where the wild things are
my skin burns. and cauterizes. just when i thought i could unfist myself from your talons, they scourge through my flesh. you sear me like Brimstone. asphyxiate through smoke and mirrors. my pores weep red at night, yet you tongue every drop at dawn.
i blink out stars, invited by your fists,
but i will never resume our sinful trysts.
hang in there, baby
i took this photo in early Autumn 2007 on Park Street in Bristol. It is a Banksy original. It has since been vandalised a few times with paint bombs and is being restored.
I went to Bristol because I was living in London at the time, had just broken up with a douchebag, and had this all-consuming need to travel every single weekend. Luckily, England is a pretty pint-sized country in terms of landmass, so I could visit cities all the way on the other side of the country, and it would only take a couple hours roundtrip. Tops.
I blogged about my trip to Bristol at the time, read the archive post here. As you’ll see from reading it, I actually didn’t know this was a Banksy as I snapped this photo. I thought it was clever, and probably commissioned by some art gallery. But the image of a lover hanging on for life, and the blending of two artistic styles….it kinda did the trick for me.
Bless those Brits.
I do this thing after I go through a breakup where the need to travel is like a scab I need to pick. It gnaws and chews at my ligaments and nerve endings. Teeth grate. Passport starts hissing. Airport calling!
kosovo memories
we fought so much.
screaming matches in public.
and then made up in the back of taxi cabs.
the best revenge is a life well-lived
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.
if you’re having boy problems, i feel bad for ya, hun
i’ve blogged before about how a lot of men use DM (ie Direct Message on Twitter) as a dating service, and i’ll usually get something every few days from some creepy putz looking to score.
occupational hazard, i suppose.
i don’t know if this next guy is one of the aforementioned creeps, or if he’s just being nice…. but this one was a pleasant series of DMs (copied from Tweetdeck). granted, if you’re on the outside looking in, it could just seem like he’s stroking my ego and telling me what i want to hear.
but sometimes you need to hear that stuff. especially if you’re just emerging from a really dark period, like i have been.
can’t argue with that.
ha! okay okay, in all seriousness, despite all the bravado that i may emit on this blog, i really am a nice person. i think i’m fun, and sweet, and thoughtful, and fun to talk to, and fun to hang with. so even though it sounds like pompous arrogance to agree with what he says (modesty is a virtue, modesty is a virtue, MODEST IS A VIRTUE), it’s about time i stop deflecting other people’s compliments and start affirming them instead. maybe accepting someone’s compliment DOESN’T make me conceited?
he says the dudes who “woo” me are lucky.
they are. they just don’t know it. having is not so pleasing as wanting.
besides, there’s always more where that came from….
RESUME BRAVADO!
i’ve had some great love affairs.
and there’s always room for more.
* * *
(making this GIF was so much fun)
best in show
i originally found her back in May when i was walking down the queen street west with someone who is now a ghost. i photographed her and asked, “did you love someone? did you lose someone?”
the answer to both was yes.
in a twist that i never saw coming, a month later, my answer to both turned out to be yes, as well.
now to have her hovering over my bed, looking down on me as the warm undertow of sleep drags me under, i feel for once like i can hold onto something intangible until it bleeds through my fists.
deadboy says he wanted me to have it because i was the first person to take notice of his work, and acknowledge its beauty. i unwrapped it in a quiet café on college street and swallowed hard, feet dug in, i will not blubber like an idiot, i will not blubber like an idiot.
i walked in the rain, holding her against my chest, alone but in a city of millions. i wanted to talk to her, but i knew at once that she couldn’t hear me.
not yet anyway.
and that if i shouted, my voice would be amplified.
graffiti and street art from the streets of Peru
if you haven’t yet checked out the Motorcycle-Diaries- trailer-esque video of me hiking along the ancient Inca Trail, through the Peruvian jungle, to Machu Picchu, do it now.
i’m fucking endearing in it.
before i can blog about the experience, i need to blog about the amazing graffiti and street art that i came across in Peru. Peruvian street artists and graffiti artists really are brilliant. they are, by and large, engaged in politics, inspired by injustices, but also motivated by matters of the heart. poetics sayings, emotional images, and fire-infused couplings of the two are to be found all over the country. i took more photos of the street art than i did of the Andes i was hiking through!
CENTRAL LIMA
after flying 10 hours (with a stop over in El Salvador) from Toronto, i was exhausted and smellin’ like Eau De Czech, but ready to photograph the art populating the night.
“ivo justice” i wonder if ivo is a man undergoing a trial? or incarcerated? at first i thought this said “no justice.”
LIMA (near airport)
Peru just elected a new president, and i think that’s him
i like this photo more for the scenery that compliments the graffiti, than just the graffiti itself.
samesies.
zona, i’m told, was peru’s most famous footie player.
near Chinatown in Lima. this fatty with the scowl on her face wouldn’t move, even when asked, so i could photograph the mural behind her. she kind of looks like the guy in the mural. turns out her presence adds something to the photo
an accidental photo i took while zooming in a moving taxi. turned out pretty cool.
MIRAFLORES (area of Lima)
definitely political, just can’t make out the writing.
pulso danza, or “dancing pulse” was everywhere in miraflores.
see!
and another
and again!
hell yeah fuck yeah
brilliant. take the existing brickwork, turn it into a piano.
“revolution. if not now, when?”
tv
stallion
surprised this wasn’t in chinatown
so much going on here…
monopoly dude…
albert einstein….
“mi luz” means “my light.”
aw.
on the left, she’s been made to look mad. on the right, she’s eating a dick.
i like this sticker, of a young cap’d boy holding a rifle. sounds like a revolution to me.
brilliant stencil of the outgoing president. the old president was named “alan” but by putting a G in front of his name, and adding “del robo” at the end, it turns into the saying “knight of thieves,” which i think is a play on the saying “prince of thieves.”
nicely done, Tink.
aw.
i wasn’t going to photograph this at first because it’s just advertising a pub (as you can see from the drink in one hand, and the fork in the other). that is, until i noticed it’s exposed, raging cock.
sell fresh crazy someplace else. we’re all stocked up here.
you look like you was talking to me.
gringos ruin everything.
this was along the pacific ocean boardwalk.
