Why we love Elgin Street

Back in the heady leadup to the 'we-can-do-anything' days of Expo '67, Canadians heard a lot of talk about the cultural mosaic. No mundane melting pots for us. No sirree. Mutual respect among distinct, yet cooperative, ethnic groups was the societal agenda.

Sadly, that interesting multicultural ideal seemed to be mostly burnt up in a consumeristic hell of 80s yuppiedom. A year into the new millenium, its ashes were pretty well stomped into the mud in a spate of ethnic-profiling paranoia over terrorism.

Pretty well. But here on Elgin Street, if ya want poly-ethnic, we got it. In spades. Up the wazoo. We gotta publog this place the Dwarf spotted, when he was out airing his aspidistra the other day. Whether they serve draught ale or not.

(Oh. And for the uninitiated among our international readers, 'poutine' is a heart-stopping Québécois confection of fresh julienned potatoes, twice french-fried in peanut oil for extra crispiness, salted, covered in fresh cheddar cheese curds, then doused in lashings of hot canned gravy to create the kind of gooey gourmet goodness that only a philistine could reject. Extra salt and ketchup right there on the table beside ya, if ya want 'em....)

Google Poem: Reluctance

I am reluctant to predict possible answers to my questions
I am reluctant to post calls to action
I am reluctant to attend a meeting in West Africa.
Now I Am Reluctant to Post on livejournal.
I got an internship at Merrill Lynch, but I am reluctant to take it

I am reluctant to entertain alternatives that presuppose the traditional subservience of one class to another.

Frankly I am reluctant to adopt that course.

I am sure you will understand when I say that I am reluctant to pick up where Venus left off.
I am reluctant to go along
I am reluctant to point my fingers
I am reluctant to learn Excel
I am reluctant to make a commitment
I am reluctant to upgrade
I am reluctant to teach
I am reluctant to accept the view that there are real benefits from PPPs.
I am reluctant to upgrade software that doesn't work
I am reluctant to have ANYthing to do with formal religion.

I am reluctant to just publish an open map but would rather just add a link.
I am reluctant to venture outside.
I am reluctant to go back to the doctor
I am reluctant to call much attention to my side business
My plan is to become a surgeon, however, I am reluctant to even continue to med school.

I am reluctant to attribute a ‘meaning’ to Found Art

[*]

Does Frank know?

Near the Bayswater tube station, west London / Sunday, Oct. 7, 2007

Zoom's Auction Status

Some ESIs think that Zoom is brilliant for auctioning part of her prize for winning the first Meta Contest. Others think she is stretching the spirit of the rules and wimping out. While we debate this, you, the innocent readers of the metablog, suffer. Why? Because today would have been the start date of the second Meta Contest, but we don't want it to be competing with the Auction.

When in Rome, do as Audrey does

Audrey and I were strolling by the Basilica San Lorenzo the other day when she abruptly stopped, turned and insisted I pause to have a look.

"Aren't these shoes marvellous?" she said, gazing in the men's store window. "Wouldn't it be fun if you tried them on tomorrow?"

"Fun might be stretching the boundaries of the word," I replied.

Ah, Italia. Home of Michelangelo, da Vinci, Brunelleschi.

And Gucci, Versace and Armani.

Yes, in modern Italy, sleek handbags, finely tailored suits and eye-catching shoes compete with Renaissance masterworks for the curious traveller's attention.

And for every 15th-century mural or finely chiselled marble sculpture there is at least one shop window displaying lacy lingerie, silk ties or leather coats. No wonder James Bond feels at home in Italy, gamely speeding under Venetian bridges without even wrinkling his Cardinale slacks.

Though not aggressively unfashionable, the IO spent more time under the Tuscan sun admiring frescoes than footwear. The ever-stylish Audrey, however, is a veritable Siren of foreign fashionistas. And so on occasion I found myself in her company, not comparing the brushwork of Botticelli and Michelangelo but gauging the fit of handsome wool coats.

The wares are undeniably fine. But a touch pricey in the posh boutiques. After all, does one really need to plunk down enough euros for an Armani tie to buy 20 County ales at one of the more inviting Elgin Street pubs?

Walking back to the hotel, we passed a clutch of market-stall street vendors selling less expensive yet still desirable bags, belts and scarves. In fact I picked up three fetching Italian silk ties bearing a respectable fashion-house label for a grand total of a mere 20 euros.

Take that, Mr. Versace.