The Madonna Tour of New York
Among many of my things to-do whilst in New York, one of them was The Madonna Tour of New York. This isn’t something that is organized and run by official tour guides. This is something I fashioned myself using Google. I’ve always been really inspired by Madonna’s life. Her music, I can take it or leave it, but I find her struggle for success really inspiring. Unlike most celebrities today who are famous through nepotism or for nefarious acts, Madonna made her own life. She arrived in New York with no money, knowing next to no one, and was even sexually assaulted. She squatted in buildings and barely scraped by for 5 years in New York, until she finally got that record deal in the early 1980s. So I’m not particularly interested in the Madonna of now, more of the Madonna from the late 70s. Every year or so, I reread Andrew Morton’s biography about her (which I bought 10 years ago in a second-hand bookstore for $3) and it really gives me a kick in the pants to do more with my life. To be more ambitious and driven.
Anyway, Morton’s book is so detailed about the places and people in her life in the late 70s that I realized I could actually (probably) find these places and meet these people whilst there. So after scouring the book once more for precise details, I set about fashioning my own Madonna tour of New York… one that visited most of the places that were a part of her tapestry. I also contacted one very important person from her life at that time (more on that later…)
First stop, the synagogue in Queens.
In the late 70s, Madonna met the Gilroy brothers, Dan and Ed. They were musicians in a band and she was still a dancer at this point. She began a relationship with Dan and promptly moved in with him and Ed. Dan and Ed at the time were living in this above synagogue deep in the heart of Corona, Queens.
You can tell just by looking at it’s size and architecture that it was built sometime in the early 1900s and was converted into a house probably in the 1960s after falling into disrepair and disuse by the Jewish community.
Ed Gilroy and his wife still live in this synagogue actually, but weren’t there when I visited, so I left a lil’ hello note in their mailbox. When Andrew Morton visited this synagogue, Ed took him down to the basement where 30 years prior, Dan had taught Madonna how to play the drums. She had been a drummer in their band The Breakfast Club before becoming the guitarist…. and finally wanting to take the front position. Also, in the basement, are reel-to-reel recordings they made back then of Madonna singing and playing, of her chatting with Dan and Ed playfully …. it’s like a time machine back to the 70s and of her unfamous life, Morton wrote.
Standing here, I was imagining a young black-haired skinny Madonna, younger than I am now, bounding down these steps and heading for the subway to go into Manhattan, taking the exact same steps I had taken to get there by subway….. it was a pretty connecting and exciting thought.
Next stop …. The Russian Tea Room in Manhattan
When Madonna first arrived in New York in the late 70s and was still a dancer, her dancing instructor (Pearl Lang) worried about how thin she was and how she was getting by, so she got Madonna a job at The Russian Tea Room on 57th. Now from all the sources I have read, she was a “hat check” girl there in the late 70s before getting fired. But I walked inside the TRTR and asked the hostess, and she said Madonna was a “coat check” girl in the early 80s. So I’m not sure which is correct, but either way, the hostess confirmed that yes, Madonna worked there.
Next stop …. The Music Building on the shitty west side.
The Music Building is an infamous shitty building on 8th avenue in the shitty “Minnesota Strip” part of Manhattan that, in the early 80s, must have been 100x worse. Drugs, violence, crime, and then this towering inferno, floor after floor, of disgusting sweaty, smelly wannabe rock n’ roll superstars jamming all hours into the night, spilling out into the street.
This is also where Madonna recorded her first demos and met her first manager, Camille Barbone.
Madonna used to actually squat illegally in the music building and wash herself in the ladies loo. Fab Five Freddy once said that when he met Madonna, she smelled so bad and it seemed like she was the type to get around, hahaha. Anyway, I tried to go inside but the doors were locked (you need a fob key to get in) and I didn’t have an appointment (which you also need if you want to look around).
But I looked up and knew that inside one of those windows was the studio where Madonna and Steven Bray put the finishing touches on Everybody…
Next stop, 30 West 21st street, which now is a very gentrified and beautiful area, but 30 years ago it was …
…where Danceteria used to be. Danceteria was the club where Madonna passed her demo tape to Mark Kamins (the DJ there, and sometime A & R rep, who briefly became her boyfriend) who then passed it on to Seymour Stein, head of Sire Records, who was laid up in the hospital after heart surgery and told Kamins to bring Madonna to him in the ward. Danceteria is also where Madonna had her first live performance of Everybody, and where she recorded her very first music video (Everybody).
Next two stops were the former locations of Max’s Kansas City and CBGB’s, where Madonna and her early band Emmy played some of their first gigs. Emmy was actually Madonna’s nickname when she was younger so the band adopted it as their name. I have found some of Emmy’s recordings online, and I think my favourite is “Little Boy Lost.” It’s very punk-influenced and Madonna’s voice is so pure in it. She strains to hit some notes, but that’s what I love about it, she’s putting so much heart into it. Now they’d auto-tune out all her strain, which really is a sad thing. On “Little Boy Lost” you get to hear her voice unfiltered by subsequent technique and lessons. She had a lovely voice then, now it kind of sucks. When the critics in the 80s called her voice like “Minnie Mouse on helium” I think that really struck a chord with her and she has since tried to lower her octave (listen how deep she goes on “Papa Don’t Preach.”). But I kind of miss her spritely, natural voice.
CBGBs only officially closed in 2006…. and I made my first ever NYC visit in 2007 so I missed it completely, but luckily the dude who took over the space and turned it into a shop kept most of the memorabillia around.
The walls were never painted over. This wall and space was almost right behind the former bar.
Now, as promised, here’s the story of the person I contacted …..
Through a lot of online digging and sleuthing, I found the mailing address of Dan Gilroy, Madonna’s former boyfriend (mentioned above in the synagogue section), and also the man who taught her how to play the drums and guitar…. and basically how to make music.
So I wrote him a hand-written letter a few weeks before I arrived in NYC, basically asking him if he would be okay meeting up with me for a cuppa and a chat.
I figured that by the time he got my snail-mail letter, I’d already be in NYC, so I gave him my email address as a reply method, and kept my fingers crossed.
Whilst in NYC, I received an email from him! He said he was now living in Texas (my letter had been forwarded to him there, so the mailing address I had found was technically wrong) so we couldn’t meet. I won’t include all of his letter here, for privacy reasons of course, but here are some select lines:
He’s so kind!!! His letter was so generous and giving, he didn’t even have to write me back at all, so I was so grateful for his response. If that man wasn’t like 60 years old, I’d be all up in his grill.
So there you have it, that was my own personal Madonna tour of New York.
I would highly recommend it:)
Madonna once said that what you do in life, and how far you go, depends on how hungry you are.
I’m starving.
It’s a Twitter Miracle! Starring Eric McCormack & Christine Estima as herself
i should have known those two would be friends! ah LeVar, every time we interact, it gives me a lil tingle on the inside.
And this, my friends, is why you should all be on Twitter.
New York is such an amazing place. One where you can have lame Adrian Grenier hang times one week, and then amazing Eric McCormack hang times the next week.
Alright, I am officially celebrity-hang-timed-out. Leave me alone, famous people. NO PICTURES!
