Ce Qu'il Ya Dans Un Nom, Bébé? Beacoup ou Rien?

At university I studied business with a minor in Mandarin and minor minor in thumb-sucking. What really interested me, though, was marketing. I haven`t got an engineer`s brain so it`s unlikely I`ll ever be the manufacturer of a product, at least not anything technical, but I love the challenge of getting a product to its ultimate destination...the consumer.

I`m pretty much out of that world now, having become a Leisurologist at age 29, but I still think like a marketeer.

Did you say Mousketeer, Ian?

No, I said marketeer. As I wander around the streets of Toronto and marvel at the thousands of businesses, I always have my marketeer's cap on. A few businesses make an effort to market themselves, but the majority appear to just plunk themselves down at street level, hang a shingle and wait for the deluge. Or the trickle. There's a lot of competition in this town, but there's also a lot of demand if you have the right product or service.

One thing that always commands my attention is signage. It gives that first impression that is so important. Sometimes it's not just the sign that matters, but the name of the business. This reminds me of a story....

Years ago I was driving through Maine, in or near Ellsworth, and I was looking to purchase something. I forget what the item was now, but it was something that you would find in a department store. I remember seeing a large store in the distance. The sign on the building had only the name of the business. I think it might have been Ames or something meaningless to a Canuck like me. From where I was sitting, in my car, it was obvious that Ames was either a hardware store, a grocery store or department store, but I couldn't tell which. Being an efficient individual, I didn't go to Ames because I didn't want to waste a single moment of MDIT (Mount Desert Island Time).

Now, had the sign said 'Ames...New England's Department Store' I would have gone to the store and left some money in their till. Bad signage. Their loss. Now, look at today's image. Roche BoBois. Remember, I majored in Commerce and minored in Mandarin. Roche BoBois means nothing to me. Je ne pooh pas parle, eh, le frond say. BUT...any business called Roche BoBois Paris says one thing to me. No, it screams one thing to me....

You. Can't. Afford. Me.

So even though Roche Bobois, the name, means nothings to me, it still sends a clear message. Adding Paris after Roche Bobois just seals the deal. Without going into the store, I somehow just knew that I'd have to sell my car just to buy a pillow and a place mat.

That speaks more to the value of your car than the price of the Roche Bobois meubles!

There is some truth to that comment. I actually looked up their web site on-line and nowhere could I find a price for anything.

Si vous devez demander...

I know, I know...I can't afford it. Now, if the building had no windows then I would have had no idea what business they were in (but still would have known I couldn't have afforded them by the chi-chi French name alone!). The building, however, did have a window or two. Behind one window was an over-sized red chaise that....that....that (how to put this in gently context)....that you ain't gonna find in Leon's. So the name and the facade told the tale.

It's a good lesson in marketing. Roche Bobois more or less pre-screens their clientele, weeding out the riff-raff (me), by using a name with 'connotations' and a window with 'c'est cher' pizazz. Ditto for the Porsche dealership just down the road from Roche Bobois. I have yet to walk inside either showroom. In both cases, those who walk through their doors are either rich or delusional or religious pilgrims.

Wow...a lot of typing today. I'm getting hungry. Maybe I'll go to the Pickle Barrel restaurant.

Pickle Barrel restaurant??

The Pickle Barrel restaurant is a chain of Toronto based restaurants. There are twelve in the GTA. Now, I've never eaten at a Pickle Barrel restaurant but the name alone suggests one thing....

I won't be washing my caviar down with champagne.

Bear It And Grin

I saw this poster in our neighbourhood this weekend. It leaves a lot to one's imagination, and when you have an overactive imagination like I do, well.......

YIKES!

U of T: Something For The Men Of Stanley Street

I walk to, or through, the University of Toronto campus about five days a week, often twice a day. I am quickly becoming an expert on the world that exists outside of its hallowed halls, but what goes on inside?

I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the Music Faculty building. Ummm....music. As for the rest of the campus, I really have no idea but I suspect there's something for everyone but me.

Last year UofT had a campaign that featured signs, like the one posted in today's blog image, of famous graduates of UofT. The theme of the campaign was 'Boundless'. People with boundless talent who went on to become leading scientists, philanthropists, actors, musicians, business tycoons and even one who became famous for being famous (see musicians). It would appear that this year's sign campaign has shifted focus from people to subjects.

The sign in today's blog says 'OMG! What is that thing!? We've got a course for that. Insect Biology.

So, as I'm wandering around the campus admiring the brainy looking students wearing Canada Goose coats, and also soaking in the old world Hogwarts-worthy architecture, it occurred to me that I must be walking past students who are training to become entomologists. Seventy years ago one of them would have been my father, though Toronto would have to morph into Aberdeen to complete the scene. The ubiquitous Canada Goose™ coats would have to become Orkney Grouse™ coats. Otherwise we're a dead ringer for Aberdeen....we've got the weather and the foreign language!

I dinna ken fit he's on aboot. 英語是第二個最常用的語言在多倫多大學。

I guess insects are still trying to takeover the world, and we're still trying to stop them. Or maybe UofT is cranking out the next generation of beekeepers? Anyway, the bottom line is that you can study insect biology at UofT....good for Gup. Good for Paul. Good for the nation. Good for pollination.

Is there anything at UofT for Julian, since electric guitars are not considered a real instrument in the Music Faculty (wink, wink)? In fact, I believe it's illegal to bring a Fender Strat or Tele into the Edward Johnson Building lest it should introduce the nefarious concept of 'cool'.

Well, had Julian gone to university when he was three or four, and we did try to enroll him, there would have been the perfect course for him!

In his youth, Julian announced to the world (in his heldentenor voice) that he wanted to pursue a few vocations. The most notable, or outrageous, was to become a balloon flyer.

I'm not sure why he wanted to be a balloon flyer. It was somewhat of an old-school profession, if it was even a profession. I see balloon flying more as a leisure pursuit than a career, but apparently being a balloon designer can be a career choice at UofT. Think It'll Fly? We've got a course for that. Aircraft design.

And if you build 'em, someone's gotta fly 'em!

I suspect UofT's new generation of aircraft designers go on to work for Bombardier, Boeing, NASA, McDonnell Douglas or Fredericton's own Capital Airways, but perhaps Richard Branson cherry picks the odd balloon flyer from the promising crop of graduates.

Are there any signs at UofT for you, Ian?

I've already served one sentence at UofT and I ain't goin' back fer more. I've endured thumb-suckers, nerds and classmates who don't speak English....but neither did some of the profs! No, my days of higher education are over. I'm only interested in street smarts these days. I get my education on the sidewalks of life.

If you don't see signs that speak to you at UofT, I suppose you see signs elsewhere in Toronto that resonate.

I do. Take this one for example....

I can imagine this sign (license plate) on my car. It speaks to me.

