Category: Me

Tory, zzzzz, ole!

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Would-be Ontario premier John Tory has (kind of) changed his mind on funding for faith-based schools. However, current premier Dalton McGuinty ain’t buyin’ it. Neither am I.

.:.

I thought I was over the jet lag but it’s only 9:48 and I’m barely awake. Then again, it could have something to do with all the corporate finance I just read. That shit could put a SpeedBeaver to sleep.

.:.

The NHL season starts (for all intents and purposes) tomorrow night. I have called Rogers and added RDS to my channel lineup. Though I am filled with the same delusion as any sports fan the day before puck drops, I have steeled myself for yet another season of red, white and blue mediocrity.

[tags]john tory, dalton mcguinty, speedbeaver, nhl, montreal canadiens[/tags]

A song will lift as the mainsail shifts

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That lovely shawl you see up there is, in fact, my new cast. Pretty, no? I didn’t have a choice of colours, so they gave me the clown motif. I’m thinking I’ll need to cover that up.

Good news, though: I should only have to wear it for four weeks, not six or more. It’s also far more comfortable than that blasted splint (so far, anyway) and gives me more use of my fingers…though my thumb is basically useless now. And you know what’s hard to do sans thumb? Tying your shoes. Try it tomorrow. You’ll curse like you’ve never cursed before.

.:.

Quick hits:

  • MC Rove is hiding behind his mommy’s skirts.
  • Irish singer Tommy Makem died. I know very little of Tommy Makem, only that he was a singer and that he performed a beautiful rendition (along with the Clancy Brothers) of “When The Ship Comes In” at Bob Dylan’s 30th anniversary concert several years ago. If you haven’t heard it, you really should. There’s nothing quite like a protest song sung by old Irish men.
  • I want a pair of Joe’s new running shoes. Wish I’d thought of that before my birthday…

[tags]broken wrist, gaudy cast, karl rove, tommy makem, saucony[/tags]

MBA: DO NOT WANT!!!1!

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Had a nice, quiet little birthday dinner last night at Fieramosca. Perfect way to end a nice, relaxing birthday: good food, good wine, good friends and perfect patio weather.

Before dinner Nellie took me to Bay Bloor Radio and bought me my birthday present: some outdoor speakers so I can get my music fix on the balcony. Thanks baby!

.:.

It’s almost torture to see the film festival lineup announcements appear in my inbox and feed reader. This year I have a course right smack in the middle of festival week, and we leave on vacation immediately after my course ends, so the best we can do this year is one or two films on opening weekend. No frantic schedule-wrangling this year, which is always half the fun.

Next year, when I’m done this freaking MBA, I’m taking a week off and watching 30 films, even if it kills me.

[tags]fieramosca, birthday, tiff07, toronto international film festival[/tags]

11.25 lbs

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As of 5:45 this morning (according to my mother; I don’t recall the exact time) I am 32 years old. I have grown by 1900% since then. That’s right…I was 11 pounds, 4oz. Thanks again mom!

.:.

I took today off, and am taking the next couple of days off as well. My plan is to do as little as possible for those three days while still keeping my sanity (I have to do something or I’ll utterly lose my mind). A newspaper, an almond croissant, one of my favourite movies (Last Of The Mohicans), a veggie burger, a leisurely crawl through my feeds, a documentary (The Devil’s Miner*), some gadget-y playtime (I managed to make my Zen act as a USB host and pull pictures off my camera by, uh, plugging it in) and some quality time with the cats…not a bad day so far. It’s only gonna get better too: having dinner tonight with CBGB.

I can’t imagine I’ll be able to keep up the sloth thing for two more days. If the weather’s nice I think I’ll head over to the islands tomorrow…maybe see if I can figure out our new wide-angle lens.

*I feel particularly good about having watched this…it’s a Zip movie that’s been sitting on my shelf since March 12. It’s the only substantial thing I plan to accomplish today.

[tags]birthday, last of the mohicans, the devil’s miner, sloth[/tags]

How ironic…the one time I want to punch somebody…

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I am not a happy man. Nor am I fully functional. While playing basketball tonight, some fuckwit, some asshat we don’t even know or like or want to play with, he does his signature move: he runs into me at full tilt, shoulder first. I go flying (230 pound guys do not fly readily, so you can imagine how hard this smacktard hit me) and land awkwardly on my wrist. I get up and swear at him a bit but keep playing, thinking I just jammed it. After a few seconds, though, I can tell this isn’t just a jam. I can’t dribble the ball. It’s hurt. I get the ball and I’m open so I take the shot. It goes in, but my wrist goes from numbness to searing pain. It’s hurt bad.

