It’s horrendously clichéd to talk about how dangerous Australia is, but it bloody well is when you think about it comparatively.
What wildlife in the UK can or ever does really harm you? A badger can give you a nasty nip, a swan may or may not break your arm and I’ve been chased by a slightly miffed cow before, but apart from that the most dangerous things seem to be alcohol and rottweilers owned by chavs.
In Australia, on the other hand, there are friggin trees that can actively harm you. Trees! Not to mention box jellyfish, saltwater crocodiles, those crazy spiders that can kill you just by looking in your general direction and heat in the outback that can bake you from the inside.
Just think about that. Makes a bee sting look like plucking a nose hair.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
All up in the air
I love flying. It’s a good job as well, seeing as I’ve racked up 28 hrs in the air and traveled 14,103 miles in the last month.
I especially love flying at night. It’s a bit like going to bed but better. Sure, you’re in a virtual coffin of discomfort that only tilts back half an inch, but its socially acceptable to drink (for free!) in your little pod and by the time you’ve read a few pages, drawn that woman sat in the next aisle and grabbed a few hours sleep you wake up on the other side of the world.
I took off this time from Heathrow Terminal 5, which despite all its opening troubles is fantastic. It was only 8.30 but pitch black as I boarded the plane. I hadn’t felt any nervousness or excitement like normal (a fact that can probably be attributed to having barely had time to breathe in 3 weeks) but as we bumped along the runway and lifted off the ground I felt a wave of mild and transient euphoria pass through me on its way to the excitable little kid to my left.
England looks beautiful from above at night, especially when you fly east over London and see the sprawling urban hub alive with a million slowly diminishing lights. The higher we climbed, the hazier the city became, until the vague mist of illumination gave way to total darkness.
That’s the only problem with living on an island; ten minutes of glorious inland views and then you’re over the blank vastness of the sea, an hankering for a gratis mini JD bottle.
It’s no wonder we drink so much on planes.
I especially love flying at night. It’s a bit like going to bed but better. Sure, you’re in a virtual coffin of discomfort that only tilts back half an inch, but its socially acceptable to drink (for free!) in your little pod and by the time you’ve read a few pages, drawn that woman sat in the next aisle and grabbed a few hours sleep you wake up on the other side of the world.
I took off this time from Heathrow Terminal 5, which despite all its opening troubles is fantastic. It was only 8.30 but pitch black as I boarded the plane. I hadn’t felt any nervousness or excitement like normal (a fact that can probably be attributed to having barely had time to breathe in 3 weeks) but as we bumped along the runway and lifted off the ground I felt a wave of mild and transient euphoria pass through me on its way to the excitable little kid to my left.
England looks beautiful from above at night, especially when you fly east over London and see the sprawling urban hub alive with a million slowly diminishing lights. The higher we climbed, the hazier the city became, until the vague mist of illumination gave way to total darkness.
That’s the only problem with living on an island; ten minutes of glorious inland views and then you’re over the blank vastness of the sea, an hankering for a gratis mini JD bottle.
It’s no wonder we drink so much on planes.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Getting ready to say goodbye
It's finally come around; my time in Canada is almost at an end. I fly out the day after tomorrow, and it is starting to feel WEIRD.
Last Wednesday my awesome now-ex flatmate Tom departed the country, and we moved out of our Space, aka Little Britain. Though it wasn't too bad saying bye to Tom, as I know I'll be clubbing in London with him in about a week, it was pretty sad to say goodbye to the flat that's housed so many good times over the course of the last year. Everyone who came round said the flat was really welcoming and chilled, and I felt so at home there. I'd go on with more effusive thanks to Tom and Lou but they might never read this so there may be no point! Needless to say, they were top flatmates and I shall miss living with Tom greatly - Louise, get your party pants on, I'm there in a month!
We finished our time at 73 Northcote in style; another party in the rain. I swear it's only rained 4 times in a year in Canada, every time we have a friggin party. Anyway, it was brilliant and so good to see all our friends one last time. There may well have been a projectile vomiting incident that soured the evening, but waking up with the couch on the roof more than made up for it. I'm not looking forward to seeing those photos though...
The morning after we went for breakfast (bad idea) downtown, and as Tom and I were trying to make it back for a yard sale to flog all our stuff, we got caught in a seemingly pointless and endless Chinese parade. I've never seen less happy people in all my life, and we couldn't work out what the hell was going on. It went on so long that the streetcar driver started singing over the PA and we had to entertain our possibly-still-drunken selves by hanging our heads out the window and freaking out motorists. The yard sale didn't go too well even when we got there, probably due to me delegating the task of fly posting to someone who really shouldn't be trusted with tasks. We made about 20 bucks and I gave some CDs away; we ended up on the couch on the roof with Tom's parents manning the fort. They made more money than us.
Yard sale fail.
Anyway, the Littlest Hobo is back on the prowl; I'm currently staying out in Scarborough (not the UK one) with V-dog's parents. As they're Ukrainian, and most Ukrainian meals consist entirely of meat, I'm causing a bit of a fuss with the whole vegetarianism thing but I'm being kept up to my nose in vodka, tea, cheese perogies and Russian chocolate. I could happily eat myself to death in this house, and if I was staying any longer than a week it would probably happen!
This past weekend was Nuit Blanche, the dusk-til-dawn city-wide art fest that I raved so much about last year. The bits that I saw this year were just as good, but we choose a dubstep night over the art for most of the evening. The night before we saw one of the Pendulum guys do a DJ set at Circa. He was a bit chunky, which surprised me - I realised I've never seen a podgy DJ before, apart from Chris Moyles who is, of course, not a DJ but a twat.
Anyway the spinning wasn't all that good but the tunes were - Pendulum remix of Voodoo People into Shut Me Up by MSI? Yes thank you!
I'm in the middle of unpacking and repacking, which seems to get harder every time I do it. I'm not looking forward to dealing with my snowboard. It's so heavy and cumbersome that there must be some problem with it. I am, however, determined to get bumped up to First, something that Tom achieved last week by owning a Macbook and having big legs. V-dog has big legs and I have a Macbook, and I am so not above pretending to be newly-engaged if that helps. I want that leg room!!
I'm not sure anyone reads this, but if you do and you're in England...THREE DAYS!
Last Wednesday my awesome now-ex flatmate Tom departed the country, and we moved out of our Space, aka Little Britain. Though it wasn't too bad saying bye to Tom, as I know I'll be clubbing in London with him in about a week, it was pretty sad to say goodbye to the flat that's housed so many good times over the course of the last year. Everyone who came round said the flat was really welcoming and chilled, and I felt so at home there. I'd go on with more effusive thanks to Tom and Lou but they might never read this so there may be no point! Needless to say, they were top flatmates and I shall miss living with Tom greatly - Louise, get your party pants on, I'm there in a month!
We finished our time at 73 Northcote in style; another party in the rain. I swear it's only rained 4 times in a year in Canada, every time we have a friggin party. Anyway, it was brilliant and so good to see all our friends one last time. There may well have been a projectile vomiting incident that soured the evening, but waking up with the couch on the roof more than made up for it. I'm not looking forward to seeing those photos though...
The morning after we went for breakfast (bad idea) downtown, and as Tom and I were trying to make it back for a yard sale to flog all our stuff, we got caught in a seemingly pointless and endless Chinese parade. I've never seen less happy people in all my life, and we couldn't work out what the hell was going on. It went on so long that the streetcar driver started singing over the PA and we had to entertain our possibly-still-drunken selves by hanging our heads out the window and freaking out motorists. The yard sale didn't go too well even when we got there, probably due to me delegating the task of fly posting to someone who really shouldn't be trusted with tasks. We made about 20 bucks and I gave some CDs away; we ended up on the couch on the roof with Tom's parents manning the fort. They made more money than us.
Yard sale fail.
Anyway, the Littlest Hobo is back on the prowl; I'm currently staying out in Scarborough (not the UK one) with V-dog's parents. As they're Ukrainian, and most Ukrainian meals consist entirely of meat, I'm causing a bit of a fuss with the whole vegetarianism thing but I'm being kept up to my nose in vodka, tea, cheese perogies and Russian chocolate. I could happily eat myself to death in this house, and if I was staying any longer than a week it would probably happen!
This past weekend was Nuit Blanche, the dusk-til-dawn city-wide art fest that I raved so much about last year. The bits that I saw this year were just as good, but we choose a dubstep night over the art for most of the evening. The night before we saw one of the Pendulum guys do a DJ set at Circa. He was a bit chunky, which surprised me - I realised I've never seen a podgy DJ before, apart from Chris Moyles who is, of course, not a DJ but a twat.
Anyway the spinning wasn't all that good but the tunes were - Pendulum remix of Voodoo People into Shut Me Up by MSI? Yes thank you!
I'm in the middle of unpacking and repacking, which seems to get harder every time I do it. I'm not looking forward to dealing with my snowboard. It's so heavy and cumbersome that there must be some problem with it. I am, however, determined to get bumped up to First, something that Tom achieved last week by owning a Macbook and having big legs. V-dog has big legs and I have a Macbook, and I am so not above pretending to be newly-engaged if that helps. I want that leg room!!
I'm not sure anyone reads this, but if you do and you're in England...THREE DAYS!
Friday, September 18, 2009
I'm in a 'New York State' state of mind
Buffalo is a strange old place. It may well be in the state of New York, but its nothing like the Big Apple. As soon as I got there I recognized the grey dreariness of the buildings and tendency to walk with your face pointed firmly at the floor from my 21 years in England, and the Buffalo streetcar looks eerily similar to the Manchester Metro.
However, the fact that there didn’t seem to be an eatery or drinkery for miles didn’t sit well with me. That’s a lie; there was a Timmie’s!
I finally found a little café and sat pondering the fact that I was in the US of States over a caramel latte and a grilled veggie sandwich. Across from me was a lady on the phone, having a blazing row (about how he’d betrayed her trust but she had no where else to go) with someone I thought was her boyfriend, but turned out to be her “realtor”. That’s American for estate agent. She seemed horrendously stressed out and kept referring to her problems and how she was working through “the lowest point of [her] life. It was fairly tragic, especially the amount of gratitude she described when the person on end of the phone was nice to her despite not working in a “touchy-feely” profession.
Within this conversation lies everything that bewilders me about America. There are such things as “touchy-feely” professions; it’s fine to have a forthright argument with your estate agent over the phone then make up like lovers ten minutes later; sitting crying in a coffee shop and describing your depression to some sort of service provider is an everyday occurrence. In England you’d simply write a strongly worded letter and complain about the whole situation for weeks to mere acquaintances, or if it really had to be sorted out on the phone, that phone call would be made in your house.
Filled up to the brim with emotional turmoil and cream, I wandered around 'downtown' Buffalo, being careful not to get lost as we all know I have the sense of direction of a blind hedgehog in a bag. The only nice buildings in Buffalo seem to be banks, the offices of insurance companies or churches. Now, I'm not one to make sweeping statements (ahem) but if I was, I'd say that this is very telling of the country as a whole.
I was, however, impressed by a sign that said "CAUTION! Snow-melting tubes buried in sidewalk!" Why would you have to be cautious about this? Presumably they're not trying to escape. Anyway, I really enjoy the idea that you could sit for a few hours in winter and watch the invisible warmth beneath the streets melt away patches of ice...and to be fair, I bet that's all there is to do in Buffalo in February.
You might have guessed by this point that I did actually make it over the US border. I sit writing this in Little Britain (Jam-rod's genius nickname for our flat), which should tell you that I even made it back into Canada. Truth be told, it was a doddle, especially dealing with the Canadians, who, true to form, were delightfully helpful to me and abusive to the Americans: "Yeah, they're a bit humourless...and anal. Oops, did I say that?"
Honestly, though, it seems to me that American border guards, and immigration, and police for that matter, are essentially good people, twisted and trained to be intimidating and sometimes pretty racist. The cynic within me can't ignore the fact that, as the only white chick on a bus full of other ethnicities, I was the only person to whom the US border guards melted a little, joking around with me and not even asking to look in my bag. An Indian woman in front of me with scars on her face was told she would have all her luggage searched, and mocked as she went to retrieve it from the bus.
Yet in Buffalo bus station, a potentially nasty situation really surprised me. A black American woman and her three kids had (somehow) managed to travel into Canada without passports, and were now trying to re-enter the States. The police had to deal with the family, but the tense confrontation between her and an armed cop quickly turned into a good-humoured and honestly caring conversation, with this big flak-vested guy laughing with her kids and eventually finding her a hotel room for the night.
This, if anything, is further proof that its not actually Americans that are a pain in the arse (as we believe in Europe) - it's America as a system that sucks.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
America: World Police
As I write this I’m sat on a Greyhound bus just making its way along Front Street, beginning a trip I don’t really want to take. I don’t shun travel often, but this journey could end fairly disastrously, and all signs so far show that it will.
So I came to Canada almost a year ago exactly. My year-long working holiday visa expires tomorrow, on the 16th. Throughout the year and the application process for coming over here, we were told that it would be easy to extend your stay for traveling; you just go down to the border, cross into the US, come back, and hey presto! Canadian tourist visa.
