Home Hardware - fail

As a downtown inhabitant, my reaction towards big box stores tends to be contradictory: I rail against their wasteful parking lots and sometimes shoddy customer service and yet, I plan day trips into the suburbs in order to explore the wide range of products that big box stores offer.

Recently, two fruitless expeditions to Home Hardware reminded me of the frustrating retail status quo that existed before the dominance of the big box stores; you would search for equipment or supplies at your local hardware store only to find out that they did not carry it and could order it in for you with a projected delivery time of a few weeks.

I found out that an item that we needed was on sale in the Home Hardware flyer (priced at less than $20). I took the flyer with me to Wiener's Home Hardware (432 Bloor St W, Toronto), and was told that they did not carry the item, but they offered to order it in for me. I turned down the offer, assuming that I could easily find the item at another store. I then went to the College Home Hardware (306 College Street, Toronto) and was again told that they did not carry the item. This time, they did not even bother offering to order it in.

There are still two more Home Hardware stores within walking distance but I am quickly losing patience. It is ridiculous of Home Hardware to advertise an item that two of their downtown stores do not even carry, and never even considered stocking, if only for the duration of the sale or the holiday season.

In contrast, a recent visit to Lowe's (Warden Ave. & Eglinton Ave. E., Toronto) required a 30 minute bus ride but was made worthwhile by a helpful employee named Mycal who gave us an equivalent product at the sale price when the sale item was out of stock. Wow!

I usually prefer to purchase items in boutiques and smaller stores because they tend to carry unique products and it feels good to support local businesses. However, when it comes to a hardware chain that markets itself as a neighbourhood store and functions just as inefficiently as one, I prefer to put my money in big box stores.

Latest obsession: Dragon Age

BioWare has invested heavily in advertising so chances are, anyone who watches TV has seen the ads for Dragon Age: Origins, which are pretty enticing. However, I remained skeptical because the last time I played a RPG (The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion), I became frustrated by the plodding story line, weak characters, and realistic consequences of being a kleptomaniac.

I started playing Dragon Age: Origins last night and, next thing I knew, it was 2am. Besides looking gorgeous, the game can boast engaging characters - even the minor ones - interesting dialogue, and a well-paced storyline. Touching on a personal pet peeve, the outfits have not been ridiculous, though the hair styles could be improved.

While Joe and I were playing the game, on two separate computers, I noted aloud that it was the first time since September that we were able to completely forget about house related worries. Joe had no response because he was too busy killing darkspawn.

Quick note: I can accept Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 as entertainment and I can even understand lining up outside of big box electronic stores the night before the game's release, but who are the idiots who decided to dress up in battle fatigues while waiting outside of Best Buy at Bay and Dundas? Playing at war while Canadian troops are dying overseas is borderline tasteless but dressing up like a soldier to show your enthusiasm for a war game during a time of war is the tipping point. Congratulations, COD cosplayers, you are officially ignorant douches.

Old and hot

Between the declining health of my son (read: cat), Rusty, and the acquisition of a mortgage, I feel the need to focus on silly things so you have been forewarned about this post.

I have been sporadically watching "Battle of the Blades", the CBC competition show that has paired retired NHL players with retired figure skaters. What sounds like a freak show arena has actually been a surprisingly sexy showcase of mature athletes.

For a while, it looked like Tie Domi, the freakiest competitor, would coast through the competition on his hockey skates, having refused to challenge himself by using figure skates like the other competitors. Thankfully, voting viewers came to their senses, and the final three are all deserving of their place. Craig Simpson and Jamie Salé appear to be the front runners due to their combination of good looks and solid performances, thanks to Salé's task master approach. Shae-Lynn Bourne and Claude Lemieux have also demonstrated great chemistry and solid technique.

However, my favourite pair is Marie-France Dubreuil and Stéphane Richer, who were, inexplicably, in danger of being eliminated at the beginning of the series. Dubreuil is unbelievably sensual and she has brought out the romantic side of Richer, resulting in smouldering performances that made me blush at the level of intimacy on display. It has been refreshing to watch sexy men and women in their thirties and forties performing, since the majority of athletic performance and reality television are dedicated to adults barely out of their teens. There is something to be said for mature adults who exude easy confidence, based on experience of both success and failure. Intellectual reasoning aside. when Richer easily lifts Dubreuil's lithe body over his head during a routine, that's hot!

