NYC Swallows Canadian Whole

Man Alone in a Museum

2011-03-19T22:13:00.033-04:00

The Man in the Museum murmurs "Art could be just a reflection of life...".

He floats along as though in a dream in the 'Ethereal Wing' of the Museum. "It's like I'm in a dream.", he thinks to himself.

He silently accepts his part in the art universe. The sun, the moon, the man.

As though beamed through time, the past casts its shadow, like a tiny eclipse of the mind, and the Man asks "Who...am...i?"

"Now back to real life?".

"I feel warm here."

"Just as I thought - so simple."

As he contemplated which way to go, a voice in his head whispered "You know the way..."

A conversation started between The Man and the painting. This painting was large, but not in comparison to the size of the large empty room where it was hung.

"Hmmm, hmm, hmmm", the man hummed quietly.

Now The Man understood how intricately life and art are woven together, and would carry his momentary eclipse and revelatory 'Who...am...i" with him until such time as light carried him into the next universe.

Kid-Trepreneurs Take Manhattan!

2008-10-23T15:29:00.014-04:00

Inc.com's annual 30 Under 30 event was held at d'Or yesterday night.
It was a union of the timid kittens that are the thirty hottest entrepreneurs under the age of - you guessed it HOTSHOT - thirty, who have done something kick ass in the past year. Timid kittens because, hey young guns, if you're going to run the world along with the geeks, it's time to get mad, get even, and get yourself out there [read: splurge for business cards my little friends].

Kids of note at (or not at) the party:

- Matt Mullenweg, one of the founders of 'WordPress' was a no-show which was disappointing. Therefore whether he is less nerdy and young-looking than in his photos remains to be seen.

- Jason Wright, one of the founders of 'Feed Granola', a former 30 Under 30 A-lister and local model/lady killah, showed up and with his down-home South Carolina accent, proceeded to work the d'Or floor. I would love a drink Jason, thank you! Who wouldn't say yes to him? Well, Wholefoods (large high-end grocery store) certainly said yes, and is now distributing Feed's granola around the country.

- Richard Salem from Gramstand has not yet been nominated for the 30 Under 30 list, but was one of the most interesting cats at the pah-tay. Here's why: he was carrying a LIBRARY BOOK under his arm and was downright honest about his entrepreneurial woes. Could he be the last human in New York City still borrowing books (besides Carrie Bradshaw)? Not sure, but I did learn that his loose-leaf tea upstart had taken a downturn after a not-so-successful 6 month partnership with PURE Yoga Studios.

Booze was courtesy Chivas, a sweet scotch that goes better with ginger than lemonade, and the drunkards were courtesy inc.com.

It's On Like an Old-School Atari Game!

2008-10-21T14:11:00.008-04:00

You, me, NYC...It's time to keep the journey going.

No longer the innocent 'Canadian Out of Water' (note blog name change), I am now in the throws of Americana, riding the wake of pre-election madness, eating at a new restaurant 3 days a week, and allowing the city to mercilessly suck my wallet dry; embracing Manhattan living.

Summary of fun from the past year:

-touched the off-white car in 'Burn After Reading' parked at Grant's Tomb a few blocks from my house (John Malkovich is a big, big man, with a big, big voice - wouldn't want to EVER see him naked)

-managed to not make it to this frightening display of 'art' (how incredibly meat-tastic)

-designed lots 'o graphic assets for the Last Supper Festival that took place in September at 3rd Ward in Williamsburg (art, food, film, music, performance and most importantly PBR)

-met Hungry March Band and followed them to some gigs that included art, and yes, PBR

-discovered MoonCake Foods in SoHo (cheeeeap and cute as hell)

-Spiegletent for P-Diddy vodka party

-outdoor tennis at Delancy

-Rubulad party in Brooklyn (Rubulad is named for what the phone number spelled)

Ok, this is a sham and a lie, the above wasn't the past year, this was like the past few weeks/months. Forget summaries, it's about the here and now (Eckhart Tolle, you have it RIGHT ON!).

More fun-ness will be announced and blogged upon.

Markets Crash, Emotion [surrounding design] Runs High [at Masters of Design event]

2008-10-02T13:38:00.000-04:00

I attended the Annual Masters of Design (MOD) Gala was held yesterday night at (appropriately) the recently opened Museum of Art and Design where Marcel Wanders, world-renowned Dutch designer, John Maeda, president of Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) and Valerie Casey, a star design project mastermind, were some of the guests of honor.

Marcel Wanders

John Maeda

Valerie Casey

When I asked Marcel Wanders about his pearl necklace, the first thing he said was “It’s a fake!”. Ok Marcel, so you’ve designed some of the coolest spaces (Mondrian Hotels) and things (knotted chair) in the world and you’re telling me your signature pearl necklace (see cover of Fastcompany magazine) is FAKE??!! He simply wears it b/c it pleases him, and makes him feel a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ way.

If big-time designers are preaching ‘fakes are good’ then why not just continually create fakes or copies of others designs i.e. if it pleases people and is less expensive to acquire then why not? Don’t’ fret about the fakes because we’ll always have good designers who strive to do what even they don’t think they can, who innovate and create, to help keep the momentum of the world going forward. But could this movement of “fuck capitalism, it’s about feeling!” indicate that the ethic of design is taking a turn away from the object and ownership, towards a more organic, guttural relationship between viewer and thing?

It was all organic, reach-out-and-touch-somebody at MOD this year. John Maeda preaches participation from the masses and was inspired to ask for feedback from his students at RISD when creating his “vision” for the famous design school. Valerie Casey is spreading the love through the ‘designers accord’, an environmentally driven agreement to facilitate creative community environmental practices and bring designers together. Closer to home, Mark Borden, a colleague who wrote the ‘Typographreaks’ piece on the edgy House Industries typeface design company, was given the vellum markup for one of House Industries’ latest fonts, but said it wasn’t the object that meant so much to him, it was the feeling and experience that it represented which moved him the most.

It’s a cold, unfeeling, money-driven world but if you’ve been hit in the wallet by the stock market crash and need a big metaphorical hug, open a Target catalogue, and look at that hot sofa you may have wanted and immerse yourself in the human connection between you and the sofa designer; how does that make you feel?

Afterparty in penthouse at Hudson Hotel (designed by Philippe Starck)

Mary had little lambs...at Museum of Art and Design (2 Columbus Circle, NY, NY)

To new beginnings*

2007-10-05T21:40:00.000-04:00

Just as New York City begins to stink a little less, as the fall leaves try to turn color (but are confused as f**k because of the non-autumn weather and just turn brown instead), the Canadian out of water blog has begun to stink a little more. It stinks of neglect, as mentioned in the previous post. The only thing that has changed since that last blog post in June is my liver. It has healed and I'm up and running normally. I am literally running; I joined a gym and my goal is to try every exercise class they offer in the next 6 months. Yesterday I took the flaming-gay-instructor-too-happy-too-early-in-the-am-aerobics class and today I took the burke-from-gray's-anatomy-look-a-like-instructor-who-is-similarly-void -of-emotion-strength class where we did way too much bicep training.