I can't imagine you spending $251.65 (the actual cost) to obtain a custom license plate. I can, however, easily imagine you trying to unscrew this one from the car to which it was attached. Next thing you know, you'd be involved in the manufacturing of plates like this!

Toronto Homelessness....The Face

Yesterday I spoke about the face of poverty being faceless, well here it is at ground level. Inside that blanket is a human being. Underneath that blanketed human being is a metal grate which allows excess warm air from the subway system to escape. In this very specific and confined location is a micro-climate allows life, but just barely. The air temperature where I was standing to take this image was -4. With the windchill it was -10. Later in the day it rained.

This is not an isolated sighting. I've seen it before, I'll see it again. It makes me wonder what would cause a human being to take up residence in the middle of a sidewalk. Are homeless shelters worse than sleeping outside on the sidewalk in winter? Has mental illness or addiction denied this person the opportunity to make rational decisions regarding life? Or was this the rational decision given the circumstances? Has all hope been lost? What does the future hold for this person?

Homelessness still has no face. Many questions...

For all the good that I've mentioned in Toronto, and there is plenty, there is an on-going struggle. It's been there since we 'walked out of Africa'. Food and shelter...how do we get it? How do we keep it? Does this person qualify for welfare? Does he know it? Is it enough? Can we, as a society, afford it now and in the future?

Who answers these questions? I know I can't at the moment, and for once I can't turn to Wikipedia for a convenient and quick answer. I'm not losing any sleep over the issue, to be honest, but I'm not sleeping under a blanket on a winter sidewalk. The city is forcing me to think about homelessness in a way that I never would in Cambridge-Narrows. We have poor folks in the backwoods and cities where I come from, but I've never met anyone without a roof over their head. Life is different here. Everything is condensed. The best of the best, the worst of the worst.

Much, if not most, of my prosperity can be attributed to my parents....thank you. The man in the blanket was born into a family, presumably, though there may be a back story. This story could be shockingly normal or tragically painful. We might be surprised. I heard about someone from a good family in Skyline Acres (my childhood neighbourhood in Fredericton) who is now a homeless person in Toronto. The face of homelessness might even be familiar. How could someone who grew up in a middle class suburb, like me, with good parents, end up on the streets of Toronto? That could have been him wrapped up in the blanket.

That could have been me wrapped up in that blanket, I suppose. It's not part of my 'plan', but I doubt it was part of his.

Toronto and Street Level Charity

Yesterday I happened to be walking north on the Yonge Street sidewalk when I witnessed an act of kindness. A man was sitting on the dirty sidewalk, resting his back on the facade of one of Yonge Street's many nameless businesses. He looked as though he had had a hard life and that his today was no different than his yesterday. A woman appeared from around the corner and presented him with a banana, a protein shake and something else which I couldn't ascertain.

The man, upon receipt of these gifts, didn't seem to know what to say or do but I think he was likely grateful. The woman didn't stick around looking for praise or thanks, she just carried on her way. A simple and brief act of charity. No doubt one of many on this particular day.

Charity in Toronto, for me, is troubling. Do you give the beggar money and fuel his/her addictions? I have no doubt that a certain percentage of street donations end up in booze and drugs. I admired the woman who gave food. If you're going to give anything, let it be food and shelter in the short term. Everything else can be addressed after these two basic needs, but addressed they must be. That said, you can help everyone but you can't 'save' everyone, or so I think.

Today's picture is one that I took in late January or early February lest you think that we still have snow on our sidewalks. I took the image from the streetcar on which I was traveling. It was a snowy, miserable day and I was intrigued by the scene in front of my eyes. A van with very distinct markings was stopped in front of a McDonald's Café and it appeared to be giving out food to the needy.

First of all I was intrigued by the location of the van, in front of a McDonald's on Queen Street West. It reminded me of the Pro Life picketers on Brunswick Street in Fredericton. Strategically, Fredericton's anti-abortionist movement place themselves across the street from the Morgentaler abortion clinic (the scene of the 'crime' in their minds, rightly or wrongly, though I'm not judging them or the clinic in this blog). Did this charity van see McDonald's as the 'scene of the crime'? Perhaps it was coincidental. Queen Street West is home to many panhandlers and street people, so appearing on this street made sense.

The van itself was clearly identifiable from it's graphics which were unique and highly legible. On the side it read ' One Glorious Chain Of Giving And Receiving. Love Unites All Creatures'...a quote attributed to Samuel Raphael Hirsch. In a smaller font was the name of the organization, Mobile Jewish Response To The Homeless, 1-877-582-5472, veahavta.org.

At the time I took the picture I knew, one day, I would use it in my blog. Today just happens to be that day. I did see that van on one other occasion, in March, right outside of my condo! This really had me wondering about location, location, location....with a certain degree of perplexity.

So, what does this van do in terms of charity? Let's look (off to veahavta.org I go).

Well, I've got to say that my first impression of the veahavta web site was very, very good. The organization appears to be highly organized and professional, incredibly creative and quite obviously charitable. In the simplest of terms, borrowing copy from their web site, here's what they do:

Ve’ahavta is a Canadian humanitarian and relief organization that is motivated by the Jewish value of tzedakah – the obligation to do justice – by assisting the needy locally and abroad through volunteerism, education, and acts of kindness, while building bridges between Jews and other peoples, worldwide.

Here's some text about the mission of the van and its volunteers that I saw:

In 1996 Ve’ahavta launched its Mobile Jewish Response to the Homeless van outreach project in partnership with Na-Me-Res, the Native Men’s Residence. In 2001, Ve’ahavta began operating the vans independently three shifts per week. Beginning in January 2010, we sent out volunteer and logistical teams on two vans for a total of seven shifts per week. In 2009, we served 4,369 clients with services including food and drink, essential clothing, hygiene supplies, and various referrals to self-improvement and counselling facilities. In 2010, 538 volunteers served 7,624 clients. That is a 75% increase of clients served! 

You can hardly walk four blocks in Toronto without encountering a beggar. It's a scene that has become so ubiquitous that the pain of human suffering is all but forgotten. The face of poverty becomes almost faceless. The homeless, it would seem, become like the winter weather....something to be endured in hope that better times are ahead. But are they?

Is homelessness and poverty the problem of our Federal Government, or is it something better dealt with by churches, charities, faiths and foundations? Perhaps they work together through grants, I don't know. There are more questions than answers in my mind, that's for sure. I don't know much other than we've always had poverty, beggars, homelessness, mental illness and addictions. We likely always will. One could easily conclude that giving that lone beggar a banana was nothing more than a drop of water in a sea of hopelessness. Not so....

I believe that banana fed more than one person.

Toronto...Even Better Than New York City!

All Canadians know that Toronto is the centre of the Canadian universe, but most refuse to admit it. All New Yorkers know that New York City is the centre of the actual universe, but people in Rio, London, Paris, Etobicoke and Oromocto refuse to admit it.

