Ongoing Adventures in Semi-Conciousness

I have been lucky enough to have a few Totally Perfect Moments© in the last few months or so. I have never stopped having them, but they've been frequent in the last few months. I had one on Christmas Eve, driving up to my dad's place. Having just found a totally appropriate gift at Starbucks, while treating myself (I NEVER buy expensive coffee) to a huge choclatey coffee-y thing, an drinking it and listening to Otis Redding and encountering no traffic on the completely new-snow white drive to my dad's place, to spend a profoundly peaceful and simple evening with my closest family.

I had it in West Palm in February, for just half an instant - floating on my back in the beautiful pool at Will Shriver's place around midnight on a warm night, and noticing there was a ring around the moon.

I had it during the third at the Raptors playoff game, before they lost it. Just the right amount of stoned to be thrilled with the colours and the noise, and focused enough to remain involved. Just looking around at the thousands of people, all in red and white and focusing incredible amounts of emotion on to someone during a free through, all suddenly (mostly) wanting the same thing - realizing that as humans, we collectively do some very bizarre things sometimes.

And now they come faster.

I had it a week after that, on one of the first warm nights of the year. The days were getting so long, and I managed to get my shit together enough to remember to bring my rollerblades with me to the studio. And I skated all the way out to where the path ends, along the beaches, and came back again. The sun was just about to really go down, long, hot, hard light, and the beach and boardwalk were totally packed with people. Families and runners and couples and dogs all over the beach, volleyball teams not quite ready to quit yet. And everyone was happy. We had the most snow in like a bazillion years this winter, the second largest recorded snowfall ever. People were starting to lose it, I swear to you. I certainly was thinking about it and feeling so happy to have the warmth back, I felt connected to everyone there because I think they were all thinking about it as well.

And then just a few weeks later, I had many in Arizona: riding half-drunk through a dimly lit (light laws), cookie-cutter, mayonnaise coloured subdivision to pool hop on a hot night in my bare feet. Reaching the Robber's Roost easily in Sedona after being terrified I might not be able to hack the hike with all the gear, fresh off scaling around the most precarious climbing situation I'd ever encountered (adrenaline), to discover a perfect sunset. Sleeping on a hot rock by a cool river, in the shade of something at least 30 miles from anything.

And two weeks later, today, first significant period of time to myself in five days or so, forecast of thunderstorm but actually bright sun and lots of thick white clouds. Internal alarm clock functioning beautifully all of the sudden, up in time to throw on shorts and a tank top (because it's 22 degrees out) and get the bike my upstairs neighbor left me, the shitty old racing bike that is just somehow totally appropriate, out of the basement. Far more gracefully than I did when I last did this a week ago. Right music, right temperature, right route. Right song while on the right road, bright sun through huge patchy maple trees, a good buzz, fresh eggs waiting at home, and the pièce de résistance: a slight breeze and a huge shower of glittery green maple keys. The sudden recollection that I actually do live in a beautiful neighborhood in a beautiful city. And it's almost summer.

Everything about the way the world looked, smelled, felt this morning makes me know snow is coming. Maybe not today. But really, really soon. I can just tell.

The last week has been pretty great. I have some pretty major projects happening at work, some pretty serious special effects that I wasn't that thrilled about attempting. My boss is good for me in the sense that he has a much grander idea of what I'm capable of doing. I am the first to push back, to put my hands up and say "Hang on a minute here, I've never tried something like this before, I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to figure this out". He always tells me I can, that he has complete confidence in my abilities, and presents a completely different timeline to me. If I think it's going to take 12 hours, he thinks it's 9. If I say 8, he says he thinks I can do it in 6. I usually end up about halfway in between, but he is always right about the fact that I can do it, and he is always setting me up to surprise myself with my skills.

Friday, especially, I started some preliminary work on a major composite I'm making for a large international publication. I kind of just threw myself into it, making it up as I went along, starting with the foundation of the image, cleaning and removing would I knew would eventually need to be removed in anticipation of other elements. That' s often the hardest part of retouching, removing something large from a photo. Because when you do, you have to re-create everything that was behind the thing. So in this case, I had to remove a woman who was taking up maybe 25 percent of the image - and re-create everything her body was covering up. So, the hardwood floor beneath her, fill in the painted patterns on the floor, the curtains behind her, everything. It was a huge task, and I only had so much source imagery to work with. It's the first time I've made my boss exclaim - he told me I was a STAR and bought me fish and chips for lunch. He is not heavy-handed with praise, it's actually really hard to get from him, so I feel really proud of this piece.

