Porno King Part Deux

This is a follow-up to the Porno King post. I had originally posted this follow-up on Dec 09, 2004. Both were archived for some odd reason, so I am reposting.
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It seems that I have somehow failed to write a follow-up to my photo shoot for the Spa as mentioned in the Porno King post. It actually took place sometime ago in early summer 2004, but for one reason or the other (i.e. embarrassment) I failed to document. I had been feeling under the weather and went out to the local pharmacy to get some Tylenol when I bumped into the owner of the Spa. We struck up a conversation and he started to apologise that he had gone ahead and completed the print ad campaign for the Spa, but was now interested in having me do a Web-based commercial for the Spa.

My head was a bit foggy, and I wasn't quite sure what he meant, but my imagination took wind. Like fat sugarplums stomping in my head, a plethora of images popped into my noggin with ideas of what the ad would look like. Me standing there with some sexy older man. The Spa's name emblazoned overhead in some shower scene. Both of us buck naked soaping and showering. It would go something like this.

Me: "Daddy, I'm not quite sure why, but some days I just don't feel so fresh"
Daddy (picking up an enema kit): "Well son, come on over here and we'll get you all squeaky clean!"
Me: "Oh daddy! I love you so!"

I was woken from my stupor, and he told me to drop by on the shoot date if I was still interested. Could you imagine my 15 seconds of fame?

So I go to the Spa early the morning of, and meet the rest of the actors/models. We watch as a production crew sets up lighting, cameras and props (no enemas or masengill, thank you). I am still a bit hesitant and wary, but I sign the disclosure forms and sign my life away. The shoot ran from 9am till 3pm and was quite a production and involved a shower scene, jacuzzi scene and a lounge scene where I am hanging around watching others play pool in my monagramed bath towel (well, not quite). I didn't realise that it would be such a big production. There were tonnes of crew and camera men, plus all the actors/models and a gawking crowd of older men, all of whom followed us around like unwanted groupies. It was all a little surreal, but I must admit I am quite proud of myself for having done it.

I had the honour of seeing the commercial recently and it is surprisingly tasteful. I'm not sure if that is the right word to use, but there were no cheesey, wonky porn 70's music, and no gratuitous shots. You see quite a bit of my arse and a shadowed profile of my face, but one can't really tell who I am, unless they know me (hmmm...I had mind as well stop the smart ass comments now!).

Anyhow, the 90 second web commercial isn't quite on the website as yet, but I will be sure to mention it if it does. No visuals or links thank you.

Porno King

(This is a re-post from April 2004, as it was lost in my archives, and recently dug up. I will be back to my regular syndication in a day or so.)

Life seems to get more and more bizarre as I go through it.

I recently was sitting at a bar enjoying a beer, minding my own business and reading a recent article in Fab Magazine. There was this French guy sitting next to me who was working on his laptop. I couldn't help but look over at what he was scrolling through - literally hundreds of photos of naked guys and websites.
I left to take a leak and when I came back, the guy turns to me and says he was just chatting about me with his business partner. I asked what they were chatting about, and he tells me that he is a website and porn producer, and that his friend is a Toronto Spa owner. They wanted me to consider the possibility of going to Montreal to film a porn and to be the "poster child" for the Spa - needless to say I was in a bit of a shock. Not exactly bar conversation, or the first thing you expect someone to ask you.

Mind you, I was flattered beyond belief, but had no idea what to do or say. He proceeded to show me his work and sites that he promotes, and tells me he wants me to represent an untapped and open market in representing Asians in the community.

The first image that crossed my mind was some gratuitous portrayal of my face and naked body splayed across a box with the title "Kung-Pao Chicken" or "Riding the Orient Express" emblazoned in a red Chinese style font.

The second image was that the box would be on some window of a Yonge Street porn shop.

The third image was my mom passing out on Yonge Street in front of the said porn shop.

My friends have been split on this issue. Some say no and others say yes. One wants to be my manager so that he can get a cut out of it.... I have such caring wonderful supportive friends.

Anyhow, its been an interesting experience and I'll let you all know what my decision is. Better yet, just keep your eye out for me on your nearest porn shop shelf.

Rib Breakers Birthday Week Weekend

I finally decided to break away from work for a few days and took last Thursday and Friday off to spend with Rib Breaker as it was his birthday on Friday. It's quite hard to leave your work, especially when you have a Blackberry tied to your side. It's no wonder that they call it a Crackberry these days.

Rib Breaker, myself and My So Called Gay Life, went to Canada's Wonderland (Thursday) to have a festive day riding rollercoasters and other rides. We had a great time and thoroughly enjoyed our day, despite the raucous crowds of kids, tweens and teens. There was one point while waiting an hour for a ride that a group of 3 girls were gossiping next to us. This was their conversation:

Girl Friend 1: "Oh my god, I totally can't believe that asshole would do that to me. I mean, like whats wrong with him? Men are total pigs!"
Girl Friend 2: "Well, I totally like heard that he totally was dating this other girl, who was like a friend of another friend"
Girl Friend 3: "Yeah, whats up with that? Men are total assholes"

I had half turned to respond, thinking they were my Joy Luck Club bitches, but realised they were 16 year old teen girls. Makes one wonder doesn't it? 16 year old girls and 30ish year old gay men having the same damned discussion. Rather disturbing and unsettling.

Upon my return home, we found that the bedroom had been flooded by a unit on the 15th floor. Apparently, the toilet tank had broken flooding 5 units below it. The damage was moderate, but the clean up was a bitch. I've taken pictures and will be putting in a claim to have the walls and carpet repaired. I may just get my new floors that I have always wanted!

Friday was a rather busy day, as I had been planning a surprise birthday party for Rib Breaker. This party had already been 2 weeks in the planning, so everything had been organised for 8:45 that evening. I had told Rib Breaker that my parents were dropping by for dinner at 7pm, so he would have to leave during that time (something he was none too happy about) and I arranged with his friend to take him out for drinks. It was all part of my plan to decieve, and since RB was off that day, I took him to Kensington Market to help me do some grocery shopping. Another ruse to throw him off. Anyhow, the food and party turned out great and RB was more than surprised, and later asked if I had actually had dinner with my parents. He's pretty, but none too bright. And yes, I finally will post pictures of the boy.

Rib Breaker's Surprise Birthday Cake

Rib Breaker's Surprise Birthday

The rest of the weekend was relaxed and RB left with a friend to Gananoque Ontario, near the 1000 Islands, to drive his friends' families' 54 foot yacht down to Toronto. He is having a ball of a time, and I know that because he called me Monday morning while at work to tell me he was lying on the deck with a drink in his hand soaking up the sun. That no good son of a ....

Alternate Reality Television Shows

With the proliferation of reality TV shows, my boss and I came up with these alternative reality shows about a year ago. I am sure some have become a reality by now.

The Funeral: Contestants compete for an all expense paid funeral for recently dead Granny. The Funeral is complete with live Gospel singers, flowers and limo ride for the deceased and family. Twist: Granny didn't actually die.

The Orphan: A collection of orphans are competing for prospective parents. Twist: The parents are revealed to be a transvestite and his lover.

The Transplant: 4 contestants are competing for 1 available/compatible lung from a recently deceased motorcycle accident. Twist: The winning contestant must give up a Kidney in order to get the lung.

