Much like this bear, TDM is in a state of dormancy and rest. We are still breathing, slowly …. in …. and out. We’re dreaming.
…. We’ll see you soon.
xo, SS and SC
Goodbye, goodbye, I’m sailing away to Tennessee to see some bands, knock off a few brain cells, and commune with my furry brethren. See?
It was at Bonnaroo last year that Sylvia and I first fell in love. The drive down was a daisy chain of laughter and fun, and our whole experience at the Farm was vibrantly coloured by our newfound infatuation: each other. Thus it is with greatest sadness that I part from my beloved Syl for a whole week; she simply shan’t be coming to Roo this year! After all, someone has to earn some money around here!
So in honour of my friendiversary with Syl, I thought I’d share some honeymoon pics. These are all from Roo 2011. More to follow upon my return. For now my darlings, feast your eyes on these beauts …..
Syl messing around with Gary. I’m not sure it’s water in that Camelbak.
Sometimes what you need to stumble upon at seven am is an impromptu dubstep party!
Now that I think of it, this was the first time I’d ever encountered a Spirit Hood. Funny how much things change in a year, non? PS: I still love you Tim. You, and your moustache.
Gary about to go shank a bitch.
I asked my friend My Man McCann about what he felt I should post today. I have been running around all day like a chopped chicken, and MMM frankly saved me from hours of internet surfage and content deliberation.
It may not be Friday, but this shit is off the hook…
Soon soon soon, we’ll be overhauling the design of our beloved TDM. We’re hugely excited about this facelift (since we believe in tasteful plastic surgery), and it’s coming along with help from Dr. Raina Douris* of Permanent Daylight. Here are a few of her sketches so far … whaddaya think??
Our mascot. He hasn’t introduced himself to us by name yet but he was born out of this beautiful creature, which was the original impetus for this entire project:
Tha 501, chugging slowly along through our daily life and shared consciousness:
And a pigeon riding a bike covered in magical balloons with pictures of food and drink on them?!? Hurray!
More to come …….
* Okay, she’s not actually a doctor, but she’s appeared in episodes of Cash Cab and Jonovision, plus she hosts a low-rent interview series called “Rain’s World” in her low-ceiling apartment … so she must know what she’s doing.
This popped up on my newsfeed today and made me smile.
Freddie Mercury was such a weird, cool cat. Who else could rock an overbite that way? If you have never seen live footage of Queen before, please do watch this. The swagger and the strut of this man are unparalleled. He’s a magician and a prancing prince letting his freak flag flap all over the place and I love him forever for that.
While scanning through Craigslist postings, looking for a new piece of furniture, I happened upon this beauty:
As I read the description I thought, Wow!! But what if I don’t live in a loft? Will I still find uses for this Butcher Block Style Kitchen Island? Will you even sell it to me? Then I scrolled down to check out the image:
Are you kidding me?? I’m assuming the price is a typo, but even still … come ON! This isn’t an island! Or a butcher’s block! It’s a CART. In functionality and aesthetic value it’s roughly equivalent to the infamous BEKVAM cart, one of which I just sold on Craigslist for fifty bucks.
I love so many things about this posting. My favourite might be the note that the dishes and “other items” shown aren’t included in the price. The price of four hundred and fifty-nine doll-hairs. Well, is a diamond ring included? How about a unicorn. No? Then I simply shan’t be buying it.
Another great listing specified that a piece of IKEA furniture was in “mint condition.”
Things that can be in “mint condition”:
Royal Doulton china
My Little Ponies (MIP = Mint In Package, MOC = Mint On Card, MCO = My Childhood Obsession*)
Louis Vuitton luggage
And, apparently there’s a band from Minnesota called Mint Condition, so I suppose they can be considered to be in mint condition, too. But IKEA furniture? Again, I can only say Come onnnn.
But that’s the reaction I have every time I go on Craigslist. It’s such a useful tool, but it’s populated by so many useless tools. People who think their junk is going to get them rich! People who think their junk is the prettiest, bestest junk on earth. There are so many ridiculous postings that make me guffaw and/or choke on my coffee, I sometimes think there should be a website dedicated to them. Oh, wait, there is one: www.yousuckatcraigslist.com Heheh.
Now off I go to continue mocking my fellow human.