I know what you’re thinking; since when do British people need a visa to visit Canada? Don’t we still own them?
Apparently we can no longer just swan around the planet doing what we like. Jesus, what do we pay the Queen for? Shouldn’t she be sorting out shit like this?
So anyway, time comes around, and it starts not to look quite so peachy. Both the US and Canadian visa / immigration websites suck ass. If I was a refugee, I’d know exactly what to do, but they are seemingly against giving information to someone who’s here legally about how to stay here longer, legally.
SWAP are no good either; the girl I emailed gave me totally conflicting evidence to everything else I’ve ever heard, then admitted she didn’t really know and suggested I see a $200-an-hour-lawyer. Tom has already seen a lawyer, who put the fear of God into us both by saying it was very unlikely that we’d be let back in, which in itself was contrary to what the ex-SWAP friend of ours and everyone else who’s ever actually crossed the border has told us. We didn’t even know whether it was better to go on the day our visas run out or a few days before. Hell, we don’t really know who we’re meant to speak to; “go to the border”? The border’s huge!
Needless to say, I was a bit apprehensive, bringing my laptop and some essentials along and discussing with V-dog what he had to do with all my shit if I was sent home or worse, stuck in America. This exchange with the driver as I was showing my passport to get on the bus didn’t help:
“You need a 994.” (an American accent, not a good sign)
“What?”
“You need a 994, and 6 US dollars. You got 6 US dollars?”
“No, I have Canadian. Is that a form?”
“You need a 994 and 6 US dollars. You can’t get in.”
“I thought the only thing I needed was a Visa Waiver form. I did that.”
“You have it?”
“No, you do it online.”
“…….”
“On the computer.”
“You have it?”
“No, it said I only need my reference number. I have that.”
“Well I dunno, but if they won’t let you in we’re not paying for a cab back. If they won’t let you in you’re paying for your own cab back.”
“………OK (whatthefuck!)”
So here I am, pooping my pants a little bit despite all my logic saying that it’s more than likely I’ll be on this same bus coming home later tonight. I mean, I don’t even want to go into the US! They’re making me!
All I want is to live in Canada hassle-free, leave when I like and then come back freely; is that so much to ask?!
P.S. I’m so addicted to my new Macbook that I’m not even appreciating the beautiful views on the drive. I’d say FML, but fuck that, I have a Macbook.
P.P.S. I've not heard anyone say anything good about Weezer's latest album. Am I the only person that likes it? It's rad - kudos to you Rivers, you mental man.
So I came to Canada almost a year ago exactly. My year-long working holiday visa expires tomorrow, on the 16th. Throughout the year and the application process for coming over here, we were told that it would be easy to extend your stay for traveling; you just go down to the border, cross into the US, come back, and hey presto! Canadian tourist visa.
I know what you’re thinking; since when do British people need a visa to visit Canada? Don’t we still own them?
Apparently we can no longer just swan around the planet doing what we like. Jesus, what do we pay the Queen for? Shouldn’t she be sorting out shit like this?
So anyway, time comes around, and it starts not to look quite so peachy. Both the US and Canadian visa / immigration websites suck ass. If I was a refugee, I’d know exactly what to do, but they are seemingly against giving information to someone who’s here legally about how to stay here longer, legally.
SWAP are no good either; the girl I emailed gave me totally conflicting evidence to everything else I’ve ever heard, then admitted she didn’t really know and suggested I see a $200-an-hour-lawyer. Tom has already seen a lawyer, who put the fear of God into us both by saying it was very unlikely that we’d be let back in, which in itself was contrary to what the ex-SWAP friend of ours and everyone else who’s ever actually crossed the border has told us. We didn’t even know whether it was better to go on the day our visas run out or a few days before. Hell, we don’t really know who we’re meant to speak to; “go to the border”? The border’s huge!
Needless to say, I was a bit apprehensive, bringing my laptop and some essentials along and discussing with V-dog what he had to do with all my shit if I was sent home or worse, stuck in America. This exchange with the driver as I was showing my passport to get on the bus didn’t help:
“You need a 994.” (an American accent, not a good sign)
“What?”
“You need a 994, and 6 US dollars. You got 6 US dollars?”
“No, I have Canadian. Is that a form?”
“You need a 994 and 6 US dollars. You can’t get in.”
“I thought the only thing I needed was a Visa Waiver form. I did that.”
“You have it?”
“No, you do it online.”
“…….”
“On the computer.”
“You have it?”
“No, it said I only need my reference number. I have that.”
“Well I dunno, but if they won’t let you in we’re not paying for a cab back. If they won’t let you in you’re paying for your own cab back.”
“………OK (whatthefuck!)”
So here I am, pooping my pants a little bit despite all my logic saying that it’s more than likely I’ll be on this same bus coming home later tonight. I mean, I don’t even want to go into the US! They’re making me!
All I want is to live in Canada hassle-free, leave when I like and then come back freely; is that so much to ask?!
P.S. I’m so addicted to my new Macbook that I’m not even appreciating the beautiful views on the drive. I’d say FML, but fuck that, I have a Macbook.
P.P.S. I've not heard anyone say anything good about Weezer's latest album. Am I the only person that likes it? It's rad - kudos to you Rivers, you mental man.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The reason I love Toronto
Last night V-dog and myself decided we fancied some light night cake action, so took a walk in the dark to one of my favourite nocturnal haunts. On the way we passed Trinity Bellwoods park and could just make out the rhythmic pounding of the drum circle which moved to the beautiful outdoor location as soon as the weather permitted. As we moved past the park, and the beat started to fade, I realised that something like that would never happen in a big city back home.
Java House never disappoints, and between frothy sips of my glorious White Chocolate (a blend of vodka, Kahlua and milk; basically an alcoholic, caffeine-free latte) I managed to snag a sample or two of the impossibly moist chocolate cake that I'd been hoping he would order.
Walking back, snuggled into my new hoodie that I've already developed an unnecessarily strong emotional attachment to, we ran into Jamrod and chilled at the new 24 food place on Queen. Decked out like a Miami grill, but one that's unfinished and is ostensibly a front for a human trafficking business, this place is pretty mental.
We headed home along the street that I spent so much of my first 6 months on but have neglected since then, taking in the perfect weather and the sights and sounds of Queen West. Then we heard a shrieking behind us; the shriek of a woman being jumped from behind: oh no! We'll be pulled from that comforting apathy that everyone resides in, we'll have to do something! The screams were getting closer, and more intense. We turned around...to find a pretty gorgeous woman in her twenties riding a road bike towards us, without a mugger or potential rapist in sight. She was just shrieking.
She saw us looking concerned; "Just screaming with joy! I'm really happy. WOO HOO!"
And off she cycled, yelling and hollering as she went.
Canadians reckon that Toronto is the least friendly place in Canada, and that everyone within it is cold and miserable. They don't know what they've got.
Java House never disappoints, and between frothy sips of my glorious White Chocolate (a blend of vodka, Kahlua and milk; basically an alcoholic, caffeine-free latte) I managed to snag a sample or two of the impossibly moist chocolate cake that I'd been hoping he would order.
Walking back, snuggled into my new hoodie that I've already developed an unnecessarily strong emotional attachment to, we ran into Jamrod and chilled at the new 24 food place on Queen. Decked out like a Miami grill, but one that's unfinished and is ostensibly a front for a human trafficking business, this place is pretty mental.
We headed home along the street that I spent so much of my first 6 months on but have neglected since then, taking in the perfect weather and the sights and sounds of Queen West. Then we heard a shrieking behind us; the shriek of a woman being jumped from behind: oh no! We'll be pulled from that comforting apathy that everyone resides in, we'll have to do something! The screams were getting closer, and more intense. We turned around...to find a pretty gorgeous woman in her twenties riding a road bike towards us, without a mugger or potential rapist in sight. She was just shrieking.
She saw us looking concerned; "Just screaming with joy! I'm really happy. WOO HOO!"
And off she cycled, yelling and hollering as she went.
Canadians reckon that Toronto is the least friendly place in Canada, and that everyone within it is cold and miserable. They don't know what they've got.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Strange Things Canadians Like #2
#2: Karaoke
Even though I've often tried to learn (for 'often' read 'sporadically'), I don't speak much Japanese. Itadakimas, oishii, Totoro...it's neither here nor there. Yet I do know one thing: karaoke is Japanese for "humilation".
In the UK there are 2 types of karaoke-partaker. The first kind are those rare and unusual people who actively seek out karaoke venues. They get dressed in their most X Factor outfits, get a group (usually girls) together and go for A Karaoke Night 'daarn taarn'. They all think they can sing like Whitney Houston but sound more like Orville at the end of his career, smoking twenty a day and with a whiskey IV. And they always sing absolute shite like Angels by Robbie Williams.
The second type are even worse; they go to their local, get totally tanked and then realise karaoke is on in the corner. After heckling everyone else and bitching out the clothing and weight of the other singers, they get up and not so much sing as shout down the mic, mostly unable to follow the lyrics to Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping' that are scrolling on the screen in front of their glazed eyes. This type mostly consists of guys, and they often take the stage in packs, arms round each other but DEFINITELY not gay (sure). And everyone involved regrets it in the morning.
It's friggin awful either way, and certainly something to be avoided. There was one memorable evening in El Grovel at uni, when over a pint of cider and black I lost a bet from which my punishment was to get up and sing. Before my turn came around I feigned a toilet visit, walked straight past the ladies, legged it out the door and up to my room and hid in the wardrobe until danger had passed.
In Canada though, or at least TO, they bloody love it. I know a guy who goes around the city presenting karaoke nights, and its a viable career. They have karaoke EVERYWHERE, and I've been invited along to way too many singing events to count.
The thing is, most of them can sing. At my first KN (karaoke night) at the Fox and Firkin I had some definite chagrin seeing the first person get up, which was quickly replaced by shock at hearing them hit real notes and know the words.
I think it's a different mentality. It's completely fine here to say you're a singer; in fact most actors, singers, dancers and wannabe TV hosts will tell you what they do with muchos confidence, and act / sing / dance / present on the spot if you ask them to. They take their choice of career seriously, and are all confident in their abilities. It's strange to the eyes and ears of a person from a country where self-deprecation and modesty are national pastimes.
It's not that drinking isn't involved either, but Canadians have different drinking habits to Brits or Australians - the goal isn't to vomit and get arrested. They will happily just have one or two bottles (never pints) and sing their hearts out.
Are they just happier souls, content to croon along to their favourite Celine Dion songs in full view of everyone? I think so!
Strange.
Even though I've often tried to learn (for 'often' read 'sporadically'), I don't speak much Japanese. Itadakimas, oishii, Totoro...it's neither here nor there. Yet I do know one thing: karaoke is Japanese for "humilation".
In the UK there are 2 types of karaoke-partaker. The first kind are those rare and unusual people who actively seek out karaoke venues. They get dressed in their most X Factor outfits, get a group (usually girls) together and go for A Karaoke Night 'daarn taarn'. They all think they can sing like Whitney Houston but sound more like Orville at the end of his career, smoking twenty a day and with a whiskey IV. And they always sing absolute shite like Angels by Robbie Williams.
The second type are even worse; they go to their local, get totally tanked and then realise karaoke is on in the corner. After heckling everyone else and bitching out the clothing and weight of the other singers, they get up and not so much sing as shout down the mic, mostly unable to follow the lyrics to Chumbawamba's 'Tubthumping' that are scrolling on the screen in front of their glazed eyes. This type mostly consists of guys, and they often take the stage in packs, arms round each other but DEFINITELY not gay (sure). And everyone involved regrets it in the morning.
It's friggin awful either way, and certainly something to be avoided. There was one memorable evening in El Grovel at uni, when over a pint of cider and black I lost a bet from which my punishment was to get up and sing. Before my turn came around I feigned a toilet visit, walked straight past the ladies, legged it out the door and up to my room and hid in the wardrobe until danger had passed.
In Canada though, or at least TO, they bloody love it. I know a guy who goes around the city presenting karaoke nights, and its a viable career. They have karaoke EVERYWHERE, and I've been invited along to way too many singing events to count.
The thing is, most of them can sing. At my first KN (karaoke night) at the Fox and Firkin I had some definite chagrin seeing the first person get up, which was quickly replaced by shock at hearing them hit real notes and know the words.
I think it's a different mentality. It's completely fine here to say you're a singer; in fact most actors, singers, dancers and wannabe TV hosts will tell you what they do with muchos confidence, and act / sing / dance / present on the spot if you ask them to. They take their choice of career seriously, and are all confident in their abilities. It's strange to the eyes and ears of a person from a country where self-deprecation and modesty are national pastimes.
It's not that drinking isn't involved either, but Canadians have different drinking habits to Brits or Australians - the goal isn't to vomit and get arrested. They will happily just have one or two bottles (never pints) and sing their hearts out.
Are they just happier souls, content to croon along to their favourite Celine Dion songs in full view of everyone? I think so!
Strange.
August?!
It's the end of August! Almost September! When the hell did that happen?!
