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

asshole

Check out my interview in @Macleans Magazine

After the Toronto terrorist attack perpetrated by an Incel misogynist last month, I tweeted about the ludicrous male entitlement and fragility that make up “incels.” The tweet subsequently went viral and I received in response a deluge of obscene, disgraceful, inhuman, and sexually-harassing messages from angry white dudebros online. So I fought back and it was the sheer act of fighting back that made my original tweet go even farther online than I imagined. I gained 1000+ new Twitter followers in 24 hours, my tweet was liked over 5000 times, and it was screencapped & shared in FB groups all over the internet.  It was a crazy period.

As a result, Maclean’s Magazine published a piece about incels, misogyny, and the fight against targeted harassment of women. Friend Andray Domise interviewed me and others about fighting against online harassment, and the piece was published recently. It’s a really great piece, of which you should read in full, but here’s a section which contains a snipped of my interview:

With this in mind, I’ve recently sold two essay pitches to two different magazines, one of which will deal with the ongoing oppression and subjugation of women, and I can’t wait to share them with you when they’re published.

Check out more of my press interviews and media profiles on my official website Christine Estima dot com!

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Check out my latest essay in @VICE: Nicole Arbour’s lack of satire

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My latest essay has been published in VICE, about the ragebait videos of Toronto cheerleader Nicole Arbour: we all know she’s racist, misogynist, and a fat-shamer, but she also loves to hide behind the banner of “satire” to get away with her bullshit. This piece is about her lack of understanding of what constitutes satire, and also, why comedy is so important and relevant when done right.

Also, I get to talk about her asshole.

 

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It’s also one of the more popular pieces on the VICE network as of right now, so that’s pretty rad.

Some new details about her have emerged since publishing this piece (which I won’t get into on ye olde blog), and I’m getting a lot of private messages from people who have worked with her and know her, who say they can confirm some allegedly criminal behaviour on her part. Toronto is a massive metropolis but it’s small enough that everybody knows everybody somehow, and if your shit smells, people are gonna talk about it. I don’t address this controversy in my piece, but it’s interesting to note and keep in mind.

Anyway, enjoy!

Don’t forget to check out Christine Estima dot com if you want to read more of my published works, included many more of my VICE essays.

NewWEbSite!


Fired Him Right In The Paycheque: my latest @VICE essay, #FHRITP

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I wrote about #FHRITP for VICE. TL;DR – dudebro comedy is a subtle art & bitches be cray. Pffft. Females, amirite?

#Satire

Click here or click on the above image to read it.

The piece is being received very well, it’s one of the most popular on the VICE network.

fhritp most popularIt’s great to see how responsive people are to this, so I’m well chuffed. I told my editor I was worried the satire therein might fall flat & people would think I was condoning #FHRITP. Lesson learned: never assume your audience won’t get it. Oh they get it.

Fanks for getting it, munchkins. YOU ARE THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS.

Check out my VICE category for all of the other essays I have written for them.

And don’t forget to check out my freshly-pressed ChristineEstima.com for more writing samples and links to my published works.

NewWEbSite!

 


Check out my latest @VICE essay: #ByeFelipe

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Click on the above image or click here to read my latest essay in VICE about a douchecanoe that I knew for only 2 hours TWELVE YEARS AGO and wouldn’t piss off, so I lost my shit on him. It’s probably my greatest #ByeFelipe triumph.

This serves as a reminder, ladies, when a Yoko Brono uses the term “spinster,” it actually opens up a rift in the Space-Time Continuum to 1915.

So if you’ll excuse me, I need to jump in my autogyro and head to Constantinople to meet with the King of Siam. Hope he’s not a Bolshevik!

And dudes, here’s your takeaway: if you don’t want to be written about, you should have behaved better.

Check out my VICE category for all of my other essays that have been published in VICE.

Enjoy!

And remember to check out the all-new ChristineEstima dot com! It’s where you’ll find all of my published works!

NewWEbSite!


Why I’m not in Germany anymore…

After my last post where I mentioned being homeless and a waif, I got quite a few private messages from you, my munchkins. It’s been about four months now, and I haven’t really talked about why I’m not in Germany anymore. In fact, most of my friends didn’t even know I had left until weeks (and for some, months) after the fact.

Truth be told, I couldn’t talk about it.

I figured the only kind of catharsis I could afford was to stand up in front of a bunch of strangers and tell my story. So I did that a few weeks ago at Spark London, a live storytelling event in London. All the stories are true and told without notes. So, the above video is my true story.

I posted this on Facebook the day after the event, and the outpouring of comments and private messages from people on there was so supportive and heartwarming to affirming. Here’s a cross section:

-“I just watched the video. Then wept.”

-“your video really moved me. i watched it three times and it made me cry. you are such a brave woman.”

-“I watched your video. it was artful and cathartic…you are honest, and blunt as hell. and have fire and i like it.”

-“I’ve watched your video a couple of times and it really moved me. You are wonderful and brave…You have a lovely soul, which was visible when you bared it. Xx”

-“I just watched your video and while I knew so much of that I’m sitting on a bus, bawling.”

-“OH MY goodness. I just watched this piece you performed and it made me cry. I bet tons of people have said that. I don’t have the words to express how much empathy, anger, compassion, sadness and love that I feel for you but also for everyone who has gone through something like this – it’s so universal….just watched it again and now I’m in tears AGAIN..”

-“It may not be much of a concillation, but you are a brilliant storyteller, and we’re all very lucky to be able to hear your stories.”

-“Just wanted to say that killed me and I’m bawling at 9:45 on a Wednesday. You’re a gift to art.”

-“Oh, sniffles, your video is amazing. I don’t know how you told your story with an even voice. You’re incredible.”

-“That was amazingly profound. I am Verklempt.”

-“you are a good one, Estima.”

-“good for you for recognizing a situation that was wrong for you. Many wouldn’t have the strength to leave.”

-“your video shook me and awoke a memory in me I thought I’d long ago purged. I’m ok knowing there’s still peace to come.”

I feel like a digital age Blanche Dubois, in that, I’ve always depended on the kindness of random internet followers;)

I’m okay now. I’ve been okay since I did this event. It’s like I let it go. I’ve moved on and I’m so happy now. My life is so charmed and wonderful, and I’ll never let someone make me feel anything less than wonderful again.

And besides, I’m living here!

So I can’t officially complain.

