Some games you play to win, well you lose. Sometimes your dealt, you don't get to choose. Some guns get drawn but you don't need to use them. Some try and die before their troubles began.—Vetiver, I Know No Pardon.

Labels: Lyric, Vague

¶ 5:22 PM

Lives are like delicate pencils
If you push them too hard they're gonna break
And people are like paper dolls
Paper dolls and people, they're a similar shape
—Flight of the Conchords, Sellotape (aka Pencils In The Wind)

Labels: Lyric

¶ 3:31 PM

Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar.
You're gonna go far,
You're gonna fly high,
You're never gonna die,
You're gonna make it, if you try;
They're gonna love you.
Well I've always had a deep respect,
And I mean that most sincerely.
The band is just fantastic,
that is really what I think.
Oh by the way, which one's Pink?
—Roger Waters

Labels: Lyric

¶ 8:20 PM

Stranded with this bitch called hope. ¶ I think we've all had the experience of losing our appetite. In some cases, this can be the result of over-excitement, and for all the stomach pain this brings, it's not so bad. Losing your appetite from actually sailing in choppy waters, however, is not at all pleasant. Couple this with losing one's nerve, and you're guaranteed to be focused on little else. The day was Saturday. The place, Port Stanley. I wasn't actually sick as I managed to curtail that unpleasantness by way of keeping focused on the horizon. And though I didn't count on losing either my appetite or nerve, losing the latter angered me. It proved impossible to retrieve. We were never in any actual danger, it must be stated, but sailing is both unpredictable and psychological and when you're flailing in your mind, very little can act as remedy. At least for me. Sunday was a different matter. The main difference was the wind. It was much calmer out there. I was also experienced at this point with both my appetite and nerve in tact. If I were Truman and you were watching my Show, at one point you would have caught me sitting on deck, legs overboard, blissed out. Minutes later I was diving off the anchored boat, swimming. It was heavenly as Lake Erie posed convincingly as the Pacific: seductive blue and expansive. Never mind that the sun was also turning in a perfect performance. We all walked away with a significant set of experiences under our belts. ¶ Our buffet and hutch arrived just before these adventures took place. It is not only handsome but also suited perfectly in our humble home. I'll take that pat on the back, even if I'm the one giving it.

Labels: Furniture, Gratitude, Lyric, Vague, WeekendUpdate

¶ 4:30 PM

From Nick Tosches' Letter from Tokyo in the June 2007 issue of Vanity Fair: As to what all this looked like and how it tasted, well, you can't eat metaphors, and if I ever use words such as "succulent," shoot me, but suffice to say that I remember thinking as I walked into the night: If the Roman emporers can be said to have missed out on anything, it was this. ¶ Watch for an upcoming print ad I have running through the fine people at theIspot in the Illustration Annual issue of Communication Arts. On newsstands July 1, 2007. ¶ I'm currently in the final stages of putting together my proposal for The National Post Portraits. If you know my work and you know a gallery in Toronto I should know about, connect the dots for me. Sincerely yours, me. ¶ Looks like Peter Bogdonavich isn't done. In his first film in six years, he's directing an untitled Tom Petty documentary. Last I read, it might be called Running Down a Dream. I drew, and was unsatisfied with, a portrait of Tom Petty a few weeks ago. I'll try again soon, maybe in time for a film poster? Koff. ¶ Hey yeah yeah / In the dark of the sun / We will stand together/ Yeah we will stand as one / Oh in the dark of the sun.

