one sunshiney day in Trinity Bellwoods Park in downtown Toronto, an irish couple that had been together for three years were deeply in love and prone to romantic gestures worthy of a ralph fiennes movie. kelsie, whose heart was inextricably linked to callum, come ruin or rapture, decided to send her ginger-haired lover on a scavenger hunt throughout the park.
as he followed balloons, notes, photos, and scientific formulas that described the tapestry of their love, he knew that soon he would be in possession of a bottle of bubbly, a pain au chocolat, and the key-owner to his heart.
just another one of those wonderful things you can stumble upon in your city …. if you’re paying attention.
Local rabble rouser and loveable shit disturber Zach Bussey (the infamous charlatan behind Ontario’s Sexiest Election Candidate campaign) has given a run-down of all the ladies on the auction block, how much you can expect to pay, and what you’ll get for your money.
Here’s what he had to say about yours-truly:
Everybody knows Christine. Show us your tweets Christine! (If you follow her, you’ll get that.) Christine is great company who always makes me laugh, and I’m like Stalin (or maybe Teller.. whichever one laughs less?) She also can spot graffiti from a mile away and keeps getting recognition for it *cough Toronto Star*.
I expect a conglomerate of buyers to pitch in and grab Christine for no less than $170.
That’s awfully kind and generous of him to say. Bussey was actually the very first person I ever met from Twitter IRL (he lent me a flip cam!) so he’s always gonna be one of mah boyeeez. He’s always polarizing and mouthy (remind you of anyone you know?), and had some choice words for some of the other ladies on the auction block, so read what he has to say, as a past-participant and current supporter.
Hope to see you all there! Let’s be Valentines!
Fellas, now is your chance to date me! ………………..
I’m being auctioned off for charity!…………………
Jeez, tough crowd.
Well anyway, click on the above image to get details on the Love A Heart event, where the hottest bachelors and bachelorettes in Toronto (and, uh, me) will be auctioned off to raise funds for the Heart & Stroke Foundation.
It takes place on February 9th and The Hideout (484 Queen Street West), doors at 8pm, cover is $5.
If you’re not interested in being dis gal’s Valentine, there are lots of other beauties on the auction block (I know almost all the gals, they’re pretty saucey). As for you ladies out there looking to buy a man-whore, I know almost all the guys being auctioned as well, and they are SEXY MO-FO’S! There’s even two professional athletes on the auction block, one from Toronto Rock (that’s our pro lacrosse team) and another from the Toronto Argonauts (pro football team, CFL)!
To top it off, there’ll be a live performance by Indie Music Week champions Tiny Danza.
It’s going to be a really fun night, even if you don’t want to bid, you can at least come say hi and introduce yourself! We’ll clink glasses and talk about graff!
And you’ll get to watch me sell-out for a fiver.
i found this stencil of freddie mercury on queen street west not far from muchmusic.
it says “i won’t be a rock star. i will be a legend.” that’s mercury alright!
there’s no artist name next to it, and that QR code didn’t work (at least on my phone).
i feel like this stencil is missing something . . .
. . . something to make it more bad-ass and give it a little hellyeahfuckyeah.
the horseshoe moustache is thankfully gone now (this photo of us was taken during Movember), so at least my chin can take a break this weekend.
Enjoy your weekend (and all the rug-burns that comes with it), munchkins!
“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.
in polynesian culture, wearing a flower over your left ear indicates marital commitment. over your right ear indicates availability.
or is it the other way around?
well over four years ago (closer to five, now that i think about it), i moved to London, England. I did it on a whim. i had finished my Masters degree, and realized that i wasn’t really doing anything in my life now that that milestone had been accomplished. i had backpacked around europe and the UK for two summers in a row, and i liked it over there. so within a few weeks of getting my Masters, i packed up apartment, threw my shit in storage, bought a one-way plane ticket, and off i went. no looking back.
but there was a hidden impetus behind this move which i’ve never really admitted to anyone.