I can’t bear the thought of losing or letting this twat think he knocked me out of the game, so I finish, playing with one hand. Playing badly. To make this guy just a little bit more of a shitbag, he won’t play defense…he just cherry picks. So I hang back on offense to guard against that, and make sure to bump him a few times whenever possible. My team picks it up and we win the game. I get my bag and leave. My wrist is swollen as hell. I can’t even open my bottle to pour some cold water on it. Frosty kindly gives me a ride to a major intersection where I can catch a cab. Even getting myself and my gym bag into a taxi using only my left hand is a chore.

Now, as I (very, very slowly) type this with my left hand, my right hand is stuck at a 30 degree angle, pointing toward the floor. Moving a finger hurts. I can’t even pick up my Blackberry, let alone hold it. It’s probably not broken, but it’s clearly not functional. Obviously this is not my summer. I need to find a cave.

The worst part is that I wanted to tell this fuck not to play. We all did. None of us wanted him there, but we were all too nice to say it. If I’d said it my wrist would be fine. So let that be a lesson to you, kids. Never be afraid to tell an asshole that he’s an asshole.

.:.

On a sunnier note, my feeds tonight produced excellent examples of irony, balls, wit and whimsy.

And now, back to the pain. ‘Night, everybody.

[tags]wrist injury, basketball, polyps, darjeeling limited[/tags]

A wider platform at Union Station would probably solve about half of those

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That wasn’t taken today, but it could have been if I could be arsed to find the camera. I believe that’s St. Catherine’s in the distance.

.:.

Yesterday, the good: since my team is moving from one office building to another (just down the street) we had to be packed up and out of the office by noon. One meeting later and the six of us were off to T-Bone’s house for a bbq. We sat in her back yard, had steaks and veggier burgers (ok, I was the only one who had the veggie burgers), and enjoyed the beautiful sunshine. Well, proximity to the sunshine anyway; half of us burn within seconds in the hot sun.

Yesterday, the bad: too little sleep Thursday night combined with a few suds and embarassing activity (see below) made me exceedingly tired and I crashed around 10:30.

Yesterday, the ugly: Dance dance revolution. That is all.

.:.

The TTC is removing signs from their escalators that say “walk left, stand right” as there are growing concerns that such a policy causes injury. I have two problems with this.

In fact, last year alone, 138 people were injured on TTC escalators, with 50 ending up in hospital.

While the TTC recognizes the lack of signs is unlikely to change escalator-use habits, removing the signs may protect the commission in the event of a lawsuit.

First, I have yet to hear how many of the 138 injuries had anything to do with walking on escalators.

Second, expecting litigation is a bit much. The TTC is no more subject to litigation over people walking on their escalators than the provincial government is for allowing drivers to pass one another on their roads.

[tags]bbq, ttc, escalators[/tags]

Emilio Estevez must be so happy

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The Stanley Cup has been won by the Anaheim Ducks. I’ll bet there are a lot of people who never expected to hear that sentence. At least they dropped the “Mighty” from their name and ditched the dopey logo.

.:.

I almost never remember my dreams. Maybe once or twice a year I’ll wake up and actually remember something, even just a few seconds. But when I do, it’s always about the same thing: a plane crash. Big plane, small plane…here in Toronto, back on my parents’ farm…it’s always a plane crash and I always see it happen. Every single time.

Let the psychoanalysis begin.

.:.

In case the civilized world needs another reason to ban the death penalty:

At Christopher Newton’s execution by lethal injection last month, it took 90 minutes and at least 10 stabs of the needle for the execution team to find a vein. The procedure was so drawn out the staff paused to allow Newton a bathroom break.

Sickening.

[tags]stanley cup, anaheim ducks, dream interpretation, death penalty[/tags]

The people living in 1304: doomed.

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Our patio furniture has arrived. Well, most of it anyway; the the table & benches were delivered this morning, but it’ll take a while to make the cushions.

.:.

While it makes sense that our building has a 13th floor, it’s going to take away a little of my happiness. It always made me laugh a little that people superstitious enough to be upset by a 13th floor would also be dumb enough to not figure out what the 14th floor really was.

If I lived at Cityplace, where there are no 4th, 13th, 14th, 24th or 34th floors, I’d probably laugh myself silly every day.

.:.

There are two types of people in this world: those who find singing animatronic puppets funny and/or charming (past the age of six, anyway) and those who find them a devilish scourge upon the earth. You can probably guess where I stand on the issue. Visits to my local grocery store checkout have become trying as there are whole racks of these things just waiting to tinnily excrete “When I’m 64” or “Roll Out The Barrel” when some kid jostles them.

.:.

Something that got lost in yesterday’s missing post that I feel is worth repeating: last Friday, June 1st, was 10 years to the day since I moved to Toronto. I clearly remember getting off the plane, taking a cab to my apartment at Yonge & Sheppard, being met there by my friend & roommate CBJ and immediately heading downtown to meet friends for brunch at the Movenpick on York Street (which is now a Keg). That seems like…well, 1/3 of my life ago.

[tags]patio furniture, unlucky numbers, movenpick, the keg[/tags]