Four dairy farmers from different regions selected four different chefs to participate in a grilled cheese throwdown. There was one stipulation - they had to use cows milk Canadian cheese. And it had to be really wack and creative.

The chefs threw in some crazy shit. Like olive tapenade, curried brie, pear and mango chutney, Chinese duck ...

Which is all well and good I mean but like, why fuck with a good thing? A simple grilled cheese sandwich is probably the most nostalgic childhood snack for everyone. It was MADE for kids. Throw some ketchup on there and thats as funky as it should get. I'm no conservative lame-o when it comes to crazy sandwiches or anything, but a grilled cheese should be simply that - grilled bread and cheese, mang!

The spokesman for this whole thing says “it was very important to demonstrate that with some imagination and everyday, ordinary, familiar cheese, you can really accomplish wonderful creations, but the important thing is not to overpower the cheese with all of the other ingredients.”

True that.

A dude from Nova Scotia won. There was havarti, roasted red pepper, arugula and proscuitto involved. I say take your proscuitto, Michael Howell, and put it where it belongs - wrapped around some melon.

Gulf Oil Spill - The Way I See It.

I'm not about to go and say Obama is an idiot for not seeing this oil spill catastrophe coming, but the indicators were pretty obvious, if you ask me.

This is how I see it:

- BP has a history of felonies. It is the fourth biggest company in the world (the first is Royal Dutch Shell. I wikipedia'd this and at first thought it meant Old Dutch, the chip company which would have made way more sense because those chips are fucking bomb). Anyway, BP is an oil giant who could probably take over the world if it wanted to, so no one is going to say anything when it pretty much makes the same mistakes every year. The usual - killing their workers, cutting and pasting words from emergency plan to emergency plan (more about this later), and being frugal. Usually I endorse thriftiness, and I'm sure you do too, but when it comes to things like, oh you know, drilling thirty five thousand feet beneath water and into the earths fucking core, I would like to think we could set aside our petty fiscal qualms.

- BP's behavior alone in the Exxon Valdez shit was as good an indicator as any that they are about as competent as I am after drinking a box of wine. The worst damage was done during the hours they tried to fix shit. All their equipment was buried under snow, and no clean up ship was standing by. Exxon was like fuck this and brushed them aside. At which point BP continued masterbating and playing nintendo.

- Their emergency response plan was about as well thought out as, oh, a grocery list. Let me elaborate. Listed among precautions they wanted to take while drilling are walrus's, sea lions and other celestial creatures of the great white north. Not the fucking Gulf of Mexico, you idiot. C'est possible that they used text from an entirely different plan? The Minerals Management service let this shit slide by granting BP a categorical exclusion - which is meant strictly for minimally intrustive projects, like outhouses and hiking trails. Not the deepest hole ever drilled into mother earths sacred core. Now look at it. Great emergency plan, BP. You should have written it on a post it.

- Maybe if MMS and BP weren't too busy 69ing and chasing the dragon, we wouldn't be up to our gills in l'heule. Both companies have histories of being totally corrupt. And MMS has been operating "under the radar" with no definite mission statement for eons. Eons I say! Before Ken Salazar got his tie - clad ass in that office and started slapping wrists and confiscating rubix cubes, it was all fun and games. BP and MMS are like two chatty pre teens during silent reading hour. If the president trusts them to self regulate, the entire classroom will be full of oil in a few days.

On top of all that, my suspicions were confirmed when Tony Hayward was like "I want my life back!" Well guess what, Tony? So do the families and friends of the people who died in the disaster on April 20th. What kind of PR stunt was that? He must be still suffering from the residual hallucinagens, or maybe he's just straight up wasted. (I know I sure would be if I was the CEO of an oil comany).

The worst part is, despite the 6 month moratorium on offshore drilling, at least 5 new projects have been granted permits. Having said that, 30 000 people are working on this shit in 4 states. So Obama's not a total slacker. But he's an idiot for continuing to let people drill, baby, drill, away when we won't have even recovered from the events of April 20th for probably decades. And my kids are going to be pissed. I really don't care if he took a mini vaca with Michelle like 4 days after the spill to play golf and eat ribs. life goes on, right? We all need to eat ribs sometimes.

