humph.

i feel bad today. i don't feel sick or unhappy or mad. i don't want to cry and i don't want to scream. i tried to buy things. i wanted to change my mood with clothes or books or make-up. i spent the weekend in montreal and came back to the exact same situation i left. same job, same apartment, same bike, same city, some life. i'll probably feel fine tomorrow. i'll cut my hair and shave my legs and find some shirt i forgot i had and eat this chocolate and drink this wine and take this painkiller and capture it all in neat little sentences for strangers to read while i watch the same tv shows over and over and wish it was fucking spring already.

torontonian authors > canadian authors

across the street from my work is one of those little temporary stores that sells books no one wants to read and 4 for $20 dvds that no one wants to watch. occasionally i'll wander over on my lunch and see what's interesting. mostly i laugh at the newly packaged, straight to dvd "films" that star celebrities when they were nobodies. you know those? (don't buy them - they're always terrible... unless you love michelle pfieffer. she's in, like, a hundred of them.)

last week, a book caught my eye. the withdrawal method by pasha malla. i bought it (five bucks) and, honestly, i read the whole goddamn thing straight through. this is the best collection of unrelated (but eerily similar) short stories i have ever read. some of the prose was so fucking poignant that i actually read it aloud to my coworkers. grab this book if you see it somewhere or download it. (can you get books illegally, too?)

when one of the characters, a struggling writer, forces himself to try and find the metaphor within the situation, to make the natural beauty mean something else, something he can use... i wanted to scream. it was just too perfect.

divacup rules.

there are a lot of things i don't understand. i'll admit it. i can't trust women who can't stand the sight of blood. it just doesn't make any sense to me. do you close your eyes for 5 days a month? YOU FREAK ME OUT.

it's weird when i'm the most normal.

last night was unsettling. i was wedged between two old broads in yoga class. the one on the left kept panting and groaning and had no fucking clue what she was supposed to be doing which, ordinarily, would have been fine except when she ripped a giant blast fart beside my face and followed it up with a whispered, "oooh." needless to say, the whole class reeked like the women's bathroom at the legion by twenty minutes in. when the lady on the right let out a seeping 20 second fart (sans apology) later on that sounded like a marble rolling around in a mason jar - i couldn't help but laugh. old people just do whatever the hell they want, huh?

seriously though, the workout was tough. my thighs haven't burned this much since high school. just kidding, i didn't get laid in high school. i looked like this.

lookatme lookatme!

i didn't know how to break this to you guys. i feel so embarrassed about it, actually. i feel like a cam whore. i'm not sure why i started it. i don't know how long it'll last but, screw it, here it is: the threesixfive project starring my stupid face, every day for a fucking year.

jobs for knobs.

i think i'm done with apple. i'll continue to eat the fruit, maybe, but after last week's itunes update fiasco, (it took three days, a video card reinstall and two system restores to get my pc working after updating to 9) my ipod getting stolen from work today and having to watch assholes wave their iphones around for the last couple months showing off new, useless applications and shaking their fists around to find something they could've seen had they used their goddamn eyes - i just can't take anymore.

we have macs at work and i am routinely frustrated and confused. are they built for people without common sense and/or computer knowledge? why is everything white and shiny? i don't want to touch a keyboard to right click. i shouldn't have to drag fucking icons all around to mount them or whatever the hell it is that you have to do to install new programs. i'm finished with you, jobs. take all your ingenuity and 'brilliant' technology and get out of my life.

can't we go back? i want to add you on icq, listen to napstered tracks on winamp, call your landline to see if you're home and make eachother mix tapes again. the nineties were so much better than this shit.

brews, dubes and grease.

i haven't really been to the gym in a month. i hurt my leg a couple weeks ago and i've been busy and working and i know you don't care and i kind of don't either but, i feel like shit. i'm lazy and tired all the time and i'm craving fast food and sleeping in for work and, shit, i miss sweating it all out. i miss my yoga teacher. i need his bright, white, warm light all over my life.

i'm gonna do this. for real now.

get ready soft body... i'm gonna fucking destroy you.

is common really the best word for it?

i'm afraid of violent reactions. i'm afraid of pain. i daydream about strangers completely freaking out on me. i sometimes imagine customers smashing my face through a display case. i fear normal people on the street will become suddenly outraged and push me down to the sidewalk for passing them too quickly.

i'm scared of these things because i constantly talk down to everyone. maybe, subconsciously, i feel i need a punch in the fucking throat.

i don't want to be like this. i don't want to be afraid of your reactions.
i just need you all to be a little less moronic so we can simply speak like fully formed human beings. i'm tired of trying to explain myself to your lifeless, empty eyes.

read a book. eat a salad. smoke a joint. get laid. get your goddamn shit together then, get back to me. get back to earth.

that was what war sounds like.

this weekend in toronto, there was an air show and a hot n spicy food festival and a keg party and yegor's birthday and it was a long weekend and beau got back into town and the film festival is coming and the shitty kids are going back to school. yay!

i ate oysters as a brunch appetizer and spent more than eight bucks on a bra for the first time in my life and lounged by a wading pool and drank a lot and rode bikes around and got some sun and took some pictures and had a band practice and bought garbage pail kids cards and ate a fried chicken club sandwich and almost shit myself in kensington and shopped for clothes and cooked artichokes for the first time and got laid and got comics and decided to lay on the couch instead of watching inglourious basterds. sorry, kim.

i made a video of a weird reflection on the wading pool in bellevue square park because i was high. it's below. hit up flickr for all my current shit.

i want to ride my bicycle.

there was a lot of talk today about cyclists and our rights in the city compared to those of motorists, pedestrians etc. it was mostly spurred by darcy allan sheppard's murder on monday but has been an ongoing battle in toronto for years. i've been spit on, hit (with cars and hands) yelled at and am almost doored daily, so - i break the rules.

me, on a bicycle, at 2am, running a stop sign is not going to kill anyone: you, sitting with your car door open, ignoring bike bells and being completely ignorant of your surroundings, will.

i'm tired of an us vs. them mentality between cars and bikes. the one good point that was made (in an otherwise useless dialogue the torontoist hosted this morning) was that we are caught up in a "war on choice". some bike lanes, some death traps. it's safe to ride half the city and harrowing in the other. we need to work together to make it safe for everyone. toronto is supposed to be a bike friendly city and, were this the case, i wouldn't narrowly avoid preventable accidents every morning on the way to work.