walk invisible

dear owner of one ninja hauler

2008-11-26T14:52:00.001-08:00

it's been a damn long time since i've written on this, my eponymous blog, for it's been some time since i've been inspired to blog about anything other than hockey (for which i have my alternate flames-based forum). today, however, i woke up and discovered that one of my pals had linked to a craigslist ad selling a 2005 exterra:

NINJA HAULER: 2005 Nissan Xterra - $12900 (Ronan / Lake County)

Reply to: sale-926508578@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-11-19, 10:04PM MST

OK, let me start off by saying this Xterra is only available for purchase by the manliest of men (or women). My friend, if it was possible for a vehicle to sprout chest hair and a five o'clock shadow, this Nissan would look like Tom Selleck. It is just that manly.

It was never intended to drive to the mall so you can pick up that adorable shirt at Abercrombie & Fitch that you had your eye on. It wasn't meant to transport you to yoga class or Linens & Things. No, that's what your Prius is for. If that's the kind of car you're looking for, then just do us all a favor and stop reading right now. I mean it. Just stop.

This car was engineered by 3rd degree ninja super-warriors in the highest mountains of Japan to serve the needs of the man that cheats death on a daily basis. They didn't even consider superfluous nancy boy amenities like navigation systems (real men don't get lost), heated leather seats (a real man doesn't let anything warm his butt), or On Star (real men don't even know what the hell On Star is).

No, this brute comes with the things us testosterone-fueled super action junkies need. It has a 265 HP engine to outrun the cops. It's got special blood/gore resistant upholstery. It even has a first-aid kit in the back. You know what the first aid kit has in it? A pint of whiskey, a stitch-your-own-wound kit and a hunk of leather to bite down on when you're operating on yourself. The Xterra also has an automatic transmission so if you're being chased by Libyan terrorists, you'll still be able to shoot your machine gun out the window and drive at the same time. It's saved my bacon more than once.

It has room for you and the four hotties you picked up on the way to the gym to blast your pecs and hammer your glutes. There's a tow hitch to pull your 50 caliber anti-Taliban, self cooling machine gun. I also just put in a new windshield to replace the one that got shot out by The Man.

My price on this bad boy is an incredibly low $12,900, but I'll entertain reasonable offers. And by reasonable, I mean don't walk up and tell me you'll give me $5,000 for it. That's liable to earn you a Burmese-roundhouse-sphincter-kick with a follow up three fingered eye-jab. Would it hurt? Hell yeah. Let's just say you won't be the prettiest guy at the Coldplay concert anymore.

There's only 69,000 miles on this four-wheeled hellcat from Planet Kickass. Trust me, it will outlive you and the offspring that will carry your name. It will live on as a monument to your machismo.

Now, go look in the mirror and tell me what you see. If it's a rugged, no holds barred, super brute he-man macho Chuck Norris stunt double, then contact me. I might be out hang-gliding or BASE jumping or just chilling with my ladies, but I'll get back to you. And when I do, we'll talk about a price over a nice glass of Schmidt while we listen to Johnny Cash.

To sweeten the deal a little, I'm throwing in this pair of MC Hammer pants for the man with rippling quads that can't fit into regular pants. Yeah, you heard me. FREE MC Hammer pants.

Rock on.

all i can say is WOW. i don't have 13K to throw around but if i did, i would have gotten my ass down to lake county, montana, this american thanksgiving weekend and picked myself up one sweet ride.

so thank you, ninja hauler salesman. i appreciate your absurdly creative writing of this this gem of an advertisement so that i could comment on it, thereby vaulting me over the year-long bout of writer's block. i intend to write more often over here....

if you happen to be googling your work and land over here, well thank you ever so much.

:)

hunter street

2007-12-26T20:07:00.000-08:00

perhaps it's because i never spent much time in the city's downtown, or maybe my years of absence had let the change slip by unnoticed, but hunter street in newcastle now appeared to be a veritable ghost town. in the eight blocks to my destination, the broken glass of empty shops led past boarded up pubs, to endless graffitied storefronts. the sidewalks were populated only with the occasional tattoo shop employee (this, clearly, still a thriving industry); markedly absent were panhandlers and undesireables, street kids and the crazy folk... even they had better places to be....

i arrived at the cambridge with time to spare, to find the boys in the midst of soundcheck. before long, lindsay and i set off to explore the surroundings, returning with a round of coffees and a pocketful of age-old hair beads from "the rock shop" that would be attached to the braids in lindsay's rat-tail extensions while under-agers scaled the patio fence. a few beers later and my silly-haired guitar-playing friend would encite the hundreds of sweaty, drunk aussie punkers to welcome his mate, "the girl with the funny canadian accent," before the band tore into a crowd favorite:

"never had so much fun."

gettin' in the habit

2007-10-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

i leave for australia in exactly two weeks (holy CRAP) and i'm starting to get back into posting daily. i've been very consistant at writing stuff over on my hockey blog, even in the off-season, but i've definitely been a bit stumped to write much of anything over here. i'm definitely hoping to turn that around a little while i'm gone. we'll see how much time i end up with to be creative, with all the boozing and socializing i've got on the schedule... ;)

today i've been thinking about how i've been a homeowner for nearly SIX years and still don't really own anything.... both the roommies will be moved out by the time i return, so i will walk back in to a messy bedroom and a truly empty house. with very little cash in my pockets, i'll have to spend a few thousand bucks on stuff like a sofa & loveseat, a coffee table, a kitchen table/chairs etc. etc. etc. too bad that january is about as far away from garage sale season as i can possibly get...

but, of course, when i start thinking about acquiring one thing, it starts to snowball. i think maybe i'll put a sectional over in the corner where the TV is, which would require me to either move the telly or... get a really nice big flatscreen and mount it above on the wall.... ? it doesn't help that the layout of my living room is really twisted, though i must take full responsibility for that cause i decided to put in the 'bar.' *sigh*...

and i'm a-gonna need a freakin' toaster....

garden state

2007-10-28T15:01:00.000-07:00

i remember the first time i watched zach braff's 2004 directorial debut "garden state," i thought it was the most incredibly beautiful movie of my generation. upon a second viewing, however, it occurred to me that the film itself was average; a quasi-believeable yet fairly mundane storyline, punctuated with a series of intensely beautiful moments. i realized today that what i'd initially thought to be the movie's downside is actually it's brilliance: the film is a flawless mirror image of 'real life.'

there have been moments, in my past, where i have taken a mental snapshot of the physical beauty around me. other times, i take a deep breath and note how truly, perfectly and utterly happy i feel in my heart, so that i can recollect it in the impending darker times of melancholy and confusion. when i look in the mirror puffy-eyed and tear-streaked, i am able to smile at my misfortune with the memory of golden sunlight, the laughter of friends, soft lips...

i am living my garden state....

we are all made of stars...

2007-10-16T00:58:00.001-07:00

i feel as though i should begin this post with some kindof historical view on the heavens, how innumerable ancient societies must have viewed the shimmering lights in the night skies, or how the stars have become wonderous and magical things to look upon, and to divine the future...

but instead, i'll lead with this: in all the time i've been anticipating my return to australia, it didn't occur to me until tonight that i'm looking forward, with the most excitement, to seeing the southern cross...

i spent half the night tonight trying to figure out if the wisps of clouds barely visible in the darkness were, infact, clouds, or if they might have been the northern lights. i sat on my balcony and acknowledged both the bears (ursa major and minor) and orion, while breathing in the crisp calgary autumn air, thinking about the past two times i saw the aurora borealis from the city, and the one perfect time i saw them in astonishing colour and duration through the window of an airplane. then i spent the rest of the night poring over my old journals, trying to find the entry from margaret river when i mentioned walking home from work at the knights inn, my path across the field led by the southern cross and lit by the moon... it was a beautiful, magical time.

the southern cross holds some mysterious and incredible charm for me, and i think it's because it's so bright and obvious in the southern skies and yet most of the people that surround me day-to-day have never laid eyes on it. it is this twinkling picasso, an absolute heavenly masterpiece, that i guess i can't believe people don't flock to see, the way they do the louvre... or that the people that do get to see it every night don't become enchanted by it at every sundown.

i would walk back to the lodge through gloucester park (which, btw, i only discovered was its name about 30 seconds ago), most days and nights, either from the tavern, the shops, the cafes, the post office or from work on walcliffe road at the margaret river resort: the knights inn. it was a fairly sizeable park and i recall days where i would dress with my bathing suit underneath my work clothes, so as to tear them off as i ran through the park so i could jump straight into the pool. at night i would walk without shifting my gaze from the 'cross, and try to remember every divet in the grass so as to not trip and fall...

i couldn't find the entry, but what i DID find was the entry from exmouth, december 18th 1998, when wade, su and i went to the shore at night to catch sight of the sea turtles laying eggs. well, we didn't see any of them but it was a night full of shooting stars, and wishes were made a-plenty...

i can't help but wonder if any of them came true...

driving home from set on my last job, i missed a turn on the stoney reserve and opted to continue on highway 1A all the way back to calgary. just as i crossed the ghost dam, a shooting star brighter than any i'd ever seen fell to the ground just infront of my car. it was so vividly bright and huge that i actually considered pulling over and looking for the smouldering spacerock. instead i made a wish...

thanksgiving

2007-10-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

it's been an awfully long time since my last post, and it's mostly due to going through a totally uncreative period, yet again. not surprisingly, the bouts of disinterest in writing coincide directly with long stretches of exhausting work that are followed by long stretches of boredom... *sigh*

this past weekend was thanksgiving, here in canada, and on saturday night i was suffering from a minor case of the melancholies; i was cocooning on my couch watching mindless television when my phone rang.

"area code 509 ????" i thought to myself, convinced (as i hit 'answer') that it would be a wrong number.... nope. it was dez calling from winthrop washington, just to say hello. i can't say how much that phonecall meant to me --a guy i adore, but with whom i've never corresponded with any regularity. it was incredible to know that the salt of the earth was on the other end of the line...

of course it's not news that that all a person needs sometimes for a quick pick-me-up are their friends.... and i have been blessed, in my lifetime, to know some pretty fucking amazing souls...

so, after i got off the phone with dez, i jumped onto msn messenger and low and behold, there was lindsay. although i intend to see lindz in a little over a month, down in australia, i hadn't communicated with him much over the past while. we chatted for awhile, about the usual things --music, movies, food. can't wait to see the goof...

hangin' online with lindsay got me all jonesin' for aussie, so i (of course) called ems. she was out at a party so the convo was short, but the "i love yous" are always so heartfelt between us that i couldn't help but hang up the phone with a stupid grin on...

in the past two days i've had some extralong conversations with cooie, who happens to be on a working vaykay in belize. when i need counsel, she is my first call --and i'm glad to say the street goes two ways. she is insightful and strong and wonderful...

but the clincher ?

a text reading "what has 4,000,000 thumbs and sucks without you ? ...... downtown toronto."

a smokejumper i met on the beach in the kingdom of tonga....
a punk rocker, radio show host i met backstage at a porkers show...
two of the best friends a girl could ever ask for...
an award winning drummer from a shithot band...

thanks, guys, for making me smile....

x

44 updated

2007-07-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

i don't even know where to begin... so i'll start from the start...

in september, 2003 i caught a flight to london with a 2 year work visa in my passport and a few thousand dollars in my pocket. hagan had been living there for some time, and a room had recently opened up in her flat (pulbro lodge is probably the coolest house i've ever lived in, it had a backyard AND a conservatory, and was located in the heart of islington). i arrived and paid first and last months rent, which left me with very little dough after the conversion to pound sterling.