Essentially, what we need now is for Salazar to work his alleged magic, (he split up the MMS into 3 parts, you see, sort of what I consider to be like separating rambunctious kids into different rooms. Or quarentining people with infectious diseases. The infectious diseases being fun and slacking. If one person's up to no good, I know I sure will be too).

But in terms of my perscription for the future of the Gulf of Mexico, and offshore drilling, (because I know your dying to know my prescriptions. And I'm also authorized to prescribe such remedies), I have thought about it alot and the idea of performing what appears to be open heart surgery in the dark at the bottom of the Gulf is probably going to be next to impossible. They should employ a ninja (ie - the one in Oceans Eleven who they shoved in the box to sneak into the vault), or several ninjas, but pump them full of speed first. Send them down to work their magic. In the meantime, Obama and I will be eating ribs and getting pedicures.

Either that or a lot of hair to soak that shit up. (I heard Rachel McAdams was actually trying to do this.)

But the bottom line is I think everyone just needs to take a moment and remind themselves what really matters most in life: watching Lady Gaga's Alejandro video. Do this, sun children, and all will be well with the environment.

I find it really funny when people unfailingly judge others based on which high school they went to.

The whole high school rivalry thing is pretty much inevitable when you’re in it, especially in a small town like the one I grew up in. And I guess when I was 16 or 17 I tolerated a bit of pointless egg throwing or vandalism in the name of unwarranted hatred, but now that we’re well into our twenties, I think it’s safe to assume that our reasons for hating people will be for something actually reasonable. Like making out with my boyfriend, or breaking my friends heart, or having a fucking stupid haircut. All these things deserve a bit of loathing.

But if you are seriously maintaining that grudge based on where I went to school 5 years ago, I automatically assume you are a fucking child as well as an idiot.
I’ve long forgotten a lot about much of high school. Its not that I hated it or anything, it’s just not a very big part of my life anymore. I still have friends from there, and I’m really glad to have them, but I sort of left the trivial nemesis’ thing in the dusty relics of time somewhere in between graduation and four years of university. Call me crazy, but I haven’t put much energy into upholding feelings of hate for those who went to school on the other side of town when we were 16.

Take off that fucking football jacket and man up, you candy ass. If your seriously going to judge me right away, do it like a man and leave the superficial small town motives where they belong – in the small town. For the pre teens. Hate me, instead, because I have a stupid hair cut. PLEASE.

a pointless note on octopus's.

Last night a friend of mine told me that there was this octopus who was under some sort of observation, so it was in a tank being filmed all the time. It got up and left its tank in the middle of the night to get into an adjacent tank and eat the crustaceans in it. It would walk across the floor, jump into the other tank, then return to its own tank and in the morning try and play it off like nothing happened. Octopus’s are supposed to be really smart, the smartest of all invertebrates. The thought of an octopus walking across the floor in the dead of night strikes me as pretty fucking terrifying.

My friend also told me they can make things like hammers and tools with surrounding resources and use them with their tentacles to get what they need. I don’t really know what an octopus would need a hammer for (sort of as much as a fish needs a bicycle, one would think). Ha !

yeah I'm a server and I'm bitter, ok ?

Many lament that restaurant experiences in the city are often ruined by subpar service, an element of dining that often overshadows food. Servers aren’t invested, aren’t passionate, and don’t know the origins of their ingredients. What’s more, servers don’t hold a position of value in our local sphere. If social problems in Toronto such as insufficient food banks, lack of access to ethically slaughtered meat, even obesity, are attributed to inadequate social policy, then bad food service is no exception.

