Check. :)
Monday, December 10, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
#4 Bata Shoe Museum
Well this one wasn't a challenge at all. I'm a girl. I love shoes. Easy peasy.
I didn't always have this appreciation for shoes. I used to be quite comfortable kicking around in my men's steel toed work boots. But then something magical happened... My dear friend Tara Jane got married and deemed me Maid of Honour. She dragged me around a mall in search of pretty shoes. Somehow she convinced me to not only wear heels, but sparkly, strappy, sexy heels. It was love at first sight, and I've never looked back. So it only made sense to tackle this task with Tara Jane.
The Bata Shoe Museum is a mecca for shoe lovers. Shoes galore, from all over the world. Teeny shoes for crunched feet, giant wooden flip flops from Africa (which garnered wildly inappropriate giggles) and a whole section dedicated to the roaring 20s. I got goosebumps when the abrupt yet charming guide revealed that Mrs. Bata has a collection of over 13000 pieces, located in storage just below us. That woman must take weeks to pick out an outfit with selection like that.
Then I saw it. I had no idea it was there, but as soon as I spotted it, I was enchanted. Terry Fox's running shoe. It was as though I morphed into a mad Justin Bieber fan, drawn to it, stalking it, and a second away from bursting into a fit of irrational tears. Terry Fox is my definition of 'hero'. Completely inspiring, beyond human, selfless super-hero fighter of evil. Seeing this sweat-stained, worn shoe was humbling. I keep a little plastic version of this shoe on my runners. When I hit the high kms and everything aches, I look down at my little deity and suck it up and keep going. To see the real thing was like being in the presence of a mythical god. Only my good sense kept me from bowing down. And the security cameras...
I didn't always have this appreciation for shoes. I used to be quite comfortable kicking around in my men's steel toed work boots. But then something magical happened... My dear friend Tara Jane got married and deemed me Maid of Honour. She dragged me around a mall in search of pretty shoes. Somehow she convinced me to not only wear heels, but sparkly, strappy, sexy heels. It was love at first sight, and I've never looked back. So it only made sense to tackle this task with Tara Jane.
The Bata Shoe Museum is a mecca for shoe lovers. Shoes galore, from all over the world. Teeny shoes for crunched feet, giant wooden flip flops from Africa (which garnered wildly inappropriate giggles) and a whole section dedicated to the roaring 20s. I got goosebumps when the abrupt yet charming guide revealed that Mrs. Bata has a collection of over 13000 pieces, located in storage just below us. That woman must take weeks to pick out an outfit with selection like that.
Then I saw it. I had no idea it was there, but as soon as I spotted it, I was enchanted. Terry Fox's running shoe. It was as though I morphed into a mad Justin Bieber fan, drawn to it, stalking it, and a second away from bursting into a fit of irrational tears. Terry Fox is my definition of 'hero'. Completely inspiring, beyond human, selfless super-hero fighter of evil. Seeing this sweat-stained, worn shoe was humbling. I keep a little plastic version of this shoe on my runners. When I hit the high kms and everything aches, I look down at my little deity and suck it up and keep going. To see the real thing was like being in the presence of a mythical god. Only my good sense kept me from bowing down. And the security cameras...
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
#2a - 6 New Fruits and Veggies - Wood Apple
The one thing I love most about the GTA is the diversity of people who live here. So many different colours, languages, flavours. Where I live is rather vanilla, so heading down to Toronto where I am immersed in a rainbow of cultures makes me very happy. My craving for travelling afar can be held off a little longer by simply hopping on the TTC. So when Maria and I were out today and drove by a myriad of signs in a language I couldn't even begin to pronounce, we knew it was time to shop for supplies for task #2. Enter Spiceland, a little grocery store with a heap of character. Bizarre fruits and veggies, an Indian game show blaring on the tv mounted on the ceiling, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates called Pokey for You.
I bought a Wood Apple. It stinks of something that has eaten too many raisins, died and rotted under a log. It looks just like it sounds, a wooden apple. It even matches my countertop. It has a hard outer shell, and inside looks disgusting, brown and mushy, stringy and seedy. Oh so appealing.
