Happy Monday.

Sorry this is the worst format ever, but here is one of my most recent published works. I don't post published stuff often, but this one was my first major feature (1700 words) so I figured I'd throw it up on the blog. Let me know what you think, if you can get through it. 

Where you live always looks better in photos.

The week in random:

Do you remember Orbitz, that drink Cher & D drank on Clueless (the short lived TV version) with the gelatin balls floating in it? If not, here is an overview of the drink Rolling Stone magazine called "the hot drink of '96." 

This week the Queen West Hug Tree fell down posing the question: If a tree falls on Queen St. and there's no hipsters around to hear it, does it make a sound?

A group of Ontario residents have started a petition to end the monopoly the LCBO has on beer sales. If there was ever a cause to get behind, this is it. 

Here's a video of what is possibly my favourite interview of all time:

                                 

I'm all for patriotism but this is a little much:

Enjoy a random weekend my friends.

 If only I had one extra hour in the day. 

(photocred: g bergman.)

A day in the life (and/or convincing the reader I'm busier than I am):

During the summer, the days never seems to end. For those of us slaving away at nine-to-fives, the day starts early. Every morning I curse my lack of sleep, but in the evening, the idea of going to bed earlier rarely occurs.

My skin is alarmingly pasty-white from a summer spent inside an office. I spend eight hours each day with my nose buried in a notebook or a computer screen. Needless to say, my cubicle isn't the best place to get a suntan. 

By the time 5:00 p.m. rolls around, my sleepy eyes have recovered and though I may indulge in a nap, I'm ready for the evening. Convincing myself I have worked long and hard, I usually decide I deserve a drink, a dinner, a movie or a cup of coffee. I'll take just about any excuse to spend time with people who aren't on the clock. 

Suddenly it's 11:00 p.m. At this point I usually think, "I'm out anyways, I may as well stay a while." By 12:30 a.m. I usually have to remind myself that I'm not as young and cool as I used to be and make an excuse to go home. By this time I'm too tired and lazy to take the subway, so I shell out cabfare and am home within six minutes. 

As I eat whatever I have left in the fridge (which usually isn't much), I realize I forgot to finish my laundry, figure out my school schedule, look into autumn jobs and call my mum. Not to mention the lazy things like reading, watching comedies and sitting in the park that you're supposed to do in the summer. 

Maybe next year. Or maybe if I had that 25th hour in the day, I could finish it all. 

Umbrellas out: its been a rainy summer.

I'm a sucker for a theme party. Last week when I was invited to a sailor soiree, I jumped at the chance. Genna and I spent all week flipping through racks at vintage shops, rummaging towards the bottom of bins at the army surplus and assembling outfits that matched, but didn't look matchy. It also served as an excuse to have dinner dates and avoid necessary evils like cooking for ourselves and finishing outstanding laundry duties. 

We managed to find ensembles we thought looked more vintage than costume and made time to indulge in half-litres of red wine, pad thai and My So-Called Life on DVD. What would we have done if we hadn't had thematic outfits to plan our week around? Genna would have spent too much money on "regular" clothing and I would have spent 4/5 nights eating single serving chicken and pasta. 

Thanks for the party Dan. We hope you enjoyed your birthday. 

My first day of sailor school.

Don't rock the boat. 

Art Star(s).

Art is better when you are a part of it. Few galleries understand this. But now and then you stumble across an exhibit or a festival that makes you feel like you are a part of the art, and not simply a disconnected spectator. The Plug In in Winnipeg does this. The first year of Nuit Blanche did too. 

While we were trying to find one of the Gagosian galleries we stumbled across an amazing interactive exhibit in Chelsea. Photos below. 

taking the art of collage to new digital heights, with a decidedly simplistic and old-school feel.

Who says there is nothing good on TV?

The science of performance. 

Camel No. 9, an American phenomena.

Our trip to the states made us hungry. But we're not sure what we're craving.

How I learned to stop worrying and love the present.

This nutbar actually lives in the past. She even says things like this:

"We've been married for 13 years and we're extremely happy because we both know our roles. There is none of the battling for equality that I see in so many marriages today."

Yes, equality sucks. It's right up there on the list of bad things with freedom and chocolate bars. Great kitchen though.

Good morning Central Park.

There are very few things I'd rather do in the morning than sleep in and get a late brunch with friends. But nothing was going to stop me from seeing the Jeff Koons exhibit on the roof of the Met. The first time we tried to see the show it was raining and the roof was closed. Only slightly irritated, we woke up the next morning, hiked across Central Park, and penciled a visit to the museum into our morning plans. 