BARRANCO (area of Lima)
Barranco is a totally bo-ho po-mo district of Lima, fulla artists and brilliant stencils. it’s celebrating it’s 139th anniversary, and it has a very colonial, european feel to it, but also a counter-culture atmosphere on the streets.
this “no la cagues” was everywhere. it’s a picture of the newly-elected president. “no la cagues” means “don’t screw it up” or “don’t fuck it up.” good advice for any new president. looks like the artist responsible for this piece forgot the “u” in “cagues” and had to add it in manually later.
here it is again. i think at the top the “jbo!” is the name of the artist. not sure.
love this wheatpaste. smiling winking dude holding a molotov cocktail, and the caption says, “agitate! protest! resist! … every man for himself!”
interesting opinion. “vandalism does not equal freedom of expression.”
so many areas of Barranco were stencil’d with the words “rubias no!” which means “no blondes!” or perhaps even “Not blonde!”
that’s right. LEAGUE OF AWESOME BRUNETTES for the win.
“call your old lady” meaning, call your moms, yo.
scary but cool face, done by someone named “kobi”
there’s that sticker again from Miraflores!
CHORRILLOS (area of Lima)
charlie chaplin! when i lived in london england, i lived in Elephant & Castle, the area where charlie chaplin was born and raised, so i feel a connection to the little moustachio’d man.
theatre masks submerged.
“forgive me if i hurt you, i love you.”
aw.
this was actually printed on a poster advertising family wares. it makes me think that very few people actually speak english in peru, because they may not understand what that means!
this is probably my favourite piece from all of Peru. it’s just a dude hugging a fish. but it’s strikingly lovely.
or is he hugging a bird? i can’t tell. i love how highly stylized the strokes are. brilliant wheatpaste.
devil tree.
mural dedicated to a young woman who passed away.
CUZCO
in Cuzco, I found the street art limited to sayings of love. as you can see from the below collage.
for those of you who don’t speak Spanish, “te amo” means “i love you.” (i mean, i don’t speak Spanish, but even i know that.)
interesting
i’m not sure what this is in reference to, but i like how the corn husk almost has grenade-like qualities. looks like a propaganda pic.
hey authorities! look! in 1664 someone ENGRAVED stuff into the side of a church. WATER BLAST THAT OFF!
this translates to “it’s prohibited to urinate on penalty of death.” i don’t know if this is graffiti or actually placed by the government (is the death penalty in Peru?), but considering that’s the ancient Inca wall standing there, it wouldn’t surprise me either way.
it’s michael jackson wearing an Incan wooly cap.
raymi, your powers are boundless.
this is deffo a government mural. going back to urination, it must be a huge problem in Cuzco. the entire mural said that in order to keep Cuzco beautiful, please don’t piss on the ground. AS I TOOK THIS PHOTO, i looked to my left to find a man pissing against a pillar. how ironic.
graffiti plants
SANTA THERESA
as we hiked through the jungle along the Inca trail, near the small but lovely village of santa theresa (there’s hot springs there!), we came to a bridge that had some incredible graffiti on it.
i think this Garcia guy must be commissioned, but it’s intricate and beautiful stencil work.
look at that gorgeous woman.
* * *
that’s it for the Peruvian graffiti, my next blog post will be about my travelling adventure expedition through the jungle, along the Inca trail, to Machu Picchu.
in the meantime, here’s a preview.
i’ve been back in toronto for a week now, and i have been enduring the spectrum of emotions from utter despair to euphoric bliss. people from my past are haunting me, and yet people from my present are treating me like tiramisu.
i won’t go into detail here, but i had felt obligated to contact some people from my past that i haven’t spoken to in ages. out of everyone i spoke to, only ONE person was amazingly supportive, kind, generous, and reassured me that no matter what, we are good friends (the rest were, as expected, bitterly cold and reserved). i wanted to reach through the telephone line and hug this person until my arms fell off.
thanks so much for being so kind to me over the years, sometimes i feel like i don’t deserve it. you are one of the meaningful ones.
then i spent thanksgiving weekend hugging and snuggling in trinity bellwoods park in between delicious ice cream licks and bike-riding.
so all in all, i can’t complain. life should never be about half-emotions, half-ways, or half-living. either feel the extremes or feel nothing at all.
the more i know people, the more i love the smiths
i leave today! Via Rail is putting me on the cross-canada train from Toronto to Vancouver (with a brief stop in Jasper, Alberta) to blog, vlog, and live-tweet the train experience, and upon arrival in Vancouver, I will be speaking on a panel for the Social Media Week conference. The panel is “Brands, Agencies, and Influencers” and we’re discussing how to build personal brands, the relationship between brands and bloggers, and the ethics therein. if you’re gonna be in Vancouver on September 19th, register to hear a sistah speak here!
most of you know that i’m a huge travel junkie, so being able to explore my own country as much as i’ve explored others is a huge opportunity, one that i couldn’t pass on. it takes a bigger woman than me to refuse such a generous offer.
i’ve travelled the european rail networks extensively, and i swear by them because they’re fast, they’re efficient, and they’re inexpensive. i’ve always been a critic of our canadian rail system, so this experience is the opportune time to prove me wrong.
time to whip out my backpack and load it up with travel essentials. tell me, what does one wear to a panel discussion? business casual? i have my pencil skirts and blouses buried somewhere.
more importantly, what does one wear on a train for three days? Via Rail has set me up in the swanky sleeper touring class cabin, where i will apparently get my own shower, and my meals prepared by a kickass chef. i get my own cabin as well, NO SHARESIES!
when i rode the rails in europe, I always had to settle for the 4 bed or 6 bed couchettes shared with complete strangers who snored, had screaming children, or yipped out the window at every train platform we crossed.
one time, when travelling for over 24 hours from lisbon to budapest (it’s a fricken lonnnnnng train ride, with stopovers in paris and vienna), there were no couchettes left, and i had to sit upright in a compartment with 4 others all night. it was THE WORST.
in india, you didn’t even get a separate compartment. you just slept right out in the open, no curtains, no privacy, and everything at risk of being stolen.
anyway, ADVENTURE TALLY HO!
see ya on the west coast, suckas.
* * *
speaking of Social Media and influence, I tweeted this on the 10th anniversary 9/11:
as you can see, it was RT’d by more than 100 people, which actually happens quite a lot on my end, but that number was probably increased when it was RT’d by my main man:
now i finally know what celebrity tweeters have to endure. some people were INCENSED by those nine little words. amazing how one little pacifist sentiment can incite so much furor. some of the messages i received in response to that tweet were ripped right out of Team America, surely. most of them were xenophobic and racist comments directed toward arabs and muslims, i might add. twitter really is the only refuge for the scoundrels.
hey everybody! got an opinion? you should post it on twitter.
PEOPLE WILL SHIT THEMSELVES.
I worked at the CN Tower during 9/11. I quit shortly thereafter, as did everyone else. I don’t just mean employees, I also mean guests and customers. Towers became taboo.
“Hi Christine,
i’ve been blogging about Deadboy‘s street art and graffiti for months and months now, and we talk often.
guess who i finally met?