The sole purpose of this blog is not to pump up New York City, but to share the joy, excitement and curiosity of living in Toronto. As you must realize from yesterday's blog, Toronto has something for everyone, from gay nude yoga to Chewbacca roaring competitions.

We even have New York City in Toronto. Take a look at today's image....a movie set. Take a closer look at the yellow cab. On its door it says 'NYC Taxi'. The take-away from this scene, for me, is that Toronto is so amazing that it can be a substitute for New York City. A few lights, some make-up, et Voila!....we're New York City. We're not just a distant second to the Big Apple, Toronto is the closest neighbour to the centre of the universe, sort of like what Lincoln is to Oromocto but only if Oromocto was the centre of the universe, which it isn't.

Toronto has a thriving film industry happening within its walls, worth about a billion dollars to the local economy. Yesterday I walked past this scene on King Street East. The building you see in the image is the King Edward Hotel, though the door had been changed and was given a cursive logo that said 'SG', clearly in reference to whatever hotel was being portrayed, perhaps the Soho Grand. A few blocks away I spotted another movie set outside a church. When I walked to UofT last evening to gather up the missus, I passed yet another movie or television set. Typically they're easy to spot because there's a convoy of white tractor trailers which host everything from the actors to the make-up people to wardrobe to kitchens to toilets. The name of this movie or television show was 'Man Seeking Woman'. I'd never heard of it so I did some (exhaustive) research....

It's a Lorne Michaels' project for television. Here's a link if you care to find out more: http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/jay-baruchel-star-fx-comedy-677946 Personally, I wouldn't follow the link unless you care about television shows that have plots that feel like Friends all over again. Most television shows are about unsuccessful daters, vampires or murder, this show being about the former. Personally I'd like to watch a show where all single vampires are murdered, then we could move on to something marginally more believable like The Nature Of Things.

I feel like I've gotten off track on this blog. It's supposed to be about Toronto...the alternate centre of the universe. It's about Toronto, the first runner up in the Miss Universe pageant.

"If the winner, for any reason, cannot fulfill her duties as Miss Universe, the 1st runner-up takes over."

It's just a matter of time before New York City falls into the Hudson River, or someone uncovers something unseemly from New York's sordid past, thus allowing Toronto to take over the crown. I'm waiting patiently for my moment in the sun. In the meantime I have the smug satisfaction of knowing that I own property on the outskirts of Oromocto, the second runner up after Toronto. 

Soon....the world will revolve around you, Ian. <spoken in the voice of The Rhino>

Indeed.

Toronto Is Amazing...There's Something For Everyone!

For all that Toronto isn't, perhaps I should talk about what Toronto is. I don't want to leave a false impression on my readership that Toronto is a miserable place full of spit, Gucci shoes and animal excrement. It is a place where I can explore, discover and enlighten. Within walking distance of my condo, I can find or do the following:

- eat Ethiopian food
- walk tethered around the outside of the CN Tower (http://www.edgewalkcntower.ca/)
- take lessons in mixed martial arts
- buy $500 shoes
- buy $5 shoes
- see bears without going to the forest or zoo
- choose between (at least) one hundred sushi restaurants
- shop at six Winners stores
- dine on chicken shawarmas that are delicious, filling and only $5.75.
- see tranny hookers
- buy a bust of Elvis ($25)
- buy a painting from a gallery ($50 000)
- see Bentleys, Aston Martins, Rolls Royces and even the odd Ford Focus wagon
- visit a Ferrari and Maserati dealership
- the opportunity to see Ben Mulroney live and in person, not just on the idiot box
- view original Group Of Seven paintings
- spend my afternoon in a 16 000 square foot greenhouse amid tropical plants...for free (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allan_Gardens)
- get my haircut for anything between $6 and $300
- watch the Blue Jays, Raptors or Leafs (albeit watch them lose)
- ride a subway
- buy plastic Rhino cartoon figures
- see Yogi Bare (http://andrzej-kardys.squarespace.com/about/)
- eat at (seemingly) a thousand Subways
- take ukulele and finger-style guitar lessons
- see Johnny Marr live
- see amazing bands live
- buy a Johnny Marr Jaguar guitar
- watch world class opera
- visit an aquarium
- study just about anything imaginable.

All of these things, some tantalizing, some curious, are all within walking distance of where I live. In most cases you just need shoes, and perhaps a bit of money.

Isn't there one other thing you can do in Toronto that you're forgetting, Ian?

One other thing? One other thing?? There are eight thousand, three hundred and seventy-two other things to experience in Toronto.

No, I mean the one other thing you were considering trying?

Do you mean the RUUUUUrhrGUGUGHRhghghghrRURURUghGHrrrrrr?

Yup, that's it!

I'm not sure it's a good way to end the blog.

You have to show them the picture! Do it!! Now!!!

Alright, alright. To prove that Toronto has something for everyone (especially nerds), I give you this poster that I saw last week.....

The Toronto I Worship

I consider myself a morning person because that's when I'm most awake, energetic and lucid. As the day wear on, I fade. In the evening I'm as good as useless (just ask Wendy).

My Toronto view is the exact opposite. In the morning when I wake up the city is side/back-lit in a glaring, steely kind of light. Everything looks glazed but not in a good way. As the sun passes it's midday zenith it exposes a Toronto that is brown and grey....like a winter mouse.

After supper, in the evening, the Toronto landscape starts to shine. As the sun goes down and the lights come on, it transforms itself into a deep blue sapphire with accents of diamond, ruby, emerald, gold, and silver, sprinkled with cubic zirconia to keep it real. The street lights glow like the embers of a camp fire and the millions of motionless bricks reflect their warmth and glory.

Ah, glorious Toronto. Let us pray.

How Do You Define Success?

How do you define success?

I think there are varying degrees of success. Fundamentally, in its most elemental form, I see success as the ability to live one's life with adequate food and shelter. This definition of success takes it to the lowest level, which is basically survival.

Survival is great, if you're a troglodyte, but it's rarely enough in modern times. I think we've all got a desire to go far beyond basic survival. Most people in society today have the luxury of allowing themselves to think and live beyond survival.

As a brief diversion, let's take a good look at today's image. What do you see? Do you see survival? Do you see success? When I first walked past this store I saw failure, but then I started to think in greater detail about possible scenarios that could have happened. On the surface it looks as though this clothing store went out of business, and in all likelihood it did. But.....what if this store's goal was to sell clothes? Looking at the naked mannequins, you might say that the store owner's sale was so successful that he sold the clothes off the mannequins backs. He or she, the owner, might have been so successful that they themselves walked out of the store naked. Perhaps the store was so successful that they needed to move to larger premises. Maybe the owner had a long and prosperous career in sales and was now happily retiring.

My point is that success is hard to judge on the surface.

