Category: photoblogging

I Am A Terrible Mother (Just Kidding)

Every parent brought their child to daycare today wearing a costume… except, um, me and the RRBB. Here’s the thing: he can’t walk. It would be me and the RRHB carting him around from door to door asking for candy. That we wouldn’t let him eat. But I did feel a twinge of regret this morning when I saw the cutie patooties all dressed up for fun at the daycare. Some of the older toddlers looked like they were actually going trick-or-treating around the building — I almost died it was so adorable.

So, instead, we gave the RRBB punk rock hair after his bath. In my humble opinion, at this moment, we have costumed him as Johnny Rotten just post Sex Pistols and right before the release of the still-thumping PIL.

Aw, a punk rock baby. Wish I had a video of him dancing to just about every single piece of music that floats by his ears, including the theme from Metro Morning at the ungodly hour of 6 AM.

Drunken Self Portrait 101

Perhaps coming home after one glass of wine and two pints is not the time to decide to pause for all time what bad hair I’ve had over the last few days. Good times were had by all at dinner, the first time in a very long time I’ve actually been out for dinner because the RRHB and I are squeezing every penny out of ourselves for the home renos. Have I mentioned we’ve booked the hardwood floor? Yay! Poor Meredith had a hell of time coming down to meet me on the TTC where she was semi-accosted by a man masturbating beside her. Sigh. Let’s just add that to the long list of how annoying it is to travel on the TTC these days. Where’s a “special constable” when you need one?

Annnywaay, as I said one glass of vinegar-wine and two grand pints later, drunken hair self portraits. Goodness I lead a rather embarrassing life after all.

The Fire


Perhaps it’s the same morbid curiosity or gravitational pull to tragedy that seems to orbit my life in general, but I went down to Queen and Portland today to see the devastation from the fire. On my way down, one of the stores was blasting The Last Waltz, and I smiled, despite the cold. Good grief that’s an appropriate record. The streets are all blocked off and there are no traffic sounds, which always amazes me in the middle of a city holding upwards of 4 million people at any given time.

I was standing there taking some pictures when a fire fighter smiled at me, and then came over for a chat. He said it was hard to believe there were huge buildings there just a week ago. That the fire kept them busy for longer than a while. That the investigation is still underway because they don’t know yet whether or not there was criminality involved. Also, he mentioned that they still haven’t accounted for all of the missing people (and that’s when a very irate neighbourhood woman started shouting at him that she was one of said souls). I left to let her get out what she needed to get out, and moved down taking even more pictures. Even though I grew up in a house with a fire fighter father, I’ve never really seen this kind of devastation up close, and the writer in me was sad and curious.

And even though we haven’t lived in the area for three years, and even then were up at College, over the course of my lifetime having spent so much time down there, whether it was with Amanda and the skinheads when we were seventeen, or during university when I was home for Christmas going to hear bands on the various different levels of the Big Bop, or returning a video with Zesty, or having brunch just north at Mimi’s, it’s hard not to realize that another part of the city just won’t be the same ever again.

Two Birds: Two Vastly Different Meals

This might just be my favourite picture from Mexico. When we went into Puerto Vallarta, a man had a giant bucket full of fish bits (heads et al) that he was feeding to the various sea birds. If anyone out there knows what kind of pelican* this is, I’d love to know.


And then I had the camera with me because the falcon had flown so close to my window at work that I could catch the colour of its eye, and I wanted to be prepared to snap him if he came around again. Instead, this little black bird (again, I don’t know what it is) was eating a pizza crust at my bus stop. All of his mates flew away. But he was bold enough to a) squack at me for interrupting and b) not be in the least bothered by the slushy snow while having his/her breakfast.

*Edited to add that I looked the pelican up in the bird book and it’s a Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis).