Category: Blog

I spent the last week in a hospital wardroom in the Toronto East General Hospital. It was a Spartan and loveless space that contained three beds and little else. The only effort to decorate the room came in the form of a slightly whimsical patient questionnaire called MY STORY that had been affixed to the…

As Rachelle was trying on some dresses in a boutique on St. Denis, I asked the two young salesgirls if anything interesting was happening in the city this weekend. They looked a little bit startled, like they had no idea how to answer such a question. They hemmed and hawed a bit, trying to imagine…

On Thursday, Rachelle and I took the train from Toronto to Montreal. Unbeknownst to us, there was a special that day in which children could travel for just $10 each. As a result, our train was a kind of anarchy, full of unattended children, indolent parents, senior citizens and others secondary characters that had their…

Queen Street East, Monday, 6:00 PM Ninja-black in Spandex, fit, unsmiling mothers with perfect blonde hair hurry their strollers down the sidewalk. From behind expensive and unfriendly sunglasses, they seem like Cyborgs from the future. With mathematical precision, they cut around clusters of elderly Asian women, all standing beneath colourful umbrellas, protecting themselves from the…

As some of you may know, I volunteered with an organization that facilitated correspondence with a prison inmate. I was paired with an inmate who went by the handle of “MotherTrucker,” and although it was sometimes a rewarding experience, things got weird pretty quick. It turned out that this guy was really and into role-playing,…

I’ve recently embarked on a project in which I’ve been compiling a collection of various people describing their favourite coffee mug and the story behind that mug. ************************************************* Brandon Marshall Age 37 My favourite coffee mug has a picture of Farrah Fawcett on it. I was never a big fan of Charlie’s Angels as a…

Demonstrations almost always make me uncomfortable. It seems that regardless of how worthy I might find the cause, there’s always somebody “on my side” who just makes me want to slither away in shame. Canada, where I grew up and live, is an entirely decent place. It’s a relatively progressive country that’s infused with humanitarian…

About a year ago I lined up a personal trainer for myself. Her name was Anastasiya, and she was a 22 year-old that had recently emigrated to Canada from Russia. Amongst her hobbies were beach volleyball, mature gentlemen and running. Her rates were very reasonable, and she agreed to come to our apartment three times…

On Saturday, Rachelle and I went to an estate sale out in Woodbridge. About 30 minutes outside of Toronto, it’s a suburban community with a large Italian immigrant population. Through leafy streets we passed mansion after mansion. The homes were all brand new and most had the idiosyncratic flair of the owners prominently displayed somewhere…