White Nights

Last Saturday was nuit blanche, Toronto's all-night art thing so we met up with some friends and perambulated throughout the city streets. I learned that art can be interactive, transformative and sometimes, "the Public" can ruin a good thing. I also learned that nuit blanche takes place in very low light and that there's only so much a small camera can do. This is some of what we saw.

Nuit Blanche Toronto, 2009 from rowdyman on Vimeo.

If a Chapters outlet closes they have a sale. When Pages bookstore closed they held a wake. The Gladstone was filled to the rafters with Toronto's literati, hipsters, bon vivants, sexy librarians and curious onlookers (did I mention the sexy librarians?) One after another, friends of Pages past and present (though I guess they're all "past" now) stood in front of the gathering recounting books found and friends made.

 As the stories grew darker and tears started to appear in the eyes of many I thought I'd step out of the crowded bar just to feel some air. Sitting on a concrete step was a well-dressed artist having a smoke break. Unfortunately I don't smoke otherwise I would've gladly joined him. I went for fries instead. Have you ever wanted a coffee and run into a coffee shop and immediately known this cup was going to cost approximately twice what a normal cup would cost? That's what this French-fry shop was like. Still, it satisfied. On my way back to the Gladstone for another drink I met a colleague and we decided to have that drink together. We wound up sitting next to a group made up of those who earlier in the evening were eulogizing Pages Bookstore and praising it's owner and life force, Marc Glassman.

 It occurred to me that without Pages Bookstore, this table of like- minded folks may not ever convene again. Rep theatres, record stores and book shops - dying breeds all, done in by digital media or the economic scale of big box stores. For all the talk of "community" on the Internet, it cannot create a place like Pages Books or The Revue Theatre or SoundScapes. Because I still value those places I don't see why they can't stay open and serve a certain market - me. I guess a market of one is really a market of none.

For more on the Pages sendoff see The Torontoist.

Posted via email from peterrogers's posterous

Looking Up, Waaaay Up

image by Kaddy via Flickr

Last night I watched a strange collection of documentaries that was like Jean Cocteau meets Jacques Cousteau. Beautifully abstract at times but generally sort of obscure and dull. Bored by a film on the sex life of a cephalopod, which was surprisingly obscene, I decided to ignore it and go out onto the deck to take in some cushions that had been left outside.

...a film on the sex life of a cephalopod... was surprisingly obscene

It was a clear night and the sweeping search lights from the CNE grounds caught my eye. Quite a few stars were visible, a rarity for Toronto, so I thought to lay down on the deck chair and let my eyes adjust to the night sky. Only a few days ago, I stood outside in the cold of my parent's garden trying to see a meteor shower I'd read about. I did see a few shooting stars but no shower. I was sort of hoping to see something similar tonight. Instead I saw mostly the bellies and blinking lights of aircraft passing overhead. After a little while I noticed a small star that seemed to be moving. As I tracked it across the sky I realized I was probably following a satellite. Shortly after that, I spied another.

Momentarily, I was disappointed to have only seen artificial lights in the night, but it occurred to me then that it was really pretty impressive. Here I was surrounded by the summer sounds of cicadas, crickets and frogs (not to mention the traffic hum of the city) and miles above me were hunks of metal and circuitry – some filled with people – others merely filled with more metal and circuitry. We talk so much about achievements of man that are visible from space that we seem to forget the more remarkable achievements are visible from Earth looking out into space.

Just one more photo of the scene of the fire across the street. Our street has at least 4 trucks and numerous other emergency vehicles parked while emergency services continued to investigate the cause of the fire (it's been at least a couple of hours since the fire was out and they're still in there). It's a gut-check seeing smoke pouring out of a neighbour's house so I'll be taking a closer look at the smoke alarms and making evacuation plans first thing in the morning.

Described by one fire fighter as a "major event" but it seems to be out at this point. It was pretty amazing to see fire fighters smashing windows and running into the breach. I'm a little more appreciative of the station house being just a few blocks away.

Posted via email from peterrogers's posterous

Urban Spiritual

Image via Flickr

It's difficult to describe my experience tonight other than "near spiritual".

Some context. On a whim I decided to go to an ersatz book launch as part of Pages Books' TINAR event (This Is Not A Reading Series) to hear designer/author Reif Larsen talk about his book "The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet". I was a little more mobile because I'd ridden my bike to work so I wasn't too worried about getting to the event, which was at the Steam Whistle Brewery. The brewery is housed in the old rail yard round house South of, what we all know as, the Skydome, as such it offers some remarkable views of Toronto's skyline. While I was enjoying the event, I decided to leave early as it was getting dark and I thought it was best to hit the road. Stepping out into the twilight, I was struck by Toronto's illuminated high rises standing before a big purple blue sky. All the clichés were there. Ribbons of clouds, shredding through a darkening sky. Pin lights from buildings punctuated shadowy buildings that defined the city. Garish neon seemed luxuriant and the asphalt streets seemed more like murky still rivers. They don't call it the magic hour for nothing. Maybe they should call it the "insipid romanticism hour".

I shook off the awe and started my ride home. The first portion of the route is beneath the Gardiner and West bound on Queens Quay. This would be treacherous in full daylight but is even more terrifying in the fading light of early evening. Despite several lane changes and many (MANY) cars stopped or parked in the bike lane, I eventually made my way to the safer ground of the bike path. The idea being it would be so much safer to ride on a bike path without any car traffic to contend with. Of course, I didn't realize there wasn't any light at all on the path and my tiny LED wasn't really helping much. Then something special happened. My eyes adjusted and I turned a corner where for the next five kilometers I was riding only meters away from Lake Ontario on my left and Toronto's tremulous city scape on my right. One of my favourite pieces of music came through my ear buds and for the next eleven minutes I floated over black tarmac and swooped through the trees while the lake's shoreline sparkled beside me, the city lights lay out before me and the night sky's giant inky-dark sheet billowed above me.

I was probably only going 40KM/hr at the fastest downhill section but it felt like flying at 30,000 ft and for those few moments I was falling through Toronto's pavement-black night and slicing the atmosphere. By the time the song ended I had been delivered to Roncesvalles and was only a few moments from home.

That music I was listening to is from Animal Collective called Pride & Fight. Here's that song:

Click here to hear.

You can buy the song in iTunes.

Couldn't Be Bothered Hour

via Flickr

Another Earth Hour, another year Torontonian's ask "How little can I do?" I'm starting to think Earth Hour should be renamed "The Least I Can Do Hour", or "I Couldn't Be Bothered Hour". To be fair, this year Torontonians almost doubled their participation. Last year there was a 8 per cent dip in power demand while this year Toronto showed a 15 per cent drop in power use. Province wide the drop was 6 per cent. The significance probably shows people did more than just turn off their lights (as lighting only accounts for only 5 per cent of energy use). I think it's fair on Earth Hour to just turn off any unnecessary appliance. Lights, television, computers etc.