So this is really it, just like spinach dip, I'm out of here. The Canadian is now in the water and swimming so much there is no time for kicking it old school with the blogosphere.

There is time though for the 'written everywhere' blog. It shouldn't even be called a blog. 'Written everywhere' is an ongoing photo essay (with no coherent story line) that documents otherwise ephemeral creativity...

click for 'written everywhere' the new blog by heavysister

*Please note that this sunset image is what google's algorithm and motivational poster companies everywhere believe visually represents 'new beginnings'.
What about a photo of Monica Lewinsky starting her handbag company? That's a new beginning! What about a picture of INXS with their replacement singer J.D Fortune, that's another real and deep new beginning...

Two months too late

2007-06-12T23:58:00.001-04:00

In the blogosphere, my blog would be now be called an untended and perhaps even neglected blog. Not unlike a car parked for a lengthy time in the Bronx; it used to pack a punch, but when left idle for a long period of time, is stripped of its substance and uniqueness and is just a frame for distant memories.

Of note in the past 66 days:

Dogs on a Plane-

Picked up my small dog from Canada. Air Canada, I beg you to rethink your no pets in the passenger cabin rule. Seems as random as your no praying on the plane rule. Instead of a direct Air Canada flight, I had to take a Delta flight through Chicago to NYC because of the dog.

Spent a 5 hour delay in Chicago airport, during which I replicated my Montreal living room in a strangely deserted corner of the Continental Airlines waiting area for flights to Los Angeles. Thanks to the circa 1972 decor, the era when unusually long sofas were all-that, the chairs didn't have arms, so they were like one super-massive comfy couch on which I totally spread out, with the dog curled up beside me, and slept.

Glad to say that the pup is a big-city boy now, and he has informed me that the amazing array of garbage smells that have begun to show their smarmy faces have sold him on the place, and he's in for the long haul.

Sistah-

My sis has come to live with me in NYC, and is staying for a while, yay, another victim of the NYC vortex.

Chopped Liver-

My drinking buddies are taking the slow route to liver damage, but in mid-April I inadvertently took the quick way to liver destruction with a puck to the liver and diaphragm in a hockey game at Chelsea Piers. I was quickly wheeled away by FDNY EMT's Martin and his partner, and into the hands of the lovely ER nurses of St. Vincent's hospital.

Memories of the ER staff are as follows: Brad, the hot nurse, who we couldn't figure out if he was gay or not, but I didn't mind. He had to mess around with my heart monitor chest sticky things and I was like "Brad, I think the sticky things need adjusting on my stomach and chest. A lot of adjusting." There was also the big momma within whose bosom I felt I could curl up and sleep forever. The radiologist who did my CT scan, Dr. Mike, was the most beautiful man of the Tommy Hilfiger Model School of Hotness. He was gently helping me out of the wheelchair onto the scan bed when he explained that the injection I was going to get would give me the strange sensation that I was peeing aaand then all the magic left the room. Those eyes though, wow. Then there was Nadia - young and spunky, the conspirator nurse - who trucked me up to the ICU, crash cart and all. She warned me that "she" (the ICU nurse) would likely make me put my hockey gear in storage, but that 50% of things that go down to storage never come back up again (thank you dear sister for rescuing me from that situation and coming to claim my hockey gear at 4:30 in the morning). Dr. Wayne, pancreatic and biliary specialist, wore a dapper suit and could have been the love-child of a middle-aged James Dean and John Wayne. Yee haw.

I lacerated my liver, but avoided surgery and was out of ICU (Intensive Care Unit) in three days, and Raymond (nurse, also gay or not, who knows?) said he'd never seen a patient walk straight out of the ICU. I felt weak, but gooood especially considering my neighbors to the right and left had ventilators, and one of them could only communicate with a device that made sounds which my sis and I mistook at first for a loud 'Simon' game.

Parental Consent-

The parents came to visit from Ottawa for a 5 day 'let's see everything, k?' tour of the Big Apple. It was a family reunion love-fest which can be summed up nicely by The Beastie Boys' An Open Letter to NYC, we did it all: "Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens and Staten From the Battery to the top of Manhattan..."

That's 66 days in about 700 words. Somehow, life seems less meaningful when measured by a word-count.

You are what you eat, so I don't eat sluts

2007-04-01T22:30:00.000-04:00

The catch phrase 'Eat Good Food' is greatly ignored by many of the 8 million living in New York City. Those who stuff their faces with greasy, foul meat and cholesterol-ridden everything else, either don't realize they are in the foody 'France' of America or just can't afford to eat good food (sorry poor guys, you're victims of capitalism, but if you rise up and start giving a shit, maybe you'll get a little respect, but until then, no sympathy). When New Yorkers eat out, it don't mean what your dirty brains are thinkin' it means. The mandatory culinary experience at Nobu, Mesa Grill and Balthazar's is the right of passage to all NYC newbies.

Breakfast at Kitchenette. Do it, now (if it's morning and you're reading). Avoid the downtown location, the waitresses are bitches - yes, all of them. Support the gentrification of Harlem, visit the uptown location at Amsterdam and 123rd street. Do not get sucked in to buying a 35 dollar pumpkin pie, not worth it, but the huevos rancheros are.

Brunch at Pastis is exquisite. I loved it not only for the anise-herbed omelet but that it is located on little west 12th street. Anything 'little' is close to my heart as I have been little my whole life and identify with all things little; Pete Seegr's Little Boxes, Little Women (the book, not small human ladies), cats named Little Guy. The food is expensive, but if you can expense it, GO EAT NOW!

Get the best-deal-in-the-city fajita at Bistro New York (on Lex btwn 41st - 40th) in midtown. Almost every 3rd day for like 2 months I ate this all-you-can-put-in-the-wrap-toppings fajita. For $6.99 (and a free soda), the toppings are insane, and you just point and they put them in. The guys who make it shake their heads while closing the tortilla because it's so damn full of stuff. I know they're imagining all 110 lbs of me trying to eat this 5 lb fajita. They're thinking in Spanish "This little Chiquita is going to eat all this by herself? Ha, no way homes." But they have no idea...

Dinner. Two words. Wild Ginger. Atmosphere: romantic, dark, plants, warm, amazing. Price: cheap, can get a bottle of nice Australian Shiraz for 19 bucks. Waiters: don't seem to understand what you say, but let you stay as long as you want and always bring the right meals, so must understand a bit. Location: west village, can go to Magnolia for dessert.

Enjoy.

A postcard from the edge

2007-03-30T21:03:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the mind leaks madness. True. This postcard I wrote but never sent reeks of ample evidence...

It reads:
"Hey, hey, hey (to read out loud like Fat Albert)…Nobody talks about Fat Albert anymore. If I changed my name to Fat Erika, would you star next to me in the cartoon as the voice of that great 70s dude with the buck teeth?

