It's been a grueling few months, but YOUR INTERNET-PROPHET HAS RETURNED!
Now, I know you've probably been lost and in need of guidance since my inter-disappearance, however I will now recount the long and arduous tale of my where-bout's.
Since the dawning of time, man has always yearned for a lesser man to clean up after him. Whether it be his leftover Chef Boyardee or the remnants of a Clingon death match with his wife, man has always been in need of someone to dispose of said things.
This summer, however, man's good fortune took a turn for the worse and I was one of those men.
For you see, dear reader, I am also a garbage-man, per se, because I clean up the social trash left by you, the reader.
This may confuse and offend you, but alas it is only for context in the tale I will tell.
One gorgeous afternoon, during the second week of my blogcation, I was in the midst of deep thought while peering over the shoulder of the shoulder of soon to be bewildered stranger. Before I commented that his fly was only 3/4 of the way up, I saw the the headline on his periodical read, "Garbage strike hits Toronto!"
I took tow paragraphs worth of time to read forth on what this meant for me, the voice of the people. When the man refused to take my advice on fly-re-adjustment he promptly stood up and left his seat before I could ask for his newspaper.
After that defeat, I decided to go home and go on facebook. Then I made a sandwich. Then I petted my cat. Then I had a cigarette. Then went to the bathroom(no further details). Then when I returned to facebook, I realized that I was being threatened by a few inter-chums to update my blog. Now I'm not pointing any fingers, JULIA HART, but this seemed a lot to me like what the garbage strikers and city workers were going through.
So at that moment I decided, STRIKE, and promptly joined the picket lines with my brothers and sisters of the industry.
Day 1: I went to nathan philips square in search of strikers whom I could join hands with and sing give peace a chance. Though there were some, they didn't want to sing and didn't understand why i was there. When I discussed my issues with the city and why my union, CUPE 011100010101001100110, should be allowed to join the strike I was promptly punched in the stomach and told to get a real job. I think it was leader Mark Spetzulanziebachekov who said to me, "We don't have time for this kid, we have real issues and you're clearly being an asshole." More offended then I have ever been, I replied, "Sir, the use of the royal WE is reserved for her majesty the Queen, and her only." Again, I was punched.
Day 2: After several reCUPEration soy-based beverages, I returned to the picket line but this time I had a better plan. I made a sign AND made a chant worthy of the others attention. My sign read, "More vacation pay for impoverished social critics!" My blood-curdling chant, "5, 12, 11, 49, we won't update until you acknowledge our sign!" was very successful in getting their attention (and also was a much better chant).
Day 3: I woke up in St. Michaels Hospital with several head wounds and a collapsed rectum(from another incident). Two days recovery ensued.
Day 6: After leaving the hospital, I knew I was still determined to get what I wanted, so I marched past the picket line (on stilts to avoid another lashing) and went to straight to the office of Mayor David Miller. Milly and I were old college roomates at Harvard, he practiced law and I took Ethno-Amnesial Sociological Quantum Physics. We had an on and off relationship for a while where he was in to me and I was in to women, but it all worked out in the end. Anyways, aside from our one-sided homo-erotic togetherness, we remained friends through crossing the border though he went in to office and I studied squirrels in the Tundra for many years. When I arrived at Milly's office, we did our traditional Harvard handshake, the north-eastern hand arrangement, we sat down for what was to be a pivotal talk in my bout to be acknowledged. I said to him, "Let's cut right down to the chase and rap for a minute big D, you know I'm not lying when I say that I have endured both physical and emotional abuse from those he-apes out there, but that they won't let me play with them." Milly-D took a long hard pause and said to me," T-squeezy,you know I get you up in dis business for realz." Another North-Eastern Hand Arrangement and without pausing, Milly-D-Squizzle enstated the Play Fair Act of 2009 which meant that I was allowed to piggy-back on the CUPE 416 strikers for my demands and they couldn't do anything about it.
Day 7: After screaming, "NYAH NYAH NA NA NYAH," to the strikers for several hours with out resting, I decided to take a personal day to recover and rehydrate.
Day 8: still recovering.
Day 9: religious holiday, Saint Nitendus of the 64th day.
Day 10:A bee stang me. I took revenge.
Day 11: Remembered that I was striking and returned to the picket lines.
Day 12: After befriending a large and rather curious looking woman named Surly Joe, I discovered that we only had to picket for 20 hours a week and that we were to be payed 10$/hr for it! "How fantrabulous!" I thought. Until I was informed by Surly Joe that only CUPE 416 members got that money, my elongated irish jig came to a crushing halt. It seems keg-meister Miller didn't include my union to be payed when he declared the Play Fair Act.
Day 13: I cried. A lot.
Day 14: I called my old war buddy, Stinky Fred, to come renegotiate the terms of the Play Fair act. I won, and was now getting double what the unions were and I got my own shiny whistle.
On day 15, I decided that for the time being I had won. I was now doubling in pay what those asshole union workers got and no one noticed whether or not I came to picket, so in that time I looked for a woman to bear me a son. During that 25-day journey in which I discovered the true facts about women (which will come in my next post, "The Truth about Vagina's: A Muted Monologue") my success in finding a worthy womb to bear a son in which I could be proud of and harvest his organs for furthering my research, failed. The amount of chocolate and daffodils used to swoon these unworthy trollops reminded me again of the strike, so it was back to the lines I went.
Day 40: Talks were almost finished and the strike was soon to close, so in lieu of that I decided to take out my rage on several of the workers who had hurt me during the beginning of the strike. Knowing that Hatori Hanzo's swords were not available in Canada( or anywhere else real) I decided to buy a set of Miracle Blades(the III addition) in which I received, all for the price of one set:
2 Miracle Blade Slicers
2 Rock n' Chops
2 Fillet and Boning knives
2 Chop n' scoops
2 Paring Knives
2 utility kitchen shears
8 steak and utility knives
AND
Chef Tony's Tips and secret recipes booklet!
ALL FOR THE PRICE OF ONE SET OF KNIVES!
Unfortunately, the excitement of receiving this package set me back another day because of a stroke related grievance.
Day 41: As I was using the Fillet knife on one of the CUPE leaders, a large mongolian horn sounded with the announcement that the strike had ended and we were to go back to work.
And after several murder charges were acquitted (thanks again to Stinky Fred)I was back on my computer typing the very story you read now.
I apologize to the families of the fallen who couldn't survive without my Blog, my condolences to your losses.
But to those who did survive your triangle-less drought, kudos! You truly are survivors and truly have the thirst for the knowledge of which only I know.
That is all,
▲
Post-Script: Sorry, there is no post-script.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
"and it;s all fair trade!"
Dear loud mouthed yuppies,
I've been listening to this tripe for far too long.
I live in the centre of yupieville Toronto and it's beginning to drive me insane.
I was walking on the danforth enjoying a nice crisp ale only to be bothered by someone yelling to their friends, "and it's all fair trade!"
I know that I may one day grow up to be what is considered a Young Urban Professional, or Yuppie, but in no fucking way will I be anything like these stereotype morons.
First of all, the FTO(fair trade org.) is a crock of shit. No one benefits from them, especially farmers, and no one ever will.
If you get the chance, please watch the documentary called Black Gold, a doc that follows the procedures of "fairly" traded coffee coming from Ethiopia, one of the "richest" coffee nations there is today.