i needed a job.

sure, if i'd started out immediately and landed a shitty retail or restaurant gig, i would've had no problems, but i spent a few weeks lollygagging; visiting with friends i'd met along the way, and making half-assed attempts to find a job in my field. it didn't take long to realize the money was gonna run out LONG before xmas (my target date for deciding whether to go home for the holidays and return in the new year, or pull chute on the whole UK idea)... so i hit it hard. i've never, before or since, had so much trouble landing a film gig, but this was an excercise in exhaustion and frustration: running around a huge city, dropping off resumes and getting notsomuch as a single call... and with no income, i wasn't having any fun. i was conserving money like it was going out of style by eating toast and tuna sandwiches and staying in every night listening to kent... it was depressing...

it was about this point when i realized that david blaine was hanging around in a perspex box on the south bank of the thames at tower bridge. i used this as a motivator, allowing myself to go in the afternoon only after spending a solid morning of job hunting and researching. i found an incredible amount of solace in him and his feat: 44 days without food, suspended in what amounted to little more than a human aquarium. i would think "what am i in such a rush to do ? look at this guy, he put himself into this situation, he's GOT to be more bored than me, and all he can do (like me) is wait it out."

the first day i went, i found a nice electrical/telephone pole about 100 feet away to lean against. it was to the side of the box, to the east, and thus a good distance from the crowds which were always directly beneath his glass cage. i would stand and watch for awhile, and my mind would wander. i would formulate plans of attack, think about home and be melancholy and lonely and impatient for the good times. it was his day 31.

the second day, i wore my expos cap. after about a half hour of my silent musings, he turned and looked towards where i stood, motioned a "tipping of his [non-existant] cap" and gave me a thumbs up (as in: "nice hat"). i grinned and nodded thanks. he turned back and continued acknowledging the crowd below him, and i continued daydreaming --all-the-while sending off what positive energy i could muster: "how can I be impatient with MY life ??? i appreciate your zen-ness, sir."

the third day, he turned and looked and made the same hat tipping motion, then shrugged his shoulders, as if to ask "where's the cap ?" i smiled, and shrugged back, thinking "yeah, that's me. the chick with the expos hat. i'm not wearing it today." the fourth day he laid down to look out the side towards me, and just smiled for ages... i stood silently, still, and tried my best to muster pleasant thoughts and positive energy towards a man i'd never met. a magic man who was somehow keeping me mentally strong though he must have been (at that point) incredibly physically weak... i continued going for another 5 or so days, always in the afternoons, always leaning on the pole, always sharing what positive vibes i could muster and daydreaming conversations...

i am an incredibly impatient person by nature, and, in the years since, i have always looked back on these days as the first in my awareness of a life lesson to slow it down. the number 44 turns up out of the blue with absurd frequency, and each time i am reminded of those days, and how i need to relax. chill out. breathe... two months ago, i tattooed 44 (in braille) on my right wrist as a physical reminder of it all, and i look to it often when i start getting all bent out of shape about, well... anything.

last night, in a daze of melancholy "what am i doing with my life" blues, i came across blaine's myspace page, and i wrote a quick thank you, simply noting my appreciation for the inspiration to learn patience at a time when i was certainly anything BUT. i'll be honest, i didn't expect a response. and i definitely didn't expect this:

whoah.
i may have to re-evaluate my beliefs in the power of thought, energy, observation, and higher consciousness... and i am certainly re-examining any doubts i had about blaine vibrating on a higher level than the rest of us....

my response ?
"indeed..."

what i realized this morning while lazing in bed:

2007-06-30T05:07:00.000-07:00

1. top 5 jobs where you'll see people cry:
- psychiatrist/psychologist
- hospital staff
- airport security
- parking cop
- fedex depot door locker

2. what i miss most about calgary RIGHT NOW is being woken up by the "PSHHHHHHHH" of a hot air balloon.

3. i probably should've gone to NYC this weekend.

why so tardy, ryan nichols ?

2007-04-28T01:07:00.000-07:00

it has been a hell of a long time since I wrote much of anything on here, and I blame my hockey blog and the gratification that comes along with regular readers & regular commenters. Infact, over the past few months, the regular readers have become friends, of sorts, as we got to know each other not only through daily posts, but through the handful of game nights that we met up to watch hockey, drink beer, and eat wings (the true trifecta of canadian leisure).

after what I consider to be an incredibly busy spring, rolling job to job for a lot of it, I decided it was fine time to take a break & head back to calgary to chill out. I booked a flight for 840 pm (a nighttime flight is a rarity for me, and thus noteworthy) and wasted away the day cleaning & packing & watching the telly. I got to the airport early, had a coffee, read a bit, used the washroom & finally boarded the aircraft leisurely, well before takeoff. I fly a lot. I know the drill…

i find my allotted seat. the activity of passengers boarding tapers off. the ground crew finish loading the baggage and drive away. the cabin crew explains that we should stow our bags under the seat infront of us, or in the overhead compartment. the captain comes on the PA to inform us of the flying time and temperature at the destination. and then there’s another announcement:

“passenger ryan nichols. passenger ryan nichols. please make yourself known to the cabin crew” (et encore une fois en français).

one of the air hosts visually scans the rear of the plane, sees nothing, and turns to the front shaking his head and motioning with his hand repeatedly ‘slicing’ his neck: ryan nichols ain’t fucking here.

Moments later, the captain comes on again to tell us that, according to international safety regulations, if ryan nichols doesn’t go to calgary with us, we can’t take his bags. he explains that they will be located and removed from the belly of the aircraft, and should take only ten or so “airline minutes.” uh hunh… sweet… I hate ryan nichols.

but low and behold, about 4 minutes later, some guy in a bluejays hat and a beige polar fleece rushes down the aisle, stows his carryon and sits down. he’s three rows behind me and across the aisle, but it’s mighty difficult to suppress the urge to pipe up, “hey…. ryan nichols…. what the hell were you doing, man ???” cause somewhere between baggage dropoff and the plane, the dude went missing...

all I can come up with are the following:
1. he was taking a really necessary and unfortunately timed crap
2. he was watching the raps game and not paying attention to the outside world
3. he was on a really intense phonecall and not paying attention to the outside world
4. he was listening to his mp3 player (or the like) and not paying attention to the outside world
5. he was hitting on a chick and not paying attention to the outside world.
5. he had a medical emergency, of some sort, that would cause him to be unconscious (insulin shock, epileptic seizure, punch in the face etc.)
6. any of the above, coupled with a dead wristwatch battery

i also considered “he has a serious drug habit”, which would require some extensive time in the bathroom (ie: cocaine/heroin) but he’d really have to be a complete idiot to take that through security… but then again, the dude was 10 minutes late for a flight that he checked in for at least 40 minutes prior…

yep.

it is my life's work to find this guy and make him pay.

ipod help

2007-02-25T18:09:00.000-08:00

i have a 40GB iPod photo. which is a 'cool' way to say i have a massive, heavy, prehistoric-style mp3 player that's about 3 years old, and doesn't really like to work all the time. it's been tempermental from the start, but in the last few months it's been downright cranky. sometimes the buttons work, sometimes they don't. sometimes it turns on, sometimes it doesn't. sometimes it will agree to play the song i want, sometimes it will skip ahead to something i keep reminding myself i should delete from my itunes. but, of course, until it decides to kick the bucket altogether, i cannot justify getting a new one...

this morning i thought might be the day. when i picked it up on my way out for a walk, it gave me the dark apple logo screen. i tried the reset (menu/select) for 10 seconds, which has worked in the past, but then it just gave me the sad face screen & the URL for the apple ipod support site. so i went online and the bastards at apple got me to update my version of iTunes in attempt to make everything right (which, of course, didn't work). my computer competely refused to recognize the existence of my monstrous pod.

so i turned back to the intergeek, looking for hope --for answers in the ipod healing process. and what did i find ? alternative medecine for your ipod (and how to do it). money. so i looked into it and found what applied to me: "If your iPod is frozen and nothing else works, will violence help?"... and then... a solution (?): "My iPod is Frozen, should I drop it?"

the testimonials convinced me. the disclaimer ["In no way, whatsoever, do I advocate what I describe below as a legitimate repair method for any iPod or any other electronic device. Doing what I did is probably pretty stupid, and I still can’t believe it, myself, that it actually worked"] didn't dissuade me. and, with a deep breath, i dropped my handheld device from approximately 3 inches.

and now it works.
:)

hit the post

2007-02-07T07:49:00.001-08:00

i did it.
i caved.

i started a proper hockey blog (cause i am that much of a loser). you can find it at:
http://hitthepost.blogspot.com

yep.
:)

tagged

2007-02-01T16:48:00.000-08:00

i generally only post on my blog when i'm inspired to do so. what i do almost daily, however, is read and comment on the pages of others; some of which are friends of mine, but a lot are perfect strangers to me. i read two blogs by jason voulgaris (mentioned in a previous post. and then there's the dozens of fellow hockey fans in the 'battle of alberta' web ring, like kyle, hockeygirl & metrognome. lately on these boards, there’s been this little hockey related questionnaire game of tag going around, and tonight, metrognome posted this:

“Tag--> Matt from Battle of Alberta (if he hasn't been tagged already), Chris! From Covered in Oil (assuming he stumbles upon this blog at some point) Kyle from the Real Deal and, if she feels like it, walkinvisible.”

Awwwww !!! so thanks, MG. I really feel a part of the community, even though my blog generally talks about stupid non-hockey stuff…

If I Were a Hockey Player:

Team: tough call. I love the jerseys of the kokudo bunnies:
but I love to say “HV71” in Swedish.
NHL team: hands down the Calgary Flames.

Uniform #: 12

Position: LW

Nickname: iginloob

Dream Linemates: Håkan Loob (favorite player alltime), Peter forsberg.

PP line: as above, any crafty swede will suffice

Job: distractor

Signature Move: “oooh !!! [pointing] SHINY !!!” (see: Andrew brunette on Wes Walz)

Strengths: i have strengths ?

Weaknesses: uhhh…. am I supposed to be able to skate ?

Injury Problems: well currently I have strep throat but I think I’d be able to play through it…

Equipment: yes, please. Lots of it.

Nemesis: Alfredsson. Because, hey I’m on a swede thing anyways, and he’s easily the player I’d most like to punch in the face.

Scandal Involvement: it probably would involve being a “finesse player” like my boy loob, yet punching my countryman alfredsson in the face.

Who I'd Face in the Cup Finals: NYR: my east coast team. It'd be a good fight.

What I'd do With the Cup After the Victor: [this sentence insinuates that I’d lose and I get the cup after the winner was done... but I thing MG just lost the “y” at the end of “victory”]. I’d get ripped with all the beers I’d drink from that beautiful piece of tin… and I guess I’d have to take it to the ship & anchor… :)

Would the Media Love Me or Hate Me? Hard to say. I’ve got all of regehr’s sarcastic bite (but I’m cuter !)…

I’ll tag Jason D. or Jason V. any jason. since they're probably the only hockey fans that reads this fuckin thing.

:)

cabbie on the street

2007-01-13T13:40:00.000-08:00

I feel like I’ve already written this post but looking over the ol’ blog site, I realize that it’s just a subject that’s been rolling around the grey matter for awhile. since my official readership has gone up from 7 to 8 recently, i thought it was time to write SOMETHING, and this became pertinent again last night...

It’s becoming more and more obvious to me, that the only person in the world I’m capable of lying to is my cab driver, and I am clearly a whiz at it… While attempts at evasion with any other person ends in me blushing, laughing or immediately coming clean, every single time I’m in a cab for more than 5 minutes, all statements I verbalize (save for “my destination, please”) is a blatant lie.

