Blue Velvet Sectional

Yes, I say both. Here's the thing- Hanukkah ended about a week ago.  Today's the winter solstice, which, if you're Wiccan or Pagan, is your thing.  Christmas will be followed by Boxing Day in Canada, the UK,  and most of the Commonwealth.  (It's a bullshit holiday supposedly derived from when servants were given presents from their employers.  Now, it's basically our Black Friday shopping bonanza). Then, the New Year is rung in.  So that's several holidays, and since I hope they're happy ones for everyone, I sometimes say Happy Holidays .  I live in a big, multicultural city, and I like to include everyone.  So sue me. Happy Holidays does not mean "Go suck an egg, Christians!" .  You do not lose your right to celebrate Christmas if someone greets you in an inclusive way.  I don't know why people get bent out of shape about the phrase Happy Holidays . It feels like looking for a reason to be pissed off, and why anyone chooses to approac

A few years ago, I met Lucie, a lovely French girl, who was working in Toronto for the summer. Walking through The Bay makeup department, she asked me, in her thick, gorgeous accent " Do zey carry Jah?" "Um, pardon me?" "My favoureet makeup is Jah; do zey sell here?" I felt stupid, and looked at her confused. "Chreestian Jah?" she said, looking at me like I was a hillbilly peasant. Then it clicked!   "Ooooh, Christian Dee-or! Yeah, we have that!" I said, and hauled her over to the Dior counter so she could out-pronounce the sales staff too. I maybe don't pronounce it so Frawnch , but damned if I am not in love with Dior.  God knows, this isn't the sort of blog that shills for anything, and I buy my own makeup.  Still, I need to shout out about the greatness of Dior eyeshadow. I love palettes, since I hate lugging tons of makeup on trips.  The two pictured above are quite amazing.  The one on the right, I got at the

Paris.  Beirut.  So many places.  Feels wrong to mourn one, but not all.  It's human nature, I guess. We mourn for the familiar, the nearby.  But, we also mourn for the wealthy and the beautiful.  That's sad.  Let's remember our common humanity and mourn the victims of terrorism wherever they are.           Paris, je t'aime.

"Hi, my name is Lori, and I am a stomach sleeper. " The first step is admitting I have a problem. When I was 10, my friend Debbie told me at a sleep-over that if I slept on my stomach, I would never grow boobs.  This upset me greatly, but I couldn't fall asleep any other way.  Well, Debbie, I don't know where you are today, but you could not have been more wrong. Stomach sleeping makes finding the right pillow a nightmare. After a lengthy search,  and a lot of misfires, I ended up buying  this  one, the Dr. Maas Sleep for Success pillow for stomach and back sleepers from Bed Bath and Beyond, and it's the best $50 I've spent in ages.  It's just thin enough, and just sturdy enough, that my neck is getting the support it needs, at last.  Now, on to the other reasons I rarely get a good night's sleep. I try to go to bed at a reasonable hour, but it hardly ever works out. Last Thursday, I tried to get to sleep by 10PM.  On my way to the bedroom, I

I don't wear much jewelry.  I figure it's a reaction to how I dressed in high school.  Back then, I looked like a Madonna impersonator, or an extra in a John Hughes movie.  On an average day, I wore brooches, rings, earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, all stacked high.  I tied the look together with a big black satin bow in my curly hair. You could probably hear me coming a block away as I jingled under the weight of so much fake Chanel-style jewelry. I routinely set off metal detectors at airports (and once at the Canadian Parliament!) I'd say I looked ridiculous, but hey, everyone did in the 80s! That's obviously not my style anymore. Now, I have three things that I feel naked without- pearl and diamond stud earrings, and two simple pieces that remind me of Harbour Island. A few years ago I found this silver ring at The Sand Dollar, a lovely store on King Street in Dunmore Town.  I love it because the "stone" is actually beach glass from nearby Pink Sa

Jordan, Ontario. It's Canadian Thanksgiving today.  Due to a variety of circumstances, I'm spending (most of) the day solo.  I am actually fine with this.  Suffice it to say, this was probably not the best weekend for a Mexican standoff with my mother. In any case, I've had some time to read, write, see friends, shop, and catch up on some TV.  (Next up- the first two episodes of the new season of The Affair.) Of course, the purpose of Thanksgiving, other than eating turkey and pumpkin pie until you're groggy and uncomfortable, is to reflect a bit on what we're thankful for.  I certainly have plenty of things to list.  Here are just three: I'm Canadian.  Yes, I still dream of ending up in New York, or maybe a hill town in Italy, but for a place to be born and raised, I really don't think you can do better than this.  Thank you, motley collection of peasant immigrant relatives, for choosing this country.  I am looking forward to exercising the