And though I understand the want and need to declare everything as fairly traded, get your fucking head out of your own ass and realize that these words and others(like green, organic, and biodegradable) are just buzz words so that stupid consumers, like my yuppie chum on the danforth, will buy in to a more expensive and lucrative market ploy.
Second, if you are going to make these loud declarations, read in to it first before you state something you don't know. DO YOUR DAMNED RESEARCH. I mean for Christ's sake, you already blew your parents money on a university degree which you clearly do not deserve, but you had to do research for your paper's to back up a claim, so why not do it for this same reason?
It's common logic that even the stupidest of individuals can learn. If Joe the Plumber told you that a magic pill would make your penis the size of a watermelon, would you state that as truth?
OF COURSE NOT.
So why is it that everyone thinks that fair trade means it has been fairly traded without the supposed middle man to take away profits from the farmers?
DID YOU ASK THE FARMER IF IT WAS? ARE YOU A MEMBER OF THE FTO? DO YOU HAVE A MAGICAL TELEPATHY RAY SO YOU CAN PROVE THAT IT WAS FAIRLY TRADED?
It's not a fact and you can't prove it, so fuck off with your buzzwords and do your damned research you assholes.
Love,
Isosceles.
I've been listening to this tripe for far too long.
I live in the centre of yupieville Toronto and it's beginning to drive me insane.
I was walking on the danforth enjoying a nice crisp ale only to be bothered by someone yelling to their friends, "and it's all fair trade!"
I know that I may one day grow up to be what is considered a Young Urban Professional, or Yuppie, but in no fucking way will I be anything like these stereotype morons.
First of all, the FTO(fair trade org.) is a crock of shit. No one benefits from them, especially farmers, and no one ever will.
If you get the chance, please watch the documentary called Black Gold, a doc that follows the procedures of "fairly" traded coffee coming from Ethiopia, one of the "richest" coffee nations there is today.
And though I understand the want and need to declare everything as fairly traded, get your fucking head out of your own ass and realize that these words and others(like green, organic, and biodegradable) are just buzz words so that stupid consumers, like my yuppie chum on the danforth, will buy in to a more expensive and lucrative market ploy.
Second, if you are going to make these loud declarations, read in to it first before you state something you don't know. DO YOUR DAMNED RESEARCH. I mean for Christ's sake, you already blew your parents money on a university degree which you clearly do not deserve, but you had to do research for your paper's to back up a claim, so why not do it for this same reason?
It's common logic that even the stupidest of individuals can learn. If Joe the Plumber told you that a magic pill would make your penis the size of a watermelon, would you state that as truth?
OF COURSE NOT.
So why is it that everyone thinks that fair trade means it has been fairly traded without the supposed middle man to take away profits from the farmers?
DID YOU ASK THE FARMER IF IT WAS? ARE YOU A MEMBER OF THE FTO? DO YOU HAVE A MAGICAL TELEPATHY RAY SO YOU CAN PROVE THAT IT WAS FAIRLY TRADED?
It's not a fact and you can't prove it, so fuck off with your buzzwords and do your damned research you assholes.
Love,
Isosceles.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I know you've been waiting for it, shut up
Ya, ya, ya
I know you've all been waiting for me a) to write about it and b) to admit, so here it goes:
HIPSTERISM and all that is encompassed by said name:
Yes I dress like a hipster, yes I have many friends that can fall under that category, but what is crucial is that I explain a few things first.
First and foremost, even if you look in to urbandictionary.com and look up "Hipster" you will find almost 130 definitions of what that word means (streetwise). If you look it up on wikipedia.org you will find a few definitions, but the kicker is one will stand out first which many people do not take in to consideration:
"as used in the 1940s, referred to aficionados of jazz, in particular modern jazz, which became popular in the early 1940s. The hipster adopted the lifestyle of the jazz musician, including some or all of the following: manner of dress, slang terminology, use of cannabis and other drugs, relaxed attitude, sarcastic humor, self-imposed poverty, and relaxed sexual codes. Early hipsters were generally white youths adopting many of the ways of urban blacks of the time, but later hipsters often copied the early ones without knowing the origins of the culture."
Now what that means is that the modern "hipster" has done is copied that term and taken it on a shopping spree...most likely to AA, VV, or Urban Outfitters.
Back then defining a hipster involved one certain sub-culture so the term could be used derogatorily or complimentary. Now is far from that case because of this reason:
Hipsterism is now so diverse that pinning one sub-culture to it is nearly impossible. What started off initially (for the second time) was a small sub-culture in New York, that made moves to L.A., to Philly, to Chicago, to Vancouver, to Montreal, and finally Toronto, to name a few. The genre primarily consisted of post-80's Kraftwerk style techno and dressing like you were on SNL's Sprockets (as well as dancing and film taste). The genre was fairly pretentious with that kind of "you wouldn't know what I'm listening to" style attitude and wasn't all that fun anyways. Certain things started to grow within the culture like coke, guerilla and contemporary art forms, as well as odd record collections. There are plenty more things I can attribute to that genre, but what was stated will suffice, for now.
A funny thing happened when the term and the culture started growing, others were noticing and rather than forget their old habits and join the new, they integrated their old flames. This is what really spawned the outburst and sporadic movement of "Hipster" culture.
Anyone who was in to indie music, hip hop, rap, graffiti, art, clothing, film, some pop music, older music, older culture, almost anything really could share a part in this culture.
And of course what did that do to the ones that started it? Well they would start their own anti-hipster movement which in turn was even more Hipster than their spawn!
I read an article in Adbusters (ya, I know , shoot me) called "Hipster:The dead end of western civilization" which is a well written, well reasearched, almost insightful piece of writing except for one flaw: The guy who wrote it is a fucking anti-hipster super-hipster himself. He draws important points claiming that Hipsters are a culture destructive bunch who care for no one's but themselves which is sort of true. But if you read the article again, you notice that people and places he speaks of are more or less his own. The man, Doug Haddow, clearly knows the scene because it was once his and of course when it was discovered by those who weren't "invited" i.e. the new hipsters, he wasn't pleased because all of his old haunts became infested with these "low life scum." I implore you to please read the article yourselves to make your own because not only is the article pretentious, but the comments are even worse at the bottom. My favourite is still "Adbusters is the hipsters ground zero" which could be said for Vice, and for both is the absolute truth. This will be further recounted later.
Now, you ask, what is your problem with all of this kind sir?
My problem is that this massive melange of hatred, cynicism, irony, sarcasm, and downright stereotyping bullshit has done absolutely nothing to solve everyones fucking problem. So my answer is my problem is everyone elses problem with each other.
I will disregard the morons on the street who mistake me for an Emo kid because, come on let's face it, Emo kids deserve no sympathy be cause that's all they want. (Sidenote: if anyone would like to argue on this one, you've got shit on me cause I've dealt with way worse than you can imagine.)
However,(now being serious) being called a Hipster has now only become a derogatory comment and what's worse is the main perpetrators are the ones who started it all.