Anyway, the lesson herein is this:

Live a life that you’re proud of. And if you find that you’re not, find the strength to start over again.


the ONLY time a joke about rape is funny

i just have to tell this anecdote, because everyone is talking about Tosh’s rape joke (which i found to be the best example of bullying, of inflicting pain, and of trying to control people’s responses to his stupid-ass, lame jokes… but i’ll let curtis luciani explain why Tosh’s joke was seriously fucked up, he does it better than i).

when i was living in London, England, i was at a shop, and in line to pay at the counter. there were two blokes in line ahead of me.

one of the guys yawned.

the other guy, who did not know him, STUCK HIS FINGER IN THE FIRST GUY’S MOUTH and yelled,

“YAWN RAPE!”

picture that for a moment.

now seeing as how they didn’t know each other, i thought the first guy might get a bit upset.

but no. instead, the first guy smirked and said, “it’s a good job i didn’t fart, innit?”

and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the ONLY RAPE JOKE THAT IS FUNNY.

next time you’re with one of your mates and they yawn, try doing the yawn rape. it’s a fun game anyone can play, and heaven only knows what kinda mayhem it will cause.

PROJECT MAYHEM YAWN RAPE.


Ontario Court of Justice=Ontario Court of Profanity

This year I have spent way to much time in court houses! Earlier this year I was called in for jury duty for a First Degree Murder Trial (which I blogged about here, and subsequently broke the internet. Hello traffic!), and today I attended traffic court to fight a ticket I received in 2010. Speedy trial, eh? Two years later, I get my court date! That’s justice for you.

Anyway, I won my trial. I went to traffic court once before, about 10 years ago, and the officer didn’t show up so my case was dismissed. This time, the officer showed, so I had to go to trial. I was the only person who had to go to trial at this session, so I watched all the other cases go before the judge and what not, and was the last person to be called forward.

When I was called forward, the prosecutor (a spindly, sour-faced, fraction of a woman whose antic disposition was written in the huge crevices of her face) asked me if the parking officer and I had shared our information and evidence. I said no, so the three of us (the prosecutor, the officer, and myself) stepped aside while court was in session to go over each others evidence.

The parking officer was a bit hyper and kept interrupting me, so I said, “I’d like to finish my thought, you’re not letting me finish my thought.”

The prosecutor then said to me, I kid you not,

“Clearly you’re not going to shut up so let’s go back into the court room.”

WHILE COURT WAS IN SESSION, this green-pants-suit prosecutor hurled profanity and abusive language at me.

Shocked and appalled, I looked at her and literally said, “Did you just tell me to shut up? It’s inappropriate for you to speak to me that way and I find your language offensive.”

She then addressed the judge and said that I was interrupting court proceedings. ME!

Yeah, because I’m the one hurling obscenities while court was in session.

There are signs posted outside and inside that court room which say that abusive language will not be tolerated, yet the court prosecutor hurled abusive language at me (which at best was inappropriate and at worst was offensive) and NO ONE disciplined her.

I won my court case because the parking officer was a bit scattered and contradicted herself on the stand, so the case was dismissed and thrown out. Yay!

But after I left the court room, the parking officer came up to me and said that she found the prosecutor to be “rude and out of order” and that she felt sorry for me when the prosecutor spoke to me that way. Other people in the area, who witnessed her speaking to me that way, also came up to me to express their disgust about her language.

Amazing.

Clearly this prosecutor thinks all people are stupider than her and beneath her, and she has the right to speak to me that way. Everyone is an idiot, right lady? Who cares how you speak to them? You’re a PROSECUTOR!

Well, you may think being a prosecutor means you’re in the upper echelons of society, but really, all it confirms is that you’re a liar, a cheat, a swindler, a hustler, and untrustworthy. And tantamount to that, you’re also filthy-mouthed and lack proper manners.

And let’s not forget, I won my case!

So I’ve sent a complaint to the Attorney General.

Remember, citizens, no one has the right to speak to you that way, especially in a court of law.

Fight the power! Stand up for yourself!

Did I mention I won my court case?

WINNING!

(* above artwork by Deadboy, ‘natch)

EDIT: I’ve also sent a complaint to the Toronto Prosecution Services, and to the Law Society of Upper Canada


Evidence that the human mind is extremely prone to hallucination

Exhibit A! This FUBAR email I just received (name has been redacted to protect their privacy):

No worries;

I’m really nobody who means anything to you or for that matter of fact not much to anyone unless they want something from me and as luck would have it I have what everyone wants so I guess I’m somebody, right ? Anywho I read your blog listened to you, and took you in as I became very aware you are me, OK maybe not me exactly but in other ways we are the same. I was born a long time ago with normal parents I think and a normal upbringing, well sorta. What I found out about myself I saw in you, yes in you, you see I am an artist who unlike many who are like me and those who wish they were, another words I am an artist that gets paid to be me. So am I me or a product of my environment ? I tend to think of myself as a plant at times and what does a plant need ? Water for one, some light here and there but most importantly I need love. Now at the moment I am not loved save for those who have what I have what I want but it always seems to have a price tag on it. So I do like myself because I am kind and patient, with a lot of emotions to spill here and there, what I am saying is I would like very much to have a friend like you. I am not asking for anything from you but to be a pal and a pair we would make. But who am I your are asking yourself……hm-mm well I am German of Persian decent (Oh I am not really a ******** I changed my name because so many hate Germans however everyone thinks I am Persian anyways) so like you we are Middle Eastern and I of olive complexion. Look Christine I don’t believe in accidents or coincidences as I am a Shia so I believe I needed to write you. Now this is what could happen from here, 1.) You can except my invitation to become friends or acquaintances or 2.) You can spam my email and wonder as you will was that guy a man I should have known, yet you’ll only know if you write me back and see where this going. Remember I ask of you for nothing that is unless you want to give me some light. Well anywho I bet your busy so I’ll say I have to go to save you the trouble of saying goodbye for now. Peace & Hugs – ******

PS: I found your blog when I was looking for images of Polynesian flowers for a client and there you were, I also want to add that your the prettiest Polynesian flower I found.”

————

Does anyone else smell Velveeta Barfaroni?

This is embarrassing for us both …. mostly him.

