jason hudson

2012-02-01T09:40:00.007-05:00

Hosting a cocktail party? Don't bother yourself with puff pastry hors d'oeuvres and fussy mushroom caps - Just blow your budget on an amazing mountain of cheese, meat and related accoutrements. It might not be cheap, but it's high-impact and incredibly easy. Presentation can be loose, allowing you to enjoy your own party. As elements dwindle, refill from your pre-sliced meats and add more crackers. A happy accident? Cheese looks better and better as your guests carve into it.

Pear Chutney

Dice up 4 firmish pears. (Make sure they're not too soft, or they will completely fall apart.) Add a cinnamon stick, two tablespoons of brown sugar, 1/4 cup water to a small saucepan, bring to a boil and let simmer for 12-15 minutes until soft, slightly thickened and flavours have blended. Level of Difficulty: 1.

(This would go well over ice cream or served alongside a pork roast, too.)

Photo: Me

Food Styling and Recipe: Ashley Denton

Props supplied by: Rustica Tabletop

Tara O'Brady (friend and Food Guru, known for her site Seven Spoons) had this to say when poked for her cheese/charcuterie board must-haves:

"Gherkins or cornichons - really zingy, vinegary ones. They need to stand up to the richness of the other nibbles. Pickled onions, teeny beets and jardiniere have their place too. Roasted nuts, a few filberts, walnuts or almonds. Pistachios make the cut, not so much pecans.

Figs (both fresh and semi-dried) are lush and kind of sexy, plus pair beautifully with a variety of cheeses and meats, especially Parma ham. Other favourite meats? Pingue's bresaola and prosciutto, 'ndjua (a soft, spreadable salami). The best boards have an unexpected star - an interesting find or a showstopper - a pastry-crusted terrine, a homemade chicken liver parfait with fried sage leaves, maybe. Doesn't have to be extravagant, but the extra touch is nice.

Red grapes over green, I don't know why.

Mustard! Kozlik's Triple Crunch is the sort of go-to mustard with charcuterie, but if the offerings are sort of Ploughman-lunch-inspired (think aged cheddar, a bit of ham, some pickles) I really like Kozlik's German or good old English. (JASON'S NOTE: Kozlik's Mustard is Canadian and incredible. And available online. Go ahead, place an order.)

Something sweet is nice, a relish or accompaniment. As simple as a drizzle of honey with gorgonzola, or a little dish of currant chutney to top crackers.

When it comes to cheese, mix up milks, ages, and styles. Some favourites? Upper Canada Cheese Comfort Cream and Niagara Gold. If you're leaning Italian with meats, Burrata torn and dressed with a rustic salsa verde is pretty great."

What does your cheese board include? Any secrets for success?

I've got some serious plans for my next cocktail party. Inspired by one of Toronto's greatest restaurants, The Harbord Room, I'll swipe their brilliant "Fried Egg", which is actually a poached egg, coated in panko and deep-fried. The heat and crunch is a terrific counter to sweet cheeses, and served atop a fresh baguette, the richness can't be beat. First I'll need a lesson from Chef Cory Vitiello. Nudge, nudge.

FURTHERMORE ON HOSTING AND CHEESE:

It's Fonduemental (February 6, 2008)

On Aging and Cheese (November 13, 2009)

Cheese and Crackwhores (August 7, 2010)

On Hosting (January 24, 2012)

2012-01-31T09:27:00.000-05:00

The idea of cooking something "from scratch" freaks most people out. It certainly used to do the same to me. If a recipe had more than 3 steps, I was out. But don't be afraid. Take it one step at a time. It's not nearly as scary as it seems, and knowing you made every element of the meal is deeply satisfying. It's also a way to make a simple dish more high-impact for guests. "I made this!"

I felt like making an easy meal. Simple. No fuss. Some ultra-skinny spaghettini with tomato and basil. Maybe a crust of bread and a quick pass with some freshly-grated parmesan. No meat. No gravy, no mashed potatoes, no crispy green bean on the side. Simple.

And so it was. Some tomatoes. Basil. An onion and a few cloves of garlic. Salt.

Spaghettini with Fresh Tomato and Basil

Olive oil

1 medium white onion, chopped

5 cloves of garlic, minced

2lbs Roma tomatoes, peeled, cored, seeded

1 ounce of fresh basil leaves

Salt, to taste

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Using a paring knife, score the end of your tomatoes with an X and toss into the boiling water. Leave them for one minute before removing to an ice bath. The skins will peel off easily. Slice, core, and seed the tomatoes. Set aside.

Heat olive oil in a large deep skillet or stock pot. Cook the onions until translucent, and then add the minced garlic. Add the tomatoes, which you've loosely chopped, and allow the whole mix to simmer away. It really doesn't matter how long this cooks, though the whole mess becomes mushier as time goes on. Add chopped basil two minutes before serving in order to maintain its green colour.

It was exactly as I'd hoped: Light and fresh, yet rich and aromatic.

CUTTING CORNERS:

This dish works beautifully with fresh ingredients, of course, but it's also something that can be pulled together from the pantry for a quick midweek meal. Canned tomatoes can, arguably, be better than fresh, especially if you don't live in a place where tomatoes are grown naturally year-round. But, make sure they're San Marzano tomatoes which are grown in Italy and considered the best. Look for the official designation ("DOP") on the can, which means they've been qualified as such. I mean, if you're going to eat from a can, it should be top notch, yes?

A NOTE ON THE WINE:

Something like this can go with almost any wine. A light red or a bright white. Jeff enjoyed a glass of Flying Kiwi Pinot Noir (LCBO, $15.95) while I had a glass of my go-to, Kim Crawford Sauvignon Blanc (LCBO, $19.95).

FURTHERMORE, ON PASTA:
Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe (April 19, 2011)
Beef Ragu with Maccheroni (March 24, 2011)

2012-01-30T09:54:00.001-05:00

If you live in a climate like mine, you might understand what I'm about to say.

For about 3 weeks in May and another few in the fall, I love to dress. I like wearing ties and cute shoes, accessories even. I carry a bag, even if it's nearly empty. A thin coat allows for trendy layering. I wear suede shoes and take an extra 5 minutes on my hair. You see, the (oh so brief) mid-seasons allow for all of this, encourage it even. Temperate conditions and clear skies mean our shoe-choice can be controversial. What a thrill.

But the rest of the time (when it's either 40°C with 90% humidity, or -40°C with a face-freezing windchill) I phone it in. Who wants to sweat through an outfit in the summer? And when we're strapping a parka over everything between November and April, it just seems pointless. And then there's the occasional melt, when the snow and ice turns into mucky slush, and traversing a sludgy-puddle in your delicate footwear is a total nightmare. It's all too much.

So in the summertime I usually wear simple shorts and a button down and in the winter it's some variation of what you see below. Some revolving combination of Pants-Sweater-Shirt-Boots.

I rotate between colours and textures, keeping it comfortable and simple, no-fuss and classic. As long as everything fits, it doesn't come off looking schlubby, even though it really is. And I should point out, this particular "uniform" is pretty common right now. I'm certainly not blazing any trails in this outfit. This could be called What Men Are Wearing, Winter 2012.

TIPS ON FIT AND TAILORING

I just turned 30 and I'm at a very bizarre stage in my life. Not really a medium, but definitely no longer a small. I made the grave error of trying on an extra-small shirt from my closet and then promptly shredded it with my bare hands. The shame. So, what I mean to say is, it can be tricky to find clothes that fit properly, especially if you're experiencing the sudden and severe collapse of your youthful metabolism.

If you love the pattern/colour of a shirt, but the cut isn't quite right, take it to your tailor. They can make all the necessary adjustments for very little money. In the meantime, wear the shirt under a sweater or jacket to hide the extra fabric. If you're between sizes, go up and have it taken in. Not the other way around.

But where dress shirts can't be stretched-to-fit, shoes can - a half-size or so, depending on their constitution, so make friends with a Shoe Guy, too.

Knitwear cannot be tailored.

Buy pants that fit in the waist. Excess fabric can (usually) be removed at the hips and through the leg. Also, if you love the pattern/colour/fabrication of a pair of pants, but the cut is off (ie. the leg is too wide, or god forbid, boot cut) a tailor can often adjust those, too. Keep your receipt and go have a chat with your alterations person. Much like shopping for meat, a tailor will gladly take a few minutes to determine if your item is alterable.

Do you get lazy like me? Do you have a seasonal uniform?

SOURCE

Skinny Chinos, Topman, The Bay, $57

Cardigan, J. Crew, $118

Socks, J. Crew, $16

Check shirt, J. Crew, $68

Cognac chukkas, Cole Haan, $148

(Images from respective store websites.)

FURTHERMORE, ON STYLE:

A Subtle Recommendation (February 7, 2008)

With My Eyes Closed (February 8, 2010)

Summer Style (February 11, 2011)

2012-01-27T06:54:00.001-05:00

I'll be honest, this post is a bit of a repeat. The photos are fresh, and some changes made to the recipe, but déja-vu, nonetheless.

But here's the thing: Everybody should have a go-to meal. Whether for that mindless mid-week dinner, or when you're hosting friends on a Saturday night, it's handy to know a dish inside out, to feel confident that the meal will come off without a hitch. Maybe it's the first time you're cooking for your new girlfriend, or perhaps a colleague is coming over. Take the pressure off and learn to perfect one great meal.

Our friend Daniel, he heads for Coq au Vin. T.J. can do a Roast Beef Dinner like nobody's business. Paul can whip up his famous from-scratch Mac 'n Cheese in his sleep. And, Natasha, well . . . F her. She can do anything, even if it's her first run at it.

For me, the now-famous Pork Roast with Apple Chutney is my usual go-to. I'm 99% confident it'll be a hit every time, which reduces Host Related Stress Disorder by a big margin. Once you've managed one great meal, try for two, or three.

Another from my wheelhouse? Braised Beef Short Ribs. Perfect for an icy-cold January night. Wine-soaked meat that falls off the bone. On a heap of creamed corn. With a side of crispy green beans. It's tough to get bored of this meal.

A NOTE ON BUTCHERS:

They're not brain surgeons or high school gym teachers, so no need to be intimidated. I used to be terrified to ask questions or worried I'd look like a jag if I said the wrong thing. Most butchers (while appearing surly and often with terrifying eastern-European accents) are nice guys, and happy to answer questions. It makes them feel like the Meat Masters they are. So instead of lurking at the counter searching terms on your iPhone, step up and ask, "Hey there. I want to braise some short ribs. I'm cooking for 4. What am I gonna need?" Easy.

