Monthly Archives: June 2012

Crack Spider

This is old, but it is still worthy of some attention. Who knew we had so much in common with woodland spiders?!

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Oh, Wait …..

Dammit, Gary, why ya gotta be so smart all the time?!?

In my scattershot search for more Teengirl Fantasy info, I found no trace of this interview. Gary just passed it along to me. It’s from some obscure music blog called, what is it again? Rake? Corn Broom? The Hoe? ….

… Pitchfork. Sigh. That’s embarassing.

- SC

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TeEnGiRl FaNtAsY izzzz KEWL!!111!!1!!!!!1111!

I’ve been listening to the esoteric Teengirl Fantasy for a while, but haven’t been able to find out a whole lot about them except that they might be from Ohio??? Here’s one of their songs:

In pursuit of further information about them I stumbled across this Angelfire-hosted “fan” site that is too funny not to share.

God bless the Internetz and goodnight!

 

Sar

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Nicholas Cage Cats

… Need I say more?

You should really continue the laughs on BuzzFeed.

Sylvia “Thank-God-People-Think-This-Shit-Up” Stout

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Dengue Fever – Lost in Laos

I’ll see your James Murphy, and raise you a Chhom Nimol…

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I Can Change, I Can Change, I Can Change, I Can Change

I love you, James Murphy.

Tell me a line
Make it easy for me
Open your arms
Dance with me until I feel all right

It’s good in the dark
Good in the dark
But into the lover’s light
Here comes another fight

So ring the alarm
Ring the alarm
Bar me and hold me and cling to my arm

Here it comes
Here it comes

And what you’re asking me now
Disastrous now
Hoping and hoping and hoping the feeling goes away

Never change, never change, never change, never change
Never change, never change, never change
This is why I fell in love

Never change, never change, never change, never change
Never change, never change, never change
That’s just who I fell in love with

This is the time
The very best time
So give me a line
And take me home
Take me over

But dashing the hopes
Dashing the hopes
And smashing the pride
The morning’s got you on the ropes

And love is a murderer
Love is a murderer
But if she calls you tonight
Everything is all right
Yeah, we know

And love is a curse
Shoved in a hearse
Love is an open book to a verse
Of your bad poetry
And this is coming from me

But I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change,
If it helps you fall in love

I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change, I can change
If it helps you fall in love

Turn on the light
Make it easy for me
Fill the divide
Fumble in the kitchen ’til it’s right
What an awful sight

But there’s love in your eyes
Love in your eyes
Love in your eyes
But maybe that’s just what your lover finds all night

I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change, I can change
If it helps you fall in love

I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change, I can change
If it helps you fall in love

And I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change, I can change
If it helps you feel real love

And I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change, I can change
If it helps you fall in love

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Purity Ring

Go go go
Go go go-o
Go go go-go go

See

See

See

Them tonight at

W R O N G B A R

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The Roo Done Did Me In!

After a week of feasting my senses on the cosmic insanity that is Bonnaroo, I’m back in Toronto. I like it here, I think. Seems a bit drab, but after all, it’s home. I’m still shuffling and reshuffling the deck of cards I wrote my memories on, piecing together Polaroids and little snippets of songs. I’m in a daze. Sylvia just took a short video of me and this is what I look like:
 

I can’t find my camera but I have been able to track down a couple of images that illustrate the severity of this year’s Bonnaweird levels. See?

Look, a Unibaby! Since the elven folk over at Little Hippie were kind enough to take this photo for us, I will share their Facebook page with you.

And this … well … I don’t know what to say about this one. It was seven am … Umphrey’s McGee was jamming hard … and … some things happened. No one understands what, exactly, led to this photo being taken. No one understands why I gave my PHONE NUMBER to the guy flashing peace signs in the back of the shot. But I did, and that’s how I acquired this photo.

Peace and Love,

Sarah “Two Hot Dogs One Bun” Cynthia

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Where Have you been all my life?

“Passion Unites Us All.”

This is the tag-line that Sport Chek is “sporting” in their ad campaign for UEFA’s 2012 Euro Cup. Frankly, I couldn’t give two sweet shits about Sport Chek, or their advertising agenda, but this particular motto got me thinking…

I have never been sporty. In fact, those closest to me would, (and often do) laugh at the prospect of me participating in any kind of organized athletic activity. I was that person in elementary school that always got picked last for any given sports team in gym class because truth be told, (and I am not afraid to admit it), I was more of a liability than an asset. I may be able to paint a picture, take a photograph, or write an essay, but kick a ball?! In that net… over there… with my foot?! NO WAY JOSE!

