Jun 18
At 21-years-old Alex Minsky almost died while serving in Afghanistan. A road-side bomb put him into a coma. He had to re-learn how to form memories, read, talk and walk.
During recovery his younger brother unexpectedly passed away, and he became depressed, resorting to drinking and getting into serious trouble.
Then one day at the gym he was discovered by a photographer and now, at 24, Alex is doing much better.
Here’s a video about his experience:
Oh yeah, and his butt!
My Sunday trip to Leslieville was relaxing
Sunday provided an unusually sunny break from all this rain we’ve been experiencing this summer. Granted summer hasn’t actually started, but by this time of the year we are often enjoying much warmer temperatures with plenty of vitamin D.
A cultural institution, Jilly’s is a gentleman’s club in Riverdale
Though I have to admit that I really love the rain because it cleanses the air and symbolizes rebirth. And why wouldn’t anyone want to be reborn?
The building sign to the top left says, “Now Installing Quality Tires” as opposed to before when they were not installing quality tires…
Weird
Saying that, it was welcome to have a bright sunny Sunday to walk to Leslieville, which as I have stated earlier is one of my favourite neighbourhoods in Toronto.
Applause Applause Talent Agency near Moss Park
I had a lovely, carefully prepared yogurt partaif for breakfast at Glas Wine Bar and some afternoon beer at The Ceili Cottage. None of these places did I actually photograph in great depth.
Skyline from St. Lawrence area
Rather I focused on areas, buildings, signs, art, that inspire me to think, question and laugh.
Just a tree near Ceili’s Cottage in Leslieville
After I met up with Alisha in the village for some conversation and as is typical, a trip down memory lane.
Corktown, though I don’t know where it begins and where it ends!
Then, when my belly was full of enough food and beer to keep me from consuming any more, I went to bed.
Wall art
And enjoyed some much-needed rest.
Wall art up close
“I still dream that Jasper is alive. Before that my heart will not go.” ~ Peter Heller, author of The Dog Stars
A couple of months ago I wrote a review for The Dog Stars, a debut novel by adventure writer Peter Heller set in a post-apocalyptic world.
I won’t ruin it for you, because I believe that you should read it for yourself, but I wanted to talk about one very important theme in the book and that’s the relationship between man and animal.
Hig, the novel’s protagonist is accompanied by his aging loyal dog, Jasper. One evening, after a hike in the woods, Hig and Jasper set up camp to rest until morning breaks. When Hig wakes he notices that Jasper has died in his sleep. After a desperate attempt to wake his friend, he holds vigil for a few hours before burying Jasper, and continuing alone on his journey.
It was at this point where I had to put the book down and sob. Anyone who has ever owned a dog is privileged to know the wonders of unconditional love. They forgive easily. And you never forget them when they pass. At least, I never have.
There is a phrase I often repeat, “Be the person your dog thinks that you are.” If only we could follow this piece of advice, but alas, life is challenging, and we lose perspective easily.
Jasper’s death affected me, not only because of my deep affection for animals, but because death is incomprehensible. How can this little guy, who brought Hig so much company and love, be gone? Then there is Hig’s guilt that he hiked with his visibly older dog, who had trouble keeping up.
But then I thought how content Jasper must have been to have died lying next to his best friend. And how lucky Hig was to have been there, and to know that Jasper went peacefully.
Towards the end of The Dog Stars, Hig, in honour of Jasper, recites his favourite Chinese poem, written by Li Shangyin.
It reads:
When Will I Be Home?
When will I be home? I don’t know.
In the mountains, in the raining night,
The Autumn lake is flooded.
Someday we will be back together again.
We will sit in the candlelight by the West window
And I will tell you how I remembered you
Tonight on the stormy mountain.
May 21
Yesterday afternoon I was walking down Church St. when a group of men driving a truck started laughing at me. I was wearing a pair of green shorts with a tank top, because the weather was hot and that’s what gay guys do.
I knew their look well. It’s what a lot of straight guys do when they’re confronted by gays. It’s that look where they try to convey how silly and repugnant gay people are, and they often throw in a little laugh and sometimes shake their head to signify just how repulsed they are at the freak show before them.
Walking in front of me was an older gay couple holding hands, this is a common occurrence in gay-friendly Toronto. The men in the truck pointed and laughed, while I stared back at them. I wasn’t going to feel intimidated because we don’t adhere to their narrow-minded conventions, so I locked their eyes, but I’m sure as they sped away they muttered about how I was trying to seduce them.
It probably left them secure in the fact that we, meaning gay people, exist to entertain them. We’re so laughable, such a joke in the minds of these men that we can’t possibly be taken seriously as living, breathing human beings. We must know our place as silly nellies.
