reminds me of the ad

"have you any grey poupon?" or perhaps they say "do you have any grey poupon?" I ought to youtube the damned commercial but I'm feeling rather lethargic at the moment. I leave at 8am tomorrow morning for Miami...home of the Heat, Dexter, and Vice. But even more wonderful is the vintage shopping! Below is today's outfit. All of which is thrifted except for the knee high socks. those were a winners buy!







Sweater- thrifted - value village
Lace up boots - thrifted - value village
jeggings - thrifted - good will store

Hysterics "Mostly Untitled" Music Video

double-headed coin

When does diplomacy take the back seat to humanity? When does one's government stop acting as an international representative of its political position and start being a representative of its citizens and their rights. Seems an obvious answer: Always. But the reality remains a utilitarian ideal. What's best for most, is what's best...period. So when Canadians are stuck in foreign countries where our government assumes diplomatic loyalties our state upholds its vow and respects alien law, even at the expense of one of its own. And for what? Just to "keep the peace?" How juvenile is that?

We've witnessed this regressive and backward practice over and over and over and over and for the love of Allah, Jesus, Moses, and Tom Selleck's moustache, please make it stop. We've seen it with Omar Khadr, we've seen it with Nzzia Quazi...and we continue to see it with 26 year old Nathalie Morin. Ladies and gentlemen the Conservative government has responded in a most delightfully-rightfully-totally useless and inexplicably ignorant fashion, stating "When a Canadian is on foreign soil they must respect foreign law and policy." Whoa whoa whoa. Hey, Tories, mind if ya park the horse for a moment and answer me this: If one of your citizens is mistreated and this treatment is not only acceptable but legal in another country, why don't you get down from that saddle and head for the front lines of the moral battle? When the question of repatriation was raised with regards to Nathalie Morin, the Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and to the Minister of International Cooperation responded as such: "Mr. Speaker, this is a very complex family dispute with no easy solution."


Alright, ladies and gents, here is what Deepak Obhrai considered to be a "complicated family dispute."

the meat of it:

Nathalie, a Montreal born Canadian, married a man she understood to be a Canadian attending Concordia University, or at the very least an international student with a visa. They had a child together, also Montreal born. When it was discovered her husband was in Canada illegally and thus deported to Saudi Arabia, he insisted she visit him. She did so, twice, and returned safely, twice. After having been persuaded to keep the family together and move to Saudi to be with her husband, Nathalie gave birth to a second child. And it's around this time, folks, that things seem a little bit prickly. It became clear to Nathalie that something had changed inside of her husband. He began to abuse and rape her, and thus, forcing her to bare a third child. It has been five years that she's stuck in Saudi, facing abuse on a daily basis, on constant lock down, and unable to leave the country. Her husband has assumed a house arrest policy over his family, keeping them locked in an apartment 24hours a day, seven days a week, with no plumbing or telephone for the most part. Under Saudi law, wives and their children are not allowed to leave the country without permission from their spouse. Nathalie's husband has been oh so kind to allow her to leave Saudi without her children. Oh, thank you Saeed, how fucking humane of you....you jack ass. But Nathalie refuses to leave her three kids behind with their physically and psychologically abusive father.

I don't care what your colour or creed or political stance, this is NOT a "complicated family dispute." In fact, it's really quite simple. Spousal and child abuse is wrong, whatever country you're in or planet you're on. So tell me, Mr. Secretary of I-don't-give-a-shit-foreign affairs, what's so god damn complex about that? Sure, Saudi has their own idea of human rights. Sure, they're a sovereign nation and thus practice their own laws and policies and so on and so forth. Sure, they don't have to accept our concept of basic human rights. Sure, they're an absolute Monarchy and their constitution is the Q'ran, thus practicing no separation of divinity from state. But, as said over and over, a Canadian is a Canadian is a Canadian. And more so, a human is a human is a human.

