No Ordinary Joe.

So long to a Second Cup of Tim Horton's Starbucks, even if it is Seattle's Best?

If you find yourself around King and Sherbourne in Toronto, you may indeed find yourself having a mug of creamy caffeination that would make the street corner-hogging, hyper barista-flogging chain locales become 'has-beans'. Bisogno, now that's a coffee.

With an antique dining room table around which to sit and a couple of plush couches, this hip little spot makes for a nice place to enjoy a mighty fine cup of coffee - even if it did take nearly a half-hour to have it made (but really, when was the last time your venti, one-and-a-half shot, half-sweet, no-foam macchiatto came with a heart on top?)

What the sign said was true: with coffee and ambiance like that, it's not going to need much advertising.

Toronto, Distilled.

Keys to the rental car in hand, SCS and I fled to Toronto this past weekend to escape the deluge of work cascading over our desks and for a chance to visit friends. Oh, and to smell some fresh human. I’m pretty sure I heard the sheaves of paper whispering maniacal threats as we cast them aside for another day and darkened our computers. Threats they would multiply in our absence. And there they were, glowering like embers in the darkness, when we returned on Monday.

Roomy, but gutless, odd looking and unable to maintain its footing in the snow (sounds like me, though the swelling in my ankle has finally begun to abate, thanks so much), the black Dodge Magnum was at least comped due to poor service received from Enterprise. Again.

Being a fan of old buildings and interesting architecture, I had long wanted to head down to the Distillery District, which has been designated a national historic site and boasts some of North America’s finest examples of Victorian industrial architecture. It seems the former Gooderham and Worts Complex evolved over 170 years from a single, wind powered grist into the largest distillery in the British Empire. Restored in 2003, it is now home to art galleries, trendy restaurants and other stores, and is also an oft-used locale for movie sets, including Chicago, Cinderella Man and X-Men.

As snow danced between buildings and the cold carved its way into my sinews, I was reminded of how this would be a much more vibrant setting come summer when the patios are jammed. And, you know, it’s not sub-zero. But, a Balzac’s coffee (mmm, chocolate-dipped cookie stir stick) and a pastry later and I was back on the cobblestone streets.

As always, some signs and things from the voyage:

“Distillery District Daycare”? I’m imagining those are some of the best behaved children around. Sure, I’ve heard of rubbing some whisky on a teething toddler’s gums, but raising children in the distillery seems to be a whole new game. Graduate straight into AA. Finally, school t-shirts are highly sought after on the playground. School mascot’s likely a bottle, tipped like Pisa.


Outside Balzac’s in the Distillery District, I found this curious little sign over a basketful of brightly coloured biscuits. Literally translated, it reads “Nice dog” or "Kind dog"(oddly, not pluralized). Bad dogs be warned: No cookie for you. What if he was just dogged by a bad reputation? Can she get away with being a bitch? Or would they both be pooched? If so, it’d be a ruff life. Okay, I’ll stop now. Really.


Simply the best knife block. Ever.


And we saw this billboard in a couple of locations. So much for the British having a dry sense of humour. Yike.

The Chronicles of Torontonia.

QUACK LIKE A DUCK.
Don't even get me started on the whole chiropractor bent. Now that's one powerful lobby if I've ever seen one. The last time I so much as thought bad things about chiropractors, there were mysterious bumps in the night. Threats of serious harm made to me. Like a neck adjustment.

But really, I don't even know where to begin about this poster I saw in a chiropractor's office yesterday. Are you kidding me? You want me to take you seriously? The fake Muppets? Jim Hensen must be rolling in his grave (which he could probably still do without chiropractic care, thank you very much). Faux Muppets. Blatant, inferior phonies. Perhaps they're appropriate after all. And their look of stupified shock. Really, wouldn't you think that marketing for this field would maybe not feature people made of foam? At least they can honestly say that "Nobody was hurt in the creation of this campaign". Honestly, please re-align my foam. I'm feeling a bit spongy today. Interestingly, they're all immobile. Especially the dinosaur. Appropriate enough. Let's market chiropractic care to children: "Yay! Mommy, can we play with the ky-o-packer?" Yikes.

That's not even addressing the whole legitimizing ego-stroke of chiropractors calling themselves 'Doctors'. I will now begin a quest to find myself something I can just call myself a doctor of. Qualifications (quackifications?) have obviously slipped. Doctor of the grilled cheese sandwich, perhaps? Doctor of video pinball? Ahh, Doctor of sarcasm. That might be the one. Chiropractors. Oh wait, sorry, there's the doorbell. It seems there's a powerful lobby unhappy with me in, well, the lobby. Terse words and lawsuits. And a handful of business cards covered in faux-Muppets.