I've heard hipster scum, fake-hipster, hipster wanna-be, hipster fag, hipster whore, and the list goes on. These terms are mainly shelled out by the likes of people who fall in to any Hipster category. A good friend of mine, Mike, and I were at a show (mondo hipster central) and we were having a blast until this girl came up behind him and called him a fake-hipster wanna-be. Not to his face of course because hipsters have no place to say anything but behind your back or behind a computer screen. (I do understand that yes I am writing this on a computer but I will come clean and will say anything to ones face, in person, whenever need be, I just need the computer to collect thoughts and spare myself the hour it would take to recount this all to someone.) Anyways, Mike shrugged off this insult and we both turned around to see that the harlot who had deemed him "fake-hipster" was non-other than the queen of hipsters herself. I can't for the life of me remember her name, but go to Queen West any day of the week and I'm sure you'll find her snickering behind someone else's back or riding on a fixed gear Dutch free rider. Yes that was a potshot but only because I was so angry she would say this to a good friend of mine, behind is back.
And the problems don't even begin with complaining.
A much better, much more neutral, and much better written article called "The Hipster Must die" which includes other articles which actually go in depth to other problems, accounts some of the very things I talk about but with one crucial difference. Writer Christian Lorentzen makes an homage to our dear friend Jonathan Swift and makes a modest proposal on why and how the culture will end. Keep in mind though that the beast Lorentzen is dealing with is on a far larger scale than mine simply because he's writing for Time Out New York, so the hipster beasts he must deal with are far more vicious than mine. Lorentzen discusses, like me, the different kinds of Hipsters. He discusses the anti's, pro's, and the mid-section ones but he thinks their demise will come at the hands of each other, a Hipster war which will self implode leaving Value Village and Goodwill with more skinny jeans, leather jackets, and American Apparel hoodies then they can account for. This being said I think in that urban sprawl which is New York it could be possible that these people may decide on the self-destruct button for whatever reason, all be it coolness, pretension, or literally going out in fashion.
My proposal though is a lot more easy to succumb to: Acceptance.
It is starting to happen very slowly, but starting none the less. Other cultures are staring to accept who Hipsters(myself included)are and so are the Hipsters themselves. After almost a year of trying to convince my little sister, who for whatever reason was in such denial because she only knew Hipster as derogatory term finally admitted to me after much hounding "ok fine, whatever." I only hounded her because she would constantly scold me for going to electro shows and what not, so I thought, hey, why not blow the whistle on her.
Now before I continue, I must say this
I AM, IN NO WAYS, MAKING A DECLARATION FOR PEOPLE TO DANCE IN THE STREETS LIKE ROBOTS LISTENING TO JUSTICE SCREAMING "IT'S OK MOM, I'M A HIPSTER!"
If you think I intend on these thoughts, you are wrong Buster.
I mean acceptance from within the culture. Don't get huffy when someone shows up to your art gallery who doesn't work at an American Apparel. Be thankful that they accept your degree from OCAD as accountable, for the awful art which you are displaying and know that you're getting away with charging them!
This is only the beginning. I will continue my thoughts on my next post, for now though, read the articles and the critiques at the bottom.
http://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html
You'll realize after reading these articles and their critiques how bad this problem is becoming.
Save yourself.
I know you've all been waiting for me a) to write about it and b) to admit, so here it goes:
HIPSTERISM and all that is encompassed by said name:
Yes I dress like a hipster, yes I have many friends that can fall under that category, but what is crucial is that I explain a few things first.
First and foremost, even if you look in to urbandictionary.com and look up "Hipster" you will find almost 130 definitions of what that word means (streetwise). If you look it up on wikipedia.org you will find a few definitions, but the kicker is one will stand out first which many people do not take in to consideration:
"as used in the 1940s, referred to aficionados of jazz, in particular modern jazz, which became popular in the early 1940s. The hipster adopted the lifestyle of the jazz musician, including some or all of the following: manner of dress, slang terminology, use of cannabis and other drugs, relaxed attitude, sarcastic humor, self-imposed poverty, and relaxed sexual codes. Early hipsters were generally white youths adopting many of the ways of urban blacks of the time, but later hipsters often copied the early ones without knowing the origins of the culture."
Now what that means is that the modern "hipster" has done is copied that term and taken it on a shopping spree...most likely to AA, VV, or Urban Outfitters.
Back then defining a hipster involved one certain sub-culture so the term could be used derogatorily or complimentary. Now is far from that case because of this reason:
Hipsterism is now so diverse that pinning one sub-culture to it is nearly impossible. What started off initially (for the second time) was a small sub-culture in New York, that made moves to L.A., to Philly, to Chicago, to Vancouver, to Montreal, and finally Toronto, to name a few. The genre primarily consisted of post-80's Kraftwerk style techno and dressing like you were on SNL's Sprockets (as well as dancing and film taste). The genre was fairly pretentious with that kind of "you wouldn't know what I'm listening to" style attitude and wasn't all that fun anyways. Certain things started to grow within the culture like coke, guerilla and contemporary art forms, as well as odd record collections. There are plenty more things I can attribute to that genre, but what was stated will suffice, for now.
A funny thing happened when the term and the culture started growing, others were noticing and rather than forget their old habits and join the new, they integrated their old flames. This is what really spawned the outburst and sporadic movement of "Hipster" culture.
Anyone who was in to indie music, hip hop, rap, graffiti, art, clothing, film, some pop music, older music, older culture, almost anything really could share a part in this culture.
And of course what did that do to the ones that started it? Well they would start their own anti-hipster movement which in turn was even more Hipster than their spawn!
I read an article in Adbusters (ya, I know , shoot me) called "Hipster:The dead end of western civilization" which is a well written, well reasearched, almost insightful piece of writing except for one flaw: The guy who wrote it is a fucking anti-hipster super-hipster himself. He draws important points claiming that Hipsters are a culture destructive bunch who care for no one's but themselves which is sort of true. But if you read the article again, you notice that people and places he speaks of are more or less his own. The man, Doug Haddow, clearly knows the scene because it was once his and of course when it was discovered by those who weren't "invited" i.e. the new hipsters, he wasn't pleased because all of his old haunts became infested with these "low life scum." I implore you to please read the article yourselves to make your own because not only is the article pretentious, but the comments are even worse at the bottom. My favourite is still "Adbusters is the hipsters ground zero" which could be said for Vice, and for both is the absolute truth. This will be further recounted later.
Now, you ask, what is your problem with all of this kind sir?
My problem is that this massive melange of hatred, cynicism, irony, sarcasm, and downright stereotyping bullshit has done absolutely nothing to solve everyones fucking problem. So my answer is my problem is everyone elses problem with each other.
I will disregard the morons on the street who mistake me for an Emo kid because, come on let's face it, Emo kids deserve no sympathy be cause that's all they want. (Sidenote: if anyone would like to argue on this one, you've got shit on me cause I've dealt with way worse than you can imagine.)
However,(now being serious) being called a Hipster has now only become a derogatory comment and what's worse is the main perpetrators are the ones who started it all.
