I wish the TTC had the means to gently electrocute passengers who disobeyed the courtesy rules of public transit.
I have it all worked out. Here's a small example of crimes and suggested punishments, based on what I've seen just this week while 'riding the rocket':
Wearing your backpack in a crowded subway: a wee reminder shock
Leaning on the poles when people are trying to hold onto them: a short buzz of electricity
Trying to get onto the subway while people are still filing out: a quick tazing
Pretending you don't notice the person with mobility issues who you should offer your seat to: a jaw-clenching jolt
We had decided that tonight we would turn off all the lights, ignore the people outside and quietly hide in the basement, miserably eating mini Kit-Kats and Coffee Crisps - but then we remembered it was Halloween! So out with our regular routine and in with the spirit of the day!
I figured that I'd go to my 1950s housewife vault and dig you up something Halloween-related (rather "Hallowe'en" - that's how they most frequently spelled it then) from my magazines - and you know what? There wasn't anything in them! My cookbooks had a few recipes for Halloween-themed cakes and other baked goods, but that was pretty much it. Mind you, I don't have a ton of September and October issues from that decade - but of the few I do, there's not a lick of info or advertising pertaining to Halloween. It makes me wonder if that's an indication that people didn't shit themselves over this holiday nearly to the extent we do now.
It should come as no surprise that I'll be answering the door in a tried and true costume, one that I've been doing since 2005. Well, that or answer the door topless.
BOObs!
But you know what costume I won't be? The one someone searched online for and somehow ended up on my website:
Gross.
I hope that person, whose IP was from a rather prominent university, was simply researching for a paper they're writing titled, What Horrible People Dress Up As For Halloween: A Seasonal Study of Douchebaggery.
But probably not. Do we really need to point out that dressing up as someone who's the victim of a real violent assault isn't funny or clever? Sigh.
But enough finger wagging ... instead, I shall leave you with a find from my favourite 1950s cookbook, the Good Housekeeping 10 PM Cook Book. There, I spotted a picture of people in costumes that I found interesting, especially considering everyone (including me) acts like "sexy costumes" are something new.
I give you the 1958 Sexy Devil:
Yep, Grandma embraced Halloween as an opportunity to tramp it up, too.
I have a sneaking suspicion that this is your first Pride; I can see that you are very jazzed on the rainbow motifs, there's a thrilled look in your eyes that I'm guessing has never been there before, and boy, is your posture ever great! I'm happy for you and hope this weekend serves to further your sense of confidence, belonging, and a comfort with your own skin and mind. And, hey, double points if you manage to get laid, too!
But I'm going to give you this tip, and it's important, so please listen:
When you randomly and loudly holler at me while I'm walking by that I have "nice tits":
a) Duh.
b) It's just as lame and off-putting as when a man does it.
I don't know about you, but I've entered my busy season, professionally. My personal life has also become hectic (more on that later), so there just aren't enough hours in the day to be splayed out in bed, hungover. As much as I like hiding in a darkened room with the fan on as I watch the Game Show Network, it's just not conducive to making deadlines.
I've therefore crafted the perfect drink for the busy alcoholic professional on the go: The Responsibilitini
- 2 parts vodka
- 2 parts Orange Gatorade
Shake with ice and strain into a glass that has been rimmed with crushed Aspirin and Rolaids.
After a couple, it doesn't seem weird.
And in the morning? Good as new! You're welcome, kids!
Read more...
Anytime I see something searingly embarrassing, I like to think about the events that lead up to it. Like, if you're a white 40-something woman from the south and "hip hop is who you are", there's a very good chance that you told your friends you were going to make a hip hop instructional video. And there's a very good chance that they had an opportunity to be honest with you about what a horrible idea it was. And when you explain your vision to the camera crew that you hire, they also have an opportunity to tell you it's the worst thing they've ever heard.
But when someone has a dream (or are paying you), we're often too polite to be honest about what will surely be a disaster, ripe for mass mocking. And this is the result of surrounding yourself with people who can't be straight with you:
Yesterday after a day of sitting around in my pajamas playing Angry Birds freelance work I went out with a New! Friend! for a few drinks at the neighbourhood bar. It turns out that we are both fans of gin. Big fans of gin. So, what exactly do two girls who are just getting to know each other talk about while consuming several martinis on empty stomachs? This stuff, in this order:
Weather
Work
Travel
Writing and publishing
Television shows
The awesomeness of Community
The awesomeness of gin
Attempts to eat vegan
DON'T YOU JUST LOVE BACON?
Annoying Twitterati
Hatred of the word "Twitterati"
"I'm up for another if you are!"
Shakespeare Which cast member of Jersey Shore is the best
The revolution in Egypt What race Pauly D looks like in person (Answer: Indian. I saw him in Las Vegas and couldn't get over his skin colour. The guy could easily be cast in Slumdog Millionaire II: Wheel of Fortune.)
The environment OMG WHY ARE SAMMI AND RONNIE STILL TOGETHER?! (followed by texting and Twitter updates to find out what happened on last night's episode)
.... and it went downhill from there, culturally and intellectually, but uphill in fun
Eventually she caught the streetcar to her hood but instead of going home, I opted to turn around and go to the nearby Metro to participate in one of my favourite things, drunk grocery shopping.
"Oh, great!" said the Metro staff.
One thing my lubricated self really wanted was grocery store sushi. To the connoisseur of Japanese cuisine, the spicy salmon rolls I picked up were the equivalent of eating Fun Dip and calling it trifle. But as you can imagine, I was not feeling too picky in that moment. I purchased it successfully (a small feat) and inhaled it at home moments later. I fell asleep a happy girl.
This morning I looked at the grocery bag from last night and couldn't help but be slightly amused by the remaining contents.
Hmm. A bag or organic lemons and some organic broccoli. Ok - an admittedly odd selection of impulse buys - but overall, kind of smart in the healthy, attempting-to-eat-vegan kind of way.
And then I looked at the rest of the bag.
Oh.
I'm not sure which is least likely to qualify as an actual food item - the can of Chef Boyardee ravioli or the rainbow sprinkles. And an even scarier question to ponder - did I think I was going to eat those things together? Oh, I am a sick, sick drunk.
Anyone else want to be my new friend? I'm clearly quite sane.
Read more...