Recently a young would-be singer asked Wendy a very interesting question during an audition to gain entry to the university's undergraduate voice program. He asked what the prospects of a job in the field would be for him, i.e. will I be able to make my living as a singer? Fantastic question, but not easy to answer. It would have been an easier answer if the young student had asked 'will I be a better singer at the end of my degree'? Taking a step backwards for a moment, let's look at a university education for a moment. Do you get a university education so that you can survive or so that you can prosper? Surviving is about food and shelter, prospering is another matter altogether. Is education only about finding work?

Addressing the first question, I think it's fair to say, in most cases, you get a university education so that you can prosper, but it's not that simple. If it was simply about prospering, we'd all be studying to become bankers, lawyers, dentists, medical specialists, senior managers, judges, or we'd study whatever George Teed's sons studied. We tend to study something of interest to us. University, for most of us, is about positioning one's self to land higher on the ladder, but not all ladders are the same size. Some people live their lives as though the ladder was a footstool. Others choose ladders with ends that are unattainable, or at least unlikely. For these people, it will never be enough. Most of us fit somewhere in between.

Is education only about finding work? No. We educate ourselves every day, even me! Even retirees!! It can't always be about work, but when you're young and establishing yourself, it often is. There is a piece of advice out there that I hear time and time again, it goes something like this: "choose a job that you love and you will never have to work a day in your life." Perhaps a bit idealistic but there's some truth to it. Confucius apparently said this, but someone called Harvey MacKay likes to put his name after the quotation marks. Harvey is a businessman, columnist, and in all probability a plagiarizer. Based on his name alone, I think Harvey is probably living in a van down by the river (in McAdam) and writing for the St.Croix Courier. Just a guess.

My father spent his working life killing budworm or, better yet, trying to kill them more efficiently. On the surface, a life of analyzing the efficacy of pesticide spray, on a forest grub that doesn't taste particularly good on toast, sounds rather perplexing. Ah...perplexing, that's the key word. As a scientist, he unlocked riddles and problem-solved. I think that he was a problem solver more than he was someone who woke up in his university dorm with a dream to kill insects and save the spruce and fir forests so 'Mr.Irving' could become a billionaire and one day have his descendants clear cut whatever was left. Whew, that was a mouthful.

My father was a problem solver. My brother, a doctor, is a problem solver. My son is set to become a problem solver. My wife is a problem solver. Problem solvers are valuable members of society. My brother-in-law, who sells high end clothing, is also a problem solver. He provides his clients with a solution to their needs, and he's very successful because he's doing what he loves. The problems you solve, like the ladders you climb, are very subjective.

So.....what's your problem?

Funny question because your 'problem' will ultimately be your salvation. Find a problem that you care about, and work to resolve it. Ideally, and in reality, you will likely be compensated for it in more ways than one.

Practice what you preach, Ian.

An excellent point, alter ego. I'm writing this blog but simultaneously pondering my own place in the world. I don't feel like a problem solver, except perhaps in the most selfish of senses. In Toronto, I hardly need to worry about and food and shelter as Wendy more than adequately provides those necessities. I'm left with time on my hands, and my only real problem is how to entertain myself. It's an odd existence.

Do I feel successful? Mostly yes, but not entirely.

I have the luxury of doing whatever I want with only two restrictions: place and finance. Finance, surprisingly, is not much of a consideration because even if I was a millionaire (aka son of George Teed) I would still struggle with place. Place being Toronto, or any city for that matter.

I don't think success, or anything in life, is ever 100%. Everything in life is a compromise. I'd say that I'm running at about 82% in terms of success at the moment even though I feel like I live in the top 1% of humans globally. Strange math. Enough about me.....

How do you define success?

Here's what some others had to say:

"Success is a lousy teacher. It seduces smart people into thinking they can't lose."

Quote attributed to Harvey MacKay and/or Bill Gates


A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at him.

Quote attributed to Harvey MacKay and/or David Brinkley


Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.

Quote attributed to Harvey MacKay and/or Winston Churchill (who, strangely, resembles Me Mootha)

Dewlap or Wattle?

Tom turkeys have this odd thing that hangs under their chins. It's called a wattle. It's basically a sack of skin that does nothing other than to entertain silly men like me...and dazzle the ladies.

Here's what Wikipedia says:

A wattle is a fleshy caruncle hanging from various parts of the head or neck in several groups of birds, mammals and other animals. A caruncle is defined as 'A small, fleshy excrescence that is a normal part of an animal's anatomy'. Within this definition, caruncles in birds include wattles, dewlaps, snoods and earlobes. Wattles are generally paired structures but may occur as a single structure when it is sometimes known as a dewlap. Wattles are frequently organs of sexual dimorphism. In some birds, caruncles are erectile tissue and may or may not have a feather covering.


So why am I mentioning this? Well, it's because I think I'm growing one. Last week I looked in the mirror and noticed something strange about my neck. It looked 'saggy' in one particular spot. I went about my business and consulted the mirror later in the day. Still there. I'll confess that while in Toronto I tend to eat a lot of sweeties and baked goods. I combat my lifestyle of excess with ramped up workouts. Still, the wattle is winning the battle. It's alive!

How do you know it's not a dewlap, Ian?

Hmmm. I don't know. Time for more research. Again, from Wikipedia:

A dewlap is a longitudinal flap of skin that hangs beneath the lower jaw or neck of many vertebrates. While the term is usually used in this specific context, it can also be used to include other structures occurring in the same body area with a similar aspect, such as those caused by a double chin or the submandibular vocal sac of a frog. In a more general manner, the term refers to any pendulous mass of skin, such as a fold of loose skin on an elderly person's neck, or the wattle of a bird. Dewlaps can be considered as a caruncle, defined as 'a small, fleshy excrescence that is a normal part of an animal's anatomy'.

Many mammals such as dogs, rabbits and moose (elk) possess dewlaps. Many birds also have dewlaps, such as domestic chickens, some cracids and some guans. In zebu cattle, the dewlap is colloquially known as the "briefcase folds".

So....what have we learned? I've learned that there are a lot of words to which I know not the meaning and/or never utter: submandibular, pendulous, caruncle, excrescence, cracids, guans, and zebu. To be a writer, I really must start to incorporate more intriguing words into my little blogs. My brothers, Doug and Alex, are both excellent writers and highly literate. They probably know most of these words. They are also car owners thus making them Julian's caruncles, I suppose.

I am somewhat confused as to whether I am growing a wattle or a dewlap. How does one know in the early stages, before it has fully fleshed out? What do you think....do I look more like a moose or a turkey? 

Wonder Where The Lyrics Are?

For the past two weeks I've been trying to learn the Bruce Cockburn song 'Wonder Where The Lions Are'. I haven't got it quite yet, but I am making progress. Though I may never be a musician, I do consider myself a gifted entertainer. It's a skill that I 'inherited' from Me Mootha.

P.S. I just noticed that the part of my video that is sped up does not include high speed vocals....it should. Let me just go on record as stating unequivocally that Microsoft's Window's Live Movie Maker is a piece of crap. It's an embarrassment. I'm surprised that they would attach their name to it. There's no doubt why iMovie is so popular, just look at the 'competition'. It's non-existent. 