I've heard hipster scum, fake-hipster, hipster wanna-be, hipster fag, hipster whore, and the list goes on. These terms are mainly shelled out by the likes of people who fall in to any Hipster category. A good friend of mine, Mike, and I were at a show (mondo hipster central) and we were having a blast until this girl came up behind him and called him a fake-hipster wanna-be. Not to his face of course because hipsters have no place to say anything but behind your back or behind a computer screen. (I do understand that yes I am writing this on a computer but I will come clean and will say anything to ones face, in person, whenever need be, I just need the computer to collect thoughts and spare myself the hour it would take to recount this all to someone.) Anyways, Mike shrugged off this insult and we both turned around to see that the harlot who had deemed him "fake-hipster" was non-other than the queen of hipsters herself. I can't for the life of me remember her name, but go to Queen West any day of the week and I'm sure you'll find her snickering behind someone else's back or riding on a fixed gear Dutch free rider. Yes that was a potshot but only because I was so angry she would say this to a good friend of mine, behind is back.
And the problems don't even begin with complaining.
A much better, much more neutral, and much better written article called "The Hipster Must die" which includes other articles which actually go in depth to other problems, accounts some of the very things I talk about but with one crucial difference. Writer Christian Lorentzen makes an homage to our dear friend Jonathan Swift and makes a modest proposal on why and how the culture will end. Keep in mind though that the beast Lorentzen is dealing with is on a far larger scale than mine simply because he's writing for Time Out New York, so the hipster beasts he must deal with are far more vicious than mine. Lorentzen discusses, like me, the different kinds of Hipsters. He discusses the anti's, pro's, and the mid-section ones but he thinks their demise will come at the hands of each other, a Hipster war which will self implode leaving Value Village and Goodwill with more skinny jeans, leather jackets, and American Apparel hoodies then they can account for. This being said I think in that urban sprawl which is New York it could be possible that these people may decide on the self-destruct button for whatever reason, all be it coolness, pretension, or literally going out in fashion.
My proposal though is a lot more easy to succumb to: Acceptance.
It is starting to happen very slowly, but starting none the less. Other cultures are staring to accept who Hipsters(myself included)are and so are the Hipsters themselves. After almost a year of trying to convince my little sister, who for whatever reason was in such denial because she only knew Hipster as derogatory term finally admitted to me after much hounding "ok fine, whatever." I only hounded her because she would constantly scold me for going to electro shows and what not, so I thought, hey, why not blow the whistle on her.
Now before I continue, I must say this
I AM, IN NO WAYS, MAKING A DECLARATION FOR PEOPLE TO DANCE IN THE STREETS LIKE ROBOTS LISTENING TO JUSTICE SCREAMING "IT'S OK MOM, I'M A HIPSTER!"
If you think I intend on these thoughts, you are wrong Buster.
I mean acceptance from within the culture. Don't get huffy when someone shows up to your art gallery who doesn't work at an American Apparel. Be thankful that they accept your degree from OCAD as accountable, for the awful art which you are displaying and know that you're getting away with charging them!
This is only the beginning. I will continue my thoughts on my next post, for now though, read the articles and the critiques at the bottom.
http://www.adbusters.org/magazine/79/hipster.html
You'll realize after reading these articles and their critiques how bad this problem is becoming.
Save yourself.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Scientology and me
So I like to research most things before I make any proclamations, but this is what know and I'll keep it brief.
There are few things I can really say about Scientology, but what I can say (and this can apply to most cults) is that there are three mentalities.
The first being the moron:
The moron will accept what the cult says in the initial meeting, no matter how outrageous, flawed, or even personal it may be. For example:
Cult member:"My god sir, you are depressed, more than any human should be."
Moron: "that's funny, many doctor's and psychiatrists have said that I'm fine, but I suppose that if you say I'm depressed, then by all means I should be. What should I do cult member who doesn't have any degrees, expertise, or good advice?"
CM: "Pay $1000 and you can be without pain for the rest of your life."
Moron: "How can I lose?"
DONE.
The second being the rational human:
Hard to believe, but I've met several people who just buy the books of L.R. Hubbard and do not donate to the church. This meaning that they do not have to sacrifice 10% of their income to the church of Scientology (which is true, the church shaves 10% off of your income, imagine Tom Cruise who's worth just under a billion dollars). What I have learned in these case's is that though L.Ron is completely superficial and as far from what could be conceived as a prophet(or profit, cough), not to mention the fact that what he did write is worse fiction the Ann Rand. L. Ron was a poor writer and had a less than normal relationship with many younger men, end of story.
BUT
What he did do, which is the salvation to the rational human, was to create writings which were beneficial to the self. He did write books which spoke of confidence, morality, and ways to live which, to the rational human being, may be good for the self.
And I have met people to prove it.
These people did not donate(or in the churches eyes, perform what is a necessity to be part of), but simply took simple lessons to making their lives better in the same sense that one would take what one rational human would from the bible.
Side note: the bible is another rant for another time, but to make it simple, there are moral lessons to be taken from it which any human can live by.
The Tree house Mentality:
The allure of the church can be compared simply to the mentality of a child, for those wanting to join and those encouraging. If you had the opportunity of ever experiencing a children's "club" then you'd know this mentality. Though this is an extreme example, it could be like a kid walking up to the tree, seeing the sign," boys or girls only club" then taking a stab at entering. They'd walk up, and the club members would say, "ok, you can only enter if we kick you in the balls as hard as we can, five times." The kid agrees. After the swelling has gone down, the kid will enter the club and notice there's an average section with only chairs, a section with toys, a section with toys and food, and a private section which one can only assume has food, toys, naked women, and your own private booth to talk with God one on one. The kid asks the ones who let him in how to move on from the average sitting section and move up the chain. They reply, "well first we'd have to kick you in the balls 50 times a day for one month, to the next section we'd have to cut them off, and to be in the private section you'd need to harvest the balls and female organs of all your family members."
This exaggeration is not too far from what they make you do in that wonderful church of scientology.
It has also come to my attention that there is another copycat scientology cult kicking around Toronto which is only increasing in size. So for the love of God(being me, of course) don't let any of your friends try to convince you that 'Landmarks" is a philosophical society, an institute of higher learning, or a righteous path to salvation.
I know the thought of anyone joining either of those cults is unimaginable or even funny, BUT THINK AGAIN.
It has even happened to me. I had a Landmarks member living in my home for 8 years and I didn't even fucking know it. The fucking scoundrel nearly ruined my family, nearly sent my mother to a psychiatry ward, and was also a terrible cook. He was a mix between the Moron and the Treehouse and that made him an incredibly fucked up person. He tried his hardest to be a good person but instead just continually ruined himself and everyone around him.
Finally remember this, the one person these cults prey on are people with low self-esteem and people who are depressed, exactly who the guy in my families life was when he joined.
So for fuck's sake, keep care of your family and friends and let's make sure no one ends up in one of these cults!
There are few things I can really say about Scientology, but what I can say (and this can apply to most cults) is that there are three mentalities.
The first being the moron:
The moron will accept what the cult says in the initial meeting, no matter how outrageous, flawed, or even personal it may be. For example:
Cult member:"My god sir, you are depressed, more than any human should be."
Moron: "that's funny, many doctor's and psychiatrists have said that I'm fine, but I suppose that if you say I'm depressed, then by all means I should be. What should I do cult member who doesn't have any degrees, expertise, or good advice?"
CM: "Pay $1000 and you can be without pain for the rest of your life."
Moron: "How can I lose?"
DONE.