I was more focused this week than I have been in a long time. I was able to concentrate on my work more easily, stay on task longer... I don't know why. Sometimes when I have these huge composites, my mind wanders - it is hard to work on the same image for hours and hours and hours. I have started downloading NPR radio programes, specifically a program called Radio Lab, and I listen to them and learn while I work. You can also get lectures from MIT and the University of Berkley. It makes me feel good to do it, and they are very interesting.

Hallowe'en came and went without any significant fanfare for me. I didn't go to any parties or have a costume, and I didn't really care. I lent our green man some elmer's glue for his Mad Hatter costume. I love that he just raps on my window, big smile. He's such a handsome fellow, we're lucky to have him.

One thing I love doing around Christmastime is driving around to look at all the lights, but we get kind of jew-ed out  in our neighborhood. However... they all go nuts for Hallowe'en. These rich people, it's crazy. Giant inflatable motorized ghosts looming up over the rooftops, dry ice pouring out of their windowboxes, skeletons pushing their way out from heaps of dirt all over the front lawn.... because these people re-sod every year. I got to peek in some of the windows on my way home on Hallowe'en night, and a lot of the home owners seemed to have set up elaborate tables in their front hallways, decorating their entire foyers with lighting and more dry ice and lots of costumes. One lady had set up a big long banquet table in the foyer, covered with full-size candy bars of every variety, and bottles of sick-coloured green gatorade in a big bowl of ice - it was 18 degrees celcius! I saw fathers being handed snifters through the doorway as their kids in designer costumes made their way through elaborate haunted houses.

I always drive by Yonge and Davisville on my way home. Yonge and Davisville has mostly apartment and commercial highrises in the vicinity, but there are two significantly sized residential neighborhoods on either side - and every year I witness the same thing. I leave the gym around 6:30, putting me at that intersection at nearly 7, when kids are already out or making their way out. But hardworking professionals, lawyers, traders - are often, like me, just leaving work. So, at about that time, all the parents in the residential highrises bring their kids down and walk over into the residential neighborhoods, with detached houses - prime for trick or treating - just as the most hard-working business folk in the neighborhood come down and walk towards the Davisville subway station. So every year, I get to watch the traffic signals change, and see a parade of half business people in trench coats and suits and carrying their heels in a little bag - peppered by sugar high kids and toddlers in plush costumes, chased by parents in costumes of their own. I watched a man in a three piece suit trying to hold up a casual conversation with a dad in the most beautiful cat in the hat costume ever, complete with a 30" red and white striped top hat and rubber nose. These professionals practically trip all over as witches and zombies and strawberries and cats run in and out and around them, unable to contain their excitement.

I was a big ol' bag of lazy on Friday night, making a delicious dinner, filling out my calories in/calories out log, watching all the television I missed this week. Last night Paul Dickinson had a big party at his loft, which is beautiful, and right outside the theatre district. I was really, really reluctant to go, I was kind of tired, and didn't know if I could pull outgoing and charming out of the bag right now. But I went, and the party was full of incredibly intelligent individuals, from interesting places and with interesting careers in advertising, science, medicine - everything. I had a fabulous conversation with a man whose job it is to help determine how many people see any given piece of outdoor advertising in a day. I asked what his degree was in, he said Geography. I jokingly said "My god, there IS a practical application other than teaching!!" and had to emphatically tell him no, I didn't really mean it.