Ok, so I have decided that mundane details about life such as what I did yesterday and ate for lunch can be saved for email. Letter-writing is for the REAL stuff…When I was home, a friend of mine and I put a list of movies together that we both felt were solid winners of the past several years, here are a few I thought were rockin’:

The Departed
MatchPoint
C.R.A.Z.Y.
Closer
Old School
Wedding Crashers
Me and You and Everyone We Know
Crash
The Pianist

Older, but worth noting:
Y Tu Mama Tambien
American Movie
Run Lola Run
Red
Memento
American Beauty
The Big Lebowski

It is raining outside and there was actual thunder a minute ago, that rainy smell is coming in through the window as well. It reminds me of nights when there was a thunderstorm, my dad used to take me onto the front porch and sit down in this wicker chair, and we would watch it come down, all cozy under a blanket. This is the first official letter (actually postcard) I am writing of 2007, so, to add a little more beef, or juice, or substance, or beefjuice, here is a quote from one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Gilbert:

“Del centro della mia vita vene una grande fontana” [from the center of my life there came a great fountain]

Stop me before I start writing poetry or Richard Marx songs and painting crying clowns.

*postcards are limited space-wise don’t you think?

Ciao,

Erikka"

***PLEASE NOTE***I was not high or drunk when this was written, I DO NOT HAVE A DRUG PROBLEM!

Bigger is usually better

2007-02-21T09:27:00.000-05:00

Recently, there was an unusual outdoor installation called 'Sleep Walkers' located at various outdoor venues around the MOMA. The premise: large projections on outdoor walls of filmed stuff like people sleeping. Dubbed a "cinematic art experience" by the curators of the show, this is the first large scale installation for artist Douglas Aitkens. I dub it a "fridgid and numbing cinematic encounter".

It was cold, so cold, therefore very few people were there in this large, empty lot, one of the projection locations. The few people in the lot congregated in one spot at the back of the enormous space. I walked to where they were and realized they were positioning themselves so they could see two projections simultaneously; one on a protruding wall, the other on a wall set back a few feet (walls were like 40 feet by 40 feet at least). Viewing both projections at the same time was only possible if I positioned myself as the rest of these art peons did at the back and center (look at my spelling! look at my spelling! I'm soooo American) of this lot. The projected images were similar on each wall (person doing same actions in same position), but in one image, the person was young, and the other, the person was old.

I suggest that the MOMA people look at the map of America tomorrow. I recommend they figure out what's North, and what's South, and remind themselves that although New York City is further South than say, Montreal, Canada, it's no deep south. Meaning, don't stage an outdoor exhibit that forces the viewer to stand still for long periods of time during the coldest months of the year, it sucks. All I could think about while watching old and young people sleeping on the big ass walls was that their blankets looked warm, and that if I could physically kick the freezing wind in it's big butt, I would!

How convenient

2007-02-05T22:03:00.000-05:00

This week I met two messengers with missions (similar missions, different media and each wore headgear - one guy wore a helmet in a picture I saw of him, and the other wore a tuque)...)

MESSENGER A:

There is this crowd of people on the 14th street Union Square 1,2,3 train platform all staring, totally captivated, at this guys chest. This guy, 'Jay', has made a mission of spreading the word about the greenhouse effect through the showing of Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth. His method is anything but conventional, with laptop* splayed open, strapped to his body and speakers on either side. Jay's chin is resting on his chest, standing dead still, somewhat like a statuesque hipster mime. But when I spoke to him (he moved, and talked) He said: "I couldn't be just sitting at home while this [greenhouse gases, the devastation blah blah blah] is happening - I had to do this." Fanatical? From anyone else, it would sound that way, but it just sounded like he'd smoked a smoothe spliff, listened to some good tunes in his bedroom and said to himself "I have to do this" and he probably preceded that with "dude." Jay was nothing less than inspirational. He has copies of the Inconvenient Truth DVD sitting on the ground in front of him and encourages you to grab one (there is a change donation cup too for the overhead, ya know). Go see him at Union Square, he might be wearing a shirt that says '911 truth', but that's...another story.

MESSENGER B:

The greenteamusa Christmas party (held last week, just to be different?), was where I met Hugh Hough. He is the president of the greenteamusa, a socially conscious ad agency - sound like an oxymoron? Well, Hough is so into helping non-profits that he has a righthand man whose main job it is to remind him that the agency needs to make money to continue to survive, therefore, forget the frickin' dying pandas for a while and lets get down with that diaper packaging gig where the money's at. Incidentally, Hugh Hough was one of the "chosen ones" that Al Gore took into a tiny room for 10 days and gave the golden key to preaching his greenhouse effect speech from An Inconvenient Truth. This was called The Climate Project where formally trained volunteers are spreading Al Gore's word to the woooooooorld.

Thanks guys for doing good rather than evil.

*NOTE: It's surprising that in NYC, the technophile commuter market has not been completely exploited. George W, you should consider hiring a peon to stand in the subway with a laptop around his neck spewing your preachings. It couldn't hurt right?

You learn something new every night

2007-01-27T22:20:00.000-05:00

I was at this ad agency party last night with lots of darn appealing food and alcohol and came to two realizations (there may have been a third, but it came after being hit with a paper airplane made of dollar bills, and that's when things got a little nebulous...).

REALIZATION NUMERO UNO: one is never too old to sport a unitard. I am somewhat a product of the eighties and in the way far future, the unitard may do for me what a boob job or a sports car would do for the average Canadian in a midlife crisis. This all came to me as I was chatting with an older, English gentleman named 'Milton', as per his name tag, and on his name tag was a photo of him in a full body, white unitard and he pulled it off amazingly.

REALIZATION NUMERO DOS: was a bit deeper (but just a bit), and I will preface it with this: I had sworn as a graphic designer I would never, ever work for an advertising agency, as I assumed there would inevitably be a conflict of morals and values. For example McDonald's sucks my unitard, and I can't deal with their corporate bs (haven’t bought anything there for a loooong time and will never set foot in one again – the smell of old meat and floor cleaner together, forever - baaaaaad!). In other words, wouldn't want to work on their ad campaign. But, there, at the party, in what I thought was the enemy's lair, there was like this "Hey, yeah, we agree man, meat and floor cleaner just don't go together, 'f' the big corporations!".
Green Team USA is an advertising agency that chooses to work with socially and environmentally conscious companies, non-profit organizations and with larger corporations that are teaming up with others for a good cause (ex: Jaguar and Wildlife Conservation Society - save the jaguars or something). Speaking with the founder and president of Green Team USA, I couldn't stop thinking, 'wow, this opens some really cool opportunities for me', and 'wow, I can't believe I mistook him for the bartender, and ordered a Samuel Adams Light from him'.

Define THIS!