The second being the rational human:
Hard to believe, but I've met several people who just buy the books of L.R. Hubbard and do not donate to the church. This meaning that they do not have to sacrifice 10% of their income to the church of Scientology (which is true, the church shaves 10% off of your income, imagine Tom Cruise who's worth just under a billion dollars). What I have learned in these case's is that though L.Ron is completely superficial and as far from what could be conceived as a prophet(or profit, cough), not to mention the fact that what he did write is worse fiction the Ann Rand. L. Ron was a poor writer and had a less than normal relationship with many younger men, end of story.
BUT
What he did do, which is the salvation to the rational human, was to create writings which were beneficial to the self. He did write books which spoke of confidence, morality, and ways to live which, to the rational human being, may be good for the self.
And I have met people to prove it.
These people did not donate(or in the churches eyes, perform what is a necessity to be part of), but simply took simple lessons to making their lives better in the same sense that one would take what one rational human would from the bible.
Side note: the bible is another rant for another time, but to make it simple, there are moral lessons to be taken from it which any human can live by.
The Tree house Mentality:
The allure of the church can be compared simply to the mentality of a child, for those wanting to join and those encouraging. If you had the opportunity of ever experiencing a children's "club" then you'd know this mentality. Though this is an extreme example, it could be like a kid walking up to the tree, seeing the sign," boys or girls only club" then taking a stab at entering. They'd walk up, and the club members would say, "ok, you can only enter if we kick you in the balls as hard as we can, five times." The kid agrees. After the swelling has gone down, the kid will enter the club and notice there's an average section with only chairs, a section with toys, a section with toys and food, and a private section which one can only assume has food, toys, naked women, and your own private booth to talk with God one on one. The kid asks the ones who let him in how to move on from the average sitting section and move up the chain. They reply, "well first we'd have to kick you in the balls 50 times a day for one month, to the next section we'd have to cut them off, and to be in the private section you'd need to harvest the balls and female organs of all your family members."
This exaggeration is not too far from what they make you do in that wonderful church of scientology.
It has also come to my attention that there is another copycat scientology cult kicking around Toronto which is only increasing in size. So for the love of God(being me, of course) don't let any of your friends try to convince you that 'Landmarks" is a philosophical society, an institute of higher learning, or a righteous path to salvation.
I know the thought of anyone joining either of those cults is unimaginable or even funny, BUT THINK AGAIN.
It has even happened to me. I had a Landmarks member living in my home for 8 years and I didn't even fucking know it. The fucking scoundrel nearly ruined my family, nearly sent my mother to a psychiatry ward, and was also a terrible cook. He was a mix between the Moron and the Treehouse and that made him an incredibly fucked up person. He tried his hardest to be a good person but instead just continually ruined himself and everyone around him.
Finally remember this, the one person these cults prey on are people with low self-esteem and people who are depressed, exactly who the guy in my families life was when he joined.
So for fuck's sake, keep care of your family and friends and let's make sure no one ends up in one of these cults!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Pomosexual
Since I first heard the words 'Post Modern' uttered, I've yearned to know their meaning.
And thanks to the help of many wonderful people, I finally don't understand it.
I don't understand the poetry of E.E. Cummings.
I don't understand the writings of Thomas Pynchon.
I don't understand the art of wiping your ass with a canvas.
I just don't fucking get it.
And thanks to the help of many wonderful people, I finally don't understand it.
I don't understand the poetry of E.E. Cummings.
I don't understand the writings of Thomas Pynchon.
I don't understand the art of wiping your ass with a canvas.
I just don't fucking get it.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
I'm not lazy, it needs to be said
I personally don't use one myself, and I don't have any friends who use them.
No offense but.....
PEOPLE WHO USE BLUE TOOTHS OR ANY OTHER KIND OF IN EAR PHONES ARE FUCKING DOUCHE BAGS
done.
No offense but.....
PEOPLE WHO USE BLUE TOOTHS OR ANY OTHER KIND OF IN EAR PHONES ARE FUCKING DOUCHE BAGS
done.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Transit
Tell me if you've heard this before but do you ever feel angrier when you’re on the subway? And I don't mean "Oh that old bean really gives me the heebee jeebee's" or the "I sure do have a case of the Monday's" but the "If anyone looks at me wrong, I'll give them the battle axe" angry.
For some reason or another, I find myself to be at my angriest when on the transit in Toronto. I've recounted several occasions when I've not only stared at people thinking of all the horrible, brutal, and disturbing things I could do to them, but how soon and what's stopping me.
Just today, for example, there was this young thuggin guy right in front of me who was staring at another person across from him with those "I'm gonna cut you" eyes, which in turn made me do the same to him. I thought if he makes a move, just one, I'll puncture his throat with the corkscrew I carry in my bag. (Side note to those wondering, I always have a corkscrew and a bottle opener on my person at all times, as I am a Debonair Saucier).
He of course did nothing and coincidentally got off at the same stop that I did, and the second I got outside I was chipper and dandy as I was before I'd entered the subway.
Those who know me, know I've never been a violent person and always discourage violence, even petty play fighting. But I just can't figure out why the subway turns me in to Ted Bundy. It's as if the TTC brings out the side in me who's desperately trying to get out and kill, kill, kill.
I can remember one day specifically where I got so deep in to a conversation with my friend Stan which left not only him, but an innocent old lady, terrified. It kind of went like this...:
Stan: So I was all like BAM cock in the face! And she was all like OH NO THERES A WIENER IN MY FACE, but it was fuckin GNAR man (makes a brap, brap motion) She totally had it fuckin coming cause she was fucking stupid. EPIC cock smack though.
Tim: do you ever think about murdering people? Like anywhere? Even here?
Stan: no, but like this one time I fuckin EPIC farted in this guys face while he was sleeping and he woke up puking cause it was sooooooo stank. (For those wondering, Stan is obsessed with Neil Patrick Harris)
Tim: like do you ever imagine that perfect murder which is so precise, down to every detail, that the only thing that could come of it is perfection? Like the perfect self-gratification. Almost as if you've mastered your domain.
Stan: dude seriously, your harshin my buzz right now, like, epically.
Tim: No I'm serious man. I have these dreams where I see someone on the subway, minding their own business, and as they get off I casually follow them on their way home. This is of course late at night (I start chuckling) but the second I know their guard is down I slip the knife in to their jugular holding them until they're down, turn their head and make sure no blood touches my gloves. (Chuckling more) I mean even if it does, you know where to stash it because they're disposable and you could probably just burn them anyways. But just seeing them die right there, knowing you've perfected your art would just be so satisfying, so enthralling, you know?
(By now the 70 year old European woman sitting beside me has edged so far off her seat that she's practically hovering, staring at me with eyes so wide it's was as if she'd seen me do this.)
Stan: dude you're seriously fucked up.
Tim: really? You think so? I thought everybody had these visions, these PERFECT visions.
Stan: no dude, just you.
Tim: fuck man that sucks. So really, you've never thought about killing an innocent person, or even someone who has really wronged you? I mean that's totally common, if you counted that then I would've killed hundred's by now, had I acted.
Stan: no dude, just you.
Tim: shit......oh well, who the fuck cares, we can all have our fantasies right?
We're now at St. George station and the woman gets off, staring at me the whole way, frightened and seriously disturbed. I see her take off her hat, wipe her face, shudder, then she took one last, long look in to my eyes which were staring dead at her.
I slightly turned my head and grinned.
