the la chronicals

chapter 1: the conference guys
There are a breed of men who seem to exist only in airports. They were ill-fitting slacks. The buttons of their cheap beige shirts struggle to hold over their round frontal orbs made up of angus burgers and those heart-attack salads that only America can make that unhealthy. They talk loudly on Bluetooth headsets...hoping someone, just someone might hear their business jargon and see them as the lovechild of Donald Trump and George Clooney....Well they wouldn't want people to see them for the hairplugs that they are. They are American Airlines Gold members, which means that they walk along a mini red carpet and wait behind a small gate until the flight attendant notices, announces "wait! proirity passenger", walks around her desk and opens the gate. Do you feel special now, Mr. Conference Guy? Off to Miami/Cincinatti/Dallas to meet with a bunch of other guys who never quite got over frat boy humour. Your miniture PC is not that cool, especially cuz your fat fingers are having trouble creating a spreadsheet!

chapter 2: the hike
Guess I'll never get over the Canadian city mentality that anything and everything is walkable.
Decided to go shop on melrose...3 miles away.
The woman said it would take me an hour
Ha! She doesn't know me and my freakishly long legs!
Walked passed the Kodak Theatre, along the road of stars. Wondered how they choose who's worthy....cuz there are a few questionable mentions - like Wonder Woman, she's not a real person!! Of course I found one that was right at home...


Walked past the Mann Chinese theatre and the hundreds of tourists desperate to be snapped with a look-a-like. Sure, some are okay, some are just creepy (midget as Chucky!) and some are just so good....I'm pretty sure Samuel L. just took a day off to walk down to Hollywood and make a few bucks. Love that there are now 4 MJ's fighting for their piece of his dead fame and that little old Mexican men can now make bank on selling sequined gloves.

3 miles of autobody shops, mexican furniture stands, dollar stores, strip malls and gas stations later, I arrived at Melrose.
Steal was waiting for me outside the infamous Pink's, where a cracked out meth-wreck was flashing her va-jay at errry'body!


Welcome to Hollywood.

chapter 3: the burger
If you are ever in need of that beefy fix, that clusterfuck of delicious goodness to sooth your insatiable appetite, look no further than 25 Degrees in the Roosevelt Hotel. It's a stylish burger bar that does it RIGHT.
Order the "Es Beat":
Medium rare sirloin, burrata cheese, bacon well-done, avocado, caramelized onions and garlic aoli.
And sweet potato fries, of course!
Perfection.

chapter 4: backyard, backstreet, industry jam
Dude was given a sythesizer.
So his record label decided to throw him a party.
What transpired was an open-bar rager of the hippest cats on the block, jammin out, eating cranberry cheesecake cups, and acting a fool.
There was a man in a burgendy valure jacket and pimp hat who looked curiously like....a pimp.
Others mused about whether "indie" is still a valid genre since every god damn hipster rock band is apparently "indie" despite getting a 3 million dollar record deal.
Some took shots of jack. Holler, Steal!
Some wished they hadn't eaten a huge ass burger so they could fit more Newcastle's in their belly.

The Boss

The night ended back at the Roosevelt Hotel, hoping Teddy would be open on a thursday. It was not....and apparently even Rumer Willis didn't know as she slinked up to the door, keeping her head down to avoid all those PAPARAZZI. Hey Rumer! There were none. Cuz no one cares about the unfortunate-looking child when your mom is a fucking MILF with a capital M with a husband the same age as you. Shhhwinggg....and a miss.

chapter 5: it's business time

room with a view

Took a lovely stroll around Hollywood.

S being a tourist. thanks greasy italian guys for learing at me while you took my picture. i felt special and loved.

Got bandaids for my unhappy feet.
Got Starbucks for my throbbing hangover.
Went up to my hotel roof and kicked back, looking over Hollywood Blvd.

pool that i didn't swim in.

breakfast of champions

Driver picked me up and off we went to the Canadian Consulate in Hancock Park.
It is a beautiful old home surrounded by luscious gardens.
Spent the whole day in the sunshine rehearsing for the night's festivities.

Susuki fam rehearsing

thank you, David Susuki for single handedly saving the world.

Met really awesome Canadians. Felt proud our my homeland.
David Susuki and his family were wonderful. Such grounded people with such an amazing vision for the world. Truly inspirational.