Yesterday, as two well-earning childless professionals, we dried our laundry out side instead of using the dryer, turned off the timers for any exterior lights and at the prescribed hour we turned off all of our lights and went out for a walk to experience a darkened city.

Unfortunately in our neighbourhood, known as an environmentally considerate area (check previous polls for votes for the Green Party), hardly any lights were out. In fact, some idiots still had their Christmas lights out and on! (For the love of God, Robbie Burns has been feted, St. Valentine remembered, Family Day observed and pancakes consumed for Shrove Tuesday - LET IT GO! TAKE DOWN THOSE LIGHTS!). I suppose I don't really want to knock businesses that would find it difficult to turn off lights but what pisses me off is people at home kept their lights burning and televisions glowing.

Critics of Earth Hour claim that a few percentage points of electrical savings over a single hour is pointless and merely a symbol. Well morons, that's exactly the point! It is SYMBOLIC. Symbols are hardly pointless. Unless you think crucifixes, crescents and maple leaves are unimportant. There's my complaint. Turning off your lights for an hour is such a small and easy thing to do that not doing it, is simply absurd. You couldn't even get up from the couch to flip a switch? No one's asking you to run a marathon, give a $100, or anything. Why not even try it?

We would've been better off sabotaging the Dufferin transformer station at 8:29. We probably saved a lot more electricity for the 24 hours the power went out in January. The night of that blackout, I had difficulty walking home because it was as black as new asphalt. Notably, after the power outage in 2003 that knocked out the Eastern seaboard, North America had a net drop in pollution for the year because there was no power for those three days in August (making you wonder if every industry shut down for a week in August and we all just went to the beach, would there be a similar effect?)

When you lose power for a few hours it makes you think what a post-electrical society would be like. Imagine electricity being so expensive that you could only use it for only the most necessary of services. Solar powered laptops would be the norm. As would wood stoves. Television, microwave ovens, washers and dryers would have to be given up. We might switch from electric light to kerosene lanterns, or listen to only wind-up radios. It could be done, just like the way our grand parents (or as in my case, my parents) were raised. The house I live in pre-dates electric light and heat, and one would assume, indoor plumbing. If they could do it, I don't see why I couldn't.

Except of course, most of my neighbours (immediate neighbours exempted) cannot be bothered to turn off a light or even bother not turning one on in the first place. That's why we're at a crisis in history. If you can't be bothered to make a gesture, how are you going to change your planet?

I Get Around

Electric City

How fortuitous! While Thursday night technology let us down when the power went leaving us in the cold for 24 hours. Today there was redemption. Here's how techology won me back.

I leave White Squirrel Coffee Shop on Queen Street W; enter Chippy's and order the Haddock and chips; I'm told the order takes 4 or 5 minutes. I pay and proceed next door to peruse the selection at Type Books; I set my iPhone timer to 4 minutes and check the Red Rocket app to see when the next 501 Westbound on Queen; the answer: less than 6 minutes. My phone alarm goes off, I pick up supper just as the street car arrives. I get home while my fish 'n' chips are still warm. Consume fried fast food while watching the ball game.

Of course, all of this could've happened without the phone but not without beautiful flowing electricity.

Thank you, Mr. Tesla.

A White-out Christmas 

I'm not sure when it happened (certainly years ago), but at some point I stopped dreaming of White Christmases. Instead I dreamt only of quiet, slightly frosty ones. Something cold and crisp and refreshing. Like a cold beer after a strenuous workout. That's the way I want Christmas to be. Simple. Consumable. Recyclable. A refreshing pause to finish the year with.

Despite my wishes, it looks like we will have a white christmas. More than white. Piled-up-high white. Hard-to-get-out-of-the-laneway white. Last year, I think 4 of my 7 days in St. John's were spent shoveling. Between that and the Playstation I got carpal tunnel syndrome sumthin' wicked! I was holding out hope that this year, Toronto's mild winters combined with a well-oiled TTC streetcar would mean an easily traversed holiday. Since Friday however, "mild" became "wild" and I haven't been close enough to a streetcar to tell you if it is well-oiled or not.

One less thing to worry about, has been our tree. No less than three major media outlets (CBC, the Economist and the Washington Post owned Slate.com) have confirmed that an authentic Christmas tree is in fact more environmentally sound than a fake tree.

You can hear the explanation here.

Or read it here.

Thank God for that. Finally, I can rest easy, bathed in the eery glow of LED lights powered by our green power supplier as I consume local cheeses on home-made bread while drinking a beer made mere kilometres from my house. Damn, I'm good. I might just turn up the heat. It is natural gas after all.

Links in this post:
The Economist: O Tannenbaum
Slate Podcasts:Should I Buy a Fake Fir?

Today was a gray wet day. One of those days when you stay inside and vacuum. The kind of day that makes "pathetic fallacy" look sympathetic. What do you do on a day like this? I buy cupcakes. Everyone knows cupcakes bring sunshine and lollipops into your day... And about 500 calories, which is why I also went for a swim. Funny thing is you can never tell how busy the pool will be. I have no idea of what Calculus to apply to such a forecast (probably because I sucked at Calculus). Take today for instance — there weren't many people there at all. Probably all out buying cupcakes.

Production technicians preparing for the debate and election coverage at the CBC building in Toronto

This is the reason mobile phones have cameras.

Between the Poles

Okay, bad pun. This weekend was the annual Polish festival on Roncesvalles and despite the threat of rain and a couple of heavy downpours it seems to have been another success. Usually these sort of events get on my nerves — the blaring Polish renditions of Abba or Conway Twitty would drive anyone nuts, and the crowd seems to include a very high number of "fringe" residents trying to blend in (can't put my finger on it, but where the hell do all these shirtless, scrawny, tattooed, 60-year old guys come from? Did a Stones Roadies re-union touch down somewhere?) Yet, it certainly adds to the overall charm of the 'hood and it is pretty amazing how well attended it is.

Still... street fairs? For a better explanation, see the video.

Saturday Night's All Right

Youssou N'Dour performs with Divine Brown at Yonge-Dundas Square

What a difference a day makes. Last night we were part of a perfectly pluralist crowd on a perfectly September Toronto night attending a free concert by Youssou N'Dour. Today, Toronto is back to a gray rainy Sunday. The concert last night at Yonge-Dundas Square was part of the Toronto International Film Festival and promoted the film "Youssou Ndour: I Bring What I Love". The weather couldn't have been better. It was a clear, cool end-of-summer night, when darkness drops quicker than a curtain, and the gaudy electronic signs of the square seemed a little more festive than usual. When we first came to Toronto, I would go out of my way to see at least a couple of movies as part of the Festival, but moving to the West end combined with hard-to-come-by tickets have removed us from the thing and it's easy to forget TIFF is on at all. This year, the festival has added more free public events and it helps to fold all that's happening in the city into the feeling that there is actually a festival going on that you can take part in it. It's not just something going on within darkened theatres or behind velvet ropes but in the streets. Last night, adding an air of something different, American director Spike Lee introduced Youssou N'Dour and at other times during the show, the film's director made an appearance as well as the composer of the score. More to the point of this being a Toronto festival, it was fun to look around you and see the mix of the crowd. The audience consisted of parents with their kids, hipsters alighting doobies, plenty of Toronto-based Africans out to see a homeland hero, Asians, whites, Sikhs... well, any ethic group you could define really. Not that I think such a show in NYC or London would have been any different, it was still something to behold.