Stan: You terrified that woman. She was staring at you the entire time you were recounting...whatever the fuck you were just saying--
Tim: you mean my perfect murder?
Stan: Yes I mean your perfect murder!
Tim: oh well, fuck her if she can't take a joke.
To this day, I've never said anything along those lines when en route anywhere via le TTC, but I'll always remember that woman’s horrified face.
It was this situation that's always had me wondering, why the TTC? I can't for the life figure it out because I take it at least two to three times a day.
Though I have to admit, there have been times where my evil drunken Blue Night stares have benefited me.
One time when at a friend’s late night cabin hangout, I was coming home with a bunch of friends who insisted on taking a cab. I being the cheap ass said for them to fuck themselves while I enjoy my ride on the Vomit Comet. When I arrived and boarded on said Comet, I was immediately confronted by the stares of about 14 big Venezuelan's, Colombian's, and El Salvadorian's. Being the "tough" guy that I am, I stared directly in to all of their eyes making sure they knew I wasn't fucking around (mind you, had they known I was also terrified, it would've resulted poorly). This sustained for about thirty seconds until one of them leaned over and said right to my face, "Do chu have a (breathing heavily) ffff-huckin problem jo?" I quivered, sat up straight and said, “fuck no, do you?"
Their immediate response, as a group, was "AHAHAHAHAHAHA chill de fuck out mane, have f-huckin drink!" All of a sudden four bottles of moosehead and a liter of cheap vino came flying at my face. These guys couldn't have been nicer or more generous because by the time I got off the bus I could barely walk, which was a surprise to my cab friends who were shocked when I showed up to the house and promptly knocked over the bar-b-que saying, "I told you you should have (Hiccup)takin the fackin blue night...CRASH"
Thus, my murderous attitude got me far drunker than I was. But what does the future hold for me? What happens when one day I do act on my "perfect visions"? What happens when I stare down someone who really does have a problem with me? Either, way someone will be killed, or become very very drunk.
p.s. do you think I should see a psychiatrist?
For some reason or another, I find myself to be at my angriest when on the transit in Toronto. I've recounted several occasions when I've not only stared at people thinking of all the horrible, brutal, and disturbing things I could do to them, but how soon and what's stopping me.
Just today, for example, there was this young thuggin guy right in front of me who was staring at another person across from him with those "I'm gonna cut you" eyes, which in turn made me do the same to him. I thought if he makes a move, just one, I'll puncture his throat with the corkscrew I carry in my bag. (Side note to those wondering, I always have a corkscrew and a bottle opener on my person at all times, as I am a Debonair Saucier).
He of course did nothing and coincidentally got off at the same stop that I did, and the second I got outside I was chipper and dandy as I was before I'd entered the subway.
Those who know me, know I've never been a violent person and always discourage violence, even petty play fighting. But I just can't figure out why the subway turns me in to Ted Bundy. It's as if the TTC brings out the side in me who's desperately trying to get out and kill, kill, kill.
I can remember one day specifically where I got so deep in to a conversation with my friend Stan which left not only him, but an innocent old lady, terrified. It kind of went like this...:
Stan: So I was all like BAM cock in the face! And she was all like OH NO THERES A WIENER IN MY FACE, but it was fuckin GNAR man (makes a brap, brap motion) She totally had it fuckin coming cause she was fucking stupid. EPIC cock smack though.
Tim: do you ever think about murdering people? Like anywhere? Even here?
Stan: no, but like this one time I fuckin EPIC farted in this guys face while he was sleeping and he woke up puking cause it was sooooooo stank. (For those wondering, Stan is obsessed with Neil Patrick Harris)
Tim: like do you ever imagine that perfect murder which is so precise, down to every detail, that the only thing that could come of it is perfection? Like the perfect self-gratification. Almost as if you've mastered your domain.
Stan: dude seriously, your harshin my buzz right now, like, epically.
Tim: No I'm serious man. I have these dreams where I see someone on the subway, minding their own business, and as they get off I casually follow them on their way home. This is of course late at night (I start chuckling) but the second I know their guard is down I slip the knife in to their jugular holding them until they're down, turn their head and make sure no blood touches my gloves. (Chuckling more) I mean even if it does, you know where to stash it because they're disposable and you could probably just burn them anyways. But just seeing them die right there, knowing you've perfected your art would just be so satisfying, so enthralling, you know?
(By now the 70 year old European woman sitting beside me has edged so far off her seat that she's practically hovering, staring at me with eyes so wide it's was as if she'd seen me do this.)
Stan: dude you're seriously fucked up.
Tim: really? You think so? I thought everybody had these visions, these PERFECT visions.
Stan: no dude, just you.
Tim: fuck man that sucks. So really, you've never thought about killing an innocent person, or even someone who has really wronged you? I mean that's totally common, if you counted that then I would've killed hundred's by now, had I acted.
Stan: no dude, just you.
Tim: shit......oh well, who the fuck cares, we can all have our fantasies right?
We're now at St. George station and the woman gets off, staring at me the whole way, frightened and seriously disturbed. I see her take off her hat, wipe her face, shudder, then she took one last, long look in to my eyes which were staring dead at her.
I slightly turned my head and grinned.
Stan: You terrified that woman. She was staring at you the entire time you were recounting...whatever the fuck you were just saying--
Tim: you mean my perfect murder?
Stan: Yes I mean your perfect murder!
Tim: oh well, fuck her if she can't take a joke.
To this day, I've never said anything along those lines when en route anywhere via le TTC, but I'll always remember that woman’s horrified face.
It was this situation that's always had me wondering, why the TTC? I can't for the life figure it out because I take it at least two to three times a day.
Though I have to admit, there have been times where my evil drunken Blue Night stares have benefited me.
One time when at a friend’s late night cabin hangout, I was coming home with a bunch of friends who insisted on taking a cab. I being the cheap ass said for them to fuck themselves while I enjoy my ride on the Vomit Comet. When I arrived and boarded on said Comet, I was immediately confronted by the stares of about 14 big Venezuelan's, Colombian's, and El Salvadorian's. Being the "tough" guy that I am, I stared directly in to all of their eyes making sure they knew I wasn't fucking around (mind you, had they known I was also terrified, it would've resulted poorly). This sustained for about thirty seconds until one of them leaned over and said right to my face, "Do chu have a (breathing heavily) ffff-huckin problem jo?" I quivered, sat up straight and said, “fuck no, do you?"
Their immediate response, as a group, was "AHAHAHAHAHAHA chill de fuck out mane, have f-huckin drink!" All of a sudden four bottles of moosehead and a liter of cheap vino came flying at my face. These guys couldn't have been nicer or more generous because by the time I got off the bus I could barely walk, which was a surprise to my cab friends who were shocked when I showed up to the house and promptly knocked over the bar-b-que saying, "I told you you should have (Hiccup)takin the fackin blue night...CRASH"
Thus, my murderous attitude got me far drunker than I was. But what does the future hold for me? What happens when one day I do act on my "perfect visions"? What happens when I stare down someone who really does have a problem with me? Either, way someone will be killed, or become very very drunk.
p.s. do you think I should see a psychiatrist?
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Not what I had in mind, but it'll do
On to more casual, less opinionated things.
My most recent string of unfortunate events has come from my drinking habit (circa 2006) which has never flown off the handle, but has not gotten better since it started.
