See You Tonight

The title of this entry refers to the slogan of the Keg Steakhouse chain of restaurants. I like the Keg. It's reasonably priced, casual and the food's pretty good overall. I particularly enjoy heading to the Keg Mansion on Toronto's Jarvis street. It's like going back in time, given the enormous house once belonged to one of Toronto's most wealthy families - the Masseys.  It's also said to be haunted. When my wife and I head to the mansion, we always ask for a table in The Library, a fantastic little nook that is quieter than the rest of the beautiful, sprawling 2 level restaurant. But I digress.

Last night we decided to  have ourselves an evening at the Keg Mansion. In fact, our day was structured around it. We had to run some errands but we decided to take a long walk through the downtown core as well. We'd eventually make our way north east, first stopping for a cocktail at The Blake House, another mansion sized restaurant/bar on Jarvis (formerly The Red Lion). It too is a fine establishment. We sat in the bar area right beside a cozy wood-burning fireplace, and it was shaping up to be a lovely Saturday evening. I even had a $100 Keg gift card which made things just a smidge sweeter.

Finishing up our drinks we took the 5 minute walk to The Keg. I requested a table in The Library. Other tables were available but we were fine with waiting, and we happily headed upstairs to the bar, as it was to be approximately 45 minutes. Enjoying a glass of wine and conversation, the time flew and soon enough our little vibrating buzzy thing lit up. We were sat at the best table in The Library and ordered some appetizers first. We always order them separately from the mains so we can take our time and enjoy the evening on our schedule, not the restaurant's. We ordered a caesar salad to share and their jumbo shrimp cocktail. And, the complimentary ever delicious warm loaf of bread and butter was also delivered to our table.

As we readied to order our mains, the server came by. She mentioned that there might be a bit of a delay, since the kitchen had just lost all it's power. No problem we thought. We weren't in a rush. Shortly after that I headed to the men's room, and noticed that the place seemed to be getting quieter and when folks were leaving, new customers weren't being seated, which is a bizarre sight for one of Toronto's busiest restaurants, not to mention it was Saturday evening. Hordes of servers gathered chatting in the kitchen serving area, clearly not having anything to do.

Returning to my table, the manager appeared and mentioned that the kitchen was still without power, but not to worry - their on call electrician was on his way...from Whitby. He mentioned it would be about an hour before he might arrive, depending on traffic. Now I'm no high-falutin' CEO of a major restaurant chain, but me thinks it might not be a bad idea to line up a 24-hour emergency electrical firm that is not a billion miles away from the centre of Canada's universe. We're not in some podunk dustbowl here. This is downtown fucking Toronto...in prime fucking time.

But, I thought it best not to make a big fuss, so I slowly pulled the steak knife away from the manager's throat. After all, it wasn't his fault he's a bumbling jackass who couldn't organize a piss up a rope.  As I placed the knife back on the table, I straightened my tie and calmly sat back down. "See that steak knife?", I asked the manager. "Yes sir. Yes I do", he replied shakily. "Do you know what should be sitting beside that steak knife?", I enquired. "A steak, sir?" I snapped back: "You're goddamn right...a goddamn steak is goddamn right!".

At this, the manager cleared his throat and mentioned that our Keg sized 9oz glasses of wine and Keg jumbo cocktail shrimp were on the house, and he even offered to wrap up the remaining bit of Keg complimentary bread.

See you tonight my ass.

The Sweetest Fruit...

Well, you know the rest of the saying.

There are a few variations but I have often gone with "The sweetest fruit is out on the limb". I've used it as a mantra of sorts and it's a good philosophy in my view. The basic idea of course is that you've gotta take chances to succeed at whatever it is you're doing.

Herein lies the rub with our Toronto Blue Jays. In this town we're so used to chronic disappointment from our sports teams, so we've become a jaded bunch. Lately, as the Jays have raced to the top of the standings, thousands of bandwagoners have emerged, filling Rogers Centre to capacity on a Monday, unheard of only 2 months ago.