The Vegetarian: Contestants compete for the right to save a truck full of animals destined for the slaughter house. Each contestant will choose in advance which animals they want to save – Pigs, Cows, and Chickens. Twist: The winner will pick from the selection of losers who will have to witness the slaughter of their chosen animal and are required to ware a garment made from the skins of the dead animals..

The Patient: Contestants are signed up by family members. They are told they have a fatal disease which gets seemingly progressively worse or better as the season progresses. The audience votes for whom should get better each week. Twist: All of the contestants are told they are not really sick except for ONE who actually is fatally ill and wins a trip to Florida.

Homeless: Vagrant homeless people are contestants on a show which force them to compete for a job, shelter and medication. Twist: The winner is subsequently fired for no reason and evicted.

Slum Lord: Contestants are required to stay in a dilapidated apartment where they are competing for the right to stay in a luxury unit until the next challenge. Rats, cockroaches and other infestations are rampant in this venue infecting food supplies.

The Prostitute: Contestants vie to be released by their PIMPS. Audience votes for who should go back to the street. Challenge games for rewards include: Spot the STD, Scavenger hunt for Antibiotics and Pin the Drugs on the Pimp.

The Crack Addict: Contestants pulled off skid row to go through a 6 month heroin Detox. The winner gets 6 months free supply of Grade “A” crack and a discount at Goodwill.

The Office: Contestants are hired for a new online company, in the hopes that they will win a coveted VP position. Twist: the company is fake and their jobs aren’t real. Contestants are put through extreme stress related work conditions including amphetamines being put in coffee. The winner wins a trip to Florida.

The Hole: Contestants compete in a series of sex games where they are blind folded and handcuffed and made to have sex with each other. The Twist: Some contestants are swapped with animals…Who is the imposter? Who is the Hole? The winner who guesses the human wins antibiotics and the animal butchered and cleaned.

The Griller: Contestants vie to be the BEST Griller in the Country. Week after week they prepare and grill prime cuts of meat until the winner is crowned by the audience. Twist: The grilling meat is Human and is only revealed at the very end.

The Refuge: Contestants are refugees from countries accused of political and human rights violations. Winners get landed immigrant papers and free ESL classes. The Twist: They must traffic cocaine and raw heroin from their countries into ours without getting caught.

The Immigrant: Contestants vie for the right to immigrate to a foreign country. Winner will be selected by national vote. Twist: The country is Afghanistan and the winner is sent there with a one way ticket.

The Union: Contestants vie for the right to move away from their blue collar jobs and move into management. Twist: After the winner is selected the plant is closed and everyone is laid off.

The Priest: Contestants vie for the right to enter the seminary and become a priest. Challenges include: Spot the Breast, Tickle the Twink, Wiggle my Willy. Twist: All the contestants are arrested for Child Molestation and put on trial.

The Inmate: Male contestants have been falsely accused with a child sex felony and are vying to get a “get out of jail” pass by undergoing a series of tests, trials and tribulations. They will live in a penitentiary, where they will share a cell with another inmate. The Twist: they are each roomed with a real sex offender and are slipped 2 Viagra’s each night with their meals. (Soap in showers comes from a dispenser attached to floor).

Macho Man: Contestants think they are on a game show picking the Macho-est man in America. Challenges are to demonstrate Man-ly activities. Twist: Unbeknownst to them, the contestants are fed daily doses of female hormones. Audience watches as breasts develop, facial hair becomes thinner and men all begin to develop hips.

The Widow: Contestants are vying for the title of best couple in America. Twist: The winner is told that her mate has been in a car accident while coming to the final taping of the show.

The Tech: People are filmed calling their IT departments because of some computer problem. Contestants are the IT department and as such put them through several steps to determine the actual IT problem. The winner is the Tech who can get their user to delete the entire hard drive in the shortest amount of time.

The Coroner: Contestants are vying to be the technical consultant to CSI, the TV show. They are called upon to perform various coroner investigative duties one of which is an autopsy. Twist: The person they are performing the duties on are a recently deceased family member.

The Home: 10 poor & elderly contestants must compete in a series of competitions to see who will leave their families and receive a luxury retirement package. The Twist: They are actually put into a Montreal Nursing Home.

Childhood Lessons

My mum and dad were those typical Chinese parents that believed their kids needed to be perfect and excel in everything. To reach this lofty goal they enlisted us in piano, swimming and various other things, including Mandarin Chinese classes on Saturday mornings.

This of course was the cruelest thing you could do to a kid.

A Saturday was meant to be spent playing and enjoying life. Instead we were sent to a public school full of Westernized Chinese Canadian kids who according to their parents were pathetic ambassadors to our country and language. We were there to learn our heritage and language, but like the rest of the kids, I was daydreaming of cartoons, cereal and my bike.

In our family, if we weren't in Chinese school, we were woken early on Saturday morning to start cleaning. It was another obsessive compulsive ritual my mother had, that is still ingrained in me now. We would get up, eat, then start to vacuum, mop, clean the bathrooms, dust, polish the wood, then polish the silver, cut the grass, and any other chore that my parents thought they could torture us with.

We hated every minute of it, and whenever we told them that the other kids never had to do things like this, they would say, "You want to be like them? All dirty and living in dusty mouldy houses? Then go!"

Of course we wouldn't. It was a trick of theirs.

If we turned our backs and tried to walk out of the door, they would say " Fine, I guess you do not care how hard your mother and father work to put food on the table. All we wanted was a little help, but instead our children want to leave and play and make us do all the work".

It was like living with Jewish guilt. We were household slaves with benefits, and my parents were the warlords who ruled this little kingdom with an guilt trips.

As I got older, I began to delve into my inner deviousness. I would dread the idea of having to go to Chinese classes on Saturdays, so I found out where the electrical panel was and in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep, I would tiptoe across the house, open the panel and switch off the main power supply, wait a few minutes, then turn it back on. This of course would screw up all the digital alarm clocks in the house. If that didn't work, I would sneak into my parents room and change their alarm to go off at 11:00am instead of 7:30am.

The plan worked. I thought I was being brilliant, until they decided to stick a battery in the alarm clock as a backup power supply. I obviously got this trickery gene from them and soon realised that my deviousness and intelligence was no match for theirs.

When we were stuck at home to clean, I would sometimes turn the vaccum on and leave it there. I would then drag my feet along the carpet creating the illusion that our Filter Queen had cleaned that room or hallway. It worked for a while, but mum caught on when she noticed my hair was sticking up on end from the static. She'd walk up behind me and touch me, giving me a shock that would run down my spine and out my anus. And as punishment, she gave me the extra duty of laundry and cleaning out the cupboards. I learned my lesson stopped cutting corners, and soon began to take pride in the gleaming floors and the satisfying vacuum patterns on the carpet.

I was becoming a good tidy child. I was becoming disciplined and responsible. I was also becoming my mother.

There was no better example then when my friends came over and walked in with their shoes. "Oh my God!" I'd say, "What are you, stupid? I just spent 2 hours cleaning these floors. You're not a pig so stop acting like one." It didn't occur to me, how big a nelly I sounded, and years later I still do the same thing.

Primping, cleaning, tidying. It was my mothers' trademark. And now, it's mine. Back then it was called being thorough and clean. Nowadays, they call it OCD.

Memories of my mother

It was an early summer morning and I could hear my mother moving about the house in preparation for work. This was her morning ritual, which she did for many years, before she finally decided to retire early and enjoy life. Every morning though, it was always the same. She never deviated from the plan unless of course she was late. This all occurred many years ago, when we all still lived under the same crazy roof in Oakridges, Ontario. As I lay in bed, I could hear her footsteps as she went down the stairs and let out the dog, made her tea and went to the powder room to do her make-up and hair.