2007-01-26T08:58:00.000-05:00

Last year at school, I was given a French essay, and was asked to read it, understand everything and subsequently write a comprehension test on it. I was T.Oed (Ticked Off) that the topic was "What is the Definition of Art?" and moreover, it was written in pretentious french art-speak. The 3 page essay can be summed up in one line:

maybe the definition of art is actually that there is no definition at all

Merci beaucoup! This week the essay came to mind when I visted the American Folk Art Museum. Located at 53rd and 6th, it is one of the many museums in that area (includeing the MOMA and Museum of Art and Design). 7$ for students, and with an expired stuudent card, just show it quick, and you'll still get the discount. Ok, so here is a letter I would write to the Curators of the museum:

Dear Curators,

The Martin Ramirez exhibition was very absorbing. I have seen a sufficient number of LSD flashback-induced drawings of mountains, valleys, trains and tunnels to last me, well, forever. Thank you for putting up 1950s newpaper clippings that had very non politically correct headlines like: "This Art is Really Crazy!" (Martin Ramirez spent most of his adult life in mental institutions as a diagnosed catatonic schizophrenic, or as a 'crazy person').

I have two important questions for you: Firstly, some of the art you have in your regular collection hails from artists and places that are not America(n), I know it's a tendancy to embrace Canada as Northern America, but what's the deal? Secondly, is there really so little in the way of American folk art that the following merit a glass showcase in a museum: tiny tin statues made from scrap metal and bottle caps, that hail all the way from "..a thrift shop in the East Village..." and come from "...artist unknown, but thought to be made in New York City sometime in the last decade."? Is this really art or just some junk from a thrift store that fills that 'contemporary folk art' void?

Sincerely,

ES

This is what I would write to the museum management:

Dearest American Folk Art Museum management,

I was looking at the Quaker art, which included various ceramic bowls and statues of farm animals in an antique cupboard. It was creepy emough when the security guard came towards me (thought he was going to tell me that the museum was going to close soon, as it was almost 5:30 pm), but creepier still when instead he turns to the ceramic pig statue in the cupboard and says "Heeeere piggy, piggy, piggy". Please screen your employees before hiring.

Also, the basement bathrooms are surprisingly spooky, but clean.

Sincerely,

ES

It all comes down to the age-old question: is it a urinal or is it aht?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet...

2007-01-24T00:15:00.000-05:00

Smelly gas clouds took over midtown a few weeks ago in NYC, and was literally the talk of the town all morning on January 8th. Sense of smell doesn't usually make the headlines, but in this case, it was the first sense to alert anyone to potential danger and it got me thinking about that much neglected sense. It is said that smell is the strongest sense, so why don't we talk about how good that guy in the boardroom sitting across from us smells, or about the incredible scent of the dress on the sale rack, or "wow, that presentation smelled phenomenal"! Yeah, if you compare our schnozzes to the snout of a Yorkshire Terrier, they'd kick our butt, but this city is full of 'interesting' scents...

Usually I despise the smell of the NYC subway; urine and stagnant, rat-infested mud puddles, and most recently fully-claimed (by others with pride) fart clouds - ew! Ok, so late-night '1' trains usually smell like ass, but tonight, I swear to God or Allah, or any entity that had an ear or nose to lend, the scent of every lovely boyfriend I've had in the past 10 years drifted through my olfactory senses...From somewhere in Tribeca (Triangle Below Canal) all the way to 116th street I could barely concentrate on my latest commuter novel - Fifth Business by Robertson Davies (lovin' it) - cause first Andy's Irish Spring scent [from age 16 Red Pine Camp] came creeping through the crowds at Spring Street, then at 42nd street that seductive essence of fresh laundry hit me with memories of Jarin Dunsmore [from Kanata, Ontario], then the smell of how I always dreamed Ricky Schroeder's [Silver Spoons] cologne might have smelled wafted in at 96th street (upper west side, go figure).

My mom always said I had a strong sense of smell, but attested it was for those moments of primal survival, such as when she proposed at dinner one day that we were having 'Chicken of the Sea', which I did believe was just chickens that swam, but smelled otherwise, and wouldn't touch it (I hate tuna).

I play hockey and am, as a result, subjected to some seriously rank stench from fellow players' equipment. It is rare that I happen upon a male in equipment that smells freshly laundered and when I do, I wonder if:

a) he is a metrosexual who is just clean for the sake of it (please come have a drink with me and lets get to know eachother and we can talk about how much I loooooove a guy in uniform)
b) he has a girlfriend who washes his stuff for him (lucky you, whatever...)
or
c) he's gay (cool, but whatever...)

They say that smell "...drives, laughing and sticking its arm out of the window while making rude gestures at all the other senses", meaning it's a damn cocky sense and takes over when it can. Take heed, do we inhale in our dreams? Who knows, but I know that it can be as unpleasant as Mr. gross-subway-guy doing the fart lean and ripping one out literally ON me or the reminiscent fragrance of a lost love (or essence of soon to be lovah). Whatever, lets give it up for the olfactory sense that is hailed during mealtimes, but mostly forgotten the rest of the time. And although the source of the NYC gas cloud was never sorted out, lets thank our noses for doing their jobs by smelling the gaseous potential danger, and in helping get people like my boss the heck out of their 50th floor apartments in midtown. If only noses could reliably smell winning lottery numbers, potential soulmates and cell phone companies that wouldn't screw you over...

Hello there 2007.

2007-01-07T11:39:00.000-05:00

My olfactory senses are going nuts. The smell of Christmas paralleled with the fresh summertime scent of new grass and sun has never been part of my constitution, but thanks to the mighty greenhouse effect, it happened yesterday here in NYC. At 22 degrees Celsius (approx. 75 degrees F), the day was a beauty (though with the darkness of the ‘effect’ never far out of mind).

I am dubbing 2007 “What the fuck?!” year. So far, that has been an appropriate response to the weather, to the length of the lineups I have had to wait in traveling to Canada and back, to the Montreal Canadiens success this season and to the guy who lifted a bagel from the top of my paper bag of bagels I was carrying the other day without batting a sticky little eyelash.

So resolutions…When I think of traditional new year’s resolutions, I think of the overflowing gyms of January, then the ghost town the locker rooms become by mid-February. I call this a forced “to-do”, not so much a resolution. When I asked a friend of mine if he had any resolutions, and he said 'to be a better person'...I wished him good luck, but it got me thinking - perhaps a new breed is hatching; if the new year gets people to look inside and rethink something about their lives whether it be as broad as self-betterment, or as seemingly mundane as 'I want to relax’, so be it. Society tells us to look outside so often, we forget that we are our own puppet masters; be good, relax, eat well, stay positive - sometimes you just got to say what the fuck?! It’s 2007, happy new year y’all.

*Personal resolutions a.k.a. conscious decisions and “to-do’s” of 2007 (“WTF?!” year)

A. Deal with unresolved issues
B. Grocery day is Sunday
C. Make one big meal (min.) per week
D. Write letters on paper and send in mail with stamp

Anyone have any resolutions to share?

Dear God, make me a bird. So I could fly far. Far far away from here.

