The Annual Varty-Nielsen Christmas Card (video)

You can write a good script. You can grab some good video footage. You can sing and play an instrument. You can...

Wait a minute....you're saying that you 'sing' in this year's Christmas video? I pre-screened the video, and I wouldn't call that singing. At least not good singing, although it's obvious you tried hard to make the song work. One might say you went 'flat out' in your vocal effort.

My point is that you can do everything right, more or less, and it all comes down to editing. I learned that this fall working on the Random Acts videos. It was equally true with our Christmas video. I handed Julian a pile of raw materials and he turned them into an excellent video.

Originally I had announced that I wasn't going to attempt to make a video that would match last year's, and I didn't. All things considered, however, I think we came quite close to matching last year's. It's the editing that made that possible. Thank you, Julian. Your editing was as good as your Keith Richards impersonation, which was bang on. That was my favourite part of the video. 

So...what's your favourite part? Click on today's image to watch the video.

My (Killer) Beige Diet

I can't blame Christmas for what has happened to me, but at the same time I'd feel healthier and happier without Christmas. There are two main problems:

1) excess food
2) me.

Have you noticed how, at Christmastime, you eat like a looter? You eat whatever you can get your hands on, in quantities far exceeding what is necessary to sustain life. You eat to excess simply because it's there in front of you. You go back for seconds, as a given. Sometimes even for thirds!

If I ate the way I do at Christmastime, every day, I'd be obese in three weeks and dead in five. Christmas is a time of excess. Excess food, excess drink, excess gifts, excess emotion, excess happiness, excess unhappiness, excess gluttony. And not a salad to be seen anywhere!

By the time December 27 rolls around I'm desperate for a salad. I normally eat a salad every day, so going without one for three days feels like a gastronomic death sentence. Instead of eating fruit I eat donuts, truffles, chocolate, candies, cherry balls, shortbread, etc.

Christmas makes me feel like crap!

Now, I'll be the first to admit that no one forces sugary or fatty foods down my gullet. I am the guilty party. I am weak to the allure of Christmas treats. Oddly enough, the best Christmases I ever had were the ones when I went to Maui and California. It wasn't about the change of scenery. It was about the lack of Christmas goodies...and the abundance of mangoes.

So....what will I do next Christmas in order to avoid the beige diet trap? Probably nothing, though I am considering making a public statement by giving boxes of arugula as gifts. Someone has to initiate change.

Trash Talkin'

On December 12 I flew from Toronto to Fredericton. It's a two hour flight during which I would typically have my nose glued to the window, watching Ontario, Quebec and Maine pass below me. I love the view under my plane's belly. Sadly there was cloud cover for most of the flight so I was forced to entertain myself in other ways.

In situations like these there are two obvious choices:

1) talk to the person next to you,

2) read Air Canada's enRoute magazine.

I took a good look at the woman sitting next to me and even ran my hands through her hair. She was very attractive, but I decided that I should probably not pester her so I clutched my copy of enRoute and cracked open the pages. Besides, Wendy was reading her book.

When you hold a copy of enRoute in your hands you think 'wow, substantial magazine', but then you realize it's printed in both French and English. That diminishes it by close to 50%. Take away the ads and the Air Canada propaganda, and you're left with a smallish magazine featuring destinations that'll you'll probably never see unless you happen to be reading this while parkin' yer rich, fat arse in business class. I wasn't.

So, what did you do, Ian?

I scanned the ads. They're by far the most entertaining. Take a look at today's image...

The model looks like something I'd carry to the curbside.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but she looks like she's standing in a bag of garbage, holding a bag of garage, with a garbage bag draped around her shoulders. The expression on her face says 'where is that smell coming from'? Find a mirror, honey. This 'fashion' is outrageous, though I'll give the designer credit for one-upping the homies with their saggy crotch jeans (the former gold medalist for useless and inane fashion statements).

This ad reminds me of two things:

1) if I 'liberate myself from the ordinary', as the ad suggests, I'll look like a complete fool,

2) it's Monday morning, 8 a.m., I'd better take the garbage out.

The Perfect Christmas Gift

The best Christmas gift that can be given is time and talent. Your time. Your talent. Everything else is an astronomically distant second. In today's video, Dad and I give Mom all that we've got.

Anything For A Laugh (aka Stretch Brainweak)

Following closely on the heels of yesterday's luscious self-portrait, I offer you today's image...me again.

And you thought Oprah had an ego?!

The main difference between Oprah and me is that she appears on the cover of her magazine looking beautiful (in a light-bulbs-around-the-mirror/apply make-up with a trowel kind of way).

Ian is more of a 'natural beauty', wouldn't you say'?

This not about beauty, it's about entertainment. My Mom has been pretty sleepy lately and I've been going to new heights to get a reaction out of her (a smile, a chuckle, anything).

Your face is like a flying squirrel's armpit. How the hell do you do that with your cheeks?

I was fat when I was a teenager. When I lost weight my facial skin stayed elastic.

Jim Carrey parlayed an elastic face into millions? What have you done with your 'gift'?

I've entertained my five faithful blog readers (hopefully), and sometimes my Mom.

Simple Gifts

You know how some people are obsessed with always looking their best, right? Well I don't suffer from that malady. I'd rather be myself than worry about someone's perception of me because looking your best is about perception, not reality.

Look at this picture. My real nose (on the left, in case you were wondering) looks like the love child of a slab of bologna and a strawberry. On the right, my nose makes me look like some sort of tropical bird.

That would be true if there was a tropical bird called Rodney Dangerfield!

This image is not flattering, but it's entertaining and playful. What I really love about this image, more than anything, is that it tells a story about how I managed to have fun with a random Christmas ornament. This was not an expensive gift to me. It was simply a mirrored ball ornament that held my attention longer than many other Christmas gifts. Another beautiful thing was that I didn't need to take ownership of the ball. It was mine for a moment, and then it hung silently on the nursing home's Christmas tree waiting for the next child to discover its simple pleasure.

In an age of excess, it was the perfect gift.

I Lost My Virginity ...On The Air

Can you imagine that I'm 51 years old and I just experienced my first radio interview in which I was being interviewed? Grab your dictionaries and look up the term 'dormant'. Sheesh, I wasted my youth.

The interview went very well, I thought. The highlight of the interview was the introduction, before I even had a chance to speak! Take a listen to how I was introduced (my title) by the program's host, Colleen Kitts. Solid gold!

I should mention that the interview was all about my work with Laura on the Random Acts of Christmas project. Speaking of Christmas....Happy!

The 2014 Varty/Nielsen Christmas Card? Not Quite.

A long time ago I started a tradition of making my own Christmas cards. At first they were simple little productions with just a dash of Photoshop magic. Somehow they evolved into video productions that have become increasingly complex with each passing year. Last year's Christmas video involved three days of filming and an equal number of days for editing. Thankfully, Julian looked after the editing. 

Fast forward to Christmas 2014....

Julian is arriving home on Christmas Day. One can interpret this in many ways, but I see it as 'shit, how are we going to make a Christmas video without him'? The answer is 'we can't'. Wendy and I can't produce a quality video without his editing skills, so we're not going to try. And then there's his acting skills. Do I need to remind you about his stellar portrayal of Ralphie Parker? Okay, here goes...

