Am I Crazy?

One of the parents whose child is enrolled with us is due any day.
She informed me today that her eleven year old son is her "Coach".
Her "Birthing Partner".
I asked if he would be with her through the whole process, and she said that he would.

Am I nuts to think that she's nuts?
Help me out here.

Should an eleven year old be in the delivery room?

Sunny Bar



...at Annette & Clendanan.
These storefronts are not for long, my friends.
There are a few peppered around the city, tucked into old neighbourhoods...but it won't be long before they go the way of the lakeshore, to be replaced by glass and concrete condos.

More around town adventures at Look Up Radmila

Adventures in Driving

The Mister noticed these two license plates close together, and luckily
I had my camera with me...

Dose of Dorothy

Interior

Her mind lives in a quiet room,
A narrow room, and tall,
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom
And mottoes on the wall.

There all the things are waxen neat,
And set in decorous lines,
And there are posies, round and sweet,
And little, straightened vines.

Her mind lives tidily, apart
From cold and noise and pain,
And bolts the door against her heart,
Out wailing in the rain.

~Dorothy Parker~

No Man's Land

This morning on the way in to work, the topic on talk radio was the case of Israeli Canadian, Dan Drori.
Apparently, countries that are in dispute over land are left with just the city of birth on passports.
With borders in certain parts of the world constantly changing, I guess this is a way to kind of...I don't know...keep up diplomatically or something.

Recently, I went to get my passport renewed and was pointedly told that it would say "Serbia Montenegro", and was that "ok" with me?
I laughed when she said it, because what did that mean?
Could I say, "No, actually...it's not ok with me...I would like it to say Paris, France, it's so pretty there" or should I say, "No, actually...I'm ashamed of being Serbian, can you leave that out?"

WTF?

Anyway, when my passport showed up, my place of birth came up as Novi Sad.
Period.
No country.
Does that mean that the land is in dispute still?
It's the Balkans.
It's possible.

In a way, I would like it to still say Yugoslavia, because that's the era I was born in, the time in that area of the worlds' life.

Weigh in on this for me.
Is it important?
I know that for some cultures, this kind of thing is worth blowing people up in cafes and underground for.
I'm just not sure where I am with this.

Today's Quote:
A friend of The Mister's family commenting on a braless woman in a skimpy top at a family function:

"Somebody must talk to she.
She breasts hangin' like a murder charge."

Wag the Dog

Over the past 10 years or so, the one outweighing the many has become du rigeur.
If someone is allergic to nuts, no nuts allowed in the building.
If someone is allergic to bananas, no bananas allowed in the building.

Last month I had to go to a government office for something.
While I was in the reception area, I noticed that both entries to the offices were covered with warning signs:
"Nut Free Environment"
"Scent Free Environment"
"No Bananas beyond this point"(I shit you not)
"Aerosol Free Environment" and a bunch of other stuff that I wouldn't even think to bring into an office...I guess that was for "just in case".

I realize that there are people who are suffering with allergies that are serious, and I'm probably going to sound like a Superior, Grade A, Top Sirloin Bitch when I say this, but gimme a break.
I say that if your life is unbearable in public, go on long term disability.
For the rest of us, it's worth it.
The workplace has enough to tolerate.

Is that insensitive?
Just as insensitive as expecting an entire work environment, perhaps consisting of hundreds of people to accommodate you.

I wear perfume.
I love perfume.
Scent is part of my whole feel good thing.
I love it when other people smell nice.
It's part of my whole feel good thing.

If you have to take me aside and tell me to stop wearing perfume, then you have to tell that woman whose skirt is too short for her age to dress appropriately (I find it offensive), and then you also have to take that guy whose hygiene is bad aside and tell him the merits of taking a bath daily (I find this disgusting and shouldn't have to put up with it). Tell that client that she needs breath mints (I shouldn't have to tolerate that). You also have to take that woman aside who smells of the dinner she cooked last night and tell her to lay off the heavy spices...and that other chick who put the fish in the microwave for lunch, tell her she can't do that anymore.

I know it seems a little intrusive, what I'm suggesting...but, fair is fair.

Sunday Click Around

Colors is a really interesting online photography magazine. Each issue is a different subject with photographs and commentary from both the photographer and sometimes the subject. I love photos of people and lifestyles. If you're like me, you can burn hours looking through the archives.

If you've got more time to kill, check out Dancin' Doughboy where you can choreograph dance moves for the Pillsbury Doughboy. Here's mine

Here are two recipes that I'll be trying. Mango Cheesecake, but I'll be substituting pineapple, and Homemade Marshmellows. Not even that I really like marshmellows...I just want to know if I can do it...you know, that the recipe works.