a few months prior, i had gone through a heartache, probably the first real one of my life. it had happened while i was backpacking across europe, and he was british. it was a brief but whirlwind affair that, had it not happened to me, i wouldn’t have believed that kind of passion was possible beyond the phoney-baloney scripts of hollywood pictures.
really, i moved to the UK so that i could do something incredible, something magnanimous, something big that would propel me out of the realm of melancholy. it was the beginning of a pattern i would develop as an adult — when your heart breaks, do something massive, something stupid, something huge to get over it.
i didn’t have any friends or family in London. I didn’t know a soul.
that was a really exciting time for me. i was so bitten by the travel bug, that i had to move to the other side of the planet to satiate it. i was discovering who i was as a post-academia adult. i pushed myself out of my comfort zone.
and of course, when the fit hit the shan (see what i did there?), suddenly i found out what i was made of. i really miss those early days of wandering around london, not knowing anyone, trying to figure out how things worked…i was trying to jump into the flow of the creek without drowning.
that was the first ballsy thing i did that year.
the second was about ten months later when i filled out an application form to audition for a reality tv show, which we all know by now, i ended up being cast in, and shot a few months later, leading up to the television premiere a year later.
i’ve never admitted this on this blog before, but there was a hidden impetus behind this as well.
i had just gone through another bad breakup with an evil british male who broke my heart, but wouldn’t leave me alone. i ended it with him, but he knew i was still in love with him, and played on my vulnerabilities. as a result, for four months following our breakup, we were still in each others lives, weekly.
it was confusing, it was soul-destroying, pride-swallowing, and it made things more complicated and painful than they needed to be.
i was angry.
i’ve always told the story that as i was surfing through the channel 4 website one day, i found the call for applicants to the reality tv show, filled in the application without much thought or care, and sent it in.
that’s not entirely true.
i was actively looking for any and all call for applicants to any tv show i could find. i just happened to find the right one for me.
i was in the right place, at the right time, and with a stroke of pure, dumb luck, my wish to be on television somehow was granted.
why was i looking to get on television?
because FUCK HIM that’s why.
again, my heart was broken, and i really wanted to do something huge to show that my life was amazing, and he was missing out on the best part. he actually told me when i was cast in the show that he would sell our story to the tabloids. he never did. the show had really high ratings (so much so, that i was being recognized on the street, and it got a bit invasive), but it tanked with the critics, so the tabloids probably weren’t interested.
since then, the pattern has remained true. with every heart break that i suffer (and i always seem to be the sufferer), i go off and do something impulsive and beyond the norm. i force myself to do incredible things.
i can sit there and say that i live a life less ordinary, and that would be true. but the impetus behind each amazing experience i’ve had (global media campaigns, backpacking around the world, having my work published, winning awards, bungee jumping, acting in movies, et.al.) has not been comprised of the utmost purity.
but really, who cares about the “how” or “why” of it all?
my philosophy is — don’t worry about why
especially when what is right in front of you.
or even better….. who.
“christine wakes up every morning in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar man….”
it’s going to be a hot july full of tentative gestures, open roads, bicycles crashing, loud singing, teeth lightly scraping, and a few burns.
we went for a drink at atelier cafe on king street west, and he wore the kind of suit you’d expect for the area. he followed the fashion to the letter, and could have been a tear-page from a look-book. i wanted to dig my knuckles into his jaw, like talons to a field mouse.
his apartment was a cubby hole with an empty refrigerator, except condiments, and two jars of peanut butter. “shall we?” i asked, and led him out to the lamp factory outlet and the back alleys.
we looked at graffiti and he copped an attitude as he pushed me up against a locked garage. the alleys and windows remained quiet and drawn. if we threw rocks, they were only aimed at the backs of each others throats. he went jugular, and therefore i had to.
rob ford spermatozoa
a doorway to nowhere.
that’s exactly what he was as well.
i ignored his text messages all weekend as if i were reluctantly using windshield wipers in a rainstorm.
he got the message.