2007-01-02T23:00:00.000-05:00

Pleix films' video 'Birds' will endear even the most dog-allergic to these little mammals...
(on the Pleix website click on the images of the dogs to see video).

Williamsburg to the rescue

2006-12-22T22:08:00.000-05:00

When I first moved to NYC and learned that 3/4 of the people I worked with in 'corporate America' (midtown Manhattan) lived in Brooklyn, I scoffed and asked myself, why I would come all the way to NYC to live in Brooklyn? Moreover, wouldn't I be surrounded by the same type of people, bars and restaurants as in my Plateau neighborhood in Montreal? I wanted the real New York experience!

Last week I tagged along with a group of Williamsburgers(?) who let me in on a special secret - shhhh, this place has great restaurants for breaky and dinner, holeinthewall bars with cool decore and reasonable prices, and you know what? hipsters (we call them artists trying to survive, in Montreal) are really nice people - oh my god, did I say all that out loud?!

So here's the deal: Brooklyn is 'cool', but Williamsburg is where the hipsters hang out and are dispersing themselves throughout the neighborhood so densely that it has become the too-cool-for-itself "it" place to live. So if in 'the burg', here are a few insider spots to seek out...

Try Baci & Abbracci (translated 'Kisses and Hugs') for an unbelievable Italian dinner. The beet salad, margarita pizza and chicken pallia all kick major Italian ass (and the hot diggity-dawg Philippe Starck Charles ghost stools echo the perfect meals and minimalist decore). For breakfast get yourself to Egg earlier rather than later 'cause the early bird gets the hot biscuits and possibly a table for seven!

Billyburg nightlife holds fistfuls of promises and the madness of its the underbelly is undeniable (read: I was taken to so many interesting places one night that I don't remember any of their names or what street they were on, but I know they were cool bars - and my Billyburg tour guide won a Christmas tree in a raffle at one of the bars).

In conclusion, this rescue from the Manhattan fire couldn't have come at a better time. There's more out there than the previously blogged corporate darkness, you just have to find the right angel to help navigate the waters.

Little guy makes big impression

2006-12-12T00:26:00.000-05:00

Michael Jackson, you've gots yourself a 'little' competition who happens to have a lot of moves. Alex Sotomayor is a small dude who is giving Michael a run for his money. Sotomayor gave it up for a large crowd at the 14th street subway stop the other day, busting out the moonwalk and token pelvis thrust toe lift to classics such as 'Beat It' and 'I'm Bad'. Definitely the subway highlight of my week. If you get a chance to check him out, he'll blast you back to 1984(???) in one eccentric swoop.

Can NYC swallow you whole?

2006-12-10T11:41:00.000-05:00

It's dubbed 'the city that never sleeps', but a more apt slogan might be 'the city that does not allow you to sleep because you are too busy working your ass off to make enough money to live'....

I was warned by friends that this place can make you mean. That New York will steal your heart, then swallow you up and, if you're not careful, spit you out wearing a brand new tainted and hardened attitude. Well my friends, the fact that I have been away from the blog for so many weeks is evidence that I am taking the road often travelled by NY city-folk; no time for anything but work (and a little hockey).

My philosophy since I can remember is: there is always time, it's just a matter of whether one wants to make time for something or not. I have been straying from that philosophy, and in doing so, feel somewhat like I'm losing myself - have I been neglecting the things that inspired me so much when I first arrived? (art, people-watching, design shows, blogging)...

As the crowds of NY become more dense with tourists and Christmas shoppers, leading to augmented in-your-face anonymity, I can't help but wonder 'can one stay true to oneself in this crowded city which gets inside your soul, and penetrates the nucleus of who you are?'.

I don't have the answers yet, but advice from a random stranger at a party this weekend rang true, and in my Coors Light haze I managed to gather the following:
-Surround yourself with 'real' people
-Get out of the corporate world more often
-Take a walk in the park which should help bring you back to earth (where there are trees, not just art decco buildings)
-Make time

That's it, I'm off for a walk in this place of solace they call Central Park...

Shift: to exchange for or replace by another

2006-11-14T23:20:00.000-05:00

Shift was the theme for the Collision Machine (Bushwick artists loft party) on Saturday, November 11th (Canadian Remembrance Day). Perhaps in celebration of the shift in seasons, or the shift of the party locale from outside (rooftop) to inside (the ‘main hall’ of the loft). But whether inside or out, the Collision Machine is a dynamic event and is always a success.

Local artists came through with some unique and creative works. Pieces to toast (with our cans of Blue Light) were Dan Hertzberg’s camouflage-like stacked cars piece called 'Varick Avenue', Adam Courtney's nails and feathers angel wings (ironically not related to the show, just there for an upcoming project) and Jay Pingree's perspective people piece (blotchy, abstract painting of business people on a street from weird-angled birdseye view – with complementary pastel camouflage background).

We could feel the mad beats from Williamsburg: the music, music and mooooore music. Tony and Ryan, DJs extraordinaire, were back for another round of block rockin' electronic earcandy mixed with live performance. Ryan rocked the mic with some of his sweet Pivotal Mouvement tunes, and Ryoko of Echostream energized the crowd with her haunting, Portisheadesque voice.

The show-stopper though was Superfortress, the small-framed, Japanese rocker sporting skinny tie, platforms, streaked mullet and small white electric guitar. Backed by Ryan and Tony, Superfortress’ synth tunes, retro-look and incomprehensible, drunken between-song banter embodied all that the Tokyo music scene might have been circa 1982.
Congrats to the organizers of the event, another one floats to the smoggy heavens as a heck of a party and the place to be on a Saturday night in Brooklyn! Shout-out to the Bushwick kitten living the hard knock life on Wycoff Ave.

Icecats (almost) Block Blockheads

2006-11-04T22:38:00.000-05:00

The NY Icecats is a fine hockey club with which I am fortunate enough to be playing the regular season. The team is comprised of very cool and handsome older men (lucky me!) and we play our games in the cosmopolitan center of Hackensack, New Jersey.

Yeah, Hackensack is a little 'out there' geographically, but the benefits of playing at this arena include a consistently cold and smooth ice surface which is regulation size. Additionally, the arena is conveniently located beside a bowling alley and Hooters. The boys are psyched about Hooters, but I like the bowling alley. I like the bowling alley for the priceless bits of NJ conversation I overhear (while waiting for the guys to change) when the smokers chat outside the blowing alley doors.

On Wednesday I heard the following:

NJ GUY#1 "Dude, yeah, the other night was so fun!"
NJ GUY#2 "Yeah man - that rocked!"
NJ GUY#1 "Ya know what we gotta do more often?"
NJ GUY#2 "What?"
NJ GUY#1 "Well, what comes before PART 'B'?"
NJ GUY#2 "Uh...PART 'A'?"
NJ GUY#1 "Yeah man, PARTAYYY*!"

*WTF?!