Time really irks me. When something shit is going down it drags like a gammy leg; when you're having fun it disappears for a while, advances several months then creeps up on you like an evil child scaring its Grandma. Is that entirely necessary?
More shocking is not just the date, but its implications; I've now been in Toronto almost 11 and a half months. My GCSE maths tells me that's nearly 12 - a full year. It's nearly time to go.
Well, not quite. Though my visa runs out on Sep 16th, I'm staying until October 8th, on which date I'll fly back into good ol' Blighty through that Boulevard of Broken Dreams (c Tom's mate) London, where I'm sure I'll either be mugged or not appreciated.
I'm all over the place about going home: proper excited to see all my glorious mates and a certain little baby that I've got total dressing-up rights on, but extremely gutted to be leaving TO and the fabulous people it contains. Three weeks at home keeps swinging between way too much and not enough.
Enough it will have to be, though; on Oct 28th I fly out to Hong Kong, for four days in the East with Tom's brother Chris! I have recently seen some bizarre photos of a restaurant that serves food in toilets. Needless to say my interest has definitely been piqued...
Anywho, on Nov 2nd I'll fly with positive aplomb into Sydney, to set up The Space mark 2 with the wonderful Louise, who I unfortunately had to pack onto a plane back to Aus not that long ago. It majorly sucked to see her go, but I'm all about living with her in her home city! Claire and Craig should also be there, as should Manc Louise, with all of us ready to set up a veritable assault on the Australian non-capital. I've already been booked into a day festival and a rave on a boat, and I'm itching to hit the surf without the need for a gross wetsuit - can't wait!
So much has happened since I last blogged...Louise went home, as did my Scottish friend Eni, I started stretching my ears (which are stinky but otherwise pretty good), Tom and I showed ourselves up as true Brits by insisting on sitting in a tepid hot tub on a roof at a party despite not knowing how to turn it on, and myself, Tom and Vadym attended the Worst Festival in the World (CEMF, held in a Butlins-esque holiday park) which was saved only by indulging way too much and the presence of that deity of drum and bass, Andy C. We also met some great people, including Dave, the wisest 18-year-old in the known universe, and the lovely Leelee and Chad, who not only took flattering sepia photos of us but also piled us into their car with all our gear and drove us home, via Timmies, to save us from what certainly would have been the gnarliest ride in a school bus ever. Oh, and there was the nurse / ice cream man who I convinced to move to Australia, and Alex the lemonade girl who gave us untold amounts of free drinks even though it could have sabotaged her relationship - her boyfriend's mum ran the lemonade stall. Oops.
I also went to see Underworld, famous for that bangin' tune from Trainspotting, who were shockingly and phenomenally excellent in all regards. I've always looked at early-90s rave dancing with a raised eyebrow, but now I totally understand.
I've made acquaintances with yet more Swindonites in the form of Tom's bezzies Andy and Binny, who despite being southern are both Top Lads. I very much enjoyed their company and was sad to see them go.
I'm still at my editing job, and am cultivating quite the tan (as well as substantial sweat marks on all my clothes) from cycling to work in the baking heat every day. I say every day; I mean all the days that its not raining or windy, and only when I don't have a hangover. So some days.
Oh, and I've figured out that these things are wicked:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sztUuNNBxbc
You barely even have to move and they get uberspeedy, then you rock your heels slightly backwards and skid to a halt. Who needs exercise when you can have a Segway to get around on? eBikes are similar - electric assisted bikes, no pedaling necessary unless the charge runs out and there's no power-point around! I'll never snigger at people on mopeds again, they're mega cool.
In the midst of all of this palaver, I find myself with itchy feet and a vague wish for new adventures, albeit ones to experience with the people I have around me. I guess that'll come around all too soon!
P.S. Canadian words I find myself saying; gnarly, super-, awesome and eggs benedict.
Time really irks me. When something shit is going down it drags like a gammy leg; when you're having fun it disappears for a while, advances several months then creeps up on you like an evil child scaring its Grandma. Is that entirely necessary?
More shocking is not just the date, but its implications; I've now been in Toronto almost 11 and a half months. My GCSE maths tells me that's nearly 12 - a full year. It's nearly time to go.
Well, not quite. Though my visa runs out on Sep 16th, I'm staying until October 8th, on which date I'll fly back into good ol' Blighty through that Boulevard of Broken Dreams (c Tom's mate) London, where I'm sure I'll either be mugged or not appreciated.
I'm all over the place about going home: proper excited to see all my glorious mates and a certain little baby that I've got total dressing-up rights on, but extremely gutted to be leaving TO and the fabulous people it contains. Three weeks at home keeps swinging between way too much and not enough.
Enough it will have to be, though; on Oct 28th I fly out to Hong Kong, for four days in the East with Tom's brother Chris! I have recently seen some bizarre photos of a restaurant that serves food in toilets. Needless to say my interest has definitely been piqued...
Anywho, on Nov 2nd I'll fly with positive aplomb into Sydney, to set up The Space mark 2 with the wonderful Louise, who I unfortunately had to pack onto a plane back to Aus not that long ago. It majorly sucked to see her go, but I'm all about living with her in her home city! Claire and Craig should also be there, as should Manc Louise, with all of us ready to set up a veritable assault on the Australian non-capital. I've already been booked into a day festival and a rave on a boat, and I'm itching to hit the surf without the need for a gross wetsuit - can't wait!
So much has happened since I last blogged...Louise went home, as did my Scottish friend Eni, I started stretching my ears (which are stinky but otherwise pretty good), Tom and I showed ourselves up as true Brits by insisting on sitting in a tepid hot tub on a roof at a party despite not knowing how to turn it on, and myself, Tom and Vadym attended the Worst Festival in the World (CEMF, held in a Butlins-esque holiday park) which was saved only by indulging way too much and the presence of that deity of drum and bass, Andy C. We also met some great people, including Dave, the wisest 18-year-old in the known universe, and the lovely Leelee and Chad, who not only took flattering sepia photos of us but also piled us into their car with all our gear and drove us home, via Timmies, to save us from what certainly would have been the gnarliest ride in a school bus ever. Oh, and there was the nurse / ice cream man who I convinced to move to Australia, and Alex the lemonade girl who gave us untold amounts of free drinks even though it could have sabotaged her relationship - her boyfriend's mum ran the lemonade stall. Oops.
I also went to see Underworld, famous for that bangin' tune from Trainspotting, who were shockingly and phenomenally excellent in all regards. I've always looked at early-90s rave dancing with a raised eyebrow, but now I totally understand.
I've made acquaintances with yet more Swindonites in the form of Tom's bezzies Andy and Binny, who despite being southern are both Top Lads. I very much enjoyed their company and was sad to see them go.
I'm still at my editing job, and am cultivating quite the tan (as well as substantial sweat marks on all my clothes) from cycling to work in the baking heat every day. I say every day; I mean all the days that its not raining or windy, and only when I don't have a hangover. So some days.
Oh, and I've figured out that these things are wicked:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sztUuNNBxbc
You barely even have to move and they get uberspeedy, then you rock your heels slightly backwards and skid to a halt. Who needs exercise when you can have a Segway to get around on? eBikes are similar - electric assisted bikes, no pedaling necessary unless the charge runs out and there's no power-point around! I'll never snigger at people on mopeds again, they're mega cool.
In the midst of all of this palaver, I find myself with itchy feet and a vague wish for new adventures, albeit ones to experience with the people I have around me. I guess that'll come around all too soon!
P.S. Canadian words I find myself saying; gnarly, super-, awesome and eggs benedict.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Hev on Wheels
So I bought this bike, right, off a geezer on Bathurst a few weeks back. Get me to work and back, thought I.
Now I'm in love with it.
Actually, I'm not in love with it itself. We get on alright and that, but it is fundamentally A Shit Bike. I bought it for $25, spray painted it, gave up on trying to sand off the rust, figured out after weeks of being too scared to try the shaky gears that if I did change up or down then the chain would come off, lock up my back wheel and throw me into the road, handed it over to Mr Cycle-mad who fixed it, and then learned to accept it for who it was.
However that doesn't really seem to matter any more, as it gives me unadulterated joy in 3 different ways:
a) It lets me eat more food, and as we all know from the days of Porky Parry, there's nothing I like more than to eat food.
2) It lets me go down hills fast
3) It facilitates my love affair with Toronto.
Since I've started my brilliant new job up on the Danforth (Greektown) my journey to work has finally transplanted itself from Queen Street up onto Bloor, and through parts of the city I'd barely explored before. I can take a slightly different route every day and discover something new and cool every time. It wakes me up, gives me more time to listen to music and has made my thighs more substantial than I ever thought possible in a good way.
Bikey also clears my head, especially on my secret little night cycles around T dot. Whether I'm basking in the evening warmth or feeling singular drops of cool rain on my forehead, I feel proper alive and genuinely contented.
It gets me to wherever I'm going quicker than walking and cheaper than the TTC, giving me more time to spend all that money I'm saving. It even lets me add to my list of potentially dangerous pastimes, as I don't have a helmet and I drive like a tit.
You know what? I am in love with it, like Debbie McGee is in love with Paul Daniels: despite all reasoning.
It may be decrepid and close to its demise, but it's got a feisty spirit and a lovable character; and for those reasons, I name bikey Edith.
Long live Edith.
Now I'm in love with it.
Actually, I'm not in love with it itself. We get on alright and that, but it is fundamentally A Shit Bike. I bought it for $25, spray painted it, gave up on trying to sand off the rust, figured out after weeks of being too scared to try the shaky gears that if I did change up or down then the chain would come off, lock up my back wheel and throw me into the road, handed it over to Mr Cycle-mad who fixed it, and then learned to accept it for who it was.
However that doesn't really seem to matter any more, as it gives me unadulterated joy in 3 different ways:
a) It lets me eat more food, and as we all know from the days of Porky Parry, there's nothing I like more than to eat food.
2) It lets me go down hills fast
3) It facilitates my love affair with Toronto.
Since I've started my brilliant new job up on the Danforth (Greektown) my journey to work has finally transplanted itself from Queen Street up onto Bloor, and through parts of the city I'd barely explored before. I can take a slightly different route every day and discover something new and cool every time. It wakes me up, gives me more time to listen to music and has made my thighs more substantial than I ever thought possible in a good way.
Bikey also clears my head, especially on my secret little night cycles around T dot. Whether I'm basking in the evening warmth or feeling singular drops of cool rain on my forehead, I feel proper alive and genuinely contented.
It gets me to wherever I'm going quicker than walking and cheaper than the TTC, giving me more time to spend all that money I'm saving. It even lets me add to my list of potentially dangerous pastimes, as I don't have a helmet and I drive like a tit.
You know what? I am in love with it, like Debbie McGee is in love with Paul Daniels: despite all reasoning.
It may be decrepid and close to its demise, but it's got a feisty spirit and a lovable character; and for those reasons, I name bikey Edith.
Long live Edith.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Strange Things Canadians like # 1
I was inspired to do this by the following :
a) this hilarious website
b) seeing Canadians do stuff that is strange to a faux-Canuck like myself
Hopefully, it will educate the foreigners and give a giggle to the natives. So here's the first installment of my journey through the bizarre rituals of the inhabitants of Canadialand...
# 1 : Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Hang on, what's so strange about grilled cheese sandwiches? Bread = good. Cheese = good. Bread + cheese = mega good. Well, yes. Except these "grilled cheese sandwiches" are not grilled, they're fried.
That's right, fried. They make a cheese sandwich, then throw it in a pan.
So why not call them "fried cheese sandwiches"?
Well, therein lies the conundrum. To make this even more complex, consider that a grill in Canada isn't even called a grill, it's called a broiler. So if they really were grilled cheese sandwiches, the Canadian mouth would call them "broiled cheese sandwiches". A grill to these people is like a BBQ.
Yet these BBQ-loving peoples would never put one of these culinary delights (because don't get me wrong, they taste delightful) on a barbie. It would get cheese all over the coals for a start.
No, this type of munchie is more likely to be made post-piss-up, or as a hangover snack the next day. I've even come across this most North American of foods in miniature as a canape, and it was fairly excellent.
Still, no Canadian can seem to explain to the bewildered onlooker how this name came about, or why they don't 'broil' them. Describe the general way of making (which, in our Manchester flat, at least, was to mash cheese up with some mustard and tabasco sause, put it in a sandwich and shove it in the top of the oven) and they look either confused or upset.
Strange stuff.
a) this hilarious website
b) seeing Canadians do stuff that is strange to a faux-Canuck like myself
Hopefully, it will educate the foreigners and give a giggle to the natives. So here's the first installment of my journey through the bizarre rituals of the inhabitants of Canadialand...
# 1 : Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Hang on, what's so strange about grilled cheese sandwiches? Bread = good. Cheese = good. Bread + cheese = mega good. Well, yes. Except these "grilled cheese sandwiches" are not grilled, they're fried.
That's right, fried. They make a cheese sandwich, then throw it in a pan.
So why not call them "fried cheese sandwiches"?