I still chuckle every time I see Ralphie's wide-eyed, mouth agape look of disbelief at the 'stuck....stuck' horror of the tongue-to-pole fiasco. Oscar worthy.

Sooooooo....we've decided to 'buy some time' and release our Christmas video on New Year's Eve. We've also freed ourselves from giving it a Christmas theme. It might be about the new year. It might be about whatever we want it to be about. We're not going to tell you.

You still don't know what you're going to do, do you, Ian?

Nope, not a clue. Until we figure out what we're going to do, I offer you today's video. A teaser. A trailer. That'll have to keep you going until New Year's Eve when we post our actual video. If you need a 'hit' to keep you going, you can always click on Ralphie to watch last year's video again.

The Write Stuff? Wrong. The Right Stuff...For Photography!

Somehow my blog has morphed into a playground into which I release my writing skills.

Don't get your feet muddy!

On some days my writing swings freely, feet joyously skyward, while on others they wallow in low level mud.

The blog, at one time, was more image-centric and less about writing. I suppose that means that my photographic skills are either waning or they're being supplanted by writing, but not this morning...

For the past five mornings I've been living in a dream world, not unlike Bill Murray in 'Groundhog Day'. I get up, look out the window, and see a consistently perfect scene across the lake. It was gorgeous again this morning, as it was yesterday morning when I took these images. It's a veritable pen and ink sketch across the lake, with the occasional wash of muted colour.

I'm living in a gallery!

Come to think of it, we all are. Are you happy with the gallery in which you live? Think about this question: are you the artist, the curator, or the art, or some combination of the three?

Laura Calder's Random Acts of Christmas: Video #3

I make no bones about the fact that the only reason that I show my face in Toronto is to hang out with Wendy. I'm not a city person. I feel lost in that environment. I have no tools. I have no workshop. I'm not inspired by the landscape, except perhaps to write about it.

But...

I would be remiss if I didn't say a few words about the people of Toronto. There are two types of people in Toronto that I've discovered:

Group 1: those who I really like and find genuinely inspiring,

Group 2: those who I'd like to push out into traffic.

Group 1 is a very small segment of the population, but a very important one to me. They broaden my horizons, and I hope I do the same for them. Group 2 are predominantly texters, dawdlers and the huffy. I could pave the streets with Group 2.

This November/December I was fortunate enough to work with Laura Calder on a series of three videos. They were challenging, enlightening and motivational. They challenged my creative brain. They gave me insight into how to make videos, though the filming/editing was (happily) left to Kyle Richmond (he who knows what he's doing!). Working on these videos got me off my leisurological ass and had me walking the streets with purpose. They were, above all else, fun.

The Random Acts of Christmas project felt like a gift to me. It was, in effect, a gift to all of us. If these videos made you smile or helped you to think about making someone else's Christmas randomly special, then I'd say that we met one our goals. And on that note, feel free to click on today's image to be whisked away to an office building in Toronto where video #3 was shot, but before you go I'd just like to ask you one question....

What will be your random act of Christmas? If you do something, please let me know. I'll make it the subject of one of my Christmas blogs.

A Colvillian Approach To The Shitlands

Alex Colville never rode the horse that I rode as a child. I should mention that I only rode the horse once, before the evil beast deposited me on the pavement (involuntarily). Horses are evil.

When Wendy was little her father had the bright idea to get the kids a Shetland pony. I don't think he was completely aware of what he had done. Imagine taking a regular, evil horse and then distilling it down into a Danny DeVito sized package, and then forcing it to evolve on one of our Earth's most inhospitable places. No, not Winnipeg or Minto...worse! The Shetland Islands!! If I'm not mistaken, 'shet' is how the Scottish say 'shit'.

So, to summarize...you've take a diminutive horse with a Napolean complex from its ancestral home of the Shitland Island, then you put it on a diminutive boat to Canada. Finally you take the miserable little beast and place it in a diminutive stall in Harvey Station! All those negative diminutives create a positively huge problem. No wonder the wretched animal kicked Wendy in the ovaries (though I'm sure she didn't deserve it).

In Wendy's case she remembers, as a child, being terrified of the Shitland pony, and this was before the kick to the egg carton. I suspect the pony was equally terrified of her. I think I'll retract my statement that horses are evil. They're not. Horse owners are not evil either, just sorely delusional.

From the Collection Of Bad Ideas, here's #1: let's put our tiny child in a stall (cage) with four powerful legs that are trying to destroy her. To put this in context, try to imagine going 8 seconds bareback on Beyoncé....now turn her arms into another pair of flailing legs. Pure terror. Pure genius.

The horse that I fell off was put under me by a neighbour. My horse owning neighbour gave me one rein and a blanket to sit on before her friend whacked the horse on the hind quarter...and off I went to my pending doom. Perhaps it is the friends of horse owners that are evil?

I've never met an evil animal in my life, other than humans. Oh, wait...I can think of one animal that is evil....the Sheltie. Did you know that a Sheltie is a Shetland sheepdog?

I'm detecting a Shetland/Shitland theme with evil overtones, Ian.

Seriously....what is it about the Shetland Islands that seems to breed miserable little monsters? Hey(!)...what do you really know about the Shetland Islands? If your education didn't include any facts about the Shetland Islands, then I'd encourage you to click on the link below to discover 24 things you didn't know about the Shetland Islands:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/chriscope/24-things-about-living-in-shetland-igii#.ceaZx9vWE

As an interesting side note, I did a search to see what famous people came from the Shetland Islands. There were none.

Crosswords....F___ing Cross Words!

I consider myself to be pretty intelligent. I'm no genie-arse, but I honestly believe that I possess above average intelligence. When I look at the average man (he who idles in the Tim Horton's drive-thru before heading off to the rink), I think I fare well.

Together, Ian, we're a force to be reckoned with!

You ended a sentence with a preposition. That's not a sign of intelligence. That's a sign of the common man. You can't end a sentence with with.

You just did.

Ack! So, it's true that my alter ego and I are a formidable pair, at least intellectually. Perhaps even comically, although the jury is still out on that one. We each bring something to the table.

Indeed. I was a savant before we hooked up, and now we're an idiot savant. Like you said, Ian, we both brought something to the table.

Enough of your insolence! This blog is about cross words and you're bringing me close to the brink of swearing. Tabarnac!

Excellent, Ian, you've just sworn in one of the official languages of Bujumbura!

Okay, so every Saturday I buy the Globe & Mail newspaper. Wendy, the real brains behind the operation, reads the paper from cover to cover. I only do the cryptic crossword, the sudoku, and the dang Saturday crossword puzzle. I love crosswords because they take my brain to its elastic limit and then snap it back to its normal size.

Pass the peanuts, would you Ian?

As much as I profess my love for crossword puzzles, I also friggin' hate them! They really go too far sometimes. How is the average man supposed to know 127 Across: language of Bujumbura?

The average man doesn't, but you're not average, right? Get me a double-double, please. And watch out for flying pucks.

