Risks

Rosa Parks died earlier this week. She was 92. With one action, one woman effectively changed a whole country and you know, if you want to be grande about it, she changed humanity. And I do want to be grande about it.

Thinking about Rosa Parks and her common, everyday bravery reminded me of one of my favourite television moments of all time. Last year, some public schools in Toronto observed Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday. While MLK Day is an American holiday, he really is a hero of the whole world. It goes back to what I was saying about humanity.

Anyway, some perky blonde reporter asked a thoughtful looking fourth grader if he wanted to be like Martin Luther King Jr. when he grew up. The kid paused, thought, blinked, twisted his mouth tight and then shook his head violently.

"Too Risky" he said.

Thank you Rosa Parks, for taking that risk.

zzzzzzzzzz

There are going to be lots of sleepy ball fans the world-over today. I know why that game went 14 innings last night too. Don't think I don't. It's cause I fell asleep in the 13th!

Geoff Blum homered in his first World Series at-bat to break a tie in the 14th inning of the longest game in Series history, moving the Sox one win away from their first World Series title since 1917.

"Go Sox" I say, less than passionately, sort of meaning it, I suppose...um...sure..."Go Sox".

Photo Series: My Toronto

Part One: The Distillery District

This entry on 'ol Bloggy McBloggerson marks the first in a photo series called "My Toronto" or "I really should use that digital camera for more than taking cute pictures of the cats". There are so many amazing architectural spaces in our great city (not as many as their could be, but I think we're working on that) that make living here special. The Distillery is one of my favourites.

Founded in 1832 by brothers-in-law William Gooderham and James Worts, the Gooderham and Worts Distillery eventually became the largest distillery in the British Empire. Set on 13 acres in downtown Toronto, the forty plus buildings constitute the largest and best preserved collection of Victorian Industrial Architecture in North America.

The Distillery is now a pedestrian-only village entirely dedicated to arts, culture and entertainment. Internationally acclaimed galleries, artists' studios and workshops, restaurants, bars and cafes, as well as live music, all form part of this new landmark cultural centre. The Distillery, preserved as it is, has been the location for over 800 film and television productions in the past decade, including Chicago and The Hurricane.

I've experienced the Distillery a few different ways and it's always enjoyable to spend time there whether you are at a fancy art opening with your boss from CSIS, grabbing coffee on a Saturday morning at Balzac's with Zee Noixy, taking in the Jazz fest with your Robeau or the shops with your mom. My favourite way to spend time at the Distillery is quietly and alone on a weeknight and in the Autumn. There is something about the gloom of an early evening in October that suits the place and its history completely. I took these pictures last night in an attempt to capture the mood of one of my favourite Toronto places.

What? Me? A Winner?

I love award shows. I admit it. I want to see who wears what, who sits with who (err...whom?) and how people react when they lose...and when they win. I enjoy the sappy acceptance speeches and the self congratulatory hoo haw. I can't help it. Don't try to reform me, it isn't going to happen.

There was a picture in the paper this morning of Harold Pinter, outside his home, looking somewhat surprised to be photographed after it was announced that he had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The article was annoying because it made pains to discuss that Margaret Atwood or Alice Monroe should or could someday win a Nobel. Oh Canada, I'll tell you this right now, if Margaret Atwood ever wins a Nobel Prize for Literature I will eat this blog. I will! I will pick it up, put salt on it and EAT MY OWN BLOG. Don't think I won't. Sure, it'll give me indigestion but what the hell, I'll be sick to my stomach anyway...Margaret Atwood just won a Nobel Prize for Literature!

I digress.

The thing is, this photograph of the noble Nobel Prize winner, standing outside his home was as manufactured as all the starlets on all the red carpets in all the Jimmy Choo shoes in all of Hollywood. Everything on Pinter was just *so*. His orthopedic shoes, his corduroy pants, his cap that said "I am an old man...but I am a rebel". It's all show business. And don’t think that this makes Pinter any less of a genius. In my humble opinion, if he is smart enough to play the image game and still write the way he does, with such biting clarity and reality, hell, give him the prize every year.