i think this was on rusholme, north of college street, but it could have been delaware, or havelock…somewhere near dovercourt. anywhere near dovercourt. i seem to be flocking westward, thinking the ostrich will de-sand her head upon my arrival.
i am pretending that red blotch above their embrace is a speech bubble just waiting to be filled.
fill in the caption. like how The New Yorker does it below:
the bird is out of the cage. she is being gripped by bodyless hands.
the cat is ruled by hormones.
all of the above??
i think of words in foreign languages, the expression of rubbing one head with another that resembles a happy-cry, standing in a kitchen with a cupped face, the black bull and being missed. i think of a saturday night well past midnight and being tortured by phone calls. they dig at my brain, asking who the fuck do i think i am? at this age, i should know by now. i told ya so tattoo’d on the white parts of my eye.
you look like you’ve been for breakfast at the heartbreak hotel and sat in the back booth by the pamphlets and the literature on how to lose. your waitress was miserable and so was your food.
i’m not the kind of fool who’s gonna sit and sing to you about stars, but last night i looked up into the dark half of the blue and they’d gone backwards. something in your magnetism must have pissed them off, forcing them to get an early night.
stop the odyssey, i want to get off
* * *
i think my heart just burst open.
you try to fake it but you’re breaking every rule; right from the start you always made me feel a fool
A scorpion, when trapped in a fire, will sting itself.
But what do I do when trapped in the fire of my mind?
step-by-step fun with photo editing software starring christine louise estima as herself.
step 1: i take this photo.
step 2: i amplify and enhance this photo.
step 3: i put my quote on this photo.
step 4: you steal this photo.
sacha saw me on the subway. i only realized it was him later.
as he left, i grabbed my bag and chased after him with a lashing of apologies.
sometimes i am a dead girl.
Starving Artist vegan-gluten-free mini waffle brunch on May Two-Four long weekend when fireworks exploded the night sky… either that or the neighbours were pipe-bombing each other. this is the suburbs, so that’s a real possibility.
we found a ghetto scooter shop. the sales guy may or may not have wake n’ baked. his crooked teeth poked out of his gums like dead worms in a red delicious.
i climbed on the back of the plastic vespa and exposed myself in a jean skirt. this is what’s between my legs.
kensington market ate our rubber, and coppers on foot couldn’t force helmets. we traveled to the edge of Bloor where pastures eat dilapidated buildings like locusts. we sucked on cherry popsicles until our mouths were too icey pink to eat.
oh Banksy, you really have lost the plot.
deadboy says to me via email:
‘This is only the beginning; I have much up my sleeve for this city!
(Insert crazy laughter here..lol)”
here are the details of his show, i will be there, and so should you!
Wunderland Gallery/espresso bar
1905 QUEEN ST. EAST
OPENING NIGHT RECEPTION JUNE 3rd 2011 at 7pm – 11pm
SHOW RUNS: JUNE 3rd – 30th 2011
this week was Bike-To-Work Week, and as someone who regularly has bikegasms and cylejaculations, i was writing a bajillion essays and articles about it, many of which caused a serious amount of controversy.
the first was an essay i wrote about why i don’t wear bike helmets, even though i am afraid of being hurt in an accident, and it caused a bit of a clusterfuck (look at the comments!)
the second was an interview with james schwartz, who blogs at The Urban Country, who says that bike helmets actually scare people away from cycling altogether. he says he won’t wear a helmet until motorists and pedestrians do too. he was brilliant to interview, and if you look at the comments section, it really does raise some people’s ire.
klout has never been immune to controversy, their ways of scoring influence, communication, interaction, and engagement are very arbitrary, and many people feel like they should be on that list, or higher in the ranks. the last time i checked my klout, maybe six months ago, it was much higher, like 64 or 65, but your score fluctuates with interaction. i think it’s pretty cool that in the 2+ years i’ve been on twitter, i’ve managed to leverage my crazy-ass-rantings into something that people actually pay attention to and read and want to follow. it’s pretty fun. but it’s also not something to put too much stock into. the argument that these klout scores create elitism and “stars” amongst a democratic platform like twitter is justified and has merit.