Paul paraded us all up the roof, red beer cups in hand, around 2 in the morning, past a calm and complacent and indulging security guard who just smiled and called him Mr. Dickinson. We had a joint, that was of course, followed by a trip to Fran's for steak and eggs, club sandwiches, BLTs, etc. Great conversation, good people. A wonderful time, and I've done my social duties for at least until next weekend, I think? I gave someone a ride home - a man who supports himself very comfortably doing nothing but travelling all over the world winning Magic card tournaments... what the hell. He was completely handsome and socially adept, just... a professional nerd. There was a 24 hour Dominion attached to the parking lot where I was parked, and he consented to quickly come in with me and grab a few things. I had planned to go out today, but when I had the opportunity to deal with it then, and then rest today, I took it. So there I was, buying extra old cheddar, pitas, and english bacon at 4:30 in the morning. The cashier, nametag: Dan (Your Man) looked exhausted and told me his day job is at Value Village.

Today's agenda consists of mostly rest and relaxation. Some reading. A walk this afternoon... maybe to the Library!

I have had so much to say, so many moments where I have said to myself: I need to write this in my journal, I need to get this down while it is still fresh. I really just haven't had the time. So, as best as I can remember, here is what is up:

I feel good. Really good. I can't remember the last time I felt so in control - at first it worried me, what did it mean? Did it mean I was somehow "better" on my own? I talked to Mrs. Big about it last week, and she put it all into context for me, to some degree. She told me how much more efficient and capable she feels when Mr. Big is out of town shooting, or just away for any reason - especially when the kids are gone, too. She put words to the ineffable stuff I've been going through - the spotless house, the fridge full of healthy foods, everything. She said that she finds it so much easier to do the things she knows she needs to do when she knows no one else is going to undo them. I am so happily and easily keeping the house so clean because I know it's going to stay that way until I mess it up. Justin and I had pretty incongruous work schedules, and I would often leave the house in one state, and come home to it another. It's not that I'm messy or Justin's messy or anything like that, it's just one part enthusiasm, and one part lowered traffic.

She and I had a good lunch, and decided that the feelings of stability and ownership simply have to do with the fact that I always know what to expect. I don't get any bad news when I come in the door. I don't have to coordinate my schedule with anyone else. I don't have to call when I work late. I don't have to get a call telling me he is working late.  And I agree with her explanations; they make sense. I do know, though, that these are temporary benefits. I know that all this ME ME ME, what do I want to eat, what do I want to watch, when do I want to go to bed "stuff", while totally refreshing and having it's advantages is no substitute for companionship, for support, for someone to tell everything to. I have never taken that for granted, and with good reason. I miss him so much, but he seems happy. I'll write more about their set-up tomorrow.

Thursday of last week, I drove out to my brother's new place after work and exercising. He and his girlfriend, Laura, live in the top story of an extraordinarily narrow house. I didn't get to see much of it, because we immediately all headed out for a lovely supper at an indian/neaplese restaurant. Dad paid for everything and we shared a huge variety of delicious dishes. Laura is beautiful, and incredibly intelligent. She is my age, which is strange. I was hoping for a clear explanation of who should defer to her in matters of... everything. I can't explain that any better. I hoped it would be clearer who... who would be answering to who? Who would - not look up to - but maybe? I don't know. It was just weird. He's my big brother, he is not my peer. And yet, she is. It's different. She works at St Clements, a local private prep school. She is a former classmate of Christina Markham from Camp Ouareau. She called St. Clements "the most lesbian of the prep schools", but I remembered Maggie Hidderley telling me that her school, the Linden School was the most lesbian of the prep schools, and Laura agreed whole heartedly.

She has something about her that makes me just know she is rich. She is cultured, refined. Grew up in Toronto. But she is the furthest thing from snobby, she is laid back, funny - doesn't take herself too seriously. She told a story about David that he found particularly embarrassing, we were all relaxed and laughing and his put-out expression, she rectified the situation by earnestly telling him "if he wanted he could tell the story about her having diarhea to make up for it". We had a really fun time.

She dresses better than me, but doesn't wear any make-up, and looks like she could beat up a fashion model in a fight. So could I. That is my new way of saying "normal body weight". She is healthy. The two of the deprecate each other just the right amount. He looks at her with a touching affection in his eyes I have not seen from him. He is uncontainably, unmistakably, happy. I do hope she sticks around. But David, he spoke animatedly and fondly on so many topics, things he was doing, how his friends were, things he and Laura had done.  He is as he was - actually, better - before Mum died.

