I better get me them Cha Cha heels or there’ll be hell to pay!
Category Archives: Personal Bits
Bikey!
A horrid incident between a bike courier and the ex-Attorney General Monday evening which led to one man dead, the other disgraced. This whole story is sounding like two strong willed people, “colliding” as it were, by chance and as usual, the car “won” (if you can call a man dying in the streets a win).
I find it weird that comes within 24 hours of my decision to start biking to work. Don’t worry: I’m not riding on major streets; keeping my distance from cars, parked or otherwise; and wearing a helmet so chances are I’ll be ok if I keep my head up and eyes on the road.
When I say I’m biking to work it’s not entirely what it seems. Between home and office there is a massive ravine and a monster hill that would render me drenched in sweat if I were to attempt it. So I bike 2/3rds the way, about 30 min tops, to a secluded station and subway ride the rest of the way. The ride home is virtually all down hill so it’s not such a struggle to get home, post-work.
“Epic Fail,” I hear you shout.
At least I’m out there, I respond. I think 30 min of bike riding is a lot better than the 25 min walk to the subway every morning.
I’m still trying to find a good “stride” to the whole commuting thing – like strapping my helmet jauntily to my hip when I ride the subway or how to juggle that bike seat with my Starbucks morning tea. Who knows? If I get energetic enough, I may wind up conquering that hill in the next month or two.
Buddies In Bad Blurbs
Walking by Buddies In Bad Times Theatre the other night, SharkBoy and I pause by their season calendar of new works to take a look at what’s coming. There are some interesting things on deck, like Nina Arsenault’s The Silicone Diaries. I followed her stories when I use to read “fab” magazine (the only interesting columnist they every had) and this seems like a logical extension of her life.
Scanning more, I came across this blurb for Sky Gilbert’s next play:
I guess you’ve arrived if theatre promoters are dropping your play name like gushing fanboys standing in front of Leonard Nimoy (without paying the $50 autograph fee).*
* Yeah you know where I’ll be tomorrow.
Get Mikey To Do It
I step out of the shower while SharkBoy is digging into his ears with a Q-tip. I daintily close the shower curtain and smile.
“So we don’t have to look at the grime on the floor of the tub?” He asks.
True, our cleaning has been lax this week in a non-air conditioned apartment and the temperature rising well over 29C, but it will get done some time.
“I keep forgetting you were raised in a family with only one other sibling,” I say, with a sigh and a condescending tone that suggest he missed so much without a gaggle of Italian/Irish kids running around a home. “At our house, the parents had 5 kids to target for cleaning chores. The beauty of so many brother (and sister) is that there was always someone else to clean up. Sure Mom and Dad might get you to do some menial cleaning but if you knew how to avoid being in the parent’s chore sights, you could avoid cleaning for months.”
“Didn’t you mention you grew up with a maid?”
“…”
“I won’t be your maid,” SharkBoy says and makes a gun out of his forefinger and thumb. Ska-doosh!
Not All He’s Cracked Up To Be
My Dad wears hopeful shirts
Years ago my father and his lover use to get really drunk and then make plaster of Paris castings of tchotchkes for the boyfriend’s store. That’s a bit of an exaggeration but it’s fairly accurate to say that they would have a few good laughs pouring and selling plaster angels to the blue rinse crowd. Fast forward to the here and now, Dad has that boyfriend condemned to the past and physically incapable of drinking. The times oh they change. When I get the call from Dad I didn’t know it was going to unearth some of those memories:
“We have to clear my balcony.”
“Aren’t the renovations scheduled for summer 2010?”
“I want to get it done today.”
“The hottest day of the year?”
“Get over here.”
Renos on their way
SharkBoy and I grab our drills and make short work of the lattice, with few slivers and no poked out eyes. The plaster hearth comes apart in two pieces with one touch, like a suit jacket from Le Chateau and is disposed of deftly. It came time to shift the 4.5 ft tall David statue from his long time perch so we could clean up around him. Dad mused aloud about throwing him out.
