There is is, the big oh-one. I’ll just dispense with the gushy anniversary right off the top. One year seems like a rite of passage, like a fraternity paddling or violent hazing. After this, I’ll have a little street cred; a little. But I like to think of this not as an end to a year so much as the beginning of the end to the next year.

(This picture is very big!)

There was much I’d planned to do in 2009 and hope to get around doing this year. Some of it I’d foolishly planned in older blog posts. So be it. Brutal, in-your-facedness, delayed plans ‘n all. As Sam Spade so profoundly put it, “when you’re slapped you’ll take it and like it!” He meant with the truth, of course.

But at least there’s always 2010. And 2011 after that. I’ll probably, eventually, sometime get around to doing everything on my list. In between I’ll stumble onto random stuff or maybe get all Prince-like and do something brooding and moody, the purple drain, when Dove makes me cry, so on. Bathroom commentary. And all still under the umbrella of life in the city of Toronto.  Haha! So’s that growth in my fridge. Still can’t believe no one had registered torontocitylife.com – totally blew my mind.

But nothing stands still. Unfortunately, the Flickr group has been quiet for a while and I only have so many photos to go around, so I’ve mothballed it. Not dead, just sleeping. Possibly terminally, who knows. I’ll try to keep it accessible until the end of days. Or until Flickr shuts it down. Whichever comes first.

In its stead I considered some ads from Google. Just … didn’t feel right. Icky. Plus, that’s no way to earn a living. So I’m back to the drawing board or the corporate sponsors really need get their asses in gear (respectfully looking your way, tasty beverage company Second Cup!)

For now though, I think I’ll just stick with the program. More photos, more writing, more stuff – and switch it up a bit in between. I’ve really been meaning to visit with my old undercover friend again; there are still plenty of locations to eat at / shoot up downtown. And I don’t remember restricting our clandestine meeting locations to breakfast joints. Though I do love a good greasy spoon

I also like the older bits of the city because they allow me to hearken back to earlier days, which I find amusing. Plus they look so antiquey, which I like.

Aside from these two subjects, I really will need to revisit the Toronto Blog All-Stars again. The “s” on the end implies that there’s more than one, so I kinda have to. And I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person with a blog in Toronto; just need find out where the others hang out and infiltrate their society. Secretly record our conversations. Then post them online in the form of an “interview”. All mostly not in many ways libelous.

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I was recently asked if I enjoy being a bachelor.

So far, my answer has to be hells … yeah.

Ask anyone who knows me, I’m definitely not phobic of long-term relationships, I think it’s just that I’m trying to recreate some of those televised dorm room shenanigans because of my own, contrary college experience. It was a community college, strikingly similar to the grouped-together rejects of the TV show Community, but with less of the dry, carefully crafted and craftily delivered humour rolling off Joel McHale’s tongue.

I was surrounded by forty-seven-year-old men who, back home, had been military jet technicians, architects, and — no kidding — bona fide brain surgeons. Often, they would correct the professor (or teacher for those who weren’t allowed to assume the title), much to everyone’s mutual amusement. (“Can’t believe I pay for this horseshit!! Why don’t I just hang around with Mr. Kim here?!”) Plus, our language and cultures often kept our relationships simply cordial. I mean, I was curious to learn about The East, but I found that I really didn’t like kimchi at all. That pretty much put an end to me trying any Korean beer. Plus, they each had families and worked 50 hours after school + studying just to be able to cover tuition (it’s a lot higher if you’re not Canadian), and sadly, yes, in the most prototypical downtown convenience stores one could imagine.

On the recognized work experience scale, I was roughly their supervisor’s supervisor. I could definitely fire their sorry asses. It was a strange dynamic, but at least I was in enough debt that we could share that misery equally (but usually them more than me). And cheating off them was a guaranteed success (a generous coffee a day gets you places! ). But it was no Joel McHale making out with Gillian Jacobs, or Alison Brie. Or even Yvette Nicole Brown. (Even though you know that that last plot line will have to develop at some point. Only way to keep the show classy.)

Maybe I’m being unnecessarily sentimental. I should probably stop listening to those awful Chet Baker songs, especially this time of year.

Are you like me? Do you like to sit on the floor in a crumpled, sobbing heap, running through all the missed opportunities of your youth in your head, again and again? Right, exactly, neither do I. I mean, I’ve tried it a few times but I just can’t seem to get the rhythm of the comforting rocking motion down. And I just don’t see how it solves anything.

But old Chet and his awful good music remind us how cool it is to be a bachelor, especially this time of year.

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