farewell to 2006...

I never make New Year resolutions. Sure, I have a few friends who have successfully lost weight or quit smoking or read more books or whatever, but I think most people just end up setting themselves up for failure. Instead, I like to take a look back at all the cool stuff I managed to do, and make a list of new things I'd like to try... but I tend to do this all throughout the year, not just on January 1.



2006 - The Year in Review:

• I was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year for my outstanding contribution to internet culture. I'm quite certain I received this honour for my topless party shots on Flickr, not this blog. I wasn't especially happy to share this esteemed award with the rest of you boneheads.


• After 6 years of planning to visit Chicago again, I finally made the trip in May 2006. I love architechture and art galleries, and Chicago has some of the best to offer in the U.S. But I really built up the trip in my head and ended up kinda disappointed. I should have gone to NYC.


• This year, I wanted to circulate my photography beyond the realm of Flickr, so with the incredible support of The Scandelles and GalleryCrawl.ca, I held two successful exhibitions in The Antechamber at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre. Now that I'm not so scared to mount a solo show, I'll likely do a couple more in 2007.


• I had the great fortune of being invited to Camp Stewart this year - a weekend of camping, dress-up, and drinking. It was a new level of Fun for me. I got to be Xena for a day. I never had the chance to attend summer camp as a kid. This was nothing like that.


• In all my years of watching Formula 1 racing, this was the most exciting season yet. Michael Schumacher just retired, and my other fave driver, Jacques Villeneuve, lost his seat mid-way through the year, but it was still a wild ride.


• I didn't win any lotteries (as planned), but I assure you this is not due to a lack of effort on my part.

Coming in 2007:

• A new haircut. Probably a new hair colour too.
• Less drinking, more thinking. Well, until summer anyways.
• I'm helping out a friend of mine with his graphic novel, Top Superstar. It's gonna be sweet.
• I'll be painting again. If not for love, then at least for money.
• Planning Summerlovefest Tour '07 part I -- NYC, Cape Cod, Boston. ETA July 2007.
• Planning Summerlovefest Tour '07 part II -- visit Aaron in St. Pete's or bring Aaron to Toronto. Either way it will be messy.
• More Partiste parties! More films, more fun.

Here's wishing all my blog friends a very Happy New Year and all the best in 2007!

got kilt?

I read in the newspaper this morning that there's a dire kilt shortage in the Scottish military. It's big news that the Scotish regiments in Afghanistan only have 320 kilts among men - which means that there's one skirt shared between 15 men.

As soon as I stopped laughing, I was quick to blame certain plaid-skirt-wearing competitive eaters and that gaggle of skanky Catholic school girls who ride the bus with me every day. Then I realized there's more to this issue than just an irregular displacement of traditional Celtic garments. I realized that the Scottish Army, just like the Canadian Army, is radically underequipped to patrol foreign conflict arenas.

A close friend of mine has served in the Canadian military for many years, so I'm no stranger to the trials and tribulations faced by our young men & women stationed overseas. Over the years, he has complained of inadequate weaponry, unsafe vehicles, substandard shelter, disgusting food, unbearable heat, incompetent leadership, bad communications, and a total lack of government support.

WELL AT LEAST YOU HAD SOME FUCKING PANTS, JOHN.

These poor Scottish lads are all breezy from the waist down. Well, all but 320 of them anyways. I mean, it's embarassing enough to show up at a fight wearing a skirt, nevermind charging the enemy in tighty whities. One would think the Scots would have cornered the global market on kiltery.

So I encourage you all to go to your closets in search of "gently used" plaid skirts and post them immediately to our Celtic brothers overseas. Every piece counts! Even old school uniforms from your 7 year-old daughter can be sewn together with someone else's kids' plaid scarf to make a bonny droog smile again. Mix it up -- support someone else's troops this holiday season!

happy birthday Steakbellie

don't shit on my parade
Originally uploaded by Katrocket.