YES YES YA’LL.
Deadboy had informed me a few weeks ago that he had been asked to participate in the street art showcase which drops in toronto on september 24th, and the official media announcement was last week at City Hall, so i went to support the man in the mask.
i actually didn’t realize he was the one in the mask until he waved at me and came over to say hi. seeing as how we’ve never met before, and i have no clue what he looks like, i just assumed he was someone else. as he got closer, i looked at his mask and was like WAAAAAIT A MINUTE, that’s the mask used in his street art!
anyway, we spoke for about an hour, and the press conference was actually super interesting. turns out the Street Art Showcase has received invitations from Bristol (banky’s hometown) and 5Pointz in Queens!
imma be out of town on the 24th (going to Peru!), but you should definitely check out the showcase. follow them on twitter for updates. support Deadboy, tell him Estima sent ya.
speaking of City Hall….
..and another one…
see what i did there?
lol.
interesting viewpoint.
do i think that graffiti and street art is vandalism?
the short answer to that is no.
the long answer is FUCK NO.
another brilliant and colourful Spud bomb, right across the street from MuchMusic.
CHRISSY MAD! CHRISSY SMASH!
i’ve not blogged about the Good Bike project lately, because there are just soooo many bikes to cover, and i see so many of them, i doubt i could ever photograph them all before they’re busted or ripped up. but this one on queen and spadina caught my eye because it had a name on it.
the Good Bike project ladies put Jane Jacob‘s name on another bike, so i’m wondering if Isabella Angel is an activist like Jacobs?
site specific work is the most ingenious work.
i love the idea that someone saw that sewer hole with the pylons and envisioned something else for it, something that is clever and provocative and colourful.
* * *
speaking of colourful, i was invited to the Diet Coke TIFF fest this year.
i went last year, and as you can see from my blog post at the time, it was a much smaller affair, just our little twitter crew. we all fit into 2 limos at the time. now the Toronto twitter crew has grown so much such that the attendance was easily over 500.
i didn’t bring my camera but raymi‘s photographer colleague made up for that.
there’s ameet off to the left. we met last year when he used to date a friend of mine, but we kind of run in the same circles, so we bump into each other from time to time.
this looks inappropriate.
raymi says she looks like sharon stone in this pic.
and i look like rachel weisz.
our movie would be box office poison.
my friend paul wrote a round-up of the night’s events for The Grid, and decided to link up one of my tweets about the night in the article (go to 10:30pm, and the hyperlinked “REALLY” in brackets at the end of the paragraph).
i stand by my love of veggie poutine, dammit.
and hey, i write for The Grid too, ya know.
Estelle was brilliant, and i managed to elbow my way to the front.
she’s so gorgeous.
and her shoes were fierce, miss thang.
reg and i were made into flipbooks. watch this video until the very end, where i vent my frustation in caption-form.
* * *
i meandered by a venue last night that i shouldn’t have. i saw the scooter and took off running.
go away. please go away.
all the girls standing in the line for the bathroom
that was the name of the first short story i ever had professionally published. I blogged about it when it happened way back in 2005… that paycheque paid rent that month. i took the above photo in october of last year during my war child challenge campaign, and this was an outtake that was never published, so i thought i’d have fun with it. the blending of two creative projects.
even though i miss house-sitting, i won’t miss that building being the only one in sight for miles in every direction.
found in the alleys behind the drake hotel. i thought Spud already was the mayor.
look closer.
the background of Ford’s stupid monkey face says “Spud 4 Mayor” over and over.
I love Spud’s work, he’s one of the greatest Toronto street artists who eludes everyone. Gregory Allan Elliot told me that some of the dudes in Kensington market know who he is and can put me in contact. His work is everywhere and has been around for years. His Ford-sperms and Ford-faces made it into my The Grid article that was published a few weeks ago. And he always seems to score the greatest walls and locations. The rooftops of Queen and Spadina have all been Spud bombed. One says “SpudR” not sure what the R is for, but hey, we know it’s him because of his style and imagery.
here are some old Spud photos that i’ve taken but have never published. this one above was found in the Ossington-Humbert alleyway (I spend most of my days in alleys, seriously). He took over an entire garage front, and even copyrighted it in the bottom right corner.
this is just a spudbomb sticker, but i love it.
when i grow up, i’m going to bovine university.
this is a moo point.
you know, it’s like a cow’s opinion. it doesn’t matter. it’s moo.
i published a photo of this exact same piece a few months ago, but it was someone else’s photo. thought i’d go back and take my own, for copyright/ownership purposes.
i have another photograph of a piece that was put up in graffiti alley, it’s the exact same rob ford face, but instead of “piss here” it just says “ass.”
hhaha! this is in the alley behind dovercourt and queen. the “work in progress” has always been there, but like the new writing to the left indicates, it has been a work in progress for EONS. C’mon son. GET IT TOGETHER.
do you see what i see?
so fucking cool. this was on abell street behind the wreckage of construction.
i love the unused/abandoned storefronts along queen west.
speaking of Gregory Allan Elliot….see what he did here? He took a black marker to the movie poster for Colombiana… so fucking clever, sir. Yes, I know it’s him because the gun is now shooting his “heart/love” symbol.
the night, with garin, outside the drake hotel, where the woman with the typewriter sat on the sidewalk and tapped poems for passers-by. it sounded like morse-code.
headlines the day after Canada went into a state of mourning…
i was walking along Bloor and this guy was just sitting there holding this while fondling his smartphone.
fanks for letting me take your picture, guy.
it’s the fat-lip twins!
my wifey is so nom-nom-nom.
as i spoke about before, Ford Canada is lending me a car for this Labour Day long weekend (Ford Canada recognizes exceptional awesomeness, clearly) , so I’m going on a roadtrip! I’m going back to the place of my birth, Montreal, to hang with my gay boyfriend, my old school mates, to practice mon français (maudit enfant chienne), and wander about to see what’s cool around the plateau since i left at the age of 12.
frankly, after all that i’ve been going through lately, this opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time.
hopefully i’ll find some amazing Montreal graffiti, and see some great Montreal theatre!
if you have any graffiti/theatre leads, please send them my way. or if you’re throwing a hipster douchebag party event clusterfuck that kyboshes other attempts, let a sistah know.
bloggin will resume next week.