Beef Short Ribs

2lbs beef short ribs
A cup of flour
Olive oil
2 large carrots, loosely chopped
6 small shallots, loosely chopped
2 ribs of celery, loosely chopped
4 tablespoons fresh ginger, loosely minced
6 cloves of garlic, yeah, same, hackjob. (Don't be fussy with your vegetables for this.)
2 cups red wine
½ cup of balsamic vinegar
½ cup of Woodford Reserve Bourbon (or your favourite)
3½ cups beef stock
Several sprigs of fresh rosemary and thyme

Preheat your oven to 400°F. Salt your ribs generously and dredge in flour. In a large, well-oiled dutch oven, sear the ribs all on sides. Remove and set aside. In the same pot sautée your vegetables, garlic and ginger for a few minutes, then add the liquid and the herbs. Bring to a quick boil for just a few minutes. Gently add the ribs back to the pot and place, covered, in the oven for 2 or more hours until the meat is tender. You can't F this part up. Just let 'em ride.

Remove the meat again, tenting under foil, and strain the mire poix and liquid through a fine sieve. Discard the flavoured-up bits, and carefully pour the liquid back into the pot and place on the stovetop. Bring to a boil, reducing and thickening. Let it boil for 3 or 4 minutes, lower your heat and then leave to simmer. A few minutes before you're ready to plate, add the ribs back to the pot and get 'em all juiced-up. Serve with a healthy coating of this boozy-jus. Enjoy.

A NOTE ON THE WINE:
2010 Villa Maria Pinot Noir. $19.95, LCBO. Light, fruity, tart. Cherries. Very tasty.

MORE ON FOOD, RECIPES, WINE:
Family Dinner - Pork with Apple Ginger Mash (September 9, 2010)
Gritting my Teeth | Chili Recipe (March 14, 2011)
Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe (April 19, 2011)
Beef Ragu with Maccheroni (March 24, 2011)

2012-01-26T12:29:00.002-05:00

I get an odd number of compliments on my hair. I'm also surrounded by a slew of handsome gentleman-friends with great hair. So this might take the cake as the most-egomaniacal thing seen on my blog, but oh well. There are some dudes out there who could use the help.

1. HAIRCUT

a) Get your hair cut every 3 weeks. Budget for it. If it means you need to find a cheaper stylist, do that. You can even strike a deal with yours to visit twice a month (to keep your hair maintained) and agree on a price for the midway-trim.

b) Only visit a barber if you have a distinct style and know exactly what you want. If you're just a dude without a particular "look", you'll likely get a basic hack job or something that's too stylized, like that standard-issue brush top that only looks good on jacked-up blonde guys in the gay part of town.

c) Man up to your natural hair abilities. If you have thin, wispy hair, learn how to make it work for you. If you're nearly bald, go for it. If your hair is thick and coarse, you're probably going to keep it quite short. For the rest of your life. I'm sorry: No Bieber mops or surfer shags for you, pal. Talk to your stylist. Accept the limits of your hair and choose a style within them.

d) Like shopping for sunglasses, consider your face shape when choosing a haircut. I have a narrow-banana-face, sticky-outy-ears and a strong chin, so I've learned over the years that I look better with more volume on top. It helps balance the proportions of my face. If you've got a big round head, you might think about heading in the opposite direction, keeping things close-cropped to avoid adding extra volume.

d) No colour. None. Your hair should be whatever colour your hair is. And, OMG, do I have to say no perms?

e) Long hair is tricky and should be left to professional pretty boys. Models, surfers, and rakishly-thin guys in bands only. If you're carrying even 10 errant pounds, you can't pull off long hair. I'm sorry.

f) Important: If you are hell-bent on wearing a hat in the wintertime, that's okay, but make the choice to keep your hair nice and short during the colder months. Hat head is a capital crime.

2. HAIRSTYLE
a) The closer to a haircut you get, the less product you should use. If you're 3 days from a trim and your hair has that thick, puffy, rough-around-the-edges look, don't pack all sorts of clumpy wax in there. It'll weigh down your hair and look even less polished. Rule of thumb: If you want your hair to stand up and do something, smacking it with extra product isn't going to help. As your hair grows, dial back on the product and make an appointment with your stylist.

b) Unless you know what you're doing, don't use gel. Gel is not meant to be used the way guys use it. It's meant to be worked into damp hair and blown dry, or, maybe, for men who want a wet look (FIG. 1. - Fancy Boy, right). Like I said, unless you know what you're doing, avoid it.

c) Spend money on hair products. If you want a particular "style", it's going to take some work and some specific products. Ask your stylist what you need or, News Flash: buy what they use on your hair when they do it. I know hair products seem expensive, but for the average short-haired gentleman, one tub of a pricey hair cream will last for months.

d) If you choose to wear a specific style, take the time to do it properly. There's nothing worse than hair cut into a style, but not styled into it. Do your hair, gentlemen, don't just cut it.

3. STEP-BY-STEP

a) My hair is not very labour-intensive. Using a narrow black comb (FIG. 3. - below), I organize freshly-showered wet hair into a limp, wet version of the final look. I meticulously arrange my part as, once dry, I'd need to rewash my hair to fix a sloppy one.

b) Learn how to use a blowdryer (FIG. 4. - below). It will take a couple weeks to get the hang of it, but there's a reason women achieve distinct hairstyles that stay in place all day - You literally force it that way using the sweet power of heat and products.

c) Use a medium setting. If you're hairdryer is too hot and too strong, you'll end up drying the outer layers and have lots of damp hair underneath, which will dry on its own and puff up. What was that? Oh, no, men don't do that thing women do where you clip your hair up in sections to dry it evenly. No, we don't do that. (See 1.e., above.)

d) Dry your hair, directing all the sections into the style-of-choice. If you're me, you'll keep your part tidy and ensure hairs don't go rogue and join the wrong side of the tracks. Build volume into the hair on either side of the part with your comb, while drying. (You know, this might've been easier as a video tutorial.)

e) Once my hair is half-dry, I run a small amount (like, less than the end of a pinky) of Kiehl's Creme with Silk Groom (FIG. 2. - below, $25.50) through my hair. This product smooths the hair and moisturizes. A must if you're hitting it with heat on a daily basis. Continue drying. When my hair is dry, I run three fingers across the tub of Creative Cream Wax (FIG 3. - below, $23.00) rub into my hands and loosely run through my hair. This smoothes down any fried-out dry strands of hair and gives just the slightest bit of structure.

f) Let me be clear: Using the right product and taking 5 minutes to blow it dry means you'll have soft, malleable hair that stays in place. I don't have a helmet of crispy locks. I can run my hands through my hair all day long (and I do) and you should too.

Men: We are in a hair revolution. Now's your chance to have a style, a look. It's your time to get away with using a blow dryer and take a few minutes of Me Time in the bathroom. Don't be shy. Own that shit.

MORE TIPS AND NOTES:

Behave Yourself (January 28, 2008)

Be My Guest (August 1, 2008)

Brief Rules on Hosting, Brief Rules on Being a Guest (December 11, 2010)

2012-01-26T10:15:00.000-05:00

Last week I shared photos of the Marshalls. In telling the story of their little family, the weight of it landed on The Littlest Buddy, leaving Tessa as the adorable girl in the photos. Let me be clear: Tessa is no wallflower. But by some well-deserved twist of luck, she's a hugely independent two-and-a-half year old, allowing Ryan and Cole to focus on LB when necessary (which is often). She's happy and well-adjusted and hysterical.

One day during my visit, she was playing with a Slinky. She happily wandered off down the hall and into LB's bedroom, reappearing only seconds later after having somehow tangled herself, like a bear caught in a trap. I'll never forget her stumbling down the hall, confused as to how this happened, asking for help to get loose. Like I said: Fuckin' adorable.

The Marshalls like to play this crazy game - Hide and seek in the dark! Some people hide, and some seek, prowling around the house in the dark with nothing but a flashlight.

I was much too fragile a kid to handle such a game, and, truth be told, playing it with them had me highly anxious. I hate being scared, I don't love the dark, and the thought of someone jumping out at me with a flashlight is totally terrifying. But since the two small children love it so much, I tried to be a bit of an adult.

There's nothing quite as cute as Tessa sitting silent and still as a mouse under a blanket, waiting to be found. She's amazing at this game! She'll tuck herself behind a door, or a chair, or next to the washing machine, and stay there, no matter how long it takes to find her. And when you turn a corner and flash that light on her adorable face she screams and laughs her beautiful laugh as if it's the very first time she's played.

RELATED:

The Best is Ready to Begin (August 4, 2008)

My Little Helpers (July 4, 2010)

Eight Weeks Later (October 14, 2011)

Courting the Marshalls (January 21, 2011)

2012-01-25T09:46:00.006-05:00

After two weeks in Florida, I was ready for a change of scenery. Luckily Alt Summit was on the books, and after a heinous and uncomfortable series of flights through Phoenix, Arizona, I landed in the mountainous bowl that is Salt Lake City, Utah.

If you've never been, the initial reaction to this town in January might be something like, "Huh." Aside from the beauty of being cradled by gorgeous mountains, the place is dry and grey. Not entirely awe-inspiring if your plane happens to land at night. But then, of course, you see snow-capped peaks and think, for a half-second, "Maybe there is a God." before you regain your senses and remember Pangaea and the beautiful, cataclysmic collision that brought these beauties up out of the earth.

But I digress.

I left Orlando and headed west. I'd arranged to bunk with über-blogger Morgan Satterfield (of The Brick House) and her friend (and now mine, too!) fabulous photographer Laure Joliet. Although Morgan and I had become friends over the internet, we'd never met in real life. The whole thing was a summercamp-blogger-adventure, so I threw caution (and social anxiety) to the wind and dove in. I had no idea that I'd meet two of the most-excellent humans and have the greatest/grossest pillow talk sessions ever. But seriously: The three of us settled into an easy rapport and comfort that doesn't come around all that often. They made the trip for me. Déclassé Alert: I slept on a series of foam pads on the floor of the hotel room, happily-so, just to share in their company.

And then came a series of days I can't quite put into words. Alt Summit (and blogging conferences in general) attract a certain audience. Of the 500 attendees, I was one of (maybe) 20 men. And while I'm a famous lover of women, the whole thing was lacking a certain . . . balance. Lunch time in the ballroom sounded like all the TV's in Best Buy blaring the different episodes of The View (no offence) and it was bizarre to spend 5 days with so few dudes. But the quality of the speakers (Grace Bonney of Design*Sponge, Maggie Mason of Mighty Girl, Jordan Ferney of Oh Happy Day and Kate Woodrow of Chronicle Books, in particular) and with terrific keynotes by the likes of Pilar Guzman of Martha Stewart Magazine ("The proliferation of blogs have demanded a certain authenticity from us.") and Ben Silberman (the founder of Pinterest) made the whole thing totally inspiring.

