Not the Guy from 'Fantasy Island'.

Classic. Driving along the other day, I passed a tattoo shop with a sign outside that read:

"Get your tattoos while they're still cool!"

Quite a clever little jab given the recent mainstreaming of the marriage between skin and ink. I'm sure many still go in and miss the irony, carrying with them small scraps of paper with Chinese characters they think speak to their strength, empowerment and singularity. Inkredible.

Good Ol' College Try.

Take a pill - it's just an ad! After a couple of weeks of buzz, the lid is off College Ontario's "Obay" viral ad campaign (how many puns can we get into one paragraph? Hmm?), which prominently ran advertisements featuring a faux pharmaceutical and had people scratching their heads.

With the unveiling came a shiny new web site and fresh ads with overlays ("Don't push your kids into doing what you want.") designed to get parents and students thinking about options beyond university. Options are good.

I think it was also a clever, cooperative way for the province's colleges to leverage economies of scale and generate a positive, proactive campaign. I can't imagine that getting 24 colleges on the same page in order to run something so different was easy (now that's collegial). Now that the curiosity factor has peaked (as opposed to the past couple of weeks when it was piqued), however, I'll be curious to see how effective the rebranding strategy is going forward. Given how many students do not end up going to university, it still offers an important message.

As much as I liked the campaign, I still find it a little odd that most of the advertising was done in and around public transit, yet seemed to be targeted toward parents. That might work in Toronto, where the TTC enjoys a broad demographic, but in some of the province's other college towns and cities, I think you'd find the majority of riders would be the students themselves.

Tough Pill to Swallow.

When I first saw this bus ad the other day, I wondered if it was the work of an enterprising culture jammer making a statement of some sort related to society's propensity to medicate, rather than parent, its children. That or, maybe, an elaborate advertising campaign teaser, but I couldn't think of what it would relate to. The ad contained no identifying information and I was left scratching my head.

I didn't realize at the time that this ad, along with a series of others ("My son used to have his own aspirations, now he has mine. Thanks Obay!"), had begun popping up all over Toronto and in other Ontario cities. So it wasn't the work of a lone wolf, particularly given the expense of the campaign (there is also a 1-800 number, bus shelter ads, etc.).

It turns out that this brilliant piece of marketing is for Colleges Ontario, an advocacy group for the province's colleges. Appropriately enough, an announcement will be made at The Centre for Creative Communications at Centennial College tomorrow to give details about the campaign. I've only heard some rumours about what the ads' goals are, but in marketing terms, it's brilliant because people are talking and wondering. Kudos.

2008 Honda, with Tan Interior.

Obviously tongue-in-cheek, and a creative use of previously existing space, this Tan Factory cracks me up every time I pass it. I've heard of drive-thru restaurants, banks and heck, even liquor stores and gun shops (don't get me started on those), but I presume you'd need a convertible for this one.

Of course, the great irony is that you'd get a better tan with the top down if you weren't underneath a giant awning. That and your skin wouldn't turn a thermonuclear shade of orange.

Up in Smoke.

“Hey kids, look what happens to your teeth when you smoke…”

I must say I had to double take when I saw these packages of baby biscuits. Looking more like a double toke, the round-noggined youngsters appeared to be enjoying a nice tug on a cigar.

Of course - organic or not - that couldn't be possible. While it's not exactly easy to get babies to pose for photographs, you'd think the folks at My Organic Baby might have re-shot this picture rather than have a young Red Auerbach as spokesbaby.

Wanton Wonton.

A new year and yes, it appears that I am still all of twelve-years-old. Or, at least my sense of ha ha is.

Granted, finding humour at the expense of people's and product's names (which appears to be a main preoccupation of this blog) must be one of the baser forms of amusement, but I wonder if this noodle and wonton manufacturer is in any way related to our Malaysian friend, Soon Fatt Hung? Okay, no I don't.

Still an all-time great in the names department, does anybody remember former Maryland basketball player, Exree Hipp? You can also add other basketball classics like Scientific Mapp from Florida A&M (and his brother, Majestic) and God Shammgod (I wonder if the given name helped him avoid a smiting for the 'sham' reference in his surname?) who earned a cup of coffee in the NBA (more like an espresso shot, it was so brief).