Yesterday was Steakbellie's birthday. For those of you who are convinced you're too busy to click on that link (and trust me, you AREN'T):

• Steakbellie is ranked 38th in the world as a competitive eater. Wings are his specialty. He trains to win. He wears a kilt. He has an "entourage". Kids think he's "cool"
• Steakbellie once rode 3500 miles across the U.S. on a bicycle to raise funds and awareness for drug education programs.
• Steakbellie hates skinny socialites and Hollywood trainwrecks just like you do. He spends a lot of time making fun of them (just like you do), but he's much funnier than you are.
• Steakbellie ranks 4th on my Top 10 List of People I Wish to Get Drunk and Photograph.

I'd like to wish him a happy birthday with my first haiku in a long time:

I suck at haikus
But I'm willing to make an
Exception today.

All the best to you, SB. Glad to know ya.

Who are you?

True story:
July 20, 2006 - Paleo Festival in Nyon, France

A vast crowd of young fans have gathered to see Depeche Mode, Goldfrapp, The Dandy Warhols, Louise Attaque and the Pixies. The Who is headlining.

Townsend rips into the opening riffs of "Who are You". The crowd goes fucking nuts. Cute college girl # 1 turns to supercute college girl # 2 and says:

"Why are they playing the theme song from CSI? They can't do that!"

Kids today...

My Good Samaritan

The receptionist from my office phones me at 10:30 in the morning and gets me out of bed. It's Wednesday, but I've taken the day off. I was out on the town the previous night with Hallowe'en revellers and knew I'd need some recovery time. I'm pissed off to get a phone call because I can't seem to take any time off without work hounding me at home for answers to stupid questions.

There is a tone of dread and concern in the receptionist's voice: "Did you lose your wallet and your ID in a taxi last night?!"

"Uhhhhhhh...." I'm still kinda drunk. I'm definitely confused. Is she talking to me? Is she clairvoyant? WTF? I start fumbling around for my jacket and bag, looking for my wallet. Dammit, it's not there. The panic suddenly hits me like a freight train. My wallet is missing.

The receptionist tries to calm me: "A man just phoned here and said he found your wallet in a taxi last night. He wants to return it to you immediately because he's headed for Montreal in a few hours. Here's his number..."

I jot down the info and my heart is racing now as I come to realize the gravity of the situation. Thank goodness someone wants to return my wallet, but I bet everything's gone... my credit card, my ID, my money. I'm shaking a little as I dial the number, thinking of all the BS I'll have to go through to replace it all. And I'm headed out of town for the weekend so this is NOT good.

The man answers with a deep sexy smooth voice and a good-natured attitude. He's chuckling a little because it's quite obvious I'm a stupid drunk girl who partied too hard on Hallowe'en and lost her shit.

He tells me where to meet him. It's across town, and I don't own a car, so it will take me at least 90 minutes to get there. He can't wait that long because he needs to leave town right away. He says he'll drive to my home and drop it off, no problem. Wow!!! That's so very very cool.

He tells me it seems like all my ID is intact, but there was no money in the wallet when he found it. Fuck. I had seventy five bucks in there. Dammit! I look into my jacket pocket and I'm overjoyed to find $75 in cash AND my ATM card. I must have quickly slipped it in there after a late night trip to a bank machine. Hooray for me!

An hour later I meet the guy at my closest major intersection. He's a handsome dude with a warm smile and a friendly handshake. He's driving a really nice car. He's wearing a very nice suit. I look at my wallet and it's all in there: my licence, my credit cards, everything.

He reminds me that I'm a lucky, lucky girl and I need to take better care of my things. I agree and sheepishly offer him a generous cash reward for his kindness and honesty, which he refuses.

"Ah c'mon, I insist," I say, "you really went out of your way, and I'm so very grateful...please get yourself a nice bottle of wine or dinner in Montreal."

He smiles and takes the money. He glances down at my hands. "Are you single?"

I'm a bit clueless for a few seconds but then it dawns on me that he's looking for a ring. I'm shocked and I stutter a little: "Uh, yeah, I am."