P.P.S. I could probably go back and try to fix it, but at this point I'm simply going to leave it 'as is' and get on with my life.

Shadow Quiz

I saw this shadow on my condo wall. I know what it is....do you?

Someone Cooked The Books?

In the two months that I've been in Toronto this winter, three bookstores have announced their closing and/or demise.

The Cookbook Store. Gone.
Book City (Bloor St.). Gone.
World's Biggest Book Store. Gone.

The popularity of the internet and on-line shopping has changed the way people buy books. For the small bookstore, or the so-called 'World's Biggest', the writing is on the wall. It's certainly no longer in the store.

I went into the World's Biggest Bookstore when they were having their final sale with everything greatly reduced. I literally took three steps into the store, saw the checkout line-up which was the world's biggest, perhaps 80 feet long, did a pirouette and marched back out the door. The only way to get people into a bookstore, it would appear, is to go out of business. It's a perplexing recipe for both success and failure, and not one you can find at the Cookbook Store anymore.

Rhining Couplets

Cher and Sonny.

Brtitney Spears and anyone/everyone she's ever married.

The Rhino and Brinks.

What have they got in common?

Well, they're all examples of lop-sided relationships where one partner prospers while the other fades into oblivion. One finds riches while the other languishes.

Most examples that one can find involve some sort of bankruptcy, typically moral in the beginning and financial in the end, although I think Sonny hit a tree.

Edgar Allan Po I Am Not

My wife's brother and family are training to be missionaries. As someone with a healthy curiosity about things (like cranes), I wonder how missionaries support themselves financially. I wonder how the missionary school is funded in general. I wonder why anyone would chose to be a missionary. I won won wonder why....why, why, why, she ran away. And I wonder, where she will stay-a-yay, my little runaway.

Run run...run run, runaway.

Gawd, that was beautiful, but we certainly got off topic. Music will do that. So.......my brother-in-law's missionary school is called New Tribes. Now, one morning while ambling along Queen Street West I stumbled upon a business called New Tribe. I wondered out loud if it was associated with the missionary school. At first glance I thought it might be a possibility, but as I walked past I noticed that New Tribe's business was tattooing and piercing.

I'd be the first to admit that I know very little about religion or missionary schools, or how their finances work. I doubt very much that any missionary school is funded by a tattoo parlour, but if there's anything in life that I've learned, it's to expect the unexpected. I decided I needed to find out the truth, so I did what I had to do....I went into the tattoo parlour undercover. I decided to concoct a plan so diabolical that no tattoo parlour affiliated with a missionary school could possibly, or morally, carry out my request.

So what did you ask for, Ian?

Well, being a huge Teletubby fan, and living in the gaybourhood, I asked for a Tinky Winky tattoo.

And?

They said 'no problem'. I can unequivocally state that there's no way that this tattoo parlour is associated with any missionary school. This came as a relief to me, quite honestly. On the downside, at this point I was committed to a tattoo, so I decided to go for it. Back on the upside, or up on the backside, they had a two for one special happening so I got a deal.

You crack me up, Varty! I'm definitely your alter ego because there's no way I'd ever get a tattoo. So....how's it look?

I've shown it to a few people so far. I'd say that people are split on whether they like it or not.

Yikes! One last question....is that your ass or have you got your pants on backwards again, you short-waisted, moobish devil of a man?

There's only one way to find out!

Nope. Not going to go there. 

Can't say that I blame you. I make toilet paper nervous.

Still on the Raisin Bran, eh?

Yup.

I do, actually, have one more question. Why is today's blog titled 'Edgar Allan Po I Am Not', and isn't it Poe?

Oh, when searching for an image of (someone else's) Teletubby tattoo, I spotted this image....

It was just too delicious not to include in the blog.

I know almost nothing about Edgar Allan Poe. Can you tell me something about him?

He was just an ordinary guy: born in Boston in 1809. His father abandoned the family in 1810. His mother died the next year. Orphaned. Gambling problems in his adolescence. Enlisted in the army under a false name. Secretly married his cousin when he was 26. She was 13. You know, not much of a story.

He was a writer, I hear. How about a simple little quote from Mr.Poe? Feed us some literary Tubby toast, if you will...something to give us a sense of his intellect. 

Here goes.....

"I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it."

Welcome To My Cranium

If there's one thing that Toronto has confirmed this winter, it's that I'm a country boy, perhaps even a sea-farer, through and through. The landscape of my mind does not include most of what I see here. In Toronto, I'm a hurdler. Obstacles everywhere. If and/or when I ever leap over that final obstacle and break free, I'll arrive in a place with a limitless horizon. The four walls of Toronto can't give me that...not for one second.

For the most part, I want to experience what I already know and love. Toronto forces me to face things that I know nothing about, which is not a bad thing I suppose. The one thing I wonder about here, more than anything (even the 'hardware' of tranny hookers), is cranes. There are cranes everywhere!

Yesterday there was a mobile crane outside the building diagonally across the street. It could only be there for one of two reasons:

1) to perform yet another face lift on a Torontonian
2) to do some heavy lifting for a building.

As it turned out, the pictured crane lifted some heavy stuff to the top of the 18 story building. It may have been heating or cooling equipment, or perhaps something related to an elevator. Dunno. What I do know is that the crane is an engineering marvel. Imagine that it arrives in a package about the size of a tractor-trailer, then is able to unfold/extend to the point where it can lift heavy objects over two hundred feet in the air. How it doesn't tip over seems to defy gravity, though it must be incredibly heavy on the bottom. In an peculiar way it reminds me of the Oromocto Mall experience...i.e. someone reaching for something on the top shelf.

Most cranes in the town are not mobile. Most are affixed to tall buildings. Imagine the crane at Aura, Canada's tallest condo. At some point that crane has to leave the top of that 78 story building and go nest somewhere else, but how does it fly away? You would need a crane to get rid of that crane, wouldn't you?

Every time I see a crane on a building, I wonder how it goes higher and higher as the building grows taller, and I wonder how it comes down at the completion of the project. I never seem to see the blessed event happen, as though the Keebler engineers work while I sleep. I could look the answer up on-line, but that's too easy. One could live one's life on-line, never actually experiencing anything firsthand. I don't want the answer as much as I want the experience. I could easily Wii™ my way through life, hurdling reality. May Wii? Mais non. If I'm going to be in the city, I might as well look it in the eye.

This is a really boring blog, Ian. Your dwindling readership would be better entertained by stories of tranny-hookers and rhino rammings, not endless stories of endless towering stories.

I don't appreciate this criticism as my stories are not endless. They are carefully crafted and I always have a witty ending to

Fashion.....and Turkeys and Vultures

I can't walk fifty-seven feet in Toronto without something reminding me that I could look better than I do. Whether it's protein supplements that can give me manly shoulders and crab-like forearms, to designer clothes, to fingernail art, to tattoos.