Food in Toronto is serious business, representing so much more than simply our daily sustenance. It reflects a culture that is enormously diverse and capable when it comes to food. Yet perhaps more than the tasty morsels we fork over our hard earned cash for, service is a dominating aspect of any restaurant experience, and one that is under considerable scrutiny in the city of Toronto. Take, for example, such restaurants that came to define Toronto as an influential city in the 80’s and 90’s – The Organ Grinder, the Old Spaghetti Factory. Chances are, if you had / have eaten at either of these embellished establishments, you don’t remember much about the food. You will, however, remember the atmosphere – which can be largely attributed to the food service workers who facilitate the magic. If service is such a valued part of the Toronto eating experience, then why isn’t it more respected?

According to Peter Maynard (Toronto writer and foodie) and Kate Carraway (Eye Weekly columnist and foodie), an impediment to the possibility of creating a food culture in Toronto that is up to par with that of European standards is that we belittle service jobs. In Europe, service sector work is regulated and dignified in a way that it simply isn’t in Toronto. The European restaurant model is built on tradition; restaurants are passed down from generation to generation to cultivate a lasting clientele and a reputable name. Even Montreal sees this type of history in restaurants that have stuck around for ages - unlike the increasing brevity of Toronto establishments. Carraway and Maynard note the interesting fact that countries with the most secure sense of class systems are the ones where professional service workers have less anxiety than in a status obsessed city like Toronto. European servers are considered experts, and in Toronto, they seem to be little more than servants. In this city what determines the success of many restaurants is fad and real estate, rather than the age old traditions that cultivate an enduring clientele.

To be cliché about things, Toronto is a cold city. We usually don’t like to admit it, but we treat strangers with scepticism. There’s nothing wrong with the Toronto attitude, perse, it just means that we can’t simply expect Torontonian servers to jump into their work uniforms and be the friendly neighbourhood waitresses who will eagerly wait on your every beckoning call. Furthermore, in a world that is increasingly dominated by the business model of the fast food industry, (in and outside of food service), efficiency, predictability, calculability and control (known as the “McDonaldization of society”) rule the day. The “McWorld” we live in is becoming less and less personal and more and more dependent on technology to perform menial tasks. This is why we hold so close to our hearts the (quickly dissipating) ideal of the genuinely sweet, gracious and ever giving server. The architecture of our dining fantasies comes crashing down when this ideal is compromised – but if we really want good service, it’s time for us to get real.

Servers will never take pride in their work if they continue to operate within a space that doesn’t afford them dignity, or a general criterion for satisfactoriness. We have no public standard for good service. Or rather, the current standard seems to be based on entirely personal factors, which only creates an ambiguity that is only natural in a city full of varying cultures and social notions. How bad is bad? And how good is good? Everyone’s perception of good service and professionalism is bound to differ. Is it wrong to bring the bill before someone asks for it? Is it wrong to comply with a patrons wish to ask a couple to move if the other patron wants to sit at their table? These are all questions that have no objective answer, but they should. We need to shift the standard to an objective, public model in order to create a lasting social infrastructure of good service.

The characteristics of a good server - an extensive wine or beer knowledge, ability to pair wines with foods, and educated opinion of food items, are all considerable undertakings, and those who master them should be afforded the dignity they deserve. The waiters at Kit Kat (King and John) are well equipped with these assets, and take their job seriously. And it shows – business at Kit Kat is booming, and has been since its inception 15 years ago. But we can’t count on personal investment as a business standard. It’s no surprise that we do, however. Somewhere in between hunting and gathering, and the days of the drive thru, almost every aspect of the dining experience has become entirely personal. As we become increasingly isolated as a society, (a result of heightened and pervasive technology among other aspect of this modern life) we move further and further away from a holistic, public framework we can all dine by!

What we can and should do is provide a space where servers can become capable of these valuable qualities. In order to facilitate the knowledge of menu ingredients and their origins, open communication must exist between the kitchen and the server. Speaking from personal experience, language barriers between the two zones have made in depth conversation impossible, if workers who operate the kitchens aren’t already uninformed of how pre made food is put together when it is delivered. Many line cooks simply assemble the prepared food and don’t receive any background information whatsoever. Servers would be hard pressed to find out information about the food they are serving. They shouldn’t have to make endless phone calls or appointments with head offices in order to find out what kind of cheeses are involved in the sausage penne casserole.