The flood of information and stimulation meant off-site breaks were necessary to process all that energy. Among many excellent adventures, I had a wonderful dinner with Jory Dayne and his boyfriend Dave. Jory was one of my very original readers, and we've been internet pals for years. Finally meeting him in real life was a pure pleasure and we had a great time. He gave me the low-down on Salt Lake City creative culture and we gossiped like school girls. My favourite pastime. After all these online years, it's great to finally call him a friend.

We also met (finally!) Nathan (Editor of Kinfolk Magazine) and Amanda (their talented Art Director) for a great dinner. (Joined by Volume II cover girl Sarah Winward and her charm-city boyfriend!) As always, it's so strange to put a voice and a manner-of-speaking to someone you feel like you know. Nathan is as quiet and sweet as you might imagine, perhaps moreso. I was my typical brash self, treating the dinner table like an open-mic night at a small-town comedy club. But that's how I deal with awkward social situations. I say vaguely-offensive things and aim to keep everybody laughing. It usually works.

And a few more quick shout-outs to my new real-life-pals - the internet come to life!

Kathleen, in all her tall glory.
Jennifer Flores from super-Canadian-famous blog Rambling Renovators and her cohort Lindsay.
Lisa Congdon, Victoria Smith, and Rena Tom - the west coast lady brigade.
Gabrielle Blair, one of the Sisters Stanley who creates this entire event.
Two super-fun chicks I met while wandering the hotel, Megan Gilger of Hitch Design Studio and Amy Anderson over at Parker, etc.
And the wonderful and effervescent Erin Loechner of Design for Mankind.
And the best little southern belle in the universe, Emily Thompson.

Really super to hang out with all of you.

(Photo by some lady at the party, though through Jennifer's camera.)

(Photo by Laure Joliet.)

My friends Ryan and Cole stayed with Heather Armstrong (Dooce), who is one of the very first bloggers to ever exist, and an all-around terrific woman. She very generously trusted Ryan and Cole to bring me around her house and her kids, and her "Recent Happenings", as they were anxious to spend time with me, and her, and Maggie, too. To combine efforts (and dance moves) under one roof was a real blessing.

At first it felt a bit like high school, when one friend wants to bring an outsider into the fray. Awkward introductions and careful integration. Soon, after lunch and a kick-in-the-balls-anecdote from elementary school, Heather and I appeared to be fast friends.

She's warm and kind, but in a Canadian sorta way. I like to point out that Canadians almost always maintain their reputation as being "polite" and "kind", but that doesn't mean we're saccharine-sweet or overly nice. To put it simply: We behave ourselves. Heather is lovely and funny and polite. She's sarcastic and she teases and she says it like it is. She plays nicely, but she doesn't blow smoke or put it on: A woman after my own heart.

I'll let Heather describe the last day of my trip to Utah, the "pasty" descriptor my only objection. And that banana photo. Jesus.

We boozed and we talked and we just fuckin' laughed. I can't think of a better way to end my trip. A million thanks to Heather for her hospitality and her kindness.

(Me and Ryan. Photo by Heather Armstrong. Used without permission, but that banana photo is payment enough. Bitch!)

PS: Would you believe I didn't take a single photo with my own camera? After shooting a million in Orlando, I just couldn't get it up to drag that sucker around for 5 days in Utah. Thanks to friends above for letting me snag yours.

PREVIOUS BLOGS THAT ARE IN-SOME-WAY RELATED:
Real-Life Friends: (August 11, 2010)
Family Dinner - Pork Tenderloin with Apple Ginger Mash (September 9, 2010)
Kinfolk: Volume II (December 12, 2011)
A State of Bliss | Speaking at the Blissdom Conference (January 14, 2011)

2012-01-24T14:23:00.000-05:00

There are two types of cocktail parties: The mid-week kind with your Top 6 Favourite People, and those with a more-varied group of near-strangers. The former requires less organization, elicits less stress, and happens more often. The latter deserves a bit of attention, a more extensive plan.

For your friends, it's critical you keep the bar cart stocked with their particulars. For T.J. it's a constant supply of tonic to go with his gin, and at least one bottle of beer for the part of the night when a "cleansing" is required. Mark needs spiced rum, Hannah needs champagne, and while most of our friends drink gin like me (on the rocks with a few thinly-sliced cucumbers), it's critical to have a couple bottles of red wine and some icy-cold white, too. You know, in case straight-to-hard-liquor isn't the mood.

But if you're hosting people for the first time, or a larger group of irregulars, a signature cocktail might be the way to go. While this approach doesn't replace the need for a fully-stocked bar, it's nice to spend some time concocting something special, and tailor-fit to the event you're hosting.

Nobody sets a cocktail menu like our friend John. Last year's Oscar Party deserved its own statuette, featuring drinks inspired by the nominated films. His "Blackout Swantini" involved a healthy thwack of gin and a splash of Blackberry Brandy. I can't wait to see what he'll come up with this year. Tree of Life might inspire something called "Inexplicable Dinosaur Piss". Fingers crossed.

So the next time you host, think of a drink, would you? It doesn't have to be clever or funny. In fact, it could be downright old fashioned.

Photography: Me

Recipe, Food and Prop Styling: Ashley Denton

Props Provided by: Rustica Tabletop

I'm a big, big fan of Canada's first premium gin by Victoria Spirits. By my estimation, it's the only legitimate competition for Hendricks. And, guess what: Aside from their spot-on small-batch gin, they also make oak barrel-aged gin. WHAT? You heard me. They allow the gin to rest in new barrels until it's amber-coloured and caramel-flavoured.

Now my gin can act like my bourbon.

The Victoria Old Fashioned

2 teaspoons rosemary simple syrup*
3 dashes Victoria Orange Bitters
Splash of water or club soda
2 ounces Victoria Oaken Gin

Stir together the sweetener and the bitters. Add a splash of water or club soda, ice, and your gin. Garnish as you please (orange peel or slices, rosemary for that "What the F is in my drink?!" reaction) and serve. Yum.

*Just as with regular simple syrup, bring equal parts of white sugar and water to a boil. But here, throw a few sprigs of rosemary into the mix and allow to infuse the syrup with flavour.

KEEP READING ON THE SUBJECT OF HOSTING:

Be My Guest (August 1, 2008)
The Bachelorette (August 14, 2010)
Songs for Winter Cocktailing (December 11, 2011)

2012-01-23T14:37:00.001-05:00

After three-and-a-half weeks in the United States, a few things are more obvious than ever: People love Canada, Canadians love talking about Canada, and Canada is incredible in every way.

Aside from healthcare and human rights, music comes up a lot. And Canadians are hella-proud of their music.

Kathleen Edwards is utterly Canadian. At first glance she's polite and sweet, ruminating quietly on love and landscape and hockey skates, but dig a little deeper and you'll see that she's dry and dark, with a penchant for pot and dropping F-bombs. If we're a nation of sarcastic-yet-friendly, thoughtful-yet-forthright stoners, she's our ambassador.

It doesn't get much more Canadian than that.

Her new album, Voyageur, is a perfect evolution from her previous work. This certainly isn't a departure from her usual stuff, though it is rich and lush and rollicking (at times) in a new way. It's also its own opposite, heavy and thick in a new way. (Edwards and her long-time collaborator/partner recently divorced and the impact is felt clearly.) Through headphones the depth in the details of every song makes your eyes grow wide when marching down the street to it.

Enjoy my choices for The Essential Kathleen Edwards, a couple of favourites from each of her amazing albums. Please immediately head to the place you buy music to fill in the blanks. Every song she's ever recorded lives in my Bottomless Top 10 List.

The Essential Kathleen Edwards

1. Mercury
2. Change the Sheets
3. House Full of Empty Rooms
4. Going to Hell
5. In State
6. Scared at Night
7. National Steel
8. Good Things
9. Away
10. A Soft Place to Land

Download.

Image by Todd V. Wolfson for Rollingstone

SOMEHOW RELATED:

The Essential Fiona Apple (November 27, 2010)

Black and White (November 9, 2010)

November Rain (November 29, 2011)
The Essential Antony and the Johnsons (October 1, 2011)

Listen to her appearance on CBC Radio Q from earlier today. Jian Ghomeshi + Kathleen Edwards + the CBC = Canadian super atomic bomb of amazing. And the set starts with "A Soft Place to Land", which upon first-listen several weeks ago, became my all-time favourite track by Ms. Edwards. Enjoy.

2012-01-21T16:30:00.002-05:00

After a couple of weeks in Fort Lauderdale, I hopped a 40 minute flight to Orlando. Not for Mickey Mouse or my long-awaited dream date with the Little Mermaid, but rather a couple of days with my pals Ryan and Nicole Marshall. You know them from Ryan's massively popular blog, Pacing the Panic Room and might remember my time at Fashion Week with Ryan in September.

It was so nice to spend a few days at their lovely home, getting to know their beautiful kids, who are bonafide internet sensations in their own right. I must admit, I was a bit nervous they wouldn't like me, even though I'm typically a pretty big hit with this demographic (and also women over 50). If you're a follower of Ryan's blog, you know that their son (known online as The Littlest Buddy) has SMS (Smith Magenis Syndrome), a genetic disorder often mistaken for autism, but isn't. Click the link there - Ryan has become something of a spokesperson, and can tell you all about it.

I worried that my visit might overwhelm L.B., that he might not take to me or that I'd disrupt a household they work incredibly hard to maintain. I asked Ryan and Cole lots of questions - "Should I clown around and make him like me? Should I tickle him and make goofy faces and hide around corners to win him over?" Their answer was clear, "No. You should completely ignore him and he'll eventually get curious and try to figure out what you're doing here."

Against all my Uncle-of-the-Year instincts, I took their advice. When he came home that day I sat quietly on my laptop in their dining room and waited.

Soon I caught his little eyes peering at me from across the living room, 20 feet away. Cole (noticing him noticing me) reminded gently, "That's Jason Hudson. He's here for a visit." After only a few minutes he got a bit closer, eventually sidling-up beside me at the dining room table. Still, I was careful not to overwhelm him. So imagine my surprise when he stood just inches from my face, reached out and stroked my cheek with the softest little hand you can imagine. He rubbed the stubble on my chin and said "Nice hair. Nice nice hair."