In retrospect I appreciated their restraint. In the past straight men have actually thrown objects from their moving vehicles at me; once it was a book (how did they know I like to read?), and more than once I’ve had to endure public humiliation by being called a “FAAAAAGGGGOOOOOOTTTTTT” by a group of cowardly men, driving their parents’ car.
So okay, I prefer being laughed at then yelled at. Seriously though, why do guys do this? What’s their problem, and why are they so afraid all of the time? Secure people don’t have to go around trying to make people feel inferior.
On Saturday I was reading a fellow bloggers recent post about an anti-homophobic demonstration in Georgia (the country) that was hijacked by anti-gay clergy who beat and attempted to kill many of the gay-rights supporters. I would link to her post but it appears she has removed it.
Again I beg the question, what are these straight individuals so afraid of? Their fear is so massive that they will kill because of it. They will commit the greatest atrocities to tell gay people that they are worthless, valueless and sick. Their hatred means so much to them that they will violate gay people’s physical autonomy. All of this is perfectly logical in their minds, and worse, they have the support of many people.
I grew up Catholic, and while attending Catholic school I was told several times by teachers that gay people were biological defects, deserved of pity, but not tolerance. The individuals who felt so comfortable expressing these beliefs always cited the book of Leviticus as evidence or justification of their archaic and barbaric reasoning.
Of course, anyone who opened the book of Leviticus and read it for themselves would learn pretty quickly that it lists a whole load of activities humans should not engage in. Among them are not eating shellfish, or wearing two types of fabrics, or shaving their beards. All these “crimes” are considered abominations and punishable by death. Oh yeah, and you’re not supposed to have sex with a woman during her period. But it’s okay to rape her if she’s not putting out when you want her to. After all she’s supposed to submit to the wants and needs of men at all times.
I mean, we all understand that these rules are fallible, and antiquated and well, stupid. But the gay thing stays with us, primarily because people are fixated on what two men do together during sex. I mean, I think that’s the reason. I don’t know about you, but I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about heterosexual sex, and to be honest the very idea gives me the heebie-jeebies, but I live with it!
Perhaps what gets straight men so worked up is that there is a passive recipient in gay sex. Maybe they’re bothered by effeminate gay men because, as well all know, being feminine is considered weak, and why would anyone want to be weak? It does make me laugh to think about how much more pain women endure during their lifetime compared to men, and how high their pain threshold is while men succumb so easily to the common cold.
Considering how corrupted men are, especially when it comes to the whole sex thing, the way that they create boys’ clubs, and actively exclude anyone who is different, how they’re prone to violence, I would argue that it’s straight men who are actually the weakest of all groups.
Straight men. Dear God. Sometimes I can’t believe that I have to exist on the same earth as so many of them. Ladies, don’t let them beguile you with their mediocrity. Trust me when you and your gay bestie are off, they’re talking about how fuckable some lady friend is, and how gross gay men are. Lesbians are okay, because they exist to titillate their sexual fantasies. Let’s not forget that a lesbian’s only purpose, is to give a straight man a boner. They don’t have time for the feminist lesbians though. They’re CRAZY! All this talk about equality, and they don’t even shave their legs. Gross.
There’s this thing that straight men do, that bothers me above all else. Even more than the hating gay people thing and yelling obscenities from their moving cars. The one thing that irks me the most is that they always think they’re an authority on everything. They know it all, even when they’re grossly misinformed.
If there is one topic that I know more than most people, it’s tennis. And every now and again, I like to test a straight men’s inferiority complex by talking about the latest tennis news and what not. Sure enough, each time the straight man, in all his manly knowledge, pretends to know something about the topic, even though I spend most of my time correcting him. But I’m wasting my breath, he’s a MAN, sports is his domain, and I’m a lowly gay. Barf.
To be fair, straight women can be just as bad. I don’t know how many times I’ve been asked, “Who’s the man and who’s the woman in the relationship?” Or the proclamation, “I don’t believe in gay marriage.” Who cares what you believe? Because you’re a bigot, and don’t believe in equality, it means that every gay person must accept legal limitations on their freedom to make you comfortable?
Once I was walking by Massey Hall in Toronto when a group of straight girls drove up to me, and asked “Are you gay?” to which I answered, “Yes.” They crumbled into fits of laughter, saying “He admits he’s a faggot!”
I’m not even going to mention the time that I was chased by a group of women after a Tori Amos concert who proceeded to hurl insults about how ‘girly’ I appeared, and of course, the f-bomb was dropped often. Although I just did didn’t I?
Oh well, I guess this is my adversity, and one that I’ve been able to overcome so far. It would be nice if straight people weren’t such entitled asses though.
I’ll leave with a quote from Nina Simone: “You don’t have to live next to me, just give me my equality!”