à la prochaine, mes ti-choufleurs!
love is a poverty you couldn’t sell
you will learn to survive me.
you send me messages of support, and i feel, for the first time, like i can hold onto something for as long as i want.
but the noose buried in my rib-cage has started hissing. friction keeps tightening it around my guts. it hangs my bone marrow.
bathurst and dundas
bathurst and bloor
toronto has very few cobblestone streets left. the streetcars and the old brick façades in the west end hint at footprints long since filled in with liquids. then you walk through parkdale with your brother from another mother and spot the capsule, evoking fob watches and quellazaires.
parkdale keeps her secrets in the diamond grit.
the language the city uses to control the streets of the annex can be translated.
near Bay street and Elm, they were shooting an episode of Covert Affairs as i walked past. the supervising police officer, schleppin’ on the corner, paced over this find without even realizing it.
or maybe he did, and was trying to wear it down with the soles of his shoes (for obvious reasons).
either way, i squeezed next to him to capture this… what do you call this?…perhaps, concrete art?
street art by nature has a short shelf life, but if it’s blasted into the concrete of the quiet sidewalks that we never look up from after a traumatizing week, the aim might be to keep it around a while longer.
now you won’t be able to stop seeing them. this was Bay near College.
Bay near College. this was an exciting find, because i had heard of the “post no bills” stencil making the rounds, but i didn’t know it was here in toronto.
you MUST have seen this Kill Facebook colourjob at Queen and Spadina.
social media encourages apathy.
so what?
dude riding his bike backwards. he was heading right for me when i snapped this shot. as he passed, i said, “nicely done!” and he flashed me his pearly whites. i giggled like a tween.
in trinity bellwoods park.
when i discovered this, i said to michael and mel, “if i had could shag any animal, i’d choose an owl, because no matter which position you took it from, you could always get eye contact.”
AWK.
WARD.
things around here will get back to normal at some point, guys.
soon.
a fingers-crossed promise.
bear with me.
i’m inching toward something that, once, was rain, but became fragrant and light.
my next girl will be nothing like my ex girl; i made mistakes back then, i’ll never do it again
nicely done, deadboy
* * *
EDIT!!
guess who just sold the above photo, along with many other of my Rob Ford graffiti photos, to The Grid! I love adding “photographer” to my growing portfolio. Check out the spread here, munckins!
* * *
sometimes i share the emails i get here, sometimes not, but this one came with the tacit authority to share, and it’s rather lovely, so why not.
Hello!
My goodness! I’ve just spent the past three hours reading through your blog and I’m still not finished. Now I see you’re on Twitter, as well. Where do you find the time?
I “stumbled upon” your blog while browsing something totally unrelated (don’t know how Google always manage to do that) and I was so intrigued (yes, it was because of a photo of you) that I decided to peruse through it. Very entertaining, indeed. Informative at times… even inspiring (the bit about eating healthy). There’s so much material to cover that I doubt I will get to it all.
Portuguese and Lebanese, eh? I see it now. Beautiful combination. You kinda got that Nelly Furtado-Kim Kardashian thing going on, eh (Apologies if you can’t stand those two!).
Another thing from your blog which stood out in my mind is the part about how you would fill in the blank to end the sentence on the picture you saw at the hipster house party. I thought your response was brilliant. Deep with a dash of humour. I wonder how many people actually got it? I also made note of the part where you blogged about traveling to NYC because of a love interest but things didn’t go well and you were left crying on the steps of Union Square? I assume figuratively and not literally because, His loss, I assure you!
Anyway, it’s been fun reading. All the best to ya!
-”AWspicious”
fanks mate. for the record, i didn’t travel to NYC last summer for the guy, but i’ve known him for years and he’s always good for givin’r, so he just factored in to the trip. he’s in a relationship right now, so when i went to NYC earlier this year, i didn’t bother contacting him. if i did, the response would be silence. but if i’m being honest, he was probably one of the greatest longstanding affairs i’ve ever had.
technically, that’s not saying much.
and fanks for the “his loss” bit . . . it’s not his loss just yet, but give me some time, and it will be.
Banksy’s latest, in response to the News Of The World phone hacking scandal.
last week, i collaged about “the good bike” project here in toronto, which has been getting so much attention not just around town, over the pond in the UK, the guardian has even taken notice of our Mayoral clusterfuck.
anyway, here’s another find. this is the first blue one i’ve found, it was on bloor near dovercourt. i want to find the green “jane jacobs” one, anyone know where that’s located? i know it’s on Albany, but where?
i still need a name for my new bike (since my old bike Bea Arthur was totaled by a raging syphilis-cyclist, i hope she dies of a rectum rash), but i’m leaning toward calling it Aunty Edna. old lady names for bikes=boom goes the dynamite.
this is the mural at luna cafe on dovercourt and argyle. i always ride Aunty Edna past this lovely converted grocers, and i adore how they have kept some of the grocer’s painted adverts on the window. gives it such a great feel. people who live in and around argyle street are so lucky. i want to live there, the area kiboshes the annex.
text messages from august 10th:
mr k: your mind shines as brightly as your eyes do.
me: how is it you always know just what to say?
mr k: i just kinda adore you so it’s natural… everything about you just feels so organic. you blow my mind.
at the Ali Baba falafel place on bloor street with nate, a delightfully schizo’d woman heard me say that i was portuguese, so she came over and said that i was a beautiful portu-geezer, and proceeded to kiss my head about 16 or 17 times. i actually don’t think i processed what she was doing. i kind of tuned out, not even realizing it was awkward or weird. i let her kiss my hair, and stared at a point on the street outside the window.
it felt like everything and anything, except like what it was.
this photo was taken last year at the TedxTO afterparty, but i was only recently tagged in it on facebook. i don’t at all remember taking this shot, or frankly, who the dudes in it are. Reg, any clues?
i’m such a glad-hander.
i’ve blogged about fauxreel twice before, but this old piece of his from 2009 that went up in our fair city still gives me pause.
i was at a funeral once. as is expected, it was a very sombre, melancholy event. it was a hot july day, and the church had left the windows open for ventilation. as family members came forward to give their speeches, a car outside on the street was blasting its crap music (as most low rider douchebags who drag The Danforth are known to do). unfortunately, it was this song. the fucking car was stopped at a really long red-light outside, and because all the church windows were open, the song invaded the ceremony. we were trying to have this respectful, reflexive, and downright sad experience to mourn the loss of life…
…and instead, we were paralyzed with a case of the giggles. everyone had their hands over their mouths, unsure of whether to choke back tears, or choke on our cackles.
horribly hilarious, i was uncontrollably laughing at a funeral.
that’s what going to Moth-Up the other day was like.
someone walked by me, pretending not to see me. But seeing as how i’m an adult, i made the courteous move to say hello. i had forgotten that we weren’t talking … and now i remember why.
in hindsight, i probably should have checked the FB event page to see who would be at Moth Up so i could have avoided it altogether, but i have completely given up stalking on FB. if people didn’t show up in my FB newsfeed, i’d never know what others are up to. i absotively posulutely refuse to look at anybody’s profile but my own. i have extended this ban from FB to twitter, and even some blogs. … mostly, because i couldn’t give a shit.
luckily, i was with someone worthy of my attention. we giggled like conspirators well into the night, actually leaving the event early for more one-on-one.
we bounded out the door, taking the steps two at a time, and disappeared into the velvet black of midnight… i didn’t bother to take notice of what i left behind.
life is right in any case.
and my heart is open as the sky.