Labels: Excerpt, Freelancing, Lyric, NationalPost

¶ 3:21 PM

Needle prick my spruce root / Dear little hemlock shoot / Make me stay sharp and keen, evergreen. ¶ As I write this I'm sipping a boxed merlot from a plastic wine cup, listening to Pauline's iPod on the speakers Aird gave me. As I glance to my left, I see her. She is standing on a chair and painting onto her fabric canvas. Through her illuminates the facade of a dilapidated building. The merlot is nice—don't let my winking description fool you—I discovered Three Thieves Bandit a few months ago. One thing I am not a snob about is next-generation packaging. Bring it on, I say. ¶ Sitting in Pauline's studio reminds me of nights in my father's Dalhousie office, circa 1985. I don't remember if I was there alone, or with my brothers, or if it was for a short time, or a long time. I do remember relishing it: the eggshell rotary phone with the red light (always wanted one of those), the calendar on the desk, and all the other slight but crucial differences between this office and the one at home. The smell of books coupled with stale coffee and radiator. The distinction was real. To me what's interesting about this memory is not the uniqueness of it. Not only does every professor's child have memories like this, but my bet is pretty much most of my peers do. What's interesting is that for the longest time, say my teens and early twenties, I fabricated a different office aspiration. Lush grey carpeting and the six-going-on-seven figure view. But that was merely a blip. I still aspire, mind you. Now my dream is to own a building of offices, of offices inside offices. Each slightly different but all with bulletin boards and books and pens and portraits.

Labels: Lyric, Vague

¶ 7:28 PM

Relax. / I need some information first. / Just the basic facts. / Can you show me where it hurts? / There is no pain, you are receding. / A distant ship's smoke on the horizon. / You are only coming through in waves.. ¶ Martin Scorsese is being profiled by the National Post in tomorrow's (Wednesday's) Arts & Life and I illustrated the cover portrait (AL1). It's of Scorsese these days, and I'm pretty Fn happy with it. ¶ I've got a series of five illustrations in the November 2006 issue of BC Business. I'm also profiled as a contributor in the front of the book.

Labels: Freelancing, Lyric, NationalPost

¶ 4:49 PM

I'm stealing a few moments during the working day to write because I honestly don't know when I'll have spare time in the coming days. Most people were overjoyed; they took to their boats. ¶ When I first met Ponitac, she lived in a tiny bachelor near St. Clair West station. It's far and away my favourite TTC station. ¶ I'm selling for cheap: framed Blow poster ($30) Update: sold. And the following Siteway framed prints: George Harrison ($90), Stanley Kubrick ($90), Martin Scorsese ($90), and Aristotle ($90). Pickup only Update: all sold. ¶ Do you live in San Francisco? Know any cool art galleries? Stuff only the locals know about? Drop me a line. ¶ It's been a hectic time but also, exciting. Malista!

Labels: Flickr, Lyric, San Francisco, SitewayWorld, Toronto

¶ 4:23 PM

But I just feel too tired to be fighting, guess I'm not the fighting kind. ¶ I knew I wasn't the fighting kind when I realised that I had thrown my last punch. I think quite a bit about my friends, and my family, and how much they mean to me. I think it's hard to really express it, and then... and then. ¶ I have learned so much from my friends and my family that they are, in reality, EVERYTHING. I am so lucky. But yet, the crystal ball calls my name, the lottery ticket beckons. And, beyond all that, the world is waiting. ¶ Thank you!

Labels: Gratitude, Lyric, Musings

¶ 1:48 AM

Had a sweet birthday surrounded by loved ones—thank you for everything. Got some great gifts, too. For the record: though I'm not a voracious reader I absolutely adore books and reading. I've been on cloud nine for a week. ¶ We go live with the Siteway Select Preview site on Monday. This is your last chance to sign up as a tester. I'm not taking any more testers as of tomorrow morning. The testing site is password protected so if you don't wish to see things unfinished you can wait until June 18, 2006 when we launch the public site. For all you testers out there, expect an e-mail late Sunday evening with instructions. ¶ And one day we will die / And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea / But for now we are young / Let us lay in the sun / And count every beautiful thing we can see / Love to be / In the arms of all I'm keeping here with me. ¶ Speaking of birthdays, a certain father of Darius celebrates today! Cheers!