Antagonizing servers is also a commonplace practise of the media. One of the few industries in which scrutiny is deemed completely acceptable, even encouraged, entire careers are made judging servers. Restaurant reviewers, bloggers, movies often portray servers in a less than flattering light. All these factors shape public attitude toward servers. It’s time that we stop criticizing the individual server and shift the discussion to one of a larger social picture. Restaurants are a barometer for how a city perceives itself, and service is an enormously important element of the restaurant. It’s time we take pride in our servers, so they can take pride in their work. Not only is it a matter of improving culture in Toronto – bringing us closer to the cities we are constantly compared to, but it’s also a matter of human rights. Equal treatment across professional sectors will ensure the framework for a better food experience, for the both server and the patron.

If you're happy and you know it say a swear.

In The Star today I read an article about an increasingly successful Facebook group for "intelligent, classy, well-educated" women who happen to enjoy swearing. Particularly, saying the word Fuck.

The article included quotes from many women who really believe in swearing. They were happy to find other women like them. The article expressed many of these women's thoughts pertaining to the discouraging misconceptions and assumptions that go along with a filthy vocabulary. One states, "people who hate swearing always say people who swear are uneducated – they don’t have a good vocabulary ... they can’t find the right word so they swear. I don’t see that at all. Swearing is language ...it’s a way to communicate effectively. People who don’t like swearing are focusing on the actual meaning of the word.”

I see the infinite wisdom and truth in this quote. I never really understood why people lumped swear words into the same category as bad grammar or something. My main conviction with writing right now is this: use fun words, have a fun vocabulary and still articulate yourself, still assert good ideas and it is possible to not sound like a total stupid head. It just seems more fun for everyone that way.

I also like books with pictures. What? what?!

I look forward to the day I see the word Fuck in scholarly journals and hear it on the news. I use it regularly and uninhibitedly, and I see no good reason to prescribe a limit on it.

My Aunt (whom I ADORE), asked me over dinner last weekend, "did you just say fuck?" and I was like "yes" (slightly awkward family moment ensues). Then I said "I'm a God damn writer and I'll say whatever I want with whatever degree of artistic fervor!" Then she said "well, if you say it too much, it won't feel so good when your really fucking mad"

This is a good point. One to be remembered. Swearing has been a recent development in my family. I admit that maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate to drop the fuck bomb during Good Friday dinner, however if I were to censor myself I think that would be the true crime here. I don't want to limit myself. All my good friends and lovers know that when I find a good word, term of endearment or sweet nothing, I wear it out to shit. My friend Jon, (whose friendship is sadly reduced to Facebook chat while we are both at school in differing cities), scolded me for calling him an insipid cunt rag too much. I admit that I have a dreadful knack for becoming obsessed with random idioms and using them within an inch of their lives.

When it comes down to it, though, I would give them all up before I would give up Fuck. I will maintain to the day I die that you can say Fuck and make a point. You can say Fuck, and articulate everything you ever need to and more because it is a glorious and magical word that brings with it sugar and spice and celestial seasonings. Every time I say Fuck I feel like I'm walking through a gentle rain of encyclopedia pages fluttering around me with a cool and refreshing breeze. Every time I say Fuck I fucking cook up summer in the winter.

It arouses contempt in me to think that people associate swearing with a limited vocabulary.

Any mother fucker who can't see that I'm a bloody walking thesaurus is an idiot.

Well I aspire to be, I mean. And I love the word Fuck.

A few reasons why I love Valentines day

Yeah I'll be the first to tell you I like Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, and Martha Stewart Living magazines.

I maintain that you can still be a valid human and participate in all these things.

But today I want to tell you all a little bit about why I fucking love Valentines day so fucking much. Here goes !

