Pride Cake

Cute enough to deserve my Kate Spade plates.

Well, actually, it was for a friend's birthday, but World Pride is happening here in Toronto, so it seemed doubly appropriate.  I used this Duff cake mix, and I'm pretty happy with the results. (Fun Fact- I can't get on the Duff website from my office- apparently they think I'm looking for porn when I'm looking for cake mixes.  Great.)

I never use mixes, being a frankly fabulous baker in my own right, but this one just looked cute, so I picked it up.  The cake was quite delicious, but didn't taste homemade.  You may have noticed that it's only one layer- that's because the other layer sort of, well, fell apart when I tried to flip it out of the pan. I forgot how delicate cake mix cakes are!

All in all, I think the best part of the mix was the tinting and pouring instructions.  I'll probably try this again with a scratch cake the next time a rainbow cake is called for, though I can't imagine when that will be.  Maybe if I ever have Jesse Jackson over for dinner?

I Hate To Break It To You, But You Are Not Going To Win The Lottery

Do you think a recent lottery winner lives here?

In my last office, we had a guy who ran the lottery pool.  He diligently collected money every week from a sizable group of people, but not me. I buy maybe 2 tickets a year, if it occurs to me.  Any more investment than that feels like burning money.  This man talked about it incessantly, especially if there was a lot of money at stake.  In Canada, the jackpots don't get as ridiculously huge as in America, but every now and then, they'll hit 20-40 million dollars.  The good thing, though, is that lottery winnings are not taxed in Canada, so if you win $40 million, you get a cheque for $40 million. And this poor schmuck was so sure he'd win.  

He worried about which room to book for the team meeting where the group would discuss their next move.  He worried about hiring a lawyer to hire to help with the dispersion of the cash.  His obsessive desire to hit the big score was mostly confusing, though, because if you had seen this guy, you would have to wonder what the hell he wanted with millions of dollars.  I know if I had an endless stream of money, I'd upgrade my already Imelda Marcos-ish shoe collection, and the hotels I stay in when I travel.  (Seriously, if I won a lottery, you would actually be able to pinpoint the day in the monthly retail sales results.)  But this guy?  He didn't look like someone who aspired to great wealth, he looked like someone who slept in a ditch.  Never combed his hair or brushed his teeth.  Wasn't interested in travel.  Didn't want to help his family, based on the many comments about going off the radar to keep his mooching relatives away.  And he wasn't poor!  He had a house, a car, a pension, and was about to retire.  The only thing we knew that he liked was Pepsi.  What did he want with millions of dollars?  Did he want to ride out his golden years in a villa next to George Clooney on lake Como?  To steal Gisele Bundchen from Tom Brady?  What? 

I never did find out.  He retired, so I guess he just buys tickets for himself now.  I hope he found a hobby.  Hell, I hope he wins the lottery.  I really want to know what he'd do with all that money...

New Old York

"You'll love Toronto, Liz.  It's just like New York, but without all the stuff!"
- Gavin Volure, as played by Steve Martin, 30 Rock


I live in Toronto, but I love New York.  I've loved it from my first visit as a teenager , when I stayed at the Edison, and Times Square was still seedy and gross, to my most recent visit a few months ago, when I stayed at the Sofitel, and ate at Balthazar and Babbo again.  I learned to love New York from movies as old as The Thin Man, to The Godfather and When Harry Met Sally. The joke is how many New York movies were actually shot in Toronto.

Spring St on Adelaide St

Yes, this has been going on for decades.  Whenever our dollar is in the toilet, the American productions ramp up.  Legend had it that set designers used to have to make "garbage" to litter our streets, since Toronto was so tidy it just didn't look authentic.  Thanks to Rudy and Bloomberg cleaning up New York, and Rob Ford turning Toronto into the World's Largest Crack Den, I think now we provide all the garbage needed for the New York look.  You're welcome, producers!

The thing we don't provide is New York subway entrances, so production companies have been slapping them together all over the downtown core:

Wall St on Bay St

Trust me, this ain't New York, but we have been wannabes for centuries.  Hell, this place was even called York, originally.  No matter how many condos we call The Hudson or, God help me,  The Rockefeller, this is Toronto.  We do have tall buildings, lots of money, and assholes in fancy suits, so I guess that's close enough.

It would be nice if, on occasion, Toronto could play itself in a movie. Better yet, now that Grand Central Station has a Tim Horton's, maybe some day down the road, New York will be dressed up like Toronto for a movie shoot!

