The BGA

Remember back in the old days when people used to rattle on about these things they had called ‘dreams’, I mean before everybody ‘dreamed’ of being on T.V. The American Dream, I think they called it, the promise that any asshole could possibly profit off the capitalist free trade system and go from being a shmo to Monsieur in ones life with enough time to enjoy it and maybe participate in a couple ol fashion gay bashes and some lynching. anyways of course i like any other do gooder educated middle class white kid from toronto have ambivalent feelings towards that "dream." the ambivalence lying in my own determination to be RICH!!! but also realizing that the fulfillment of said dream relies heavily on the unfair treatment and exploitation of others, not to mention the death of quality control. and when i say quality control i mean making sure that all products are of a certain grade of quality, not the finesse with which a "dreamer" is able to control the market in which they compete or the laws that they’d rather not abide.
So it’s a short-sighted dream that will enable you to become the power you are struggling beneath now, later… and that all the people who are currently your neighbours will soon be your slaves, and will hate you, but ask you for donations, cause it’s kinda not fair how you used them to make yourself rich, but didnt bother trying to include them on your stairway to heaven. but it was a dream none the less. one that saw corn fed youngsters livin on the farm through countless nights of manure shovellin, coaxing them into a reverie of goods and sales and a %75 mark up, their own condo and twice yearly trips to the Riviera or maybe a bridal suite at Disneyland in Fla. Regardless, who is going to be the person to tell that poor gassy Iowa teen that their dreams have been bought by Paris Hilton, and that Nikki has been hired to sell them to someone richer? and unless they’re 14 and well placed to sign a lucrative contract as a teen star (which, actually is no longer an option cause all the rich kids bought those spots too) they’ll never have what it takes to go big, so they had might as well stay home. I hate "hardworking Celebutants" who want a pat on the back, lucky they arent being pushed down the stairs, and P.S. if Paris Hilton worked half as hard as my parents cleaning lady, shit, she’d be sittin up at home every night, you see thats the thing, people who really work dont have the time or energy to make socialising their primary activity. just cause your getting paid for it dont make it a job.
anyways wealthy nepotism has destroyed upward mobility, and P.S. unless we’re all ostriches here, the U.M. dream isint really viable anymore for a million reasons. So once again it is upon us, the almost enfranchised to visit with the destitute and listen to what they want, use our education to correctly and eloquently phrase their desires and then champion them as our own, while patting ourselves on the back for how open minded and charitable we are.

P.S. wasn’t there some other guy who was all like "I have a dream" ? ? ? what was that all about?
to all my rich kids sippin juice in the ghettos.
BGA

I can’t write my blog at work cause i’ll get caught. i can’t even check my e-mail. and at home it’s just as bad. shit here comes my

SO it’s been a long while idint it. I find it more difficult to write a blog
in Toronto, maybe I’m just too happy, and if that’s the case, I gotta tell ya, I
think maybe there is something in the drinking water, something that makes
adults feel optimistic despite the olfactory presence of sulphur, and also
makes teenagers into unimaginative raging violent sexpots. o.k. maybe not all
of them, but I’m sure giving a second though to my future as a high school
teacher.
I ran into this woman, Michelle, I knew her, sorta, in Montreal, she had a
boutique on Saint Denis and she really liked the stuff we were peddling a
M0851, anyways i ran into her on Queen and we chatted. It turns out her son is
a music critic and all that shit, for NOW, he’s the one who wrote the current
cover story interview with Pete Gabrielle who incidentally is beginning to look
and act more and more like Rafi. Anyways we were chatting in front of the
medical blah blah blah at Ossington, and she was like I really like here in
Toronto, and I concurred, but then she was all like "but the people here, there’s
something so safe…. they seem afraid of dressing, the clothing is conservative
and safe." I had to agree, lots of safety, lots of the same, it seems
however, compared to when i lived here before, that people are making more of
an effort. Michelle, loves fashion, I myself appreciate good style as well so
we do romanticize that aspect of Montreal, cause you got to hand it to those
kids, they are all so skinny and poor cause they spend all their money on fly
duds. Walking on Saint Laurent or Saint Cathy’s is like being in a music video,
fuck even the grannies rock risqué shit. But there is also a larger proponent
of cardinal fashion sin for instance the ever popular skirt over jeans look of
‘98, couture sweat pants (to be fair there seems to be a global delusion to
public perspiration in powder pink, but global movements have been wrong
before), red accessories i.e.; red shoes, red glasses, red hats, red string bracelets.
Frumpy sun dresses?, and more camel toe than you can shake a fist at. I think
it’s time we up the ante in the BIG SMOKE I’m already doing my part i got this
fly vest at  maison d’article chèrs deuxieme usage… on queen, you know
the place. Kate got a ivory handled silver plate embossed and
initialled fish serving knife from a crack head for $3.50 it was classic,
watching this guy turn into the perfect caricature of an appraiser as he
regaled us with accounts of the knifes alleged history, thanks Cracky, you made
my Sunday better.