But what can be done? And not just for Nathalie, but all people who are subject to unjust treatment and a lack of human rights? Whether in the middle east, Africa, Guantanamo, or right here in the Great White North, what can anyone do about it? The only solution practiced in the past has been war. Jump in and "fix" their government and turn them into a true "democratic" state where women are given the right to vote, travel, and abstain from sexual activity if they so choose. And thus, give children a safe place to call home, since it is not the children who decide where to live. Is there no better way to help Canadians, and all humans, abroad? Okay, Saudi, you may be the largest oil exporter in the world, but since when does that make you invincible? And as for you Stephen Harper, pull your balls out of your stomach because there are more important things in life than money. Aren't we all born from a mother? Aren't we all born somewhere without choice? Nathalie may have chosen to reunite with her husband five years ago, but her three kids didn't. If the only remedy is war, I don't blame the Canadian government for tip toeing around Nathalie's unfortunate circumstance. But I do blame them for not having adequate foreign affairs policies or consular services available to Canadians abroad. I blame them for being too polite.

Mr.Speaker, a human is a human is a human.

style muse: anna karina, head-dresser

anna karina, godard's most prized starlet of the french new wave era of cinema, is not only stunning but also very chic...in the timeless-yet-vintage kind of way.



Straw hats were huge this past summer season, but did they ever really take a spot on the back burner? not in my eyes! I wore my straw hat allllllll summer long.

Always a well dressed head, even sans hat.



Bows bows bows! They're everywhere. If one isn't so inclined to purchase head accessories at the marked-up prices that American Apparel sells them then check out thrift shops. I've had so much luck!Vintage shops also tend to carry them at reasonable prices. I found a navy blue clip-on bow for 6$ and it's made of lace. Sterilize them first though, you don't want soemone else's scalp cooties (ICK!).

And don't forget the chiffon floppy hat as a super chic accessory. These have been coming and going for decades but have made an aggressive come back the last few years.

Damn You Auto Correct!

for fellow iPhone users...
this is probably my fave one on damnyouautocorrect.com so far.

three courses for confidence

I'd like to run into someone in my head space. We'd collide and stroll through the vastness of ourselves and of each other. I'd like someone in there...just to see my insides. Maybe they'd rearrange a few things and bring some light into this place. They could design a whole new floor plan and I'd suddenly find myself at home. And I'd dwell there and it would be healthy instead of self destructive. We'd enjoy the newly acquired furnishings and decor. We'd sip tea topped with philosophy and a teaspoon of insight. We could even bake a cake made entirely of good intentions. We could cook dinner and stir in some optimism and wash it down with a pint of pride and then move onto a salad mixed with self-awareness and peace and when our cake is warm and ready, we'd devour that too. We'd become the perfect people. Completely uninhibited. Completely morally just. Completely...complete.

la terreur CHOUINARD!

During filming of "The Perfect Roommate" I went to visit Chloe-La Terreur-Chouinard in Montréal on my two days off. We met at Sweet William. A newly operating rad-doubling as a photography studio- hair salon. Bernie Fernandez, part owner, is a friend of Chloe's who I've met a couple of times. The dude is splendid company. Plus, check the wall paper, is it wicked, or is it wicked?

I was having a bit of a laugh-attack and Bernie jumped in.


what salon would be complete without the most adorable vintage sitting chair?


Or the most comfortable hair washing station EVER?


We hopped along to the Sparrow for a small dinner then to le Belmont to check out a DJ Terreur digs. Chloe and I fell in love and took photos.
See the love? It's coming out of our noses.


When Chloe visited Ottawa her, D, and I, went to value VEE! Andrew is a goof. And this photo proves such.

afraid of everything.

I'm a chicken shit. I really am. and now it's time to get over it.

don't stop turning just for me

Tonight Franca and I are chatting about the reality of ourselves versus the way others see us. I sit here and speculate about myself and my behaviour. Everything I say and do is a representation of who I am. But how accurate is that representation and how much of myself is lost between my mind and my outer self?