What brought so many different types of Torontonians together was simply the man and the music. A music that despite my only passing familiarity, was obviously spiritual, joyful and downright kick-ass. To many, N'Dour might only be known as the foreign sounding voice on the Peter Gabriel collaboration "Shaking the Tree" (or on other such ventures with Sting et al), but to many others he is a giant of music (not just African or World Music).

Yet, I still can't turn on a radio and hear his music. Not that it matters to me. Probably most of the "radio" I hear comes over the telephone lines not the air waves anyway. Which is a good thing if you want to hear talent like N'Dour. Commercial radio was in my youth an escape now I do anything to escape it. This point is really just a digression. What went through my mind as we enjoyed the lights, the dancing and the rhythms was who could live in a world without this? Societies that by some inane religiosity ban music (from the Taliban to the Mennonites) are not places I would want to live. What is often thought to be the universal human expression (though sport and art would also figure in that description) music continues to unite and bind us, and help us see a world beyond ourselves. It was fun to see Toronto enjoying itself without pretension, without posers, without cares, and waving to the joyous sounds coming from the stage.

High Park Pool (in November without water)

Tonight I decided to try something different and go for a swim at the outdoor pool in High Park. It was brisk to say the least. I think I'd actually forgotten what it's like to swim outside. Swimming at sunset is really pretty amazing. The sky was a deep azure with only a few clouds. To the East the trees were illuminated by the setting sun, while the ball fields in the West grew darker. I can't say it was a great workout but it was a nice way to end the day.

Finally

Finally

Finally, Canada has a suite of medals. We just watched Ryan Cochrane win the bronze in the 1500m swim. 1500 metres? That's like 50 laps of the pool I swim in. These guys swam that in 14 minutes. I've never actually swam that far, usually giving up after 40 laps.

...and finally, we had a real summer Saturday. I rode down to Harbourfront today, and it was alive with performers, crowds and vendors selling roasted corn. It's been the wettest summer on record and a few weekends can only be described as moist. This week was an oddly tropical mix of sun and torrential rate which climaxed on Friday with a monsoon-like downpour. Where was I during this storm? Oh, I was riding my bike. In a ride that usually takes 15 minutes, I was trapped for almost 30 minutes. At times it let up enough to ride and just get wet, while at others, it was just too dangerous to continue. At one point I stood under a tree and just laughed. The rainfall was a roar. I tried wiping water from my glasses but with what? A wet shirt tail? Water was gushing through my helmet and into my eyes. When I finally made it home I was soaked, of course. It was as though I had jumped in the pool with my clothes on. I walked directly to the washing machine, took everything off and threw them for a spin cycle. Naked, I walked upstairs and toweled dry.

Within minutes of getting dressed, the rain subsided, inky clouds floated away and sun sparkled from every surface. Getting wet wasn't so bad. It turns out Mom was right. I'm not made of sugar.

The Littlest Birds

The Littlest Birds

Little Birds from rowdyman on Vimeo.

A lazy pre-Canada Day afternoon spent with 3 generations of Iarocci ladies.

FishNet News

FishNet News

While FishNet may be gone, it's far from forgotten. After all, the National Post named the exhibit one of the Top Five Things to do in Toronto (right after Star Trek: The Musical). The exhibition ended June 22, but some of the remaining fish are on display in the Harbourfront Centre's shop, Bounty. The shop will also continuing "releasing" the fish as explained by Angela in this interview from May for the Ontario Waterkeeper's weekly podcast:



Mentioned:
FishNet: The Great Lakes Craft and Release Project
Harbourfront Centre
Ontario Waterkeepers

New Wheelz

New Wheelz

"I got a brand new pair of roller skates, and you've got a brand new key..."

Hey, wait a second. I think I just got that?



No matter. I didn't get a new pair of roller skates. I'm not really a roller boogie kind of guy. But I did get a new bike – well, a used bike, but new to me. Only problem is, this bike is built for speed and my body isn't quite up to that yet. I'm working on it though. It's funny but I've noticed a cavalcade of cyclists in the city, and not your courier-road warrior or activist vegan type of cyclist. Just people on bikes. A recent movie we just rented, Monkey Warfare, really captures the kind of cyclist that you often see in T.O. I could go on to describe a lanky guy in a Western style shirt, riding a cruiser, unshaven, looking for a pot score or you could just watch the movie. It's not the best film you'll see this year, but it's one of the only films I can think of that shows Toronto as it really is, and actually makes it look good. I'm not sure how they did it, but you get the feeling that it's a nice place to ride a bike (bikes play an important role in the plot). Oh, and it was apparently all filmed minutes from our house (Queen and Roncy, Wabash Park, Parkdale etc.)

D.I.Y.T.O.

D.I.Y.T.O.

Sarah in gallery, originally uploaded by rowdyman.

Before Sarah stayed with us this weekend, I did a lot of hand wringing over what exactly we could do and see in Toronto. I live here, I don't visit here. Plus, I really wanted Sarah to see something other than the usual suspects of the CN Tower, Hockey Hall of Fame, Eaton Centre (there's a triad of concrete tourism for you). What we did do made for a noteworthy list and probably a good template for anyone coming to visit Toronto. So here's a list of spots to hit in the city (this is as much a reminder list to myself as it is a list for anyone else).

Little Italy
Go for a meal on the patio of Café Diplomatico and people watch while you eat. On that same strip you could check out one of the best CD shops in the country, Soundscapes, or even one of Toronto's better used book stores, Balfour Books. Then cap a stroll along corso Italia with a stop at Sicilan Café for some home made Gelato. If you're still up for more entertainment, make your way to Dundas West and Lula Lounge for a night of latin music and maybe even a dance competition.

Try to Find China Town
The next day, hit the streets for a walking tour through Kensington Market and China Town. A quick subway ride up to Bloor and you can take in an exhibit about Shanghai, or see an incredible display of minerals and crystals at the recently renovated Royal Ontario Museum. Still in the museum mood? You could walk across the street to the Gardiner Ceramic Museum - actually, it's worth the walk even if you can only spare 10 minutes to peruse the tiny but beautifully stocked museum shop. Hungry after all that? Head North on Avenue Road then hang on a left on Prince Arthur Avenue until you come to the Bedford Academy. The fare is typical pub food, but the patio and the street are what make this spot special (oh and if you're visiting during the Film Festival, it's a star spotting hot spot).