Patio Thunderdome

Café de Flore, the best patio in the world.

When you live in Toronto, beautiful summer days are more anticipated than new Rob Ford crack videos.  And more rare! You'll see idiots in skate shorts as soon as the temperature stays above freezing for more than 3 consecutive days.  Then, we start eyeing patios, waiting for the furniture to come out.  As soon as it does, regardless of temperature, summer is on, baby!  Coats and heat lamps are required, but we're outside, dammit.

The past few weeks have been really glorious, so last Friday I decided to meet a few friends at a downtown patio after work.  I was not alone.  If you wait too late, you're screwed, and relegated to some inside seat where you stare out at the lucky bastards whose bosses didn't see them skip out early, or you end up on a patio in a sketchy neigbourhood, where a homeless guy will show you his infected foot while you drink your wine. I was not going to let that happen.  Bring on Patio Thunderdome.

I left work early (this is why they give us BlackBerrys, right?), and I practically ran up Bay St. to Mercatto, in the Eaton Centre.  They have my favourite central patio. Yeah, you can sometimes get accosted by homeless guys there, but it faces Trinity Square and a little park, so there's enough greenery to make you forget the concrete jungle for a while. The downtown core has plenty of options, but the ones closes to the financial centre are not my scene.  I am rarely in the mood to listen to guys in pink ties talk about how much money they make.  Those places were already crawling with d-bags, so I knew I had to get moving. I was walking with the urgency of someone trying to get to the bank to make a mortgage payment so they don't foreclose on your house.  I jaywalked, I bumped into a few people, and I ran in front of a couple clearly going to the same place as me, but you do what you have to in the Thunderdome. My efforts were rewarded.  I got there in time to grab a great table, and to be one glass of Prosecco in before my friends arrived.

Summer is precious when you live in this bitch of a climate, so I will probably be knocking people over to get patio tables from now until October.  If you see me coming, it's best to just move out of the way.  Cheers!

A Hundred Pounds of Vogue

The recent Kimye issue was the first Vogue I haven't bought since May of 1986. (I still have that one, by the way). It's not the cover subjects' fault, really; I truly have no understanding of who they are. But I know who they are not- fashion models!

Now THAT'S a Vogue cover!

I started buying Vogue as a brand new teenager, during the Grace Mirabella era.  A while ago, my mom demanded that I get my collection the hell out of her closets, so I brought about a hundred pounds worth home after a recent visit (just the tip of the iceberg, I should add).  One look at the covers, and I was right back in the 80s, wanting big hair and shoulder pads.  I hate to admit it, but when I look back at those issues, I really think I prefer them. Sure, there were ads for L'Eggs pantyhose and about 100 kinds of cigarettes, but the clothes were fabulous!

RITZ cigarettes by Yves Saint Laurent.  What the actual fuck?

She's got L'Eggs!

I can finally afford, if not the high end, at least the middle ground, and instead of powerful females in sumptuous Donna Karan work clothes, more often than not, I get endless spreads from the spectacularly artistic Grace Coddington of Natalia Vodianova dressed as Alice in Wonderland. I love Grace, but, yawn. It's OK, Vogue doesn't need me.  For every 40-something woman who bails, 10 teenage girls will start buying.  Hell, Beiber might be on the September issue.

She may not be rocking my world with her cover choices, but I do really admire Anna Wintour (I was on line behind her at a bank machine near Lincoln Center once.  When I told my friend Steve, he said "Ooh, girl, I bet you wish you had been dressed better." Gay guys know how to hurt you...). Every criticism that has been leveled at her is one that would never stick to a man.  She's strong and knows what she wants, and if you don't deliver, watch out.  That's called being a boss, people, not a bitch.  I have worked for plenty of men like that, and no one ever characterized them as anything other than strong.  She's been putting up with that bullshit for years, and just keeps right on being herself, which you have to love.

I hope Vogue and I can meet somewhere in the middle.  I'll keep buying it out of devotion, but please, Anna, more Karan and Kors and less Kimye, K?

PC Plus

Like clockwork.

When I grocery shop, I use my PC Plus card.  You collect points for purchasing whatever some computer program has decided they want you to buy that week, based on your past shopping habits. So Loblaws, the giant Canadian conglomerate owned by fashionable descendants of a baker, knows what I eat and when I buy it.  Even basic analysis should mean that every 4th week I get coupons for potato chips, chocolate, and tampax.  Get your shit together, PC plus.