Thursday, November 08, 2007

If it's Tuesday it must be Naples


I recently took a trip to Italy...one of those whirlwind tours that leave you with difficulty remembering where you are, what day it is, what language you speak, and at times what your name is.

If you're considering doing a similar trip (or if you're not but you want to know what I learned) keep reading.

1. Everyone hates busloads of tourist...even the tourists on buses hate busloads of tourists. You can only delude yourself into believing you're not a tourist if you refer to other tourists as 'foreigners'. The delusion is always short lived and you always carry a twinge of shame and humiliation that you are one of the people that you actually scorn.

2. Italians are very patient and tolerant of non-Italian-speaking tourists. There are moments when you think someone is being rude or offensive, but when you think of how many tourists they have to endure, any behaviour that isn't assault or homicide is friendly behaviour.

3. The only North American drivers that could possibly survive the streets of Naples would be ambulance drivers. Lane divisions and red lights are discretionary rather than obligatory. Yes, those scooters are driving the wrong way. No, there's no need for a traffic light at that intersection because nobody uses them anyway.

4. Sheep going to slaughter likely do so with a feeling of resignation rather than fear. So do people. You want the group of us to go who-knows-where in the rain/cold/dangerous suburb? No problem...especially if you tell me they have wine or cappuccino.

5. Going to Italy for 2 weeks is not realisitic. See how this sounds:
You: Where did you go for your vacation?
Me: The States.
You: Where in the States?
Me: The States.
19 towns/cities/places-with-cathedrals in 14 days is not reasonable...not unless you drive faster and more reckless than a Neopolitan...which is not possible.

6. Nobody makes hot chocolate better than the Italians. N-O-B-O-D-Y!

7. Wild mushrooms and wild boar are better than their domestic counterparts...just a wild Lisa is better than domestic Lisa (or so my husband says)

8. One can get tired of eating pork and spinach, or ham and cheese sandwiches. On my first flight home, I was provided with a snack. A ham and cheese sandwich. I laughed. It was a maniacal if-I-see-one-more-ham-and-cheese-sandwich-I'll-snap kind of laugh. Conversely, on my final flight home, they announced the dinner menu while I was in the washroom. I heard 'bangers and mash'. I bet my gleeful cheer was heard outside the plane, 20,000 feet below.

9. Donald Trump has nothing on the people that decided to charge money for using the public toilets. Imagine Venice...1 Euro to use the toilet. 1 Euro x 6 people per 5 minutes equals 30 Euro per hour. Double that because of mens and ladies washrooms. Triple that because men take much less time than women. 90 Euro per hour x at least 20 washrooms (you know there's more) in Venice equals 1800 Euro per hour x 10 hours (I do math in round numbers) equals 18000 Euro per day x 365 days per year equals 6,570,000 Euro annual salary to the guy that flips the big flush switch each night that dumps all the sewage in the sea anyway. Do you still have to pay if you are a child, a pregnant woman, or you have 'connections' with Uncle Guido in Sicily? I'll ask my hairdresser and let you know.

10. Digital cameras are indispensible to help you remember things that you forgot due to jet lag, as well as for seeing things that you didn't notice at the time because you were too tired or didn't have time to notice.


...like the garbage can that I thought was ruins in Pompeii.


I wonder if any other 'ruins' are free public washrooms that the mafia forgot to take charge of.


11. I want to form my own republic. Pretty little San Marino is a pretty little republic. In San Marino, it's easier to buy guns and ninja throwing knives than it is to buy feminine hygiene products. Walking down the steep roads, I could ponder whether I wanted firearms or knives as my weapon of choice while I sipped on my Amaretto di Sarono. Oddly, it's safer that my front yard.
12. We are suckers for punishment because I want to go back again.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Toronto, Government, and My Thoughts

Three facts:
I'm not a politician.
I don't know everything.
I have lots of ideas.

Keep that in mind as I ramble about what the government is doing wrong and what they could do right.

The government tells us to conserve water. Then they tell us the solution to lead in the water pipes is to run the tap water for 5 minutes to get clean water. They don't tell us that they can't be bothered addressing how they're going to replace/update pipes. Then they tell us we should buy low volume toilets to conserve water. WTF?

My solution: Replace the pipes over a 10 year period, starting with areas that service children first and ending with government offices. Tell the politicians there is $10,000 that they must choose to spend on one of 2 projects; replacing lead pipes in a public school or redecorating/refurnishing their own office. They must announce their decision publicly with their rationale.

The government is dragging their feet with the Caledonia land claim issue. Their illusion: They don't want either side to be angry with them, so they won't make a decision. The reality: The lack of decision making is making both sides angry with them.