Take to the Lake
Heading to down to Queen's Quay you can usually find a free performance or exhibit at the Harbourfront Centre. If you're lucky, you'll see glass blowers or ceramic artists at work in the craft studios. There are usually 3-4 exhibits on at Harbourfront at any given time. From December through February there's also a public skating rink (like the one at Nathan Phillips Square). In the summer there are regular concerts, or outdoor movie screenings, or food festivals. Nearby, as part of the Harbourfront is the contemporary art gallery the Powerplant. If the weather is good, it's great to take a bike on the ferry to Toronto Island and spend the afternoon exploring.

In our Hood
Of course, if you're visiting us, by default you'll be visiting Roncesvalles. Basically, you can work off all those Polish donut calories by walking to High Park. Or you could head to Queen West to go antique shopping or head down to the Lake and see the Toronto skyline from the Western Lakeshore. Which ever you head you're bound to run into some part of Toronto you've never heard about before.

Sprung!

Sprung!

Finally. A warm day here in the Country's jerk capital (jerk patties that is). I broke out the bike and rode to work today, or as I like to call it, "ruining a good pair of pants", or "riding the rubber", or "staring into the maw of death" or, well... I could go on but why bore you. I've already tried BBQ'ing. Got as far as some decent sear marks on one side of a piece of beef, then ran out of propane. WHY? Why must the gods of liquid gas taunt me so?

Because they're jealous of my awesome grill, that's why. Better days to come, no doubt.

Snow Stroke

It does seem a tad whiney to complain about 30 cm of snow when Ottawa got 52 cm. I'm never sure if I should say, "storm be damned" or "I give in", but as of yesterday, I have entirely run out of witty things to say about the weather. This latest blanketing of snow has bullied me into a state of numbness where I stumble through the streets doing my best to cope while falling down or walking into things – like sun stroke but with snow.

Perhaps I've been weakened by my time in Toronto, or maybe it's an age thing, but whatever it is, this year I've completely lost my sense of snow. For years, there have been false claims that the Inuit had 17 words for snow (place whatever number you like in that estimate), but right now, I only have one word for it, and that word has four letters.

The corner of King and Spadina, Toronto, near where I've recently started working.

Last week was the first time in 2 years that I regularly had to get myself out of bed before seven in the AM each day and I'll be honest, I only barely survived. Let's just say that after 5 years of dragging myself to work by 10, followed by 2 years of working from home (meaning up by 8 or later) left me ill-equipped to re-enter the waking, working world. Yet, re-entry to the office-sphere went smoother than expected. Perhaps that's because the project is good, the people are nice (many of whom I know from previous work) and in general, everything is really familiar. The space itself is almost identical to Critical Path's office — exposed beam and brick, and is situated in the downtown core. I take the same street car in the morning and if I desired could walk to the same places for lunch. Despite all of this familiarity, I still get the same pangs of nerves in my gut — mostly from that moment when I realize just how much work there is to do.

Much of this problem is caused by the Sun's insistence on not making an appearance before 7:30 AM. Tomorrow the Sun rises at 7:49. I too will rise. Unfortunately I'll be up 50 minutes before the Sun.

If only I could be as chipper as this song when I get up:
listen here

Snow Day

Snow Day
This is what it looked like on the street today. It looks like it's going to be a white Christmas in T.O. this year. I think this is the most snow we've had in a single day since we've moved to Toronto in '99. Days like this have quiet and almost melancholic beauty. I found myself outside shoveling this afternoon and it was really pretty nice if you didn't have to go anywhere. Like the song says, "…since there's no place to go, let it Snow, let it snow, let it snow."

Once I had come in to warm up and dry off, I tuned into a NFL game, Buffalo at Cleveland and they were playing in the same storm. Amazingly, watching updates around the league you could see the storm's reach went from Toronto and Ottawa, to Cleveland to Pittsburgh and even Foxborough, Massachusetts. It was fun to watch some old school football being played where at times you couldn't see anything and the field was covered in white.

comic book confidential

comic book confidential

This is as much a reminder to myself as anything, but next Saturday, October 27, 3:00pm in the Studio Theatre at the Harbourfront Centre, Adrian Tomine will be interviewed by Sheila Heti. This is probably my 4th or 5th year attending the IFOA events and each one has been memorable. I've seen such luminaries as Harvey Pekar, Chris Ware, Charles Burns, Seth, Chester Brown, Chip Kidd and Jaime Hernandez and without fail, the conversations have been funny, illuminating and interesting. I'd even go so far as to say, "It's worth the drive to Acton!" (if in fact, it was in Acton). The tickets are still available and at about $17, it might seem expensive but it's worth it to hear a comic book artist have an intelligent conversation outside the circles of comic book shops or the folding tables of the "Fan" convention (that's right, they're treated like real live authors).

Exit and Entry

Exit and Entry

Last Saturday was a bookish day. I went to the IFOA to see Rutu Modan read and present her work, "Exit Wounds" and James Sturm, founder of the Center of Cartoon Studies talk about his book, James Sturm's America.


It was busy in our 'hood, with all the Toronto FC fans clogging the street cars but somehow I made it to the talks in time. After getting my copies signed (nay, sketched in) I made a feeble attempt at conversation with the artists. Let's just say, that won't happen again. Despite that bit of awkwardness, it was still inspirational hearing authors discuss their work, so I decided to find a place to take a break, read the books and enjoy a pint. With a slight buzz of a too-quickly downed beer in my empty stomach, I again made my annual vow to write and complete a comic. I shouldn't be too disheartened at my inactivity and should know by now, these things take time. Like our friend, Gail Vanstone's recent publication "D is for Daring" which she has been researching and writing for almost as long as we've known her. I said to A. that it's been like a week out of a Woody Allen film for me. I rarely get out but in the span of 3 days I'd been to a gallery opening, an author's reading, and a book launch. That's the funny thing about T.O. - it really is a media centre, with film, TV and publishing companies here. Here here for the cultural index, I say.

I Have a Confession to Make

I Have a Confession to Make

Saturday, my normally modest carbon footprint shoes were grossly swollen to 10 times their normal size, making me a jack-booted thug on our environment, as a bunch of us spent the day driving around suburbia. First, by driving in separate vehicles to see the satisfying "Bourne Ultimatum" and then by driving in separate mini-vehicles around a looping 2KM track in Etobicoke. Is this how Shriners get their kicks? If so, sign me up! It was a blast and a half (with apologies to Mother Earth).

