Dr. Stroumboulopoulos or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Don Cherry

My dear friend Hannah has been visiting Angela and I at our humble abode for a few days. When asked what she wanted to do in Toronto specifically, she only had one request: To see a taping of "The Hour". You may or may not know... But I go to a lot of these tapings. This was my fourth time there. Daniel, Hannah and I went, and we really didn't know what to expect. We had no idea who the guests were going to be, or how long it was going to take. Let me tell you, I could not have been more pleased when we found out who was going to be on the show.

The first enigmatic guest was (as you can see from this picture) A Mister Donald S. Cherry. I was thrilled when they announced that he was going to be the first guest. I am not exactly a die-hard-fan of Don Cherry. In fact, I would say the opposite is true. I am pleased to say that no matter how bullheaded, opinionated, inappropriate and crass he can be on TV, he charmed me in this interview. And his suit was easy on the eyes as well.

I was much more excited to hear from Divine Brown. I've only heard a few of her songs, and only fairly recently as well. I've never seen someone's eyes sparkle quite so much, and mid interview she belted out some Joni Mitchell lyrics in a way that I don't think I will ever hear Joni Mitchell lyrics again. It was marvelous.

What always amazes me about the shows, is that they are straight up interviews. There is little, to no editing, and I have never been there were they do a different take. George sits down, does some small talk with the audience - and then they go right into the show. He has notes, but he doesn't refer to them. He has a teleprompter, but that is to keep him on track with his ranting monologues. Sure he knows he is great... But that's the thing. He really is.


They give away free random-things on the show as well which is really exciting. In past tapings I have scored two books so far. This show, I secured myself a third. It is the new short book by JK Rowling. It's adorable. I won it by calling out: "Oh me, me please please please!" and raising both my hands. Ask, and ye shall receive.

Don Cherry also gave everyone in the audience a free copy of "Rock Em Sock Em Hockey #20". I can't wait to watch it. I'm thinking it will be great for some family bonding.

I will leave you with this charming picture of Daniel and I. All pictures are courtesy of a Little Mac.

Mom Was Right After All

When I was much younger, and went trick-or-treating, my parents had some ground rules. Before we were allowed to indulge in the "goods" collected in our pillowcases, Mom would sort through the heaps of candy and take out ALL of the gum.

The reason for the removing (and then discarding of) of the gum was that apparently, as children, we had an awful habit of chewing gum in the same manner as a cow chews its cud. I always thought the gum discrimination was profoundly unfair and would protest it year after year.

Coming home from school today, I was sitting in front of someone who was chewing... no, smacking, his gum. It was annoying, mind-numbing, gross and aggravating. I stewed and tried to drown it out. But then I realized...

Mom was right all along. Sorry Mom.

Who wants leg room and conversation?

This may end up reading like a plug for VIA Rail.

As you may or may not know, I am rather fond on trains. Some of my most loved memories involve trains, the tracks, the whistle, the sparks from the brakes and the "trackah trackah" sound that it makes as it whirrs along. A goal of mine in the next year or so, is to take the train across the Canada and stop off wherever and whenever I want. Summer, fall, winter, spring; when doesn't matter - I simply have to see more of this country.

I am headed home to see my friends and family for the holidays. I left it pretty late, but I still managed to get my ticket home just the other day, and I am (of course) taking the train. I have collected a couple different tricks from different people that reduces the cost significantly, making it a viable and relaxing way to travel. Who wants leg room and an everchanging and beautiful view of Eastern Canada? Oh! Me! Me!

Person to person and face to face experiences with VIA rail have never been anything less of wonderful. Buying my ticket at Union Station was no different. There were two ticket "wickets" open. One of the gentlemen at the counters had helped me out a lot 2 years ago when I was travelling out of Toronto. I was kind of suprised that I recognized him. The counter that I went to this time was staffed by a gentleman named Winston. He had an amazing calming presence and classic voice. We had a great conversation about trains, Elizabeth May, Toronto, Christmas etc. and I left, with ticket in hand, and a smile plastered on my face of such a happy meeting.

I was so happy that I walked off, leaving my bags.

Even my embarassment of returning to fetch my things couldn't ruin my feeling of pure happy.
I snuck back and got them moments later.

