla artists and brilliant stencils. it’s celebrating it’s 139th anniversary, and it has a very colonial, european feel to it, but also a counter-culture atmosphere on the streets.
this “no la cagues” was everywhere. it’s a picture of the newly-elected president. “no la cagues” means “don’t screw it up” or “don’t fuck it up.” good advice for any new president. looks like the artist responsible for this piece forgot the “u” in “cagues” and had to add it in manually later.
here it is again. i think at the top the “jbo!” is the name of the artist. not sure.
love this wheatpaste. smiling winking dude holding a molotov cocktail, and the caption says, “agitate! protest! resist! … every man for himself!”
interesting opinion. “vandalism does not equal freedom of expression.”
so many areas of Barranco were stencil’d with the words “rubias no!” which means “no blondes!” or perhaps even “Not blonde!”
that’s right. LEAGUE OF AWESOME BRUNETTES for the win.
“call your old lady” meaning, call your moms, yo.
scary but cool face, done by someone named “kobi”
there’s that sticker again from Miraflores!
CHORRILLOS (area of Lima)
charlie chaplin! when i lived in london england, i lived in Elephant & Castle, the area where charlie chaplin was born and raised, so i feel a connection to the little moustachio’d man.
theatre masks submerged.
“forgive me if i hurt you, i love you.”
aw.
this was actually printed on a poster advertising family wares. it makes me think that very few people actually speak english in peru, because they may not understand what that means!
this is probably my favourite piece from all of Peru. it’s just a dude hugging a fish. but it’s strikingly lovely.
or is he hugging a bird? i can’t tell. i love how highly stylized the strokes are. brilliant wheatpaste.
devil tree.
mural dedicated to a young woman who passed away.
CUZCO
in Cuzco, I found the street art limited to sayings of love. as you can see from the below collage.
for those of you who don’t speak Spanish, “te amo” means “i love you.” (i mean, i don’t speak Spanish, but even i know that.)
interesting
i’m not sure what this is in reference to, but i like how the corn husk almost has grenade-like qualities. looks like a propaganda pic.
hey authorities! look! in 1664 someone ENGRAVED stuff into the side of a church. WATER BLAST THAT OFF!
this translates to “it’s prohibited to urinate on penalty of death.” i don’t know if this is graffiti or actually placed by the government (is the death penalty in Peru?), but considering that’s the ancient Inca wall standing there, it wouldn’t surprise me either way.
it’s michael jackson wearing an Incan wooly cap.
raymi, your powers are boundless.
this is deffo a government mural. going back to urination, it must be a huge problem in Cuzco. the entire mural said that in order to keep Cuzco beautiful, please don’t piss on the ground. AS I TOOK THIS PHOTO, i looked to my left to find a man pissing against a pillar. how ironic.
graffiti plants
SANTA THERESA
as we hiked through the jungle along the Inca trail, near the small but lovely village of santa theresa (there’s hot springs there!), we came to a bridge that had some incredible graffiti on it.
i think this Garcia guy must be commissioned, but it’s intricate and beautiful stencil work.
look at that gorgeous woman.
* * *
that’s it for the Peruvian graffiti, my next blog post will be about my travelling adventure expedition through the jungle, along the Inca trail, to Machu Picchu.
in the meantime, here’s a preview.
i’ve been back in toronto for a week now, and i have been enduring the spectrum of emotions from utter despair to euphoric bliss. people from my past are haunting me, and yet people from my present are treating me like tiramisu.
i won’t go into detail here, but i had felt obligated to contact some people from my past that i haven’t spoken to in ages. out of everyone i spoke to, only ONE person was amazingly supportive, kind, generous, and reassured me that no matter what, we are good friends (the rest were, as expected, bitterly cold and reserved). i wanted to reach through the telephone line and hug this person until my arms fell off.
thanks so much for being so kind to me over the years, sometimes i feel like i don’t deserve it. you are one of the meaningful ones.
then i spent thanksgiving weekend hugging and snuggling in trinity bellwoods park in between delicious ice cream licks and bike-riding.
so all in all, i can’t complain. life should never be about half-emotions, half-ways, or half-living. either feel the extremes or feel nothing at all.
the more i know people, the more i love the smiths
i leave today! Via Rail is putting me on the cross-canada train from Toronto to Vancouver (with a brief stop in Jasper, Alberta) to blog, vlog, and live-tweet the train experience, and upon arrival in Vancouver, I will be speaking on a panel for the Social Media Week conference. The panel is “Brands, Agencies, and Influencers” and we’re discussing how to build personal brands, the relationship between brands and bloggers, and the ethics therein. if you’re gonna be in Vancouver on September 19th, register to hear a sistah speak here!
most of you know that i’m a huge travel junkie, so being able to explore my own country as much as i’ve explored others is a huge opportunity, one that i couldn’t pass on. it takes a bigger woman than me to refuse such a generous offer.
i’ve travelled the european rail networks extensively, and i swear by them because they’re fast, they’re efficient, and they’re inexpensive. i’ve always been a critic of our canadian rail system, so this experience is the opportune time to prove me wrong.
time to whip out my backpack and load it up with travel essentials. tell me, what does one wear to a panel discussion? business casual? i have my pencil skirts and blouses buried somewhere.
more importantly, what does one wear on a train for three days? Via Rail has set me up in the swanky sleeper touring class cabin, where i will apparently get my own shower, and my meals prepared by a kickass chef. i get my own cabin as well, NO SHARESIES!
when i rode the rails in europe, I always had to settle for the 4 bed or 6 bed couchettes shared with complete strangers who snored, had screaming children, or yipped out the window at every train platform we crossed.
one time, when travelling for over 24 hours from lisbon to budapest (it’s a fricken lonnnnnng train ride, with stopovers in paris and vienna), there were no couchettes left, and i had to sit upright in a compartment with 4 others all night. it was THE WORST.
in india, you didn’t even get a separate compartment. you just slept right out in the open, no curtains, no privacy, and everything at risk of being stolen.
anyway, ADVENTURE TALLY HO!
see ya on the west coast, suckas.