Sparks Fly

Sparks Fly

Despite Canada's loss to Chile, the holiday formerly known as Dominion Day had BBQ fish, great salads and best of all, sparklers! Gina got a great kick out of the sparklers. They don't make crazy noise and are pretty safe (plus there's that slightly sulfurous smell that reminds you of summer nights around a fire). Actually it was a fairly cool day so it was pretty comfortable - I can't recall a Canada Day being anything other than a scorcher in recently years so it was a nice change.

You can see a few other "sparkler pics" by clicking on the image above.

Shopping With the Stars

Shopping With the Stars

The funny thing about Toronto is how many celebrities you see. I don't mean famous celebrities but celebrated individuals nonetheless. Ok; I mean Canadian celebrities. Sure I've see Lanny Macdonald and, I was there when Wayne Gretzky was inducted into the Hall of Fame (in the back of a huge crowd). Sure I've seen a couple of Raptors. I've even seen Buzz Hargrove. I think you get my point. Yet, it's odd when you're shopping in the No Thrills (aka No Frills) and at cash 7 is Chris Murphy, indie rock royalty and Sloan front man. I guess part of me was thinking, hey, neat, he's just a regular guy, and another part of me was thinking - he shops at a discount grocer - I guess there really is money in Real Estate, and by extension, not so much money in being indie rock royalty. Similarly, one time I was walking down Queen St. and there was Ron Sexsmith waiting for the Queen streetcar with all the other plebes. The most recent Canadian Idle to be seen strolling Queen West West (yes yes, there is a Queen West West) was Douglas Coupland. A little more bearded than seen above, but D.C. in the flesh (hirsute flesh it should be noted). It crossed my mind to speak to him, but the thought crossed and went away. What would you say? I like your books that I've never read, enjoy the artwork I've seen, think highly of your designs I've never bought. As it turns out, you say none of the above and let the poor guy window shop in peace.

peter

Bleo Injection: Day Nine

Bleo Injection: Day Nine

Two words. Solid. Food. I've been (almost, nearly) drug free since Tuesday and have been eating solid food again. Well, small bits of solid food in creamy sauces at least. I hope the worst of the healing up of my tongue is done. There's still some sore, raw areas, but I can chew on one side, and swallow and that's enough to give hope to this sad old epicurean dreamer. That's right. Epicurean Dreamer. I know during Easter, being an outright Delusional Hedonist would be over the top and in poor taste but can't I be someone who can dream of epicurean delights? It's not as though I'm trying to be some kind of Gastronome Bon Vivant - I just want to take a huge bite out of Life and experience a country of flavour! To be honest, at this point I'd settle for a duchy of flavour, or even a salty hectare. A peppery patch?

Tonight, we even went for out for a meal with some friends. Toronto is full of these kind of unassuming places that actually offer good fare and fair prices. Sheesh - listen to me? I'm like the Toronto Board of Trade's Restaurant booster all of a sudden.

It's like I've come under the influence of a Jimmy Buffet concept album.

Yet, it isn't Toronto's finest I'm craving. I have no idea why but foods that I never really think of are first and foremost on my mind. Pizza pies, burgers and fries and cherry pies have the stars in my eyes. Hopefully this will all pass by the time I actually can wrap my chompers around some heinous fat patty and all my worst cravings will be satisfied by a simple slice of toasted spelt-wheat bread. Fat chance.

TV on the Radio on the Internet

TV on the Radio on the Internet

TV On The Radio 09

Thanks to Bernice and Andy (and Angela as backup), as part of my birthday, I got to hear/see the Brooklyn based band, "TV on the Radio" at Koolhaus Sunday night. Needless to say they (adult alternatively) rocked the joint. I have to admit - for me, this band proves the power of the Internet and blogs - I would have never really heard of them unless I hadn't noticed their appearance and listened to them on Hype Machine. It's where I found this little gem of theirs: it's an alternate version of their song Wolf Like Me - it's a stripped down, sort of 3/4 time kind of version that you could almost imagine Johnny Cash playing
Download it here

White Out

White Out

Okay, I know this little storm we're having doesn't stack up with anything that they've had in St.John's but it is very strange and weird - wind, snow, thunder and lightning. I can honestly say the only really unique feature of Toronto weather is the humidity. A few years ago I was caught walking in a storm like this and it's just very eerie to have snow and lightning at the same time. I don't have a camera handy AND I can't really find a web cam image that is actually recording - they're all snowed out, thus the images above.

Ikea Jam
Originally uploaded by purplespace.

Today, for reasons I not care mention, I found myself at IKEA. There I tried to exercise the type of efficiency that the Swiss military might dream about. Approaching the building from behind, I stealthily parked in the bunker below ground, mere feet from the entrance elevator. After surgically removing the items I needed, I made good time choosing a quick moving express lane cash register. On my leaving, I had planned (down to the penny, Sir!) to make a purchase of great import.

Partridgeberry Jam - mistakenly named Lingonberry Jam by the Swedish dolts who purvey the fine stuff. You see, IKEA is the only place I know of, in Toronto, as a reliable place to get something approximating Partridgeberry Jam.

ALAS - I was thwarted! They no longer stock Lingonberry Jam, and I would have to settle for Lingonberry Sauce. Lingonsylt? Sounds like something found at the bottom of a murky lake. Ohhh yee Swedes! Thieves of Hockey Gold (do you think I forget Lillehammer, Forsberg?!) and now thieves of beloved preserves.

So there it is... my thin red connection to Newfoundland, made possible by a Swedish furniture chain has just gotten thinner, and notably runnier. When will this madness end?

UPDATE:
Thankfully - Winter is OVER in Toronto - at least today. We've really only been in the deep freeze for 6-8 weeks and already the locals had become restless. It's a balmy, gorgeously sunny day in the Big Smoke and I took the opportunity to go for a wee splash about in the local pool. Refreshed - I see every problem has a solution, every challenge, an opportunity and yes, even Lingonbery Sauce might well do as Partridgeberry Jam!

Winterbottom

Winterbottom

Rather than write a long-winded explanation/treatise of my latest medical updates and what not, I thought I'd record a long-winded explanation of my latest medical updates. For good measure, you can hear me complain about the winter weather - in song! oh you shoulda seen the jazz hands (Jazz Hands™ sold separately). Remember, if you have any questions don't hesitate to call or if you have any suggestions or complaints, send a lengthy tirade to pm@pm.gc.ca.
Listen to Peter's Winter's Wind

Cabin Fever Lodges Here

Cabin Fever Lodges Here

Today's entry sponsored by Boredom™

The shirt Mike sent fit like a glove (except like, over my head and arms and not like, over my fingers). I will point out that the when printing white on dark, the design should probably have been inverted... ok, ok, I realize this is useless to point out but I needed to say it. I'm sure when I wear it, Torontonians will covet it immediately because of their insatiable need to have something unique that others do not have.