(PS since when did “no worries” become an accepted greeting? Did i miss an internet meme?)


it’s not my job to raise your kids

corner of mentana and mont royal, montreal.

i need to rant about something so please indulge me.

yesterday i’m having a long-overdue catch-up and cuppa with a girlfriend of mine that i haven’t seen since before new years, and i’m describing to her in the most animated language (because, of course, i’m naturally animated. ya’ll know me) about a recent clusterfuck that i endured with some losers. we were  in a crowded coffee shop with a screaming espresso machine (or is that the cappuccino maker? i have no clue what it is in the cafes that makes that squelching noise) that was drowned out only by the blaring music pumping over the speakers and the noise of other patrons. so i didn’t think anyone was actually listening to me.

truth be told, i wasn’t even aware of other people around me, because i was invested in  talking to a friend.

suddenly this hag who looked like she was way past her expiry date turns around and sneers, “can you watch your language, there are children here!”

shocked, i looked at my friend, and we exchanged a nervous giggle because we didn’t expect that.

suddenly the mother with 3 screaming children sitting behind me starts to grunt and roar like a sea monster, “it’s actually not funny….”

i didn’t hear the rest because i continued to talk to my friend, ignoring the unnecessary scene that they were trying to cause in the cafe. i don’t have time to indulge in other peoples leotarded crusades. but through my conversation, i can hear the ornery old battleaxe behind me grabbing her kids and saying something like “let’s switch seats so they can’t hear her” or something like that. i dunno, i really didn’t pay attention.

i always find it FUCKING HILARIOUS when people get offended by things that happen in public places.

first of all, you tired goat, if you don’t want your kids to hear profanity, then next time either reserve the whole cafe for yourself, or DON’T BRING THEM TO PLACES WHERE ADULTS CONGLOMERATE. you’re in a public place, fuckface (hey, that rhymes!).

secondly, all you had to do was politely come up to me and ask me courteously to keep it to a minimum. snapping at people while sporting a face that looks like a collapsed scrotum isn’t constructive and will get you no where. clearly, you don’t give a shit if you’re kids learn manners. i actually didn’t realize other people could hear me above the noise! i was honestly oblivious! and i wasn’t swearing directly at anybody or trying to be malicious. instead of addressing me like i’m a fucking convict, maybe try to treat other people the way you want your kids to be treated, hmm?

furthermore, it is not my responsibility to raise your kids! i’m in a public place, i’m talking to my friend, i’ll swear all i damn well please. when i was a little girl, you know where i learned swear words? not from adults. ON THE FUCKING PLAYGROUND AT SCHOOL. your kids probably already know all the profanities in the world, don’t take your disdain for that fact o’life out on me.

if you don’t want your kids to hear swear words, i would suggest pulling them from school, banishing the internet, television, radio, movies, all books, the street, the playground, buses, subways, all stores and shops, magazines, libraries, public pools, beaches, parks, theatres, rec centres, and of course, cafes and restos.

i swear (pun intended), parents can be the most obnoxious members of society. puritanical, elitist, and hyped up on some kind of moral authority. just because you have a stroller doesn’t mean you can monopolize the sidewalk or the elevator or the bus! keep to the side, and fold that shit up! don’t bring your kids to public places where adults hang! tell them to shut the fuck up in cinemas and to put their goddamn feet down.

and for the love of all things sacred, DON’T BRING THEM ON AIRPLANES AND SEAT THEM RIGHT BEHIND ME.

next time i see a child, i’m going to punch them right in the schnozz to save time.

ha! kidding!

(not kidding)

as you can tell, i may be 30 years old, but i’m not jonesing for motherhood or rugrats any time soon. i’m pretty sure my biological clock is being drowned out by the sound of YOUR SCREAMING KIDS.

last year, my friend casie stewart blogged about a similar disdain she had for other people’s kids, and the internet (and some former muchmusic VJs, of all people) gave her shit for it. i, on the other hand, applauded her for saying something us childless members of society have been feeling for a long time but feel pressured to keep to ourselves because *gasp* how could we?!

omg there’s a woman who has an opinion on children? and it’s NOT “they are the future?

EVERYBODY SHIT THEMSELVES.

this may anger a few of my readers, but quite frankly, my dear….


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.


Him: “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Me: “Trust me, we’re not meeting now.”

What the fuck is wrong with some guys? Seriously, all I did was say hello and happy new years and suddenly I have to fend off some stalkerazzi asshole’s inappropriate advances? Do I have a sign on my back that says “harrass me!”

At the New Years Eve party I attended (which was otherwise lovely, fanks to Guy Gal and Adil Dhalla for throwing a monster righteous evening!), I was introduced to a random fellow (his name and personal details have been redacted in order to protect his privacy) who is the roommate of a buddy of mine. I said hello and happy new years, as you do, and he said that we had met before.

I have never met this guy before in my life, of that I’m sure, but for the sake of being polite, I apologized for not remembering. He said that he is a fan of mine and follows me on Twitter.

Again, for the sake of being polite, I said that I would follow him back on Twitter, so I whip out my Blackberry and search for his profile. When it comes up, lo and behold, it turns out he, in fact, does NOT follow me on Twitter.

Oh yeah, I unfollowed you because you tweet a lot,” he slurs.

Wow. Class-act, buddy. First lie about following me, and then insult me in the process.

So whatever, I barely blinked. This conversation was four minutes out of my night, and I didn’t even recall this conversation as an important one mere moments after it ended.

In fact, this guy in question had met MY DATE, saw us exercising our legs on the dancefloor, and relieving our basorexia at midnight. Ipso facto, he KNEW I was with someone, so why he thought sending me this DM on Twitter the following morning would IN ANY WAY peak my interest is beyond me.

It took me a few minutes to realize who this was, I barely even remembered this guy. Where am I? Come by for some champagne? Oh yes, please, allow me to drop everything and ditch my date WHOM I WAS STILL WITH and seek you out, oh high and mighty lord of the charming princes.

Before I could even respond, he sends:

LET’S PLAY????? Ewwwwwwwwwwww.

First of all, who the fuck do you think you are talking to a woman you just met like that?

Second of all, never did I, at any point, give you the impression that I was remotely interested in you, so you are suffering from some serious delusion to believe I’d be up for that.

Again, before I can even respond, he sends another:

Oh yay! Now that I have your address, I can roll over, thank my lucky stars, and run to you with my arms outstretched!!!

I don’t know what “I habe cava” means (it’s clearly not English), nor do I know what ” pros, and champs”  is , so I’m not sure I can share in his excitement for that fact. But I assure you it’s probably not something I would have enjoyed anyway.

