After squeezing my way through my second annual procession on Sunday, I can say without hesitation that the Santa Claus Parade is no place to bring your kids. The dangers are many and very, very real.

To begin with, you have strange men winding their way through the audience snapping random pictures of children and posting them on only God-knows what website. That alone should be enough, but there’s much more to be wary of.

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This is starting to look bad, isn’t it? Second Friday post that didn’t make it out until the weekend. But this time, dear reader, I want to assure you it was an absolute necessity. You see, an event took place this weekend that marks TCL’s first technical anniversary and I didn’t want to waste a post on something more mundane.

I say technical because if you look at the archives, TCL only goes back to January. But it’s really been online since November of last year.

Luckily the WayBack Machine has, as yet, no record of it.

At that time TCL had a mostly-black theme with content that induced hemorrhaging from the eyeballs and projectile vomiting. Pretty awful stuff. Back then I didn’t have the experience or the sphincteric relaxation to do anything interesting, really. Had anyone suggested I run a shocking exposé on what really happens at the annual Santa Claus Parade, I would’ve balked!

But in mid-November I attended Illuminite, the annual Christmas lighting of Yonge-Dundas Square. It was a cold and rainy November night, but the show went on anyway. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to muscle my way up to the front of the crowd, and it was in that soggy moment of inspiration that I remembered it was Toronto City Life. Most of these people were alive, so they qualified. I was getting all bent out of shape for nothing!

That epiphany, and the attitudinal adjustment that came with it, carried me through all the way around to this year’s event. Good thing too because there were a lot more people this time around:

Most of the show, consisting of fire, sparks, trampolines, and dancing, took place at the far end of the square. There was a lot of loud music that, more often than not, descended into a raucous noise that in no way said season’s greetings to me. Eventually, the same spooky music I remember from last year came on as the fire dancers wound their way across the square toward the stage I’d plunked myself behind:

The dancers paraded around on stage in wintry white and silver, twirling fiery objects and having pyrotechnics go off behind them as if to say, “here’s the last blast of warmth you’re getting for the next six months”:

The audience were close enough that one slip and the girl in the red hood got a face full of fire. Now if that’s not a reason to go see something live, I don’t know what is. The fireworks were pretty scary too:

Behind the dancers was the reason for the whole display, the tree.

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Another movie shoot? I gotta be honest with you, I don’t get out of bed for anything less than a feature-length film these days. Made-for-TV is, frankly, below me. And Winona Ryder? Didn’t she steal something? *phft* No thanks.

I have my standards. It’s the finicky Canadian in me. Or maybe the obstinate Czech. If the Canadian government had higher standards, maybe they’d keep the likes of Winona Ryder out of Canada. They came out with a new guide for immigrants today, but I don’t see how it protects anyone from anything.

Here are the things I took away from this:

“Serving on a jury is a privilege”

I’m not sure that needs any comment.

“In the visual arts, Canada is historically perhaps best known for the Group of Seven…”

If that’s true then we really need to do something. Now!

“In our federal state, the federal government takes responsibility for…”

Whoa there! Who said anything about taking responsibility? The government takes no stand on this issue.

June 24 – Fête Nationale (Quebec)

Once again Quebecers get a perk that the rest of Canada doesn’t. On my tax money, no doubt!

“Saskatchewan, once known as the ‘breadbasket of the world’ and the ‘wheat province’…”

Yeah, Saskatchewan used to be something. What kind of message is that?

“’Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law.’ This phrase underlines the importance of religious traditions to Canadian society and the dignity and worth of the human person.”

Ooh, Zeus and the gang are not gonna be pleased about this one.

I think the problem with government publications is that they white-wash everything. The (we can safely assume) exorbitant budget probably had earmarked a proofreader for every individual sentence. Two for the God parts. What that guarantees is that, having used this booklet as preparation for citizenship, newcomers are not in any way prepared for the reality of Canadian life. This isn’t the land of milk and maple syrup they thought it was. Well, kind of. Good organic milk too. But it’s more expensive than they thought it was.