This doesn’t however mean that I don’t have a healthy inquisitiveness and interest in what it means to enjoy professional sports. The  actual score in this sense has always meant less to me than the anthropology of it all. There are many happenings in this world that unite individuals into larger collectives, and the phenomenon of sport is no exception. Cheering for a team lends a common ground to people from all strata of social life, and I experienced this recently as I sat with a friend at Toronto’s new Queen West pub The Dog and Bear.

Of course said friend was very patient to sit and explain the rules of the game of soccer to me during the play between England and France. Yes, that’s right, I know nothing of the regulations and game play behind soccer, hockey, football, tennis, golf, and the list goes on… But as I soaked in the sights around me: Half- drunk soccerphiles cheering, jeering, and spilling draft beer, there was a certain je ne sais quoi in the air… These people; strangers, friends, and family alike, all had one very distinctive thing in common; they were all there to support with a passionate solidarity, a team.

I have always understood the importance of collectives; collective understandings, opinions, and enjoyments, but yesterday was probably the first real time I had actually considered this value  in terms of sports. Team mentality and sportsmanship is not only extremely precious in what it means to be human, especially in a world so vast and oftentimes isolating, but it is fun. In our crazy and fast-paced world it is necessary from time to time to forget all about the daily developments and drama of our lives, and focus instead on something entertaining, and relatively meaningless to the bigger picture. This is in large part how we meet and make friends, and build a solid foundation of commonality amongst our fellow homosapiens. It is not very often that I feel like I am missing out, or have missed out, but I must admit that while sitting in the pub, and soaking in by proxy the enjoyment had by those there to support their respective teams, I realized that I have been missing out on a major type of human camaraderie; namely sports fan camaraderie.

Instead of playing sports, I spent most of my life fostering a creative energy, aka I was always known to be more artsy-fartsy than outdoor sporty. It is only now, after having spent so much time missing out on the pure, unadulterated fun of sports, that I realize how I need to re-adjust my framework for understanding the phenomenon. Can’t it be posited that sports fit into the category of art? The field, the rink, the court, the green represents the canvas, and the player is the medium; their achievements through skill represent the ‘art’ or ‘beauty’ of their creativity. A fine artist may use a paintbrush and oil paint to bring to life a portrait of a lover, the Grand Canyon, or a bowl of fruit, and we call this art. A chef will use his or her knowledge of food, flavours, and chemistry to create a delectable piece of edible artwork. A musician uses notes, a photographer uses light, a writer uses words, and the list goes on. In sports, we – the viewers and the fans – are the ones that through our sensory acknowledgment and appreciation of the rules of the game, allow the athlete and what they do to become an artform.

Love him or hate him, the gifted Cristiano Ronaldo is an artist of soccer:

How have I spent twenty-six years of my life overlooking this type of experience!?

I may never take up any particular sport, I may not become an MVP, but certainly it is not too late to learn the rules of a game; get involved in the team support mentality, and bat and banter about scores, and plays, and fouls, and bull-shit calls (okay, okay I promise to work on my lingo!), with the best of them, right? I want to be one of those individuals that looks forward to major sporting events. And not because I am trying to play it cool, or look like that ‘girl that likes things that boys like’ (gender stereotyping oh my!), but because I actually want to be a part of something, an event, that brings people together on such a major scale. I want to realize and appreciate the culture behind a form of art previously unfamiliar to me. When it comes to sports, I want to be united by passion.

So if someone asks me what I have done of interest lately, I will say that yesterday, on June 11th 2012, I finally learned to like sports… And it all happened with a good friend, in a great pub atmosphere, with lots of fellow fans, and soccer!

GO ENGLAND!

- Sylvia “Give-Her-the-Chance-and-She’ll-Score-in-Her-Own-Net” Stout.

Where To Watch the 2012 Euro Cup? BlogTO and The Globe and Mail weigh in!

Euro Cup Newbie

In honour of my very first Euro Cup viewing experience (GASP!), I wanted to post the following video which highlights the top 10 ‘embellishments’ in professional sports… because soccer players really know how to dive. I will be returning to this subject in more detail tomorrow.