By this point, I was disgusted (and showing my date all of these messages, which garnered a few chuckles), so I politely but firmly wrote back:

There. Brutally honest but polite. Nipped it in the bud. I didn’t go out of my way to insult him, but neither did I girlishly laugh off his fuckery. Let him know in less than 140 characters that I wasn’t interested.

For any normal person, they would have gotten the hint and left well enough alone.

Unfortunately, this fucktard ain’t normal.

First he replies:

OH OF COURSE! Naturally, “let’s play” means “a drink and a chat!” OBVIOUSLY! I don’t know HOW I could have read into that and gotten it all wrong! MY BAD.

Seriously, how stupid do you think I am?

I was satisfied, however, that he said “its understood” so I was hoping that would be the end of it.

Nope.

Without me replying to his message, he sends again:

First of all, don’t call me “love.” I am not your “love.” I am no man’s “love.” MY NAME IS CHRISTINE.

Secondly, it’s not that we “didn’t have enough time to chat,” it’s that I had absolutely no inclination whatsoever to speak to you beyond our initial introduction. You make it sound like the cosmos were conspiring against us, preventing us from being together. Fuck off with that ludicrous delusion that’s not based in any kind of reality.

Furthermore, “another life, we’ll be cool?” OH YES, YOU AND I WILL MEET UP AGAIN IN ANOTHER LIFE because we are ill-fated lovers in this world and destiny has played a card against us.

WHAT PLANET ARE YOU ON?

Finally, “i’m not religious. swear.” Maybe not, but you’re definitely a coked-out whackjob. I don’t know what your religious affiliations has to do with anything, I’m assuming that’s in reference to your ‘another life” crap, but now your messages sound like the ramblings of an insane hobo.

Again, I didn’t respond, so he harasses me with ANOTHER STUPID DM:

At this point, buddy, that is neither here nor there.

Enough is enough. I told him no, and he keeps bothering me, so I unfollowed him from Twitter so he couldn’t DM me any further.

Did that stop him?

You already know the answer to that question. He then decides to publicly tweet me:

OH YES, THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO DO. I’m going to put myself in a situation where you can “make it up to me.”  In your brain, that probably involves snorting lines of coke off my toenails or watching pitbulls rape each other, or some other fucked up shit. Yes, please, I want to be in your presence again! WHAT PART OF I’M NOT INTERESTED DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND??????

I’d rather jump off the CN Tower and catch my eyelid on a nail than let you make anything up to me. In fact, we are nothing to each other, so you have nothing to make up to me. You made a pass at me, I rejected you, end of story. Take it like a man, have some self-respect, and move on.

Stop bothering me!

You make my skin crawl.

This isn’t the first time I’ve blogged about men using DM to send me inappropriate messages (read here and here for previous examples). $20 says this won’t be the last.

Some of you may think I’m over-reacting and being a bitch. It’s true, I do get called a Bitch quite often. What I do NOT get called is pushover, stupid, sweetheart, dear or doormat.

Works for me.

(next posts will go back to our regularly-scheduled NYC graffiti & street art finds, swearsies!)


oh, you like it fast, do you?

 

Since when has being cheap counted as “empowerment?”

Hey, I’m all for getting in touch with your “inner goddess” by pole dancing your way to the “new you,” but you can’t get lobster thermidor out of a can of tuna.

I’d rather be despised for my character, than liked for my lack of it.

You really need to learn how to open your mouth for more than just giving head.


you shouldn’t have tried to kill me

hahahhaha, i can’t believe you actually ran to your DADDIES and told on me. don’t worry, i won’t show up to the party and hurt your witty bitty feewings, but thanks for the laugh, cupcake.

you spineless, hypocritical, sanctimonious, fraction of a man. i hope you enjoy the smell of your own neurotic bullshit, because the number of people who do is dwindling fast.

my first impressions of you last year were right: you are one giant tit. grow the fuck up and act like an adult.

PS the next time you befriend a woman, don’t treat every encounter with her at a coffee shop like some form of speed-dating, and then get annoyed when you realize that she was, in fact, only there for the coffee and not cruisin’ for an emotionally co-dependent shitstorm.

kfanksbai!


touché

fuck you, nate.

(ps love you, call me.)


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.”


beating of a million drums, the fire of a million guns, mother of a million sons: civilization

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.

***

my friend zach has posted the top 150 twitter influencers in toronto (according to Klout), and guess which lil lass made the top 150!

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!

aw. bless.

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.”

YAWN.

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…
Warm regards,
deadboy

www.wix.com/torontostreetart/deadboy
(still working on this site…)”

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.


take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time

check out my live concert review of Biffy Clyros sold out show here in toronto last week. they were nominated for several Brit awards recently, and i think they were much deserved. great concert by a band relatively unknown here in north america but are MASSIVE back home in the UK. yeah, i said ‘back home.”

also check out my film review of Biutiful which i wrote last year when the film was screened at TIFF but was just released commercially last week. javier bardem has a best actor oscar nod for his performance and this film is up for best foreign language film (against canada’s Incendies...tough race)

photo courtesy of Sheldon Levine

i was contacted recently by this dude whom i blogged about last fall. the dude from my childhood growing up in the suburbs of montreal. he’s gonna be in toronto next week for a short few days and wants to catch up.

i haven’t seen the man since 1993 when i was a gawky pre-pubescent growing up on the wrong side of fortune. everything that happened back then, i put that to bed a long time ago and have dealt with it, but that was only made possible by him being so far out of my life without chance of re-entering. i’m kind of petrified of coming face to face with the catalyst for so much pain. he’s a different person now, and has been very supportive as of late. but saying hello to old ghosts wasn’t really on the agenda…

it’s not gonna stop me from seeing him, for nothing more than sheer curiosity. and maybe for a little closure, 18 years later.

i made this video compilation from the Biffy Clyro show as well featuring their two songs “Bubbles,” and most recent single “Many of Horror” (fuck you X factor). the venue was so small, and i was right up against the stage next to frontman Simon Neil….if this had been london, i never would have been able to get this close to them. they can sell out the Brixton Academy…possibly the O2 in London…

it’s fellow UK music fan and tweeting-fox Catherine!
i’m planning a trip to new york city to work on some edits on my novel, but mostly to do research, as some sections are set there. i’m thinking end of march/beginning of april. i love new york city, as the entire world does, there’s just a vibe there that is hard to find elsewhere (although in all fairness, toronto does come close). i’ve been there three times now and always enjoy myself, especially the last two times mostly because i visited a certain friend there who always provides the shits n giggles (wink wink)
so i thought i’d contact him to let him know, and i remembered he’s on twitter, but of course he hasn’t tweeted since christ was a cowboy. but he does follow a shitload of people which suggested to me that he goes online often.

