I woke up this morning and went to a couple garage sales, at one of which I ended up buying a stapler for a dollar, because I could recall at least two recent instances where there was stapling to be done, but nothing to do it with.
I returned home and ate lunch, after which I transcribed an interview. Transcription is an excruciating chore, not because of all the typing, but because I have to listen to my own voice and marvel at the frequency with which I say "like" and "umm."
Chinatown was having a street festival. I went, hoping to find some tasty Asian street food to tide me over until dinner, but there was a haze hovering over the food vendors that smelled like a combination of burning plastic and scrotum sweat, and it completely killed my appetite for $5 takoyaki, or something called Singaporean jerky, which had the appearance of grilled SPAM—among other overpriced delights.
Last weekend, I left my one and only rain jacket in the back of the car I was riding around in while reporting on TOSAT for Torontoist, and so in the afternoon I went to a street party that was being put on by DUSPA (the Dupont Spadina Corner Collective), which some of the TOSAT people are involved in, including the guy whose car it was.
The jacket was something I'd picked up secondhand for like $2 and might not have bothered chasing after except for the fact that I'd ALSO lost my only umbrella during the course of reporting on TOSAT, leaving me completely without rain gear of any kind.
The party was taking place in an alleyway at the intersection of Dupont and Spadina. I stayed and chatted and quickly recovered my jacket. I can't say much about the attendees, other than that I know a few of them were local activists and/or artists—everyone about my age. I was offered a henna tattoo but had to decline. (You know, professionalism.) There was a stage, upon which a guy was using a bassoon to play a solo cover of Radiohead's "Creep." When the chorus came around he put down the bassoon and started playing the song on a theremin.
It was a strange and interesting scene, but the crowd was small and I didn't blend in. I took my jacket and split.
I returned home and ate lunch, after which I transcribed an interview. Transcription is an excruciating chore, not because of all the typing, but because I have to listen to my own voice and marvel at the frequency with which I say "like" and "umm."
Chinatown was having a street festival. I went, hoping to find some tasty Asian street food to tide me over until dinner, but there was a haze hovering over the food vendors that smelled like a combination of burning plastic and scrotum sweat, and it completely killed my appetite for $5 takoyaki, or something called Singaporean jerky, which had the appearance of grilled SPAM—among other overpriced delights.
Last weekend, I left my one and only rain jacket in the back of the car I was riding around in while reporting on TOSAT for Torontoist, and so in the afternoon I went to a street party that was being put on by DUSPA (the Dupont Spadina Corner Collective), which some of the TOSAT people are involved in, including the guy whose car it was.
The jacket was something I'd picked up secondhand for like $2 and might not have bothered chasing after except for the fact that I'd ALSO lost my only umbrella during the course of reporting on TOSAT, leaving me completely without rain gear of any kind.
The party was taking place in an alleyway at the intersection of Dupont and Spadina. I stayed and chatted and quickly recovered my jacket. I can't say much about the attendees, other than that I know a few of them were local activists and/or artists—everyone about my age. I was offered a henna tattoo but had to decline. (You know, professionalism.) There was a stage, upon which a guy was using a bassoon to play a solo cover of Radiohead's "Creep." When the chorus came around he put down the bassoon and started playing the song on a theremin.
It was a strange and interesting scene, but the crowd was small and I didn't blend in. I took my jacket and split.
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