It was worth it. While the show only boasted three pieces (hardly enough to call it an exhibit) the backdrop was hard to beat. The Met's roof offers a scenic view of the city, and I'm a sucker for Koons' shiny sculptures. The art star takes a lot of criticism. Early in his career he took out full page ads advertising himself in art magazines and hired an image consultant to work with him on his public image. Both were unheard of in the art world. 

Critics have called him tasteless for immortalizing his sex life with former wife (and pornstar) Cicciolina, claimed he's ripping off pop culture and/or other artists and said he is shamelessly cashing in on the popularity of the conceptual. But I think he's clever, I think puppies are cute and I love some of his new work (below). If you're in New York, go see the show, and make sure you check out the amazing Superhero/Fashion exhibit in the main area. Dior & Batman in the same room? Yes, please.

Everyone likes to collage. 

Even shinier in the sun.

Busy.

Tourist shot for good measure.

Hold on.

I have to sit down for a minute. And I may need a glass of water. Roughly two and a half hours ago, New York magazine reported some very good news. According to the rag, the next designer to roll out a cheapie line for target will be none other than your boyfriend Alexander McQueen. 

There's nothing better than a cheapie line. It means well designed clothing stamped by a couture heavyweight at a price that regular fashionable nobodies can actually afford. And Target has a good track record. I have to admit, I even own one of the v-necks from their regular Mossimo line. 

If this is true, I am conning a friend with a vehicle to take me on a trip to the closest Target, in Buffalo. Don't worry, the store won't be too busy. No one in Buffalo is fashionable. Yet.

No one lives in Manhattan anymore. Wall-Street types may sleep over at the office on busy evenings and Sarah Jessica Parker refuses to leave, but I'm convinced the only people who actually live on the Upper East Side are fictional Gossip Girl characters. Everyone else packed their bags and moved to Brooklyn. 

And with good reason. Brooklyn is cozy. The rent is (relatively) cheap, the food is tasty, you can buy records on the street corner and there are well dressed twenty-somethings as far as the eye can see. Dundas West: I love you, but you have nothing on Bedford. 

Here are three of the best things I discovered on my first trip across the L train and into Brooklyn:

1. Dive bars. There are many choices of dive bars around Bedford. We found one that served cheese puffs and supplied patrons with Jenga. Another that was designed like a cafeteria, complete with picnic table seating that forces you to make friends. And one that played 50s and 60s and served Blue Ribbon for two dollars. Kasandra had three. Or Four.. Or Five... 

2. McCarren Park. There is always something to watch in McCarren Park. When the baseball game gets boring, you can make fun of the bad outfits. Then when you feel guilty, you can stare in awe at the good ones. Plus, the bar on the corner serves beer for $3 in giant white cups. 

3. The shopping. I found the white dockers I've been dreaming about all summer at a little shoe shop my room mate discovered. Alex bought an old promo vinyl copy of an N.E.R.D. album, and we hit up a 70% off closing sale. Plus, you can buy t-shirts with naked chicks on them, courtesy of vice's frequent photographer Richard Kern. We all need a little more nudity in our lives. 

A White Plastic Fence:

The only thing separating you from the game.

Last week I attended a Blue Jays game. As I wrote in July, baseball games can be a lot of fun. I was privy to a complimentary ticket that granted me entry to a box, where free booze and food were promptly served. One dinner plate and three Stellas later, I had a new appreciation for sports games, even if I wasn't spending a lot of time watching baseball. I did however learn to cheer at the right times, shake my head when it was appropriate and frown when I wasn't sure what was going on, hoping to look like I was deep in concentration. I left a bit early so I could see my friend's band Modele, but I maintain that as long as there is food and booze, baseball games are a blast. 

Then on Sunday while we were attending a mass pool party in Brooklyn, I discovered an even better sport. The art of Dodgeball. The dodgeball games are a sidebar to the concert series, which has featured some of my favourite live acts including M.I.A., Gogol Bordello, The Hold Steady, and Wilco. But a sub-sub-culture has developed around the friendly matches. Apparently Brooklyn is all about the dodgeball. All I have to say is Brooklyn, I'm with you on this one. 

Here's a photo laundry list of the reasons that dodgeball games rule:

At baseball games, the fans get sloshed. At dodgeball games, even the players have a healthy buzz.

Your friends want to go. You don't even have to offer them free beer.

Dodgeball lends itself easily to funny outfits. 