*CoughYeahRightNeverLeaveMeCough*
I hung out with Adrian Grenier last night and he is lame. The Full Story:
I am no stranger to meeting celebrities. When I was a music critic, I had to interview them constantly. And it is not unknown for one or two notable personalities to float amongst my social circle back in Toronto. So meeting celebs never fazes me. However, last night I had an experience which is probably on par with my worst celeb encounter ever (the awful day of Jared Leto back in 2005 which you can read about here …. fuck I’ve been blogging for a long time). Last night I met Adrian Grenier who (unlike the celebs I know who are kind and gracious and giving) was incredibly lame and a boner-killer.
You heard it here first.
Adrian Grenier: When horses are this lame, they shoot ‘em.
Me and my friend Sidonie* (*not her real name, obviously. Changed to protect her privacy) were walking down East Houston Street last night around 11pm when we turn a corner and come face to face with Adrian Grenier who flashes us his brilliant smile. I recognize him immediately. Sidonie does not. We keep walking a few paces, but I quickly turn on my heel and call out to him before he disappears around a corner, “I love Entourage!”
I have never seen an episode of Entourage in my life.
The only thing I’ve ever seen him in is that fantastically manufactured movie from the 90s with Melissa Joan Hart, and the subsequent Britney Spears music video that accompanied.
He motions me and Sidonie over, holds up a 6-pack of Buds, and says, “We’re going to drink these and celebrate 4th of July on a rooftop, wanna join us?”
I say back, “I ain’t gonna say no!”
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He introduces us to his two friends with him, John and Noah. They all went to high school together, and they all live in New York, but for whatever reason, they never see each other. Probably because Grenier travels a lot for work. He said he was just in Michigan and before that Ohio. I am blown over by the glitz and glamour.
We walk back down Houston to the Red Square building. That’s exactly what it’s called. Sidonie and I had walked by it earlier and I had commented that, with a name like that, it must be like living in Communist Russia.
We get to the roof, and there’s a huge statue of Lenin up there. So yeah…. Russian.
Sidonie asks to use the loo, and by using such terminology, it makes Grenier comment that “his lady” is also British and he has had to get used to British-isms.
And that is the most he said all night. He is completely out of it, and, we later realize, absolutely stoned. John and Noah tell us about their night at some bar where a naked woman fed them cheese (that’s definitely a stoned story), and then they whip out a bong and each take a hit. Both Sidonie and I decline the bong, especially after all three of them cough and hack like it’s the strongest shit ever.
We start to talk about Canada, about living in New York, about travelling, about Asians (don’t ask), and we start to see some fireworks out in the distance from Brooklyn to which we oooh and ahhhh. Sidonie and I are driving the conversation forward each time, throwing our best gems at them all night, trying to get them to at least talk to us. John and Noah, bless ‘em, were very obliging and entertaining.
Grenier is not. He doesn’t really engage us in conversation, apart from the odd remark. He can barely make eye contact. He plays a song from his phone so that we have background noise, but other than shifting from one foot to the other, really doesn’t say much. John and Noah do all the entertaining, and frankly, are more deserving of any fanfare that Grenier garners.
It’s really windy on the roof, which I am enjoying after the sweltering day on the streets of Greenpoint photographing graffiti. But Grenier is totally not feeling it. He comments several times how he doesn’t like the wind because it’s messing his shaggy hair, nor does he like the roof because there is no seating up there. (It’s literally just a rooftop with a railing …. and Lenin).
So Sidonie, John, Noah and I push on with our conversation. We are laughing a lot and slowly getting to know these guys. They are teachers and playwrights, and occasionally direct shows for HBO with Grenier. I’m actually beginning to forget Grenier is even there. But after 45 minutes of pleasantries and chatting amongst ourselves, Grenier suddenly opens his mouth to speak. We collectively hold our breath, waiting for the wisdom and gems to fall from his lips like rain, and wash down upon us in a shimmering glow of enlightenment:
“I want tacos.”
Thanks you, Obi Wan.
At that, we follow him back down to street level and walk across Houston and into Soho to a place called Taquiera on Orchard street. The place is rammed and we feel like a two groupie sheep following this hungry, stoned boy into a joint to satisfy his munchies.
It’s painfully obvious by this point that Grenier only invited us along in the first place because he wanted filler for his (pardon the pun) entourage.
Sidonie and I quickly decide this isn’t for us, and we walk over to him to say our goodbyes. We thank him for a lovely encounter (lie), and congratulate him on his success. He says he is currently making a movie right now but isn’t at liberty to say which one (that’s great, but no one asked). He makes mention that he would love to work with Natalie Portman one day (um. okay.) Sidonie then asks innocently if she can take a photo with him.
He replies, “I’d rather not because I’m really stoned.”
Cue eyeroll.
We each give him an insincere hug, then make a swift exit, leaving him and his stoner entourage to find some other brown-nosers for ego-inflation.
Back out on Houston, Sidonie and I just look at each like we need a defibrillator.
Maybe it’s because we’re Canadian… maybe it’s because we are accustomed to the celebs we know to be gracious and kind …. maybe it’s because it’s exciting New York …. for any/ all of these reasons, we were simply unmoved by the whole experience. A great reminder that celebrities, like other humans, are just as prone to being uninteresting and boring as the rest of us.
An epiphany that is only to be found in a place like New York.
Justin Bieber and I are doing the nasty
i stupidly tweeted this on saturday night.
which resulted in this guy (the one with over 21,000,000 followers) retweeting me.
see?
(click to enlarge)
….and because of this, it resulted in me being bombarded by those fucking Beliebers. I could not keep up with the thousands of Belieber tweets, RTs, favourites, and follows being directed my way PER SECOND, that STILL hasn’t properly let up yet. Now my twitter feed stinks of the most horrifying thing in the world — puberty. I wouldn’t wish this kind of attention on any other 31 year old woman. He’s a 16 year old boy! What the fuck does he know about anything, other than X-box and masturbation? So why do SO MANY Beliebers treat him like a religious experience? He looks like a moderately powerful pokemon. He’s only famous because he repeated the word BABY more than any other human being in a 3 minute period…. like an autistic child in a maternity ward. That’s not musical talent, that’s a mental illness.
AND his voice sounds like a fox fucking a bagpipe.
Those Beliebers are TERRIFYING! They look like the sort of people you’d find in a Maury Povich holding pen. I betcha if Justin told them to go fuck themselves, they’d give it a shot.
Now from what the Beliebers tell me, there are millions of girls who would kill to get an RT from Justin…. like I should be grateful that I was noticed by a boy who was a ZYGOTE when i was in junior high. If that’s true, then millions of girls need to aspire to greater things in life.
Look Justin, fanks for the RT and all, but you have cursed me with the burden of your crazy hormonal tween fans who would kick the face off a badger to get your attention … and by extension, now my attention.
I will never buy your music, nor will I go to one of your concerts. The only thing that would ruin a Justin Bieber concert would be if my gun jammed.