Just when I thought I was experiencing "the coldest day of the year", we keep having another "coldest day of the year". It's a shame that freaky weather of January didn't continue. Not only were golf days in January making capital "C" Conservatives look like capital "F" idiots and "climate change deniers", but we were actually enjoying golf days in January. It was like a two for one sale. Now you may just be saying that like anyone else living in Toronto, I've become a bit of a wuss when it comes to cool, arctic air masses, and I agree. In fact, I dare anyone to live in Toronto for a few years of relatively mild winters and not become a bit of a wuss. My heart certainly goes out to any new-ish Canadians who have moved here from a warmer clime. Yet, what to do except don your favourite thermal underpants, and an extra pair of socks? It is Canada after all.

This cold snap is having another, more sinister effect. Cabin fever - or as I prefer to say, "Lodge Ennui". Why go out and do something when going out and doing something is actually incredibly uncomfortable? I could see where if you were someone who tended to enjoying listening to music (check), watching movies (check), reading magazines (check), worked almost entirely on the computer (check) and used the Internet to work with others (check) that you might find yourself staying inside quite a bit and on occasion, having thought provoking conversation with the cat (check and check). I've generally been avoiding leaving the house and I think it's making life really boring. It's strange really. It's not that I don't have things to do, it's just that, as I'm doing things, I find them incredibly dull. I have no idea why. It got me wondering what Boredom actually was. What's the structure of it? It's not that the things I'm doing aren't challenging or even too challenging, it's just, I've lost interest in them. I wonder if it's not like being at a party where there are dozens of interesting people talking but you really can't hear any single one conversation clearly and you just tune out. It's not as though there's a thought bubble above my head with the image of a wind up toy monkey banging a cymbal, it's more like there's a thought bubble above my head with the image of a wind up toy monkey just sitting there... waiting to be wound up.

Perhaps this is really just February's fault. I don't care for this Aquarian/Piscean month which is a bit of a cultural nobody. There's a weird thing where some of our neighbours still have Christmas lights up, St. Casimir's on Roncesvalles still has the nativity scene in place, while all the shop windows are full of cheap and gaudy Valentine's merchandise. I can't decide whether to hurl a brick or just hurl.

Well, I've got some work coming up soon, and I'll be busier, and when I'm busier, I do more, and when I do more, life gets its juice back. Unfortunately, one other side effect of being bored is developing a highly refined ability to procrastinate so I think my work ethic may have slipped into the "couch zone" - only a very strong vacuum will be able to dislodge it from between the cushions.

One bright spot to my procrastination. I've discovered how to pirate movies. Ask me how I became a pirate!

Peter

This Just in...Winter

This Just in...Winter

"This just in...reports from the Centre of the Universe indicate strange white flakes in crystalline form falling from the sky and accumulating on the ground. The air is incredibly cold, the wind biting and all leading indicators point to a seismic seasonal shift toward what some experts are now calling "Winter". Confused residents of COTU (Centre of the Universe) can be seen wandering with their collars upturned and their hands in their pockets after having given away all of their hats and gloves. Still other citizens have been spotted sitting in their cars, bewildered by spinning tires and frosted windscreens unsure of why their forward has stopped."

Well, it's not THAT bad, but winter has finally arrived in the Big Smoke. It is cold today. Nose-nipping, toe-biting, bone-rattling, teeth-chattering kind of cold. -20°C may not break records but going from +5 to -20 would shock anyone's system.

As I sat inside looking out upon the sunny scenes I thought I would get some fresh air so I perambulated the high street thinking only of the charitable act of leaving some never-worn vestments at the local Goodwill proprietor. Early moments on, I thought, "Goodness, such a cold day we have not known in this year." I was also thinking that I would eventually acclimatize. Several more moments passed when the belief that I would ever grow accustomed to this weather quickly evaporated. I briskly walked into the Goodwill, dropped off my wares (is it poor form to donate old clothing in an "H&M" bag?) and decided to peruse for any potential "Antiques Roadshow" treasures. It was not to be. Such sad artifacts and curios did I see there, as to compel me to write this.

There were so many unwanted books. Many were of the Author's Name as Title Genre (John Grisham, Danielle Steele, Dick Francis, Stephen King are all examples. You know you've really struck it rich when your name is larger than the title of the book, rendering all content inconsequential). Books on diets (oh Dr. Atkins, you have fallen in the bin with everyone else), finding the colour of your escape hatch, determining your potential, chicken soup for the soul/ country soul/ city soul/ single soul and married soul, Oracle, C++, Java and HTML, Word, and accelerating your Excel. Housewares, mostly broken, all grimy, many with important messages such as "World's Greatest...skier, Grandma, Dad, teacher, Lover" or "Number 1...something or other". Discarded pictures of Jesus, the Pope (JP2), and faded singers of uniquely coiffed hair (though no Elvis - perhaps they were the discards of a previous generation). Stored amongst the picture frames are the vinyl records. These fall into several categories. The most obvious ones are from recently deceased, interred or institutionalized individuals. Albums of singers gone by, showing by their distressed edges, how often or little they were played, are mixed amongst records discarded simply by their date, style or genre (yes, I refer to all the Spandau Ballet admirers who came to realize far too late their mistake and should refrain from publicly listening to their current music choices which are probably as equally inane as their choices from over twenty years ago). Then there are the rows and rows of clothing, hung without care, little laundering, absolutely no pressing on sad little wire hangers - even plastic hangers have more grace.

It is evident from the smell of this Goodwill "Outlet" that the people who work/volunteer there dislike it as much as those patrons who frequent it. That's not to say all Goodwill shops are sub-standard, but this one, with it's ugly plastic "drop-off" bins in the front is one of the sadder ones I've been to recently. If you want to move product, there are probably a few things you could do to improve this retail environment.

• Try renaming your "Drop-off" bin, to the "Donation Centre" or the "Charity Chest". Also, try using professional lettering rather than large, poorly scribed, hand-written text in black marker.


• Sweep or vacuum at least once a decade.


• Try an air purifier, smelly candle, aromatherapy, activated charcoal or anything that might neutralize the smell of wet cardboard meets body odor.


• Remove fallen items from the floor, particularly glass wares.


• "Reduce, Reuse and Recycle" such items as empty record jackets, broken teapots, electronic appliances held together with duct tape, elastic bands or galvanized deck nails.

The unfortunate reality is they don't have to bother, as the Goodwill is really the lowest rung of retail, wherein avid collectors scour, buy, wash, scrub, re-package and re-sell found pieces of value at greatly increased prices to be sold in their own store, which has a clean floor, charming lighting and smells vaguely of a vanilla-lavender scented sachets.

Creek
Originally uploaded by rowdyman.

To cool me off in the slightest, I've posted a couple of pics of our more comfortable vacation.

It's funny, I did a similar posting last year - but this year is much worse:

Temp : 35.5°C
Partly Cloudy
Humidex: 46.4° C - that's 10° C hotter than last year.
Relative Humidity: 50.0% (although at home, both hygrometers read closer to 90%)
Visibility: 24.1 km - this is obviously a number from outside Toronto. I'd say you can't see beyond 10km (I can just make out the CN Tower in the haze).