that being said, i’m kinda chuffed to have made the cut. brag brag brag, sorry (not sorry) i promise i won’t let this go to my head (not a guarantee).
when i posted this news on my facebook, i said “ I don’t know how much stock I should put into this, but this is pretty shits n’ giggles:)“
then some asshole who i know peripherally decided to assert his holier-than-thou pedantic musings of my perceived hype-believin’. it’s fucking incredible how people go out of their way to make you feel inferior. here’s the exchange:
like seriously, what was the point of putting that remark on my wall? if you want to just sweep in and shit all over people’s parades, why don’t you find a bunch of emo hipsters with neurotic insecurities to shark-attack, because…
I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MY AWESOMENESS.
for all his “i’m not snarky” protestations, his facebook status said otherwise, which read “shut the fuck up about your Top 150 klout”. but what really made me laugh was what a fucking hypocrite he was- if you look at the comments on Zach’s original post, that same egomaniacal prima-donna who can only gain satisfaction from pointing out the shortcomings of others, was WHINING that he wasn’t included in the Top 150! i shit you not.
call me crazy, but not only does he have a chip on his shoulder, he wants to make sure other people feel shit about themselves for their recognition (albeit small & centralized recognition).
such a shame, ‘cos every time i had met with this guy in real life, he was totally cool, and seemed rather humble. once again, the internet allows for people’s true assholedom to emerge.
i went to Hip Hop Karaoke on friday, my first time there ever, although it’s a toronto institution. i can’t call myself a hip hop connoisseur, but luckily, it seemed like the crowd (save a few) had only a popular knowledge of hip hop, rather than an actual underground organic appreciation of it. no one sang any songs by artists i hadn’t heard before. and despite what 8-mile might tell you, the crowd was a varied demographic.
phil and i had been practicing our song for two weeks. TWO WEEKS PEOPLE, i was listening to it on a loop every morning while i dressed for work, on the commute, before i went to bed. i wanted to get this shit down. if you’re interested, this was the song we did. i did macy’s part (obvs), and phil did mos-def. that’s a lot of lyrics to learn.
the previous evening, phil and i had gone to a park and sang the song while people walked their dogs or ate on park benches. the evening had long fallen into the velvet-black of night, and we were still getting our tongues tied in the nooks and corners of it. some things came easy, other aspects were tentative and a bit slippery (am i still talking about the song?)
anyway, we went on around 1:30am when it was mostly the true hip hop fans left. stage-performance awareness set in, and we KILLED IT. we fucking murdered that song! last name WIN, first name EPIC! all the notes and lyrics and timing that we had fumbled over before just somehow stepped in line.
diggs, who recorded it all on video for us, told me the next day that he was really impressed with my performance. he said something along the lines of “i’ve seen a lot of people go up there, and i work in music so i know talent, and you were phenomenal” which of course made me feel super chuffed with myself (even though repeating it here makes me seem self-absorbed, which i refuse to admit to, although i seem to have no problem admitting it to you people).
frankly, i was more excited for phil. when we rehearsed, he had some timing problems and missed a few cues, but once we performed it on stage, he OWNED that shit. he was confident, he was enjoying it, he let go, and his performance was inspired. it was totally hot to watch.
when we finished the song, i started jumping up and down, giddy as a school girl, and we smashed into a hug.
hip hop karaoke, people.
you don’t know what you’re missing!
the next day, we cycled the humber valley bike path, which i’d never done before. i was so used to the don valley river path, or the lakeshore path, it never occurred to me to check this one out. it’s pretty amazing. some parts are paved, other parts are pretty rough-hewn and dilapidated, but the scenery along the river is like something out of a henry david thoreau poem. the sun burned like brimstone on our backs, forcing popsicle breaks.
sweat burned my lips into a smile.