There are really only two questions taxi drivers will ask me, aside from where I’m going [and occasionally, if I wanna go on a date, it seems]. One is my name --I’m sure dudes never get asked this, but apparently cabbies need to address me with familiarity--, and the other is my occupation. I’ve been Tanya, Tara, Maya, and Shay. I’ve been a doctor, a lawyer, a kindergarten teacher and an urban planner. Hey, why not ? It’s kinda fun being someone you’re not for, like, 12 minutes…

About six months ago, I got myself into a bit of a jam; I told my driver I was an optometrist and boy, did he have a lot of questions. I was actually able to answer a lot of them with the knowledge I picked up from UW optometry students (when I went through every eye exam ever invented) during my tenure there. He told me that the glasses he was wearing [y’know… the ones he was using to help him see the road/other vehicles/pedestrians as he drove me home] were purchased at a drug store off the rack, and that he’d never ever had his eyes checked. This shocked me, as his fare, but I tried to react like an actual optometrist, and I urged him to get examined. He, of course, asked me for a business card so he could come to my practice. Uhhhhh…oh…. yeahh.... about that.... But the lies kept rolling and I fudged some excuse about being fresh out, and that he should go to his GP to get a recommend, which he was all gung ho to do. And all of a sudden, lying felt GOOD !! I could better the world with deviousness !!!

Last night I was Kate. A painter. And I’d put back a few pints and was pretty beat, but I’m fairly certain I remember the crazy cabbie saying "you have beautiful eyes, Kate," which was nothing short of amusing to me...

I had him drop me off two blocks from home…

Yep.

couldn't have said it better, myself

2007-01-03T13:12:00.001-08:00

i was gonna wait and post some really good stuff about something totally interesting, like how good 2006 was, and how much better '07 will be... but i just haven't figured out the angle just yet... so, in the meantime, i have amassed a few quotes that have amused me, of late.

(enjoy)

1. jason voulgaris --a young torontonian with a bright future in the writing arts [who found me through the wonder of the "view next blog" button] summed up the leaf's 9-2 pounding of the rangers a few weeks back:
"the Toronto Maple Leafs scored more than a college quarterback in Cancun for spring break, and they didn't even have to get the New York Rangers drunk first."

2. some dude named kyle, who writes a blog called the real deal hockey , wrote the following about the state of the calgary flames' defensive corps:
"I'd rank our defence as Phanuef, [robyn] Regehr, Hamrlik, Ference, Warrener, Giordano, Ritchie [regehr], You, Me, Darryl Sutter, Zyuzin"

3. my pal darren last night, to the flames who were losing 3-2 in the third period:
"more goals !! less NOT goals !!"

4. robin regehr on fighting george parros
"I told him he looked like Yanni and he didn't like that too much."

5. brendan shanahan making fun of the fact that the ottawa senators post-game interviews are always done as the players ride the excercise bikes:

happy new year, yo..x
x

the lemonheads caper

2006-12-06T08:25:00.000-08:00

when i lived in margaret river, australia, in 1999, i worked split shifts at the knights inn --housekeeping in the mornings and reception in the afternoons. i would race into the office at 3pm and change from my grubby cleaning clothes into a respectable skirt and blouse [given to me by my boss --i don't habitually backpack with anything nicer than a clean hoody].

one day (in such a wardrobe changing rush), the receptionist who was finishing her shift took one last call. "...certainly... yes... last name, please ? ... dando ? can you spell that for me ?"

as i slipped on my six-dollar sally-ann 'dress' shoes, i leaned over her shoulder and watched her scrawl "D-A-N-D-O."

"...right. okay... and your first name ?"

i held my breath... could it BE ???

E-V-A-N

when she finished making the reservation & had hung up the phone, i immediately asked, "dude, was that THE evan dando ?? like, the REAL one ???"

"ummm.... not suure.... uh... who's evan dando ?"

*********

word trickled out to the rest of the knights staff that, in a tiny town of surfies and winos, we were going to be graced by rock mediocrity !! everyone was beside themselves with mid-range curiosity and low-level excitement. the only problem was that nobody really knew quite exactly what he looked like... with my vague recollection of a long-haired pretty boy riding a gondola in the "mrs. robinson" video, i was nominated to confirm or deny his identity. except, when he checked in i was cleaning a suite on the other side of the complex !!

with luck on our side, he requested a room change [after using the hot tub and all the clean towels, of course] and i was to meet him at the new room with his new keys. i felt absolutely confident that i would be able to make a positive ID... until... what's this ?? a man with a shaggy beard AND glasses ?? but... but... how can i mentally remove both without STARING ???

the staff was devastated by the inconclusive results, but the kitchen boys still drew a face on a lemon, placed on the tray when he ordered room service, and the chambermaid girls still fought over who got to wash his filthy dishes. by the fourth day when he emerged, clean shaven, to play darts in the pub with his woman, i nodded and grinned to myself --100% certain in the knowledge that earlier that morning, i'd folded THE evan dando's pants whilst making his bed.

yep.

best of series part I

2006-11-18T13:26:00.000-08:00

so, in my infinite boredom at the ol' moonbean café in kensington market this afternoon, i scrawled down some of my "best of" moments in live music. so here's the beginning of a series that i'll find another subject to muse upon, if and when i'm ever inspired to do so.

TOP 5 CONCERTS, EVER (according to me).

5. The Living End @ the Mod Club Theatre, Toronto. Aug 2006.
as outlined in a previous blog, this show blew my mind. on the hottest night of the year these guys put away the blazers and brought out the punk, rocking it harder than any dripping-with-sweat fan could have possibly hoped for. for a video taste, if you're interested, check it out as cheney kills a cover of mr.sandman from this gig.

4. The Beastie Boys with the Avalanches @ the Entertainment Centre, Newcastle Australia. May 1999.
due to a mis-bill or last-minute re-scheduling, i spent the entire night thinking that some band called "bif-tek" were the wildest six-piece ever [i'm sure i'm not wrong, here, either --one member of the avalanches has broken his leg onstage twice !!]. still, even after the support band raised the bar to new heights, the beastie boys came out and topped it. the three MCs are awesome, sure. but the one DJ was fucking outstanding. i've seen the beasties 4 times on 3 continents, but this was definitely the best complete experience by a longshot.

3. The Rheostatics with Bobby Wiseman @ the Vancouver Art Gallery. August 1996.
in the midst of my six-year obsession with the über-canadian band, the rheostatics wrote an album inspired by the paintings of the group of seven. though i'd seen the band live numerous times, i knew when i walked into this show that i was bearing witness to something undenyably special. along with the regular lineup of five players (yes yes, there are only four... but tielli gets double billed for his voice and guitar), bobby wiseman played keys, and there was a percussionist and i think maybe one or two others making noise, the paintings were projected slide-show style in the back and the stage was lit just enough to see the band. the sound was huge and chilling. the sum up: wow.

2. The Tibetan Freedom Concert @ Homebush Bay, Sydney Australia. June 1999.
in addition to supporting adam yauch's milarepa fund, and a hella good cause, the lineup alone for this show places it in my top 5. the living end, jebediah & the avalanches (three of my favorite bands) PLUS neil finn, regurgitator, you am i & eskimo joe, to name but a few. it was also the idea of being a part of something global --in chicago, tokyo & amsterdam, people were sharing love and hope with joe strummer, thom yorke, rage against the machine, blur, garbage, and (of course) the beastie boys.

1. INXS with the Soup Dragons @ the Olympic Saddledome, Calgary. 1990.
k, so, musically this probably wasn't the best live show ever, but i don't think i've ever been as into a band as i was with inxs, and i don't think i've ever been as excited about a show. i was 15 years old and i took the c-train to the 'dome with my friend susan, my brother and his friend hiroshi. our tickets were about 17th row but i ended up front and centre. i touched michael hutchence. i caught a guitar pick. and the "peace" sign fingers i was flashin' were returned to me with a wink by kirk pengilly, midway through a sax solo. i was superstoked. i think i buzzed off of that show for months...

so there you go.
other mentionables:

Most Impressive Opening Band: Franz Ferdinand @ London Astoria, 2003.
with the exception of the avalanches, as mentioned above, hot hot heat's support band broke it big the following year.

Best Cover Song: Jonestown Punch @ MacEwan Hall Ballroom, appx 1989.
this local indie band played a hugely funked-out version of "purple haze" to the delight of the crowd. except for one dude who approached the stage to let them know they played it wrong.

Best Concert Venue: Ancienne Belgique, Brussels
i caught interpol with the secret machines here in 2004 and was blown away by the setup: a perfectly shaped room with a slightly raked floor and theatre-style seating at the back. the only thing that sucked was that you needed to get tickets for drinks. :(

Best Onstage Acrobatics: Jesse Johnson (Motion City Soundtrack) @ London Astoria 2003.
yeah, jesse. you win this one. cause the only reason i wanted to see your band a second time was cause your big-air-off-the-keyboards were so entertaining the first time. kudos, my friend.

Best One-Liner; Between-Song Banter: Chixdiggit @ Bermuda Shorts Day, U of Calgary 2002.
in classic shout-out chixdiggit style, kj calls it like he sees it: "LET'S HEAR IT FOR SNOW !!"

Most People Onstage: BranVan 3000 @ St. Andrews Hall, Detroit. 1998(ish).
dude. it was so packed up there i still can't believe they were able to make any music.

and FINALLY

Biggest Onstage Injury: Jason Whalley (Frenzal Rhomb) @ Night Gallery, Calgary. 1999.
in the middle of my favorite track, the music cuts out. why ? bad finish to a good stagedive: jay had snapped his arm in half at the elbow. tough punk rockers don't go down easy, though, and the singer had the sense to politely ask "can someone call an ambulance as soon as humanely possible ?" before passing out from the shock.

the end.
congrats to the winners.

the walk invisible

2006-11-13T13:03:00.000-08:00

[this post is so far past due, i'll probably get charged for it...]

in january 2001, i found myself daily wandering the streets of sydney, and i can't describe the immense boredom that went along with it. don't get me wrong, the nights were fun --i was stayng with my bestie, em, and her sister & we'd make dinner or have drinks, or i'd kick it in newtown with the doctor or tobe (RIP, bud...miss u). weekends were spent in love on the beach in avalon. but the days ? well, they kinda sucked...

in the first week i'd exhausted my memory lane. i'd found my way to my old job through the back alleys and shortcuts. i'd taken oxford street by storm. i'd sat in a park on glebe point road and reminisced about sharing a pizza, hopes, and dreams. i'd sought and found the relocated post-olympic homeless characters i'd adored the first time around... and damn, did i need a hobby !!

so i started walking, listening to my discman & hitting parts of the city i'd never bothered to hit. the financial district & upper george street to the rocks and circular quay. and what i found was that in my street attire, i could pass unnoticed by thousands of upscale business-folk with nary a sideways glance... and i LOVED it.

one afternoon i walked through the QVB at lunchhour. i'm sure i was surrounded by a dull hum of chattering suits, the click-clack of high heels and the varied ringtones of a few hundred mobiles. i took no notice. my bubble was filled with the tunes that suited my mood; from frantic double kicks to mellow picked acoustic. in a room full of people, i had never felt as alone. i would go without speaking for so long that by the time i opened my mouth, words felt foreign.

there have been days, in the several years since, where the last thing i want to do is be noticed. these introspective days are often spent wandering back streets & alleyways, parks & malls --anywhere i've never been. and i walk and listen and feel and think and laugh and sob and remember... and by feeling removed from the world, somehow i feel closer to myself...

the walk invisible.

the end.

the decoy

2006-11-03T14:52:00.000-08:00

Firstly, unrelated items:

1. My computer just crashed in a way too scary to talk about. I am actually a little surprised it appears to be working just fine now, mere minutes later. seriously. i have never seen anything like that on a mac...
2. I just found this out: when you open MS word and accidentally pick the “new blank notebook” option, it gives you a sheet of paper like highschool looseleaf. Three-hole punched with blue lines, and extra white space at the top for your composition title (and your name). me likey.