I was worried about him so deeply, so completely. It broke my heart to hear about him or talk to him or see him, he was so defeated and listless and unmotivated all the time. He is like a different person, and my heart just burst with love for him as we walked back to my car. I walked with Dad to his truck after we had taken David and Laura home, and told him how lovely I thought she was. I told him how nervous I had been to meet her, wondering what she would be like, would she like me, what if I hated her? He laughed, and agreed that she was a wonderful and warm person, and exclaimed exactly what I was thinking - that he was just so happy.

Friday was fine, and after working a little late, and cutting off most of my hair, I parked my car in the distillery and started towards the Mill St. Brewery for Eric's big 2-5. As I approached, I saw two gigantic shadows under a streetlight, and was almost knocked over by Daniel's hug. They give what my friend Mikey D calls a carwash hug - they pick you up and kind of turn, so your legs sort of rock back and forth a bit. It's good to have giant family. Deb was there - I was so glad to see her and Brooke, glad Deb found the time and the energy to come all the way down. Daniel and Eric were so drunk, it was fabulous. I'm suprised Brooke didn't need to put a deposit down. The waitress was a good sport, and didn't even cut them off. It was funny being in a bar-bar with them. People give them a wide bearth, and no one asks any questions at all.

Eric was the perfect host - every time someone left, he walked them to the door, gave big hugs and big thanks for coming. Drunken thanks, but very sincere. As Brooke was getting his coat on to take him home, he remembered nothing of it, and got that Worried Eric look, convinced he had been an awful host, convinced he had not said goodbye to anyone, that everyone had just left without him getting to say thanks. He could barely believe it when I emphatically stated that he had walked every single attendee to the door, if not their car.

This was around 1, but Daniel still had legs - one thing led to another and we ended up in the club district. We got separated from the rest of the people we were with and Dan and I stood on the corner of Adelaide and Peter, waiting for twenty minutes, watching club kids run back and forth, cops on horses, cops on bikes, cops standing around looking irritated. The same Big Man phenomenon occurred, every man swung wide of Daniel, some exclaiming "that is a huge dude.... whoa." I just stood in his shadow, being reminded every few minutes why it has been so damn long since I set foot in that neighborhood.

On the way into the neighborhood, we stopped at a traffic light beside a street meat vendor. Daniel leaned out the passenger window, yelling at two guys buying dogs. They were wearing costumes with tank tops and shorts, Daniel drunkenly hollering things like "I don't wanna see that, put cher clothes on!!" There were lots of people around, and I felt terrible for these two - they took one look at him and knew they couldn't do anything about anything, and had to stand there and just take his silly, drunken abuse. "You look like such a tool, BRING ME A HOT DOG. WITH SAUERKRAUT."

I ended up cashing out my chips after we stood on the street corner for so long, I lost my drive and energy. I said goodbye and walked back to the car (sober, of course). I was propositioned no less than four times. One guy, in a zombie outfit (no makeup left though) stood next to me waiting for our pedestrian light. He swayed and leered, I just laughed, having complete confidence in my ability to control the situation. For whatever reason, though, he took that as his cue to hug me. I locked my elbow, put my hand on his chest, and held him at bay quite easily, laughing harder: "No, no.... I don't want you to touch me." He drawled on briefly, trying to convince me to take him home with me. I told him to just let this be a funny story tomorrow, and he didn't follow me.

The rest of the weekend was very peaceful, Saturday incredibly productive. I got up and cleaned the house, went grocery shopping all by my lonesome and got all the things that only I like to eat, came home and did the laundry, those types of responsible things. I rested all Sunday, cooking great meals and watching movies. I felt completely rested and ready to go back to work on Monday.

Work has been crazy this week, I'm getting home late late some nights, barely enough time to bathe, cook dinner, and hop into bed with my plate!! It is so late sometimes when I get to eating, I eat while I watch something on the laptop to wind down, it is often still after midnight by the time I finish eating. I could have more time in the evenings if I was willing to excercise less; suprise; I'm not. I'm owning that, too.

Lots more to tell, but it will wait until tomorrow.

Oh god I just saw the best thing ever.

