leroBlog

Sometimes people ask me to do lists.

Isis from Thunderheist (pants-exploding Toronto band) had the best response to Chosen Party Outfit:

“A little black dress, which I also like to call “where yo boss at?””

sean is the writer/director of the show i work on, and The World’s Greatest Man. he has to wake up extremely early every morning to make it into downtown toronto from his home in markham, where he lives with all his girls (wife + two adorable daughters that are made of heart and sparkplugs). sean has a cup of coffee on the train in the morning. when he’s done, he writes on them.

every day i must remind myself how integral i am to Slash’s career. this is why people admire me so much. and also why they want to sleep with me so badly. they want to sleep with me so badly they can barely sleep at night.

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what annoys me about that there behaviour to the right is that when i see my parents, there is a CNN ticker of thought going through my head and it is this: don’t die don’t die please please don’t die don’t die never die oh for the love of god don’t die don’t die

and i know the same thing runs through their heads when they think about me and my brothers.

when i was depressed in 2001 my father said to me in the kitchen, “your life is no longer your own once you are loved.”

my kitchen smells like the compost bin! i will go throw it at the ghosts.

philippe does a dramatic reading of the hotel room service menu

on saturday night, i fell through a plate glass window in the east end of toronto. i fell like a bookcase does in a scene in a movie when an earthquake is just beginning. i just toppled right over, head-first, and smashed right through the window. as usual, i sustained an insultingly low amount of injuries.

bruised left knee

small foot bruise with tiny cut

and the case for my lovely sunglasses broke.

last year, at almost this exact same time, i was at a friend’s cottage and decided to go for a polar dip at 1 a.m. i forgot people pull in their docks in the winter and dove straight into two feet of water and some rocks. i broke my nose.

my otolaryngologist was so handsome. his name was dr. duval. he had blue eyes like lasers and made me cry when he shoved a crazy serpentine instrument-scope-thing up my nostrils. as he was doing this, he covered my hand with his.

i go too fast.

(i am such an embarrassment)

(let me be clear: i wrote a book so that i could get laid with A-listers.)

but seriously, seriously. i wrote a book to get emails like this one. (excerpt)

Subject: Jesus, the expletive, not the deity.
>>> Chris Howden 11/6/2009 1:39 pm >>>
As in “Jesus, Borel, did you ever write a fucking amazing book.”

First of all, you wrote a book. I mean, you wrote a whole book. So that alone, to my undisciplined ass, is some kind of achievement tantamount to building your own Large Hadron Collider, producing the Higgs-Boson particle, and capturing it in a jar, and then letting children look at it for free, but also punching Vladmir Putin when he tries to grab it with his bearlike hand-things. So for that alone, you deserve to have the world’s best masseur drench you in wild honey and work your glutes.

I ate a really crummy russet apple earlier. Usually I like them because they’re fucking ugly and taste the opposite.

Alex found these in Austin and went BANANAS!

Tiny pancakes!

Nico, did you snipe this?

NICO!

My item gained +15.5 dollars significance. Maybe this felt good. From now on, I am only writing fiction for competition. Art jocks style.

Bombs

Now that I have an iPhone I pretty much don’t have any other troubles in my life. Any of the sadness I might have had before receiving or while I was waiting for or after I received the iPhone have disappeared because now I can hold it in my bony hands and say “you are mine”. Everything else is just a fistful of sand, but the iPhone is a fistful of glass and applications. I didn’t even mind spending four shiftless hours on my bed on the eHow website trying to figure out what was going wrong as I tried to convert an mp3 of B.O.B. into a ringtone. Because now when I hold that iPhone in those bony hands and it rings, it plays 40 glorious seconds of B.O.B. and tells me someone I don’t necessarily want to speak with is calling.

It’s winter now in Canada so I have to wear hats when I go on my nighttime rape runs.