Husband on Strike is the blog of a frustrated and shut out husband/new dad. I wonder how making a whole website dedicated to how your wife is ignoring and depriving you is working out for him in the "gettin' some lovin'" department.

Recently, I googled an old, old friend, and found many little bios about her. Angela MacKenzie and I reconnected when I sent her an e-mail through her site and it's good to know that she's doing so well. In the Indie911 bio it says: "insistent on wearing jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts..."
When I knew her, and we were hangin' out, we doubled our wardrobe because the two of us had similar fashion weaknesses and we were the same size. The thought of Angela in T-shirts and jeans all the time literally makes me laugh out loud.
Never.
Unless she has morphed into a completely different being...and from the pictures I see on her site, she hasn't.
I'm totally proud of her. You should check her out.

You can file this in the stupid waste of space art section. I guess those little cherubs pissing in fountains, and those little jokeshop statues aren't enough.
Is pissing that much of an anomaly that we need to pay tribute to the act in the form of art? And when I say "art", I would say it with two tongues in my cheek if I had an extra.
I'm resisting saying "Piss on it"...oops, I think I just did.


Museum of Depressionist Art Is amusing to me.
How can you not find treasures like "Last Supper on Toast" and "Buddhist Monk Misses Nirvana Due To Cell Phone Interruption" irresistible?
Check it out.
It's not depressing at all...

That's all.

[insert something clever] says:

"We'll always have Cancun"

Indian Flute

I frequent a little East Indian Salon around the corner from our house to get my eyebrows threaded for three bucks.
I'm generally one of the very few whiteys in the place, and the ladies are absolutely charming. They call me "dear", and "sweetie" the whole time.
Over the past two years, they've gotten to know me, and I them.
I get little snippets from their lives:

"Oh, when the movie "Water" was being filmed, close to my home...they chased them out. They didn't want Deepa telling the truth!".

"My Mother in Law always gives me trouble when I do the laundry in the morning. She says that the hydro is more expensive during the day...even when I show her the bill to say it is not true!"

"I cook in the morning time, before I come to work. My husband doesn't like to wait in the evening. He is too impatient, my husband..."

Today while Kami was talking and doing my brows, Indian music playing in the background, the song switched to a Reggae tune. It took me a moment to realize that the lyrics were in Hindi. The duet in Indian style, a women's high falsetto and man's low baritone to reggae. I found it both amusing and pleasing to hear the blending of musical cultures.

I love sari fabric and make beautiful scarves from it.
This never goes unnoticed and often two or three of the ladies will "ooh" and "ahh" over my choices, telling me the proper names of the fabrics I chose, which I promptly forget, no matter how hard I try, or how many times they patiently repeat it for me.

Nevertheless, the warmth and comradery of these women shines and spills over onto me whenever I am in the shop.
It's gratifying to connect with people who are off my well worn and beaten path.

It restores my faith in the general goodness of humanity.

Can We Tawk?

You're my good friend.
I feel like I can tell you anything....and I have told you so many secrets about my life and past.
I figure I can tell you a couple more...right?

I hate telethons, radiothons, any of those thons where things are pre-empted for incessant begging for a cause.

I know. I know.

They're necessary to raise money for all kinds of important causes.
But, I hate them anyway.
I hate children with disabilities being paraded out on display, and being required to "tug on America's heartstrings" as though life isn't hard enough.

I know.

How horrible of me to change the channel as soon as I see Jerry, a bunch of people in the background with phones, or sparkley curtains.
I donate to charity. I don't need a telethon to do it. I realize that it works, I just don't like 'em. Telethons I mean.

The other thing is that... I'm really starting to hate pedestrians.
I know!
Being that I'm a pedestrian on occasion it's... well...a little hypocritical.
But, here's the thing...I'm not a fucking idiot who steps off a curb without looking, or jumps out from in front of a bus to jaywalk the 50km speed limit street expecting drivers to just sense that I'm there.
I don't drag my stroller and toddler out to cross a busy street, and then stand on the yellow line that separates lanes and look scared, as though I didn't realize what I was doing when people can't stop to let me cross.
I can't be absolutely certain...but I think that's why there are fucking streetlights and crosswalks on every second corner.

That's all for now my little boycheks and girlikas...

Sunday Click Around

Gallery Yin is the website of Lui Liu, a Toronto Artist. His art is interesting.
The "Yin" section is not safe for work.

If you're bored and have absolutely nothing to do, try Telephone Songs.
Play songs using the keypad on your phone.
There aren't many songs to choose from, so I'm assuming that the guy who put this site together got a job, or works for the government.