In addition to regular season games, the Icecats hold a weekly practice at Chelsea Piers arena. Last week, instead of a practice, we hosted an energetic NY Icecats vs. the Central Park Blockheads pre-season exhibition game. Bring it on Central Park!
The kids from that team may be much younger with fewer scars and more stamina, but the Icecats held their own against this persistent crew. It was a fast-paced, evenly matched three periods of hard play. So evenly matched in fact, that despite the strongest line pushing us ahead by one goal in the 3rd period, the Blockheads responded with a strong tying goal with 1:30 remaining. The inevitable shootout, cut short by the impatient Zamboni guy, also left the teams tied.
The post-game cool-down moved to the Chelsea Brewing Company where over a few beers, the two teams kissed, hugged and called it a 'fun game'. But don't think you've gotten off easy Blockheads, because until next time, you fine young bucks - meow on you!

Devil's Night

2006-10-31T00:27:00.000-05:00

Brooklynites woke up this morning with one thing on their minds: the best costume EVER.

As young Detroitians dream of days of yore when 'burning down the house' (on Halloween) was not just a Talking Heads tune, the kids in Brooklyn have been busy dreaming up their Halloween duds.
As this was my first Hallows Eve in New York, I decided to head over the bridge to that place to where creative minds meet at the cross-roads of 'starving artists' and organic latte hipsters: Park Slope. My co-worker and I mosied down...actually she mosied as a cowgirl, and I padded softly as catwoman, to a sweet Brooklyn loft party.

The evening kickstarted with a full-out makeup artist session in a bathroom so small even my 7.5 lb Yorkie would have felt claustrophobic in there. It was every boys wet dream: we painted a lovely, scantily clad woman with gold body paint, literally head-to-toe, while she stood spread eagle in the bathtub. The result was the sexiest costume-winning Goldfinger-Girl.

Despite the quiet, mello tunes, the party raged - with a kilt-toting Scotsman tending the bar, how could it not? The Halloween heat turned up a notch when not one, but two catwomen showed up at the party, and things really started to rock-out when Bjork made a cameo trick-or-treat appearance in her (in)famous swan dress.

During our windy walk home along 5th avenue, we stumbled into the Commonwealth for one last drink where a milk carton walked out as we came in (I was so f*&@^&#ed up! Reminded me of a night in Halifax where I saw a snake slithering towards me on the sidewalk the day this huge hurricane hit, but it was actually a plastic bag).

The last thing I remember is reading the Wall of Brutally Honest Classifieds (pieces of paper with honest notes stuck on bulletin board) and this quote:

"i won't commit... And.. uh... i really don't care. But it will be fun while it lasted, at least on your end. So if you're up for pretending you're happy. call me."

My cowgirl friend and I agreed that this was a boys handwriting and the story of my life.

Heart of Glass

2006-10-20T01:33:00.000-04:00

It should be illegal for a hockey arena to be less than half full. In Canada I think it is, but in New Jersey it's "just another stupid hockey game". The not-so-well attended game of the Toronto Maple Leafs vs. the New Jersey Devils was nonetheless attended by a small contingent of Torontonians cheering on their blue and whites.

Well look here ladies, if it were the Leafs vs. any other team at any other arena, I would have cheered for the other team, but to be honest I don't think a lot of the New Jersians knew what sport they were watching. I had to stick with my countrymen. One woman heckled "Get the Canadians off the ice!!!" - frowning, a fellow Canadian turned to her and noted that no one would be left on the ice but the two Americans and handful of Europeans from either team if the Canadians were to leave the ice.

The excitement started (after the grilled chicken burger and beer), when we scored rink-side seats. We were like babies drooling at the life-sized likes of Sundin, Mr. Tucker (that handsome goon) and the yummy Tomas Kaberle. After 2 periods of brutal goaltending by Martin Brodeur (also yummy), as far as we were concerned, the strangely quiet Sundin and his crew had it in the bag. Buuuuuut, the Devils managed 3 goals in the third period to bring the score to 6-6, which led to a ridiculously exciting OT.

*Love the four-on-four, but wish OT were longer

The shootout, sitting behind Brodeur, was a dream come true. My heart was reaming off 'O Canada' while we banged our pampered little fists on the glass, as we've always seen people do, hated them for it, but deep-down wanted to do ourselves. Up close the game is fast, furious, hard and super, super serious. I've never seen more concentration on a face than Brian McCabe's whilst digging in the corner. Ultimately, The Devils beat Toronto in the shootout, but the Leafs tried really, really hard (ha ha).

Thank you Torotonians for looking beyond the Habs (Mtl Canadians) fan in me and sharing the love of the game. Although some of the NJ fans could have used a few more years of high school education, they seemed to understand the puck in the net thing. With that, there is only this: "New Jersey girls aren't trash...Trash gets picked up."

"Canadian" Thanksgiving

2006-10-16T21:32:00.000-04:00

Top 4 questions and answers about "Canadian" Thanksgiving:

#4
Q: You guys celebrate Thanksgiving?!?
A: Yes.

#3
Q: When is Canadian Thanksgiving?
A: The second Monday in October.

This is the best---> On January 31st, 1957, Parliament proclaimed...

"A Day of General Thanksgiving to Almighty God for the bountiful harvest with which Canada has been blessed ... to be observed on the 2nd Monday in October."

#2
Q: Do you [Canadians] celebrate the same thing we [Americans] do at Thanksgiving?
A: The American tradition celebrates the Pilgrims arrival and settling in the New World. Although this was also technically the roots of Canadian Thanksgiving, the celebration of the holiday evolved towards giving thanks for a successful harvest.

#1
Q: American Thanksgiving came first, I know it! [this was generally a statement, but for all intents and purposes will be treated as a question]
A: The very first Thanksgiving celebration in North America took place in 1578, in Canada when Martin Frobisher, an explorer from England, arrived in Newfoundland and wanted to give thanks for his safe arrival to the New World. This celebration took place 43 years before the pilgrims landed in Plymouth, Massachusetts. *please note there are other citations that claim the first Thanksgiving Day in Canada was observed at Port Royal, N.S., in 1710, when the town and fort passed into English hands for the last time - but I don't really care.

Several of us Canadians and French ex-pats had our turkey-eating fest at a friends' beautiful home in upstate New York. It was the first time that Ria (our hostess from Boston, MA) and Todd (her sidekick from Ferney, B.C.) had tackled turkey et al.

The massive and sometimes stressful undertaking was an absolute success - even the French were happy with the food. Although the turkey was incredible, the cranberry sauce in a can was the hit of the night.

Platypuses or Platypi?

2006-10-10T10:59:00.000-04:00

Coming off the 1 train at 116th I heard the following:

boy: It's platypuses, trust me
girl: No, no way - it's platypi, there is no question, I am absolutely 100% sure

*'platypus' and 'platypuses' are correct but the correct technical term is 'platypode'.

Drinkers on the Roof

2006-10-04T22:11:00.000-04:00

Manhattan boasts rooftop bars, from super-snazzy to budget hotel, laguna beach wanna-bes. This week the "rooftop terrace" has inadvertently become my theme and mission.