In this photo from city archives, the
Toronto Dandelions capture
the 1867 championship 

I consider myself a true fan, but I don't mind the folks who have hitched their carriage to our ride. Butts in seats help the team - the energy, the noise, the passion. And it would be a bigger problem if the team was winning and people continued to stay away like we've seen in some baseball markets.

Some are still reluctant to emotionally commit though. There's still a lot of baseball to go, and anything can happen, including not making the damn playoffs. My lovely wife is slowly warming to the idea, but she's still hesitant. It sort of feels like the time I suggested we become swingers. At the beginning of the discussion she was horrified, and at the end of the discussion she was still horrified, so that never flew.

But in the end, this is what life is supposed to be about. It's about experiencing everything that comes with it, good or bad. You pays your money, you take your chances. No point in constantly protecting yourself emotionally given the prospect of getting hurt, whether it be a personal relationship or a major life decision. And when you look at it that way, committing emotionally to a silly game makes it all the more easy to do.

Hobo Gauntlet Radio - Episode 9

On episode 9 of HGR, you'll have the distinct pleasure of not hearing me speak a single word. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I don't have anything to say it into.

You see, for previous podcasts I've borrowed a microphone from frequent Hobo Gauntlet commenter Clefto, but Clefto had the gaul to actually want his mic back. That selfish bastard!

In any event, on this 'cast we'll hear from Lemon Jelly, Franz Ferdinand, Chvrches, a modern remix of a Depeche Mode classic, Interpol and the latest from Tame Impala. Oh, and I forgot to mention that it starts at around the :26 mark, either because I'm trying to be artistic or I screwed up. Your choice.

Hobo Guantlet Radio - Episode 9 by Hobogauntlet on Mixcloud

Toronto Island Cocktails, In Every Sense Of The Word

My lovely wife and I decided to get the hell outta Dodge temporarily for a few hours yesterday.

We didn't go north. We didn't go east, nor west. Instead, we headed immediately south to the Toronto Islands. I always have mixed emotions about going to the Islands. I do enjoy the psychological escape associated with it, but getting there and back kind of sucks. I know I know..it's a lovely ferry ride with a fantastic view of the city, but the giant crowds, line ups and the wired kids going and cranky kids coming back...well, let's just say it's disruptive to our more hedonistic lifestyle.

Anyway, to my highlights and tips:

• Take a bike. You'll zip around the entire island, enjoy the scenery and get the whole experience. You'll burn out if you try to walk around the whole place (three different groups of people walking asked us where they could rent bikes). We live downtown, so we just picked up a couple of Bikeshare bikes near our house and dropped off afterwards so it worked out perfectly. You can also rent bikes on the island itself.  

• Take the Hanlan's Point ferry rather than the main one that goes to Centre Island. It's much less crowded and drops you at the western tip of the Island. Being on the bike means you can still cross the island relatively quickly.

• Speaking of tips, if you aren't particularly interested in seeing the tips of 63 year old gay men, steer clear of the clothing optional beach. We walked up the secluded path that leads to it knowing what we might see on the beach itself, but naked Santa Claus surprised us as we first entered the path, and the surprise didn't include Christmas presents, frankincense or myrrhr,  He wasn't wearing a red suit, and the water must have been very cold. 

Rectory Cafe. Although it looks like she's doing the robot,
she is merely delivering good times to thirsty patrons

• Bring along some snacks, then hit up one of the more adult oriented places for cocktails (and lunch should you desire it). Most of the places and activities in the "centre" of centre island seem to be geared towards families and tourists, whereas there are a few joints scattered around different fringe areas. We happened upon The Rectory Cafe  as shown in the photo. Great quiet tucked away place surrounded by trees with cold beer and good service. Then, right by our point of departure at the Ward's Island dock, there's another place with a laid back tropical island feel, which was also fantastic.  