What I was yappin’ about, before I was so rudely interrupted by modern technology, was how I went to Ottawa this spring for an extended-family gathering. I think I wrote a bunch of words to elaborate on it but realistically, all you need to know is the following:
Ottawa, Family. Me.
‘Nuff Said.

So I land at the Ottawa International Airport at about, say, 5pm and was actually a little surprised that it felt like a bus station. Like a bus station in Anywheresville, USA [also comparable to the weird little twin-prop airport that you take a bus to from gate 37A at San Francisco International Airport, if you’ve ever had the good fortune to experience THAT]. Über-modern, sure. But small and oh-so quiet. No matter, really. Just settin’ the scene… Let’s move on.

I’m met by my cousin Jeremy, who lives and works in the nation’s capital, and am whisked away to some Korean food joint in the city where a bunch of his diplomat buddies are celebrating someone-or-other's birthday. We stay for a drink and head back to the airport to retrieve Jer’s girlfirend, who’s flying in from NYC. It’s around this time that the airport games begin…

Because it had been some months since I’d last seen Alisha, when a girl fitting her description (caucasian, brunette, cute) came through the doors, I ask my cuz “is that her ?” Jeremy laughs at my ignorance and bluntly retorts “uhhh, no.” Moments later, an elderly woman [in a FANTASTIC purple tracksuit] walks through the doors. “THEERRE she is…” says Jer, laughing.

After retrieving Alisha, we had one more flight to meet –my cousin Ethan’s. This time, as we waited, the game was in full swing. “THEERRE he is” became more and more amusing with the stranger the stranger that emerged into the main concourse. Everyone was fair game; people of different shapes and sizes, colours, ages and (most interestingly) outfits and haircuts. In retrospect, we must have been SO bored for this little episode to be even vaguely amusing, but I remember laughing myself to tears…

So, why write about it today ? Well, twice in the past week i've been waiting for people, and twice found myself smirking as my playful mind took over. Once was waiting for a friend of mine to descend the escalator at the Calgary Airport, and once was waiting for another friend to turn up at a local greasy spoon. Both times, after only about 5 minutes of time-wasting, I found myself thinking “THEEEERE he is.” And I’ll leave to your imagination how dirty/greasy/cheaply-suited/poorly-hairstyled/gold-chain wearing the decoys were…

No point.
Clearly.
:)

pink jerseys part II

2006-10-27T07:15:00.000-07:00

my letter to the editor. published oct 16/06 in the hockey news. i'm so fucking proud.
:)

girlfriends

2006-09-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

a few months ago, cooie asked a few of her closest girlfriends to each write a post for her blog, cause she was so busy writing her book that she didn't have time to update. because i couldn't come up with a single event or moment that represented our unique friendship, i decided to precis it in its entirety. i've posted it here, today, because it has become pertinent again. you figure it out...

***

I don’t remember meeting Carly.

I don’t remember where it was, or when exactly, or how we came to be introduced. All I’ve got in the depths of my memory, are some mutual friends and an approximate era. It’s odd, really. Generally, I have a solid recollection of faces, and am able to pinpoint the moment I first saw someone –even if it’s just some guy on the street I happen to have walked past more than once (ie: my queen street boyfriend). So NOT remembering the first time I met her means I probably already felt like I knew her…

In the Tobes/Carly episodic vernacular, there are a handful of Toronto essentials:
1. A latenight hunt to steal a toilet plunger.
2. The time I almost got in a fight with an 8 year old re: the Spice Girls movie.
3. The Spice Girls movie.
4. An unnameable tweenie-sugar pop band with a seriously cool bass player.
5. When I red-eyed from Calgary and showed up on her doorstep unannounced.

These are all near decades-ago adventures of two girls from Calgary, who met in The Big City. These are the giddy twentysomething lipstick legends that build memories; the foundation bricks for more serious moments.

In the passing years, marked by the changing of residences and boyfriends, there was the occasional email or phonecall. Or, maybe we’d catch up over lunch at some shitty bar back home. Perhaps we’d have a coffee overseas, in a touristy shopping district, if it proved easier. And each reunion brought us closer.

7. The party in dollis green (London) which was so smoky she crashed at my place
8. The time I skipped meeting the Rangers at Bryant Park, due to Carly’s insistance (I’ll never let her live this one down !!!)

Because I’d never had a lot of female sidekicks, this growing bond came as a bit of a surprise to me. Historically, the friendships with my girl-friends had been intensely close for short periods of time, and most of them ended abruptly due to some irreparable conflict (more often than not blown entirely out of proportion by yours truly). I was always left overwhelmed with hurt feelings and lingering angst.

Further time. Further homes. Further crushes/boyfriends/husbands. And then it hits me : why is it that I’m able to maintain and cherish this woman’s friendship, when I’m thoroughly unable to nurture any others ?

9. Dinner at Mel’s diner in LA.

In February, 2005, Carly and I sat down to a greasy meal in Los Angeles and discussed how neither she nor myself had been able, in the past decade, to maintain relationships with many other women. Theories were thrown around but it eventually came down to the fact that with us, the intensity and immediacy of a ‘regular’ friendship was absent. We had never lived in the same city, so the obligation of constant communication (read: gossiping and venting) was missing, and we were able to just enjoy each other every time we managed to get together. We had stripped away the bullshit and developed a truly important, mature & lasting bond.

The bottom line: I don’t remember meeting my best girlfriend on the planet.

The End.
[no pointo]

mo' rookies, mo' rookies, MO' ROOKIES

2006-09-11T20:32:00.000-07:00

After my third day of hangin’ at the Flames rookie camp, I’ve decided it’s time to hand out some awards to the baby flames. Here goes...

1. Fastest skater, most underrated player, hardest hitter, biggest shit-disturber, best grinder (according to me): Tomi Mäki.
'nuff said. i love this guy.

2. Best spin-a-rama leading to a goal: Aki Seitsonen

3. Most impressive shift: John Armstrong
Because with 15 minutes left, he literally TRIPPED over the PUCK, fell hard on his bottom, and then (much to my surprise) got up and scored.

4. The first annual “that guy is EVERYWHERE” award : Brandon Prust.
He never netted one of his own, but he must’ve been on the ice for at least three goals. I like your style, sir. Game on.

5. Most overrated: Kris Chucko.
I was paying attention, HONEST, and I never once noted that #62 did anything worthwhile. but the press keeps telling me he's fuckin' awesome...

6. Coolest younger brother award: Richie Regehr
(but only because Michael Ryder plays for the wrong team, so daniel wins NOTHING).

7. Longest shutout: Leland “napoleon dynamite” Irving.
The youngest netminder on the ice let in zero goals in two days. First runner up for the award goes to Brent Krahn, who also shut out today, but since he didn’t play yesterday : sorry, loser.

8. The “dream-crusher” award: David Moss.
He's the oldest guy on the ice at 24, and no shot whatsoever to crack the big team. Apologies, my friend.

9. Best Russian (also called “best hockey sense”): Andrei Taratukhin
I’m not 100% convinced on this guy. But if Sutter likes’im, I like’im. End of story.

10. Best team : Red.
I'm not surprised, but hey --the black team lost twice. This outcome, of course, seems scripted cause the flames rule the sea of red AND the red mile. How could the red team LOSE ???

yes, i used caps. sue me.
:)

go BABY FLAMES go !

2006-09-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

i took my mum out on a field trip this afternoon to the saddledome to watch the flames rookie camp. i thought check out what all the hullabaloo was about re: andrei taratukhin. looks like he could be good. soft hands. but can he skate ?? tomi mäki's lookin' solid. and brandon prust's lookin pretty ready too. too bad the flames are so stacked that any of this trio making the big team is such a longshot...

woulda been a good shot if i'd bothered to move out of the way of that bar. this is the rookie B team, defense in yellow. that russian kid on the far left in black (#27). robin regehr's baby brother richie in defensive yellow #49. tomi maki red #57. oh and brett sutter (darryl's son, brent's nephew) is in there somewhere. as is micheal ryder's brother, dan. mmmhmmm...

goalies practising their stickwork.

anyways. there was a really great moment as the boys left the ice for a break. just after the zamboni came out to clean the ice and some guys started working on the boards, there was this really loud BANG sound (like a gunshot), and my mum turned to me, wide-eyed and smirking, and said, "do you think they're shooting the guys that don't make the team ?". i had a good chuckle, that turned to full-blown laughter as four more 'shots' rang out and my mum says, "they're not gonna have anyone LEFT !!"

go BABY FLAMES GO !!! HUSTLE !! MAKE THE BIG TEAM !!!

sing-sing

2006-08-31T14:14:00.000-07:00

[note: this post will pain some people, mostly in the way that i humanize a really fucking big, sexy hunk of metal with moving parts.]

it's been obvious for a long, long time that i've got an undenyably unhealthy attachment to my car. she's a 1993 nissan pathfinder: emerald black, with faux-wood accents on the dash, a grill guard, a sunroof, 4WD, a V6 engine, and a deflector protector (which is way cooler than saying "she wears a bra"). she's my girl... but i like to call her my weapon... :) infact, i have such an affinity for her that my close friends and family frequently refer to her by name... :) i've had her since '99, so there's a solid 7 years of scars inside and out of her tough frame, all of which serve as reminders of times past.

there's the minor dent and scuff on the rear passenger door, from it being kicked in by one of my ex's neighbours (who, apparently, didn't want me parking on that street overnight). there's the broken front headlight (just the small one !) from running into a post, leaving set like an idiot at CL ranch. there's the jagged crack that runs all the way across the windshield from the roadtrip to nelson, coupled with a painfully cold winter... but i think the reason i feel so tied to her is because of the night i did a 360 on the highway coming into calgary from a shoot in drumheller. i spun around once (maybe twice) before she righted herself, pointed in the correct direction. and i guess i feel like somehow i owe her for that...

she lives in my garage in calgary, and friends sometime inquire why i don't drive her out to toronto when i'm here. the truth is that i miss her, but the transit system in the "big smoke" is such that i really don't need a vehicle, and parking is such a drag... but often i think about how nice it will be when i get to see her, and we can go for a little cruise... :)

last night i had a dream that i returned home to calgary to find that my parents had sold her and bought me a brand new jeep YJ. i was absolutely DEVASTATED. in my dream i pleaded to my dad to find the buyer, hoping that we could go to them and try to get my baby back --at whatever cost. but it was a fruitless search. i was gutted... i honestly think this storyline recurred through the night, and when i finally woke in the morning, i had to reassure myself it was all just a dream.

i'm not really sure what my parents did to make me subconsciously imagine they'd do such a horrible horrible thing. but mum [if you still read this ever]: let's pretend that spinning-around-on-deerfoot story never happened, k ?... it wasn't my fault (and hey, now i know, i'm an AWESOME driver !!)...