Countdown

I may be hitting the wall.
The semester is almost over.
The next nine days seem insurmountable.
Wish me luck.

ECHO... Echo... echo...

I'm volunteering for a choir concert this coming Sunday. I signed myself up on a whim, not having any idea what the group sounded like, what kind of group it was, whether anyone attended the shows etc. All I knew is that they were different, and the only way I deduced this was that they said so on their website.

I went this evening to discuss my duties as a "Volunteer Ticket Coordinator", which is super official and important sounding (more important than it sounds), and to listen a little bit to the choir practice. As soon as I stepped into the office building I fell in love. It is an old, old, old, old, old house in the middle of the city that has been magically maintained. I felt SO at home there. It smelled like my grandmother's old basket store and brown sugar fudge. The walls were brightly painted, the floors were original, and there were happy piles of clutter everywhich-way.

In the the church where the group holds their practices there were incredibly high ceilings, wacky pews, and semi-tacky homemade banners that said things like "diversity", "peace" and "social justice". There were arm chairs and couches in corners. People parked their bicycles in the entry way. This was a very well used and lived in space in the best sort of way.

The choral director was a stout yet spritely man with a Rip Van Wynkel beard.
The administrator's name was Yaya...
There were old ladies with scarves and wild hair...
Lots of people on bicycles....
Some young moms....
Scattered here and there were a few girls my age....
Several "no-nonsense", community-organizer-type-w

omen who run the show....
And you know what the accompanying instruments were?
The piano.
The guitar.
.... and the BANJO

How perfect is that?

I'm on the waiting list to join, and will hopefully hear back from them in January. Me helping out certainly can not hinder my chances in getting in! Fingers crossed that I found something else to make me feel at home in Toronto....

"Would you like to sit down?"

These past few days I have been fortunate to attend a conference for Fundraising Professionals. This may not sound super exciting to you reading, but the past three days have been the most eye-opening and inspiring days in regards to my future.

Now, of course, there was a downside to this. Being among a huge number of influential professionals in the fundraising field, I had to look professional. I had to wear pantyhose and high heels. The resulting look was what I like to call "Philanthropist Barbie". (I think this term is hilarious, and will likely be using it everytime I dress up leggy-like. Be prepared.)

"What is your point?" You may be saying to yourself.
"Get on with it." You think as your attention wanes.

Believe it or not, the point of this is about another bit of kindness in Toronto.

Wearing heels all day is generally not something I do, and I was paying for it by the end of the day. Paying with pain.

The subway car I was on was packed full and everyone was scowling and looking off into space. I wanted to cry because I was standing, and knew I would continue to do so for the next half hour amongst other cranky, tired people. I became resigned to this fact, which caused my face to match all the other unhappy souls on the subway.

I felt someone tap my arm and clear space on the seat next to them. He had a guitar and bags and a jacket and he moved them all out of the way so I could sit down. My feet sighed and grinned in appreciation, and I immediately decided that we were going to be friends. We chatted for the rest of the trip. I found out that he teaches music and lives in the same neighbourhood. I guessed that he played classical guitar, as I observed very long fingernails on his right hand. Turns out he plays flamenco and jazz, and he has been to the Halifax Jazz Festival a few times. We discussed music, the maritimes, the subway and human nature, all in just 20 minutes.

Then my stop came up. We nodded our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I will probably never see this person who went out of his way to show me some kindness, and it is better that way. In this giant mess of a city, these brief moments of humanity with no strings attatched seem even sweeter.

Gillian vs. Revolving Door

This past weekend I went to Waterloo. It was a great visit and I came back to Toronto refreshed, rested and revitalized.

I felt pretty much on-top of the world, and the trip back went very smoothly. For the most part.

When I got to Union Station, I had to get onto the Subway. I approached the one way revolving door blissfully. Unknowing of what I was about to endure.

I swiped my metro-pass.
I started going through the door.
The revolving door stopped.
I was stuck.

The space you stand in is very small. I had two bags, One of my bags was STUCK in the door jam behind me. No problem, I'll just go backwards. Not an option. The door was forward only. I squirmed around and I became more stuck. People are walking by and staring.

I am on display like a goldfish in a fishbowl.