"Well then, maybe I'll take YOU out for dinner when I get back into town? You have my number, and I have yours. What do you think?"

I think I'll have a nice date next week.

what the...?

During my commute today, I had nothing to read and my MP3 player died, so I was powerless to shelter myself from the usual urban weirdness. I really do try to keep my faith in humanity alive by mixing with good souls throughout most of the day, but sometimes the things I see out there make me fucking crazy. Here's today's Top 3:

Eskimo Hooker chic
Four lithe and vapid teenage girls are hanging out at the subway station, wearing tiny skirts that barely contained their assets, big fur vests, and gigantic furry mukkluk boots to the knee. It was 12 degrees celsius yesterday (53 F for my American friends)- not freezing, but pants are recommended. They were huddled together (for either warmth or aesthetic purposes) like a pack of sled dogs. Three of the four girls were loudly yakking away on cellphones. The fourth was heaping on another layer of make-up. I curse myself for leaving my camera at home today. I'm certain they would have posed for me.

GT-style racing stripes on a Dodge Neon
Possibly the most ridiculous paint job I've ever seen on a domestic shitbox. I know some of you racing fans might defend this car on a track, but this one was a '96 rust-trap with a home-built body kit, and featured a decal of Calvin & Hobbes on the rear window. Are you fucking KIDDING ME? It looked like the guy stole his mom's car and ran up his credit card in the automotive accessories department at Home Depot. The guy driving was very K-Fed-esque, which was poetry in motion.

Lady asking for directions is "non-believer"
A woman on the bus approaches the driver to ask him for the quickest transit route downtown, because she's late for an important appointment. The driver explains he doesn't actually know this part of town very well, only the specific route he drives. She is angry and frustrated. She begins to vent on him and it gets personal. I am sitting in the seat behind the driver. I try to diffuse the situation by offering the woman the most efficient directions to her destination. She stares at me with her crazy eyes and narrows them into slits. In a cracked witchy voice, she spits her venom: "I don't believe you!" This is REALLY surprising to me. Shocking, in fact. I stare her down, looking for clues to mental illness, or some reasonable explanation for her unbelievable rudeness. I'm so insulted, I decide that I no longer need to sympathize or be polite.

I say: "Suit yourself, bitch."

People, people we are the same

I'm quite certain
that if I weren't
so damn busy,

I'd Fight the Power.

What I won't miss about summer:

I won't miss Crocs.

I know they're comfortable. But you should know that when you wear them in public, people are laughing at you. If they're not laughing, at the very least, they are probably thinking "Fuck, those are REALLY ugly shoes."

I happen to think hanging around in my Ginch Gonch and bathrobe is comfortable. But I know it's wrong to walk down the street wearing such a thing. And you should too.

So wear them around your house, while you're gardening, fly fishing, or taking out the garbage. But please hear this: no one at the mall or at work wants to look at your fucking hideous orange plastic clogs.

Yay! Mercer is back!

Thank goodness! Rick Mercer stopped blogging all summer and I was forced to replace his brilliant political humour by shooting suction darts at Nancy Grace on CNN.

It was a bad trade. It's obvious I've become obnoxiously opinionated about shit I know nothing about.

The Mercer Report returns to CBC Tuesdays (8pm)on October 3rd.

Survivor 13: Putting the Fever back into the Jungle

jungle feevah
Originally uploaded by Katrocket.

Today I was sitting in the lunchroom at work, dining with my colleagues, eating my dull salad and flipping thru a trashy celeb mag. I was about to offer some amusing commentary on that damn skank Lohan, when an article on the facing page caught the attention of the table. It was about this season's Survivor, a show I have watched faithfully for 12 seasons now. I stopped actually enjoying the show several years ago, but like a roadside accident, I can't seem to look away. I had a similar struggle with Melrose Place in the mid-90s.

There's been a lot of controversy since the announcement that contestants would be segregated by race (black vs. white vs. asian vs. hispanic). So what? They’ve already divided men from women, and old vs. young. It’s a fairly natural progression to go for the obvious, and it’s guaranteed headlines to boot.