Getting the sucker open was challenge enough. I followed the cashier's instructions- simply smash it down on the counter. No dice. Then I YouTubed it (yes, that's a verb), and a guy hacked one open with a knife. Again I failed. Dug out a chisel and a hammer... nada. Afraid of pissing off my basement dweller any further from all the banging about late at night, I ventured outside, channeled my inner rage, and pummeled the wood apple on the driveway. Tada! That's how you open a freaking Wood Apple. Might as well call it a cement apple.
Sadly, I am not a fan. I held my breath as the odour caused a college-hangover-style dry heave. I sprinkled some sugar on it, said a hopeful prayer for tasty delights, and choked it down. It was a confusing taste... like an apple crisp gone terribly awry, as though someone misread the recipe and added in something that had long decomposed in the back of the fridge.
I did my best. I have higher hopes for the other Spiceland purchases - a banana flower, and something that looks quite like a dried cow pattie. Can't wait...
I bought a Wood Apple. It stinks of something that has eaten too many raisins, died and rotted under a log. It looks just like it sounds, a wooden apple. It even matches my countertop. It has a hard outer shell, and inside looks disgusting, brown and mushy, stringy and seedy. Oh so appealing.
Getting the sucker open was challenge enough. I followed the cashier's instructions- simply smash it down on the counter. No dice. Then I YouTubed it (yes, that's a verb), and a guy hacked one open with a knife. Again I failed. Dug out a chisel and a hammer... nada. Afraid of pissing off my basement dweller any further from all the banging about late at night, I ventured outside, channeled my inner rage, and pummeled the wood apple on the driveway. Tada! That's how you open a freaking Wood Apple. Might as well call it a cement apple.
Sadly, I am not a fan. I held my breath as the odour caused a college-hangover-style dry heave. I sprinkled some sugar on it, said a hopeful prayer for tasty delights, and choked it down. It was a confusing taste... like an apple crisp gone terribly awry, as though someone misread the recipe and added in something that had long decomposed in the back of the fridge.
I did my best. I have higher hopes for the other Spiceland purchases - a banana flower, and something that looks quite like a dried cow pattie. Can't wait...
Thursday, November 8, 2012
#20 Bollywood Dancing
Last night’s adventure was a Bollywood dancing class. For
those unfamiliar with this style of dance, watch any cheeseball
low-budget Indian movie, or the last scene of Slumdog Millionaire. Done well,
it looks beautiful. Done by me, it’s a total calamity.
My trusty sidekick Rhonda is a courageous soul. Every so often I lob an email her way titled “hey,
wanna?” followed by some absurd adventure. To be fair, she does the same to me…
I have a jingly belly dancing wrap as a result.
So when I tossed her the Bollywood dancing email, she was on board. She’s a brave girl. Or a total lunatic.
I arrived late to class. The room has a glass wall
overlooking the parking lot. As I rushed from the car, one minute late, I
looked up to see a room filled with women in the midst of a full on Bollywood dance
routine. I assumed it was a previous class of people who knew what they were up
to. Until I spotted Rhonda, doing her best to shake her hips. She glared at me and whispered foul words in
my direction as I entered the room.
“I’m doomed” I thought to myself as I snuck into the back
corner. The lady at the front was strutting,
kicking, twirling and twisting. The class attempted to keep up. There were a few collisions and much laughter. It seems the rule from
Zumba class also applies here – just stand there and wiggle, and eventually
everyone will catch up to you.
The best part was the audience. People walking by the room
would peer in the windows, laugh, point and mock. They would wiggle back at us
in fits of laughter. The custodian was entranced; he smiled at us warmly as we
escaped the room. He understood – we might look like fools, but we’re out there
braving something new and having fun.
We survived. We might even go again. Except next time, there will be alcohol
involved.
Monday, November 5, 2012
#16 Try a Zumba Class
I figured I'd get this one out of the way, it seemed harmless enough. I had no idea.