Speaking of old and hot, Viggo Mortensen is doing the press rounds to promote his latest movie, The Road. Joe knew better than to change the channel or distract me when Mortensen was on "The Hour" recently. The actor is a Habs fan, politically aware, and drives himself into Canada to promote his movie. Intellectual reasoning aside, that nude bath house brawl in Eastern Promises was hot!

My cat, Rusty

My cat, Rusty has been in questionable health this past year, having developed diabetes and the neurological damage that can accompany the disease. When his condition deteriorated rapidly this past week, we rushed him to the vet and was forced to seriously consider euthanasia. The need to make a life decision on the spot was traumatizing, to say the least, and in the end, we decided to take Rusty home in order to make a clear headed decision. Fortunately for us, Rusty appears to be doing better with a higher dose of insulin, as he is eating, sleeping and moving comfortably for the time being.

To say that I was devastated at the prospect of losing Rusty would be an understatement. While I am able to maintain control of my bodily fluids, I thought that I would share what has made the last 14 years with him so enjoyable.

The thought has occurred to me that if Rusty were a human, I would not like him very much. Without a doubt, he is a handsome cat, and he appears to be very aware of it since he maintains his coat impeccably. However, Rusty has a trigger temper and suffers from the absence of a sense of humour, which has often made him a source of amusement. When laughed at, Rusty becomes indignant, lowering his head slightly and pulling back his ears. The next step is for him to stand up slowly and display his body in a threatening manner. It is at this point that I usually smack his bottom, then laugh some more. No matter how many times he has been teased, he always appears shocked to have been insulted this way, his eyes widening and his whole body thrown back slightly. He quickly starts swearing in his own language. It is usually at this point that I have to encourage him to walk it off, before the situation escalates to violence (ie Rusty attacking my ankles).

Rusty's short temper, especially with visitors, is infamous, but few people have been exposed to his gentler qualities. Rusty has always preferred being petted on the head. Though he dislikes having his body touched, he will patiently tolerate it after running to greet you at the front door. His need for dignity and independence should not be confused with an antisocial nature. He enjoys hanging out with people, just out of reach, and will act sulky (ie refuse to greet you or be petted) if he is left alone at home for more than 12 hours.

Rusty was briefly an outdoor cat. In one summer, he brought back two mice and a robin still flapping in his mouth. However, after staying out until 6am one night, my mother vowed never to let him out again. I regret that Rusty did not have a more stimulating life. When he was younger, he was always trying to get someone to play catch with him, dropping a stuffed mouse in front of you and whining about it. However, the activity was always more work than the usual game of catch since you had to both throw and retrieve the mouse; Rusty would only exert enough energy to 'kill it' then position himself expectantly for the next throw.

I took Rusty from a friend's litter at the age of five weeks, and have often taken his presence in my life for granted. Now, as Rusty enters his twilight years, I expect to adopt another cat sometime after he is gone, but I doubt that I will know another like him again.

A weekend in Montreal

Thanks to the VIA Rail 60% off mea culpa, I was able to get a discounted ticket to Ottawa in August and Joe and I were able to visit Montréal this past weekend for just over $100 per person.

While the travel time to Montréal was longer than a trip to Ottawa, the experience was more pleasant due to our preassigned seating in Comfort Class. Comfort Class entails more leg room, an overhead compartment that is accessible from your seat (though some passengers still insisted on standing in the aisle while putting away their bags), and better head support. A satellite issue also resulted in complementary Wi-Fi for all passengers, which pretty much guaranteed five hours well wasted.

As usual, Joe and I walked until our feet hurt all three days that we were in Montréal. Here's a brief recap of our tour.

Saturday
Heavy rain and a midday arrival in the city made us decide that we should 'take it easy' but our concept of the phrase differs from most other people. Joe and I had an average brunch, the highlight of which was a half-pint of Boreale beer. I had raved about this brand to Joe after my last visit to Montréal about seven years ago only to be let down by the six pack that I had hauled home for his tasting pleasure. Boreale from the tap still failed to live up to my golden memory, but the bitter taste dissipated with each drink and the aftertaste proved to be very clean.

We explored Rue Sainte-Catherine, starting in the bustling shopping district with all the usual brands (H&M, Futureshop, Old Navy, etc), passed the Université du Québec à Montréal, looked around the student friendly Quartier Latin, then stopped by La Grand Bibliothèque, whose gift shop featured an inordinate amount of Tintin products. Actually, Tintin products could be found throughout Montréal.

That night, instead of going out, we stayed in our hotel room to watch UFC 104. We are ashamed to admit how lame we were but we really enjoyed lying on the king size bed, watching men beat the crap out of each other.