so i start checking out some of the people he follows, which leads me to the twitter account of some kid photographer who went to egypt as a freelancer

and that kid photographer tweets that he has a sister who does something in fashion, so i’m checking out her fashion tweets.
and there are all these tweets on her twitter account which leave little doubt that she’s the GF of my new-york-shits-n-giggles boy. 
luckily, i’m not really bothered (there’s no way to blog that and not make it sound doth-protest-too-much-y, but honestly, it doesn’t bother me). him and i were only ever one thing. he’s smokin’ hot as brimstone, and a dynamo you-know-where but we have absolutely nothing in common (except for one thing) and have never really had a proper conversation. so if he’s found someone that makes him happy, more power to him… to them both.
BUT.
going through the GF’s tweets led to some unfortunate revelations. without going into too much detail, there’s little doubt in my mind now that when i saw him last year, they were actually officially a couple. which means he made me “the other woman” without my consent. which is fucking bollocks.
i mean, c’mon dude, just TELL me you’re with someone! who cares! don’t make “the other woman” for fucks sake. i feel like i’ve been punk’d or something.

i mean, what’s wrong with being a stand-up bloke? just say “sorry chris, i’d love to hang, but i’m with someone, so it’s not kosher this time around.” that’s all he had to say, and i’d be like, “bummer. i understand. fanks for keeping me in the loop. some other time hombre!” but no, instead i find out on twitter he’s been all up in my grill while simultaneously all up in her grill which, by the steadfast laws of 6-degrees-of-kevin-bacon, means i’ve been indirectly girl-grillin’ without my knowledge. 
mind fuck!
so i’m not gonna tell him that i’m going down to NYC this time around, i’ll really rather not see him anyway. this sucks because, even though we were awkward-city-population-2, i still thought of him fondly as a cool guy.
maybe i’m framing him in a poor light right now because i’m angry, so let’s try to remember all the things i liked about him (other than the obvious)….. he had this very quiet quality about him that, i guess in contrast to my mouthy-ness, was very appealing. still waters run deep syndrome or something. 
but considering that him and i never really opened up to each other, i was never able to understand the core of his quietness or the nature of it. so really, being hurt by this revelation now, is neither here nor there.
whatever. i’m done with him. 
NEXT!
i went to the public butter to see if i could find pair a decent pair of 2nd hand Chucks (which i’ve been jonesing for as of late). found a pair, tried them on, liked them. but they had paint stains all over them and the laces were ripped apart. $20? fuck that bro. so i go to the guy behind the cash.
“i have a question.”
hipster snob with a man-shionista attitude cashier-job says “yah?”
insert section where i describe problems with shoes
“well the shoes are fine,” he snaps
“they’re the only ones you have, and they’re kinda falling apart.”
“what do you want me to do?” snorty scoff
my thoughts, “your fucking job, dumb ass.”
my voice, “i don’t think they’re worth $20.”
“well i can’t negotiate prices with you, the shoes are fine.” rolls his eyes and says everything in a holier-than-thou tone
so i say “absolutely, but perhaps you can ask someone who can.”
“no they’re not here. so there’s nothing i can do for you,” said in a tone to try and make me feel cheap for asking.
“this is a second hand shop, is it not?”
his voice: “yes, but that doesn’t mean we can change prices.”
what i heard: “I am a huge douche with a small brain who works this shit job that i hate and i’m gonna take it out on you because i can and no one’s watching.”
so i just look at him. pause. then say
“WOW.”
then walked out, dumping the shoes behind me.

i mean seriously, dudes. don’t try and pull the “we’re not second hand we’re upmarket vintage we’re gonna charge you whatever we want for beat up shit” act and think no one’s gonna call you on it.
furthermore, if you guys talk to everyone who walks in there and asks a simple question like i did, then you’ve got fucking problems.
my recommendation: don’t shop at The Public Butter. store is staffed by dishonourable cunts whose customer service is a civilization in decline. i mean, fuck man, i’m a hipster (and yes, i know by saying that, it totally negates my hipsterdom) but you don’t see me pulling the snob-holier-than-thou-manshionista bullshit. 
the place is a poison pickle. i’m over it.
NEXT!

 i went to the opening night of The Middle Place (fanks for the comps Joanne!) at CanStage Berkeley. i already saw this play last fall when it was at Passe Muraille, but i really wanted to see it again because it was soooooooo gooooooooooooood. this is what great theatre is all about – dynamic, reflexive, commenting on issues that are immediately affecting the neighbourhood in which the play is staged, and gives voice to a marginalized community without being didactic or telling the audience how they should feel. and i love how the playwright andrew kushnir plays himself in the play! CLEVER-CLEVER LAND! also, the best actress i’ve seen on the toronto stage yet (and i see a lot of theatre) is akosua amo adem, who is probably the main reason i came back a second time anyway. she’s made of amazesauce. i watch her performance and i’m like “this is why i’m not an actress, cuz i sure as shit can’t do that!” anyway, the stage design is sparse, but it’s the use of space and lighting which really adds a neato layer to the drama and conflict. i love how the actors can just seamlessly switch between characters like MPD.
go see this play! all the theatre-fags in da hizzouse, put ya hands up!

i want you to know your quarry
i went to the press screening of Beastly last week, a new movie opening next month which is a modern take on the Beauty & The Beast tale. it was filmed in montreal, but it sucks. it has Neil Patrick Harris. but it still sucks. it has some cool make-up techniques and effects. but it still suuuuuuuucks.
you wanna know what’s even more fucked up? Mary Kate Olsen was actually the best thing about this flick. 
is that weird? that’s weird, isn’t it. 
i guess in comparison to vanessa hudgens and new hot-shot alex pettyfer, anyone will look swell.
alex pettyfer wasn’t bad per se, i just wasn’t paying attention to a single thing he said. he was on mute in my head for the entire running time. this is a guy that you will love to look at, but would probably want to duct- shut his mouth when you’re banging him……urgh, i just took a look at his age. so my “banging him” comment now comes across as sex-offender-awful.
meh.
watch the trailer here:

damn, women in the 40s knew their shizzle. why couldn’t they have passed this knowledge down to us, instead of making us learn about it from sex and the city?

my birthday is next week.

i accept all forms of gifts, regifts, degifts, monetary compensation, flowers, and sexual favours.

i’m now at an age where i can no longer admit to my age. when i met up with Garin, i joked that i was turning 20, and he believed me until i corrected him! so when i lie about my age from now on, everyone is sure to believe me.

unless they read this blog.