Obviously, I got out. But I was so embarrassed, and my cheeks were burning the entire way home. The worst part of the entire story was the fact that I didn't have to go through the revolving door... There were 4 other entry points, with no way to be trapped.

Bladder-Karma

After class today, and some group work -my friend invited me along to have dinner with her and her cousin and some others. I was a bit hesitant at first, but I like meeting new people. The fact that they were going to an Indian restaurant certainly helped. The food was absolutely delicious and bountiful. I was continually encouraged to eat more, but it is incredibly filling - and quickly I was fuller than I have been in a long, long time. The conversation was varied and interesting, and I felt completely at home with everyone.

After dinner, we departed with a flurry of voiced goodbyes, waves and a few (surprising) hugs. They piled into a car and went one way. I waited on a nearby corner for the streetcar.

This would normally be a good end to an adventure. But some generally-interesting things happened on the way home.

1. While waiting for the streetcar, An older gentleman (I think he said he was 45) came up to me and started lecturing me on how I should never get married, and certainly never have children. After the initial bombardment, I asked why, and he gave me a slew of reasons. They all revolved around his (soon to be) ex-wife, how she cheated, that he caught her, she pulled a knife on him, and now she is keeping his kids away from him. I am sure that there is more than one side to this story, but I'll let that go. What was kind of funny was that he seemed rather distressed, not about his situation - but rather that I wouldn't promise him that I would never get married.

2. Once on the streetcar, I sat by a window so I could take in the sights. (At this point I would like to note that I go to school in Etobioke. I have yet to see a nice part of the area. I'm not saying it doesn't exist, I'm just saying that I haven't seen it yet.) On the streetcar sitting adjacent to me were two, very baked, Humber College students. How did I know they were baked? The incessant giggling. How did |I know that they were Humber students? The Humber book bag. Now, the point of this short story revolves around this bookbag. When the girl got up from her seat at the window to get off the streetcar, they didn't really utilize their motor-skills. At one point, her bookbag swung and smucked her male companion right in the mouth. He was in pain. She was apologizing. I was snickering.

3. Karma catches up with me at this point for the snickering at the high couple with the book bag and the bloody lip. The street car is SLOW. I would like to state this right now. I had drank a lot of water in the restaurant, and now - nowhere near my stop - I have to pee. Sitting on the streetcar for likely 45 minutes, I have to pee the ENTIRE time. I finally get off at my stop where I then need to wait for the bus. In the cold. With a full bladder. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. 20 minutes go by. I am going to die. So I leave the stop to find some cafe or something to use the facilities. Just as I am turning the corner, the bus I had been waiting for rolls on by. Gaaaahhh! Like I said Karma. When my bladder is back to its normal size again, I resume my spot at the bus station, and in what seems like no time at all - another bus swoops by, I hop on, and am back on track for home.

Lessons learned:
Drink lots of water. But use a restroom before starting a 1.5 hour long trek home in the cold.
Don't walk down Queen Street or Lakeshore by yourself at night
Don't laugh at others misfortunes... Unless it is really, just that funny.
Don't get married to a crazy person who will pull a knife on you.

Newfoundfear and Clowns Galore.

Something weird...

The day after Halloween, I was walking downtown. It was a bright, brisk and beautiful afternoon. Everything was fine until, I passed an alley way. There was a man dressed up like a clown, complete with makeup and a wig. He was kind of hunched over and stared off into space menacingly. Needless to say, I quickened my pace and watched my back.

No wonder so many children have fears of clowns.

Toronto:The Friendly-Unfriendly City

I would like to preface this by saying: "Yes, I talk to strangers. But I am very careful about it."

Every once in a while, I am truly amazed at how much I like it here. I can never be truly in love with a city where humans sleeping over sewage vents in the winter to keep warm is almost a fact of life. I know lots of people do what they can to help, and that is part of what I am amazed about. Toronto has a heart, and I bump into it every once in a while and am suprised. I have proof.

Exhibit A:
I was waiting for my bus on my way home from school one night, and was in a particularily good mood and listening to one of my favourite songs over and over and over and over again. Apparently, I looked like I was in a good mood too, because these two thirteen year old boys came up to me and told me so.

