7 Numbers; a no go with food but...

7 Numbers. Rather inconspicuous corner spot on Danforth

The other night was another dining expedition into the trenches called Toronto dining.  With Toronto dining I feel its always a hit-and-miss if your looking to go at it lone wolf without the fortification of a good review.  This was no exception. I had the Arugola salad to start; nothing out of the ordinary but points for being more tasty than the simple asparagus my dining buddy had instead. The Linguine con Broccoli I had after was mediocre and not something I could not have replicated at home. The only saving grace was the reasonably priced (ahem compared to the standoffish price at the Drake) drinks list (range: $8-$12), unassuming interior, and the helpful service.  The Prosecco was a nice night cap and at $8 a glass I was happy to oblige.

Allens. Unassuming bar

Drunk from the horribly humble food we just had a few hours ago, I made the short walk over to Allens where I found an impressive selection of Scotch behind the bar and, if so unimpressed, a chalkboard full of beer on the wall opposite.  Perhaps because of the usual clientèle, the bar staff, I found, were approachable enough and aloof enough to give the place a chill and relaxed atmosphere.

Schlappen

This is painfully juxtaposed to the stuffy, overpriced chi chi ''newness'' that the Drake Hotel pushes. Neither was I impressed by the over glorified ''mac and cheese'' that went for $19 or the abysmal cocktail list.  After retreating from the overcrowded SkyYard, we settled into a corner spot (which later turned out to be the gate to line up for the aforementioned coveted upstairs patio) on the first floor. Barraged by the drunken squeals of chic ladies in dresses that looked plastered on with heels that could double for a night walkers fancy-night-on-the-town and guys too busy checking out the line or texting/shouting out their whereabouts, we couldn't find a better reason to quickly finish off our wallet-draining uber cool mac 'n cheese and running away.

Drake Hotel: Too Cool for School

And yet, I'm still hopeful that that laidback Toronto bar exists somewhere. Or maybe I just left my heart back in Germany where the beer is good and cheap and you don't have to fight to have good service.

My city, my Toronto; broken but still good

Not to mislead - what with my disgruntled rants about the absurdity that is our public transit system - but I am sincerely, if just a bit frustrated, in love with the city. And although, as with all cities, things are lacking ultimately Toronto never ceases to amuse me. From the blasé attitude I'm convinced comes with the territory of being a true, blue Torontonian to the funky smell that drifts up from some invisible sewer grate to the always wonderful spectacle that is called TTC riders.  Broken but still my Toronto.

I love the dull clack of mahjong tiles coming out of the local community hall at the dark of the night; I love the exuberant yells of the locals milling around the local park; I love the excited squeals coming from the public pool; I love even the eccentric individuals who prowl around the neighbourhood if a bit drunkenly; I love how I can sample so many different foods; I love the complexity that is just ekking out a living. I love swearing under my breathe even about those heavy set revolving doors that never seem to move without a hard shoulder shove. What I love the most is the emotion of the city that spells out onto the street. That to me, and not the manicured suburbs or the isolationism/alienation that is city living or the urban politics or the fugly architecture or waiting for the banging new metro that never comes or the disregard for anything that doesn't sound like ME. Broken but still my Toronto.

Food Trucking August 20

Having missed the first coming of the trucks in July which was due in part to my poor sense of direction and impatience (leading to retreat only 20 metres away from actual site) - made a pact with myself to make an appearance at the August 20th Food Truck Eats which will be at the Distillery District.  I know what I missed. Fun. At the expense of my waistline. Hello Eating Pants. And also if I am so inclined I might also come around for the Wine Festival in September.

Going a-pizza-hunting

Interior seen from the back. Small but intimate.

If your ever in the area of Dundas and Ossington check out Pizza Libretto.  You will not be disappointed. True - wait time can be long-ish if you go around dinner time but the pizza there has been the best I've had so far. Forget pesto spread faking as chi chi pizza topping. I had the Grilled Eggplant which, along with eggplant, also had fistfuls of fresh basil thrown among the ingredients. Yum. Freshness. And they use a wood burning oven. Bonus: they were serving a special dessert that night that was not on the menu. The name of it is now lost in the recesses of my memory but suffice to say it was a great refreshing end to the meal. Think some variety of peach sorbet with a hint of vodka drizzle.

Betty's v. Mill St. Brewery. Fight! ...and the winner is...

