Day 1 – New York

Travel 1 Reply

We took off without a hitch this time, despite being weirdly “threatened” by airport security for taking too many photos (can you say Security Theatre?). The flight/cab into the Big Apple was without incident and went by pretty fast. When the weather co-operates, it really is the easiest way to get to Manhattan.

We dump our bags into our “Cabin” – not sure if they’re alluding to a ship’s cabin – that the room is so super small, they’re “owning it” like a freckled, trailer park teen on America’s Next Top Model or it’s a trendy NYC thing… Regardless, we spend about 30 minutes just taking pictures of the smallness and coolness of the room. The bed retracted like an inchworm and everything else was recessed into the walls. Exactly what a room on Moonbase Alpha would have looked like. Colour and all. I was in heaven!

A few minutes in the lobby, grabbing a video of the robot manservant and we were out into the street. We immediately went to the Disney Store and then suddenly realized we hadn’t expected to be that “early” in NYC. It was 8pm and we hadn’t planned on anything past going to the Disney store. We had no clue what to do next…

So we wandered. And we quickly found out that Times Square on a pleasant summer night is crazyfuckballs busy. Like – holy shit get out of my way or I will tear your face off in fear it’s so busy here, kind of busy. We eventually wandered away and found our way back to the hotel (not before seeing a celebrity – which I will let SharkBoy tell tale of).

On the way back to the room we decide to grab a nightcap on the “largest patio in NYC” or so our doorman tells us. We get there about 11pm, wait at the bar (busy) and then see waitresses floating within the tables. So we go to a table. And wait. And try to snag any frazzled waitresses. SharkBoy manages to get one and is told “errrrmmm… it IS last call.” At 11pm on a Wednesday night? In NYC? Stop fucking with me. When she decides she can get our order in, the attitude that pours from her mouth when SharkBoy orders a margarita would have killed a Kardashian. “What KIND of margarita?”

Well fuck you too, Miss I Just Earned a 5% Tip!

Back to the room. We fold down the bed and fall immediately into a deep sleep.

The next morning we wander and take pictures. I have to say that if I had to live in any American city, NYC would be close to the top… like superclose. Tippity.

Our cab driver to the airport was a maniac: he got us to JFK with hours to spare. Neither SharkBoy and I knew that to get to JFK, we’d be passing close to the 1964 World’s Fair grounds in Flushing Meadows. When we saw the globe and rotting towers, I knew it was a Disney miracle.

More NYC pictures here!

Back and Back

Travel 4 Replies

Hello possums! Just back from San Francisco, Anaheim and New York, in that reverse order and boy are we some tired.

Absolutely no drama to report except for a curious moment here and there which I will relate to you in the near future but right now, I have 1000 pictures, videos and tweets to get through (spotty internet connection on the road had me just instagramming a lot of things.)

Expect an update soon but for now, I leave you with this (Click to enlargin)

On video

You Stupid Dick 1 Reply

I’m in the Porter lounge, waiting for our flight to NYC. I’m bored and taking “arty” shots for Instagram. Things like the skyline, poop trucks, stuff.

Suddenly the most bored security guard sidled up to me. I knew what was coming…

“Excuse me sir…”

“Yes?” I have my cell phone out, prepared to delete photos to shut him up.

“I am from Billy Bishop airport security-”

“Apparently,” I say quickly, scanning his well worn uniform.

“-And we’d ask that you stop taking pictures. You’re on video.”

I don’t want to get into it. “Sure thing. I’ll stop.”

He trundles off, satisfied he’s carried out his orders from central command, not completely understanding why.

20110817-054346.jpg

What the Hell Was That?

political, Queer stuff, Toronto, You Stupid Dick 8 Replies

SharkBoy, BobaDoug and I trotted off to the Church Street Village Fair on Sunday, which use to be called The Church Street Fetish Fair, which is now called Leather to Lace but way back in the day was called The Church Street Fetish Fair, created as competition for Folsom Fair North (or FFN when they lost the right to use “Folsom”) but now is called something else and will probably be in direct competition with Folsom Street Fair on September 25, but not in Toronto.

Confused? Not as confused as the crap we saw on Sunday afternoon!

Gone was the public demos of S&M which I am told by the rumor mill was pre-requisite if the Church Street BIA wanted to get licensing from City Hall. Instead an outside company of carnival like “rides” were inserted to keep the tops and bottoms on their toes. This is Rob Ford’s new Toronto, I guess. We can be gay but just don’t show it.

I could have taken pictures of the ferris wheel or the mechanical bull or the surf board bouncy play thing but I had forgotten to put my freshly charged battery in my camera, which in hindsight was a good thing… there wasn’t much I wanted to take a picture of, compared to the previous years. The Leather and Lace site has photos but metaphorically the gallery is broken and doesn’t work in Firefox.

We walked up and down the street twice and witnessed a few proud individuals displaying their fetishes, but in terms of it being a “fair”, I would say it was more like a funeral. Oh sure there were the trans, the rubbers, the plushies and the leathers, but they didn’t seem to have a place to congregate and the crowds weren’t “sticking” to one place. I saw more hopeful photographers (including the creepy boobie photographer guy from Pride – no, not Councilor Mammoliti) than actual participants in the Fair. When we arrived there was a leather “flash mob” as it were: a large group of people in full S&M gear walked through the crowd but quickly dissipated when they did two circuits of the Fair.

The Lettuce and Lace Fair was the perfect example of “design by committee” ever to come to life.

A Year

You Magnificent Bastard 12 Replies

I promised myself I wasn’t going to mark this day, my father’s one year anniversary of his passing (actually it was more like the very early morning of the 12th, but who’s counting?) but my uncle mass emailed us sibs and offered his condolences.

My brother John sent along a “I’ve Told You What To Do” response and this photo, which made me smile:

Probably 1975

The dog’s name was Cindy, and it’s taken on our dock which was perpetually in a state of perpetual rundown-ness. In the back was the oil drum raft our neighbours made – a perfect respite from the leaches. The time there at the cottage was so brief, went so fast, that I struggle to remember anything other than playing in the water.

Once, while sitting with my father, a huge praying mantis landed on me and I let out a shrill so loud that cats within a mile radius panicked. Abruptly, Da brushed off the green monster and told me not to be so “wimpy”. I would later remind him of this comment whenever he decorated his condo.

Yeah I miss him more than I can say. But lately I’ve been remembering the good things.

SharkBoy has a tradition of having a beer on the anniversary of his father’s passing. Since Da had stopped drinking, I think I’ll send out emails of advice as commemoration.