“your mind shines as brightly as your eyes do.”
black pearl athena
last week, i was flattered with tickets to see Spent at the Young Centre for Performing Arts in the distillery district. many of you know i am a huge theatre fag and try to see as many plays as possible, and i’m always willing to blog and tweet about the gems.
Spent, written and performed by Adam Paolozza and Ravi Jain, is a lampoon of the 2008 economic crisis, told through physical comedy (basically the style is clown, without the red noses or stupid Bozo facepaint). it was a ravishing, funny,vibrant, joyous romp through what many considered a polyp on the colon of ecoomics and finance. Paolozza ad Jain have created a rock ‘em sock ‘em satire of the discourse we use when dealing with money, making several analogies to religion, and how dollar signs can be confused with crucifixes. they do all that in a mere 80 minutes, with energy to spare.
it’s the coolest fricken play you’ll see this summer in toronto before it hits the edinburgh fringe fest. all the details you need is here (and tickets are cheap, people). get thee to a playhouse.
(#Tweetgasm photos courtesy of Photojunkie.ca)
i actually didn’t notice Reg was copping a feel here. i thought we were just squishing our puppies together.
woah. her face = sex.
was shocked to see paul. i’ve only ever seen him out once before, way back in february for GenYTO during social media week. i’m walking up to the gladstone, then outta nowhere, i see him on the sidewalk, and i’m like, “wait, what?” took me a moment to actually process it. i would have walked right by him if he hadn’t turned at the sound of my heels clicking along the pavement. paul’s twitter bio says that he “believes shoes tell everything about a woman.”
“so what do my heels tell you about me?” i asked.
paul opened his mouth to answer, but i cut him off:
“on second thought, don’t tell me.”
that’s probably for the best.
yaw took these iPhone shots of me. here i’m wearing dave‘s specs, looking like an angry librarian.
this caption should be “I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WORK IN A LIBRARY!! IF ONLY I COULD READ!!!!!”
now i’m wearing Yaw’s top gun aviators, pulling a duckface, adored by myspace-alien-face-peace-sign-model-mayhems everywhere.
jessica‘s housewarming party. sweaty and rained on, but…..
…i still managed to finger-dance and pull a bride of chucky mug.
testing testing is this thing on?
i was stopped at a red light near college and lansdowne, looked in my side mirror, and nearly lost my heart in the rails and moving blues.
went to Rule Britannia at Clinton’s with andrew, which was rather disappointing. kept playing stupid top 40 british hits from the 80s that are overplayed and not really crowd pleasers. i only heard one Arctic Monkeys song and one Klaxons song, the rest were fucking come-on-eileen, twist-and-shout, i’m-feeling-supersonic-give-me-gin-and-tonic, rio-grande BOLLOCKS. yawn.
this was the night before amy winehouse died. they didn’t play a single one of her tunes.
i remember the first time i heard of the Forever 27 club. it was actually a decade ago now, the summer of 2001, when i was working at the CN Tower. i was one of the bitches operating the elevators. “and now we’re moving at 15 miles per hour, this is the tallest free standing tower in the world, it takes 58 seconds to get to the top, blah blah fucking blah.” this dude that i worked with at the towering inferno was having a houseparty, i think his name was michael, but it could have been colin or william (i’m showing my age here, aren’t i?). on the wall of his sherbourne apartment was this poster that said Forever 27 and it had the usual suspects on it. i didn’t get what it meant until i asked, but for some reason, the image of the poster burned into my brain. i had the biggest crush on that michael-colin-william dude too. i had held a houseparty earlier in the year, which he attended, and this was back when i had no reservations about drinking, so i shitfacedly swung my legs onto his lap, and basically made a plastered fool of myself, which he seemed to like, because he came back the next day to hang with me, using the pithy excuse of “i left something at yours” which he totally didn’t, he just wanted to do what Reg was doing in the above photo. i didn’t let him.
suffice it to say, when i quit that shit McJob, i never heard or saw him again.
after a 50 kilometre bike ride to the downtown core (good god i love biking and my bike, i’m such a shitkicker), i met up with nate and we basically spent sunday together. iced coffees at Crafted, dinner at Lakeview, drinks at Sweaty Betty’s.
he pointed out the above Devil Rob Ford street art to me, which i may have just walked by if he hadn’t pointed it out. it looks like the same style as these rob-ford-spermatozoa‘s i found a little while back. Who is behind this wheatpaste? it’s on the corner of ossington and humbert. if you know, please tell me!
“my soul is a death rattle,” i recently told nate.
tie a noose around my neck and pull, and pull, and pull.
the Nus doth protest too much.
why we should lose our virginity, from Submarine.
i’ll never tell which reason i chose.
i keep having these ferbile dreams. i wake up disoriented, and the feeling lingers all day, agate colours punctuating my eyes, splitting them from my brain. i had to walk through the city under a baseball cap and huge sunglasses, head down like i’d lost my dog, hiding the face, for fear that someone would recognize me from the dream, as if the players were about, dreaming the same things, our subconscious minds linked in perfumes.
chasing her around the table, in a movie. wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and the credits roll.
my soul is a death rattle.
can i make it better with the lights turned on?
this video was made at Lindsey Kelk’s book launch, and they interviewed me (along with Val Stachurski and Erin Bury, among others) about dating.
vicki blogged about this, a tofu dish to beat out all other tofuckery attempts.
i guess The Toronto Star felt my tweeting was newsworthy.
this was the day i nearly passed out from dehydration. 38 degrees celsius in toronto, but with the humidex, it feels like 50 (reminding me of my time in india), and people still are keeping their babies and dogs locked up in the car. i sat on the benches outside of Hibiscus for an hour, trying to pull my shit together, and garner enough energy to stand. people walked by in fluorescent colours, and i was about to fall on my knees without the pleasure of praying.
i tweeted the above when i finally stood up, and wandered around trying to find a convenience store. i refuse to go to the one at the corner of augusta and college, because that schmuck behind the counter always eyes me up like i’m a five-finger-discounter, when all i want is a popsicle. so i wandered like a flaneur, until i found myself on ossington, sitting on the patio of iDeal coffee, looking at people ride by on their bicycles.
i nearly capsized.
my nose was stinging, my chin collapsing, but i didn’t cry.