I was pretty close to my house on the way home from work, stopped at a light while oncoming traffic slowed to a stop across the intersection.
Two fucks in a huge land rover nearly killed this poor guy on a bike while they changed lanes to avoid a left-turning person, it was bad enough that other cars honked at them for not looking where the hell they were going.

The biker stayed calm and stayed back about two cars and undid the cap of his nalgene. When traffic started to move again, he whizzed by the driver's side, reached in the open window, and dumped the entire thing in the driver's lap.

I spent most of this week laid out at home with what will go down as the worst flu I've had since we moved to the city. I managed to go the entire winter without even a hint of the sniffles, and as soon as the weather got warm, it was as if someone turned on a snot faucet that I didn't know was mounted on the back of my head. I sneezed my way through last weekend's incredible weather assuming it was just that I was developing allergies in adulthood - unfortunate, but not unexpected. But, my Sunday night I realized that antihistamines were doing nothing at all, and that my throat was feeling pretty crappy.

I spent the better part of last week draped over a humidifier with the kind of deep hacking cough that persists in short violent bursts, culminating in the violent expectoration of grayish-yellow stuff. My throat eventually followed suit, with a raging cold-sweat fever shortly behind. At the pinnacle moment, late Tuesday night I finally spat out a large amount of blood - Dr. Peachey at the clinic confirmed my immediate suspicions - I had let blood from a nosebleed run down my throat during sleep. It was incredible how dry the air seemed to me, my nose was bone dry all the time and bled frequently.

We all know how "good" a sick person I am, I fight until I'm a bag of exhaustion and disease - I push myself until I'm so run down I can't do anything for myself and then sleep for like three days straight. This was no exception, and in a minute of fever induced insanity, tried to go into work at around 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday. I convinced Mrs. Big to let me in, but she threw me out after about 20 minutes of watching me try very hard to focus my eyes on the computer screen. Mr. Big called me at home that evening and told me he appreciated my dedication, but that I'd picked a pretty good time to get sick, and that he'd subcontracted people for the week, and to STAY HOME PLEASE? OKAY. It felt very, very self-indulgent and I wasn't enjoying it very much. I hate being out of the loop as far as work is concerned.

I made it back to work on Thursday afternoon, still fighting the same cough. It's still with me, and my lungs ache. It's definitely the issue I've had at least five or six times, where fluid runs down my throat while I sleep and infects my lungs. They get torn up and are unable to heal. I usually end up prescribed two different inhalers, which make everything I eat taste like absolute shit.

I was still feeling pretty crappy yesterday, and took it easy. Justin had a lot of hours at the course this weekend, he is heading up the juniors program this year, and today was their opener. Yesterday was the day that all the vendors bring equipment to the course, and the pros work with the members on their swings and reccomend new gear for them. He enjoyed the interaction with the members, and is growing into his promotion with great enthusiasm. He is very motivated this year, and has a greatly improved relationship with his management. I've rarely seen him so self-assured and motivated, and I do so enjoy seeing him cleaned up for work again.

I felt much more like myself today, and it was bright and sunny as opposed to yesterdays mix up shower and cloud. I got up at a completely reasonable hour and watched some DS9 while I ate my breakfast and did laundry between episodes. After that, I took a lovely warm and bright walk down to the loblaws - I spent a bit of my bonus at Joe Fresh on nice long ribbed tank tops, a pair of nice khaki dress shorts, and a nice new lovely blue sweater. I got Justin a nice kelley green pique polo for 10$. I got a few groceries in that section - they had four pound flats of strawberries for 4.99! It was a nice walk home, and I was glad for the excercise. I felt awful not getting to the gym while I was sick, but I didn't gain any weight, so it's not such a big deal. But I like to try to stick with my commitments, and although it wasn't really my fault, I felt bad.

I ended my day up on the roof, having a joint and soaking up the sun for a few hours while I read and caught up on a few podcasts. The sun was again incredibly warm, but the breeze was incredible. The sun started to go down at around the same time the clouds rolled in, and it got pretty cold quite quickly. It's not summer yet. But it felt like it, so I'll go back to work refreshed and having had what I consider a pretty relaxing weekend.