* * *
speaking of Social Media and influence, I tweeted this on the 10th anniversary 9/11:
as you can see, it was RT’d by more than 100 people, which actually happens quite a lot on my end, but that number was probably increased when it was RT’d by my main man:
now i finally know what celebrity tweeters have to endure. some people were INCENSED by those nine little words. amazing how one little pacifist sentiment can incite so much furor. some of the messages i received in response to that tweet were ripped right out of Team America, surely. most of them were xenophobic and racist comments directed toward arabs and muslims, i might add. twitter really is the only refuge for the scoundrels.
hey everybody! got an opinion? you should post it on twitter.
PEOPLE WILL SHIT THEMSELVES.
I worked at the CN Tower during 9/11. I quit shortly thereafter, as did everyone else. I don’t just mean employees, I also mean guests and customers. Towers became taboo.
“Hi Christine,
i’ve been blogging about Deadboy‘s street art and graffiti for months and months now, and we talk often.
guess who i finally met?
YES YES YA’LL.
Deadboy had informed me a few weeks ago that he had been asked to participate in the street art showcase which drops in toronto on september 24th, and the official media announcement was last week at City Hall, so i went to support the man in the mask.
i actually didn’t realize he was the one in the mask until he waved at me and came over to say hi. seeing as how we’ve never met before, and i have no clue what he looks like, i just assumed he was someone else. as he got closer, i looked at his mask and was like WAAAAAIT A MINUTE, that’s the mask used in his street art!
anyway, we spoke for about an hour, and the press conference was actually super interesting. turns out the Street Art Showcase has received invitations from Bristol (banky’s hometown) and 5Pointz in Queens!
imma be out of town on the 24th (going to Peru!), but you should definitely check out the showcase. follow them on twitter for updates. support Deadboy, tell him Estima sent ya.
speaking of City Hall….
..and another one…
see what i did there?
lol.
interesting viewpoint.
do i think that graffiti and street art is vandalism?
the short answer to that is no.
the long answer is FUCK NO.
another brilliant and colourful Spud bomb, right across the street from MuchMusic.
CHRISSY MAD! CHRISSY SMASH!
i’ve not blogged about the Good Bike project lately, because there are just soooo many bikes to cover, and i see so many of them, i doubt i could ever photograph them all before they’re busted or ripped up. but this one on queen and spadina caught my eye because it had a name on it.
the Good Bike project ladies put Jane Jacob‘s name on another bike, so i’m wondering if Isabella Angel is an activist like Jacobs?
site specific work is the most ingenious work.
i love the idea that someone saw that sewer hole with the pylons and envisioned something else for it, something that is clever and provocative and colourful.
* * *
speaking of colourful, i was invited to the Diet Coke TIFF fest this year.
i went last year, and as you can see from my blog post at the time, it was a much smaller affair, just our little twitter crew. we all fit into 2 limos at the time. now the Toronto twitter crew has grown so much such that the attendance was easily over 500.
i didn’t bring my camera but raymi‘s photographer colleague made up for that.
there’s ameet off to the left. we met last year when he used to date a friend of mine, but we kind of run in the same circles, so we bump into each other from time to time.
this looks inappropriate.
raymi says she looks like sharon stone in this pic.
and i look like rachel weisz.
our movie would be box office poison.
my friend paul wrote a round-up of the night’s events for The Grid, and decided to link up one of my tweets about the night in the article (go to 10:30pm, and the hyperlinked “REALLY” in brackets at the end of the paragraph).
i stand by my love of veggie poutine, dammit.
and hey, i write for The Grid too, ya know.
Estelle was brilliant, and i managed to elbow my way to the front.
she’s so gorgeous.
and her shoes were fierce, miss thang.
reg and i were made into flipbooks. watch this video until the very end, where i vent my frustation in caption-form.
* * *
i meandered by a venue last night that i shouldn’t have. i saw the scooter and took off running.
go away. please go away.
and you’re draped on him while you’re staring at me
I can finally announce some exciting news that I’ve been keeping a lid on for WEEKS now. I am an invited panellist for the upcoming Social Media Week Conference in Vancouver! I will be discussing influence, building my personal online brand, and the influence of my social media initiatives whilst on the road. The talk is fostered by Via Rail, and they are putting me on the cross-Canada train from Toronto to Vancouver, where I will blog and live-tweet while zooming through our country’s beautiful Rockies, plains, forests, and lakes. My travel junkie virus is acting up just thinking about it!
If you’re going to the conference, or will be in Vancouver from September 19 to 23, register here to attend the event.
I’ll be hanging around for a few days after the panel, so if you’re about in Van.City and want to destroy the city in hockey-fuelled riots (I kid, I kid), you know where to find me!
