Condo Shopping

I've been spending a great deal of time shopping for a Toronto condo. I've seen one slip by that would have worked for us, now I think I may have another contender.

Pictured to the left is a small, homey unit that is in a great downtown location with city skyline views to the west.  Generous windows. Ample parking for two cars. $195 000.

Let's just take a look at the positives and negatives of this unit...

Positives: within walking distance to the Canadian Opera Company, near a subway line and the St.Lawrence Market, surrounded by native murals, easy to heat, easy to clean, hydro and water included, low monthly condo fees, affordably priced for a starter unit.

Negatives: it's a friggin' plastic baby barn.

All in all it looks pretty good. We'll probably offer them $225 000 or, at the very least, start the bidding war there.

Church Of The Poisoned Mind?

They say you can't have your cake and eat it too. I agree. It applies to churches just as well.

I often talk disparagingly about the church and their inability to evolve. It hardly matters what faith or denomination...they all seem to be living in the past. An eye for an eye seems so passé. Making women cover their faces seems so old fashioned, and stupid. Don't get me started about the lobster in the casserole (Deuteronomy 14:1).

I'd love to see the church enter the 17th century, or the 18th, 19th, 20th or even the 21st.

Wait! What's this? Rock Eucharist?? Modern music??? Mumford and sons????

Sadly, even when the church tries to bring something modern to the flock, I still see it as a dubious, even subversive, practice. It's kind of like serving shrimp at communion. Sure, they'll eat it up but, strictly speaking, it shouldn't be on the menu (Varty 30:1).

Cheeses Gripes

My son will disown me for what I am about to write. I wouldn't blame him.

This past weekend Wendy and I ambled in to the local cheese shop (mistake #1). Lovely shop. Gorgeous cheese selection. Friendly staff. Interesting array of CSP (cheese support products).

Curiously, none of the cheeses on display had any mention of price (alarm bell #1). We were given samples (mistake #2....once you've had a taste, you're compelled to buy).

Wendy ordered a piece of cheese (pictured). As you can see from the picture, it was a small piece. Mimollette was it's name. It even sounds expensive. I decided that I'd order another cheese that was more to my liking. The Blue Haze sounded appealing...a smoked blue cheese. I asked for a small piece, which I got.

We approached the cashier (mistake #3). In total we had two minuscule pieces of cheese and a $5.95 bag of lime nacho chips. The total (insert drum roll here....and the sound of machine guns)....$33. The piece in the picture was $13. Cheeses! Had I been wearing sneakers I surely would have run out of the store screaming. Instead I trudged out in my heavy winter boots. Defeated.

It was, perhaps, the least Scottish moment of my life. I'm ashamed of myself. How could I? Would I have bought that cheese had the price been on it before I decided? Not a chance in helter-skelter.

Have I learned anything? Yes. I will never buy a piece of cheese again that does not have a price on it. Still, that wouldn't be enough for Julian. So go ahead, laddie boy, disown me. I'll still be buying cheese, just not like that. Velveeta, anyone?

Roll Over, Beethoven

If I say the words 'jam session' you're likely to think of two things:

1) a group of rock musicians getting together with their guitars, basses, amps, drums, beer and cocaine.

2) a group of old ladies mashing raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, pectin, sipping tea, eating shortbread and snorting cocaine.

Well, lo and behold, there's also a jam session for classical musicians. I can just imagine what it would be like: violins, cellos, trumpets, bassoons, piccolos, French horns, coffee, coffee, coffee and cocaine (for the audience, mind you).

I've suggested to Wendy that we attend one of these sessions on Sunday, her day off, and to my amazement my suggestion was met with lukewarm enthusiasm. I think she's a rocker at heart.

It's A Very, Very....(short) Man's World

According to the sign on this business, it's a short man's world. Further to the point, it's been a short man's world since 1928. Prior to 1928, it was either a tall man's world or a dwarf's world...not sure which.

I concur with it being a short man's world. Take pant shopping for example. For every 100 pairs of pants I see, only one has legs long enough for me...the tall man. Even if the legs are too long for the short man, he can hem them.

What am I supposed to do? Embroider another inch or three around the cuff? No. It's a short man's world and I simply have to accept the fact that I was born with a disability: tallness. That's the long and short of it.

Woodstock For Prime Minister?

It's funny how birds seem to fly into so many of my blog posts. Well, better into my blog than a window.

I saw this 'Vote ________ For Prime Minster' painted on the side of some electrical panel thingy along Maitland Street. Looks like Woodstock to me, but why would someone suggest to vote Woodstock for Prime Minster? It's open to interpretation.

My take is that someone thinks a bird brain would be a suitable replacement for Stephen Harper. What do you think? Got any ideas? Can you find a deeper meaning?

Hawk Spotting 101

 

Welcome to Hawk Spotting 101. Can you see the red-tailed hawk in this picture?

Not easy to spot, eh?

 

 

Pretty sweet perch, though whoever's watching television may not be too

happy with the reception.



Poodle Puffery

I'm not one to incite violence against others, so no matter what you think when you see this image, rest assured that I don't want you to harm the owner of this dog. Amazingly, I don't want you to harm the dog either. It probably had little to say about the hate crime that was thrust upon it.

 

So, what do you want the reader to do, Ian?