Mill St. Brewery

Few things go well with hot summer weather. Sitting down with a cold mug of beer helps. First round begins with baby steps at Mill Street Brewery followed moments later at Betty's. Both had outside patio which was great considering the recent spat of good weather (read: not sweltering, melt in your shorts hot weather) the city was experiencing.

Mill St. Brewery
Atmosphere: Pleasant but small. We were lucky and got there before the after work drinks crowd starting sauntering in. Mostly perturbed by the snarky young marrieds and entitled offspring of the area residents. The interior is no less impressive (save for the massive brewing vats on the restaurant floor).  Carbon copy of a Jack Astor's bar.
Price: Veggie burger $14, local shop beer $7. The burger was worth it's value considering we had a healthy portion of burger with a generous side of fries. The prices for the beer, however, considering the local shop beer was a dollar cheaper in the bar next door AND that it sold ONLY shop beer was quite disappointing.

Betty's: Shining Beacon of hope on King St.

Location: Secluded enough being at the Distillery District. Being hidden between buildings away from the streets means also less noise and traffic. Bonus. Unless your think is having grotty sandal feet at the end of the day. That's just nasty. Ill pass.
Range of liquid reinforcements: Dismal. About 10 or so beer with limited Scotch list. FYI if you only have Regular Johnny Walker don't even waste space on your drink menu.

Betty's

Front of Betty's

Atmosphere: Being totally unprepared as I entered this seemingly seedy booze shack masquerading as the backdrop for a Cheers revival but, upon entering threshold, and after initial disorientation from haze of cigarette smoke hovering before my face, pleasantly surprised by the truly awesome back patio. Crowd was relaxed and laid back.
Price: Budget-friendly
Location: For where its located - Id give this place extra points for not falling into the trap of being pretentious or too nouveau riche.
Range of liquid reinforcements: Impressive. I have a general theory that any bar that lists its drinks on those little standup drink placards offer said drinks at a reasonably price. True to word, Betty's offered a mighty foreign beer selection at a reasonable price. A shelf full of scotch also makes this place more inviting than the last.

WINNER: It was never a fair fight but this round goes to Betty's for its chill atmosphere and beer selection. Extra points to our waitress who gave me that sly look before pointing at the standup placard after I asked to see the drinks menu.

Summer adventure

Too many hours baking in the sun waiting for the bus-that-will-never-come has given me an odd two-tone hue. That's to say - darker arms and neck and pale-as-a-ghost legs. I've applied generous amounts of sunscreen (which makes me smell like a man) on both portions - and still I turn up darker up and lighter bottom. Freaked me out the first time I saw myself like this in the mirror. So I've become somewhat of a hermit in my room of late.  Excuse me but between the spider-stomping, dirt scrubbing, sun heat escaping, angst-ridden observation of toilet-that-might-give-at-any-moment, and paper writing I've been fairly preoccupied.

Extreme Carb-ma Sutra :) Come prepared with a cold beer in hand

Still it is SUMMER. So in order to force myself out to crisp under the scolding sun I have devised an ingenious plan whereupon I can rightfully say I've been out enjoying the summer. Take out.

Excursion 1: Poutine, Turkish Pide and Aryan drink
No matter that my face was melting away and I was quickly losing visibility behind my sweat speckled glasses. Brazen and a bit disoriented from coming inside from the sun, I ordered a Poutine from a neighbourhood shop. Fifteen to twenty minutes later, I was holding in my hands a brown bag full of hot steamy carb-filled happiness. Happiness was so great that it burnt my fingertips.

Pide pride

Poutine? Think of all the things that could expedite you having a heart attack. Gravy. Check. Potatoes. Check. Wads of cheese curds. Check. Mmmm goodness.

Four forkfuls later and I was already sluggish and slurring from my carb-induced coma. Its definately a great hangover snack. Not really recommended if your sober and ready to tackle anything more wordy than ''heineken''.  Although definitely one of the better shop-bought varieties. Sorry Nigella darling - no alcohol included with meal.

