I was just on my way home last night when I overheard this heartwarming tune being performed at Yonge-Dundas Square (part of Luminato).

In lieu of good audio quality, here are the lyrics to the snippet I recorded:

…she’s a sex machine, yeah.
She just turned 18.
And she buys me methamphetamines.

That’s why I’m dumping you, biatch, that’s why I’m out the door.
Go on an close the dumpster cuz you’re still a skanky whore.

A skanky skanky skanky skanky whore.

You spend the night at truck stops,
and at the tattoo shops,
and it don’t make you an actress just because you’ve been on Cops.

And sure you finished college,
well whoop-di-frickin-doo,
If I blew all my teachers I’d finish college too.

That’s why I’m dumping you, bzatch,
that’s why I’m out the door,
She told me she’s your sister but you’re still a skanky whore.

She’s a little skanky too, but you’re a whole lot more,
You creepy, cranky, stinky, stanky,
skanky, skanky whore.

The only sport I watch with any regularity or enthusiasm is Formula 1. I’m not really even sure if it really qualifies as a sport – I know that the drivers have to be physically fit, but that fitness isn’t the major contributing factor to them winning races. In Formula 1 it’s truly a team effort requiring a skilled driver, skilled pit crew, and skilled engineers. If just one of those elements is missing, the race is pretty much over.

The other reason I like Formula 1 is because it seems much more fair than most competitive sports. I like to compare it do downhill slaloms, for example, where differences in athletes’ times can be in the tenths of seconds — easily accounted for by an errant gust of wind. The athlete’s training, the coaching, the equipment, etc., can all be negated by something completely beyond the athlete’s control. Luck, in other words. In Formula 1 the whole aim of engineering is to mitigate the effects of luck, but even more important, all the drivers race at the same time so that elements like wind, rain, etc., affect everyone equally.

The Toronto Criterium is very similar to Formula 1 in these respects.

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The fact that is was cloudy and kinda misty and foggy on Saturday was so apropos.

That little pot rally that happened at Yonge-Dundas Square about a week ago was basically just practice for the main event, the Global Marijuana March and Freedom Festival. The point of the march, as far as I can fathom it, is to demonstrate the futility of existing pot prohibitions. It originally started as a grass roots (haha!) movement but now, well, the word “festival” is appropriate if you ask me. Even if you’re completely against anything marijuana, you must admit that arresting everyone simply wouldn’t be practical. Maybe even possible.

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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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You know, it’s almost that time when everyone and their dog will be revealing what they think will happen in 2010. I visited a few such lists on the internet and they ran the gamut from the total annihilation of the earth to Jesus returning from heaven heavily armed and pissed. Obviously the problem here is that the lists are being produced by people and their dogs. Everyone knows cats have spooky psychic abilities, they’re the choice for predicting the future.

I decided to make a title image for this because I paid four bucks for that sheet of Bristol board and I’ll be damned if I only use it once.

For tonight I decided to ask Oliver just one question after starving him for the evening. Figure I’d cut him some slack on the first time out. Here’s how the setup works: In round 1, a psychic motivator (in blue package below) is placed on each number to, well, motivate Oliver to make a selection, thus informing us of his psychic prediction. The numbers represent the number of letters in the answer, the letters are used to spell out the answer. Cat Ouija, basically.

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