Labels: Gratitude, Lyric, SitewaySelect

¶ 12:34 PM

You're so cute when you're slurring your speech / But they're closing the bar and they want us to leave. ¶ It was about the time when I really started to get going with writing on Siteway that I introduced myself to writings of Carlos Castaneda. The book in question, Journey to Ixtlan, was in my possesion but I forget how I came to own it. Reading it for the first time resembled re-reading something familiar and yet it was a trip to know it was completely novel. I loved the structure, the dualism, the humour, and especially the broad strokes. It's a writing style that I'm still drawn to but like many things in art, I'm mostly disappointed by. I don't even wish to make comparisons but let me just say that other popular philosophy books have left me underwhelmed, or, at least, have not hit me when I was ready or able for them. So it was with some great anticipation that I awaited a friend's gift to my fiancee for her birthday as it would provide me an opportunity to re-read it (again) since my copy had mysteriously disappeared. It's my Catcher in the Rye. On the subway this morning I was reading the beginning pages and I could feel the empathy within me rise. As I stepped off the train at Yonge station a kind-eyed relaxed brown-skinned gentleman looked up to me and said, "that book is incredible." I told him that I agreed and then he responded, "all his books are incredible." I smiled back at him and exited his world forever. I'm inclined to think that we both thought about the spiritworld for the rest of the morning. ¶ National Post illustration number three in tomorrow's paper: Mordecai Richler.

Labels: Lyric, Musings, NationalPost, Vague

¶ 1:35 PM

They don't know what to think about us, cutie. We'll be the heroes of the sidewalks in our town. ¶ After much (justified) procrastination, I was urged today to fix my glaring thumbnail problem here on Siteway. I had thought that the calendar would be used in this capacity, but I totally understand how it's just part of a myriad of ways people can navigate through Siteway. The problem really is that I don't really have much of a gallery page. That is, until I decided to start to fix the problem. Here's my work-in-progress page of illustrations. ¶ What? No love for Jon Stewart? What? HAHA. Just kidding, dear reader. First off, Mr. Koczij and my father both responded positively to him (my fishing is to be taken in jest). Look, some drawings get a reaction, some don't. Some are good, and some are bad. And they aren't always paired up. That's the way it really is. But for the record let it be known: I'm very proud of my portrait of Stewart. Not only was it an enjoyable drawing experience but in many (privately) profound ways, it gave me more confidence than I've received in many moons.

Labels: FeaturedIllustration, Lyric

¶ 12:11 AM

Freelove Freeway
by Ricky Gervais

Pretty girl on the hood of a Cadillac, yeah....
She’s broken down on freeway nine.
I take a look and her engine’s started,
I leave her purring and I roll on by....bye bye

Chorus:
Free love on the free love freeway,
The love is free and the freeway’s long...
I got some hot love on the hot-love freeway
I ain’t going home cos’ my baby’s gone

A little while later, see a senorita,
She’s caught a flat trying to make it home,
She says “Por favor, can you pump me up?”
I say “Muchos gracias, adios. Bye Bye.”

Free love on the freelove freeway,
The love is free and the freeway’s long
I got some hot love on the hotlove highway,
Ain't going home ‘cause my baby's gone.

Little while later I see a cowboy crying,
“Hey buddy, what can I do?”
He says “I lived a good life, had about a thousand women.”
I said “Why the tears?”, he says “‘cause none of them was you.”

Free love on the free love freeway,
where the love is free and the freeway is long...
I got some hot love on the hot-love freeway
I ain’t going home cos’ my baby’s gone

Labels: Lyric

¶ 11:35 AM

What have I done? It's too late for that. What have I become? Truth is: nothing yet. ¶ These are the lyrics from a Snow Patrol song entitled Chocolate which is one of those songs that simply is 2004 to me. It's also one of those songs that has a title that seems to have nothing to do with the lyrics. Is there a name for this sort of thing? ¶ A few of us, including the one and only Rado, went to see them at Lee's in April. For me it was a sober evening because I was following doctor's orders regarding alcohol consumption with antibiotics. When Chocolate came on I understood that the film idea I had been mulling over in my mind, a treatise on guilt, had to be made. With a little help it now seems more likely.¶ Lady luck has, for the moment, returned. We had probably the best Japanese food I've ever eaten last night at Fune. Deliciously touristy without the traps and service as if it were ripped out of airline magazine copy. ¶ Today is a big day. This morning I woke up and immediately went out on to the patio to spray paint would-be blood onto my print. Later I'm picking up my custom-built frame from the Victor Gallery for the Square Foot show. Then later still I have a lesson with Jason Bourne on the life of an internation spy, followed by a night of spirited drinks to be followed by a day of Siteway work.

Labels: Lyric, Restaurants, Siteway

¶ 11:12 AM