I don't travel for work anymore, but I am fortunate enough to be able to take half a dozen flights a year, for fun.  You know what?  I have never been upgraded to first class, or even business class! I have had the occasional hotel upgrade; to a suite in Boston a few years ago, on Marathon weekend, no less, and once at the New York Palace .  But, all my flying has been done crammed into coach, trying to get comfortable, and wondering if I should drink the free Diet Coke and praying that turbulence doesn't take away my bathroom privileges.  In short, flying sucks. Except that it doesn't, does it?  It's a freaking miracle of invention that in about half a century, we went from barely getting off the ground, to landing someone on the moon.  Any idiot with a few bucks and a passport can buy a ticket, head to 30,000 feet above the earth, and zoom at 500 miles per hour to another part of the world. I have had dinner in Toronto, and breakfast in Paris.  Even if I have to

Last weekend, I got together with 5 girlfriends I have known since before puberty hit. Lots of history there.  It's less like herding cats to get us together now, since most of their kids are old enough to feed themselves.  We had the same great time  we always did.  And, holy shit, can we ever drink wine! Many, many bottles were consumed. Since we were asked to leave a downtown hotel last year due to excessively loud laughter, this year, I was fortunate to be able to book a beautiful apartment  that could fit everybody.  Some good friends own a stunning Victorian row house in Cabbagetown, and were kind enough to let my friends stay in their garden level rental unit.  It ended up being the perfect solution; we had a great place to hang out, and my old friends were able to meet some of my new ones. After starting our Saturday night with a few bottles of bubbly, we headed out for dinner at Buca Yorkville .  It was fantastic, and different. The cured fish "charcuterie"

I did not grow up around salad.  We hardly ever ate them, to be honest, unless you count the potato and macaroni salads, swimming in mayonnaise, that would be trotted out in the summer.  I loathed mayonnaise as a kid, so I wouldn't go within 10 feet of those monstrosities. (Side note- I'd probably be 10 lbs thinner if I didn't finally develop a deep appreciation for mayo.) My high school best friend was worse than me.  I'd eat peas, carrots and lettuce, but she absolutely hated all vegetables, which she sneeringly referred to as green things .  Her disregard for vegetables was so total, she couldn't actually identify them.  One summer, she hosted a BBQ when her mom was away.  She grudgingly bought all the vegetables people liked on their burgers.  I was helping her prep before guests came over, and said I'd prepare the toppings. "Did you get lettuce?" I asked "It's in the fridge" she said.  I looked, but there was no lettuce.  When

Ah, tattoos.  They're just everywhere now, aren't they?  I know a lot of my friends have them. If you love 'em, go ahead and cover your body with 'em, just know that there's at least one person on the planet who won't be joining you. Yeah, that'd be me. I grew up with a tattoo in the house- my dad had a cool one of his ship, the HMCS Kootenay , on his arm.  That's still my favourite;  if you have a ship on your arm that you got at some exotic port, or from some gruff fella on board, I'm all in.  I wish I could find a picture of my dad's tattoo... I'll keep looking.  For a man who hated suits, he's wearing them in a hell of a lot of old pictures I've found... Not actually my dad, but close! I guess I don't like things that mess with the beautiful symmetry of the human body.  Also- what do you really want on your body forever ?  I have a few male friends who drunkenly had Canadian flags tattooed on their butts before o

Last weekend, I spent a busy 60 hours in Miami. My expectations were not high , but I had an open mind; anywhere with palm trees is instantly impressive to a Canadian.  Turns out, I really liked it! We were there on a mission, but we carved out time to drive to South Beach Sunday morning, and go for a few walks; the only other thing we did was eat.  I am, after all, me. We stayed at a place called Sonesta Coconut Grove , to be out of the main tourist area.  The lobby is extremely boutique hotel chic; my room was, well, meh .  Small, with no refrigerator or terrace, though it looked like most other rooms had them.  The furniture was hotel standard, and a bit beat up, but I am really not complaining, since the bed was comfortable and the pillows were great!  It's so rare for a side/stomach sleeper like me to find suitable pillows in hotels.  So often, all you get are the big fat ones where I wake up feeling like I have a broken neck.  Despite the lack of terrace, the

Back from Miami; more details soon, but for tonight, please enjoy this ridiculous item for sale at The Shops at Bal Harbour.  If you're, I don't know, a recent lottery winner who loves motorcycles and impressionist paintings, it may be right up your alley: It's almost 200 grand.  As the kids say, I literally can't even with this. Seems like something Donald Trump would like, though, doesn't it?  À bientôt.