(beat)
(beat)

(beat)

That third (beat) was for you HAL! (congrats!)

And you can bet that every single year, he'll still be "surprised" to see the photographers outside his door.

Can you even imagine being the same height as a golden retriever?

Wanted to share this great photo that the Robeau took of our friend Liam who was visiting Toronto from his home in Ottawa last weekend. This is him making new friends outside Starbucks. It was great to see him AND his folks, if ever so swiftly!

A Melancholy Weekend for this Ball Fan

Ugh. Ack. Sigh! My poor boys lost the Division Series in five games. They had heart, they had grit, they had character. What they didn't have was a whole lot of pitching...or the right breaks, and they fell short. Probable American League MVP Alex Rodriguez will get blamed by a lot of loud mouths who are concerned with how the Boss spends his money. Think anyone is going to be harder on him then he will be himself? "I played great baseball all year, but I played like a dog the last five days. At the end of the day, you win or lose as a team, but I didn't show up." He stood up and took the blame square on his own shoulders, fighting back tears. In this game where millions of dollars gets thrown around every day, that kind of leadership is worth a few in my book. ARod will get his ring eventually, just not this year. It's going to be a tough winter for a lot of guys. Will we see Bernie Williams again? Leiter? Even Mr. Torre? It's impossible to say. This would be one hell of a disappointing way to end an era.

The truly sad news is that Tom Cheek, longtime radio voice of the Toronto Blue Jays finally succumbed to the brain cancer he'd been fighting for the last year. Tom broadcast over 4,500 games including 4,306 consecutive regular season games (and an additional 41 postseason contests) from the first game in team history on April 7, 1977 through June 3, 2004. I feel like I watched half of those games on the radio. Yes, watched. Back in the day, over 20 years ago, very few ball games were broadcast on television. If you were going to follow a team, you had to listen to the radio. My Father had a radio that was a replica of an old 1940's model and I used to sit and stare at the radio, listening to Tom call the games. And I wonder why I sometimes feel like I belong in another era? Tom was a constant, comforting voice and probably taught me more about the game than anyone. That old radio doesn't work anymore. While it may be a shell of its former self, it sits in my home to this day and reminds me of all those summer nights long ago, watching baseball games on the radio with Tom Cheek.

This year Tom was named as one of ten finalists for the Ford C. Frick Award, recognizing baseball broadcasting excellence and carrying with it induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. You can bet he's headed for Cooperstown - a well deserved tribute indeed.

For more on Tom's life and career visit

Tribute to Tom

Tom Cheek. He will be missed.

Jon Stewart: I Think Winnipeg Knows

After a scrumptious meal at the new Savoy restaurant on Victoria Street Friday evening (what makes the béarnaise sauce so irresistible? DUCK FAT!) the lovely Mark and Chelsea surprised the Robeau and I with a belated gift for the Robeau's birthday - tickets to Jon Stewart's stand up show at Massey Hall.

How I managed to get a gift for his birthday I'm not sure. Is this what happens when you're part of a couple? You get presents on your S.O.'s birthday too? Could that be true? Had I known this all along I would have settled down a lot earlier!

The filled to capacity crowd was an eclectic one, and part of me couldn't help but imagine everyone from the college kids in the balcony to the business men in the front row curled up in their jammies every night before bed watching Jon Stewart's particular take on today's current events. If I favour yoga pants, fluffy slippers and Starbucks tazo mint tea how does everyone else watch The Daily Show?

Something about Jon Stewart: he makes everyone feel like the smartest guy in the room. It's like you're clever and smart by association. It's similar to the phenomenon of Dennis Miller and Bill Maher - just "getting" the references makes you intelligent. Of course just knowing what "Quinn Martin" means gets you half way there with Miller, but I digress.

