April 30, 2006

Corn St. and Easter Island

Every Sunday morning, I don't watch Cornonation Street. I overhear it, as Brad the Nut actually sets his alarm to get up to watch. He and my sister call each other at the good parts - yes, it apparently has good parts - and twitter like a couple of maiden aunts. Brad was born in England, and explains it is therefore in his blood. I remind him he moved here when he was two.

I read the paper and drink copious amounts of tea, the only remnants of Britishness my mother's heritage instilled in me. My father's Germanness apparently just left me cranky and opinionated. His words, not mine.

For anyone debating whether I'm all the way crazy or not, this story in the NYT made me so happy. I've been a big fan of playwright Edward Albee since high school, and my dream trip before I die is to get to Easter Island. That's the place they have those huge statues, and it's the only place on the planet I feel weirdly drawn to. The family makes fun of me. I let them. Some things you can explain, some things you can't.

There was stink last week because the LCBO was hawking those French wines in tetrapacks. A local politician was incensed that they weren't exclusively pushing Canadian wines. Today's Toronto Star has mentioned the only thing that really matters: the wines are crappy.

On the lighter side, Keith Richards has fallen out of a tree. Okay, it may be too easy a hit, but this guy was mysterious enough without adding to the enigma. I mean, he already looks like his face is held on with safety pins, but I'm dying to know how he got up into a palm tree. On second thought, maybe I'm not.

I'll be working on an auto column today. I loved this piece in Slate that finally summed up my take on used cars. Not a snobby thing at all, just a leery uneasiness about anything someone else is getting rid of. Distrusting bunch, aren't we?


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