when you’re having a punch-drunk time, other people from your past can sense it. earlier this week, a person i had barely dated text messaged me. when we were hanging a few months ago, he was sweet, warm, and most importantly, unpretentious. he took me out for my birthday, which was lovely.
that was followed by two weeks of radio silence. so i figured, okay, he’s gone off me for whatever reason, good thing it ended before anyone’s feelings got hurt.
then out of the blue, he texted me, gushing with compliments, and an invitation for another lunch date.
i was confused, but i agreed, figuring maybe the dude was just busy or not attuned to proper etiquette following a kiss (although, considering he’s 41 years old, he should know better).
so he takes me out for lunch again, and it’s all lovely and what not. but then at the end of the lunch, he says that classic guy cop-out.
“I just don’t have the time to give you the attention you deserve.”
ya, ‘cos i can’t read between those lines.
dude basically made it crystal clear that he wasn’t interested in dating me or anything further than that. so i wrote him off AGAIN.
Iwent on my NYC extravaganza, came back to begin work at my new position….and that was all two and a half months ago. i haven’t even given him a second thought since i wrote him off, because there was no point. that was a dead end.
on facebook, i noticed that he’s remounting his one-man cabaret again in a couple weeks.
and then this week, out of the blue, i get this text from him , “hey gorgeous lady! how the eff are ya? R u around? wanna have lunch next week?“
OH LUCKY ME.
am i allowed to roll over and thank my lucky stars now?! you’re not sending me mixed messages at all, i don’t find your behaviour confusing, and i don’t think you’re jerking me around either exclamation point.
forget the 10 weeks of radio silence, and the blatant i-don’t-want-to-date-you sugar-coating. i don’t have a life, or a job, or other men interested in me at all. watch how fast i drop everything just to be in your good graces again. oh, and let’s not forget that your show is just a few weeks away….i mean, i don’t assume AT ALL that you’re merely contacting me so i’ll either blog or tweet about your show, and try to get more bums in seats. oh no! thought never crossed my mind at all.
you had your chance. NO THANKS.
to quote amy winehouse, what kind of fuckery is this?
i found another sheppard fairey! this one is a different version of his andre the giant obey sticker, but i saw this one many times on the streets of alphabet city whilst in NYC, so i know it’s his. WIN.
last week i blogged about this deadboy poster i found on queen street near augusta. this morning i wake up to this email:
“Hello Christine, deadboy here…
Thank you for the very kind words about my work on Queen St. West! You understood exactly what I was trying to get across… And in answer to your questions, Yes and yes… But I won’t bore you with details. Love your blog!
I’m having my first solo show that runs from June 3-30.. I can send you more info if your interested.
Hope this letter finds you well…
YES I MOST DEFINITELY AM INTERESTED! how exciting!
check out his site people, the dude is wicked talented. when i get more info about his solo show, my munchkin readers will be the first to know.
also included in last week’s blog post was my discovery of a series of Mayor Rob “Fordzilla” Ford wheatpaste’s around town. the first one i found had the fat-godzilla mayor eating a streetcar (in reference to our mayor trying to destroy our sustainable public transit). the next one had him eating a spraypaint can (in reference to his war on street art and graffiti). earlier this week, i was walking through kensington market, and what do i find?
Fordzilla is eating a bike, in reference to his hatred of cyclists, and his assertion that if you’re a cyclist and you get hit by a car, it’s your own damn fault. i love how someone wrote on this Fordzilla “300 lbs of fun!!” because seriously, if rob ford actually got his morbidly obese ass on a bike once in a while, maybe he wouldn’t be a stones-throw from death. i can’t believe this fat, leotarded, mentally-stunted fucktard is our mayor. someone else drew in his hand the CN Tower. maybe the next Fordzilla wheatpaste i find will have him eating our tower as well?
FORDZILLA artist dude, you are my new hero. SERIOUSLY, i said this last week, but you need to contact me, you are fricken brilliant. let’s be friends!
don’t mind if i do.