Shuttle Rage

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

Streetcar Olympics

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!


Today’s streetcar fun:
1) If your butt cheeks (minds out of gutters – they were clad in boxers) are the part of you that’s clasping the pole in the streetcar with an iron grip, your pants are too low. Never before have I witnessed such a ringing endorsement for wearing your pants at your waist, instead of down around your thighs. ;p
2) Mullet guy is offically beginning to look like the unibomber. His “party in the back” has integrated with what was formerly a handlebar moustache to create one nasty, unkempt face and head of hair. If it weren’t for the teal leather jacket (which gives me some hope), I’d be starting to warn people. ;p
3) Remember those white, slightly pointed, slightly platform shoes that Ducky wore in Pretty In Pink? They’re baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccckk – and not in a fun nostalgic way. Yet another example of eighties fashions coming back to haunt us when they really, really need to stay firmly planted in their rightful era. Kudos to the androgenous kid (I seriously have no idea what their gender was) who not only sported the shoes, but also had a bandana across their forehead, a Jon Cryer hat atop their head and the requisite pair of skinny jeans. If you’re gonna go Ducky, you might as well not half-ass it.
(Originally posted March 14, 2012 on Facebook)

Celebrity Squinting

There’s a game I sometimes play when I get on the streetcar and it involves figuring out what celebrity the streetcarites around me resemble. It’s kinda funny how many people could work as doppelgangers for the rich and famous, but then me not having my glasses on may have something to do with that. I thought that was the case this evening, on the long walk home (yup, that’s code for “got short-turned”), when I spotted a gal a block away who, from behind, was the same height (uber short) and same colouring as the character Jules from Flashpoint (DISCLAIMER: I am paid to watch this show – I would not choose to watch this of my own free will). Imagine my surprise when I got within a couple feet of her and her kid and realized that it was indeed Amy Jo Johnson (you may remember her from the show Felicity) . The stink-eye she was shooting me as I approached knocked some of the wind out of my self-congratulatory sails for my well-spotted quarry, but then I remembered I didn’t actually care it was her, it was that I guessed right. ;p
Originally posted March 13, 2012 on Facebook)

Dead Feet Walking

For the unenlightened, during the evening ride, there’s a sense of dread that settles over the streetcar when it begins to approach the streetcar yard at Connaught Street because that’s the stop where it’s determined whether a streetcar will short-turn or not. It’s probably the most holy of times because everyone is praying their streetcar doesn’t get the short-turn nod. This evening, we got a double whammy: not only were all streetcars turning back at Kingston Road due to a pedestrian accident at my streetcar stop, but the buses they were using to shuttle people further into the beaches were only going as far as Woodbine (2 stops beyond Kingston Rd). That was the moment when I realized that my decision to bring my high-heeled boots out of hibernation today was a poor one.
(Originally posted March 7, 2012 on Facebook)

He’s A Maniac, Maniac…

About a million years ago (well, it’s more like 9 years, in fact), we had this male courier appear in the office wearing rainbow-coloured leg warmers over loose grey jogging pants, a skintight pink tank top (which exposed all kinds of things that no one should have to see) and a thick white headband holding back his sweaty long hair. Small portion of the story short, eyes were averted, cheeks were bitten and ultimately it ended in a co-worker tearing off to the other side of the building so she could burst out laughing (which could be heard everywhere). Apparently the movie Flashdance kept haunting her brain and the courier was starring in it. ;p
Fastforward a few “million” years,  and I’m pretty sure I came across “Flashdance” today while passing through the Ryerson Campus. His multi-coloured hammer pants, colour-blocked (navy and pink) spring jacket, fountain-style ponytail on the top of his head and the boombox blaring Van Halen were the dead giveaway. He’s the only person I know who’s completely on trend with the current return to ’80s fashion.
(Originally posted March 3, 2012 on Facebook)

Bionic Doppelganger

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)

Streetcar Offensive

The streetcar driver was laying down a lot of angry horn tonight. Well, as angry as a streetcar horn can sound (ding-ding!). I’m not sure if he was having a bad night or if the drivers around us were the cause of his ire, but it felt like the horn was blasting and the bells were clanging a lot more than usual. My issue: do drivers actually take notice of the jingly horn when they’ve disobeyed the rules of sharing the road with a streetcar? Why aren’t the streetcars (well, all cars really) equipped with a horn that shouts, “Hey, a&%hole, you nearly mowed down 12 passengers!” or “What the eff was that?! Learn how to drive!” 1) That would be way more fun to listen to during rush hour and 2) I think you’d probably feel a little bad about however you offended the streetcar and would think twice about doing it again. ;p
(Originally posted February 21, 2012 on Facebook)

Be My Annoying Valentine

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)

Jazz Hands

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)