Tag Archives: faces

Pride Tips for Out of Towners, 2009 Edition

Queer stuff, Toronto, Travel

ketchup_prideSo you’ve decided to visit Toronto and enjoy it’s #2 outdoor attraction (second only to The Beaches Jazz Festival, according to their site).  Regardless of who tells you their numbers are numero uno, Toronto Pride reels in a crapload of cash for the city (The Gay Community has it’s own subsection on Toronto’s tourism website – take THAT Caribana!). It’s a good idea to research your options before opening your wallet and organize your fun before hitting the street.

That’s where I come in! Hello tourist! So glad I could help!

You may recall my article last year: Pride Tips for Out of Towners. I’m bitter happy to report that not much has changed. The bar you are drinking in will have a draconian liquor inspector grumpily wander through to see if they can make some money in fines. And some circuit party will try to seduce you with their glossy posters of near-naked men, but there will be a chance that you choose incorrectly and spend $95 to find you’re not at  the “A-List” bash and wind up with a crowd that looks more at home at a Phish concert. The Parade tips still hold true (early, sunblock, elbows), as do the street crowd crush. Don’t forget that “bagging and bedding a Torontonian” is still a bit like coaxing a snipe out of the bushes. We seem to have tightened our shy little cocoons around ourselves during this long, cool spring! All I reported last year are still valid tips. Take heed!

At this time I need to reiterate my number one peeve about Pride: You should NOT, repeat NOT eat at any restaurant on Church Street during Pride. Eat from a hot dog cart (blarg!), bring your own food, starve, devour your travel companion or gnaw on your own foot. Do not eat at any Church Street restaurant.

Wait… I think I need to nail that home:

DO NOT EAT AT ANY CHURCH STREET
RESTAURANT THAT IS LOCATED ON
CHURCH STREET DURING PRIDE

Got it? Just want to let you know. All restaurants will take you in their arms, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, thrust a pre-set menu in your hands and then jizz in your face while rifling through your wallet for your cash. And not in a good way.

Here’s a list of restaurants that are off the strip and worth your money:

Daybreak – This place is popular, pricey but has big portions. At the corner of Carlton and Church, just outside the Village.

Studio – When Daybreak is full, two doors south is this crumbly greasy spoon. Cheap alternative great for breakfast.

The Coachhouse – Same as The Studio, but over on Yonge and Wellesley. Greek twist on a diner.

Chew Chews, Johnny G’s and Gourmet Burger – Three Cabbagetown options that are a little walk away from the Village.

Sizzler – Late Late night burger place with baby sized meat patties at Yonge and College. Not much to look at but BABY SIZED BURGERS!! Late at night!!!

Olympic Pizza – Been in the village forever. Consistently good but unremarkable Italian food the recipe for a great restaurant!

Tokyo Grill / Okanomi House – uncommon Japanese food (read: NOT sushi).

Ginger – Not the one on Church, but over at Yonge and Bloor, there’s an outlet that will most likely not fuck you for cash. Great non-restauranty hot and sour soup.

Oja Noodle House – Right beside a pricey “EggRoll” restaurant. Dishes more authentic and way cheaper. Charles and Yonge.

That’s a good start. Yonge at Bloor has had an explosion of Asian Fusion dining places. All seem “good” if not a bit dollar-y.

New tips? Got a couple!

Photography

photo5In some cases it’s polite to ask if you can take pictures of random hot guys/gals/gender-fucks, but in most cases it doesn’t matter – cameras are everywhere during Pride and if you’re shy, stay the fuck home! But asking for a photo is not only as polite as a Canadian in a foreign land, it’s an excellent way to break the ice.  So if you do go this route, may I suggest little business cards with your Twitter/Flickr/Facebook page URL on it so you can ensure your subject can view your work later when they’re at home slathering on the aloe vera. And for those people you were jokingly taking a picture of (“Good lord that outfit!! I must ridicule it online tonight!“) and get caught doing so, may I suggest a separate card with www dot lemonparty dot org on it.

