Truth

Yee Haw?

I couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on today at noon on Front Street. I took an early lunch and was taking the opportunity for a nice bracing walk in the sunny, crisp winter weather. A crowd of folks in cardboard cowboy hats lined the streets. There was a lot of back slapping and one, I am not lying to you, "Yee Haw!" piercing the air. Suddenly a bad blues cover band started warbling "Sweet Home Chicago". And then I saw it. A free Calgary Stampede style pancake breakfast right in front of the CBC broadcast centre. I guess this is Grey Cup weekend. Boy, am I ever out of my element.

Ever notice?

When you clean out your clothes closet it feels like you've just gone shopping?

Super Happy Terrific Golden FREAK OUT!

I told you about that time I got a blank fortune in my fortune cookie, right? It took several years, but I've just about gotten over it. Spent lots of time convincing myself it was not in fact cryptic, but that it just meant "possibilities". Whatever.

We went for Chinese on Sunday night in Collingwood. My fortune read "BRACE YOURSELF FOR THE TRUTH".

Why does China hate me?

Heading for points North.

Well, Bloggy McBloggerson, I'll be dropping the NaBloPoMo ball tomorrow as the Robeau and I, spontaneous mofos that we are, have decided to go back to Collingwood this weekend. Dig me, as I breath a deep sigh of relief! There will be no internet access on those quiet 10 acres but I'll be back Monday.

I've got some good news and some bad news: Opening Night Edition

To file under S for Shocking:
My cute new sky blue, patent, quilted, peep toe heels were COMFORTABLE! Shout it from the rooftops! The impossible can happen!

To file under S for Stupid. So, so, STUPID:
When you ask the pharmacist "can I drink alcohol while I'm on this freaky strong antibiotic?" and he says, "yes, no dairy or vitamins for two hours before or after you take it, but alcohol will be fine" DON'T BELIEVE HIM. After having a few cocktails at the post show party last night (at a swanky new nightclub) I was the picture of a lapsed AA member. I don't even want to go into the details. It's too awful. Normally it takes the equivalent of a horse tranquilizer to get me so much as tipsy. And when I have gotten soused it was on purpose. Last night I was blindsided. Essentially, I RUFIED MYSELF. The Robeau, for the record, was and continues to be, a complete champ. Never again, people. My career as a debaucherous partygoer is officially OVAH!

At least my feet were comfortable.

Oh, please don't let me be speaking too soon!

My tonsils heart Avelox.

That is all.

I've got some good news and some bad news...

To file under C for crap:
The tonsils. They are not behaving. Off to the clinic this morning. Will they let me keep them? Also, how do they know we have a big opening this week at work? Cause they must. Big opening = Me sick. I shake my fist at you Tonsils! Can you see that?!?!

To file under P for persistent:
Scotia Bank. After all that drama I spoke to many a customer service representative without losing my shit. Two points for me. To their credit nobody ever told me I was wrong, or upset for no reason. They did their homework and discovered that somebody at my branch tried to call me to let me know about the hold on my account except they called my home number, during business hours, did not leave a message and only called the once. Unacceptable! Much to my shock, all of the heartfelt apologies from banker types actually meant something to me. A much more meaningful gesture is the $100 American Express gift card they're sending me.

The squeaky wheel, she likes the grease.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Jazz Casual

I've been reading, along with every holiday themed decorating / cooking magazine I can get my hands on, Ben Ratliff's new book on Coltrane. It's really good read so far. Reading it made me want to watch one of my favourite clips from Ralph Gleason's Jazz Casual of Coltrane (with McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones) playing Alabama in 1963. Thought you should see it too.

I couldn't be more disgusted with myself.

I am going through a flavoured coffee renaissance. Bring me your Irish Cream, your Vanilla, your Hazelnut and your Butterscotch. I want it all.

About Last Night: Mark's B-day Edition

What can I possibly say about Mark's big 35th birthday bash at El Sol that a dozen or so silly pictures can't say better? That we all had a blast? That the B-day Boy is well loved? That girly drinks makes him a bad ass?



See it here.

A Gentle Reminder:

Bankers, Lawyers, Cable Companies, Phone Companies, Internet Providers, Doctors, Dentists and Candle Stick Makers...they work for YOU. That's right my friends. You are the boss of them. This is something I think I just realized today.