* * *
you’ll remember a while back when i blogged about finding this beautiful piece of street art by deadboy, and because of that blog post, him and i kind of struck up a correspondence. well he recently let me know that some of his new work is up, and sent me on a scavenger hunt to find them…
deaboy’s clever raccoon is up in kensington market, go for a scour of the alleyways there, you’ll find his scrawlings, and some other vibrant work.
i think many people are afraid of venturing alone in alleyways. i’ve been doing it alone during the day and at night, and lately, i’m feeling safer in the alleys than out in the street. even the crooks and thieves are afraid of the alleys, no one runs behind the tall, shadowed walls anymore. except the artists.
this is very The Shadow-esque. who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men? hahaha, what a shit movie.
dude is swallowing what flows from the gas pump.
don’t we all.
see the bird above the tim hortons? i’ve seen that bird before, it was up near the bathurst street theatre during the fringe festival, but didn’t get a chance to photograph it. is it still there?
this reminds me of some graffiti that i found in bosnia-herzegovina when i was there in 2008….in the city of mostar…
sometimes toronto has the same amount of decay and destruction to it, and we haven’t even been in a war.
someone has copied shepard fairey’s Obey style
i’m working on it….
i’m not sure exactly from this stencil who this cigar smoking guy is supposed to be. i’m assuming he’s a politician or political figure of some sort.
whoever he is, the street artist behind him has sprayed him all over kensington market.
here he is again…
…and again!
hey street artist behind this stencil! contact me! i wanna hear about your work. let’s be friennnnnnnnnnnds. oh i see a heart underneath the stencil. gee, i wonder who that is….
this Busk guy with Groucho Marx’s face is everywhere. i photographed him once before, but he’s all over the city, if you know to keep your eyes up.
that’s the thing about street art: once you’ve trained yourself, as i have, to keep your eyes up instead of down at the sidewalk, you won’t be able to NOT notice them anymore. you’ll realize that it’s everywhere, and there’s always new spots, new corners, new walls, new lamp posts, new targets. i think it’s only a matter of time before i start stirring the wheatpaste in the pot, grab a long-handled broom, and beat the street sometime past 3am with subterfuge burning underneath the hood of my eyes.
i agree with this statement.
like rose tombstones.
it’s the syntax that lying.
night.
day.
i ran into someone the other evening in the distillery district which gave me reason to pause.
at first, i wasn’t sure that it was him. so i kept walking out the door into the brimstone temperatures of the bricks.
then i stopped, paused, turned around on my heel, and marched right back up to him in the air-conned lobby.
it had been months since i’d seen him, well before my spring NYClusterfuck. he had texted me last month, but i froze up upon receiving it, not knowing how to respond, so i remained silent.
we chatted pleasantly like god was stuck in our throats. With the mutual circles we run in, it’s a safe wager that he could continually be within striking distance.
very tricky.
what a clever juxtaposition.
those fucking kids.
all i see is hope.
* * *
girl bled to death like she was tongue-kissing a razor blade
woody allen once said, “love is the answer, but while you’re waiting for the answer, sex raises some interesting questions.”
i seem to have a lot of answers that just result in more questions.
it’s july and the only way to make it better is to wear a polynesian flower that cups my hair … to whisper decomposing secrets into my hands.
at the Vice Magazine Photo Show this past week, all the crunked up hipsters in kicks and half-shorn heads showed up sweaty, accosting the free beer and pizza, spilling puddles on the floor, and ignoring the homosexual nazi photography on the wall. i never leave home without my chinese fan, and ended up cooling off some coolies while lauren and i tried to have a proper conversation.
there was a bitchin’ DJ pumping music but no one danced.
only unhappy people don’t know how to dance.
outside, cooling off with iPhone photos and seeing the ossington strip regulars that i peripherally know, a man in thick rimmed glasses accosted my journo-convo with a chip on his shoulder, with a disdain for the veiled honesty music critics espouse in order to obtain a regular paycheque.
i wasn’t interested in arguing, but lauren still had the capacity to evoke erudite shutthefuckup-isms.
the next day, a few doors down, a blonde debonnaire named JT tried to pick me up as i was walking by The Port. i wished it had been at The Red Light. he was hosting an event that night, and told me to swing by at 11pm. although he was lovely to look at (blonde curls and dangerous lips), he presented himself on a silver party platter covered in garbage that would surely result in more questions.
i’m doing the safety dance with my body these days.
bitch, please.
* * *
what’s that i see?
fordzilla! the man behind the brilliant fordzilla wheatpastes i’ve blogged about like a bajillion times before erected this huge piece on college near markham street.
rob ford and stephen harper eating the citizens of a high rise, before some schmuck with no respect for other people’s street art scrawled “bitch move” over it. if you want to see the finished piece before it was defaced, watch this video!!
i have been informed from the project coordinators behind Fordzilla that there will be no more wheatpastes of this theme, so go out and find all the fordzillas in the city and enjoy them while you can!
on spadina road, at kendal avenue (my old street).
near lansdowne and college.
last year, during the G20, i skipped town, flew to NYC, had a manhattan fling and was tossed.
looking back, i can’t decide if it was worth it. i think i would rather have been kettled at queen and spadina, then locked up for 36 hours, than sitting on the steps of union square at 14th street, crying.
happy birfday val!
lauren and i went to a rooftop luau in the clubbing district, full of suits, bikini clad entrepreneuses, scientists, vegans, DJ’s, pieces of pineapple and leis with condoms attached (if you’re gonna get lei’d, protect yourself).
i had a long conversation by a roasted pig on a spit with a scientist who will one day be an astronaut. he swooshed his hair around and told me about the tapestry of his life. he had all these stories about wake-n-bake driving to calgary and The Filth pulling him over in manitoba only to battle it out while trippin’ and getting a mere fine. he also told me about his ambitious goals, going from a 7-time undergrad reject to running his own company at the age of 29. he’s off to chile next, and i’m off to peru. south america and macchu picchu. i listened intently, drinking words like i was swallowing my past, tasting future.
present tense, a guy at the bar shoots green grapes up in the air, and i catch them in my freakin’ gob.
the cn tower glowed green like a rave (disco) stick.
lauren says all wealth is relative.
she’s right. i’m not rich in money, but i’m rich in character.
i’m going to the press screening of Beats, Rhymes & Life, the A Tribe Called Quest documentary, because i’m reviewing it for one of my freelance gigs. i’ve already seen the flick when it premiered at Hot Docs, but a refresher is much appreciated for critique purposes.
all you guys acting out your own hip-hopera need not fret, you can see it before it opens on july 29th. there will be an advanced screening here in toronto on the 21st, tickets are $20 and will go fast (if they’re not already gone). peep the deets below, playa.
and watch the trailer for the documentary here:
if they were to name a rock musical after me right now, it’d be Headcase and the Angry Bitch….
