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Thursday, September 27, 2007

Big City Livin

Lord what a day, Windsor. Following an interview at the Yorkdale Indigo [hey, if you gota work retail, you may as well work retail selling something you love. Now watch me not get hired, *sigh*], I picked up the tickets for the Coupland reading next week and hopped the train back down for the Dunny Trading Party at the Magic Pony.

An hour on the TTC and I strolled up to the door, checking out the assorted hipsters in attendance, some armed with cases of older Dunny series [no interest to Daddy, he already has them all] some armed with only their wallets, eager to trade after they'd bought their cases. The staff were setting out refreshments on the cleared tables people could pull up to trade their wares. I saw no signs of the items we were all there for, but figured they might have been stashed away until things got underway.

Six o'clock came and went. No Dunnys were revealed. What was revealed was a printed sign informing us that Series 4 had not cleared customs in time, so they wouldn't be in. But they were still going to have the party.

Are you kidding me? How do you have a trading party without the item everyone's supposed to be there to trade? I resisted the urge to drink half of the beers they had out for people and made my way up Queen muttering to myself. Crossing Peter Street I decided to try my luck at the Silver Snail [best comic shop in town]. Of course they have them, and for cheap. I scooped up nine boxes, pulled one double, and went home feeling not bad. But damn, do my feet hurt.

Oh, and they're apparently making a movie of The Time Traveller's Wife. Because I think passed a set for it near Bathurst. Another Toronto first down, whoopdeedoo.

Hits with the quickness!
As a nice followup to all those indignant and morally outraged cops who get speeding tickets, maybe I'd have more sympathy if you didn't taser pregnant women.

Giraffe fight!

Ridley Scott discusses why he recut Blade Runner. Again.

The next social network.

And now I'm off to watch John and Stephen. That is, if my effing neighbours decide to stop clog dancing or whatever the hell it is they're doing upstairs.

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