The message is clear. Ian Varty, you can be a better person. You can look better. You can be more successful.

And I can unload your wallet for you.

There is absolutely no end to the ways one can spend their money in Toronto. Do you remember yesterday's blog image of 16 models? At an individual level, there's little doubt that their hair style, make-up and silly frocks cost more than my car is worth. It is kind of crazy.

At the street level, as exhibited in today's blog picture, you can find more 'affordable' ways to make yourself 'more beautiful'. This salon on Wellesley Street offers manicure, pedicure, eyelash extensions, eyebrow extensions, waxing, facial and body care.

I'll confess that I've never (never ever) liked the look of painted fingernails or toenails, assuming that's the 'happy ending' after a manicure or a pedicure.. When I see a woman with painted fingernails, I think 'ridiculous'. I'm just being honest here, so curse me for my judgemental attitude but not my honesty. Painted toenails are even more outrageous. I'm not Mr.Perfect, far from it, but how can you paint your toenails when people 'out there' are in need of real help. Painted toenails do nothing to better the planet. Nothing. I have have no problem with a hand massage or a foot massage, but paint should be reserved for the lines on the road, especially at pedestrian crosswalks in this town.

Ian, why are you going off on painted toenails? Did you not notice that the sign offered eyelash extensions or, better yet, eyebrow extensions?

I was trying to avoid commenting on eyebrow extensions as they're a matter of great personal grief. I've spent the better part of the last ten years trying to quell them. I've got a few eyebrow hairs that seem to behave badly. When I wake up in the morning, after apparently sleeping on my face, I look in the mirror only to see a few rogue eyebrow hairs sticking straight out. If I was a close talker, I could easily poke someone's eye out.

These eyebrow hairs are longer than my arms. It's like they're working as a team to build cantilevered hair shelves above my eyes. On the upside, they keep the rain and snow out of my eyes, and provide shade on sunny days. On the downside, I look like a wise old owl and not the bald turkey vulture (feeding on municipal carrion) that I am. We've all seen old professors with gargantuan eyebrows, right? It gives them the look of wisdom, but they're functionally useless and probably should be weed-whacked. The eyebrows, that is, and not the professors.

But.....

Who in their right mind would pay to have eyebrow extensions? And, let's be frank like Anne, I'm assuming this salon is catering to women. Why would anyone get eyebrow extensions? It's time for me to do some research! To the Batmobile...

And in the 'bat of an extended eyelash', off he goes.

I drove the Batmobile to the web site of Marie Claire, a fashion magazine (I think). I read about a real life, first person account of an eyebrow extension success story. Here's what I found:

When I look at pictures of that great beauty Jennifer Connelly, I'm struck by her eyebrows — thick, dark arches stretching out over her eyes, glamorously framing the sparkly greens. But when I look in the mirror, all I see is Bambi. Naturally thin and blonde, my puny brows stop an inch shy. 

Over the years, I've bought pencils, shadows, and mascaras, but each misguided attempt at lengthening drew more attention to my shortcomings. Then I heard about Completely Bare Spa's new Semi-Permanent Eye Brow extensions ($385,completelybare.com), individual hairs that are meticulously attached to your real ones with surgical-grade superglue — like false lashes but for brows. The results last 14 days. 

I'll confess that I have the same reaction when I look at the eyebrows of Scottish comedian Billy Connolly. Actually, his entire head looks like a giant eyebrow.

Wait  a minute! Did that Marie Claire article state that eyebrow extensions cost $385 and last 14 days? Jeeeeeeeeee-zuzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. To me, that's criminal. Seriously criminal, not to mention moronic.

And insane. Down right stoooopid.

Yup. I should set up a business where I use surgical-grade glue to glue people's scattered brains together, or at the very least to glue their purses shut. Every now and then I feel embarrassed to be a human being, this is one of those times.

Jeez, Ian, take it easy on yourself. It's not like you've had eyebrow extensions installed. You didn't, did you?

Did you?

Oh. My. God........you did.

I officially take back everything I said in today's blog. Yesterday, I had my eyebrows extended and I've never felt more confident, sexy or drop-dead gorgeous. Women on the street are pointing at me and smiling. Some are even laughing, no doubt in the midst of outrageously pleasant sexual fantasies.

It's the best $385 I've ever spent, by far. To put how I feel into context, buying those malaria nets for the African kiddies, my former #1, is now a very distant second.

Not only do my eyebrows look better, but I think they balance nicely with my full, collagen enhanced lips.

God, you are one sexy man! But what will you do in 14 days when your surgical-glue-enhanced eyebrow extensions start to disintegrate and you look like a shedding Shetland pony coming out of the backside of a long Scottish winter, or something coming out of the backside of the pony itself?

Duh! I'll go back for more!!

And that, my friends, is how the glamour industry works. Create or prey upon insecurity, then feed off the carcass for life. Turkeys and vultures.

Unofficial Fashion Quiz

The other day I picked up the mail in our teeny tiny condo mailbox. I was hoping that someone/anyone would send us a cheque for something/anything. Sadly, there wasn't a cheque in the mail, but there was a magazine....

Fashion.

Fashion? That's odd. I never subscribed to Fashion and I doubt Wendy did either. The addressee of the magazine was indeed Wendy, so rather than tossing it into the recycle bin, I took it upstairs. I then went about my business in the condo: cooking, cleaning, painting, guitaring, etc. As it was a foul weather day, I spent more time indoors than usual. Eventually I ran out of things to do so I picked up the god damned Fashion mag and started leafing through it.

Appalled.

I'm not one to be shocked by anything, but let me just say that I was horrified by the frivolity of the fashion business. It made me wonder what the purpose of fashion really is. Is it to make one's self attractive in order to find (and keep) a mate? Was it to dress exactly like the models in order to appear like a truly unique one-of-a-kind individual? Is it to mask a lack of intelligence or depth of character? Or, was it for the owners of the cosmetics companies to make money from stupid and insecure people? I'm not sure.

Did you know that Toronto Fashion Week is from March 17-21. Did you know that March 17-21 doesn't actually constitute a week? Does this somehow say something about the fashion business?

Dr.Varty, can we have a little fun with fashion and not analyze it like a science? How about a fashion quiz?

