paul aguirre-livingston. a dialogue, not a diary.

May 1st

{ I have been thinking about HIV since the age of 13. This is the first time I wrote why }

The Canadian Association for AIDS Research held its second annual gala to raise awareness for the HIV/AIDS cause among younger people. There are more words and experiences that, one day, I will find a way to say. In The Grid.

March 18th

{ The curious case of being a "white" "non-white" }

A guest contribution I did for the Ethnic Aisle. About being from two different races, and growing from two different places.

March 1st

Source

Via

{ Inspiration and the craft }

For The Genteel. Discussing the quest for inspiration as it relates to “the artist” + my own work + fashion designers + the rest of the non-visual world that doesn’t create moodboards and shit. Oh, and some talk about this men’s collection (^), inspired by Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, a novel (!)

via (the wickedly talented) nedandaya:

Carlos Campos fall/winter 2012

February 27th

{ The Night Shift: Toronto's douchebag divide }

Probably the most level-headed - or depressing - thing I’ve written about nightlife in Toronto so far. Us and our empty fucking labels. For The Grid.

February 22nd

{ A D.I.Y. Life & The Maker Movement }

Discussing the future of all the do-it-yourself types + the big $$$ infusion that’s ruining the very spirit of the thing.

February 8th

{ A brief history of love }

…from one lover to another

February 6th

Source

Via

"The outrage is tiresome and deeply hypocritical, in all the tiresome ways you’ve been tired out by before. M.I.A. was illustrating her line, acting out the attitude of the words: performing. Fine, it may not be legal to flip the bird on television, but that’s simply a remnant of the fifties we haven’t shaken. Unless somebody was handing out Xanax with the foam fingers, Lucas Oil Stadium was ringing with the music of profanities last night. More to the point, television viewers were submitted to ad after ad that likened women—negatively—to sofas, cars, and candy. Mr. Winter didn’t have anything to say about that, so I’d like to raise both of my middle fingers to him and anyone who thinks profanity is somehow more harmful to our children than images of violence and misogyny. (My two sons, fourteen and eleven, thought the Fiat ad was corny, so I guess they will be safe without Mr. Winter’s intervention.) I say we get out of The Pretending To Be Moral game altogether and use the Internet for important things like posting pictures of cats looking at croissants and PDFs of sensitive government documents."

— Sasha Frere-Jones — M.I.A. Shouldn’t Have Apologized (via annaetc)

February 3rd

"Yes. Writing is always a way, for me, of coming to some sort of understanding that I can’t reach otherwise. It forces you to think. It forces you to work the thing through. Nothing comes to us out of the blue, very easily, you know. So if you want to understand what you’re thinking, you kind of have to work it through and write it. And the only way to work it through, for me, is to write it."

— Abridged excerpt from Believer mag interviews Joan Didion. If you write, or want to, read this. Add to: “People who inspire the fuck out of me.” Not even for who she is, or how she writes, but because of the way she approaches her craft.

February 2nd

{ How do we feel about men in high-heeled shoes? }

History + power v. oppression + women + gender expression + sexuality + fashion + homophobia + etc

The concepts that intersect when it comes to the high-heeled shoe. Thoughts on this, the disservice of the fleeting ‘men in heels’ trends + more for latest Life, etc. at The Genteel. Also, two completely different approaches to men in heels circa now. Which one do you think is less “silly/stupid”? Think about why - if you’re reading this and a man - you wouldn’t wear heels. Exactly.

and…

January 25th

{ life, etc.: tweet me something, a.k.a. thoughts about social media v. fashion's 'other' stars v. pinterest }

For The Genteel, this week I’m talking about Twitter: how I never thought it would be a thing for me, and if I can seriously see myself using it beyond midlife. Also, there’s a fashion-y angle to it, discussing the once-silent stars now thrust into microblogging movement. So, aspiring PR-types (slash y’all who want to be Twitter-famous) here’s a fashion-y vid about DKNY’s PR gal (…who I wrote about in this…) to think on:

Oh, my Twitter you didn’t ask for? @pliving. Also, there was this thread on my Facebook of your confessions of obsession, so I also joined Pinterest. Still figuring that mess out.

January 19th

{ Life, etc.: Let's talk about mentors + protégés }

For The Genteel.

January 11th

"Some people are saying something with their clothing; others say nothing at all."

— This, and other thoughts about image & identity for The Genteel. The opening image is a little extreme though, no?

January 5th

"But what if, instead of making resolutions, we took risks?"

— Me, for The Genteel. In this week’s Life, etc., I write about last year: not having a job or any money, and what I did in one year that certainly wasn’t a resolution miracle.

February 7th

ghosts in the attic

Yesterday, over eggs and pancakes, I brought up a relic. A remarkably difficult, Caulfield-esque relic that still haunts the tiniest parts of my mind. It wasn’t love, or even lust. But it was something. I remember when I was 17 and just got an all-access pass to the open road and dad’s mini-van, and after driving around all night, asked a friend over McPancakes, “Who’s the one person you wish it had worked out with? You know, if you had the chance to make it work, who would you choose?”

As the years moved forward and the friend stayed behind, the moment never left. What a question to ask yourself at 17. I had only ever “seriously paid attention” to one person, obsessing over countless others without cause and without effect. What did I really know about being haunted by failed attempts or fleeting lovers? The dread of having the most intense sex of your life knowing it might not happen again for years, or forever, with him, or with anyone else, seems like a more favourable ghost to walk with now that I know better. But then there’s that one that gets under your skin. That might not necessarily live up to his own memory in your mind, or understand you, or even feel the way you would feel back, but the one that remains all the same.

I periodically think of him, like a reminder that it’s time for my weekly dose. The ghost glides across my hardwood floors at the same time, too. No, I don’t creep, and I don’t stalk. I don’t need to. But I do wonder. And I do wish. For what? Maybe that we would have worked out. Maybe that I had that chance to make it work. Maybe that I’d let it go, or that he’d let me go on.

So yes, I asked myself that same question yesterday, over eggs and pancakes. Not out loud. But to the parts of him that live within me. And I know that I know better than that. But he was here tonight.