Shepard Fairey thinks I have Klout!
i’ve never been sure how much stock to put into Klout. if you’re not aware, Klout measures your online influence. how do they measure it? ….errm…. well that’s part of Klout’s controversy. no one can really figure out what they’re basing it on (some secret algorithm), and when people’s Klout score suddenly drops 20 points, their measuring system can be seen as rather arbitrary.
i don’t take my score too seriously, but i do enjoy it since Klout has awarded me some free perks, and because of it i ended up being named one of Toronto’s Top Tweeters.
but anyhoo, i log in to my klout account yesterday to find that DA MAN
aka Obey
aka Andre The Giant Has A Posse
aka Shepard Fairey
aka Obama HOPE poster
aka Exit Through The Gift Shop/Kwik-E Mart
aka dude who got punched out in Denmark for promoting peace
…..yeah, that AMAZEBALLS DUDE that i’ve profiled on this blog so often he has his own dedicated category,
had given ME a +K in GRAFFITI on klout!!!!!!!!
somebody change my shorts.
if you don’t understand the terminology, “+K” is a fun awarding system Klout has set up to allow users to give their peers and people who influence them “klout-points” in a topic the person in knowledgeable about. for example, most people give me +K in the topics of graffiti, toronto, and social media.
as you can see, the +K came from the verified account of Mr Fairey.
i am extremely honoured and humbled to be noticed by one of my favourite street artists. every time i find one of his pieces, i get all giddy and start jumping up and down like a school girl. when i first found one of his Obey stickers on Houston Street in the Lower East Side of Manhattan near Alphabet City, I literally started jumping up and down and photographed the sticker a bajillion times. I would later find much more of his work around Manhattan and Brooklyn, and even a few impeccably-untouched and preserved stickers around Toronto!
Anyway, fanks sir!
Ps I’d just like to point out that, currently, my Klout score is higher than Shepard Fairey’s …. that can’t be right. See what I mean about that tricky algorithm?!
Check out my Shepard Fairey category to see more of his work that I’ve photographed!
have a happy birfday MOTHER FUCKER
my birfday clusterfuck was a success! first, it started off with this:
LeVar has always been my homeboy, love that man to bits. Such a nice man and so supportive.
After receiving a whopping 200+ facebook well-wishes and 100+ twitter well-wishes (you guys are the apple of my eye), it was time to make my milkshake bring all the boys to the yard.
aw yeeeeah. blue steel.
andrew is great because he knew next to nobody at this party other than me and quickly became the life of it. he’s pretty chill when it comes to working a room and making everyone lurve him.
i honestly don’t mind getting older, in fact, i rather enjoy it. Life feels more immediate. I’m taking nothing for granted, and i don’t sweat the small stuff.
Yaw is another one of those characters that everyone quickly and easily loves. And he is, as my friend teresa would say, a “4 B.” What’s a 4 B?
NEVER YOU MIND.
I think I am more nervous than I care to admit, because right before the party, I was having a little hissy-girly-wank-fest-fit. I became all cranky and moody because I received like 20 messages from people saying they were bailing on my party. I really need to grow thicker skin and a stiff upper lip. As soon as the room filled with my lovelies, all those ornery thoughts were shoved out of the way.
rob, dave, and trevor are the NEW charlie’s angels … rob can be farrah fawcett. HA!
shasheena brought me a gorgeous orchid! i was in awe of its beauty. i am notoriously horrid with plant-care, i never know how much light or water to give them, but i am going to put in my grade-A effort to keep this wild orchid reaching for the sky.
oh for the love of…
i adore my wife SO HARD. she’s so kind and so giving and so selfless.
and she’s got a butt that won’t quit.
hashtag WINNING.
sacha was clearly looking in the wrong direction when this photo was taken.
aw bless.
i can’t remember exactly what was being said here that i found so hilarious …. but it was clearly hella-funny. maybe we were talking about how my child-bearing years are now over. FUNNY. oh hai brennan!
chris is such a good photographer because he butters you up right before he snaps your photo, and makes you feel beautiful even if you have chocolate cake in your teeth and eye-makeup-goop in the corner of your eye. right before he snapped my pic, he said “christine you don’t have a bad angle, i never have to retouch your photos.” aw shucks, what a manufactured lie, but i will believe anything you tell me as long as it’s a compliment!
go team!
teresa is one of the few people still in my life from high school, i shaved the rest of ‘em out years ago. she makes the cut because she’s kind and brave and sweet and is too nice for her own good. her laugh is infectious and she never has a mean thing to say about the people she loves. oh and because she’s known me for so long, not only has she seen me change, she has LET me change. that’s the greatest thing a friend can do.
palm to palm is holy palmers kiss.
andrew and sofi are now each other’s back-up. in ten years time, expect to see little PapDonalds running around.
woah dave! was this taken at my party, or is it your official headshot for Ocean’s 14?
Scarbage high school girls unite! And we bring the street cred. The only people who spend FIVE YEARS in a Scarborough high school and make it out ALIVE are the tough-as-nails ones.
Andrew and Allegra are the new A-team.
see what I did there?
Shannon‘s a talented lass, she is.
Yaw can’t stop attracting da laydeez.
maybe when the timing is right, ashley and yaw will get married and their children will run the country on a platform of red-lipped smiles and huge biceps for everyone.
*this* close to seeing up allegra’s skirt. dammit.
laugh now, but one day, we’ll be in charge.
this photo is all lips and locks.
yes, it’s true. i gave in to peer pressure and took a sip of champagne.
EVERYBODY SHIT THEMSELVES.
This is probably my favourite photo of the night.
i refuse to have a party without hot men peppering the crowd.
“so i says to mable, i says…”
two men and a lil’ lady.
i supplied my own birfday cake and that sounds kinda sad, but i was rather chuffed with the results. choco cake with almond-milk frosting! i do good work.
reg was so funny. she’s lighting the candles, and because the match burns her skin, she ends up dropping the candle aflame onto the cake. so to prevent the cake from catching fire, she blows out all the candles. WIFEY STOLE MY BIRFDAY CANDLE WISH!
Porno for pyros.
“happy birfday to meee!”
as many of you know, i am full of hot air.
my mouth is huge.
hey fellas! use your imagination!
one year older, one year wiser.
I had a divine birfday weekend, fanks to all my lovely friends for coming out and blessing me with your presence!
You are the people i admire, i appreciate, i adore, i love …. and that i would (separately, at one time or another) like to smack the shit out of.
see you at next year’s birfday piss-up!
(additional photography by Chris Lukhardt, fanks guy!)
SOLD!
The Love A Heart event was a massive success! As I blogged about before, I was asked by the wonder-woman event organizer if I’d like to be auctioned off on a date to the highest bidder, with all the money going to the Heart & Stroke Foundation. Naturally I said yes, but as the event approached, I slowly began to pass a kidney stone of sheer terror. It’s petrifying asking a crowd of 500-plus people to put a dollar value on your debatable-hotness! Bussey had blogged a few weeks ago that I would, in all likelihood, sell for $170 which I thought was extremely generous.
So how much did I sell for?
$300!!!
If I had been wearing underwear that night, they would have needed changing. (Undies are for quitters).
And who was my top bidder?
Dis guy.
Although technically he shares me with my wifey, but that goes without saying.
Now please enjoy this photogasm which accurately depicts the depravity and kickassery of the night.
