Condocracy...We're Living In One!

 It finally happened. We moved into our new condo last evening, and I must say that it feels Tony the Tigerish.....grrrrrrrreat. Last night I actually had my best night's sleep since I arrived in T.O. on November 2. Perhaps it was the paint fumes, though I don't think so.

I'm very satisfied with the condo. Immensely so.

I've included three pictures to give you a sense for how the condo looks. I haven't photographed the den because I somehow misplaced my round tuit.

We're still awaiting the delivery of a chair, ottoman, some lighting, bedside table, dresser and sofa bed, otherwise we're furnished. There are a number of other decor tweaks to be be made, but essentially we've arrived. We need more art, but I'm going to create it myself. Pass me my beret, would

you, dear?

Our new condo feels better than our rental condo, though it was very nice as well, if you like beige. You can see that our place is a tad brighter. It's hard to capture the place on film because it's a small condo and my p&s camera is largely useless. I'll bring a Nikon back in the winter and get some better pics.

Well, I'd better sneak downstairs to the store and get Wendy her Saturday morning Globe&Mail. We have an excellent small grocery store on the main level of our building, as well as a coffee shop and a dry-cleaner. Yes, a dry-cleaner! Could life get any sweeter?

Tower Of Terror

In the dying days of the 20th century, Wendy and I took Julian to Disney World in Orlando. One of the highlights for me was the Tower Of Terror ride. An elevator took us up to the 13th floor, then the bottom fell out. Geronimo! Whee!!

In today's picture you're looking at the tallest condominium in Canada (as seen from our new condo). It's currently under construction, but it's not under anything else. It towers over everything, except the tower of CN. At 78 storeys high, it can be seen from Jemseg, I think. It's called Aura.

So why title your blog 'Tower Of Terror', Ian?

A two bedroom condo on the 75th floor sells for a million dollars. Need a parking spot? That'll be another $60 000! Imagine paying $60 000 for a parking spot. Now that terrifies me!

Ground Control To Major Bob

David Bowie was surely one of the most famous popular musicians to take a musical ride through space. His song, Space Oddity, was completely out of this world:

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do

Perhaps you saw Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield performing this very same song from the International Space Station/Recording Studios? Who didn't?

The B52s took the cosmic thing to a whole other level. They even called one of their albums Cosmic Thing. Before Cosmic Thing , though, they wrote Planet Claire...about as spacey as things could get:

She came from Planet Claire
I knew she came from there
She drove a Plymouth Satellite
Faster than the speed of light

Planet Claire has pink air
All the trees are red
No one ever dies there
No one has a head

Some say she's from Mars
Or one of the seven stars
That shine after 3:30 in the morning
Well she isn't

She came from Planet Claire
She came from Planet Claire
She came from Planet Claire

There's no shortage of rock genre space-themed music, but was Bowie the first to ride the rocket? Not a chance. Holst wrote The Planets between 1914 and 1916. Perhaps with World War 1 raging he was looking at his options. Can't say that I blame him.

So who do you think is the latest artist to blast off into outer space? Yup, none other than our own Bobby K-ort-Guard. On Monday, Robert and three interplanetary singers took their audience on a Celestial Journey. The concert was held on Hazelton Avenue in Yorkville, a street where everything is astronomically priced. How fitting. I wasn't at the concert, so I don't even know if there was any other worldly content in the program. I'm not sure how Robert got involved in the celestial journey as he's a real down-to-Earth kind of guy. 

Speaking of down to Earth, here's a quiz for you: what was the first song broadcast from outer space back down to Earth?

Here's the answer (from wicked pedia): 

"Jingle Bells" was the first song broadcast from space, in a Christmas-themed prank by Gemini 6 astronauts Tom Stafford and Wally Schirra. While in space on December 16, 1965, they sent this report to Mission Control: "We have an object, looks like a satellite going from north to south, probably in polar orbit... I see a command module and eight smaller modules in front. The pilot of the command module is wearing a red suit...." The astronauts then produced a smuggled harmonica and sleigh bells and broadcast a rendition of "Jingle Bells."The harmonica, shown to the press upon their return, was a Hohner "Little Lady", a tiny harmonica approximately one inch long, by 3/8 of an inch wide.

Interesting, eh? It makes sense that a harmonica was the first musical instrument in space. So portable. Gup...has this got you thinking about your next harmonica performance? From PG to the ISS, what do you think? Would you like to go to outer space?

And Ian, how about you? You seem like the kind of guy who would be too scared to leave to comfort and confines of your cosy cosmopolitan condo. Am I right?