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I had the best topic for the post all planned out last night and today … I completely forgot! For the life of me I can’t remember what it’s supposed to be, which sucks because I remember it being really good. Damnit!

Instead I had to hurriedly run around looking for something to write about. I did find some ceremony happening in front of Old City Hall:

I thought maybe it was a wedding or something, but there were media there and a bunch of old people wearing medals. Didn’t look very joyous, actually. And the fact that they were setting up in front of the old war memorial seemed pretty morose.

But I was in a rush because my original plan had gone completely out the window, so I didn’t stop to ask what was going on. As a result, today’s post will unfortunately have to rely on some borrowed Toronto Archives material as filler. I apologize.

Hopefully you’ll find it interesting. I chose to include some pictures of Claire Wallace as she interviewed some veterans of the second World War for the CBC. I don’t know why I chose this subject but something about it jumped out at me the moment I saw it. Wish my memory would do the same!

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Oh who am I kidding?! There’s no way that last Friday’s post will make it online now! Guess I’ll have to call that the lost Friday. It really did swirl all the way down the black hole, to be completely honest.

In my defence, I was somewhat preoccupied with a perplexing new development. I mulled it over all weekend, only popping my head outside on Sunday afternoon to catch the dying gasps of fall. It was one of those staggeringly beautiful weekends that, if you miss them, you’re required to commit suicide. You just missed something that nice. So I had to.

Anyhow, it was a stark contrast to the development I mentioned, which has to do with my ex-wife and my ex-car. Okay, I know, it sounds whiny already, but I promise to keep that to a minimum. And the story gets a little unusual.

I figured I wouldn’t need the car while living downtown, so I let the ex drive it until the lease expired. I’ve been described both as a nice guy and a sucker. I’d probably stick myself somewhere in between. Besides, it shouldn’t have been a problem; car’s in my name and my folks guaranteed the lease. Whatever I chose to do at the end of it (this month), would’ve been to my advantage. Karma returning a favour, I thought.

Yeah, no.

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Dear reader, I must apologize profusely. The posts this week are a bit, erm, delayed. I was wracking my brain for excuses to offer up, and I think that blaming my new morning posting schedule is the way to go. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

But I want you to know that it wasn’t just TCL that suffered; my place is a total sty and Ollie’s growing dreadlocks. Curse you, mornings!

At least I did manage to get out of doors a bit, get some fresh air, smell the manure. Coming from my flat, the Agricultural Winter Fair wasn’t a big stretch; felt kinda comfortable.

I have to say that I’m not a big fan of animals in cages, even when the cages are nicer. But I figure the animals are there anyway so why not at least show them a few moments of kindness. Besides, not all the animals are destined for my stomach. The milk goats, for example, seemed quite happy to be in contact with humanity. And only one button chewed off my coat!

Other animals were just there for their dramatic looks:

This year the Fair opened with a visit from the British Royals (guess that’s why it’s called the Royal Fair), but gainful employment once again prevented me from attending. Although I have those fond public-school-days memories of coming to the Fair on field trips, I was reluctant to go for any other reason than to see Canada’s royalty (we’re still technically a monarchy!) But those search lights they have on the Ricoh Coliseum gun turrets proved to be irresistible.

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November is so far proving to be a regrettable, dark, backwards, yet strangely forward-looking month. It even produces clumsy opening sentences!

To begin with, I completely missed Halloween. My hemorrhagic fever (I cut myself shaving) not only cost me my opportunity for cheap chocolate, but I didn’t even get to see my brobro’s costume. I asked my younger sis to send me a pic but that may or may not come to pass. May lady Fate smile on us.

Next came that Daylight Saving Time fiasco.

Today when I stepped out for a much-needed haircut, I was met with stark darkness:

I thought the entire point of D.S.T. was to save our daylight hours, not destroy them completely! Thanks a lot, Mr. Hudson. (shifty Kiwi, of course!)