I'm not embarrassed to say I almost burst into tears. While we all see how clever and adorable L.B. is through Ryan's blog, no beautiful photo or perfectly-phrased anecdote from a doting father can describe the energy of this kid. His spirit. His giant heart and the kindness in his little eyes. There's a magical quality I can't quite describe, as if you're communicating through the pit of your stomach.

Ryan and Cole think this is the secret to kids with SMS - On the days when you're angry or resentful, this charming little guy shows up and you have no choice but to just love the shit out of him.

IF YOU LIKE THIS POST, YOU MIGHT LIKE:

Do Fun Stuff (August 30, 2010)

New York Fashion Week (September 19, 2011)

2012-01-14T12:01:00.003-05:00

I've written about Instagram before; it was almost a year ago, when the platform was new and you could post an image almost nobody would see. Much has happened since those days. It's become a bonafide social network, and, well, a verb.

My buddy Ryan (Pacing the Panic Room) and I were recently asked to speak at the Blissdom Conference in Nashville about this very thing.

Here's the description from the conference website:

Join Ryan and Jason to discuss all aspects of mobile photography, from composition and consistency to editing-on-the-fly. We’ll show you how social media can successfully bridge the gap between your formal blog posts. Because while your awesome sandwich or an “OMG check out this gorgeous dress!”-photo might not constitute a dedicated post on your site, the things you encounter on any given day are sure to be interesting to your followers.

Explore the full range of your “brand” by capturing a behind-the-scenes look at life beyond your blog. Mobile photography and social networking (using sites like Tumblr, Flickr, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram) will drive traffic to your blog and, in the process, become a separate outlet for your creativity. Share all your half-baked thoughts and stand-alone images while increasing your web-presence. Keep readers engaged and allow them to connect with you. Make mobile photography work for you.

Riveting, right? Let me know if you're attending the conference.

The last year-or-so in my life, through Instagram. Click to enlarge.

Follow, if you please: @jeffstagram, @thepanicroom, @teeejers, @sevenspoons, @timrobisonjr, @foodfaceash, @paulmichael, @nickatef, @natashagrossi, @jorydayne, @danieljosef, and @markneilbalson.)

2012-01-13T12:18:00.000-05:00

Inexplicably, I recently got the best professional advice from someone I once fired.

He had been a snot-nosed teenager with a chip on his shoulder (sounds familiar) and I genuinely liked him. I knew what he was dealing with (it being painfully obvious he was gay and not quite ready to admit it) but I also knew letting him get away with being a shithead wasn't productive. And so, I made a very difficult phone call that wasn't well-received, and let it go. Although this was tricky and uncomfortable, I somehow knew he'd be okay, that he'd eventually not be 17 anymore, and come out on top.

And he did. He would move to New York City and become something of a star in the design world, climbing the ranks at V Magazine, shedding the pervasiveness of adolescence and replacing all the snark and snide with charm and confidence. One night last year, while in the city for Fashion Week, we got to talking about insecurities and pushing through comfort zones. About doubts and worry. About selling your wares as an artist and having the confidence to hold your head high.

And, in his vaguely Valley-girl way, he put down his beer and shrugged, as if it was so clear to him: "You're the only one in the room who thinks you can't do it."

And so, as a new year begins, I'll reflect on the rather successful one behind me, and remind myself of the sage advice dispensed by a reformed shithead.

2012-01-10T10:40:00.011-05:00

2011 was bigtime at The Hudson's Bay Company. It was my pleasure (and honour) to photograph all the glitzy events they hosted throughout the year, from designer appearances to launching brands and hosting publishers and editors. See below, a visual assault of some of my favourite shots. And click over to the B-Insider to see what I (and the other contributors) thought of the year that was.

2011-12-16T12:46:00.000-05:00

I recently had the pleasure of shooting for House & Home. I've been a fan of the magazine for the greater part of my life, so it's a bit of a benchmark. Below is Editor-in-Chief Suzanne Dimma with her January letter. We shot a few variations, so you'll see my handiwork in several upcoming issues.

And below that, my dear pal Ash (who regularly works with them as a Food Stylist) was featured in the Contributors section. I spent this week watching him work his magic on-set with Edward Pond, filing away styling tips and tricks like a little squirrel. (If you follow my Instagram, you've been seeing lots of behind-the-scenes.)

2011-12-12T19:41:00.002-05:00

You've certainly heard of it. The gorgeous magazine that took the internet (and beyond) by storm earlier this year released Volume 2 today. Kinfolk.

I was bummed when I couldn't make my June deadline for the inaugural issue, watching it go out into the world without me. It went on to blow everyone's minds (including mine), its pages filled with fine, fine work from my pals Tara, Tim and Ryan and dozens of other major talents.

Well, this time around me and my dear friend Ash put our heads together to create a few images. He's an extraordinary food stylist (his work gracing the pages of Canadian House & Home and many other publications) and a remarkable chef. This time, though, we'd create a simple pie with a story about the time before guests when the host putters about the market and the nooks and crannies of his kitchen. We're really happy to be amongst the lovely pages of Kinfolk, and hope you'll enjoy too.

Buy the magazine here. And enjoy some alternates and extras below, as well as Ash's Grandma's classic pie recipe. (While plums were a perfect last-days-of-Autumn sort of fruit, they might be hard to come by these days. This would work well as an apple pie, too!)

Plum Pie

Pastry

2½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp sugar

16 tbsp cold, salted butter, cut into pieces

½ cup of cold ice water (or enough to bring the dough together)

Add dry ingredients to the bowl of your food processor. While running, add butter and blend until it is in pea-sized bits. Add water one tablespoon at a time until dough comes together. Don’t over mix. Place out on a lightly-floured surface and form into two equal sized discs. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill until firm, at least one hour. Dough can remain in the fridge for a few days or be frozen for later use.

Filling

5 cups plums, pitted and cut into 1" slices

1 cup sugar

1 tbsp lemon juice

1 tsp ground nutmeg

1½ tbsp salted butter

2 tbsp cream

Pre-heat oven to 425°F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out dough and line a 9" pie plate.

Combine the plums, sugar, lemon juice and nutmeg together in a medium bowl. Place in lined pie plate. Dot with butter.

Roll out the second disc of dough. Place on top leaving a 1"-thick border around the edge. Cut off excess. Tuck top layer of dough, underneath bottom layer and crimp or tuck the edges. Brush top with cream and cut a small air vent in the middle. Bake for 15 minutes. Lower the temperature to 350°F and continue baking 40-55 minutes or until crust is golden and plums are tender.

Yum.

2011-12-04T14:09:00.001-05:00

I'm a few days behind, but I wanted to share a new playlist with you for the holiday season. We're officially 3 weeks away (how the F did that happen?) and hearing Christmas music suddenly feels right.

There are a few repeats on this collection. Forgive me, but there are a handful of songs I go back to year after year. Every holiday season, for me, includes Peggy Lee singing "The Christmas Waltz". Enjoy, and have the merriest of holidays.

1. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas - Bing Crosby

2. Baby, It's Cold Outside - She & Him

3. Frosty the Snowman - Fiona Apple

4. Joy to the World - Sufjan Stevens

5. Silver Bells - Rosemary Clooney

6. The Christmas Waltz - Peggy Lee

7. Winter Song - Sarah Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson

8. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Tori Amos

9. Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep) - Bing Crosby

10. The Merriest - June Christy

11. I Wanna Hippo For Christmas - Shirley Temple

12. Jingle all the Way - Lena Horne

13. Happy Holiday - Peggy Lee

14. Warm December - Julie London

15. That's What I Want for Christmas - Nancy Wilson

16. White Christmas - Peggy Lee

17. I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm - Dean Martin

18. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - Al Martino

19. Let It Snow Let it Snow Let it Snow - Wayne Newton

20. Baby, It's Cold Outside - Carmen McRae and Sammy Davis Jr.

21. River - Robert Downey Jr.

22. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas - Judy Garland

23. Deck the Halls - Nat King Cole

24. Good Morning Blues - Ella Fitzgerald

Download.

(Oh, and if you don't have it already, here's last year's mix. Enjoy!)

2011-11-29T15:42:00.000-05:00

Since arriving home from Florida a few days ago, I've been in a funk. November's a tough one, made moreso by icy cold rain hot on the heels of 10 days in Tropical America. Nick, Natasha and Sofia joined us in Fort Lauderdale. And, again, maybe it's just me being an overzleaous Guncle, but I swear she gained 5lbs and learned 18 new tricks. She giggled, she zerberted her lips, and she rolled over (with a little help.) She was a great houseguest and an even better model.

So, let's let this little face warm us and wrap yourself up in some moody music.

Songs for November Rain

1. No Light, No Light - Florence and the Machine

2. Blackout - Anna Calvi

3. Hell of a Season - The Black Keys

4. Night Time - The XX

5. Avalanche - Zola Jesus

6. Going to Hell - Kathleen Edwards

7. Comfort Me - Feist

8. Night After Night - Laura Marling

9. House Full of Empty Rooms - Kathleen Edwards

10. Shelter - The XX

11. Shivers - Zola Jesus

12. Lose it - Austra

13. Pulling Teeth - The Guest Bedroom

Download.

2011-11-27T11:51:00.003-05:00

Recently I shot another flashy party at The Bay. This time Nicola Formichetti and the team from Mugler descended upon our fair city (and were spotted at Gaga-favourite Remingtons) to celebrate their sexy clothes and crazy shoes. Check out more shots at The B-Insider (as well as another great video by Chris Chilco) and on Flare Magazine's website.

2011-11-14T13:33:00.001-05:00

On Saturday I turned thirty. As the youngest (almost, Hi Brian!) in my closest circle, I've been surrounded by 30-somethings for a while, tricking my brain into another decade some time. But, now it's official.

A handful of my dearest joined Jeff and I for dinner before heading to our apartment for a night's worth of drinking. My friends know me well, so I got several bottles of gin, and, collectively, we did a good job disposing of them.

A room full of good hair, great smiles and big hearts. Thanks to my Jeff and my friends for a wonderful birthday.

2011-11-07T10:51:00.000-05:00

Remember these? Recently we shot another round of fall and winter coats for The Hudson's Bay Company. More local artists wearing yet more stylish stuff from our national department store. I suggested we go a bit moodier this go round, as the season progresses into the dark days of winter. I'm super happy with it, some in particular. I mean, look at this face!