No comment.
me, ashley, and sofi shall henceforth be known as the “boob troop.”
shannon and i have devil eyes!
was nice to see george again. we had a quick catch-up. he sold for $800, which i assumed would have been the top bid of the night. out of nowhere, ryan-gosling-esque Kerry pulls a $1025!! bless his heart, he then matched the bid.
if only all the hosers we knew in highschool back in scarbage could see us now
OMG IS THAT LEN?!! that’s what i was thinking the entire night, dude never comes out! it takes a lot to get him excited about events. he was also my saviour, basically talking me off a ledge for the past two weeks. i was genuinely shitting myself for this event, but he was coo’ing in my BBM ear to just have a laugh and remember it’s for charity (with extra shits n’ giggles). totally worked!
although after i got off stage, my adrenaline suddenly drained, and vicki needed to haul me outside for a quick breather, as i had a wee lil’ panic attack.
did i mention i stayed in a hotel that night? look at me, i’m adult-y.
view of the ROM. years and years ago, i worked as a tour guide on those hop-on-hop-off double decker buses for tourists, and when we’d drive by the ROM (which was still under reconstruction at the time), i used to say this joke to squeeze more tips outta the gullible americans:
“and now we’re going by the Royal Ontario Museum, or the ROM as we like to call it. now as you can see, it’s still under reconstruction, but as you all know… ROM wasn’t built in a day.”
wocka wocka wocka.
i also once worked at the Royal Conservatory of Music….. for one day. i quit that job by the stroke of 5pm.
they were filming some movie or tv show at Varsity Stadium. probably one of those crap canadian tv shows like Being Erica or Flashpoint. (ps sorry to all my actor/director/writer friends who are employed on said-shows. i wuv yoos guise).
annnnnd…. scene.
a massive erection
golden globes, sag awards, oscars… it will never end. if celebrities stop publicly congratulating each other, then the earth wins.
now let’s take a solemn moment to remember some of the stars of showbiz who sadly ARE STILL WITH US.
… and the award for special effects goes to the team behind Stephen Harper’s smile.
Just Lucky I Guess
Click the above image to read the latest column by SexyTypewriter (who happens to be one of my besties!) in The Toronto Sun. She gives me a wee shout-out in the middle of it.
“My friend Christine has a can’t-miss retort. When asked why she’s still single, she sweetly responds with, “Just lucky, I guess.”
LIKE A BOSS.
Rapist Hipster Glasses!
my first night back in New York Shitty, and before i even have time to unpack, change clothes, or scream at the taxi cabs “heyyyy! i’m walkin’ here!” i get invited to a house party in williamsburg, brooklyn. my reputation precedes me!
many of you know that williamsburg is basically where hipsters go to die, and you would be correct. it’s like a breeding ground for nihilistic but stylish pretentious hosers who love their pabst blue ribbon, ironic ugly sweaters, and dub-step remixes of Foster The People.
I FELT RIGHT AT HOME.
my british husband (even though he doesn’t know it yet) Pete tweeted me last night, “Williamsburg: easily my favourite place ever. Like never-never land, but with fewer grown ups and more sailor tats.” Again, harsh but oh-so accurate.
But I think my favourite hipster attribute has to be the rapist glasses.
of course, i would never dream of saying that to a hipsters face. but i would, instead, rip those suckers right offa them and try them on myself.
ME! A SEXUAL PREDATOR! ME!!!!!
Exhibit A was taken off of a guy who looked like he had eczema and a problem with prema-ejac. i made a judgement call.
Exhibit B was taken off of the MOST DAPPER HIPSTER EVER whom i’ll introduce you to in a sec. Black, squarish rims with a dash of disdain for popular masculinity.
Exhibit C is probably the best example of Rapist glasses, but I couldn’t get a good angle on them, ’cause this pleasant but all-together smashed dude from Belarus kept clinging to me. Aw. Bless.
Exhibit D for Damn that shit’s nasty as fuck
Exhibit E are just basic reading glasses but I took them off a white guy with JewFro and freckles whom I bet just lovvvves Led Zepplin and reading Aldous Huxley.
That’s my friend Jared on the left. He’s the one who invited me to the party. Interesting story on how we met. Basically, when I was in Brooklyn this past Spring, I made a Couchsurfing request at this girl Miranda’s house. She said yes, but later had to decline because her plans changed and she couldn’t host me anymore. Months later, I get a Facebook message from Jared. He tells me that he lives in Miranda’s house, that he was there when she got my Couchsurfing request and saw my message, and thought that I seemed wicked cool (the man has taste). Anyway, he was bummed when I couldn’t stay there, so he messaged me, ‘Let’s be friends!” and I was all, “Done.” Then when I decided to return to Brooklyn for December, I messaged him and said, “Let’s hang!” and he was all, “Done.”
Instant friends!
Thank you webernet.
That’s Ryan, he’s a concert photographer for Spin Magazine…. As you do. Blame Williamsburg!
Here is the Most Dapper Hipster Ever I mentioned above. Dude is killing me with awesome! The glasses, the horizontal striped tie, the sweet body forming suit. You shoulda seen his shoes. Ironic wing tips with FIRE ENGINE RED SHOE LACES.
and let’s not forget the huge ass bottle of whiskey he’s chugging all to his self.
Okay, I promised you New York graffiti and street art, and that is what I shall photograph next. SWEARSIES.
Off to go find some!! Enjoy the day, guys, they’re now getting longer, so there’s more sunlight to illuminate the hipsters upon your path.
rachel weisz must die
the two of us cannot exist in the same space and time.
I MUST SEEK YOU OUT AND DESTROY YOU.
but look at that face of yours. it’s my face! how can i stay mad at you?
le sigh.
c’mere, gimme lovvvvvvvvvvve.
(ps, your husband shares the same birfday at me. it’s KISMET.)
i once said in a film review that rachel weisz is my personal jesus, and i wasn’t kidding. mostly because i was talking about myself.
stop the presses
Toni from RTV 21 in a love connection with an American woman!
” How did you come across this? ” Toni would say. Well when love connections are in question, nothing can pass us by. A couple weeks ago, a young pretty American girl visited Kosovo. She wasn’t a model, singer or anything like that, just a simple girl who came to visit her friends at the Mission in Kosovo. Through them she met the journalist from RT21, Driton Siqeca. After couple dates, Toni and the pretty American started their love connection. From their friends we found out that everything happened randomly and they are surprised how fast they fell in love. They both were having a good time together in secret places so people wouldn’t see them. During these meetings they were having long conversations and long kisses. We’ve written about his love affairs before but this one is more interesting: Toni is in love with an American! Of course it’s too early to talk about engagement or marriage … but if it happens, what do you think? Would she come to live in Kosovo or will Toni go there?
I’m not American, and I didn’t have any friends at the Mission in Kosovo. Other than that, this tabloid report was pretty accurate. Toni later told me that the local paparazzi had snapped photos of us together, but he pressured them not to print them.
this one time, on the internet …
late last night i tweeted this, and i broke the internet.
then this happened:
and then this followed:
until i somehow became the top tweet in the category:
unlike old twitter where you could see exactly how many people RT’d you, new twitter doesn’t allow you to see beyond 100 RTs, so i have no clue how many times this was RT’d. by the massive cornucopia of mentions that were vomited all over me in the period of a few hours, i’m going to estimate it was somewhere hovering around the 500-600 mark, but really, who knows.
my follower count jumped well over 3,000 too.
tweets of mine have gone viral before (see here and here for previous examples) but those occurred by and large because a celebrity RT’d me to get the ball rolling. in this case, i couldn’t find a celeb or an influential tweeter who RT’d me. so i guess i struck a nerve.
in any case, hello new readers and followers! you have excellent taste.
now shut up and show me your tweets.