In the midst of this mornings ritual, I could sense a certain rush as she paced about quicker than usual. It wasn't long before I too stirred out of bed, got up and dressed. As I groggily went down the stairs, I noticed a peculiarly odd smell in the air. When I got to the foyer, the smell became even more overpowering. There was a slight haze in the air as well, and I rubbed my eyes believing it to be the residual drowsiness. It didn't seem to help.

As I sniffed the air and looked around, my mother looked at me quizzically and gave me that look of annoyance that told me I was acting weird and to be sure not to get in her way. I was used to that look and began to think it was all in my head, when 20 seconds later she too noticed the odd smell. We both began looking around, when I noticed it was emanating from her.

For the past 3 years I had been working in a garden centre and was quite familiar with plants, and plant products, and this year was no different. I looked at my mother and told her I recognised the smell, walked into the bathroom with her and picked up the can she had been spraying copious amounts of, into her hair and turned the label around.

She looked uncomprehendingly for a moment, then screamed as she realised she had just sprayed about 1/4 of a can of Bug repellent into her hair.

I love my mother. She makes me laugh without intending to.

Note: The title makes it sound like she has passed, but she alive and well, thanks.

That's a lot of Onion Rings

My father just called me (at work) to tell me he was at my place. Specifically, to tell me he was in my kitchen. I have asked that they call before they do this so that I can prepare myself, but I don't think they understand the concept of privacy. I don't know what possessed me to allow them to keep the second key to my place - I should just change my locks at this point, or better yet, I should just let them walk in on me getting it on with RB, or masturbating to a porn.

So my father tells me he is dropping off a 20 pound bag of onions. By the way, he came via the subway, not a car.
I live alone with my dog - what am I to do with 20 pounds of onions in my small condo? That bag is bigger than dogs food bin.
Speaking of which, he tells me that I left my dishwasher open and that the dog will get to them. I told him that I just washed them and that they hadn't dried properly and that was the reason it was open. Besides, my dog isn't likely to walk up to my dishwasher and lick clean plates, nor is she going to use any of my utensils. Where my father comes up with stuff is beyond me.

My parents have done this on many an occassion. I will be walking up to my building through College Park and I will see my father waving to me from the window, with such vigour that to others, it would appear he was washing my windows. I will enter my unit, and both parents will begin chatting about how to do this on my PC and why I left my clothes on the floor. It never ends. The worse part, is their apparent need to discuss maintenace of my household. I think I am a fairly tidy and clean individual, but my mother will take it upon herself to start cleaning or some such thing. She also likes to save things that she thinks would be re-useable, be they bottles, rubber bands, twist ties, or those super absorbent Scottie Towel papers. YES, she will use the towel papers and then wash them and hang them to dry, to be re-used again.

I pointed out to her that they said disposable on the package.

She doesn't like it when I speak to her like that. For some odd reason, she thinks I am being sarcastic. There have been times where I have gone away to the cottage for a weekend, leaving my place in the care of my mother, only to return home to find the kitchen wallpapered with the stuff.

At least the rest of the condo was clean.

Weekend/Week in Review

It's been a fairly busy week and I don't have anything particularly thought provoking to say, so here is a run down of the past weekend/week.

It was Caribana in the city, and the city was swarmed with revellers and police. I don't particularly enjoy this weekend because the revellers park out front of College Park and there have been shootings the last 2 years in a row in this area. The police and our building management agreed to secure our building and prevent any trespassers onto property, but it made coming in and out of the condo similar to Fort Knox. The shootings never seem to happen any other time, and RB and I tried to make the best of it and travel around and do a few things away from the crowds. It's unfortunate that a festival can be marred this way.
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Friday after work I went grocery shopping for Miso Honi's (His honourary drag name) birthday party. I was making a spread for about 25 friends and it came out well, save for my nasty burn seen below. The party was a success and the spread was polished off.

Saturday, we woke up late and headed to the Beaches. As RB went to work, I walked around and shopped. We then regrouped and went down to the beach to try to fly his kite. There was no wind so we abandoned the idea, and decided to smoke a bit of pot and ended up laughing our asses off. The beaches and parks were pretty busy, but what stood out was a single family having a picnic. Father was arranging the meal and the little girl was standing facing her dad's back saying;

"Daddy look"
"Daaddy loook"
"Daaddy looook"
"Daaaddy loooook"
"Daaaaddy looooook"
"DADDY LOOK"

I felt like running up to him and screaming "Daddy FUCKING LOOK" but got distracted by the ice cream truck. Pot tends to give me heightened A.D.D. After getting the said ice cream, I decided to parody the kid with smeared vanilla ice cream all over my face. Everyone in the park thought I was a little 'touched'. RB just laughed his ass off. I then had the brilliant idea of plucking crab apples (5 for RB, 5 for me) and then seeing if we could peg each other. RB whacked me on my chin, and we abandoned the boisterous play after I feigned a crybaby episode.

Saturday evening I was finally able to deliver Miso Honi's gifts, 2 paintings I have been working on for the last week.




Sunday - RB and I went back to the beaches and finally got the kite up in the air. Scared a dozen people or so, by nearly clipping them with the kite. Never realised how hard or fun it would be.

Monday - RB took me to my virginal Driving range experience, and was told I was a natural at it...whatever that means. Honestly speaking, how hard could it be? I already had the prerequistes down pat - Sticking my ass out and holding a long phallic thing called a putter or iron couldn't be that hard.

God, my body has been aching ever since.

Wednesday I was in a foul mood and it was topped off by a fish tank emergency. The bottom of my cylindrical tank cracked and sprung a leak. Fishies are now safely in a new pot, but my 100$ vase is in the trash.

New Fish bowl - Chinese earthenware

fishies

The Cable Guy

I finally succumbed to purchasing the Rogers Cable PVR (Personal Video Recorder) and Digital Box. My condominium recently signed onto a new contractual agreement to provde free boxes to all residents, so that they in turn could then choose what they wanted. Part of this includes 2 months of free service, which RB and I soon realised is a complete waste of time. 800 plus channels, all repeating each other, so that I now have 15 HGTV, 20 Discovery channels, 40 CTV news channels, etc....you catch my drift.

The cable guy came by last Saturday morning at 9:15am. I requested a call in advance as the appointment was from 8-11am, and my door buzzer doesn't work due to the install of Rogers Digital Phone Service (DPS). Four technicians came for that one on 3 separate occassions to try to repair it...unsuccessfully. So for about 3 weeks my buzzer hasn't worked. Anyhow, RB and I are still half asleep, cuddling, when we hear a knock at the door. I rouse myself out of bed and slip on a pair of pants and a shirt, and shut the bedroom door behind me. I go open the door and this is what happens:

Me: Oh hey. I thought I asked you guys to call me.
CG: Sorry man, forgot my cell at home. (grins) You just wake up?
Me: Yeah, just a little groggy.
CG: (wider grin) Heh heh! Rough night eh? (and kinda nudges me with his elbow giving the wink wink)
Me: Um, yeah. Not too bad.
CG: No worries, I'll be quick. So where you want the boxes.
Me: One here and the other in the bedroom.