Well, therein lies the conundrum. To make this even more complex, consider that a grill in Canada isn't even called a grill, it's called a broiler. So if they really were grilled cheese sandwiches, the Canadian mouth would call them "broiled cheese sandwiches". A grill to these people is like a BBQ.
Yet these BBQ-loving peoples would never put one of these culinary delights (because don't get me wrong, they taste delightful) on a barbie. It would get cheese all over the coals for a start.
No, this type of munchie is more likely to be made post-piss-up, or as a hangover snack the next day. I've even come across this most North American of foods in miniature as a canape, and it was fairly excellent.
Still, no Canadian can seem to explain to the bewildered onlooker how this name came about, or why they don't 'broil' them. Describe the general way of making (which, in our Manchester flat, at least, was to mash cheese up with some mustard and tabasco sause, put it in a sandwich and shove it in the top of the oven) and they look either confused or upset.
Strange stuff.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Things I have in common with Louis Theroux...
1. Nationality
2. Rambling style of story-telling
3. Wierd weekends.
This past weekend was another excellent instance of the latter.
On Friday I headed up to Aidan parents' cottage on Lake Chemong (which up until yesterday I thought was Lake Simcoe) to join Michelle, Lucie, Aidan and Ben, and got straight into a bottle of Jack and the never-ending stash of nuts on the kitchen counter as soon as we arrived. After sundown Aidan proposed a booze cruise on his wicked little five-seater boat, which in turn caused these things:
a) me driving a boat for the first time, with a JD and coke in my hand
b) shouting random comments (that, admittedly, sounded perfectly alright at the time) at midnight fishermen
c) Aidan pushing me into the lake following my own drunken and misguided belief that he wouldn't push me into the lake
On Saturday we watched a million baseball movies and I pottered around a grocery store barefoot using Aidan's crutches (which I'd become slightly obsessed with) while waiting for the rain to subside so we could actually get on with the activity we'd planned: wakeboarding. Eventually, at about 5pm, I donned my boardies and rash vest, along with the fetching but somewhat large safety tank-top thing, and found myself shivering in the water on my back with my feet strapped to a board. Seconds later I found myself face-planted in the water trying not to drown. This occured three times then the wind forced us back to the cottage.
Wakeboarding is quite hard.
More Jack and nuts later, I managed to win the poker and claw back some dignity, although it's hard to look dignified when you're playing with Monopoly money and your shoes smell like lake water.
Can't wait for the next one....
2. Rambling style of story-telling
3. Wierd weekends.
This past weekend was another excellent instance of the latter.
On Friday I headed up to Aidan parents' cottage on Lake Chemong (which up until yesterday I thought was Lake Simcoe) to join Michelle, Lucie, Aidan and Ben, and got straight into a bottle of Jack and the never-ending stash of nuts on the kitchen counter as soon as we arrived. After sundown Aidan proposed a booze cruise on his wicked little five-seater boat, which in turn caused these things:
a) me driving a boat for the first time, with a JD and coke in my hand
b) shouting random comments (that, admittedly, sounded perfectly alright at the time) at midnight fishermen
c) Aidan pushing me into the lake following my own drunken and misguided belief that he wouldn't push me into the lake
On Saturday we watched a million baseball movies and I pottered around a grocery store barefoot using Aidan's crutches (which I'd become slightly obsessed with) while waiting for the rain to subside so we could actually get on with the activity we'd planned: wakeboarding. Eventually, at about 5pm, I donned my boardies and rash vest, along with the fetching but somewhat large safety tank-top thing, and found myself shivering in the water on my back with my feet strapped to a board. Seconds later I found myself face-planted in the water trying not to drown. This occured three times then the wind forced us back to the cottage.
Wakeboarding is quite hard.
More Jack and nuts later, I managed to win the poker and claw back some dignity, although it's hard to look dignified when you're playing with Monopoly money and your shoes smell like lake water.
Can't wait for the next one....
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A week of pain and champagne
The Yonge Street 10k run finally rolled around on Sunday.
I'd been sick for the two weeks before it, so hadn't really trained and wasn't at all confident. Having to get up at 6am, with my infamously bad morning temperament, made me even less comfortable with the whole situation. The burning pain in my thighs and chest as I staggered to my umpteenth 'break' of the run just shy of the 9k mark massacred the final shreds of hope I had about beating my last year's time of 65 minutes.
Yet as I panted around the corner to the finish line, spurred on by shouts of encouragement from Lou (who hadn't been able to run due to a badly-timed and insanely frustrating foot injury) and Tom (who had run like the wind and finished before me) I saw the clock at 66 minutes and it all felt worthwhile, as I knew I'd passed the start line a few minutes after the start of the race.
It felt even more worthwhile when I read my chip time (the actual start-to-finish time) of 58 minutes over a glass of champagne - 7 minutes off last year's personal best! Lightning Legs Tom chalked up an incredible time of 48 minutes, having passed an IT exam two days before - well done that man! Big big thanks to Lou too for being massively supportive despite the frustration of not being able to run...here's to the next one!
I'm getting somewhat accustomed to the fizzy goodness of champagne. On Thursday, Exclaim!, a monthly music paper I write for, had their 17th birthday bash at the Phoenix. Being very important, I was invited to the VIP (read: free drinks and canapes) bit before the actual show, and went a bit mad on the whole gratis beverages front. 6 glasses of champagne and Red Bull, a glass of red wine and a Bud later, I was dancing like a wanker to Thunderheist and making stupid posts like the one below. It was a good night all round.
Earlier in the week I'd gone to see the Sounds (who were, as ever, wicked) and been ridden around the city on a road bike, which made me realise the brilliance of having wheeled transportation in a place like Toronto. Since then I've scooted downtown on a BMX (moving embarrassingly slowly, as the crazy owner of said bike has removed the brakes) and sampled my first skateboard action since 3 of us sat on mine in my youth and the wheels fell off. My opinion of all three is this: I like them.
I also shaved my first head this week. It's strange, like undressing someone's brain.
Saturday was unusual. It's not that often that I have weekends off with my flatmates, so after breakfast we played basketball at a court near our place, then Lou and myself headed off to day two of wedding dress shopping. I haven't yet managed to try on a dress (disappointing) but Lou may have just found the perfect frock..result!
On the way uptown we managed to catch a bit of Toronto Freedom Festival, the main event of which is the annual 'Legalise Marajuna' march. We missed the march (as did most of the potential attendees, presumably) but walking through the park and enjoying an ice cream with music blasting out from several stages and people just openly smoking everywhere was pretty funny. Canada seems to be more liberal about weed than the UK anyway, so I'm sure they'll decriminalise it soon enough.
I'm currently looking for a job pretty hard, as I'm starting to hate the stupid arbitrary rules imposed at the smoothie place, but writing for a mag, a webiste, and starting my own site too is eating into all the job hunting time.
Probably shouldn't have written this blog, then....
I'd been sick for the two weeks before it, so hadn't really trained and wasn't at all confident. Having to get up at 6am, with my infamously bad morning temperament, made me even less comfortable with the whole situation. The burning pain in my thighs and chest as I staggered to my umpteenth 'break' of the run just shy of the 9k mark massacred the final shreds of hope I had about beating my last year's time of 65 minutes.
Yet as I panted around the corner to the finish line, spurred on by shouts of encouragement from Lou (who hadn't been able to run due to a badly-timed and insanely frustrating foot injury) and Tom (who had run like the wind and finished before me) I saw the clock at 66 minutes and it all felt worthwhile, as I knew I'd passed the start line a few minutes after the start of the race.
It felt even more worthwhile when I read my chip time (the actual start-to-finish time) of 58 minutes over a glass of champagne - 7 minutes off last year's personal best! Lightning Legs Tom chalked up an incredible time of 48 minutes, having passed an IT exam two days before - well done that man! Big big thanks to Lou too for being massively supportive despite the frustration of not being able to run...here's to the next one!
I'm getting somewhat accustomed to the fizzy goodness of champagne. On Thursday, Exclaim!, a monthly music paper I write for, had their 17th birthday bash at the Phoenix. Being very important, I was invited to the VIP (read: free drinks and canapes) bit before the actual show, and went a bit mad on the whole gratis beverages front. 6 glasses of champagne and Red Bull, a glass of red wine and a Bud later, I was dancing like a wanker to Thunderheist and making stupid posts like the one below. It was a good night all round.
Earlier in the week I'd gone to see the Sounds (who were, as ever, wicked) and been ridden around the city on a road bike, which made me realise the brilliance of having wheeled transportation in a place like Toronto. Since then I've scooted downtown on a BMX (moving embarrassingly slowly, as the crazy owner of said bike has removed the brakes) and sampled my first skateboard action since 3 of us sat on mine in my youth and the wheels fell off. My opinion of all three is this: I like them.
I also shaved my first head this week. It's strange, like undressing someone's brain.
Saturday was unusual. It's not that often that I have weekends off with my flatmates, so after breakfast we played basketball at a court near our place, then Lou and myself headed off to day two of wedding dress shopping. I haven't yet managed to try on a dress (disappointing) but Lou may have just found the perfect frock..result!
On the way uptown we managed to catch a bit of Toronto Freedom Festival, the main event of which is the annual 'Legalise Marajuna' march. We missed the march (as did most of the potential attendees, presumably) but walking through the park and enjoying an ice cream with music blasting out from several stages and people just openly smoking everywhere was pretty funny. Canada seems to be more liberal about weed than the UK anyway, so I'm sure they'll decriminalise it soon enough.
I'm currently looking for a job pretty hard, as I'm starting to hate the stupid arbitrary rules imposed at the smoothie place, but writing for a mag, a webiste, and starting my own site too is eating into all the job hunting time.
Probably shouldn't have written this blog, then....
Friday, May 1, 2009
Ruminations on poo
Why won't people go in a public toilet if there's already poo in it?
Why does excrement need fresh porcelain?
Who invented this idea of arrogant faeces?
Why does excrement need fresh porcelain?
Who invented this idea of arrogant faeces?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Baptising the Space
Apologies for the terrible grammar in this post. I am nursing a severe hangover.
We had our first house party last night. It went very well.
The red uber-American style party cups that we bought way back in October were finally cracked out. Spurred on by week-long forecasts of glorious 'not a cloud in the sky' 27 degree weather, we bought a BBQ, made burgers and invited a shitload of people to come sample the delights of our wonderful deck.
I worked from 10 am til 4pm, looking in a forlorn manner at the baking weather outside with quivering anticipation. At 5pm, the sky went black, and a thunderstorm started.
Undeterred, we simply moved the party inside.
The result: 20 or so people in our tiny flat, getting drunk and having a fucking brilliant time. Tunes provided by the incomparable Mr Tom Anderson, spectacular ANZAC biscuits provided by real-life Aussies Lou and Bec, drinks brought by everyone; it was delightful. The rain decided to bugger off after a few hours, meaning that we (or more precisely, our friend Aidan) even managed to have the BBQ after all.
Everyone ended up pretty trashed, and at 4.30 I collapsed sideways into bed with only half my body actually on the matress. I can't wait for the next one.
I think the house party is the modern-day version of that loaves and fishes fable from the Bible: everyone brings a little, and yet there is more than enough for everyone. It's very socialist, the whole 'bring what you can and spread the wealth equally' vibe, yet it actually works!
It also proved to me that going vegetarian last weekend wasn't a bad decision. You'd think a BBQ would make you really miss the smoky deliciousness of a well-cooked burger, but the three of us (Tom, Lou and myself) just had spicy bean burgers, chips, dip and loads of salad instead. Not only did we not feel deprived, we also avoided that gross "I had to eat one of everything" stomach ache that you normally get from devouring all available meat at a BBQ. In fact, ever since we kicked the corpse food we've been struck by how little of a change it's been. We all accidentally ate fish once or twice, but that's just teething problems (and me misunderstanding the rules a little). Having said that, I do miss tuna and shrimp.
Damn shrimp.
We had our first house party last night. It went very well.
The red uber-American style party cups that we bought way back in October were finally cracked out. Spurred on by week-long forecasts of glorious 'not a cloud in the sky' 27 degree weather, we bought a BBQ, made burgers and invited a shitload of people to come sample the delights of our wonderful deck.
I worked from 10 am til 4pm, looking in a forlorn manner at the baking weather outside with quivering anticipation. At 5pm, the sky went black, and a thunderstorm started.
Undeterred, we simply moved the party inside.
The result: 20 or so people in our tiny flat, getting drunk and having a fucking brilliant time. Tunes provided by the incomparable Mr Tom Anderson, spectacular ANZAC biscuits provided by real-life Aussies Lou and Bec, drinks brought by everyone; it was delightful. The rain decided to bugger off after a few hours, meaning that we (or more precisely, our friend Aidan) even managed to have the BBQ after all.
Everyone ended up pretty trashed, and at 4.30 I collapsed sideways into bed with only half my body actually on the matress. I can't wait for the next one.
I think the house party is the modern-day version of that loaves and fishes fable from the Bible: everyone brings a little, and yet there is more than enough for everyone. It's very socialist, the whole 'bring what you can and spread the wealth equally' vibe, yet it actually works!