After having a few* drinks the night before, my morning involves:
Checking I didn't write anything vulgar in my Facebook status or on anyone's wall
Ensuring I didn't out-of-the-blue message anyone on Facebook
Confirming I didn't tweet anything particularly obnoxious on Twitter
Making sure I didn't share any "honest" opinions on my usual message boards
Checking to see that I didn't send off any e-mails to people I haven't talked to in a long while, or any people, for that matter
Confirming I didn't text confessional things to friends or clients
Scanning my phone record to see if I called anyone
Ensuring I didn't blog any "You Know What, World?" rants
Checking to see if I blipped any tragic or embarrassing songs across my network
Making sure I didn't buy anything on eBay
Remember when there was just "drink and dial"? Oh, the good old days.
* A few drinks last night consisted of five bottles of wine split between four people, one of whom only had a couple of glasses. That person was not me.
The things one can talk about while doing a 50s Housewife Experiment could probably take all year, so every so often, I like to re-explore little bits of it ...
... Like what it's like to be flipping through the 1952 Spring / Summer Sears catalogue and come across this:
Asbestos ... beauty that lasts ... beauty that protects ... beauty that kills! Try asbestos on your home ... watch how it laughs at the weather ... and at that unexplained breathing condition you've developed.All for less than $0.12 a square foot!
Oh dear.
While we all might giggle at the 1950s-ians and their asbestos products, lead paint and strange penchant for marshmallows in entrees, I'm sure our grandchildren will have plenty to mock us with. My bets are on aspartame, toothpaste whitening ingredients and Prime Minister Justin Bieber.
What do you think? What will the 2010s (is that what we're calling ourselves? Maybe, the O-10s? Two-tens? Any word on our brand?) look like fools over?
And speaking about being smug and / or shamed - one person has just won the right to get into the fetal position be very proud - the winner of my draw for the Good Housekeeping Book of Salads. And that person is Pattie - Chicagoland, IL!
Congrats, Pattie! Your dream of wowing friends, family members and evil spirits with tomato aspics and a recipe called "Ice Cream Salad" that actually involves eight radishes (no lie!) is about to come true! Yay!
While perusing the kale, I overheard this conversation between two girls walking through the organic vegetable shop in the St. Lawrence Market:
Girl 1: Ugh, eating healthy is so ... ugh.
Girl 2: I know, but I feel guilty when I don't.
Girl 1: For once, when I go to Wendy's, I want to just order the Baconator. I'm so tired of those salads.
Girl 2: What about the Taco Salad? That one is sort of *waves her hands around* fun.
Girl 1: That IS what I get. And it's not "fun" - it's SALAD.
Girl 2: Well, you need to tell yourself that in the long run, you'll be glad you chose the healthy option.
***
OMG. That is so not pukka. I really don't want to be *that* person who one day is on a 'healthy' kick and then gets all judgmental of what everyone else is eating, but if someone out there reading this actually thinks the salads from fast food restaurants are a "healthy option", I have to interject now (I was too much of a pussy trying to mind my own business when the conversation was happening in front of me).
You can look up the calories and fat easily for the Southwest Taco Salad, but what's even scarier are the ingredients. I've circled the only things in the salad that could possibly count as healthy food - and I was being generous with my circles (you can bet most of those ingredients were raised from genetically modified seed - and not the helpful type that simply adds vitamins to the plant - and sprayed with tonnes of chemicals). I did not bother to circle any dairy, egg or meat products as they're all factory farmed and therefore hideous. You don't have to be a wannabe vegan or veggie to want to stay away from them. Click to expand:
Everything else not in green is total and utter shit. It's not just not healthy, it's straight-up bad for you. Don't let marketers suggest anything otherwise. Don't waste your money on it. Don't put it in your mouth.
Can Jamie's Food Revolution come to Canada? Please?
Yesterday (Canada Day) I took a little walk in my neighbourhood. The park next to our home was cordoned off with police tape as, sadly, the body of a man was found there earlier that morning.
There's a police officer near the park's entrance who has attracted the attention of a group of people in their late twenties.
Uh oh, I think, and strain to hear the conversation as I get closer. The events of the past weekend have created a bit of tension, to say the least, between the people and the police.
"... well, I was on Queen Street," says one of the guys, "and I definitely wasn't there to cause any trouble. It still got all hairy for me."
The police officer says, "Yeah, well, you and me both."
The guy then stretches his hand out. The police officer hesitates for a second and then shakes it.
"Keep your head up," says the man. "The G20 sucked, but we're still ultimately on the same side. Remember that, eh?"
"Thank you," said the officer. "Same to you."
They smile at each other and the guy and his friends walk off.
It's a start to this city repairing itself.
If we could, I think everyone would like to hit a big rewind button and go back to when the good guys were clearly the good guys and the lines between right and wrong didn't seem so muddied. And I think if all of us had the choice, we'd opt to do things differently.
As I've told friends who have very firm opinions on certain topics, I'm really not a black-and-white person. I see things in all sorts of grey shades. I easily feel empathy toward others. When things like the G20 come to town and there's such a mix of experiences, points of view and facts - it gets hard to choose a side, or in the very least, not feel bad for everyone involved. And that's why, as my blog post title suggests - I'm on the fence about a lot of what happened.
Within this post, I won't be debating whether the G20 is a good thing or a bad thing in itself. Nor will I bother to explain what I saw on TV, as you all saw the same thing. I'm just going to lay out a few things as I see them while also sharing my own personal experiences from the weekend. I'm someone who didn't go into the security zone or attend the main protests - and yet I still experienced several sides of this story.
...
So, some genius decided to hold the G20 in downtown Toronto - an area that is both well populated and the financial centre of the country. This decision was dumped onto our mayor, our police chief, our business owners and our residents.
Historically, the G20 attracts a lot of attention and creates a totally different dynamic for the host city (and I'm not just referring to the huge fence that got erected). Protesters (with a great variety of causes and relevancy to the G20), wannabe protesters (people who join in but don't really have a cause or great idea about what the G20 is), G20 delegates and their entourage, gawkers and photographers, media (both mainstream and alternative), international groups and a huge multi-city police force all converge on the city, each with their own agenda and job to do. And let's not forget all the other people here with nothing to do with the G20 (store owners, people working in the core, residents and tourists).
On Saturday, all was seemingly peaceful until some cowards decided to make trouble. We all saw that on TV. I had decided to stay home and watch CP24 coverage rather than going in person. I live downtown, just outside of the security zone and genuinely felt I would be unaffected by everything. Well, I am an idiot.