Oh, no, no, no. I'm a Rocket Man.

Mucky Mucks

Supper last night cost $1500, but I took the TTC to get to the event so I'm still not a mucky muck. Of course I didn't pay $1500 for dinner, but many did. My ticket was free because IKWN (I know Wendy Nielsen).

The gala dinner was a fundraiser for the COC Ensemble and it appeared to be a huge success. The dinner was held immediately after the COC Ensemble competition at the Four Seasons Centre, on stage. Now I've 'appeared' on stage at the COC, adding to my impressive list of appearances (the Met, Broadway, etc.).

The dinner menu was MMW (mucky muck worthy), also known a sumptuous. I won't go into the details of the meal because there were too many adjectives to describe the menu (more than just the ubiquitous 'grain fed' label, if you know what I mean). It must have been a full-time job for someone just to describe the dinner menu. Exhausting, but scrumptious.

The winner of last night's gala, other than me, was Karine Boucher. She sang like a goddess and deserved to win. Thankfully the judges agreed with me. To make things even better, Karine's boyfriend is from les Iles de la Madeleine! Karine has been to Wendy's program in St.Andrews and she's also been to our place in Cambridge-Narrows to work with Wendy privately. According to my 'sources', Karine has been very dedicated and focused in getting her voice to a happy place. Clearly, the work has paid off. She won $6500 in prize money, enough to cover both dinner and parking.

It was interesting to be at the event. As a non-mucky-muck, I was a fish-stick out of water. I spent much of my time observing hair styles, fashions and the art of the two cheek kiss.

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
And the Beers and the antelope play.

Yes, I'm a country boy living in the city. I'm happy, thankfully, but I know where my feet belong....

In the muck. I'm going back to my plough...eventually.

When are you gonna come down

When are you going to land

I should have stayed on the farm

I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever

I didn't sign up with you

I'm not a present for your friends to open

This boy's too young to be singing the blues

chorus:

So goodbye yellow brick road

Where the dogs of society howl

You can't plant me in your penthouse

I'm going back to my plough

Nothing like a little Elton John to make me feel homesick!

Beg, Borrow Or Steal...Not Applicable

Of course we would never actually steal something from the condo we're renting. That's not our style. We have had some fun playing a game called 'if-you-could-take-one-thing-from-this-condo'. It's a very difficult game because there is almost nothing that we would consider buying or accepting as a gift.

Make no mistakes, our rental condo has been excellent. It's comfortable, warm, spacious and it's got thirty-five percent of a million dollar view. I would happily recommend it to anyone, but I do have to warn you: the decor is limiting. In New York City, the apartments we rented were two thousand dollars a month dumps and the decor was abysmal. Our rental condo in Toronto is two thousand a month gem with a decor that is simply dated. Honestly, much of it looks like family hand-me-downs, likely from Grandma! The needlepoint on the wall is a dead giveaway, perhaps literally.

Every single thing in this condo is brown, beige, or earthy. Or some variation of it. Imagine the spectrum of tones involved with a steaming loaf...of bread. This place runs the gamut from white wonder bread, to toasted brown perfection, to one of Grampie Paul's barbecued burger buns. Black!

To counter this monochromatic interior we've painted our new condo in vibrant colours, We've traded whole grain breadiness for Skittles. Our new condo is lively and upbeat. It's not overly funky but it has funky elements. It's the kind of place where you could play a guitar with an over-sized red plectrum, and not be joking.

Soon we will move to our bright new condo, and our memories of all things beige will be toast.

Baring It All...Except For The Prudish Berenstains

Are the Berenstain Bears prudishly Christian, awkwardly Amish, mainly Mennonite or queerly Quakerish? Or do they take their fashion cues from Little Den On The Prairies??

Berenstain Bears aside, did you notice that there's a lot of Porky Pigglish style nudity among most of the bears in my illustration? There seems to be a theme here, particularly given yesterday's blog.

Rupert is clearly a dandy, or a second year med student. Yogi and BooBoo look fairly normal, except that BooBoo is wearing a bow-tie (somewhere a siren is ringing). Hmmm. The Root Bear looks like a bottomless cup of pumpkin latte that's lost his snowboard. Winnie-the Pooh seems proudly self conscious about his blatant display of androgyny.

