The London Bridge is Falling Down

Tonight
tonight = felix cartal @ the social
tonight - my name is SOPHIA.
peace
love
joy
merry effing christmas fuckers.

Savage Grace

I just finished writing my last exam tonight, and if I don't do as well as I had hoped, at least I will be able to place why...

Every time I attempted to go through my notes or write that blasted essay, I would very quickly give up and grab Savage Grace. It's a crazy (but true) story about, as the book's header reads, "Fatal relations in a rich and famous American family". I know, totally up my alley! The story centres around one branch of the Baekeland family- of Bakelite plastics fame- and the "relations" are truly fatal. A collection of memoirs of relatives and close friends of Brooks, Barbara and Antony Baekeland, Savage Grace weaves together the tale of the self-destructing family as they idly flit about from Paris to New York to Mallorca, and every European and American destination in between.

Savage Grace is a fantastic read. It's tough to get through (I actually gasped aloud at some points), and truly heartwrenching. To sum it up, Savage Grace is absolutely devastating. READ IT!!

Oh yeah, the film is now on DVD...trust I'll watch it ummm...tomorrow.

All I Want (For Christmas) Is All I Need

I don't normally ask for too much from my parents for Christmas...so, in keeping with tradition, here is my very minimal Christmas list!

-Tom Ford fur boots

-Lanvin oversized wayfarer sunnies

-BOOKS (a neverending list that I won't bore you with)

-A Vespa

-Lanvin pilot aviator sunnies (yep, still waiting!)

-Subscription to Vanity Fair :|

-My driving insurance reinstated (the least likely of all)

-Raf Simons Eastpak bag

-Casa Loma membership (this year without it has been HELL)

-A watch- Patek Philippe will suffice

-A nice bottle of Belvedere...or 6

-Curtains to replace the Mexican blanket covering my window

-A new window to replace the one broken by one of my favorite drunk bitches

-Dsquared Wood Cologne

-BB Pinning returned to me :s

-Everything I've ever lost returned to me

I think that about covers it. Feel free to lend a helping hand!!

Merry Christmas my beautiful children

Marbella

It's on evenings like this in Toronto- blustery, slippery, cold- that I just want to hop on a plane and go back to Marbella. Ahhh...IMAGINE...

Bring on the Reinforcements!

My blogs are never very emotional or insightful- for the most part they are pretty silly and lack any meaning whatsoever. I like to keep things nice and light. On occasion, however, sometimes I think emotionally based blogs are warranted! 

I was lucky enough to attend a certain modeling agency Christmas party with my very dear gypsy friend (who is an "employee", if you will). The agency had just moved into a stunning, stark white space in a beautiful building at Queen and Spadina, and the free food and open bar kinda sorta made my life. My friend and I secluded ourselves in a corner at one point and caught up, as she had been in New York City for a number of weeks and in her absence I had done a poor job of keeping in touch. I vented to her some of the issues I had been having while she was gone, and by the end of our conversation I felt infinitely better, and my absolute adoration for her as a person was quickly reinforced. As I was leaving the party, she sternly told me that the next time I was having any issues I was to report to her immediately- that no matter where she was or what she was doing, she would be there for me. A little reminder...but shame on me for forgetting!

Gloria in Excelsis Deo!!

Ahhhhhhh two weeks until this blasted semester is over and Christmas break begins...aka booths and bottles and shit!! WAHOOOOOO

Well, okay, maybe a little study break this Friday....

The Art of the Christmas Window

Eaton's Christmas window, 1964.

My mother fondly recalls Christmastime in Toronto, venturing with her sister after school from her home in Swansea to meet my grandmother at the enormous Yonge and Queen Eaton's flagship store. There they would shop for new dresses, perhaps add some toys to their Christmas lists, and end the evening with dinner at the rooftop Georgian Room. The most magical experience of all, however, was outside, found in the store's elaborate, painstakingly

 constructed Christmas windows.

Valiant effort, Holt's.

Eaton's no longer exists, and neither does its greatest rival, Simpson's ("Eaton's always had the better windows", my mother maintains), and the department store is no longer the civic or even national institution it once was. Some great stores do still survive, however, and the tradition of the Christmas window prevails- albeit, perhaps without that same "magic" of years past. 