Random Kid 1: "You look really happy. What are you so happy about?"
Me: "I had a good day I suppose"
Random Kid 2: "Don't talk to him. We're having a contest to see how many people we can get to tell us their name."
Random Kid 1: "So yeah, what is your name? I'm currently winning."
Me: "Well, what are your names?"
Random Kid 1: "I'm Sam, and this is Andrew"
Andrew: "Yeah, I'm Andrew."
Me: "Well, you guys probably shouldn't be telling random people your names. I'm not telling you mine." at this point they started walking away, crestfallen so I backtracked and gave them a new option. "You guys can guess."

What followed was one of the most hilarious banters I have ever been a part of. The names they came up with ranged from Dakota to Georgina, and they were budding little comedians. Finally, one of them actually guessed my name right, they celebrated,the bus pulled up, and they ran to talk with the bus driver next. What was really wonderful about the whole thing was that everyone that they talked to transformed into a happy, smiling creature - instead of the expressionless drones that they usually are. I wish I could thank them.

Exhibit B:
Once, on one of the last warm days of October, I glanced across the street from where I was standing, and sitting in a lawn chair, on their roof was a man watching the world from his perch, with his dog as his sole companion. At the risk of sounding creepy, I'll admit that I watched him for some time, and it was incredibly peaceful even though the rest of the world around him was spinning rush-hour fast.

I rest my case.

My, what a pair of Smashing Pumpkins

I feel as though Billy Corgan would mock this blog post. I wouldn't blame him, I mock myself in doing this as well sometimes. It isn't going to stop me though.

Late last night, I recieved an email from The Hour, saying that there was a last minute pre-taping, and that the newly reunited (The) Smashing Pumpkins were going to be interviewed. I asked around to see if anyone else was able to come - no immediate takers, and so, I replied confirming my own spot. That afternoon, I trekked out, solo, with only a few frames left on my roll of film.

When I got to the CBC building (this was my second time to a taping) I signed in, and completely by accident stood in the front of the line instead of the end. I really did not mean too. The cons: I felt like an asshole. The pros: I was at the front of the line baby!

I wasn't quite at the very front, but that was good because the camera was often in front of the first row and blocking their view for much of the interview (suckers!) I didn't get any super pictures of either of the band members, but cropping can do wonders, don't you think?

A friend of mine said he always pictured Corgan as an arrogant, pompus person. Was he wrong? No. I would add though that he is truly passionate about what he does, why he does it, and he really does not care what other people think.He is just as angry as he was when they first started the band. He is also suprisingly funny, and I laughed outloud when he relaxed about halfway through the show and brought out his biting humour.

As a sidenote, Something suprising that may have not known before? The Smashing Pumpkins love Guitar Hero. Like, serious think it's the best thing to have happened to music in decades.

I'll put up some pictures once I get my film developed.

What Did I See Today?

Let me tell you.

On my way to volunteering today, I saw a little, blonde nine year old on a cell phone, talking smack and wearing a giant baseball hat with a weed-leaf on it.

That is what I saw today.
Toronto is a strange city.

Let me tell you about October twenty-first...

The twenty-first was my birthday. Now, I usually love my birthday. I love the well-wishes, I love the attention and I do very much love presents.

That morning, I woke up cranky. Was it because I was uneasy about being twenty-four? Did I sleep on the wrong side of the bed? Did I have a bad dream?

My roomate gave me a lovely present first thing in the morning. It's a bracelet made by a self-identified gypsy from Nova Scotia. I personally had no idea that there were gypsies in my home province. But there you go! There are. It is made up of a mixture of beads and buttons. I love buttons and have been wearing the bracelet constantly. I was still cranky though.

At school, everyone wished me happy birthday multiple times. I received multitudes of well-wishes on my facebook. I was brought to the front of the class and wore a birthday crown while they sang to me. This was all probably a bigger deal than was made about my birthday then when I was in grade three, and it was all very sweet. My friend Lindsay bought me a hot chocolate (it was delicious). Still, somehow I managed to be cranky through all of this.

Getting home from school that day was pretty miserable. It started snowing and was very, very cold. It was not a pretty, peaceful first snow. It was nasty, and I was not dressed for it.