The Berenstain Bears make Grant Wood's American Gothic look racy. The red-nosed Fozzy is either a Crown Prosecutor or (see Rupert). Baloo is morbidly obese...a veritable ursine meat market. Smokey is the bear's bear, recently returning from a tour as back-up singer for the Village People. Snuggles is just plain crazy (death to the infidels, and the unwashed). And then there's rainbow Bear...nuff said.

The Bare Facts

What the ___ is this guy wearing?

According to this poster which was spotted in (surprise, surprise) my neighbourhood, it's a jock strap. Let me confess that I'm a fifty year old male who, to this day, still doesn't understand 'the jock strap'. This poster doesn't add any clarity and I didn't attend the 'event'. Enlightenment, at what cost, I ask? I remain jubilantly stupid.

Jock straps were mentioned in my youth, in junior high if I remember correctly. I don't think I had any idea what they did then, and I still don't. If they offer support for your 'jock', why not wear underwear two sizes too small. Same effect without the gnarly cheek clenching straps (and lacy front loader).

And what the hell is a 'jock'? Seriously, if you asked me to give a definition for 'jock', then I'd probably say 'an athlete'. So is a jock strap an athlete's strap? Lord knows that I know what a strap is...I found out in Grade 4, but what is a jock, and why does it need strapping? Let's take a trip to dictionary.com for illumination...

Yikes! A jock can be any of the following: a jockstrap, an athlete, an enthusiast, a nickname for John, an innocent lad/country boy, a Scottish soldier, any Scot.

Quadruple yikes!!!! Ian is Scottish for John. I'm an innocent lad/country boy. I'm a pseudo athlete, and half-Scottish. Am I a jock???? My dad trained in Scotland while in the army...is he a jock? Julian is a strapping young country lad...and Scottish. All jocks?

Perhaps, but would you see us wearing a jock strap? Not even on Halloween. It would appear, if this poster tells the tale, that the jock strap has become the undergarment of choice among (cue the Psycho shower scene music).....the bears!

Our poster jock looks quite athletic. Judging by the colour of his jock strap and his muscly build, one might assume that he plays for the Pittsburgh Steelers. Or perhaps he plays for the other team......that uses those colours. The Boston Bruins.

Get it? Bruins.

Cue the Psycho shower scene music.

When Squeegee Kids Grow Up

Have you ever been approached by the 'squeegee kid' while stopped at a traffic light? I always find these situations awkward.

First of all, I've got a built in window washing device in my luxury station wagon. It's called windshield wipers. Duh. Secondly, I'm Scottish and I'll pretend that I have n'a got oeny money, like most Scottish people do, except that in fact we're all loaded because we're so thrifty. Even the Jews are wary of us.

The problem with squeegee kids is that they're selling something I don't need. Take a look at today's image. Now there's a service that I need! I'm also 100% in favour of not trying to do it myself. Perhaps being a squeegee kid is good training for being a professional window washer. It gives you practice washing windows and invading people's privacy (just imagine what some of these window washers have seen!).

I'd be scared sh_tless if I had to do this job. Of course this would be great for business because there would always be loads to clean off the windows below me. Mind you, I'd probably need a shovel, not a squeegee.

Did you ever wonder where the word 'squeegee' originated. Wikipedia was a bit vague, but here's what I found:

A squeegee, squilgee or sometimes squimjim, is a tool with a flat, smooth rubber blade, used to remove or control the flow of liquid on a flat surface. It is used for cleaning and in printing.

The original squilgee was a long-handled, wooden-bladed tool fishermen used to scrape fish blood and scales from their boat deck, and to push water off the deck after it had been washed.

So there you have it. Everything you ever wanted to know about squeegees, and less. You'rrrrrre welcome!

Christmas Shopping Has Begun!

Well, I just found the perfect Christmas gift for Mike MacMann from Boston!

A Desirable Name

There are countless musical posters on display in the Edward Johnson (Music) Building at UofT. They are everywhere, all competing for my attention. Some are practically invisible, some jump off the wall.

This one caught my eye. It's a pleasant design but what really got my attention was the name of the singer...Désirée. That's not a name that you hear every day!

Have you ever heard of anyone else with the name Désirée, Ian?

Oh yes, but it wasn't the same kind.

Sorry, I just had to throw a Mootharism in there.

Neil Diamond wrote a song called Desiree. Neil Diamond, being American, was unable to spell Désirée properly. Americans, you see, are unable to spell using accents. They don't understand them at all. They think they're cute little French roofs that keep rain and snow off the letters.

Here's what Neil said about Desiree....