More details on my panel discussion can be found here.
my follow-up post will be all about Montreal graffiti. swearsies.
so for now, just indulge me.
montreal is a city rich with my family history.
my maternal family emigrated there from lebanon at the turn of the 20th century. my paternal family emigrated there from portugal around 60 years ago. almost every street, park, market, village, or mountain is stained with the faces of my family.
the look of the houses, the wrought-iron stairwells that spiral down rue berri, the distinct joual accent, the crumble and fall of the streets in disrepair, the dépanneurs hip-jointing each corner like bolts…. as if my childhood was slapping me around, waking me up.
i was remembering that dream, of that other life i used to live. i thought i had imagined it.
it had been almost 20 years since i had seen an old friend from elementary school.
we reconnected at café névé on rue rachel, and i actually remembered his mannerisms and facial expressions.
it had been so long since i had seen him, i was beginning to believe i had made him up in my head.
growing up in quebec, we were bred (like the rest of canada) to hate toronto. then when i moved to toronto at the age of 12, i found myself converted. toronto=awesome. but perhaps because i missed out on montrealer teenage rebellion and discovery, i never developed a strong connection to the city.
minus the years that i lived abroad, i’ve spent the majority of my adult life in toronto which has a vibe and culture all its own. i love it and will always fight its corner
but now, i’m entertaining a return to montreal.
even on the Métro, bouncing about as the trains’ rubber tires rolled us from station to station, i felt somewhere familiar. somewhere that i really belonged. i fought hard to carve my name with toronto’s pen knife. but there’s enough skin left on this gal to carve another.
maybe i never wanted to return to montreal because of all the painful memories.
but that’s a blog post for another day.
philip and i have known each other for donkey’s years, we did our Masters degrees together. he likes to brag that i knew him when he was “straight.”
aw pumpkin, you were foolin’ no one.
these kids were playing jump rope in an alley off of Duluth.
zero photo-editing here. if this were black and white, this could pass for a turn-of-the-century snap.
Montreal=keepers and purveyors of vintage cool.
the de Maisonneuve cross.
my grandfather, great grandfather (et.al.) are buried up there on Mont Royal.
there’s probably no space to add me into the family plot. they’ll have to bury me sideways.
we cycled through parc jarry, and then cheered on a gay softball tournament.
40 years ago, my mother worked for the Expos in parc jarry.
phil is such a blessed character. when he laughs, his body ricochets joy. blade-worthy sharp intelligence, and loves to jaunt.
he’s also my saviour when it comes to killing spiders.
from the moment I rolled into montreal on boulevard réné levesque and gave a street kid at a red light a twoonie, my french kicked in with a throttle. for the past few years, i have maintained my french daily by switching my facebook, twitter, emails, and my blackberry to french. it forces me to practice, and it paid off. i only stumbled a bit over my conjugation (fuck you subjonctif! il faut que tu fasse un bise sur mon trou de cul).
this tex mex dinner was had on a patio in marché jean talon, which i haven’t been to since i was eight or nine years old.
my Sitto used to take me every weekend with my great aunts, and although i don’t remember much, i do remember Sitto giving me a quarter to drop into the cup of a disabled man who was selling pencils. i also remember the caged animals next to the fruit stands. they don’t sell caged animals there anymore.
he’s so fierce.
piggy backs: a billion three-year-olds can’t be wrong.
getting tanked in the graffiti alleys. we bring the party.
if you missed it in my last post, here’s the video that i made of my Montreal extravaganza.
i’m fucking endearing.
* * *
Once again, I’m reviewing films for this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, so if you see me around the festival circuit, or in the cinemas furiously scribbling, don’t hesitate to say hi.
If you mistake me for my doppleganger Rachel Weisz, don’t feel bad. Happens all the livelong day.
see what i mean?
Hey Rachel, if you’re in town for the fest, let a sistah know. Let’s walk the red carpets together and freak the shit outta the paps.
je veux que moi sur les photos, et je veux poser pour st lau!
This past Labour Day long weekend, Ford Canada generously offered to lend me a Ford Fusion 2.5. So I decided to take a road trip to Montreal! I haven’t been back to the place of my birth since 2005, so I was long overdue for a catch-up with la belle province.
I was blown away with the Fusion’s features. Not only did it have GPS, and Sirius Satellite radio, but it also SYNC’d with my Blackberry through bluetooth, so I could PLAY THE MUSIC FROM MY BLACKBERRY ON THE CAR’S SPEAKERS!! I didn’t know cars could do that! It also had a USB port to charge my phone.
It handled like a dream, such a smooth ride. I’m used to my old rust bucket cars where you think it’ll fly apart once you hit 100 kph, but as soon as I hit the Trans Canada Highway, I looked down at my speedometre and realized I was going way faster than I thought I was, because the ride was so smooth!
But I think the best feature of the Fusion 2.5 was how fricken fuel efficient it was. I kid you not, it only took a HALF TANK OF GAS to drive from Toronto to Montreal. A HALF TANK!!! When I was a little girl, and we were moving from Montreal to Toronto, we used to have to stop in Lancaster to gas up the empty Ford Taurus on the way to Toronto! My, how Ford’s have changed.
Thank you Ford Canada for lending me the sweet ride! I was really upset to have to part with that puppy!
I made a video of my Montreal extravaganza! It features me, my gay boyfriend Philip, Montreal graffiti, Bixi bikes, the Tam Tam’s drumming circle on Mont Royal, and lots and lots of hipster douchebag locations on the plateau, Mile End, Rue Duluth, Boulevard St Laurent, Boulevard St Urbain, Papineau and the gaybourhood! Enjoy!