Next up - Turkish pide. Having forgotten I had stumbled upon this food jem in the back streets of Istanbul (recommended only if you have a local guide with you) I ecstatically embarked on a journey to yet again test the boundaries of my stomach. Its just how I remembered. Except this one had dough filling that was light and airy enough to counteract the heavier cheesy inside. Note to self: order with eggs (baked open-faced) next time. Yum yum. Munching on the parsley offered on the side added convenience of taking off the salty edge of the feta version I took. Bonus: Aryan drink. Best served fresh from an aerating dispenser (makes the drink lighter and foamier). But the packaged yoghurt cup I took worked just as well. Trick: I took my handheld milk foamer (bought from IKEA) and gave it a quick whirl in my cup before consuming.

True face of beauty

Reason enough to ride the subway

Besides being a cesspool of inefficiency, ugliness, laziness, and dirtiness - I have still found some redemptive qualities to the TTC. Mock surprise. Being also my only other ''cheap'' form of transportation (save from bumming a ride off friends) I  have no other alternative but to see the ''good side'' to the sad metro system called ''The Better Way''. Having also commuted away 4 hours of my life everyday for the last few months I think I have fair say in this. Case in point:

Can't say TTC has ever had cause for putting up a sign like this. Then again.

Exhibit A: Man picking nose

We've all been there but its still curiously fascinating to witness individuals who pretend like no one notices. This time this guy starting off looking like he was scratching an itch around the inside of his nostril. And then just a bit further. And no. Yes he did. Stuck his entire finger up there for all the world to see. Stayed this way for a good few seconds too for good measure.

Exhibit B: Senile women with weird foot protection quirk

Sat opposite a women who had this quirk that everytime before someone walked past her she'd bend down and touch the tips of her finger to the tip of her shoe - as if to protect them from being crushed. She did this EVERYTIME someone would pass by. At least she was consistent.

Exhibit C: Verbally abusive well-endowed female in strapless dress

Maybe cup D. Holding up what seemed to be a strapless maxi skirt.  And yes her chest was quite..substantial. Apparently some women was looking at her the wrong way and this ample-chested women started calling this other women every derogatory term in the book and then some new ones. I learned alot of new words that day.

Exhibit D: Spoiled entitled Yorkville-wannabe

You know the type. Those skeletons who can afford to sashay around with a $2000 Prada bag in her Manolos but somehow can't manage to afford more than a subway ride. Or maybe she's just slumming it for the fun of it. How nice. Miss Rich Bags decides that she's too high to actually ASK me if the seat beside me is occupied but instead taps away at my bag. Yes. Please do because I'm not a person and if you tap my bag Ill just automatically move it for you. If I could earn easy money by just tapping it I would. But you can't. Its called reality. 

Coolest job ever

So I was out several nights ago when someone made a remark that I should consider being a comedian (trust me I was funnier at that time...maybe also because we were all a bit under the influence...of the awful Canadian winter). So I entertained this new 'career' direction - afterall how many people REALLY land that job that they've always wanted. This guy seems to prove it (you'll remember him in this).  Apparently he is a doctor but thought he had better talents in this field.

Then what would be my version of a dream job? Well, first it would include a nice exotic location. It would involve nice weather and sea water...

Sun and water in NOVEMEBER folks! Nafplion, Greece.

...visits to amazing architectural structures. Churches are the next best thing to libraries. They are old (have amazingly rich and gruesome - depending on who is your guide - and history) and quiet and sometimes you can sneak a quick nap in there (believe me MUCH easier then you think...just make sure you don't wake up with a start..ahem)...

Cathedral in Milan, Italy.

...and more buildings with a view of the city. I like to take in the extensiveness of a city all in one breath. It can be humbling and frustrating at the same time. Frustrating in the ''ohh I haven't been there'' while-jabbing -in-the-face-of-some tourist kind AND also how much land we occupy! Imagine how many resources and infrastructure is needed to support everyone in one square block! Well I dare say the Parisians enjoy mauling this question everyday when 'Americans' (really they just think all tourists are Americans) descend upon their lovely city. So just go ahead and keep ordering those 'Freedom Fries'.

Eiffel Tower. Paris, France.

...and include art galleries and museums. Because who doesn't like appreciating old works of art?

Barcelona, Spain.

...and history. Because after all, "what is the city but the people?" The image of a city - its past, present, and future - is founded on the stories and histories of their people. What they have or have not done, why, when, and how all creates a colourful collage of which we now call our own home/city (or El Toro...which I'm still furiously objecting as the new moniker for Toronto...just because THEY say its cool don't make it so.  Really doesn't it just sound like a skeezy taco joint where you get the runs after eating their bad food?).