Street Escape Routes

I failed to mention last year that to avoid the crush that is the uncomfortably crowded street in front of Woodys and the parking lot Beer Tent (Church and Maitland), the Pride Committee has smartly enshrined the alleyways behind these two venues open for easier access past this bottle neck. There are similar North-South routes between East-West streets if you need to dash up Church Street. Any Pride volunteer will gladly point them out.

Texting

Keep your cell phone charged. The crowds are so large you will want to know where your friends are. Twittering may not be such a good idea since it goes down more often than a career drag queen 2 days before rent is due. Thankfully iPhone users will have MMS texting by then and you can send your friends your location (or trick’s face) for group approval.

And lastly:

Your Outfit

Please take some time to consider what you will wear. Feather boas are for straight boys who were dragged to Pride by their girlfriends. Outrageous drag is fine, but consider it will be hot and you may be outside for some time. Melty creatures does not equal funny drag. You’ll scare children. May I recommend something clever yet not too noticable…

Whatever you do, enjoy your Pride. If you see me, say Hi!

Disney: Transportation

Travel

img_0446I can confidently say the only way I have not arrived at a Disney theme park is by jet pack. Every other imaginable way has been done.

On foot? Walk it out! Bus? Yup. Rental car? Yup. Train? Woo woo! Monorail from the future? Por favor mantengase alejado de las puertas! On the back of a white tiger?

Don’t let’s be silly, now.

This is my second time renting a car for the week at Disney and I thought this time we could save some money by just using the bus system but I was quickly reminded that the car offers a freedom from bus-exhaustion, or, if you will, not having embarrassing pictures of yourself put up to Flickr of you asleep rubber necked, slack jawed and drooling. Plus it was a perk since the resort price included free parking at all Disney properties, meaning we could hop from park to park for free.

While driving isn’t as enviromentally sound as Uncle Walt would like, it beats having to experience “the Crush” – the scrum that happens every night when each park closes. Even though the busses run every two minutes, two minutes with a grumpy sleepy child, arm loads of souvenirs and an empty stomach stretches out to eternity. Still, it’s fun to see a child’s face after a day of experiencing a park: worn out, over stimulated and content.

img_0556

I’ve always loved the Monorail system at WDW and this time we tried every ride to sit in the front. All the drivers were gracious, chatty and friendly but one stood out. Missed his name but he had such a memorable southern drawl that we couldn’t hear 99% of what he said:

Me: “Did it take long for you to train to be a Monorail pilot?”

Pilot: “Habamemnrm… wermmsh ahslib. Ha! Ha hahaha! Mummminy mouse!”

All of us: Blank Stares.

He let us sit in the command chair  for photos before leaving the cockpit as long as “we didnmrnt touchmna stick, k?” Sharkboy is NOT touchmna stick, k? But his face says otherwise.

img_0916Like this picture? It’s basically what Luke saw when he climbed up the underside of an AT-AT walker. We were asked if there were any “rides” at Disney Hollywood Studio, but that’s going to be a SharkBoy post. Keep your eyes peeled.

The largest ride at Magic Kingdom in terms of showy-ness and “fake” transportation would have to be the paddle boat. I say “fake” because it only goes forward, constrained to a submerged track in the “lake”. Discovering this after riding it for the first time was a bit disappointing because I always fantasized about the River Boat Captain going mental after a day of looping the Lands and ramming the boat into Tom Sawyer’s Island for kicks.

Ironically for this post, the WDW Tomorrowland Transit Authority People Mover was closed during our stay. It’s one of my favorite decompression rides:  it doesn’t offer any thrill other than a calming view, much like Carosel of Progress is my favorite “nap ride”.

Riverdale Drama

Celebs and Media

daddyhowcouldyouAfter decades, Archie finally decides who he wants to deflower.

Veronica? Really?

I can see a future Archie comic, produced by the sinister Dark Horse publishing, where we’re sent 10 years into the future. Veronica’s dad, Mr Lodge, has suffered a massive stroke and is hanging on by life support. Archie is a scotch swilling bitter yesman, hired into Lodge Industries purely by matrimony. He’s approaching his middle age (and middle age spread) and is unable to access Mr Lodge’s vast fortune until he shuffles off this mortal coil. Jughead is a common street thug now and is hired by Archie to pillow-party Mr Lodge’s face. Pratfalls and close calls with hospital guards ensue.