Relax, I’m Hilarious
TIFF is coming up, and I’ve been invited to so many advanced press screenings that I’m debating whether or not I should throw myself face-first into the fest like I did last year. Last year was amazing, I reviewed the festival for FOUR different media outlets, including the CBC. I met some amazing people in the industry, attended some hoity-toity parties, saw a record-breaking 35 films (including The King’s Speech, where I knew from the press screening that it would win the Oscar), and feasted on the visual stimuli flashing through a darkened cinema. Static flicking off the beams of light.
So why the debate?
Mama’s got a book to write.
* * *
sneak with me as i disappear into the back alleys. keep your feet pedaling, the bike leaves no footprint. the night will swallow us like a python, opening its mouth, and then holding its breath.
all the kids in the ghetto call me Don chris estima.
gauzed in red, the colour tearing through my flesh, this painted city belongs to me.
we discover art.
and colour
and you will know i was once here
by the looks thrown over my shoulder.
Rob introduced me to Poser, who does these smooth rabbits all over town. Now you won’t be able to walk around without noticing them. I love how the rabbits are holding spraypaint cans whilst almost saying “Eyyyyhhhh, sup gurrrrrl.”
word.
speaking of Deadboy, my last post (which detailed his new Rob & Doug Ford as Tweedledee/Tweedledum wheatpastes all around the city) got some love from BlogTO
that single BlogTO tweet sent my blog traffic batshit crazy through the roof, kiboshing all previous records. fanks hombres!
hello new munchkin readers! enjoy my neurotic blogjaculation.
relax, i’m hilarious.
now shut up and show me your tweets.
rob takes a decent graffiti snap.
rob and i snuck around the back alleys for about four hours, well past midnight. darkness creeping in on secrets.
first obvious target: graffiti alley, then up the ossington alleys, then through kensington market. i think our next destination should be the rail path which runs through the junction. i know there’s some amazing shit there, my camera is gagging for it.
does anybody else think this looks like a concentration camp?
zejko? that sounds yugoslavian . . . maybe serbian or croatian or bosnian. i wonder who this guy is.
political figure? martyr? writer? philosopher? just some dude?
andy warhol just rolled his eyes.
ha, i love this little gas-can fucker.
oh hello mr elliott. we meet again.
i’m surprised to still see some of the Andrew posters around, they’re quite old (in terms of street art shelf life), so this was a rare find. however, considering the way Andrew died, tagging the poster with a mouthful of blood and a speech bubble with “liberal lies” is rather upsetting.
what kind of tagger writes “liberal lies” anyway? i’m sorry, is Andrew’s tragic story offensive to your conservative graffiti ethos? fuck off with that shit.
my last post detailed some Tokyo tags, and now we know who he is. Rob found him on facebook, so we have a face with a (fake)name now. Sup guy.
i also recently blogged about the posters and stickers that have gone up around queen and spadina, commemorating the kettling and brutality that occurred last year during the G20 summit. the stickers say “our civil rights were lost here.” the posters show sombre photos of the attrocities done against peaceful toronto civilians.
the “tokyo” is almost gone. i wish rob ford was rubbing away too.
this headless frowner reminds me of our unhappy hipster run-in while rob and i took a break at 416 Snack Bar. some loud hipsters with massive, square, black-framed specs, and nostrils brimming with white coke, shouted at me from across the table to smile.
i turned into them and gave a fatal grimmace.
coked-up hipster goes, “that’s the worst smile i’ve ever seen. why won’t you smile for me?”
to which i leaned in and coo’d, “I’m not going to be your monkey.”
and at that, his balls crawled back up inside his body.
from what i can gather here, someone stenciled “supreme” then someone with a spray can tagged it into “supremely stupid” but they spelled “stupid” wrong…. studpid? stucpid?
this freaked the shit out of me, because in the darkness of the alley, you couldn’t see all those details. you could see a bit of the face. my flash revealed the bleeding ghost.
some daytime shots from the back alleys in parkdale.
reminds me of some graffiti seen in the background during the film Children Of Men…. “last one to die, please turn out the light.”
is that elvis presley or chris cornell?
when horses are this lame, they shoot ‘em.
hi c-saw, i will respond to that question with this.
good call, speaking of bikes …
i’ve got more THE GOOD BIKE finds!
a basket filled with a potted plant, untouched!
AND it’s bolted to the ground. you ain’t stealing this, fuckfaces.
the photo of me at the top of this post is of me taking this photo….
wow, that’s so meta.
and the moral is: the easiest way to make guys lose their shit is to have yours together
we spies. we slow hands. killer for hire, you know not yourself
in the middle of the night, i am the girl biking in and out of toronto alleyways. my basket carries music, sending the raccoons scurrying behind wheelie bins and the cats under mufflers. the pavement echoes the grind of my chain and my voice, cooing. i look up to the sky, which is gauzed behind the strobe of tree tops and aching branches.
my thighs burn acid, and i need to go alkaline without the alchemy.
my body is in a constant state of metallurgy.
since my above The Grid article came out, it’s been the top story on their website, see:
if you haven’t checked it out yet, do it now.
fitting that as soon as my Rob Ford graffiti photos are published, Deadboy comes out with a new batch of Ford pieces that are so brilliant, it’s as if stephen hawking, a messiah, and gandalf made a spawn.
Deadboy, you are made of perfect jesus wizard sauce.
seriously, he is making some of the most thought-provoking street art in toronto.
he let me know the locations of his new work: Rob Ford and Doug Ford aka Tweedledee & Tweedledum:
an alleyway near Ossington and Humbert.