Speaking of phones, for those of you who are really pissed off that large companies have outsourced their call centres to far away places, here's a little movie for you.
I was surfing around last night and found T.O. Crime, a blog keeping track of crime in Toronto, with commentary.

I'm not a big fan of graffiti.
Maybe it's because I'm not 18 anymore, or maybe it's because I own property now and would be hella pissed off if some little yob spray painted all over a side wall of my business.
But mostly I don't like it because most graffiti artists are just taggers. They are not talented, just stupid enough to climb bridges and put themselves in the line of oncoming trains to put their tag in an awkward hard to reach place, in hopes that some other tagger can't reach it to spray paint over it. This short film is about graffiti artists, and I'll be honest...I didn't watch the whole thing. Most of what I saw was crap. But these guys really think that they're artists and that it's some sort of "movement". Whatever.

For those of you who took Home Economics in the 1970's and 1980's, this should give you a blast from the past

xoxo ++ c 7 11 23 is some sort of project, I'm not sure what..something to do with happiness... but I really like the sign language alphabet with matchbooks you'll see if you scroll down the main page. Very cool.

And last but not least: Naomi Campbell's newspaper ad via Best Week Ever Blog

"Love shouldn't be so melancholy...come along and share the good times while you can...I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden..."


Along the highways and byways, you can still see the old motels from the 1950's and 1960's. This one is in Niagara Falls, NY.
The Mister and I were on a road trip yesterday to Rochester, NY to pick up some techy piece of mystery something that The Mister procured online.
On the way back I made him stop so that I could get a shot of this old motel. It won't be long before they'll be a thing of the past, seen only in old photos in retro shops, and movies. For some reason, I have a real soft spot for this era. Maybe because the pictures of my parents are all from that time and I wove a kind of story about what life was like back then, using those pictures and the movies I watched as a kid.
It's funny the things that can make you melancholy.

I was really sad when they tore down the old motels by the Lakeshore to build those richy condos, and it seemed that even the construction workers knew that they were tearing down history.
One of the Lakeside Hotels clocks, done in the Googie style, stood until the very last minute, it seemed.
It stood, leaning a little to the left toward Lakeshore Blvd until the final landscaping was started.

It stood like The Little House in Virgina Lee Burtons children's story.
Remember that story?
About the little country house that was dwarfed by the building of a city around it?

Anyhow, I've gone off on a little tangent there...but one thing that I really wish, is that Toronto wasn't so in love with destroying it's architectural history.

I guess, that's what I'm really on about.

Circa 1970 or '71

Coming over the American border at Thousand Islands after a fishing trip with family members, the following exchange was had between my Uncle Velemir and a Customs Officer:


Customs Officer: "Did you purchase anything?"
Uncle Velemir: "No Perch, no Bass....No NOTHING!"

Sunday click around, and some other stuff...

Listen, I'm not sure what ????? ?????? is, other than a collection of photos by some Russian guy (judging from the number of photos of naked chicks) but, it's kind of interesting, in a kind of "I don't know what he's on about.." way.

I found this collection of boner parking skills which is kind of amusing.

And then, yesterday...while me and The Mister were out and about...I looked across the room and our eyes locked. I knew that we had to be together...The Mister rolled his eyes...but we were meant to be together.

And last but not least...I am an avid new recipe trier (if that's a word).
On occasion I will be sharing this experience with you. Often, recipes I try, tank.
That's because many people who publish recipe books obviously suck at cooking, and only think they can cook. The recipes are hit and miss and there are very few reliable sources. One reliable source for good recipes is LCBO Food & Drink Magazine (I've posted the link before), and another is Canadian Living.
So, every so often, I will photograph a newly tried recipe and fill you in on whether it worked or not and why.

The following is last nights try from some old Good Housekeeping recipe book I've had since The Mister and I got serious, and I realized I was going to have to expand my horizons in the area of cooking if we both weren't going to die of culinary boredom.
I was attracted to the name: "Spicy Pepper Cookies", and they turned out pretty well.
Only next time I'll add pecans or walnuts.
If you like Biscotti, and you like ginger cookies, you'll like these.
They're bite sized, and cute.

Spicy Pepper Cookies

1 3/4 cups of flour, 1 cup packed light brown sugar, 1/2 stick butter (4 tbsp), 1 large egg, 1/4 teaspoon each of: baking soda, cinnamon, ground cloves, ground ginger, white pepper. Preheat oven to 375F, combine ingredients and with mixer at low speed, beat ingredients until well blended.

The mixture will be crumbly; add 3 tsps of water and with your hands kneed until the mixture holds together. Yes. That's right, I wear gloves while I'm handling food.

Shape dough into a ball, and then using measuring spoon, pinch off 1/2 tsp at a time and roll into ball, placing 1/2 inch apart on ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for about 7 minutes or until cookies are a little golden. Let them cool on the sheets and store in an airtight container.