Hopefully the heat will break before I do. I decided to get out of the house and seek a little TLAC - Tender and Lovely Air Conditioning. So I headed to a local coffee shop, Tinto, that advertises its creature comforts on their sandwich board. It's cooler in here but not cool - just comfortable - and they have internet access so it's a win win. It seems I'm not the only one who fell under their considerable marketing charm. The place is busy today. Lots of people who are probably, normally at home have decided to seek a cooler refuge. Including Cameron Bailey (Alert alert - minor T.O. Celeb spotting - hmm that's a little pathetic, no?). Who knew such people of import, took refuge in our humble part of HogTown. Yet, I digress, Dear Reader. I think the sleep depravation, lack of solid food and the heat have combined into a foul, Mutiny-on-the-Bounty-type madness. "We take the ship at dawn, arrrggh (that's me gargling salt water, by the way)."

As to my current state of mind, it is clear, that I am not clear (more of an outlaw state than say a peaceful state, like Vermont for instance). As for my health, it can be summed up thusly:
hand improving steadily,
tongue swelling decreasing slowing,
pain in tongue, severely incessantly persisting...

With that typed (for speaking is something I'd rather not do) - I've been kind of bitching to my doctor so he wants to see me tomorrow... I want Tylenol 6's - if there is such a thing! He'll probably not prescribe anything... - he'll probably say "tough it out for another week" or in his par layance "ye ye ye ye ye - but we see much worse - and they don't complain, why just yesterday a little girl..." he's always comparing me to a little girl. This little girl must've survived the Battle of the Somme, Viet Nam and the Gulf War without a tear...anyways like i said, i think it's the combination of not sleeping + not eating + pain + this heat that has combined to wear me down.

Still, in the last 10 months - I've almost lost the tip of my index finger (7 stitches), had a broken collar bone (3 weeks in a sling - 8 weeks physio) and now have a tongue that looks like something David Cronenberg would have shown talking to William S. Borroughs ("Rub a little powder on my lips, Bill") and I've never gotten more than a Tylenol 3? I mean, where have all the good drugs gone? Where's the morphine, the Demerol, the Vicodin, the Percocet, the Percodan? When I was 13 I had an angiogram done, and after I barfed up my supper, and writhed around with one of the worst headaches this side of Lebanon, some kind soul, whipped up a Demerol and a Gravol - crushed it in sugar and let it dissolve on my tongue. Actually, I think it was added to my intravenous - but who can remember the details? And yet, here I am today, in the grips of a pain that does not permit swallowing without the sensation that my tongue is being filletted and what do I get? Oh, take an Advil. Man. I am really tired of being so stoic. Okay, okay, writing a journal entry describing your pain to everyone you know may not fall into Socrates' definition of stoicism, but hey, he took the easy way out (well - I mean, after the extremely painful stomach spasms of drinking the hemlock, he died - he wasn't prescribed a smoothie).

And through it all, Angela has continued to put up with me, despite her troubles, she is still willing to whip up a smoothie, heat some soup or simply say, "I know, I know" to my madman whining. There's a lesson here - no wait, there's a lesion - and it's on my tongue and I want to be drugged up, put down, and comatose until it's done it's course.

On the bright side, I've lost 5lbs! I'm reminded of the only funny Saturday Night Live sketch in 20 years where Ana Gasteyer impersonates the whip-thin, octogenarian Helen Gurley Brown saying, "I've never felt better. I died two weeks ago, and I've finally reached my target weight."

All is vanity.
Peter

Hot Hot Heat.

current temperatures
Humidex: 33.2°C
Relative Humidity: 78.0%
Visibility: 8.1 km
Barometric Pressure: 101.36 kPa

Why are there so many popular songs about heat waves or summer heat? Surely these ditties were not penned in the real heat of the summer. The composer's fore arm would be stuck to the paper, their ink evaporated into the afternoon sun, their instruments helplessly and hopelessly out of tune, warped and bloated by the humidity. There is no activity suited to such heat as we've been having across the Golden Barbecue (née the Golden Horseshoe). Citizens gravitate to air conditioned places in hopes of forgetting that the grass outside resembles splintered potato chips (Hickory Sticks, remember Hickory Sticks), or that blooming flowers are drooping like steamed spinach.

The heat and it's ugly sister humidity are not so much choking, as bullying. The air sits on your chest and forces you to say "Uncle". Yet, submitting to the temperature provides nothing but more gasping. The summer is too cruel to even give an inch (ah, Cruel Cruel Summer, another pop rift composed, no doubt, in the cool confines of an airy pool house.)

I've given up the stink filled moving saunas, known as streetcars to ride my bike. Now, you may think it mad to ride your bike in not just skin stinging heat, but in throat tightening smog, but you'd be surprised that a minimal pedal rate results in the most euphoric breeze. Only when you stop at an intersection do you realise that there is no wind, and it was only by your own locomotion that the slight breath passing through your ears existed at all.

I used to wonder how people died from heat. Wouldn't you say to yourself, "I'm so hot I could die." and immediately stand up and head to the fridge, the bath, or where ever and get a drink of water or an ice pack to sit on? The truth is, you would probably doze off. Your body, believing that you've already died and, surprise, gone to Hell, would shut down and turn out the lights. Ironically, when it's this hot, I find you can never sleep, but never really be awake either. You become a phantom, a ghost emitting waving lines from your head, shuffling around wondering how it is you came to be here or how anything could ever live in such a place.

Traveling east/west in Toronto reveals a curious math. Two streetcars or subway cars, must pass in the opposite direction of your travel, before yours arrives. This number may even be three or greater. St. George station is the greatest bottleneck of humanity since they installed turn stiles at the Holy Mosque of Mecca. Of course, when a subway car does arrive, it is full yet, only one or two patrons step out leaving those inside and outside exchanging looks of fear and resentment. Those inside fearing the crushing crowd approaching, and the approaching mob resenting those that are taking up space by not having disembarked in the first place. The city has grown along the lake, but only has one subway line on that axis. The North/South axis is well served by two subway lines, while East/West travelers are left to be carted like pigs to the abattoir on slow rumbling streetcars, cut off by taxi's, bouncing over ruts and generally stuck in traffic.