UM, MINE'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.
Something about the shame of being pulled over by a snarling Harley. Especially when you're on a Vespa. "But Officer, my little two-stroke lawnmower engine couldn't possibly exceed the speed limit. And my panniers are firmly attached. Yes, the courier on the ten-speed just passed me but I was being, well, you know, cautious." It turns out this guy wasn't really riding a scooter (though it initially looked like it), but his bike was certainly tinier than the one flashing at him from behind like it was a red light district. In this city, slow and steady doesn't win the race. It gets you killed.

URINE TROUBLE.
Watch out for knee splatter! This was, by far, the most disturbing event of the day. Southbound on the DVPee at rush hour and this guy's on his knees at the side of the road, praying for relief. Pee, pee, pee, pee, pee. Really? Hold up, yield -- yellow light. You know how many exits with gas stations are just up ahead (and just behind)? Many. Many. Many. Many urinals that would save you from having to kneel awkwardly facing transport trucks whizzing by your head in the opposite direction at 130 clicks an hour. And from snickers from camera-toting morons like me.

Embarassed? Well, I guess your face was the only thing flushed this time. Bladder late than never. I particularly like that the sign in the background says: "Movie big". Um, yeah, about that. No. At least you saved yourself the indecent exposure charge, but if you really couldn't wait the twelve seconds it would have taken to get off the highway, you might've at least contemplated pulling off to the right shoulder rather than into the centre median. Then you could have even hidden somewhat behind your car. Just wait until that news leaks. I can just picture the traffic 'copter report now: "Despite intermittent showers, traffic has slowed to a trickle on the DVP because some dink has decided he's number one." If arrested, hopefully he'd at least go pee-cefully. Because I certainly wouldn't want to have to be the one to put on the handcuffs.

Randomness from travels over past couple of months.

Maybe it's just the world that's a bit skewed? But tilting toward the right? Hmm, I think not. Then maybe we'd have a Prime Minister who shakes his childrens' hands. Oh wait.


I'd really like to blame this one on the U.S., being that this was in Detroit, but alas, the car was not from there. Sigh. I suppose that Windsor IS close enough. Just missing the gun rack on the back.

Where would we be without digital photography. And PhotoShop. So much fun.

The Last Few...

And a helicopter for good measure. Good night, all!
More chatting.
Lisa. I could've rotated this one properly, but it's funnier to me this way. And this is my blog, dammit.

Doug and Lisa.
Doug be grillin'...gettin' his grill on...Um, Word, yo!

More intense, intellectual discussion.

Sanjeev and Doug...with yet more particle physics.

Bruno and Sheldon discussing particle physics.

Oh, there's Mr. Cooper.
More hangin' (and still no Mr. Cooper)...let's flog this joke.

Hangin' (no sign of Mr. Cooper)...

And yet, more...I see a Theme Developing

Oh no, you didn't...Oh please don't. Where's the Speedo, big boy?

More hilarity ensues...
Oh, and there was a hockey game. And some burly muscles. Too bad, so sad Edmonton.

That Dom...he is one happy, happy man.


Bruno, Dom and some miscreant. And the 'Crackberry' strikes again. To much bemusement.

Hangin' wit' Bruno.
Bruno.

And the Shindig Continues...

Cat...putting up with years of abuse. Sorry.

Sangita.


McGraw, manning the twos and threes, and rockin' the Blackberry. Party on, um, dude?

More Randomness from the Annual Shindig

Frankly, Sangita, the way you wielded that knife um, frightened me. Just a bit. But then again, it WAS a big, big knife. Paul Hogan would be proud.
The spread was varied... Sushi, samosas, burgers, sausages...Hmm...my memory is getting hungry just thinking about it. Again.


How could you not love the view? That's what patio parties are meant to be. Hidden from view: the hot tub. Yeah, boy.

Story number one: Drew and errant bottle of wine

So, I suppose red wine plus white wine should equal a pink shirt for Drew, no? Thanks to Kristi and her errant bottle of red wine forming an incredible union with Drew's shirt (and then their attempts to remove the stain with white wine)...we were treated to a peep show. And we weren't drunk enough to be prepared for that. ..

Hangin' with that cat, Dom -- the host with the most and a patio to boot. And it looks like he enjoys rockin' the devil horns. What a rocker. Um, yeah. That's the ticket.