Jocks may tell you dodgeball is utterly recreational, but you can develop some serious pipes with this sport.

Pretty girls show up, and not just the cheerleaders the team paid to be there. The girls also join in on the games, and not in the WNBA sort-of way.

At the end of the day, its not about who wins. Its about who has the best bruises to show off afterwards at the bar.

The morning sunlight is better in the afternoon.

My (mid) Morning News Round Up:

John McCain released an ad attacking Obama's celebrity status, calling Obama the biggest celebrity in the world. Paris Hilton was all, "Nu-uh John. I'M the biggest celebrity in the world." All hot and bothered, Paris rounded up a team of writers and filmed a response video. Hilarity quickly followed. Thanks, Paris. This made my morning.

Loopy Dina Lohan has responded to Anderson Cooper's review of Living Lohan on Regis & Kelly. You know your life is bad when you're calling up OK magazine and offering interviews. And Listen Lindsay, I'm on your team. I think your girlfriend is funny. And I think you look good at 90 pounds. But tell your mom to back off Mr. Cooper. 

In an attempt to drown out the bad press about a passenger decapitation outside Winnipeg, Greyhound released a series of ads with the tagline "There's a reason you've never heard of Bus Rage." The company quickly pulled the ads when every person who saw them cringed and said "Too soon." 

Toronto playwright Alistair Newton has written a new play about Pastor Fred Phelps and his God Hates Fags campaign. "The Pastor Phelps Project" is part of the SummerWorks festival and opens tomorrow night at the Cameron House on Queen West. The Pastor himself will be attending the premier. Well sort of. He's said he'll be showing up outside to protest on the picket lines. It's about time the Pastor pays a visit to Canada, the "land of the sodomites." Maybe while he's in town he can stop by The Barn. 

I walked by a newstand and noticed The Jonas Brothers were on the cover of Rolling Stone. I kind-of missed the boat. Are they that famous? Am I old?

A bikini barista stand in Belfair was victim to vandal attacks before Mason County shut them down. Hopefully the stands will continue to be shut down across the US and the twit from the last season of Big Brother will loose her job. Watch the video on CNN. 

Meet Tucker Max.

Most of you have already met Tucker Max thanks to his addicting blog, which gave birth to an addicting New York Times Best Seller. But now you get the chance to meet the big-screen Tucker Max, played by Matt Czuchry, who is probably best known for his role as Logan on Gilmore Girls. 

Don't think that Czuchry is the only b-list pretty boy that has been rounded up for the film. Tucker's friends are going to be played by Jesse Bradford and Geoff Stults, who haven't had much work since Seventh Heaven or Swimfan. 

The lesson to be learned: if more blogs were made into movies, we'd all have acting careers. 

Even if the script is awful, like Gawker claims, I'll be lining up opening weekend. What's more fun than seeing Logan ditch Rory and bang some STD-ridden sluts? 

Your Boyfriend's Back.

New York, you're perfect don't, please, don't change a thing

Your mild billionaire mayor's now convinced he's a king

And so the boring collect, I mean all disrespect

In the neighbourhood bars I'd once dreamt I would drink.

Happy Birthday Taylor. I'm sorry I passed out before midnight. Thanks for letting me crash in your bed. I'll make it up to you in the fall when you come back to Toronto. 

Stories about the trip will be posted when I'm rested. 

Luke, you are my father.

Shopping on Bleecker, celebrity sighting #1.

Looking for a break on Bleecker. 

I'm spending the weekend in New York visiting friends. And by friends, I mean my favourite paintings, of course. See you in a few days. 

Detox walk through Central Park.

We spent all week drinking cheap beer and wearing expensive outfits. We fawned over art, then got bored of it and turned our attention elsewhere. We waited all evening as if something were about to happen, and went to sleep realizing whatever was going to happen was already over, and we had most likely missed it. 

When the morning paper was delivered we were still up, and eager to read it. Our hair was wet from swimming and our legs showed scrapes from hopping the fence. When we finally decided to go home, normal people filled the streets with their Saturday morning smiles, clutching their coffees and walking their dogs. We still thought it was Friday. 

Later in the week we sat up watching movies and drinking tap water out of glasses that had a lingering smell of white wine. We let out our secrets as we exhaled from cigarettes, knowing there wasn't much left to reveal about ourselves. That's the problem with being honest: it's exhausting. 

It doesn't even matter that he's on CNN.

Everyone loves Anderson Cooper. Especially Kathy Griffin, and her fellow gay men. And thanks to our good friends at Gawker, we now have a montage of his gayest moments.