• Do stroll or ride up the little lanes to check out some of the homes and cottages on the east side of the island. It's eclectic and a bit surreal, and you feel like you're in cottage country 400 km north of  Toronto. Yet, you'll come to the end of a lane and the city's entire skyline looms seemingly right in front of you. 

As they say on Game of Thrones, winter is coming. Get outside and capitalize on the summer months whenever and wherever you can. It's a beautiful city with experiences just waiting to be had.  

This Saturday At The Donkey

Thank You Mr Ass Face

If you think the subject line sounds harsh, trust me, my first version was harsher. But more importantly, I want to thank Mr Ass Face for crystalizing something for me.

See, over the years I've had sporadic DJ gigs. I've spun at parties, weddings and bars. Mostly they've been personal parties where I play exactly what I want, for friends that I know who appreciate a similar vibe.  But in some instances, there are paid gigs I've had where you play exactly what you don't want, and that's fine of course. It's part of the business.

This weekend I had one of those gigs. It was at a bar in Pickering, a Toronto suburb, so that alone might tell you something. I was told the people who frequent the joint are folks in their 40's and 50's - the standard wasp types - so some mainstream party music from the 70's forward.

Upon arrival, there are only about 12 people in the bar. Upon setup, that number has dropped to about 6, including the owner who was clearly tipsy. This, my friends, does not bode well, and those numbers do not constitute critical mass for a party to break out.  But, whatever, the show must go on, so I start spinning and although not a dancing kind of evening, the people there are listening and I can tell they're into the music.

About 11pm four or five younger people show up - I'm guessing early 20's. They are in more of a dancing mood and they've added some spark. See this is part of what a DJ is paid to do. Go with the flow and create a party. Otherwise, you might as well just put on a jukebox.

A girl approaches me and asks for some Nicki Minaj, of which of course I don't have - remember, I prepared for a different type of audience. However, in that instance what a good DJ does is try to play something at least similar. Maybe that will get people dancing and get a party going. But in this instance, I decided to go one step further. Got on my laptop, downloaded Minaj on the spot, burned a CD and spun the exact tune she wanted.

It worked. Her and a couple of friends started dancing, so I played a couple of more similar, relatively modern hip hop songs to keep things going. It was 50 cent's In Da Club and some other shite I don't like personally, but it wasn't about me. Slowly, a vibe was building.

A few minutes later, the owner walks up to me and says, and I paraphrase. "You know what - this isn't a fucking nightclub. I don't like this fucking music, I don't like the language and I don't want this fucking garbage in my bar". He added a few more words that started with the letter N, so I'll leave that to your imagination.  I thought he was joking. He was not.

At the end of the day, he's the boss. Even though I'm doing my job as a professional by going with the flow to get a party going, it's his bar. For some bizarre reason (and I think alchohol played a factor), he figured that me playing a few hip hop songs meant that his bar was now labelled a gangsta-filled nightclub. Even when 98% of the music I've played has been exactly what's been asked, but instead, he focused on 10 minutes of hip hop.

As I said though, it's his joint. More than anything, it was his aggressive tone and language that really, really pissed me off.  He was incredibly rude and I didn't like it one bit. But, I still hadn't got paid, so I took the high road. "Ok no problem",  I say. "But just so you know, these were requested by the people who came in and wanted to dance, and they danced."

It was at that moment that things became crystal clear. I'll never ever DJ again at a venue that is not my style of music, my crowd,my vibe. It's simply not worth it. On top of that, I was set up to fail since this guy asked me to DJ when there was virtually zero chance of a successful night when 6 people are in the bar.  So, I'm sure you'll never know it Mr Ass Face, but thank you for helping me to have this epiphany.

The upshot? Never again will Kool and The Gang be heard when this DJ is at the helm.

Anyone Can DJ

As you're fully aware, Monday nights are clearly the biggest party nights in the city yes?

That's why I was happy to host the launch of Anyone Can DJ last night at Toronto's Pacific Junction Hotel. PJH, known affectionately as The Donkey, was rockin' for the inaugral event where anyone...umm..can dj. It's really quite simple. Think of it as karaoke...only way cooler.