Franca asked me why we can swoon over a man we have known for a few minutes and continue to fall deeper into him as we learn more about who they are and recognize their mannerisms and all the things that make them different from us. And my answer was simple: the universe may present us with all sorts of incredibly passionate and inspirational connections. the universe may place someone in our lives for us to encounter. but it is not in the universe's nature to stop everything and make sure that that person stays ours forever. in short: the universe is massive, why would it stop moving to guarantee us a lifelong relationship?

So yes, we may meet someone with whom we feel a great bond. And this bond may last the length of time that it takes to drink our coffee, or fight cancer, or even the quick few hours of a one night stand. The connection may stand the test of resentment and entrapment. Or it may be too frail. It may have been released into your world prematurely. Malnourished, neglected, under grown. It may be too weak to handle your long working hours, your unrelenting standards, your clingy manifestations of what a relationship ought to be like. It may fail to live through all of these things and you may be left wondering what the point of it was. That is the reality about romance that many of us struggle to accept. The reality being that the impermanence of life does not impair the connections we make or lessen their value, but that romance is in fact finite. Perhaps it's important for helpless romantics like Franca and myself to learn to embrace the finite nature of these deep romantic connections we share with others.

When couples spend the entirety of their adult lives together it isn't the romantic connection that continues to seal them. The truth is there's a lot in life. And all of those other things in their lives outside of their relationship works with their companionship. It's not the chemicals that churn their unit into something durable. It's everything. Their ability to be in the right place and right time, ready to work and commit to one of the hardest things humanity attempts to do: be together.

I believe the only way to be with anyone is to be the most accurate representation of yourself. which brings us back to the original discussion. Exactly how much of ourselves is brought to the surface? It's difficult to say. Are my actions a representation of my true self or are they a portion of what I wish I could be? And when do we know what to put forward and what to conceal?

I'll have to get back to this at a later time so I can discuss it with Franca further and perhaps take some time to ponder it with a clearer head. that's all for now!

The trial of Squirrel

One memorable Saturday evening, Ashley Dawn and I attended slam poetry at Mercury Lounge in hopes of feeling inspired. When it was over we felt great. We headed to the Dom and ran into the infamous Jason Squirrel. He's always been a hoot and a riot when he's drunk. These are snaps of his never-ending battle with his wool sweater. I'm not sure if he ever tied it up.

One. Solo mission.


Two. here comes the distraction.


Three. conversation errupts


Four. conversation continues


Five. frustration sets in.


Six. give up the dream.

colours colours colours

BUY NOTHING DAY

is this FRIDAY NOVEMBER 26TH in NORTH AMERICA! And the 27th internationally.

I'm trying to think of ways to celebrate this day. Ways to influence even the smallest portion of the consumerist's wheel and put things in motion. Some have suggested dumpstering. Others have proposed placing pylons in front of targeted stores such as Wal-Mart. I even read one idea (for Americans) to walk into large US banks and strip naked.

Adbusters is pushing this day to help with the environment, moral fibre, standard of living, integrity, revolution, evolution, rebellion, for the children, for the elders, for today and for tomorrow.
Pick a motive...whichever you choose, do something about the effervescent entity that is capitalism. Help to put a cap on it, shake it up again, and turn it into something else.

We continue to be a part of the problem. We continute to aid in the swelling of the demand for things that are irrelevent, expendable, and lavish. When we do this, we create more supply, waste, pollution, poverty, inflation, recession, depression, plagues, and regression. If we don't show up, they won't build it again. If we don't buy it, they won't make it. If they don't make it, they won't advertise for it.

If you take part in BUY NOTHING DAY and thrive on the variance then perhaps you will find satisfaction in altering your consumer ways every day of the year. It's simple. Whenever you can, thrift shop. Go to thrift stores for your clothes, housewares, books, whatever! It's a greener way to shop and often supports a noble cause. In the summer, hit up garage sales when you're looking for furniture, or estate sales even! These are ways to purchase essentials under the radar and outside of the system.