I was in mid-town with a friend Sunday afternoon in search of a great rooftop venue upon which to indulge in some sinful drinking. We hit the Library Hotel, which generally denies minions like me since at their rooftop terrace bar, Bookmarks, they "...don't take reservations for parties of 10 or fewer." But this time there was no 6-foot-tall uber bi-atch guarding the elevator and the most pleasant of surprises greeted us on the fourteenth floor; we were the only ones there (no patrons, no staff). Yay for unmanned New York rooftop bars!

We chilled on the teeny-tiny outdoor sundeck. Yes, the view is worth it, but there are like 4 tables outside, so good luck getting a spot when happy hour is in full swing. We got comfortable in the lounge area with the plasma screen and the greenhouse-style indoor sun room. After serving ourselves up nothing from the bar (avoiding bad karma) and snapping some shots, we headed back down to the streets below where tens of thousands of Polish New Yorkers were enjoying the Polasky Day Parade (this parade ran down Madison avenue and boasted more red and white paraphernalia than Canada Day on Parliament Hill).
Later this week, I finally visited the Me Bar atop the La Quinta Hotel in Koreatown. Highly recommended, although they don't serve bloody cesars, they have just about everything else, including a bartender that poses as an (extremely) poor man's Mr. Big. As the Empire State Building towers above you, welcome the exceptional service and large, uncrowded terrace. 5 stars to this 2 star hotel bar.

The weather is starting to chill, but remember, if Canadians can wear t-shirts in 40 degrees (farenheit) weather, Americans should be able to tough it out on an outdoor terrace until at least November. Enjoy it while ya still can!

Sundae afternoon

2006-10-03T22:37:00.000-04:00

This Sunday was the Jewish religious 'holiday' Yom Kippur, a time for atonement for sins. Interestingly I intersected with my own religous episode on just that Sunday.

I got off the 1 train at 116th and Broadway in the late afternoon and was swept along with the weekend students through the Broadway gates into the Columbia University campus. It's the most filmed campus in North America, and with it's striking and historical architecture, its iconic nature is not surprising.
St. Paul's chapel is one of those historical landmarks; a small building with a round roof on the North-East side of campus.
Two cool things lured me into this church:
#1 The sound of (what I thought was) 30 enchanting choir voices with harmonies that were blowing me away
#2 A side door hanging languidly open, a subtle peeping-tom post where I could observe the whole Catholic thing from a distance

I sat just inside the door at the edge of a row (btw the choir was only 6 people, but they were *that* good) and for the next hour the priest inspired all my previously buried sin to rise to this Sundays occasion and settle on top. He stated that if your eye causes you to sin, you have to pluck it out, if your arm causes you to sin, cut it off etc. Kind of a downer buddy!

People seemed ok with this fire and brimstone stuff, no one was forced to be there. The guy with the varsity wrestling team shirt was there, the 2 young girls in front of me were probably first year Columbia students, it wasn't just typical church-going folks I had expected, hmmm (except the old guy behind me who had to say all the prayers that everyone says together not only louder, but waaaay faster than everyone else).

The sermon was a "hard" one, the priest explained. He also laid a disclaimer down - after repeating the word sin approximately 26 times during the hour - that no one should take this stuff literally "...we're in New York, we're forced to be intergrated here...". In other words, use discretion, direct yourself on a path that will lead to positive outcomes, and try to avoid the bad stuff.

At the end when he asked if there were any announcements, this tiny girl announced that the Columbia Catholic Undergrads were serving free ice cream sundaes in the basement. She opened with "Why eat dinner when you can go straight to dessert?". Don't desserts and sin go hand-in-hand? Well thanks Catholicism for confusing the heck out of me, but damn, that was some fine church choir music!

FREE NYC EVENTS

2006-09-30T01:30:00.000-04:00

Thursday, October 5, 2006 7 - 9 pm
Paul Richard, eccentric/artist (question mark)
There will be a 'Reception' in the Triangular Park in front of the World Trade Center 7, (serving non-alcoholic beverages) where the artist will perform. Paul's story is that he claims other peoples art as his own (in this case Jeff Koons' Angioplasty sculpture).

Saturday, October 7 - Sunday, October 8 all day
Open House New York
If you often wonder what's behind the walls of those amazing buildings, lofts or brownstones in NYC, sounds like you can get a tour and historical background for free this weekend. Open House New York features free tours of architects offices, iconic skyscrapers like the Chrysler building and other historical sites all around New York and the Boroughs. Artists and architects are also giving free presentations.

The Chelsea Stratosphere

2006-09-29T23:27:00.000-04:00

Girls night out included wine, Japanese papier-mache and the dawn of the internet.

First stop on the chelsea gallery circuit was Caellum Gallery for a show featuring Junko Komatsu, a very tiny bespectacled Japanese artist who spoke no English. The pieces were hand-made paper; muted and conservative. She trounces sacred boundaries by using traditional materials (Japanese paper/ink) in non-traditional ways. An American benchmark? No. Although I can't expect artists from other countries to conform to our rather absurd North American blueprint for ahhhht. Buuuut a tribe of life-sized Newfoundland dogs made of Japanese paper and ink would have been cool. Drank screw-top wine, tastes like home.

Next stop, a gallery I can't even remember because the combination of unbearably dry cheese sticks and a lack of cups to hold any wine or soda put me too close to the "fuck it, I'm just going to chug it from the bottle!" edge.

Final cultural stop, Maya Stendhal Gallery
for an exhibit of George Maciunas' work from 1953-1978, an artist obsessed with classifying, organising and drawing relationships among diverse fragments of information (early musings of "what is the internet"???). This pre-internet "learning machine" was notebooks full of cut-out images with dates and notes.

Maciunas' typography collages were moving in a you-did-it-in-the-era-where-it-was-new, but-it's-been-so-overdone-since-then way. Also, the plan of the pre-fabricated housing unit he designed in the 60s was provocative enough that a New York Times reporter spent 4 minutes scribbling notes about it, but the rest may as well have been fodder. The wine was better here: cork all the way (please note cork trees will be extinct soon).

My faith in Chelsea is waning...but I'll leave you with this:

The New York Museum of Water is our conscience hiding amongst Chelseas' strata. Its ethereal ceiling hangings make swimming through the exhibition feel like a plausible option. Talk to Alex the Romanian at the desk, he's the one who dives for all the underwater glassware in the window. He sells the old whiskey and soda bottles (some from like 1940s) for 5-10 dollars. Get him to tell you about the time he escaped from Yugoslavian prison when he was 21.

Dive Bars for Millionaires

2006-09-27T02:21:00.000-04:00

If you wake up in the morning after a hard night of bar hopping and porky pig is on your mind, you were likely drinking the 9 dollar pitchers of Harpoon at Rudy's in Hell's Kitchen.

