The Free Thinker

The execution was haphazard at best. I'd planned to save up a few grand over the summer to execute the move in proper style, but that was my first party summer, and there just never seemed to be enough money. I saved $1,000 in May and June and virtually nothing more by the end of September.

As a result, plans had to change. Instead of having $3,000 saved, I had $1,000 and a fresh new VISA. Instead of an apartment, I was staying with a "friend" I barely knew until I landed a job. Instead of moving in the traditional sense, brought two suitcases and two knapsacks, with everything else thrown into storage in Ottawa.

Usually this is the sort of half-assed plan hatched by starry-eyed 19 year-olds, who end up giving up and moving home once they've blown through their savings and their parents' generosity. In my case, there was really no home to go back to.

Everything I considered home was in Ottawa, and the apartment I had there was gone. Even if I wanted to move back, as a dirty unilingual I'd never be able to land a job that paid as well as the (awful) one I left behind. That's why I had to leave in the first place. It was all fucking scary, because failure would mean moving to a dying town of 500 with my grandparents who, while loving, would rather play golf than take care of their 23 year-old grandson.

I left for Toronto in late September. Six very long weeks, and countless job interviews later I landed a job that paid less than I was making in Ottawa, but didn't make me want to die, and an awful bachelor apartment I could afford. By the time February rolled around I decided it wasn't worth living on my own if I could only afford a shoebox, and moved to a nicer place with roommates.

I didn't have the money or the logistical ability to move all my crap from Ottawa until the ex moved here as well. From September 25 until May 1, I lived out of those two suitcases. By then I'd almost forgotten that I actually owned any furniture and it felt like Christmas to bring all this niceish Ikea crap into my apartment. In essence, it took me seven months to move to Toronto. In the interim I was in purgatory.

This isn't a sob story. Those long, dark moments. The stress. The loneliness. It was all worth it, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. More than a testament to me, it's a testament to Toronto. My life here isn't perfect. I still make less than I made in Ottawa. The financial outlook isn't what it should be. But it's hard to be pessimistic in this city. There's an energy, an optimism here, as if the city is telling me to hold on and everything will be alright.

Because now this is my city.

A toast to you, Toronto. I don't regret a thing.

Image courtesy of sandrino.

A lot of my friends have been sucked into the Facebook black hole. Quite frankly, I find it merely okay. It's nice for screwing around for 10 minutes, but that's about it. Of course today it's been more interesting than normal. My Facebook inbox had a nice little note from some dude I don't know, who presumably messaged everyone in the Gay Toronto group I joined for no reason in particular. Take a look at this thing:

HOTEL PARTY REMINDER
OVER 100 FUCKIN HOT DUDES


Hey…we are having another party!!!! …this one will be at a downtown hotel….we are just finalizing the hotel and will let everyone know the hotel and location tomorrow……over 100 fuckin crazy hot horny guys…guys gone wild!!!!… The last house party was awesome, with over 40 amazing hot horny guys…this one over 100 guys…if you’re up for a fucking hot anything goes night this is IT…. We will see you at This Friday Night’s Party at 11:00 P.M.!!!!

GUYS…. BE REAL! BE 19 to 40, BE DECENT SHAPE (height/weight proportionate), BE COOL, BE FUN, BE OPEN MINDED & BE READY to bust loose & have fun...

Cool Fun hot crazy horny guys…gay, bi dudes hanging out, chilling, beers, drinks…420….and doing anything guys want to do….its up to you!

Always a good idea to bring anything you may want to drink. Have a few beers here for guys who didn’t pick anything up….

A great way to meet some real cool fun guys…get into some real hot man on man……THE HOTEL LOCATION WILL BE RIGHT IN THE DOWNTOWN CORE

We will send the hotel info, address, directions and all the details..........upon check-in on Friday around noon we will send out the actual room number or call our cell contact number for a recording with the room number….

See you on Friday for an unforgettable fucking awesome night!!!

Yeah I'm afraid I'll have to send my regrets. Blind dates are bad enough, but blind hotel orgies? Sounds like a scheme for a bunch of old overweight creeps to lure a few fit, naive youngins over, get them smashed, and pass 'em around. The relative unattractiveness of the host underscores the danger in attending such a sordid affair.