I think Probst explains it best: “A lot of people who have never seen Survivor have absolutely no idea what they're condemning, and are using this as a platform to advance their own agenda.” I ♥ Jeff Probst.

We can pass this off as a ratings gimmick, but TV networks have been baiting races for fun and profit for decades. Anyone remember Archie Bunker? Good Times? The Jeffersons? Well, this black vs. white bullshit isn't exactly groundbreaking stuff.

We agreed that this could be an interesting social experiment, and by creating teams based on race, the elements of racism and prejudice within tribes would be eliminated from gameplay. I've heard many a past contestant (on many reality shows) whine and complain that they don't fit into their team because of "cultural boundaries", and there’s been accusations of discrimination and stereotyping. The folks watching at home can see that everyone hates that player because the individual is an asshole, not because of their race. So no more excuses, no more accusations. Step up or lose your fire, bitch.

What I’m interested in finding out, through the magic of reality television, is this: If everyone is the same race, does racism exist? I think that's the main point that Survivor is trying to make. In earlier seasons, they have already proven that separating a group solely by physical characteristics only brings on a new layer of conflict. As soon as one judgment factor is removed, (gender, for example) it is immediately replaced with another (such as homophobia or ageism).

Humans are funny that way. We gravitate toward sameness and conformity, and we long to be included and accepted into society, but at the same time, we stubbornly fight to remain absolutely individual. I believe that the essence of true "unity" probably looks a whole lot like the Borg Collective.

But who wants that shit?

The Mess We're In

Can you hear them?
The helicopters
I'm in New York
No need for words now
We sit in silence
You look me
In the eye directly
You met me
I think it's Wednesday
The evening
The mess we're in
and the city sun sets over me.

-Thom Yorke


I wasn't there, like so many of my friends were. I don't have a right to speak profoundly on the subject, and I don't have a story. But I can think for myself.

The melodramatic media hype continues to sicken me, and every year it just gets worse. No one will be allowed to ever forget the 3,000 innocent victims at the WTC. The sadness will haunt generations of souls around the world for more than a lifetime. My thoughts are with my American friends today.

But where is your memorial for the 42,000 Iraqi civilians you have taken in return, America? How many more victims will set things right for you? All evidence suggests that your Leadership is directing their revenge at the wrong people in the wrong country for the wrong reasons.

Today I feel very sorry for you in more ways than one.

Banksy Does Paris

Photos courtesy of Sharl on Flickr

This morning I awoke to the giddy & delightful news that British grafitti artist Banksy has infiltrated the Top 10 at HMV in London UK. He managed to Photoshop several copies of Paris Hilton's new CD with new packaging and a "topless" cover, and then covertly smuggled 500 copies into 42 HMV and Virgin record stores in the UK, complete with barcodes, where they were eventually purchased and then launched into a media frenzy.

I'm so happy that art is becoming fun again. Instead of blathering on and on about how much I love this guy, you can check out his official website... OR, better yet, there is a Banksy group on Flickr that has a more comprehensive collection of this outdoor work.

the Banksy manifesto: "If you want an audience, start a fight"

übercreep

Okay fine, John Mark Karr is no longer a suspect in the murder of JonBenet Ramsay. This is no big surprise. He always looked like he was enjoying all the media attention just a little too much.

But can they not keep him in custody simply for being the CREEPIEST FUCKING GUY ON THE PLANET?

At the very least, c'mon people, don't let him teach.

Calgary or Bust

Last night I went to the first in a series of farewell parties for a friend who is moving to Calgary next month. The theme was "rodeo & stampede", so it turned out to be a good game of cowboys & lesbians.

I was asked to make a boob cake, since this gang loved the penis cake that I brought to a celebration earlier this year. Of course, it was another sexycake sensation!

I would love to see a boobcake eating contest, but I would insist on full-face titgorging action, so all the contestants would have their hands tied behind their back.

I wonder, if I bake them, will they come?

