(posted 03-20-09)

It’s Friday March 20, 2009, the first day of spring. A gorgeous blue sky keeps tempting me outside as sunlight washes over the sides of my neighbours’ homes. It’s been a long time coming, this change of the seasons. Too damn long. But winter is the past and I for one, never linger there for long.

Life’s way too short.

I was reminded of this very fact yesterday while taking in an afternoon flick with my mom. She was in town for two days and while we Crate-and-Barreled our way through the first day, we decided a matinee would be a perfect afternoon diversion for the second.

And you can’t help but think of your own mortality while watching One Week, the Canadian indie film starring Pacey—you know, Canuck hottie Josh Jackson. Sitting there watching the beautiful scenery of this country go by on the screen, you question not only your mortality, but more important things like happiness. True happiness.

Are you living the life you thought you would? Are you living the life you want?

Yikes! Heavy stuff for a Friday, but there is a point.

In One Week, Jackson is diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cancer and before he can even consider entering treatment or becoming a patient he buys a secondhand motorcycle and heads west from Toronto in search of meaning, a point, adventure—anything that’ll make him feel alive.

The big question posed to the audience: “What would you do if you had one day, one week or one month to live”?

No light fare—that’s a six course turkey dinner with extra stuffing. I’m full just thinking about it and unless you’re really faced with that kind of news it’s a bit of quagmire conjuring up a true, honest answer. Though even contemplating the possibility has gotta be good for the soul.

What would I do? Well, I wouldn’t be wasting my time blogging to you people. That’s for damn sure. I’d get out there and live. Really live.

I’d talk to strangers. Try heroin. Swim in Lake Ontario.

I’d rent the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz in Paris and spend a small fortune on a bespoke suit from Saville Row.

I’d dine at the French Laundry in Napa, The Fat Duck in London and Spain’s El Bulli.

I’d head north, venture beyond the tree line and drink a bottle of scotch while I watched the northern lights.

I’d throw a party and cater the hell out of it.

And I’d spend a day in complete sobriety, just to see what it’s like.

What would you do? Seriously, with a week to live what does your list look like?

Then don’t wait for chronic illness to get you up off your ass. Start living. Really living. If life isn’t about being happy, then what the hell is it for? We only get one chance at this thing.

I for one am pretty damn happy and more or less living the life I want but there’s always more—more to do, more to see, to explore and experience. I’m starting now.

Today I’m going to talk to a stranger and learn something about him. A story or a dream. Something that’ll connect two random human beings. Some common link. A bond. Anything.

And who knows, maybe he’ll turn out to be a heroin dealer?

(posted 01-12-09)

What to write, what to write? It’s not easy you know. I don’t want to take up word space just because it’s there. Blabbing on like a Vanity Fair essay seems like a waste of time—both yours and mine—so I won’t do it.

“If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all”, right? Wise words. And widely used by mother’s explaining to their children that hateful speak is very unbecoming. Same applies here. If it ain’t good, what’s the point?

So I’m always thinking of you, my loyal reader, and how I might be able to offer you something new—like a steamy casserole recipe, say, or, something trendy such as Brazilian rum and the hot cocktails to make with it.

But when it came time to write today’s post I must say, I was a bit at a loss.

Shall I regale them with tales from my virgin expedition to T&T Supermarket this past Friday? (Condensed version: prepared sushi, dumplings and spring rolls, YUCK!; fish counter, butcher shop and frozen items, YUM!)

Should I share my thoughts on etiquette and human behaviour, before launching into a 1000 word diatribe encompassing the foods one should not consume while waiting in the reception area of a local spa? (Falafel anyone?)

Let’s say it together:

“I will not eat a falafel sandwich at the spa.” Repeat until behaviour becomes habitual.

It’s like those oblivious folk who clip their finger nails on public transit. How is it that you just fell off the turnip truck and landed right beside me on the subway? The logistics of making that happen seem overwhelmingly difficult, yet here you are, shooting razor sharp pieces of dead skin cells at weary city travelers, with no conscious thought on the utter repulsive nature of your actions.

But like I said, nothing good, nothing at all.

And it just so happens that there is a wedge of good shoved into the middle of this January Monday.

Seems I’m going to be starring in my own episode of, wait for it, CityLine. Yes, starring thank you.

The call came in right as I was hankering down to write terribly mean things about the stupid actions of mediocre people. (There’s always tomorrow.)

After speaking briefly with the producer she scheduled me for the February 9, 2009 show. I’ll have seven minutes to razzle-dazzle ’em with fun and entertaining ways to celebrate an oh-so-trendy, anti-Valentine’s Day.

Yep, that’s right. Instead of long-stem roses, heart-shaped boxes and cooing couples, I’m going to show all the single ladies how to celebrate in style and hold onto your dignity! That last part might be tricky.

It’s great news because CityLine doesn’t open their doors to new talent everyday and if I create seven minutes of the most compelling Canadian lifestyle programming this side of The Dini Petty Show, I just might become a recurring guest expert. How fab!

Let me know what you’d like to see on the program and it just might happen—live on TV (okay, live-to-tape but who’s keeping score?). Delicious new champagne cocktails? Quick and easy recipes for a “Singles Only” themed party? Or, how to hire a “hit” on your ex and keep your hands clean perhaps?

Whatever it is, let me know.

No query is too big or too small and no question is stupid. Stupid is mentioning fingernail clippings in a food blog.

High-end picks are a recognition of craftsmanship and achievement

Uh-oh! Are the eighties back? With seven new Starbucks opening daily and Whole Foods all but dominating the high-end grocery business, it’s easy to see how the premium experience has materialized around us. It’s also easy to compare this trend to the credit-card flush days of the ’80s, especially with The Donald gracing our TV screens again.

Where the ’80s were about excess (and mesh sandals), the premium experience is more altruistic. It’s a trend where product knowledge and experience are the driving factors, not consumption. It’s a trend about craftsmanship, achievement and the creation of a unique emotional connection.