Interested? Email carson@girthradio.com to book a slot.

Best Places To Hide A Body In Toronto: #49 - Don River

This cozy little spot is perfect for your first or second murder as it's close to the downtown core, but juuust slightly off the beaten path. I won't tell you exactly where it is because..you know..evidence and all. 

Hobo Gauntlet Radio - Episode 7

Musically, Episode 7 of HGR throws the proverbial net wide, ranging from Jonathon Richman and The Modern Lovers to OMD to The Doors to Harvey Danger.

Meanwhile, your host provides an update on his obsession with Tanki Online and how it has delayed the production of new podcasts. He also touches on the unbelievably fantastic sports town that is Toronto, re-lives the summer of ’86 and he shares a story about a cowboy hat as mentioned in the Guilty By Association post below. Episode 7 clocks in at an hour and eight minutes.

Hobo Gauntlet Radio - Episode 7 by Hobogauntlet on Mixcloud

9/11 On Ice

No word if Disney will produce it, but based on the new Mirvish show now playing in Toronto,  9/11 On Ice could be making it's way to Broadway, Chicago, London and Toronto at some point. Sure, maybe it'll take a hundred years, but we'll get there.

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Of Atmosphere And Ambience

It's certainly a cliché by now, but one of the wonderful things about living in Toronto is the sheer diversity of ethnic foods you can experience. When I first moved downtown in particular, it was a mouth-watering, eye-opening experience.

This is the beauty of multiculturalism. When we sit at each other's dinner tables, the world becomes just a little smaller, making us collectively appreciate that we have more in common than we have differences.

So, last night my lovely wife and I decided to dine at Young Thailand, a decent restaurant located in Cabbagetown that has never disappointed. The food is always fresh and moderately priced, but one thing that keeps us coming back to this particular establishment is the restaurant itself. It is set up as a tranquil oasis, with Thai inspired furnishings and even a little babbling brook. We also like the dimmed dining room which adds to the relaxed atmosphere.

As we entered last night we noticed our favourite table was waiting for us - tucked in the corner and away from the windows, nestled right beside the babbling brook. We approached the table gleefully and as we sat, we both noticed the serene, dream-like Thai music permeating the room - it was the chillaxin' favourite from Motley Crue: Smokin' In The Boys Room. Yes you read that right.

In about a second the entire atmosphere had changed as we realized the nature of this cacophany coming from the sound system. It was very off-putting, but we figured - maybe an anomaly. But we were soon disappointed again - this time it was Huey Lewis And The News. Sorry let me write that again. Huey Fucking Lewis And The Fucking News. In a Thai restaurant. On a Saturday night.

This is where Guns 'n Roses grew up.

It was soon evident that the place had decided to forego traditional Thai music to match the lovely decor and setting. It was some Saturday night classic rock show on a local radio station complete with voice-tracked morning DJ and even better...commercials.

So then we debated - we shouldn't have to and it's a valid request but do we ask the server to change the music? There are probably a dozen other people in the restaurant and we can't help think they aren't wondering the same thing. When our server does come by, in my best Canadian oh-so-polite passive aggressive way, I say "Do you ever play Thai music over the sound system?". She says "oh no, just the radio."

And it's really too bad, because as usual, the food was outstanding. For appetizers we had the veggie rolls. For mains there was the bbq beef, spicy curry noodle with shrimp and to top it off, a generous helping of Thin Lizzy's The Boys Are Back In Town.
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I Notice Your Home Smells of Feces

Of course, that's the comedically genius bit of dialogue uttered by Homer Simpson when he visits chimpanzee saviour Jane Goodall's house.

I had a similar experience yesterday as my lovely wife and I decided to take a stroll through our neck of the woods. Not that our entire neck of the woods smells of feces, but one corner of it does - namely the barns at Riverdale Farm. To the uninitiated, Riverdale Farm was Toronto's first zoo and is nestled within Cabbagetown. Nowadays it's basically a quaint little spot with 2 cows, 4 or 5 sheep, a horse, 9 ducks, some pigs, 6 roosters and a rabbit or two. I made those actual numbers and animals up but you get the picture.

