L'escalier à HELL

The White Stripes live is like nothing I've ever seen before. How can two teeny tiny people on one huge stage, in one huge auditorium, make so much noise? The stage was decked out like a red, white and black jungle and seeing Meg and Jack perform is like taking an elevator to Hell and this is what you get when the doors slide open. The sheer quality of their music is undeniable at this point. Watching Meg play the drums is a simple pleasure in itself because she isn't merely a good drummer, her whole body embraces the rythme and she plays with the kind of conviction a little girl would have pounding on a toy drum set. And Jack - oh sexy Jack White - he tames every instrument he put his hands on and I couldn't help but think about Jimi Hendrix. I never really understood why Ryan had collected all their music on vinyl, but now I can see that they will undoubtedly go down in history as one of the landmark bands of this era.

There is a small spider web spun between two branches of my Mimosa Pudica and some of the fallen leaves look like they've been suspended in mid-air being caught in it.

We watched The Corpse Bride last night, which was very good of course because it's Tim Burton and it was a bittersweet love story about selfishness and selflessness. It had a wonderful musical score of course, and I've decided that as soon as I get a keyboard for the apartment (who knows when that will be!), I will start collecting all of Tim Burton's piano music. I can't start now because it's very sad having sheet music around and not being able to play any of it.

Outside of the theatre was a tourbus letting of some football players hootin' and hollerin' like they've never been outside on their own before. What is that makes these boys think it's impressive to scream "YEAHHHHH" from the depths of their diaphragms on the middle of the street? And it wasn't isolated to the boys from the tour bus either because their primal scream of uneccessary aggression incited sympathetic behaviour from likeminded boys off the street.

Turn off on Queen St. and you've got girls dressed like JLo and Paris and Jessica and those are the only images that come to mind. I don't wonder what kind of music they like or where they're headed to or where they're coming from because their outter shell already tells me all they want me to know: that they're beautiful and rich. They leave no trace of personality on their body - no original piece of jewlery, no signature, no flair. Just like cut-outs from a fashion mag walking a-glitter on the street.

Riding the bike home on the bicycle caravan, there is a man peeing on a street corner. He doesn't even bother to hide behind a bush or anything. He's just peeing. On the street. Now, I have nothing against public urination, in fact I just told my mom yesterday that I love peeing au naturel when I go camping because I can and it feels cleaner somehow. But that's camping and that's only at night when I won't even let Ryan shine a light on me for fear that someone might see me. But when you're riding down Adelaide - a pretty residential street once you go west of Bathurst, why the fuck are you peeing on the corner where anyone can see you? It's tacky. That man is an animal with no consideration for anyone.

I really love riding on a bicycle caravan because it's like taking a train. But I hate riding the bicycle on Queen St. on a Friday or Saturday night. It's pure bullshit like every driver has completely lost their mind. The cyclists on the other hand pedal confidently knowing that we can get anywhere faster than those cumbersome cars that gets clogged up in traffic. Some people are afraid to ride their bikes in the city, but it's one of my favourite things to do. It takes a certain level of concentration that once you've mastered, it becomes second nature and then you can start seeing details of the city you miss when you're walking because you're too busy looking into store windows, and stuff you miss driving by or on the streetcar because you're going too fast. Plus, I think bike riding recreates the closest feeling of flying. The problem with motorcycles and scooters is that you have to wear that helmet and for very good reasons because you're going faster than we're physically meant to. I choose not to wear a helmet on my bike because I love the feeling of the wind in my hair and I'm a very cautious rider where I avoid heavy traffic whenever possible (I'd rather walk my bike than get run over) and I never try to keep up with traffic. I ride leisurely with my eyes and ears open to take in this city that I love.