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...

When I asked you to choose my next non-fiction adventure and the votes started rolling in for The Island at the Centre of the World – mor cast a phone vote - I discovered that after all that, I did know what book I wanted to read and it was Body of Work: Meditations on Mortality from the Human Anatomy Lab by Christine Montross. Naturally, I then engaged in a clever (?) bit of subterfuge and a deep cover agent volunteered to stuff the ballot box. The good news is that I didn’t have to – Body of Work squeaked by to win with one (real) vote. I do think that regardless of how bad I am at lying – and I’m very, very bad – I’d have problems convincing you that Jeffery Deaver , Mary Roach and Jessica Sachs all read my blog… (p.s. maybe my undercover agent can enlighten us about Jessica Sachs – I’m not sure who she is) Moving onto the book. Although I am going to get more verbose about it, it can be summed up neatly in the following two sentences: I know things now that I di...

Thanks so much for all the birthday attention - it nicely met all my Attention Slut requirements for the day. Which, by the way, turned out to be absolutely wonderful. And was a nice contrast from this past weekend, which was a smidge frustration. To wit: This past weekend was Buskerfest. Again. Seems like they have it every other month or maybe it's just that it's so much "Fun" that time constricts. This year, it's expanded from the past 3 days to 4! Yippie!! By Sunday, it became necessary to go to the grocery store. It's halfway down that condo on the right. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, thought I and besides, I'm out of orange juice, hummus and cucumber. Necessities, y'know. As it was taking me some time to navigate the crowds - where's that compass and cattleprod when you need 'em? - I decided to take in a few performances. This one was good. But this one rocked! I think? I liked the cow, though. Mission accomplished witho...

Here it is. Or rather, it'll be here tomorrow. 45. Forty-five. Femogfyrre. Quarante-cinq. Fünfundvierzig. Cuarenta y cinco. XLV. I'd hoped that by saying it over and over again, in different ways and languages it would lose its meaning. No such luck. (OK, so I had to look up the last two. I don’t speak that much Spanish yet and am more than a little iffy about the Latin – it’s been eons since I was even close to half-way decent with that. By the way? Latin is pretty much the only high school subject that I know I use on an almost daily basis). Ever since I was a teenager, I've looked forward to the magic of forty. I knew it would be magical because my mother told me so and she has never steered me wrong. Her theory is that as women near 40, they start coming into their own, become more confident, stronger and in general care less about what other people think and more about what's right for them. Turns out she was right - as I have watched ...

Today’s a bit of a cop-out – I’ve got a deadline that needs wrangling (the bleedin’ thing’s like herding cats) and all my wee grey cells are therefore occupied. Well, mostly they’re getting distracted by anything shiny that passes by, but I’m going to force the wee fuckers to focus and produce something worthwhile today. I hope. In the meantime... I forget who recommended Philip Pullman’s books to me – Bonnie ? Diane ? Someone else altogether? – but I’d like to say a hearty thank you! I started The Golden Compass last week and I am entranced, charmed, obsessed, etc., with the wonder of this world. It is an astounding book – Pullman has created a different world, both so familiar and so fantastical that I don’t want to stop reading. I suspect the next two in the trilogy will be acquired the minute I finish #1. Thanks for introducing me to this world, whoever you were. As for the rest of you? Go get these books. Buy, don’t borrow – you’ll want to read them again and ...

Picture this: I’m at a corner at the start of a quick run for groceries. The opposite light turns red and several cars, a van and a large firetruck stop in front of the crosswalk and I start to move across the street. Halfway – exactly halfway – the chair stops. Not the “clunk, one motor stops, I spin around in a circle” that has happened before . No, stop. Dead. Both motors. No clunk. I push the joystick, heart hammering like a piston. Nothing. I lean forward to look at the display – it’s on, in speed 4, no error message. I turn the chair off, noticing the distinct shake in my hand, aware that the countdown to red has started, that several cars, a van and a large firetruck are preparing to go. That I am seriously in the way. I turn the chair back on, it beeps, I push the joystick and…. it moves. I start breathing again, chanting justgetmeacrossjustgetmeacrossjustgetmeacross and miracle of miracles, it does. I sit on the sidewalk. Tremble for a while. ...

We’re about midway through the eighth season of Big Brother - yes, today is about a reality show, but be patient, there is a major rant coming - and for the first time in nearly 8 years of faithful obsession to the awful brilliance that is BB, I’m considering dumping the show. The remaining contestants are: Dick. I find him fascinating. There are times when he's walking caricature, an Id on legs and there are times when he is the closest real-life approximation of Tommy Gavin in Rescue Me I've ever seen - equally aggravating, yet at times so poignant it breaks your heart. On one hand, he is loving, generous, loyal, funny and smart and then every now and again he breaks into intense verbally abusive rages. He wears his heart and his hatred on his sleeve, appears to be rebelling against something still, is working very, very hard to reconcile with his daughter (Daniele, below) and when he used his hard-earned Veto to take her off the block it got to me (yes, I know it...