Visit the B Insider for more of this story and a great behind-the-scenes video by Derek Belcham at A Story Told Well.

2011-11-07T08:32:00.002-05:00

It should come as no surprise that I was bullied as a kid. I mean, no one as obsessed with stationery supplies and spelling could be spared by the neighbourhood bad seed, could he?

I'll say, straight away, that my experience wasn't extreme. Or maybe it was. Looking back, from present-day social comforts, it's hard to say for sure. My memories have become like a sitcom blooper reel, in a way, the pulp of the feelings diluted, though their effects deep-seated. If I spend even ten seconds recalling a walk home from school, it comes back quite easily. And though I made it through relatively unscathed, I do feel like I can tell you something about it. About the fear and loneliness. The shame.

Here's what: If you're bullied, you cope. It becomes part of your experience. Sadly, it becomes normal and you develop ways of swallowing it. But the tough part? You don't want people to know it's happening. So rather than pay attention to the barbs being thrown at the bus stop, the bullied are more-often looking around, hoping nobody else saw it happen. Something like a tree falling in the forest.

I could handle it. I was used to it. But not if someone else saw it happen. That was too much. Too embarrassing.

Many days I'd come home from school after a particularly tormented walk home. My route took me past the Catholic school, where the "skaters" would hang out after class. Looking back, they were a slew of gawky teens, but at the time they were the most intimidating people in the world. My pace would quicken and I'd stare at the sidewalk, hoping they wouldn't shout something or, worse, suddenly appear behind me, taunting for a half-block. Maybe one would poke me in the shoulder or call me a fag. And, again, more than hearing the words or feeling the thrust of their impact, I'd be scanning the houses on either side of the street hoping nobody from school was nearby, seeing it all happen from their living room window.

I'd push through the door, finally home, where I'd shake it off and make sure my parents didn't think I'd had any trouble. "How was your day?" they might ask. "Fine!" Always fine. And we'd proceed to ignore what was, likely, written all over my troubled face.

There were days, though, when I couldn't hide it, bursting into the house in tears making it plainly obvious my day, this day, hadn't gone so well. But, again, more than the insults, I was crying because I was embarrassed I wasn't able to hide it, and now my Mom knew. And she'd see that she'd managed to have a kid so incapable of a good day.

Compound shame.

And so, with this in mind, fast-forward 25 years and imagine that even after the door closes behind you at home, you'd find more, worse, and instantly-public abuse on your computer screen, maybe popping up on your phone, too. A barrage of shame from the very moment you woke up until you put your head down at night. The torment no longer relegated to an anonymous walk home or the boys' room at school. In one moment, everyone knew. And there's no hiding from it. And there's nowhere in the world to go.

Looking back (and forward) if I'd grown up with Facebook and an unstoppable torrent of humiliation, I might not have made it out either. I cannot say for sure that suicide would have been so far-fetched. Because as I sit here writing this, a pit in my stomach forms at the thought of a childhood lived through the lens of social media. Can you imagine it?

But I can't offer a solution. Few things are as confounding as the cruelty of children, and nothing is harder to climb out from under than shame. All these years later it rears its ugly head from time to time.

(It gets better.)

Rick Mercer (Canada's answer to Jon Stewart) has been talking about this for years. Take a moment to watch his videos on the subject. Here. And here. And take a peak at Canada's contribution to last year's It Gets Better Campaign, assembled by design superstars Tommy Smythe and Arren Williams.

2011-10-14T17:31:00.000-04:00

For those paying attention, Sofia is two months old. And she's still fuckin' perfect. She coos and smiles and . . . . well, poops, cries, sleeps, and pees. Same old, in many ways, but if you're her Guncle, you notice every gained-pound and strengthened vertebrae! I mean, come on, look how she's holding that head up and smizing.

(October 14, 2011 4:55PM)

2011-10-13T15:29:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I had the great pleasure of working with Ela and Martin (the team behind the super-chic handbag line Ela) on photos for their holiday line. We shot in the ultra-impressive midtown apartment of Jennifer Ferreira (see more photos here, from Canadian House & Home) who let us run wild in her space. I couldn't take my eyes off the architectural details and how the light crept over the walls, into all the nooks and crannies of this startling large apartment. It just kept going! Bright walls with high-gloss black doors, moulding for days and the most beautiful windows I've ever seen. (Not to mention Jennifer's collection of stunning furniture and perfectly-arranged artwork and accessories.)

It made good sense to shoot Ela's handbags here. Like the space, these bags are elegant without being fussy, ensuring the wearer is the main attraction. Her signature clutch (the M.I.L.C.K. - money, ID, lipstick, cell, keys) is a terrific, available in a variety of materials and finishes. Holiday 2011 features the fur and leather, in black-on-black and a deep hunter green.

And from the apartment to the bags to beautiful Ela herself, the whole thing was kind of pretty-overload. I was dizzy!

(The outrageously attractive Ela and Martin at last week's Topshop dinner.)

2011-10-11T19:58:00.000-04:00

We just returned from a glorious weekend at the cottage. 25°C and sunny: Definitely a rare Thanksgiving. We sunned ourselves on the dock, drank gin and lemonade and slept comfortably in the bunky - Not typical for October in this part of the world. More common would be cool days and freezing nights, grey and dank at the very least.

I took about a thousand pictures, but none with a legitimate camera. All with my iPhone and posted to Instagram, which I've written about before. In the months since that post, it's really taken over and has even replaced Twitter for some of my friends. So far the app is only available to iPhone users, so if you've got one, download it and join the fun. Below are some snaps from the cottage this weekend, a sea of gorgeous Fall colours and beautiful low sunlight. Even without an iPhone, you can follow my images here.

And why not some more music to go with this lingering warm spell. Enjoy.

Songs for Record Highs

1. Ritual Union - Little Dragon
2. I Want Your (Hands on Me) - Sinead O'Connor
3. Baby - Devendra Banhart
4. Hurry Hurry - Jessie Baylin
5. My Baby Left Me - Creedence Clearwater Revival
6. Heartbreaker - Metronomy
7. Somebody That I Used to Know - Gotye
8. Heartbroken, in Disrepair - Dan Auerbach
9. Ten Cent Pistol - The Black Keys
10. Don't Make Me a Target - Spoon
11. Strangers in the Wind - Cut/Copy
12. Heart is a Beating Drum - The Kills
13. High Summer - Jason Collett
14. Rhythm and Soul - Spoon
15. Long as I Can See the Light - Creedence Clearwater Revival

Download.

Note: To keep the songs in this order (and you should!) select all the files in the folder and then drag them into a New Playist you've created in iTunes.

2011-10-07T08:58:00.001-04:00

Topshop + Topman have made their long-awaited debut in Canada. In celebration, The Hudson's Bay Company (who partnered with Sir Philip Green to bring the brand across the pond) hosted a slew of events, which meant two big days of dinners and parties and appearances for me to photograph. (See more images here.)

On Tuesday night all of Toronto's hippest and too-cool-for-schoolest filled The Hoxton (a new club/concert venue at King and Bathurst) for a private party and show by The Kills. Somehow I've been out of the loop where this band is concerned. While everybody was buzzing with excitement for the intimate show in this smaller-than-they're-used-to venue, I was indifferent, merely a hired gun staking out a good vantage point to shoot the band.

Imagine my surprise when a skulking, writhy, sexy Alison Mosshart and a brooding Jamie Hince (ie. Kate Moss' husband and personal friend of Topshop-CEO Green) took the stage with their rough blues-rock. While they overwhelmed the space (not to mention my side-stage positioning wasn't exactly sound-friendly) I dug their obvious chemistry and could tell the music was strong.

I downloaded their latest album (Blood Pressures) and was surprised by the polish and heart. It's been on repeat for days. I can't get enough.

DOWNLOAD a track ("Nail in my Coffin") and go fetch the rest wherever you buy music.

Also part of the store opening extravaganza, I shot photos of British band Friendly Fires. See those here.)

2011-10-04T17:35:00.000-04:00

I was trained in photography at a very commercial school. In what now seems like a deeply vintage mode, I learned to shoot perfume bottles and cereal boxes on a 4x5 view camera. Huddled there beneath a black cloak, I cut my teeth and squinted at inverted images while learning the basics of food styling and the ins-and-outs of studio lighting and film processing. Innumerable hours spent in the gloomy yellow light of the darkroom, timers ticking. I learned the trade of photography with classes in Fashion Portraiture and Photojournalism, and while creative, it was very skills-based. We were taught, in many ways, to be technicians.

Whenever I talk about my training or photography in general, these details come up a lot. I'm quick to differentiate between my school and those like OCAD, who focus on the art. I've been hesitant to blur the lines, modest about my own "artistry", likely just a protective mechanism, an odd bit of armour to ensure only my role as technical conduit is expected.

But, surely, I have the temperament of an artist. And when I look through my camera I see more than f-stops and shutter speeds. In the weeks since "I'm a photographer," has become a common statement, my pendulum is beginning to swing and I suddenly don't want to be seen as merely a tradesman with an expensive camera. I want to allow myself a bit of artistry. Allow the confidence to, in my quiet moments, be one . . . maybe. It seems so bold to go calling yourself an artist.

But unlike a plumber clearing a drain, I'm attempting to capture something else. When I take a photo of you, I want you to look pretty, sure, and always standing in great light. But I also want you to look like yourself. And I'm not just talking about smile lines and age, or a hair out of place for reality's-sake. When I see you through my camera, I see your spirit, the energy of your discomfort, perhaps, which might tell me something about you. Or your biggest smile, the laugh between poses. And it's these things, more than your best angle, I want to see.

And so, while I always hope to snap a well-composed frame, well-lit and technically sound, I want the magic too. And that's the part that makes me want to keep doing this.

2011-10-01T18:37:00.000-04:00

After my last post, I got a Tweet from Nathan saying thanks, particularly for including the Antony and the Johnsons track "My Lord, My Love" in the mix. (For those that follow closely, I include Antony on almost all of my quieter/moodier playlists). I was shocked to hear this was the first he'd heard of Antony and promised him a crash course in one of my favourite artists.

I've written about Antony Hegarty and his band many times, most recently when their newest album, Swanlights (2010) was released a year ago. I've told you that he's not for everyone and I've gushed, noting that his is as close to sacred music as I get. I first heard his eery and magical voice while watching the movie The Event, many years ago. His song "I Fell In Love With a Dead Boy" struck me and stuck with me, and a few years later his second album (Mercury Prize-winning I Am a Bird Now) would come around and change music, for me, forever.