Queen Street West and Claremont
“Graffiti isn’t the problem. It’s society not knowing what to do with artists . . . Oh look, there’s a rose. LET’S PAVE OVER IT.”
-Ron English
Chinatown/Kensington Market
i have some exciting news to announce (and more which i cannot announce just yet, as it’s still in the works… suffice it to say, September is going to be an exciting month).
the first is that Ford Canada is lending me car for labour day weekend.
yes, you read that right.
sometimes having a social media presence has untold perks, which has slowly begun to reveal itself to me.
they approached me with the offer, and we’ve been ironing out the details for a while. so what am i going to do with a luxurious hybrid from september 1-6th?
i’m driving to montreal.
i haven’t been back to la belle province, the place of my birth, since 2005, so i am long overdue.
and you will witness the rediscovery of my hometown, as i will be blogging, vlogging, and tweeting the snot outta this trip!
thanks Ford Canada and the good peeps at National (hi matt!). we fit together like the ignition and the key.
vroom vroom.
i always thought “Adam’s Apple” was a strange name.
eve gave adam a forbidden fruit, he swallowed it, and desire caused their expulsion.
now, men must forever carry lust in their throats.
and isn’t it just so apropos that women, naturally, are rather good at bobbing for apples.
a conversation i overheard this week:
Gal #1: “I’m from the south, flirting is part of my heritage!”
Gal #2: “What does that mean?”
Gal #3: “It means her mother was a slut too.”
my past few posts have detailed the good bike project here in toronto, and here are more finds to add to the growing list of fluorescent cycles peppering the city, adding flavour.
this albany find was particularly important to me.
if you don’t know, jane jacobs was a local activist & urban planner who singlehandedly prevented the spadina expressway from ruining toronto-the-good. without her intervention, the city would have erected that gaudy monstrosity, destroying homes, communities, urban flow, cultural contentment….and even this blog.
odd that the albany-jane-jacobs bike wasn’t placed on spadina….
i see this “TOKYO!” tag all over the city, although many of their occurrences have been painted over or blasted off since the spring.
as Rob and i spent a night pushing our dead-body bikes across Bloor street, we came across this virtually untouched tag.
i cannot pass this tag without humming this chorus. it’s like a tick.
…where the demons from my past leave me in peace.
this is better than “stop, hammertime.”
the first photo at the very top of this post was an outtake. i’d heard a beautiful mural of a couple kissing was going up near Bloor and Bathurst, and snuck around the area at night to photograph it. My camera kept going out of focus right when the shutter clicked.
so i decided to make something out of the outtakes (creativity always affects something previously thought unusable. there are no lost causes).
hence, the photo at the very top.
and this one below.
can’t you see what you’ve done to my heart and soul? this is a wasteland now.
my next girl will be nothing like my ex girl; i made mistakes back then, i’ll never do it again
nicely done, deadboy
* * *
EDIT!!
guess who just sold the above photo, along with many other of my Rob Ford graffiti photos, to The Grid! I love adding “photographer” to my growing portfolio. Check out the spread here, munckins!
* * *
sometimes i share the emails i get here, sometimes not, but this one came with the tacit authority to share, and it’s rather lovely, so why not.
Hello!
My goodness! I’ve just spent the past three hours reading through your blog and I’m still not finished. Now I see you’re on Twitter, as well. Where do you find the time?
I “stumbled upon” your blog while browsing something totally unrelated (don’t know how Google always manage to do that) and I was so intrigued (yes, it was because of a photo of you) that I decided to peruse through it. Very entertaining, indeed. Informative at times… even inspiring (the bit about eating healthy). There’s so much material to cover that I doubt I will get to it all.
Portuguese and Lebanese, eh? I see it now. Beautiful combination. You kinda got that Nelly Furtado-Kim Kardashian thing going on, eh (Apologies if you can’t stand those two!).
Another thing from your blog which stood out in my mind is the part about how you would fill in the blank to end the sentence on the picture you saw at the hipster house party. I thought your response was brilliant. Deep with a dash of humour. I wonder how many people actually got it? I also made note of the part where you blogged about traveling to NYC because of a love interest but things didn’t go well and you were left crying on the steps of Union Square? I assume figuratively and not literally because, His loss, I assure you!
Anyway, it’s been fun reading. All the best to ya!
-”AWspicious”
fanks mate. for the record, i didn’t travel to NYC last summer for the guy, but i’ve known him for years and he’s always good for givin’r, so he just factored in to the trip. he’s in a relationship right now, so when i went to NYC earlier this year, i didn’t bother contacting him. if i did, the response would be silence. but if i’m being honest, he was probably one of the greatest longstanding affairs i’ve ever had.
technically, that’s not saying much.
and fanks for the “his loss” bit . . . it’s not his loss just yet, but give me some time, and it will be.