As I'm watching a police car in flames on TV, I realize it's less than two blocks away. A number of police cars tear down my empty (but normally busy) main street. I look outside and see that some people have come out of their homes and stores and everyone is looking down the street in the direction of the burning cop car. I can't help myself. I grab my camera and mini video camera and decide to become a gawker.
Here's some video I took (it's crap, I know) of what I saw when I walked outside my condo's door. Some people are heading from the protest area (although none have signs), some are people in the neighbourhood. One guy has no idea what's going on and asks me what happened:
As you can see, the police cleared our area. The officer who spoke to me directly (at about 1:35 in the video) was exceptionally polite and professional. He stressed that it was for my own safety that I leave - this - despite the fact that I was dressed in head-to-toe black (hey, it's slimming! Plus, I had no idea anyone was going to be using black garb to hide in that day).
We go inside and head for our rooftop patio to get a safer view. I am convinced that the hooligans are heading our way and I'm freaking somewhat. I am all kinds of grateful to the police for their presence and I'm hoping they're going to be OK. A bunch of fellow condo dwellers also have the same idea and are lined up along the rooftop's wall, taking pictures and trying to get a better look. Here's a picture from our rooftop of a few police lines formed at Victoria and Yonge Streets: Suddenly, before you know it, the police are moving elsewhere and our street is weirdly quiet again. I feel like a dork for being so freaked over it all.
Throughout the day, we watch TV and keep seeing the replays of the vandalism. People on Twitter are furious that this has happened. Protesters are angry that these idiots have taken away from their messages. The media is delightfully screeching the day's events.
Later in the afternoon, a set of police paddy wagons sit outside our home, waiting to be called into action: Patrick and I eventually decide we want to go outside. We've been cooped in all day, are disinterested with what's in the fridge and decide to take a stroll and find out if anything is open. We walk past the police in front of our place and decide to take a look closer at the area where the cop car was burned to see if there's any evidence of the melee left.
We can't get all the way to Bay Street as there is a line of police officers in helmets blocking the way. A small crowd of gawkers (us included) are standing about in the middle of the road, taking pictures of them. Every so often, the line of police walk forward, yelling "MOVE!" The crowd backs up, but no one is particularly intimidated. In fact, as the police yell "MOVE!" and "KEEP THE LINE!" the crowd gently mocks them, imitating the order.
People stand a short distance away from the police, taking pictures of themselves in front of the line-up. I get one of Patrick. The crowd is in a rather jovial mood. Some of the officers are amused by this and try not to crack too much of a smile, others are irritated by the fact they've become a tourist attraction.
The line eventually stands its ground at Yonge Street and Patrick and I decide we've seen enough, so we head south and then east to see what restaurants are open. It turns out most things are open east of Yonge, and we decided on the Hot House Cafe on Front Street. We get a seat on the patio. It's busy, but not super busy. I'd say the patio is about 75% full. The crowd is a bit older, but still a good mix of people. There's a security guard on his break (he tells a nearby table he got to meet President Obama earlier in the day), tourists, locals, a group celebrating a birthday, everybody.
While we're eating, a TTC bus marked "special" rolls up to the stop light. It is filled with police officers. From my seat, I take a picture of it, much to amusement of some of the officers on the bus. I wave and they wave back. The table next to us laughs and strikes up a conversation about the police presence in the city. We all agree that it's "crazy" and we're eager for the city to get back to normal. More police-filled buses roll by. It becomes a game for the people on the patio to wave at the officers and see if or how many of them wave back. Eight police buses eventually drive through. Every bus has officers who wave back - some of whom are more smiley and enthusiastic than others. One officer pretends he is trying to claw his way out of the bus - and that gets a huge laugh from the patio. Another officer indicates he wants a drink. When we raised our glasses to him, a bunch of the officers on that bus cheer and mime that we should bring the drinks to them, all with goofy grins on their faces. On another bus, one of the policemen responds to our waves by dramatically blowing kisses to the patio and doing the "Queen wave", as if he were a homecoming princess in a parade. It is hilarious and unexpected and has the whole patio laughing and smiling and waving at the officers.
Part way through dinner, sirens draw close and a motorcade led by police motorcycles makes its way through the intersection. Someone at another table excitedly asks out loud, "Is it Obama?!"
As it turns out, the motorcade is for a paddy wagon going to the detention centre. The entire patio erupts in applause. Table to table, people talk about how "horrible" those vandals were and how they hope the police were coming down on them hard.
Meal complete, we decide to walk home, but in true gawker fashion, decide to go up Yonge instead (a slight, minor detour) to see if the police lineup is still there. As we walk up Yonge toward King, it starts raining and it instantly becomes dark. Out of nowhere, police vehicles are racing around, minivans filled with cops in riot gear unload all around us.
Some young guys walk by and suggest that we should to turn back. I say, "but I live up there!" and he says, "so do I, but no one's allowed to get north of King." Since we didn't technically have to get north of King - just to King - we keep walking. As we get to the intersection, we see a massive crowd of protesters on Adelaide, heading west. It was a giant mob of fast-moving, chanting, drumming people. Their chants are loud, even angry. I can't tell if they were 'good' or 'bad' protesters - but the sight of them all (which I later found out to be about 2,000 people) and their chorus of yells startles me.
The riot police are spilling out of moving vans everywhere and they're putting gas masks on. It's a flurry of helmets and shields and rain. Everywhere officers are yelling and checking their equipment. I try to take some pictures while I'm walking (idiot, I know), but they're all super blurry as I'm more interested in getting out of there than capturing a Kodak moment. Patrick is tugging at my arm to hurry up.
I wonder if the people we're passing are the same officers we were smiling and waving at earlier. I feel like saying something to them - like "thank you" or "keep up the good work" - but even with two tasty pints of Grasshopper in me, I can't find the courage. The police are all in the 'zone', suiting up for what feels like a battle and I feel like the best thing I can do is just get out of their way.
As we get to our condo, another van of officers piles out in front of us. I finally croak out to one of them, "Stay safe."
He glances up at me for a second and says with a tired voice, "We'll try to do that. Thank you, ma'am."
We get home and watch from our window as the mounted unit rides by and more police head west. A small police blockade is set up at Church Street, cutting off everything in front of our place. The streets are wet and the police lights are reflecting off them into every direction.
Only a few minutes pass and our street returns to quiet again, the biggest sound coming from the pounding rain. There is no sight of the officers who had just taken over the street.