KFANKSBAI


>take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time

>

check out my live concert review of Biffy Clyros sold out show here in toronto last week. they were nominated for several Brit awards recently, and i think they were much deserved. great concert by a band relatively unknown here in north america but are MASSIVE back home in the UK. yeah, i said ‘back home.”

also check out my film review of Biutiful which i wrote last year when the film was screened at TIFF but was just released commercially last week. javier bardem has a best actor oscar nod for his performance and this film is up for best foreign language film (against canada’s Incendies...tough race)

photo courtesy of Sheldon Levine

i was contacted recently by this dude whom i blogged about last fall. the dude from my childhood growing up in the suburbs of montreal. he’s gonna be in toronto next week for a short few days and wants to catch up.

i haven’t seen the man since 1993 when i was a gawky pre-pubescent growing up on the wrong side of fortune. everything that happened back then, i put that to bed a long time ago and have dealt with it, but that was only made possible by him being so far out of my life without chance of re-entering. i’m kind of petrified of coming face to face with the catalyst for so much pain. he’s a different person now, and has been very supportive as of late. but saying hello to old ghosts wasn’t really on the agenda…

it’s not gonna stop me from seeing him, for nothing more than sheer curiosity. and maybe for a little closure, 18 years later.

i made this video compilation from the Biffy Clyro show as well featuring their two songs “Bubbles,” and most recent single “Many of Horror” (fuck you X factor). the venue was so small, and i was right up against the stage next to frontman Simon Neil….if this had been london, i never would have been able to get this close to them. they can sell out the Brixton Academy…possibly the O2 in London…

it’s fellow UK music fan and tweeting-fox Catherine!
i’m planning a trip to new york city to work on some edits on my novel, but mostly to do research, as some sections are set there. i’m thinking end of march/beginning of april. i love new york city, as the entire world does, there’s just a vibe there that is hard to find elsewhere (although in all fairness, toronto does come close). i’ve been there three times now and always enjoy myself, especially the last two times mostly because i visited a certain friend there who always provides the shits n giggles (wink wink)
so i thought i’d contact him to let him know, and i remembered he’s on twitter, but of course he hasn’t tweeted since christ was a cowboy. but he does follow a shitload of people which suggested to me that he goes online often.

so i start checking out some of the people he follows, which leads me to the twitter account of some kid photographer who went to egypt as a freelancer

and that kid photographer tweets that he has a sister who does something in fashion, so i’m checking out her fashion tweets.
and there are all these tweets on her twitter account which leave little doubt that she’s the GF of my new-york-shits-n-giggles boy. 
luckily, i’m not really bothered (there’s no way to blog that and not make it sound doth-protest-too-much-y, but honestly, it doesn’t bother me). him and i were only ever one thing. he’s smokin’ hot as brimstone, and a dynamo you-know-where but we have absolutely nothing in common (except for one thing) and have never really had a proper conversation. so if he’s found someone that makes him happy, more power to him… to them both.
BUT.
going through the GF’s tweets led to some unfortunate revelations. without going into too much detail, there’s little doubt in my mind now that when i saw him last year, they were actually officially a couple. which means he made me “the other woman” without my consent. which is fucking bollocks.
i mean, c’mon dude, just TELL me you’re with someone! who cares! don’t make “the other woman” for fucks sake. i feel like i’ve been punk’d or something.

i mean, what’s wrong with being a stand-up bloke? just say “sorry chris, i’d love to hang, but i’m with someone, so it’s not kosher this time around.” that’s all he had to say, and i’d be like, “bummer. i understand. fanks for keeping me in the loop. some other time hombre!” but no, instead i find out on twitter he’s been all up in my grill while simultaneously all up in her grill which, by the steadfast laws of 6-degrees-of-kevin-bacon, means i’ve been indirectly girl-grillin’ without my knowledge. 
mind fuck!
so i’m not gonna tell him that i’m going down to NYC this time around, i’ll really rather not see him anyway. this sucks because, even though we were awkward-city-population-2, i still thought of him fondly as a cool guy.
maybe i’m framing him in a poor light right now because i’m angry, so let’s try to remember all the things i liked about him (other than the obvious)….. he had this very quiet quality about him that, i guess in contrast to my mouthy-ness, was very appealing. still waters run deep syndrome or something. 
but considering that him and i never really opened up to each other, i was never able to understand the core of his quietness or the nature of it. so really, being hurt by this revelation now, is neither here nor there.
whatever. i’m done with him. 
NEXT!
i went to the public butter to see if i could find pair a decent pair of 2nd hand Chucks (which i’ve been jonesing for as of late). found a pair, tried them on, liked them. but they had paint stains all over them and the laces were ripped apart. $20? fuck that bro. so i go to the guy behind the cash.
“i have a question.”
hipster snob with a man-shionista attitude cashier-job says “yah?”
insert section where i describe problems with shoes
“well the shoes are fine,” he snaps
“they’re the only ones you have, and they’re kinda falling apart.”
“what do you want me to do?” snorty scoff
my thoughts, “your fucking job, dumb ass.”
my voice, “i don’t think they’re worth $20.”
“well i can’t negotiate prices with you, the shoes are fine.” rolls his eyes and says everything in a holier-than-thou tone
so i say “absolutely, but perhaps you can ask someone who can.”
“no they’re not here. so there’s nothing i can do for you,” said in a tone to try and make me feel cheap for asking.
“this is a second hand shop, is it not?”
his voice: “yes, but that doesn’t mean we can change prices.”
what i heard: “I am a huge douche with a small brain who works this shit job that i hate and i’m gonna take it out on you because i can and no one’s watching.”
so i just look at him. pause. then say
“WOW.”
then walked out, dumping the shoes behind me.

i mean seriously, dudes. don’t try and pull the “we’re not second hand we’re upmarket vintage we’re gonna charge you whatever we want for beat up shit” act and think no one’s gonna call you on it.
furthermore, if you guys talk to everyone who walks in there and asks a simple question like i did, then you’ve got fucking problems.
my recommendation: don’t shop at The Public Butter. store is staffed by dishonourable cunts whose customer service is a civilization in decline. i mean, fuck man, i’m a hipster (and yes, i know by saying that, it totally negates my hipsterdom) but you don’t see me pulling the snob-holier-than-thou-manshionista bullshit. 
the place is a poison pickle. i’m over it.
NEXT!

