If your child is anything like mine, he can sleep through the apocalypse, once he's deep in sleep. Seriously, 15 minutes into a nap, the fire brigade could pull up in front of our house with sirens wailing, and he wouldn't do anything more than sigh deeply and roll to one side. However, falling asleep requires a special kind of silent juju that I still haven't got straight, after two kids.
Yes, it's been 25 years since I was an awkward teenager, screaming pop ballads out my car window on the way to my job at K-Mart. Like many people, the songs of my teen years hold a special place in my heart. So this week I'm taking the Delorean to 1990 and remembering what the Top Five Songs were on Billboard's Top 100 chart this week way back when.
The cousin of the Skinny Bitch, this drink is for people worried about both their sugar and sodium intakes. You're either a young woman or a beefy guy with a chinstrap beard and faux-tattoo t-shirt. You've asked for the drink with extra lime because you want to distract yourself from the worst tasting water ever.
More cookies for the customers. More overeating. Less special, more mundane. And all resulting in more injuries to players in a league already beset with a concussion crisis -- a league purportedly acting with the best interests of its greatest assets in mind -- and injured stars subsequently being replaced by less-talented players. All of which equals a dangerously diluted product.
Sometimes five minutes is all we need. It's all we need to put everything else in our messy, beautiful lives into perspective. And if I was really being honest, it's not about five minutes before or five minutes later -- it's really about living out both the frustrating and the pleasurable in life, at one and the same time.
Do you really want to know why a barista not remembering their name offends people? Because people think they are special. Everyone thinks that his or her drink order is special and that his or her name is special. Everyone is too busy being offended about how they are special to realize that to an hourly employee trying to get by, you're just another non-fat, extra hot, no foam double latte.
I've been meaning to write this to you for some time, but to be honest, I've been so huddled up under layers of sweatshirts and blankets that it makes using a keyboard difficult. I suppose all that's really done is prolong the inevitable. But our time has come. I think it's time we re-evaluate our relationship.
It's that time of year again, when critics, reviewers, amateur enthusiasts of all things aural pull tiny muscles in their large heads compiling and posting for public consumption their lists of Top Albums of the Year. A female friend once pointed out that these oftentimes inane lists are (strangely, suspiciously) almost always the domain of men. We demand demarcation. We want to know. We need to know.
Turkey Day is upon us, and millions of Americans will be getting together with family and friends for food, football, and fun. Lots of food, actually. The average American will ingest an estimated 4,500 calories on that one day. Here are more facts about (American) Thanksgiving. Or as we call it in Canada: Thursday.
People keep saying "Toronto deserves better." But there's more to it than that. Ford Nation deserves better. Forget your politics for one second. Forget left or right or suburban or urbanite. This guy shouldn't be your guy, no matter which side of the fence you fall off of during a drunken stupor. Ford Nation should want better than Rob Ford, because Ford Nation should be better than Rob Ford. If our leaders are supposed to be shining examples of the people they represent, surely Ford Nation can find someone else. Not just for Toronto, but for themselves.