An invention That Could Only Be Canadian

Few things here in Canada evoke emotions and stir feelings of patriotic fervour like the king of all things Canadian: hockey.

Find yourself alone in a que, strike up a conversation about hockey and find that everyone around you has something to contribute. It's not a sport or even a mere past time. Think religion.

One short stop to the local Canadian Tire (Genre akin to target stores on testosterone vs mom&pop automotive.) Stroll thru household goods, end of season garden goods, and the hunting-fishing gear area you'll find yourself within a pond sized area of pucks.

Sticks of all sizes and cost, of course skates. No wimpy double runners here. Hockey skates come in tiny baby sized booties. These mini-skates look like something found upon the foot of most sweet smelling infants...then add a sharp blade. Now we can differentiate the true Canadians from the wanna bees.. and once those tiny toddler feet have met the ice most parents must figure why teach them to walk when you can teach them to skate first. After all, they have no teeth to knock out (that comes later on, like third grade team hockey.)

It was said that the fabled Pele was given a soccer ball before he could crawl. Bobby Orr perhaps teethed upon a rubbery puck.. This hockey religious experience; It's like nothing I have ever experienced. Is this a myopically singular fervor in most circles within the latitude of Ontario?
Ive been told it's a country wide phenomena that stretches for nine months out of the year.

Rant and Roll

Okay it's time for a rant. Simple things always seem to be the things that turn into colossal sized pain-in-the-ass issues. Purchasing milk. As mundane as that seems I wanna know what's up with the milk in the bag routine which by the way Canada- no one else does, anywhere. There is no economy of scale buying the gallon or Liter of Leache here in Canada. Trying to pour it into my morning coffee is also a disaster in the making, Pouring it into a pitcher, forget it... This thing called a jug, it works really well.

This needs to change. Can't Canadians embrace the gallon jug or carton?? I just can't wrap my head around this one. Also can't imagine I am the only one ranting about this.

Why no wi-fi? The elusive signal is leaving me longing for stateside bandwidth. Oh little town of MountainView how do I miss you (never thought I would ever find myself saying that.) Google has given the gift of bandwidth to the minions of Mt.View..lucky bastards. Toronto Mayor David Miller- are you listening? Mostly no...But then again that's why Mayor Miller has a current popularity vote of just 29% tolerating him. Tolerating in Canadian terms is about as close as you're gonna get to hate.

My last rant involves the Toronto Film Festival, which begins today. Why the kid gloves surrounding the potential treatment, care and feeding of the stars as they flock to our fair city for the next ten daze of films, fun, and fashionable celeb spotting. The media has had such a ohh-woes-me, I hope the weather stays lovely for the stars. My guess is that anyone from the west coast is just happy to breath air they don't have to see, or worry about the Prius catching fire as the 49% containment of the fires burning could change as soon as the Santa Ana winds kick in again and potential torch L.A.

Honey moon over I suppose. It was sweet while it lasted. Now I can go back to being my mouthy, opinionated self. Sigh of relief....

The Major News Story

I can't remember the last time I experienced a local event that received as much media attention as the first day of school opening in Toronto. Yesterday morning the local radio shows all made chit chat of first day of school jitters that ranged from traffic to packed lunches to the weather. For a city the size of T.O. to be solely focusedc upon this seemingly mundane (for most) issue struck me as a nostalgic throw back from the stone age. Im not slamming the media mind you, it's more of a deer -in-the-headlights moment to digest the information that here in Canada things like school are taken quite seriously.

What a concept! The glaring difference of course is that stateside, so many schools start at so many different times. Parocial, private, prep, and of course public..then the off the grid home schoolers who thumb thier noses at the establishment and sharper pencils to the beat of thier own drum. It really would'nt even be possible to give news coverage. But culturally, Americans at least in larger markets like the Bay Area of San Francisco have such bigger issues that the idea of kids returning to school gets lost in the flow of day to day minutia. Not a judgement call mind you more of a wow- that's interesting in a 1950's wholesome way.

The more I learn about how things work here in Canada the more I respect and admire the knack that Canadians seem to have for celebrating the mundane, the simple pleasures of everyday life. American culture would benefit from such a calming introspective moment, but of course Americans would need to put down the cell phone, grande latte and car keys long enough to enjoy the moment. That would be a tall order.

The Blue Angels, Library Cards and Brunch Oh MY!

Yes, I know how to roll. Being the big swingin'dick in the world of reading, I'm finding it a bit pricy purchasing books weekly. Ive found a new found crush of sorts with the Stanza iphone app, but sometimes (really most times, except on the subway) nothing beats the experience of holding a book. Purist tendencies run deep.
Suppose it comes from an amalgam of senses: the heady mix of content, font, and binding of the book that makes it tough for me to abandon the source of story in its true form. Smell too. I love that crisp paper and ink waft that ensconces page after page. The other sought after attribute, being the book knob that I am... the autographed book. It's tough to have a first edition with a signature when it lives within my itunes folder Stanza account.