It's a nice spot to visit when out for a walk which we often do, part of the reason we love our neighbourhood. You're smack dab in the city but you can escape to a bit of quiet greenspace, not to mention the associated history. On our way back we even passed by the original home of magician Doug Henning..at least I thought it was his house - it might've just been an illusion...

Riverdale Farm is immensely popular with locals and suburban visitors alike. Admission is free and it's a nice spot for families with little kids. They get up close with these animals, and parents can use the experience as a life lesson of sorts. "See this chicken Billy? You ate his brother last night."

Much like American Psycho's Patrick Bateman:
Lovely on the outside, revolting on the inside.

The barns housing the majority of the animals are the most popular spots, and you see happy kids and adults oohing and awwing at the freshly-squeezed baby lambs and pigs every spring. These barns are the originals and very old fashioned full of hay and antique farming equipment and such - very quaint. Yesterday when I was there though, I felt like stopping for a second to make an announcement to the 20 or 30 people there at the same time I was: "Um , excuse me everyone - Hi..yes, hello..thank you..um..is it me, or does is smell like shit in here?" You know, just to get a reaction. In my view it really is quite fascinating how everyone simply pretends that it doesn't smell like shit. I think what probably happens is people stroll in from outside, get hit with that scent, think something like "Jesus Christ it stinks in here!", but just sort of look the other way.

Something tells me people would react differently if that same odour hit them when they walked into a boardroom meeting or a restaurant.

Maybe I'll try that theory out sometime.

Hobo Guantlet Radio - Episode 6

Episode 6 features another eclectic mix of music ranging from Lemon Jelly to Propaganda, The Propellerheads to Tones on Tail, Cocteau Twins, The Pogues and a very special Hobo Gauntlet remix of a tune from Airborne Toxic Event. We'll also check in to see what the world of Science has in store for us, and as per Clefto's suggestion, I'll spin a guilty pleasure track. 

Thanks to Carson and the fine folks at Pacific Junction Hotel in downtown Toronto, you can stream or download all episodes of Hobo Gauntlet Radio at GirthRadio.com

At least he's not in Al Qaeda

In my work cafeteria this morning, I noticed someone had brought cereal from home in a tupperware container. Instead of buying a small carton of milk from the caf, the person just went to the coffee station and poured themselves a healthy amount from one of the large milk containers designated for coffee.

This is theft. Should I have said something to him? 

Carmudgeon Factor High

I love this country. I love my parents for bringing me to this country. They're immigrants from Northern Ireland, and they had a choice of Australia or Canada when they wanted to get away from "the troubles" of that region in the late 60's. I feel the Australian accent is perhaps one of the worst on the planet, only to be outdone by the Scottish accent, so I'm glad I have neither.

But I hate, hate the cold in this country, and at some point I'll likely need to get the sam-fuck out of here. More than anything though, I hate that it can sometimes have control over me. I don't like anything or anyone having control over me.

Nah. I prefer Toronto in January.

On weekends I always go out to do something. Always. Whether it's going for a walk, a bike ride or just over to Crappy Tire, I like to get out on the weekend. But this Saturday, I didn't. The weather won, and it pissed me off.

So, the carmudgeon factor has been high over the last few days. I know it's only temporary and it will surely pass, but I know it's creeped into the work week too. Today, coming into work in a balmy minus 25, I heard someone around the office singing happy birthday to someone else, and I wanted to throw a stapler at her. Worse, she's the type of person who doesn't stop at the first verse. She thinks it's funny and creative if she goes on and on.

But ok, maybe throwing a stapler is a bit much. A live eel will do just fine.

Handyman

The title of this post is a term that has never applied to me.