1 . I need another excuse to get wasted.

2 . I think those little heart candies with words on them are halarious. They say the most random things. One time I swear I got one that said lets do it. I'm not even joking (think of the children!)

3 . I need another excuse to make out with people.

4 . Everyone fucking hates it and I like being contrary.

5. Its one of the few holidays where no (reasonable / single) person truly expects anything.

6 . I used to have a fixation with the human heart in art, and I think its infinitely clever when people employ this image instead of what you would usually expect. (Like in that Crayola commercial where these boys are giving this one hot girl all these little notes in class with hearts on them and she goes for the one who draws her a sloppy human heart with blood all over it.)

7 . Red food dye has speed - like effects on me.

8 . I have a genuine obsession with seasonal baking.

9 . Without fail, my mother sends me some candy and money in the mail on this red letter of a day. I realize this will probably continue to happen into the thirties. At which point I will stop blogging about it.

10 . I'm a corporate whore and generally enjoy participating in the capitalistic ventures of this commercial sham.

That last one isn't really true I just wanted to even it out to 10.

But I really think everyone should stop being so cynical about v-day. It could do wonders for the economy if everyone bought their significant other a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates, a litter of puppies and a few prostitutes.
Now THERES a recipe for a good Valentines day.

Palm-Ella loves seals.

And so do I.

Peta does too. So much that they throw pies at things to save them. (How they reckon this will save said seals is a mystery, but apparently such behavior has merit.) Peta has a lot of money, fame and support, but continuously relies on publicity stunts to achieve their goals, which are centered mostly on animal rights. Human rights, however, are apparently completely disregarded in their attempts to banish animal cruelty, as made clear in the ongoing controversy around PETA’s campaigns.

A 37 year old member of PETA was charged with assault after she shoved a pie into the fact of fisheries and oceans minister Gail Shea in Burlington in January. As Shea began her speech at the Canada Centre for Inland Waters in Burlington, the PETA member came up to the podium and clobbered her with a tofu cream pie.

In the past, PETA has effectively covered Lindsay Lohan for wearing a fur coat in Paris, written a formal letter to Ben and Jerry’s asking them to switch to breast milk to make their ice cream, asked the Pet Shop Boys to change their name, and a myriad of other ludicrous measures. These things are stupid, not radical, and won’t do shit.

In art theory, to be radical involves a harkening back to that which we cannot return – the past – as well as importing techniques from across genres, like taking something from dance and incorporating it into film. If we simply keep doing brand new things and consider it shocking, we simply get louder and louder. And that won’t prove anything.

What needs to replace eco terrorism is eco creativity. Besides, maybe someone should first feed Lindsay Lohan some flour before anything else, so she’ll have some meat on her bones and won’t need a fur coat to stay warm. Get to the root of the problem, I say ! Think about people first ! We’re smarter than animals, right?

PETA executive vice-president Tracy Reiman said the pie in the face wasn’t as bad as the blood on Gails hands. PETA reckons it is time Canada banned the seal hunt, that the commercial fishing industry is environmentally destructive – and lots of Canadians agree with them, including myself. Yet, this doesn’t mean I’m going to waste a good pie on some woman named Gail.

First Nations people hunted seals 4000 years ago and valued every part of the creature – the pelt, the meat, the ceremonial aspect of the kill, it’s symbolic meaning in a young dudes life. Now, you can get a seal pelt for 14 dollars and kill one by raking its eyes out without even leaving your boat - not exactly the ritual the First Nations had in mind. We’re killing increasingly more and more seals year after year, too, and loving every bloody minute of it?

This is where Gail comes in. A former provincial cabinet minister, she has stated that her department, the fisheries department is not a department that will have many ribbon-cutting ceremonies. I sense a lament for the not quite glamorous role she has in the seal hunt, unlike Palm (above).