Sunday
We stopped first in Chinatown, which boasted a charming pedestrian only street, and bought some Vietnamese subs for lunch despite the fact that they were more expensive ($3) and less tasty than the equivalents in Toronto. We then spent a whole afternoon exploring Old Montréal's attractive buildings and cobblestone streets. We were pleasantly surprised when Notre-Dame Basilica allowed visitors in during their Sunday service, and Joe was quite impressed with the interior of the church in spite of his pagan ways. When we arrived at the Marché Bonsecours, we inadvertantly came across a bi-annual designer fashion sale, La Grande Braderie de Mode Québécoise. Only in my wildest dreams had I hoped to find Eve Gravel clothing while in Montreal and, without planning to, I bought a skirt that I had been lusting after at a discount!

For dinner, we ate at St-Hubert, a chain that once competed with Swiss Chalet in Toronto but now only reigns supreme in Quebec. Joe had never eaten at St-Hubert so we gave it a try and Joe's conclusion was that it tasted like Swiss Chalet.

Monday

As attractive as Old Montréal had been, I was not been impressed with Downtown Montréal, which featured many 'Louez moi' signs in empty store fronts, and extensive fields of parking lots, where buildings had been torn down. Fortunately, we saved the best for last when we visited the Plateau-Mont-Royal neighbourhood. We had our best meal in the Plateau at Universel Déjeuners et Grillades (3630 Rue St-Denis), which we knew was promising from the large number of hipsters dining there when every other establishment was either closed or empty. The Plateau was a combination of Queen West and the Annex but spread over several blocks. It was great to finally find a vibrant neighbourhood full of local colour, characteristics that were sorely missing in much of Downtown and Old Montréal.

Final thoughts

I found myself happy to be home in Toronto, even after a train ride that lasted two hours longer than it should have. Montréal is similar to Toronto in many ways, superficially because Toronto's fashion sense has caught up. Customer service is pretty much on par with Toronto, which is to say that it was usually mediocre. I'm not sure if part of the reason was that Joe and I are anglophones though that would explain but not excuse the poor service. However, Montréal beats Toronto in some respects; the pedestrians are crazy fast to the point where I found it hard to overtake people in front of me as I usually do back home. Montréal pedestrians have to be fast because Montréal drivers are aggressive, but pedestrians are ready to throw down when necessary, as we witnessed first hand in the middle of Sainte-Catherine. The upside of Montréal's widespread urban decay is the amazing graffiti, which can be found not only in the safety of alleyways but also on main streets. No crappy, half finished black and white tags for Montréal; everything was multi-coloured and energetic.

Like an obstinate child

Watching some reality television recently, I was annoyed by two instances of attractive blonds who whine like children when the going gets tough.

1. "Dancing with the Stars" contestant, Joanna Krupa was doing an elaborate lift and smacked her wrist against the floor during the dismount. She then whined, "I don't want to do this" before stalking away sulkily.
   
2. A preview of next week's "Amazing Race" showed a blond contestant refusing to go down a steep water slide, which was mandatory to advance in the competition. "I don't want to do this!" she cried. Her male partner then screamed at her for potentially losing the $1 million dollar prize.

It has never occurred to me say "I don't want to do this" whenever I have been faced with a dangerous or undesirable task. Even the phrase "I'm not doing this" would elicit more respect since it indicates an independent decision. Perhaps if I was cuter, I, too, would have the confidence to regress to childhood, knowing that chances are good that I'll eventually get my way.

Latest obsession: dirt bags

During our recent house hunt, financial constraints limited our search to up-and-coming neighbourhoods as opposed to established ones that had been cleaned up and made desirable by artists, who were then sent packing to deacidify the next rough neighbourhood.

Because Joe and I are cautious home buyers, we tried to find neighbourhoods that were clearly on their way to gentrification. The biggest clue was a yoga or pilates studio side by side with a dirt bag establishment, and the key to identifying a dirt bag establishment was the grouping of working age adults standing outside in the middle of a weekday.

I have become fascinated with the dirt bag's communion with the great outdoors. Not only do they insist on standing outside, regardless of the time or weather, but they are also frequently seen riding around on SuperCycle bicycles. One can only speculate where they are so determined to get to since the only other time I see them is hanging around outside of taverns or greasy diners.

A crass individual would guess that the dirt bag is riding a bike because his DUI charge won't allow him to drive and he spent his cash advance at the tavern last night thus barring out public transit as an option so he is using his friend's bike to get to court on time. That crass individual might be me.