But alas, my problem lies less with the drinking but more with my post 2 am obsessions, being women and food. Though I've never mixed the two (intentionally), I always have the craving for both and the misfortune comes when I've realized I can have neither. Like any other reasonable delinquent alcoholic (or debonair saucier as I like to call myself) the first realization comes when heading to the bus and you've made all of your phone calls to either Bertha, destroyer of the cocks, or Bertha, deliverer of the pizza.
When neither has answered and you make your walk of shame to the bus, you know there are only two things to do when you get home: self gratification of the highest possible form. Or at least that's what most would do.
I do not have the good fortune of most people, nor the regular sex drive of your average college male. I never in my life have been able to go home, look at pants and say...ON!! It just doesn't work like that. There's no button in me that says "turn cock on." So if that is my night’s ambition, I have to work for it, meaning porn or hope that my neighbours from a far are doing the mattress mambo. Now comes my misfortunes.
1. I hate porn. Until a year ago it always made me uncomfortable and I could never figure it out. Guy bangs girl, girl is hot, they seem to be enjoying it(in the oddest of ways) and therefore so should I, though I'm only peering in from a computer screen, I should still be able to get a flutter or some kind of sign that I like seeing sex. I think the problem is that I'm an incredibly weird, over-thinking, and awkward person. I start thinking right before I sign on. Immediately when the options cum up (sorry had to make it) I've already started the process of "Ok what should I watch, am I in a teen anal tryouts night, a midgets get funky night, a young pink and ready night, or a itty bitty titties night? My immediate thoughts begin with, "HOW FUCKED UP AM I?" I calm down and immediately think that I am fine, I am normal, everyone watches porn, even nuns (because if they're in it they have to watch it, right? For editing purposes? So I calm down and casually click on the midgets, no the anal, no the titty's, NO the yougens (since their close to my age by California state law). Now I've already turned off the computer and am without stimulus. I wander around aimlessly through my house and it's by now 4am. Its ok, I don't need to get my kicks tonight though the last time I did would have been....hmmm....when was Kim Campbell in office?
Now comes a problem which kind of interrupts the two issues which arise from the absence of women. We shall deem this problem, problem 1a.
1a. After my failure at pitching a tent, I wander up and down my stairs, through the halls until finally it hits me. Fuck wankin, I'll watch t.v., chill out, and eat some food. So I always turn on the t.v. first to see what I'll be settling in to. For the night owls who know, even with basic satellite, there's nothing on past 3am. You can catch the rest of a movie, sports highlights (which is fine until they re-run) or my achiles heel, Iron Chef. FUCK if I'm not excited for Iron Chef, it's exciting, it's delicious, and when you’re plastered at 4am, it is God. Now here's when problem 1a comes in: Iron Chef=amazing food, like, fucking ambrosia, Tim=drunk and starving for more than just food. I've wasted an hour sifting through porn that I refuse to watch, meaning I'm even hungrier than I was when realizing defeat on the way home. So what do I do? I try to find enlightenment and solace in my kitchen, thinking maybe just maybe I can whip up something that can satisfy my stomach, my tastebuds, and my desperate to thrust pelvis. I quickly turn off the t.v. seeing that Iron Chef Morimoto has made something which looks like it could bring all of the fallen Samurai of Japan back to life. Dashing through the halls, drunk with glee, I flip open my cupboards only to find condiments, saltines, and vegetables which have less life than Peter Graves. Knowing that mixing the three is not in my best interest, I settle for the crackers and get myself a frosty cup of hangover water and finish watching Iron Chef, chomping loudly. At about 4:50am, when the chef's must present their dishes to the judges and like a bunch of spoiled panelists critisize the food as if it was prepared by retarded 3rd graders equipped with only crayons and play-doh . By 4:55am, I'm sobbing or screaming angrily, much to housemate’s dismay. So when I hear, "Tim why are you crying loudly (and or yelling) this late, they don't understand, they never will. But unofrtunately for me this is still only problem 1a.
2. Now more defeated than ever and angry at the television, angry at my kitchen, and still without any kind of self-gratification, I stumble up the stairs to bed. Now, this has always been my method for at least trying to get in the hot zone because it does work at times, but is incredibly difficult. It's essentially like wishing it up. I think of the girl I'd most like to please, or be with, or especially someone I really like at the time and pray that it gets up. The odd time when that works, bada-bing , I'm now only angry that I'm hungry, but the times when it doesn't literally feels as if I've failed myself as a man. So after it's all failed (if it did) I’m left alone in bed naked, starving, drunk, and horny (or so I think). I have a cigarette which always takes a little bit of agony off the ole shoulders.
So by now it's at least 5:30am, my bed is crunchy, and I've had it.
What's sad is this is almost a weekly occurrence. Maybe I should see a porn therapist, maybe I should stop watching Iron Chef, and maybe I should try and separate my habits.
But still, every week?
I need a girlfriend.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
To the panderers’ wondering why I dislike porn, here a few reasons why I dislike it:
-I find it demeaning to women
-the guys are always disgusting (I'm not gay, but I have fucking standards...literally)
-the big cum shot at the end always makes it look like the girl is trying to catch the winning touchdown of the super bowl
-guys always say that awkward dirty talk which girls take with acceptance(among other things)
-two girls was not ruined by one cup, I never liked girl on girl because if I was there, I'd want in (though I've tried that and it almost worked, but I was too drunk and laughing way too hard though the girls were so god damned smoking....I missed that one, but that's a story for another time)
-I hate the locations
-most of the girls look as if they were made by plastic meaning it's hard to differentiate many things; breasts, face, ass...gender(shudder)
-I hate the beginnings, the girls always address the camera in the most annoying ways. I don't know about you, but I like fornicating with smart individuals, not kindergarten drop-outs
-porn can get really weird
-did I mention they're all ugly?
-the names of the movies aren't clever enough
-the acting is comparable to that of Lauren Conrad's, Eric Boardman, and Andi McDowell
-the music is so awful, yet blind AND deaf people have made better
So mixed that all together and what we have is the reverse process, I want things to come out of my cock, not on to it.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Flagship
I don't know why I finally decided to get a blog. The steady diet of Non-fiction books I've been reading could just be it. I don't think I'll ever know.
What to write about.
Where do I start?
I've lived in Toronto my entire life, only traveling around certain parts of North America (highlights including New Orleans, Birmingham, Clarksdale, and the I-75 through Kentucky). I've always wanted to travel outside of Canada so I can finally get a real grasp on what life would be like coming from a foreign country then moving to, of all fucking places, Toronto.
I don't hate this city, but I don't love it.
I just get flabbergasted sometimes when I see the level of idiocy, pretension(cough), intolerance, and above all confusion.
Torontonian's should know that it's one of the smallest big cities in the world. In Toronto, you can have 4-5 completely different ethnic neighbourhoods within the span of 5 miles. Mine, for example, encompasses Greeks, Chinese, Afghan Muslims, Sri Lankans, Yugoslavians, Serbs, andYuppies (will be a race one day). All of which are in a baseball's throw within each other.
Now, where do the aforementioned negativities fit in? Everywhere.
've noticed that all of these people have learned to uniformly live in an idiotic state. Luckily, the level of violence in my neighbourhood which could be astronomical but isn't, has never really been a problem here.