My solution: The government keeps the land but the use of the land and buildings is a partnership between First Nations and the government in programs or initiatives that serve the First Nations community (such as supportive living and programs for persons with substance use issues, schools and daycare that include First Nations languages and culture in the curriculum, etc)

The government is going to spend millions of dollars with a new program for waste reduction. They plan to reduce the amount of garbage we produce by spending our money on trash cans and then selling them back to us. WTF?

My solution: Direct those millions towards replacing the lead water pipes. Restrict households to one trash bag/can per week with the option to buy tags from the city for additional bags/cans. The money from these tags goes directly into costs of waste disposal. Vancouver does this. Why not adopt a system that works rather than spending millions to create a new system, pilot it, review it and implement it. This is garbage...it's not rocket science.

Any questions?

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

For the Love of Shoes

Some women like shoes. Some women love shoes. Some women are addicted to shoes.

I never really understood the female fascination with shoes, and although I could appreciate a pretty shoe, it made no more impression on me than a pretty sweater or nice pair of jeans.

I hated heels with a passion. I am bow-legged and at the same time knock-knee so I walk like a cross-dresser when I wear heels. A 1 1/2 inch heel gathered dust in my closet, reserved for those times when I wore a *gasp* dress. Clogs were my heels.

Then...in the autumn of 2006...at the age of 44...my first pair of heels (or as a friend refers to them, 'crack') called out to me.

They did not say "I am comfortable." They did not say "You can wear me to _______ event." They did not say "I am inexpensive therefore worthy of being whimsical." They were three inches of toe-squishing, bunion growing crack.

"If leather is elegant, I am sex!" they said. I tried them on and surprisingly was able to walk in them. Unlike other heels, no pain shot up through my metatarsals.

So I bought them.

Then, one day, when I was trying on a *gasp* dress, the store clerk gave me some shoes to put on so I could see the dress how it 'should' look. ('Should' means 'without running shoes.')
They were silver and sparkly and four inches worth of metallic sex.


I bought the dress...and of course the shoes because the dress was NOTHING without those shoes!

I have since bought a classic-but-sexy-in-a-stealth-kind-of-way pair of 4" black leather pumps and a lovely toe-peeky-ankle-strappy pair of 4" black cherry patent leather platforms that would make a drag queen swoon.

I am typing this wearing the most un-sexy pair of Birkenstocks, and I still love my clogs and running shoes, but now I have at last triggered that gene that exists, even if dormant, in all females.

I am a late bloomer, but yes, I am, in my friend's words, addicted to crack.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Lot Stalkers

One can observe some interesting human behavior in parking lots...especially mall parking lots.

I usually park on the outskirts of a parking lot to minimize door scratches and various assaults on my vehicle. On my journey into the mall, I frequently observe some interesting parking lot behavior.

Numerous times, I have seen drivers circle the parking lot repeatedly or idle in the lot close to the mall doors. They do this to ensure they can lay claim to a parking spot close to the entrance of the mall as soon as the spot is vacated by it's current resident.

I can park my car on the outskirts and walk into the mall, and the 'Lot Stalker" will still be waiting. Idling. Scanning.

Why is there such an aversion to walking? The funny thing is this: once the lot stalker gets into the mall, they're going to be...walking. Alot.

What does parking space 1 get you that parking space 12 doesn't?

Perhaps I could understand this behavior if it was pouring rain or bitterly windy, but the lot stalkers aren't weather specific. Balmy, sunny days host as much lot stalking behavior as cold, rainy days.

I guess I shouldn't complain. My car escapes the lot unscathed because the lot stalkers avoid the outskirts. Also, I like to walk. It saves me the cost of a gym membership.

Celebrity

After a friend's recent experience in the celebrity world, I decided to transfer this blog from last September (Toronto Film Festival) here to my blog page.

Sept. 2006
This is the week of the film festival in Toronto so there are many opportunities to observe the behavior of celebrities and the public reaction to celebrities.

To begin with, I'm not a stargazer.

I don't ask for autographs. What does one do with an ink scribble on paper anyway? I don't take pictures. The photographers lights are bright enough to light an airport runway and are blinding to a passerby, so they must cause retinal damage to the celebrities. They don't need another flash from my camera. And what do I want a crappy picture of the back of someone's head for? Bragging rights? For what?

I went to see a film last night and arrived a half an hour early so I could at least get a decent seat. The line extended down the street, around the corner, down that street, around the next corner, and down a third street. The people at the front of the line by the red carpet must have been there for hours...in the rain.

Do take note that this line is for people that already have tickets, so we're all getting in.
So why does one arrive hours ahead to stand in the rain when one is guaranteed a seat? This has nothing to do with getting a good seat since these people were still there when I entered the theater. They were there to catch a glimpse of the celebrity (that night it was Viggo Mortensen) and hopefully get an autograph or say hi or something. (One grown woman yelled "Viggo, you look awesome!")