Banksy’s latest, in response to the News Of The World phone hacking scandal.
last week, i collaged about “the good bike” project here in toronto, which has been getting so much attention not just around town, over the pond in the UK, the guardian has even taken notice of our Mayoral clusterfuck.
anyway, here’s another find. this is the first blue one i’ve found, it was on bloor near dovercourt. i want to find the green “jane jacobs” one, anyone know where that’s located? i know it’s on Albany, but where?
i still need a name for my new bike (since my old bike Bea Arthur was totaled by a raging syphilis-cyclist, i hope she dies of a rectum rash), but i’m leaning toward calling it Aunty Edna. old lady names for bikes=boom goes the dynamite.
this is the mural at luna cafe on dovercourt and argyle. i always ride Aunty Edna past this lovely converted grocers, and i adore how they have kept some of the grocer’s painted adverts on the window. gives it such a great feel. people who live in and around argyle street are so lucky. i want to live there, the area kiboshes the annex.
text messages from august 10th:
mr k: your mind shines as brightly as your eyes do.
me: how is it you always know just what to say?
mr k: i just kinda adore you so it’s natural… everything about you just feels so organic. you blow my mind.
at the Ali Baba falafel place on bloor street with nate, a delightfully schizo’d woman heard me say that i was portuguese, so she came over and said that i was a beautiful portu-geezer, and proceeded to kiss my head about 16 or 17 times. i actually don’t think i processed what she was doing. i kind of tuned out, not even realizing it was awkward or weird. i let her kiss my hair, and stared at a point on the street outside the window.
it felt like everything and anything, except like what it was.
this photo was taken last year at the TedxTO afterparty, but i was only recently tagged in it on facebook. i don’t at all remember taking this shot, or frankly, who the dudes in it are. Reg, any clues?
i’m such a glad-hander.
i’ve blogged about fauxreel twice before, but this old piece of his from 2009 that went up in our fair city still gives me pause.
i was at a funeral once. as is expected, it was a very sombre, melancholy event. it was a hot july day, and the church had left the windows open for ventilation. as family members came forward to give their speeches, a car outside on the street was blasting its crap music (as most low rider douchebags who drag The Danforth are known to do). unfortunately, it was this song. the fucking car was stopped at a really long red-light outside, and because all the church windows were open, the song invaded the ceremony. we were trying to have this respectful, reflexive, and downright sad experience to mourn the loss of life…
…and instead, we were paralyzed with a case of the giggles. everyone had their hands over their mouths, unsure of whether to choke back tears, or choke on our cackles.
horribly hilarious, i was uncontrollably laughing at a funeral.
that’s what going to Moth-Up the other day was like.
someone walked by me, pretending not to see me. But seeing as how i’m an adult, i made the courteous move to say hello. i had forgotten that we weren’t talking … and now i remember why.
in hindsight, i probably should have checked the FB event page to see who would be at Moth Up so i could have avoided it altogether, but i have completely given up stalking on FB. if people didn’t show up in my FB newsfeed, i’d never know what others are up to. i absotively posulutely refuse to look at anybody’s profile but my own. i have extended this ban from FB to twitter, and even some blogs. … mostly, because i couldn’t give a shit.
luckily, i was with someone worthy of my attention. we giggled like conspirators well into the night, actually leaving the event early for more one-on-one.
we bounded out the door, taking the steps two at a time, and disappeared into the velvet black of midnight… i didn’t bother to take notice of what i left behind.
life is right in any case.
and my heart is open as the sky.
“your mind shines as brightly as your eyes do.”
you better run, better run, faster than my bullet
if you’ve been keeping your eyes open in toronto-the-good, you’ve probably noticed a few fluorescent bikes here and there. they’re part of an art project launched by some OCAD’ers, where they find abandoned bikes that are still locked up, and beautify them with different fluorescent colours, sometimes they even put a potted plant in the basket. anyhoo, i haven’t been able to pop a wheelie in this city without knocking over one of these bikes, they’re everywhere! i am so in love with the idea, as you can see from the above collage that i made which indicates each location i’ve found a bike so far. keep your eyes open, tdot.
to find out more about this project, visit the artists’ tumblr here.
text messages from august 4th
mr k: YOU make me want to do better things
me: that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me
mr k: it’s just you tell me about what you’ve done and i see this insane potential to do more and i think “holy crap man.. this girl is amazingly talented and has done so much!” it’s so awesome and inspiring….. to me you’re muse material because you create the drive for self improvement. Everything you’ve told me points that way. Whenever you tell me about how guys walk all over you, i actually think why?! someone like this is so worthwhile.
vicki vanilla sky
i am a bumble bee.
that’s what mr moore said about me the other day after we had dinner together at disgraceland. i’d never tried their vegan-friendly menu before. i like places that are west of ossington. the wester, the better. omg gurrrrrrrl you are soo west.
i wore a yellow top, black skort (remember skorts!), my yellow tube flops, and that ol’ buttercup yellow flower in my hair that i’ve been wearing since 2005… hence the bumble bee. my friend teresa describes that pill you have to take when you have a UTI as “the bumble bee pill” because it’s black and yellow as well.
i like it when things are named after flying killers.
someone in Kensington Market knows how to bang out the time-sensitive street art without flinching.
crying a gold tear.
i always thought winehouse would just keith richards her way through life. i was living in london when her second album back to black blew up, and she was in daily rags literally daily. remember when her and blake had that huge fight, and emerged on the street after the battle. he had massive nail scratches on his neck which he unsuccessfully tried to cover with a douchey scarf. …and she used to love traipsing around in those ballet slippers, which were bloodied now because she had injected the crack cocaine IN BETWEEN HER TOES.
living in london at that time, listening to her music as i ran through Southwark and Bermondsey, fisting Borough Market, kicking Tower Bridge, and owning the Elephant and Castle circus, amy is inextricably linked to that period in time. the pubs and punters screamed her songs, spilling out into the streets. her music got me through a horrible break-up at the time. made riding the DLR somewhat bearable.
amy, you should have been stronger than me.
on the corner of bloor and st. george
there’s only ONE law when it comes to graffiti and street art… you don’t fucking tag or go over someone else’s work. graffiti is all about ego, really. it’s about getting a kind of infamy for your art… when someone fucking tags your art, it’s the biggest form of disrespect.
hey “MER” don’t fucking disrespect. get your fucking tag off of the eyes.
shall we turn this into a new conga line, lisa?
i don’t think i could handle a constant state of pleasure until forever.
but i welcome the challenge.