I've been privy to the occasional hooting from macho greek-macedonian youth (don't get me started on why they're friends) but again this kind of "What the fuck are you lookin' at me fo, you hate greeks? Ya, you do, you hate greeks. Yo pappanos watch me ice dis foolio." Even though I was trying my hardest not to laugh at their attitudes, haircuts (though I wasn't then, I am a tad of a fashion critic), and overall poor grammar, I knew not to associate this cultural intolerance with general youth related counter-culture hatred.
Where I most see of these idiocies lie deep with in the subconcious of almost everyone. Even equal rights fanatics have their levels of intoerance.
When I asked a super pro-feminist girl in my high school why men and women should be equal, she replied, "We're all equal you fucking retard, even you should know that."
This if course proving that she was intolerant of occasional pot-induced, cookie hounding, hippy cultured, fog of retardation which I was so prone to in high school.
So even she was intolerant.
So my dreams and want for experimentation to live the life of a Nepalese, an Indian, a francophone(the real ones), or even a snooty Brit, coming to Canada is still one of my highest asperations.
This is only because Toronto is so self-contained, which causes the previous problems, and I say that because we only really know(for those who've lived here long ebough) what culture means to Toronto and not everywhere else.
In some ways it is a good thing(no assoc. with Mar Stew) that we have this because we can begin the learning process, but my entire point to this is don't fucking judge if you don't know.
I can't stress this enough.
Thinking now, I know exactly why this all came up.
My basis from this comes not from racial intolerance, which I start seeing less and less, but of sexual intolerance.
I go to Humber College where, rather than the atheists who plague downtown Toronto, I plagued with people who are christ loving, allah worshipping, scriptual following religion freaks.
There are very few, especially in my first year, college students whom I encounter(ed) that did not have some kind of predetermined or set of ideals on what gay is or should be.
Since I was born, I've lived with gays and lesbians. My godfathers, together almost thirty years and married four, were both there the day I was born, in hospital alongside my mom and dad. So as you can imagine, I am a huge supporter for gay rights and equal treatment, and above all understanding. So as you can imagine, having a class full of kids who think being gay means public ass-fucking, major lisps, trewating every man like a piece of ass (insinuating that gays have no standards), pink clothes, and little dogs that fit in purses.
These intolerant, judgemental, moronic thoughts make me furious. Even writing this, is making my blood boil. I really, really hate to say it, but almost all of the kids who spouted these unfortunate words came from what I call Toronto's bible belt: all the suburbs surrounding Toronto where religion is 50 times more common than not. So everything form Oakville, Mississauga, Brampton, Woodbridge, Vaughan, Markham, and Richmond Hill, are part of this belt.
Don't get me wrong, I have many frinds who live in the bible belt and I wouldn't trade them for anything, but that religious level of idiocy and intolerance has got to go.
Though I didn't start the blog with any intentions of having my first piece be preachy or opinionated, I guess you never know what your mind is doing to you when it happens. I'm currently sick as a dog, high on advil, listening to debussy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcpamvLB2JU&feature=related
I know my mind can't be working right, and these days I've become more and more aware of how true it is.
What to write about.
Where do I start?
I've lived in Toronto my entire life, only traveling around certain parts of North America (highlights including New Orleans, Birmingham, Clarksdale, and the I-75 through Kentucky). I've always wanted to travel outside of Canada so I can finally get a real grasp on what life would be like coming from a foreign country then moving to, of all fucking places, Toronto.
I don't hate this city, but I don't love it.
I just get flabbergasted sometimes when I see the level of idiocy, pretension(cough), intolerance, and above all confusion.
Torontonian's should know that it's one of the smallest big cities in the world. In Toronto, you can have 4-5 completely different ethnic neighbourhoods within the span of 5 miles. Mine, for example, encompasses Greeks, Chinese, Afghan Muslims, Sri Lankans, Yugoslavians, Serbs, andYuppies (will be a race one day). All of which are in a baseball's throw within each other.
Now, where do the aforementioned negativities fit in? Everywhere.
've noticed that all of these people have learned to uniformly live in an idiotic state. Luckily, the level of violence in my neighbourhood which could be astronomical but isn't, has never really been a problem here.
I've been privy to the occasional hooting from macho greek-macedonian youth (don't get me started on why they're friends) but again this kind of "What the fuck are you lookin' at me fo, you hate greeks? Ya, you do, you hate greeks. Yo pappanos watch me ice dis foolio." Even though I was trying my hardest not to laugh at their attitudes, haircuts (though I wasn't then, I am a tad of a fashion critic), and overall poor grammar, I knew not to associate this cultural intolerance with general youth related counter-culture hatred.
Where I most see of these idiocies lie deep with in the subconcious of almost everyone. Even equal rights fanatics have their levels of intoerance.
When I asked a super pro-feminist girl in my high school why men and women should be equal, she replied, "We're all equal you fucking retard, even you should know that."
This if course proving that she was intolerant of occasional pot-induced, cookie hounding, hippy cultured, fog of retardation which I was so prone to in high school.
So even she was intolerant.
So my dreams and want for experimentation to live the life of a Nepalese, an Indian, a francophone(the real ones), or even a snooty Brit, coming to Canada is still one of my highest asperations.
This is only because Toronto is so self-contained, which causes the previous problems, and I say that because we only really know(for those who've lived here long ebough) what culture means to Toronto and not everywhere else.
In some ways it is a good thing(no assoc. with Mar Stew) that we have this because we can begin the learning process, but my entire point to this is don't fucking judge if you don't know.
I can't stress this enough.
Thinking now, I know exactly why this all came up.
My basis from this comes not from racial intolerance, which I start seeing less and less, but of sexual intolerance.
I go to Humber College where, rather than the atheists who plague downtown Toronto, I plagued with people who are christ loving, allah worshipping, scriptual following religion freaks.
There are very few, especially in my first year, college students whom I encounter(ed) that did not have some kind of predetermined or set of ideals on what gay is or should be.
Since I was born, I've lived with gays and lesbians. My godfathers, together almost thirty years and married four, were both there the day I was born, in hospital alongside my mom and dad. So as you can imagine, I am a huge supporter for gay rights and equal treatment, and above all understanding. So as you can imagine, having a class full of kids who think being gay means public ass-fucking, major lisps, trewating every man like a piece of ass (insinuating that gays have no standards), pink clothes, and little dogs that fit in purses.
These intolerant, judgemental, moronic thoughts make me furious. Even writing this, is making my blood boil. I really, really hate to say it, but almost all of the kids who spouted these unfortunate words came from what I call Toronto's bible belt: all the suburbs surrounding Toronto where religion is 50 times more common than not. So everything form Oakville, Mississauga, Brampton, Woodbridge, Vaughan, Markham, and Richmond Hill, are part of this belt.
Don't get me wrong, I have many frinds who live in the bible belt and I wouldn't trade them for anything, but that religious level of idiocy and intolerance has got to go.
Though I didn't start the blog with any intentions of having my first piece be preachy or opinionated, I guess you never know what your mind is doing to you when it happens. I'm currently sick as a dog, high on advil, listening to debussy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcpamvLB2JU&feature=related
I know my mind can't be working right, and these days I've become more and more aware of how true it is.
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