(If you ever get a chance to see him live, please don't miss it. Photo from his website.)

The Quintessential Antony and the Johnsons

1. Mysteries of Love

2. Epilepsy is Dancing

3. I Fell in Love With a Dead Boy

4. The Horror Has Gone

5. Aeon

6. Ghost

7. Deeper Than Love

8. Paddy's Gone

9. Another World

10. The Spirit Was Gone

11. Hope There's Someone

12. Dust and Water

13. The Lake

14. Fistful of Love

15. Rapture

Download.

Bonus Download. (Two of Antony's greatest covers. Just trust me and click to download.)

(As you might imagine, it's very hard to reduce a near-perfect catalogue of music into a handful of "essentials", so if you enjoy, please snag everything you can get your hands on. You won't be disappointed. Related post: The Quintessential Fiona Apple.)

2011-09-30T15:29:00.001-04:00

It's been a while since I've posted music. Truth be told, summertime usually finds us at the cottage listening to janky pop music on satellite radio. Sometimes the oldies I'd hear in the car with my parents, Simon and Garfunkle, maybe, or CCR. Or we tune to the 90s station for our own nostalgic journeys with Nirvana or Ace of Base. For us, sprawling on the dock in the sun goes hand-in-hand with that sort of thing.

But today we're on the cusp of autumn, at any moment crossing over, and new music from Feist and Laura Marling and the Mates of State are on constant play through my headphones. And I wander this city kicking up the leaves that have begun to scatter themselves in our streets. Be forewarned, it's not altogether uplifting. (But that shouldn't come as a surprise.)

Songs for Looming October

1. A Candle's Fire - Beirut

2. How Come You Never Go There - Feist

3. Montezuma - Fleet Foxes

4. Mission Bells - Armistice

5. Nervous Lonely Night - Jessica Lea Mayfield

6. Rest in the Bed - Laura Marling

7. Sadness is a Blessing - Lykke Li

8. Desire - Mates of State

9. Cruel - St. Vincent

10. Shake it Out - Florence + The Machine

11. Caught a Long Wind - Feist

12. My Lord, My Love - Antony and the Johnsons

13. Wapusk - Kathleen Edwards

14. You Won't Let Me - Rachael Yamagata

15. Night After Night - Laura Marling

Download.

2011-09-25T12:29:00.000-04:00

I just spent two weeks in America. I've never done that before. I left Toronto for New York where I spent 5 days shooting Fashion Week stuff, then jet-setted to sunny Florida where I loafed around, edited images, swam, and drank for another 9.

What I know for sure? You end up talking a lot about where you're from. Toronto.

I'm a friendly person. My grade school report cards said "social butterfly". I'm the guy who speaks in elevators (for shame!) the one who compliments a handbag in line at the grocery store. I hold doors for people who are too far behind, causing them that awkward run to take you up on the generosity. I certainly don't mean to, but (after years and years in customer service) I tend to be hyper aware of people within 50 meters of me. Most of the time it works out, and I tend to charm these strangers. One in 20, though, and things get awkward and I look like a creep.

I'm okay with these odds.

This need to socialize is never more obvious than when I'm away from home. These last few trips I've been solo, so perhaps a bit of loneliness kicks in and I become even more outgoing. Very likely to ask about your shoes or your baby. I'm that guy.

And when I happen upon someone as eager to chitchat as me, the conversation always ends up in the "Oh, where are you from?" territory. "Toronto," I'll say, " . . . Canada." And, almost without exception, people will nod excitedly as if I'd said, "The moon . . . you know, out there in space?" My city seems to have an affect on people. So foreign and interesting.

And then I do that thing we Canadians do. I shrug, a self-conscious smirk flashes across my face and I, against my will, find myself saying, "Yeah. You know. It's alright." And they, time and time again, would reply "I was there, like, 10 years ago. Amazing city. Just incredible!" And I'd stare, then search for a shred of grace and muster, "Oh yeah? Really? Nice!" Doubt would creep into my voice, but I'd recover, "Yeah, it's great, for like, 1000 reasons. I guess when you live there you take it for granted. It's a nice place to live." And then they'd go on about the music scene or the parks or the terrific people. And I found myself, standing in the middle of Manhattan (world's greatest city, incredible, fantastic, beyond) thinking, "But you live here."

And, as I've said before, it's really not fair to compare. I mean, Toronto's incorporation came fully 200 years after New York. We're a city on a lake, not an ocean. Our little population is spread over 10 times the land mass of Manhattan. We won't begin to settle into ourselves for many decades (perhaps a century) more. We're just young. Confused. Unsure of ourselves and lacking the confidence to say, "Hey, look at me! I'm fuckin' amazing with my safe streets and unsolicited pleasantries!"

But, dear sweet Toronto, you'll get there. I only wish I'd live long enough to see the day.

(Left, Manhattan, as seen from the Williamsburg Bridge. Right: Toronto, as seen from the Billy Bishop Airport. Follow me on Instagram.)

2011-09-19T13:09:00.000-04:00

You saw the behind-the-scenes, now see the shots! Visit the B-Insider for the complete shoot featuring some of Canada's great new up-and-coming artists wearing terrific fall and winter coats from The Bay. From graphic designers to chefs, to musicians, this was a truly spectacular, vivacious and warm-hearted group of people. (With just enough ego to make shooting them a breeze!)

Enjoy a brief preview below and click over to see the rest and watch a terrific behind-the-scenes video by the folks at LIGHTXHEVVY Studios with music by the very-talented Joey O'Neill.

2011-09-19T00:04:00.003-04:00

It seems like just yesterday I was in New York shooting pictures. And here I am again. I could get used to this.

This time, my friend and e-lebrity blogger, Ryan Marshall (Pacing the Panic Room) invited me to join him. He's been working on a film project documenting famed hair-guru Guido Palau and asked if I wanted to come and take stills. Did I? Yes.

And so I shook a few trees at home to see if I could drum up some gigs to offset the cost of working with Ryan on this passion project. The Bay came through and, aside from shooting backstage at a few shows (including the final show of the week, Marc Jacobs) I shot A Day in the Life of Nicholas Mellamphy, who is the Creative Director of The Room. This was an amazing opportunity to get a real behind-the-scenes look at the shows and the process of visiting designer showrooms to purchase the clothes that, moments earlier, stomped down the runway. It was really, really spectacular. At one point I said to Nicholas, "Can you believe this is your job? Because I can't believe taking pictures of you doing yours is mine."

I mean, really. None of this is lost on me.

And while you'll see shots from that project soon, for now we'll focus on Fashion Week: Backstage.

There's something about your name on a list and a pass around your neck that makes you feel like a real superstar. Total access to the whole joint. Backstage, front of house, wardrobe, makeup. Even runway rehearsals. All of it. Pretty neat. When I arrived on Tuesday morning I dashed from the airport straight to our first show at one of the giant studios on the Hudson River. Ryan was already in full-swing and I dove right in. We buzzed around, snapping away, him focused on his beautiful videography and I on still photos which he'll incorporate. It was super fun.

(Oh, did I mention that he and I had never met in real life? Like most bloggers will understand, we certainly felt like we knew each other, and we fell into a really easy rapport, instantly. He's everything he seems on his blog: sweet and kind and straightforward. No bullshit. I adore him. And if you're wondering: Yes. There is a weird, unspoken pressure to impress or be just as they thought you might be (or, at the very least, not disappoint) and it doesn't reallllly go away. Because you realize, even in a surprising cocoon of comfort and familiarity, that there are parts of you that might come as a complete surprise. So, in a way, it's like a very bizarre first date. But I'm pretty sure we'll keep seeing each other.

(And for even more images, check out Ryan's post about our backstage adventures at NYFW. Here!)

2011-09-07T19:20:00.001-04:00

Just a few shots that got lost in the summertime hubbub. From Montana to the alleys of Toronto's Annex, this was a good summer, wasn't it? Come September, when the chill deepens in the air, we forget so quickly the smoking hot days of July, the light that stretches from early morning until long after dinner is served. We pull a pair of socks over sun-soaked feet and dismiss the months spent shoeless. We recede into our houses and classrooms, shuttering our cottages and rolling down our pant legs.

So, for a moment, let's remember long days and longer shadows, hot pavement and cold lakes.

And while we grieve the loss of summer days, let's make sure to take solace in knitwear and boots and scarves tossed effortlessly around our necks. Let's rally with root vegetables and soups, red wine and hearty cuts of meat. And though it might be a self-imposed mindfuck to ease the loss of summer, let's shriek and clap buoyantly for leaves that change colours, seemingly more beautiful than the last time.

2011-09-07T15:45:00.001-04:00

There are a few exciting things in the works these days. Next week Ryan and I are heading to New York Fashion Week to shoot some stuff together (which we'll share soon!) and we're also working on our seminar for Alt Summit. This conference started in 2010 and focuses on design, lifestyle and fashion blogs and takes place in Salt Lake City. Ryan thought it would be fun if we did something together, so we put our heads together and came up with a terrific idea. We'll share that soon, too.

I'm pretty jazzed to go to Utah, even if it is in January. Lots of exciting people are attending the conference, and one of my favourites is a speaker: Kathleen! We've been pals-on-the-internet for a while now, and I can't wait to meet her for reals. She recently designed my new business card (which should arrive any day!) and to spend a few days with her feels like a sweet dream.

If you haven't considered it, perhaps you'd like to register yourself for the Summit. It's gonna be amazing.

2011-08-26T15:40:00.002-04:00

The Bay celebrated (yet again) another addition to their ever-increasing collection of it-brands on their sales floor. A few weeks ago they unleashed Topshop upon the Canadian masses, and now the men's collection, Topman. (Let me know when Bottomshop opens, would you?)

Last night all the pretty girls came out and slammed margaritas while slinking around tweeds and corduroy and terrific, rich colours in the men's department. Oh, and a whole slew of handsome men came, too. There's nothing like a party that starts at 6, peaks at 7:30 and is over before the sun sets.

And stay tuned to the B-Insider for photos from David Pike. He's just about the nicest guy you'll want to meet, and a brilliant photographer, too! Check out his lovely work for The Bay here.

2011-08-23T15:25:00.001-04:00

I mentioned this recently on Twitter, but it bears repeating (if only to really wrap my brain around it): I quit my day job.

I'm ambling down a stressful path, one of unknowns and mailbox-checking, hustling for work and jacked-up networking. Surely this will feel like a lack of security, but with that, a sense of freedom, too. Freelance. When people ask what I do, I'll have to say that I'm a photographer. Like, that's just what I am, I guess, now. Perhaps it's been a long time coming.