The roof of my building is awesome. I got up this morning around ten, threw a towel, my ipod, beers, the latest Toronto life, a small snack, a fairly good sized joint, my keys, and my phone into my backpack. I, very quickly and very quietly climbed out the second story window to the fire escape, up the stairs, over to the ladder, up the wall, over the peaked roof, and onto a comfortably large flat expanse of gravel and about six small exhaust vents. It is as tall as the other buildings around us, with a comfortable ledge - meaning when I recline, I'm completely and totally invisible.

Distant highrises are obscured mostly by trees - and will be obscured completely once the leaves come in.

It is 22 degrees here today, and not a cloud in the sky. A light and ignorable hum of 50 kph cars on Bathurst was easily overpowered by birds singing in the residential neighborhood surrounding us, and it was complete bliss. Warm sun and a bathing suit, cold beer, big joint, good music and good reading.... two hours later the cool apartment feels amazing and I am a lovely shade of brown. Wheels are turning in my mind, concocting afternoons spent with a cooler, a novel and a collapsible patio chair. Not a soul saw me and it was bliss. Completely private. Even better than our old balcony - no pesky shade to worry about. The breeze blows right across the whole roof, making the whole thing pure bliss.

So between the hours of 9 and 1 on weekend mornings over 15 degrees.... that is where you can find me.

I woke up this morning and lay in bed for an hour or so, procrastinating. I had arranged with the Bigs to take some time off to go see a Prosecuter about all those traffic tickets I got a few weeks ago. Justin came with me, and I don't think I could have done it without him. I cannot express the stress and fear I felt. Traffic was bad, parking was worse, and by the time we got to the court house I was a nervous wreck, nauseous and shaking.

Over misdemeanor traffic tickets. What the hell.

Court services is a bloody haberdashery of the strangest assortment of people - there is no way, no matter how rich or important you are - to get out of doing this. No matter how much money you make, you have to go down there and do this. Hundreds of cabbies in line, with stacks of traffic tickets - chances are the cops won't show up for the court dates on half, it's a business measure.

Business men with DUIs, Yorkville housewives running red lights, everything.

I called Mrs. Big to fill her in on my progress and thank her again for the morning off - "But I'm in Hell!" I said. She laughed, told me to take whatever time I needed.

I took my number and filled out my forms and sat down with Justin. He got me laughing about some of the people in there. A man stamped and copied my forms, found the originals of my traffic tickets (which my very-nice cop had filed on time, a few people were turned away with a "try again in a week" after discovering the cop was late on delivery) and sent me off to another waiting room to wait to meet the Prosecuter. Justin was still allowed to come; we went through metal detectors attended by two bored looking constables.

Ten minutes later my name was called, a very tiny arab women led me into a drab room and we went over the tickets. I had copies of all the new paperwork and necesscary documents, all showing I'd taken care of everything the following day. I blathered and babbled a bit, she sternly told me to calm down and take it one thing at a time. She finally nodded, told me to have everything in order next time, and dismissed me.

"Well what now?" I said, having expected a more succinct answer.

"They're gone. They're done. You're free to go." She said.

I thanked her, and high-tailed it out of there. I'm going to relax, eat a sandwich with Justin, and head off to work. I need to calm down a bit, I'm still all jittery and my nerves are just shot. I will never, ever make this mistake again, I can tell you that much.

Tomorrow Dad is coming into the city, I bought us tickets to see The Foo Fighters and Bob Dylan play an acoustic set. I'm so excited, I hope he is too.

I forgot to relate an experience from last week. This really bugged me a lot.

So as a lot of you know, I've been trying to help katrijn_noelle find a place to live for the summer while she is here. I couldn't be particularly helpful until we finished moving, but we did, and I could be. Basically she'd find the place, follow up, and I'd go see it. If it was decent/well valued, I'd take it, if not, we'd discuss it.

So finally she found a place with a great price in the good part of the downtown core. Outside of Kensington, but close enough for groceries, near Spadina and Queen. A basement room. 375$ a month. I was expecting really very little, but nothing could have prepared me. The lady was nice on the phone, older, sweet. I expected she would be like my brother's first landlady, who brought him chicken soup if she heard him coughing in the night.