Anderson Cooper is so charming that women hit on him all the time, despite their suspicions. 

It's okay Anderson, we'll let you stay in the closet forever. Or at least as long as you keep it stocked with those crisp stylish suits we love.

Rory Gilmore, you've come so far.

It's nice to see a classy and pretty young lady breaking out of the small screen curse. Alexis Bledel won me over in Sin City and I'm hoping she's not going to end up a has-been Rachel-from-Friends type. I probably won't see either of the traveling pants films, but damn did she look good at the premiere:

Party.

After-Party.

There are a lot of mixed feelings about Feed The Animals. Many hate it. Others say its better than the first. The first time I saw Girl Talk was one of the best nights of my life. It was sweaty chaos, and when it was over we took the party to Lauren's hot tub, drank champagne and watched the sunrise. 

This time around, Gillis is in the limelight. He rode the mash-up band wagon to the top of the DJ circuit and enjoyed some mainstream success. So many people are into it that the next party in Toronto is at the unsightly Kool Haus. I usually refuse to see anyone there. Its far away, its always crowded and the staff are jerks. But this party is tempting. Girl Talk is fun music for fun people.

If you don't like it, don't dance.

You Can Do No Wrong.

Marc Jacobs hates being in the public eye. He rarely grants interviews, and when he does agree to talk to reporters, he seems awkward. Awkward, yet likeable. By perfecting a standoffish attitude he's managed to avoid scandal, but this weekend he made it into the gossip pages:

Page Six reports:

MARC Jacobs is a newlywed. The designer and his hot Brazilian love, Lorenzo Martone, were married in a civil solidarity pact Sunday in France. "He's totally excited," said an insider. "He said he's head-over-heels in love with Lorenzo. His life is coming together now." Civil solidarity pacts were instituted in France in 1999, but they are not legally binding. Jacobs isn't taking his honeymoon yet - he's busy with his show for New York Fashion Week in September.

Reps from Louis Vuitton deny the story. But a wedding might be in order; approval ratings for Martone are high. Linkedin claims Lorenzo is an ad exec for Chandelier Creative New York, a company creates marketing for every brand from Old Navy to the W Hotel. I think most people are just excited Jacobs is no longer dating Jason Preston, the hipster who tattooed the MJ logo on his arm.

If they do tie the knot, I hope they wear matching bow-ties again.

Paris Hilton in a Horror Opera. How could that be bad?

Here's my round up on what the celebrities you love to hate have been up to lately:

Trailers are out for Repo: The Genetic Opera. Paris Hilton sings and acts in this movie, though I hear she has a small role. I am probably the only one that thinks this movie is going to be good.

Samantha Ronson wants everyone to know she digs Ali Lohan's new single. Ronson denied rumours on her blog that she refused to play Ali's single in recent DJ sets. What's important about this story? Ali has an awkward accent and sounds a sexist twit when she speaks, and her sister was more fun before rehab. 

John Mayer cut his hair in support of the troops. Ok, I made that up. He chose a buzzcut out of bad taste, not patriotism. He still looks cute. 

Pete Doherty has to pay up for the paparazzi's camera he busted. He's moved on from macking on Slimehouse, and is hanging out with the lovely Coco Sumner. Thank god he's back to sleeping with models. 

That's it for the morning. Enjoy your weekend hangovers.

In Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, Rob comes to the conclusion that it's not what you like, but what you're like that's important.

This is hard for me to shake into my head. I spent my formative years on the prairies where those who shared my interests were few and far in between. No one wanted to come over and watch Fashion Television with me; they were busy driving ATVs and shooting pop cans with rifles.

I developed a bit of complex.

Thankfully my skateboarder friends saved me from being stuck with rednecks, and I learned to blend in, most of the time. (It turns out I'm quite good with a shotgun).

But I still needed to be around people who had subscriptions to the same magazines as me. A few apartments later, I now find myself surrounded by people I consider to have excellent taste.

Asking someone their favourite books or artists became an easy way to sort through heaps of people and discover which of them I wanted to spend more time with.

After all:

“It's no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.”

Hornby is right. I've tried dating someone on the other end of the taste spectrum, and at a certain point it had to end. But I learned if someone doesn't like the same music, art or architecture you, it doesn't make them uncool. It may even make them interesting to be around, and they can teach you new things.

What you're like wins in what's important in friends and in dates. So next time I'm out and someone wants to talk about The Hills, I'll give them a listen. But if it lasts more than five minutes, I'll hail a cab and settle for going home alone.