For the second time that day, I feel stupid for feeling so panicky.
Late that night, we hear loud cursing. Like drama vultures, we swoop to the window and press our faces toward the noise. Down the street at King and Church, a man is screaming at the top of his lungs. He is so filled with rage that his body contorts with nearly every syllable. The best way I can describe it is to imagine Elaine from Seinfeld dancing - but to a rant. The angry man stands next to two police officers who are in normal police uniform.
"HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?! I'M A FUCKING PEACEFUL PROTESTER! I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO GO WHERE I WANT, YOU FUCKING SACK OF SHIT!!!! EVER HEAR OF RIGHTS? I'M FUCKING PEACEFUL!!!"
To which we hear, "SIR! MOVE! THIS IS YOUR WARNING. YOU NEED TO GO - BUT GO NOW."
We watch the man turn off around the corner, heading north away from the police at the intersection. I think I can hear the sound of a newspaper box getting kicked.
Patrick and I stare at each other for a second, each making a 'WTF face'.
"That didn't sound super peaceful to me," I said.
"No shit," said Patrick, "that was a major exercise in police restraint if I ever saw one."
Our opinion of the police, at that point, is sky high. They saved our little stretch of the road from the crazies. They were courteous and friendly with us. They waved at us. They had a sense of humour. They didn't take Angry McGee down Rodney King-style, and in fact, let him go "in peace."
We are, however, completely ignorant to the arrests and protester break-up that occurred in the Free Speech Zone at Queen's Park earlier that day and the mass arrest of those sitting-in on the Esplanade (around the corner from us) at that moment.
We wake up the next morning, take care of a few things and then turn on the TV and my Twitter feed. It's like the city has been flipped on its head. Hundreds of arrests, a raid at U of T, and what looks to be a peaceful protest at the detention centre gets aggressively broken up. Reports and rumours are coming in of journalists getting hit and arrested by police, a friend on Facebook talks about getting a gun pointed at her face in Queen's Park, another talks about being detained in Union Station by police and not being able to join the protest. Many of these stories are coming from people I know, people who are not liars. More are coming in from those I don't know - from people making allegations of police brutality and rampant, unwarranted arrests and searches.
A friend sends me a message on Twitter saying that another protest is being organized across the street from me. I think "Oh, crap." It turns out to be a "nonviolent prayer vigil" organized by the Student Christian Movement. I figure that's safe enough to go outside and check out.
There's maybe 50 people standing on the lawn of the St. James Church. The signs are of poverty issues and some about freedom in the city (people upset about the fence and how the G20 has taken over everything). Someone is dressed up as a cob of corn - why, I have no idea. A young couple have brought their baby, but everyone else appears to be an adult of all ages. There are two police officers on the lawn as well, standing next to the organizer. She gets on a megaphone and explains to the protesters that they are there peacefully, that they will march to the fence (or as close as they can get) and will follow police instruction. She tells people not to wear any masks or bandanas. She stresses to keep things peaceful and to follow police instruction. By the time they're ready to get going, the crowd has grown to about 75 people. A minivan of police lead the group down King with a line of officers walking along side the marchers. They head west. It is very calm. Patrick and I don't bother to follow them. We are gawk'd out.
At home, we learn that their march has stopped at King and Bay and officers aren't letting them go any further. They've sat down and are mainly singing songs, clapping and chanting. More people have joined them.
We later find out that after a sit-in, police have directed them north. Some people involved in an earlier bicycle protest have joined them (the rest are at the detention centre, participating in a sit-in that is again growing tense). The group eventually ends up on Queen and heads west. Some people from the original prayer vigil have left, but more people have joined in.
This area eventually becomes the site for the now infamous Queen-Spadina "show down" where the police use the kettling technique for all the city to see. It seems bizarre and insane that so many people are being treated like criminals and forced to stand out in the pouring rain as they're being arrested one by one, for what charge, we can't understand. I wonder how it seemed to be more of a matter of luck that Patrick and I hadn't been caught up in a scene like that. After all, we were no better and no worse than the people trapped at Queen and Spadina and had been out and about - even at times looking to see what was going on - just the night before.
People are crapping themselves on Twitter (myself included), our parents call us to make sure we're alright, people are phoning in to CP24 to give a range of opinions. My feelings on the police are radically different than how I felt about them the day before and I have trouble matching my own experiences with what others have expressed and with what I'm seeing on TV.
Later we learn that over 900 people have been arrested and that most are claiming to be peaceful protesters and bystanders. People are talking about the conditions in the detention centres and how unlawful and unfair it all seems.
....
For the last few days, I've been seeing and hearing a lot of opinions, some I agree with, some I understand but see a different side to, and some I disagree with entirely. Here are some popular ones, and how I feel about them:
"The city was out of control!" It certainly appeared that way on TV, but many of my friends who were actually there insist the mayhem was overplayed. They, themselves, barely saw any of it. There were 25,000 protesters on the big day and roughly 100 - 200 people using Black Bloc techniques (and among them, according to some people in the crowd, only about 20 were "super aggressive").
"We were a peaceful crowd." I believe this, for the most part, but I also think some people have a weird idea of what 'peace' is. I've seen a lot of videos of people taunting the police (even before the Black Bloc crap), saying things to them like:
"Are you normally an asshole, or are you just paid to be one?" "Did you know that you're a banker's dog?" "Go fuck yourself, pig!" "Oh, sure, you're so tough with all your riot gear on, but I don't think you'd be so tough if I met you in an alley!" "Can't you think for yourself, you fucking robot? You're a fucking paid goon!" "I'm paying your salary, so how about you get out of my way?"
If we ever talked to someone like that in a bar, we could probably expect to be punched in the face.
I later saw someone being interviewed by the media after he was let out of the detention centre. While rolling his eyes he explained that he was being charged with carrying concealed weapons. Dripping with sarcasm, he says (and I'm paraphrasing) "Yeah, these are the weapons I had on me. They're baggies with flour and paint. I figured that if the police used teargas on me, I could throw these at them to retaliate. A little paint on their uniforms! So what? It'll wash off in the rain."
I watch that and I think this guy should thank his lucky stars to be arrested. Imagine his plan had actually come to fruition: Do you think the police are going to stand there as some strange objects are being hurled at them? You think they're going to - in the midst of a screaming crowd and teargas - stop, investigate what's on them, maybe go to the lab to see what it is - and then decide how to respond? For all they know, you've just tossed chemicals at them. Their response would be to take you down - HARD. And I wouldn't blame them. You might as well be pointing a toy gun at them while you're at it, moron.