For details check http://www.adbusters.org/campaigns/bnd and sign up for a meeting near you.

retreat

She stands there. Lamp posts lay ahead of her, shrinking in a line.
Go to this girl. Go!
to her and see what you yourself are afraid of being.
Look to her when you ask "Who is going to be my revolution? "
And she holds no stiff and long shaft to defend herself on a day when
She finds herself in a vice of two genders.
Two people she is supposed to be just to be
The one person she wants to be.
And is
The person you would be if you fled the scene of your systematically
Choreographed
masquerade
that you claim to be the purpose
Of your life
Of your meaning
Of your plan.
She will not avoid the hobo, even in the night when
Shadows and imagery are no longer useful.
She has confidence in the nature of her race.
She dissects all stereotypes and judgements to a grain
And it is soluble
And edible
And tastes of sovereignty.
And she is then clean of it after this ritual
When she can love something in everyone.
And is free to discover that which many people don't see in others
As they have reservations about the poet,
the prostitute
and the skid.
I will go to her
And to her I will become the anomaly that conforms
to a sensible
a better
a worthy
representation of herself.

moonstruck

I don't sleep. I have not been able to sleep a good sleep in years. Instead, my face burns, my cheeks are a stained pink, and I constantly turn the pillow over in a hunt for the cooler side. I stick my foot out from under the blanket. I put my feet at the head of the bed for a change of scenery. I do all of the routine things most people do when they are faced with a night of restlessness. Do any if these strategies ever work for anyone? Why do i repeat this ritual if it has failed me so loyally? "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Dammit Einstein, must you be such a judicious mad scientist? Of course you must, especially with a name like Einstein.

On nights when the tears are too plentiful for my eyes to read pages in a book or to write pages of my own, I gravitate toward the mirror. I stare at myself...I stare at me... at my absolute worst. I watch my eyes turn a bloodshot red and puff up. I put my hands to my cheeks as if to assume the "poor me" position. And on occasion I provoke dialogue. Yes,this is a fancy dancy beat-around-the-mulberry-bush way of saying "I talk to myself."

To say I talk to myself, however, is a misrepresentation. I definitely talk while I'm alone during an episode, but I am not talking to the frail figure in the mirror. I'd go so far as to say that the girl in the mirror is stronger, and talking to the girl standing in front of her, begging for empathy. Every time I'm there, conversing with the reflective surface, I'm telling the dumb-ass emotionally overwhelmed narcissistic borderline psycho that she is undoubtedly a dumb-ass narcissistic psycho. In short: I take part in malevolent self-talk.

Disregarding how absolutely awful, cruel, and contradictory this self-talk may seem....it usually calms me down. Perhaps it's humbling to see myself while I'm not quite myself. I tend to judge the girl I'm looking at and out of spite I try to prove her wrong...to rise to the occasion if you will. To "snap out of it", get to bed and go fuck James Dean in my dreams.

There's a very large and almost overwhelming part of me that says my psychiatrist would have a problem with this self-soothing method. I can't understand why...I mean, who doesn't need to give themselves a good kick in the cunt once in a while?

frenemy? try foodemy!

I've taken to a new leisurely activity... that is: to be honest with myself. I may weigh only 93 lbs. I may be a vegetarian who is quite strict with her diet. But I also adore eating. So when I eat, I over eat, because I'm like those little sex addicts...you know those things we call rabbits. Rabbits have no intellectual or physical capacity to know when they've stuffed their faces enough. They also disperse fecal matter while they eat (they quite literally shit where they eat).