This gem of a bar not only has super-friendly staff (bartender Neil gives out smiles and hot dogs for free), but a notable patio in the back surrounded by walls covered in vines. We sat outside enjoying the cheap drinks, free dogs and a loud, loud airconditioning unit until the 11:30 pm curfew where the patio shuts down and party moves inside.

Three items to note:

#1 It was pointed out that the man to the left of me was part of one of the biggest mafia families in New York City. His suit was thin and pin striped, maybe from the Al Capone era, and his hairpiece was likely a mammal plucked from the Bronx Zoo.
#2 I learned I had been chatting with a large contingent of the New York Mets baseball team, who had been downing pints and dogs with the poorest of us.
#3 I met only the second person my age who not only admitted he was a Republican, but was an open advocate for Bush.

I ended the night with a heated discussion about American vs. Canadian democracy with John Maine, who was pitching me curve balls all evening.

The pub crawl started and ended with Rudy's - It was *that* good. yeah. I'm sure Hell's Kitchen has lots to offer, and next time we'll get beyond the pigs and millionaire athletes (and mob bosses).

Brooklyn Adventures - Members-only

2006-09-25T23:35:00.000-04:00

The unassuming sign outside the Polish Democratic Club and Ladies Auxiliary belies the energetic and neighborly feel/atmosphere inside this members-only social club.

Established in 1927, the club provided a place to drink and socialize for the immigrant community, but has evolved to embrace the local Brooklynites and beyond. “We’re like family here” says Bill, president of the club for the past 2 years.

Members pay a reasonable annual fee and smoking is permitted in the club. Not only does the club have virtual bowling teams and tournaments, but hosts pool tourneys (the abundance of trophies proves it!), has a great jukebox and a wicked American-style ‘Big Buck Hunter (pro)’ arcade game, plastic rifle and all.

When the Christmas song ‘Silver Bells’ sung by Bing Crosby floated from the jukebox, it seemed strangely fitting in this charmingly tacky environment. “Aw Kevin chose this song AGAIN?!”, I heard someone say. I found Kevin, member of the U.S. Coastguard and one of the youngest club members at 25 years old, and asked, why ‘Silver Bells’? He told me: “It reminds me of good times like this…of being together with my family…”. I left the club with a warm Christmas buzz and with the feeling I had been welcomed into the arms of the Polish Democratic ‘family’.

So Tired

2006-09-23T01:13:00.000-04:00

Years ago I was sent this video of a Daschund with narcolepsy. For some reason I can't stop thinking about it, and it has come up in several diaologues with collegues recently. An insomniacs dream I guess.

Brooklyn Adventures – Artists Unite!

SUBWAY STORIES 6

2006-08-13T14:00:00.000-04:00

Commute days to finish: 6

Moon Palace by Paul Auster

Synopsis:

Meet Marco Fogg, totally normal guy who starts out a university student, then retreats within himself and loses all notion of reality. Alone with his thoughts he almost dies of starvation, becomes a vagrant, falls in love, looks after a frail old man and finds his real father.

Opinion:

This story is severely unbelievable and a page-turner at the same time. Auster's depiction of the frail old man is so detailed that I still imagine he exists at an old folks home somewhere. Recurring Auster themes of coincidences and tradgedies are woven nicely into an entertaining and imaginative story.

Rating: Good, but if you have to choose, read Oracle Night by the same author.

SUBWAY STORIES 5.5

2006-08-09T00:38:00.000-04:00

Commute days to finish: 2

VICE August issue

Synopsis:

This was the awards issues for stories that had been sent in over the past year. The categories included the classic 'Your First Time' rambles to 'Stories-About-Bums-Shitting-in-NYC'. Lots 'o stories printed with winner announced and a mean editors note at the end of each category section.

Opinion:

The best Vice issue since last year, when the number of gut-wrenching images which made me want to projectile puke seemed to skyrocket and the quality of content dipped dramatically. My favorite story was in the 'WTF?!?' category, and described a guy from Dublin who had been on a bender for days, called his friend saying he had found a gremlin in a shopping mall, and when the friend came over to see it, turns out it was this little terrified kid. The guy hadn't slept in a hundred hours.

Rating: Buy it. Oh ha ha, it’s free.

SUBWAY STORIES 5

2006-07-01T22:49:00.002-04:00

"Happy Canada Day"
"What's 'Canada Day'?"
"Uhm..."

This was the conversation I had 16 times today. Canada, happy birthday, but it's all about America in this country, so today I made preparations for *America's* birthday. Strangely, it's been impossible to find Independence Day paraphernalia here in West Harlem, so I bought Brooklyn Pennant Ale '55 because the bottles are red, white and blue.

"Take me out to the corporate seats at the ball game"

2006-06-15T10:45:00.000-04:00

In New York, you're either born into a Yankees or a Mets family. It's a matter of genetics. As a visitor, I have the privilege of choosing. Thank you Whelan from the sales department for handing over 4 sweet corporate tickets to the game yesterday.

I invited a guy named Harold who I had met at the Mac store. While he serviced my iPod, we got to talking baseball. Well, he did, and I listened. Yankee genes.

The seats were about 20 rows from the front between third and home plate. It was a gratifying game; the Yankee pitcher was thrown out, the Yankees hit two home runs, and the super-sized GMD beers were delicious. So far, I'm sold on the Yankees, but I'm from Montreal, land of the fairweather fan, so next week I'll probably be rooting for the Mets.

No sleep 'till...

2006-06-13T21:40:00.001-04:00

The 2006 Fromm's NYC Travel Guide I was given the night before leaving Canada has finally surfaced since I arrived in the city, and has proven itself a worthy travel companion. From the list of the travel guide's cheap tourist attractions, I chose to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge (from Brooklyn to Manhattan) as one of my first super-tourist expeditions. I chose this expedition for two reasons: firstly, for the full view of the Manhattan skyline (sans twin towers) and secondly because it costs 0$ this much.

It's easy to get there and the view is phenomenal. The pedestrian footpath is also used by some maniacal bicyclists, so heads up! If you get to do this tour, be sure to stop midway where you'll find some cool 3-d plaques which explain the technical history of the bridges construction. One plaque points out important skyscrapers of the famed Manhattan skyline. It wasn't hard finding the gaping hole in the skyline where the twin towers used to be.

The bridge spits you out between Chinatown (to the right) and Soho (to the left), take your pick and continue the trek, this city is 'yours to discover'*.

*'Yours to Discover' - also the severely annoying slogan used in advertisements promoting the province of Ontario and in 1983, appeared on Ontario license plates.

Nice little city eh?

2006-06-10T19:08:00.000-04:00

"Welcome to New York", can be roughly translated as: "This is the big city honey, you can either accept it or get out." This seems to aptly reflect the general attitude of the masses here; biting sarcasm presented in a straightforward and humorous way.

Bring on the garbage, the heat, the dirty pavement and sticky floors -- Big Apple, lets see what you've got! I am prepared for the crappy apartments, cockroaches and long train rides.

Stay tuned.