Floo(Red).

With his execution in December 2006, I suppose Saddam Hussein wouldn't have been eligible this year (YouTube suggests he's at the end of his rope anyway).

But really. Really? Is this what our world has come to? The ghostly face of Eastern Europe's grand puppet master staring back at us as Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" because of his ability to "impose stability"? What am I missing? Fine, the publisher's criteria look at an individual's influence in the world - not necessarily positive contributions. That said, I'm just thinking it's a sad state of affairs if we cannot come up with someone more deserving. You know, someone who hasn't reputedly perpetrated (say that ten times really quickly...) a series of crimes against humanity under the crushing grip of his iron thumb.

Well, I suppose Time's border is red - and not in the manner of Bono's Red campaign - but I can't think of any publication that should feature Russian President Vladimir Putin as its "Person of the Year" other than Dictator Monthly (now with pin-ups!), or, you know, maybe the press he controls in his home country. Naturally, if they didn't comply, he'd show them exactly why Time felt the need to bestow upon him this title.

Here's hoping for better things in 2008.

The Sound of Year End II.

It's not only time for fat men in red suits to make lists and check them twice - it is, after all, that time again for year-end posts. For the record, while my ears unwrapped a lot of extremely enjoyable music in 2007, very few complete albums really stood out for me, unlike last year. As such, I'm going to list my 15 favourite songs I came across in 2007 (whether they were issued then or not), in no particular order (album name in parentheses). You know, the ones that, at one point or another, were on constant repeat. Digital waxy goodness available here. Drum roll, please:

Beirut: A Sunday Smile (The Flying Club Cup). For me, 2007 was about all things Zach Condon, meaning Beirut and his previous bands, The Real People and 1971. From Gulag Orkestar to the Lon Gisland and Elephant Gun EPs, to The Flying Club Cup, who knew European gypsy music could be so infectious?

Beirut: Elephant Gun (Elephant Gun EP). Yes, more Beirut, this time from the aforementioned Elephant Gun EP. Bring on the brass section. Condon was rather prolific in 2007, issuing two EPs and a full-length album on the footsteps of Gulag Orkestar's acclaim. 'Strike while the iron's hot,' they say.

Basia Bulat: Snakes & Ladders (Oh, My Darling). Canadian content alert! Not only that, Bulat is a Master's student at The University of Western Ontario, working out of London and Toronto. It's a shame the album was released in the UK prior to Canada earlier this year, but it's one of the year's best.

Feist: My Moon My Man (The Reminder). Seemingly trying to re-introduce sequined jumpsuits to the collective consciousness, sometime Broken Social Scener Leslie Feist hit the mainstream with her catchy (and well-choreographed) videos. This one was used in an infectious commercial for the iPod Touch.

Fionn Regan: Put a Penny in the Slot (The End of History). Sure, this ultra-witty song has a really catchy chorus and a reference to Saul Bellow, but really, Regan had me at the lyric that mentioned a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Seriously, how many musicians would be ingenious enough to come up with that one?

Nicole Atkins: The Way it Is (Neptune City). One aural taste of Atkins' debut EP Bleeding Diamonds made the New Jersyan's first full-length a hotly anticipated release this year. Not to be confused with the diet, Atkins' voice is full and rich, haunting and enchanting.

Blair: Mona Lisa (Pluto). New Orleans-based Blair gave her EP the name Pluto as a metaphor for the impact hurricane Katrina had on the city, comparing it to the scientific community's decision to delist Pluto as a planet, saying: "Something is one way all your life, then all of a sudden, it totally changes."

Interpol: There's No I in Threesome (Our Love to Admire). Sure, the title reaches out and grabs you, but so does the hook. Popular opinion is that Interpol has been unable to recapture past glories of Turn Off the Bright Lights and Antics, but I'd say this album has more high points than not. Or, at least three.

Stars: Bitches of Tokyo (In Our Bedroom After the War). Given my love for Stars, I had looked forward to the release of this album with great anticipation, but haven't found that it has lived up to my expectations thus far. Except for this track, which has made me dance around once or twice this year.