The other day I had a caprese salad... and marinated tofu.... And (drum roll please) more cheese. Yes I realize cheese is awful for you. Yes I realize it is fattening. I'm also aware of how disgusting the concept of cheese is, trust me, I'm aware! But everything about it says "I want to be inside of you" So, if I'm being honest with myself about my diet it's that I've fallen off the wagon and I probably shouldn't complain if my stomach isn't what I want it to be or my love handles have made a comeback. It's nobody's fault but my own...or rather the crooked and corrupt dairy industry's fault. Damn you and your incredibly delicious tasting smoked gouda and creamy double-churned goat's cheese.

But seriously, why should I be eating something from a goat? What an odd concept. Mammals are gross to begin with, but our species is the only species that take it to another derogatory level. They start us off as mild cannibals with the breast milk feeding and nipple gnawing and all that Freud "I secretly want to marry a woman who has the same tits as my mother" bullshit. And then suddenly that becomes taboo and we are expected to drink cow's milk that is not only 130% more fattening and full of BHT from a cow that has never seen the light of day but also probably contains carcinogens (because everything causes cancer nowadays) and really we are all just slowly committing suicide. So much of our food today makes me say "I forbide you to enter my little belly!!!" and then sometimes I am bad and eat it anyway...like cheese...fucking cheese!!!!

And you can't trust anybody. You can't trust eggs they're awful for you too, not to mention how awful it is for the poor hens in the factory farms. You can't trust yogurt, that is just insanity! And you can forget about coffee, unless you can sleep at night knowing what those poor farmers in South America go through just so you can get the jitters and stay awake. The only way is a purely organic diet, plant based, and if you can..keep it local.

Except for the coffee part of course. Try and find a local roaster who purchases organic fairly traded coffee, or even better, who work as a CO-OP with their farmers. There's nothing like having your coffee roasted on site, right in front of you. I had the pleasure of going to a roaster in Almonte, Ontario, which is coincidentally only 20 minutes from my house.

Here is what a fairly good sized roasting machine looks like:



And here is what the coffee looks like before it's roasted:



The above coffee is from a co-op farm in Ethiopa. This coffee tastes spectacular.
So the only way to win is to be a good person I suppose. Think of the farmers, think of your own body, think of the animals!!!

And no, I am not on a caffeine high right now. I have had to drop the Joe habbit and replace it with all natural herbal teas. The last time I had caffeine I was at Ashley's house and I puked up my Orange Pekoe. Yes. It was a tragic day, the day I bid farewell to caffeine.

I did not intend to preach, but I suppose I may have done so a little bit in this here post.

HOWL -- Premiers November 5th, at Bytowne Cinema

Next Friday is opening night of "HOWL" at BYTOWNE! I'm counting on this film to inspire me, re-invite me into the world that was the Beat Generation, and to re-read all of Ginsberg's work.. I have quite a bit of faith in James Franco to portray him well, after all, he did play James Dean. Not to mention that writers/directors Rob Epstein and Jeff Friedman have lots of experience making documentaries in the past, so I have a feeling this will be mockumentary style with just the right pinch of drama. I'm very very very eager to see, not only the performances, but the way in which the film is written and what it is about Ginsberg that they will focus on. It's no secret that Allen was an oddball...But how much of that will shine through in HOWL?

For showtimes check out http://bytowne.ca/movie-calendar

please, call me Downer.... Debbie Downer

I'm asking for a revolution of my dreams. to sleep in a basin of new ideas. progress and assertion and all the things I need to feel alive when I'm awake and asleep when I am in suspended consciousness. homo sapien sapiens have this inert ability to derive everything they need from everything around them. self sustainability is obsolete. post modern world is nothing more than ideas metamorphosed into some other version of its original self into another remix of its newest update and it never ends. It doesn't stop there.

What did this world do before ideas belonged to someone else? Where did it all begin? How did it begin? The first thought, the first creative thought...the first sign of hindsight...the very first song. The aboriginal expression of emotion and of inner existence. Who are we now? How do we define ourselves?

