Friday, August 25, 2006

Bard Acres

Haiku Friday's are back with a total winner!

To the Tune of Green Acres:

North of Bloor is where
I'd rather sit and molt; I
Get allergic south of Holt's.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Birds of a Feather

Today perhaps begins a new chapter of this blog. A chapter which could see me as the next Perez Hilton (only slimmer and better looking) or the newest Lainey (only less Asian). Today I am reporting on actual celebrity gossip (i.e. Hollywood celebrities and NOT just Faux Hill Celebs). Although there are a smattering of Village celebrity residents, the Roots proprieters live on my street, a bunch of Maple Leafs reside on the other side of Spadina (i.e. wealther), Ted Rogers is in fact the neighbourhoods Mr Rogers [sans cardigan but with cable sweater -get it?], nobody as exciting, as say Tom Cruise, actually lives in the hood. The Faux ain't Malibu for example (although Nelly Furtado has apparently bought a house here recently and let's face it, in a post-Promiscuous summer, she is Kinda a Big Deal). Every so often a real celeb does indeed grace the corner of Spadina and Lonsdale wondering what the fuss is all about.
Par example: I once saw Ryan Gosling jaywalk across the street in green pants. He didn't say, "Jonathan: I wrote you 365 letters. A letter for every day of the year." Before cradling my face in his ginormous elongated hands and sticking his tongue down my throat. Having once been in a letter writing affair (one that included three letters a day! Beat that McGoslings.)... I can honestly say the thought is too exhausting to even think about again. Sorry RyGos.
But I've lost the plot to this yarn. Where the fuck am I?
Ah... Mischa Barton: The Most Blase woman to have graced the small screen. MB has had to come up to provincial Toronto to film a movie (the role that she decided to leave the OC for because, if you don't already know, she's a big movie STAH!). Barton, a habitual user of the chronic, was a tad bit worried of where she would score her junk once she arrived in the Great White North. So, while still in LA, she called up her friends boyfriend, who happens to be a Canadian lost in LaLaLand, wherein he refers her to his younger sister, a senior at the Faux Hill Collegiate. As so often happens when you find a smoking posse, the smokers become fast friends (remember that time Lisa said Gargamel!! How fucking funny was that! [ahh... it probably wasn't]). Having scored herself an instant posse Mischa ended up spending a fair bit of time, when not shooting the Academy Award winning opus that will launch her career, running around the Village avec her new found gaggle of girls; think, "Oh my gawd I love your Tiffany accessories!" & "Oh my god I love your flat ironed hair!" Birds of a feather certainly do flock together and for a time, Barton became the resident teen queen round these parts. Sadly Barton is back in LA, with her regular buds, and the rest of us are simply left to take the final toke on the proverbial roach of fame. Sad.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

U R 2 Sexy

So I promised Bold Sharon that I would no longer blog. Luckily for both of us her demand coincided with me finding myself some [un]gainful employment. So I haven't really been able to blog, even if I had wanted to. Today, however, I found myself with a bit of downtime on the old campaign trail (I've gone mildly political) so I'm sitting in the thicket of the Faux blogging away (in like forty degree heat - this ladies and germs is commitment).
As per usual there is so much to say and so little time to do it in. But today's roman a clef is about the red Ferrari that has just parked itself in front of me.
Buying a Ferrari is a statement in and of itself. It says: I make more money by selling stocks, selling shares of my own internet start-up before the tech bubble burst, or blowing away my father's hard earned sheckels, then you will ever see in your entire lifetime (Even if you win the a cash for life payout).
Buying a red Ferrari is taking such a statement and kickin it up a notch. It says: BAM! Look at me! I have more money then you - you lowly wannabe writer, blogger and bard who for some reason has yet to find a boyfriend and who pines sadomasochistically after those who I've broken up by stalking them via the facebook (sorry, personal tangent) AND everyone else around you.
Anyways, the man in front of me has made all of these statement. He bought the Ferarri, by which he has proven his masculinity for the entire Village to see, his penis is clearly HUGE. So what does one do once they have made such a BOLD statement (and your name doesn't end with Sharon?) why you get yourself a personalized license plate that says U R 2 SEXY. Hunh? Here is where you lost me Mr U R 2 SEXY-owitz. Let's examine this plate for a moment shall we? What does it all mean? Is it about the driver: a balding skinny white man whose red hair clashes with the exterior patina of his car? Is it about his botoxed trophy wife with the biggest Coach bag this side of Yorkdale? Is it about me? Is it about driving along Adelaide Street in Little 906 attempting to pick up 19 year-olds visiting from Mississauga?
U R 2 SEXY if you're reading this please contact me. I've got questions. You've got answers!