When I got home, there was a card waiting for me, and a parcel notice. The card was from Alie, a best-friend of mine in England. After reading the perfect card I piled on layers (couldn't find my mittens!) and trekked outside in search of the post-office. I found it, got my parcel (which was huge and light) and trekked back to the house. The parcel was also from Alie and was a bright green giant pillow with a smiley face and tentacles. There was also a message from her on my phone that brought a smile to my face. Later that night, my parents called and we had a lovely conversation. A few days earlier I had gotten a parcel from them with two home-made pottery mugs in my favourite colour and by my favourite potter. New treasures to be filled with tea and coffee.

So, finally, near the very of the night I let myself be happy. I had been slathered in love and kindness all day, and it finally cracked my shell of a bad mood. Twenty-four is not as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Big Daddy

I don't like zombies, zombie movies, zombie costumes, zombie stories, etc. The idea of them makes me feel kind of ill, and whoever had a sick enough mind to think them up and create an entire genre of horror to go along with them is forever in my bad books. The zombie film that frightened me the most was "Land of the Dead". I won't give away the storyline, but essentially there is an incredibly frightening zombie named "Big Daddy" who got smarter, and lead the rest of the zombies in a revolt against the humans. That is all you need to know for now.


Last night I volunteered at a gala for the first time. The theme of the evening was Mexico, and we got to wear these really snazzy ponchos and sombreros. I'm not going to lie - I have never felt more foolish in my life, but I got used to it pretty quickly. Generally, people don't take you very seriously when you are wearing a technicolour poncho.

When the MC arrived for the event, he immediately caught my attention. He was wearing coattails,(and pulled them off). He was tall with a very strong and stern face. For some reason, I was instantly intimidated by him, and spent half the evening puzzling why.

This is why I was intimidated.

Halfway through the night, I walked by a merchandise table full of cd's, photos, screen shots and action figures of the zombie "Big Daddy". I was going to walk right on by, when all of a sudden I stopped and backtracked.
I looked at the pictures.
I looked at the stage.
I looked at the pictures again.
The MC was Big Daddy.


Since I know that he isn't really a zombie, (his name is Eugene Clark) and merely played in a movie, I swallowed my fear, my pride and introduced myself. There I was, wearing a dollar store poncho and sombrero, talking to someone who had lived in some of my very vivid nightmares. We talked about his MC-ing talents and his connection to the charity. I figured he heard people fawing over him a fair amount about what a convincing zombie he was, so I decided not to tell him that I had nightmares for a week after watching that movie. It was a pleasant and short conversation, especially considering we were both tired after the evening's events. I excused myself so we could both finish our tasks for the evening and go home.

How cool is that? I met Big Daddy.

On the subway today...

I know I have only just begun keeping this journal, but there is certainly a theme that has become apparent to me. This theme is the Transit system. I have a little story almost everyday that has to do with something I saw or experienced on the bus or the subway, and I find it very difficult to avoid it. When I am travelling from one place or another, it can sometimes be the only time I have to sit with my thoughts (especially when I have forgotten a book). I have decided to embrace this trend rather than fight it, as I have for my past few enteries. I hope people will let me know if it gets tiresome.

After that little disclaimer, let me tell you about something that happened the other day on the subway.

Have you ever seen the movie “The Village”? If you haven’t, and you plan on it, read no further.

There is a part of the movie where the heroine is travelling blindly (literally) through the woods to get away from a monster that you and she both know, doesn’t exist. It is just a person in a costume. There is a scene where you see the monster far off in the shot, frightening but not immediate. The camera pans to her, and then back to the monster; you jump out of your seat, because the creature is suddenly 30 yards closer and right next to her.

I am frightened easily by things such as these. I was travelling home with a fellow classmate when she motioned me to glance behind me. Sitting side by side, half a car away from us there were twins girls.

They were dressed the same.

Their hair was the same.

They had matching expressions

Their purses were identical.

They sat in the same position.

I was scared to look away in case they moved closer, just like in a horror movie. Luckily, they didn't move closer, and the subway lights did not dim and flicker. I am thinking that it might have been a performance art piece... Or maybe comedy where they gauge people's reactions without their knowing. It is hard to say. Nevertheless, I didn't notice them getting off the subway car, which made it seem like they just disappeared.