There's this thing we do called "communication." but really it's just "regurgitation."

The literal definition of regurgitation often pertains to puking up your food. Food is a thing creatures use as fuel to stay alive and function. Fuel is a thing cars need to remain mobile. Cars are a thing humans use to become mobile. Humans are a thing Earth doesn't need.

We are at the bottom of the chain, no matter which way we look at it. Who the fuck needs US?

Shit, I have some serious pessimistic doctrines.

Good thing we have almost wrapped day 12 of filming. I can finally get to sleep at 8am.

I don't care... I want the iPhone.

snap from my iPhone.

this film gig seems to welcome a lot of down time. A sign that someone is experiencing a time of "down" is the elevation of their feet onto their work station as I have displayed so informatively in the photo below.



For some reason, the human race has decided that this is the universal symbol for slacking. I am one who frequents the 'slacking' position. Probably because I tend not to take work seriously. In fact, the only thing I take seriously is myself, which is decidedly a tragic flaw.

I have only read two Vonnegut novels but have many more on my shelf at home and am eager to turn their pages. Here is a photo from Breakfast of Champions, which I have recently finished reading.

t-bag

A man within- coming soon

I am really excited about this film. If you aren't a burroughs fan, become one. If you aren't familiar with burroughs, make it so. If you don't give a shit, learn to give a shit. This man is legendary. This man is everything a writer hopes to be. This man is William S Burroughs.

shrink it down to size

Everything grows bigger as you approach it. Buildings get taller. Lanes seem wider. The only exception to this rule is the sky. When you're in it, the sky has a finite quality to it. Like you could meet a friend for a drink on cloud nine, and then head down the street and around the corner to 7th heaven, as though they shared the same area code.

I'm starting to get the sense that I've jumped back into work too soon. Or that I at least shouldn't have jumped in with two hands and two feet. But what was the alternative? Which road do you take when all of them potentially lead to another hospital visit or admission to the psych ward? And then I look down at my arm and my tattoo and realize, I'm doing exactly what I ought to be doing. And that is, pushing forward, regardless of damaged spirit or feeble health.

All the things around me are starting to feel so big. I'm losing perspective again. I absolutely must get a grip on how I want to see things, and what I want to make of them.

I almost forgot to pull down my pants when I went to take a piss tonight after work. This is not a good sign. But at least I've recognized it now before all is behind me and I'm looking back with resentment.

On a positive note: The film wraps soon and I'll be out of Ottawack for a vacation. Hello sunshine, I've missed you.

...and the leaves go crunch under my feets.

this look is also seen on my chictopia profile!



everything above is thrifted, head to toe.

smart art

This is a mixed media canvas that I made for my best friend Ashley. It was to celebrate her 25th birthday this September.

A lot of the clippings are from various issues of ADBUSTERS, which (if you are not familiar with it) is my favourite magazine. There are also earrings that I hot glued onto the convas as well as a broach. On the bottom left corner you'll see Ashley carrying myself, a photo taken on my birthday this year.

thank you for being an inspiration, Ashley Dawn.

nerd parade

who owned NERD GLASSES best?

Johnny Depp...perhaps..



Ginsberg?
Young


and middle-aged.



Maybe Marilyn did.



As much as we love the international Man of MYSTERY...I don't think he gets my vote.



Gotta hand it to the king of wigs, Mr. Andy Warhol, for pulling off these rad glasses that have since made a huge come back.



Woody Allen is no stranger to the nerd look.




It is my profound belief that THIS man, unlike any other figure in history or current events, has worn glasses best. And not only has he worn them so well, but the glasses became his trademark. May you rest in peace, Malcom X.



Sharp dresser.

Let the right one in... Americanized?