I've been a fan of Stewart's since his MTV days when New York Magazine dubbed him "The Man Who Should Be Conan" and he was still trying to have a movie career. Dare I say that I'm not the only girl out there who found him dreamy in "Playing by Heart"?

Stewart's set began with the expected Bush bashing, some SARS jokes and the typical "Americans are ignorant" fodder. A favourite bit of mine are his thoughts on a gay marriage: Everyone was so upset about this, he thought it was "MANDATORY".

Gems that were new to me included a bit on the medical community's pre-occupation with curing E.D.: "We're hard, move on to cancer" and some thoughts on pop culture co-opting of black urban slang: "You might as well talk like a pirate."

He ended the night with an encore that drew humour from his home life: wife, baby and vomiting dog included. It was fun to see him do some non-political humour again - it's been years!

An over zealous frat boy type yelled out from the balcony "Mention us on your show," as Stewart prepared to take his final bow. "What should I say about you?" Stewart asks, amused. "Toronto rocks," he replied. Stewart retorted "that strikes me as a relatively insecure request. I think Winnipeg knows."



The Generous Duo - Mark and Chelsea, with the Robeau on his Faux Birthday

My New Favourite Thing

Attended a lovely cocktail reception at the ROM's glass room last night where they served champagne cocktails. Oh, champagne cocktails, where have you been all my life?!?


Champagne Cocktail

25ml Brandy
1 White sugar cube
Angostura Bitters
Champagne

Cover the sugar cube in Angostura bitters and place into a flute
Add the brandy and top with Champagne.

Enjoy so much that you feel you could now happily die.

Why I Love The New York Yankees

On paper I shouldn’t be a Yankee fan: too big a payroll, too consistent winner, I live in Toronto. But, when I was growing up in the 1980s the Yankees stunk. They had Donny Baseball and Righetti but other than those small bright lights, the glory days appeared far behind them. As distant a memory as the last time Phil Rizzouto made sense. As long gone as one of the Babe's homeruns. As stale as a 1970's issued Reggie Jackson candy bar. I started reading about their history, the greats like the Babe and Gehrig and DiMaggio, Mickey, Maris and on and on. I fell in love with the history. In 1993, when I took the pilgrimage to Yankee Stadium, well, I was hooked. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, there are no words...it was magic.

Then Joe Torre came along to lead us and he quietly and gracefully gave the Yankees a today, and a future. Everyone else hates us again and we have renewed pride. Yankee pride runs deep, but so does the hate we inspire in others. How else can you explain the chant "Yankees Suck!" rising from a Fenway Park crowd in Boston when they are playing say, the Toronto Blue Jays and the Yankees are halfway across the country playing another team? Sad, no? You never hear a Yankee Stadium crowd chant "Red Sox suck"...think on that for a while.

We now have a new group of heroes to cheer for, names some kid will read about in twenty years with awe. The Prince among men who would "give up his body for the play" that is Derek Jeter, a softy with a temper called Paul O'Neill, a sensitive outfielder/guitar player named Bernie Williams, the man that coined the phrase "grind it" the catcher, Jorge Posada, a man named Godzilla, a fallen hero who got a second chance called Jason and the amazing mythical man who could stop anything in his path, a man named only Mo.

This year the Yankees have struggled. The Boss spent a boat load of money on big name pitchers -- most of whom have either gotten hurt or failed even when healthy. Which gets me to why I really love the Yankees. Because when the Yankees do pull it together, often times it’s the lesser known players who are the heroes. Guys most baseball fans have never heard of hit game winning home runs. Pitchers scraped from the ruins of other teams look like Cy Young.

Hate the Yankees, go ahead. But even on the Yankees, the little guys make a big difference. I can't wait to see what the Robinson Cano's and Aaron Small's are going to do in pinstripes this post season. I get chills just thinking about it. And the ghosts will be there with them. Just like our Captain, Mr. Jeter says, "the ghosts always show up eventually".

Go Yankees.

Go.