Meanwhile, Veronica is a pill popping socialite with more plastic surgery scars than Mickey Rourke, schtupping Reggie in the back of his dog grooming business. She spills Archie’s plan in the throws of passion and Reggie decides to rat him out to the police, convince Veronica to divorce Archie and marry her to obtain the cash. He celebrates by going to the local gay bar.

Meanwhile, Big Ethel and Jughead, living in sin of course, devise a plan to harvest Mr Lodge’s organs for drug money once the job is done.

Midge, meanwhile, checks herself into a battered wives hostel after her last confrontation with Moose.

Meanwhile, Mayor Betty has become hardened by her lonely solitude and unrequited love of Archie, and has instructed Dilton to fire up the extremely experimental particle accelerator so they can start selling cheap energy to the rest of the state. Moose, dreaming of his glory days on the gridiron, throws one too many switches and all is thrown into a black hole.

Doors Open Season

Toronto

Saturday! Woke early to go to the gym and and a breakfast burrito (yes, quite low fat thank you, when you build them yourself – more later). We grab a tea and make our way to CBC early for Open Doors Toronto 2009. We thought with all the layoffs the Ceeb is facing soon, it would probably be a great time to go have a gander at this government funded media bunker.

And bunker it was. Security was buzzing, trying to keep track of volunteer staff, who bitched and complained to each other on their headsets. I’m sure the level of security you would normally have to pass through is there to protect Peter Armstrong from marauding fans, and not to hide the somewhat extravagant hallway decorations placed there for the general public not to see… We were first for The Hour studio tour and had to endure some poor volunteer’s worker’s utter mental breakdown for lack of organization in her line. We were shunted to an elevator which ironically (?) the doors would not close due to overcrowding. With all of us explaining to the elevator operator that we needed to lose 2 people, the poor volunteer staffer was about shout “I’M JUST A VIDEO ARCHIVIST! I KNOW FUCK ALL ABOUT HOW TO OPERATE AN ELEVATOR!!” when two people volunteered to get the next one.

The studio was pretty flash, even though the seats looked “cheap wedding uncomfortable” so we know that the money going to the Ceeb isn’t going back into the public. No, it’s being spent on huge screen TVs to tart up talk shows only 1/3rd the Canadian public watches. Here Sharkboy and I are playing George Stroumboulopoulos and Jean Chretien:
Kylie Shows Up

We took the next tour of the radio department and had an interesting run of various sound proof rooms. Quite interesting.

After that we went to Osgoode Hall and wandered the dusty hallways of justice.
I'm Channelling Gregory Peck

We then tried to get to the Don Jail but they turned us away due to a 4 hour wait, which was too late past the closing time. I thought to myself “Who would wait four hours to see an old jail?” Disclaimer: I use to manage a traveller’s hostel in Ottawa that was converted from a 165 yr old jail.

We Arrive... Early?

Me apparently. Sunday we were back there at 945am and in line. Warned that the line was 4-5 hours long, we stuck it out. And stuck it out. And braved line-jumpers and fidgety kids.

ALL IN THE NAME OF GETTING READY FOR DISNEY!

Bored, in-line video:

The jail itself was probably not worth the 4 hours wait due to the state of the building. But it did remind me of the use to live in the jail/hostel I managed and it just brought back memories of impossible maintenance hoops our staff had to jump through every so often. Pipes bursting, kids falling off bunks, flooding, etc.
Stairs Up

After 5 hours in the sun, SharkBoy’s neck looks like an ad for an S&M Red Lobster outlet. Being red-green colourblind and able to see the shade should let you know how bad he got it across the back of his neck.

On the upside, my Wii is no longer calling me Obese. At 214lb, I have moved into the realm of Overweight. Yeah! I made my Disney weight goal with a few days to spare!

Last night I dreamed of O Boy’s Ribs on West Colonial Dr, Orlando. Oh yes, there will be binge and purging…

Full Flickr Set Here.

