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 :(

...And The Old Seanald is Back :|

FUCK ME HARD my essay is late. But really, can you blame me? It's about the Jesuit Relations- priests in the 17th century who converted natives to Catholicism in New France. UHHH SNOOZE-FEST. GAH. 

I need to finish this junk and get a move on with my week, aka GET HAMMERED!!!

But if the Old Seanald is back...get ready for some sweet blacked-out, Goyard throwing, pants-dropping action...

Inferiority Complex (part2)

Who feels inferior...?

Take a wild guess.

(Hint: it's not the one with the personal Cheetos bag)

Ardwold

My little architectural history piece for the week...
How badly does this make you want to time-space-travel??

-Ardwold, the Eaton mansion on the Davenport Hill, Toronto.

Built 1914, Demolished 1936

CINDY!!

Props to Dr. Cindy Gordon- CEO of Helix International and mother of my guilt-free binge.

Also: the love of my life.

All I Want Is All I Need

Last summer I traveled to Paris, and at the Lanvin boutique on the Faubourg St-Honore, I became obsessed with the brand's Pilot Aviators (below). Unfortunately, I'd blown all of my money long before, and these little buggers have been haunting me ever since. To those of you have a soul- my birthday is coming up...

KILL!! KILL!! KILL!!

i need a drink.

Reversing Brain Damage

Saturday nights...ahhh, there's nothing better. And how great it is to remember them!! I seem to have forgotten the past few (and by few i mean few dozen), but I managed not to blackout this past Saturday- despite what might be construed as photographic evidence to the contrary. 

So, in the spirit of "ripping", some eye candy c/o my good friend jess. i'm forever addicted.

Inferiority Complex (part1)

so like...a good friend of mine- "the guy"- told another  good friend of mine that I ripped his URL. The little bastard. Well no one could possibly believe that- I'm technologically retarded: "the guy" created the URL for me. SO SUCK ONNNN THAT!!

oh well, i'm over it. all i have to do is look at the photo below and i forgive him.

but i'm still changing my URL :|

It's The Age of Aquarius, Suckers

AQUARIUS:

"The Aquarius man is usually very forthright and honest. His

 standards for himself are usually very high. He can always be relied upon by others. His word is his bond. Giving, considerate, and without prejudice, Aquarius has no trouble getting along with others."

- that's the good stuff. now on to the bad...

"Aquarius may be too much of a dreamer. He 

makes plans but seldom carries them out. Because many of his plans are impractical, he is always in some sort of a dither. Others may not approve of him at all times because of his unconventional behaviour. He may be a bit eccentric. Some Aquarians feel they are more clever and intelligent than others. They seldom admit to their own faults, even when they are quite apparent. Their criticism of others is sometimes destructive and negative."

More negative than positive :| WATCH OUT.

- I'm the Water Bearer. BAM.