What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Monday, January 27, 2003

WHO'S EVER FELT UP A WITCH, ANYWAY?

It's minus 22 this morning and, for a Toronto guy, that's about 15 degrees too cold. Everyone I encounter lately seems on the edge, running out of patience with this 'cold snap.' We've spent the last decade or so getting used to increasingly mild winters but now this hits and no one seems able to cope.

The worst part is Winnipeggers. They come to our city and smirk at our shivers. "This isn't cold," they say, "You people are babies!" They drone on about all the hardships of 'the Peg' while we wonder why they don't go straight back there, if they're so tough. I mean, I know Russians who don't yammer on like that and they're...well...Russian.

Oh wait, I was wrong -- here's the worst part: I'm leaving for St. John's Thursday morning. Why have three inches of snow, I thought to myself, when you have three feet? No, I'm going out there to help celebrate my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. Supposedly a happy time but all I could think was, who gets married in January? As I said to a friend yesterday, I'll be spending five days with my extended family in bone-chilling cold. And, at some point, I'll have to go outside! (Thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal.)

I spent a good chunk of my weekend shopping around for long underwear, both for my trip and my current evenings at the pub, where the lobby has been little help of late against the bitterness that comes in through the door. And that's just the customers! (Good night, folks, I just can't stop myself!) Everywhere I go, however, I find spring clothes and a few pieces of thermal gear in sizes XL and XXL. I love the fashion industry -- always looking ahead, rather than giving people what they need in the present. A clerk told me that one really has to buy all their winter clothes by November. "For the winter that lasts into March or April," I said. "Exactly," he replied and shrugged. Oy.

I've a sneaky feeling, however, that I'll be okay once I arrive at the Rock. I'm sure long underwear will still be around. Throw in a gay bar and an Internet cafe and I just might escape this weekend with my sanity intact.

Labels: Trawna

A TORONTO TRADITION: BITCHING ABOUT THE CABLE COMPANY

I didn't pay the cable bill last month because, hey, it's Christmas, but Rogers has decided to make me a New Year's resolution. After budgeting payments this Friday for both the telephone and cable bills, I was surprised to come home a few nights ago and find a note taped to my door informing me that someone from Rogers will come to my apartment tomorrow to "collect the full payment." I phoned up the cable monopoly and asked if that someone was named Rocco or Vinnie. I suggested paying $50 right away and the other half Friday. In the most bored tone I've heard since Ben Stein, the woman said, "The minimum payment is $57.61, sir." I laughed and asked how they arrived at such a precise number. "That is the minimum payment, sir," she replied.

I like dealing with the telephone company better. Ever since phone service was deregulated and companies like Sprint were allowed a slice of the pie, Bell has been little-girl sweet with me. They call just to see how I'm doing. They ask what they can do to serve me better. Rogers charges me an extra $8 a month for one channel I enjoy and 15 others I never ever glance at.

It's bizarre to me that our mail is taken care of by a fairly-well-run government company, while cable television is controlled by an entity straight out of Terry Gilliam's Brazil, and telephone service -- which I consider the most necessary of the three -- can be provided by virtually anyone with access to the wires. Doesn't seem fair. At any rate, I'll have to borrow a concrete drill -- it's the only way I'll be able to install the inevitable satellite dish.

Labels: Trawna

LET MY LOVE OPEN THE DOOR

A quick note from work this morning -- lovin' the Blogger 'post-from-anywhere' concept. I'm finally starting to function after getting my hands on the Tim Hortons English Toffee Cappuccino -- it's pure caffeine, pure sugar, pure heaven. In fact, I'd like to take this moment to salute the fine people at Tim Hortons, a company that's done more for Canadians than BCE and Nortel put together. I also just found out that we share the same hometown.

I have to find something to be cheery about this morning, as I've been depressed all yesterday over the arrest of Pete Townshend on child pornography charges. Either a songwriter I admire is a pedophile or his good name has been ruined worldwide -- distressing whichever way the truth lies. Townshend has been arrested on three counts of possessing, distributing and making kiddie porn. It's the making part I don't get -- I just can't see the former guitarist for The Who leading children back to his place for photos (nor do I want to) -- and I'm troubled by the BBC's report that this sting operation has so far led to 1500 arrests in England. Surely, even the land of boarding school prefects can't have 1500 pedophiles in it. Or am I being naive? At any rate, it saddens me to see the lyrics to "Rough Boys" printed in the paper, as if the clues were there all along and we should have been watching him closely. It's a song, people -- a work of fiction and a good one at that. I'm putting that Who 'best-of' disc right back in the player where it belongs.

GRASPING AT STRAW MEN


Two nights in a row off (!) and it was time for a pub crawl with my friend Gord. After some time on the dance floor, I was surprised to see a tall, square-jawed guy with a military haircut lead Darcy onto the floor and begin making out with him. Part of me was relieved to see Darcy moving on after weeks of pining but I was also rattled by the sight.

It felt silly to be jealous, since I'm the one who let him go, but I'd already been feeling blue over the lack of anyone in the bar who might prove better. I briefly considered chatting up one guy who kept moving my way but I knew I wasn't interested and that I would just be wasting his time.

By that point, I felt awful -- not wanting Darcy but not wanting to be single -- until I realized that, as usual, I was being way too hard on myself. It's not that I don't know what I want, it's that I know exactly what I want. And it wasn't in that bar tonight.

Labels: oh l'amour