Before I uncover the 'language of Bujumbura', I need to first find out what a Bujumbura is. I'm pretty sure it's a town in Mexico, about 30 miles southwest of Chimichanga.

Gawd, you truly are an idiot! Bujumbura is the capital of Burundi. The languages spoken there are French, Kirundi and some Swahili. Do you know nothing?!?

Well, that still doesn't solve my crossword puzzle dilemma. The 'language of Burundi' is a 5 letter answer, and I've got R U _ D I. I don't think I can squeeze French into that space.

Please don't try.

RUfrenchDI. Oops, too late. It didn't really fit anyway. Maybe I should look at the downward clue to see if I can figure out the missing letter. 106 Down: Laxative from aloe. Oh for shit's sake, how am I supposed to know that!?

This Is Why I Live Here

I don't live in rural New Brunswick because I have a fondness for black spruce trees. The Irvings can have 'em, and they do for the most part. I live where I do because of the water, but every now and then the trees look spectacular. This morning was one of those magical moments.

What a stunning landscape in which to wake up! Could the day possibly get any better, I wonder?

Of course it could, you dimwit....you're going to visit Mootha today.

Right! Things will definitely get better, but we've set the bar pretty high.

Satan's Dyslexic Selves

There are some men who are completely out of control when it comes to exterior Christmas decorations. I am not one of them, but I am appreciative of those who make the effort to adorn their abodes with festive technicolor illuminations. My favourite Christmas movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation with Clark Griswold as the king of the over-the-top decorative movement. I generally do the bare bulb minimum, and yesterday was the day to do it (pre-snow storm).

It went rather well, I thought (translation: the lights actually worked). I had my trusty helper with me, so it was more fun this year than usual. Wendy and I managed to put the lights on the tree together without the bickering you might expect from some in-the-spirit-of-the-season couples. She did land one straight right punch to my temple, but there was no bruising so all is well!

Bigmouth Strikes Again

When you've been married for 27 years, as Wendy and I have, you run out of 'normal' things to say and do. You start to act really weird. Need proof? Okay, here goes....

Yesterday Wendy said to me, "I was watching you eat a cracker the other day. You were able to put it in your mouth sideways without difficulty. I tried that myself and found that the corners of my mouth were stretched uncomfortably. You have a big mouth."

Wendy then suggested that we get a ruler out and measure our mouths. Here are the stats:

Mouth at rest (Wendy); 5.5 cm
Mouth at rest (Ian): 5.5 cm

Mouth wide open (Wendy): 8.75 cm
Mouth wide open (Ian): 10 cm

She was right, I do have a big mouth! Wendy's mouth is perfect for creating those tight 'O Vowels' that opera singers are always blabbering about. Combine it with that big noggin of hers, et voila! You've got yourself an opera singer. My mouth is elastic and flaps when I stick it out of the car window at high speeds. Woof! Woof, woof!! I have a little head which is ideal for peeking through doorways and windows, but not much use for opera.

So, there you have it....life after 27 years of marriage to a bigmouth.

Twins?

Wendy and I were out for dinner last evening in Fredericton with the lovely and talented Teresa Hatto and Robert Grant. Interesting how I've worded this last sentence. Did I mean to say that we were out last evening with the lovely and talented Teresa Hatto, and we were also out with Robert Grant. Or did I mean to say that we were out with the lovely and talented Teresa Hatto and with the lovely and talented Robert Grant?

Well, they're both lovely and they're both talented. Teresa, for example, plays the piano when she's not helping people plan for their financial futures. Robert is a retired economist. That covers the lovely part. He also plays a musical instrument; the triangle, hence the talented reference. I can say without a word of a lie that I've never heard anyone play the triangle like Robert.

But enough about that lovely and talented duo. Let's talk about me! As I was leaving the restaurant, Isaac's Way, last evening I spotted a sculpture. I was immediately struck (dumbfounded dumber, really) by the resemblance between the sculpture and me. Seriously, we're like twins. I begged Wendy to take a picture of me with the sculpture, to which she complied. She knows it's better not to challenge me on any of my inane requests. She knows I'm desperate for blog fodder.

Look at me and Saucepan Sam (the sculpture's name)! The nose, the eyes, the mouth. Even the shoulders for god's sake. Then there's the stiff, wooden appearance. I love this piece of art. I want one!

"Hey! If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Saucepan Sam, the sculpture, right here tonight. ..." adapted from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

Two sidebar notes from last evening:

1) Isaac's Way has done a great job of turning the old courthouse on Queen Street into their new restaurant location. The staff were superb and the food was very good. The chocolate cake was a winner!

2) The name of 'Saucepan Sam' was bestowed upon the sculpture by an 8 year old boy named Findlay McSporran, as part of a name-the-sculpture contest. It's great that such a young lad has such a creative imagination. It's even better that the lad has such a cool last name. To my ears, the surname McSporran is the ultimate Scottish last name. I just love it! With Julian's encouragement/blessing we've renamed my Mom's doll, Hamish McSporran.

Can you think of a better Scottish surname? BTW: for you non-Scots....a sporran is a leather/fur man-purse that one would wear in front of their pocketless Highland kilt. A sporran can hold money, a small flask of whiskey, or a buttery rowie if you're a wee bit peckish.

Laura Calder's Random Acts Of Christmas (Video #2)

Click on the above image to watch the video

They say it's better to give than to receive, but they have never been on the receiving end of a shiny new Easy-Bake oven. Let me just say, from experience, sometimes it's better to receive.

We tested the 'better to give than receive' theory during the writing and filming of Laura Calder's Random Acts Of Christmas: Video #2. Laura gave and gave and gave, and Peter just never seemed to be willing to receive.

So, Ian, what happens in the end? Did things get resolved?

You'll just have to watch the video! If you need more encouragement to watch this fun video, and you shouldn't because we all know it's better to receive than give (let's be honest), then let me just mention that I have a cameo acting role in this video.

Ian, you boldly state that it's better to receive than give. Are you forgetting about the M.C.Hammer pants, the tooth flossers, or the six aprons?

There are exceptions to every rule.

Wait a minute! You're an actor??

Yes, and also a talented fiction writer with a wild imagination who's prone to exaggeration.

Now I'm confused. You're 'giving' me a headache.

Just watch the video....it's excellent!

There's No 'I' In Team, Mate!

Not all pictures are worth a thousand words. I'd only give today's image 666.67 words, and the last word would be ex_l_s_on_ry.

Yes, the 0.67 word is 'exclusionary'. Seriously....take a look at this image and tell me if there's something wrong. It's Team Matt & Ben. Re/Max agents, perhaps even partners (in the business sense). You can live chat with them at mattandben.ca, though I'm not sure about what the 'average' person would live chat with them. I have some ideas for the 'un-average' person:

- Matt, when you are given a transfer on the TTC, how long is is good for?

- can I really afford furniture from a store called Roche Bobois?

- is high tea at Toronto's Windsor Arms really worth $45 per person? It is, after all, just tea, scones,
sandwiches and some undoubtedly delicious, yet freakishly small petit fours.