Hands on hips — a classic. And so natural looking.
I spent all of yesterday with Alexandra. We walked to Leslieville and I learned something about my new favourite neighbourhood that changed my mind about living there: The pubs don’t open until late afternoon / early evening. Deal. Breaker. However, I think it’s a good location to open my vegan bakery.
We walked a lot, with some beer drinking in between that served as little breaks. Alex did take these series of photos of me, in several different… poses.
Hands in pockets. Another classic.
Are you taking a picture of me?
Oh… you are!
May 12
Sam Harris is an American author, philosopher, public intellectual, and neuroscientist, as well as the co-founder and CEO of Project Reason, an organization that promotes scientific knowledge and secular values within society.
Harris says, “The reality of your life is always now… The future is merely anticipated, it is another thought arising now… What we truly have is this moment… We are always solving a problem, and it is possible to drop the problem and enjoy your life in the present.”
The video above is five minutes, so have a listen and let me know what you think.
A confession. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have pets. I mean, they’re a lot of work, and if they’re anything like Maude, really expensive. Truly, I love my pets very much, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them, but they’re constantly in my face needing attention and love. I want to scream.
Maude is a special case. She’s always restless, except when I take her for a walk, where she stands motionless, as if to say, “What the fuck are we doing?” I’m constantly worried about her because she’s always sick.
Beenie on the other hand is the most needy cat on the planet. She purs all the time and I can’t sit down to eat breakfast without her nestling in my lap pressing her head to my hand demanding that I pet her. I always acquiesce but she can never get enough. I just want to eat my breakfast!
I’m sorry, this is all coming from sleep deprivation. I probably slept about four hours last night, Maude was up bright and early pacing back and forth throughout the apartment.
As usual I prepared all her medications; she’s on a strict regiment to control her hypothyroidism and epilepsy. Then I brought her outside to do her “business” and thought while we were at it I might as well take her for a walk so that I could get a coffee and snap some photographs of the tulips in St. James Park.
I shouldn’t be complaining. I get up at the crack of dawn anyway, and never sleep past 7:30 in the morning. Even on weekends, even after I spent the evening binge drinking, which I didn’t do last night by the way.
Anyway, I love my pets, I just wish they would sleep when I do.
In 2005, author David Foster Wallace was asked to give the commencement address to the graduating class of Kenyon College. However, the resulting speech didn’t become widely known until 3 years later, after his tragic death. It is, without a doubt, some of the best life advice we’ve ever come across, and perhaps the most simple and elegant explanation of the real value of education.
We made this video, built around an abridged version of the original audio recording, with the hopes that the core message of the speech could reach a wider audience who might not have otherwise been interested. However, we encourage everyone to seek out the full speech (because, in this case, the book is definitely better than the movie).
-The Glossary
Thanks Alisha!
Dusty II on my childhood bed in Brampton
When I was 5-years-old my family rented a home in Rexdale, a neighbourhood in Toronto, and as part of our kin we had a dog, a shih tzu named Dusty.
One day Dusty was mauled by a German Shepherd and died. I wasn’t there to witness the horrible event, but my dad rushed our poor mangled family pet to the vet (a rhyme!), where he remained, never to return to our humble abode.
My dad explained that he surrendered Dusty to the animal hospital, who happily adopted him. I somehow knew that was code for “the emergency bill to save his life was too expensive, and so Dusty was mercifully sent to doggy heaven.” In fairness, I’m sure that my dad would have paid anything to save that dog if it was possible.
Well, a year later my parents bought their first house in Brampton, and that’s where I lived until I went to university.
Okay, I’m just going to lay it out there for all of you: Brampton was a hell hole. It’s not exactly where I would choose to raise my family, but it was cheap, there were good Catholic schools that I loathed as much as living in Brampton, and we were somewhat safe. That’s if you forgive that time our next-door neighbours were robbed from top to bottom, but that’s a story for another blog post.
Eventually, my parents decided that it was time for us to buy a new dog, to replace Dusty, and we did, a shih tzu, named, errr…. Dusty. Maybe my dad thought this would erase our memory of Dusty I, and it sort of worked, but it was odd, to say the least.
Dusty II was a loyal addition to our family and we loved him dearly. We demonstrated our affection by feeding him… a lot! Throughout his life, Dusty II was always somewhat obese, and looking back it was cruel that we fed him so much. But it was always so cute to see how excited he would get at the word “cookie” and of course, as soon as you mentioned it, you had to give it to him. Dusty II could sit, lie down, roll over and give paw on command, which is something I later found to be impossible with another breed of dog. But I digress.