Speaking of sulphur… Rose is Still in London, and loving every minute. She
has been the picture of success since her departure, exchanging pleasantries
with the likes of Brian Adams and Eric Clapton, as a matter of fact, latent
psychic abilities, good nature and witty sense of humour have landed her a plum
gig & as far as i understand it, she’s inking a deal with BBC3 as we speak
for a syndicated radio show and potential television spin off. There’s even
talk of erecting a Roro Bock Statue in the little park by her flat.
if you want to wish rose well in this time of accomplishment and success,
please send your messages to: rozelmary@hotmail.com, don’t forget to wish her a
happy birthday
Last
but not least…. boys boys boys… I smell like sulphur. I don’t even know
where to begin it’s a mess. So I keep having this kind of interaction where I’m
dancing or whatever with my buddies and then there a guy lookin, but he’s
scoulin, like he smells the sulphur, givin me cut eye like i hurt his feelings,
Kate says it’s lusty, i think it’s part of why there’s been a rise in violent
crimes in the t dot, if you want me to like you, smile. o.k so thats part one,
part is with all the willy nilly  from nice to not from stush to tush and
laughin a little too much. o.k. i understand, in life sometimes fear gets the
best of us… and we do stupid things, like say shoot our mouths off about
people we kinda like… well Mr. you know who you are, bang bang shot me down, bang
bang, now I’m back in town, bang bang I still think you’re cute, but your flirt
needs a little more work. Call us up and see what happens, that’s the advise.
Sounds like a real stench. bga

OK, So this is one of those
christian "spread your love to everyone you know" e-mails. I received
it today, no doubt from a friend racked with guilt at the thought of a bold
faced denial Jesus and relegating him to the junk mail.
since I love God but recently have been feeling a little cross at him I have chosen to revise the story.You see a good
friend of mine, who like myself prefers dick on his face to pussy in his bed,
has a mom, like many of us do. But she, unlike my mom, is a devout religious
person and she doesn’t believe in fags. I love her, she’s a great lady, but the
whole fags=Santa Clause thing is a bit troubling so here, for your perverted
eyes i have revised Gods plan to send out a fleet of angels to keep gay nerds
alive.

ok so the story begins as many do, with an immediate
point of personal reference, or what we in the industry refer to as an
invitation to identify.

O.K. so i don’t hate animals, and i’m not against treating living things with compassion, and valuing them alive. I just hate PETA. and babies.
I reverted to my old Toronto ways once again, it’s like i never left. I speak loudly when in public, loud enough that anybody (everybody, no matter how hard they try to avoid it) in the viscinity can hear what i have to say. I order complicated coffee drinks and insist that they be made to my specific tastes and exclude all fatening ingrdiants for organic carb free ones, also very loudly so everyone knows that a regular latte just will not do. i have a purse shaped dog, she’s an ugly little pugg, I call her Leah McLaren. she always wants to be the focus of attention and she never gets too far away from daddy’s lap.   I spend my weekends strolling from home decore boutique to home decore boutique. I have a total of 468 pillows varying in size and fullness in different rooms of my house
i like to drive my SUV, accompanied by Leah, she holds it down while i double park outside of lululemon, they call them, yoga clothes but to tell the truth i call them home decorating clothes, thats how i find my center.