Harry, you can do better...

The Bay...AHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Essentially- the modern Christmas window sucks. Have you been 'round Yonge and Queen lately? The Bay's windows look like Circa- the club. They're frightening. The best windows this city can claim are those of Holt Renfrew. And Harry Rosen's? Don't even get me started...

Thanks, Obama.

FINLANDIA!!

Ahhh great news...PC and I have been selected to go to Helsinki, Finland this summer for a "cultural exchange" through Hart House at UofT. 

Basically, we're taking over....EUROPE.

Man's Best Friend

Two of the craziest chicks I know (they're from Vancouver, naturally) came up with this devastatingly hilarious concoction. Don't ask questions...just barf.

Props TS and GB...you give me the creeps.

Guinness Is Good For You

I have an absurd amount of weaknesses when it comes to food and beverages. Cheese, ice cream, cookie dough, uhhhh cookie dough ice cream = death to my bod. When it comes to beverages, any sort of alcohol poses something of a problem...but Guinness beer acts as both a food and beverage, and has DANGER DANGER written all over it in terms of destroying my self-dignity AND my hourglass figure. But indulging in Guinness can be ever so much more healthy and ummm pleasurable in a different kind of way...

Behold Daphne Guinness, the 40-something heiress to the Guinness brewing fortune and recent  divorcee of Spyros Niarchos, himself an heir to the gigantor Greek shipping billions. She's famous for her daring sense of style, and as I'm sure you can judge from these photos, she is an absolute nut-job...hot-mess styles. PERFECTION. A little side-note...The New York Times reported that Daphne is very "interested" in the use of armour in fashion...kinky bitch?

NM- one of Daphne's children, Nicolas Niarchos, is 19- might I suggest that while in New York you try your hand at another member of the Niarchos family? Maybe this one stays away from those Rose Bar bathrooms and half bottles of Belvedere in one swig. And hey, when you two socialites run into each other, be sure to put in a good word to Daphne for me!

teNeues

Basically the life I am going to enjoy in the near future has been documented already!! Boutique publisher teNeues specializes in the fabrication of beautiful tomes that illustrate all things amazing: from fashion and photography to travel and architecture- indeed, I'm sure many of the books can be found on most of the Louis XIV coffee tables pictured in the books themselves!

Especially coveted by me- ummm, all of them. Can't wait until every teNeues book ever published line the bookshelves of my own Luxury Houses (yes, plural)...

*Public Service Announcement*- Spadeena, Not Spadeyena

Okay so I need to clear up something that has been confusing this city for ummm approximately a century. This matter has even tested one of my great friendships (thankfully, we were able to get past it- but my friend still insists he's right. He's wrong.)...a Toronto thoroughfare most of us are ever so familiar with- Spadina Rd.-has been mispronounced essentially since its inception.

 

A little background- William Warren Baldwin named his country house "Spadina", derived from the Huron espadinong, which translates as "sudden rise of land" (the house was located on the Davenport Hill). The property was eventually purchased by James Austin, founder of the Dominion Bank (now TD). Austin tore down the existing house and built a larger, more luxurious manor- the present Spadina House (albeit now with some additions and alterations).

Spadina House

ANYWAY, eventually Austin decided to sell much of the land surrounding his house, including a generous amount of the southern portion of his estate. He divided his land into separate plots, and constructed a road leading from the hill all the way to downtown- he named it Spadina Road.

Traditionally, the wealthier, more educated populace resided in the Annex, north of Bloor (think Timothy Eaton), while the lumpen workers resided south of Bloor. Those living on Spadina north of Bloor knew to pronounce the street "SpadEEna", while the simple, impoverished masses simply looked at the word and thought "oh, it's SpadEYEna."

So here's the deal...it has become acceptable to call Spadina south of Bloor "Spadeyena", and north of Bloor "Spadeena". I would like to recommend, however, that from now on we all pronounce the street in its entirety SpadEEna- please, for your own sake, don't catch yourself following in the footsteps of those lumpens of years past.