"You should have all stayed home. You were asking for trouble by being there." Sorry, but I think this is bull. I do think people shouldn't act dumb about why they're out (if they're not true protesters) and should acknowledge that if they're walking into an area that's filled with cops that you have to take certain responsibilities for your actions, but it's a living-breathing city. As I illustrated from an account of my days, protesters and police seemed to come out of nowhere in areas outside the security zone. No one should have to act like the city is being held hostage just because some idiots broke some windows. Some of the people who got tackled and hauled off to the detention centre included TTC employees with full uniform (who were on the job), waiters getting off work, restaurant patrons, journalists doing their job, shop owners looking to protect their stores from vandals ... and so on. Their arrests seem like total, crazy overkill and an overreaction to the previous day's craziness.
Additionally, I think protesters had every right to protest. No one won the right to vote, the right to choose, the right for equality, etc. by staying home and shutting up. The majority of people cooperated with the set protest "rules" with police and yet were still stripped of their rights to protest and assemble, seemingly without warning. Utter and total crap.
"If you don't listen to the police to leave, you deserve what you get." I'm all for complying with the police - but according to many people in the locations, they were never given the warning to leave. I've watched many G20 protest videos, and I haven't heard ones were the police were on their big megaphones giving clear instruction. They need to do this in order to get people to comply. They need to explain in a clear and consistent way why a legal protest is getting disrupted by the police.
Furthermore, in the videos where you do hear individual officers telling people to leave or go home, there's no way for people to do that. They're being boxed in at every direction with no way out. People who are politely (at first, more angrily later) asking for a way out aren't given that option or information. You can see some of that (and get a sense of a) some shit talk police have to listen to and b) how scary it must have been to be boxed in like that) in this video.
"This is all a set-up by the police." When I was watching TV and the image of the little snot punks breaking windows and burning cop cars filled my screen, I was just waiting - with a touch of blood lust, I'll admit - to see an image of the cops swooping in on them, batons swinging. And then it didn't happen. With all that I saw (hundreds, thousands of officers) and all the spending and planning that I knew went into the weekend, it was confusing to see a lack of police action and presence when things were running amok.
People then started to theorize that police "allowed" the thuggery to occur and / or that the police in fact helped to instigate these crimes via "agents provocateur"so that they'd be given a carte blanche to crack down on the city and hippie citizens hard later and / or so that people would stop bitching about the $1.3 Billion event price tag.
Unless someone has information otherwise, I'm not under the impression that the police officers are getting paid based on who or how many people they detain and arrest. I don't think there's any "bonus pay" out there for the police force on this. I have a certain amount of faith (maybe ill-placed, but I guess that's my own failings, in that case), that the police chief and command officers don't have secret deals with the Prime Minister to make him look good. From some of the reporting done, there was confusion on the ground, everyone was speaking over each other on the radio and these criminals took advantage of that.
If facts arise that say otherwise, I'll be the first person to change her opinion. And the only silver lining if that IS the case? It tells these little Black Bloc "anarchists" that they're just predictable pawns used by the authorities they claim to be against. Chumps!
"I was tortured by the police." / "The cops are neo-Nazi fascists." I don't doubt that some people were treated poorly, even possibly illegally, by certain officers - and that needs to be dealt with in the firmest manner possible. That said, I don't deal well with people who swing around heavy, heavy words and apply them willy-nilly. Tortured? We live in a world where people are trying to deny that water-boarding is torture. I don't think sitting in a cold, cramped cell (while totally shitty) quite compares. And Nazis? I hate that one. Nazis murdered millions of people. You reduce the severity and the horror and atrocities that were actually committed by Nazis by thinking every person who offends should also be labeled as such.
"The place was a war zone." / "The city was infiltrated by terrorists." The same goes for above. Let's not get all dramatic with our language. It wasn't a war zone. It was downtown Toronto and it featured a small riot. And last I checked, terrorists murder as many people as possible in the name of a cause or a group. People who stand for nothing and break windows are just little pathetic pukejobs. Big difference.
"The people complaining are just pussies. We're pampered here. In other countries, they'd be murdered for their protest actions." Personally, while I feel lucky to live in this country, I don't think we have "pampered" rights. I think our rights set the bar for others. Our rights are BASIC. Rather than view ourselves as privileged, we should view those who don't have similar rights as exceptionally unfortunate - not as more "hardy" than us when it comes to civil liberties. I think we should never be complacent about what we have, and that these rights (to assemble, to free speech, to a free media, to only be arrested with charge, to an attorney, to have our laws spelled out for us, etc.) should be protected and fought for.
I also think that the experience many people had in the detention centres were far from pleasant and something most people would complain about if it happened to them. I found this person's account of his evening and arrest to be quite enlightening (although, to be clear, I don't know him. Take it with a grain of salt if you must. It's really just his word at this point.).
"Let these people go!" All of them? Because, quite frankly, I don't think the criminals should be let out - and let's make no mistake - the police caught people who were seriously breaking the law and / or had intent to.
"The police were within the law to do what they did." I think this is up to lawyers to decide - and only once they have all the information (which they don't) - can they do that. However, our confusion as to what is legal illustrates how blurry the difference is between our laws and rights (the Charter of Rights and the Criminal Code have a few things that seem to disagree with each other) and how uninformed we are about the law in general. It sounds as though, in general, much of the police action was performed legally (even if it was a bit of a stretch of the code) but that there likely were instances where peoples' rights were not adhered to. Regardless of what us armchair lawyers say, it's absolutely necessary that complaints are dealt with seriously ... and perhaps another look at the law is needed to spell things out more clearly and firmly.
"There should be a public inquiry." Let's do it. And not simply so that we can hang the police out to dry, but also so that they can finally release information on the other side of the story - the legitimate threats, their own videos of what happened on the line, and footage from within the detention centre. Everyone has been free to upload their videos, tell their stories, forward articles around - the police have not. They have one spokesperson who is standing by the decisions but has committed to look into any allegations. Like anyone else, I want bad cops exposed. But I also want good cops and police work applauded. If an inquiry can do both, I'm all for it.