- In what year did Cardinal Richelieu die? (question credit: P.Tiefenbach)

Oh, yes, one last question....

1) Who's the chick in your poster, assuming her name is not Miss Mattie Lefftout or Benjamina Figfrigger?

Don't you think it's strange to have this woman featured so prominently in the advertisement, but then to be given the majordomo snub? I found this advertisement to be odd enough that I'd stop and photograph it. People were looking at me like I was odd. No one in their right mind photographs bus stop advertisements of real estate agents. The whole thing has odded out my bodkins.

What if you saw this image....

Team Sonny and Cher

Poor little Chastity would feel pretty left out if she didn't get a mention.

Yea, like is she invisible or something?

If I were Matt or Ben, I'd change this poster next time. Make sure you tell the whole story. I'm looking for 1000 words. Who's the woman in the picture?

P.S. Putting her name in tiny letters at the bottom of the poster doesn't really count as an act of inclusion. Nobody reads the fine print these days, except apparently readers of my blog, and they're quite an odd bunch themselves. 

Flight Of The Ian V.

"Would you like a window seat or an aisle seat, sir?", the flight attendant asked of me. I replied "might I sit on the wing?", without so much as a blink or even the slightest hint of a smile. Unhesitatingly she fired back, "there are a number of passengers who we'd routinely like to place on the wing, preferably at altitude, but you're not one of them. You're simply too gorgeous to place outside of the plane." A small smile was beginning to form on my face.

Of course this conversation never took place, not even in my brain. Well, not until this morning. Needless to say, I was on an airplane yesterday and it sure looks like I flew over Toronto. This much is true. I flew from Toronto to Fredericton. We took off from Lester's airport in a westerly direction then banked a hard port-side turn until we were heading east for the Maritimes. My view of Toronto was stunning for two and a half reasons:

1) the weather conditions were perfect for sightseeing.
2) I was sitting on the right side of the plane, which happened to be the left.
2.5) I was comforted by not being able to see a single-dawdling-sidewalk-texter below (even though I knew they were there).

The view did suck for one reason and that's because the windows of the plane were less than transparent. I think a toddler, eating potato chips or hand cream, must have sat, or stood, in my seat during the previous flight. On account of Air Canada's belt tightening measures, the windows are only cleaned on years which happen to coincide with the arrival of Halley's Comet. Note: I've booked my flight for July 28, 2061. I'll be 98 by then and my eyesight probably won't be good enough to appreciate clean windows, and the flight attendant won't hit on me. Sigh.

So, forgive me for posting an image with window smears, but smears aside, it's a telling shot of the big city, particularly when analyzing the location of our condo relative to the mass of buildings that line Yonge and Bay Streets. We're just that much east of Yonge to extricate ourselves from much of the concrete madness. In hindsight, our purchase was extremely fortuitous because we are outside of 'the corridor'. Our view of the city is pretty much unimpeded and should stay that way. If you look between our condo and the lake, you'll see mostly low-flying buildings.

Back in Cambridge-Narrows there's not a single tall building. It's glorious. The tallest house in the Village is three and a half storeys tall, I think (owned by a wealthy wine baron). The tallest man-made 'non-dwelling' in the Village wasn't made by a man at all...it's my neighbour's beehive hairdo! It towers above the pines, at least in my sky-scrapin' mind. For a non-dwelling, I seem to dwell upon her beehive a lot.

Oh, Ian, beehive. I mean, behave!

I will. Ahhh....it's good to be back home.

Take A Gander? No. Wrong Ferry. Wrong Island.

Today's first image depicts Rhoda Colville, wife and muse of painter Alex Colville, looking intently through a pair of binoculars. It is one of Alex Colville's most iconic paintings. It was completed in 1965. The title of the painting is 'To Prince Edward Island'.

It would be safe to assume that Colville's wife is looking forward, gazing at the red cliffs of Anne's Land. Or is it?

Perhaps Rhoda Colville was looking back at New Brunswick. Maybe she was examining what was, and not what will be. We may never know because both of the Colvilles have 'left the gallery', so to speak. I'm 51% certain that Rhoda was looking towards PEI, but Mr.Colville always left the door open to interpretation. There is a mystic quality to his work that I didn't appreciate until my recent trip to the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario). Do you know why there are so many trains in Colville's work, for example? If you don't, then you might be shocked to learn the truth (it involves five dead people).

The AGO currently has an extensive exhibit of Colville's work, spanning the war years (1940s) right up to 2010 (his last painting). Visiting the exhibition, for me, was enlightening. I walked into the gallery in the dark, and I left in the light. I gained an understanding of Colville's work which was sorely lacking when I entered the gallery. Context can be very helpful in understanding art, and this exhibit was very generous in that regard. It's a story well told. Congratulations, AGO.

Photo credit: Robert Kortgaard

Now, you'll probably never see a Colville hanging in my house, for two reasons:

1) Price.

2) They're still not my cup of tea.

I find his paintings cold and often unsettling. Interestingly enough, this is also part of their beauty because he captured a lot of psychology on the canvas, both his and mine. And yours, if you care to look closely.

Today's second blog image is less mysterious. There's no question that I'm looking forward.....to New Brunswick. I'll be there today, but wait! If I'm looking at New Brunswick, then so is Rhoda!

The Cityscape From My Balcony

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of visiting my condo, or sampling my cooking, here's something to whet your appetite (though nothing actually food related). 

Whet? Nobody ever seems to use that word anymore. I wonder why.

noun

archaic

1. 1.

   a thing that stimulates appetite or desire.

   "he swallowed his two dozen oysters as a whet"

I think I know why....it's because most people can't afford two dozen oysters. Of if they could, they couldn't eat 24 oysters as a whet without hurling (wetting the porcelain).

I've somehow gotten away from the point of today's blog...it's simply to give you an idea of what my condo view is like (looking south toward the lake). It's another attempt to discover how to use my new GoPro camera effectively. I'm going to have to learn how to get rid of that annoying text (DCIM/100GOPRO) on the bottom of the screen. I didn't ask for it to be there, and it wasn't hovering magically in front of the camera when I was making this film. A lot of weird, inexplicable things happen when I attempt to use computers.

Baby Cheeses? Where Are You??

There are few people on this Earth who know less about religion than I do, and what a gift that has been to me. To live one's life in both ignorance and bliss is a blessing which only atheists and born-again Christians can enjoy.

Welcome to my world!

When I was six or seven, my parents thought I needed some religion in my life, so they took me to church. I can't think of any way to phrase this eloquently so let me just blurt it out...church sucked, for me. It sucked big-time. In fact, I hated going, plus the seating was atrocious. The minister never spoke about hockey, men's or women's, or anything that was remotely of interest to me.

Yesterday I was visiting the home of two note-worthy musical friends. To protect their identity, I will only refer to them as PT and RK. There will be no mention that they live in Toronto's Annex neighbourhood or that their garden looks magnificent. PT is the son of a Lutheran minister and undoubtedly the liturgical mastermind behind what you see in today's image. RK, I suspect, is responsible for many of the secular references, the most glaring of which has to be the Connell House (Woodstock, NB) ornament. "Why Connell House", I asked RK. "Why not?", he replied.