If I was your girlfriend...

Can you get all of your friends in a room and be confident that they'd all like each other?
Have you ever told someone, "Oh, you would looooove Mygirly McGirlfriend..." only to be disappointed when they don't get on?

Once, my girlfriend Donna described a woman to me that she told me I would love.
"You're so similar!"
"You'd get along perfectly!"
She was so hyped up to me, that I was looking forward to meeting her.
When we were finally introduced, girlfriend said, "Oh Radmila...Croatian right?", "No. Serb" said I.
Her face dropped as though I had said, "No. Turd", and then she composed herself and said, "Oh, it doesn't matter..", which of course said to me that it did.
To her.
She and I had some polite small talk until it felt ok to disengage without being rude, and we didn't speak again for the evening.
I felt sorry for my friend, who was totally convinced that we'd get on like a house on fire, and was disappointed.

Another time, I decided I would get a bunch of women I loved together to see an art exhibit, thinking that this was an excellent idea.
Six women I love, (albeit for different reasons) + beautiful art + lunch = a fantastic time, right?

Ehrm...no.

I was surprised, but looking back...I shouldn't have been.
Out of the six women, only two hit it off and became friends outside of their relationships with me.
And believe me when I say that it wasn't the two that I thought it would be.

It just goes to show that every friend we have compliments a small side of ourselves that doesn't necessarily compliment another side...if you get my meaning.

And some of those sides are best kept to ourselves.

Dee at Things that Bang posted about feeding ducks from her back terrace, and how she thought that she might have a hard time getting rid of them now.
I commented that Canadian geese tour around the lakeshore here in Toronto like gangs of thugs.
Because so many people feed them, many no longer bother to fly south for the winter and instead, they beg food from pedestrians in the winter and picnickers in the summer.
The last time I was down by the lake at Sunnyside, the shore was covered in goose shit, and the noise from the geese was ridiculous.
You can't unwrap a sandwich on a park bench without attracting swarms of thuglike geese demanding your lunch.

There are signs up telling people "DO NOT feed the geese" with a long environmental explanation, but people still do.
It's just wrong.
These geese shouldn't be so urbanized.
The other day I was down there, and I could have sworn I saw one smoking a butt while sucking on a Starbucks cup, and adjusting his iPod.

But, still...
when a mama goose crosses Lakeshore Boulevard with her chicks in a line behind her, and all the cars stop to let them cross...you kinda forgive them..

Tales From the Driveway.

This morning while getting ready to leave for work, my neighbour Pardeep was getting out of his car with his youngest son Daniel.

Pardeep: "OY! Radmila! Will you let me make decisions for you?"
Me: "Huh?", and then realizing that he's got a message to get out to his son.
Me: "No, Pardeep"
Daniel is standing on the front stoop, holding the screen door and rolling his eyes.
Pardeep: "Can you make decisions for me?"
Me: "No. I have enough responsibilty, thank you."
Pardeep: "Looking forward to going to work today, nuh?"
Me: "Doesn't matter. I have to go"

Pardeep winks at me and laughs a satisfied laugh, and the screen door slams as Daniel makes his point.

You know what slays me?

I get numerous hits from people looking for Prince's address on the Bridal Path here in Toronto.
Yeah.
Me and Prince. We're tight.
You know what's even funnier?
Now that I've done this post, I'll disappoint twice as many people.

Schadenfreude, leedvermaak, skadefryd, vahingonilo, zlo...whatever you want to call it.
A message to you numerous Prince sleuths:
If you honestly think you're going to find Princes' address on the internet, you truly need to get out more.

Tales of the Irrational...
Have you ever had a driver in front of you or behind you that you just wanted to get away from, but wanted to teach a lesson to first?

The tailgater I had this morning reminded me of the impatient person in line at the bank who keeps poking their head out, and fidgeting, and making sighing noises that just serves to irritate and doesn't get them any further ahead.
I kept feeling her impatience behind me.
The problem was that it was heavy traffic, and getting past me wouldn't have changed that for her.

So, what did I do?
Why, I stopped her from passing me, of course!
Everytime she changed her lane to pass, I would speed up, and parked cars would force her back behind me.

Why did I do this, you ask?
Because I hate drivers like her, that's why.
Speeding, tailgating, weaving in and out of traffic at higher speeds than the flow...yet never any further ahead than the rest of us.
I pass their frustrated asses over and over again.

They are the nervous, and irritating Chihuahuas of the road, and I hate them.
(I don't hate Chihuahuas though...don't send venomous e-mail on behalf of The Peoples Front of Chihuahuas..)