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.
don’t sit down ‘cos i’ve moved your chair
YOU STILL HAVE 3 DAYS to enter The Submarine Contest, sponsored by Alliance Films and The Spadina Monologues. Get a pass for you and a friend to attend the advanced screening of Submarine, and you could win a prize pack as well! clicky the poster for your chance to be a wiener winner.
* * *
i was invited to the Pepsi Throwback event in Toronto.
the weird thing about having a rising stock in the social media world is you get invited to so many events, it’s kinda redonkulous. i’ve always said that as a writer, were it not for twitter, i would have no social life. so i try to go out to as many events as possible. and i like the fact that after years of my crazy ramblings and musings, i have leveraged my online presence into something that provides a constant stream of super fun happy times at someone else’s dime. but at the same, i’m a bit of a jovial anarchist.
jovial in that, well, i’m a generally happy person with a penchant for the shits n’ giggles.
anarchist in that, well, i don’t believe in promoting brand-awareness, and my body is an advertisement-free zone. seriously. next time you see me, try and find a single brand on me.
i shop no-names exclusively, and if i do have a brand, i bought it second-hand for 50 cents.
but when you’re in social media, everybody is for sale, and brands want to buy you. everybody is willing to drink the brand kool-aid for the right price.
now, that’s not to say there’s something inherently wrong with that. everybody needs to eat, and if you can paid just on the popularity of your blog or twitter or tumblr or whatever, then more power to you.
but i think too many people follow the formula of CONSUME. STAY QUIET. DIE.
stop buying. start living.
regina won the best dressed female costume competition, and it was well deserved. hottie pulled a Filipino madonna, and she got game.
here’s reg and i dancing at the event. she is a normal dancer. i am a fembot.
raymi says, “me and christine. how far do we go back? since before twitter, her name is synonymous with spadina monologues i think she trickled in around the MG days? did you know christine also made her way onto a reality show on a tropical island to boss around men and it was broadcast in the uk or something? huge. ask her about it. maybe that’s why she does that british accent voice? (stop doing that sorry ilu but be you) anyway i love this broad and am proud she’s a lifer like me, it’s good to see her face in the scene.”
i swear if i do a brit accent, i’m not aware. SWEARSIES. i love you luh-ren THIS MUCH. raymbo gives me a grizzle in my vizzle tizzle fo’shizzle.
playing air-guitar-leg. i am so attractive. oh hai katie!
rannie takes the greatest photos. i look so happy and my hair is the stuff of Pantene commercials. i’m doing the running man here. either that, or the roger rabbit. should i make this my FB profile photo? you tells me.
scott’s arms go on and on and on. like, if this photo’s proportions are to believed, scott must tuck his hands into his socks.
there’s nothing about sheldon that isn’t made of wizard juice.
photographers at this place weren’t on their game, they needed to sort their tech shit out, so i handed mr levy my blackberry and we busted out these hot shots, our hands were in inappropriate places, it was some sweet action.
some of the coolest people i know. raymi luh-ren, shawn, plankin-casie, scott, and my husband sheldon.
dan easily had the best 80s costume. he looks like van halen and miami vice just exploded all over him.
keshia chanté and madame stewart, cindy loo hoo?
i dunno what it is about scott, but his pepsi throwbacks bring all the boys to the yard.
i look awkwardly attractive here. most people know me as the gal with the curves, but here i look like my hips have teenaged-boy’d-out. wassup? where’s my crescent moon hips? not even a hint of a bosom! my breasteses are big. pinky swear.
i really like kelly and i really like this photo. her and i were rocking the onesie and we’re giving each other a solid. her boyfriend mark took this photo, and from this photo’s POV, you get a sense of just how fricken tall he is!
he doesn’t like to be blogged about. but how can i not post a photo of that face?
you guys see this? it’s called being one smooth mother fucker.
* * *
for the past couple of weeks, i’ve been riding on the back of an electric scooter on the weekends, and have whizzed past this above awesome mural that’s on an underpass near the junction.
that is, until this happened
literally kicking myself that i didn’t take the opportunity to photograph it (like i always do) when i had the chance. i loved this mural. LOVED IT.
check out the artist’s website and show him some support.
some street art and graffiti that i’ve managed to photograph lately, more to come!
it’s that time of year again when i get to house-sit!
last year i house-sat 4 times, this year so far i’ve done it twice, and now a third on the horizon.
will be downtown with a couple of putty-tats in little italy, just a bike ride away from work and the people who make me feel special about a little guy i like to call ME.
the lovely june weather makes me feel like my body is a boat, and you are traveling in me.
blame it on my ADD baby
i am officially a meme.
this photo was taken just over 4 years ago when i lived in the UK, on a national express bus from oxford to london. i had been particularly emotional that day, as everyone in oxford was in groups, or in pairs, and there was lonesome me. i was so lonely, it ate away at me like a locust. the next egyptian-like plague, known as my boyfriend, was just about to befall me in a week’s time, but right before this photo was taken, i had actually been crying. not the kind of crying that screws up your face and makes veins pop. something softer, something only you know you’re doing. ironic that this one photo is meme’d with a FUCK YEAH. i certainly didn’t feel that way at the time.
also, look at how different i looked back then! what’s with my eyebrows?
* * *
i went to the press screening of Forks Over Knives this week and wrote this film review. seriously, planet, when this film opens, you are REQUIRED to go see it. this is a short documentary of unimaginable brilliance, astute observations, and such a tight-shoe-string budget that you can’t help but love its lack of flash and pizzaz. it could use a bit of rearranging, as some sequences have choppy editing and a confusing non-linear-ity (so not a word, but whatever), but you won’t forget it’s message for a long time. read my review, and watch the trailer below. enjoy!
* * *
i cannot get over how sexy this song is.
i like riding in the back of half-empty streetcars with boys. windows all around, surrounded by cars. awash in lights. but our eyes our glazing over at the heat from the freshly-bloomed season. the night ties its ends to our appendages, and we can’t untie ourselves without moaning, or attracting attention from the other streetcar riders.
i say something about ‘riding the rocket’ and we collapse into giggles.
* * *
the thing about street art is, it’s ephemeral, it’s livable, it’s democratic, it’s untamed, and you aren’t intimidated by gallery owners whose shoes cost more than you make in a year. you can enjoy art and comments on society for free, on your way to work.
remember how whilst in new york city i found that tom hanks sticker that was awfully clever? turns out, it’s part of an entire sequence!
hansky, you had me at splash.
reg and i meet up after work and i end up buying the sunglasses i had two years ago whilst in india but then sat on and broke. i remember paying $14 for them in kensington market. i find them for $6.80. kensington you thief of hearts. reg and i have a sushi dinner and we’re talking about the things in life that concern us like we can’t figure out how to muddle our way through ourselves. the advice we give the other is so simple, so straightforward, so no nonsense, but we can’t bring ourselves to direct that advice at ourselves. i wondered if i was being rude, and our waiter was kinda insane.
i spent a few hours at tequila bookworm writing in my journal, and ended up finishing it off. i have kept a written journal since the age of 7. i can go back and revisit my life any time i want because i recorded things i did, feelings i felt, experiences i had, people i met, all meticulously. we’re living in interesting times, but memories fail. now is the time to record things.