The Lesson: First for Everything

Personal Bits

Two upper middle class, housework-shunning, career women sit down to lunch, order martinis and the topic of their children come up. A common complaint is discovered and a plan is hatched.

When I was 13 (ish), my mother announced I would be going out on a date. Imagine the internal spit take that generated. My mother… the matchmaker! I was appalled for a moment at the thought of her talking about my inability to socialize with strangers. And my social ineptitude… Wait… What? With a girl?

Holyshitwaitaminnit… A date with a girl??! Would I have to kiss her?

At this time I had already had sex with a man. I knew it was right, my hard wired brain was just doing what it was genetically told to do. But somewhere in my chest, a voice said “Oh fuck it! Give it a whirl!” So when you hear earfucks saying “Gay is learned!” or “Gay can be behaviorally eradicated from your system!” punch those fuckers in the nuts for me. It makes me physically ill to think that people can “cure” you by rote (or disfiguring electroshock). I digress. I decided to give it a whirl, despite the huge fear that was in my goolies.

She was my age and slightly gangly and while she was not the most popular girl in school, she was smart. Near genius smart for her age. I was more intimidated by that, than her sex. My mom stood just outside of earshot (which, by the way is physically impossible) while I made the call:

“Hello Dorcas…?”

Let’s stop right there. I am sure the reason Dorcas was so intelligent and wise beyond her years was purely based on the need to constantly explain to people her name was not a vehicle for child-like slurs. Get it out of your system now, I’m sure she had heard them all well before she was 5 years old in numerous playground and recess gatherings. Dork Ass; Door Knob; Dork Face; Dumb Ass etc. Years after our date, I had seen her verbally rip the skin off of some drunk fucker who called her out about her name, during a illegal teen drinking party. While her words were venomous, her eyes were dead set and almost blasé. She had her name defense response honed to an art.

Of course, her name was the first thing we talked about on our date. I thought I asked politely but my question still riled her. “It’s from the bible,” she told me, “Not that I’m religious or read it at all.” We then tore into how embarrassing our mothers were: from naming conventions to matchmaking. We were friends then.

But throughout the evening there was a voice in my head. “You gonna kiss her when this is over?”

I admit that the night was a blur. I do know we went to Star Wars. I do remember her telling me that hand holding was not required. I do remember at the end of the evening, after walking her home, standing at her door, (thankfully without any parent in view – we lived in an age when 13 year olds could walk the streets unattended) we did kiss. I think I kissed her teeth.

We became friends after that. Like “holy Christ we will never, EVER talk of this again” kind of friends. When Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back came out, we went on another “date” much to the amazement of our parents. I remember my Mom reeling like being hit by a slap when I mentioned Dorcas and I were going out on another date, three years after the last. We laughed hysterically at the end of the evening when I kissed her hand.

Two upper middle class, housework-shunning, career women sit down to lunch, order martinis and awkwardly avoid talk of their children.

Philosophizing Over That Stone

Celebs and Media

stone_destinyAn interesting synchronicity is occurring between art and real life: The movie The Stone of Destiny is soon to be released and the reenactment of the Plains of Abraham isn’t soon to be happening any time soon, well at least not on the actual ground it took place on.

Hear me out: Both instances are about a chunk of earth, both recall emotions of loss and embarrassment, both political in nature.

In the case of the movie, I can see how our Scottish heroes would want to return that symbol of power, no matter how faded, to it’s former residence – everyone loves an underdog and lets face it, Scottish accents are still bloody hot since Trainspotting. This is of course polar opposite to the feelings of Quebec Federalists who are kiboshed by a strong Separatist movement, blocking the reenactment. Every story needs a villain and in both cases, the victorious English wind up looking like Caesar-like thugs who keep their subservient masses on short tame leashes.

Then I think, “What if Canada was invaded and had some symbol removed from it, would I care enough to dare steal back?”

I’m still thinking about that.

Not being a sport fan I can recognize that many would say Mr Stanley’s Cup or some such figure. But I doubt that, since sports fans were so quick to roll over when the Hockey Night In Canada song was sold off for a song.

The CN Tower? Way too involved.

Rick Mercer? Hmmm, no. He’d annoy his way out of his captor’s grasp and make his way back to us.