 

Here's what I ask of you: if I should ever own a poodle, god forbid, and should I take said poodle to a 'poodle puffery', god forbid, for a spectacular poodle puff, god forbid, then I would ask you to.....

 

...shoot me between the eyes. Have I made myself clear?

 

Between the eyes. Large calibre, elephant gun. In lieu of a gun, they are rather violent after all, a harpoon or trident would suffice.

Baked Beans....I Said BEANS!

A funny thing happened on the way to the opera...

I had planned to meet Wendy at the opera company at 6:15 p.m., after which we'd go home and have supper together. Earlier in the day Wendy had expressed an interest in eating home-made baked beans as a supper side dish.

Of course it's a ludicrous thought to consider making them myself, at least here in Toronto so I decided to try to buy some. There's no way that I'd purchase beans in a can...I was looking for the real deal.

I  tried a few stores but to no avail. I tried the entire St.Lawrence Market, again...zilch. I finally gave up but as I approached the opera company building I spotted a Sobey's. I'm not a fan of Sobey's stores. I don't like the lighting or the outfits....or the food, come to think of it. Anyway, I went to the deli counter and asked the woman if I could buy baked beans. She looked perplexed.

I then looked perplexed. After all, why would she be perplexed?

Eventually she said 'no', though it was obvious that English wasn't her second language, perhaps not even her third. As I was leaving she was pointing toward the check out and saying 'beans, beans'. I looked at the checkout and couldn't fathom how beans could be there. All I could see were packs of chewing gum, tabloids about raising royal babies and some green bins. And then the light went on.

Bins (beeeeeeeeeans). Yes, she had found some green beeeeeeeans for me. Sadly, I was looking for baked bins. I chuckled the entire way down the street.

Uke Outta Be Kidding

No poorly filmed video done on a crappy point and shoot camera that tries to be everything to everyone could ever do justice capturing the essence, or reality, of a room filled with eighty-five ukulele players, but here goes. If nothing else, you get a sense for it....and my ability to write dithering, run-on sentences.



It's A Bird, It's A Plane. No, it's A Bird.

Hawk stalking...it's my new past-time. This red tailed beauty has been soaring past my condo window daily. There's actually a few of them in the gaybourhood.

This is not the picture that I was hoping for, but it will have to do for now. Ideally I'd like to have something in the background, like some buildings. Perhaps the hawk could be clutching its lunch in its talons. Even better, its lunch would be a Sheltie!

I Saw A Bare Naked Lady On Bay Street

I don't buy People magazine, or Hello, or any of the magazines that accost me while I wait to pay for my groceries. I do, however, read the covers voraciously. Why? Why not!

I really don't care much about the personal lives of people who act, make music or write. I don't need to read about Kate's pregnancy. I don't need to know how to raise a royal baby...because I already have.

The one thing I can't deny is the fact that when I see a 'famous' person on the street, I feel satisfied. I think that's the bird watcher in me! This morning Wendy and I walked past Ed Robertson of The Barenaked Ladies.

Neither of us gawked. Wendy didn't fawn all over him. Autographs were neither asked for nor signed. I didn't ask Ed how to hold a pick or how to properly strum an F barre chord. After we passed Ed, Wendy and I looked at each other smugly, knowing that we had just seen the musical equivalent of a glossy ibis in the Grand Lake meadows. Rare birds in strange places.

Fifty Questions

I saw this ad in a bus shelter and unlike most ads, this one actually did two things:

1) asked a question worth asking
2) made me stop and think (instead of scoffing).

Would you want to know at 30 that you'll need this (a wheelchair) at 50?

The question was in relation to genetic screening or profiling. For example, would you like to know at age 30 that you're going to develop something like Parkinson's or MS?

The question is being asked by the Globe & Mail newspaper who is doing a series on genetic screening. I've decided that I don't want to know, in advance, that I might develop something in the future.

I can imagine knowing that a lousy fate awaited you would be very much like falling from the sky without a parachute, not knowing when you'd splat. I'd rather walk blindly/happily through life...which I'm currently doing.

T.O. Skate, Or Not T.O. Skate?

I brought my skates to Toronto, thinking that maybe, just maybe I might venture down to City Hall to experience a brief few minutes of the Canadian experience. Yup, outdoor ice-skating. The ultimate Canadiana thrill (only because ice fishing isn't available).

So far I've only managed to walk past the rink, skateless. It looks good, quite honestly, so I have no excuse not to go skating....except.....

Winter!

Or the lack of it. Friday's forecast is for +10 and rain. Saturday...+11. I might as well inflate my water wings.

When old man winter returns to Toronto City Hall, which might coincide with old man Ford returning to City Hall, I'll go skating. And I'll lift Wendy above my head and twirl round and round. People will cheer and throw teddy bears at us, and I'll cry when the judges give us a perfect score for our routine.

Masters at McMaster?

Most people can't predict the future. I can. So can Oprah, but most can't, just so you know.

Julian and I drove to Hamilton (Ontario) on Saturday to sneak a peek at McMaster University. It's one of the universities that offer a Master's degree in Economics. UofT and Queen's are also in the running. Who knows, other than me, where 'the boy' will go to further his studies but McMaster looked good on the snowy surface.

Though I'm happy that 'the boy' is thinking down the road, I'm happier that I managed to frame this image without a lamp post coming out of the top of Julian's head.