dont get me wrong. i love t dot, i feel so optimistic here and i dont actually socialize with the SUV 905′ers (thats like a 450 for all my peeps in MTL) or give a shit about home decore or yoga. i do talk loud and ask for my latte without foam so i am doing my part to intigrate into the established culture. In fact i am having such a good time intigrating that i think all yall from over there should head on up, come give the BIG SMOKE a chance to wrap it’s self conscious arms around you.
i love BGA
p.s. Rose is in London getting her degree in Astrology so send her an encouraging message and the contact info you have for any cool people in  London she can be friends with.
oh and just in case you haven’t yet come check out www.minefromhome.com

This shit aint over yet
but fo real, like yo guy, this shit aint over yet. even after firm resolve and repeated assertions of all kinds: how is one supposed to handle rejection?
i though i was the winner, looking down my nose at all these people who just cant make the separation from an ugly ex, so they keep in touch and get drawn back into stuff, don’t get me wrong, i’ve drewn, but then i was like "no more" and i  put like one of those dog lampshade things around my neck to keep my eyes from wandering in the direction of the culprits, you know outta sight outta mind… but here we are and i still have issues if for a second i think about those parts of my past i shoved behind me, i get very… shall we strongly affected by the things that i evidently never really delt with, so are the people i jeer doing a better job of exhausting themselves and their relationships by giving them second third and 100th chances??? is that how one is to accept when a feeling that you like goes away but cant be forgotten, you replace it with the new one that sucks so bad until you forget about the first one? i dont know

I don’t know much about Anderson Cooper except that he’s got a news show on CNN, I wanna give him the poo stab, and he’s gay. Most recently people were like saluting his valiant efforts to provide relief to all the poor wet people in New Orleans, but i just like his well fitting jeans, choice footwear, and marquis de sade hot cold eyes. oh dear.
I was reading an article he wrote for Details about when in his early twenties, he realised he was going gay. He writes about how it just sort of happened when he was young, and for fifteen years he’s been fighting his own ambivalence and denial, for instance he refers to his imminent gayness as salt and pepper, like a metaphor for bi-sexuality, but to be frank no ones holding their breath for a first hand testimonial from some woman he satisfied, cause the fact of the mater is, no amount of masking techniques will ever cover up what the both Coop & I know to be a certainty: he is fully gay.
It’s odd cause i feel like Coop could convince me to do or be just about anything, if i were him i would just get in front of the mirror and look myself directly in my smoky piercing blue eyes and declare, "I Anderson Cooper am a GAYLORD, and I want Alexandre to put it on me" Coop just let me know how I can help you in this transitional time (but really man 15 years???)

in other unrelated you couldn’t give a shit and nor do I news Jessica Simpson has officially resisted Scientology. The standoff between the once devout virgin princess Christian and the dragon lance brainwash geeks ended earlier this month when with one decisive gesture Simpson rejected their ideology. Jessica has opted instead to join a growing number of young Hollywood starlets who have in a bizarre twist of fate taken a page from the books of their fans and turned away from spiritual worship to worshipping themselves. Jessica began her self-worship by engaging a psychiatrist to listen to her problems. There is also a report of her stealing a fans thunder as he sang her his interpretation of her song and she preceded to ‘out sing’ him adding in flourishing embellishments and a lone tear as she finished. bitch is spending too much time in church.

and the final piece of ‘news’ you don’t care about, apparently Terrance Howard has a full frontal nude scene in Get Rich Or Die Tryin, the 50perCent vehicle geared at uneducated youths frustrated with their lack of viable options to get ahead in a world that has decided it hates them before they’ve even been given a chance to break the law and ruin someone else’s life. speaking of cultural genocide, what the hell is the French government going to do ? it’s been 12 nights and everything they try barely even helps. it seems the rioting will only stop when the poor neighbourhoods have been completely incinerated, cause if those kids think for a second that they will have the opportunity to cast destruction onto the rich have they got another thing coming, they will no longer face tear gas and rubber bullets from the police and will intsead be picking their dead relatives from debris.
I hope it doesn’t come to that
BGA

To clarify, Mariah Carey Makes sense, If, and ONLY IF, you
opt for a po-mo view of reality, that is to say: if we look at Mariah actions
the way we would look at say an instillation or film and agree that intent
counts for less that perception.