Okay, that's what we'll do with today's blog. We'll have a fashion quiz! You may have noticed that I've numbered the images in today's blog image, one through sixteen. Take a sheet of paper at home and write down the numbers 1 through 16. Then, from my list below, choose the best response for each image and jot down the letter that best corresponds to the numbered picture. Got it? Good! Here goes.....

a) My mom, who's colour blind and an albino, just got a sewing machine and makes all my clothes.

b) I have a jaw like a lantern, so I use excessive eye make-up to draw the eye away from my chin.

c) Yes, I was necking with a chalkboard. What's your point?

d) My dad is Howard Dill and I just came in from the pumpkin patch.

e) Lipstick on a piglet?

f) The missing Jackson sister?

g) Though I'm young and pretty, I prefer to dress like a dowager.

h) My dad was Greek and my mom a Romulan.

i) I have a fear of orthodontists. 

j) With this hairdo, he'll find me irresistible (more bangs for your buck!).

k) I think I'll wear a great big giant dollop of whipped cream to Ascot this year.

l) I take my fashion lead from the Great Gazoo (or...does this helmet make my ass look big?).

m) Lipstick? Of course....not! My lips are just a natural shade of red.

n) I hate my job, which happens to be modeling a dead skunk frock, zebra collar and coconut shell cap.

o) The weed whacker is in the tool shed. I'll be right there and you can trim my hair.

p) I am a model. I am an actress. I am bilingual. Et j'adore Dior.

Juxtaposition: Condo Hottie Version

No Photoshop here, just a curious juxtaposition of image and text. Cropping can lead to strange bedfellows, not that these are fellows in bed.

In the big picture, which you can't see, this is part of a barricade/wall that forms the perimeter of a new condo project near Yonge Street. Instead of a wire fence, there is a plywood wall festooned with images of condo life, and the number to call if you have any issues related to construction.

Seems like an odd image to depict condo life, at least it would be in my building (wink, wink), but this is Yonge Street where anything goes. Anyways, if you're interested in a condo where good looking women lay around in swimwear, call 416-966-5414, ext.288.

What The Hell Is That Noise? I Smell Haggis!

Imaginary conversation between me and Me Mootha....

Ian: Mom, look! There's a wee manny playing the bagpipes!!

Mootha: Auch aye. He's a strappin' wee manny. Do you think he's got any money?

Ian:  He does now.

I really wanted to call this blog 'The Battle Of Scotland' because it was the ultimate showdown. On one side of the battle was yours truly...a pence pinching, half Scot who feels the world is out to empty his sporran. On the other side....a kilt wearin', bagpipe blower who's got his case open, looking for donations.

It really was a battle royal. This Scot hates to give money. The other Scot wants you to give him your money. In the end I caved and gave him $5, but not without requesting a tune and getting it (i.e. value for money). I mentioned to the piper that my mother was a Gordon from Aberdeen, and asked if he had a song for her. He played Bonnie Dundee, one of the Gordon Highlander 'go to' songs. 

This brief moment with the bagpiper was the highlight of my day, although I did have some excitement earlier that morning when a car almost hit me at a crosswalk (I had right of way). Summoning my inner rhino, I managed to smack the car when it went by, it was that close! The driver beeped his/her horn at me. I sharpened mine.

Mama 'Had' A Squeezebox: Part One

Take a look at this accordion...it's the last time you'll see it (this particular one). It was built in Italy in the 1950s or 1960s and it's in mint condition except.....

It smells mouldy. The two times Wendy played it she got wheezy afterwards. Mould, my dear readership of three and a half, is bad stuff. In an accordion, it's very bad stuff...almost impossible to get rid of, or so my research tells me.

I didn't notice the mouldy smell when I bought the accordion, but I didn't try it out myself because, well, I can't play the accordion. The accordion was demoed for me and it worked like a dream. Sounded glorious.

After I bought the accordion for Wendy, I bought her a book to help get her started. The book had a section on buying used accordions. I quote: "If you open the case and it smells musty, run away. This accordion has not been played in a while and that smell is mold. It will be impossible to get rid of it." My internet searches confirmed this information.

I bought the accordion from someone I know and he is dedicated to teaching music and making music. He's more than willing to take the accordion back because he isn't interested in impeding the making of music. Far from it. Sadly I am going to have to return it. Also, on a positive note, Wendy is quite taken by the accordion so now we'll have to find her another. It's been a positive experience and educational, albeit with one big bump in the road. If I've learned one thing when buying, or trying to buy, used instruments, it's buyer beware. There is a lot that can go wrong and the more knowledge you have going in, the better off you'll be to make a wise purchase.

It's neither earth friendly nor economical to always buy new instruments. In many instances a newer instrument may be fresh and shiny but not nearly as well made as a vintage instrument. Everything in life seems to be a trade-off or quandary. Perhaps I'll write a poem about the quandary of life.

Perhaps? Perhaps?? You know you're going to write one, so get it over with, Ian.

Okay...

My clothes they were suite smelling,
Of this, too you, I'm tellling,
To get them so, no quandry,
For daily do I laundary,
And worry knot for spelling.

Balcony Fluff

Yesterday Wendy and I walked to our nearest Home Depot store, 3.6 kilometres away from our condo, and we purchased two patio chairs and a table. Since we haven't got a patio, we put them on our deck which is actually a balcony.

The chairs are made by the Martha Stewart company for Home Depot. I wouldn't normally support Martha Stewart but I felt a little charity was in order as she tries to rebuild her life after jail time. Also, it occurred to me that she probably learned how to weave wicker while doing hard labour in the prison shop, so I'm hopeful she honed her skills there and then passed on her knowledge to the people of China.

To Martha's credit, the assembly of the chairs was well illustrated in the instructions, the tools supplied were of excellent quality, and all of the parts were clearly labeled. I'd give her ten out of ten for this....a rare honour bestowed upon few.

I think Wendy and I are officially done shopping for the condo. There is nothing left to buy, and nowhere to put it even if we did. My work is done...I can die now.

Umm, not quite yet, big boy. The bathroom needs cleaning.

Sigh.

Birthday Cake, Not By Duncan Hines

I suppose I should show what Neil's birthday cake looked like. It was truly one-of-a-kind, though perhaps more appropriate for Benny Hill than Neil. The doll in the picture goes by the name of Urbania, sounds like a name Donald Trump would give to one of his legitimate daughters, at least once depleting all the usual names: Tiffania, Vancleefia and/or Arpelia, Cartieria, or Vuittonia.

I bought Urbania at the Dollarama store, but she was no one dollar tramp. She was $1.25. High class. She was the belle of the ball, I would say.

The cake itself was of the genus and species Carota delishica, made by Wendy. The recipe came from the Rebar cookbook. The icing was better than normal carrot cake icing, in my non-grumble opinion. It had cream cheese (sorry, JNV) and white chocolate (hello Ian!) in it. The cake itself was 'moist and delicious™', thanks to pineapple and coconut (and not Duncan Hines). The term 'moist and delicious' is a slogan or catch-phrase popularized by the Duncan Hines company, and kept alive today by people like me.

Duncan Hines....who the hell was he, anyway? We all know the name Duncan Hines, but do we know anything other than the name? It's an interesting story as to how the Duncan Hines brand became ubiquitous. If you're interested, here it is (from Wikipedia). It's an interesting look into how a business or brand gets built...