3 more days till i get to see you, baby sing !!
x

office space

2006-08-14T16:28:00.000-07:00

it's been awhile since i worked in a real office. like, one where the higher-ups go for power lunches in their pristinely pressed suits and lunch is strictly 12:00 to 1:00. like the one in "waydowntown" (if you haven't seen it, seek it out. shot in calgary, it's my favorite of gary burns' low budget flicks). but here i am, workin' in production like the studded-cuff-and-skull wearin' girl that i am. and i can assure you i don't exactly fit right in...

i have often bitched about rush hour traffic when i'm driving, but i have never IN MY LIFE noticed that rush hour also applies to elevators. i worked for my dad for about 4 summers and never had to wait more than a minute for a lift. here doesn't work that way. especially on or about the EXACT hours of 9:00, 12:00, 1:00, and 5:00. and if i AM lucky enough that the doors open to let me on, i am surely cursed to stop at each and every floor on the way down/up...

then there's the bitchy people. i guess i can't blame 'em. if i was stuck here every day, indefinitely, i'd walk around like a fucking asshole too. first was the guy that shot me the cut-eye cause i was using the latte machine. then there was the guy that told me i was to copy "large print jobs" in the mail room (and after i apologized, and pointed out i that there's no way i could have known, this loser POSTED A SIGN).

so, today, i stopped to actually listen in on a few conversations going on around my cubicle. hey, i'm not suggesting that i'm beyond ridiculous dialogue on a day-to-day basis. but these struck me as amusing, mostly based on the fact that the dudes are wearing ties, and the chicks are in heels...:

GUY BEHIND ME: "You look really good today, not that you don’t normally…You just have a real glow to you today”
GIRL BEHIND ME: “it’s aveda toner”

GIRL BEHIND ME'S BOSS (re: company picnic... TRUE !): "Those clowns were alright, though. Some clowns are really scary"

CRAZY LADY TO MY LEFT: "And it’s really funny because I made her cry on Friday"

GUY ACROSS MY CUBICLE WALL (on the phone): "Ooooooooooh !!!! I think he was flirting with you !!!"

GUY IN FINANCE: "Yes, so we’ll put that into the data integrity report"

GUY BEHIND ME : "I’m kinda playing hard to get with him right now"

LADY TO THE CLARK KENT-ALIKE IN OFFICE TO MY LEFT: "y'know, you kinda look like clark kent"

GIRL BEHIND ME: "Is that a man-purse ?"
GUY BEHIND ME: "no it’s a graphic artists attache !!"

i actually don't mind the guy behind me. he's kinda funny. it says his name is DREW on his little name plaque on his cubicle. i won't say his last name in case somebody knows him. where my name should be on my cubicle it says "menus" cause production likes to eat. and on my wall it says "i choo-choo choose you, happy valentines" cause pauly thought it would be nice to test our new printer with something amusing. i will eventually post something calgary flames-ish. but i probably won't get around to it...

i think i can go home now.

the end (or thereabouts)

2006-08-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

even after an incredibly humid and painfully hot work day, i was super revved to hit the mod club with my two besties to catch my favorite band of the last decade [suck it up, beastie boys. you've been scooped].

having never really looked at the tickets, i didn't realize it was an all ages show. i also sortof overlooked that the doors opened at 7:00... so it was a good thing i was so hyped, cause the three of us had pretty much agreed to get there 'early' for 9:00. D and i caught the last song by the second band. Miss M, who arrived about 6 minutes later, missed the support bands in their entireties.

i must say that, for me, there is nothing quite like a feel-good-punkabilly-rock-up on the hottest day of the year. y'know... when the boys in the band are absolutely dripping with sweat halfway through the first track, and the entire crowd emits a... certain... uhhh... (stench ?) four songs later [wait... that was the part that sucked...]. it was a veritable checklist of 'good concert-hood' :

- All the key tunes from the last 4 albums and all the potential singles from the latest release ? check.

- Brilliant onstage antics including the guitarist peelin' off a mad solo whilst two-footed on the bass player's standup rig (that, i might add, was being frantically strummed at the time) ? check.

- Cover song ? like, say, a six-string finessing of "mr. sandman" --where the melody and bass parts are all strummed on one instrument ? check.

- Amusing between-song banter & introduction to the next song ? ex: "alright. second solution. fuckit" ? check.

- Beer ? as long as we stood in the proper cordonned-off area, which happened to be prime standing room ? check.

- Tremendously talented sound-guy ? allowing people like us to stand far, far too close to the stacks and still be able to have some semblance of a conversation ? check.

- Faux depression as my favorite song doesn't get played.... until the encore ? HUGE check. [how did they KNOW ?!]

Midway through what was sure to be the final tune, i thought to myself "i am so incredibly happy right now, i wish this could go on forever." but then, of course, it was over, and we walked outside into the incredibly humid and painfully hot night.

the (living) end.
'course.

how to fully theft-proof your car:

2006-07-17T22:50:00.000-07:00

there is really not a whole lot to say, in this post, other than i'm glad nobody was hurt and it WAS quite a breeze...

so, i was sitting in my toronto living room surfin the 'net and trying to stay cool (it was an unbelieveably hot and humid day). my roommates were out to dinner and i had the house to myself. i was all kicked back, enjoying an icy cold one and relishing the silence. then the wind picked up...

i'm not kidding, it was like WICKED windy for about five minutes. the roommates pulled up about 4 minutes before this happened at the top of the street:

my neighbour (aka: slingblade)

one mashed up minivan... all i could say was "wow". oh, and "those poor poor suckers with no 'act of god' clause in their car insurance".... (to be confirmed). but at least they had been very diligent in protecting from theft:

ouch....

here's me (in my rolled up trackpants). déSASTRE !!!

the end.

tasogare seibei

2006-07-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

the other night i walked home in the rain.

dyl and i had already left cobalt (half cut) and had begun strolling towards our 'hood when the humidity turned tangible. it wasn't long before the dark skies had opened up, spilling massive drops of water and brightening the wet streets with jagged scars of light. the deluge of rain was unavoidable. in mere moments, we were absolutely saturated... and i was reminded, as i'm oft to do when i'm caught in the rain unexpectedly, of a quote from jim jarmusch's "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai" :

"There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When meeting with a sudden shower, you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road. But doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses, you still get wet. When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed, though you still get the same soaking. This understanding extends to everything."

just after dyl and i parted at shaw street, i took off my flipflops and strolled the rest of the way barefoot, pleasantly soaked and pondering its figurative application to my life...

i think i'm on the right path.

no pointo.

procrastionation station

2006-07-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

duuuuudde....

not blogging for awhile makes a person feel guilt.

i think to myself "i should really write." but i don't feel like writing. then i'm vaguely inspired by something that would be halfway decent to write about, but allofasudden i remember of all the things i have skipped over [like the fact i went to CHINA for chrissakes !!!] and the inspiring thing seems somehow less inspiring...

earlier this week, i sequestered myself on a plane. being stuck in an aisle seat, i couldn't nap. so, after thoroughly finishing my gossip rag [and by thorough, of course, i mean having completed the crosswords AND cheated on the sudoku puzzles], i dug through my pockets to find a shred of paper to write. this is what i came up with:

***

it's been so long since i've written that i'm intimidated by the massive absence. i'm riding on a plane (again), cruisin over endless pillowy soft fields of cloud, melancholy. listening to yorn and half blinded by morning sun, i'm not sure if i've ever been quite this tired... it's been months of clocking air miles and work hours --so long, infact, that i can't quite pinpoint a beginning. the bright blue sky lined cloudy white outside my window makes a week-ago mid-night shadowy trauma seem impossibly dark. 3am i woke to fluttering and an awareness of motion above my exhausted body. window open. it's a bird, damnit... but why isn't it hitting the walls or windows ?? it must have flown around my room twice or three times before i could allow myself to acknowledge, with horror, that it was a bat. with very little effort on my part, the nocturnal beast departed the same way it came in, leaving a slighty shaken me to discover (with a bit of help from our friend the internet) that my experience was considered to be a death omen... i tried to write it off the way i would the 'death card' in tarot --that it's figurative and can mean the end of something such as a phase, a thought, a way of being. less than a week later, i found out that my last remaining grandparent had passed away...

***

and now i am inundated with things to write about: how much i truly fucking adore my extended family, how amazing china, japan and hong kong were with my nuclear one. how fantastic a time i had in san francisco with my partner in crime, miss M. how much i love the living end. how incredible i think the flames are gonna be this year. how beautiful fireworks can be. and on and on...

so i probably won't write again for another 3 months !!!
:)

the sum up (sniff)

2006-05-05T16:21:00.000-07:00

ever since i can remember i've been putting off getting a flames jersey for lack of JUST the right name to put on the back [i experienced the same thing with pondering a leafs jersey, but with far, far less in the way of options].

the obvious choice, for me, is LOOB. as in håkan. as in my alltime favorite flame. as in the only swedish born player to ever score 50 goals in the NHL (and if you're reading this, alfredsson, it's a FACT. face it, it's been done). during the lockout, i made a special trip to kumla to watch his sons, niklas & henrik, play a junior game. i've got 4 of his hockey cards in mint condition, including the rookie. to me, he's a legend.

the backup choice is BEERS. eddy. who joined the flames just before the cup era, and retired due to chronic back pain after their first run to the finals in '86. cause, um.... who WOULDN'T want their jersey to allude to both a natural goalscorer AND that sweet amber drink we all enjoy so very much ???

the most obvious, presently, is IGINLA. the captain. the present. the future. but to me, this one's clearly way too overdone. which is why for the past year i've been musing on IGINLOOB.
genius....

or, as sammy said today, "iginLOSE, dude...."

*sigh*

no point.

party like mccarty

2006-04-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

okay. so i've been absent.

it has a bit to do with my free time being sucked up by trying to watch/listen to the flames down the stretch. and now with the playoffs, there are more televised games and sports-channel stories. ie: i've been busy.

here's what i love about the flames. it's a resilient team full of characters. a bunch of tough, gritty, toothless forwards and a pretty boy defensive corps that's not afraid to throw around some seriously big-league hits. the captain has a smile that will melt your heart but if you piss him off on the ice, he'll either cold cock you till you bleed, or score the most beautiful game-winning-goal to sink your team. they rule.

mostly i love that they seem like a group of guys who genuinely like each other, work hard, and have a good time all the while. Even after sustaining a major personal setback (a 6.2 million dollar bankruptcy) and a minor injury, guys like darren mccarty can joke around a bit --pointed out in a globe & mail article: "McCarty stopped a shot with his throat, but escaped serious injury because, as he put it with a smile: 'I got lucky -- you know how much I talk. That part of my anatomy is really strong. I work out my throat pretty well. As long as I get hit in the face or the neck, I'm fine.'"

see ?

how can you NOT love'em ????

march madness

2006-03-20T05:24:00.000-08:00

i can't fucking stand march madness.

i'm not a huge fan of the basketball, to begin with, but the dozen-games-a-day thing really cuts into my hockey highlights... this morning, however, i didn't mind so much: i got quite a good chuckle out of seeing 5th seeded Pittsburgh take on the 13th seed, Bradley College.
Brad v. Pitt.

nice one...

aleka's attic

2006-03-03T19:34:00.000-08:00

i have developped a bit of a morbid fascination/obsession with river phoenix's death, 12 years and 5 months after its occurance. i presume that's not normal...

hm ?

morning after crazydreams II

2006-02-23T19:18:00.000-08:00

i am, and have always been, endlessly fascinated by dreams. while i've read some dramatic books about subconscious messages, and chapters in textbooks on various physiological and psychological theories, nothing has sufficiently proven to me why i wake up some mornings chuckling at the absurdity...

a few months ago, i was describing a particularly vivid dream i'd had the previous night to a couple of girlfriends. in turn, each of them related how they, too, had been dreaming rather intensely for the preceding night or two. one of them piped up that her mom --who's kindof flaky in an astrologico-spiritual sortof way-- believes there are certain times of the year when the sleeping mind is profoundly effected by the universe. this thought has stayed with me, and on mornings like today i wonder if said universe is trying to tell me something, and what crazy dreams it must be sending to my pals...

you see, last night i dreamed i was in a vegas hotel room... the heavy pink curtains disturbed by the wind entering through an open window... i'm lying on a big ol' round bed... oh, and i'm undenyably pregnant...

i turn to my laptop in effort to decipher what the fuck is going on in my head:

www.sleeps.com
"If the dreamer is a woman and you dream you are pregnant then you will see a big increase in your income, but if you are unwed and sad you will experience losses."

www.dreammoods.com
"To dream that you are pregnant, symbolizes an aspect of yourself or some aspect of your personal life that is growing and developing. You may not be ready to talk about it or act on it. This may also represent the birth of a new idea, direction, project or goal."

www.soulfuture.com
"Dreaming of being pregnant may indicate incubating a new project, relationship or cycle within. Manifesting your desires. A guidance dream heralding an actual pregnancy. A desire to be pregnant."

www.ivillage.co.uk
"If you are a younger woman who dreams of getting pregnant, but has no waking intention of doing so, it is likely that you are working through an archetypal transition into a new self-awareness"

www.findyourfate.com
"For a woman to dream that she is pregnant, denotes that she will be unhappy with her husband, and her children would be unattractive."

so i guess, in the end, i'm on the verge of something. or the loss of something. or my future children are gonna be ugly...
[sometimes it would be nice to flip to the end to see how it all turns out]

*sigh*

the perfect man (continued)...