We set up a time for me to go and see it. She let me in the front. The main floor was her residence, we went upstairs to the wrong room. The building was old - just a big old house. Beautiful dark wood wainscotting, huge banister and nulepost on the winding staircase. Nicely dressed upperclassmen, working hard in big bright rooms. These rooms were 500$ though, and not what I had come to see. So she took me to the basement.

First thing I saw was the common area, an old corner couch leaking it's innards so badly that the tennants had thrown towels on it to keep their clothes clean. Two of the sketchiest first year male students I'd ever seen. A bathroom and kitchen that looked like it had been lived in by three first year guys all year.

Kate's potential room was the furnace room, divided in half by some plywood and a couple of old doors. It was 8' by 10'. Furnished consisted of a filthy single mattress on the floor and some milk crates. No closet. A small dirty window. A bare lightbulb, hanging from the cieling. No electrical outlets. Lino floors. Filthy. Lots of evidence of the window leaking down the wall. She looked at me and smiled her sweet old lady smile. I looked at her, told her we'd get back to her, and left.

The number of people she had living in the dwelling was completely illegal - there are limits to these things, and doing the math, she was making a small fortune.


She wouldn't commit to a half month, because someone else would take it for the full month, probably in a few days. She wasn't lying. It will get snapped up. It's probably gone now. The condition of the space was probably equivalent to a lot of prisons. I wouldn't have kept a dog in it. I have seen better living spaces for homeless people in third-world countries.

Our room in Oakville cost us 340$ when we shared a three bedroom. It was about the size of our living room and kitchen now put together. It had floor to cieling windows, a walk-out patio, hardwood floors, a walk-in closet. We were a 2 minute walk to the college, and next to a park with miles and miles of running trails. We had a parking space, access to a pool and gym.

She took some student co-op housing in the end, but is paying for it through the nose, of course.

We took a long walk a couple of weekends ago and I never got around to uploading a couple of pictures until last night.



It's a bit hard to see the red sticks in this picture. They grow all through Cedarvale park, in the greenbelt next to our place. They remind us of The Village.





Forest Hill Village, which is a short walk through the greenbelt, is a yuppie haven of things like "Village Yoga" and ethnic restaurants called "Mashu Mashu" with no ethnic people in them, which is weird. But you can get all kinds of good yuppie things, like great organic veggies and fruits and milk.

We watched Capote last night. It was extremely engaging, more on that later.

Wow, lots of stuff.

Friday Justin disapeared to visit Colin, ended up taking care of him a bit. What a goof. At least he's grateful and makes thank-you cards. I love the kid. He came home quite early Saturday morning and we napped for a while. After we woke up and ate some breakfast, he went to meet up with a childhood best friend. Well, they stayed friends until mid-high-school, until he left school.

John's mother is Métis, 100%. She lives on a reserve, and from what I gather is a lot of negative Métis stereotypes. John has been, to an extent. Not in a way that comes from being Métis, but comes from being young and growing up in Hamilton. Anyways, John and Justin for periods of time, have been the voice of reason in one another's lives, and each have gone through periods of discord or selfishness, or for lack of a better term, failure to thrive.

But, to say the least, they have both really come into their own successes and endeavors. Justin and I just got this place, have jobs with promise and future - feel as though we're moving up in the world. The last time Justin saw John, he was still dating the same "drag-you-down-with-her" girl he'd been with since high school, still into drugs pretty badly, not in school, living at home. Two and a half years later, he has a diploma from a Toronto design school for Fashion Design, has is own small couture label being sold all over Queen West, and is making enough from it to live on his own in a small loft in the south east end, near the Gladstone.

So they had lunch, and marveled over one another's acheivements. They came back here, Justin made dinner, and we all shared an amazing bottle of wine. Afterwards we headed out on the subway to the Drake Hotel and other places - I'd never been to the Drake. Different atmosphere, exclusive, well-dressed. Suit jackets. Dresses. Martinis. The Bouncers are INSIDE, that guy outside in the fur coat is a DOORMAN. Great DJ, friendly flare-ing bar staff, trendy trendy patrons.