Kate Nash: Foundations (Made of Bricks). "Dear God, I hope I'm not stuck with this one," Nash sings of a dysfunctional relationship she's holding on to by her fingernails. Comparisons to Lily Allen are obvious, but Nash brings a deeper sensibility to her songs and a dry wit that often counters the bouncing tunes.

Voxtrot: Real Life Version (Self-Titled). Another band that has achieved critical acclaim on the backs of several EPs and much love in the blogosphere, this is Voxtrot's first full-length album. While I'm not sure the LP hit all the high notes the EPs did, the band continues to craft beautiful pop songs.

Miracle Fortress: This Thing About You (Five Roses). Nominated for Canada's Polaris Prize last year, Miracle Fortress is essentially the work of Montreal-based Graham Van Pelt (who isn't coming out of Montreal these days?) Sunny and whirling, this is easily my favourite track on the album.

Lily Allen: Nan, You're a Window Shopper (Alright, Still - B-Sides). Sure, she's a bit of a brat and a self-admitted alcoholic, but the cheeky Allen can churn out some sunny pop tunes. Somewhat of a guilty pleasure, a number of Allen's songs wormed their way into my consciousness, but ended up being overplayed.

Maritime: Parade of Punk Rock T-Shirts (We, the Vehicles). Fine, this song (2006) is not from this year (Heresy & the Hotel Choir is), but it introduced me to the band that rose from the ashes of The Promise Ring and The Dismemberment Plan. Infectious and catchy, but hardly punk rock.

Eleni Mandell: Girls (Miracle of Five). "Do you still cry about girls you wanted?" Mandell softly croons to a soft-strumming guitar. No, no tears. While I can't say I'm much of a fan of her other work, this was a delightfully pleasant track that made its way into rotation for me this summer.

Upon hitting "Publish Post", I know some other song will likely vie for Top 15 honours in my head, but that's just the way it is. There were too many good songs to list, so I stuck with the ones that made me keep hitting repeat in 2007. Your faves? Hit the Comments section.

More Signs from Africa.

Ah, the subtleties of the English language. Walking through Mwanza, Tanzania, I had to chuckle about this store's sign. If you're in the market for a better-than-average snack, you're in luck - but for a matching, quality, beverage, no dice. They only serve "standard" drinks. Sigh, my thirst continued, unabated, due to my highfalutin ways.

This next sign, at the Tanzania Breweries plant in Mwanza (which produces 13 different East African beers), seems less funny than perhaps redundant. Really, smoking kills your taste buds? Who knew? Then again, with how often many people twin cancer sticks with drinking, maybe the brewer should be testing the taste of tobacco with hops.

As an aside, a positive story from our tour of the brewery was the discovery that they treat water from Lake Victoria and run a tap into the local community from which citizens can take clean water for free. This was slightly encouraging, despite the greater problem in Tanzania of beer and soda generally being cheaper than potable water.

The Future is Beer (er, Near).

Seen on a street corner downtown: a comical juxtaposition of signs from both former and future tenants at one of the city's landmark buildings.

In large, bold letters, one banner blares: "Building Positive Futures for Youth". Under it, however, window paint exposes the building's history as a pub that hawks $2 beer on Mondays (inset) - likely a message the new establishment will be trying to avoid. Scraper, anyone?

Joey? Pheebs?

Hoping to rediscover some hops prior to my basketball game last night, I came to wonder if maybe, just maybe, kangaroo jerky might do the trick (after all, a "court" is one possible collective noun used for these Australian animals). Appropriately enough, the strips of 'fast food' come in a handy little pouch (though, given roos' propensity for boxing, cardboard might also have been equally suitable).

While my love for a fine jerky is long established, I cannot say I had ever set my teeth into a marsupial before. It was a little gamey, but - alas - did nothing to alter the effects of gravity on my body. Even KangaROOS, the shoes (and yes, they still make them), couldn't help there, it seems.

Odd kangaroo fact for the day: they are environmentally friendly because they don't burp or fart. Nearly a quarter of the planet's greenhouse gases come from agriculture, but, unlike cows and other herbivores, roos are missing the digestive methane releases that lead to that stench punching a hole in the ozone. Instead, their bodies undergo a series of conversion processes that eventually turn the gas into further energy. Sure beats having to blame the dingo.