I studied photography at an art college near Toronto and graduated 9 years ago (whoa). I thought, like the rest of my classmates, that I'd just go ahead and be a photographer. I didn't realize, though, that 20 year olds aren't really prepared to be anything, only anxious, fun-loving egomaniacs who've got other things to think about than careers.

And after a couple of false starts over the years, things started happening in a way that made sense to me. Jobs I was excited to take. Work that felt inspiring and satisfying. Work that paid. And it kept coming. And here we are. It feels like the time to take a risk, to go out on a limb and see what I can make of it. And while I'm a little uneasy, I'm also not afraid to come crawling back to the grind and get a job some day, if it comes to that.

For now, I'm just jumping.

- - -

There's nothing quite like the confidence boost of seeing your name in print. The first time I had photos in a national paper, I thought to myself, "Oh man, my Grandma's gonna love this!" (Maybe it became real for me too.) It can be hard to explain to your family what it is you hope to do, and though it might not be the most exciting gig you've ever shot, there in ink on newsprint, it suddenly feels legit. It's tangible. And now, alongside artwork from my nephews, she has something new from me to pin on her refrigerator. Surely she'll show off when a friend stops by.

And when I have a bad freelance day, when the next job isn't yet booked or I wonder if I made a terrible mistake, I'll remember this: Last weekend Jeff and I visited my family for her surprise 80th birthday, and amidst the excitement, the first thing she said to me was "Jay, I called the Globe & Mail and I told them your name is too small! I demanded they make it bigger the next time!"

Oh! And recently Toronto Life Magazine's Stylebook hit newstands. This will be an annual supplement, and I was lucky enough to be have some work in the first one. At the risk of sounding green, I'll tell you that seeing my name in the masthead was one of those moments. A deep breath was required in the elevator ride and a good many minutes were spent just staring at it.

2011-08-22T20:32:00.002-04:00

Last week the Mimran Empire celebrated another collection of their exclusive-to-The-Bay clothing line Moon, this time including menswear. The party was at Malaparte, the very cool and swanky lounge space in the TIFF Bell Lightbox where beauuuutiful late-summer light poured in through the windows and I dashed around taking photos of alarmingly attractive humans.

Click over to The B Insider to see the full set and stay tuned to their site over the next few days for another fantastic video by Trevor Francis, the insanely talented videographer/creative mastermind who buzzes around at these parties too.

UPDATE: Now with never-before-seen images!

(Oh, and one of my absolute favourite features on the B Insider is Felix Wong's work with Naro (the stunner above) on this glorious pant story. The hair and makeup, the clothes, the model and the beautiful photos - The Bay's Kate Corbett did a terrific job pulling it all together. As a photographer, sometimes you see a picture - or a series-of - and you just feel irrationally angry and jealous that you didn't shoot it. This story makes me feel like that. Nice work, friends!)

2011-08-22T13:12:00.002-04:00

In case you've been wondering, Sofia's fuckin' perfect.

But I'll refrain from being one of those crazy people who claims that the baby in their life is the most-exemplary, or that her eyes are the brightest and most-focused, proving her above-average intelligence at even the earliest stage. I'll hold back the gloating and the bragging about her very-flawless little fingers and toes or her terribly successful poops.

I won't look for every opportunity to tell you that she sleeps like a champ and eats like a superstar. Or that her Mom and Dad are doing just the best job and I couldn't be more impressed by them. By their calm and their confidence, their ease and reverence for her.

I won't go on endlessly about how her Dad suddenly looks like a Dad, though nothing has really changed about his physical appearance. It's in his shoulders and hands, in the glint in his eye that wasn't there one week ago. One that says he'd lie down on railroad tracks if he had to.

And I certainly won't be so boastful as tell you that even when she screams (an adorable, weezy little donkey hee-haw noise, if you're curious) she's still more perfect than any. other. baby. in the entire goddamned world.

2011-08-16T22:45:00.000-04:00

I've been meaning to write about all sorts of things. To tell you about my summer, and all kinds of changes and exciting adventures and milestones. But on a day like today, none of that even comes to mind.

Today everything changed. Nick and Natasha welcomed their tiny girl into the world, a perfect 7 pounds, 10 ounces of beige perfection. Half of Iran, a slew of Italians, and a pair of gay uncles descended upon the hospital and infuriated a team of nurses, all in the name of Sofia. After what has felt like 2 years of gestation, she is here.

(She looks shockingly like Nick did as a baby. And she's so bright and aware. She's definitely the smartest baby at the hospital. Forgive Natasha's absence here, she was recovering while all of us fought to hold Sofia in the waiting room. Those nurses were running a very tight ship tonight.)

2011-07-16T16:58:00.001-04:00

Last week was a very special one. My dear friends Brian and Chris and I traveled to Montana to celebrate the wedding of another wonderful friend, Christina, to her beloved Tim. We crunched the numbers and realized, to our own shock, that we've been friends for more than a decade. And for people not yet three of those old, that's saying something.

This week was full of big conversations, big laughs, and big tears. One of those weeks where you count your lucky stars. But as Brian so aptly noted, it seems passive to call yourself lucky, as if you did nothing to earn or deserve it. In the case of Christina and Tim, they are lucky because they are kind. They are lucky because they are so loving to each other.

It is said that children don't learn they are loved by hearing the words "I love you". They come to know its definition by seeing the faces in the room light up upon their arrival. That immeasurable glint in a coveted eye that says "I see you. I adore you. You are my dearest love."

Christina and Tim have two of the brightest faces at any given moment, but made blindingly-so when they lay their eyes on one another. It's a privilege to see, to be privy to that kind of shine. They inspire others to lift their brows a little higher, to bend the corners of their mouth another centimeter, to display love and kindness with every glance.

And although this next bit should be filed tidily in an intimate place, it just needs to be recorded, for all the world to hear: As we drove north from Missoula to Glacier National Park where the celebration would take place, Christina got a pre-wedding message from her soon-to-be. Tim listed a series of traits he adores in Christina: the usual (her beauty, her smile) to the weep-inducingly thoughtful. At the end of his long list, he noted that she was complete. She, on her own, days before she'd take his name or bear his ring or hold his hand in marriage, she - exactly as she was - was complete.

And with that, a car full of over-emotional kooks wept together. And drove through the mountains to the most magical wedding that might ever have been.

(A mere preview of the thousands taken. And I'm saving the colour for them.)

2011-06-22T16:33:00.002-04:00

I've been out of sorts. While many exciting things have been happening (all good and wonderful) I hadn't been to the cottage until this past weekend. Somehow, with all that's been going on (coupled with terrible Spring weather) it got to be mid-June without a visit to my favourite place on the planet. Last year our cottage season began in April and lasted through Thanksgiving, so there's time to make up for.

I realized this weekend that I don't often feel relaxed. That's not to say I feel particularly stressed out at any given time, but there's a certain base-level tautness caused by living in a city like Toronto. Whether or not we're fully aware, the sights and sounds burrow their way inside and elevate heart rates, accelerate anxieties. While I love it and thrive on the activity of big city life, I'm increasingly more comfortable where it's quiet.

I love the silence that's possible here. I love zoning-in on a single noise and wondering to myself, "Now, is that frogs, or birds? Bugs?" I love going to sleep early and waking up sooner, too. If it's true that our senses are connected, then I like the way quiet smells. I'm comforted by the sound of water lapping up under the dock. I like the moment at dusk when the lake goes still and glassy, something to do, I can only assume, with the moon and tides, things much bigger than us.

I like not doing my hair and forgoing style for ease and comfort. I like playing Yahtzee! during that hour when mosquitoes make sitting outdoors impossible. I like drinking cheap coffee and eating good produce. I like watching Jeff chop wood, build fires. I like knowing that, if need-be, he will figure things out. While he might not have the skills, he has the bravery-in-spades to protect me, be it bears or bats or bugs all up in my shit. And I like that.

I like poking around in the trees just beyond the cottage, noticing a trunk battered with tiny holes. I like the moment in the day when the woods get dark, but their outskirts are bright. The forest makes me feel like I'm 10 years old, curious, with the ability to feel mesmerized again. So rarely are we mesmerized.

I like feeling stuck on our little island, my priorities quickly-clear at the thought of a boat, and a car, and a drive out of the woods to fetch whatever it is I think I might need. I need nothing.

2011-06-18T11:13:00.001-04:00

While I was in New York, my friend Jesse happened to be there too. We met this time last year when we shot Sherman's bowtie lookbook and have collaborated a couple of times since. He was in town to do a fitting with Tommy Hilfiger, who'd be dressing him for the upcoming Much Music Video Awards.

We had dinner (at Peasant, in Nolita - amazing) with Tommy's director of PR and got to talking about his look for the show. I then insinuated myself into it by suggesting I pop by the showroom (also located in the Starret-Lehigh Building) to take some shots. You see, this building is gorgeous. And blasting in through 10-foot windows overlooking the river, the light is beautiful. And the model . . . well, come on. I mean, you've seen Jesse, right? Any chance I get to photograph him is not to be passed-up!

And so it was: I'd meet them there in the morning and we'd shoot some fun photos. But, get this, they'd pitched the idea (How to Dress for an Awards Show) to men's lifestyle magazine, Sharp, and now they'd have photos to go with their story. Ipso-facto: an online story with a great (and Canadian!) magazine.

I hoped it was just that special brand of New York City synchronicity, but the Doubting Thomas on my shoulder was beginning to think the horseshoe up my ass would cause permanent damage.

Whatever the case, check it out over at Sharp. (And a few other photos below.)

2011-06-17T13:22:00.000-04:00

For me, this solo-trip represented a lot of fear-conquering. From bus rides to photo-gigs to couch-surfing, I was spitting in the face of my anxieties and diving in, head-long.

Fear #486: Staying in a pod hotel and sharing a washroom at the end of the hall with 30 strangers. Check.

After staying for two night's with the spectacularly- hospitable Kelly, it was time to check-in to my hotel. The Jane is located on Jane at West, in a bit of a grey area between Greenwich and Chelsea. A couple blocks west of my namesake street, it seemed a match made in heaven.

Now, in the interest of honesty, this place is way hipper than any place I'd typically feel comfortable. I'm not sure how you, loyal readers, see me, but I'm not a hipster. Aloof doesn't look good on me. So while I'd feel more comfortable in a traditional hotel, this trip was about economics. At a measly $99 a night, the Jane's Standard Cabin was the only way to go. Sure, there's the whole YMCA-style washroom thing, but short of sleeping on the street, anything less than $100 is a steal in this town. And what it lacked in size, it more-than made up for in style.