The new Sony reader looks and feels like a thin video game. Highly configurable and convenient to tuck into ones' bag, this e-reader by Sony is a nifty gadget, but it's just that...a gadget. The anti technology route? The library. Yes, the library isn't just for blue haired ladies and pedophiles lurking in the teen fiction isles. This is where those of us who burn through best sellers, new fiction work and biographies from the New York Book Review hang out awaiting the next shipment of delicious literature to chew up and spit out. Small city apartments are no match. Welcome the library card.

Except when you are not feeling very welcomed to the neighborhood branch in your new 'hood.
Glad to be as thick skinned as I am. It may have been easier to obtain a Platnium Amex card.

After triple-dog daring the woman behind the library reception desk to a game of "who knows more authors" (I was sadly rebuffed. Bitch.) Where's the love? I was handed a library card as if it was some sacred artifact for humanity's salvation. The saving grace? Today represents the last hurrah of summer with the Blue Angels blasting overhead.. It's time for brunch and a big ole bloody mary.

Good 2 B Home

Just as I was finding my groove here in Toronto, I was called back to California on a family emergency. Maybe it's the mental helmet we all wear that sets our thoughts on a certain track or perhaps the environment in which we happen to find ourselves molds and shapes us to become a chameleon of our surroundings.

Why the weird lizard metaphor you might wonder?

It's shocking for me to say, but my short (so far) stint here in Canada has rubbed off on me. I like to think of Toronto as a big gummie eraser that has softened some of the sharp edges on my nerve-end-blunt personality. This softening was brought into a sharp focus the moment I stepped off the airplane in San Diego. Nothing signifies the American lifestyle quite like the cellphone-airline- wait in line patience(or lack there of ) experience of the airport stateside .

Putting my toes in the Pacific ocean made me momentarily miss all things American, until I returned to board my return flight to Toronto. The airport and it's throng of short fused passengers seems to highlight every cliche about the overweight, tennis shoe wearing, Starbucks coffee swilling American traveler. My jet lagged brain is happy to be dining on the Quay, back in my harbourfront neighborhood (which happens to be my home.) Toronto offers the best of both worlds-a civilized big city with a large body of water. Sure it's not the Pacific, but where else can I enjoy such an amazingly global vibe where the only Americans I spy are tourists. You know the ones: sporting tennis shoes, flabby tummies and grande sized paper cups of Starbucks... Nice to be home.

Smart is the new Sexy

I am smitten. It's not an old school crush reignited. Not a facebook flashback from the past. No this new crush is the one I have on the local newspaper, The Toronto Star.
Before you yawn and go back to your facebook page, you owe it to yourself to pay attention to the amazing piece of journalism by Linda Diebel from the Saturday edition Toronto Star. For you politicos out there, this is a well researched and opinionated piece. Decent investigatory writing seems to be a lost art, or so I thought. An amazing story is unfolding about the handful of Canadians stranded around the globe as the government looks the other way, which is abhorrent. The article can be found here.

The impetus for these recent stories of wayward travelers: Suaad Hagi Mohamud. The good news is she's back home in Toronto after her three month ordeal of being called an impostor. Left to twist in the wind by the Canadian government because her lips looked different from her four year old photo in the passport she held. Note to self: No Juviederm before traveling internationally.

Newby that I am to the area, I can't help but be impressed with the story bylines of the recent weeks dealing with the position that Ms. Mohamud found herself . Impressed that the art of journalism still exists in the old school world of newspaper. The Toronto stars' unparalleled coverage of this amazing saga deserves an applause.
Brava Ms. Diebel. It would be lovely to see you awarded a Pulitzer for your work, or maybe the Canadian equivalent.....the National
Newspaper Awards. Certainly not as glamorous, but better than no recognition.

Can't Cha Smell That Smell?

Life in a high rise apartment building has it's good points, but also it's fair share of not so nice.

Like most of the posh buildings in downtown Toronto, we have the doorman wearing a suit, who smiles sweetly in the morning as he opens the door and bids you Adue. It's like having a surrogate parent wishing you well as you start your day.

The not soo nice? Weirdly enough, there's the seemingly year old Christmas wreath still hanging on the front door of #3406, now August the tired greenery smells like a cross between mildewy socks and a catbox. Then there's the boozey breathed guy on the 18 floor that always has the elevator smelling like a bottle of Tanqueray by the time I step in around 9:00 a.m. I have thought about suggesting he add a little milk to the morning gin & cheerio mix but haven't mustered the courage just yet. The elevator is a small paragraph of sociological intrigue all it's own. Elevator etiquette here in Canada differs greatly than say what I experienced while residing in Chicago. My building on ritzy Lake Shore Drive was home to the media elite (many of us worked at WLUP radio, CBS.) A handful of rockstars including Cheap Trick lead singer and guitarist Robin Zander also lived in the building. Elevator protocol was always to be too cool for school and not talk to anyone vs. today where anyone talks to anyone when the elevator doors open. Decidedly Canadian I suppose. It's sweet but I wonder how that's going to work once the H1N1 virus take hold this winter...hopefully mums the word.

I holdout hope however that the Christmas fans in #3406 replace that god awful wreath when the holiday season rolls around soon.