I point to the bedroom, and just as I do so, RB opens the door and the 2 look at each other. Cable Guys' mouth drops to the floor and almost drops the Digital box. RB looks at him and says "Morning". From this point on, the guy barely could form a sentence and left the boxes on the floor and left. RB and I laughed at his ignorance.

Well, it seems that in his haste to get out of our Humble Homsexual Home, he forgot to send my work order in for completion. My PVR suddenly stopped working last night so I called Cable Service. After going through the VERY annoying automated speech system (Dantallion had a similar experience with Bell), I finally got the guy on the phone.

John: Thank you for calling Rogers Cable, my name is John. How can I help you?
Me: Hi John. My PVR is acting up. It was working fine prior to today. I seem to get a few channels, but everything other channel indicates I am 'unauthorized'.
John: I'm sorry to hear that. We can fix that for you no problem. I just need a few details. Can I get you phone number, address, and postal code.
Me: (I give him the required info)
John: Well I see from here that you have a digital box. Is that correct?
Me: Yes. I had a Digital box and a PVR delivered last Saturday at 9:15am.
John: I don't see that you ordered a PVR. Where did you pick it up, and when?
Me: Ummm, I just said that they were delivered to me last Saturday at 9:15am.
John: No. I don't see that. Are you sure someone didn't pick it up?
Me: John, I think I am pretty sure about that, seeing that it was delivered to my condo by the Cable Guy at 9:15am..
John: Well, I'll need to look into this. Can yuo hold please?
John: (Puts me on hold for a minute & returns) Oh yes, it now says you have 2 digital boxes. What seems to be the problem?
Me: They are not 2 digital boxes. I have 1 digital box in my bedroom which works fine. I also have a PVR that is in my Living space that does not work. As mentioned, I get a few channels and the others say 'unauthorized'.
John: I see. I am sorry to hear that. Is the Digital Box working normally?
Me: Yes, as mentioned, it works fine.
John: And I'm sorry, but were these 2 boxes working when they were installed?
Me: (sigh) Yes John, they were.
John: I'm looking at your account, adn it appears that it has not been fullfilled.
Me: Sorry, what has not been fullfilled?
John: Your work order, Sir.
Me: Well, can you rectify this and fullfill this?
John: Yes, I can. However, before I transfer you, is there anything else I can assist you with?
Me: Transfer me to where?
John: Oh sorry. It's just this is not something I can assist you with, so I will have to connect you to Repair.
Me: I thought you said you could fix this?
John: No Sir, I cannot, onl;y repair can assist you with this.
Me: (sigh) fine. go ahead.
John: Oh, but is there anything else I can assist you with before I transfer you?
Me: Not unless you can fix my PVR, John.
John: Um, no sir, I cannot.
Me: Well then, I guess you can transfer me.

I then get another John in Repair who tries for 10 minutes to fix my issue - fails miserably, then decides he needs to transfer me to another Fullfillment where I was supposed to have been transferred. I then get Network Support Group East (NSG-East) servicing Quebec and Atlantic Canada, en Francais, and am told they cannot assist me because I have the wrong region and the wrong department.

I hang up and then have to go through it all again.

I did finally get it working, after 4 calls and 1 1/2 hours on the phone.

Another list...taken from Dickeybird

My uncle once: threw me into my parents pool when I was a child (4-5) as a joke. Prior to all this I was able to swim naturally, but this incident caused me to be terrified of water, and I had to re-learn and take lessons. I remember nothing of it. And no, I am not still scared of water.

Never in my life: Have I ever said never.

High school was: an all boys Roman Catholic Jesuit school, called Brebeuf College. I was a dorky knob, with absolutely no suave, sex appeal and even less coordination. Didn't play many sports and somehow survived the antics of hyper, testosterone filled boys.

I will never forget the moment: There are a lot of these...but, I guess the one that stands out is when I began to be true to myself.

I once met: I haven't met anyone, nor do I particularly care. I am not easily star struck.

There is this girl I know: whose surname is Cox, and maiden name is Lovesmore. She is a raging Lesbian.

Once at a bar: A guy came up to me and said I had such beautiful yellow skin. Then asked what my name was. When I told him, he said "Don't you have an Oriental name?" You can read about that wonderful experience here.

Last night I watched: My new fish and Formula 1 Racing with RB.

If only I had: hmmm....No regrets. I am who I am, because of my choices, good or bad.

Next time I go to church: I am going to say out loud to all the sheep and clergy, that "All homosexuals are going to hell, and we should also stone all the adulterous women out there, and that we should be allowed to have incestuous sex with our childrren like Lot and his daughters. Once we do all that, we should then carry-out religous war on all people who are not Christian"

When I turn my head to the left: I see my co-workers cubicle.

When I turn my head to the right:I see my dogs picture.

You know I'm lying when: you won't.

If I were a character written by Shakespeare: I would be Lady Macbeth. "Out damn spot, out!" (of course, I'd be looking at the carpet)

By this time next year: It will be July 27, 2006.

A better name for me would be: I like my name, thanks. But you are welcome to use variations of it as long as it is not "Al".

If I ever go back to school: It would be for something I enjoy, arts related, or gardening or cooking.

You know I like you if: I am listening and laughing and touching your arm or shoulder.

If I won an award: It would be the Darwin Award

Darwin, Mozart, Slim Pickens, and Geraldine Ferraro are: I know the first 2.

Take my advice: Never let anyone put you down. Stand up for yourslef and be strong. Listen to others and feel free to debate, but never think you're opinion is the only and correct one, that's arrogant.

My ideal breakfast is: eggs, bacon, sausage. Breakfast is my favourite meal.

If you visit my hometown: Tell me about it. I left when I was 9 months old.

If you stay overnight in my house: The dog will whine and be your best friend and I will serve you food and wine and make you as comfy as possible.

I'd stop my wedding to: ask what his name is.

This world could do without: hate, poverty, war, mullets & camel toes.

I'd rather: be at home or on a beach.

My favorite blonde is: Amsterdam

Paperclips are: clips for paper. Also great to be used with elastic bands as a weapon.

If I do anything well: It means I was actually interested or paying attention.

and by the way: I want to rip out my carpet and renovate.

Fish & the Sex List

Quite the title eh? I'm too lazy to post 2 seprate posts today, so just follow-on.

It's a much needed rainy day in Toronto. The nasty crap on the streets can finally be washed away, and hopefully some fresh air will come bathe the city (One can only dream and hope right?). Last evening I went to China Town with RB to get fresh groceries and also stopped by the Pet & Aquarium Store to look around.

Hmmm, that sentence really shouldn't go there....Seems to make a funny assumption, and I don't eat dog or cat or goldfish...Well, only on high holidays.

Anyhow, we stopped by to pick up some new fish to stock my tank at home, which has lain empty for over a month now since my last fishy funeral. RB purchased them as a present for me, which was incredibly sweet. I, in turn purchased dumplings and groceries and made him a dumpling feast, then made bbq chicken for lunch today. RB always finds going to chinatown, like a trip to another world, and in many ways it is. The fish markets and butchers are quite different from your garden variety Dominions store, and there are little old ladies selling their wares and veggies on the corner (illegally). When the police come, they pick up their produce and try to hobble away (unsuccessfully).

My new fish in my old tank. Kalyx is looking at them below wondering what they are. She rarely ever notices such things, but these buggers dart about quickly and have obviously peeked her short attention span. I 'll have more pics of them up and close tonight (swordtail fish, bottom feeder, and some other little buggers).

