WORDS: Coach House Books and This Is Not A Reading Series present the launch of tantalizing Toronto treats-and-eats book The Edible City. The book (which Books@Torontoist has been featuring excerpts from) contains essays and tidbits on everything food related, so long as it relates to the food of Toronto—and we love food. The book’s launch includes a panel discussion with The Edible City contributors who chew the fat about the food we eat. Further food-themed fodder will be served up in the guise of food-related music and cookie-decorating from Wanda’s Pie-in-the-Sky. Gladstone Hotel, Ballroom (1214 Queen Street West), Sunday 2 p.m., $5 (FREE with book purchase).

Once a week, Vandalist features some of the most interesting street art and graffiti from around Toronto. You should contribute.

Aside from getting your news, weather, and daily Urban Planner each morning in your inbox, one of the best parts of being a TorontoList subscriber is all the free stuff we give away! You don't have to qualify as a twihard or have OCD (Obsessive Cullen Disorder) to win tickets to the gala screening of The Twilight Saga: New Moon—we've got two pairs to give away, thanks to our sparkly pals at American Express. The event not only takes place on Thursday, a day before the flick hits theatres, but "cast members" will be in attendance for a Q&A, and soundtrack artist Band of Skulls will perform at the after-party. You can enter once a day (and we've got more info on improving your chances), but you have to be a TorontoList subscriber to win. Vamptastic!

For you cave dwellers, 26-year-old Toronto "blogebrity" (who even says that?) Lauren White has been running her widely read personal blog since "before you even knew how to attach a photo in email" (says her Twitter). From the time she was seventeen, she's been amassing a mega intense army of followers—and just as intense army of haters—by chronicling the minutiae of her everyday life like it was her job. For those who follow along, it's easy to feel like her biographer with all the needless details you absorb (didja know she’s related to Jack Kerouac?) and all the scene-y events you notice her at (where you pretend not to recognize her then check her blog the next day to see if you were in any of her photos). For others, it’s impossible to pinpoint the blog's appeal, aside from the voyeurism it provides with little to no censorship. But love or hate her, when was the last time you broke up with your boyfriend only to have it covered by everyone from Eye Weekly (Kate Carraway, natch) to the Globe and Mail (with mandatory quote from subculture profiteer Hal Niedzviecki)? That's the bizarro situation Raymi has found herself in (culminating in the Globe writer writing about it again to fend off threats of flaming dog shit from her loyal kingdom). Rather than us add to the weird discourse about someone so "uninteresting" that everyone keeps fricking writing about her, we thought we'd let her respond.

We understand why you'd be confused about that, "lguy." Fred Armisen is in fact offensive, but that is mostly because he sucks so very, very badly.

Cory Doctorow possesses a strange kind of celebrity. He's famous, but not so famous that you could offhandedly mention him to a stranger on the street and reasonably expect the person to be familiar with Doctorow's life and work. For other notable people, this situation might connote a kind of ignominious C- or D-List celebrity, but not for Doctorow. In his case, it might be more accurate to say that he is extremely, A-List famous, but only among the subset of the population that uses and understands the internet. This would explain why he was able, last night, to pack the third floor of the Lillian H. Smith public library tighter than a college bar. That's right. Cory Doctorow: as appealing to nerdy people as beer is to students.

What do you get when you cross a gunman with a couple of veterans? An open can of whoop ass, that's what! According to the Star, "on Thursday afternoon...a gunman stormed into a Royal Canadian Legion in Scarborough, demanding thousands in poppy donations...When the gunman lunged for the cash, [John] Dietsch grabbed his arm, pushing away the gun. They struggled and Dietsch fell to the floor. The startled attacker, who looked to be in his 20s, ran to the door empty-handed." Unfortunately, names weren't taken but, rest assured, ass was indeed kicked. And that's what those two minutes are for every year, you whippersnappers.

FILM: It seems rather shocking that up until 2008, the senior prom at Charleston High School in Mississippi was racially segregated, despite classes and other school activities being integrated. It wasn't until Morgan Freeman offered to foot the bill for the prom (for the second time, as he was denied the first time in 1997) that anyone in the town considered a racially integrated prom. Prom Night In Mississippi is a documentary by Toronto-based filmmaker Paul Saltzman that follows high school students, parents, and teachers as they navigate their way through senior prom preparations, highlighting the racism that is still evident in the community. All proceeds from tonight's opening night benefit screening will benefit Moving Beyond Prejudice, an organization that will distribute Prom Night in Mississippi's educational DVD package to Canadian schools that cannot afford them. Morgan Freeman will be in attendance for tonight's event, which will commence with a red carpet entrance, followed by an introduction by the filmmaker. Stick around after the screening for a Q&A session. Varsity Cinemas (55 Bloor Street West), 6:30–9:30 p.m., $100 (available online).

Sure, we all loved last winter’s “I Get On (The TTC)” viral video hit. Syrus Watson and Randal Medford’s urban-flavoured ode to Toronto transit (or at least the non-homophobic version) was all the rage with just about everyone—adults, children, grandmothers, national newspaper outlets, and even the TTC itself. But all the while, one disillusioned soul was peering from the shadows, perturbed that they weren't keeping it real enough. And so, he's taken matters into his own hands.