* * *
i’ve blogged about Deadboy lots of times before, and he let me know recently that he’s hit the streets again. he’s launched an attack on the streets, and his provocative wheatpastes are in some of the best locations in the city. on top of that, they are powerful, they ask questions, they make you feel something.
here’s a cross-section of some of his work, with their locations. i invite you all to go on a scavenger hunt and find these pieces of art for yourself.
that’s the great thing about street art… it’s livable and democratic. you don’t need to be a glittering asshole who scrubs up to go to the gallery. you just need to enjoy investigating your own city.
free thought. free art.
probably the best piece of the lot, IMO.
the “fuck you stephen harper” wheatpaste is on queen west and augusta, across the street from Java House.
the “gun-toting toddler” is atop a construction overpass in kensington market, near baldwin and spadina.
right next to it, is this shaved-head kid with a rifle.
and the two make a second appearance on queen west and ryerson, just south of Theatre Passe Muraille.
this “my turn raccoon” which i already found in a kensington market alley is also on queen west and vanauley street.
do you see what i see on the abandoned blockbuster at queen and spadina?
* * *
a few months ago, i photographed this stencil saying in the exact same spot outside st george subway station, but it was promptly removed thereafter.
it’s back.
i was almost crushed by a tractor trailer the other day as i rode my bike through parkdale. he didn’t check his blind spot for me and starting turning. my bike crashed to the ground, and he kept going, his huge tires coming within inches of my body. he only stopped when other cars honked and flagged him down. i got up off the ground, shaking, and tried to smash his side window with blind rage. but i’m just a pipsqueak, really.
the flowers came off of my basket.
my leg is a bit bruised, and i have a few popped capillaries, but i’m fine.
cyclists need some peace of mind in this city. we deserve respect. i’m also a driver, and a pedestrian, so i know what it feels like to be all three. none of us own the road. we need to start sharing.
i’m fucking endearing.
hey open wide, here comes original sin
pick up a (free) copy of the August issue of Exclaim, already on the streets nationwide, my film review of Beats, Rhymes, and Life: the travels of A Tribe Called Quest is published within….
microphone check, 1, 2, what is this?
i took a really long walk the other night. Sitto (that’s an arabic colloquialism for “granny”) passed her driving test, the woman is 89, and i don’t want her joyriding, so i hijacked the car, parked it on brunswick, north of bloor. then walked, and walked, and walked.
no headphones, no music. i just wanted to walk and listen to the streets. like a Weimar flâneur (flâneuse?). i ended up at queen and lansdowne in the heart of a hot parkdale. 5 kilometre walk under the gauze of an unforgiving night and an easy breeze.
Baudelaire originated the term “flâneur.” He also once said that “the sole pleasure in love lies in the knowledge that one is doing evil.”
there was a bench outside cafe taste so i sat there for a long time, watching people walk by with falafels in hand. on their bikes, ringing bells like summoning good fortune. girls in white messes.
i never go anywhere without paper and a pen. ideas strike and memories fail more often than not. i started jotting down small notes.
in the heat of the city at night is when i curate the jumble of my head.
as i’m writing, half a dozen sauced blokes tried their hand with me. at this age, i have learned that the best way to navigate unwanted attention is just to ignore it. also at this age, the attention i’m getting is from men easily ten years younger than me. a man with a belly elbowed his mate and said loud enough for me to hear, “she’s a brazillian beauty, no doubt she’s brazillian.”
ignoring gave way to disbelief when a twig of a kid said, “damn gurrrrrl, you is fine” or something along those lines, to which i snorted, “how old ARE you, 12?”
his friends laughed their ass off at him as his 12-year-old balls crawled back up inside his body. in actual fact, they probably hadn’t even dropped yet.
i think i heard him say something like “no i’m 18 with a big dick,” but that was inaudible over the sound of his embarrassment.
“just remember, you’re a girl, you’re not funny, smart, interesting, or any of those things…..if he asks you a question, don’t panic. he already thinks you’re an idiot.”
just because a woman is walking alone on the street doesn’t make her a street-walker.
in my head, i’m still a little girl, looking to adults to tell me how the world is.
i walked back to the car, another 5 kilometres. dundas west is a quiet portuguese strip that is kind of lovely, reminiscent of brooklyn, raw and untamed. men who look like all of my uncles and cousins said things to me in portuguese that i understood and made me hate them.
i think i’ll walk in another direction next time.
“Power to the people, we don’t want it, we want pleasure. And the TVs try to rape us, and I guess that they’re succeeding. Now we’re going to these meetings but we’re not doing any meeting. And we’re trying to be faithful but we’re cheating.
Cheating.
Cheating!”