"Police Chief Bill Blair needs to resign." I'd rather get a full picture of the facts before demanding his head. While I know he's ultimately accountable for his police force, I must admit that I feel sort of bad for the guy. He didn't ask for the G20 to land on his front step. He had to deal with a huge job, using police officers he didn't know, and a situation that was changing every minute. The people booing at him outside The 519 sort of broke my heart, as I also remember all the strides he's made between the police and the gay community over the years (that, and I just hate when people boo each other. It's just a thing for me).
"This is all Harper's fault." Yes, it is. Remember that when it's election time.
A note before we begin Day 14's adventures: The phrase "leave them wanting more" hardly describes my approach to things. Once this dancing monkey gets attention by doing something, I usually wear it out so badly that I turn people off me forever. Had it not been for the fact that I stated that this was just for two weeks, and my reasons for keeping the 50s Housewife Experiment that short was for the health of my body and self-employment, you can bet this experiment would have carried on and on and on. My blog would have started to feature strange appearances by someone named Cousin Oliver and a post about yours truly taking up water skiing lessons just to show off vintage swimwear.
While Day 14 marked the last official day of the 50s Housewife Experiment, there will be a few more posts that fall into the 50s housewife category. We'll be updating you on our "stats" (weight change, blood pressure, spending, etc.) since taking on this project, going over what was learned by living as a 1950s housewife, and looking at what we might try to incorporate into our everyday lives from it. Patrick will also do a guest post to give his side of the story - and I've had to promise not to edit it. Gah! I believe the phrase you're searching for is, "payback's a bitch."
There may also be the odd occasion where "The 50s Housewife Returns" for "a very special episode of Jen But Never Jenn" as there really is so much in these household guides that could still be exploited.
Finally, I'll be doing a "Phase 2" of the 50s Housewife Experiment where I take on the same / similar goals she had, but do it all 2010-style with modern ideas and information on food, exercise, entertainment and of course - technologies. It will likely lack the kitsch of the 50s, but I imagine there's an audience out there who wouldn't mind seeing poor Patrick choke down some vegan cuisine.
So without further ado, onto that last day:
The morning started a bit late, something typical for a Sunday in the Byck household. I decided for this last day that I would make Patrick a bigger breakfast (well, really, brunch) and take a picture of it, even though it was hardly wacky. What you see there is a grilled onion and cheddar omelet, homemade hash browns, sausage, toast with butter, half a grapefruit, coffee, milk and an orange and grapefruit sparkler (fresh squeezed orange juice, fresh squeezed grapefruit, topped with a bit of 7-UP).
I realize I haven't been featuring a lot of breakfasts or lunches throughout the 50s Housewife Experiment. Breakfasts weren't all that loopy then and our lunches were usually just leftovers or a really simple brown bag of peanut butter and jelly, fruit and a slice of cheese (I often had a tomato and lettuce sandwich for lunch with fruit and tea - which was actually really nice and light).
That isn't to say there weren't "creative" lunch and leftover ideas to choose from, though. I guess I just didn't hate my husband enough to send him off to work with things like these to eat (for Good Housekeeping's Salad Book):
When Mia Farrow looks into the crib at the end of Rosemary's Baby, this is what I imagine was staring back at her (from Good Housekeeping's Quick 'N' Easy Cook Book): And finally, check out this combination of food (from Searchlight Recipe Book): The lesson from this recipe: Valium is a hell of a drug.
I had decided my final meal for the 50s housewife project wasn't going to be revolting, necessarily, but would be quirky. I settled on making the now-famous Frank n' Bean Bake, broccoli with "Cheez" sauce and Apple Marshmallow Pie.
The Dells had invited us up to the patio for a mid-day BBQ but as it was my last 50s housewife day and I wanted to take it oh-so seriously, we took a rain-check so that I could keep things "on brand" with my experiment. Plus, brunch was pretty substantial and as delicious as BBQ would be, I wanted our appetites strong for dinner.
Shortly after brunch Patrick asked if there was any problem with his sister, Erin, and her two dogs dropping by in a few hours for a quick hello. That sounded great to me (I am lucky to have marvelous in-laws), plus it was enough notice to make sure the condo was up to 50s standards for guests.
As I mentioned the day before, the place doesn't seem quite so sparkly-clean when the both of us have been lounging around. A tidy was definitely necessary before Erin would come by - but it was totally doable and I still had time to finish the last of the laundry.
Perhaps 30 minutes later, as I was folding towels, I heard Patrick call me from the other room.
"I just got a text," Patrick said. "I told Barry to come by and he's on his way over."
I looked up from the laundry and thought, "We can do this. We can totally whip the place into decent shape if we work quickly. There's the breakfast dishes to be cleaned, some straightening up of the living room, a spot-clean of the bathroom, sweeping the floors ..." and then I heard one of my most hated sounds coming from the living room:
Oh, no, he di'n't! Apparently, if you're my husband and your sister and your best friend are en route and the home needs a solid once-over, that's the prime time to start up the ol' Playstation.
And that's when I got a serious case of 50s Housewife Rage.
I won't go into the dirty details, but the language I used to yell at my husband may not exactly have been becoming of a lady. My bow may have gone flying in a certain person's direction. Jabba the Hut may have suddenly showed up and asked "Hey, how did my Rancor get out?", did a double-take of me and then said, "Oh, sorry, I thought you were ... er, my bad." (And yes, that's my second Star Wars reference in this post. You know I'm a total dork, right?)
In any case, Patrick was up and wiping the bathroom vanity moments later even though he didn't understand why it needed to be done as our place was already "totally clean."
In the midst of this, his mother called and I'm sure she unfortunately caught bits of me cursing and muttering each time I came across something Patrick had skipped or "forgot" to do in the cleaning process. That awful, raging woman who married her little prince surely didn't deserve to be called a Byck!
But - we got it done and by the time Barry arrived, we were able to pretend all was idyllic in our little 50s household. Patrick's sister soon arrived as well, with two hilarious dogs in tow - which gave me an idea to test something from the day before.
I still had the leftovers (practically the entire thing) of the Asparagus Meat Mold in the fridge, stinking up the joint. Was it in fact the dog food I made it out to be?
Even the docile lab, Ziggy, was thrilled when I pulled the little meat monster out of the fridge. Oakley, her excitable Jack Russell, lost his mind and all manners and began jumping for it. I put it in a bowl (but excluded the peas / olives / mayonnaise part), laid some newspaper down and let them have at it.
They loooooved it.
When I started this experiment, I had no idea that I would become such a gourmet.