It also proved to me that going vegetarian last weekend wasn't a bad decision. You'd think a BBQ would make you really miss the smoky deliciousness of a well-cooked burger, but the three of us (Tom, Lou and myself) just had spicy bean burgers, chips, dip and loads of salad instead. Not only did we not feel deprived, we also avoided that gross "I had to eat one of everything" stomach ache that you normally get from devouring all available meat at a BBQ. In fact, ever since we kicked the corpse food we've been struck by how little of a change it's been. We all accidentally ate fish once or twice, but that's just teething problems (and me misunderstanding the rules a little). Having said that, I do miss tuna and shrimp.
Damn shrimp.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Every silver lining has a cloud...
I am not a fan of being negative so I wasn't going to post this, but then to pretend that travelling is all rosy would just be plain wrong, so here goes.
A few weeks ago we hit the mid-way point on our Canada trip. It's strange, because before that I felt that I was still settling in; now I feel like I'm counting down the days until I have to go. Where was that pleasant inbetweeny phase where I have loads of money and loads of time?
It has also forced us to face the realities of our situations. My flatmates are having to make some big life decisions right now, and I'm trying to make some significant changes.
I decided a few months ago (on the strength of Louise's love for Australia and an unwillingness to go back to the UK) that Australia would be my next home. A few of my friends will be heading there next year, one of my best buddies is about to go with his girlfriend and I've got two Australian advice gurus living with me right now, so it seems rude not to go there. Living near Byron Bay and surfing all day, every day doesn't sound too bad either.
The problem is that this decision has shaken me out of my self-deception about my job. I am constantly poor, and though I can live with this most of the time I can't save up for a flight when I have about $300 to live on after rent. It looks like it's time for a bar job, but getting one is easier said than done in this crazy city, especially in the middle of a recession.
It also sucks major ass that I'm going to have to leave behind all the amazing friends I've made and the people I've met. The promise of a wicked leaving party doesn't really make me feel any better about the fact that I have to go, and even though I'll be mega excited to open a new chapter of my life there'll be a distinct niggling sadness that I might not ever see some of these people again. It's different from when I left home, as I was always certain I'd be going back. I might never live in Toronto after this.
There's the issue of home, too. I've never been a homebody and was desperate to leave the country as soon as I could, but ripping yourself out of your family and your circle of friends is consistently shitty. The birth of my nephew has been hard, as I saw him three times when I was home and now won't see him until he's 8 months old, and then I'll be off again until he's almost 2. How can you be a positive influence on someone's life when you're never there? As for my friends, we may slip into the same old perfect dynamic as soon as we're together again but I'm still missing out on their lives. They're buying houses, graduating and setting up their futures, and I'm not there to help. I miss them.
It seems as if the next five months will be infused with a panic; an "oh my life, I have to do this before I leave Canada!' panic to be precise. Tom, Lou and I made a big list of 'must-dos' when we moved in, and there are too many unchecked boxes for my liking. Time and money are getting in the way - but that's just life, isn't it?
Hopefully now I've got all that off my chest something miraculous will happen, like a reverse Pangaea that will make all continents one, and solve everyone's problems. In the mean time, Russell Brand always cheers me up - that mad, verbose ball of sexiness.
http://www.russellbrand.tv/
A few weeks ago we hit the mid-way point on our Canada trip. It's strange, because before that I felt that I was still settling in; now I feel like I'm counting down the days until I have to go. Where was that pleasant inbetweeny phase where I have loads of money and loads of time?
It has also forced us to face the realities of our situations. My flatmates are having to make some big life decisions right now, and I'm trying to make some significant changes.
I decided a few months ago (on the strength of Louise's love for Australia and an unwillingness to go back to the UK) that Australia would be my next home. A few of my friends will be heading there next year, one of my best buddies is about to go with his girlfriend and I've got two Australian advice gurus living with me right now, so it seems rude not to go there. Living near Byron Bay and surfing all day, every day doesn't sound too bad either.
The problem is that this decision has shaken me out of my self-deception about my job. I am constantly poor, and though I can live with this most of the time I can't save up for a flight when I have about $300 to live on after rent. It looks like it's time for a bar job, but getting one is easier said than done in this crazy city, especially in the middle of a recession.
It also sucks major ass that I'm going to have to leave behind all the amazing friends I've made and the people I've met. The promise of a wicked leaving party doesn't really make me feel any better about the fact that I have to go, and even though I'll be mega excited to open a new chapter of my life there'll be a distinct niggling sadness that I might not ever see some of these people again. It's different from when I left home, as I was always certain I'd be going back. I might never live in Toronto after this.
There's the issue of home, too. I've never been a homebody and was desperate to leave the country as soon as I could, but ripping yourself out of your family and your circle of friends is consistently shitty. The birth of my nephew has been hard, as I saw him three times when I was home and now won't see him until he's 8 months old, and then I'll be off again until he's almost 2. How can you be a positive influence on someone's life when you're never there? As for my friends, we may slip into the same old perfect dynamic as soon as we're together again but I'm still missing out on their lives. They're buying houses, graduating and setting up their futures, and I'm not there to help. I miss them.
It seems as if the next five months will be infused with a panic; an "oh my life, I have to do this before I leave Canada!' panic to be precise. Tom, Lou and I made a big list of 'must-dos' when we moved in, and there are too many unchecked boxes for my liking. Time and money are getting in the way - but that's just life, isn't it?
Hopefully now I've got all that off my chest something miraculous will happen, like a reverse Pangaea that will make all continents one, and solve everyone's problems. In the mean time, Russell Brand always cheers me up - that mad, verbose ball of sexiness.
http://www.russellbrand.tv/
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Funky TO shiz
I've lived here over 6 months now; it's officially my hood. So here are my favourite places to go in the aforementioned hood.
Tequila Bookworm http://tequilabookworm.blogspot.com/
A funky little coffee shop on Queen West, this place is about unpretentious as you can get. You can get coffee for $1.50, you can hang out there forever, and best of all, they have walls of old books that you can just pick up and read. There's no obligation to buy at all, but you can if you want to. On my first visit there in my first week in Toronto I got Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse for a dollar from the wicked waitress and had the happiest afternoon reading out on their patio in the sun.
Chino Locos
http://www.chinolocos.com/
I think we found this place in one of the freepapers, and I am so glad we did. These three guys run a tiny little take-out place way out east (well, to our downtown minds it's way out east) serving burritos with a twist: they're Asian. Each comes with rice or chow mein noodles, then you choose your own poison to go with it. They're like a taste explosion. The guys are really cool and they also do cupcakes for a dollar, which is well worth the SCar journey to get there!
The Queen Mother
http://www.queenmothercafe.ca/
Another rookie-week find, The Queen Mother holds a special place in my heart, and not just because they do the best cakes this side of Paris. After a mean Pad Thai you wander over to the display fridge and try to choose from the vast array of divine cakes, all of which are guaranteed to taste even better than they look. The slices are enormous too; five of us shared 3 pieces and ended up on a rollercoaster of a sugar high that would draw suspicious looks from your parents.
Cafe Taste
http://www.cafetaste.ca/
Wine, cheese, free movies and irreverent humour; who could resist this place? Certainly not us, much to the chagrin of our bank accounts, so finding Cafe Taste has been a double-edged sword! Specialising in amazing wines and the cheeses that love them in an unintimidating setting, this perfect little spot is run by Jeremy Day, a self-confessed "wine geek" and lover of general knowledge. Seriously, ask him anything, and if he doesn't know the answer he will research it there and then. They show interesting movies on a Sunday and have a full menu of great food. I now drink red wine because of Jeremy, so if the anti-cancer properties of red wine are as pronounced as they're said to be, Cafe Taste may well have pre-emptively saved my life.
I'm sure I'll update this list of TO hotspots in the near future, but this'll have to do for now as I have a date with the gym.
Buenos tardes!
Tequila Bookworm http://tequilabookworm.blogspot.com/
A funky little coffee shop on Queen West, this place is about unpretentious as you can get. You can get coffee for $1.50, you can hang out there forever, and best of all, they have walls of old books that you can just pick up and read. There's no obligation to buy at all, but you can if you want to. On my first visit there in my first week in Toronto I got Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse for a dollar from the wicked waitress and had the happiest afternoon reading out on their patio in the sun.
Chino Locos
http://www.chinolocos.com/
I think we found this place in one of the freepapers, and I am so glad we did. These three guys run a tiny little take-out place way out east (well, to our downtown minds it's way out east) serving burritos with a twist: they're Asian. Each comes with rice or chow mein noodles, then you choose your own poison to go with it. They're like a taste explosion. The guys are really cool and they also do cupcakes for a dollar, which is well worth the SCar journey to get there!
The Queen Mother
http://www.queenmothercafe.ca/
Another rookie-week find, The Queen Mother holds a special place in my heart, and not just because they do the best cakes this side of Paris. After a mean Pad Thai you wander over to the display fridge and try to choose from the vast array of divine cakes, all of which are guaranteed to taste even better than they look. The slices are enormous too; five of us shared 3 pieces and ended up on a rollercoaster of a sugar high that would draw suspicious looks from your parents.
Cafe Taste
http://www.cafetaste.ca/
Wine, cheese, free movies and irreverent humour; who could resist this place? Certainly not us, much to the chagrin of our bank accounts, so finding Cafe Taste has been a double-edged sword! Specialising in amazing wines and the cheeses that love them in an unintimidating setting, this perfect little spot is run by Jeremy Day, a self-confessed "wine geek" and lover of general knowledge. Seriously, ask him anything, and if he doesn't know the answer he will research it there and then. They show interesting movies on a Sunday and have a full menu of great food. I now drink red wine because of Jeremy, so if the anti-cancer properties of red wine are as pronounced as they're said to be, Cafe Taste may well have pre-emptively saved my life.
I'm sure I'll update this list of TO hotspots in the near future, but this'll have to do for now as I have a date with the gym.
Buenos tardes!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Unappreciated joys of life
I think everyone has a mental list of things they have to do in life (I don't like the phrase "before you die", as it sounds much too apocalyptic) and they all contain vaguely similar things; skydive, travel, see exotic animals in their natural habitat, etc, etc. I even have mine written down, just so I can have the geeky pleasure of crossing things off. It makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere.
This is all well and good, but I really think that it's the unexpected, unplanned events that end up being the most pleasurable and significant amidst your usual routine.
Take my trip to Thailand for example. The cooking course, the ladyboy show, the Full Moon Party: these things were all planned beforehand, and they were as awesome as I expected them to be (although I could use many other terms to describe the Full Moon Party, but that's another story). Yet nothing could have prepared me for spending a night watching The Next Karate Kid and sharing Johnnie Walker Red Label in the middle of a monsoon-soaked jungle with a group of young Thai guys, surrounded by the chorus of bullfrogs just beyond our seats, and the spontaneity of this event made it so much more memorable.
It's not just holidays; every day life is the same. We look forward to the weekends when we can have huge blowouts, or events we've had planned for months. We plan so much, in fact, that we forget to let the gloriously random things just happen.
Thankfully life sometimes takes over and forces things to occur.
Last Saturday, we participated in Earth Hour. In case you weren't aware, you were meant to turn off all the lights and electrical appliances in your house in the name of climate change. I found myself home alone for the start of it, and wandered out onto our wicked deck with a cup of tea and a candle. I was struck by how serene it was out there, looking out on to the dimmed skyline with the soft breeze chilling you a little. I stayed there with a book until Tom and Lou got home, and then we all hung out in that softly-lit oasis of calm, chatting about things that normally get lost in the haze of technology inside. It was beautiful.
Another randomly brilliant event that's happily occured twice now is midnight cake and tea. There are approximately a million coffee shops in downtown Toronto, and almost all of them sell cake. However, when you or your friends are peckish and restless on a Sunday evening, the vast majority of them are closed. Java House on Queen West is one of the few that stays open, and they happen to have some of the tastiest cake I've ever stuck a fork in. You wouldn't think it, but chatting and devouring the sugary goodness with a brew in your hand at that time of night is about the most deliciously scrumptious things ever, and feels vaguely like a scene from an indie movie.
The most banal-sounding things can become amazing when you just go with the flow. I recommend it to all.
This is all well and good, but I really think that it's the unexpected, unplanned events that end up being the most pleasurable and significant amidst your usual routine.
Take my trip to Thailand for example. The cooking course, the ladyboy show, the Full Moon Party: these things were all planned beforehand, and they were as awesome as I expected them to be (although I could use many other terms to describe the Full Moon Party, but that's another story). Yet nothing could have prepared me for spending a night watching The Next Karate Kid and sharing Johnnie Walker Red Label in the middle of a monsoon-soaked jungle with a group of young Thai guys, surrounded by the chorus of bullfrogs just beyond our seats, and the spontaneity of this event made it so much more memorable.
It's not just holidays; every day life is the same. We look forward to the weekends when we can have huge blowouts, or events we've had planned for months. We plan so much, in fact, that we forget to let the gloriously random things just happen.
Thankfully life sometimes takes over and forces things to occur.
