foto friday: something out of nothing

Near the subway station where I live there once was a blank wall under a bridge.  I featured part of this blank wall before here.  Over the past few months, however, someone has been commissioned to make the blank wall less blanker and with something other than rust stains.  I took these photos during production:

foto friday: mannequins remind me of "today's special"

Sporadic postings over the past few weeks are due to a rather busy schedule, at work and otherwise.  As soon as I find a rhythm to this gong show I'll be posting again regularly.  In the meantime, may I distract you with pictures?

I'm genuinely beginning to wonder: are they teaching improper use of apostrophes in school now?  Infractions are more common than proper use.  Could someone who graduated grade school recently or with children let me know?

 Excellent marketing campaign: include a tiny QR code image on a poster for people to scan with their smartphones.  Place poster on the opposite side of subway tracks.

Another view Yonge Street from my office.  Even traffic can be beautiful.

One night last week Andrew worked late at his school for a long and boring meeting.  Amusing each other on our iPhones, I took this shot of Oberon and sent it to him.  "He looks skinny!" was my Italian husband's reply.  "Was he fed?"

LCBO's holiday advertisement clearly shows, beyond any doubt, that our dog is the preferred pet of young white couples in love.  

And we are a white couple in love.

There's something about this opera collar that makes me want to break into this Swavorski store front, bypass the jewelry, and steal the dress.

This mannequin shocked an appalled me, hiding around the corner of the Gap.  Boys will be boys.

Is it just me, or are the legs on these mannequins grossly unsubstantiated?

foto friday:

More amateur photography from my iPhone and me.  We make a pretty good team.  Unless I'm receiving a text.

Yonge Street - the brightest thing on a grey, Toronto day.

This snail mocked me on my recent jog.  I'm pretty sure I heard him say something about chilling out, for heaven's sake.

If you include wings, anything can be an angel costume! 
Even a bathing suit!

A fabulous Indian restaurant,  Shala-Mar, on Roncesvalles.

The bountiful harvest from our garden.  

Manicures/pedicures with the girls.  It took three Vietnamese (one more is looking on) to pull Melissa's jeans back down over her calves.

Our morning greeting from Oberon.  The affection is all for show: he's hungry and cuteness = being fed.

Know when to quit.

This is the outcome of the storefront that promised "Something Awesome".  They delivered on their promise.  Check them out here and here.  Go, Junction, go!

Our latest addiction: Killer Bunnies.  I can't explain it to you. 
Killer Bunnies must be experienced. 

foto friday: keg mansion

A few weeks ago, Andrew and I enjoyed a fabulous dinner at the Keg Mansion downtown. We had been accumulating gift certificates as thank-yous and Christmas presies for a while, and realized we had enough to eat an entire cow each.

We were sat in a room on the main floor just off of the main dining hall, called The India Room, or the Delhi Room, or The Bombay Room, or something. The Curri Room? Anyway, the decor was stunning so I figured it was time to check out the new TiltShift Generator app on my iPhone.





My cow was particularly delicious.

foto friday: dodie's chair

My great-great aunt Dorothy is a legend. We all called her "Dodie" since my grandmother (when she was a child...that's how far back Dodie goes) couldn't pronounce Dorothy. Dodie lived through two world wars, scarlet fever, and 20+ years as a retired, single woman living in a high rise at Yonge & Bloor. She passed away when I was 18 but she's still one of my heroes.

When she, in her 80s, was diagnosed with cancer she invited family members to her apartment to pick out what they'd like to take. The thought horrified me, mostly because it was my first old-person-almost-about-to-die situation since my grandmother died when I was 8, and partly because I just wanted Dodie to stick around. Forever. I didn't want her stuff, I wanted her.

When I was younger (5? 6 years old?), as we walked through Queen's Park to feed the pigeons, I asked her, "Dodie, when I have kids you're going to be their great-great-GREAT aunt, right?" Dodie squeezed my hand and answered, "We'll just see, won't we?"

Now here we were, her closest family members, in her apartment on Isabella street, half-visiting and half-scoping the place. I remember sitting near her oversized armchair, on the floor, with my back against the arm while she played with my hair. She asked me what I wanted to take. I said nothing. "Pick something out, for me. It would be nice for me to know what you took."