i’m looking at my bookshelf right now, and en entire row is full of my life’s journals. the places i’ve been, the men i’ve loved, the friends i’ve lost, the people i’ve hated.
sometimes i wonder what i’ll do with this record of my life. will i bury it? will i publish it? will i give it to my grandkids? i might just end up burning them. if people ever really knew the real me, the things that even i don’t like to admit to myself, i wonder what would happen.
you’ll realize that you never really know a person.
speaking of india, i have to start a new journal now, and i’m going to use the leather-bound, hand-crafted journal i bought in Udaipur for 250 rupees (which is like a couple bucks when you convert it).
before and after. which would you rather have on your wall?
don’t remove street art, or we’ll cock-ify you.
so remember in my last post i mentioned how sick i had been on friday and had to take the day off work. well that day, a gift arrived at my desk, so i only received it on monday upon my return. there was no name on it, no return address, no one to thank.
whoever it was clearly knows me well, as they sent me SOY milk, coffee, and a nice mug. but who sends stuff to my office? and takes such meticulous care to wrap it up? and doesn’t leave their name? my tweeple (follow me on twitter, by the way) think it’s a secret admirer, but wouldn’t a secret admirer at least leave some clues? at least one hint?
it’s probably a work colleague or business associate.
still, i think the 16 year old girl in me wants it to be a secret admirer. how romantic.
i found my first sheppard fairey andre-the-giant-obey sticker in NYC recently, and then i found my first sheppard fairy TORONTO sticker a few weeks ago. and now, they’re everywhere. here’s one i found on queen west near ryerson avenue.
and then another, even better-placed sticker, just a few poles down from the first. i don’t know when sheppard fairey was last in toronto, but next time he’s here, i want to usurp his wife. just sayin.
i’m having fun with editing photos lately, this will reoccur now and then, get used to it, my darling munchkins.
i went to the exclaim anniversary party at wrongbar, saw juno winner Shad perform whilst eating wasabi mashed potatos and raw veggie spring rolls. it was actually almost better than last years party. i love how the places i write for invite me to epic city-wide shit.
i’m sorry, i can’t hear you over the sound of my awesomeness.
so i’m walking along after work and i find this amazing wheatpaste piece of artistic genius! it’s FORDZILLA! rob ford, the mayor and well-known art terrorist, portrayed as a godzilla eating our streetcars.
this man is horrifying, but this artistic rendering is actually rather proportional. he’s in the exact same shape as the death star he’s building.
then i’m walking along queen near augusta, and look, i find another one (photo edited to look wicked-cool). now he’s eating a spray can, because of his war on graffiti artists. luckily, someone was smart enough to label him a skinhead here.
HEY TORONTO STREET ARTIST WHO IS MAKING THESE FORDZILLAS, PLEASE CONTACT ME. I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIENNNNNNNND.
my mother is pretty dangerous, it’s true, she is a broken down construction site near baldwin village as well.
MUM QUIT WITH THE BLOG-READING AND MAKE WITH THE FOOD.
i ain’t going no where.
here’s another bit of street art (cleverly enhanced with editing) i found on queen west.
this is hauntingly beautiful, arresting really. the only name i could find on it is written vertically up the side, that says ‘deadboy’ but a google search reveals nothing. who are you, artist?
deadboy, did you love someone? did you lose someone?
these are the things i wonder about when i’m riding the subway back and forth between uptown and downtown, trying to read my commuter-convenient novel, but am more fascinated by the living.
kings may come and then go, having sex in the snow
the newspaper headlines reporting bin laden’s death.
compare and contrast.
i took this photo on monday morning and posted it online. within 24 hours, it had over 1200 views. i’d classify that as verging on viral.
it’s official. we have replaced ethics for hype.
having a headline like this detracts from the important issues that people actually care about.
this is pure knee-jerk, reactionary editorializing on the front page that is meant to anger people and appeal to their baser instincts instead of allowing them to form their own opinions from the news. this is here just to sell papers, rather than offering facts on the issue. also the word ‘hell’ in there implies religious connotations that not everyone subscribes to. even religious people would have to agree that “rot in hell” is not a very ecumenical statement and is not endorsed by any church. editorials have no place on front page headlines, and this newspaper, by refusing to hold any issue’s feet to the fire, is calling into question the intelligence of its readers. whether or not bin laden deserved what he got isn’t the question.
when we dumb down the issues to something like this, nobody wins.
the appropriate response to hate is NOT more hate.
* * *
so for hockey election night in Canada, i was invited down to CityTV broadcast headquarters to attend #CityVote, an event where, in their own words, “high-profile tweeters” (that’s so going in my bio) gathered to live-tweet the election and the results, without getting arrested by Elections Canada.
that’s me, doing my job credibly in-studio via UberSocial Twitter on Blackberry
and that’s one of my tweets flashing across the broadcast.
it was a great event, attended by some great twitter-buds and tweethearts of mine, and we were all pretty much in agreement that basically:
The Stache is Da Man.
Also Stephen Harper can now resume building his deathstar in peace.
canadians can’t even do this.
fuck this, i want to see Harper’s long-form birth certificate.
i am extremely excited about Jack Layton and the NDPs political coup in decimating the Liberals as the official opposition, and i’m also so happy for Elizabeth May as the first Green Party Member of Parliament, but now that we have a Harper majority, i can say this, without hyperbole, that this will be the last time we see democracy in action again in this country. hope you enjoyed that.
fucking Fat Alberta, good for nothing province, i blame you for this election. we should invade that province, the only thing they have to defend themselves with is plastic knives and forks, and fucking fat cowboys.
interestingly enough, i wrote this article about the politics surrounding the battle for Trinity-Spadina the day before the election for rabble.ca, a political publication that i have loved for years, so to be asked to write this article was really exciting for me.
read and enjoy!
* * *
the contact photography festival is going on right now (alongside hot docs! agh! so much festival-jaculations, so little kleenex to go around), and phil and i found this amazing outdoor exhibit at front and spadina. this is like legal, permitted street art. but that doesn’t negate its potency or the raw, wild, untamed nature of the work. it’s ephemeral, and it’s free.
my two favourite things.
look at his eyes.
they follow you!
* * *
my office is located around queen and spadina, and i had heard that the last remaining banksy graffiti from his unannounced visit here last year was sitting right across the street from my daily-grindin’-desk. so after work last week, i went for a stroll to see what i could find.
this building is soon-to-be a hotel. how did i find that out?
as i stood on the lawn, overlooking banksy’s rat, the owner popped out and called out to me, “do you want to see what it looked like before it was defaced?”
“sure,” i said.
he walked over with a framed photograph of the banksy rat and said that the photo was taken the day it went up, and that the very next day, someone had defaced it with the word “love!” and other nonsense.
it looks like he’s tried to restore it somewhat, but a lot of the strokes have been buried under someone else’s spray.
the owner then told me that he was offered $150,000 by some guy to cut out the bricks sporting the banksy rat, so he could add it to his collection, and the guy would replace the bricks and make it all nice again.
the owner told the guy “no, because this now belongs to the people of toronto, not me.”
a man after my own heart.
the owner then let me in ON A BANKSY SECRET!
he said Banksy’s best mate from adolescence (from bristol? really?) lives just down the street from the hotel, that’s why Banksy was here last year, to visit him.
banksy apparently has plans to return this summer, and will make some art at the launch of the new hotel which will open in june.
i asked “when exactly will that be?”
