This photo is from my DJ set at
Loose Canon a few weeks ago. It's my first time being a DJ since I used to play before my friends bad punk band shows at the Corktown. I'd confuse them with computers and dance music. But we'd all get drunk and then get high in the parking lot so it all ended up copacetic. Now I hang out with more kin folk at the Art Crawl and whatnot and can afford pretty nifty gear. I made a clear decision not to get into 12" vinyl records because a) I'm cheap b) they're heavy and c) blogs don't spit out records and d) this is 2009 for fuck's sake.
I've been tweeting (I have twat?) about food lots lately. Despite a crazy schedule I like to cook for myself and my Mom because good food is so easy to have in the summer. There has been good and bad, mostly good.
Good Eats
- Escarole lettuce sauté in butter
- Opal basil limeaid
- Taziki new mini potatoes w/ extra dill
- Fresh local corn
- Tempeh reuben sandwich v. 2.0
- Almond cranberry Clif®-style bars w/ hemp oil & protein isolate, totally functionalicious
- Creamy gnocchi with arugula pesto
- Korean BBQ short ribs
Bad Eats
- Tempeh reuben sanwich v. 1.0 w/ gross vegan seasoning (tamari soy, chipotle, caraway, cumin... just don't do it)
- One particularly aimless tofu stir fry was like a mouth full of flavourless fibrous protein mush. Always should include a curried roux.
The beard virus has been spreading around town. I blame the wettest summer in my recollection for ruining my skin. I'm totally humiliated by my tiny chin, both of them. One day if I'm fabulously rich and indifferent towards mutilating my body I will get chin implants, maybe a butt chin that can hold a golf pencil securely. However the beard virus has attacked three other people. It's effects are swift and complete eliminating all traces of a beard but the course of the beard virus self limiting. We are now engaged in a fierce beard race as to determine the most indicatively virile male or some other more convoluted heterosexual bonding deal. You can search for
beard race related tweets on Twitter with the #beardrace hashtag. Feel free to join in if you're man enough, man bears.
I am going to win.
This Friday is Mr. Huw's birthday. He is turning 35 and asks that you bring no gifts to his party, especially no creams or cleansers that reduce the signs of aging. It will be at my friend Tate's resaurant called The Ship which is a fancy fish and chips joint in the trendy Augusta Street, which is quickly creating a name for itself as the IT spot in Hamilton for adults to binge drink far away from the spring break antics of Hess Village. Particularly piquing my interest is the $11 pitchers of mixed drinks, evoking memories of the Toolbox's "Skip and go naked" which I recall was mostly rum and ginger ale? 8PM people. And Torontonians, I know it's hard to leave The City but sincerely The Ship is visible from the Hunter St. GO Terminal. Haul ass and I'll buy you an $11 mixed drink pitcher, honest.
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Some time ago a friend found a box of 45s by the side of the road and gave them to me. Amongst well used singles by The Toys, Gene Chandler, Paul Anka and the Beatles was a near pristine copy of the Ontario song from the Ontario pavilion at Expo '67 in Montréal.