Desiree
Oh, Desiree
There I was found
By the sweet passion sound
Of your loving song

Almost makes you wonder if Désirée was named after the Neil Diamond song. I hope not because the song is about a middle-aged 'cougar' who pounced on a young guy, half her age. I wonder if Neil was writing from personal experience? I suspect there was drinking involved although there was no mention of it in the song. Assuming that the sing was autobiographical, Neil would have been drinking beer as it's the bevvie of choice for young men. Hmmm, I wonder what cougars drink? Certainly not lemon gin, that stuff will remove paint from a wall or just about anything else! I suspect Desiree was drinking Dubonnet. I'm not sure why I say that other than Desiree and Dubonnet sound good together. C'est si bon!

I'll Gie Ye A Doak!

Not a day goes by without me thinking of Mom, or Mootha (her alter ego). She's had a profound influence on me for fifty years, but I swear that I think about her now more than ever.

She's everywhere. Ayyyyyyyyyye.

The Memory Game - Condo Pig Viking Version

Six or eight thousand years ago, the Nielsen family invented a game on New Year's Day called 'The Memory Game'. They've played it every year since its inception.

The memory game has been played in caves, on Viking long boats, in Scottish castles, in the English city of York, in sub-zero temperatures (Joan's living room) and in my Cambridge-Narrows living room. Now it's available in a Toronto condo version!

Here's how the game is played: random items are placed on a table, then covered with a cloth. The Nielsen Vikings are then invited to gather around the table, at which time the cloth is removed for about a minute. Then the items are covered again and the game contestants take pen and paper, disperse to various corners of the cave/castle/house, and they record as many items as can be remembered. After a few moments they are brought back to the uncovered table to see who remembered the most items.

And then what happens? Well, typically Linda is awarded first prize.

She must have an incredible memory?

Just look at how she remembers song lyrics! She knows the lyrics to every song that's ever been performed on Hymn Sing, Lawrence Welk, Don Messer's Jubilee, or any of Wendy's Irving Berlin tribute concerts.

What doesn't she know?

She doesn't know the lyrics to any rock songs, or any B52 songs. I guess when her parents introduced her to music, they didn't allow any pop/rock music into the house. They laid down the law!

So, are you wondering what today's image depicts? It's an illustration of some of the things I found while cleaning under the stove in our new condo. If there's one thing that I do know, it's that whoever lived in the condo before us must have been a pig. Certainly the word 'cleaning' was not part of their vernacular. Let's take a look at what I found....

In no particular order: styrofoam ball, bottle cap, paint tube cap, jelly bean, halloween bubble gum candy, dog food, glass vial, dog biscuit, something horn shaped that even CSI can't identify, massive dustball, teak shoe horn (??), flattened Lindor box, pen cap, and some light bulb packaging. Not in the picture but discovered with further, deep cleaning: nails, screws, dog hair, scum, ketchup and a cigarette butt. A neat excavation, you might say.

I would encourage you not to remember these items. I hope to forget them. Game over. God only knows how long this stuff has lived under that stove. I have no idea. I ain't no student of ancient culture.

Warning: Things May Appear Blacker Than They Are In Reality

Stevie Wonder.

Ray Charles.

Ian Varty.

All piano players. All immensely talented. All black.

Yes, Connie, this blog is for you.

Vervacious Vartys

Here's an updated image that shows precisely where our new condo is located in The Verve.

To get a sense what the inside is like in terms of layout, not decor, check out this link for a unit that is currently for sale. It's two floors below ours with the same southern orientation: http://www.realtor.ca/propertyDetails.aspx?propertyId=13751166&PidKey=-890558361

I would suggest that you click the 'view multimedia' link to get a very good idea of what the inside space and outside view is really like.

Eve(n) and (T)odd

If my brother-in-law and his wife decide to take a position in life other than missionary, then I think I've found the business for them!

On Queen Street East there's a store called Even & Odd. Everytime I see their sign all I can think of is Eve & Todd. It would be so simple to manipulate the sign to make it personalized. The fact that this business is into vintage style means that old clothing/stuff gets a second chance at life. You could say 'born again', I suppose, but mostly it's about the name of the business.

That's today's fluffy thought and half-baked ponderance.

Yoga - Not For Everybody

Recently it made headlines in the news, and rocked the civilized world, that Lululemon yoga pants weren't appropriate for everyone. I have two words to add on that affront....Oromocto Mall.

Ha ha, as if I only have two words to say. Are you kidding? When have I ever said two words, other than 'good night', and then shut up? Nevvah!