And now, with the half-price Halloween candies still hanging around on shelves, all manner of Christmas gaudiness is blasting everyone in the face. Don’t we still have Rememberance Day? And what about U.S. Thanksgiving? I mean, it’s in the wrong month, but I say live and let eat turkey. Where’s the harm? Why you gotta get people all worked up and credit cardy?

I know, I know; it’s nothing new, but it still manages to somehow surprise me every year. This year the shock was somewhat mitigated by the general classiness that some retailers chose to adopt. For example, the Hudson’s Bay Company (no relation), chose to forgo the neon, abstract, tree-like constructs they’ve been sporting since the eighties in favour of more classic window displays:

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I finally managed to get my ass out of doors early enough this morning to walk instead of taking the streetcar, and I ran into a giant roadblock.

And that’s not even the worst of it. I initially woke up feeling a bit off  but I attributed that to a lack of sleep. By mid-day, I was suspecting the company pumpkin carving contest (we won!), had done me in. But at three o’clock, I excused myself and went home.

Now I’m panicking. Did I eat any pork recently? Oh my God! I had bacon for breakfast last Saturday! Islam and Judaism had it right all along!

If I’ve got the pork flu, it’s way too late for a vaccination. And one of my cubicle buddies had something unpleasant for the past few days; went down suddenly last night and never made it in this morning. :O

And *gasp* look at the lineups for H1N1 shots this morning!

(big!)

Oh, wait, that’s just the starting spot. I followed the line down the sidewalk at right. It made another tight snaking pattern into an adjacent courtyard in front of Metro Hall, and wound it’s way back out onto the sidewalk.

I took to the sidewalk again and walked to the end of the block, turned around, and started side-stepping in an ill-conceived attempt to montage the line:

(biger!)

In places where people aren’t obviously lined up, they’re just behind something. You can sometimes just make out their cute little heads poking up over bushes.

But most of them may be doomed because there are an awful lot people there and, according to some accounts, clinics are only managing about 20 per hour. People were being turned away in the hundreds yesterday because they hadn’t gotten in by the time the place closed. And, *chuckle*, people are not gonna be happy to hear that now there’s a shortage of the vaccine. Dopey bureaucracy may have killed us all.

It wouldn’t have made any difference for me. Whatever I’ve got has already made itself at home and a shot yesterday would’ve been too late.

All I have left now is a thermometer, electric heating blanket, and Oliver to apply pressure to the sore areas. Luckily I’d splurged recently and now have a healthy collection of tissue boxes (with soothing aloe!) to accompany these small comforts. Dear reader, the snot’s running wild and free tonight!

Let me start by laying it all out on the table.

The Macallan Scotch tasting that I was invited to yesterday was put on by word-of-mouth advertising agency Matchstick.  The idea behind hosting the event was obviously to provide some publicity for the whisky through blogging / social media / etc., but I want to assure you that it fell well within my guidelines for ethical and responsible shilling. The agency, insists that anyone attending their events is honest and upfront about it, and I wouldn’t have gone otherwise.

TCL isn’t about confessions or selling stuff, but it’s important that you know who was involved, and for what purpose. And that I’ve killed people.

There, clean conscience, ready to imbibe — just the way God wants it. :D

So, instead of just yammering on about booze, I thought that the best way to get into the evening would be to take you along.

I knew bupkis about Whisky when I arrived at the swanky Yorkville hotel. I mean, I’d drank whisky before but had more experience with the sticky tape version of Scotch than with the liquid one. So the first thing that Mark, our host, did was to explain that whisky is Scotch, Scotch is whisky. Only Scotch proper comes from Scotland.

Next, he went on a jovial story in a heavy Quebecois about how thrilled that he, as an avid whisky drinker, was to land this job with Macallan. He really seemed quite pleased about it.

Mark looks a bit of a greedy money-grubbing banker in the photo above, doesn’t he? But no, he’s just genuinely pleased at the prospect of sipping on expensive whisky all evening; it’s glee.

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