Got dolled up and ready for the event in between eating the greasiest pizza that has ever been greased.

Result:
A night of randomness. Open bar. Presented an award. Technical problems. Amazing performances. More technical problems. No smoking cuz I didn't want to pollute the Susuki air. Open bar. Event finishes. Take home a Susuki sapling to plant in my garden. Hotel bar shananigans. Attacked by a party bus full of GHETTO bootie.

chapter 6: venice
Spent the rest of my weekend, kicking it in Venice Beach with the one and only Steal.
We're talking all day happy hour, cush doctor, crackhead gazin, toes in sand, spontaneous halloween party, sleeping on a couch of someone i just met, beach vollyball and tecate.
Blissful.

LA ghetto - Crenshaw Ave
Bum to Es: "I gotta call the cops. You stole dem legs from Beyonce. damnn. I'm in love"

Steal @ Happy Hour

"Eve trying to be Uma Thurman"

The good life

Californication

LA is a crazy place. It's not a home, but it's a damn good story.

Follow the Sun,
S

Disney Remixes Guarenteed to Blow YOUR MIND.

Peace and Love and all that....DISNEY.
C

tra la la la LA

Off to the land of glitz, glamour, and B-List attention whores.

It's 28 degrees there.

Just thought I should mention that.

You know....just in case you were wondering.

Stories from the inside to follow.

Stay tuned my pretties.

It might get a little crazy.

WHO CAN COME TO MY PARTY:

JEFF BUCKLEY. THE DOORS. RED HOUSE PAINTERS. DAVID GRAY. MAZZY STAR. ROISIN MURPHY. RADIOHEAD. MISSY HIGGINS.

CAT STEVENS. DAMIEN RICE. CHRYSTAL CASTLES. RAY LAMONTAGNE. BON IVER. JOSE GONSALEZ. THE WEEPIES. PINK FLOYD. NICK DRAKE. CARLY SIMON. ANNIE LENNOX. JANIS JOPLIN. JIMI HENDRIX. ELLIOT SMITH. ELLA FITZGERALD. ELTON JOHN. IAMX. GRIZZLY BEAR. GIRLTALK. LYKKI LI. LAROUX(MAYBE). IAMX. TELEPOPMUSIK. MARK KOSOLEK. WILLIAM FITZSIMMONS. JAMES TAYLOR. JUST JACK. LED ZEPPELIN. MATTHEW BARBER. MORCHEEBA. BRENDAN JAMES. BRETT DENNEN. BAND OF HORSES. THE NATIONAL. OASIS (IF THEY DON'T FIGHT). PORTISHEAD. QUEEN. REGINA SPEKTOR. THE ROLLING STONES. THE SHINS. SIMON AND GARFUNKEL. STEVE MILLER BAND. AMERICA. WARREN ZEVON. THE VERVE. MILES DAVIS. YEAH YEAH YEAHS.

....ILL BRING THE CHIPS.

peace and love and all that jazz

C.

Studio and The real.

So last night, I went to DNA studio to record the rest of "Symmetry". For all of you who don't know. I have been singing, playing guitar and writing for quite some time now. I don't think it is possible to feel as good as you do when your singing. Even if you technically suck. Its bringing your inner self to the outside. I don't know a better form of therapy for me.

I physically can't turn on the radio without listening to some whining pepsi endorsed diva who is nothing but empty words. It's horrible. What happened to the GREATS?

I mean the real.

I take pride in everything I sing about coming from

REAL experience

REAL drama

REAL pain

and REAL love.

I am very much looking forward to sharing this piece of myself with you.

will put up the song the second I get the mix.

Peace and Love and All that Jazz

C.

Lessons: Grammar

Okay,
Okay.

This has been bothering me for quite some time now.

listen up.

Professor S is about to school you on
three very important
grammar rules.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1. "addicting" IS NOT A WORD

It's "addictive".

As in, "wow, drinking is addictive"

Learn it, live it, love it.

I AM NOW JEDI-MIND-TRICKING YOU INTO FORGETTING THE WORD "addicting"

--------------------------------------------------------

2. "I'm" VS "I was"

I've been dancing since I'm 12.
WRONG.
I've been dancing since I WAS 12.