This is Bubbles, my Beta fish whom I have had for 6 months now, thank you very much! (Not all my original fish are dead!)

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Alright, now to the Sex List...I stole this from Holding The Man. Take from it what you will about my sexual inclinations and preferences, but I'm glad a whole lot of other questions weren't asked.

Here's the list;

Instructions:
1. Copy this entire list into your blog/journal.
2. Bold everything about you that is true.
3. Leave plain everything that is false about you.
4. Put an asterisk (*) at the end of false statements you would like to be true.

I have had sex while wearing a blindfold.
I have blindfolded someone else during sex.
I have had sex while watching porn.
I sleep better after sex.
There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating.
I masturbate more than once per day.
The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
I enjoy watching others having sex or being watched during sex.
I will have sex with someone I just met if they turn me on.
I have had sex with two different individuals (at seperate times) during the course of one day.
I have been tied up during sex.
I have had sex with someone who was tied up.
I have dripped wax onto a lover's body.
I have had a lover drop wax on my body.
I have a foot/sock/shoe fetish.
I have a leather fetish.
I have a tickle fetish.
Watching someone urinate (or being watched while urinating) is a turn-on.
I have had sex in a vehicle.
I have had sex while driving a vehicle.
I have been to a sex club or bathhouse.
I like being choked during sex.
My lovers would describe me as kinky.
I shave (or trim) the hair on or around my genitals.
The smell of my lover's sweat turns me on.
I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence.
Dirty talk during sex turns me on.
I enjoy pornographic magazines.
I have a collection of porno movies.
Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget.
I have clicked on porn links in my email.
I regularly look at porn sites on the internet.
Much of what I know about sex comes from porn.
Interracial sex turns me on.
I would participate in sex research if given the opportunity.
My current lover does not sufficiently meet my sexual needs.
I have had sex at my place of employment.*
I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships.
Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
I am difficult to live with if I'm not having sex on a regular basis.
I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.
I have had sex under water.
I have had sex outdoors.
I have had sex in a public place or where I might have been discovered.
I have had sex in a bathroom stall.
I have had sex in the snow.*
I am or have been in a polyamorous relationship.
I have participated in three-ways or orgies.
I have to have music playing during sex.
I have flashed strangers.
I have given sex as a gift.
I have set up a three-way for my lover.(*?)
I stopped during this list to have sex.
All day I think about sex.

I am....................

When I was growing up, I had the luxury of living in a fairly culturally-eclectic household. It was the 70’s and immigration had mostly been limited to Europeans. The Chinese Exclusion Act had banned any Asian immigrants from 1923-1947, and it was still a novelty to see Chinese people in Toronto neighbourhoods. They’d come by our home and wonder if we ate with chopsticks and would ask how to use them. Sometimes they would look in our backyards, thinking we had filled in the pool in place of a rice paddy.

Well, it really wasn’t like that, but there were some major cultural things that made us stand out in the community.

My best friend was this sweet beautiful Czech/German girl whom I met on the monkey bars in the park across the street. I was 3 and she was 4. She was a Tom-boy and I was a blossoming faggot. We were best friends for many years, and hung out all the time. This post isn’t about her, but her family welcomed me into their home and showed me what White folk did on a daily basis, and if not for them, I would likely be blowing my nose on a sidewalk these days, by plugging one nostril and blowing hard through the other.

In my home, the mix of cultural and ethnic backgrounds was fairly unique. My dad was born in Shanghai, China, but moved to Taiwan before the Cultural Revolution. He was a strong disciplinarian with a Mandarin Chinese accent. My mum, was born and raised in Calcutta India, raised in a British colony and had an Anglo-Indian accent. My father spoke Mandarin to my mother, Shanghainese to his parents, and English or Mandarin to us. My mum spoke the same, but also spoke a dialect called Hakka to my brother and I. When we went out with their friends or to a restaurant, they would speak Cantonese. It made for an interesting childhood, and I still get words mixed up in different languages.

The food in our home was always Fusion. Bullocks to those new-wave fusion chefs who think they were so inventive and creative in culinary design - we were doing it back in the 70’s. Everything we ate, had an Asian or Indian flair to it. Neighbourhood BBQ’s were always interesting, because we would have Tandoori chicken or spicy BBQ chicken wings – way before wings were considered normal to eat.

The differences certainly made life interesting. We never had desserts after dinner. Fruits were dessert, and the occassonal bag of chips or jello were a treat. So, when I went over to my friends place across the street and looked in her mothers’ cupboards, I was dumbfounded to see things like fruit roll-ups, beef jerky, candies, cookies, Kraft Dinner, Pogo sticks etc. In contrast, our cupboards were stocked to the rafters with dried fish, dried squid, salty preserved prunes, Thousand year old duck eggs, and Chinese preserved sausages.

Thousand Year Old Duck Eggs

When we had our White Canadian friends over, we didn’t have much choice in what we could offer. Honestly, pickled fish, sea cucumber or duck eggs on toast aren't something your average White kid is gonna want to chow down on, so over the years Mum began to introduce new and fascinating things into our pantry that were a little more appetizing for the neighbourhood kids. Popsicles , pop and Premium crackers with cheese or peanut butter became the staple around our home.

Food wasn't the only thing different. I would often observe my friends talking back to their parents or ignoring them, and was completely flabbergasted that their parents didn't smack them across the side of their heads. In my household, if I refused to take my arms off the table, my Dads' chopsticks would turn from Culinary utensil into a "flying Beat your ass silly" weapon. I still can't believe how fast his hands moved. He'd be picking a slice of gelatinous ducks egg off a plate one second, the next, the chopstick would be leaving a red nasty mark on my hand for having disobeyed his rules.

Asian parents really have no qualms about disciplining their kids. This may seem like an over-generalisation, but in Asian culture, respect, honour, family and obediency are tantamount. If one fails any of these, their ass is grass. Simple as that. When I got in trouble, I knew what was coming. I simply wasn't intelligent enough to avoid it. And if I had the gall to speak up and say something back, it was like watching a Phoenix rise from the ashes. My fathers eyes would slant and his face would turn a beet red. You just either ran and screamed like a girl, or you just stood there and took the fury that you brought upon yourself.

When I think about it now, globalization and multiculturalism have really made some major strides. Growing up in the 70's as a Chinese kid was pretty cool, because you were the first real wave of new Asian immigrants in a long time. It was the beginning of multiculturalism and of acceptance, and though there were many many episodes where I wanted to be invisible, and not stand out, I also am thankful for what it has taught me. I was experiencing the world as it changed, as it accepted people. My perspective and identity have been shaped by each of those experiences, be they good or bad. I have ingrained in me a sense of belonging and diversity that far exceeds simply being Asian, gay, Mandarin, Shanghainese, Hakka or Indian. I am all of these things, proudly wrapped in one phrase...

I am Canadian

emptiness & cigarrettes

I walk through this city and see broken templates of future adults. Broken people, whose lives are spread out on benches, doorways or street corners. I wonder what it is exactly that has put them here on these streets. Some show burden on their dirty faces, some move with a disconnected energy brought on by meth abuse. The visual effects are dizzying as you see them move, arms swinging exagerratedly, scratching at their crystalised skin. Bodies taut and toned, but suffering to the very core.

