The Seated View

I want winds from the north, I want bluster and brrr. I want to wear a sweater, to feel my toes icy cold once more, to yearn for a thick bean soup, so see my breath hang frozen in the air for a moment as I exhale. I know. I’m insane. It’s been only two weeks since I complained about autumn having arrived. But it didn’t, after all, arrive. Instead, summer came back with a vengeance – 38 (100.4F) with the humidex Tuesday – and the airconditioning is turned off. Because the City of Toronto Municipal Code requires landlords to provide heat between September 15 and June 1. Because this is Canada and September gets cold. Except, it hasn’t. Again. Come to think of it, it hasn’t for years. So we swelter and as the building warms up, holding in the heat, making it warmer inside than out, we swelter some more. No air comes through the windows, the fans can only do so much and I’ve barely seen my poor (longhaired) cat in days – she hides in the closets, where it’s a tad c

I used to live in the suburbs and although it's nice and green out there, there were some drawbacks to the geography that I didn't fully realize until I moved to an urban area. One of the main ones is that you have to drive everywhere you go. In the morning, you leave your house, get in your car (or WheelTrans bus), drive somewhere - let's say you’re going to the grocery store - do your shopping, get back into your car, drive home, take your groceries inside your house and often, you can both theoretically and actually spend days having only minimal interaction with other human beings besides your family. Wave over the fence to the neighbour, exchange hellos with the supermarket cashier, maybe smile at someone who holds the door for you at the mall, but that’s it. It’s a very high level of privacy. Then I moved downtown. Most everyone walk or bike here, parking is incredibly expensive and if you both live and work downtown, it's actually easier to use mass tra

I didn't post yesterday because the melancholy of the weekend transmogrified itself into a spectacular case of pissy and everything I had to say was either damply negative or stupidstupidstupid (me? PMSing? Whatever gave you that idea??). I therefore followed the advice of Thumper's mother and decided that since I didn't have anything nice to say, I wouldn't say anything at all. That is, until I read the paper and found a handy target for my wrath. Canada is mostly a wonderful place to live, but it is not perfect. We have our share of people whose actions just make you go ‘huh??”. The latest in this bunch – and I apologize for the imminent incoherent sputtering and unbridled judgement – is various and sundry Catholic School Boards across Ontario. Yes! Look at me wading into religion and politics! But first a wee preamble. I am not an expert, but what I can glean is this: HPV is a sexually transmitted virus. According to the Ontario Ministry of Heal

It was a weird weekend, two days of endings and a strange melancholy. Autumn came this weekend, with brisk winds, jackets over summer clothes and cold feet, firmly shoving summer into the past. Still, I refuse to wear socks and took refuge in my fiesta shawl, wrapping my legs in handknit comfort, blocking the gale sneaking its way under my front door from the hallway vent. Cupping my hands around a mug of something hot, I sat by my window, looking out on the transition clouds, still the fluffy white of summer, but tinged with a heavier grey, promising rain and wind and the stripping bare of trees. Outside, the wind has a new bite and flocks of pigeons gather, puffing up and hunkering down on the grass dotted with leaves. The construction is finished and my neighbourhood has beautiful new sidewalks, black, bouncy asphalt and bright white stripes has been painted for crosswalks. Wandering down the street, my hair blowing in front of my eyes, moving from patches of sunlight throug

I had a stellar day yesterday. I’d checked my e-mail, had progressed to having a cuddle with the cat while talking to mor when, at the last possible moment, I realized that I didn't have time for a slow start to the day. Babbling something along the lines of "got a meeting, gotta go, bye!", I hung up and ran out the door, barely making it on time. I then progressed to ask very blonde questions and subsequently, making a silent promise to myself never to schedule meetings before my soul has had a chance to catch up with the rest of me. After having done a quick grocery run, during which I forgot half of my list, I suddenly realized that it was Dawn's birthday. Grabbed the phone, quickly dialed the number and when she picked up, enthusiastically and very off key sang the Danish birthday song. At the beginning of the second line, I realized that her birthday is in fact today, not yesterday (tillykke med fødselsdagen, Dawn!), but I completed the song nonethele

From this To this To this And finally, at long last, to this

It took longer than I'd expected, but I finally got around to watching my birthday present to myself, the Danish movie called After the Wedding (Efter Brylluppet) , directed by Susanne Bier . And I loved it. Mads Mikkelsen - probably best known on this side of the pond for his role as the villain Le Chiffre in Casino Royale - plays Jacob, an aid worker in an Indian orphanage, who in order to receive funding, must return to his native Denmark where he meets the possible benefactor. And then things get complicated. The benefactor, Jørgen, is married to Helene, someone Jacob used to know and that's just the beginning - I'll avoid a further synopsis, as I think the movie is better if you know very little going into it. O ne of the things that I found very enjoyable in this movie was watching Mads Mikkelsen act in his native Danish – a language and culture that tends to happen at a less effusive level than North American English - both verbally and nonverbally.

The latest fashion weird – no-heel, suede boots (like Ugg and derivatives) with a little summer dress. Huh?? Isn't one of the delights of summer that you don't have to wear boots? And why on earth would you do something like that when it's hot?? Also, tubetops and variations on in the strapless top. Wasn’t that bad enough the first time around? Am I the only one who thinks whatever alleged hotness you achieve by wearing one such top is negated by constantly having to tug it up? If you want to feel like an old, uncoordinated, total slacker – oh, and amazed - watch some sports acrobatics . Unbelievable, stunning, insane. I 'm very much looking forward to the new version of The Bionic Woman and will definitely check it out once it shows up on my television. Test your bionicness (if that's not a word, it should be) here . Apparently, I need a reinstall. And sort of related, Ting Lee over at TVGasm in the article on the new fall shows, predicts

One of the (many) great things about living in my lovely little downtown neighbourhood is the combination of almost smalltown quiet and largetown happenings. For instance, in July, I can hear the Molson Indy , a fact which has persuaded me to never go, because if I can hear it here, I don’t want to think about how loud it is over yonder. Which brings us to the last long weekend of the summer (by the way? It’s not officially Fall until the 21st and I intend to live in denial until that date or beyond, only admitting that summer might be on its way out the day I have to wear socks again). It’s the last days of The Ex , which means the airshow, which means three days of me sitting outside, craning my neck to attempt to catch glimpse of the planes (especially the fighter jets) as they buzz my neighbourhood on their way to the turn before they fly back west, towards the CNE. This year, I brought my camera and my days went something like this: I started in the park, listening to Th