“This taught me a lesson, but I'm not quite sure what it is.” - John McEnroe

Conan O'brien is being harrassed by a Catholic Priest. Which should come as not surprise given his youthful appearance. That said, the funniest part about this story is that the stalker / man of god also appears to have issues with McEnroe! He calls him his "childhood nemesis"!!! Go on, read all about it. I'll wait for you:

Cops: Boston reverend harassed NBC talk show host for 14 months

NOVEMBER 8–A Boston Catholic priest was arrested last week for stalking Conan O’Brien over a 14-month-period. According to New York police, Rev. David Ajemian, 46, was nabbed November 2 outside the NBC studios in Rockefeller Center as he tried to enter the building for a taping of O’Brien’s late-night talk show. A criminal complaint filed against Ajemian charges that the priest sent O’Brien threatening notes written on his parish’s letterhead and contacted the parents of the 44-year-old comedian, who grew up in Brookline, a Boston suburb. In his notes to O’Brien, Ajemian allegedly referred to himself as “your priest stalker,” and when he was denied entry to a taping, Ajemian wrote, “Is this the way you treat your most dangerous fans?” In his bizarre letters, Ajemian refers to John McEnroe as his “childhood nemesis,” claiming that the tennis star once assaulted him while they were seventh grade classmates at a Manhattan private school. Ajemian added that he “once went after” McEnroe and was “still waiting for his confession as well.” Ajemian, who is facing aggravated stalking and harassment counts, allegedly began contacting O’Brien last September. He is currently being held on Rikers Island and, if convicted, faces up to a year in jail.

Now, I know this isn't really funny (stalking catholics are frightening), but the thing is, everytime I think of McEnroe I remember the time Noix used him as an verbjective. As in: "I'd better eat something or my blood sugar is going to get low and I'll get all McEnroe". Besides, can you even IMAGINE what McEnroe would have been like in 7th grade? Whooping somebody's ass? I bet he let his racket do the talking, allright. That's a sitcom waiting to happen right there!

Times is hard...times is hard...

Went to the opening night of Sweeney Todd at the Princess of Wales Theatre tonight with Mo and the Robeau. Run, don't walk, friends. It's the touring version of John Doyle's bold re-imagining of the Sondheim masterpiece - a "chamber production" where the actors all accompany themselves on instruments. The legendary Judy Kaye is a pitch perfect Mrs. Lovett and David Garry (filling in for Michael Hess) is too strong to be mistaken for anyone's understudy. Chilling. Amazing. If you have the opportunity to check this out, do it. I might add, a very clever person decided to serve Bloody Marys and meat pies at the after party. Don't you love it?

And now, because this show defies description, check out a clip from the Tony Awards with the Broadway cast of the revival:

My nose is pressed firmly to the glass.

Remember when you were a kid and the Christmas window at the big department store downtown was a huge deal? Or if that wasn't your experience, at least remember that scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphie and Randy have their noses pressed up against the glass, marvelling at all the wonders? That movie was shot in Toronto. Those windows are from the old Simpson's Department Store on Yonge Street (now The Bay). I might be romanticizing this some, but those windows were a big part of the holidays when I was a kid. Fake snow. Model trains ("thank god for model trains"). Teddy Bears piled to the ceiling. They're not really anything to look at anymore, and that's a shame. Part of it is the fact that I'm grown, I'm sure, but the reality is those windows just aren't what they used to be.

This afternoon I read in the paper that Holt Renfrew, the upscale department store in Yorkville was going to be unveiling their Holiday windows tonight. And to kick off the festivities? A free 30 minute concert, right there on the street, from (drumroll) Aretha Franklin! It's things like this that remind me of why I love living in the big city so much. "Let's see...what should I do after work tonight? I could do pretty much ANYTHING, but I think I'll saunter that-a way and catch The Queen of Soul performing on the SIDEWALK. Yeah. And maybe I'll grab a Starbucks too."


More pictures of Aretha Franklin Live on Bloor Street.

The crowd was a mix of Holt Renfrew upscale VIP types, curiosity seekers and really, really excited gay guys. Oh, how I love the excitable gay. You put an excitable gay in the vicinity of a Diva the stature of Miss Aretha Franklin and there's going to be some breathless sighing, some hand waving and some "Giiiiiirlllll! We LOVE you GIIIIIRRRRLLLLL!" going on. I love it.

I'm going to admit it, I fell in love with this one guy. Let's call him "Superfan". You know who you are, Superfan, if you're out there, look me up. You're fabulous.

Anyway, Aretha was in fine form, belting out her hits like R-E-S-P-E-C-T and Natural Woman much to the crowd's delight. She also played a new song from her upcoming Spring release, an original tune, that she played piano on. Very nice. Very nice indeed. Aretha strikes me as the type that would, all things considered, rather be home, watching her stories, eating some mac and cheese. And hey, I identify, believe me. I can't imagine what they must have paid her for this appearance. Seriously.

At the end of her thirty minute set, they dropped the red velvet curtains to reveal the Holiday windows and people, I couldn't have been more excited. I wasn't expecting much. Hell, I wasn't expecting anything really. What I saw tonight in the windows of Holt Renfrew brought me the kind of joy I remember Christmas windows bringing me when I was a kid. Only this time it was fake snow, elegant ornaments and designer fashions. The vibe is very mid century and the set pieces are all white, oversized and wildly glamourous. The colour, and there is lots of it, comes from the clothes and the accessories. Divine. I felt like I had walked smack in the middle of Kay Thompson's world. As I'm sure you can imagine, that's a world I'm terribly fond of. Feast your eyes on this.