...Like ghosts.

Woooo! Ontario!

I just heard the “Ontario” in a song (by a Canadian of course) and in my head just thought:

"Woo! Ontario!”

This calls for a visit back to the Maritimes, pronto.

Election Day and a Full Moon

After exercising my democratic right this evening I went grocery shopping.

The air was crisp and cool, and the full, silver moon hung like a pendulum just over the street.

I found capapelli noodles at a quirky little store. Past so thin, the bag looks empty when you pick it up.

My house was cozy and warm when I got home.

Bliss.

I love Thanksgiving. Sorry Turkeys.

All the life and love that exists behind Christmas is present at Thanksgiving. There is a large meal to symbolize a good harvest. There is the act of being thankful for what you have and your hopes for the future. What makes Thanksgiving better than Christmas is the honest humanity that can be seen everywhere. There is no pressure of gifts to show your love. Rather than using presents to express yourself, you have to use you actions, your words and your heart do the talking.

So of course, this holiday is all about giving thanks. What am I thankful for? Well, I am glad you asked... I'm thankful for my family, friends, coffee, wine, autumn trees, swimming in the ocean, sand, banjoes, raincoats, cornbread, quilts, pillows, books, libraries, cbc, music, scarves, early mornings, late nights, wool, balconies, cameras, football, showers, mountain, cats and houseplants...

...I am also thankful for turkeys.

Andre the Giant and the Adventures of a Teeny-tiny T-Rex

The other day, I met a giant.

I like catching the bus as early as possible. Getting to school with lots of leisure time is a priority. I like being on the bus when it is not too full. I like having space to sit by myself, and I am always very thankful when the bus is near empty.

The other day I had was one of those blissful mornings when the bus was mostly empty. I was sitting in the back, out of everyone's way. Almost all of the seats around me were completely empty. I was reading a new book and enjoying my morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man who is regularly on my route. I would like to rephrase that. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a VERY LARGE man who is regularly on my route. He slowly starts walking to the back of
the bus. There is no reason that he would sit next to me – There has never been this much space on the bus before… In the history of bus rides –this is the most spacious.

"Don't sit next to me" I think.

He walks closer…

"He won't sit next to me."

He passes ten empty seats.

"Oh, for the love of Pete. Don't sit here."

He stops in front of me.

"He is going to sit here."

I would like to point out at this point that the bus bench that I was on was placed between two other seats. My shoulder was up against a half wall. The seat next to me is also against a wall. Instead of sitting in any of the many empty seats around, the VERY LARGE man stood for a
moment in front of me, and then proceeded to WEDGE himself between me and the wall.

This man was like Andre the Giant and I was completely dwarfed. The sight must have been ridiculous. I could not move my arms, and so I felt like a T-Rex turning pages of my book. Every sharp turn that the bus went around, my entire body was crushed between Andre and the wall. I was worried that if we turned too quickly, I would be squeezed too tightly and be popped out of the seat like a bar of soap and into the passenger across from me.

The bus eventually stopped at the subway station, which was my stop. I waited for Andre to get up first, so I could escape from my vice.

It wasn't his stop.

I wriggled around to loosen my noose. Nothing.

I wriggled some more. I gained a few inches. My feet weren't even touching the ground yet.

Apparently all my wriggling around annoyed him and he slowly turned and looked at me, as if he had just noticed that I was even there. He shifted, and I was sprung from my trap, and I moved on with my day, appreciative that I was still alive.

A Simple Sneeze

It is rather late and I am just finishing up some work for class tomorrow. The entire house is quiet. The street outside is empty and dark. I can hear the ticking of the clock across the room and the occassional hum of the refridgerator. I'm almost afraid that my fingers scattering across the keyboard are going to wake my roomate.

From the flat below me, I hear a single solitary sneeze that sounds exactly like my mom's. I stop typing - half thinking that it really is her. This of course is ridiculous.

As silly as it sounds, I am happier knowing that there is a familiar sound nearby. The simple sound of a familiar sneeze is enough to make me feel more comfortable in my surroundings. I am taking what I can get to help make this home, and I think it is working

Introducing my friend, Public Transit...