This weekend: I'm headed to God's Waiting Room.  This will be my first time in Florida, for some furniture shopping and off-season, thunderstorm-soaked fun.  Let's see if this state is as crazy as it seems . "I'm not a state, I'm a monster!" Wish I was going to be in Toronto this weekend, to cheer on the Jays as they fight the Yankees for first place in the AL East, though if I see another  hilarious "1 BJ beats 9 Yanks" shirt, I am going to scream.  Aside from that, the whole city lights up when the Jays play well; it's been a really fun summer so far, and I look forward to some games in October, boys! This article  in The Atlantic makes some important points about how we learn, and the concept of "trigger warnings".  Are we North Americans really so fragile?  If you're feeling happy, and want to shed the feeling immediately, read this  in the New York Times.  Then again, you should read it regardless.  The LEAST we

My favourite thing about The Cove, Eleuthera  used to be that Lenny Kravitz  supposedly lives nearby.  I first had dinner there in 2010, and the place was, to put it mildly, dated.  The food was good, the views were lovely, but the restaurant had that Golden Girls vibe  that used to permeate southern interior design.  It was a bit run down, too.  No one had shown it any love for years. When it closed for renovations, I had high hopes, but wondered what sort of commitment the new owners would make to the island.  Big developments had a way of falling through in the Bahamas. See  Baha Mar  as the most recent example.  So, when the Cove reopened, I was excited to see what an amazing job the new owner did. Still, I worry, because the man who did the renovations has already  sold  it.  I can only hope the quality is maintained by the new owners.  The island deserves it. The whole complex was completely transformed.  You notice this right away, as there is a gated entrance, and a securit

Once, years ago, I had an intense craving for Spaghetti Caruso .  I saw it in a cookbook, and for some reason, I thought it would be amazing.  In case you aren't familiar with the dish, it's spaghetti with chicken livers (and brandy, at least the recipe we had- I can't seem to find one online that includes it.) The cookbook I saw it in was written by a man you've probably never heard of, unless you're from southern Ontario and over 30- Pasquale Carpino .  He was this singing Italian chef with a TV show in Toronto in the late 70s through to the 90s, but the early years on cable access were the best, because you'd tune in and think what the hell? He had a thick accent, a giant chef hat, and he spent the entire show drinking wine and breaking into song.  Yes, the Italian chef sang opera to the food.  It was, well, odd.  He was the first Pasquale I had ever heard of, too. I'm from a place that  The Kids in the Hall  know well- a world full of Daves. Pas

I used to have a blog called called Spends2Much.  That's actually still my username in some parts of the Interweb.  I liked shopping, though I wasn't all that proud of it, and I was genuinely spending far too much.  I intended to track what I spent in a public forum, but ultimately, I gave up before I learned anything about my shopping habits. Not fast fashion, but real fashion. Part of the reason I abandoned that blog was that I no longer identified with the name, or at least I was no longer comfortable being identified with it.  Yes, I still spend too much, but lately I've been thinking a lot about where I spend, and who ends up with my money. Last weekend, I finally saw the  documentary  The True Cost, which is about the pitiable existences of the people who make our clothes.  It tells a story I guess I already knew, but it hits harder when you actually see the workers, and they're no longer some abstraction represented by the "Made in Bangladesh" l

This is how I do it.  My brain turns on at the weirdest times. I first saw a pen like this when I was in my 20s, in a TV report about a movie reviewer, who used one to take his notes in a dark theatre.  I searched everywhere, and finally found one.  Before I had it, I tried a few other tactics to help me save for posterity the incredibly deep, meaningful thoughts I felt I was having at night. I tried just writing with a pencil in the dark, but that didn't work out too well.  My writing, on a good day, looks like someone suffering from the DTs sprayed Silly String  on paper during an earthquake.  What I mean to say is, it's really, really bad.  So, the pencil thing was a bust. Next, I bought a mini-tape recorder, but my middle-of-the-night mumbling was almost worse than my writing.  It seemed like my Shakespearean musings would be lost to humanity.  How tragic! The pen. Then, I got my flashlight pen.  It was a revelation.  Finally, I could grab a pad, click the pen,

On one of my recent purging benders , I found this great old cookbook.  I got it decades ago from Mrs Morland, the mother of one of my parents' friends.  She had been an operator for Bell Canada in the stone age, when phones were essentially tin cans with string between them. Anyway, as a young woman, she'd bought quite a bit of stock in the company. By the time I knew her as an old lady in the late 70s, she was plenty loaded. And if you were even passably flush in Ontario in the 70s, you had a cottage in Muskoka , or as we always called it, "up north." Pointe au Baril, Ontario. This cookbook is from Pointe au Baril , a beautiful area on the Georgian Bay part of Lake Huron, for those of you not from these parts.  I don't remember going there as a kid, but I probably did.  My earliest cottage memories were in Bala  and Baysville, with my family, and with friends in Lake of Bays, or when we were in the mood for bear sightings, Cache Bay, on the north side of L