I especially adored Dusty, he was probably my best friend, and I’m not ashamed to confess that. When my whole family went to Italy one summer I was gutted that I would be apart from him for so long, but I managed and I remember when we collected him from the dog-sitters, how tremendously happy he was to be reunited with us. As we drove up to our house he was bursting with joy; perhaps he felt he would never see us again when we unceremoniously abandoned him for a month with complete strangers.
For all their faults my parents were loving dog owners, but Dusty made it easy for all of us to love him. He was well-behaved, never barked and his favourite past-time was sleeping. Win-win-win!
Whenever he got super happy he would excitedly run around the house in circles and then stop, panting and staring at us, as if to ask, “Are you proud of me?”
Dusty was deathly afraid of the vacuum cleaner because once I mistook his tail for part of the carpet. I was mortified that I had just traumatized my beautiful baby, but like all dogs, he instantly forgave me. But not the vacuum.
In later years Dusty got thinner, and I moved away to attend university. I would come home every now and again and notice that he was even thinner and that he wasn’t eating his cookies like he used to.
One night my father found him, alone in the corner of the laundry room. This was unusual for Dusty, because he loved my father very much and was always by his side in the family room sleeping on a pillow.
My father spent most of the evening making Dusty comfortable and trying not to disturb him. He was clearly dying, and wanted to spare his family, the ones he loved the most in the whole world, from the trauma of having to witness his demise. Over night he lay on the ground in the laundry room, while my father stroked his once shiny fur. Dusty courageously held on to life, either afraid of disappointing us, or desperate to stay with his loving family. The next day at the vet my parents and brothers learned that he was riddled with cancer.
The decision was made to spare him any further pain, and he was euthanized that day. He was 14.
I never said goodbye to Dusty and I still think of him often. I remember his chubby body, his cute round squishy face, and how much I used to love kissing the little brown spot on his otherwise primarily black nose.
I still feel guilty that I wasn’t around more during the last years of his life. I was selfish, a teenager, just wanting to be away from home, free to discover new friends, and new experiences. I forgot how loyal and loving he was to me, during a time when I was isolated and abandoned by my peers. With Dusty I was never a loser, never a nerd. I was… gulp… cool.
After he died, Dusty was cremated. When I came home that very day, unaware that he had passed, I immediately called for him when I entered the house. Usually, at that stage of his life, he would saunter over to welcome me back, but this time he was nowhere to be seen. I thought it odd that I couldn’t find his food and water dishes, and as I continued my useless search to find him, my mother appeared and told me what had happened.
Understandably I cried. Embarrassingly. An ugly cry. I stood in the foyer of my family home and crumbled in agony. He was my dog, my friend, the only thing that mattered to me. How could it be that he was just gone? You mean, I’ll never see him again?
Nothing seemed the same after he passed away, and even our house missed him. He was a beautiful dog, and his peaceful presence was hard to ignore. His energy was always a positive influence on all of us.
There are still nights when I dream about him. I know it sounds cheesy, but I hope that he’s alive somewhere, and that I’ll be reunited with him again one day. He was a special little guy, and he brought so much love and light to our family.
A few weeks ago my friend Alisha reminded me of a quote that says, “Be the person your dog thinks you are.” I hope I made Dusty proud.
I love you Dusty. Wherever you are.
The documentary, How I Became an Elephant, about a young girl on a mission to save endangered elephants is now available online and DVD. The film was directed by 16-time award-winning filmmakers Tim Gorski and Synthian Sharp, produced by television actor/producer Jorja Fox, David Reuben and Alec Pedersen and starring Juliette West, and a musical score by Cody Westheimer supported by internationally acclaimed musicians Xavier Rudd, and Tori Amos. The film has been released worldwide, and is available on iTunes, Google Play, Distrify, and Amazon.
At the age of 14, Juliette is on a mission to save elephants. After single-handedly raising funds, she embarks on a life-altering journey to Southeast Asia to meet and work with her hero, Lek Chailert, known as “The Elephant Lady,” who has risked her life and freedom for more than three decades to protect elephants from illegal trade and abuse. This is the story of two women, one from the East, one from the West, coming together on common ground to save elephants. It’s also the coming-of-age story of a passionate young woman joining forces with a wise and experienced animal advocate on an enlightening journey of compassion, action and hope. The message: no matter what your age, your ethnicity, or disposition, no matter what the cause, you can make a difference. The film is one girl’s story that led to a movement that became a comprehensive plane to save a species.
I hope you watch it and learn something new.
Hello I'm Franco. I write about anything that interests me, which includes travel, my dog, my cat, television, radio, movies, music, you name it, I'm into it. I'm an annoyingly proud Canadian who loves to drink too much beer and stare inappropriately and uncomfortably at strangers. Don't get me started on anything political, because I get even more obnoxious.
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I possess great compassion and seek to be of service to others. 