For those who are unfamiliar with Zumba, as I was mere hours ago, it is an attempt to disguise an aerobics class as a latin dance party. There are lessons to be learned in Zumba class:
1. Do not eat a huge bowl of pasta, with extra spicy sauce, before going to class. Instead, drink several cups of espresso, or tequila. I recommend vast quantities of both.
2. If you get lost, just wiggle everything you have, and eventually you will get back on track. I suspect this lesson applies to many areas of life.
3. Be prepared to look like a complete fool, collide with your neighbours, and head in the exact opposite direction of the rest of the group. If this happens, simply remember lesson 2. Don't they say it's the people that go against the grain that make the changes in the world?
I am grateful to my classmates for their tolerence. I am grateful for my sense of humour. I will not be winning Zumba scholarships any time soon, but I might go back for more. If they let me back in the building...
For those who are unfamiliar with Zumba, as I was mere hours ago, it is an attempt to disguise an aerobics class as a latin dance party. There are lessons to be learned in Zumba class:
1. Do not eat a huge bowl of pasta, with extra spicy sauce, before going to class. Instead, drink several cups of espresso, or tequila. I recommend vast quantities of both.
2. If you get lost, just wiggle everything you have, and eventually you will get back on track. I suspect this lesson applies to many areas of life.
3. Be prepared to look like a complete fool, collide with your neighbours, and head in the exact opposite direction of the rest of the group. If this happens, simply remember lesson 2. Don't they say it's the people that go against the grain that make the changes in the world?
I am grateful to my classmates for their tolerence. I am grateful for my sense of humour. I will not be winning Zumba scholarships any time soon, but I might go back for more. If they let me back in the building...
The 37 Escapades
Yesterday I turned 37. Every year for my birthday I set a goal as a gift. 35 was "Stay Upright" as it was going to be a brutal year. 36 was "Recover from 35". I figure 37 should be about having fun, stepping outside my boundaries and seeing what sort of calamaties I will encounter.
With the help of a number of friends, we have compiled a list of 37 tasks for me to complete by the time I hit 38. The caveat was that if they added to the list, they had to be willing to facilitate the execution, or participate in the adventure. (Because taking a fish off a hook is far beyond anything I could do, and I will need an accomplice for some of these) The criteria was to do things I hadn't done before, or at least in the last couple of decades.
If all goes according to plan, the year ahead will include:
With the help of a number of friends, we have compiled a list of 37 tasks for me to complete by the time I hit 38. The caveat was that if they added to the list, they had to be willing to facilitate the execution, or participate in the adventure. (Because taking a fish off a hook is far beyond anything I could do, and I will need an accomplice for some of these) The criteria was to do things I hadn't done before, or at least in the last couple of decades.
If all goes according to plan, the year ahead will include:
1.
Learn how to ski
2.
Eat 6 never
before tried fruits or veggies
3.
karaoke
4.
go to the shoe
museum
5.
spend an entire
night under the stars
6.
unplug for three
days (personal email, text, fb, instagram etc)
7.
ride a horse
8.
catch a fish
9.
bake cookies for
the hospice around the corner x 3
10.
make jam
11.
hot yoga
12.
master a line
dancing routine
13.
dance in a crow’s
nest
14.
try a triathlon
15.
get another
tattoo
16.
try a zumba
class
17.
throw a dart at
a map of Ontario
18.
go on a blind
date
19.
take French lessons
20.
go bollywood
dancing
21.
be a vegetarian
for 3 weeks straight
22.
grow a giant
pumpkin
23.
get a kiss from
a musician/pilot/gorgeous man in a suit
24.
choose 4
religions, practice their traditions for a week each
25.
go skinny
dipping
26.
go to three
obscure festivals
27.
learn to knit
mittens
28.
steal a garden
gnome
29.
censored…
30.
take a cooking
class
31.
demonstrate
against horrible steve
32.
go to a pop-up
restaurant
33.
eat a giant
prawn
34.
CN Tower edgewalk or some other outrageous stunt. (skydive with Paul!)
35.
try 8 new
recipes, prepare favourite for dinner with a friend.
36.
document this
entire experiment
37.
it’s a secret.
As per #36, I plan on documenting my adventures here. Stay tuned!
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