I'm extremely curious about the identity of the kind gent who's financing the hotel room though. And extremely sorry for the poor cleaning lady that will have to clean up after this thing.

This is why I reserve orgies for trusted acquaintances only.

* Just kidding, I really am more of a one-on-one guy. The ride may run frequently, but there's only seating for one.

"Adam doesn't fit in."

I am a perpetual outcast. Until age 19 or so this was largely due to extreme social immaturity and high-level loserdom. Today I've come to realize that I'm sort of a scene-spanner.

In high school I was too keen while everyone else coasted. In university I was too blasé as everyone else was keen.

Too pragmatic for the intellectual scene. Too intellectual and introspective for the club scene. Too trusting to be in Toronto.

The bottom line is: people just don't get me, especially here.

I'm an individualistic person in a very cliquey city. I dance my ass of at the pick-up club. I'm too wordy, too thoughtful, and above all else, too honest.

Toronto I am so sorry that I refuse to play the game. To sit back and look disinterested. To never smile. I'm sorry that I tell people when I like them, that I'm honest about myself. I'm sorry I refuse to pursue someone all night, and instead just tell them they're cute. I'm sorry I'm real. I'm sorry that I thought that, just maybe, people might like a friend that's not exactly like them.

Oh wait, no I'm not. Fuck you Toronto.

Virgin Vacations has posted their picks for the top 11 subway systems in the world, and I'm sad to say I'm not surprised to see no mention of dear old Toronto. It was a little surprising to see Montreal on the list at number eight, right behind New York City. Here's what they had to say:

The Montreal Metro is a modern system that was inaugurated in 1966. It is a small (37.8 miles reaching 65 stations on four lines) yet unique and modern system that was inspired by the Paris Metro.

Highlights: Diverse, beautiful architecture and unique station art (each station is designed by a different architect). Pleasant riding experience (smooth rides: the trains run on a rubber surface to reduce the screech of train cars). Trains are frequent and fairly comfortable.

The Toronto and Montreal subway systems are the only two I've had the pleasure of exploring, and I have to say there's good reason to give Montreal the nod. As someone who spends an hour on the Bloor line every day, I'll give you one word to describe the experience: depressing. Pretty much the whole subway system is a little lacking in aesthetics, but the Bloor line is especially bland, with the same cream coloured tile everywhere, now covered in filth, and nary a bright colour to be found.

The Montreal subway might not run nearly as often, going down to 15 minutes at night, but it's a hell of a lot more pleasant. The stations aren't so dull and claustrophobic. If you've ever been to the breath of fresh air that is St. Clair West station, that's what the Montreal Metro is like.

The sad thing is it seems the TTC will never, ever bother to make these stations more aesthetically pleasing. Hell, even bringing the Bloor line up to the level of the Yonge line would be a major improvement. The people in this city spend a good chunk of their lives underground for Christ's sake. Shouldn't we make it as enjoyable as possible?

Images courtesy of Duchamp and sillygwailo.

Forget the witty intro. I'll let the picture speak for itself:


Not only are these lovely Elvis busts readily available one block from my building, it's a 24 hour convenience store. It's stuff like this that makes the big Toronto move worthwhile. After all, where else can you get your jailhouse rocks off at 3 AM, along with a pack of cigarettes and some porno mags? That's right, nowhere.

Me? I'm holding out for a Gavin Rossdale bust. In my mind it will always be 1995.

I've lived in a lot of different places in my 24 years, and I can tell you that despite what many people say, Ottawa's not half bad. It does tend toward the conservative in many ways, but it has a very nice downtown, not too too expensive rent and is moderately friendly. The amenities are pretty good too. Lots of museums and cultural things.

But sometimes to get the really good stuff you just have to come to the big city:

Where else in Canada can you be a short walk away from a thetan test? It's as if L. Ron Hubbard blessed the city himself.

Oh how I adore Toronto, where even the fleeting desires of celebrity whack jobs are tended to at every opportunity. The tourism marketing practically writes itself.