Public Transportation and I have gotten pretty tight over the past few weeks. We see each other at least twice a day, though it is decidedly busy during the week, and sometimes goes right by me, like it doesn't even see me, as I’m standing right there on the street, waiting for it.

We really like each other. It doesn’t mind that I’m quiet and read first thing in the morning, and I try not to get jealous when it is really full. I get annoyed when it stops and starts really abruptly and I bump into people. It gets a little peevish when I pay fare in nickels. Transit can be moody, and has been known to close its doors on people when they are running to catch it. Once in a while – Transit yells for no reason, and refuses to move – making everyone late and frustrated.

Sometimes, Transit is chatty and tells you about plans to retire and move to Scotland to audit courses.

Sometimes, Transit has a laugh like Danny Glover.

Sometimes, Transit sings while carting you around the city.

Sometimes, Transit is the happiest place to be, like when it is raining torrentially outside.

Sometimes, Transit waves at every single person who departs.

Sometimes, Transit gives you advice on life.

Sometimes, Transit sees a little old lady tottering along the street and halts in the middle of the street so that she doesn’t have to walk to the next stop.

Sometimes, Transit smiles and waves at you as you pass by. It also can get really excited when you wave back.

I forgive all of it's faults for all of these sweet 'sometimes', which add up to equalling 'most-times'. How can I not like it? Besides, it gets me where I need to go day after day... Not just sometimes.

Bicycle Powered Opera

This is a short one.

Picture this. It is Sunday afternoon and you are sitting on your balcony with a coffee and your roommate. It is early afternoon, and the sun is shining through the leaves.

A few houses down, your neighbours are having lunch and you can hear their silverware clanging lightly on their plates.

Someone cycles by on their bike. They are singing opera while they pedal.

Today was a good.

Gillian. A Faema Salesgirl

Today I was offered a job.

I live in a primarily Italian neighbourhood and there are, what seem to be a disproportionate number of espresso machine stores. All within walking distance of my house. I was on my way looking for a nearby library, and was passing by a “Faema” dealership. Having time to spare, I wandered in to investigate not knowing that I apparently had the look of someone who should have a lifetime career in selling Faema espresso makers.

An older, impressive presence of a gentleman told me about the different stovetop coffee makers, how they work, where they are made, what they are good for etc. After this, the conversation took a decided turn to something (I thought) completely unrelated.

Him: “So you are not from here?”

Me: “No, I am from the Maritimes.” (Is it that obvious I’m not from here?)

Him: “Oh! Charlottetown. You are from Charlottetown.” (I’m not.) “I like people from there. My last girl who worked here was from there. She worked for me for 25 years. Very trustworthy.”

Me: “Well, I’m not really from Charlottetown...”

Him: “Do you have a job?”

Me: “Well, no but...”

Him: “Why not? You should work here.”

Me: “I am actually going to school at ...”

Him: “You seem smart. Are you good at computers?”

Me: “Yeah, I guess you could say that, I really should...”

Him: “Come here, I will show you how to make good coffee. You come here on Monday to start. If you are good, you work here part-time. After school you will be full-time after school and you can have a month off to go home to Charlottetown.” (At this point, I knew I was never going to change his mind about where I was from...) “Put down your bag, take off your coat. You don’t have to be anywhere. Come behind the counter. This is the best espresso maker in the world. It is straight from Milan.”

What was I to do? I went behind the counter and made myself an espresso.

The store itself is absolutely magical. It smells like fresh ground coffee and old-man cologne. There are shiny machines sitting in these large windows with the light from outside glinting on them. It looks like it would take ten thousand year to dust it all. The espresso we made was the best thing I have ever tasted. I was dumbfounded when I watched the shot get pulled.

I eventually escaped, but with a little espresso maker and some coffee at an insane discount (think under ten dollars). Generally I pride myself at no longer being a “yes- person”, but it is incredibly difficult to say no to this man. I think I would accidently start a contract there if I wasn’t careful. I’m going to have to write a letter and turn down his offer – Even if it is a real job. the coffee from my little stove-top maker is amazing. I have an oven-fired milk steamer as well. I have just saved myself a lot of money on lattes for the rest of my life.

As a side note, I found the library.