In the end, I asked her travel journals and photo albums, and a poem about the city of Toronto she had written and my uncle Jeff had framed. I remember feeling pleased that it pleased Dodie to have me ask for those particular things. To me, Dodie was a world-traveler but was also a Torontonian at heart. Just like me.

Along with those prized possessions, I inherited a few pieces of furniture after she died. They've resided with me in four apartments and, now, in our first house. One of them was her oversized armchair which we've opted to reupholster and put in our (current) guest room/(future) baby room.

And when our baby is old enough, I'll tell stories about great-great-GREAT aunt Dodie. We'll sit in the oversized armchair and look at travel photo albums.

Anyone know of a reputable reupholsterer?

foto friday: up in the air

The best man on the planet turned 30 on March 6th (he brilliantly chronicled about this milestone here) and as a surprise I took him on a private flight around Toronto. As born-and-raised city kids, there isn't much left in the way of Grand Things that we haven't seen/done in Toronto: the ROM, the Museum, the AGO, the TSO, etc.

We joke that, last year, Andrew took me to the CN Tower for my birthday and this year, well, this year I took him a little higher.

Here are some of the highlights:

Chris, a friend from work, who has his piloting license.
Also very good with keeping secrets.

The plane. Smaaaaall.
Yeah. We're talking small.
The view!
A 45° angle. Fun > what you're imagining.
Handsome on his 30th.
Headphones = looking important.
Andrew flying for a bit! Toronto is in the distance.

friday foto: trash talking

I took this photo a few weeks ago when the notorious Toronto garbage strike was in full swing. Those of you who are Torontonians need not be reminded, and those of you who aren't probably knew enough about it since Toronto tends to monopolize national news. Especially when there are headlines like "TORONTO STINKS...LITERALLY" just begging to be born.

Clicking on the photograph will give you a larger view of the tag written on the brick wall, which reads: "Who watches the garbage men?"

Both the city and the strikers were stuck in a 36-day stalemate while the rest of us argued, ranted, and blogged about whether the city workers had chosen the worst possible time to ask for more benefits and pay increases, during a GLOBAL RECESSION, or the best possible time since the hot summer weather always seems to hurry things along. Especially when it comes to garbage pick up. Especially when the Pope is coming, circa 2002.

I was amazed at the sheer VOLUME of garbage that accumulated in temporary dump sites around the city in a very short amount of time. Most sites remained open for a few weeks at a time, then were closed because THEY WERE AT MAXIMUM CAPACITY, and new sites would be opened in another part of the city. It was odd to see all those black plastic bags, piled one on top of the other, until the mountain reached 10 feet in height. Those black plastic bags that are usually set out on the sidewalk in front of a house, one or two at a time, I mean, what is one or two bags? to be taken away by city workers and delivered...to a magical place where garbage goes. Which, for now, is called Michigan.

The motto "Who is watching the garbage men?" should, in my opinion, read: "Who is watching the garbage men?" because we only need the workers if they're necessary in taking away OUR CRAP. Take a moment and think: how many black garbage bags am I responsible for in a two-week time span? Now, multiply that by the number of garbage pick ups in a year, and multiply that by your age. Or, the number of average years a person lives for. THAT'S A LOT OF GARBAGE. Multiplied by 2.5 million Torontonians.

This video is an excellent (and fun) place to start if you're looking to educate yourself about waste and how to help lessen yours. And here are 10 ways that you can get started right away. (Thanks to Mark & Beth for introducing me to it!)

I'm reminded of Aldous Huxley's ominous prophecy in Brave New World: a dystopia where the mantra "ending is better than mending" promotes a mindset bent on the disposable. I'm not as "green" as I'd like to be, or, perhaps, should be, but I'm starting. Care to join me?

God spoke: "Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature so they can be responsible for the fish in the sea, the birds in the air, the cattle, and, yes, Earth itself, and every animal that moves on the face of Earth."

God created human beings; he created them godlike, reflecting God's nature. He created them male and female. God blessed them: "Prosper! Reproduce! Fill Earth! Take charge! Be responsible for fish in the sea and birds in the air, for every living thing that moves on the face of Earth."

Then God said, "I've given you every sort of seed-bearing plant on Earth and every kind of fruit-bearing tree, given them to you for food. To all animals and all birds, everything that moves and breathes, I give whatever grows out of the ground for food."

And there it was.

God looked over everything he had made;
it was so good, so very good!

(Genesis 1:26-31, The Message)