Mojito 101

Although the summer is coming to an end here in Canada, I plan to extend the good vibes for a few more months through the magic of mojitos. I got hooked on this refreshing cocktail five years ago when I tried one at the Miller Tavern, a favourite happy hour destination. Many friends have asked me for a recipe, and like many dishes and drinks, there's dozens of variations.

Although the ingredients are simple, mojitos can be labour-intensive, especially when you have a large crowd to please. I'd suggest making a pitcher, and keep it in the fridge or freezer between rounds. That's more time drinking - less time thinking!

Okay - get ready:

- Fill a nice tall highball glass with some crushed ice or ice cubes

- The best mojitos have fresh spearmint - never use peppermint or mint extract! I'm not being a snob here, this is simply the key to making the best mojito. Mint flavour substitutes will not taste right, and dried mint doesn't work well at all.

- Gently roll 3 or 4 fresh mint leaves between your fingers to bruise and crease the leaves, but leave them intact, and drop them over the ice. Lots of highbrow bartenders are using "bats" these days - a sort of wooden stick designed to crush mint leaves with lime - but I prefer the rolling mothod because bats just mash the leaves into little tiny bits and it's like grass floating around in your cocktail. Mint bits gets stuck in your straw and teeth, and greatly reduces your drinking pleasure.

- Squeeze the juice of half a lime over the mint leaves and ice. This is important chemistry here - the acids in the lime will pull the oils out of the mint, making your mojito delicious to the max. If you're in a pinch, you can use a tablespoon of that lime concentrate stuff. Don't even think about using lime cordial. That's just gross.

- Add the rum. Minimum 1 oz, but I like it boozy, so I use 2.5 to 3 oz for a pint glass. You can use white, dark or amber (see variations below), just stay very far away from the spiced rum. You don't want cinnamon and nutmeg in this one, friends.

- Sweeten to taste. I've used just about every sweetener possible: I think my favourite is organic sugar cane syrup, which you can buy in health food stores or larger supermarket chains. It's a little more expensive, but you don't need to use very much at all, and it is a little better for you. Maple syrup is a popular Canadian choice, and it's fantastic when you use the real stuff, but stay away from the cheap pancake syrup - it's bad news. Honey can work too, but it doesn't dissolve or mix well in cold water. If you prefer a sugarless drink, all the sugar/sucralose/aspartame substitutes work pretty well. Brown sugar (made into a syrup) or superfine white sugar is what bartenders usually use because it dissolves easily in cold liquid. If you don't have that, make a simple sugar syrup from one part sugar, two parts hot water. Let it dissolve for a while and add about 2 or 3 teaspoons of the syrup to your drink - depending on your sweet tooth. You can also add plain old white sugar to the drink - it just takes a while for it to completely dissolve into the drink.

- Top up the rest of the glass with soda water. You can also use a sparkling mineral water like Perrier, but don't use Tonic water unless it's midnight and the store's closed and you're utterly desperate. If you use tonic, you probably won't need to add any sugar. Then again, at this point, you likely are already drunk and you won't care.

- Garnish with a slice of lime and a sprig of mint leaves (whole, not crushed), and your guests will be extra grateful if you have drinking straws, because the bits of mint can get in the way and make it awkward to sip. Plus, you can end up with mint leaves on your teeth, which is really funny, albeit unattractive.

Some interesting variations on the Mojito:

The Classic Mojito: Lightly crisp and clear- use white rum, and white superfine sugar/sugar syrup made from white sugar.

The Dirty Mojito: My personal fave, it's much more flavourful and sorta the colour of iced tea - use amber or dark rum, and sugar syrup made from brown, golden, turbinado (raw), or organic cane sugar.

The Homoijito: use Barbados Mount Gay cane rum and mint grown in your gay friend's garden.

The Moskojito: use 1.5 oz of rum and 1 to 1.5 oz of vodka.

