I’ve got an interview with OCAD in a month, and I’m not getting anything done, and it’s driving me crazy. I have an entire extra room, that is currently filled with junk, but should be filled with my art supplies and my more specifically my big, shiny drafting table/desk - but my parents won’t bring it down to me from Richmond Hill.
Thus I’m writing this sitting on my couch, rather uncomfortably, letting my laptop overheat because it’s being warmed by my… lap.
Thankfully, Clafouti’s pastries really are as good as all the yuppie, King street condo, Bay street wives (who go there to drool over the indie boys who work there, reportedly) say they are.
The chocolate almond croissant? Crunchy on the outside, gooey on the inside and fluffy and flakey in between.
I think February must be getting to me.
It’s my November.
Actually, I quite enjoy November.
Liam just said to me: “I have that childrens song, Baby Beluga, stuck in my head, except for in my head it’s Baby Banana.”
Why won’t you give him a job world? He’s awesome.
If I’m working creatively (on the right side of my brain) I have this habit of completely screwing up things I’m trying to incorporate that are more intellectual (and utilize the left of my brain).
Like when I’m drawing things, if I add in little captions with pretty lettering, chances are I will misspell something grossly.
Exhibit A:
Sofia Coppola spells her name with an F (not a PH).
I know this.
I have purposefully memorized this fact.
I even named my dolly after her.
But then what do I write down?
Sophia.
I could have photo-shopped it out, but that would have just been a lie.
I was sick for a good few days immediately after moving in, so the true Torontoness of my existence has really yet to hit me yet.
That being said, the merits of not living in a run-down backwater town (no matter how enthusiastic and picturesque St. Catharines was) is already becoming apparent.
I now live within a short distance of:
a half a dozen art supply stores,
dozens of vintage clothing stores,
dozens of independent art galleries,
at least a couple art gallery/vintage clothing stores,
at least 3 nationally renowned art galleries,
dozens of independent coffee shops
at least one Starbucks,
too many expensive restaurants with delicious food I can’t afford,
two boutique hotels (one that’s pretty cool, and the other too cool for it’s own good),
at least one video rental place that only rents movies that do not suck,
a knitting cafe,
a variety of authentic storefronts with stacks upon stacks of junk piled up in the windows,
hip hot spots that look like dives, dives that are hip hot spots,
and many other fascinating things within this city that are accessible through one of the three street car lines that are directly outside my apartment.
I love Toronto.
I live here now.
Queen street is a block away!
I had Mexican for dinner, and the restaurant played the best of Mr. Stevie Wonder!!!
I have, like, 16 different wireless networks to steal from.
I am tired.
I have too much stuff.