Though Lululemon's butt hugging yoga pants may not enhance everyone's assets, yoga, I believe, is available to people of all sizes. Buddha, no small sack of barley himself, was rumoured to have attended a yoga class twice a week. I think it was Monday and Thursday, but I'm not sure.

Regardless, my point is that I believed yoga was accessible to one and all....until I saw this (pictured) postcard on the side of my Toronto fridge. At first I thought it was an image of an accident victim, likely a 'jumper' or a diving novice (no, dive into the pool, you fool! Dive into the pool, you fool....and get me a coffee. Get me a coffee.)

Can you imagine that people take their hard earned money, walk to the Bikram yoga centre, present their yoga postcard (the one on the side of my fridge) and say 'I want to do that'? All yoga poses have names and I'm going to go out on a limb, have it break, fall to the ground and call that move 'the face-plant'.

I like their sub-text on their postcard: mind, body, breath, spirit. Lose your mind. Abuse your body. Breath...if you can (good luck with a yoga mat halfway down your esophagus). Break your spirit. And for this, what do the yoga instructors say?

"Forty dollars, please and thanks."

Living In Toronto - A Cinderella Story

I've been doing a lot of shopping for a sofa bed lately. Actually, is it 'shopping' if you never buy one? I feel like I've gone to the end of the Earth (Toronto) to find a sofa bed, with no luck. The only one I've liked was $4000.

Yes, $4000. My car is worth about $2000, so there's no way I'd test drive a $4000 sofa bed which would be primarily used by guests/family.

I can get a cheaper sofa bed for $2000 that is less comfortable for sleeping. In fact, guests might only stay a night or two because they'd be so physically miserable. Tempting! Well, depending upon the guest.

I wouldn't want my guests to be uncomfortable physically, so I've decided to buy a guest room bed that would make them mentally uncomfortable. That's right....I'm going to buy the Cinderella bed with pigeon net (it might also keep the bed bugs out).

Speaking of bed bugs, it seems to be an issue in Toronto. I've never seen one, except in my nightmares. My mom (nee Mootha) used to say to me 'sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite'. In hindsight, what a terrible thing to say to a kid. Basically she was saying 'I love you, sleep well, though you may be attacked by vicious, blood sucking insects in the night'. Of course I never was attacked by insects in bed. To get my fill of bugs, my dad would take me to his place of work and show me his impressive collection of sedated, no-longer-dangerous budworm. Then he'd gas me with formaldehyde and I can't remember much more of the visit. It likely stopped the whining. I can't blame him.

To further stop the whining, I end this Cinderella story here.

Urban Barn....Urban Warfare?

I just bought some furniture at the Urban Barn on King Street East in Toronto. On the same day that I bought this furniture, I see on the Urban Barn's web site that this furniture is on sale for 15%. We were not given this discount.

My project tomorrow morning is to find out what's going on. Stay tuned...and welcome to Scotland!

Blog update: I went to Urban Barn and was refunded $253. No small potatoes. No small tatties!

Sporran relaxed. Bowels refilling. Case closed.

Astronaut Author Marketing 201

This poster caught my eye because it's clever. And how, pray tell, is it clever, you ask?

Well, the title 'Hadfield Has Landed' is ambiguous enough to make a person curious. He's landed? Where? What? The eye is then drawn to his name, the sub-title and the book's graphics. There's no question that this is a Chris Hadfield book, and if you don't know who he is then you must have been on another planet in the past year or two.

'An Astronaut's Guide To Life' jumps out and is somewhat intriguing. Why would you want to know how to live in space? Then you see the kicker words 'On Earth' below the irreverent image of Hadfield doing an ollie on a skateboard in space with the Earth 160 miles below. Yes, the astronaut is going to suggest to us how to live on Earth. Hmmmm, curious. Awesome graphic, I might add.

I like everything about this book cover. 'Still not sold(?)', I query of the contrarians. The poster also throws one more sales-generating teaser at us: How A Canadian Boy Became The Universe's Most Popular Astronaut.

Let's think about how they worded this teaser. 'How A Canadian Boy' sells us on the down home nature of Hadfield, i.e. he's one of us. 'Became The Universe's Most Popular Astronaut' is a semi-outrageous claim. It's like the publisher is trying to create a buzz by strong-arming our recollection of astronauts past and present. Nevertheless, it works.

I'm going to award this poster a 10 out of 10. What's truly amazing is that it got my attention, and kept it, without showing any cleavage (remember Fiona Applebottom from Barbados??). No cleavage, t or a...this is rare in our sex-crazed, pole dancing on TV in a nursing home society.