'Tis the Season to be Jolly.

Not to judge (okay, maybe just a wee bit), and say what you will about the world's oldest profession, but I'm still thinking it might be a bit of an oxymoron to be using the term "high-class" and "prostitute" in the same line. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.

But I digress. As the 'odd news' awardee of the day, we have a story of a woman with an unorthodox way of raising funds for a children's fundraiser. Now that's the holiday spirit. Given the context of the article, doesn't anyone else find the terms "deposit slip", "touches me deeply" and "spread her message" slightly disturbing (at least there wasn't a typo, inserting an 'a' for the 'e' in 'message')?

SANTIAGO (AFP) - A high-class Chilean prostitute touched by a charity telethon's bid to raise money for handicapped children has stepped forward with her own contribution: 27 hours of sex.

That's how much paid sex work the escort, Maria Carolina, has said she wants to contribute to the Teleton association. The 5,400 dollars she earns from the marathon session, scheduled for November 30-December 1, will go to the charity, Carolina said, explaining she earns 300 dollars per 90-minute session.

She said she would post a picture of the bank deposit slip on her website afterwards to dispel any doubts. "I am going to contribute with my work to a purpose that touches me deeply," said the prostitute, who has spread her message through several online sites and television programs.

But the administrator of the Teleton foundation, television presenter Mario Kreutzberger, has thrown cold water on the proposition, saying it falls well outside his moral guidelines and he cannot accept it. Carolina, though, said she was determined. "How can someone question a person who wants to put her job at the service of a noble cause?" she asked.

Death of Santa?

I can say with earnest that I'm no green thumb and, as such, can say with equal conviction can that I have never associated the word 'stunning' with urns (and no, not because I'm against them, to say, urn-ist), much less an arrangement of them.

Then again, I had to double-take to realize that I wasn't looking at a sign outside of a funeral parlour (with a beaming, jolly St. Nick to boot) before I realized that this sign actually made sense. Still, it wasn't a sentence I'd expected to see roadside in bright, dancing neon letters.

Rock, Stump, Scissors.

Passing this the other day, I decided to log what I considered a fine and witty example of some local guerrilla graffiti. I presume it was likely intended to provide cutting commentary on the state of diminishing green space in the city. Of course, given the impact on the ozone of aerosols present in most spray paint cans, the artist might have been barking up the wrong tree if it's environmental activism he had in mind. Just a snippet -- or sliver -- of information to consider. Perhaps he was stumped and saw no other way to branch out.

Made in Africa.

What, with disease, malnutrition and extreme poverty, there weren't already enough problems in Africa? Introducing: Chemi-Cola - The Healthy Alternative. Of course, with poverty comes products like this; with products like this come malnutrition and disease. Open up and say ah - like Mufasa said, it's all one big circle of life.

It turns out Chemi-Cola is much like an ultra-concentrated beverage similar to Ribena (and comes in a thermonuclear orange-coloured mango flavour, too), but still. As it was, I thought the ubiquitousness of Coca-Cola in Kenya and Tanzania was something to behold. Though I can't imagine this product is highly exportable, methinks the folks behind it might want to invest in some English lessons if they're going to name the product in this language. Or maybe go back to Chernobyl.

Then again, if Chemi-Cola isn't to your personal tastes and you find you're getting insufficient fuel into your body from, well, you know, meats, fruits, grains and vegetables, you can simply turn to the can. Sweet! I suppose it beats the bottle. The solution to everything: chemicals!

Sure, glucose is an important simple sugar for providing energy. Sure, too, we absorb far too much sugar in North America, but come on sweetheart, most of us don't just scoop it out of a can in its pure form. Without the lollipop, where's the fun? Walking through one of the grocery stores in Mwanza, we came across row upon row of canned glucose. Packed by Excel Chemicals Ltd. Enough said? Nope. I had to cringe when I read the instructions for feeding the product to babies. Um, yike?

These jolly little signs, pasted throughout Mwanza, however, I got a kick out of. I couldn't stop imagining Homer Simpson, walking along the street, mouth agape, drooling and saying "Mmm, fatty pork products".