 i went to the opening night of The Middle Place (fanks for the comps Joanne!) at CanStage Berkeley. i already saw this play last fall when it was at Passe Muraille, but i really wanted to see it again because it was soooooooo gooooooooooooood. this is what great theatre is all about – dynamic, reflexive, commenting on issues that are immediately affecting the neighbourhood in which the play is staged, and gives voice to a marginalized community without being didactic or telling the audience how they should feel. and i love how the playwright andrew kushnir plays himself in the play! CLEVER-CLEVER LAND! also, the best actress i’ve seen on the toronto stage yet (and i see a lot of theatre) is akosua amo adem, who is probably the main reason i came back a second time anyway. she’s made of amazesauce. i watch her performance and i’m like “this is why i’m not an actress, cuz i sure as shit can’t do that!” anyway, the stage design is sparse, but it’s the use of space and lighting which really adds a neato layer to the drama and conflict. i love how the actors can just seamlessly switch between characters like MPD.
go see this play! all the theatre-fags in da hizzouse, put ya hands up!

i want you to know your quarry
i went to the press screening of Beastly last week, a new movie opening next month which is a modern take on the Beauty & The Beast tale. it was filmed in montreal, but it sucks. it has Neil Patrick Harris. but it still sucks. it has some cool make-up techniques and effects. but it still suuuuuuuucks.
you wanna know what’s even more fucked up? Mary Kate Olsen was actually the best thing about this flick. 
is that weird? that’s weird, isn’t it. 
i guess in comparison to vanessa hudgens and new hot-shot alex pettyfer, anyone will look swell.
alex pettyfer wasn’t bad per se, i just wasn’t paying attention to a single thing he said. he was on mute in my head for the entire running time. this is a guy that you will love to look at, but would probably want to duct- shut his mouth when you’re banging him……urgh, i just took a look at his age. so my “banging him” comment now comes across as sex-offender-awful.
meh.
watch the trailer here:

damn, women in the 40s knew their shizzle. why couldn’t they have passed this knowledge down to us, instead of making us learn about it from sex and the city?

my birthday is next week.

i accept all forms of gifts, regifts, degifts, monetary compensation, flowers, and sexual favours.

i’m now at an age where i can no longer admit to my age. when i met up with Garin, i joked that i was turning 20, and he believed me until i corrected him! so when i lie about my age from now on, everyone is sure to believe me.

unless they read this blog.

KFANKSBAI


the morning hunts you down but there’s nothing stranger than to love someone

WASTOIDS! read my dvd review of gaspar noé’s latest feature Enter The Void. it’s not like irreversible, so you can watch it without being traumatized. but don’t watch it if you wake n bake.

*   *   * 
   
if you’ve been reading this blog for as long as i suspect you have (just admit it), you know i’m a huge fan of theatre and try to see as much of it as i can. and you should too. theatre tells stories in ways that film can’t. and theatre in toronto is a special thing – we’re a massive city but somehow, the theatre community has been able to build a sort-of family dynamic where everyone knows everyone and yet it’s very inclusive. new members welcome all the time. i love how when i go see a play, it’s more like i’m rooting for my friends than anything else. so when i was offered some tickets (fanks Erika!) to go see the play Assassins, which is running at the Theatre Centre until the 13th, i was like UM YES PLEASE. half the people in the cast/crew are acquaintances of mine and i love seeing them in action!

this probably one of the most ingenious musicals i have ever seen. presidential assassins throughout history are gathered together where they are trapped within their own realms and stories but interacting and influencing each other to reveal their motives and e-motives. and the world they build for the audience is an expansive one that captivates you from beginning to end. the songs are quirky yet powerful as are the performances, which are brash without being offensive. not a moment of the audience’s time is wasted here. each sequence of this highly-stylized piece reveals something about each assassin, without being didactic. it’s hella-funny and at the same time really creepy. serves as a reminder that assassins have a profound effect on our history, and their infamous names, for some sick reason, will be remembered forever. whereas mere “murderers” will fade away. 
America’s love affair with the gun is explored here as well, which was perversely pleasurable.
i also liked it cuz almost everyone in the cast gave me a hard-on (true story). hotties abound!
my reputation precedes me, muthafuckas.

get your tickets for Assassins here before they sell-out (and they will, the night i went was PAAAACKED). you will LOVE it.
*   *   *  
i was also invited this week to the JUNO’s press conference where the nominations for this year’s awards were announced.
media, industry, press….packed the room
tanya kim was hosting the ceremony
‘sup guy.
yawn.
whatevs
le sigh.
arcade fire FTW!

IT’S THE BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE BOYS!

Crystal castlessssssssssss!
i guess i’ll root for die mannequin here
oh kevin drew you saucey minx
oh who fucking cares anymore…
keisha chanté presenting some noms
yes i still hate this guy, 10 years post-fight.

I AM THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH ARCADE FIRE
So.
Many.
Brown-nosers.
jian and i used to get along quite well, he’d invite me over for his christmas parties and stuff…. and i see him at so many events (in fact, i see him at EVERY event), and he now pretends he doesn’t see me.

i like this photo cuz i’m a rockin’ photog.
broken social scene, keisha chanté, johnny reid, and other presenters take a bow. announcing nom’s is tough work eh.
fastforward to time index 0:46 of this video where joshua jackson explains how shiteous canadian award ceremonies are. it’s actually quite astute.
*   *   *   
this (bike)rack of love is outside of Courage My Love in kensington market. i snapped this photo with my blackberry (not bad).

gregory, my love, you are so right. ya i’ve lost more love than i’ve managed to maintain, but, shit boys, do you think you’re irresistible? you think i’ll never get over you? fuck that, i’m already over you! longtime!

in fact, yesterday, i was walking down the street (i’m house-sitting downtown until the 10th! message me if you wanna hang. for realsies), listening to some rocking tunes, and i had this really empowering thought.

almost all of my girlfriends, myself included, define ourselves by the men in our lives. when we meet for coffee and talk about ‘wassup’ it’s ALWAYS about dates and boys and flirting and breaking up and blah blah fucking blah. i’m so sick of it. we never talk about our thoughts on certain issues, about new things we’re trying and working on, about anything at all, other than superficial Cosmo-Teen-Wankfest topics. and i’m guilty of it too.

and it’s fucking sickening.

that’s it. search for love is officially off.

sorry fellas, i’m off the market.