I know exactly who is going to receive this book for Christmas.

Sorry, Julian, it's not you. Who in the greater Nielsen-Varty family would enjoy this book? I know who. Do you?

English Bogdown

You know, there are days when Kijiji is even more entertaining than the Daily Gleaner when it comes to the dismantling of the English language. Not a day goes by without a doozy.

This morning's winner hails from Moncton, so I'm going to cut him some slack in case Hinglish his not 'is first language. I hope he finds the beetup guitars for which he is looking (note how I didn't end that sentence with a preposition).

I think I might reply to this ad...

Dear Beetup,

Me gots an eclectic guitar that was revolved in a Fenderbender. It's quiet beetup. Youcan have it for a hundered bucks.

This ad was posted with the Kijiji moron app.

It's A Very, Very....Mad World

Last evening Wendy and I went to a party. To protect the 'innocent', I'll give everyone at the party a nickname (this could get confusing). Bear with me, though there were no 'bears' there other than Rupert-the-bear, who wasn't a bear, or remotely dandyish, even though he likes to cook and is a counter-tenor from England.

Wendy and I were invited to Orange Weave's condo for a dinner party. We had no idea who would be there but, as it turned out, there were ten and a half of us.

At one point in the evening, Al, a mucky-muck at the COC, was wearing Orange's fur stole for warmth while standing on a window ledge smoking a cigar by an open window. He was not alone. You remember 102 year old PG resident, Marjorie Raptors? Well, her granddaughter was also smoking a cigar. I don't blame her for smoking. In fact, a cigar seems far less mind-bending than I would have expected given that she was recently fined $800 by Canada's Border Security Services for failing to declare that she had an apple in her purse while crossing the border back into Canada.

Yes, an $800 fine. Looks like the three senators got off lightly, and Rob Ford gets a weekly paycheque.

Another guest, Myles Mannered, told a hilarious tale of an Orange Weave visit to cottage country. As the story goes, Orange had had quite a bit to drink at the cottage of Myles Mannered's friend, a 70 year old woman who apparently likes to show her breasts at parties. If you're 89, or Benny Hill or Dandy Ean, then this might be of interest. If you're 21 or 50, then it's kind of dodgy. Anyways, Orange had been outside but decided to she was hungry. She waltzed through the entire cottage wearing a string bikini, walked up to the hostess and proceeded to loot her dinner plate of lettuce, then was challenged to sing something operatic which she did. Somewhere in this 'performance' there was also a handstand. Of course there was.

At the end of the cottage country party, Myles, who was the designated sober boat driver, watched the drunken 70 year old flasher nearly get destroyed while walking down the stairs to the boat dock. Did she trip on account of excessive alcohol consumption? No. She was nearly 'taken out' by an NHL hockey player who lost his footing, likely on account of excessive alcohol consumption. Two minutes for roughing.

Getting back to last night's party, there was an 8 year old child there, the daughter of the mucky-muck who doesn't seem mucky at all. There was a poodle wearing a flashing red light and, yes, the poodle was dancing. The poodle's name was Nelson. Nothing extraordinary there, except that the poodle was named after Lord Horatio Nelson. Nelson's owner's previous dog was named Bismarck. Welcome to the world of the gay jewelery designer!

But there's more. The jewelry designer, who couldn't be nicer I might add, had an encyclopedic knowledge of The Flintstones. He, himself, had a semi-Flintstonian frame which supported a handsome crop of Barney Rubblesque hair. Did he wear funky, delightfully Diamond glasses? Of course he did! His glasses were totally Mr.Slate, except rectangular.

You know, in retrospect, I wouldn't have batted an eye if Andy Warhol had risen from the dead, put his hair in curlers and joined the party. And if you're wondering about the image that accompanies today's blog.....at one point everyone at Orange's party was wearing animal masks, including the topiary dog that lived on the kitchen floor.

So, in closing, I say to myself 'welcome to the Zoo'. I feel like I have arrived.

Welcome To Toronto (Birthday Wishes To Wendy From The Mayor)

Rest assured that the following has never happened:

1) Brad Woodside on the cover of the Gleaner, giving the finger.

2) Fay Tidd on the cover of the Oromocto Post, giving the finger.

3) Elsie Wayne on the cover of the Telegraph, giving the finger.

4) Blair Cummings on the cover of the Jemseg Lions News, smiling.

