Design Within Dementia

Take, for instance, the bathroom in a hotel I recently stayed in. It was a very cool-ly designed hotel. The design of the room was cool. The bathroom design was innovative... or was it? Or was the fact that it was constructed like 3 transparent Lego cells-- such that you could sit on the toilet and look through to the shower, and past onto your amour brushing his teeth at the sink-- odd? Indeed, I think it odd.

I love weird design. That being said, I could not go all weekend.

Fact vs Fiction...

... the lines is so tiny, really.

Besides having a killer poster, Toronto's Hot Docs Film Festival is one of the world's best festivals dedicated to docuemntaries. This year's fest has a whole line up called "Show Me Yours" dedicated to you-know-what. Actually, I just love the poster, but I needed an excuse to post it. So drop your plans, go to Toronto, stay in the Drake and see good docs. There.

Toronto and the Drake Hotel, among other reasons to defect

Combine Amsterdam's hashish boutique hotels (subtracting hashish) with Soho Grande/Royalton (subtracting price-driven tude) and maybe a future Williamsburg hotel (subtracting what currently seems to be the develop-out-the-interesting-artists-who- made-it-what-it-is and replace with bored-bankers-who-long-to-be-"artsy-n-funky" tude) and you have Toronto's Drake hotel, a 18 room haven of genius which supports and exhibits, even flaunts its love of artists, offering a raw bar, a 7a-10p cafe with da best flakey SCONES around, and two bars with performance spaces. And what other hotel rents out sex kits and a DVD collection spanning Nicholas Roeg's Walkabout to Bella Donna's XX finest?

AND not only are the smart cartes free in Canada, but like, the WI-FI is free in the hotel, too! Yippee!

Oh, and one more thing: I spotted a Sikh demonstration on the streets of Toronto. All I know is that I cannot imagine a similar peaceful demonstration here by Iraqis that wouldn't entail some American gun toting Fox News outrage-- if it were even allowed at all.

XX Years Ago Today..

... me and my mommy were separated. (PSsss-- it's my birthday!)

Here's to you and the umbilical cord, mom. Thanks for everything!

xox, mitchissmo

Like I was sayin'...

The Euro Cartes are FREE.

I mean, LOOK at that-- they're just sitting there, free wheelin and not chained to anything, not asking for three quid or anything else in return for their sweet wheeling services, as if their sole purpose is to ease the sweaty struggle of the elderly, pregnant or generally out of shape traveler! How WEIRD!!

I.e., what in the hay is wrong with us?

Note to travelers: even with a crashing dollar, free is free.

Fish n' Chips Mate!

Fish n' Chips, West London, 8:30pm

In addition to Chow Mein and pickled eggs, this joint in Ravenscourt park sells the best fish n' chips in West London.

Counter Girl: vinegar and salt?
Me: um...
Guy Behind ME (GBM): Can I ask ya sumpin'?
ME: Yes?
GBM: Ya got vinegar at home?
Me: Um, yeah.
GBM: You eatin' it on the way home, or at home proper?
ME: Huh? (I look at the monstrous sized fish-n-chips about to be wrapped up) Oh, at home. Gees.
GBM: Then put the vinegar on at home. Otherwise, it'll get soggy by the time ya get home. Best if you spice it up real nice at home, yeah?
Me: Makes sense.
GBM: Tastey, yeah? But don't get the pickled eggs- them nasty, right?

Later: SERIOUS heart burn...

Jet Laggin Slag

Vienna Jet Lag, December 2004

Europe is nice. England is great. London with my best mate is the best. The second night, however, always takes a turn for the worst into the psycho zone as Jet Lag sets in. This is when I get out of bed, fed up and tizzy-headed, and take pictures of myself in an angsty fit of time zone anxiety as I try to fish myself out of outer space.

The Express Train hates me

That thing that I hate so much happened again today. And it happened really bad.

I'm standing there waiting for the local train, and the Express Train went by, like, not once, not twice... not even three times, but like, four, FOUR times. Actually, I'm fibbing-- it went by five times, but by that time I was blinded with blood rage, filing a law suit in my head against them, the them that laughs at my plight as they pull the levers on all subways so that I am late to work, late to date, late to eat and late to be late for everything one can be late for. I know they think it is a funny matter, this tripping me up, but I'd like to let them know something: with each passing express train a new gray hair sprouts underneath my dyed mop. And THAT is a travesty.