AND BY CHOICE! huzzah!

i don’t want a boyfriend.

i’m not gonna define my life by my interactions with the uglier sex (ya i said it). it’s so boring, so cliché, and i have so many more awesome things going on in my life right now that i know i’ll be awesome with or without someone loving me.

men aren’t essential to women anymore. they used to be when women weren’t allowed to vote, own property, or work. we needed men and marriage then to live a life beyond poverty. but now we don’t need men to take care of us. and men deeply crave that on a baser level. they want to feel essential to women and they know they’re not. it’s emasculating, but what can they do about it now?

i don’t need a man to look after me, but i probably do need one to love me and that i can love back.

but i’m not really all that bothered.

unlike jerry maguire, no one else is needed to “complete” me. i complete me.

I FEEL SO LIBERATED!

i’m gonna wear my boots-made-for-walking and not give a shit if someone finds me attractive physically or not. you don’t wanna date me? no love loss, because i’m a super person. i’m nice and sweet and cute and caring and talented and intelligent, and not having a boyfriend doesn’t change ANY of that!

OH MY GOD SO HAPPY GONNA GO FOR ANOTHER WALK

K FANKS BYE


>the morning hunts you down but there’s nothing stranger than to love someone

>

WASTOIDS! read my dvd review of gaspar noé’s latest feature Enter The Void. it’s not like irreversible, so you can watch it without being traumatized. but don’t watch it if you wake n bake.

*   *   * 
   
if you’ve been reading this blog for as long as i suspect you have (just admit it), you know i’m a huge fan of theatre and try to see as much of it as i can. and you should too. theatre tells stories in ways that film can’t. and theatre in toronto is a special thing – we’re a massive city but somehow, the theatre community has been able to build a sort-of family dynamic where everyone knows everyone and yet it’s very inclusive. new members welcome all the time. i love how when i go see a play, it’s more like i’m rooting for my friends than anything else. so when i was offered some tickets (fanks Erika!) to go see the play Assassins, which is running at the Theatre Centre until the 13th, i was like UM YES PLEASE. half the people in the cast/crew are acquaintances of mine and i love seeing them in action!

this probably one of the most ingenious musicals i have ever seen. presidential assassins throughout history are gathered together where they are trapped within their own realms and stories but interacting and influencing each other to reveal their motives and e-motives. and the world they build for the audience is an expansive one that captivates you from beginning to end. the songs are quirky yet powerful as are the performances, which are brash without being offensive. not a moment of the audience’s time is wasted here. each sequence of this highly-stylized piece reveals something about each assassin, without being didactic. it’s hella-funny and at the same time really creepy. serves as a reminder that assassins have a profound effect on our history, and their infamous names, for some sick reason, will be remembered forever. whereas mere “murderers” will fade away. 
America’s love affair with the gun is explored here as well, which was perversely pleasurable.
i also liked it cuz almost everyone in the cast gave me a hard-on (true story). hotties abound!
my reputation precedes me, muthafuckas.

get your tickets for Assassins here before they sell-out (and they will, the night i went was PAAAACKED). you will LOVE it.
*   *   *  
i was also invited this week to the JUNO’s press conference where the nominations for this year’s awards were announced.
media, industry, press….packed the room
tanya kim was hosting the ceremony
‘sup guy.
yawn.
whatevs
le sigh.
arcade fire FTW!

IT’S THE BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE BOYS!

Crystal castlessssssssssss!
i guess i’ll root for die mannequin here
oh kevin drew you saucey minx
oh who fucking cares anymore…
keisha chanté presenting some noms
yes i still hate this guy, 10 years post-fight.

I AM THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH ARCADE FIRE
So.
Many.
Brown-nosers.
jian and i used to get along quite well, he’d invite me over for his christmas parties and stuff…. and i see him at so many events (in fact, i see him at EVERY event), and he now pretends he doesn’t see me.

i like this photo cuz i’m a rockin’ photog.
broken social scene, keisha chanté, johnny reid, and other presenters take a bow. announcing nom’s is tough work eh.
fastforward to time index 0:46 of this video where joshua jackson explains how shiteous canadian award ceremonies are. it’s actually quite astute.
*   *   *   
this (bike)rack of love is outside of Courage My Love in kensington market. i snapped this photo with my blackberry (not bad).

gregory, my love, you are so right. ya i’ve lost more love than i’ve managed to maintain, but, shit boys, do you think you’re irresistible? you think i’ll never get over you? fuck that, i’m already over you! longtime!

in fact, yesterday, i was walking down the street (i’m house-sitting downtown until the 10th! message me if you wanna hang. for realsies), listening to some rocking tunes, and i had this really empowering thought.

almost all of my girlfriends, myself included, define ourselves by the men in our lives. when we meet for coffee and talk about ‘wassup’ it’s ALWAYS about dates and boys and flirting and breaking up and blah blah fucking blah. i’m so sick of it. we never talk about our thoughts on certain issues, about new things we’re trying and working on, about anything at all, other than superficial Cosmo-Teen-Wankfest topics. and i’m guilty of it too.

and it’s fucking sickening.

that’s it. search for love is officially off.

sorry fellas, i’m off the market.

AND BY CHOICE! huzzah!

i don’t want a boyfriend.

i’m not gonna define my life by my interactions with the uglier sex (ya i said it). it’s so boring, so cliché, and i have so many more awesome things going on in my life right now that i know i’ll be awesome with or without someone loving me.

men aren’t essential to women anymore. they used to be when women weren’t allowed to vote, own property, or work. we needed men and marriage then to live a life beyond poverty. but now we don’t need men to take care of us. and men deeply crave that on a baser level. they want to feel essential to women and they know they’re not. it’s emasculating, but what can they do about it now?

i don’t need a man to look after me, but i probably do need one to love me and that i can love back.

but i’m not really all that bothered.

unlike jerry maguire, no one else is needed to “complete” me. i complete me.

I FEEL SO LIBERATED!

i’m gonna wear my boots-made-for-walking and not give a shit if someone finds me attractive physically or not. you don’t wanna date me? no love loss, because i’m a super person. i’m nice and sweet and cute and caring and talented and intelligent, and not having a boyfriend doesn’t change ANY of that!

OH MY GOD SO HAPPY GONNA GO FOR ANOTHER WALK

K FANKS BYE