Why oh why did they have to remake this film? Two years ago, Swede filmmaker and writer Tomas Alfredson and John Lindqvist made a phenomenal movie by the name Let the Right one in, or "Låt den rätte komma in" in its native tongue. The original is one of my top five favourite films made in the last five years, among the likes of Pan's Labrynth. I suppose it may be the film snob in me who feels such a strong prejudice towards the remake, but I don't think I'll be able to view it without any bias. I just don't see why they had to remake a film relased only two years ago. Is this a question of money or sucess? This happens too frequently... The need to bring something artistic and unique to America. Why not just re-release the originals if they have such an appeal to North Americans? If there's a market for a remake there's a market for the original. However, it's a little tricky to guage if the original would become more sucessful only because there's a remake or vice versa. This seems to be the case for a lot of films. Solaris, for example, became an instant Sci Fi success, compared to Kubricks 2001 Odyssey, only once the petty George Clooney remake sucked balls. Before the retelling, Solaris was mainly popular in Russia and Europe, and among critics.

but why the need to remake something so soon after its original's release? This is a curious thing to research. Which I will probably do, because I'm a nerd.

The American version of Let the Right one in, with the title "Let Me In," has received great reviews. I am just not sure I'm open minded enough to enjoy it without feeling I've committed adultery on its predecessor.

first day on the job, a reflection

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thread adventure

museums. yes.





and broken down fields.
yes.

I saw a man about a horse

Lake Placid scooped outta me some much needed light-hearted fun. A part of my spirit I tend to ignore lately. My beautiful best friend Ashley Dawn and I broke in my new car, Bonnie, with a road trip. It was grand. When we arrived in Saranac we went straight to the rugby park to see the team kick some serious booty. Then we headed to the traditional dwelling of all the rugby boys and men at Schulte's, or however you spell the place. Later in the night Ashley and I got into a bit of a verbal fight with some police men. We'd been bar hopping and dancing and needed a cab. Ashley, the smooth talker she is (especially with members of the opposite sex), asked the police if they may be so inclined to call us a cab. It became swiftly apparent to us that these officials in uniform wanted nothing to do with chivalry. Ashley noticed the cop's oversized SUV idling while he chatted up some drunk locals on the sidewalk. "Why is your car running?" she boldly inquires.

"So it's warm when I get back in it," the ignorant official informs us.

"That's illegal in Canada," I say, with confidence.

"Well, we're not in Canada, are we?" He replies.

"No, that's too bad."

Clearly, the do-gooders Ms. Dawn and I are, we are completely baffled by this. We cross the street in hopes of finding a cab. After several minutes of waiting in our barely clothed selves, we decided we are just too damn cold. We cross the street again to join our favourite men in uniform. It appears our Earth-hating enemy has gathered with some more police men, who also seem to ignore the fact that the SUV has been idling for over 20 minutes now.

"Excuse me," Ashley interrupts their conversation, "is there a reason your buddy's car is still running?"

"Yeah, it's so everything is charged, so our stuff is charged, you know in case there's an emergency of sorts."

"Right, so are you alright with this decision? Do you live with your decisions or are you tormented at night when you try to sleep?"

I'm quite certain that our drunken attempt at protesting this man's blatent display of neglect to take responsibility for his share of emmissions did fuck all but make the cops resent us. But hey, as long as we spoke on behalf of mother nature, we can rest assured we've done more than they have.

Another night Ashley and my momma got a little boozie, and snuggly too, as you can see in the photo below.



And of course, the besties shared a smooch too.



Ashley's arms, tat and accessories included!



And I, the aloof little one.



Alright, moving on to my birthday.

Ashley took me out for a swaggy dinner chez Oz Kafe. It just so happened that an old friend Merrill was working and she brought me a lovely little surprise: desert! I was very grateful. See the gratitude in my face?



Alright, so then a few of us headed to celebrate. Daly had many faces that night. Ashley spilled beer all over herself. And Dustin, being the knight he is, was as tall and large as ever, as shown below.



And then there was this guy, who, despite calling the street his home, has not given up his day job of funny face making and hockey fanatic rituals.