Mariah Carey Makes sense if we imbue her actions with my
politics.

So While Mimi was emancipating the cheddar all over Europe
she stopped for a hit and run at a Russian gazillionaire mobster bully’s house
to show him what she could do with her throat during a ‘private performance’ (I
wonder if this is the same Russian rich bully who got a ‘P.P.’ from Xtina a
couple months back? Anyways this guy paid Mimi some 7 digit figure to bare her
soul via her vocal chords at his place, and being so pleased with M.C’s ability
to whisper, whine and baby bedroom voice in the extremities of her 13 octave
range, gifted her with several furs (a standard form of tipping in the Russian
sex trade no doubt)

Ok so here’s where interpretation becomes more important:

Mariah no longer wears fur, or as her
publicist put it “Mariah does not wear fur” so she gave all the pelts to PETA,
with the instructions that they all be donated to homeless people.

O.K. So it’s a simple gesture, but I like to dream of it as
this big joke and Mariah’s laughing her way like Heidi Fleiss to her next call,
I mean concert.

After years of being tormented by the assholes at PETA and
being black listed from Pamela Andersons beachside bashes, Mariah fights back
with wit. Like What the Fuck are you PETA assholes doing about the problems
other less cute and cuddly people have? Well Mariah is doing something, and
reminding PETA that they do nothing except disturb the peace and waste food!

I for one hope that Mariah has a secret closet and a secret
runway in her gigantic New York penthouse apt full of furs from cute little
baby animals that never got a fighting chance and that she can strut down that
bitch with her diamond encrusted knickers with fetal seal skin pumps and
nursing-chinchilla fur floor length cape.

Fuck you Heather Mills McCartney, Stella McCartney, Pam
Anderson, Todd Oldham (what has he done since 93’ anyways?), Lorezon Lamas
(whoever you are), Pink (a.k.a. Dusty Rose) Shirley Jones, Andy Dick, Domique
Swaine David Boreanaz and Alicia Silverstone…. You has-beens need to pick a new
charity.

BGA. xo

Hiya all you anonymous scardy cats.I know you’re there cause my counter keeps climbing, however…. not a single one of you has a face… and why is that i wonder??? So first friendster adds this feature (my personal favorite) to track who has looked at your page, so not only do you get to have a confidence booster when your page count is like at 400 (which incidently mine has not been since i left montreal… i guess i was more popular there) but you also get to see the faces of the strangers (if any) that have been checking you out.  Alas it was a fleeting feature, as friendster cleverly included a switch button, ‘view pages annonymously’ and of course no sooner had i started getting a taste of the international cast of hotties who check me that was left completley alone with nothing but the steady climbing of my counter to tell me i was making an impact.  i have recieved 40 hits in the last week and nay a hit has had a face… that is unless Victoria Klinginsteernum has visted my page 40 times…
so lets for one minute just unpack this a little: friendster is an online social networking thing or something, as far as i have gathered it’s supposed to be a non threatening way to meet people or communicate with people which in typical social setting (like 3-d ones) might seem too intimidating or humiliating. so an easy way to gently make friends which ideally has a spill over affect IRL (In Real Life) O.K i’m grossing myself out with all this touchy feely rationalisation, it’s your lucky day i’m gonna stop moaning about this as soon as i’ve said the following. Viewing peoples profiles annonymously is a scardy cat cheddar way of participating in an already simplified chicken shit route to socialising, and it makes me think of that advert where all the hip kids are listening to MP3’s on their cell phones through earphones in some new pod person club, so you can go to the club and hear your own music and have everything exactly as you want it, except of course for talking to people, but thats ok, you can text them right?