-----------------------------------

2. "It's" VS "It"
"Their", "They're", "There"

VERY SIMPLE.

It's = It is
Its = possessive
look at the dog and its toy
it's so cute

Their = possessive
They're = they are
There = direction
That is their trailer.
They're renting it from Mr. Lahey.
Where? Over there!

-------------------------

in other news....




yeah, i schooled you good.


{follow the sun}

S.

...and I said wow

welcome to the new age of fashion.




{follow the sun}

S.

Big Ideas: Urban Play

I had an interesting discussion with a few loyal Torontonians last night. They explained that above all, "you gotta rep your city". Apparently, your heart should lie in the city you were born in, and that my unwillingness to admit that Toronto rocked my world was unacceptable. To them, Toronto represented everything about who they were and who they'd become. They carried this identity like a boy scout badge of honour - willing to engage in a war of words until they defeated every urban locale in their way.

I think of it differently.
Cities are like people.
They have a personality.
A style.
They have values and dreams.
They affect you.
They leave their mark.
But just like people, they change...and so do you. Moving to a new one isn't like cheating, it's like moving on.

All this got me thinking. If Toronto is my home, that place I know blindfolded, where I can be comforted by familiarity, Montreal represents the chaos in novelty. Its the new boy at school. He's not the hottest, the funniest or the best, but he's new. He's undiscovered.
If they can affect us like a bad breakup or the first time he said "I love you",

What is our relationship with our city?

Our city shapes us. It expects that we conform to its infrastructure. Our modes of transportation limit access to some areas while creating high traffic areas with larger populations, more money, better schools and so on. The city divides economic classes and ethnicities into easily definable structures, with the richer areas having privacy and access, the poorer areas designed to facilitate violence and crime. Malls are built without clocks so you don't know how long you've been there and thus, spend more time and money. Some buildings have one exit, others have many. We are restricted to where and when we can park our car. Where we live (or can afford to live) decides where we go to school, who our friends are, what activities are open to us.
Indeed, in many ways we reflect our city. Our values, our mannerisms, or interests, are all affected by the wealth, development and design of our city.

But...

Don't be afraid. I'm not talking about this big powerful Big Brother machine that controls us. I'm not trying to perpetuate fear. I am issuing a challenge, a piece of inspiration, to:

Re-invent
Re-create
Re-possess

your city

public art

graffiti
installations
projections
fantastical additions

even parkour subverts the traditional uses of infrastructure
and turns the city into a playground.
Check out this insanity
The Infamous David Belle
Russian Ninjas - check it out at 3min
Extreme Tag
ON A BIKE!

Scott Burnham is an amazing supported of what he calls

Urban Play

He has participated in a number of Biennials - city wide art exhibitions - that celebrate creativity within city structures.

Burnham came to talk to my class about the possibilities of looking at your city as a canvas. Taking back ownership and decided how you want to use it.

Scott Burnham's Flickr provides amazing inspiration

This
is
what
I'm
talking about:

banksy
who i hope you all know and love

mark jenkins
creates surreal street installations. some involve these mischievous little guys, or manniquins that make you double-take:

cutup collective
who peel down advertisement, cut them into perfect squares and arrange them into amazing art right back on the billboard.





moving forest
a collection of 100 trees in shopping carts that were left to be adopted, moved, shaped. soon these trees were showing up everywhere. in parking lots, in people's backyards, all over the city....

I finish with the
the
most
incredible
GRAFFITI
piece you have very seen

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

be inspired. interact with your city.
we need not conform.

{follow the sun}
S.

Like

Okay, so there is this weird new phenomenon on Facebook where you can "Like" just about anything. It got C and I thinking..."what does that even mean???" Okay, so you "like" that I'm going to that super rad electro show, fair enough. But you "like" that my grandma just made a pie of fresh garden blueberries and that it made me into a fat whale? Does that mean that when a mutual friend kicks the bucket, you're gonna say you "like" that too cuz it's easier than actually USING YOUR WORDS and sending me some cliche "well he/she lived a good life!".

I mean, what if I "don't like" something! What if I think "it fucking sucks hairy balls"? Why don't they make a "fuck off and die" button??

Listen Facebook, I hate that you control my emotions. You are trying to condition me into some apathetic robot. Well guess what? I wanna be Emo sometimes so let me HATE!