And for several times that night, I got to do something I had only done once - with katrijn_noelle , when her friend got us into the Getting Up Marc Ecko after party - when velvet ropes were lifted, and we floated into an exclusive party in front of hundreds and hundreds of people who had been waiting for hours. For whatever reason, John is extremely well connected down there. I don't know if it's because people wear his clothes, or because he's just a cool guy - no waiting, no paying (be it cover or coat check), no attitude, no carding all night long. Bizarre. Felt like such rock-stars. Only happens once a year or so, and NEVER because of who I am - because of who the people I'm with are. But fun and ego-boosting all the same. People just assume you're important, and it's funny, because we're just... not.

Anyways. katrijn_noelle found a decent sounding place in an excellent, trendy, core neighborhood, so I will be checking that out for her tomorrow. Looking forward to having her here, and breezing into the Drake in Little Black Dresses together.

Usually the first person I go to for advice on city neighborhoods is my big brother. He's lived here forever, and generally can tell me if I'm over-reacting to a blown out reputation.

I also want to reiterate that I'm not parading my stupidity around or anything - nor my ignorrance. I am just amazed how hard it is to tell what is a good deal, what's a bad one - where is a good neighborhood, etc. I was fully intent on trying to seal this awesomely priced apartment. I thought this place sounded absolutely amazing - on a map it was right over top of the financial district, perfect.

So when my bosses made me wary about the Jamestown neighborhood, I immediately emailed Dave. Something like "is Jamestown all that bad?"

From: Dave Heron
Subject: St. Jamestown
To: Catherine Heron

is probably the worst place in the city to live.

Well, katrijn_noelle will be returning to us at the end of May, which is dandy - but a combination of the fact that my dad won't be living there, and that commuting from Oakville sucks - results in her needing a sublet for the summer. So while we were buying/renovating/moving, i couldn't be much help at all. It's hard to find a place to live from accross the country, I can only imagine. But I was so busy, I couldn't do much more than give an opinion on the odd area. (With my own limited knowledge of the city.)

But today, I realised that I can, now and should - nay, I MUST - be involved in figuring this thing out, because without assistance (which means me asking everyone I know for input), she's going to stumble into stellar deals in neighborhoods like this:

"St. James Town is one of the largest high-rise housing projects in Canada. It consists of 18 or more high-rise buildings (14 to 32 stories) with a population of 35,000 packed in a four block radius (most densely populated area in Canada). This concrete jungle is located in downtown Toronto/Old Toronto, and has a reputation for drugs, prostitution, street gangs and violence."

This isn't because either of us are dumb or ignorant. An intersection can sound perfectly fine, two major downtown streets, sounds okay. As long as it's not Jane and Finch and it's near the core, you assume you're okay. A drive through the neighborhood scratched that theory quick. After inquiring after a few classifieds, I posted a couple of free ads on craigslist and kijiji in the "wanted" section. How stupid am I.

 "22 year old female, professional, non-smoker seeks june - august sub-let in safe downtown neighborhood, suitable for commute to financial district and U of T library."

It took only five minutes to recieve this creepy, creepy email back.

"FROM:torontotq@notgoingtogivethisemailout.com
hello, I've room....i'm at  office so  i  dont've time to  wirte  more detailes , sorry abt thats,  call any time to  know  more:416-895-xxxx"

Thank god craigslist is anonymous.

So as of now, it appears the CUPE strike is off. It would have effected all of Ontario - garbage pick-up, snow clearing, school support staff - and it would have effected us personally in more ways than one. One of our major clients right now is OMERS, the company responsible for the pensions of all of these workers - and at the centre of the entire conflict. A two day shoot tomorrow was completely up in the air until ten minutes ago - everything from strikes outside the building we needed to shoot in to people we needed to shoot not even being there at all! Also, Justin's dad is a paramedic and his mom is a support worker, so both of them would have been out of work indefinitely.

But it looks like things are all cleared up for now, so that crisis is potentially averted.

All the lose ends are continuing to tie themselves up. It's now all numbers and signatures for the next two days, and at the end, hopefully a key. We got quotes on new appliances today. Coldwell Banker provides it's clients with a certificate getting them contractor pricing on all items! That's huge for us. The guy even said he'd throw in delivery!