Helsinki, Finland.

...include being able to work late into the evening and then walk home without freaking out that some crazy is trailing me. Again thank you SVU.

Uppsala, Sweden.

...include the opportunity to sample different kinds of food. The more exotic the better! Anyone for Surströmming? Anyone?

La Boquiera, Barcelona, Spain.

...and finally a job that lets me work at my own pace.

I don't know if I will ever find a job like this...but whenever I do...

Visiting another university city: Bologna IT

Now its a strange thing to finally realise that I have a knack in finding myself in quaint little university towns. So far I count three (Bologna, Freiburg, Uppsala...mmm Padua even). Surely that's more then just coincidental? Maybe I love the quirky eclectic academic crowd. Maybe I love the psycho-bauble spewing forth from the intelligentsia (always while pensively frowning down into one's fairtrade espresso mind you). Maybe I just like standing out in my 9-5er corporate tailored shirts and girly skirts.

Best cappuccino I've had

In any case, while I was mauling over possibly (most likely) leaping into another few years of academic exile as a law student, I started to reminisce about them good ol' travelling days - and particularly in this case - of Bologna. According to the knowledge god, Bologna is home to the oldest university in the world...and there are plenty of student bars to prove it! I spied a few as I zipped along on my FIRST ever scooter ride (thanks to my super cool host)! hurrah! so fun except for the part about me feeling like I was about to double-back into some vehicle behind us or else have my clothing blown to the wind. Its also the first time I tasted the best cappuccino ever that will forever ruin all other cappuccinos for me.

No. My culinary expedition did not end there. It was Italy after all. Rest assured, if not for the enormous amount of walking, I would have speedily gained a nice little 'pasta and wine' gut. There was piada which was for me like a calzone but better (but I would never try using this incestuous reference in the face of an Italian). Buffalo (pronounced like bufala). Greek olives (ok not so Italian but atleast fresher than ones I could get at home). There is Friselle which tastes absolutely wonderful with tomatoes, garlic, basil with a drop of olive oil.

Mixture on Friselle

The city also has the most amazing library ever. Thats right. I'm making libraries cool again. Ever since going into Openbare Bibliotheek in Amsterdam, I've gone on a mission to bring the sexy back to libraries. Except the North York Centre. Theres no sexy there. The Biblioteca Salaborsa (entry way is facing the main square Piazza Maggiore) is like what I'd imagine the Globe Theatre London would be like it it were ironed out. Ok maybe that imagery doesn't work. Well kinda.

Biblioteca Salaborsa. The transparent tiles show the ancient Roman foundations underneath.

And then ofcourse it really wasn't a real travel adventure unless I got lost. And getting lost I did - looking for the University that I never found and then getting soaked at it. Pouring rain. And yes the sidewalks around the shopping area were marble. No I did not slip. But one of the things that one enjoys while dodging the rain is Bologna's extensive network of arcades. Its one of the city's famous features. And rest assured, I wholly enjoyed their architecture.

Mission accomplished: soaking by now but found the two towers!

Top centre: red pepper for good luck

Happy Womens Day

Thank you and good night :)

Graydon James & The Young Novelists- What Kind of Man from Adrian Vieni (Wood & Wires) on Vimeo.

Don't dress like a slut

Has it been two hours yet? Time flies when your having fun. Understand that the history of female safety at York University hasn't exactly been squeaky clean.  A few isolated incidences here and there mostly concerning a sexually based crime.  Excerpt from the Excalibur:

On Jan. 24, a campus safety information session was held at Osgoode Hall, where members from York security and two male officers from Toronto police 31 Division handed out safety tips to community

members.

...

“One of the safety tips was for women not to dress like ‘sluts.’ He said something like, ‘I’ve been told I shouldn’t say this,’ and then he uttered the words,” said Bessner, Osgoode assistant dean of the Juris Doctor Program. “I was shocked and appalled. I made contact with the police [...] and we’ve asked for a written apology and an explanation.”

That this comment comes from a law enforcement officer raising the issue of culpability on the part of the victim (ie. blame the victim) seems to demonstrate a deficient understanding of the complexities of the matter among the people who are supposed to 'protect and serve' us.  It is a blatant disregard for the several other factors that give impetus for sexual crimes (yes maybe I watch too much Law and Order).  The comment is an insensitive remark about the presupposed ''promiscuity'' of the victim and that, for all purposes, 'she got what was coming.'  That this happened in a law-oriented educational institutional makes it an even bigger slap in the face.