It’s 8:09 am and the Chinese men and women are exercising in the park. They have just thrown bread for the pigeons who waddle and peck hungrily at the ground. A few metres away, a shirtless man of about 17 is also searching the ground, moving with a disjointed desperation, until he finds a half smoked cigarrette. He pockets it, and continues his picking. I walk by him and he pays little attention to me but to move aside. He glances up at me briefly and I look directly at him. The body is dirty with earth and the arms have scratches and broken vessels. He looks at me, but the look is hollow and despite the heat, I feel a shiver run through my body. The emptiness in his eyes is like a black hole, and I have to turn away. I am afraid that I will get pulled in. Then I think, maybe he turned away because he couldn’t bear to look at me.

Funny, how humbling a look can be.

I walk away, but my heart already hurts for I too have lost a friend to the streets.

I wonder where his parents are, what they are thinking. Does he think of them, or just the cigarrette in his pocket.

The foolish antics of a foolish child

When I was kid, I used to believe everything required fair attention and treatment. I was a bit neurotic about this and would kiss each of my stuffed animals equally before I went to bed. If I kissed one cheek on my bunny, it meant I had to kiss the other side, so that the other side wouldn't be jealous. This of course, meant I had to do the same double kiss to all my stuffed animals. Invariably, bedtime took an hour because of this ritual.

When I used to walk to and from school, I would count how many steps I took on each square block of pavement so that the next would also receive the same treatment. If I started with my right foot on the first block and ended on my left foot, the next square block would mean I would have to start with my left foot, and end with my right. If I went to school on the East side of the street, it meant I had to go home on the West side of the street. The next day I would have to reverse it.

Looking back on all this, one might think it were a bit Obsessive compulsive, and I wouldn't blame them. I often find myself repeating things over and over again, not even realising I have been doing it. It seems to occupy my mind while I mentally mull over things, sort of like elevator music while grocery shopping. I've grown used to it and I've also toned it down. No longer do I count my steps and the amount of times I bite my food on my left, or right side.

All of this I believe might have some bearing on why I am always able to argue and see both sides to an issue. I find it particularly frustrating dealing with bull-headed individuals who aren't willing to step out of their sheltered coccoon to discuss and converse about ideas, be they in agreement or not. One can never agree with everything another person says - that's absurd. I recently told Nomi that as friends we can't just blindly agree with one another because we think we have to. As good friends we have to be willing to say the truth, and in turn be willing to hear the truth. That's what friends are for. That is what friends are.

The frustration wasn't any different then my childhood OCD complex. If I was somehow prevented from completing my "equalizing" exercises (so I call them now), I would fret and freak about not having done things properly. If I was walking home with a school friend who insisted on walking on the West side, when everyone knew that we had to walk on the East side, I would plot revenge on my fellow walker for thwarting my attempts at satisfying my mania.

It wasn't until I was older that I began to realise how truly odd I was. Well, "realisation" is not so much the word as "obvious". It comes fast when kids call you "freak" or "loser" all the time. I wasn't exactly a kid that attracted the right kind of attention. I was always in trouble, and considered a bit of a scholastic moron. Grades were not my forte and math was even worse and I have the strong suspicion that I had Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). All of these characteristics are still there, but rather than run from them, I suppose I embrace it now. When you're a lonely kid on the outside, you can either choose to completely turn inward, or you try harder to succeed and thrive.

Mum and Dad actually thought I was retarded and were scared to have another kid. They love to regale their friends and family with the story of how as a child I would bang my head quite violently on the bed or pillow to go to sleep. The story goes that when they came to Canada and visited my A-po (grandmother) they put me to bed in my crib. I immediately started to bang my soft little head on the pillow to the horror of my grandmother, who in turn also thought I was retarded. They left the room and came back 10 minutes later to check up on me and found the crib had moved across the wooden floor from one wall to the other.

This odd behaviour developed even further as I grew. I could never sit still, never focus, and would lie about just about anything. As mentioned before, I have always had a salt craving, and love chips. My mum does as well, and she would often stock her cupboard with bags of chips. I would come home from school, tear a bag open and eat it, then stop in horror at what I had done. In desperation, I came up with the brilliant idea to take a pair of scissors and chew the bag up, later claiming mice were in the house and had gotten into the bag. My poor parents actually entertained this and went out and bought mouse traps filled with peanut butter. When we didn't catch anything, I told them it was because they didn't put chips in the trap.

This brilliance of mine got me in more trouble than I'd like to say, like my Report card episode, which I wrote about before (re-excerpted below)

---------------------------------------------------

I still remember Report Card Day, when report cards were handed out, for us to give to our parents. Who does such a thing? I was terrified, and upon opening it to see a plethora of C’s, D’s and the occasional E, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to use Liquid paper to cover them over and write in a more acceptable grade. Completely oblivious to my own stupidity, I also decided it would be completely unnoticeable if I liquid papered the scathing comments section:


Alex , although bright, is , often lazy and un willing to do homework. His lack of focus is evident in his lack of rewards and accomplishments in class.

I looked upon my handy work and thought how brilliant I truly was, and how my teacher was more of an idiot for failing to see my hidden genius. I thought the mark of an intelligent man was in how they covered up a major fuck up. Of course, my parents weren’t stupid. They knew something was up, upon opening an already opened report card to see half the report card covered in crackling lumpy liquid paper. It might have worked a little better had I given the liquid paper time to dry, instead of trying to score the letter into the moist liquid paper like a kid carving his name in wet cement. Needless-to-say, the whole plot blew up in my face.

------------------------------------

My attempts at covering up my stupidity are many, and nowadays I don't bother. I just admit to them. There really is no point. If I couldn't fool the adults as a kid, I can''t fool them now.

Tagged

...Tagged by Sister Staceypatrick.

10 years ago:I was still in University studying Fine Arts Theory and Psychology, but spending more time in the pubs. I was living in Richmond Hill at the time, with a 2-3 hour commute to school or downtown. I was 6'1, and weighed 145 pounds wet.

5 years ago: I was a newbie working for the Wireless telecom company I am at now. I was in the process of making my first move away from home, to live with my best friend AM (aka. Monkey). I was a little too heavy into the party scene, and JLo's song "Waiting for Tonight" was all over the charts. I was 6'1 and weighed 148 pounds wet.

1 year ago: A lot had happened since the move to Toronto. 1 Year ago, I was living at my condo (2 years by then), and was figuring bits and pieces about my life and gluing them together. I was in a major spiritual, mental and emotional transition. I had been blogging since December 30th, 2003. I had just gotten back from China in mid June, and it had begun to change my outlook on life. I was also having major stomach gas issues, not that any of y'all needed to know that. I was 6'1 and weighed 148 pounds wet
Yesterday: I finished a rather busy but productive day at work, and went home to find RB busy playing with himself. I ignored him of course and decided to cook roast chicken and steamed broccoli, with rice. RB of course wanted me to cook a salmon recipe that I told him about, so I sent him off to go get 1 large salmon filet with skin, which of course 30 mins later he returns with 2 small filets with no skin, and 2 filet mignon steaks. Needless to say, we had a large dinner, much to his delight. We then watched Kill Bill2, and went to bed. Also noticed that the refurbishment of the Condo corridors is going well. Exciting, I know. I am stll 6'1 and have no idea how much I weigh.

Today: An aberration. I woke up pawing RB. Came to work, made fun of RB and wrote another post regarding a Police Brutality with 51 Division ona freinds bar/restaurant establishment. Please read it below...it made me angry as hell. It is still 11:14 am. I checked, and I am 6'1 and weigh 154 pounds with underwear on.