Sarah Who Still Needs an Actual Kitchen Island Type of Thing for Her Nest
* In my case “childhood” ended around age fifteen. Maybe sixteen.
This useful illustration comes care of my father, a gifted practitioner of quietude and mental peace. He’s similar to Syl’s dad in that he denounces most New Age practices as flaky (or perhaps as “voodoo”), but when he sits silently in the yard, contemplating birdsong and watching the grass grow, I know that whether he’ll admit it or not, he is meditating.
It doesn’t really matter what we call these periods of mental and emotional rest. It only matters that we do whatever it takes to make sure we have them. Right??
I will attempt to remain,
Peacefully yours as I prepare for my first night at my new job,
I don’t care how rich you are, or pardon me… how rich your husband is… if you have nipped, tucked, and injected enough plastic into your face to look like a carp I could fish out of the sea – I am simply not going to be able to take you seriously.
Allow me to expand: I take no issue whatsoever with plastic surgery as a concept or a general practice. In fact, I think some plastic surgeons have achieved great success in tastefully remolding the human body. If you have always wanted a nice, juicy rack because you have suffered self consciously at the hands of your AAA cup size since puberty, knock yourself out. I get it. Trust me, in the past I have even flirted with having the procedure myself.
Just look at Ashlee Simpson’s rhino and mentoplasty (nose and chin reshaping, respectively) – Not that there was anything wrong with her appearance to begin with, but I believe her beauty certainly improved with a couple of subtle and tasteful surgeries.
A little plastic surgery can go a long way, and that is my point.
What disturbs/fascinates me is when women (and men!) take it too far. If you look like you are fresh off the boat from Neptune, you’ve taken it next level, and maybe it is time to reflect upon the deeper, psychologically based reasons why you feel the need to completely PVC-ify your face. (Images below in consecutive order: Donatella Versace, Michaela Romanini, Heidi Montag, Jackie Stallone (hahaha)!!)
Here is what I believe to be a fair and relevant comparison: There is nothing at all questionable in the desire to gamble on a reasonable scale once or twice a year; to hit the strip in Vegas, Atlantic City, or Niagra (ew), and risk some of your hard earned money on a night or three of frivolous bets and fun. But there has to be a limit, no? If you are frittering away your salary or your family’s nest egg on blackjack, poker, and slots (whatever your poison may be), that’s an entirely different can of worms.
I believe that plastic surgery can be just as habit forming and addictive (big word – massive connotations, I know) as gambling. Except the draw it that it is your face. Yes, that thing you present first and foremost to the world. That thing people look into to find out more about who you are, and what you are all about. Plastic surgery addiction is a serious matter rooted in poor self esteem and sense of self worth often linked to Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD) which you can read more about here. What can start out with one ‘corrective’ surgery can lead in some cases to a completely skewed conception about what it means or takes to be ‘beautiful’ in the framework of society’s preconceived ideals.
I work at a high end restaurant in the city and I have never seen so much PLASTIC in one place in my entire living, breathing life. I was serving a table the other day and I had to consciously and purposefully stop myself from gawking at this fifty-something woman, clearly trying to look like her twenty-something daughter who was sitting at the same table. I almost had to place my index finger under my chin and push closed my jaw which was damn-near resting on the tabletop. What is the longest possible amount of time you can stare at a person before it crosses the line of being rude, intrusive, or creepy? 10… 20 seconds? Whatever the standard, I surpassed it.
There are greater evils at play here though. I can’t very well only scold the player, I must also call attention to the game. Western society and culture seemingly value youth above all else. This is especially (and arguably almost exclusively) the case when it comes to women in particular. Even if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy, women tend to believe that they decrease in overall beauty, and therefore value, as they age. Wrinkles, sagging tits, loose skin… “gross!”. Who knows, maybe I will feel the same way about myself one day. The ideals of beauty have certainly been indoctrinated into all of us to an almost inescapable degree and since a very impressionable age, after all.
Regardless, I think it is better to age naturally and with grace, because at the end of the day plastic looks like plastic; man made and unnatural. Who knows, maybe one day most humans will look like Donatella, and thus our realities will alter to fit this new “ideal” into the framework of normalcy, but in the meantime I will continue to argue vehemently that there is another way: Nature’s way and the way of genetics.
– Sylvia “Save-the-Plastic-for-the-Bags-and-Try-to-Love-What-Ya-Got” Stout
Toronto is chock-full of cool-ass shit.
