Complacency: A Canadian Cultural Trait

After a month here in Canada, I have an opinion about the overall lack of initiative on the part of environmental groups. The recent strike could have -should have -would have been the catalyst for change. Except no groups stepped forward to seize the moment.
Excuses, excuses. These ranged from :not enough time to organize (37 days) to summer vacation.

The people who consider themselves "environmentalist" must have been up at the cottage. For those not familiar with the cottage concept, picture in your mind a season of three months and a crazed urgency people exhibit for getting away to visit the land of the black fly and mosquito. Seems like a lot of work to me, but then I am used to having a longer runway of nice weather to enjoy. Talk to me in the spring, and perhaps I will be singing a different tune. But really- each and every free moment of the so called summer season for many here in Canada is time spent lakeside.
It's much like the Tahoe phenomenon in California with a highly evolved myopic view of venue.

With the Canadian love of nature, and sustainability worn on the cuff of everyone who weathered this strike for the past month, a few observations came to mind. This could be considered a rant by Canadian terms, so avert your eyes as the following paragraph o' vitriol.

The media places the blame for environmental complacency to: summer vacation. Yes, here in Canada the environmentalist rabble rouses, pot stirrers and soap box fans all take a break from their pot stirring. Hard to believe, but the local press blames this summer vacation phenomenon for the lack of any activist messages aimed at enticing people to make smarter choices when shopping. Puchasing goods with less packaging, being a vocal forefront for changing consumer habits-but instead of seizing the opportunity to make politically charged socially important messages framed by a backdrop of garbage bags we got..... nada.

Sometimes marketing opportunities just don't get any better than the recent visual of football field sized waste holding areas, too bad none of the environmental groups here capitalized.

Complacency accompanied with a fine set of rationalization runs deep here. Of course I'm just a pushy American (suppose that's redundant too.) but at least I know an opportunity when I see one, and that too is very American .

Evoke change? There's always next time.

The Staycation

Sloth. Couch Potato. Slacker. Today it's an easy fit for any of the three adjectives. Despite the beautiful weather the most productive thing accomplished today: reading the paper. Weirdly enough the Sunday paper here in Canada is pretty thin. I suppose the assumption is that an August Sunday should be spent doing more arduous tasks than reading the paper.

The city is looking it's spit polished self again with the city municipal workers back on the clock. Garbage collection has taken place around the clock, along with ferry service to the Islands that loom just beyond a quick sail across the lake. Even that fabulous view couldn't unseat me today.

I've noticed the media and marketing wizards of the world have coined a term for this sort of no plan, rudderless agenda at least when it coincides with a three day holiday weekend: Staycation.

Unlike a vacation with posh hotel room service, and delicious over priced mini bar delights my staycation culinary highlight of the day was an online pizza order/delivery.

Yes, it is an oxymoron to actually post a blog about sloth like behavior, but hey- it's a cathartic reason of sharing my guilt of missing a beautiful day. Especially when beautiful days are considered a scarce commodity in this part of the world. Maybe a few evening hours left of sultry summer weather can tug me from my ivory tower life here in T.O

Cocktails & Croquet anyone?

Bless Me Father...

What does Snoop Dogg and the Pope have in common?

No it's not the fondness of wearing big bling or a cool lid. Weirdly enough, both his holyness and the hip hop rap rock star are represented by Geffen Records. Word is, the November release of Pope Benedict XVI's album entitled, "Alma Mater," will contain songs and prayers to the Virgin Mary. My first question is who did the market research for this one? Will itunes carry the cd, and when will the video be released.

I wish I could throw my hat in the ring for directing the creative for video produced. I envision a pussycat dolls meets his holiness dance video with lots of cleavage sporting large crucifix necklaces and super short parochial school tartan print skirts. Embellish with high heels (for the dolls, not his holyness.) Sex sells, even the Vatican must see that. Why else choose an American icon of entertainment as representation?

Radio stations typically receive swag or merchandise to giveaway when promoting new albums/cd's. This is a marketing persons' wet dream: worldwide exposure meets endless open ended promotional opportunities- pope in the pizza, holy water bubble wands. Then there's the tee shirts... Why do I need to write about this you ask? The sheer strangeness of Snoop dogg and the pope receiving record royalties from the same corporation, it's just too bad this isn't an April fools joke.

Dee-licious

The old saying of you don't know what you have till it's gone? Well I am here to say that the truth rings true in this cliche. My beloved Mini Cooper was sold a few months ago before exiting stage left from California. The California car culture is so tied to peoples' persona's that it's a cliche in and of itself. Of course a few of my favourite people on the planet don't even own vehicles, so I suppose cars and the charisma of automotive muscle is lost on some folks. Not me.

Enter stage right, Zipcar. The stateside phenomenon sweeping the urban set as an option to the unwanted burden of car ownership. Think time share. Think no-tell-motel by the hour set...yeah baby. This is the perfect mix of ease, accessibility and gas fumes all coalesced into a bit sized sampler box: Drive a Mini,(my ride of choice today) an Audi, a Honda... whatever wherever your little heart desires. Did I mention how easy? A credit card from the Zipcard folks unlocks the car. You simply walk up, swipe the card against the windshield. The car unlocks and the key is on a zipline next to the ignition. Adjust your mirrors, apply lipstick and most importantly turn the radio up really loud and off U go! (ipod aux- in available for those too groovy for radio.)