Last Saturday, we participated in Earth Hour. In case you weren't aware, you were meant to turn off all the lights and electrical appliances in your house in the name of climate change. I found myself home alone for the start of it, and wandered out onto our wicked deck with a cup of tea and a candle. I was struck by how serene it was out there, looking out on to the dimmed skyline with the soft breeze chilling you a little. I stayed there with a book until Tom and Lou got home, and then we all hung out in that softly-lit oasis of calm, chatting about things that normally get lost in the haze of technology inside. It was beautiful.
Another randomly brilliant event that's happily occured twice now is midnight cake and tea. There are approximately a million coffee shops in downtown Toronto, and almost all of them sell cake. However, when you or your friends are peckish and restless on a Sunday evening, the vast majority of them are closed. Java House on Queen West is one of the few that stays open, and they happen to have some of the tastiest cake I've ever stuck a fork in. You wouldn't think it, but chatting and devouring the sugary goodness with a brew in your hand at that time of night is about the most deliciously scrumptious things ever, and feels vaguely like a scene from an indie movie.
The most banal-sounding things can become amazing when you just go with the flow. I recommend it to all.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
A wicked week of spazdancing
I have been listening to the Prodigy since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, so when I heard they were coming to Toronto I knew I had to go. Or rather, As soon as Lou heard they were coming to Toronto she bought us tickets and I know we would be firm friends forever.
Turns out I got in for free to review the thing, so the situation was even better than I thought.
Needless to say, it was amazing. The sound system was intense, the crowd was a sweaty mess of crazy dancers, and the set was perfect. There were a couple of pretty bitchin' spanking new tracks and plenty of classics, and they made the new album tracks sound phenomenal, 'The Omen' in particular. Took me right back to the days when my brother first brought 'Fat Of The Land' home and I got hooked.
It's amazing to think they've been going proper since '92, when I was just six measly years old, and they can still kick out a show like that. At an hour and a half it was way too short, but then again they're old so I think we can just about let them off. Don't ever miss them if they play near you.
Last night I went to Circa to see Andy C, the so-called #1 drum and bass DJ in the world. I've been to Circa once before and didn't like the atmosphere or the fact you can easily get lost after a few drinks, and to be honest I wasn't that bothered about seeing Andy C, but it was a birthday event and I don't like to miss out. It was probably the best DJ set I've ever seen, and it was amazing being stream-rollered by some mega bass every couple of minutes. I think at one point I almost kneed myself in the head, so fevered was my dancing.
He's playing this year's WEMF too, which is the World Electronic Music Festival they hold in Ontario (despite last year's being the 'final' one), so it should be an epic event. If I really must miss Leeds, I need a replacement festival to give me the 3 days of bodily harm that my physique has become accustomed to. It'll have to be WEMF. Damn.
Turns out I got in for free to review the thing, so the situation was even better than I thought.
Needless to say, it was amazing. The sound system was intense, the crowd was a sweaty mess of crazy dancers, and the set was perfect. There were a couple of pretty bitchin' spanking new tracks and plenty of classics, and they made the new album tracks sound phenomenal, 'The Omen' in particular. Took me right back to the days when my brother first brought 'Fat Of The Land' home and I got hooked.
It's amazing to think they've been going proper since '92, when I was just six measly years old, and they can still kick out a show like that. At an hour and a half it was way too short, but then again they're old so I think we can just about let them off. Don't ever miss them if they play near you.
Last night I went to Circa to see Andy C, the so-called #1 drum and bass DJ in the world. I've been to Circa once before and didn't like the atmosphere or the fact you can easily get lost after a few drinks, and to be honest I wasn't that bothered about seeing Andy C, but it was a birthday event and I don't like to miss out. It was probably the best DJ set I've ever seen, and it was amazing being stream-rollered by some mega bass every couple of minutes. I think at one point I almost kneed myself in the head, so fevered was my dancing.
He's playing this year's WEMF too, which is the World Electronic Music Festival they hold in Ontario (despite last year's being the 'final' one), so it should be an epic event. If I really must miss Leeds, I need a replacement festival to give me the 3 days of bodily harm that my physique has become accustomed to. It'll have to be WEMF. Damn.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Back in the UKizzle
I cut myself off this blog for a while, I was getting way too into it.
In my self-imposed isolation from the blog world, I got a new nephew, went home for a week, got not enough sleep and more than enough partying, and not much else.
So the nephew is a ten-pound cutie pie called Will, who made a mess of his mum on the way out but makes up for it by being gorgeous, having more hair than his dad and already owning a flat cap - a true Yorkshireman.
Going home was crazy. Got shafted by a car hire company (Eurocar - avoid at all costs. Their policies are ridiculous and their staff are disgustingly rude), had a reUNIon in Manchester and got very very drunk, had a boogie with my homies back at home, went to York and indulged in a Betty's (which, for Southerners or foreigners, is the best tea and scone shop in the known universe), went to Wales for some Welsh cakes and a home-cooked Gilbert dinner (where I left my iPod), went to Surrey to drink cocktails with my ex's mum and her amazing friends, and almost missed the flight home. I got 5 hours sleep in the first three days, and had to bring an extra bag back to Canada so I had room for all the biscuits and tea I had bought. If Canada sold PG Tips pyramid bags that weren't 'orange pekoe' shite then this would not have happened.
It was strange going back as I totally fell back into all my wicked friendships as if nothing had changed. The night out in Satan's Hollow - the best rock club in England, and I strongly suspect, the world - could have been any night out in the last three years, and saying bye to people with any conviction is difficult when it feels as if you'll see them next week. It's the same with the homebodies - our dynamic has barely changed over the last few years, and they still take the piss out of me with a vengeance. Yes, I talk with my hands and dress like a tard!
The problem now is that I miss them all the more. I would like to invent a country called the United Canadium where all my friends from both sides of the Atlantic can live together in one big commune and get accused of being a cult by the outside world. Class.
In my self-imposed isolation from the blog world, I got a new nephew, went home for a week, got not enough sleep and more than enough partying, and not much else.
So the nephew is a ten-pound cutie pie called Will, who made a mess of his mum on the way out but makes up for it by being gorgeous, having more hair than his dad and already owning a flat cap - a true Yorkshireman.
Going home was crazy. Got shafted by a car hire company (Eurocar - avoid at all costs. Their policies are ridiculous and their staff are disgustingly rude), had a reUNIon in Manchester and got very very drunk, had a boogie with my homies back at home, went to York and indulged in a Betty's (which, for Southerners or foreigners, is the best tea and scone shop in the known universe), went to Wales for some Welsh cakes and a home-cooked Gilbert dinner (where I left my iPod), went to Surrey to drink cocktails with my ex's mum and her amazing friends, and almost missed the flight home. I got 5 hours sleep in the first three days, and had to bring an extra bag back to Canada so I had room for all the biscuits and tea I had bought. If Canada sold PG Tips pyramid bags that weren't 'orange pekoe' shite then this would not have happened.
It was strange going back as I totally fell back into all my wicked friendships as if nothing had changed. The night out in Satan's Hollow - the best rock club in England, and I strongly suspect, the world - could have been any night out in the last three years, and saying bye to people with any conviction is difficult when it feels as if you'll see them next week. It's the same with the homebodies - our dynamic has barely changed over the last few years, and they still take the piss out of me with a vengeance. Yes, I talk with my hands and dress like a tard!
The problem now is that I miss them all the more. I would like to invent a country called the United Canadium where all my friends from both sides of the Atlantic can live together in one big commune and get accused of being a cult by the outside world. Class.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Speakerisation
Language is massively underrated.
Here are some words and phrases I always enjoy:
Lupus
Phallocentric
Dichotomy
Cylindrical
Catacombs
Cathartic
Anaphylactic
Itadakimas (Japanese)
Bagel
Tschuss (German)
Interdepartmental
Tardy
Retarded
Cock (as an insult)
Solipsistic
Emancipatory
Faux-
Pseudo-
Sur la table (French)
Joie de vivre (French)
Only since moving away have I realised how brilliant Yorkshire language is. Nothing's better than "gi-or" and my dad's old favourite "thrift's gone scew on't treddle". I miss my accent.
"Bung 'us" your faves, let's see what people are into these days.
Flipside.
Here are some words and phrases I always enjoy:
Lupus
Phallocentric
Dichotomy
Cylindrical
Catacombs
Cathartic
Anaphylactic
Itadakimas (Japanese)
Bagel
Tschuss (German)
Interdepartmental
Tardy
Retarded
Cock (as an insult)
Solipsistic
Emancipatory
Faux-
Pseudo-
Sur la table (French)
Joie de vivre (French)
Only since moving away have I realised how brilliant Yorkshire language is. Nothing's better than "gi-or" and my dad's old favourite "thrift's gone scew on't treddle". I miss my accent.
"Bung 'us" your faves, let's see what people are into these days.
Flipside.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
This weekend, I fulfilled a bit of a dream of mine: to play pond hockey.
Ok, so there were only two of us, and one of us was wearing figure skates, but it still counts. We had a goal (Lucie), a puck, and some hooking, so it was hockey.
We were playing on the frozen lake at Aidan's parents' ludicrously sexy house (I think it was Lake Simcoe but I can't be sure), and it turns out that frozen lake ice isn't quite as smooth as fake zamboni-ed ice. I definitely struggled with the bumps.
It's wierd too cos when you're skating you hear this apocalyptic "whoooomph............whoooooomph" from under you, which apparently is the ice shifting, and now and again you skate over a thin bit and it cracks, which definitely shits you up a bit. Also if you miss the puck it goes for miles.
What's stranger is that you can be noodling around on your skates and then a snowmobile will go past you, and then a car. That's right; a car. Across a frozen lake. And they're not small cars either. Crazy Canucks.
So Aidan helpfully reminded me that I had said I wanted to do a polar dip, which is where they cut a hole in some ice and you jump in the freezing water. Don't ask me why I'd said this (drunk?) but he started cutting a hole in the lake, and minutes later I was stood in my shortest short shorts (as I only had a pair of jeans other than that, and I had to wear those home) and a t shirt in the middle of this bloody lake. After faffing around for about ten minutes I finally got in the cesspool of ice, which was gross and full of mud and leaves, only to find it was about a foot deep, so really I just squatted in it, until I was pushed back onto my bum. The cold hit me. I soon got out, waddled back into the house, straight into the shower and couldn't feel my feet for about an hour. Still, I dip a polar dip! Can't wait to hit that lake for wakeboarding in the summer.
In a week I'm heading home for muchos partying with my homebodies....can't wait, and yet at the same time, it'll be really really strange. Manchester 27th, Sheffield 28th...be there bitches!
Peace out.
Ok, so there were only two of us, and one of us was wearing figure skates, but it still counts. We had a goal (Lucie), a puck, and some hooking, so it was hockey.
We were playing on the frozen lake at Aidan's parents' ludicrously sexy house (I think it was Lake Simcoe but I can't be sure), and it turns out that frozen lake ice isn't quite as smooth as fake zamboni-ed ice. I definitely struggled with the bumps.
It's wierd too cos when you're skating you hear this apocalyptic "whoooomph............whoooooomph" from under you, which apparently is the ice shifting, and now and again you skate over a thin bit and it cracks, which definitely shits you up a bit. Also if you miss the puck it goes for miles.
What's stranger is that you can be noodling around on your skates and then a snowmobile will go past you, and then a car. That's right; a car. Across a frozen lake. And they're not small cars either. Crazy Canucks.
So Aidan helpfully reminded me that I had said I wanted to do a polar dip, which is where they cut a hole in some ice and you jump in the freezing water. Don't ask me why I'd said this (drunk?) but he started cutting a hole in the lake, and minutes later I was stood in my shortest short shorts (as I only had a pair of jeans other than that, and I had to wear those home) and a t shirt in the middle of this bloody lake. After faffing around for about ten minutes I finally got in the cesspool of ice, which was gross and full of mud and leaves, only to find it was about a foot deep, so really I just squatted in it, until I was pushed back onto my bum. The cold hit me. I soon got out, waddled back into the house, straight into the shower and couldn't feel my feet for about an hour. Still, I dip a polar dip! Can't wait to hit that lake for wakeboarding in the summer.
In a week I'm heading home for muchos partying with my homebodies....can't wait, and yet at the same time, it'll be really really strange. Manchester 27th, Sheffield 28th...be there bitches!
Peace out.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Going Tribal
Ever heard of a drum circle? Apparently everyone else had, apart from me.
Well my awesome friend Jackie took me to one last week, and it was amazing. It's in a bar in the winter, park in the summer, and every takes their African drums, or cowbells, or maracas, or any other kind of percussion, sits in a big ol' circle and just plays together. There's no real leader, no real idea of what's going to happen, just one big drumming jam fest with people dancing in the middle; hippy chicks, middle aged women, guys who look like shy, unassuming college professors, anyone. The vibe is amazing - it felt like the closest I'd ever get to actually existing in the seventies. Some guys are amazing, but I was just happy tapping away quietly on Jackie's djembe (I don't know why but that sounds rude) trying to keep up. It was such a loving atmosphere, in the summer it should be sick!!
Last night we found out The Prodigy are playing T Dot. Last night my flatmate bought us tickets and earned my eternal love. Twelve years a fan and now to see those 'what you don't dare do' people..... sweeeeet!