The Strawberry Mojito: this is a great variation I found at Toronto restaurant, Oliver Bonacini. Replace the lime juice with 3 pureed or fork-crushed strawberries, or 2 tsp of that frozen strawberry daquiri/margarita stuff made by Bacardi. You won't need to add much sugar (if any). In fact, you could really replace the limes with almost any fruit puree and I'm sure it'd be a winner.

The Trailer Trashito: yes, I've tried this while camping with limited supplies. Use 1 Tbsp of that lime concentrate you get in the plastic green lime, then if you're outta rum, just add tequila, vodka, or whisky, add a splash of 7-UP if you're out of soda water, and if you still need to sweeten it, use packets of leftover sugar from the donut shop that you stashed in your glove compartment. Hopefully you'll have mint, but I've actually dropped in a stick of spearmint chewing gum and hey, no one died.

The Drake's Canadian Mojito: use a bit of maple syrup as your sweetener, in place of sugar.

Aaron Edwards' Blow-hito: Add a shot of Jagermeister with the rum. This version is for seasoned professionals only!

Please feel free to share your own recipes!

For the Love of Blond Bond

Even though the new James Bond flick, Casino Royale, won't be in theatres until November 17, the lunchroom was abuzz today with talk of the new Bond, Daniel Craig, and whether or not he's "right" for the part. The six women I polled all lamented the loss of Pierce Brosnan, whom they consider to be the ultimate Bond actor, after Sean Connery of course, who was deemed inimitable.

To this, I have two words for you bitches: short shorts.

And who loves short shorts? Katrocket loves short shorts!

I dunno if anyone caught Brosnan in The Matador (which is a great movie, by the way, don't listen to the critics!), but he sure couldn't pull off this look.

I can't fucking wait for November.

One More Phoney

Illustration by Donald Rust

The following was a comment I made on Steakbellie's rant about jerks on cellphones. I decided it might make for good filler on my own blog. Does this make me a bad person?

Until recently, I was sporting an old skool rotary phone at home. It was a sweet horn - I pimped it out with handpainted flames and skulls & crossbones. Then the phone company contacted me:

"Sorry ma'am, but our current technology will no longer support analog dialer phones".

Hmph. "That's some pretty shitty technology you've got there." I say.

Now I have a mobile phone that requires a Homer Simpson dialing wand because my fingers are too fat for the teeny-tiny keys. I rarely turn it on because I despise others who yak like obnoxious twats in public, and I don't like that Star Trek "beam me up" feeling I get.

I've just re-discovered the joy of payphones. Every call makes me feel like I'm setting up a big score with my homies.

My Secret Life as an Amazon Warrior

Final score:
XenaRocket 1
Cupid 0

How Flickr made a monster out of me.

Dirty Martini illustration by Andrew Bawidamann

This is how I know that Flickr has made me a MONSTER:

We're having a party on Wednesday -- The Scandelles/Partistes meet the Filmore Girls and perk up the place with 300 intimate friends. Good times!!! Very very very good times. But today I learn that despite my connections, the management of Filmore's gentleman's club won't let me bypass the camera/photo-taking rule (not legal in strip bars) for the night. And I actually heard these words come out of my mouth:

"Oh well then. Fine, if I can't shoot it, I'm not going."

That's completely fucked.

Someone slap me hard.

the Blue Box

This was the scene at my first photography exhibit this past weekend at Buddies in Bad Times Theatre. Blue Box installation by the Beevers. Films by backinblakk & Seska Lee. All images accompanied films by the Partistes. Many MANY thanks to:

• the Scandelles (& the Beevers!!!!!)
• Birdy
• GalleryCrawl.ca
• Inky Color Management

Ride the Seam

Who's Your DADA?

Strike ONE

Today sucked.

Toronto commuters awoke to a "surprise" transit strike.

As in: "Surprise! You have 10 minutes to figure out how you're getting your ass to work!!!" 3...2..1.. GO!"

Ironically, it's Bike Week in Toronto. Lots of people rode past me. I thought of Steakbellie for a couple moments, his wistful energetic cyclist haikus taunting me. I thumbed a ride with a stranger, wondering for the first 3 minutes if getting to work was worth losing my life. Turns out the dude was trying to freak me out on purpose, for his own amusement. I let it slide because he was doing me a huge favour, so he might as well reap a simple reward that doesn't involve holding me at knifepoint.

