You KNOW You Want A Piece Of This.

You can pretend you don't do it. Sure. Uh huh. Me neither. I also don't ready Sassy Magazine. Or eat MSG. Or have sex dreams about Count Chocula. Riiiight.

Stop your half-hearted protests to the contrary, friends. You know this. You do this. It's the modern art form/epidemic commonly known as drunken texting.

Sadly, I've shown little restraint over the years when firing out messages half in the bag. I could include a sampling of my work here, but I recently just poked my head out of the Shame Pavilion - and the air is much nicer out here, so I figure I'll stay outside for a little while.

My friend Dione, who also has her finger on the "Send" button, er, pulse, just sent me this. Hey judgers -don't even lie and tell me you haven't sent at least 10 sordid/lame/pathetic/grammatically shocking messages that could qualify for this site. And if you haven't, well.....suffice to say, we probably aren't friends. Did I just diss myself in a roundabout way? Uh, yes. But I say....well...well....the joke's on you! Boom. Take that.

http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

See you on your Berry screen at 3:19 a.m. later? It's a date. Awwwww yeah.

Friend Tribute Of The Day - Shawni Bear

This is my gurl Shawna. I gotta tell you, Shawni Bear is an inspiration. She's one of those special creatures who can hold her own in a black-tie ballroom, looking like a million bucks and making elegant conversation....or in a dive bar drinkin' Miller High Life and hustling alllll the boys at pool. Either way, she does cool shit 24/7 and still manages to travel and work harder for the money than Donna Summer circa 1978.

Last Sunday, Shawni Bear took it upon herself to casually enter the Vancouver Half-Marathon and take a wee jog after a night of carousing on the town - and by wee jog, I mean 21.1 kilometres. Those of you who know me are aware of my acute hatred of clowns (see Roger Moore post below). Even still, I'm jealous. I mean, this girl doesn't just talk the talk - she walks the walk after a night of Singstar! And she's smart as a whip too.

Girls - take notes. You could learn a thing or two from this one.

The Amazing Andrew Salgado

For about 38 seconds a year or so ago I worked with this fellow at a restaurant. Temporarily supporting himself serving tables, Andy was hilarious and convivial with everyone, all the while concentrating on his obvious gifts as an artist. I remember a conversation I had with him where he described in minute detail the genius of Basement Jaxx & Moloko while we slurped on shitty house red after getting off shift. Ah the memories.

Every now and then I check out his website to see what he's got cookin'.

Um, holy shit.

I have been blown away by his paintings for some time - but these videos are next level. Warning: if you aren't human and haven't yet discovered what a twig and two berries look like, move on.

http://andrewsalgado.com/2009.htm

I'd post up some of his art on here, but you're better off checking out his full portfolio of images and videos at his site. Plus, it's, like, not mine to post and stuff. Word.

For Seki - Further Proof That The 90's Kicked Couture Ass.

Hey buddy...did you do a double take looking at this gazelle during the Givenchy Fall '09 show? I was watching Fashion File a month or so ago and nearly fell out of my chair.

Something Interesting.

I have very simple motivations for watching the morning news each day for a few minutes. One, I like to follow the weather. Two, you can usually find out if Armageddon is a reasonable threat on that particular day.

"What, no SARS? Shifting tectonic plates? Angry dictators with an itchy trigger finger? Well then! Which way is the beach!"

On occasion, however, between the traffic reports and regional stories of interest, the local news has a nervous-looking artist on telling you about their work being featured at a local theater or gallery. On Global TV this morning, a photographer named Chris Jordan was promoting his exhibit currently showing May 7th-31st at the Winsor Gallery in South Granville - www.winsorgallery.com.

Jordan focuses on photography that both figuratively and literally highlights how the mass consumerism of our culture impacts the planet. These photos are both visually amazing and a great reminder to make simple changes in our lives to reduce our carbon footprint.

For more information on his photography, visit his website at www.chrisjordan.com.

As If You Needed Another Reason To Heart Sean Connery (And For That Matter, Brosnan, Craig, Dalton, and that Lazenby guy)

Sadly, today is the last day aboard the beautiful Karma houseboat in Coal Harbour. That's right friends, life just got a whole lot less nautical. Let's take a moment to reminisce about the frequent Midnight Express phone calls and random Cut Copy/Hall & Oates-themed dance parties that went down on the magical yellow vessel.

That being said, I'm looking forward to the more standard life that an apartment in South Granville has to offer: closet space, a walk to my door that doesn't potentially involve swimming, and a neighbourhood that boasts some of the sweetest cafes in town.

While cleaning the houseboat today I turned on the boob tube for some background noise. Absently flicking through the channels, I observed your standard daytime fare: judge shows (Mathis, Judy, People's Court), soap operas (Young and the Restless, Days Of Our Lives) and your garden variety of sh$t CSI re-runs. Where was the Remington Steele? The Murder She Wrote? Nothing gets me more riled up than seeing Angela Lansbury flirt with Tom Bosley at the Cabot Cove coffee shop. Meeeeeeee-ow.

Then I witnessed something horrific from which I am still reeling. How is it that I failed to realize that Roger Moore spends the majority of Octopussy in F%*KING CLOWN MAKEUP? The TNT network was airing their bi-annual James Bond marathon and I stumbled onto the scene where 007 is saving a vacuous blond from a certain death-by-carnie.

Now what I want to know is: How did I forget about this horrific scene? I remember the plot from this movie. The Fabergé egg. The psycho Russian General. Maud Adams looking like a brain surgeon. How on Earth did I not recall this?

It's called blacking out, that's how. Roger Moore caused me to suffer memory loss. Somebody remind me to review this page tomorrow. I'm feeling woozy already!

Lucky.

Let's all just take a moment and acknowledge how lovely our city is today. Words and photos aren't going to do any justice so I'm not going to bother with them. Get outside and count your blessings friends.