So … we are implementing something new around here. Once a week we are going to share a business card belonging to either an inspirational individual or a local Toronto based business with the intent of highlighting some of our city’s unique offerings. For example, just the other day I was angrily cursing the city’s west side parking ‘situation,’ as I was attempting an eight point turn on Sudbury Street in my mother’s hideous beast of a car aptly named “Bess,” aka the PT Bruiser. I did, however notice that 99 Sudbury offers a Sunday market of fresh local produce, wildflowers, meats, cheeses, so on and so forth. I can’t wait to return and peruse, obviously on foot.
This week we are featuring Durumi & Chocolate Shoes, two separate business entities sharing a collective space located at 416 Queen West, because as Hyeon Moon, owner of Chocolate Shoes says: “Our shoes and clothes go well together.” I went in today to gander about and inject some pretty into my already over-stimulated brain, and was mighty impressed by the selection, quality, and overall decor of the shop. Everything is imported from Korea and is relatively inexpensive for the designs, even if the largest sized shoe they carry looked hopelessly small for my unfortunate gunboats. If you also love to look at aesthetically pleasing things, click on the link above to be redirected to their blog.
(Original photos by Toronto based photog Dennis Marciniak and pulled from BlogTO.)
Also have a look at this article published on BlogTO, for some more pictures and info about this awesome already-noticed-by-s0me-but-not-all gem.
– Sylvia “Why Can’t My Feet Be a Size 8?” Stout
The summer I was sixteen, I traveled to Italy to attend a study abroad program for a month. The college was located in the quaint and picturesque town of Lanciano on the Adriatic coast in the Abruzzo region, about four hours east of Rome. It was my first major trip, and the only one I had made overseas up to that point in my life. I fell in love with everything. The scenery, the landscapes, the rolling farmlands and little villages built upon cliff-sides just teeming with history and beauty. The narrow cobblestone streets, the stacked apartments with their perpetually open windows, flower boxes and laundry lines offering a smattering of vibrancy to the golden, sun-drenched architecture. Drinking Italian reds and smoking cigars at sidewalk cafes at the age of sixteen also lent a certain charm.
My very favourite part of the experience was the trip we made to Venice. Venice is a city unlike any I have ever seen; a backdrop to the magical settings we read about in literature. OH… the pure romance of it all is enough to stun a person into speechlessness. I will forever remember what it feels like to roam the streets of Venice at dusk.
One thing I didn’t experience while I was visiting the sinking city however, was the flooding. Ms. Cynthia with her penchant for finding awesome things we love to look at, suggested we post these. Acqua Alta is the term used in Venice to describe this phenomenon, caused by exceptional tide peaks common in the northern Adriatic sea during the months between autumn and spring. As the pictures below highlight, the citizens and travelers of Venice have simply learned to adapt. Call me crazy, but I would love to purchase a coupla pairs of gum rubbers, toss ole’ Sarah upon my back, and travel over to experience this myself, before the whole city turns Atlantis.
Let’s get wet!
Last night we hosted a small and somewhat impromptu gathering, at where we drank some wine, scarfed poutines, and unleashed our inner magpies; playing around with delicate clasps, rings, fasteners, beads, crystals, abalone shells, feathers, and essentially every other item known for its enticing jewel-beauty.
Sometimes I have these bursts of inspiration in the DIY arena of life, but often due to my shameful lack of patience, and utter inability to properly follow instructions, (my ‘recipes’ are barely edible, dream on Ikea nightstand), I abandon ship half way through most projects. Or I wind up making something completely useless and preposterous: Click here for an illustration. Interestingly, this is not the case when I use my imagination to create something, ONLY when I am following someone else’s design.
Last night’s creations, featured last in the line of photos below, are completely imperfect, but I kind of can’t wait to wear them for that very reason.
Sounds dirty… and it is! Dirt is dirty by it’s very nature after all.
The dirt (super-nutrient rich soil, really) in question, is that produced by my brand spankin’ new Dumptown Worm Condo. I purchased this inventive recycled ice cream container turned composter, at the Mutts & Co. travelling market this weekend past. Dumptown, an ongoing urban ‘garbage’ reclamation project started by Mel Sinclair and Warren Ounjian, proves that one person’s trash can most certainly be another person’s treasure. These two next level, enviro-entrpeneurs create new uses for old things. They turn pop bottles into mini mountable herb gardens, old windows into desks and picture frames, milk crates into hanging shelves, and dog hair sheddings into paintbrushes… Rubbish to rubies! Refreshing in a world that seemingly values ‘newness’ and needless wasting.