So, what do I know about manger scenes? Not much. I do know that baby Jesus is scheduled to arrive on Christmas Day, and that the crèche currently sits empty in PT and RK's manger scene. You do have to wonder, though, what Baby Jesus might look like in a manger scene that features lobster claw salt n' peppa shakers, and Homer Simpson! The simple answer is that baby Jesus doesn't arrive on Christmas Day, but....

Baby Cheeses does! I kid you not. On Christmas Day a small selection of miniature Babybel cheeses are placed in the crèche! It's a fun and delicious way to celebrate a Christmas tradition. As outrageous as that may seem, it's Joseph that really gets me laughing. Joseph, in this manger scene, is a red-faced Mexican salt/pepper shaker who wears a giant sombrero. I was told that he was red-faced because he was embarrassed...he knew that he wasn't the dad. Pure genius.

This manger scene teaches people like me a bit about Christian heritage. So, what do you think....blasphemy, or goodphermy? I say it's good for me. 

Helping Me Get To The Next Level

When I was thirteen years old I retired from my illustrious career as a 'child hockey star'. I got into the sport early because that's what all the kids in the neighbourhood were doing. Hockey was our religion.

I experimented by playing left wing, defence, and finally I settled in as a goalie, The goalie position was perfect for me....little or no skating involved. It was much easier on the ankles and, quite frankly, warmer with all that extra padding. The rinks of my youth were notoriously cold and dank, but none worse than the Minto arena. I still have nightmares about that place.

I played until I was thirteen, at which time I decided that I preferred skiing. Skiing gave me a thrill that hockey couldn't. There's no adrenaline rush having people fire pucks at you. I was never hurt by a puck, other than psychologically. Hockey wasn't all that social either, unlike skiing where you can chat with girls on the t-bar. As a goalie you just stood by yourself for an hour, smelled bad, watched a red light go on frequently, got the stink eye from team-mates, then went home and ate grilled cheese sandwiches. Ah, the glory days.

Fast forward to 2014....I wander around Toronto looking for thrills. Looking for something dangerous that will get my blood pumping. I can't snowboard in the city. I can't kite ski here. I can't windsurf. I need an adrenaline rush and I need it now!

What's with today's image, Ian? How does that figure into your new master plan? You're not into hockey, right?

I'm not into regular hockey, but women's hockey is another thing altogether! I remember, in junior high and high school, watching girls play basketball. They were aggressive. Vicious. They never played by the rules. They just beat each other senseless, with the winner holding the ball at the end of every dust-up. Elbows were high, bodies were flying. There might have even been biting! Sorry, that was men's boxing, but I suspect pinching was rampant. Girls' basketball was the precursor to UFC.

We didn't have girls' hockey when I was young, because the girls were too exhausted to play hockey after basketball. Female hockey is big now. Huge. My, how times have changed. The vehicle in today's blog image reminded me of how big women's hockey has become. If you can buy and operate a Ford Flex with custom graphics that supports a female hockey business, then business is booming like a Wickenheiser slapshot.

After seeing this nicely decorated vehicle, it occurred to me that I should give hockey another chance. I'm not going to play with the boys, they're too boring. I want an adrenaline rush. I want danger. I want violence. The stick figure on the van isn't even wearing a helmet! Crazy!!

Why not just play women's basketball then?

Hey, I want a thrill but I'm not prepared to risk my life!

Go Propulsion

I bought a GoPro camera recently but haven't had much time to play with it. Last evening I hooked it up to what has been described by an on-line reviewer as a $40 egg timer (GoPole 360 Scene Lapse Device), and then let it turn 360 degrees while filming. Today's video isn't all that interesting. It was more of an experiment. The experiment worked, so I'll move on to bigger and better projects next.

Today's short film give you a 360 look at our condo. The film took one hour to record, but it takes just seconds to watch,

Laura Calder's Random Acts Of Christmas (Video #1)

Click on this image to view the video on Youtube

I've had the good fortune to be 'working' with Laura Calder over the past few weeks on a video project. Laura is 'expanding her brand', exploring the world outside of her hit Food Network television show French Food At Home.

I'm helping Laura to develop ideas for a series of short videos. The videos, three of them in total, fly under the banner of 'Laura Calder's Random Acts Of Christmas'. They're meant to be fun, but they also have a message....What Will Be Your Random Act Of Christmas? A question worth asking.

Yesterday we shot another video which will appear on social media and Youtube next Sunday (Dec.14). We're shooting another video on Monday that will be uploaded on December 21. It's all quite exciting and challenging, and I'm thankful to put down my rake and pick up my brain for a while.

Ian Varty
Creative Consultant/Leisurologist/Gardener

P.S. If you want to learn more about Laura, then visit her web site: http://lauracalder.com/

Eats, Leaves, and Shoots

This morning I got up at 6:30 a.m., ate breakfast (Eats), left the condo by 7:20 a.m. (Leaves) and went to 'work' on a video shoot in Kensington Market (Shoots). For me, this is very odd, but....

Very fun!

A friend of mine is filming some fun videos as part of a re-branding campaign. I'm helping her with the project.

Remind me again, Ian, what is it that you do, or can do?

I'm a creative consultant! I'm brainstorming for the video ideas and then helping with the writing of the scripts. I'll even appear in one of the video, but in a non-speaking role (thank gawd). Because I'm doing all of this for free, and forgoing my normal fee (50 cents per hour), I'll maintain my status as a Leisurologist.

We're doing three videos in total. The first will hit the cyber waves (internet) tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. (EST). Video #2, which we shot today, will appear on Sunday, December 14. Our third video, which we will shoot on Monday afternoon, will air on December 21. The videos will appear on social media like Facebook and Youtube, and will also be promoted on Instagram and Twitter. Tomorrow's blog will provide a link to our first video....stay tuned.

Strutting Season

Following on the hooves of yesterday's blog about architecture and exterior art, I present this cityscape!

The house itself is tasteful, but nothing out of the ordinary by Toronto standards. There is something about it that is unusual and appealing. Oh, yes, it's the two moose on the roof!

It must have been a difficult decision for whoever lives in this house, whether or not to place a large fiberglass moose sculpture on their verandah, To place two ruminants on their roof....well, I would imagine that they ruminated a lot. Personally, I love the effect! Had they placed two drab bronze moose sculptures on their roof, then it wouldn't have been the same. Having a moose in a Leafs jersey....brilliant! Sadly, however, it confirms that moose aren't too bright. The other moose is wearing a Jays uniform. This one may be the brighter of the two bullwinkles, but not by much.

These two moose were part of a 326 moose strong herd that was created in 2000. Artists were hired to each decorate a moose which was then placed around Toronto as part of a publicity stunt - slash - art initiative. It worked on both accounts. I don't consider it a gimmick, as it made, and still makes, Toronto an interesting place to visit and/or live. Who wouldn't smile at the sight of two moose on a roof? I dare you to walk past this house without smiling. You couldn't do it.

I think Wendy and I should have something like this in our Cambridge-Narrows yard (or on our roof). Something big, bold, bright and irreverent. Any suggestions?