What a great way to start the day - I can't think of a better breakfast food than a happy one (Happy Meal, anyone?). I'm not so sure the pigs would be super pleased at the prospect of hitting the links, but the company, bringing home the bacon in Arusha, Tanzania, describes its 'special strength' as being the "Sole (fish sausage, too?) modern meat processor and sausage producer in the Northern Tanzania Tourist Circuit with well established infrastructure capable of producing export (ex-pork?) quality products". With a pair of eggs (wouldn't want to make a pig of myself), sunny-side up, please.

Endnote.

I feel almost too overwhelmed to really grasp all that has transpired over the past few weeks, and to be able to say it was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Almost. But, when I look back at the sum of the parts -- the sum of incredible experience after incredible experience -- I realize there cannot be any question. I'm just not sure my mind is ready yet to think collectively of all these experiences as one larger memory. It was all too much for that.

The opportunity to learn about other people, and to be able to make a difference -- however fleeting -- in their lives is something that cannot be underestimated and is something that will remain with me always. We are so lucky -- and we can still learn so much from other cultures. Even faced with staggering levels of poverty, disease and malnutrition, the majority of people I met in Africa were overwhelmingly happy. With an average life expectancy of 45, and much to overcome to prepare their children for a better life, one has to wonder if there's simply little time to dwell. It's a perspective many of us could learn to appreciate.

Day 13: A True African Experience.

As large raindrops begin to fall from a darkening sky, one of our host’s daughters reached up and silently took my hand in a sign of friendship as we made our way downhill through a small Mwanza community where we had had lunch. It was a sweet moment on a day that really featured a true experience in Africa that most tourists don’t have the opportunity to enjoy.

Meaghan, Alison and I had been invited to lunch by the interns’ housekeeper, Pendo, at her mother’s home a distance out of town. Making our way first to Pendo’s place, we were greeted by a succession of children – some hers (she has eight), some her sister’s and some her friend’s – in a small dark, teal room with a set of shuttered windows and a curtain that had been pulled across to separate bedroom from living room. Leaks in the ceiling were like large cup rings on a coffee table. Chairs and couches quickly filled as children came in, saying the respectful “shikamoo”. They seemed very excited to be having us as guests and quickly brought out a box of photographs and showed us their English homework. None of them spoke it much at all.

They were, however, quite eager to have their “picha” taken and would laugh with delight – and rib each other mercilessly – when we’d show them their facsimile selves on the backs of our cameras. The whole day, they’d point out photo opportunities and often stepped behind the shutter themselves. It was a nice change from having to be so careful about respecting cultural values here, where you don’t just randomly take pictures of people.

Eight children of various ages, the three of us and Pendo each piled into a dalla-dalla (a small mini-van-like bus) for the 25-minute ride to our destination. Stuffed beyond capacity, there were at times more than 25 sweaty people in the vehicle. And a basket of live chickens. This is Africa.

With the children leading the way and carrying a large basket of cooking bananas, vegetables, wood and other cooking supplies, we made the 20-minute trek up into the hills to Pendo’s mother’s home. The dirt ground in front of the relatively-large house was impeccably swept and out of small gardens sprouted plants that folded unto themselves when touched.

As one child flicked impatiently though stations on a large radio, another showed off his dancehall moves; others began preparing the food and yet another box of photographs was brought out. The children eagerly pointed out themselves and their parents. Pendo’s mother brought out a large bag of plaited straw and taught the interns how to make intricate patterns that could eventually be woven together into large mats.

Lunch, made on a small portable stove outside, was cooking bananas with tomatoes and onion, and some pineapple. Sitting around a coffee table, the children eagerly dove into a large plate, using pieces of banana to scoop up the sauce. Apart from the great company and honour we felt at being invited, the amazing thing about this was that they fed 13 people – most of whom are still growing – for less than five dollars (the enormous bundle of bananas cost 3,000 TSH, or about $2.75). It boggles my mind.

After lunch, the children rose to action, whisking away the dishes, washing and cleaning the house while Pendo had her hair braided by her mother. This was all a real African experience and I was very thankful for having been able to participate in it.

Day 12: Sekou Toure Hospital.