In theory, it should right? After all, I'm a man, and men are naturally supposed to be able to put up drywall or build a deck, right? When I was a kid, my very handy father did something that I could never, ever do. He converted our large unfinished basement into a fantastic social hub for our family....himself. 

The only time you'd see me like this is 
at a Halloween party

Sure, my brother and I tried to help, but we were useless for the most part. We just weren't very interested in different types of screwdrivers or wallpapering or stucco'ing a wall. It just wasn't in our nature, but that wasn't really the point of it all. Our father was trying to educate us about the basics so we could apply these skills later in life. Much of what I learned from my dad has helped me with basic household things, but only to a certain point - not due to his fine teachings, but due to my aptitude with such activities, or lack thereof. 

This speaks to the larger issue of the societal expectations placed on all of us. Historically, women were always supposed to look a certain way, get married, have babies and cook a mean pot roast. A career was always on the backburner. Now don't get me wrong - obviously if a woman wants to embrace this lifestyle nowadays, that's her perogative, but it shouldn't be an expectation. But to some extent there is still a stigma associated with women (and men in fact) who don't have kids or know how to cook, but that's just left over silliness from a different generation.

Likewise, there still are some expectations by society for a man to install a toilet or build a shed. After all, in a male/female relationship, the woman can't possibly be expected to take the lead on this sort of stuff right? Well, I for one reject it all. I ignore paper thin labels and outdated stereotypes and have long turned down the notion of what I'm supposed to do, or who I'm supposed to be. The reality is, however, that this is still a fundamental truth about society. Therefore many of us aspire to some so-called Gold Standard of what a man or woman is supposed to be, despite what they really feel or truly want. Of course, much like religious indoctrination, the brainwash began early and can be difficult to reverse.

In the end of course, the truth comes. And it can come at a cost to relationships, families and also innocent children. The bottom line is that if it feels natural for you to do x, y or z, then go for it. But if in your heart of hearts, something's just not right, it's in everyone's best interest to be honest. 

Getting back to the title of this post, when's the last time you gave your car an oil, lube and filter? Just Google it. It's pretty straight forward, so why not just do it yourself?  

Precisely. Let's leave handyman things to handymen.

Let's All Not Go To The Movies

Do any of you still go to the movies?

Like a lot of people, I'll go when I feel the film calls for it. You can have a solid surround sound system at home, but it still can't compare to what the best theatres offer visually and sonically. Plus, if there's a film you're really Jones'ing for, you want to see it right away.

My preference when going to the movies.
This way I can also be pantless.

But usually I'll go to a weekday matinee. And that's because I don't like, nor need, the "shared" experience of going to the movies. First, I've grown accustomed to having space between me and the next guy - in fact, a lot of space. Yesterday I went to a 4:30 screening at the Cineplex at Yonge and Dundas, and being the holidays, it was rammed. I had people on both sides of me. I know I know..first world problems, but me no likey. And I won't even get into the low hanging fruit annoyances like talking, cellphones and the waft of quarter pounders.

Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but I find that audience audibles pull me right out of the immersive experience. This list can be extensive and includes:

*laughing
*gasping
*shrieking
*guffawing
*gibbering

Not sure why so many of those things start with "g", but there you have it.

Let's Stop Kidding Each Other

Today was one of those days that I intentionally take off from work so I can run all the errands that I constantly put off. You know, like getting a haircut, visiting my bank, hiding a body..that sort of thing.

First up, drop the car off at the dealership for it's regular maintenance. For $188, I got a lube, oil and filter. For that much money, they should have thrown in some heavy petting with that lube. Next, a joyful field trip to the dentist. I was really due for a cleaning since I've put off the last few scheduled cleanings. Can you blame me? It's the fucking dentist.

This stock photo depicts a moment that has happened never.