Tomorrow: I may go see parents, but want to also visit friends P&G, and maybe go swimming.

5 snacks I enjoy: Chips, snow peas, edamame beans (Soya beans), pickles, peanut butter (straight outta the bottle)

5 bands/singers that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs: Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys, The Cure, Sarah Maclachlan (you know which era I gre up in, right?)
5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Pay off mortgage for parents, brother, and myself. Help out family a bit. Take a vacation and bring friends along to some nice hot private island. Buy property and build my dream home, and open my own business and go to school. Start up a fund for inner city kids scholarships, and with all that money donate to a few of my fave causes.

5 locations I'd like to run away to: Dunno about runaway, but it would have to be close to nature with water, mountain and sky: Carribbean, Australia, New Zealand, Morocco, Spain.

5 bad habits I have: I am terribly forgetful, never remember names/faces, plan on doing big reno projects but never start, chew my nails, appear a little too dominant or pushy at times.

5 things I like doing: cooking, entertaining, writing, having interesting conversations, relaxing and being introspective.
5 things I would never wear: over-sized clothing (a la hip-hop, rap), things with large labels, gold, stilhettoes

5 TV shows I like: Discovery channel things, Rough Cuts (CBC), documentaries, This Hour has 22 minutes, ick Mercer's Monday Report, that's about it.

5 movies I like: The Breakfast Club, Finding Neverland, Joy Luck Club, Memento, Le Violin Rouge.

5 famous people I'd like to meet: Kurt Vonnegut, Oprah, Ellen Degeneres, Belinda Stronach, the devil.

5 biggest joys at the moment: RB (Rib Breaker), my friends, my new found honesty in life, health, sun.

5 favorite toys: RB (Rib Breaker), camera, blackberry, piano, cookware set.

Tagging: Hasn't everyone already been tagged?

Police Brutality during Pride: A mis-use of power

Hi All, Please read this and spread the news around. I know Amir from long ago, when he first opened the bar, and thoughI have not heard this information directly from him, I am concerned that if true, it should be of concern. I too was harrassed many years ago by officers (but from 52 division) who made fun of my surname and also called me a Chink and gook. I wasn't manhandled or beaten, but I have had enough questionable incidences with police to warrant a little suspicion. I got this from a friend who pulled it from the message forum from FAB: the Gay scene magazine.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This is an open letter from Amir at Bar Babylon outlining his side of events that transpired there last week. (I've grabbed it off of the Tribe message Board).

The whole incident leaves a bad taste in one's mouth. I hope that amir and his family are OK and that things work out soon (and in their favour)
______________________________

to whom it may concern;

my name is amir ebrahimnia. i am the owner of babylon martini & musique boutique at 553 church street in downtown toronto. we are a well-known, award winning establishment with an international reputation as one of the finest martini bars in north america.

on saturday june 25th of 2005 my family and i were brutally assaulted and humilliated by a handful of city public and peace officers.

my intent with the following story is to get the truth to my patrons and everyone who has shown such support for us. i need to set the record straight. i think it is important for the truth to be told.

here is my full statement on the events leading to my arrest on saturday, june 25th, 2005.

i was at work, behind the third floor bar, when approached by a staff member and told of a confrontation on the first floor. i quickly left my post and ran downstairs to find my father surrounded by 6 or 7 plain-clothed gentlemen and and a woman. the gentlemen were all large, over 6 ft. tall and were, on average, all 300 lbs. each. the woman was about 5'4", small figure, short dark hair. as i approached the gathering and quickly realized my father was being ridiculed and insulted for his accent.

there were two men hassling him and arguing with him, while the others approached me. thats when the argument started. they asked me to close the bar; i asked them why. they stated i was over-crowded. i argued with them on the facts and they did not want to accept my concerns. i agreed to close the bar. they asked me to start up on the 3rd floor and move it down.

i went to the 3rd floor, turned on the lights from behind the bar, i then approached the dj booth and cut the music. i then had to tell my clientele why they were being asked to leave.

i told them, how i had been in business for 11 years. i told them how 9 out of those 11 years we had never had a problem such as the one right now. and i told them this would probably be the last time my business would be open. and with everything happening right now, there would be no way i could afford to open up again. they had destroyed us.

the customers listened and we shook hands. good-byes were said and the room was cleared. i then continued to the second floor where i did the exact same thing. lights, music, goodbyes.

as i was finishing up with the second floor, there were 5 of the mentioned gentlemen observing my actions to inform my costumers of what was actually happening. as i walked by them to head for first floor, one of the officers elbowed me. they started arguing with me again. one of them tried to tell me what a fool i was making of myself, while another gentleman pretended not to understand my accent. in reality, i don't really have an accent – as anyone who knows me is aware. my parents do. another gentleman called me an idiot several times and said how i wouldn't be in this situation if i wasn't an idiot. the back-and-forth insults continued. one officer started pushing me. i told him not to touch me, he asked what i would do about it? another officer continued to call me an idiot as another shoved me. my mother (60 years of age) started to scream "why? "why are you doing this to us??" they told her to shut up as they continued to push and insult me. she came forward to help me and they grabbed her and man-handled her. she fell ill to the ground; i panicked and asked everyone to calm down.

they wouldn't back up.

they reached for my mom, not to help her but to hold her out of the way. my father came up and joined the confrontation.

up until this point, there were no physical contact between any of us and the officers. as a matter of fact, up until this point, no badge was shown by the ladies and gentlemen in question. i made them aware of this fact at this point. that’s when one officer pulled out his badge as he started laughing; "are you happy now? boy, now you’re really fucked"

another officer turned to me and said; " i will make it my life-long hard-on to fuck you, my friend," as he chuckled and turned around.

we took my mother downstairs to the first floor and laid her down on the couch. she was having difficulty breathing. i approached two officers by the front door and asked them for help, and to call 911. one chuckled, while the other one gave me a look as if i wasn't speaking her language, and said; " you have a telephone. you dial 911"

i ran behind the bar and dialed 911. i spoke to the 911 operator, gave my name & address and was explaining her condition - when again, the officers entered the property to my twelve o’clock and tried to force my parents out of our property. they went for my mother and that’s when i threw a martini shaker at the wall to my three o’clock, yelling at them to leave us alone. by this point, the bar had been cleared of all customers. there was only myself, my mother, father and 3 bartenders. there was absolutely no reason for them to still be on my property. the bar was shut down. they were not helping an emergency. they were not serving or protecting anyone.

this was their time for sweet payback. all the back-and-forth name-calling upstairs and making them feel small in front of customers. along with the obvious knowledge of dealing with minorities. these officers felt it would be appropriate to attack us.

i was brutally attacked by what seemed to be all of them. they ran behind the bar where i was still on the phone with 911, and as i screamed for help the phone dropped and i was pummelled to the ground. i was continuously punched in the face, kicked in the ribs, and twisted. i thought at first that they wanted to arrest me, so i loosened my arm for them to handcuff.

instead, my arms were stretched out so i would be out of fetal position while i was viciously assaulted. one officer grabbed me by the hair and started smashing my head on the tile floor while another officer was smashing my neck, face, shoulders, and knees with his boot, pounding it down on my face, neck and shoulder.

they said things like," you had to be a fucking smartass didn't you." , "we're so gonna fuck you up. oh boy, your gonna wish you were dead when we're through with you."