I don't get it.

Do people think that their lives are going to be changed by such a superficial encounter? A life-altering event would be the only thing that would entice me to wait hours for anything...or at least some situation where I would have a really really good time.

If anyone reading this has waited hours for this kind of encounter, I'd really love to hear from you.

Then there's the way some people think celebrities should be treated...

After the movie ended, the audience filed out and we all walked along the sidewalk in the rain to go our different ways to head home. At one point we were stopped by some bodyguardish guy who told us we would couldn't walk on the sidewalk...we'd have to walk around a limousine..into downtown traffic...in the rain...at night.

Apparently, the celebrities needed to walk a distance of 10 feet undisturbed from the private room where they were offered champagne to drink while they waited the brief moment before climbing into their limo.

I wasn't offered champagne to ease my walk to my car...which, by the way, wasn't parked in front. I had two blocks to walk. Champagne would have been nice. No hulking guy protected me from other people's elbows or umbrellas. Oh well.

After being directed into oncoming traffic by the Hulk, my husband grumbled. "...and if I get hit by a car I'll sue your sorry ass." He doesn't deal well with classism and unnecessary degredation. I consoled him by trying to find reason for this we're-more-important-than-you thinking.
...after a movie where characters were often called "Excellency", I said to my husband "I guess they called each other 'Excellency' so many times that they took it to heart."

"Ooooh....there's a Tim Horton's. Let's grab a coffee." he said, distracted already.

All was forgotten.

Edit: Sept 14...Case in point: Apparently, there's a big fuss going on now because Sean Penn was smoking a cigarette during a press conference despite anti-smoking laws. The discussion is about whether he should be fined like 'regular folk'. $125. Do you think he would care?

Edit #2: A friend had bought a house in Yorkville (the neighbourhood where celebrities and celebrity hounds gather). My friend can't even find parking close to his home during the festival. Thank god we had advance reservations for dinner or that would have been out of the question as well.

Our walk to the restaurant took twice as long because of the people in clusters on the sidewalk either waiting in line outside of restaurants or just lingering out front hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity. One group of fashionably painted and frocked women looked sadly like a gaggle of whores. I don't believe that was the effect they were hoping for, but then again you never know.
Maybe it was my imagination, but inside the restaurant I felt like I was being sized up a few times by other patrons. Was it my stunning good looks? (cough, puke) Were they regular patrons or stargazers trying to figure out who I am.

I did get to sign an autograph, though. Too bad it was my VISA bill for dinner. Oh well.

Friday, February 02, 2007

February Blahs

I've been extremely unmotivated and lethargic lately. I don't even feel like writing this blog right now, but it's for that reason that I must persevere.

I have ample time on my hands and I could engage in a plethora of activities, but when I ask my body to engage, it replies with a lazy "mleh". Why don't we phone Mary? Mleh. Read a book? Mleh.

I could paint the ceiling. Yeah, right. I could do the laundry that's piling up. Er...nope. Bake some biscotti. Nu uh. Wax my eyebrows. Puh. Watch CSI. Sigh. Go out for dinner with friends. Crap, we made plans already so I'd be a putz to back out now.

I am so uninterested.

This lack of enthusiasm would be OK if I actually felt like doing nothing...you know the days where you enjoy wasting the day drinking coffee and picking lint off your sweater...but I'm bored. I'm disgustingly bored.

I began to worry about this blah feeling. It's not like me. Why do I feel this way?
Then I remembered.

It's February.

Mleh.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Maybe Happy New Year

Poop!

I decided I would improve on my attitude for 2007. I had an awesome last 2 days of 2006...skiing, yodelling with the ski resort owner and reminiscing about the good-old-days, drinking beer with all the tired ski buddies, dropping in on some wineries and vineyards to end the year, enjoying excellent wine and some stick-to-your-ribs pub fare, watch great movies, having sex in the shower..............and so on.

2007 arrives and I'm primed for a positive attitude. This year is going to be great. I feel it.

First day at work I'm smiling at everyone....streetcar driver, strangers, peers, the idiot I hate at work. The weather is awesome. I love my life. I'm going to make chicken korma and salad for dinner...la la la...
...open the mail...Revenue Canada audits me and decides they paid back too much money and tell me I have to pay $650 back and charge me interest (after I've spent any extra cash boxing day.)

Happy fucking New Year.

Empty wine bottle into glass so wine threatens to overflow. Grin-fuck the whole situation and pledge to fuck Revenue Canada with every tax shelter I can find this year. Besides...I'm going to win the lottery this year.

I can feel it. Can't you?