"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>spring it came upon us, every insect filled the air, dropped their wings upon my brother, cast their shadows on his hair


breaking down last week’s photo into subsections:
photo courtesy of natasa!
me and nat, booty-bumping.
for some reason, even though this was only last week and it’s on my phone, i don’t remember taking this.
get in there marie
wendy looks like she’s doing the robot off to the right.
domo origato mr roboto
ah short round. one of my favourite characters from Indiana Jones. even though the Temple of Doom was the most racist and xenophobic of the trilogy (yes, trilogy, i refuse to count that fourth film. i mean, DAYUM, way to ruin 80s nostalgia), i always loved short round.

 it occurs to me that i’ve always had a fascination with street art but never fully realized it. two years ago i was documenting it.  wasn’t even sure if i was conscious of my appreciation for it then…

in fact i was documenting it FOUR years ago— look at these photos i took in 2007 while i was living in london:

i took this on my camera phone in 2007 on Whitecross near Old Street in London. it’s a banksy original. i think this one resonated with me a lot because I WAS CERTAIN i’d seen this image before. so today i did some digging….
this postcard i’ve had for donkey’s years is copyrighted 1985.
another 2007 phone snap of a Banksy original. i took this off Camden High Street in Camden Market. if you back away from this particular piece, you see that she’s sweeping the yellow lane divided under the wall sheet. banksy also repainted the yellow line to make it veer into the wall.
another 2007 snap of a Banksy original, this time with my actual camera. i was on holiday in Bristol (for those of you out-of-the-know, Bristol is a city in south western england, not far from Bath). i found this piece on Park Street. the residents of Bristol had to petition the city to KEEP the piece from being removed. it’s now protected under law.
i saw this stencil spray painted on a metal container in London’s Soho in 2007, snapped this with my phone. i thought it might’ve been banksy at first, but it’s not his style. it’s quite clever though.
i was walking through the Ealing Broadway area of London with my friend Jonathon in 2007 when I found this post-it-note stuck to a pedestrian crossing button. snapped it with my phone. to this day, it’s still the screen background on my phone.
this was probably taken in early 2008 on my phone. i was on a double decker bus headed for my flat in Elephant & Castle, and this was chalked into the ground not far from Waterloo Station.
okay this one isn’t street art. i took this in january 2007, about 7 days after moving to London. it was the very first picture i ever took with my phone. i was shopping at the east street market near elephant and castle, and there it was….words we find funny in north america have different meanings over there.
okay back to toronto
after work on friday, i decided to revisit the old graffiti alley behind queen and spadina. i used to visit it quite often about 6 years ago when Swing Alley was there.
so i guess my fascination with street art can be traced back at least six years then? gosh, who knows. maybe i’ve always had it the love.
this skateboard with the words “vote with your $$$” appears all over graffiti alley. they’re actual skateboards nailed into the poles. i think it’s a gregory alan elliot piece.
there it is again!
 i see gregory alan elliot quotes all over the city. remember way back in february when i found this in kensington market? he’s kinda everywhere, and i like finding his pieces, i think they give the city something. too bad so many other graffiti writers keep messing up his stuff. you can see they’ve either written or crossed out his stuff, in some cases breaking the signs in two.
hey mr ford. take a hint.
looks like a young jean chretien with an axe to grind.
tit for tat, just like that
this one is cool cuz if you look closely, the artist incorporated the wires that were already attached to the wall, and made his caricatures part of the wires. brilliant
i finished my first week of employment at a staff writer. i still haven’t officially revealed who i’m writing for in any online forums. i get the sense that it wouldn’t be a big deal with the company, because they have a big online presence and what not, nonetheless, i’m going to refrain from mentioning them online. better to err on the side of caution in these instances….. even though i DO have that disclaimer at the bottom of this blog that my opinions here are not the opinions of any employer.
oh who am  i kidding?
my opinions ARE the opinions of my employers. 
(deal with it.)
 i am enjoying the work but it’s not a cakewalk, i have to write a lot of content in a day and i’m struggling to get it out in a timely fashion. i have to let my perfectionist-nature slide somewhat. i’ve been described in the past as a line-by-line writer. i labour over each sentence, and i need to relax in that area whilst still delivering well-written copy. there’s a learning curve, surely i’ll get the hang of it.
but it’s fun! i love being able to write all the livelong day, and  i’ve consistently been the last person to leave the office, locking up sometimes as late at 9pm. the day just flies by, and i’m not in a hurry to get home. everyone in the office is totally chill, and the act of writing is my zen anyway, so it feels almost criminal.
growing up in small hick town in rural quebec, aiming for a job like this seemed impractical and beyond reality, especially if you’re on the wrong side of fortune. glad i never listened to anyone else’s ideas for what i should do with my life.
in my last post i asked “what colour does a smurf turn when you choke it?” perhaps Gargamel here can answer that for us.
rob ford, remove me. i think the “remove me” refers not to the stencil, but to the man himself.
 but if we have the stencil removed, is that not like an act of voodoo? symbolically removing the twat from office?
 testing testing, is this thing on?
this is untamed brilliance.
queen of hearts, king (of spades? not sure), and the macabre-like Joker.
bike riding weather is upon us. i rode my bike in to work the other day, left the house at 8:20am, hit the downtown core at 9:30am, and walked through the office front door at 9:45am. it was a great ride, so sunny and quiet.
gosh . . . cycling, street art, hipster music, funny clothes, writer, vegetarian, café-loiterer . . . i would fit the hipster moniker to a T if it weren’t for the fact that the hipsters of Toronto don’t accept me. i’m not awkward enough, or neurotic enough. or ugly enough. there’s like these qualifying hipster targets you need to hit if you want to be amongst the gods. i attend all the same events, underground meetings, artistic rendezvous’ and hang at the culturally-iconic-hotspots, but i can feel them unfairly judging me as an interloper into their exclusive society. they don’t believe i have the brains nor the brawn to withstand the requirements of being amongst their key players. when i say awkward neurotic and ugly, i don’t really mean those as slights or backhands. i mean them in endearing ways (and i blog that sans-irony…for once). the endearingly ugmo-neurotic-awkward hipster is a fine specimen of society that everyone loves and wants to get closer to in order to understand. and they all know each other, they can pick up each others scents like a lioness in heat.
unfortch, i am of an undefinable ethno-cultural minority dominated mostly by Ginos and thereby refuse to leave my pits unshaven or allow my body to physically fall into disrepair. so while i have hipster-leaning-proclivities/sensibilities, the elusive Toronto Hipster does not in fact understand me well enough to accept me.
i make scientific studies of things that really don’t matter.
maybe i AM neurotic enough to join the club.
last night at the Foursquare Toronto event, my friend Chris said that men don’t ask me out because they’re intimidated by me. that’s not the first time i’ve heard that. it’s probably the 50th time actually.
 to me, that means i’m doing something right.

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