You know that slow burn of frustration that begins when you’ve been waiting patiently for the mystical 501 shuttle bus to appear out of the ether, and then it builds to a smouldering anger as you watch 8 Victoria Park buses pass you by (literally one behind the other) because they don’t get you where you need to go (unless you’re willing to do the transfer dance again) and when your bus finally shows up, it’s so crammed with angry, hot passengers (because of course there’s no air conditioning and the windows that are cracked open a millimetre are too hard to reach without stepping on someone’s lap) that you’re all feeding off each other’s energy, which comes to a head when one of the passengers starts getting up in the driver’s grille about the ridiculous wait times? I suggest getting off a stop or two early, rerouting your walk in the direction of the beach, and taking a moment or twenty-five to enjoy the sights and sounds of people making the most of a warm, sunny afternoon – whether they’re watching their kids play with reckless abandon, huffing and puffing along the boardwalk in an effort to multi-task exercise and meditation, or just doing some spring cleaning around the property, throwing envious glances at the little black cat curled up on the steps in a state of blissful unconsciousness, surrounded by blooming, beautifully scented plants – all while planning out the strongly worded letter and diagram you intend to send to the TTC about how to properly retrieve their heads from their asses and schedule the shuttles so the masses don’t revolt. ;p
You know when you’re on a packed streetcar and the probability of the people stuck in the stairs not understanding how they work skyrockets and you suddenly dread the ride ahead, but then, much to your amazement, the stair people – no doubt seasoned riders – manage to synchronize their up-off-the-stairs and back-down movements so well, that there’s nary a pause along the route to cause cars to blast their horns, or irritation to spread among the riders – a jaded group – who never miss an opportunity to snort in disgust or roll their eyes at the streetcar newbs who frequently get caught there (it’s practically Murphy’s Law). Well done, sir and madam! If Streetcar Synchronized Middle-Door Stair-Stepping were an Olympic event, you would have scored a gold medal, a place at the top of the stairs, and the admiration of streetcar riders all over Toronto. Thank you also for making it impossible for more people to cram on, even when space became available. Huzzah!
You know that photo that’s been floating around since the Academy Awards featuring Angelina Jolie’s leg? Well, I came across a gentleman this evening, on my walk home from the streetcar, who was trying to imitate the pose with his sexy prosthetic leg. Sure, he didn’t have the dress, high heels, or the killer red lips, but he was flashing his limb for all he was worth, through the giant front tear in his wind pants, the prosthetic glistening (from the fine mist and periods of sn-rain, no doubt) as if it had just been waxed. Take that, Angelina’s leg! There’s a new limb in town and it’s practically bionic. ;p
(Originally posted February 29, 2012 on Facebook)
While I fully support couples holding hands while walking together on Valentine’s Day (as it’s conspicuously absent every other day), there is no need to spread out and span the entire width of the sidewalk, forcing the awkward issue of whether to split you two up temporarily Red-Rover style or to walk out into crazy traffic (’cause everyone’s in a panic to get to their Valentine’s dinner) to try and get around this once-a-year uber display of affection. So let’s make Valentine’s Day happy for us all: guys and gals, instead of clasping hands and moving as far away from each other as your arms will allow, how ’bout one of you wraps your arm around the other like you actually like each other, squeezing together (way more cozy and romantic), and leave the other half of the sidewalk alone! ;p Happy Valentine’s Day!
(Originally posted February 14, 2012 on Facebook)
You know when you’re on the streetcar and you spot that gal in her black coat and black boots – carefully dressed so as not to betray her true character – and she suddenly slings the most colourful, ultra-sparkly bag you’ve ever seen over her shoulder and you feel like you should honour her brilliant flash of personality by throwing out some jazz hands and shouting “Razzmatazz!”? Let’s just say cartoon me – the one who’s more than willing to do that kind of thing publicly – was all over that (I can’t be certain, but I think cartoon me may have also added in a bit of the grapevine to really jazz it up (which was no small feat given the zig and the zag of the streetcar)). ;p
(Originally posted February 8, 2012 on Facebook)