Gehry Stuff Featuring Digital Imagery

I photographed a similar scene last year but it's just so architecturally juicy that I couldn't resist taking another crack at it yesterday. Disclaimer: I'm using a shit-cam to take the picture and my new computer doesn't have Photoshop so I'm unable to tweak my images to make them more appealing, but you get the picture anyway.

This is the back side of the Art Gallery of Ontario, abbreviated to AGO some time Art Gallery Of Ontario (ago). The AGO was the beneficiary of a $276 million renovation in 2008 under the watchful eye of starchitect Frank Gehry. I think it's stunning. The front side of AGO looks like a glass zeppelin, completely different from the back side yet equally fetching. Fetching...you get what I mean?

It's great that the AGO art spills out into the streetscape. It's the way it should be. The spiral staircase that you see 'stuck' to the outside of the AGO is just as grand on the inside. Here's a reprint from an article about the inside of the staircase:

"In designing the signature staircase, Gehry remarked that he hoped its warmth and intimacy would beckon visitors and become a place where people fall in love. Gehry then gave the appreciative crowd the double-barreled finger."

Okay, so I added the last sentence about giving the crowd the double-barreled finger. I'm using both hands tactfully to applaud this architectural masterpiece and the visionary who conceived it. 

Christmas Is Coming

I'm asking a simple question this morning....

Do You Like Christmas?

In order not to influence your response, I've chosen (borrowed) a particularly neutral image to use for today's blog image.

So...do you like Christmas?

Stormy Gams Uniform Co.?

My scalp should be bleeding for all the head scratching that I've been doing lately. There are so many businesses in this town that leave me perplexed, but I think Thunder Thighs Costumes Ltd. take the cake. I love the name, but I have no idea what they do behind those large and lovely wooden doors.

Do they:

- make costumes for people with thunderously big legs (a niche market, no doubt)?

- make spandex yoga pants for plus size persons (take that(!), Lulu and the perfectly bummed Lemons)

- are they the official supplier of costumes for patrons of the Oromocto Mall?

All of my guesses are weak. Do you have any idea what they do at this business?

I just did a Google search and found that this business does not have a web site. That's absurd. It'd be like someone living in Toronto without a cellphone...unthinkable. Anyway, I did find some information. It turns out that Thunder Thighs Costumes Ltd. rents vintage and period piece costumes for whatever need you have. They have over 7 million items behind the doors. Wowser! I also discovered that the name of the business comes from a nickname the store owner once had. Ouch, but perhaps that explains the double doors.

Run Fast From Tiffany's

Tiffany, Young and Ellis began in 1837 in New York City as a "stationary and fancy goods emporium". According to Wikipedia, Charles Tiffany took over the store in 1853, renamed it Tiffany & Company and placed an emphasis on jewelry. Given that the company is still standing, I'd say that they've done well for themselves. The company now has stores in at least 22 countries and sales in the billions. Their shares trade on the New York Stock exchange. Pretty impressive, eh, but....

Their poster creeps me out.

The poster depicts 'the perfect couple' living in 'the perfect world'. Don't we all aspire for this: a Christmas tree decorated with diamonds, too many Christmas presents under the tree, everything nestled in Tiffany boxes. All of this in an ice-princess penthouse in NYC. It's devoid of any Christmas cheer, in my opinion. The 'humans' give me the shivers. I put humans in quotes because they don't actually look human. It looks like Madame Tussaud left the gate unlocked and two slipped out.

Oh, but you do wax eloquently, Ian.

Take a closer look. The woman has the most fake smile imaginable. I'll bet her name is actually Tiffany. She's trying to say 'I'm happy' but I think she's very, very sad. Why wouldn't she be sad? Look at her husband! He looks like a complete nut-bar.

"Oh, Henry, pass me that gold and diamond encrusted ornament, would you?"

"Yes, my precious. You know I was able to afford these lavish Tiffany ornaments by selling sub-prime mortgages. Isn't life, for us, just maarrrrrvelous."

Do you remember the Borg from the Star Trek movies. They were 'cybernetically enhanced humanoids drones'. Half their faces were 'normal', half electronic drone. Well, I'd like to see the other half of this couple's faces. Let's just say I'm suspicious.

Despite my leeriness toward the Tiffany Christmas poster, Tiffany manages to prosper. Their store on Toronto's Bloor Street seems to be busy when I walk past it. I've never stopped in, but I'm not one to shop in jewelry stores, particularly stores that are famous for selling diamond encrusted cellphones.

I did a quick on-line search to see what the cheapest thing in a Tiffany's store would be....it might be a Christmas ornament for under one hundred quahogs (clams are for muckrakers, quahogs for mucky-mucks).

Question: if I walked into the Tiffany's store in Toronto, what would be the cheapest thing in the store?

Answer: me.

I will not be assimilated.

Sloan!

Sloan at the Phoenix. 

Julian and I were fortunate enough to see Sloan (the 'slow ones') play a concert last night at The Phoenix club. The Phoenix is just a half a block from where I live, and I'm thankful for that luxury because I couldn't have walked home from the Air Canada Centre, had they been playing there.

I think standing in one spot for 2.5 hours is very unhealthy for people like me. My feet and knees were numb by the time the concert ended. Walking out of the club was challenging because I felt like I was walking on wooden legs....but my eyes and ears were happy.

Sloan delivered an excellent, full-on alt-rock performance. As they are reputed to do, they switched instruments a number of times during the show without musical sacrifice (i.e. the drummer played guitar, the guitarist play bass, the bassist played drums). Impressive. All members of the band took a swing at lead singing too which brought a Neilson 4 Flavours sort of richness to the performance. This band of depth was formed in 1991 and it shows (interpret that as you will, but it was meant to be a sincere compliment). They are proof that there's cool life after 40.

The only downside to the concert, apart from my lower extremity numbness, was the proximity of others to me during this sold out show. It seemed like the dude in front of me kept inadvertently inching back towards me. As he was drinking non-stop during the performance, I'm sure he was unaware of his invasion of my space. As there was someone behind me, I had nowhere to go. It wasn't so bad until he started to thrust his head forward and back to the music. On the backswing I came close to getting a mouthful of hair each time. His head was just inches away. I was also concerned about losing a tooth or two as I was in a perilous reverse coco-butt (RCB) situation.

To lose a tooth or two would have been a great shame as Sloan had me smiling for most of the evening. The crowd was full of 25 to 40 year olds for the most part, though there was no shortage of older gentlemen such as me. I'd estimate that there was a 60/40 male-female split. What more can I say? Glad that I was there. To see a video clip of last night's show, click on today's image. Note: you'll see Julian in the video. He's the dude wearing the red t-shirt and standing about 8 feet in front of the stage!

Murder A Tree To Protect This Tree

If a tree falls in the city, does anybody hear?

Apparently, yes. I guess I'm not the only person who's bewildered by the City Of Toronto and their Queen's Park arboreal 'abomination'. I walked past the site of the 'trees in tree clothing' the other day and noticed that someone had scribbled something on the Tree Protection Zone (TPZ) sign, They wrote: 'Murder A Tree To Protect This Tree'.

