most of all someone said true love was dead and i’m bound to fall, bound to fall, for you
adventures in photoshop. i think i’m gonna get the hang of this. oh ya, banner up top of this blog has been changed with some brilliance on my part. i’m becoming a total bitch.
last weekend i’m walking down queen west, i look up, and lo-and-behold it’s yet another pole sporting gregory alan elliot‘s turn of phrases and actual name attached to this street art.
i decided to take this as a cosmic sign from the universe. a while back, mr elliot tweeted me his phone number when he saw the cornucopia of his street art pictured on this blog, so after toeing this line (see what i did there+) of his in the sidewalk, i gave him a shout and we met up at Crafted by Te Aro on ossington.
and he was . . . well . . . he was unlike anyone i’ve ever met before, and that’s not a lie.
without saying how i felt about him, i’ll just tell you what he said:
“i’m NDP in practice, but i always vote conservative.”
make your own judgements.
since then, it’s been a strange but amazing week. after leaving mr elliot in the ossington area to give away plants that were meant for me to hands of other homes, i looked up at the back of the street lights and poles along queen west (something i trained my eye to do after two weeks in NYC and Brooklyn, never wanting to miss a single piece of street art), and what do i find?
just ignore me.
i don’t know who put up this really clever stencil on adelaide street near simcoe, but i drove by it first, turned the car around, wheels and hubcaps screeching like surgical tools along the pavement, pulled up in front, and took a bajillion shots.
EDIT!! just found out this is by fauxreel!
phil and i found this outside st george station.
there is nothing greater than citizens commenting on the city in which they live through art.
oh and rob-ford-bashing, ya gotta give the drugs-of-joy.
early this week i went to the morning press screening of director morgan spurlock’s latest doc POM The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, which premiered here as part of the Hot Docs film fest, which i am covering as media. i wrote a health-framed film review of the film, which you can read here, and then, the holiest of holies happened -> i got to interview DA MAN morgan spurlock himself on the red carpet of the premiere which you can read here! the pres rep only gave me 5 minutes (which was then diminished to 4 mins) with mr spurlock, but he was totally gracious and generous with his responses, and gave many great soundbites.
i’ve been a freelance writer for all of my adult life, and i’ve interviewed a shitload of celebrities and notable personalities, but it never really gets old. the moment you become blazé about how cool the job is, you should leave it. i love being media. i really do.
and now i fancy mr spurlock. just sayin’
some fuzzy blackberry-shots i took of mr spurlock on the red carpet as he inched his way toward me. here he’s being interviewed by CityTV.
now he’s being interviewed by CBC.
and NOW it’s the naked news, oddly, with clothes.
there’s shawn preece hall in the leather jacket. totally cool dude. he recognized me in the media line from twitter. i love it when that happens (which is rare. i have this complex where i believe no one actually knows my name or what i look like, so when people recognize me and actually know my name, it makes me a gonzo-blush)
anyway, watch the trailer for POM The Greatest Movie Ever Sold here:
i went to the Windsor Arms Hotel for high tea, in celebration of the Windsors tying the knot (see what i did there? anybody? Bueller?)
i wrote about it for The Gloss.
here’s some photos that didn’t make the final cut of the article
i won this book.
i’m not really bothering to read it. i mean, i got up early to watch them get married, but i’m over it now. fuck, even THEY are over it now, look.
tea and crumpets.
see those two little pots of jam sitting next to the butter dish in the centre?
ya, those went straight into my purse.
i’m like a sloppy scavenger. i spent so many years broke, eating nothing but scraps and morsels, and that mentality never leaves you.
you can take the poor grifter outta the girl, but you can’t take the girl outta the poor grifter.
when you’re not looking, i’m eating the leftovers on your plate.
all the lovely ladies wore sunday dresses and strappy pumps. i showed up in my work clothes and Chuck Taylors.
above i said i’m turning into a bitch. replace “bitch” with “fuckface.”
something new has popped up this week out of seeming nothingness. for once, i don’t particularly want to say anything about it.
i had a dream in the middle of the week that a hand was reach under the covers of my bed to choke me. when i woke up, i was still suffocating, wrestling with the hand which was independent of any body. this dark, strong, floating hand was trying to kill me while i lay bare.
death by duvet.
the night before i dreamed i was being told by the new girlfriend of an old boyfriend to leave the metropolis, he would never love me that way again.
no one ever loves the same way twice.
back off, duchess of cambridge, wills is MINE.
(Photos: Becca Lemire)