This entire evening, which included the first really perfect cold weather of the season, a free candy cane and a caramel apple cider on the way home was what I can only describe as "so New York". It was almost like we had our own little version of the Rockefeller Center tree lighting. It's well documented that I'm a sucker for the holiday season and tonight, I jumped in with both feet. In early November. I know, I know, it's all about consumerism and blah, blah, blah, but the thing is...twinkly lights, fake snow and phoney good will make me wildly happy. The next few weeks are going to be all about absorbing the atmosphere. The first week in December is going to be all about the holiday tunes. The countdown is on! My nose is firmly pressed up against the window.

Like Randy Newman Says...

I LOVE L.A.



Or at least I'm going to learn to, for his sake. Hell, they were Brooklyn's team once.

Resorative

Reading about Aaron Sorkin's new play has the same effect on me as taking a long bubble bath.

There are reasons that I want to keep all my money in a shoebox under my bed.

So it's S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night (!) and I'm at home, getting things ready to install my photo exhibit tomorrow and drinking a glass of wine to try and help me calm down from the events of the afternoon.

Close to 4:30pm the Robeau dropped me off at Staples on his way out of town for a gig so that I could get some things I needed for the install tomorrow. I took about 30 minutes walking around picking stuff up and when I went to cash out I realized that I had left my debit card in the pocket of the coat I wore when we went to the drive in last night to see American Gangster. I know. We went to the drive in. In November. How cool are we? American Gangster was really enjoyable, by the way, and I want to go on record here as INSISTING that Ruby Dee get a Best Supporting Actress nomination. But I digress. I had no way to pay for my goods and no way to pay for transit home. I was stranded (not at the drive in, natch).

In a panic, I called the Robeau simply to vent about the fact that I'd have to go home on foot and would probably end up not being able to get back to the store before they closed. He, in is calm headedness, suggested that I take a cab home, ask the driver to wait, grab my debit card, stop at a bank machine, go back to Staples and then head home any damn way I please, with my stuff. Seemed like a plan, and it was only going to be an extra $20. Frankly, at this point, $20 seemed like a bargain for the peace of mind I would have for getting all of this stuff done by 6pm. And it all worked out until the "stop at a bank machine part". Now, while I may not be Miss Money Bags I have a fairly healthy balance in my chequing account at the moment and for some reason Mr. ATM wouldn't let me access ANY of it. No way. No How. No money.

Now I am in a STATE. Forget the fact that I won't be able to follow through on the plan and get the things I need for the install, I owe this cabbie $12 and I have no way to pay him. The debit card was my only recourse. No cash. No credit. And at this point, no brain in my head. I dial the Robeau again and proceed to freak out. I hand the cabbie my cell phone and half wimper something about "take his credit card number...I have no money..." Turns out this isn't going to work either, because unless he can swipe the card, well, it ain't gonna work. I think the look in my eye freaked the cabbie out. "Don't worry, Miss, I'll come to your house sometime and get the money..." and now I'm all grateful and sobby and walking backwards away from the car. He wants to drive me home the six blocks but I'd rather walk the street angrily crying to myself. This? This is the perfect time for a weird French Canadian dude carrying a bag of recycling and riding his bike to whizz past me and shout "Beautiful day, eh?" I don't want to talk to this guy, so I keep my head down and keep walking. Seems my refusal to acknowledge his declaration of this day as beautiful has upset him and he keeps trailing me, demanding to know why I do not find this day, this most beautiful of days, beautiful. Ever the lady, I tell him to take his recycling and go bug somebody else (I may have also called him a f&cktard). Leaving me alone, it turns out, wasn't an option for him and I kept getting an earful all the way home. Awesome.

So I get home and I call my bank right away. Turns out about a month ago I shopped at an establishment that was suspected with taking people's debit card numbers. They put a limit on how much money I could access at a time. You know, for my safety. Except NOBODY TOLD ME!!!!!!! Gee, Scotiabank, thanks for helping me out with that. WOULD A PHONE CALL HAVE KILLED YOU? I hate banks. I hate bankers. I hate that I can't keep all my money in a bra, in a sock or in a shoe box under my bed. Tell you what, Bloggy McBloggerson, heads are going to ROLL at Scotiabank on Monday. There's not enough Merlot in the world to keep me from going all Revengor on this one. Not enough Merlot in the world.

Gifted

I'm on the phone with Bookvixen. She, like most everyone I know, has been bitten by the Facebook bug. The weirdest part about Facebook is reconnecting with people you haven't seen since grade seven. "There's nothing quite like playing online scrabble with people you went to gifted with", she says. I can't imagine she's wrong.

Bring. It. On.

Read the details. Who's with me?

BOO!

Yes, Bernie got dressed up for Halloween. The awesome hat is courtesy of the Robeau's mom, MC (that's short for "Mother Clayton"). Best cat present ever. Hope you all had a spooky night!