50 kilometres on my bike, dying from the heat, having to stop to take proper water breaks before my body capsized. vicki took me to the park lawn spit in etobicoke, and snapped this photo of me. i look weird, like i’m trying to swallow something. we sat on the rocks and could hear caribana music from across lake ontario, the water provides echoes. an ant bit my arm and i wailed.
she took me back to her place and made me a chickpea/rice/egg/onion salad mixup thingie with guacamole-lime dressing. she went to wash her hands, and by the time she came back, i had cleaned my plate.
you will find me from the trail of dead organs i leave behind.
one of my besties is going on holiday for 3 weeks, and i’m house-sitting for her whilst she’s gone. i house-sat for her earlier this year, i get to hang with “sid fishous” again. jerkface figgy who likes to freak me out, but i could never stay mad at him. the place is on st george & bernard, north of bloor….3 weeks in the annex during lovely august, with my bike and a penchant for writing down the thoughts that keep me trapped in my head.
my ears are like book-ends.
black pearl athena
last week, i was flattered with tickets to see Spent at the Young Centre for Performing Arts in the distillery district. many of you know i am a huge theatre fag and try to see as many plays as possible, and i’m always willing to blog and tweet about the gems.
Spent, written and performed by Adam Paolozza and Ravi Jain, is a lampoon of the 2008 economic crisis, told through physical comedy (basically the style is clown, without the red noses or stupid Bozo facepaint). it was a ravishing, funny,vibrant, joyous romp through what many considered a polyp on the colon of ecoomics and finance. Paolozza ad Jain have created a rock ‘em sock ‘em satire of the discourse we use when dealing with money, making several analogies to religion, and how dollar signs can be confused with crucifixes. they do all that in a mere 80 minutes, with energy to spare.
it’s the coolest fricken play you’ll see this summer in toronto before it hits the edinburgh fringe fest. all the details you need is here (and tickets are cheap, people). get thee to a playhouse.
(#Tweetgasm photos courtesy of Photojunkie.ca)
i actually didn’t notice Reg was copping a feel here. i thought we were just squishing our puppies together.
woah. her face = sex.
was shocked to see paul. i’ve only ever seen him out once before, way back in february for GenYTO during social media week. i’m walking up to the gladstone, then outta nowhere, i see him on the sidewalk, and i’m like, “wait, what?” took me a moment to actually process it. i would have walked right by him if he hadn’t turned at the sound of my heels clicking along the pavement. paul’s twitter bio says that he “believes shoes tell everything about a woman.”
“so what do my heels tell you about me?” i asked.
paul opened his mouth to answer, but i cut him off:
“on second thought, don’t tell me.”
that’s probably for the best.
yaw took these iPhone shots of me. here i’m wearing dave‘s specs, looking like an angry librarian.
this caption should be “I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WORK IN A LIBRARY!! IF ONLY I COULD READ!!!!!”
now i’m wearing Yaw’s top gun aviators, pulling a duckface, adored by myspace-alien-face-peace-sign-model-mayhems everywhere.
jessica‘s housewarming party. sweaty and rained on, but…..
…i still managed to finger-dance and pull a bride of chucky mug.
testing testing is this thing on?
i was stopped at a red light near college and lansdowne, looked in my side mirror, and nearly lost my heart in the rails and moving blues.
went to Rule Britannia at Clinton’s with andrew, which was rather disappointing. kept playing stupid top 40 british hits from the 80s that are overplayed and not really crowd pleasers. i only heard one Arctic Monkeys song and one Klaxons song, the rest were fucking come-on-eileen, twist-and-shout, i’m-feeling-supersonic-give-me-gin-and-tonic, rio-grande BOLLOCKS. yawn.
this was the night before amy winehouse died. they didn’t play a single one of her tunes.
i remember the first time i heard of the Forever 27 club. it was actually a decade ago now, the summer of 2001, when i was working at the CN Tower. i was one of the bitches operating the elevators. “and now we’re moving at 15 miles per hour, this is the tallest free standing tower in the world, it takes 58 seconds to get to the top, blah blah fucking blah.” this dude that i worked with at the towering inferno was having a houseparty, i think his name was michael, but it could have been colin or william (i’m showing my age here, aren’t i?). on the wall of his sherbourne apartment was this poster that said Forever 27 and it had the usual suspects on it. i didn’t get what it meant until i asked, but for some reason, the image of the poster burned into my brain. i had the biggest crush on that michael-colin-william dude too. i had held a houseparty earlier in the year, which he attended, and this was back when i had no reservations about drinking, so i shitfacedly swung my legs onto his lap, and basically made a plastered fool of myself, which he seemed to like, because he came back the next day to hang with me, using the pithy excuse of “i left something at yours” which he totally didn’t, he just wanted to do what Reg was doing in the above photo. i didn’t let him.
suffice it to say, when i quit that shit McJob, i never heard or saw him again.
after a 50 kilometre bike ride to the downtown core (good god i love biking and my bike, i’m such a shitkicker), i met up with nate and we basically spent sunday together. iced coffees at Crafted, dinner at Lakeview, drinks at Sweaty Betty’s.
he pointed out the above Devil Rob Ford street art to me, which i may have just walked by if he hadn’t pointed it out. it looks like the same style as these rob-ford-spermatozoa‘s i found a little while back. Who is behind this wheatpaste? it’s on the corner of ossington and humbert. if you know, please tell me!
“my soul is a death rattle,” i recently told nate.
tie a noose around my neck and pull, and pull, and pull.
the Nus doth protest too much.
why we should lose our virginity, from Submarine.
i’ll never tell which reason i chose.
i keep having these ferbile dreams. i wake up disoriented, and the feeling lingers all day, agate colours punctuating my eyes, splitting them from my brain. i had to walk through the city under a baseball cap and huge sunglasses, head down like i’d lost my dog, hiding the face, for fear that someone would recognize me from the dream, as if the players were about, dreaming the same things, our subconscious minds linked in perfumes.
chasing her around the table, in a movie. wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and the credits roll.
my soul is a death rattle.