2006-02-11T22:02:00.000-08:00

it has been clearly far too long since my last post, and i've had a jumble of topic ideas floating around my grey matter for the past few weeks that i've got neither the patience, nor the mental capacity to attempt to process right now... but i did want to make mention that i was thinking about a lot of stuff on the train back from montreal yesterday, and it's exactly this incoherent clutter that is largely the reason i so enjoy riding the rails...

the best part of the trek was that i had DECISIVELY concluded which cinematic male character was the ultimate guy for me. but, of course, now i can't remember... it wasn't johnny castle (swayze) from "dirty dancing" like it was back in '86. it wasn't lloyd dobler (cusack) in the 1989 flick "say anything", even though chuck klosterman came up with an entire chapter's worth of reasons why it should be [note: "sex drugs & cocoa puffs" is actually worth reading... if you only peruse this section]. i'd be tempted to say it was j.m barrie (depp) in last year's "finding neverland," since that was the film we were viewing as we departed quebec, but i find that slightly disappointing and desire for a better answer....

*sigh*

if someone can remind me, it would be greatly appreciated...

make 'em wait...

2006-01-16T21:09:00.000-08:00

the one thing that i know about jordan staal that nobody else on the planet knows (i figure), is that he'd rather have a yellow corvette c6 than a black cadillac escalade EXT or pearled white gmc sierra denali.

no point.

name that tune II

2006-01-12T23:06:00.000-08:00

sunglasses at night.

why oh why the corey hart at 6:42 am as i ready myself for a big, long work day ?? i wish i could explain it, but the tunes just show up, having nothing to do with anything. and it makes me laugh...

which is nice.

so long, tobe... you'll be missed...

2006-01-04T00:52:00.000-08:00

i opened my inbox today to find an email that, upon seeing the sender, immediately made my day. an unprompted xmas/new years greeting from mugga, my soundguy buddy from australia . the first ten paragraphs were great. it was the eleventh that stunned and saddened me:

"god I just forgot the worst news of last year was that Toby (our beloved brother, chin chen drummer) took his own life.. I don’t think I let you know, im truly sorry to have to let you know this as it still saddens me deeply. I needed a moment."

...

i don't know which memory came first, as the shocked adrenaline woozy feeling set in. there was me and tobe meeting for lunch twice weekly on foveaux street. there was tobe on his way to buy dope at homebake. there was the two of us lying in his bed listening to mogwai, when i crashed over in erskineville. there was my going away party at the townie, when i thought nobody would show up. there was the way he called me "E." there were his perfect golden eyes. and on and on...

and the truth is ? i didn't really know him THAT well, but i knew him well enough to know that he was sad inside. and that i wanted to make him smile... and the part that hurt my heart the most was that over the past year or two, i'd really not had much, if any, contact with him. i was a shitty friend. i'd let him down...

but then i started reading some old tobe emails:

apr/00: "i'm doin fine now. thanks for everything..i don't know how to put in words as such, but everything that you said to me meant and still means A LOT to me."

dec/99: "thanks for caring so much mate. it means a lot to me to know that you care that much. i'm feeling ok now so please don't worry 'bout me."

oct/99: "hey don't worry too much about me, but it's nice to know you care, e. really."

sept/99: "gotta go e, look after you lovely self.. keep on lighting up peoples lives..."

sorry i couldn't save you, tobe... i tried...

sounds liiiiike....

2005-12-29T12:06:00.000-08:00

i was thinking about it whilst in line at the bay, returning the xmas gift my mum got me:

if i close my eyes and imagine it in my head, i can hear the sound of a revolver being cocked. i can imagine it with such absolute accuracy, it's really hard to explain that i have never, in my entire (ahem) thirty years of living, actually ever heard the sound... i mean, clearly, i've been witness to it innumerable times on the teev and in the cinema... but never, ever --not once-- in real life.

so... how do i know it's right ?

[did i mention it was a long line ?]

spam can be fun...

2005-12-24T01:58:00.000-08:00

i rarely ever read the spam i get, but this one came in all poem-like and i couldn't resist. then i read it out loud to my roommate and decided that it was kindof... um... good, in some weird spammy poetic way:

it pocket a sat and
occasionally rose and out between
of worked extremely the grey
an is black own did
For the relief the to
triangle Most as arranged neither
offering word faint man were
removed but to a here
must But putting with at
it pocket a sat and
occasionally rose and out between
of worked extremely the grey
an is black own did
For the relief the to
triangle Most as arranged neither
offering word faint man were
removed but to a here
must But putting with at

[ohyeah. i've been drinking...]

long, long lost...

2005-12-23T15:18:00.000-08:00

being home at christmastime allows for the occasional fluke run-in that i adore...

after a leisurely lunch at the ship with lola yesterday, i decided to walk down 17th to finish up my xmas shopping. mere steps outside the door, i see a familiar face crossing the street towards me. jeff... a guy i had a crush on in seventh grade. a guy i almost failed chemistry with in grade 12. a guy who i hung with at 15 bands for 15 bucks, and innumerable parties at scott's house in high school. a guy i haven't seen since...

12 years on and there he is, crossing 5th street. exactly the same.

though it was only 2:30, he convinced me to turn myself around, return to the pub and have a holiday reunion beer. and we proceeded to have one of the more honest and interesting catch-up conversations i've ever been a party to. my truths paled in comparison to his; namely his relationship of eight years with a 54-year-old man, and his five-year coke problem. don't misunderstand, though. he is very much the same happy-go-lucky jeff i once knew, and i don't doubt for a second that he's quite content in his life of animal-rescue and security system sales. it was one of those rare, candid, unhindered chats where the email-swap at the end was heartfelt and true...

it's good being home.
[no point.]

XXs

2005-12-19T12:14:00.000-08:00

statistically, i would estimate that i'm still friends with about 50% of the guys i've dated in my life, at least to some extent.

it's a tricky thing to calculate, to be sure. i mean, attempting to get a mathematically accurate number in an entirely subjective category is a longshot to begin with. here, i would certainly need to factor in a lot of different things in order to get any kind of precise number.

for one, i'd have to map out a complete dating history, which would mean i'd have to recollect guys from my teenage years and from travelling the world [and, hey, i'm not a hussy, but i've dated a few dudes in my time]...

i'd also have to include relationships that run the gamut from (ahem) BRIEF to... ummm... about year-long [and then, of course, question why it's the "brief" ones that tip the percentage scale towards everlasting fondness].

most difficult, though, would be defining the words "dated" and "friend..."

somehow, i started writing this post in effort to explain why when i go to the grocery store, i always use johnson's phone number for my club card discount. why ? because mine doesn't work. and, though i don't hang out with him anymore or correspond with him in any real way (i am not counting the little hello messages passed through our mutual friend in victoria), i would still place him in the 'friend' side of things. which is why i tell myself it doesn't matter that i get discounts off produce in his name...

until the cashier hands me my receipt and says "have a good evening, mrs. johnson"...

uhhhh.... REALLY no point here. sorry to waste your time...

the perfect man...

2005-12-09T22:54:00.000-08:00

why is it that when i meet a really intelligent, interesting, sexy guy with a perfect smile, a great laugh, a bit of ink & all the right piercings, a good job, who loves hockey, punk rock of swedish persuasion, and wants babies, it turns out that he's married ?? just curious...

things that make me smile II

2005-12-04T21:14:00.001-08:00

right now, this. i love the hockey, and i love the calgary flames, but being a brand-new-rangers-lover, having my "#2 team" win in a 14-round shootout was, somehow, exhilirating. my main man henrik lundqvist took it hard to the caps, but it was marek malik with a outrageously ridiculous goal that sealed the deal. i've never seen anything quite like it. and, it makes me grin...

ummmm.... yeah.

home sweet home...

2005-11-30T21:27:00.000-08:00

i love being in Calgary.

i love sleeping in my own house, in my own bed with the comforter my mum made for me. i love the overabundance of boys with ink,toques, and facial hair. i love driving my emerald black ’93 Pathfinder [aka: my baby SingSing]. i love every single thing about the Ship & Anchor –mostly the burger: loaded, with half & half [if you’ve been, you know]— but also the staff, the music, the ambiance, the patio [in summer months], & the clientele. i love not having to ask directions. i love my roommate and my roommate’s black cat. i love all things Flames related: the “Red Mile,” the ‘Dome, and the fact that the team had both the moustache growing contest and the gold hard hat. i love that I know where to go to get a wicked cuppa (Beano), a great breakfast (Diner Deluxe), and a big ol’ cuddly hug (broken city). i love seven-digit-dialing. i love the mountains and the crisp, clean, dry air. i love visiting the ones I love best, in the house I grew up in. i love running into people I haven’t seen in years, reminiscing about old times, and hearing about other people I haven’t seen in years.

*sigh*

no point.

i gotta stop watching latenight hockey highlights...

2005-11-18T10:41:00.000-08:00

i woke up this morning and had to laugh a little about the dream i'd been having as i came to.

i was in an institution of learning, of some sort --i'm not sure if it was a college or high school type situation, but i was definitely in a writing class. we had just finished a project, and (much to my surprise and dismay), we had to read something out loud to the other students. the thing that made me really squirmy and nervous was that i had written my essay/paper/short story about peter forsberg... who was sitting directly across from me...

forsberg went first. i don't actually know what his piece was about, because i was too busy panicking inside my head about what to do. i know his was funny, though, because the class seemed to chuckle in unison at all the right parts [damn you, forsberg, and your clever, witty penmanship !]. i rummaged through my notebook, looking for a suitable alternative to my real dissertation, with an obvious "fuck the grade, i'll read anything" attitude. i was sweating...

the amused-looking girl to my right leans over and states "he's pretty hot..."
i, of course, agree.
she continues, "...too bad about the face..."

after that, it gets kinda fuzzy. i know it was someone else's turn (and, to be honest, i'm pretty sure that someone was ashton kutcher), and then it would be me. but then there was some sort of recess or break, and this nameless guy [who was a perfect mix of barry pepper and mel, the guy from outlook saskatchewan who taught me how to two-step in a parking lot outside a wedding reception] came in and put his arm around me. and i was completely starry-eyed in love with this dude...

the conclusion of this dream is what my brother would describe as a typical tobes ending: there isn't one.

the end.

forty-four...