Pictured below, the lobbies are beautiful, all rich colours, chandeliers and taxidermy. It's got a sort of Colonial tropics-meets-NYC cigar lounge vibe. And while it's definitely a place for the ultra-cool, it wasn't intimidating and the staff didn't emit any of that Signature Hipster Chill. My room was, as-promised, teensy tiny. Like, beyond small. 5x7. I could touch the walls simultenously without full-extending my arms. And with a less-than-twin-sized bed and a wall-mounted TV, there wasn't much else to see. I tend to unpack when I check into a hotel, hang all of my clothes, make myself at home. Not so, at The Jane. A few nautical hooks on the walls, a complimentary bottle of water and some dimmer switches were the end of the frills.

But it was fun. Modeled after the inside of a ship's cabin, this little room was perfect for my NYC adventure. I wasn't looking to spend any time indoors, so space and luxury were at the bottom of my priorities. It was perfectly suited to the throw caution to the wind attitude I had for this trip, and it felt old-school, like I was an explorer discovering a new land. But, at the end of each day (instead of referencing old maps and scrolls) I'd pull out my laptop and relive my day with Jeff over Skype.

2011-06-16T13:27:00.000-04:00

And then there was fashion. After a great night out with some of the nicest and funniest people, it was onto the business of the trip.

First thing Sunday morning I was due at the Starrett-Lehigh Building. Home of Martha Stewart. (And so many others, including Ports 1961.) Occupying an entire city block, this commercial-industrial wonderland was completed in 1931. Back in the day the ground floor accommodated freight trains which could pull right into the building, but nowadays you'll more likely find industrial designers and fashionistas roaming its halls.

For someone innately enamoured with NYC, the thrills are often small and frequent. From wandering down Perry Street, to peeping a C-list actor on a restaurant patio, it doesn't take much to rouse me. There's nothing like the delight of getting your NYC-bearings, nothing like hailing a cab and stating, confidently, "601 West 26th Street! No, no, take West!"

I tried to keep a lid on it, but sometimes my voice would expose my school-girl excitement, shattering my cool exterior.

Upon arriving at the building that first day, I felt like Audrey Hepburn outside Tiffany - the gentle curves of the building, the quiet only a Sunday morning can provide. I'd see in days following that the building gets real busy, but today it was mostly-dark and only a little bit creepy, in the best way.

With views of the Hudson to the east and downtown Manhattan to the west, Ports' offices and showroom sprawl across a gigantic suite on the 8th floor. The terrace is huge, and the sights even bigger.

Their offices aren't unlike the fashion houses you've seen on TV. Lots of desks, lots of hustle, and a seemingly-endless parade of beautiful girls in well-cut clothing. While most were dressed for round-the-clock-cocktails, in this context it didn't seem unreasonable. Sky-high heels and billowing silk. Bright colours and bold patterns, all before ten in the morning. Truth be told, I felt like a fashion vagabond in my summer shorts and sneakers. It also happened to be 42°C, so my hair fell flat with omnipresent moisture in the air. Fashion chaos!

Our beautiful Russian model, Yulia, arrived early, a vision in big sunglasses and easy-glamour. Her type became quickly recognizable while wandering the streets of NY; top-knotted and rakish, models roam this city in droves , thousands-strong.

On this particular day we would shoot 75 looks from Ports' Pre-Spring 2012 collection, a series of sophisticated and moneyed pieces, often worth more than my entire wardrobe combined. Lightning-fast quick-changes, tits to the wind, one knit dress over Yulia's head while she stepped into a pair of pants or slipped from a heel to a flat. It was rapid-fire, factory photography and it was fantastic. I loved every second of it. Chin up, chin down, loosen your hands, drop your right knee. Great! Next! Chin up, chin down, turn the purse, relax your shoulders, pop a hip. Terrific! Next!

If you're wondering, the answer is yes. Yes, every once in a while I'd have to slip away and stare at the ceiling for a minute, forcing tears back up into my sinuses. How did this all happen? How'd I end up in New York City shooting pictures? These moments were happening all the time. Walking up Hudson Street: tears. Ordering a gin on the rocks, alone at a bar: tears. In a cab, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge for the first time ever. Tears. Not to paint a melancholy picture here, but the whole thing was, at times, a whole lot to take.

This Sunday was easy and fun, with only Tu, the model, hair and makeup. A gentle primer to this world. We'd blast through a couple dozen looks, break for lunch, then back to it. I had a little studio set up in an empty room, my stuff stashed there like I owned the place. Hours would pass, suddenly dusk over the Hudson River, with barely the blink of an eye.

But I'd soon see, as one working day turned into five, what real fashion chaos was about.

2011-06-15T13:34:00.000-04:00

There's nothing like the moment you catch sight of New York City's skyline. Maybe it's just me, but I immediately stop blinking and the air is sucked from my lungs. I imagine it's the way some people feel when they crest a mountain to find the snow-capped summit, or turn a corner to find the Sphinx there before them. When that string of buildings comes into view, it's my version of deep-sea diving or rappelling into an Amazon gully. A complete thrill. Magic.

Again (with the weepiness) I tried not to look like a yokel just-in from the foothills as the bus emerged from the tunnel now, suddenly, amongst the buildings. But there's something about that place that, even now, just makes me kind of shaky and emotional. It's loud and, at times, horrific-smelling. It's crowded and expensive and intimidating. But it's perfect.

Toronto (love it as I do) is a city built on insecurity. Where Manhattan is the teenage bombshell, we're the nerdy tween next door who recedes into the background, feeling less-than, a mess of angst and jealousy. Sure, when it all shakes down, we're bound to come out on top: a little smarter, with more-supportive parents and slightly-stronger morals. And we'll grow into our looks. But, for now, we're unsure and much less glamourous.

The moment you step foot upon a New York City sidewalk, you can feel its confidence. Maybe it's pop culture run amok, but between the hustle and the skyscrapers and the simple density of it all, the place is a dream.

And, suddenly 12 hours on a bus evaporated and I was here. Left to my own devices to wander and take it all in. No one else had a say about where or when or how I'd get there. If I wanted to jump in a cab or walk 40 blocks clear across town, it was completely up to me.

And, as it would turn out, instead of the three-days-planned, I'd spend six, shooting pictures for five. I'd zip along the West Side Highway and wander the Highline, dash to Brooklyn for a 10pm dinner, or wake (wide-eyed) at dawn, the hum of the city too thrilling to sleep through.

As I crept up to street-level through Penn Station, my adventure - perhaps something more than that - began.

2011-06-14T18:53:00.004-04:00

I'm not positive, but I think there's something in the air. I'm on the edge of 30, flipping my decade in November, and it seems the cosmos wants me to change-it-up for this new era. Last year, at some point in the Spring, I made the conscious decision to stir shit up, put myself out there, and be more open to new experiences. Then, exactly one year ago this week, I met a pal named Sherman and things started shifting. He opened the doors I was newly-willing to step through. Synchronicity. Fate. Jesus H. Christ: Whatever you want to call it, pieces started falling into place.

I shot his bowtie collection, a few other fun jobs, met the folks over at Tommy Hilfiger, and have been building new relationships all year. It's been thrilling and exciting and it's been on my own terms. I haven't shot anything I'm not excited by, haven't put myself in any discomfort. I've tried to conjure the confidence to say yes! more often than no! and it seems to be working.

At one of the events for The Bay, I became acquainted with Go-To Fashion Guy, Tu Ly (a man of many talents, from designing clothes and image-consultation, to his role as Creative Marketing Director for Ports 1961) and he invited me to New York to shoot their Pre-Spring 2012 Lookbook.

Now, in the interest of being bullshit-free, this job wasn't offered because of my incredible talents. This isn't exactly creative work. A million photographers in NYC could've done the job, but Tu offered it up to me with the (obvious) stipulation that they couldn't swing travel or accomodation. It could be a great experience and a nice way to see the city, and do a bit of work for a major fashion house. Um, yes!

I spent a few hours crunching numbers and divising a travel-plan that wouldn't put me in the red. While an experience like this would last a lifetime, I didn't necessarily think it was wise to lose money in the process. A last-minute flight would cost more than I'd make, a train would take too long and sit idly at the border for 2 hours (snooze!) and connecting flights through Chicago would take for-ever! It quickly became obvious that a 10-hour Megabus ride for $140-return was the way to go.

And so it was. Booked. My dear friend John hooked me up with his dear friend Kelly who lives near Lincoln Center, where I'd stay for two nights. I swallowed my fears, hopped that WiFi-enabled bus and hunkered down for a long day's journey into night.

Now, I'm skipping something. Listen here: I pride myself on being organized. Punctual. Being late makes me anxious and sweaty and uncomfortable. That's why I got to the terminal a full-hour before my departure. It's where I bought this month's copies of GQ, Esquire, and Details. It's where I wept privately over my first published work in The Globe and Mail. And it's where I thought my good luck had run dry.

It seems, you see, I misread the screen. No sooner than the driver muttered, "Your ticket isn't for this bus," did I turn to see my actual bus pull out and away from the terminal. I watched my bus drive away.

And I ran. (I don't run.) I started sprinting down the street, my roller bag bouncing behind me, in a futile attempt to catch a moving bus. (I mean, can you even imagine?!) I was panicked, my brain laying out before me a series of unfortunate events that were sure to transpire. This was a mere taste of what was to come. In that split second I considered running all the way home, back to my bed, back to the warmth and comfort of Jeff. Why did I think I could go somewhere without him?! He's my best friend, my companion, my Travel Agent, for Christ's sake! Instead, I swallowed all of it and spun all the way to the counter where I bought a ticket for that other bus, one that would take 12 hours instead of 10, stopping in several one-horse-towns throughout backwoods New York State. I hurried back to the driver and slinked onto the bus, taking a seat toward the back and, for the first time in several minutes, breathed deep and swallowed a whole slew of tears and would-be guttural noises.

On the road again.

I have to tell you, 12 hours on a bus wasn't so bad. The A/C blasted, the WiFi was super-charged, and between checking Twitter and taking intermittent naps, the time just flew by. No, really! It was no time before the Lincoln Tunnel gave way to that magic moment: New York City.

To be continued . . .

While I didn't take a single photo for personal use on this trip - the shame! - I did make good use of Instagram. Top to bottom: Ultra-cool vert-de-gris fire escape in midtown; dinky cabs as seen from The Highline at 17th Street; more midtown architecture.