As I stated in my previous blog, I'm sure there's a good reason for this silviculture salvation (?) project, but I can't figure it out. Whoever wrote this message on the sign makes a very good point and it leads to this question: how many trees died to create the shelter for these individual trees? It's a question worth asking, though I have yet to call the Urban Forestry phone number.

So, what's next in Cabbagetown? Cows wearing leather coats? Horses sniffing glue? Goats fiddling? Cabbage eating cole slaw?

What A Bizarre 9 Days...Musically Speaking

One week ago I saw/heard Johnny Marr give a concert at the Danforth Music Hall. Johnny lives at the top of the musical food chain. He is a rhythm guitar god.

On Tuesday night I heard seven young opera singers vying for a spot in the COC Ensemble (as mentioned in yesterday's blog). Following their performance, I heard Adrianne Pieczonka. Like Johnny Marr, she too lives at the top of the musical food chain. It's amazing to watch professional musicians at the top of their game. Very inspirational.

Last night I attended the UofT Opera School's performance of Gilbert & Sullivan's H.M.S. Pinafore. I've never seen a G&S show before, so it was illuminating for me to set sail into uncharted waters. I've never really experienced operetta of any kind. I don't consider myself qualified to make much commentary on the art-form, though I dare say operetta doesn't quite fill my sails or float my boat. It was certainly livelier than many operas I've seen (this is good), but it's far from being a vocal tempest as many opera seem to be. Opera is like rock n'roll, bordering on heavy metal at times. Operetta, it would seem, is more like fast moving pop music, swiftly tailored for the classical crowd.

Clearly the demand for the product is there. The theatre was packed and the audience was very appreciative. The young opera singers in the program did a masterful job of singing and acting. I'd be very proud of their success if I were them.

But I am a rocker.....

On Saturday night Julian and I are going to hear a band called Sloan. Sloan emerged out of the Halifax music scene in 1991, just prior to Julian's arrival on the music scene (waaaaaaahhhhhh). I always wondered how they got the name for their band since none of them are called Sloan. Here's what I found on Wikipedia:

The band was formed in 1991 when Chris Murphy and Andrew Scott met at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design (NSCAD) in Halifax; Patrick Pentland and Jay Ferguson joined soon after. According to Sloan's official website, the band is named after the nickname of their friend, Jason Larson. Larsen was originally called Slow One by his French-speaking boss which, with the French accent, sounded more like "Sloan". The original agreement was that they could name the band after Larsen as long as he was on the cover of their first album. As a result, it is Larsen who appears on the cover of the Peppermint EP, which was released on the band's own label,Murderecords.

Brilliant story....

Now it has me wondering how H.M.S.Pinafore got its name. I didn't find much, other than the term 'pinafore' being a comic name to bestow upon a menacing warship. A pinafore is a protective apron that a woman might wear over a dress, hardly battle-worthy except in the kitchen. This operetta could have just as easily been named H.M.S.Overcoat or H.M.S.Chastity Belt. I think G&S did well by naming it Pinafore.

Ian, how come you didn't mention the semi-homo-erotic overtones in the UofT's Opera School's production? 

Because I knew you would! Suck it up, Buttercup. This is the 21st century and directors like to put their playfully modern spins on historical works. I think it added another dimension to the story. It was quite engaging, particularly for the tar on the bottom.

Opera...What A Blast!

This past Tuesday night saw me attending the Canadian Opera Company event which they call Centre Stage. It is the COC's annual competition where young singers vie for a cash prize as well as a chance to be invited to the COC's young artist program, known as the COC Ensemble.

It was a BIG deal. I could hype it here myself but I couldn't do as good a job as the COC's promotions department did with their video trailer leading up to the event,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9hg8-q_Yl0

I am, however, qualified to talk about the event after the fact. First and foremost let me just say what gigantic balls the seven finalists must have in order to sing in front of a large live audience, with the COC Orchestra, in the Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts. I would have imploded on stage, or exploded (hence today's image).

One really nice thing that I noticed was that the audience was clearly on the side of the singers. Happy hoots and generous applause greeted the singers on both their entrances and exits. It was a 'feel good' moment for all. Another thing that struck me was how fortunate Wendy was to get into the COC Ensemble program in 1988. Imagine that, this year, 150 young singers (ranging in age from 22 to 30, roughly) auditioned for the competition. Seven made it to the finals, and perhaps two or three will be invited to join the Ensemble program. Daunting odds.

Wendy has come full circle with the Ensemble. She is now the Head Vocal Consultant for the COC Ensemble, and was one of the five judges for Tuesday night's competition. The emcee of the Centre Stage gala was none other than Ben Heppner, himself a graduate of the COC Ensemble program. Are you getting a sense for how important this program can be to young singers, if only by judging the company they keep and/or those who have come before them?

For me it's always enlightening to hear young opera singers at the 'start' of their careers because I don't think I fully comprehended what transpired when Wendy did the same. To put things in proper context, the COC asked Canadian soprano, mega star Adrianne Pieczonka, to entertain the audience with three numbers while the competition judges were deliberating. Though the competition singers sang beautifully, it was Adrianne who gave the audience a masterclass in opera. Here's how I would describe the evening as though I was in the driver's seat....

Imagine that you're driving along Toronto's major thoroughfare, the 401. It has been newly paved and traffic is flowing smoothly. The highway is the COC Orchestra. It bends. It weaves. It flows. It brings you up, but never down except in planned decrescendo. It is smooth. The lines are bright and crisp. It is, in a word, gorgeous and you thank your lucky stars to be on it. The competition singers are like cars on the highway. There are all polished and shining. They are the BMW and Mercedes 3-series of the world. They're just a little bit fancier than your ride. Some overtake you momentarily. You take admirable notice, and smile. There's no fist shaking, no bad vibes. They belong on this highway...they were built for performance. Everything is going at a buoyant tempo when all of a sudden you see something approaching at twice the speed limit, with considerably more volume than anything else on the road. Its paint shimmers and its chrome glistens as it passes. The leather inside is sumptuously tan; warm and inviting. You sit more upright in your seat and wonder what just happened. Make no mistake...you've just been overtaken by Adrianne Pieczonka. In a word....wow!

That was my evening.

Corktown Street Art

Toronto is such a massive city that it's divided into smaller chunks which are more digestible. I, for example, live in The Village (unofficially 'the gaybourhood'). I take finger-style guitar lessons in The Annex and my Monday morning ukulele lesson sees me walk through Cabbagetown to get to Corktown. Yes, Corktown.

Corktown, eh? What's in a name?

Corktown got it's name as follows (from Wikipedia): the neighbourhood's name derives from its origins in the early 19th century as an Irish ethnic enclave, particularly for Irish emigrants from County Cork, though some say the presence of a distilleries, breweries and cork-stopper manufacturers in the vicinity may have secured the nickname. 