And yet, here in Toronto we have our mayor on the cover of Now magazine, giving us the double barreled finger. No doubt the gesture has been taken out of context as he was probably giving it to his crack lovin' homies, or fellow councillors. And it is Now magazine, after all, the potty-mouthed Howard Stern of the newspaper circuit. I'll just bet the cover of the Globe & Mail looks less digitally enhanced.

What's truly astounding is that the picture does not look to have been Photoshopped. Those are his hands. That's his gut. That's his Pop-eyed expression. If this is the 'Best Of Toronto', then I can't wait to see the 'Worst Of Toronto'. I suspect they'll recycle this image unless they decide to put a picture of the Maple Leafs on the cover.

Hmmm...Rob Ford. The Toronto Maple Leafs.

What next? I think everyone in Toronto is asking that question.

And Now! for some good news....it's Wendy's birthday today!  Happy Fifty-oneth, Wendy!!

Tips

Yesterday I went into a coffee shop but amazingly not to buy a coffee. Even more amazingly not to buy a baked good. I actually entered the cafe to buy a coffee-maker....and a cheap one at that.

I use a pour over style of coffee-maker and rumour had it that this café, behind the COC, had what I wanted. They did. Thanks for the tip, Wendy.

What really caught my eye, other than the super friendly staff, was the tip jar(s). They had two tip jars, one labeled 'kiteboarding' and the other labelled 'windsurfing'. Customers could vote for their preference by placing their tip in one of the two dishes. Sadly it looked like the two dishes were equally filled with coins. I see this as a travesty. Death to the kiters...the infidels!

I think I'll save up all my change and return to the café. So what if I give them a $10 tip. I will make a statement on behalf of all windsurfers, and that statement will be:

Windsurfers are the most popular and we're stupidly generous with our money.

Good Grandpa

When I walk around Cambridge-Narrows I rarely see any signs or billboards. There is one on the other side of the bridge that let's me know that someone is selling tires somewhere. There's a geo-thermal sign in every village in New Brunswick and we've got ours. I'll bet there's one in Harvey Station, right next to the bank likely! Of course there are always real estate signs everywhere.

In Toronto we have signage everywhere. A lot of them advertise entertainment, and the one I chose to highlight today looked quite entertaining. It's particularly relevant given that my son and my father live together! Thankfully my father never took my son to the park, got hammered and passed out on a park bench...at least not that I know.

No, Julian's grandpa was more famous for his ace fighter-pilot skills. I always chuckle when I think back to the day when Gup and Julian were racing around the Maquapit Lake dining room table in a Legoland dog fight. Julian usually won these dog fights but on this day, Manbill Von Schwarz Hügel shot Julian out of the sky. Julian was not impressed.

So.....does that make Gup a bad grandpa or a good grandpa? A good grandpa, of course! Things don't always go as planned. A good lesson, perhaps.

Speaking of plans, it occurred to me that we should all watch this movie together, then I noticed that the movie was produced by the makers of the Jackass series of movies. Ah, yeah...maybe we shouldn't watch this movie together because the Jackass movies have been quite vile.

Note: you know I'm going to secretly watch this movie on my own! It's got 'Ian' written all over it!

False Start?

In the race of life, who do you want to be? The rabbit or the turtle?

Thankfully you don't have to choose to be like one or the other. You don't have to emulate anyone, or follow anyone's path. The path is yours and yours alone, and no two paths are alike. There will be others who share the path from time to time. Ultimately, however, only you arrive at your destination. It is yours, just as everyone else has their own destination and arrival.

So.....don't bother comparing yourself to others because they are not you. You are unique. So am I.

And it's not a race.

Let's examine our family to see how others have started and where they are now. Note: we are not comparing ourselves to them...we are only looking at them because curiosity is healthy. I'm going to break the family down into two groups: fast starters and false starters (though not rabbits and hares).

Fast starters: I see this group as lucky, though I am not one of them. The fast starters had an early vision for their future, stuck with it and seemed content with their lot.

Jason: Jason had a vision to become a physiotherapist. He hit some bumps along the way, but pretty much stayed on the rails.

Wendy: she had an early vision, kept her head down and plodded through to the other side. There were challenges along the way (turned down by UofT opera school), but she persevered. Wendy worked as a telemarketer and a grocery store clerk after she got her Master's degree.

Paul: took a job in the forestry service and stuck with it, seemingly content.

Kristy: got an education degree, became a teacher (sounds almost easy).

Mootha: worked in a bank which set her up for a life of monetary appreciation (I have n'a got oeny money). Mom wanted a family and she was a pro.