“i don’t know,” he replied.
“if you did know, would you tell me?”
long pause.
“no.”
here’s the framed photo of what it looked like before it was defaced.
i gave the hotel owner my business card, and said he should contact me, you know, on the fly, if he wanted to give me a head’s up about, oh you know, whatever may happen this summer that i may or may not be interested in.
wink wink.
* * *
remember in my last post, i mentioned that some street art i found was done by fauxreel? i emailed him and said,
just a quick message to say that i’m a big fan of your work. i found one of your pieces recently on adelaide street near simcoe and blogged about it, and then realized that you’re also behind the two wheatpaste pieces of the open-mouthed kids on leslie just north of sheppard. i see those two pieces every day on my commute to work (i unfortunately live up there, lol!) and i love them so much because that area NEVER gets any thoughtful street art like that, and i think they’re brilliant.congrats on all your success sir! uda man.-Christine
Fauxreel replied! his real name is dan bergeron, and he said,
hi christine,
thanks for your note…i’m glad you enjoy my work…the pieces on leslie were part of a project i worked on with Artstarts for the Villawayz housing community…it was great to put work up in a part of the city that rarely ever sees public art installations…and the piece on adelaide was just something fun, part of a series called men at work, in which i install images of blue collar workers interacting with the urban landscape…db
i officially have a new art-star to worship.
* * *
another reason why being a member of the press rules.
my media badge got me into the one and only, sold-out, capacity screening of Beats, Rhymes & Life: A Tribe Called Quest documentary at Hot Docs. watch the trailer, and get excited.
talk qwerty to me
welcome! i have found another way to waste time. huzzah!
now i’m the most wordpressiest wordpresser who ever wordpressed.
i use wordpress at work all day long, so there are many features i’m already acquainted with, but for the most part, i’m confused by it. Blogger is more user-friendly….in that, it’s idiot-proof. works well for a nOOb like me.
i will keep my old blogger up, so that people who have outdated links will find their way here. also, even though i imported all of my archives to wordpress, the import has caused them to double up (raymi has the same issue with her archives), so it’s a bit messy, with wonky formatting.
i used to redesign my blog once a year, but my previous purple design has been up since 2008. so i was overdue for a change. i have pretty much all of my old features up here. if you’re looking for the blogroll, it’s located in the links tab up above. my bio, my writing portfolio, my media coverage, it’s all pretty much here….just needs a bit of a clean up.
i don’t like the photo uploader wordpress has. i can upload several photos at once, no problem, BUT for whatever reason, i can only embed them in the post ONE AT A TIME. zomg pain in the ass, way to kibosh my wordpress-buzz.
so until someone tells me how to get around that, i’m going to continue to upload photos to picasa and just embed the links here.
thoughts, comments, and tips for improvement are all very welcome, as everything you see on this site at present was designed solely by me, and i barely know what i’m doing.
also, i’ve activated my domain email address -> christine@christineestima.com
dunno why i never activated it before, it came with the domain i bought.
prince wills and kate were hanging around “queen” and spadina (how apropos).
back off bitch, he’s mine.
what a similar photo. reg can be my kate middleton.
this was taken at Foursquare Day festivities . . . some sweet gifts were handed out, one being a hot red protective holder for my blackberry, it was pretty sweet, seeing as how i need one and didn’t even hafta pay for it. then later, i won a gift certificate to the sewing studio, which i’d never heard of before, but hey, i have some skirts that need hemming, might be fun to try it out. i’m holding up my winnings above with zach, reg, tony, sacha, john, and lauren‘s boyfriend whats-his-name.
oh good gawd. when horses are this lame, they shoot ‘em.
i’m a chris, he’s a chris . . . it’s chris squared.
brennan is the king of cool
i was trynna pull a geordie laforge here, i don’t think it quite worked
like glamour shots
was interviewed about my foursquare activities for a yet-to-be-seen vid. i look like a snobby venomous cunt in this shot, but trust me, i was adorable in the video.
i voted today at an advance polling station. since today is a holiday, i knew i’d have the time. may 2nd is a work day and i’ll probably be too whipped to make it out to the polling station. i arrived at the voting booth located in a catholic school, only to realize i wasn’t wearing a bra.
see! voting is sexy.
most torontonians are hearing about bullet for adolf now, a new play written and directed by woody harrelson that he’s premiering exclusively here, and not at some big monster theatre either, but at unassuming hart house. i knew about it way back in january when they announced that they were only casting non-union non-equity actors. i figured i might as well submit, didn’t get asked in for an audition, but considering the way i look and what they were looking for, i kinda understand why.
it’s produced by a couple friends of mine, and the entire cast is on my facebook. in addition, i attended this is our youth a bajillion years ago when woody harrelson directed it at canstage. i knew he was a great director, but i didn’t know what his writing skills were like….all of this compounded in my absolute NEED to see this play.
i bought my ticket well over a month ago, way before all these chumps now clamouring for tickets. i paid full price, and of course now, all the discounts for arts workers (me), tweeple (me), facebook friends (me) are coming out. pfft. whatever. i’m over it. booking so far in advance scored a wicked seat. row A seat 13..AKA FRONT ROW CENTRE. lots of leg room, no one’s head in my way, unobstructed view, felt like i was in the action.
i put a stupid little copyright on these photos, just in case anyone felt like stealing. anyway, the play was really funny! i was surprised, it was really well written, go harrelson. although it’s not the greatest piece of comedic theatre i’ve ever seen, i was humbly impressed, and i was actually expecting the worst. i think what made this play was the performances. specifically, i was blown away by david coomber as “clint” and billy petrovski as “dago czech.” brandon coffey was also note-perfect as woody’s alter ego “zack.” but specifically david coomber was a talent that i was not expecting. he was absolutely flawless, impeccable comic timing, acting chops like i’ve never seen. mark my words people, that dude is going places.
during intermission, an equity actress made a flippant remark about non-union talent that was so typical of the industry. she said that essentially she was shocked non-union actors were so good. stupid thing to say. you can’t measure talent like that. besides, paris hilton is a union actress . . . remember that next time, will ya, when ya wanna shoot your mouth off.
the play started with woody harrelson popping up over the speaker and telling us to turn off our cells. cute. and away we go. the play weaves theatre with film sequences and 1980s nostalgia. it’s essentially a retelling (with bits embellished here and there) of woody’s time in texas working construction, the friends he made, the racial binds that gripped the time, and a really cool old german guy with a gun.
some of the best lines were about child molestation (‘sexy kids’) and about abstract art (“it’s someone’s lack of imagination asking you to apply your own.”)
it’s about love, it’s about life lessons, it’s about friendship, and it’s just a hella-funny story.
there was a talkback after the show, where woody and the cast answered questions from the audience. here woody is saying “thanks fer comin’, tell yurr friends!” in his thick southern drawl. woody loves toronto, he’s here all the fricken time, so i don’t think torontonians are particularly starstruck by the sight of him anymore. he does yoga shows here, he does vegan events, pot events, and like i said before, plays. toronto is the kind of place where celebs come because they don’t really get hassled here. we’re too polite to try to chat up a movie god. either that, or we just don’t care.