In any event, aside from the pleasures of getting my gumline jabbed by a sharp instrument, a trip to the dentist is always fun due to the sheer trickery that goes on. It's like when James Bond meets a foreign spy at a fancy cocktail party. They're civil and polite, but nobody's telling the truth. Like a lot of people I imagine, my dentist and I have this unwritten rule where we constantly lie to each other. He used to ask me if I'm flossing regularly. I'd say yes. He pretends to remember what I do for a living by looking on his computer fourteen seconds prior to coming into the room. But I'm ok with our deception. It's like we're telling each other to stop kidding each other without telling each other to stop kidding each other. It's passive aggressive behaviour at it's finest. One time, one of his hygienists was busting my chops a bit much about the flossing thing, so I just said listen - if I and your other clients flossed as regularly as you'd like us to floss, you'd eventually go out of business. By letting my gums turn into the third act of a Friday The 13th movie, I'm sending your kids to college.

For the record, my teeth and gums are actually in pretty good shape, as I do floss semi regularly with a water pik thingamabob. This results in significantly less gore when I go for my cleanings, and I don't walk out of there feeling like someone's fired a shotgun into my mouth.

The other reason I don't feel bad about being less than truthful with my dentist is that today, as we made small talk about last minute Christmas shopping, he said he only has one stop to make. It's his annual visit to Tiffany's so he can present that little blue box to his wife each and every December 25th. Maybe this Christmas I'll show up at his house when he's about to give it to her - after all, it's really from me is it not?

Mayor Tory Needs A Haircut

I like John Tory.

He's a very very smart guy, is good for this city and is a class-act.

Why hello there. For some reason I'm resting on my elbow on
a nasty beach in December. 

But you know what, he really does need to do something about his hair. It's getting a little out of control, and we have to think about the reputation of this city because.....wait..what?..oh..um. sorry. Scratch that.

Groundhog Day

While having lunch the other day at my workplace cafeteria, I took a moment to observe. I noticed the same 20 or so people I typically see when I'm at lunch.

There's that loud group of brash non-employee contractors who seemingly have been on campus for years repairing something or the other. Since they're not actually employed by the company,  I suppose they feel ok about being rather voluminous in their lunchtime antics.

There's the reserved looking woman who runs the gym, sitting alone eating carrot sticks and a kale salad. She's wearing her usual yoga pants and sporty zip up gym jacket.

And over there is the group of well dressed, quite attractive late forties'ish women who are fighting their way up the ranks. There's a certain loneliness and desperation about some of them, so perhaps they're experiencing troubled marriages or kids who hate them.

Of course, you can't forget about the cafeteria ladies. There's Mabel - not her real name but it's just as cafeteria'esque as Mabel - she's annoyed as usual because the manager refuses to have anyone help her during lunch rush. And Carla at the cash, the strong, loud and chatty woman who gives people cut eye when they use their interac card to buy a coffee for $1.39.

Then yesterday, I was walking around downtown Toronto when I came across this:

Yes I know I'm in public and working, but this nose isn't gonna pick itself.

See, there's a marathon going on around Toronto, and crews were scattered about setting up barricades, signage and such when I came across this. These are rows and rows of medals for people competing in the marathon. As you can see, there are literally hundreds of them, and likely thousands from what I could see.

What does this have to do with my lunchtime observations at the cafeteria? Everything.

Think back to when you were in school. Just like the contractors, there was always the obnoxious table of loud students - sometimes just extroverted kids or maybe the offensive line of meat heads from the football team.

There were the shy nerdy kids who would eat alone, much like the woman who operates the gym.

And who could forget about the table with the hottest girls in school. They knew every dude was checking them out, and the bitch faces were strong in this group. Despite being attractive, there did always seem to be a certain sadness, not unlike the group of cougars in the cafeteria.

And cafeteria ladies have always looked and behaved the same from the dawn of time, and amazingly all have the same names.

As for the rows and rows of medals at the marathon set up, well, isn't that just like elementary school track meets where everyone gets a ribbon?

When I was a kid, I remember thinking to myself. I can't wait to become an adult, because after school, life's gonna really start and it's gonna be so different and fantastic. But when you really think about it, adult life is nothing new. It's really just the same old shit we experienced when we were kids, except now we pay taxes.