...Confused?

ALSO: please visit the Spadina Historic House Museum!! 

All I Want Is All I Need (Part 4)

Just when I thought I'd changed my ways and I would never lose any of my belongings ever again in life- I lost something.

The biting wind and extreme temperatures of late made me want to break out my trusty old Hugo Boss parka...naturally, it's gone. Where, who knows!! Just another one of my expensivo goodies to add to the list (that JM has been all too thoughtful to compile. Look here.)

Since I am winter coat-less, I've been on the prowl trying

 to decide what my next one should be...and I think I've found it!

When I was in Paris two summers ago (yes, I wanted alot of things in Paris...) I walked by the Moncler store near my hotel on the Faubourg Ste-Honore, and decided that I needed one...what's better in a winter jacket than warm and obnoxious?! I want the "K2", so...I'm going to get one. The end.

Smug Smirky Suri

Ummm am I the only person who thinks that Suri Cruise- the offspring of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes- is kind of like hmm well uhhh i don't know ummm a stuck up b***h???

Yes, she's like 3 or something. But come on, her photos are all over the place...doesn't anybody else notice the smug little smirk on her face all the time?

Hell, I don't blame her. If Roger Vivier sent me a custom pair of shoes and my mother took me for an afternoon of shopping at Hermes, I too would probably be a little snobby monster (even worse than I already am, some might say). But hey, I love stuck up bitches...in just over a decade, little socialite Suri is going to be something else.

My Future House (One of Them)

I absolutely love this co-op apartment building...it's at 2 Sultan Street, basically at Bloor and St. Thomas...perfect location, beautiful building. I WILL LIVE THERE. I'm thinking I'll buy the top two floors and create one gigantor love shack-party palace? Yep. But One St. Thomas is just fucking gorgeous too...

Now where do I want to build my country house? And my winter house? And my "cottage"?

New Friends

My friend PC and I broke into the AGO tonight and fucked around (more about that here). It was saweeet and I am in love with life now.

Aside from dancing on the couches at FRANK (the AGO's new resto) and jerking off in a secluded, very-no-trespassing room, we also made some delightful new friends!!

Dr. Murray Frum and his *ahem* cougar wife, Nancy Lockhart, were on their way out of the Member's Preview Night at the gallery, and were more than hospitable in taking our photos. Can't wait until the 14th when we can view Bernini's Corpus, very generously donated to the AGO by those new friends of ours, and worth $50 million.

...Hogtown

Some images of the city as it was...

Moving On Up

It's recently dawned on me that a few of my close friends are on their immediate way to bigger, better, and brighter things. Two, for example, have fast tracked through university and will graduate after this, their third year. So many possibilities lay ahead of them, and it's really only a matter of time before their confidence and ambition pay off- literally. Another one of my favourites, although no longer in school (and I'm going to venture to say that she will never return...?!) is moving to New York City (where she's signed with a modeling agency) and god knows where else, meeting everybody and anybody, having an amazing time and following that star. 

Of course, I'm ecstatic for what awaits them- but this realization has also given me something of a swift kick in the ass. I'm only around halfway finished Uni, and my act- though more intact than in previous years- is still not quite together. It's alarming, but at the same time I just have this feeling that I'm on the right path, and that all I need to do is keep learning from my retardations and everything will work itself out in the end. AKA I have nothing to worry about- we're all going to get anything and everything we want...!

I feel so much better now :)

All I Want Is All I Need (Part 3)

You know when elderly people wear those sweet, nutso black shield-sunglasses slash anti-blindness-devices, and all you want to do is approach them and ask them if they'll hand over the little buggers because they just look SO FUCKING BOMB?!?!

Well, now we don't need to worry about depriving old people of their sight AND style, because Maison Martin Margiela has come out with this shawinggg pair of bronze,  "banded" sunglasses, taking that geriatric trademark just one step further. But at $545, maybe it's still worth stealing the classics from granny.

Obama

Yep. He won last night.

So Rich, So Pretty

Mickey Avalon and thecobrasnake...ummm...genius.