Intact, but in tacky
Torn Hamstring
We stop. And laugh. Nervously at first, but then more at SharkBoy’s utter embarrassment and not the fact that a long time “family” member has just suffered a major trauma. It’s a sad funny moment that was wordlessly communicated between us, but for each, entirely different reasons.
I wonder how long until someone notices
The Hissing
The dental hygenist takes her minty tasting gloves out of my mouth.
Suddenly I shoot a thin line of saliva up onto the air, like an Annie Sprinkle art piece, but from my mouth.
“Wooo!” she says.
“I am the spitting cobra!” I say in a faux Asian accent.
My mouth gets filled with rubberized fingers again. She probably sees this a lot.
The Nuttalls – Blyth Festival
My brother opens a new play up at the Blyth Festival tomorrow entitled The Nuttals. I wish his legs would break! From TheRecord.com:
The play guaranteed to stir the pot this season is award-winning Canadian playwright Michael Healey’s The Nuttalls.
It’s a coup for Blyth to commission one of the country’s most celebrated playwrights who gave Canadian theatre The Drawer Boy.
“Michael has such an extraordinary brain,” Coates observes. “No two of his plays are alike.
“I was after him for several years to do something for us and he came across with an unexpected, knockout, drag-out comedy.”
Directed by Kate Lynch, the comedy focuses on a mother and her grown son who swim in a deep pool of domestic discord.
Coates expects some degree of pushback from the community because the comedy satirizes the war in Afghanistan.
“I don’t know if everyone is ready to go where Michael takes us.”
PS: I love how the Blyth website is covered in Chickens.
Introducing… Billy Dee Williams
We’ve noticed that George Hamilton has been a bit starved for attention lately. He’s been more vocal in the rising heat and we’ve been brushing him almost twice a day. Still he’s been a bit …sad?
George Hamilton Repose
We wandered the streets of Toronto today, avoiding the obvious parades and rib fests going on and took a look around The Human Society’s Civic Holiday Adoption Blitz.
Dick Tracy Wept
A car outside the Toronto Humane Society
After the first initial blast of too-many-cats-smell we wandered around the various rooms trying to judge which cat would make a good brother for George. Rows upon rows of manky kitties. We found a couple but there was always one deal breaker, ladies, that made us move on… diabetes, long haired, FIV+, ugly…
Freeeeedooooooom! ...and nuts!
Then there was Blakey. He stood up and nuzzled the gate silently. His green eyes shone. He purred.
SOLD!
We’d have to change his name in keeping with C-list actors, so Billy Dee it was. We brought Billy Dee Williams home and kept him in his cage a bit as George Hamilton sniffed around his box. The guide books said to keep them apart for a week in separate rooms and litters. A week? Really? That lasted all of 15 min and Billy Dee Williams wanted out to explore. George Hamilton doesn’t seem impressed. But they can be in the same room together at this point…
The Meeting Of Pussy
However it seems Billy Dee Williams keeps on trying to make friends and George Hamilton starts to growl and hiss when he gets within 7 feet of him. Time will heal all wounds.
Who Watches Your Birthday?
Woke to this early morning B-day gift from the best husband ever! Despite the lack of cash, he managed to sell a kidney and get me it (shouldn’t have!). I’m thinking a disc box of Dr Manhattan’s Blue Peter would have been cooler.
PS: this morning, walking back from our trek to a city appointed park garbage dump, SharkBoy pet a cat and it threw up. That is all.
Time Masheen!
A year ago today: I was laughing at Phronk and rehasing his joke, with little success.
Two years ago today(ish): I reminisce about clunky “electronic” toys that get caught in the carpet.
Three years ago today(ish): Shelly chimes in with her review of “A Devil Wears Prada”.
Four years ago today: I recall one of Toronto’s dirtiest little fashion secret: Buy The Pound
Five years ago today(ish, the database is corrupt pre-2005): I speak of curious updates that will probably bore. I miss Defcon Radio.