Visiting the Sekou Toure regional hospital in Mwanza this morning, we were reminded of how lucky we are to have the health care service we do in Canada. While the hospital was better equipped than the one we visited in Kenya earlier in the trip, its inadequacies were punctuated by its complete lack of electricity and water since last night. They have no back-up generators.

A large number of the hospital’s patient base of 4-5,000 lines the hallways on long benches, or sits on the lawn. One woman brought with her a basket of live chickens as geckos scurried along the floor. Each of the “In case of emergency, break glass” cases was cracked.

Each day, the hospital helps bring 40 babies into the world and cares for 80 HIV/AIDS patients. One advantage of its being a government-run hospital is that patients only need to pay 5,000 TSH (approximately $4.75) for a registration card that will cover all of their examinations, necessary diagnostics like ultrasounds or x-rays, and any medications. Wait times are only two hours.

HIV/AIDS patients undergo mandatory counselling sessions before they are able to see a doctor, and the room where one such session was being conducted was full of women and young children. And the surgeries scheduled for today? They will have to be postponed until such time as electrical power returns. Such is life in Africa.

This afternoon, we went back to the kitchen so that Meaghan and Alison could deliver follow-up exams related to the mamas’ English lesson earlier in the week. The mamas were busy cooking lunch for one of the local schools, for whom they prepare breakfast and lunch as a side business. We also returned to the Forever Angels orphanage for a couple of hours and it was nice to see I was remembered from last week.

Day 11: A Good Deed.

It was tremendously rewarding to take part in a good deed today during an excursion that will make an enormous difference in a woman’s life.

Where there’s poverty throughout Mwanza, homes in the slums up the hill we visited today are in even more serious states of disrepair. Missing are even the open sewers of the city; refuse of all varieties – fabric, packaging, corn cobs and liquor sachets – blanket the ground, piling high in areas where the wind has carried it. The hills are rocky and steep, the ground hard and dry. Small shacks perch precariously on ledges, gravity pulling wood planks to the ground. With the heat in full force, the hike makes your lungs ache.

As ever, children call out to us and we are welcomed by a number of friendly adults sitting in front of their homes or small shops.

When we reach our destination, a frail-looking woman with few teeth comes to the door of her clay hut and welcomes us warmly into the small room that serves as kitchen, bedroom – with a bed made from pieces of discarded foam – and living room. Soon, her granddaughter, Sikitu – the reason for our visit – comes by and we’re able to hand over a letter and 500,000 TSH (approximately $450-500) from former WHE intern Dallas Currow. Dallas had come to know Sikitu during her time in Tanzania and had conducted additional fundraising back in Canada to help her pay for medicine and other needs.

That is a life-changing amount of money here, particularly where she lives. I can only imagine the look on her face when she opened the envelope.

Glasses: Half-Full.

All within five minutes today, we witnessed a large contrast of activities within the community where the interns’ apartment is located. Returning from the market, we saw a crowd forming as people hurried from all corners to see what the commotion was about. People were smiling, laughing and pointing toward a large throng of people amassed in front of a couple of stores, and someone else was lying on the ground. Suddenly, two police officers appeared from the centre of the mass, one firing shots into the sky, as they whisked an uncooperative suspect away. Yet five minutes later, when we came back outside, a crowd had formed for a different reason: some of the performers we had seen in the HIV/AIDS morality plays last week were doing an African dance, backed by musical instruments reminiscent of a southern jug band. Quite the activity – and a little surreal.

The heat hung heavily and we really felt its effects as we walked throughout the city, and over to the community kitchen, where Meaghan and Alison also teach the ‘yogurt mamas’ English three times a week. Today’s lesson was about the possessive forms of subjects and the interns worked with the mamas in both Swahili and English to help them understand proper sentence structure. The mamas were also really excited to receive reading glasses, which Meaghan’s mother had sent to the community. It was cute to see them trying on different frame styles, but the glasses should really benefit the mamas in their studies and day-to-day work.

All the while, a number of the community’s younger children began appearing on the kitchen’s steps and looked in at us with curiosity. Playing peek-a-boo and making some funny faces sent them into peels of laughter and led to their pretending to hide on the steps or to their scurrying away, only to return all over again.