No fuss, no worry about door dings or even where to park.. Grow weary of the car? Drive something else next time around. It's like being single again. Variety IS the spice of life, and Zipcar is a lot like a fling: fun, fast, and on the fly....How can you not be smitten with the frivolity of that?

Did I mention that a gas credit card is included? Yes, cocktails are on the house (it is sort of like that..)

All in all it was great fun. I'm hooked. It's the best of all worlds. Next time you feel up for an afternoon of city driving angst or a quick hop to the beach look no further than Zipcar.

Now if they only offered a surf rack for my windsurf gear-

Drip Drop

Enough of this rain already.

The romantic notion of misty evening city walks washed down the rain gutter after the third downpour today. What's up? Where is the hot weather, since this is after all almost August... The meteorologist had this to say this morning "We have found summer and it's vacationing in the North." Yeah, and did it happen to mention that it might swing our way east?

I love the calm cool demeanor of the Canadian Culture. What I am not liking, at least at the moment is the lack of summer. Northern California has not really enjoyed a good soaking in a few years. I for one really missed this, as the smell and taste of the air is altered. The ozone and smog washed away and clear sky's beam as far as the eye. I suppose the grass really is greener right now this moment in time. Mean while I have windsurf gear collecting dust as I await the sultry summer season, wanting to be drinking Vino Verde on a beach blanket here along the water front.

Wishful thinking reins as we wait out the rain in Toronto. Maybe Cuba is balmy... I can get there from here. Hmmmm....

And For What........

A sigh of communal relief was breathed last night with the news that the strike here in Toronto may be ending this week. Friday will be the day of reckoning when the city council votes.

Well that was so civil. So Canadian. Civility IS the strong suit here, but don't mistake my poke as that is indeed worth a lot.
What makes me wanna pick a fight? Suppose it's the lack of a fight. The seeds of political discontent here in Canada seem planted almost hydroponically- no deep roots. Nothing to really dig your heels into here. The lack of political activism is weirdly missing in such an urbane environ. Did I mention how smiley Torontonians are?

Maybe you can't have it all, but how do things get accomplished if everyone sort of grits their teeth while sporting a smile and agrees affably? The last 33 days of stinky garbage piled to the sky with playgrounds closed (because playgrounds here have become the make-shift dumps.)
Good luck trying to read up on editorials- No really angry opp ed pieces in the paper. No sign of in-your-face opinions from either side. None. Snoore...............

Then just like that....snap snap.... big wordy battles ? Guess not. Never to materialize. No real newspaper coverage unless you count the small one column piece buried on page 4 yesterday, page 2 on Sunday. Apparently all concessions seemingly met (at least that's the early word on the street.)

Soo the question looms: why bother with 32 extra days of discontent? Wouldn't it have been easier to just let the union arm twist and the Mayor and his minions bend over. Posturing?
Not even. Political instincts non existent in Toronto, this is one mayor that will be a casualty of natural selection.

Nice.

The losers? The city of course. Taxpayers will pony up in the end to honor the sick days banked by municipal employees. Never mind that the numbers don't add up. The Mayor will be long gone but his lasting legacy will be the red slimy trail he leaves behind upon the city' spreadsheets, garden slug that he is.

Uggh. What a waste.

I know what your thinking? Why do you care so much, Ms.California transplant? My serious case of American ethnocentric political angst shining through like the sun.

Yep. Stir the pot. Maybe I can teach my Canadian neighbors a thing or two about activism, American style. I will, in turn practice good manners and tone down the rudeness.

Pinky promise.

J'Adore Contador

Who doesn't love the underdog? The final push of the Tour de France is spinning it's way through the streets of Paris. Ahh, the best bread and by far the best people watching. Cycling at the helm, that cutie pie Alberto Contador. What's not to love- a Spanish (Madrid) mad-dog on wheels. When word was out that the other stud muffin of yellow jersey fame would be sharing the spoke-light of team fame, why was the drama not dished as high as a paella pan full of arroz?
Lance Armstrong announced that he was returning to professional cycling with the express goal of participating in the 2009 Tour de France. Team Astana manager Johan Bruyneel, Armstrong's former mentor and sporting director, said that he could not allow Armstrong riding for another team and later signed him. The announcement by Armstrong clashed with the ambitions of Contador, who insisted he deserved the leadership of Astana, and hinted at the possibility of leaving the team if he was given a secondary role supporting Armstrong.Contador was later given assurances by Bruyneel that he would remain team leader and decided to remain at Astana for the 2009 season. Was this a mistake? Contador later claimed the situation on the team could be sorted out on the road. The yellow jersey never looked better than upon Contador.

I like that kind of drama-rama, especially from boys! Add expensive bicycles, media coverage non stop against the backdrop of the Pyrenees it's hard not to be the moth to the flame.

Can't get enough? Me neither... Toast a glass of Cava s'il vous plaît to the yellow Jersey-wearing drama clad madrileño who makes all of us proud rooting for the underdog.