The Worm Condo is fabricated from three reused commercial sized ice cream containers, and fits comfortably under my kitchen sink. Due to it’s size, it can not feasibly act as a stand alone method for composting, and I will continue to make good use of my green bin in conjunction with my little red wigglers, but I love that this option is relatively odourless and produces the, “gold standard of natural fertilizers” for my new garden.
The worm condo houses a generous smattering of red wigglers, shredded news paper, and kitchen scraps. It employs the stacking system of two hole poked containers resting in a third solid container, as to make easy the process of separating the wormies from their castings (poop!!!). Once separated, the worm castings can be mixed in with existing soils as a form of nutrient enrichment; you can even soak it in water to “make an energizing fertilizer tea that you pour over crops”.
Now for some Oligochaetology: Red wigglers (aka, panfish worms, trout worms, tiger worms, and red Californian earth worms) are commonly used for vermicomposting due to their adaptability to decaying organic material. These worms like to eat vegan scrappings, so no fats, diary, meat, or related table scraps, but feeding them a crushed egg shell (or a Tums) once a month will provide them with the calcium they need to procreate. They thrive in small spaces, in close proximity to other wigglers, and they prefer warmth and darkness. Sounds like my kind of worm!
I am both excited and intrigued to make use of my new worm condo. I will post pictures in a couple of months when I plant something with the first batch of castings. Stay tuned for any worm related mishaps (Gary is coming over this week), although I hope that doesn’t happen, because it would mean my precious new friends aren’t happy and thriving. In the meantime, check out Dumptown’s tumblr for some reclaimed rubbish eye-candy. Great stuff!
– Sylvia and her Wigglaz.
Our dear friends and proprietors of Muttonhead Collective, a unique and enviro-friendly fashion label hailing out of Toronto, are hosting yet another pop-up shoppe and this time are aptly naming it a ‘traveling market’. Who doesn’t love the impermanence, intrigue, and mystery of venues that travel? Think circuses, freak-shows, and carnivals: There is always something to see, eat, drink, point at, and in this case – most certainly to purchase!
On the agenda this time around:
Wednesday- Raw food cooking demo by foodie Gillian Young (5-7)
Thursday – Craft Brewing 101 + Beer tasting (5-7)
Friday – Urban Gardening installation (all day)
Saturday/Sunday – Maverick (from Crown Shaving Co.) is providing gentlemanly shaves + cuts 50% off (11-5)
Check out the poster below for more details, take a wander on over to College at Crawford to get yer magpie on and show your support for local designers, artists, and entrepreneurs. Fun on a hotdawg bun!
Tonight marks the first of our many many dinners on the deck … that we intend to have, in the future. Now that we live in the same building, Syl and I share ownership of a large, secret deck, and a barbeque. Granted, we didn’t get things going till after nine tonight, which meant that we ended up eating inside instead of out. But dinner was still delicious! We shared a bottle of Tavel, which is an appellation in southern France that produces rose exclusively. It was dry and refreshingly acidic, and it tasted like strawberries. I don’t know what we were thinking when we only got one bottle.
We grilled some chicken and slathered it in Sweet Baby Ray’s barbeque sauce. Have you ever tried this shit? It is absolutely outrageous. I got hooked on it while living in the States, and then to my chagrin, was unable to find it in stores back home. But they’ve started selling it here and it is unequivocally the breast, ever. Please eat some.
I created a new dish tonight. I like to call it Poor Man’s Burrata. I poured olive oil over cottage cheese, salt and peppered the bejesus out of it, and finished it off with halved heirloom cherry tomatoes and fresh torn basil leaves. I can report that it did at least a half decent job of satisfying us, with our champagne taste and very very beer budgets.
Also on the table sits a beautiful bouquet of flowers that Syl brought me! Sigh … she’s so amazing.
Now we are laaaaaaid back, with full beers and full tummies, listening to early Bob Marley. Tomorrow night we’re going to check out Reggae Tuesday at the Orbit Room … anyone been?? We can’t wait.