Yet, what do I really notice while using public transit? Not the cost, not the smell (well ok sometimes), not the maintenance. I notice the hair colour. Why do so many people colour their hair? Do more people do it now than before? Is it my imagination or my ability to spot it? I don't mean the faddish coppering or frosting that so many people employ as fashion but the real live dyed in the wool, colouring to cover grey hair. Both men and women. Though, with the men, I always hope that they were merely relenting to their mistress/wife/girlriend's plea to 'give it a try, you'll look great.' Unfortunately, there are just too many of these men for this to be the case. Our society's much advertised youth obsession, has pushed these men's heads down the drain. Once in the drain, a goodly dose of bottled or powdered colour is applied. I suppose it's not as bad as wearing a powdered wig. It also reminds me of my seventeenth year when I would have given anything to look two or three years older. Which is a perfect example of how it's your perception that changes and not the world around you. Nowadays, my hair is thinning and white hairs appear on my chin with regularity. I remember my first white hair. I saw it and thought, how odd, how did I get paint in my hair? Is it LiquidPaper? A quick pluck later and closer inspection under the clinical fluorescence exposed the awful truth. I had a gray hair. A single gray hair. How silly to even think about it. As long as one eyebrow doesn't go white while the other one stays black, I'm okay with the graying of Peter. I only have to spot one of those guys with their JanTans (a tan in January?) and dye lines on their heads to think that aging the way God intended isn't so bad.

City of Toronto: DineSafe: Public Health Food Premises Inspections and Disclosure System Every city should have a service like this. Search for your restaurant and check out its public health record.

I admit it. I am wrong. As it turns out, I've been wrong for over 20 years. What I, and many health professionals have been calling Hemangioma is in fact something else. The lumps of blood filled veins I've been calling Hemangioma is more correctly called Venous Vascular Malformations. This I learned after I had twice passed through the SARS gauntlet this week to see a Doctor at Toronto Western's vascular lesion clinic. Don't worry, Western hasn't had any reported cases of SARS so chances of catching something are non-existent. I know it would be cliche to say this, but you still have a higher risk of being hit by traffic in this city than any naturally virulent disease. I'm glad to see some people are finally seeing some humour in the SARS media epidemic (see the SARS Art Project).
Entering a hospital in Toronto lately has been similar to Dustin Hoffman suiting up in the film "Outbreak". You stand in line as someone helps you tie a mask on, then you hold out your hand as if to take Holy Communion, only to receive a dollop of anti-bacterial hand gel and then you get your temperature taken whilst completeting a form stating your name telephone number and whether you've been in contact with any monkey pox-infested prairie dogs. Again, on leaving you receive another glob of hand gel and discard your mask into a large waste bin. The cost of hand gel and disposable masks alone must be running the health system dry.
A little recap may be in order here; after seeing my GP in March about my blood engorged face, I was referred to a dermatologist in April who referred me to a Plastic Surgeon at Toronto Western who in turn said "Toronto Western just happens to have a vascular lesion clinic - you can see someone there." Oh, I says - I guess living in Toronto is turning out to have a bright side. Ontario Healthcare may be in crisis, but it's state of crisis is still better than most in a state of normalcy.
Thursday, I went into the hospital to meet another doctor, the Chief of neuroradiology at the Toronto Western Dr. TerBrugge (it's Dutch so don't bother pronouncing it, though I've gotten by with Tur - Brewg - I'm sure it's more likely - Tear-Brew-Guh - and this guy is very Dutch). He was in some sort of emergency and couldn't see me. I joked his emergency had more to do with losing his pitching wedge on the 9th hole. I went back on Friday, at noon, having already been told by his assistant that 11 was no good. Finally, I get called in to see him when I start forming a picture that perhaps I wasn't the most important case he had to handle. It becomes clear that this guy normally works on vascular lesions - in the brain. Dealing with something on the face was really approaching cosmetic surgery to him. Like swatting a fly with laser guided missiles, I suppose. Yet, he was very helpful and explained my condition (gruesome PowerPoint presentations seemed necessary), explained how MRI's were much better than angiography (which they don't use for vascular malformations anymore) and what could be done to get rid of it.
It's pretty simple really. Basically, the swollen area are tiny sacks of blood which are always filling and emptying of blood. As you get older, the sacks become less elastic and stay filled with blood. So you identify feeder veins using the MRI images, and inject alcohol into those veins. The alcohol irrates and attacks the tissue lining these little sacks which begins to disintegrate and collapse until they close and heal shut. With no more blood able to enter those areas the swollen area goes away. If you are lucky, an entire, extensive network is connected and more than just the local area is affected - meaning more goes away. Usually though only the area locally targeted will dissipate. Apparently, there is a new technique being carried out by a physician in South Africa in which, mild doses of drugs used to treat cancer are used instead of alcohol and the results have been that more extensive areas of the malformations disappear. But that treatment may be years away from use in Canada.
So for me,
Step 1) Have the MRI - which will be used as a benchmark from which to follow the progress/change of the malformations for years to come.
Step 2) Once the MRI is done, consult the necessary physicians to decide whether to attempt treatment.
Step 3) If treatment is decided, book a time and wait.
Step 4) If I decide not to go ahead, I guess I should probably plan to have another consultation in the future.
For me though, if treatment looks reasonable, I'll probably go ahead with it as the area of my face that is currently swollen seems to be sticking around. I've decreased the swelling a lot with heating but you know, you can spend a month reducing the swelling and then one day I'll wake up and it's as large as it was weeks before.
Right now, the MRI should happen in late July and I guess treatment might take longer to arrange. For that you need an anesthesiologist, and with the SARS backlog of surgeries, that particular group are overworked at the moment. I've been surprised by the speed that things have progressed so far but if I were to have this done by the autumn I'd be surprised.

That's it so far. I'll let you know more as I know more.
Peter

So for all of you who think it's absolutely balmy in San Francisco - think again. But it's still warmer than Toronto and there's less snow than St.John's. It's more like Vancouver at the moment.
I'm in San Fran until Friday, for work. When I got here, Oakland was cleaning up from the rioting after the Raiders won their big game to get into the Superbowl, so I'm pretty glad I'm on the opposite side of the Bay. Apparently, more avocados are consumed on SuperBowl Sunday than any other day of the year - all in the form of guacamole and nachos. Speaking of which, I had a Californian Breakfast treat this morning - The Breakfast Burrito - scrambled eggs, potatoes, ham, cheese and guacamole all wrapped in a big flat bread. Didn't have to eat for the rest of the day. The last couple of days have been really pretty dull. I find myself just sitting there, zoning out, thinking "do I really work for this company? Is this what I do for a living?" I guess so, because, here I am. No sight seeing on this trip though, I might try to slip out tomorrow at lunch to see the Cartoon Museum. I'm not really sure what day it is. Tuesday. I think. I go back on Friday but I leave in the morning so it really only gives me an extra night in San Fran. I'll probably end up working. It'll be crunch time and deadlines when I get back.

Saturday, we plan on having some friends over like Dave and Rebecca (pictured here in Manchester) and a few other friends from Angela's class. I guess I can call them former classmates now. Believe me it's still a relief. This meal we're having Saturday is to fight the January Blues. We've left up the Christmas lights especially for the occassion. I'll have to send out a photo of the apartment decorated for Christmas. It was pretty nice. So I have a nice meal and some friends to look forward to when I get home.