But if even the legal system fails us where can we go?  Read this on protesters marching against Justice Dewar's ruling on a rape case:

Dewar convicted Thompson resident Kenneth Rhodes of sexually assaulting the 26-year-old victim 4 1/2 years ago. Dewar rejected a Crown recommendation Rhodes be sentenced to at least three years in prison and instead granted him a conditional sentence.


Dewar said the victim and a friend were dressed in tube tops and high heels when they met Rhodes and another man outside a bar "and made it publicly known that they wanted to party."
Rhodes, Dewar said, had the mistaken belief "sex was in the air" and a "heightened expectation" that sex would occur.

We will be back after this commercial break

In an attempt to break my procrastination spell and to be a productive member to the general populace (ahem putting the final few touches to my long anticipated Masters thesis), I shall take a momentary break from griping about Toronto and thus posting on my blog. This will probably last all of two hours. Fear not - my cynical ass will return shortly...after this looong commercial break.

Art of war; fencing

I feel an allusion to Confucius' Art of War would be appropriate <here> but I lack the proper reference (feel free to insert said quote between the <>).  I like this one though which comes pretty close: He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it.

Fencing is sexy

Until today, I've never gone fencing but I found the overall experience, however reminiscent of my ever evolving eye-hand-leg coordination deficiency, was very rewarding. I can't recall another sport in which you are immediately cognisant of your opponents attacks/defences and introspective of your own strengths and weaknesses. Its a strategy game as much as it is about strength (ahem for me it's poor upper body strength and balance and...).

One thing that the Instructor said that really stuck is the fact that, in fencing, you can immediately begin to tell the personality of the person you are fencing against; whether they are emotional, bow to pressure easily, over-zealous etc.  With this knowledge I could deflect my opponents attacks without having to huff and puff all over the place - as we inevitably did when my partner hopped from one 'vulnerable' angle to the other (mind you your allowed only to parry in a straight line...no 'fencing' dance)

To be an adequately good beginner fencer requires very little physical effort.  A body that is relaxed and flexible is more amenable to fencing.  Sure there are lungs and all that bending but the main idea is deflecting and anticipating your opponents next moves which leads to attack. To borrow an analogy from the Tao of Pooh: a body of water will deflect a ball bounced against its surface; no matter how hard you attack the ball it will never pierce the water's surface.  Strength is good but knowing when to use it makes you a better player.

To the tao of fencing :P and it can be all mine for $95 a month.

Who are we really fooling?

Picture fail: photo attempt no. 1092377

Cooler than thou

Before I continue with yesterday’s commentary on virtual identity, I’d like to first clarify some terminology I had used (Thanks Jess for your suggestions!)

First, I mentioned in the last paragraph that: ‘’It is in my opinion that this social malaise is attributable to…de-sensitized self identity.’’ I admit, on occasion, I am prone to self-grandiosity when it comes to wordiness (maybe the residuals from an overly ambitious Social Science post-secondary education) so I’ve tagged the word ‘self’ in front of the word ‘identity’.  What I wanted to reference was the identity of self.  Our self-worth has been demoted to a popularity contest akin to the amount of face-time and friends we get online.  The phenomenon is widely recognised and even merits the occasional joke; in one particular scene in ‘’Due Date’’, Annoying Guy (so called because I can’t remember his name) proudly proclaims that he has 90 friends on facebook and in his words, ‘’12 of them are pending, but I got 90 friends on facebook.’’

FYI I'm hotter than you

However, the seemingly innocuous ‘’anonymity’’ veil provided via the Internet, either via web forums or video sharing platforms that do not immediately reveal user identity, provides a platform for users to abuse targets safely without retaliation.  But how far has our morals fallen when we can easily gripe about a certain TV personalities cellulite on the web when we are not immune either to the same problem.  With the sheath of our brightly light computer screens, remorse and accountability for actions perpetrated online is detached from our ‘real-world’ selves.  It is easier to attack a virtual target than a real person.  It is probably comparable to one attacking an avatar whilst believing that the real person is remains unharmed. New forms of harassment, such as cyber-bullying, have found its niche in such form.