Anyway ... Erin and the dogs eventually had to go, and while it would have been nice if she could have stayed longer, I have to admit I was relieved the dogs were out of there before the Asparagus Meat Mold made it fully through their systems (we all know that was not going to be pretty). As it was a lovely day outside and since my dinner recipes were fairly easy, we decided to all take a little break and have a drink on the rooftop patio.
And that was my 50s housewife downfall.
You see, for this experiment, I've been greeting Patrick with a new cocktail nearly every day on his return from work. A vodka martini. A gin martini. A Manhattan. A Cuba Libra. A Tom Collins, etc., etc. This meant that our bar had a little of everything to choose from.
Unfortunately, a little of everything is what we decided to drink that afternoon.
How three grown adults with plenty of experience with the pitfalls of mixing drinks didn't stop the following from happening, I'll never know, but in the course of a few hours, we EACH had the following:
Pimm's with 7 Up
Rum and coke
Canadian Club and coke
Gin and tonic
Vodka and tonic
Just straight vodka because we ran out of mix
Oh, how I wish I could say I was exaggerating.
We drank this all while sitting under the sun with nothing in our stomachs besides the day's earlier brunch.
And then Barry had a brilliant idea that we should go for beer at The Press Club. Genius! Off we went, a trio of well-lubricated tools for - you guessed it - more alcohol. We were met by a friend, Pat Travers (we know a lot of Patricks), and Barry's fiance, Brigitte, who were no doubt proud to hang with people who were swaying while seated. Then it was beer, beer, beer. I ordered the organic type! Because that was healthy!
Parts of the evening are still a little fuzzy but I recall at one point my husband was yapping with the people at the table next to us (because everyone wants to start drunk-talking with us) and he mentioned my 50s housewife experiment to them.
"So, she's pretending to be a 50s housewife right now?" they asked confused.
I'm sure if they were looking over at me at that moment (and they probably were - but I couldn't quite tell as my eyes had started floating off in different directions by that point) they would have seen an exceptionally disheveled woman, slumping in her seat, licking her arm in attempt to cool it from the slight sun burn received that afternoon.
"I'm supposed to be making pie," I bellowed.
Finally, some force of nature - which may have been the bouncer - got us up out of our seats and heading home. We caught a cab and as Patrick and I were driven home, I started to sulk.
"This was supposed to be my last day with the 50s housewife thing and I totally ruined it," I slurred.
"Remember, we started this for fun. It didn't really matter if you did it all. We had fun today regardless," said Patrick, who was clearly able to hold his liquor better than I could, but was still totally wasted.
"Whhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyy did we get so druuuuuuunk? I had a plaaaaaan. FRANK N' BEAN BAKE. THERE WAS GOING TO BE FRANK N' BEAN BAKE," I moaned.
"Oh my god, I'm starving," said Patrick.
I had to agree with him. It was 11:52 P.M. and we'd been drinking all day with only one meal in the morning tiding us over.
The cab dropped us off at our place and we decided to run to Wendy's to get some food. Ugh. What an epic, epic failure of a 50s day. I had decided, though, that if I didn't technically have a bite of fast food until after midnight, when my experiment was officially over, it wasn't cheating.
We ordered our food (just in time, too, as the restaurant closed at 12:00 A.M.) and came home with it. Before I could eat, I had to go to the bathroom. As I was sitting on the toilet, peeing out gallons of alcohol, I kept thinking about the blog and what a horrible, silly ending this was for it. I contemplated lying about the day and making up some sort of truly 50s-themed adventure ... but then I'd have to kill all the witnesses that I was drinking with, and that wasn't a very nice thing to do. I thought about extending the experiment for a day just to get one more 50s meal in, but that seemed ridiculous too. And then I thought it was just best to be honest and fess up to my disastrous non-50s day - because not all experiments are meant to be perfect.
I nearly cried when I emerged from the washroom. Normally when we have fast food, we splay it all out in the packaging it came in and slob out on the couch to gorge ourselves. This time, while I was on the can feeling sorry for myself, Patrick had pulled our burgers and fries out of the bags for us: On plates. At the table. Like at a good little 50s home. He pulled out my chair, gave me a drunk but sweet kiss and said, "After you, Mrs. Byck."
I don't think he even realized what he had done.
I love him.
Image Sources: Dole advertisement, circa 1946 and The Bride's Reference Book.Read more...
Burst out of the bathroom with the sound of the toilet running in the background and proudly exclaim, “That took three whole flushes to go down!”
Pick up the line in the den and start breathing heavily into the phone.
Yell, “Hey, did you ever get around to asking your jerk boss if he can finally give you some time off? I bet he won’t give it to you – those idiots you work with probably can’t handle it without you!”
If you follow along, you'll see that they found some garden snails, fattened them on cornmeal (anyone who says corn products don't contribute to weight gain is a liar) and then fried them up.
When the head chef tested a somewhat rare escargot and commented that it was "mucusy", I had a shrimp in my mouth and started dry heaving.
Sulk ... I *love* shrimp and at the moment, I can barely think of them without wanting to ralph.
If you're going after an anglo audience, it really is best to leave copywriting to someone whose first language is English. Even better, hire someone who knows the fine nuances of Jr. High humour - a brand of comedy that never really stops being funny, regardless of how mature and proper people think they've become. Otherwise, you might just end up with something like this Gaviscon ad from South Africa:
It appears that just before the weekend, Amazon Ranks were quietly removed from select books. The books affected appear to be erotica, sexual instruction and … a load of titles that deal with gay and lesbian themes. What does this mean in a nutshell? Essentially, if your book is a bestseller but doesn’t have an Amazon Rank, it won’t show up on the site’s bestseller list. In some cases, this can greatly affect people's ability to find your book in a search, especially if you’re going by keywords and viewing results by “bestselling.” This has a two-fold affect:
1) It falsely suggests that these books aren’t as popular as they are. When someone types in the word "gay" and searches for bestsellers at the site, they'll be mislead. Badly. These are not the top-selling books that deal with the subject.
2) Sales numbers can go down as the books are less visible, natch. Plus, people have a very irritating habit of buying into whatever is already popular (this is one of the reasons why I suspect generic bands like Nickleback still exist).
So, was it a programming glitch? A hack? Surely it couldn’t be corporate policy?
In consideration of our entire customer base, we exclude "adult" material from appearing in some searches and best seller lists. Since these lists are generated using sales ranks, adult materials must also be excluded from that feature.
Hence, if you have further questions, kindly write back to us.