The plucky Bonhomme? Close. At least he’s as Canadian as Mickey Mouse is to the US. See English Canada doesn’t really have a symbol, we’ve got most of ours from Quebec or Eastern Canada, so I can’t really think of anything.

Regardless, I would defend her if I had to. But only like Red Dawn, only if the attacking army actually interrupted my iPhone usage.

Best of Clist – Helpful!

General

Insert RAM jokes here

Naked computer repair / service call by hung man
I offer training sessions were I can teach you how to use certain things on your computer and online from downloading your entertainment to running social pages like MySpace and face book. I can give your computer a tune up so it runs fast again. I check your computer properly for viruses. I can also set up your new computer and transfer over some of the old information you want to keep from your previous system. Well I repair your system I do it in the nude or can dress to your taste. I am a well endowed man. This is a paid computer service call. I am not an escort. I have an average build I am mostly straight but comfortable with my body and I am willing to fix any ones computer in the nude. I travel to you and I can arrange evening appointments to fit your scedual. So why not treat yourself and get more out of your repair mail me for pics and any questions.

My own Korova Milk Bar Fixture

I Can Be Adjusted
Are you a white male that loves to watch TV and have a human footstool under your feet? If you are straight that is fine. If you do not want to have sex that is fine as well. I can be naked or wear clothes. Do you have a buddy and want to play cards together? I can lay on the ground and the both of you can put your feet on me. I will massage them and pamper them. Why rest them on the floor when you can rest them on a live carpet? If you are gay then even better. You can read a book while you ignore me under your feet or do work on your computer while I lay on the floor.
If you want you can watch porn & I will give you the best blow job ever. You do not need to suck me.

Halloween 2008

General
Jedis By RodTO

Jedis By RodTO

Halloween on Church Street. You will never find a more retched hive of scum and villainy.

The evening started out good with a group of us getting together at Casa RoboShark, slapping on layers of makeup while we sucked back beers during rounds of Guitar Hero and Mario Kart Wii. It sounds very involved but it was pretty relaxed. I wound up doing Dollar Store cuts on a few guys but the wax wounds didn’t last too long after leaving the apartment… I blame sweat and not having a proper sealant to make it stick. That and they wrinkled their faces too much. NO LAUGHING!

Here’s where I apologize for not taking any pictures this year. My lightsabre for my Jedi costume was a two hander. RodTO (Photog 2) took some amazing shots, as usual. Go see them and praise him highly.

We left the house at 9 and got to the street in full swing. It was busy as usual. SharkBoy felt there were too many drunk Ryerson students, but I thought it was a typical Halloween night: packed, pictures everywhere. Our outfits weren’t as attention grabbing as last year’s Luchadores, but with the Force FX sabres, we were well lit and did get into some photos. Here’s where I mention that lucha masks were out in force this year. We’re trendsetters.

We met up with Da, the Xbox Boys, FrankenSteve (nice fairies!) and got to do one circuit of up and down the strip before going home. Some of the costumes were amazing, some were the usual “Throw on a boa and I’m done” kind of WTF kind of effort. In all, I would say that a lot more people are getting into the spirit of dressing up, even if it’s just a dollar store jumpsuit with a cheap plastic lead-based mask. I say “bravo” for trying!

The thing that did mar the evening for me: I verbally abused a drunk asshole in a rather (un)Jedi like manner. We were walking in the crowd and came upon a small pocket, empty of people and I had stopped to wait for the other guys to catch up. As I did, a drunk guy came pushing out of the crowd, past me, screaming like a 9 year old child. “No! NO!” he was hollering. Chasing him was another drunk partyer who was making noises like he was going to catch him. Upon seeing my lightsabre, he lunged at me and yelled he needed it to “get that faggot.”

“Uh no,” I said and turned slightly from him.

He drunkenly clawed at the toy. (okay, the $130 toy, none the less)

“Fuck off!” I said. I was shocked: I don’t say this lightly in public, to strangers. But his total disregard for my personal space and property was appalling.

“Oh chill,” he said and tried to go for it again.