Secondly, that by ‘’ by scattering ourselves virtually, we are spreading ourselves and our identity too thinly in order to seek approval from many and in the process forgetting what makes us us’’. In the storm that is Facebook and Twitter updates (good for you if your ‘’eating your favourite dish with mum’’?), the immeasurable ‘’fun’’ that is our life is validated only as soon as it is updated as a fb or twitter status.  With this social online profile, a certain archetype of cool online aesthetics – imagine a certain aloofness that speaks ‘’take my picture or whatever’’ attitude – demonstrates our ultimate hip status.  Indeed such forays into developing a public persona invariably stroke our desire for aesthetics not only for oneself but also towards others.  Ultimately, the pictures frame how we are perceived by our peers – hopefully of the happy and fun-loving kind.  If you’ve ever noticed, this prompts a certain generic formula. Just Google it.  If you can Google it than its generic enough that it can be applied formulaically.

It is permissible, of course, that one would not want to post a bad picture of themselves (or as I say, when you have a ‘’bad face day’’) but the compulsion to look a certain way to fit in with our online peers has seemingly trumped our own individual personality. Who are we really fooling?


And on the tails of my supposition comes the recent conviction of a burglar who decided it was a bright idea to self-incriminate himself by posting pics of himself on his victim's facebook. Good job Einstein. You earned bragging rights for your smooth thievery ways.

| brands, identity & culture.

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Laughing all the way to the bank (genetically blessed bank that is)

This is worth a laugh and a half. Poor 'ugly' saps just when they thought that their lives couldn't get any worse this happens. The latest article in the Intelligence claims that one thing us average people have leveraged our existence on - our seeming intellectual superiority over pretty people (really but who uses ''hyperbolically happy'' in a sentence?).  It should stand that the conclusions of the study are drawn from the fact traits like intelligence and physical attractiveness are considered highly heritable.

The study indicated attractive men have IQs that are 13.6 points above the average, while beautiful women are 11.4 points higher than average.

To all the pretty people out there: we want you

Since intelligent men are more inclined to achieve more success, they are "more likely to marry beautiful women," Kanazawa said. "Given that both intelligence and physical attractiveness are highly heritable, there should be a positive correlation between intelligence and physical attractiveness in the children's generation."

So I guess if you have a mom like this; and a dad like this; you could get a kid like this.  The fate of the world is yet again sealed in the hands of the (naturally) pretty people - take heart those of you artificially enhanced. I personally subscribe to a more pragmatic approach whereby such traits are begot through better economic and social opportunities.  But if all MDs are as hot (and for each other) and smart as they are in Grey's Anatomy then maybe Kanazawa was onto something.

Can't everyone just get along

Bless you winter.

I've stopped springing out of bed early in the morning to catch the first rays of light. My usual spirited stride down the sidewalk has been replaced now with something that resembles more of a boardwalk shuffle.  I've even found myself putting off  rigorous activity. Yes. Walking to the TV and having to turn it on does count as physically straining. Yet all these are not atypical of the winter blahs.  Living in a city makes it harder to appreciate the white stuff. Salt, dirt, slush, and whatever ill-gotten creation is made when all 3 are combined with snow does not make it any more fun. Nor are the rude individuals who seem to make their prerogative in lifeto spread their unique quality of uncheer.

To use Rodney King's quote in a more colloquial fashion; ''why can't everyone just get along.'' Or maybe people are just angry ALL the time?  Certainly, we all have our inner demon but what qualifies us to dole out our frustration upon random strangers? Maybe its being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But maybe where you live is what makes is making you angry.  I had no knowledge, prior to reading this article from the Sunday Times, that ''queue rage'' existed - well certainly puts a name to what I went through while in queue to pay for groceries. FYI, I was on the receiving end (poo poo to those who could ever think I'd ever be mean to someone - well except for the people who take up copious space in the swimming pool, my former room mate, people who demonstrate general disregard for their job and to the people they service, and arrogant people):

When egos run high

We appear to be living in an age of rage. Earlier this week there seems to have been an incidence of “queue rage” in a supermarket during which a man was punched - and later died. The death raises the whole issue of apparently random acts of violence that are often the product of momentary losses of self-control.
...
Experts have said that in decades such as the 1960s and 1970s people tended to turn their frustration inwards, perhaps taking their anger out on their spouses behind closed doors. The tendency now is to turn it outwards: to externalise the problem to a complete stranger.