I felt kinda bohemian, thumbing a lift to work. I've never done that before. And I made record time. Sadly, it's definitely the better way.

Best car song ever (age 5 and under category)

When I was 9 years old, my brother was 4.
He made up the coolest songs when we went on long road trips.
His best ever (sung to the tune of "Ring My Bell" by Anita Ward):

You can make a dooooo - beeeeee car
you can make a doobie car!
you can make a doobie car!

(repeat chorus until parents start yelling)

Now he has a 4-year old daughter who loves to make up her own songs.
But she sings them in french, which is way too fucking cute.

happy birthday Trixie!

Belated birthday wishes
go out to

Trixie Easybake

beautiful friend
successful entrepreneur
talented designer
excellent housewife
sexxx goddess
funny girl
my favourite model

www.bbj.ca

Eat me.

Last weekend I made a penis cake for a friend's party. From the metrosexual close-shaved chocolate balls to its irresistable creme filling, the dessert was a HUGE success.

I do agree with mild criticism (mostly by jealous male party guests) that the balls were too large in proportion to the shaft, but I had some challenging logistics to sort through. I did not cop out and use a novelty cake mold. I figured I had seen enough chocolate cock in my lifetime, so why not sculpt from memory? Using the largest sheet pan I could find (18 inches, ladies! Gag me.) I crafted my sweet schlong with gentle lovin hands, and I do think artistic license is permissable in such a case.

So after proudly stepping back to admire my erotic confection, I realize that I needed to transport this Bad Boy to a party being held several blocks north....ON PUBLIC TRANSIT. It dawns on me that I'll be stuck walking the streets and subways of Toronto carrying a giant penis cake on a silver tray, wrapped in clear plastic. At least that's a "safe" penis. I chuckle to myself for a few moments as I ponder the cheap thrill of witnessing the shocked and smiling faces of strangers.

The fix: I bought two identical dark green plastic kitty litter pans (never used by kitties - eew, that's gross) one inverted over the other and taped to form a perfect little house for the happiest fucking cake you'll ever eat.

I also made boobie cupcakes for all the gents and lesbians present. Each one was decorated with pasties and tasty candy nipples. But my kitchen was kinda too warm, which made the icing melt, leaving me with not-so-erotic drippy CarrieCupcakes.

In fact, so indistinguishable was the deco-job, that the hostess took the leftover boobiecakes to her parents' house for Easter dinner. I am told they enjoyed their boobies immensely.

Intermission: Hot Partiste Action

Here are a few choice moments from last weekends' successful fundraiser for the Scandelles. More highlights can be found on my Flickr page. Thanks to dedicated Toronto Partistes, we raised money for costumes, lighting, film projects and the neverending supply of alcohol required to keep the Scandelles properly lubed. God bless every single one of you.

Mom would be so proud

I once saw a t-shirt in a shop window in Thonon, France. It said mes parents ne me connaissent, which loosely translates as "my parents have no idea who I really am"

The two people who love me the most in this whole world really don't know me that well. And I think most people have this kind of arms-length relationship with their folks. For me personally, I don't think my parents would like me any less if they knew all my secrets, but I do think they'd say a lot of shit about me when I'm out of earshot. It's just nicer when they think of me as their spunky little girl, the A student, making good in the Big City and coming home to play with her cats over a cup of tea every night.

Post-production is almost complete on abDADAduction, the latest in a series of short surrealist porn films created by the Partistes. Mom would be so proud.

Young Pornographers of Canada

Last weekend, I shot still photos for an adult film production.

It's all true what they say about it not being as glamourous as one might think.

Just ask the dog.

Bring home the (good) bacon

Please take a moment to read a funny blog entry by Steakbellie: Turning Over A New Leaf. With his usual wit, he has cast forth a few interesting theories on Canada-U.S. relations. THIS is the guy who should have David Wilkins' job. Steakbellie's unique insight to the Canadian mindset is clearly beneficial to us all.