….all evidence to the contrary.
even when you know the way it’s gonna blow, it’s hard to get around the wind
i can’t log on to Facebook or Twitter anymore these days without feeling like a piece of meat thrown into a lion’s den.
the following Twitter DMs and Facebook messages all arrived ON THE SAME DAY from different men that I either don’t know at all (as in, COMPLETE STRANGERS), or barely know peripherally.
i feel like i am being fondled by the very rattle snake whose venom is replacing my blood with nothingness.
*NAME REMOVED* Friend Request
Have you ever considered modeling?
Christine Estima
You’ll forgive me if this comes across as rude, but why do you ask? And how do I know you?
*NAME REMOVED*
I was just going through the “People You May Know” section and saw your picture. In fact, your dress caught my eye. Where did you get the dress? I don’t seem remember if we actually do know one another. I have some links in modeling agencies and your pictures was outstanding and I can envision you as a supermodel. You are pretty – That’s just it.
Christine Estima
That’s awfully kind of you to say but im not interested in modelling, thanks!
*NAME REMOVED*
That’s what my heart is saying… It’s ultimiately your decision. We can be friends though?
“as cool as the pale wet leaves of lily-of-the-valley she lay beside me in the dews.”
Subject: Hotness.
*NAME REMOVED*
You have been drunkenly messaged. I don’t have your digits or it would’ve been a drunken call. Hope all is well gorgeous.
*NAME REMOVED EN FRANCAIS*
JTM Christine, tu excessivement belle tu prends en otage mon coeur. sur ce je souhaite fonder avec toi une relation amoureuse durable.
(for those of you that don’t speak french, this translates to, “I love you Christine, you are exceedingly beautiful, you have taken my heart hostage. I wish to forge a longterm romantic relationship with you.”)
*NAME REMOVED*
well now that you are underemployed and single … if you need an acomplace for some summertime hyjinx lemme know, my schedule is pretty flexible.
*NAME REMOVED*
two things: I will never lie to you and I’ll never mislead your emotions for sex
*NAME REMOVED*
beyond that, I’m drunk right now, which I know you’re not. I’m still interested in you because you are different then most girls.
christineestima
thats sweet & im flattered but i dont date twitter ppl. i dont know u or anything bout u.
*NAME REMOVED*
I’m not looking for a gf, and “date” doesn’t preclude “meet”. Further “meet” doesn’t include “sex”. There is no “taking advantage” of you
*NAME REMOVED*
*exclude not preclude
*NAME REMOVED*
We’re at least 15 dates away before we’d ever talk about a relationship
christineestima
you’re a nice guy but i’ve already given you my answer
*NAME REMOVED*
well at least I’ve defended my gender 
. You keep bringing up “date” which is significantly different than “meet” which will eventually…
*NAME REMOVED*
happen, statistical likelihood – It’s truly fine if you don’t want to meet me, but don’t use twitter as an excuse, it belittles us both
christineestima
if u want to “meet” then come out to the tweet ups. you’ll “meet” lots of people. toronto is a big city, there is no statistical likelihood. Also, i don’t use twitter as a dating service. if u do, don’t force it upon me
christineestima
im tryin to be nice here, but you keep forcing the point. how many times do i have to say i’m not interested? pls just let me be.
*NAME REMOVED*
Actually just once, but you have to say the words. I personally hate innuendo of any kind. Enjoy your life
the gay Pride parade was amazing. First I saw this license plate (Simsimas) which is basically my full name! (say Christine Estima 5 times really fast, this is what you get). Sim Simma! Who got da keys to mah beemah?
Martin wore this amazing tshirt which garnered a lot of adoration in the gaybourhood.
then this happened.
i took this photo with my blackberry and it went semi-viral. In 24 hours, it generated over 1,300 hits. Not exactly viral, but within the toronto community, it`s pretty safe to say a lot of Pride-goers have seen this.
i was going to say something here about the obviousness of this photo, but i have decided that, in the spirit of Pride, and inclusion, and community, and non-discrimination, i am just going to say that i think it’s great that not everyone has the same kind of body shame and issues as most people do.
Pride is about encouraging everyone to love themselves just the way they are.
so whatever you may think about the aesthetics of this person, you gotta admire their chutzpah.
i ran into gregory alan elliott in kensington market the day after i snapped this photo during Pride. i hadn’t seen him since this when we met over on ossington. it seems that running into him has book-ended this period of my life. i saw him right before, and i see him immediately after a lot of shit has gone down.
anyway, he gave me a poster he made that says “Circus-Sized Peanuts.” fricken clever, hombre. he said he wanted to give it to me because it’s the same kind of turn of phrase as “The Spadina Monologues.”
i guess i made an impression.
i also ran into timothy, one of the players from my Indian clusterfuck two years ago. we were both as yes yes ya’ll, a gay hip hop event in the annex during Pride weekend. he licked my arse and made it seem like he didn’t try to make my life a living hell. he even said that he thought of me recently when rachel weisz and daniel craig wed, because he had told me when we were in Jaipur that i look like Rachel Weisz.
i wasn’t impressed.
years ago, i had a patrick marber quote at the bottom of this blog that read, “lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.”
replace “lying” with “graffiti,” that’s the current state of mind.
and maybe, even “slaughter.”
it might not hurt now, but it’s gonna hurt soon
“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
(#ThatsWhatSheSaid)
* * *
i think my heart just burst open.
i heard the piledriver’s waltz, it woke me up this morning
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: having a social life.
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: rain, no matter how nice it makes the grass smell.
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: walking through High Park with one of your best friends, checking out geese, turtles, and swans.
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: a Stepford wife prancing about in come-fuck-me heels, and sporting a face that looks like a campaign poster for neglected horses.
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: sucking on a popsicle and getting popsicle-tongue 
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: having to tell someone to calm the fuck down and speak to you the way you’re speaking to them (because that’s how adults behave).
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: watching people lose their cool and completely wig out. (high-larious!)
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: censorship
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: being told that your writing is on par with Michael Ondaatje
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: time lost.
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: waking up leisurely to the sun, having a Timmy‘s cuppa, hopping on your bicycle with the front wicker basket and yellow flowers, and writing in your journal at The Common
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: every time something funny happens to me, i always want to tell you . . . and then i remember that we’re not talking.