Indeed, in an age of indiscriminate self-valorisation, entitlement and conspicuous materialism, we all seem to be jonesing for some illusionary lifestyle.  It is in my opinion that this social malaise is attributable to the degradation of traditional social networks that scattered and de-sensitized self identity.  The wholesale digitisation of our daily routine has legitimized a whole industry based the need to hawk our presence over the internet; the number of ''hits'' generating indirect ''approval ratings''.  But more disturbing is the surfeit rise of videos and pictures, of a violent nature, willingly posted via the web jockeying for approval and personal conquest.  It was not too long ago when such acts were deemed inappropriate and yet now they are broadcast in popular television shows.  I admit that such shows have also achieved a level of audience awareness that may not have been achieved using other channels of communication.  In general, however, by scattering ourselves virtually, we are spreading ourselves and our identity too thinly in order to seek approval from many and in the process forgetting what makes us us.
...(to be continued)

Love is in the air (or in the wine): Verona

Foreboding clouds over Verona 

Valentine's Day is upon us. Hurrah, another holiday to encourage another sugar binge (maybe they just melt all the Halloween leftovers into tiny little hearts). So Happy Valentines Day everyone.  This got me to thinking about Verona IT - where a story based on two lovers took place. I am referring ofcourse to THE Verona in THE Romeo and Juliet. And for all its worth, Verona is a beautifully sad city - city partly because it was rainy the entire time I was there (giving everything a grey-ish tinge) and someone stole my umbrella. No I haven't gotten over that. Who steals an umbrella. That's Made in China.

Marbled street. Try walking on that during the rain.

I left Padua for Verona by train which isn't so far away via the cheaper Regionale trains (website is all Italian). I stayed in central Verona and so enjoyed the luxuries that the small vendor streets, cafes, and high-end boutiques had to offer. There is Juliet's Balcony. No its nothing like in Letters to Juliet. I cannot think of a time when the entrance to Juliet's is ever not clogged with tourists. The walls on the tunnel that leads into the courtyard is also full of messages from lovers. Enter the courtyard and its a floating mass of people eager to touch Juliet's boobs - and yes I DID and both but I forgot what luck its supposed to bring you. But like everything else Italian I wouldn't expect the luck to pass for atleast a few more weeks after.  There is also Romeo's 'residence' which was thankfully less frequented.

Locks of love awwww....

The markets are wonderful public spaces for wandering, gawking, shopping and just general loitering.  Thanks to my host, I enjoyed a nice aperatif made of Aperol, wine, and sparkling water to help me cool down on one of the more unusually warm days (I tried reproducing the same once but I've since learned to leave that to the professionals).  This is not to be mistaken with APERATIVO which is like the Italian equivalent of Happy Hour except with finger foods already included. This will generally be in the late afternoon to evening hours at a bar and patrons will pay a bit more for their alcoholic beverage whilst the finger foods are included in a buffet style display along the front of the bar.  I have eaten my share of bit sized cheese pizzas and more during such happy occasions.

Verona from above the castle

How Italians can manage to cross those all marble sidewalks and piazzas on their lovely leather loafers or stiletto heels is beyond me.  I managed well enough in my not so lovely and beaten down leather (-ish?) walking shoes.  Its a whole new ball game when the marble is wet with rain. Instead of running away into subterranean sewers, the water just pools up in small indentations in the marble sidewalk (although I think the idea is for the water to drain to the middle of the sidewalk and eventually follow the slope of the path away from the city centre).  I had much time to ponder this under a big yawning infront of Sephora (I had just recently lost my umbrella) waiting with a bunch of other rather loud HK tourists - lucky for the rain which dissipated some of the noise off the marble otherwise I'm sure the decibel levels coming from the group would have been less bearable.

Verona is like a city steeped in sepia tone. The buildings are a nice reddish-brown topped with roof tiles that are slightly rust red. Which is a lovely contrast as soon as the sky clears up and reveals a brilliant sky blue.  Everywhere I go there is love-themed graffiti proclaiming ''Ti amo'' to someone or other.  But for me, and maybe I wasn't looking, I didn't see many lovelorn couples moping around. Maybe a few errant tourists and their families though. For me, by the second day it was 'Ciao ciao' and off to the next extraordinary town.