I like a girl with caked up makeup
In the sunshine smoking cigarettes to pass the time
Who wakes up to a bottle of wine on the nightstand
Bites and scratches the blinds
But I ain't found one quite right yet
So I step with pep to the park or supermarket
Her apartment best be messy
Alisa don't mind when I call her Leslie she's gotta dress with class
In Jean Paul Gaultier and an Hermes bag and four inch tips made of ostrich
Sharp enough to slit your wrists her lips spread gossip
Won't say sorry when she offends
She comes over to my place in her old man's Benz
In gold and silver and jewels of all colors
And she doesn't take them off when we're tearing up the covers

Come on and get it before I change my mind
Come on kid, don't waste my time
So rich, so pretty
The best piece of ass in the whole damn city
So rich, so pretty...

I like a girl who eats and brings it up
A sassy little frassy with bulimia
Her best friend's a plastic surgeon
And when her Beamer's in the shop she rolls the Benz
Manis and pedis on Sundays and Wednesdays
Money from mommy lovely in Versace
Costly sprees, it's on at Barney's
And I love to watch her go through fifty g's calmly
She gets naughty with her pilates body
And thinks it's really funny when her nose goes bloody
'cause the blow is so yummy and it keeps her tummy empty
And makes her act more friendly
Dance the night away
And she won't say nothing when she makes your man stray

Come on and get it before I change my mind
Come on kid, don't waste my time
So rich, so pretty
Come on and get it before I change my mind
Come on kid, don't waste my time
So rich, so pretty
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city

I've had your kind before, Mickey
Go get my purse, Mickey
Lock the door, Mickey
You're just a midnight snack
Shhhh, don't talk back
You're just a boy Mickey
You're just a toy Mickey
You're just a boy Mickey

Come on and get it before I change my mind
Come on kid, don't waste my time
So rich, so pretty
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city
So rich, so pretty
So rich, so pretty
So rich, so pretty
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city

So rich, so pretty
So rich, so rich
So pretty, so pretty
Mickey, Mickey
So pretty, so pretty
Mickey, Mickey
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city
Mickey, Mickey
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city
Mickey, Mickey
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city
Mickey, Mickey

That's The Ryrie Building.

So I really love this building at 229 Yonge St., at the corner of Yonge and Shuter...it currently houses Urban Outfitters and (ahem) Buffalo (:s). HOWEVER, it has a rather illustrious history...

Ryrie Bros. was, at around the turn of the twentieth century, Canada's largest and most successful fine jewelry firm. Downtown Yonge Street at the time was where all of the large emporiums- Eaton's, Simpson's, Holt Renfrew, etc.- had their flagship shops, and this was Ryrie Bros'.

Ryrie's merged with Ellis Bros., another Toronto firm, and Henry Birks & Sons of Montreal, and became Birks-Ellis-Ryrie. All of the stores across Canada, thanks to those little Montreal buggers, eventually became Henry Birks & Sons stores, and the other names were essentially removed from Canadian history :(

If this is the 1232174587th time you've heard this story, TOO BAD, SUCKAH.

Noticing You, Noticing Me...

Dear wife of a prominent Toronto department-store heir,

Remember that moment our eyes locked on Cumberland the other day? Me with that ol' coyote on my head, grabbing a Starbucks Iced Americano, and you, looking all Jackie O' with your Chanel sunnies, fresh out of a charity luncheon at the Four Seasons. I felt it, and I know you felt it too! Though you're older than my mother and you've been happily married for decades (too long, too long), you're hot- and I think we should go for it.

Things aren't really working out with Cindy OR The Duchess, so how about I meet you post- Material Ball for a little tete-a-tete? I promise you won't be disappointed.

Yours,

Seanald

...no but actually.

Oi

School please die.

Oh Happy Day

One St. Thomas- Pretty close to Heaven.

:s

My Google AdSense is currently "How I Lost 90lbs in 6 Days"

...Need I say more?

Oldies But Goodies

On Thursday night I took advantage of an opportunity to chill out and get shmam-jammed with some old friends that I rarely see. One of my absolute favourites, DH, hosted the evening at The 5th in celebration of our friend BJ Teaser's birthday.