So for the first time since the summer I now have a permanent place to hang my hat. As a bonus, my rent is cheaper than it was in Ottawa and I get to wake up to this view:


Of course this all comes at a price.

I have to share the apartment with two other people. Not just any people, but strangers I met off of craigslist. This is moderately terrifying as I've never done the move-in-with strangers-thing before. The live-with-a-close-friend-thing and the-live-with-your-boyfriend things went pretty well, but needless to say it's a pretty big risk.

The thing is, they seem kind of...innocent. Which is good, in a way. They'll keep me out of trouble. I do wonder how they'll react when they find out where I'm going this weekend, though.

Oh and I also live in the most densely populated neighborhood in the country. Yes, lovely St. Jamestown with over 25,000 people in a square mile. Some people call it an urban planning nightmare. I'm going to be calling it home. Still, I have to admit, the collection of 30+ story buildings is more than a little Orwellian.

People warned me about living here. They said it was unsafe, and so forth. But those of you who've known me a long time know that this is far from my first time living in sketchy surroundings. Hell, based on what I've seen so far it's not even that bad. And budget living in Toronto requires sacrifices.

Of course it's not perfect. The elevator is essentially an unfunny clown car, where you have to squish your way in if you have any hope of getting anywhere. And just when you think it's completely full, someone new will squeeze their way on at the next stop. While moving one woman informed me that if I waited for an elevator with room to breathe I'd be waiting all day.

But I'm reserving judgment for now. It remains to be seen whether this neighbourhood is as bad as it's made out to be. My craigslist buddies don't seem to scared so I'm cautiously optimistic. The location is good, the rent is great, the view is unbeatable and I have a kitchen sink. Let it never be said that I lack optimism!

Continuing the theme of regularly doing things I swore I'd never do, I took a nice radiation bath on my way to the gym today. Some might call it "tanning."

I remember a couple of years ago I was mentoring first year students at Carleton and one of them submitted this awful story about tanning. She was getting to the bottom of the phenomenon by interviewing...the owner of a Fabutan. Oh and she also read a pamphlet...that she found at the Fabutan. The conclusion was, of course, that tanning is actually GOOD FOR YOU! I immediately emailed her back and told her that if she wanted to pass she'd better get a dermatologist on the phone pronto. You know, somebody that could remind her of the whole cancer angle.

Quite frankly, back then I didn't get it. But "luckily" Toronto has opened my eyes to many things. Stuff that seemed minor in Ottawa is a big deal here. Like not having visible abdominal muscle. Or being pale in January.

Honestly I know it's bad for me. I do. But when I see someone who's got the whole albino look going on, it doesn't exactly load the pistol. I'd be a hypocrite if I judged people for seeing me the same way. And they have. Just look at my pale and near-sexless Toronto pride, for example.

So I'm going out this weekend and I want to look good. Plus all that light's gotta be good for the old seasonal affective disorder, right? So what's the harm? Oh yeah, the cancer.

PS A tip for those considering taking up this horrible practice. ALWAYS tan less than the nice lady at the tanning place tells you to. You notice that lovely orange look she's sporting? She thinks it'd look great on you too. See The Onion for a necessarily dire warning.

Underwear is a strange thing. Tantalizing, yet functional. Tawdry, yet universal. For most of my life I've considered underwear in a very pragmatic way, as the last line of defense between my goodies and the outside world.

In fact, when Tavy and I moved in together, we famously merged our underwear collections into a single pool. A lot of people found this objectionable. But logically, between any exchange there is a wash cycle, and as his live-in boyfriend I was clearly comfortable with his wang, so why not?

Unfortunately this influx of briefs allowed me get lazy. Truth be told, shortly before I met Tavy I went to Wal-mart and stocked up on budget boxers. These were the last underwear I purchased for nearly three years. Sure they got a little beat up, but as long as they were keeping everything hidden I really didn't care.

My how things have changed.

Last summer I started to realize just how important nice underwear is in the Toronto scene. In Ottawa it wasn't nearly as big of a deal. But here, not only to people see more of your underwear (should you choose to remove your shirt), but they seem to place a lot more importance on it as well. Also, tight-fitting briefs are essential for successfully smuggling goodies into your venue of choice.