they kept on saying stop resisting arrest while i wasn't resisting arrest. when i realized they wanted more than to arrest me, is when i tightened up. i really didn't know what to do anymore. i thought somebody was going to die - either my mother on the couch or me getting pummeled by 8 huge 300lbs gorillas who were very much enjoying the festivities. i could feel them enjoying it. i could hear what they were saying. and yes, i do speak & feel in english.

i repeatedly asked them to stop. i told them i wasn't resisting. “please don't hurt me.” i begged them to stop, but they all wanted to get a punch or a kick in.

finally, when it ended, they hand-cuffed me and took me out to the police car waiting outside.

the police car took me off, pulled over on gloucester street, stopped the vehicle and read me my rights. they asked me if i understood; i said yes.

i asked the officers to loosen my cuffs because they were on too tight and were cutting my circulation, they told me the cuffs would come off when we got to the station. we got to the 51 division police station and had to sit and wait for a good 30 minutes for the door to open so the police car could enter the garage bay. the officers driving the vehicle felt sorry for me and loosened the cuffs. to the officers’ observation, my hands were white, cold and clammy.

i entered the station, where i was taken to a room and strip-searched. they made me take off my clothes and turn everything inside out. i was then asked to lift my scrotum and then my leg.

all dressed up again, i was taken to an interview room/cell. i could feel the air conditioner was turned up. i can only assume on purpose.

after 2 hours in holding, i was visited by one of the officers who had assaulted me earlier. he read the charges against me:

1 count; obstruct peace officer C.C. 129(a)
1 count; assault with weapon C.C. 267(a)
1 count; resisting or obstructing public or peace officer C.C. 129(a)

i was asked if i understood. i said yes. he told me i had to appear for finger-printing and picture-taking and to hear the court date.

i was asked to sign several papers. one of which was included that i had refused to make my phone call. being that it wasn't true, i refused to sign this particular form. they did not seem to mind. they had their fun already. it was all back to procedure again for our officers of peace.

i was free to go.

though severely injured, i did not seem to feel the pain till the next day. i went to my parents’ house to check up on my mother. she was still in shock, kept crying and screaming. my father was in no better shape but we were being strong to make sure she's ok. my mother wouldn't say anything. she just kept shaking and crying and cursing this country to hell.

neither one of us has slept in 4 days. we close our eyes and see saturday night. i find myself fighting in bed. cursing and swearing at my imaginary 51 div. officers. i am bruised from head to toe, but that will heal.

what will not heal is being humiliated. being insulted and beaten by the men who patrol not only my place of work, but also my neighborhood of residence.

my father, who is a very well-known and well-respected iranian businessman being treated like a monkey.

one officer in question, the female officer with the short dark hair to be exact, would tell him to stand aside and point to a specific spot for him to stand. he would do so. she then told him not there. there. as they pointed to across the room. he'd go stand there. they'd again point in the opposite direction of the room. not there! here! several times until finally they kicked him in the ass and tossed him out of our own property. they chuckled. they made fun of him. they ridiculed us.

when they got us all out of the property, they took all the bottled liquor and dumped all the bottled beer from the fridges down the sink. they left the fridge doors open . to make sure the fridge compressors would burn out. tables and chairs thrown around. glasses broken on purpose. they ransacked the bar completely making sure it would be impossible to open up. ever.

we have been made examples of. they wanted to show what they could do, the power they hold, and they assumed there would be nothing we could do about it.

the next day, (pride sunday), the pain started to kick in and the swelling became obvious. i was at home, on alexander street, as i found myself having difficulty breathing.

i dialed 911 at noon. the 911 operator asked me the regular questions, address, what was wrong, and how did it happen. i answered her questions and she informed me the ambulance would be here shortly and for me to leave my door open.

by this point i couldn't walk. both my legs and ankles were trampled. nothing broken. just a lot of excruciating pain. my head injuries were worsening, i was nauseous and the vision in my right eye was blurry. going in and out of consciousness. my left shoulder felt dislocated and my right elbow wasn't in much better shape.

i waited and waited for hours. no ambulance. at 2:30pm i received a phone call from a sargeant from 51 division asking me if i called for an ambulance. i told them i had called 911 2 hours ago. she informed me an ambulance could not be sent to me unless accompanied by a 51 division officer escort. i asked her why, she stated because of the nature of my injuries. i told her i needed an ambulance and under the circumstances, i did not want the presence of a 51 division officer. she told me, "no ambulance then?"

i insisted i needed medical help. they refused to send an ambulance with out an officer. yet they wouldn't say they are refusing me. just that it would have to be with an officer. i asked for 52 division; they refused. it had to be 51 division.

i turned her down.

again, i called 911 for the second time at 3:00pm. they sounded scared to send an unaccompanied paramedic team to my location. i had been charged with assaulting a police officer. i was considered dangerous. i asked them several times; "are you refusing me medical attention?" they said no. again i asked for an ambulance but without saying no, again they gave me the run around. "not without a police officer." or "so do you want an ambulance?" over and over again...

"do you want an ambulance?"

"yes i do. but i don't want a 51 div. officer! bring the swat team for all i care! i don't want 51 div. anywhere near me! i want an ambulance!"

"not without 51 div. officer" ; "do you want an ambulance?"

the broken record continued. i dialed 911 five times on sunday, and finally i agreed to the 51 division patrol to accompany the paramedics.

the ambulance arrived at 7:30 pm. there were no officers.

i was taken to st. michaels hospital and examined. nothing broken. lots of shock to my body. visible bruises to my face, ankles, knees, ribs, elbows and shoulder. i had my x-rays taken. the doctor suggested i go right away to the police station and report the assault. he spoke to someone at 52 division and they were expecting me with a forensics officer to photograph the injuries.

i am very happy to say that the way i was treated at 52 division was the difference of night and day from their counterpart peace officers at 51 division. they felt bad for what had happened. the forensics officer whom examined me, felt so bad he apologized for the wrong some police do. he has been a cop for over 25 years and it made him sick to see this kind of behavior. he even joked and said; "no offence, but i couldn't see you beating up anyone."

he's right. i'm 5'6" and weigh 138 lbs.

all said and done. still remains the humiliation.

this is not why we immigrated to your country. this is not why we contributed to your canada. this is not what we left our homelands for.

we are not your slaves. we are not yours to do with as you please. just because someone doesn't speak your language, it doesn't make them a baboon. we did not commit such a crime to be treated like animals. we were over-crowded.

the city of toronto invites millions of people to come celebrate a gay event on a gay street with 4 blocks in length. there are about 20 licensed establishments that have to cater to the invited. the beer gardens close at 11:00pm. and liquor license is extended till 4:00am to only selected establishments. where do you expect the crowd to go after 11:00pm?

why is it, we never see the police or the inspectors all year sometimes, but always on gay pride? how is this not systematic?

while the beer gardens are in operation, there is no business for us. yet the inspectors NEVER show up before 11:30pm. they enjoy giving the crowd half an hour do disperse to the bars before they come in with their sticks.

those are the facts. as ugly as it may be. again, i'd like to thank you all. our costumers were our family and friends. the neighborhood has brought us nothing but the joy we have experienced in the past 11 years. my family and i have learned a lot from the village and it has made us better people.

it was an honor to serve you.

thank you all for taking the time to read this statement. and i wish you all a wonderful canada day.


kind regards,

amir ebrahimnia
babylon martini & musique boutique