anyway, you should go see this play!
there were lots of celebs and media and notables in the industry the night i went, so surely it will be like that all through the run.
layne’s in town for a month. we’ve managed to hang out twice so far, and it’s always like we pick up where we left off. we try to stay in pretty constant contact over email anyway, so it’s easy to always launch right back into things. but it’s hard having a best friend live on the other side of the country. hell, i moved to london, then he moved to the land that time forgot (aka sasquatchenon aka saskatchewan). long distance friendships take effort, and we do our best. last night we had dinner at queen mother, then walked over to canstage to see the cosmonauts last message to the woman he once loved in the former soviet union (fanks ashley for tickets!)
that title is asking a lot from an audience, i think.
anyway, some of the cast members are my friends, so i was excited to see it. layne had sat in on the auditions last year and had read with the actors, so he sorta knew what the play was about.
it was . . . interesting.
how to sugar coat this?
it touched on some interesting notions of longing and technology and relationships . . . at least, i think.
sigh. it was bad. it was just bad. the first act was like watching paint dry, the second act picked up a bit in steam, but it was terribly flat like gwyneth paltrow’s singing voice.
i mean, raoul was great, but raoul’s always great. he’s an actor you can bank on. it was just surprising, seeing as how canstage’s season this year has been STELLAR. from fernando krapp, to the andersen project, to studies in motion, to the middle place, i have been consistently impressed with matthew jocelyn‘s choices.
now, not so much.
i hate saying this cuz i’m always encouraging people to see more theatre. but i suppose in order to know what good theatre is, you have to see a lot of bad theatre.
this was written on the wall at work. it accurately describes the content that i’m writing, the audience who reads it, and basically, myself. totally femmebitious fembot….i’m eFEMMEral (see what i did there?)
i’m so femmebitious that i’m the last one to leave the office every night. once i locked up at 9:30pm. i’ve only been there two weeks, but i’m really busting my hump, i want to learn everything, and i feel like my perfectionism is holding me back. i need to write more content in a day, but i keep lingering over phrases and words and sentence structure, i can’t just let things go.
the office already presented me with my business cards, which was pretty nifty. i’ve been to a couple events already, representing the publication, handing out my card, networking, trying to find story ideas. everyone so far has commented how cool my card is. #win.
speaking of work, i was sent by them this week to get a reiki treatment, and then write about it. and write i did. my editors told me they thought it was a great article, but i think i came across a tad bitchy.
either way, it’s a funny piece about reiki and how, even though i’m all about alternative therapies, this was just a hill of beans.
first wordpress blogpost done….only took me 12 hours.
hashtag fail.
>we can remember swimming in December, heading for the city lights in 1975
>
check out my film review of Alamar, a film about the bond between father and son, that blurs the line between documentary and fiction. but, as they say on reading rainbow, don’t take my word for it……
Performances of Alligator Tears:
Saturday March 19 @ 1 PMFriday March 25 @ 8 PM
TicketsTickets are on sale now through the Tarragon Theatre box office!Tickets to the Paprika Festival are FREE! With one exception. The Friday night performance of Alligator Tears is doubling as a fundraising performance for the festival. This means ticket to this performance will be $10 each. More details about the evening will follow shortly!
Regardless of whether the tickets are free or $10, we suggest that you reserve ahead of time We absolutely had shows sell out last year so make sure you reserve your tickets in advance if you really want to see something. The Tarragon box office phone number is 416.531.1827 or you can also reserve them online through their website at www.tarragontheatre.com/tickets. There will be a limit on how many tickets one person can reserve to this year’s Festival. We are limiting reservations to four tickets per show per person.
watch the trailer here:
i do not forgive the follies and vices of others, nor their offences against me. my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
i have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge your need for redemption. your selfish disdain for my feelings was colossal. there is no road home.
as you were.
we can remember swimming in December, heading for the city lights in 1975
check out my film review of Alamar, a film about the bond between father and son, that blurs the line between documentary and fiction. but, as they say on reading rainbow, don’t take my word for it……
Performances of Alligator Tears:
Saturday March 19 @ 1 PMFriday March 25 @ 8 PM
TicketsTickets are on sale now through the Tarragon Theatre box office!Tickets to the Paprika Festival are FREE! With one exception. The Friday night performance of Alligator Tears is doubling as a fundraising performance for the festival. This means ticket to this performance will be $10 each. More details about the evening will follow shortly!
Regardless of whether the tickets are free or $10, we suggest that you reserve ahead of time We absolutely had shows sell out last year so make sure you reserve your tickets in advance if you really want to see something. The Tarragon box office phone number is 416.531.1827 or you can also reserve them online through their website at www.tarragontheatre.com/tickets. There will be a limit on how many tickets one person can reserve to this year’s Festival. We are limiting reservations to four tickets per show per person.
watch the trailer here:
i do not forgive the follies and vices of others, nor their offences against me. my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
i have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge your need for redemption. your selfish disdain for my feelings was colossal. there is no road home.
as you were.
>the morning hunts you down but there’s nothing stranger than to love someone
>
WASTOIDS! read my dvd review of gaspar noé’s latest feature Enter The Void. it’s not like irreversible, so you can watch it without being traumatized. but don’t watch it if you wake n bake.
gregory, my love, you are so right. ya i’ve lost more love than i’ve managed to maintain, but, shit boys, do you think you’re irresistible? you think i’ll never get over you? fuck that, i’m already over you! longtime!
in fact, yesterday, i was walking down the street (i’m house-sitting downtown until the 10th! message me if you wanna hang. for realsies), listening to some rocking tunes, and i had this really empowering thought.
almost all of my girlfriends, myself included, define ourselves by the men in our lives. when we meet for coffee and talk about ‘wassup’ it’s ALWAYS about dates and boys and flirting and breaking up and blah blah fucking blah. i’m so sick of it. we never talk about our thoughts on certain issues, about new things we’re trying and working on, about anything at all, other than superficial Cosmo-Teen-Wankfest topics. and i’m guilty of it too.
and it’s fucking sickening.
that’s it. search for love is officially off.
sorry fellas, i’m off the market.
AND BY CHOICE! huzzah!
i don’t want a boyfriend.
i’m not gonna define my life by my interactions with the uglier sex (ya i said it). it’s so boring, so cliché, and i have so many more awesome things going on in my life right now that i know i’ll be awesome with or without someone loving me.
men aren’t essential to women anymore. they used to be when women weren’t allowed to vote, own property, or work. we needed men and marriage then to live a life beyond poverty. but now we don’t need men to take care of us. and men deeply crave that on a baser level. they want to feel essential to women and they know they’re not. it’s emasculating, but what can they do about it now?
i don’t need a man to look after me, but i probably do need one to love me and that i can love back.
but i’m not really all that bothered.
unlike jerry maguire, no one else is needed to “complete” me. i complete me.
I FEEL SO LIBERATED!
i’m gonna wear my boots-made-for-walking and not give a shit if someone finds me attractive physically or not. you don’t wanna date me? no love loss, because i’m a super person. i’m nice and sweet and cute and caring and talented and intelligent, and not having a boyfriend doesn’t change ANY of that!
OH MY GOD SO HAPPY GONNA GO FOR ANOTHER WALK
K FANKS BYE