Many Americans seem universally puzzled and amused by their neighbours to the north. But is there a physical difference between Canadians & Americans? Are we not ALL Americans in the continental sense of the word? We all go to work/school, raise our kids, daydream about vacations, sit in traffic, pay our taxes, complain about the government, and save up for retirement.

Of course there are glaring differences in culture and identity -- things like universal healthcare, constitutional monarchy, gay marriage, and great beer. There are also perceived differences -- misconceptions that it's somehow nicer in the North, somehow less stupid.

Yeah, I wish:

Money: $1 USD = $1.15 CDN .... 15%

Sorry, not as much bang for yer duotone buck. Two years ago this week, our dollar was trading at $1.32. We've come a long way, baby. Not ALL good news, when ya think about the part where we're less competitive in foreign markets, not to mention the sudden drought of tourists. Hungry American Tourists.

Guns & Hosers

94% of illegal firearms used in crime in Canada are born in the U.S.A.

Canada's crime rate is 50 % Higher than U.S. We may not like to get all suited up and go invade foreign countries, but we don't mind killing each other.

Know Thy Neighbour

Ok, yeah ... we all know each other.
We don't necessarily like each other though.

The Bacon Theory

Peameal bacon is more than "just a slice of ham". It's made from boneless pork loins, short cut from the leaner portion of the loin to give a more uniform cut. Then they are sweet pickle cured and rolled in the traditional golden corn meal coating. But I agree, it's got nothin on the sweet smoky taste of crispy side bacon.

So therefore, we love you for your bacon like a kid loves a nerd classmate with a backyard pool every summer.

We'll bring the maple syrup.

Who's yer daddy?

photo courtesy Big Jule

if you were in a talent contest,
how would you follow an act like this?

Chuck Norris is my homeboy

It's fun to play Chuck Norris Facts with your friends while watching bad TV. Chuck Norris Facts.com has a great collection of observations about Our Hero, PLUS customized Chuck t-shirts and assorted Chuckshwag.

Have a laugh finding your own facts. From time to time you may wish to substitute Jean Claude Van Damme or Steven Seagal, but I assure you, it's not nearly as fun.

So, the lines are open to callers now - tell us EVERYTHING YOU KNOW about Chuck Norris.

Chuck's personal faves:

• When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night, he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
• There is no theory of evolution. Just a list of creatures Chuck Norris has allowed to live.
• Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
• Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
• Chuck Norris is the reason why Waldo is hiding.
• There is no chin behind Chuck Norris’ beard. There is only another fist.
• When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn’t lifting himself up, he’s pushing the Earth down.
• Chuck Norris is so fast, he can run around the world and punch himself in the back of the head.
• Chuck Norris’ hand is the only hand that can beat a Royal Flush.
• There is no such thing as global warming. Chuck Norris was cold, so he turned the sun up.
• Chuck Norris can lead a horse to water AND make it drink.
• Chuck Norris doesn’t wear a watch, HE decides what time it is.
• Chuck Norris gave Mona Lisa that smile.
• Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door.
• Chuck Norris does not get frostbite. Chuck Norris bites frost.

more facts...many thanks to Walid:

• If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris, you may be only seconds away from death.
• The chief export of Chuck Norris is PAIN.
• Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
• Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter, he grew a beard.
• Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.
• Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.
• Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
• Chuck Norris lives by only one rule: No Asian Chicks.
• Chuck Norris once shot a German plane down with his finger, by yelling, "Bang!"
• Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and saying "booya".
• Chuck Norris took my virginity, and he will sure as hell take yours. If you're thinking to yourself, "That's impossible, I already lost my virginity.", then you are dead wrong.
• After much debate, President Truman decided to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima rather than the alternative of sending Chuck Norris. His reasoning? It was more "humane".
• Chuck Norris frequently signs up for beginner karate classes, just so he can "accidentally" beat the crap out of little kids.