On a side note, watch out for the next LIKE ATTACK. It just might be you. 120 notifications in 1 minute flat. The last attack got the response:

"You girls are wack. Not sure how that's even possible."

He was just pissed cuz he thought he was cool. Well guess what. You're not.
Check out the screen shot of today's mayhem.















Peace, love and all that jazz:::Go on and follow the sun,

C & S.

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Update:

C to S: "I wonder if you can get kicked off of Facebook for Like Attacking."
S to C: "Yeah well considering every single one of your friend's friends is now wondering why the hell you "like" that they got gonorrhea, then yes. You can."

Victim to C:
" 'Carly likes her own photo'. douchebag."

Victim to C:
"Carly, stop raping me with your "likes"!"
*Carly likes this

Consequences of our actions:

"________ commented on the photo/wall post/status/link/new friendship that you liked."

Every. two. minutes.

High School

high school.

I bump into a lot of people from there. All girls private catholic school. They look at me with their eyes like saucers....Is that REALLY you?

Yes. It's me and this is what 3 years of partying and survival looks like, I tell them with my eyes.

I wasn't the coolest person in high school. I can admit to that. I was awkward, short hair, braces, quiet and was constantly made fun of for being the only red head...bizarre. Isn't discrimination against hair colors a crime? blargle.

Some of my class "mates" are a mirror image of who they used to be. A perfect cold rough empty reflection. How can these people still associate themselves with the same people they were glued to in high school? Did they even grow at all...or is this just me being judgmental...Probably...which I shouldn't.

I decided to go to this cafe with a good friend of mine, and this girl I "beefed" with in high school, we'll call her "X" works there and completely ignored me to start off. We both order coffees and his has a nice heart shaped cinnamon on it, mine plain....of course. CINNAMON RETALIATION. I slowly begin to sip. "X" informs our mutual friend that I have enormous balls to come into HER cafe. ouch. I mean wow that really hurts. I better RUN super fast with my ENORMOUS balls to get myself away from YOU. I hope you all can sense electronic sarcasm, cause I'm laying it on pretty thick. The point is her friend walks in and every five seconds I hear "C this and C that" from across the overpriced cappuccino hangout.

It hurt because she doesn't even really know me. The same craving of acceptance and understanding I haven't felt in years comes flooding back. but then I think realistically, "X" all that I have for you is pity. Pity that you haven't grown. Pity that you're completely oblivious to what it means to be classy and good natured.

Tick Tac Toe....

"O" beat "X" this time.

So what else about high school, fugly kilts, butterfly clips and insecurities.

it is my philosophy to live in the moment,

but here's the dilemma, when the present moment ignites the past what are you to do....

Peace and Love and All That Jazz

C.

Marie St Pierre and Conditioned Shoe Store Workers

I got to style S. for her L.A fashion event at Marie St Pierre's beautiful "holy-pancakes-this-is-amazing" studio. After an hour of trying on pretty fabush outfits, we went with a gorgeous black classic yet modern black dress (seen below) and are still trying to find heels.

Related tangent. Its funny how people at wanna-be high fashion shoe stores are such dolts and all around absurd. They make you believe you are the most wonderful human being on the planet and shower you with compliments when you try on shoes. "OMFGOMFG THOSE SHOES ARE SO INCREDIBLE ON YOU! CAN U SAY BLAIR WALDORF?!" cause yes mr/ms. high school dimploma worker....comparing me to a 17 year old fad is really gonna put the 69.99$ in your pocket. robot whores. Anyways, the second you say "I don't think so...but thank you so much" the smile runs away from their shiny conditioned faces and you feel like you just got dumped for the blonde chick.

So please next time they are rude to you remember...

"you always have to play an equal hand in chess"

So basically if any corporate clone is at all mean...

beat-them....with your eyes.

Peace and Love and All that Jazz.

C.

S. of C.

time now
to start something new
a place to vocalize time and space
we won't tell
if you don't.

my muse.

C.
a voice
so strong
true beauty
red.

Follow the sun,
S.

C. of S.

Who Is S. to me?
Beyond beauty
A flood of color
bonded.to.the g u i d e r
undeniably understanding
unavoidably classy

a force.

a force.

a force.

a force. to know

for the few who do.

Peace and Love and All that Jazz

C.