Now instead of underwear acting as a rarely-seen tool to keep the horse in the barn I look forward to throwing on a nice pair of underwear for a night on the town.

As a result, I've gone from spending nothing on underwear to spending most of my meager clothing budget on them. In fact, I haven't been able to find the cash to make a meaningful investment in my wardrobe since the summer. The shirt I wore for New Year's was in fact a cute little number I picked at Value Village. It went great with my thirty dollar undies:

$30 for underwear. This is a personal record for me. But I challenge you to look at them without smiling. The only way they could be better is if they had a target on the ass.

Besides, they serve an important purpose. When you think about it, underwear is a lot like the curtain in a theatre. It hides the good stuff until it's time for show to begin. If you saw a tattered curtain, wouldn't you wonder if it was worth staying through the second act?

Did you ever get off the subway at Wellesley and get the feeling that everyone on the train is thinking "I knew he was gay!"?

This isn't news to anyone, but Toronto is expensive as all hell. Forget youth being wasted on the young, I think Toronto is wasted on the people who can actually afford it.

Naturally I am not one of those people. Oh sure, I get by. But I can't help but feel I should be doing a little better by age 24. Like I should be able to afford a modest bachelor that is not a dive. But alas that's too much to ask. And it's not just rent. Everything is more expensive here. A transit pass is $100 a month! Luckily there's a No Frills near my place or I'd be subsisting on ramen noodles by now. Of course there are ways for a gay man of my age to make big money fast, but I'm not that desperate yet.

There was a series in The Star recently about youth debt and, surprise, I'm not the only one deep in the hole:

Turns out, there is reason to worry and it's not all the fault of today's youth. "Wages of younger workers for all levels of education decreased significantly during the 1980s, the trend continued although at a diminished rate through the 1990s," concluded a report by Industry Canada.

Exacerbating the situation, the same study pointed out, was the youth unemployment rate -- twice that of the general population.

This is a double whammy for young people. As their wages were declining relatively, from the early 80s through to 2005, the Consumer Price Index increased by 74.9 percent from the early 1980s through to 2005. With less money coming in and more money going out, the crux of the problem starts to come into focus. (Source)

So what solution do they offer? Spend less and save more. Simple. But there's one problem: I only get to be young once. Sure I could just bank it all, and then, in 10 years, when I'm good and secure, I could party my ass off...Oh wait, that's not socially acceptable either!

Was it this hard for people my age 20 years ago? My gut says no, but really it's impossible to say for sure. What I do know is that it's hard as fuck now. Am I going to stop having fun? Hell no. If I have to evade student loan payments for a while so I can enjoy my youth, that's the way it's going to be. After all, what fun is it to save all that cash if you haven't saved any wonderful memories?

So I was supposed to move in with a friend February 1st. He wasn't getting along with his roommate and I hate my place, so we were looking for a place. Last night he decides to tell me that it ain't gonna happen. Not only that, he KNEW it wasn't going to happen all last week, but said he was waiting until he had me alone on the phone to tell me.

I talked to him at least four times last week. The real story: he's a prick and a coward and procrastinated on telling me as long as he could. Clearly he made up with the roommate and decided to screw me over to make his life easier. Now I've already given my notice here and I've lost a valuable week of hunting time. Aint (ex-)friendship grand?

That's right, he's cut out. In fact, cutting people out has become something of a hobby of mine lately. As I've realized that most of my friends here suck, it's been highly therapeutic to shed myself of these hollow entanglements. When I told a (real) friend about this cutting out business, he said "that's a very Toronto thing to do." Maybe I'm getting the hang of this city after all!

Anyways today I looked at one apartment. It's $80 more expensive than the one I have now, is about the same size, but has a kitchen sink and a balcony. No thanks. On the plus side the Annex is a very pleasant area and I had a chance to come across the most ostentatious bargain store in all of creation! Take a look at that thing! Makes you wonder how they can afford to power it with those low, low prices. This place ranks right up there with Zanzibar on Yonge Street.