Saturday's Globe & Mail ran an article about street art (graffiti and beyond). There was a picture which accompanied the article and it was rather arresting. I knew exactly where the picture was taken as it was only a two minute saunter from the locale of my Corktown ukulele lesson. I was early for my lesson this Monday so I wandered over to the street art locale with my (un)trustworthy p&s (point and sh_t) camera. What you see as today's image is only part of what I saw.

This was not a random act of art. The City of Toronto hired an artist to paint murals on a rather ugly underpass. The results are quite stunning and they go a long way towards turning us into Philadelphia.

Huh? Why would we want to be Philadelphia? I was there once and I thought it sucked!

The Globe article singled out Philadelphia as the one city in North America that leads the way for planned and authorized street art. Who knew? I happen to love graffiti but I fully understand that it's usually/often an illegal act. Just as there is beauty in a storm, there is also aftermath. Cities like Philadelphia and Toronto are actively trying to channel street art into something planned and rejuvenating. In Corktown, they hit a home-run.

If you'd like to read more about the City of Toronto's street art endeavours, then here's a link to the Globe & Mail article that I read: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/the-new-face-of-street-art/article21710260/

What The Devil....(Mootha Goes 'A' Triple Plus)

I try to call my Dad every night but lately it's been once every two days. You can blame my social life on that, or perhaps my lack of a long distance plan. Wendy has long distance on her cell phone but her cell phone tends to be with her and not me. I can't seem to turn the damned thing on or off anyway, plus my cheek causes the phone interface to do strange things like place calls to Botswana and do Google searches for Moroccan banana bread recipes (neither of which I ask for).

I did manage to call dad last evening and he gave a glowing report on Mom. It was an ultra rare A+++ rating for Mom. An A+++  visit has only been experienced a few times in the past two or three years. Fortunately my brother and niece were there and, even better, a short video was captured. You can hear Mom clearly saying "what the devil" and I think she was saying 'what the devil is going on'. I've heard her say that pre-Alzheimer's, but not post Alzheimer's. It's a classic quote of hers. I probably heard it the most when I was a teenager, or when Doug was a teenager, or when Alex was a teenager. Or when Dad bought more shrubs for the garden!

The Forbidden Fruit Tree?

As I wander the baffling streets of Toronto I notice trends. For example, almost everyone wears a black coat. Most people are hard wired to some sort of mechanical device (phone, iPod). Male specimens of one specific ethnic origin really like to spit (a lot!). Women in their twenties and thirties like to wear their hair tied up into what is known as a 'top knot'.

There's a lot to see in the town. Most of it is irrelevant in the construction of a resonant life, but it helps to fill the time between ukulele lessons.

I am an observer. I am observant.

Last week I happened to walk by something very strange, and strangely enough it wasn't a homeless person peeing on the sidewalk with their pants to their ankles (that was October). It also wasn't a pack of dogs wearing designer sweaters (that was last winter), but it was akin to it. I walked past a building that is part of the provincial legislative building complex, and every tree around one particular building was encased in some sort of protective cage. Weird. Just plain weird.

 Someone went to extraordinary lengths to protect the tree that you see in today's images. That someone was the Urban Forestry division of the City of Toronto. Undoubtedly their mandate is to keep the trees of Toronto healthy. Big job.

Overkill (def): an excess of what is required or suitable, as because of zeal or misjudgment.

Now, I'll confess that I have no idea what the gang at the Urban Forestry department is up to, but it sure looks like overkill to me. For one thing, it's an eyesore. It looks like a construction site where no construction is happening.

There are twelve sheets of plywood surrounding this one tree (today's first image), plus countless two-by-fours which hold everything together. When you consider the manpower that went into this tree condom, then you start to wonder two things (other than plain old 'why?'):

1) how much is this costing the city (us)?
2) what kind of friggin' tree(s) are we protecting?

I sure hope it's a money tree because someone's got to pay for this. Now, if this was an isolated shrub in a forest of naked trees then I wouldn't be so interested, but almost every tree on this property has some sort of expensive sheath around it. The trees on one side all have protective metal cages around them, the kind of cage that you might see in an Ultimate Fighting match. I'm wrestling with the justification for such measures.

Is the plan to cage some, or all, of the trees in the city? Obviously not, but what is the purpose of this exercise?

I couldn't find out the answer on the City Of Toronto's web site, but if you want to learn more about the Urban Forestry division and their endeavours to keep Toronto trees healthy, then you can follow this link:

 http://www1.toronto.ca/wps/portal/contentonly?vgnextoid=470bdada600f0410VgnVCM10000071d60f89RCRD

Eve's Temptations...'...sinful desserts....'

Every now and again I see something in Toronto that reminds me of someone else. Yesterday that 'honour' was placed squarely upon my brother-in-law's wife. Her name is Eve, so this sign couldn't help but catch my eye. Eve likes to bake, and as a born again Christian she's crumble-coated with sin. Apparently we all are,  Yup, we're bad before we come 'out of the oven' (chuckling at that thought).

Because of my personal burden of sin and pending damnation, I bought a box of brownies, three dozen cookies, and twenty pounds of fudge. Hey...I was 'tempted' and couldn't resist. I ate it all myself on the walk home. I didn't offer a single bite to the poor, homeless or starving who I encountered.

Anyone ready for another fairy tale?

The Garden Of Eden? Ian? Indian?

If you're anything like me, then you lie awake at night wondering where your next meal would come from if your morning toast was toast. I don't actually fret over food, but what would happen if your local Tingley's was vapourized? And all other grocery stores? Collectively, most of us would starve, right?

This past summer I read a lot of Farley Mowat books, many of which chronicled the plight of early explorers to what is now Canada's Arctic regions. Oh, how the Europeans suffered from maladies such as scurvy. Starvation was a killer too, sometimes for the Eskimo as well. It got me thinking about food. The people of the Arctic managed just fine on their diet of caribou except in years of lack of caribou, but the Europeans couldn't adapt to their surroundings without their bangers and mash. They croaked like Arctic frogs.

The success of the Eskimos (Inuit) at living in such a seemingly inhospitable place was matched by the Indians (First Nations). Note: some might argue that surviving in Manitoba was oddly more inhospitable than Baffin Island. I won't argue that point. The Eskimos and Indians managed just fine living off the land, but could we if we had to right now? What did the First Nations people eat?

Waiter, I'll have the pemmican, medium rare, with a side-order of fiddleheads.

I happened to be walking along Bloor Street in Toronto last week when I stumbled upon something other than a texter or an empty Tim Horton's cup. Immediately in front of a UofT building that houses the OISE (Ontario Institute for Studies in Education), I spotted a series of over-sized concrete container gardens. The one that was of the most interest had a sign that said 'Aboriginal Education Garden'. This, for me, is a big deal because it marked perhaps the only time that I learned something about the natural world while being physically stationed at ground level in the concrete jungle we call Toronto. Note: city living feels like a false reality to me. I'm still running with wolves in my mind, though in reality I'm swimming with sharks and tramping with texters.

The sign for the Aboriginal Education Garden gave a web link: www.oise.utoronto.ca/ese. Let's see what we can learn....

You didn't think I'd spoon feed you my findings, did you?  Find your own food, you lazy louts. You might be nourished, or feel encouraged, by what you find! I was.