Behold: waste-cases.

Crazy, Crazy, Crazy.

Liquid Balls

I am an extremely non-confrontational bastard, and I try to avoid it all costs. Generally though, I like to think that I am a very honest, straightforward, no-beating-around-the-bush kind of guy. When it comes to some matters, however, the truth comes out only as a result of one of the symptoms of the vodka soda effect- liquid balls.

Telling a girl at a club, post-makeout, that her other boy-toy is fucking lame and she should go home with you instead- liquid balls. Throwing a glass off of a 12th floor balcony at a bunch of obnoxious ginos fresh out of Menage- liquid balls (and dangerously illegal). Getting home after a messy, messy night and indulging in flatbread and hummus (and light cream cheese) and a box of Lean Cuisine- BALLSY BALLSY BALLSY.

Oh, the mornings I've woken up, still drunk, remembering little from the night before, and wanting to never get out of bed as the memories came flooding back. The mortifying novels of text messages sent to that certain someone. Looking in the fridge and not being able to eat ANYTHING because I'd drunkenly decided that I liked myself better fat.

Liquid balls- the good, the bad and the ugly.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Good Gypsy, Bad Gypsy.

Isn't it lovely to spend a frigid autumn day in a tropically-temped automobile, admiring the sights and sounds of the city with some of the best damn company you could ask for? WRONGO- not when those sounds are social slurs and the sight is a Hells' Angel about to smash in your window and cut you. 

(good gypsy)

As much as I love Casa Loma (blog to come!!), it's bad luck in the motorized vehicle department. A good friend of mine was driving myself and our gypsy (good gypsy) around town this afternoon, enjoying our carefree youth and frivolity. Climbing up the Davenport Hill, a crazy-lady (bad gypsy) in a Jaguar, wearing fur and blasting some sort of tribal-house-witchcraft music (bad witchcraft, NM), tried to nudge her way in front of us in order to avoid waiting the approximately 10 seconds it would have taken to follow in behind. Anyone who knows my driving friend would agree that he would never stand for this, and so the bitch was left eating our pavement, so to speak. She and her passengers were not pleased.

We thought it was rather humorous that bad-gypsy didn't win, and revelled in our victory! That is, until traffic was at a standstill, and low-and-behold, a male gypsy (Hells' Angel) hopped out of the passenger side of the Jaguar and strode towards our passenger side. PC, the driver, was laughing hysterically (did I detect some nervous laughter??) while images of myself blowing out birthday candles and climbing apple trees flashed through my mind (I was the passenger). The Hells' Angel screamed profanity after profanity at us through the window- F*****G F******S, P****S OF S**T, etc.- he was a lovely man. Thankfully traffic was so stop and go that the Hells' Angel was forced every now and again to return to his caravan, where he would visibly be uttering death threats and casting gypsy spells in our direction. Some time later, the Jaguar finally managed to pass us, but not without the gypsy-skank daughter giving us the finger and screaming "P****S OF S**T!!!", accompanied by a racial slur c/o her father that is just too mortifying to even allude to on this blog.

(bad, bad gypsy)

Where am I going with this? Well first of all, the world is still crazy- like complete nut-job, off-the-rocker, my mother's patients kind of crazy. And it's sickening.

ALSO: hope that when in the company of a good-gypsy, a bad-gypsy tribe doesn't try to steal your tears and balls.

All I Want Is All I Need (Part 2)

Seeing as how I'm going to be needing fur for my Halloween costume...

...I figure these little Tom Ford buggers could do the trick to warm my toes, since it looks like this year H-Ween is going to be particulary nipply.

Just one slight issue- they're $5, 250. And limited edition. But they would look so good with that coyote i love to throw on my head...

NM, you'll be in New York soon...

L'Halloween

So...how can I top last year?

"Ummm...pretty fucking easily" you might say (please keep in mind I do not have a gut- those cameras, they just love to add on the pounds :|) Yeahhh "Sean John" was a bust. So to redeem myself, this is sort of my inspiration for this year...

Uh, too much? I think Rembrandt's "Portrait of a Polish Nobleman" kind of sums it up nicely. But it begs the question: what is with my desire for fur on Halloween...?