Best regards,
Ashlyn D Member Services Amazon.com Advantage
Samples of the “adult” material that is too offensive for the “entire customer base” and have had their Amazon Rank stripped include:
Heather Has Two Mommies (a children’s book that talks about diverse families)
The Mayor of Castro Street (a biography of civil rights leader, Harvey Milk)
Brokeback Mountain (you know, the book that inspired the Oscar-winning film)
Unfriendly Fire (explores the gay ban in the US military)
The Joy of Gay Sex
Meanwhile, somehow, the following books have retained their Amazon Rank:
A Parent's Guide to Preventing Homosexuality
Ted Bundy, Biography of a Campus Serial Killer
Playboy: The Complete Centrefolds
The Gay Agenda: It's Dividing the Family, the Church, and a Nation
The Complete Idiot's Guide to Amazing Sex
Hmm. Neat.
So how do *I* know about this? After Probst and others created their blog posts, they went to Twitter and let me tell you, hell hath no fury like a Tweeter scorned.
I realize it was only a couple posts ago that I made fun of Twitter and its users – and I still feel much of it is deserving of mocking. But Twitter also has some great uses – its ability to foster breaking and spreading stories, as determined by its users, is pretty phenomenal. It's one of the top reasons it would suck to be a stupid company like Amazon right now.
This topic has been a big one today. It’s been trending higher than “Easter”, “Tiger Woods” or even the popular and festive “Zombie Jesus.” As more people talk, more of Amazon’s handiwork is being scrutinized (books dealing with disabilities and sexuality have also been de-listed, for example) and more “electronic activists” take on different methods of showing their disgust (Google bombing, boycotting, promoting different bookstores, e-mailing and calling Amazon customer service / board members).
It doesn’t look good and Amazon is surely hearing that message loud and clear. I’m eager to hear from someone other than "Ashlyn D" for an explanation (and hopefully, a resolution).
The latest:Amazon is claiming this is a glitch. A distinctly homophobic glitch. Hmm. Credibility is running a little low right now, especially as it took a looong time in terms of crisis communications to issue a semblance of a statement. The lag in response and the lack of clarity and authority in the statement is a major #PRFail.
So, even if this were a glitch or some magnificent trolling (as others are now suggesting), it's now known that Amazon has a Rank-removal ability - one that can seemingly be applied based on tags or keywords - and that doesn't vibe well with the anti-censorship / free marketers of the world. Somebody's got some 'splainin' to do.
Read more...
Last night I had a project to work on and ended up bringing my laptop to bed with me. As soon as I finished the last sentence of copy, I was OUT - completely zonked and instantly asleep. All evening, Patrick hung out in the living room watching TV and doing whatever it is that boys do when they have the home to themselves.
I've just found out what that was.
Around 4:30am, my husband ungracefully crawled into bed, waking me up in the process. I decided to get up to use the washroom and when I did, Patrick weakly asked if I could get him a Rolaid. I got him one, he ate it, started snoring immediately and I knew my window for sleep was over. I decided to go make myself some tea and found this in the kitchen:
That would be a bottle of mezcal (it's like tequila), Starbucks Coffee Liqueur and the glass that once bound this monstrosity together. If he hasn't yet named his cocktail, I might suggest "The-Very-Bad-Idea-tini"
Rolaids, indeed.
I should probably go to the liquor store and get some real booze before he starts mixing the Triple Sec with Listerine.
Crackers have long held a treasured role in The Sick Day. If your tummy was feeling a little shaky, saltines (and a wee glass of ginger ale) would be on the menu. They are in the pantries of every binge drinker, mother of small children and hypochondriac (those people aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. If and when I become a mother, you can bet the binge drinking will continue if not increase … substantially).
In this tough economic time, it seems Premium Plus doesn’t want to patiently stand by and wait for you to get sick and need their product. Instead, they’d now like to play an active role in acquiring queasy customers. Take a look:
All I see are bowls and bowls of colourful projectile vomit. Most convincing is that last chunky-looking orange one on the diner counter - it even gets a super slow-mo treatment just so you can drink that image right in. When this commercial comes on, I literally start dry-heaving even before the first cracker makes contact. The suggestion near the end that someone has then EATEN the puke soup (the spoon twirling around the empty bowl) has me panicking for an empty garbage can.
I do have to give this ad a bit of credit: You know the scene where four sprays of barf can be seen gushing from cubicles? I think it quite accurately captures how the majority of people feel when they get into the office.
Read more...
Loud Talker: ... If you want to make it, you have to be hungry. You have to show no fear. You gotta keep on cold calling. I mean, look at homeless guys. They cold call for money constantly - that's all they do - is ask for what they want, from strangers, over and over, despite the rejections.
Other Guy: You're using a homeless person as a model of success?
Loud Talker: They're alive, aren't they? They survive without jobs because they cold call. They cold call because they're hungry. The difference between them and you, is that THEY have PASSION.
Here's a scenario: Say you’ve just been in a fiery plane crash and you and the other passengers are trying to exit the melting plane. What do you do?
According to this dude, you pull out your Blackberry and update your Twitter status. While still on the plane. That's just crashed. And is on fire. With people in it.
WTF.
I'm really, really hoping that the reporting is off and he Twittered AFTER he got out of the plane - but so far, that isn't what's being relayed. Le Sigh of the highest order.
I could rattle on about how incredibly stupid, selfish and unsafe this was of him and how baffling it is that some people are actually impressed with this fool's 'instincts' to "break the story" - but really, do I need to get into it? Is a rant from me necessary? I think the majority of us who value certain things (like LIFE, other people, safety, not burning) over other things (the fleeting and fickle 15 MB of fame) - don't need any arguments about how silly this is. And if the words "jellyfish" and "bath" also popped into your head - Jinx! Buy me a Coke!
My name is Jen and I look like that picture at all times. I enjoy appetizers as entrees, fountains choreographed to music and television shows intended for teenage girls. Oh - and I really dislike it when people spell it "Jenn"; it's practically a phobia.
Chuck Lorre Club "music" CUPCAKES Extremism Factory farming Fruit-flavoured teas Humid days Hypocrisy (EXCEPT MINE) Laugh tracks Mice Mob mentalities Mondays My typos PC policing Prop 8 Self-defecation Sexy Halloween costumes Snakes Social media obsession Sports highlights The Easily Offended The Easily Outraged The Humourless The Super Cynical
Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').
(the book)
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