And it sho' is bloody. Long poles with metal hooks are the weapon of choice from what I gather, they are hauled on board the boats and then beaten to a pulp. There is pretty much no way to convince someone this isn’t a ridiculously inhumane practice. (Vladimir Putin said so himself. And I don’t think he would fuck around. Russia banned the slaughter of Harp seals under a year old) However it’s still legal under Canada's Marine Mammal Regulations. The Canadian government has ignored the crazy amounts of criticism and under the amended Marine Mammal Regulations, the practice will continue.

In 1987, Canada was compassionate enough to halt the slaughter of “white coats” (young specimens who aren’t coloured yet) but seals lose their white fur around 2 weeks of age, so this means most are shot before their third month of life (they can’t even swim yet and they have to try and get away from the hunters. )
During Canada’s annual commercial hunt, as many as 300 000 seals are shot or bludgeoned.

And to be sure, the costs of the seal hunt outweigh the economic benefit. After all, this shit is subsidized by our tax dollars. My precious rivets ! I’m a vegetarian I didn’t agree to this shit ! If we ended the hunt, Canada would have a minimum of $6.9 million doll-hairs every year ! That means we could all be walking around with canes and grills and fake fur ! But Gail seems pretty adamant that the economic benefits are as lucrative as a money tree. Guess what, Gail. Seals don’t grow on trees anymore.

Regardless, she is pretty proud that Canada is a world leader in the seal hunt. The government website says this. Are we meant to feel proud of this factoid? Minister Shea (always referred to as “honourable minister” on the site) assures us that Fishery’s officers will be closely monitoring the hunt this year to make sure of compliance with regulations. (So if they’re not around, the hunters will go crazy and start killing everything in sight?) The fisheries department website states:

“Our government will continue to defend the rights of Canadian sealers to provide a livelihood for their families through our lawful, sustainable and humane hunt, said Shea. We are extremely disappointed that the European Parliament has called for a disruption of the trade of seal products and our position remains that any ban on a humanely conducted hunt, such as Canada’s, is completely without merit. We will continue to explore all legal and diplomatic options and Canadians can be assured that we will exercise our rights to their fullest extent under international trade laws if and when it becomes necessary and appropriate."

For one, I’m pretty sure a humanely conducted hunt is an oxymoron.

For two, I disagree that not clubbin seals has no merit.

And is it really so diplomatic, sensitive and tactful to rip baby seals to shreds for money (using vegetarians tax dollars?)

The whole thing is pretty disgraceful, but you have to be pretty wack to pie a middle aged woman making a speech in front of hundreds of people.

But I guess Lindsay has to get those coats somewhere, right? And who am I to tell her she can’t have whatever she wants? Her dad was like, a real clown. She can have all the fur she wants.

The holidays were full of alcohol and I drank a lot of it.

I nearly died in Brantford, several times I’m sure.

I have ended 2009 on a ludicrously unhealthy note. Actually, just a ludicrous note. Fun times were to be had, but the fun times kicked my ass.

Hence, my desire to be confined in my apartment and read modest Victorian literature until I fall asleep on my couch at 10 o’clock.

The truth is, I’m kind of jealous of Jane Eyre. Her and her simple and complacent, bonnet filled life in a convent with a husband she has never had sex with (I’m on page 277 of the total 420 and they still haven’t boned. NOTHING interesting happens in this book). But I think I might be better off leading such a life:

Jane Eyre never wakes up in a cold sweat frantically wondering that the fuck happened last night, no one ever texts her alluding to some pent up unexplained anger resulting from something obscene and offensive she did when she was super drunk, and I’m pretty certain she never has to worry about vommiting in dishwashers.

Life is just so swell for those God fearing women of 19th century literature.
In reality of course, life is absurd and embarrassing. It is messy. I don't really believe in reservations, and I don't want to apologize for that.

Some bboy cocksucker in a dance club actually booed me the other night. Those of you who have felt self conscious on the floor haven't felt ANYTHING until someone actually confirms your suspicions that you totally suck.

Down with SUV's.