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: http://youtu.be/hdJUuJWf2XM
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: having trouble coming up with another one of these…..ummm…….
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: The Big Chill and Taste Of Little Italy
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT: …..errr……..seriously, what’s another thing that’s not great in my life right now?
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: so many opportunities falling into my lap, and people coming into my life at just the right time.
THINGS THAT ARE NOT GREAT:……….
THINGS THAT ARE GREAT: life, and it just keeps getting better.
* * *
some great street art and graffiti hauls this week.
i am continually inspired by the artists in toronto, defying conventions, fucking-the-lot … jail be damned.
Vicki calls this “the god of high park.”
well done, mr partridge. you sir are a rembrandt.
found some retro video game love on dovercourt. see it?
jarvis and i found this pillar next to ronnie’s local in kensington market.
“don’t cry. bike!”
“make good choices.”
that’s ALL i’ve been doing lately….well, in actual fact, they’re not necessarily ‘good,’ but hey, they’re choices.
* * *
Rich Lam’s photo (via Getty) of the Vancouver riots.
He shoots.
They score.
I saw your fingers dimming in the lights, like you’re used to being told that you’re trouble, and I spent all night stuck on the puzzle
will i see you at Tweetgasm this monday night? i’ll be the gal with her poster on the wall. wear pink, you pinkos.
Check out my film review of Beautiful Boy, starring Michael Sheen and Maria Bello. I fucking hated it, and totally tore it a new asshole. Whatever guy, sometimes there’s pressure to “like” a film just because it’s shot nicely and deals with some sad themes, but us film critics gotta stick to our guns. I’m sure director Shawn Ku will go far, I just didn’t have the patience to sit through a two hour actor’s wankfest. Disagree with my critique? Don’t tell me, tell the internet. Oh by the way, all other film critics agree with me.
it’s awfully quiet around here since i made some changes. they say that you’d shouldn’t do anything in life that doesn’t result in money or an orgasm.
i disagree.
give me another week or so. essentially i’ve sacrificed both of the aforementioned for happiness.
i think i made the right choice. especially since, in both cases, i was being taken advantage of.
and in both cases, i deserve better than the offer on the table.
have you guys seen this? the music makes my heart ache like it’s just been scraped out clean, until it’s raw and seething red to the touch. and the visuals make me dippy-stupid-bittersweet. watch.
you’ve been warned, boys.
abandon hope all ye who enter me.
* * *
some great street art hauls this week. so i was wandering through some back alleys in little italy and found this scary little guy with the FDOE on him
and then i found this stick on a street sign on bloor near walmer. so i figured this guy was about to blow up the city, and shizzle was i ever right.
this week, the FDOE dude has exploded across queen street west near augusta. although the basis of each wheatpaste is the same, whoever the FDOE artist is, he took the time to make each print somewhat different. it’s the red spatterings that make each one unique.
they look almost like crime scenes. i love it. and the classic gold framings give it that little extra something. highly stylized work. nicely done dude!
so FDOE, who are you? contact me! let’s be friends!
it’s no secret now that i’m a sheppard fairey fan. and also a fan of that anonymous Fordzilla guy. so i’m walking through kensington market and i find an amalgamation of both of my loves. do you see it up on the sign? look closer…
fashioned like a sheppard fairey Obey sticker, but with rob ford’s face, and the word GRAVY!! OMG BRAINSPLOSION!! i love this little guy so much!
Fordzilla are you behind this? if not, who is? i have yet to see more of these stickers, so please keep up your attack on the streets.
i’m going to pretend that whoever chalked this into the sidewalk (spadina, south of dundas) was being facetious. all art is political.
* * *
Ernest Hemingway once said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
that’s goddamn right.
Realizing you’ve been a fool is one thing. Realizing you’ll always be a fool is another thing altogether
hipster douchebag café art exhibit full of glittering assholes who appreciate art.
“It’s a lie. It’s a bunch of sad strangers photographed beautifully, and all the glittering assholes who appreciate art say it’s beautiful ’cause that’s what they wanna see. But the people in the photos are sad, and alone. But the pictures make the world seem beautiful, so the exhibition is reassuring which makes it a lie,
and everyone loves a big fat lie.”
truth be told, i am one of those hipster douchebag pretentious fuckwits. i love this work.
“i don’t like the black earring! think if i ask her, she’ll edit out the black earring?”
let’s play spot-the-douchebag-sailor.
* * *
HER: “do you feel anything for me?”
HIM: “well… i’m sexually attracted to you.”
that response …. nothing could have hurt her more.
she got off the phone but she didn’t cry. she lay her head down and stared at the ceiling.
there is nothing left to say, she thought. and if there is, those things are better said with the lights off.
so she kept the lights on all night.
he was so clever.
he really had her going.
well played, sir. rookie mistake.
he got what he wanted. and they both get to live with it.
but lucky for her, she has yet to meet a man she couldn’t live without.
* * *
many of you in toronto’s social media (and love to gossip) know of the Nat & Marie show, a popular uStream show which talks about what’s hot in viral videos, social media, memes, and every thing that’s hot online. Nat was away this past week, so Marie asked me to couch it up with her on the UBC (urban barn couch), and we had a really great show together. you can watch the whole thing in its entirety here, i think i did rather well as i’d never done live broadcasting before (other than the times i’ve been interviewed on talkshows and the news).
of course, knowing me, at the 50 minute mark, i start going off on why i love graffiti and street art.
and at the 1 hour 23 minute mark, i say some foul-mouthed awesomeness.
really the only reason Marie brought me on the show was because i forced her.
Marie and I are members of the League of Awesome Brunettes.
too many people give blondes all the garlands. we dispel that myth that blondes have more fun. i say, blondes only have more fungus.
watch our epic show together in its entirety below:
* * *
i never forget a pussy.
these gorgeous pussies. i house sat for them this week. Welcome to LOLcatsville. Population: deux.
I CAN HAZ CHEESEBURGER
* * *
street art bringing on the panic attack:
found this off of dundas west when i went for an after-work jog. if it weren’t for all the dundas west construction, i may not have found this.
this is near the entrance to the green room.
i doff my hat to you, sir.
* * *
you can’t tell my mouth is full of scones, can you?
love you vicki.
* * *
i tell len that i think the sexiest parts of my body are my brain, my guts, and my spine.
len says, “your heart’s pretty hot too. i’d know. it’s a big one. and your chin, ‘cos you can take a punch.”
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.
take me to new york, i’d love to see LA, i really want to come kick it with you, you’ll be my american boy, american boy….
>take me to new york, i’d love to see LA, i really want to come kick it with you, you’ll be my american boy, american boy….
>