2005-11-13T01:47:00.000-08:00

this was initially gonna be a single-line post about how i was walking home yesterday and i saw a bush of crimson roses in a garden on dovercourt... "in november ??" i thought to myself, and then i actually stopped to smell them...

but since i'm posting on taking the time to smell the roses, i might as well post on david blaine, 44, black diamonds, kent & tattoos and how they're all interrelated... or, even better, i should leave it at that.

the end.

no sleep till brooklyn...

2005-11-10T16:44:00.000-08:00

when i think about new york city, i think of the same landmarks, historical events, clichés & pop icons that everyone else does (ie: all the things you'd find at the NewYork NewYork casino in Vegas). i think of my past experiences in the city, like watching tron at the HoJo when i was eight, and wandering the streets with lex, hagan & my cuz three years ago. but mostly, when i think about new york city, i think of the beastie boys.

"The L.I.E, the B.Q.E, hippies at the bandshell with the L.S.D !" adrock repeats over and over and over in my head as i get on the B44 williamsburg bus (that doesn't go to williamsburg, it turns out) from deep within the heart of brooklyn. i ask the bus driver if he can yell out when we get to the G line subway and he informs me, in his smooth 'i am a strong black man and i don't take shit from ANYONE' voice, "no ma'am... i can CALL it out , though." i say thank you and take a seat near the front of the bus, well within earshot.

across the aisle and a few seats up is a man in his late seventies, talking on a cellphone. imagine it: seniors on regular telephones speak loudly. on a cellphone, this man's decibel level reaches an unprecedented degree. the dude is fuckin' SCREAMING,,,

"I CAN'T COME TONIGHT, IT'S MY GRAND DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY !... NO I CAN'T TONIGHT !!!! NO, IT'S MY GRAND DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY !" it was mindboggling that whoever was on the other end was not comprehending his statement, because everyone on the bus was, to be sure. my fellow commuters snicker each time he repeats himself, and after a few minutes, we cross that strange anonymous transit rider line; the woman next to me smiles and winks, initiating a silent camaraderie.

the man sat at the front of the bus yelling into his phone for a solid five minutes. and without apparent resolution, he hangs up. the bus falls into complete silence...

the driver asks, "so, you got that sorted out, then ?"

yeah, you read that right.
i took the G train...

people watching

2005-10-23T22:17:00.000-07:00

one thing i love to do is watch people; to sit in a pub or a café or a park and watch the world go by... but lately i feel like solely an observer. like my whole life is simply a spectator sport. as though i'm on the outside of everything, looking inward...

i like to watch hockey, but i don't play it. i like to tune into my old friend "the doctor"'s australian radio show on the internet, but he doesn't know i'm listening. i'd love to have my own family, but instead i live with one. even my job is something i feel like i can do without ever really being present... and tonight, on my way home from attending nelly's shoe competition thingo, i stood listening outside a garage where, within, a full-on domestic dispute was taking place... and it was really odd to be present for (and yet, entirely removed from) an argument so passionate that voices were raised to screams and where the entire episode ended in sobbing.

and i long for anything to move me to that degree...

no point, as always.

hockey... to the death !

2005-10-11T11:48:00.000-07:00

last night, dale & i watched the sens slaughter the leafs (and then the leafs comeback to almost smoke the sens). game tied 5-5 at the end of regulation. overtime ? no score... as the teams prepared for the shootout, i began to spout off about how there would be SO many 50-goal-scorers this year, due to the significantly higher totals in each game.
dale disagreed... so we made a little wager.

off the top of our heads, we each pick five players. heatley, ovechkin, jagr, gagne, zetterberg for me. naslund, hossa, palffy, kovalchuk, thornton for dale. three seperate 'competitions': total goals for all 5 players, most 50-goal-scorers & an 'average' of the middle 3 [as in drop the top and the bottom player & average the three leftover]. winner gets a case o'beer. but, because a single competition isn't enough for the two of us, we decide to create a 'backup' league. the prize ? dinner at the foggy... dale takes murray, demitra, blake, jokinen & havlat. i take lang, briere, satan, modin & d.sedin.
i think i've got him beat... except the choosing of sedin... but it'll be a good competition. and i'm stoked...

last week, i was sortof devastated, in my excitement for the 'new nhl' to start, that i didn't manage to find a pool to join. in the '03 playoffs, i won my pool [600 bucks, no shit]. i beat the pants off all the boys by selecting players mostly by looks. 'course... :) and last spring, during the world championships, i joined a pool with lenobuddy and his mates. i came in 6th of 12, but got major kudos for 'drafting' the best goalie in the competition --the little-known swedish starter, henrik lundqvist.

b'superstar suggested, last night, that the gauntlet be thrown down between the sedin twins & the lundqvist twins (bro is a forward in the swedish league) in a death shootout. or we could split 'em up (team henrik & team 'other brother'). no matter which way, i figure the team with HL will win, as he's the only real goalie. right ? yeah. i have a life...

and, speaking of deathmatches: i had a dream last night that i was in a knife-throwing battle with some badguy who wanted to kill me. he seemed to have an endless arsenal of blades, of various shapes & sizes. mine was small but i would've been able to do some damage if i hadn't thrown like a girl. which i did. then i had to run. the chase was on, but i ducked into a house where the girl tenant was going to UW & was taking fine arts. so we had quite a nice chat, over tea, while the psycho murderer dude tried to find me somewhere outside.

*sigh*

my queen street boyfriend

2005-10-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

when i first arrived in toronto for work, in the spring of 2002, i loved to wander queen street, drink coffee & write in my journal [wait...uh... i STILL do that !!!]. as the city became more familiar, and queen west became my 'hood, there came tiny subtleties that made me smile & feel entirely at home. minute overlookable details that seemed placed just for me to notice, if i so chose. like james, the blazer-wearing singing bum who could seamlessly from "hey jude" to "rhinestone cowboy" as he sipped coffee on the starbucks patio. or the wee plaque on the non-descript building that i must have walked past hundreds of times before ever noticing [see attached photo]. and the guy that has come to be dubbed my 'queen street boyfriend.'

some historical journal entries on the subject:

December 9, 2002: "... the two mystery Toronto men who I see all the time on the street (one guy lives in the old lofts on abell, I’m sure, and the other might in fact have once been calgarian ?)…"

Feb 23, 2005: "...as we stepped out onto queen street, the dude I see all the time walks past us. I say to z “hang on a sec” and I turn to susie to explain how I see that guy ALL the time and… z hangs up. my initial reaction is to throw the phone as hard as I can, because I am SO mad I don’t even care. of course, I don’t do this at all, but instead yell FUCK really loud and feel somewhat better. my mystery queen street friend turns & looks back… "

this guy has become an enigma. i see him ONLY on queen street, but at various times of day. he walks on the south side about 95% of the time. i've seen him east of bathurst once or twice, but never west of strachan. his hair used to be cropped short, but he has, in recent months, allowed it to grow slightly unruly. he mostly walks alone but i've seen him once with a girl. his pants are an inch too short and he has really geeky sneakers. he wears a royal blue track jacket most days, even in summer. he is familiar to the point where i fight the urge to say something, only because i know the truth would shatter the imagined world where he is the perfect one for me...

but last night i was drunk. and he was there. and i couldn't let him slip by without at least finding out his name... i approached him on the street and he seemed very self-assured. cocky, even. i should be thankful that he was more flattered than freaked about the situation, but in the end, he was really not that interesting. i discovered he went to UW, which is probably why he seemed familiar from the beginning (not from calgary, but from waterloo as it turns out). we had a drink, talked a bit & then he slipped off into the night...

ahhh... my queen street ex-boyfriend...

[no point, obviously...]

rainbows & puppydogs

2005-09-30T00:54:00.000-07:00

did you know that breyers makes orange creamsicle ice cream ? how is it possible that nobody has DONE this before ??

happier sad

2005-09-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

an excerpt from an email i got tonight from my best friend, who's just returned from overseas...

"There's a passage in 'Paris Trance' where the main guy is lying there on the grass naked with the girl he's in love with, looking up at the canopy of stars and he has the realization, absolute in his mind, that he will never know happiness to the same extent as at that precise moment. There may come times that approach it or, as the scientists say, "narrowly approximate it", but they'll never surpass it. And he's convinced of that. And it, ironically and inevitably, makes him sad."

genius...

get bent part II

2005-09-26T23:48:00.000-07:00

Day six of the bender went off without a hitch... except that the pieman didn't show up for his own birthday drinks [i suppose it's entirely possible that i got the day wrong --an excusable error due to the previous days of, and aforementioned, boozing]. but no harm done; it just got us out on the sauce a little early...

having downed a single shot of tequila on wednesday, our custom was to add one for each passing night. this meant a quota of four for saturday. simply put: we had to hit at least four establishments... though i'd been drinking the pints all week, i opted instead for the gin & tonic chaser. it seemed like it would be easier for the ensuing morning...

after toasting the absent pieman at HIS bar on HIS birthday (or...uh....maybe not), we bailed and headed to the cameron house. this place easily wins the prize for the sleekest, sexiest glassware of our weeklong journey [no point]. we tipped back a shot and a cocktail & went looking for somewhere trashier. the 'shoe. perfection. BOY was playing, bringing back cloudy memories of perfect smiles at lava lounge last year... but fuck the cover charge. so we sucked back another shot & another g&t, and chatted up my favorite of toronto bartenders [teddy, if you're reading this --and i know you're not-- i love ya, man].

as we headed out to our final destination, the underground, we crossed though the club district and it became apparent that there are different types of drinkers in the world. people that drink for sport (us), and people that drink to be seen (them). it has been awhile since i've been surrounded by so many club-goers but sequins, spike heels & cologne are all, apparently, still 'in'.

the underground was chaotically enjoyable. a strange cast of characters were present on the dancefloor, which happened to be decidedly close to where we perched with our drinks. there was this lecherous asian dude rubbing up against...well... pretty much anyone. there was a ridiculously attractive busguy with metal in his face. but the most entertaining was the white-trash blonde glaswegian girl who was entirely unabashed about playing airguitar from her knees...

we got drunk. we danced. we laughed...
ah, yes. day 6 was a success.