I recently went home to Brantford for a couple nights to hang out with the fam. We always have a good time together, and this visit was no exception. There was only one problem. My mother told me that my father was contemplating replacing their Toyota Matrix with an SUV.

I was utterly horrified. I tried everything in my power to convince her to convince him otherwise. I can’t think of anything more frivolous. What on earth does a 55 year old male with a grown up family and no pressing career, really need an enormous gas guzzling SUV for? Hauling mulch? Flagstones? I’m not trying to undermine my beloved father, or any retired lifestyle. He’s 55. He should be able to do whatever the hell he wants. But there is one thing I can’t deny. To exist is to be an activist. We make choices on a daily basis that support or deject environmentally friendly initiatives, directly or indirectly, and we do it with every item we buy. Our decisions affect other people and the greater world whether we know it or not.

What comes to mind when we hear activist? A raving protestor, drunk on passion for a cause? A persistent douche bag who scrutinizes your every piece of garbage? People who cause detours on roads because of protest rallies?

The negative stereotype around activists exists because no one makes it easy for the public to be environmentally friendly. Our governments and our food manufacturers take path of least resistance – it’s cheaper and easier to buy food from No Frills as opposed to grow your own, organic food and renewable energy are both more expensive and hard to come across than conventional food / energy. We often have to hunt to find information on animal testing and nutrients. As a result, we allow ourselves to be poisoned. We are unhealthy and uninformed. (Revlon Moondrops lipstick, Lysol All Purpose cleaner contain mystery phthalates – substances added to plastics to retain their flexibility and durability - that act as neurotoxins and reproductive toxins ... two in a long list of products.)

We have to go against the grain to achieve a healthy, green lifestyle. Since when should it be so unconventional to eat real food, trust a doctor, or have the desire to bring my children into a risk free world? Since when does living green have to mean anarchy?

My parents were obviously irritated by my hassling to make them turn off the lights and the TV when they left the room. My badgering in the electricity department made my disproval in the SUV department all the more expected.

“But we’re so not SUV people” I pleaded to my mother. Being a woman of aesthetic, (a hairdresser) I tried to persuade her against the idea in terms of the surface qualities.

"It's not me, it's your father who wants it!" she said. Perhaps her intentions were good, (and I don’t doubt my fathers are good, too) but his decision will still effect her, and me, and every other earth dwelling creature. It is everyone`s problem, everyone`s responsibility. We`ve all heard how harmful SUV`s are, and what a state the earth is in. People turn their ears off when someone starts ranting. My parents love that I am passionate about the environment, but sometimes I think that's really all they see – a raving kid who wants the world to be a better place.

A Rant.

Winter sucks in Toronto. Of this, we can be sure. But on this June day, I have concluded that summer isn’t all rainbows and spanish whores, either. Call me a negative Nancy, but this heat is unacceptable. Even worse is the fact that garbage is acummulating in the city faster than vanessa hutchens PR people work. Where the hell am I (and my 3 other dirt squirrel roommates) supposed to put our garbage? Are we supposed to just drown in empty pork rind bags and beer cans? How can city workers refuse to clean up after us? I understand that the point of a strike is to make a statement, but really when it comes down to it, I’m going to drown in fruit flies in a sweltering apartment and subsequently be eaten by the rat-king I currently co-habitate with.
While I’m at it, I feel like lately every single streetcar is being diverted for reasons unknown. And don’t even get me started on the liquor store strike. How can Allah not allow us to get trashed when the city is covered in trash?!
I can see it now – in about a week, kids will be eaten alive by snakes in tall grass, racoons will take over our garbage filled domiciles and we will literally have to wade through sweaty decomposing organic material in the scorching streets. What an ideal time for a liquor store strike! Luckily I keep a bathtub full of moonshine at all times. I can't help but think - what’s next? Power outage? In which case, I have gee-haw-wimmie-diddles and moonshine for all.
In the meantime, I’ll be distracting myself with Perez Hilton in my inferno of an apartment as I’m forced to endure the ceaseless flames of my disgraceful young adulthood.
FML.