Julies birthday was this weekend, she was as many of you know, born on Holloween , which meant that i got dressed up and super enthused every single night, WooooooooooooooooHooooooooooo!!!
and i had a blast. I dressed as Bunnyculla on friday at Vazeline, which was a bit lackluster (though still fun) this year, I was a Chique Monsieur on Saturday at Clinton’s and some bar in kensington called Nuetral or something, they played two good songs and then the rest sucked. Sunday we took a costume break and had fancy dinner instead, and then Monday aka the money shot we did a group costume. Anna Von Frances invited us to a party she threw in kensington at the boat and Victoria joined us. Before we left V helped us get ready and let me tell you omg. K So Kate wore tight jeans motorcycle boots, blown out hair, big ass lips and tits and a little black baby in her arms to be Angelina Jolie and Zahara, I wore my LJ relaxed jeans, made my hair look short,cheddar sun glasses in my hair, I coloured in my stubble with some grey and painted on some wrinkles, and a baby bottle in my back pocket. For lack of a cambodian looking baby doll i made my own toddler sized trick or treater doll, he was dressed as a gohst (but more on the dolls late.r) I was Brad with Maddox. For julie we put hair extensions in green contacts  blue jeans a cell phone and a frisbee She was a whining Jennifer Aniston(akisapopolus). Then our finishing touch was Victoria who dressed as a Newsie with a hat and a giant prop camera she attached a paorazzo shot of Ange to. It was classic.
more classic still is that people didnt get the costume and just thought i was a consciensious gay dad who had brought my own real live albiet sleepy toddler with me to the party. Apparently one can produce a rather convincing homemade toodler with 1 down pillow, 4 tan coloured nylon knee socks (like the ones my granny wears), 1 small pair of shoes , a t-shirt and some shorts. in this case the entire lack of a head was concealed by Maddox’s gohst costume, a treaditional sheet with blacked out eye sockets.
All in all the weekend was a lot of fun and i had a really good time dressing up and i’m so glad i did not repeat any of the outfits. I i had to say I liked my chiquer monsieur costume the best, i had the most fun dressed as bunnyculla (long johns a t-shirt, Vamp teeth and bunny ears, strangers kept petting my tail) and I feel conceptually that the Brangelina family and Jen X was the most interesting. One way or another Holloween Rocked and i cant wait for the next costume party.

Sunday morning kate and i slept late and Poops got up early to go to school to work with her peers, (actually, she went really early like an hour, cause i woke her up thinking she was late oblivious to the time change… ooops) so when kate and i finally got up it was like 12:30 or something and we both felt pretty nasty and rude, so when she dared me to go with her to the dep and the cafe in my white booty shorts i obliged peovided that she make no efforts to make her crusty self look good, so we did. Murphys law, we ran into a diplomat friend of my family at the cafe and on the way home I met for the first time ever, my very reclusive landloard (Toronto’s top gay lawyer, or so i’ve been told) known by fornmer tenents as an icy though fair landloard with no interest in fraternising with his loggers, in fact there is a rule that neither Julie or I are to communicate directly with him vis a vis our living situation, we may say ‘good day’ but not ‘it’s too cold can you turn the heat up’.
Anyway he was a fan of the shorts and it seems our tenannt-teny is in for a change, i have been invited to join him for a glass of wine in his apartment this week, which i am hoping to parly into some sales if not a trip to some classy beach or something. no but for real, he laughed at my crude stripper joke (That i am practicing my craft in the bay windows of my bedroom) and his eyes darted from face to crotch, so i’m hopping i can turn the heat up myself, he did mention something about showing me his fuse box.

On a completely seperate note Loyal She Remains has been loyal to her drive and gettin her shit together like she was on the lamb, a break out is immanent so i suggest you WATCH OUT!
@ www.minefromhome.com