Hines was born in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Working as a traveling salesman for a Chicago printer, by age 55 in 1935, Hines had eaten a lot of good and bad meals on the road all across the US. At this time in the United States, there was no interstate highway system and only a few chain restaurants, except for those in large, populated areas. Therefore, travelers depended on getting a good meal at a local restaurant.

Hines and his wife, Florence, began assembling a list for friends of several hundred good restaurants around the country. The list became so popular that he began selling a paperback book, Adventures in Good Eating (1935), which highlighted restaurants and their featured dishes that Hines had personally enjoyed in locations across America.

One such listing in the 1939 edition read:

Corbin, KY.   Sanders Court and Café
41 — Jct. with 25, 25 E. ½ Mi. N. of Corbin. Open all year except Xmas.
A very good place to stop en route to Cumberland Falls and the Great Smokies. Continuous 24-hour service. Sizzling steaks, fried chicken, country ham, hot biscuits. L. 50¢ to $1; D., 60¢ to $1

The book proved so successful that Hines added another which recommended lodging. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, Hines wrote a newspaper food column, Adventures in Good Eating at Home, which appeared in newspapers across the US three times a week (on Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday). The column featured restaurant recipes, adapted for home cooks, that he had collected during his nationwide travels.

In 1952, Duncan Hines introduced Duncan Hines bread to the world through the Durkee's Bakery Company of Homer, New York. Principals Michael C. Antil Sr., Albert Durkee, and Lena Durkee were the bakery proprietors. This was Duncan Hines' first foray into baked goods. By 1953, Hines sold the right to use his name and the title of his book to Roy H. Park to form Hines-Park Foods, which licensed the name to a number of food-related businesses. The cake mix license was sold to Nebraska Consolidated Mills in Omaha, Nebraska, which developed and sold the first Duncan Hines cake mixes. In 1957, Nebraska Consolidated Mills sold the cake mix business to the US consumer products company Procter & Gamble. The company expanded the business to the national market and added a series of related products.

My gawd, is there nothing that Proctor & Gamble doesn't get their greasy little oven mitts on? In 2012, Proctor & Gamble had sales of  $83.68 billion. I'll wash my blog free of Proctor & Gamble's facts, figures and controversies for the moment (using Tide, a P&G brand), but perhaps air their dirty laundry in another blog. At some point I'd like to address their supposedly satanic logo.....a moist and delicious story for another day.

Our Friend Neil Turns 50

We threw a small party for our dear friend Neil who turned 50 yesterday. Those present at the party were as follows: Peter  T., Robert K., Patrick R., Dan T., Wendy N. et moi, Ian V. The 'presence' of Eleanor M. was also felt....in a supporting role.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

I was at the Lester B.Pearson airport yesterday, widely known as the most important airport in the world. While waiting for a friend, I happened to notice a sign that confounded me.

At first I thought it indicated a place where one could sleep under an over-sized boomerang. Weird.....and unreasonable. My second thought was that the airport provided a place for people to read small books in tiny tents.

Eventually I clued in to the fact that this sign indicated a place to pray.

Or text Jesus.

Tingley's Tike At Loblaw's (Maple Leaf Gardens)

Feel free to interpret this image anyway that you like. Here's a few bonus interpretations:

1) Wendy, taking her youngest child shopping.

2) Ian Varty, basket case.

3) Wendy, desperately missing Julian, asks me to reenact that fateful day in Sussex when Julian's legs wouldn't fit into the cart's leg holes (though ultimately they did). Not wanting to disappoint her, I complied. Note: we did not attempt the leg hole dead lift.

4) Ian: man who no longer cares what he says or does in Toronto because everyone here is crazy and he just wants to appear 'normal'.

5) A literal interpretation of 'the vegetable department'.

6) Fit?

I could go on and on, but I think that you should draw your own conclusions. That said, I would like to give my actual reason for doing this; it's because.....

"I'm (the son of) Dorothy Gordon and I'm two years old."

Is That A Chocolate Hare I See, Or Chocolate Heresy?

Sometime just after Halloween, in early November, and once your dentist has filled your last cavity and you've tested positively for early onset diabetes, the stores roll out the Christmas chocolate displays. Assuming that you survive Christmas and the week long Boxing Day sale, there is a brief hiatus before the Valentine's Day chocolate displays are in your face. About two minutes after Valentine's Day ends and you're finished showing your loved one how much you love her by fattening her up, at precisely 12:02 a.m. on February 15, they roll out the Easter candy display in stores across North America. Note: they don't do this in Europe because Europeans aren't gluttonous morons.

Revisiting Christmas and Easter for a moment, what is it with Christian 'holidays' and chocolate? Is Easter just a misspelling of 'eaters'? I don't remember chocolate being mentioned in the Bible, though I suppose I'd have to read it to find out.

You read The Fishing Bible once, when you were a teenager, didn't you, Ian?

I did, as a matter of fact. Teach a man to fish....blah blah blah. Today's blog is fishy, but not about fish. It's about foul....foul chocolate!

Look at today's image....what do you see? A milk chocolate Easter bunny and a white chocolate Easter bunny, right?

Wrong!

Let's have a closer look, Inspector Varty. Show us Exhibit A.

The small print says 'made with real milk chocolate' and the larger print says 'Crispy Solid Bunny'. We could spend a few minutes debating whether or not this bunny is going to be 'crispy' or not, but we'd be splitting hares.

The point I'm trying to make here is that this chocolate bunny is made of chocolate, 'real milk chocolate', as it should be. You're not, after all, going to get diabetes from a carob bunny. Go big or stay home, I say.

Now, in contrast to my dark love bunny, I present exhibit B...my beloved white chocolate bunny. I love white chocolate, and that's why today's blog is about heresy (hare, I see?).

A closer inspection of this bunny reveals small type that says 'white chocolatey' and the larger print says 'solid bunny'. Is it just me, or did you too hear the sound of screeching brakes when I said 'white chocolatey'?

Spell check doesn't even recognize 'chocolatey' as a word, so how can it be edible?? Watch this....I'll type in 'haggis smothered in dog shit and Vegemite'. See? No problem with spell check!

So, what the hell do they mean when they say 'white chocolately'? I suppose first and foremost, it ain't chocolate.

So what is it?

I suspect it's a blend of ear wax, sugar, powdered capelin scales, and gypsum dust. You might have noticed that the packaging shows a street sign that says 'Carnaby' which I believe to be a contraction of the three words 'Carnauba wax, b'y'. I think this product may have been made in Newfoundland. This comes as no surprise given that people in this province put buttered corn flakes on top of their dinner entrees.

Umm....question. Why isn't the white chocolatey bunny 'crispy' like the brown milk one?

Good question. What the hell is going on with white chocolate in today's world? Why are 'they' always trying to scam the white chocolate aficionados? Would you, my faithful readership of three and a half, like to help me with my research? Next time you're in Shoppers Drug Mart buying your insulin, take a look at the white 'chocolate' bunnies. Do they say 'chocolate' on the packaging? I'll bet they don't.