Only in Palm Beach

On Saturday morning my parents left for a little sojourn to Florida. Their annual visits usually take place during Christmas break, when I'm away at a swimming training camp. How convenient that this year, when I am no longer committed to that training camp, they decide to go smack dab in the thick of first semester. So, while I'm stuck here in Toronto, trekking through leaf-mush and battling the torrential downpours and hurricane winds that typify this time of year (at least in our environment's current, sorry state), they get to- uh- tan. And shop. And drink. And they don't even really drink!! Oh, God love them...

I find most of Florida to be pretty tacky. Trailer parks and Disneyland and old people. DULL. However, there is another side to Florida that most people rarely see. My parents prefer the dignified modesty of Singer Island. I prefer it's neighbour, Palm Beach- still dignified, but not so modest!

Palm Beach is paradise. It's American aristocracy and Mediterranean mansions- basically luxury and exclusivity and BOMB! Beyond it's extravagance though, there is something just so comfortable about the place- it's my ultimate.

No image captures the essence of Palm Beach better than Slim Aarons' 1955 portrait of CZ Guest and her son Alexander poolside at Villa Artemis, their Palm Beach house. Slim Aarons was the unofficial photographer of the era's "international nomads", and his iconic images can today be found in four printed compilations- A Wonderful Time; Once Upon A Time; A Place in the Sun; and most recently, Poolside With Slim Aarons. I highly suggest all four- perfect on those nasty autumn days when you just don't want to study and your parents have abandoned you for more glamorous, sunny climes.

AMANDA HEARST

Delectable.

-Amanda Hearst at a Whitney Museum benefit in New York. Yup.

"The Latecomers"

Yikes, what a label. It's like a movie title or something, RIGHT?!

"OMG. HOW. RUDE."

Intriguing Scent

The hallway en route to the bathroom at Fresh smelled like Costco muffins today.

Hammelville, Which is Close to Phelpston, Which is Close to Elmvale...

So I get a lot of shit for coming from the country. Seanald isn't my only nickname- think "Farmer", "Country" and "Peasant". And those are just the pleasant ones :(

Yes, I come from the country. NO I do not (Heaven forbid!) come from Barrie!!

Here's my deal- I was born and raised on a 200 acre property my family calls "The Farm". The Farm has been in my family for nearly 50 years- it was purchased by my Babcia (who lived in Toronto) and was intended to be her place in the country. My mother grew up in Toronto and my father in Chicago- hardly a family of country bumpkins. 

Just where is this magical land? Well, it's just outside of Hammelville (Population: roughly, uh, 40) which is outside of Phelpston (anyone?) which is near Elmvale (come on!!)...ughhh half hour north of Barrie!! FUCK. 

Regardless...I've come to appreciate The Farm. For the 18 years I was living there all I wanted to do was get out. Every time I return however, I realize just how lucky I was to have grown up there.

So listen all my urban fuckface friends- next time you wonder how on earth I turned out the way I am (as in YOUR AMAZING BEST FRIEND) thank your lucky stars for The Farm.

And thank you, BABCIA!!

Move Over, Cindy...

After JM's parents' anniversary party a few nights ago (among other- okay all the other- nights i have been at this couple's residence), i have enough reasons to suspect that my chances with Cindy are pretty much blown. Was it the impersonations? The drunken professions of love? I know! The drizzle comment- dammit, I knew I should have bit my tongue for that one. So, coming to terms with this, I've decided to go on the prowl...and observe the treasure I have found!!

Here's her 411: her name is Cayetana Fitz-James Stuart, and she's the 18th Duchess of Alba. She's 82, and loves plastic surgery. Caye-Caye (pet name) owns just about as many houses as the number of times she's gone under the knife, but she mostly hangs with the Madrid-Ibiza crowd. She's also a feisty little bitch- she digs flipping the bird to the Spanish paparazzi. 

Our story: I fell in love with the Duchess on my trip to Spain in the summer- she was all over town, in the tabloids, on the cover of Hola. My little pin-up girl...

I'm sorry Cindy :(