Parry out.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Confessionism
I think I'm a masochist.
I say this as I sit here exhausted and in a fair amount of physical pain. I just got off work after having 5 hours sleep having been snowboarding all day then to the 'after-party', which I did after about 3 hours sleep having been to a gig where I moshed to an extent my body hasn't been put through since 2003. And I loved every minute of it.
My chosen career involves working at night, being exhausted, abusing my ears with a lot of shit to root out the good stuff, running around after egotistical artists then working to strict deadlines which are always a day too short. And, of course, having no money. But I can't imagine doing anything else.
My main goal is to write a novel; a difficult, stressful and uncertain process, at the end of which people slate you or praise you according to nothing more than personal preference. Writing in general is a solitary and time-consuming pastime, and horrendously under-paid, yet it makes me so stupidly happy.
The funnest and most exhilirating things I've ever done involve being fairly close to death or feeling like you're going to die for the briefest of moments, like skydiving and bungee jumping. My favourite sporting activities, surfing and snowboarding, necessitate me being freezing cold and leave me with the physical gait of someone who's been beaten up by a brick wall for days on end (which may be because I'm so unutterably shit at both of them), but I jump at every chance I get to do either of them.
I strive to travel and live in loads of different countries, despite the expense, the stress, and the fact that I have to leave behind the people I love, miss them constantly, and then have the exact same situation with the new friends I've made in the new place when I move on. My biggest hate is missing out on things but I remove myself from situations time and time again, and still the alternative isn't preferable.
Then again, maybe its not me. Maybe true pleasure only comes when you move out of the banality of everyday life and do things that hurt, things that freak you out. Maybe you have to have the lows to have the biggest highs, and I'd rather be on a wave of peaks and troughs for the rest of my life than a staid line of average 'til I'm seventy. Maybe everyone who really lives life to the full is, to some extent, a masochist.
In the glorious words of Henry Miller,
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware;
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."
Live life.
I say this as I sit here exhausted and in a fair amount of physical pain. I just got off work after having 5 hours sleep having been snowboarding all day then to the 'after-party', which I did after about 3 hours sleep having been to a gig where I moshed to an extent my body hasn't been put through since 2003. And I loved every minute of it.
My chosen career involves working at night, being exhausted, abusing my ears with a lot of shit to root out the good stuff, running around after egotistical artists then working to strict deadlines which are always a day too short. And, of course, having no money. But I can't imagine doing anything else.
My main goal is to write a novel; a difficult, stressful and uncertain process, at the end of which people slate you or praise you according to nothing more than personal preference. Writing in general is a solitary and time-consuming pastime, and horrendously under-paid, yet it makes me so stupidly happy.
The funnest and most exhilirating things I've ever done involve being fairly close to death or feeling like you're going to die for the briefest of moments, like skydiving and bungee jumping. My favourite sporting activities, surfing and snowboarding, necessitate me being freezing cold and leave me with the physical gait of someone who's been beaten up by a brick wall for days on end (which may be because I'm so unutterably shit at both of them), but I jump at every chance I get to do either of them.
I strive to travel and live in loads of different countries, despite the expense, the stress, and the fact that I have to leave behind the people I love, miss them constantly, and then have the exact same situation with the new friends I've made in the new place when I move on. My biggest hate is missing out on things but I remove myself from situations time and time again, and still the alternative isn't preferable.
Then again, maybe its not me. Maybe true pleasure only comes when you move out of the banality of everyday life and do things that hurt, things that freak you out. Maybe you have to have the lows to have the biggest highs, and I'd rather be on a wave of peaks and troughs for the rest of my life than a staid line of average 'til I'm seventy. Maybe everyone who really lives life to the full is, to some extent, a masochist.
In the glorious words of Henry Miller,
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware;
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware."
Live life.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A severe lack of clouds
I keep getting myself lost in the smallest moments of happiness lately. It's almost as if I'm watching myself in a movie when this happens.
Tonight, for example, I was walking to my friend Lucie's house for a scrumptious dinner when I was struck by a sort of smug euphoria. Shuffling along Adelaide with the cold wind in my face and and my hood pulled snugly over my head, I was listening to the crescendo of my latest favourite song, To Lose My Life by White Lies (which makes me feel a bit spacey anyway), when I glanced to my right and observed yet again the crystal clarity of the downtown skyline and the lit up tower. Most nights here it's too cold for any cloud cover so the lights from the scenery are so bright it's astounding, and you can see the lines and shadows of the CN and the surrounding skyscrapers almost too clearly. As I perceived this for the hundredth time I felt my face fall into a beam of happiness, and watched myself turn and walk down University with the self-satisfied grin of a person who's somehow managed to plant themselves in a beautiful city.
The same happened on Monday night after a gig I went to review, where I'd had a surprisingly good time, met some really cool and interesting people and got some free Jager shots from my new friends the bartenders. I strode the two streets home and found myself stuck in a persistent grin which subsided only when I fell asleep.
It's strange how the little things and the random people can make you appreciate what you have, where you are and how comfortingly brilliant life really can be.
Tonight, for example, I was walking to my friend Lucie's house for a scrumptious dinner when I was struck by a sort of smug euphoria. Shuffling along Adelaide with the cold wind in my face and and my hood pulled snugly over my head, I was listening to the crescendo of my latest favourite song, To Lose My Life by White Lies (which makes me feel a bit spacey anyway), when I glanced to my right and observed yet again the crystal clarity of the downtown skyline and the lit up tower. Most nights here it's too cold for any cloud cover so the lights from the scenery are so bright it's astounding, and you can see the lines and shadows of the CN and the surrounding skyscrapers almost too clearly. As I perceived this for the hundredth time I felt my face fall into a beam of happiness, and watched myself turn and walk down University with the self-satisfied grin of a person who's somehow managed to plant themselves in a beautiful city.
The same happened on Monday night after a gig I went to review, where I'd had a surprisingly good time, met some really cool and interesting people and got some free Jager shots from my new friends the bartenders. I strode the two streets home and found myself stuck in a persistent grin which subsided only when I fell asleep.
It's strange how the little things and the random people can make you appreciate what you have, where you are and how comfortingly brilliant life really can be.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Culture an' shit
Happy February! Time is going much too fast, I don't like it.
At the moment I'm having a bit of a chuckle of the collective freak-out going on the UK. 6 whole inches of snow! How does anyone cope?!
Being over here has made me realise I really do love the British way. We're affable, self-deprecating and take things in our stride. This doesn't mean I don't love the how the Canadians are friendly, vivacious and passionate about life in general, but it means I kind of appreciate where I come from a little more than I used to. We also encourage binge-drinking, which is always fun.
Over here they make buying alcohol as difficult as possible. In Ontario you can only buy drink in one of a few places; the Beer Store, the LCBO, or the Wine Rack. The LCBO is the Aladdin's cave of alcoholic beverages, and going in there to get one thing inevitably ends with arms full of new goodies. Unfortunately these stores are few and far between, and close at ridiculous times. Not being able to get a bottle of wine at the supermarket will never sit well with me.
They do make being healthy a hell of a lot easier though. The city is overpopulated with gyms, and everyone is on teams or does classes. There are some great Vegan eateries around, including Fressen which is delicious but unfortunately never open. They're so crazy about physical activity they have invented a silly amount of things to do in freezing weather too, and there are free skating rinks around the city. Cool beans.
There is also art everywhere. In my part of the world, Queen West, galleries are ten-a-penny, and there are comedy nights and theatre shows pretty much every night of the week. Me and Lou went to see a stage adaptation of Pride and Prejudice on Thursday which was really good - very funny and easy to lose yourself in, despite the terrible English accents. And only ten bucks!
Speaking of accents, an English woman at work today couldn't tell I was English. Damn my tendency to pick up other people's speech patterns!
My wicked flatmates Tomo and Louis have a blog if you want to check it out, they've been blogging since we got here so have this whole thing down pat! http://tomandlouincanadia.blogspot.com/
If this doesn't brighten your day, nothing will:
http://www.walksydneystreets.net/index.htm
Alan was 94 and walked around all the suburbs of Sydney taking hilarious and informative photos (an uncommon combination) with an iron determination and his socks pulled right up to his knees. I think we can all learn something from his vigour, if not from his fashion sense.
Keep on walking Alan!
H out
At the moment I'm having a bit of a chuckle of the collective freak-out going on the UK. 6 whole inches of snow! How does anyone cope?!
Being over here has made me realise I really do love the British way. We're affable, self-deprecating and take things in our stride. This doesn't mean I don't love the how the Canadians are friendly, vivacious and passionate about life in general, but it means I kind of appreciate where I come from a little more than I used to. We also encourage binge-drinking, which is always fun.
Over here they make buying alcohol as difficult as possible. In Ontario you can only buy drink in one of a few places; the Beer Store, the LCBO, or the Wine Rack. The LCBO is the Aladdin's cave of alcoholic beverages, and going in there to get one thing inevitably ends with arms full of new goodies. Unfortunately these stores are few and far between, and close at ridiculous times. Not being able to get a bottle of wine at the supermarket will never sit well with me.
They do make being healthy a hell of a lot easier though. The city is overpopulated with gyms, and everyone is on teams or does classes. There are some great Vegan eateries around, including Fressen which is delicious but unfortunately never open. They're so crazy about physical activity they have invented a silly amount of things to do in freezing weather too, and there are free skating rinks around the city. Cool beans.
There is also art everywhere. In my part of the world, Queen West, galleries are ten-a-penny, and there are comedy nights and theatre shows pretty much every night of the week. Me and Lou went to see a stage adaptation of Pride and Prejudice on Thursday which was really good - very funny and easy to lose yourself in, despite the terrible English accents. And only ten bucks!
Speaking of accents, an English woman at work today couldn't tell I was English. Damn my tendency to pick up other people's speech patterns!
My wicked flatmates Tomo and Louis have a blog if you want to check it out, they've been blogging since we got here so have this whole thing down pat! http://tomandlouincanadia.blogspot.com/
If this doesn't brighten your day, nothing will:
http://www.walksydneystreets.
Alan was 94 and walked around all the suburbs of Sydney taking hilarious and informative photos (an uncommon combination) with an iron determination and his socks pulled right up to his knees. I think we can all learn something from his vigour, if not from his fashion sense.
Keep on walking Alan!
H out
Monday, January 26, 2009
Roos and "Toobes"
Happy Australia Day, to all and sundry but especially to anyone from the land of kangaroos and silly-named places like Wagga Wagga. Australia Day is like Canada Day but in Australia - its the day when they like to pretend we don't still own them.
Disclaimer: joke.
Moving on from potential hate mail and law suits, this weekend can be summed up in one word: wicked.
We decided to break with the tradition of getting drunk in the admittedly warm and comforting ambience of our front room and actually interact with other human beings! I feel that this momentous decision was probably the key to the immensity of the whole three-day period.
Had a bit of a quiet one on Friday, the culmination of which was another epic Scribble session in which I was scandalously denied the brilliant musical double whammy of jovi (noun, to be of Bon Jovi) and ej (proper noun, "the ej", overrated guitarist with U2) while goosie slipped through the rules net. Clear bias, as I hear on the grapevine that two of the other competitors - or rather, the two other competitors - are sleeping with each other.
Saturday night was infinitely more lively. My awesome work mate and general sexpot Eric is leaving the smoothie confines to earn a shitload of tips at a piano bar, and we felt a celebration of this new chapter in his life was in order. Off the Liquid cru piled to his house for many drinks and general merriment - a party with a bartender and an ex-mixologist is always going to be messy. I said something allegedly funny and Andrea, the new girl, laughed her drink all over my face. We also found out that vodka works as rubbing alcohol, which isn't exactly Ray Mears news but might be useful info in future!
Anyways after that I met up with Tom, Lou and their friend Andrew who's staying with us til he finds a place (he only got into the country on Wednesday) at a party thrown for Australia Day! Lou met another Aussie in Esprit and he invited her to his buddy's party as penance for having mistaken her for a Brit, and the rest of us did a bit of crashing. It turned out to be a great party full of really cool people, one of whom runs a group who do snowboarding trips from the city to Blue Mountain, a place about 2 hrs north of Tronno (phonetical spelling) which is awesome for me! Bad things happened too though - I was a drunken mess, and I left an almost full bottle of Jack there. Boo indeed.
On Sunday morning, pointedly hungover, we headed off to Barrie to partake in some snow tubing. Let me walk you through that sentence: Barrie is a place about an hour away from TO that has big snowy hills, and snow tubing is when you get in a big inflatable tube (like one of the ones you use down water slides) and they chuck you down the aforementioned hills, in lanes. From the top it looks like this:
You get to the top by sitting in your tube, and they attach you to a big pulley rope thing. When you get to the top you go up and over a little ledge and then slide down the other side backwards, which is almost funner than the actual tubing bit. In case you're wondering, the world looks like this when you're being pulled up a hill backwards:
It is as much fun as it sounds - this kid's bubbling over with joy.