“Fuck. Off.” I said, stronger. And the surreal part was that I had my hand out, pointing a finger at his face. Like the Force was going to save me.

Exit drunk queen, muttering something, trying to catch up to “that faggot”.

Gay Jedi

Gay Jedi

There were other extremely drunken exchanges that bewildered me, like the 60-some year old woman wordlessly trying to grab SharkBoy’s lightsabre by the tube and me yelling “Lady! YOU DON’T TOUCH A JEDI’S STICK!” (yeah I said “stick” but she muttered “dick” back). Or the three Ryerson tarts wanting to play with the sabres for themselves and when we refused, asked for a kiss. Wha?

I love Halloween, but I was kind of cheesed off by the overly rowdy drunks. We were out pretty late and the worst of it did happen well after 11pm so I shouldn’t be surprised, really.

Next year, more thoughtful planning, I should think. Something not so attention grabbing, yet attention grabbing.

Husband Meme

Distractions, Personal Bits, Queer stuff

Apologies to my single readers who sit there at their monitors with their bags of Collision Chips and Fantas while they wonder where their life went wrong as they look at blogs on the interweb and consider what to wear when they go to the next Bear bar night and oh god why can’t they find love why why por quoi???

From Gambrinous with Griffonage:

What is his name? Meesh to the family, Michel in Quebec (there’s already a Michele and a Michael in my family so he’s contracted to be contracted).

Who eats more? Me. But he eats more in bed.

Who said I love you first? Me. In his truck. I nearly puked.

Who is taller? I am when we’re standing in the tub.

Who drives most when you are together? He does. But I get bored faster. Mayblubablublabluuuu!

Who’s more sensitive? I would say we’re equally matched. He’ll cry at movies, while I’ll cry at lottery ads.

Who does the laundry? I do. I expect a call from the police when ever he does the laundry because of his patience. He, however, folds.

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Facing the bed from the foot, I sleep on the right hand side.

Who pays the bills? Our accounts are combined, but he does all the actual paperwork.

Who cooks more? I do. He’s a bit to meticulous when he follows recipes.

Who is more stubborn? He is. Hands down.

Who is the first to admit they are wrong? Me. I’d rather bask in incorrectness than fight.

Who has more siblings? I do. My four to his one.

Who wears the pants? We share a mu mu on Drunk Sundays. Clean up is a breeze.

What do you like to do together? Pretty much everything. He’s my best friend and husband. I’d not be all that interested if he’s not interested. I know that makes me sound like a creepy conservative housewife, but it’s true.

Who eats more sweets? He does, for medicinal reasons.

Guilty pleasures? Corn chips in bed.

How did you meet? Sly comments on gay.com chat. Then constant exposure due to both of us losing our 9-5 jobs.

Who asked whom out first? I asked him to come along with me to a lesbian bar outside the city. I wound up making out with another guy on the dance floor.

Who kissed first? It was mutual. In a truck. It was fun. Still is.

Who proposed? He emailed my parents for permission. He then sprung it on me in front of our campfire.

His best features and qualities? Have you seen his backside? Heaven. As for qualities: his anger, oddly enough. It reminds me not to take shit from people. And beneath that, there is a thoughtful, kind, smart person that thinks I’m pretty keen.

Then we’ll leave you as we came… In peace

Celebs and Media
V Chicks

V Chicks

But will they rip their faces off while they’re here?

Potentially this could be the next Battlestar if they treat the story with enviromental issues, like Battlestar did with religion. But then again, like Knight Rider, Sarah Connor and the Bionic Woman maybe this should stay buried.

Fun trivia from the original show (IMDB source)

In a massive media campaign before the series aired, posters with the line “The Visitors Are Our Friends” appeared in subways around the United States–just as they did in the first part of the mini-series. Days before the first episode aired, each poster was spray-painted with a bright red “V” exactly as was done in the show.

The music that plays when the ship is first seen has as a major motif consisting of three short notes followed by one long note. This is the letter V in Morse code. It is also patterned after Ludwig van Beethoven’s fifth symphony

Due to the high cost of the laser special effects, it was decided that human resistance fighters would use regular rifles and pistols. This was explained away in the script as due to high security on the alien armories.