False Starters: Not an unlucky group by any means, this group went down a few paths before finding one that suited them. I don't like the word 'false' because every start is real, but I'm using it anyway.

Ian: Agricultural College...hello? I have no regrets going there, but it probably wasn't my smartest career move.

Erik: he was destined to sell something, but stints in car sales and insurance didn't pan out so well.

Alex: enrolled at university but didn't follow through with it. Floated from one thing to the next for years.

Doug: started with an English degree and worked in 'communications'. Seems laughable, in hindsight.

Todd: too many false starts to mention. Seems to finally be on track, at 40.

Dana: I'm not sure if he had a vision for the future, but he got shafted along the way by those who were there to help him.

Gup: Gup's first foray at university did pan out. Of course there was a war that didn't allow him the opportunity of following through on his initial, though likely misguided, studies. The war gave him a new perspective. Bring on war!!

Linda: home economist? Not.

Joan: teacher? Not.

Dippy D: music degree at Acadia? Not.


In a league of their own: Okay, we need a third group, mostly for Uncle Tom and Lilian. Actually, I can't comment on them as I don't know if they followed a path or experimented along the way. And then there's Graeme (the best plumber in Britain). Nuff said.

There are no rabbits and turtles. There's just you, me and the great them.

If you are defined by what you do for a living, then I pity you. I hate when people ask me what I do for a living, because that doesn't speak to who I am. If you're defined by your morals and beliefs, by what you stand for and what you stand against, then I say 'lucky you'. If you don't know what you stand for and stand against, stay tuned, you soon will. Likely it will evolve over time, becoming sharper and more focused.

Be patient. Be curious.

Warriors??

warrior

noun

1. 1.

   (especially in former times) a brave or experienced soldier or fighter.

For a number of years the media has referred to some members of the Mohawk tribe as 'warriors'. It's not uncommon to hear about Mohawk Warriors.

Now we have Mi’kmaq warriors apparently, as reported by CBC.ca. I quote from a headline in this morning's news:

"Mi’kmaq warrior chief John Levi says that crackdown won’t deter new protests if SWN returns."

Later in the article cbc.ca quotes Chief Levi saying the following:

“It's always peaceful on our side,” he said. “It's up to them. But you know we never back down."

Having a so-called 'Warrior Chief' stating that "it's always peaceful on our side" creates an obvious disconnect. Methinks CBC should stop calling them 'warriors' because it presents a negative connotation, particularly when the Chief describes his people as peaceful. I think it's an unfair moniker, though it is not to say that they're not brave.

What do you think?

Ian Varty
Angry faced, ruddy, tattie eatin' Highlander

The Power Wives of Toronto (and their meek, diaper changing metro-man slaves)

As is often the case, Wendy and I were way ahead of the curve on this one! It's a shame that we didn't make it on the cover of Toronto Life twenty years ago. Admittedly, at the time, we dressed more like a Harrowsmith family than corporate muppets. I still dress like a skater/granola/dirtball. Thankfully Wendy never once dressed like a Bay Street bitch (or a female Kevin O'Leary).

Give me plaid, or give me death.

We are New Brunswickers at heart, and always will be.

Toronto...The Final Frontier

A 'Sticky' Situation

The DMZ. The Berlin Wall. The Gaza Strip. No Man's Land. WalMart.

They all have one thing in common...they separate so-called enemies, except WalMart where people of all denominations, race, political outlook, and sexual persuasion come together to eat Big Macs and shop. As an aside, never have I been shopping in Holt Renfrew and thought to myself 'I could go for a Big Mac and fries'. As a further aside, never have I been shopping at Holt Renfrew.

Priscilla, my odd neighbour, hates me. I don't take it personally because I think she hates everyone, or if she doesn't, she will eventually. To quote a rather sage companion of mine "she doesn't play well with others". That pretty much sums it up.

Yesterday, a little Halloween hi-jinx. Priscilla dressed up as a hunter and went looking for wabbits...or Wartys. She didn't find any because this wabbit was down the wabbit hole (with video camera). I noted that Priscilla began by throwing sticks from her property over the fence into my yard. Those sticks are now in my forensics lab, being analyzed for proprietorial origin. Not satisfied with tossing branches, like grenades, over the wall, Priscilla moved to the front of the property and continued to toss handfuls of 'organics' over onto my property.

In the world of 'trick or treat', it looks as though I was treated to a trick. I wonder if she gave out many poison apples to the kiddies, or if she just plopped them directly into the cauldron??