The first run was individual, but then we started to team up and go down in fours, which makes you go ridiculously fast. I lost my hat on the first go, and eventually got it back when it'd been run over a few times and generally abused. I did find someone else's hat though, so swings and roundabouts (NB: I keep finding cool things here; a Roots camera case when I'd just lost mine, a good hat, a comedy scarf, another good hat...) You end up covered in water from all the spray or covered in snow and its freezing when you go down but its amazing nonetheless. For the two best runs we got two teams of six and raced each other; cue hilarity. I should be able to post of vid of that up here soon. I'd definitely recommend it and hopefully we'll be renting a car at some point to go again.
We were a little bewildered by some of the signage in the area. For example, the one below seems to be warning chefs not to read whilst snow tubing.
There was no horseplay allowed, and we played with some horses in the manner of running and sliding around paths on our tubes which was NOT ALLOWED, and we got done.
Anyways we hopped back to T dot via Timmies for a muffin and a coffee, then spent the evening listening to Triple J's Top 100 countdown (Triple J's being the best Australian radio station, or so I'm reliably informed) while watching the NHL All Star game and eating the Best Spag Bol ever made by Louise. Fairly successful weekend all round says I.
In other news, I have my flights back home booked! There was a bit of a cock up on the old return flight front which has worked out pretty well for me in the end. I'm coming home Feb 26th for a week - a week, a hasten to add, which I plan to fill with as many fun things and miniature reunions as possible. Be there or be oddly perpendicular.
Why not honour Australia Day today by learning a new fact about our far-flung friends? I'll start you off:
Emus and kangaroos cannot walk backwards, and are on the Australian coat of arms for that reason.
Interesting stuff.
Hevs out.
Disclaimer: joke.
Moving on from potential hate mail and law suits, this weekend can be summed up in one word: wicked.
We decided to break with the tradition of getting drunk in the admittedly warm and comforting ambience of our front room and actually interact with other human beings! I feel that this momentous decision was probably the key to the immensity of the whole three-day period.
Had a bit of a quiet one on Friday, the culmination of which was another epic Scribble session in which I was scandalously denied the brilliant musical double whammy of jovi (noun, to be of Bon Jovi) and ej (proper noun, "the ej", overrated guitarist with U2) while goosie slipped through the rules net. Clear bias, as I hear on the grapevine that two of the other competitors - or rather, the two other competitors - are sleeping with each other.
Saturday night was infinitely more lively. My awesome work mate and general sexpot Eric is leaving the smoothie confines to earn a shitload of tips at a piano bar, and we felt a celebration of this new chapter in his life was in order. Off the Liquid cru piled to his house for many drinks and general merriment - a party with a bartender and an ex-mixologist is always going to be messy. I said something allegedly funny and Andrea, the new girl, laughed her drink all over my face. We also found out that vodka works as rubbing alcohol, which isn't exactly Ray Mears news but might be useful info in future!
Anyways after that I met up with Tom, Lou and their friend Andrew who's staying with us til he finds a place (he only got into the country on Wednesday) at a party thrown for Australia Day! Lou met another Aussie in Esprit and he invited her to his buddy's party as penance for having mistaken her for a Brit, and the rest of us did a bit of crashing. It turned out to be a great party full of really cool people, one of whom runs a group who do snowboarding trips from the city to Blue Mountain, a place about 2 hrs north of Tronno (phonetical spelling) which is awesome for me! Bad things happened too though - I was a drunken mess, and I left an almost full bottle of Jack there. Boo indeed.
On Sunday morning, pointedly hungover, we headed off to Barrie to partake in some snow tubing. Let me walk you through that sentence: Barrie is a place about an hour away from TO that has big snowy hills, and snow tubing is when you get in a big inflatable tube (like one of the ones you use down water slides) and they chuck you down the aforementioned hills, in lanes. From the top it looks like this:
You get to the top by sitting in your tube, and they attach you to a big pulley rope thing. When you get to the top you go up and over a little ledge and then slide down the other side backwards, which is almost funner than the actual tubing bit. In case you're wondering, the world looks like this when you're being pulled up a hill backwards:
It is as much fun as it sounds - this kid's bubbling over with joy.
The first run was individual, but then we started to team up and go down in fours, which makes you go ridiculously fast. I lost my hat on the first go, and eventually got it back when it'd been run over a few times and generally abused. I did find someone else's hat though, so swings and roundabouts (NB: I keep finding cool things here; a Roots camera case when I'd just lost mine, a good hat, a comedy scarf, another good hat...) You end up covered in water from all the spray or covered in snow and its freezing when you go down but its amazing nonetheless. For the two best runs we got two teams of six and raced each other; cue hilarity. I should be able to post of vid of that up here soon. I'd definitely recommend it and hopefully we'll be renting a car at some point to go again.
We were a little bewildered by some of the signage in the area. For example, the one below seems to be warning chefs not to read whilst snow tubing.
There was no horseplay allowed, and we played with some horses in the manner of running and sliding around paths on our tubes which was NOT ALLOWED, and we got done.
Anyways we hopped back to T dot via Timmies for a muffin and a coffee, then spent the evening listening to Triple J's Top 100 countdown (Triple J's being the best Australian radio station, or so I'm reliably informed) while watching the NHL All Star game and eating the Best Spag Bol ever made by Louise. Fairly successful weekend all round says I.
In other news, I have my flights back home booked! There was a bit of a cock up on the old return flight front which has worked out pretty well for me in the end. I'm coming home Feb 26th for a week - a week, a hasten to add, which I plan to fill with as many fun things and miniature reunions as possible. Be there or be oddly perpendicular.
Why not honour Australia Day today by learning a new fact about our far-flung friends? I'll start you off:
Emus and kangaroos cannot walk backwards, and are on the Australian coat of arms for that reason.
Interesting stuff.
Hevs out.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Well hello there!
Ah! You've found your way to my lame attempt at a blog...well done. Make yourself a brew and grab a hobnob (chocolate covered preferably), you deserve it. If there's someone around, make them give you a foot rub. Relaxed? Good.
So having run away from everyone 4 months ago I'm finally getting around to setting up some sort of online communication and show-off page. The reasons for this are threefold:
Uno) I've realised writing to everyone as much as I wanted to is getting both timeconsuming and expensive. Plus I don't have the patience to wait for replies, I'm constantly at the mailbox like a puppy needing a pee.
Zwei) I thought this could be an interesting way to showcase some of my writing in the near future - like an online, completely unprofessional spazportfolio if you will.
Trois) I'm jealous of Tom and Lou's.
I feel this might end up being my downfall in life (next to the Jack), as we all know I'd rather do something egocentric and procrastinatory (is that a word? It is now!) then spend my time in a useful manner. Oh well, I've written all this now...to delete it would be on the cusp of rude.
Let me set up the scene for you - I'm sat in my funky-ass apartment in glorious but cold Toronto, with Pete my loyal companion by my side. I share this delightful abode with a couple I met on the flight out here - no jokes about me living with ANOTHER couple please, its not my fault cool people pair up!! Tom is from Swindon, which I'm trying not to hold against him, and Lou is all the way from Sydney (the real proper Australian one, not some small town near Ipswich) so she talks funny. They both work in IT, but strangely I've not yet set them the task of saving the life of my terminally-ill computer. They're both awesome, and keep me in check my making sure I eat my greens and wash my pants.
I'm currently playing smoothie chicken, which involves drinking all your beverage and then holding the glass upside down to get at the tasty remnants. From this point its a grudge match between you and the liquid - he's trying to get your jeans, you're trying to get his contents (ha). I nearly always win.
Life looks like this at the moment: I've got a McJob in a smoothie bar (which all the former occupants of 5 Derby Road probably knew would end up being my "career") which sucks in some ways and is awesome in others. It's shite pay and mindnumbing, but I work with some wicked people, get a lot of food and stuff for free, and get to write and read while I'm at work a lot. Plus, many hot men and generally nice people come in, and unlike the UK, you make actual friendships with them and get to know their lives, the lives of their ex boyfriends and quite disturbingly, their bowel movements. Like I said, good and bad.
Things are looking up a bit on the actual work side of things too, as I've recently got my first paid writing gig, for Exclaim, a music paper/mag thing. Its pennies really, but then its what I love. Things are also looking hopeful on the sports writing front as I've been contacted about including some of my stuff in a mag, so fingers crossed! I'm also still working on that elusive first novel...
As I'm poor and its freezing out (and everyone really does hibernate in this weather), I'm spending a lot of time getting drunk and having mini-raves in the house, and harbouring my small obsession with Dr. Gregory House. Older, unkempt, strangely hot apathetic man? Just my type.
NB: I must at this point give kudos to my flatmates for coming up with "unkempt" to describe my taste in men. Good work guys.
Some things I've taken up since getting out here include:
Snowboarding and the subsequent injuries
Yoga
Softening my T's and pronouncing it 'yr' instead of 'your'
Actually enjoying the gym
House music
Mixing very badly on Tom's confusing MP3 mixing deck thing - like pool though, I'm better at this drunk
Canadian Club
The word 'doona'
Wearing warm clothes
Toronto Marlies
Watching the basketball at work
Frequenting a particular coffee shop
Mushrooms
all of which are positives in my mind.
There aren't really many negatives, apart from the fact that I'm really missing everyone back home. I tend to get this bewildering ambivalence, as I really love things out here and have made some amazing friends, but hate missing out on anything anywhere and miss my buddies back in the UK. If you could all move out here, that'd be peachy...
If any of you read this, holla back at me, just to help me justify spending an inordinate amount of time on this thing.
Peace out!
Parrynation
So having run away from everyone 4 months ago I'm finally getting around to setting up some sort of online communication and show-off page. The reasons for this are threefold:
Uno) I've realised writing to everyone as much as I wanted to is getting both timeconsuming and expensive. Plus I don't have the patience to wait for replies, I'm constantly at the mailbox like a puppy needing a pee.
Zwei) I thought this could be an interesting way to showcase some of my writing in the near future - like an online, completely unprofessional spazportfolio if you will.
Trois) I'm jealous of Tom and Lou's.
I feel this might end up being my downfall in life (next to the Jack), as we all know I'd rather do something egocentric and procrastinatory (is that a word? It is now!) then spend my time in a useful manner. Oh well, I've written all this now...to delete it would be on the cusp of rude.
Let me set up the scene for you - I'm sat in my funky-ass apartment in glorious but cold Toronto, with Pete my loyal companion by my side. I share this delightful abode with a couple I met on the flight out here - no jokes about me living with ANOTHER couple please, its not my fault cool people pair up!! Tom is from Swindon, which I'm trying not to hold against him, and Lou is all the way from Sydney (the real proper Australian one, not some small town near Ipswich) so she talks funny. They both work in IT, but strangely I've not yet set them the task of saving the life of my terminally-ill computer. They're both awesome, and keep me in check my making sure I eat my greens and wash my pants.
I'm currently playing smoothie chicken, which involves drinking all your beverage and then holding the glass upside down to get at the tasty remnants. From this point its a grudge match between you and the liquid - he's trying to get your jeans, you're trying to get his contents (ha). I nearly always win.
Life looks like this at the moment: I've got a McJob in a smoothie bar (which all the former occupants of 5 Derby Road probably knew would end up being my "career") which sucks in some ways and is awesome in others. It's shite pay and mindnumbing, but I work with some wicked people, get a lot of food and stuff for free, and get to write and read while I'm at work a lot. Plus, many hot men and generally nice people come in, and unlike the UK, you make actual friendships with them and get to know their lives, the lives of their ex boyfriends and quite disturbingly, their bowel movements. Like I said, good and bad.
Things are looking up a bit on the actual work side of things too, as I've recently got my first paid writing gig, for Exclaim, a music paper/mag thing. Its pennies really, but then its what I love. Things are also looking hopeful on the sports writing front as I've been contacted about including some of my stuff in a mag, so fingers crossed! I'm also still working on that elusive first novel...
As I'm poor and its freezing out (and everyone really does hibernate in this weather), I'm spending a lot of time getting drunk and having mini-raves in the house, and harbouring my small obsession with Dr. Gregory House. Older, unkempt, strangely hot apathetic man? Just my type.
NB: I must at this point give kudos to my flatmates for coming up with "unkempt" to describe my taste in men. Good work guys.
Some things I've taken up since getting out here include:
Snowboarding and the subsequent injuries
Yoga
Softening my T's and pronouncing it 'yr' instead of 'your'
Actually enjoying the gym
House music
Mixing very badly on Tom's confusing MP3 mixing deck thing - like pool though, I'm better at this drunk
Canadian Club
The word 'doona'
Wearing warm clothes
Toronto Marlies
Watching the basketball at work
Frequenting a particular coffee shop
Mushrooms
all of which are positives in my mind.
There aren't really many negatives, apart from the fact that I'm really missing everyone back home. I tend to get this bewildering ambivalence, as I really love things out here and have made some amazing friends, but hate missing out on anything anywhere and miss my buddies back in the UK. If you could all move out here, that'd be peachy...
If any of you read this, holla back at me, just to help me justify spending an inordinate amount of time on this thing.
Peace out!
Parrynation
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