"and God completeth by the seventh day His work which He hath made, and ceaseth by the seventh day from all His work which He hath made." (Genesis 2:2).
ie: we both agreed we were far too shattered sunday to make it thru another night of this bullshit.
[oh, and clearly i'm going to hell from the hubris...]

get bent

2005-09-24T19:07:00.000-07:00

after 3 or 4 beers on monday night, embarking on a seven-day bender seemed like a really good idea.

i was at the athlete show with a director friend of mine, and we ran into a couple of production good-time girls (one of whom, my partner-in-crime-to-be, tends to be present often for my semi-regular intoxicated undoing). following a bit of discussion and a few more heineken, our challenging drinking schedule had been outlined: seven nights of booze and debauchery...

it was an ambitious schedule, to be sure, so we crept into day 2 with some caution (and a bit of a hangover). both of us would be required to maintain some normalcy during the workweek, and by the time we had defined the duration of the upcoming drinking spree, it was far too late to reign in day 1. so, on tuesday we hit clinton's for what would be the first of two going-away parties during our weeklong social schedule. we watched the 'band' (though the term could be debated by the noise that was produced) for a bit, then retired to the patio with the rest of the 'bon voyage' crowd. a few pints consumed and we opted to cut out early, thus conserving the precious bingeing energy that would be needed for the remainder of the week.

wednesday (day3) was tough. the nightly outings had begun to take their toll on my body & i was pretty beat (bear in mind, if you will, that the night the seven-day bender was established, i was already technically on my third consecutive evening of boozing). i got home after work and promptly went to bed, utterly convinced that if my drinking-buddy bailed, i would be ecstatic --but i would certainly not be the one to end the challenge... after a few traded texts, we met at the silver dollar at 10:30 for an evening of bluegrass, and to my surprise, i actually felt pretty good when i got there... we split around 11:30 & as we walked to john's pizza for a slice, we realized this whole 'bender' thing is kindof a misnomer since we have yet to get totally bent. still, a beer & a shot of tequila, coupled with the down-home, good-vibe bluegrass, made for at least a nice buzz...

thursday turned out to be a lot bigger than i anticipated, especially since i'd been roped into producing/pming a pickup shot for work the next morning. we battled the downpour and the "fuck-it-it's-raining-i'm-staying-home" attitude and went for dinner and a pint at bar#1. then we had 2 shots of tequila at bar#2. Next, we played pool & had a pint at bar#3. ended up at bar#4 with a bunch of guys from work, where drinking came easy and leaving was a bit of a challenge. still, i managed to make it home by my self-imposed 1am curfew.

friday morning was brutal: nobody likes to get up at 6. but it was day 5, and i could see the light at the end of the proverbial bender tunnel. and the festivities for the evening would take place at the cadillac lounge –undeniably close to home. all I had to do was get through work: a single pickup shot and some paperpushing. i figured I’d make it home by 5 with plenty of time for a nap… except the day didn’t quite turn out as planned (it never does) and I just managed to squeeze in a quick shower before I had to meet the girls on queen street for another going-away party. By the end of dinner an hour later, i’d consumed two pints and two tequila shots… sigh… and had a couple more beers and another shot (which was jumbo-sized & almost didn’t stay down) over the rest of the night. evening topped off with a trip to Social for what was apparently 80’s night and rocked out hard to Bon Jovi…

saturday morning was amazing. i slept in till 11, which (thanks to advil and a gatorade around 9) was pretty much hangover-free. had some breakfast and a cuppa & watched ManU lose to blackburn. ate some really dodgy fast food and rented six feet under (season 3, discs 2 & 3) which I watched 3 episodes of. the rest will be watched sunday after day 6 of the first annual september bender is behind me… and this brings us to present. i’m furiously typing this LEGEND of a tale so I can post it, before heading out to the pieman’s birthday bash at fion macCool’s. the summary of the final two nights to be posted at a later and more sober date.

iI feel like the Morgan Spurlock of the drinking world…
wish me luck…

slippery slope

2005-09-12T20:16:00.000-07:00

so i notice, now, that i haven't written a thing for over a week. i suck. i guess this is how it all starts to shake down in the real world, how time just vanishes and you're left wondering where it all went...

things i did this week:
- found out i have family in argentina
- visited with my cousin & some old, old friends who live in londontown
- hung out with a cute boy
- hung out with another cute boy
- worked way too hard, for way too many hours
- read some stuff about hockey (not the least of which were the backside of four håkan loob hockey cards, including the rookie, that were given to me by a guy at work)
- binge-drank. like, more than once
- saw a band
- paid waaaay too much for a salad with dressing that should have been called "salt-sauce"
- got nostalgic over 'could-have-been' boys of old
- watched a kick-ass german flick called "goodbye lenin"

and point form is all i have time left for.
fuck!

disasters (who, me ?)

2005-09-05T23:27:00.000-07:00

i decided i wanted to write, but couldn't figure out if i should rant about how much i fucking hate the TTC, or how much i'm diggin' this new tv show, PrisonBreak, or how it's the end of binge drinking season [and, boy, did it go out with a bang]... so, instead, i thought i'd just pass on an email exchange between me and one of my oldest friends, katrina, who i've known since (her) birth.

me, last week: "bummer to have a major catastrophe with your name on it (right spelling and EVERYTHING)"

her, today: "When Katrina was just a tropical storm a couple weeks ago I thought it was cool to share the name. But now it just sucks. I've had enough of the headlines: 'Katrina brings death and destruction'. 'Katrina kills 166'. 'Katrina devastates'. Not good for my reputation."

uh.... yeah.

clockwatching

2005-09-01T23:34:00.000-07:00

two nights ago, i made loose/tentative plans with the german to hang out (with him & his brother). they were coming into the city to do some stuff, and he said he'd call after i finished work (around 7).

i get home, eat dinner, have a beer: 8 o'clock. watch a little disaster coverage teev: 9. "whatthefuckisgoingonhere??!": 10pm. by 11, i was certain i'd been stood up for the first time in years [but, let's face it --i don't really date that much].

11:04 (nope. nothing's on the teev)
11:11 (time to make a wish)
11:14 (i'm pretty tired, actually)
11:16 (i should probably go to bed)
11:17 KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

??????

so, of course the german had left my phone number in richmond hill, but was totally convinced he'd be able to find my house. in the dark. in the rain. having been here maybe three times EVER. about a year ago... oh, and my house isn't the easiest to find at the best of times...

question: was his brother was SORE about driving around toronto for two hours looking for some random house ?

answer : it doesn't take much to make me feel good inside.

no point. obviously.

things that make me smile

2005-08-26T13:33:00.000-07:00

mostly this, right now:
dozens of these off-pink little numbers, all along dovercourt. why ? who knows. did it make me look ? yes. did it make me grin, most definitely. trust me. click on it and take the time to read the poster (cause some crazy fucker took the time to write it, draw it, print it, copy it and tape 'em all up)...

the end.

name that tune

2005-08-25T17:57:00.000-07:00

"manic monday" on an easy thursday.
"easy like sunday morning" on a manic wednesday.

something i've been attempting to document for the past few months is exactly which song i have stuck in my head upon waking. i've been pretty shit at writing it down, as i'm generally soaking wet and naked under a stream of scalding water at the time of cogniscense; like i'm not even awake enough to know i've got a song in my brain until it's steam-heated to some ridiculous temperature.

this morning it was toni basil's "mickey" and i can't figure out why the fuck that would be rolling around in there at such an ungodly hour.

there really is no rhyme or reason. it's almost never something current & it's rarely an old favorite --it's just a simple tune that has been lodged in the recesses of my grey matter for eons, waiting for just the right morning to surface. and the thought of unlocking a pattern feels like it could be the key to eternal happiness (or surely something of the like).

it reminds me of the months that tanzir, nelly & i charted the outfits of a girl at their work. we called her baby blue (i forget the exact reason why, now, but surely had something tongue-in-cheek to do with friday-late-night-soft-core television). hippy shirt with the tight jeans monday. blue sweater with the hippy skirt tuesday. jogging outfit wednesday. and then the patterns (and the questions) began to emerge...

why did she ALWAYS wear the hippy shirt on monday ?
why was there a greater probability of a ponytail if she wore the green button-up ?
and who would win the ten dollar pot by guessing the correct outfit TOMORROW ??

congratulations again, tanzy.

no point.

Gondolas & Coasters. Trolleys & Trains

2005-08-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

There’s something very cathartic, to me, about taking a trip. Some people might see it as running away, but I prefer to look at it as an excursion that provides perspective to a certain situation. Oftentimes it punctuates the end of a period of my life; the end of a schoolyear, the end of a working ‘season’, or (in recent years) the end of a relationship.

In October 2003, I convinced my best girlfriend, Jen, to take a roadtrip with me from Calgary to Vegas. It was a less-than-random destination, as it coincided with my favorite-travel-couple-of-all-time’s wedding, but seemed sortof appropriate as Jen was suffering deeply from the still-bleeding wound of breakup, and desperately needed to get the fuck outta dodge. She needed to see that there was more to the world than the little playground that she’d built with ‘him’. And I needed a roadtrip…

She spent the first few days bitching, and I spent the first few days listening. As the green Montana ranches turned red into Utah painted backdrops, the physical distance between them manifested itself in her demeanour. By the time we hit Vegas (baby, vegas), I had her on the path to recovery, figuratively holding her hand and walking her away from the past and into the gaudy neon flashing lights of the future. And on our last night, she walked alone:

“Are you gonna come on the rollercoaster with me ?” she asks.

“Not a chance,” I reply, steadfast in my hatred of any ride of any sort.

“C’moooon… please ? I really wanna go.”

“So go.”

“But everyone else has someone to sit with”

“So don’t go.”

In the end, she went. And I watched her take her first steps…

So here I am, on the train to Montreal: a trip to punctuate the end of something that never really even got started. Sad, really... Friendship or love –who’s to say—in its infancy, needlessly smothered either by my devotion to the idea of something better than ourselves, or his apparent lack thereof.

Last night, over solo beers at bluegrass night, I was reminded of it all… and I smiled.

morning after crazydreams

2005-08-17T06:36:00.000-07:00

woke up this morning feeling pretty shit, due to an excess of beer & crazy dreams.

we'll begin our dream selection in a posh hotel in calgary, of all places (strange only in that i have my own house there, so the hotel part... well... it WAS a dream). having already packed, i opted to kill time in the lobby. as dreams have a way of doing, somehow i was running late, then, and rushed off to hail a taxi.

[there is this whole other subplot here, whereby i hail a cab that's heading the wrong way, as i'm often likely to do in real life, and as he turns around he gets stuck in mud & another cabbie pulls over to pick me up. as i get into taxi#2, the driver of taxi#1 starts SCREAMING at me: all memorably occurring in shadowy shades of soderbergh greens... i think this section has to do with my overwhelming guilt for something or other in real-life. but i digress...]

at some point here i see my english pilot mate, james, and there is some smooching involved. all very casual and normal at the time, but clearly (in conscious retrospect) makes no sense at all. i believe it was during all this kissing that i realize i've left my passport at the hotel.

of course i rush back to get it and, of course, it's still there. but much to my stomach-dropping horror, there are certain things missing: my photo & info page, my UK working visa, my australian working visa (in reality, these two visas are in consecutive passports). but more awful is the fact the guy has stapled in some phony stamps cut from OTHER people's passports and he's left behind a bunch of personal photos. so, of course, i spend the rest of the dream frantically looking for this man, devastated that i can no longer travel abroad...

fuck, i'm exhausted just thinking about it.

not being much of a dream interpreter, i can see that i get the passport theft theme from my dude who's leaving (who's crazy friend stole his travel stuff so he'd be grounded on this side of the atlantic). i get the not-being-able-to-fly-overseas bit from bailing on europe with dyl. and, well... i TOTALLY get the frantic search for some mystery guy...

hm.
no point.

raging pink sky

2005-08-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

i figured it's high time i started one of these things... it'll be easier just to post shit and then email it to everyone rather than try to reply to the 612 emails i've got stagnating in my inbox. who knows if it'll work...

i had cooie on messenger earlier and she insisted on posting our conversation on HER site, then she insisted i start one of my own. kinda like a journal only i don't have to try to find one with the right kind of paper that will store all my shite and fit in my backpack...

it's coming up on 8pm, which (in late-summer-toronto) means soon the sky will turn these awesome shades of pinks and violets... at least smog is good for something...

i've been in a bit of a funk these last few days. needing to sort some stuff out in my life:
i bailed on europe with dyl & feel sorta guilty about it.
my dude (never really mine) is possibly disastrous & definitely leaving.
there's no hockey.

i'm bored.
the end (for now)