Enjoy!

-SS.

 

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“The Egg” By Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.

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The Best of Both Worlds

I was recently reminded of this old quote, which I believe was popularized with the release of the 1971 movie Fiddler on the Roof: “A bird may love a fish, but where would they build a home together?” I playfully teased a good friend with this conundrum, to which they astutely albeit cheekily replied, “is the fish a Mudskipper?”

Here look nature…boom… we have it! It is called MUDSKIPPER? I defaulted to David Attenborough, my great and worthy advisor on all things wildlife related for the answer. Why spend half the afternoon watching Mudskipper videos on Youtube? Well… because I love this shit…

Syl “ALWAYS break for nature!” Stout.

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How Inappropriate!

Why is it that every time we see a dog humping someone or something we are wildly amused? I cannot tell you how many times I have been at the dog park, accompanying my friends who have doggies, and witnessed some little (or big) go-getter attempt to get it on with a fellow, (and typically disinterested) K9.  Everyone just sort of stands there voyeuristically observing and laughing…

It’s not unlike this:

- Sylvia “Is-Going-To-Be-Late-For-Work-on-Account-of-Watching-Videos-of-Animals-Fornicating” Stout.

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Shampoo Saga

I just spent a wonderful evening smoking mara-jew-ana and thinking about crazy shit.

I hate to be a ‘beauty queen’, but lately I have noticed that there is something about the texture or fall of my hair that is just not quite right. As I stood in my shower tonight, lathering Dove “Damage Therapy” onto my head with abandon, it suddenly dawned on me that I have no clue as to what makes up a “good” shampoo. Do you?

Let’s break it down shall we!? The Dove “Damage Therapy” bottle lists the following chemicals items as making up its main ingredients:

Aqua, Sodium Laureth Sulfate, Cocamidopropyl Betaine, Sodium Chloride, Parfum, Glycol Distearate, Dimethiconol, Glycerin, Gluconolactone, Carbomer, Sodium Sulfate, Trehalose, Guar Hydroxypropyltrimonium Chloride (WTF?!!), nowearenotdoneyethereismore, TEA-Dodecylbenzenesulfonate, Citric Acid (really is in everything), PPG-9 (sounds like the name of a gun. Why is there a gun in my shampoo?!), Adipic acid (Oh YUM! Another acid!!), Methylchloroisothiazolinone, Methylisothiazolinone (the redheaded stepchild of the aforementioned Methylblahblahblah), TEA-Sulfate, Tetrasodium, EDTA, DMDM Hydantoin, PEG-45M (Another firearm!), Cl- 77019, Cl 77891, Cl 19140, Cl17200 (Cl – are colour codes I am assuming, and yet the shampoo is white… But I suppose it is a bit nacreous in its appearance).

It would take far too long to launch into a breakdown of all these ingredients, but you get the point. Just to make sure though, below is an excerpt from Wikipedia about Methylchloroisothiazolinone:

“Methylchloroisothiazolinone (5-chloro-2-methyl-4-isothiazolin-3-one) is a preservative with antibacterial and antifungal effects within the group of isothiazolinones. It is effective against gram-positive and gram-negative bacteriayeast, and fungi.”

(Okay, alright, fine so far)…

“Methylchloroisothiazolinone is found in many water-based personal care products and cosmetics.[1] Methylchloroisothiazolinone was first used in cosmetics in the 1970s. It is also used in glue production, detergents, paints, fuels, and other industrial processes. Methylchloroisothiazolinone is known by the registered tradename Kathon CG when used in combination with methylisothiazolinone.”

(Ha! Re-enter the redheaded step-heathen… Oh! Methylblahblahblah also has uses in paints and fuels eh? Let me just slather this all up in my hairs, near my eyes and face…)

“In pure form or in high concentrations, methylchloroisothiazolinone can be a skin and membrane irritant or cause chemical burns. It was largely removed from most cosmetic products except for those with only short duration skin contact such as rinse-offs. Its inclusion in certain forms makes it more acceptable to sensitive users, so it can be found in cosmetic creams and lotions which require skin contact. In the United States, accepted concentrations are 15 ppm in rinse-offs and 8 ppm in other cosmetics.[citation needed]

The International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC), does not currently list methylchloroisothiazolinone as a known, probable, or possible human carcinogen,[3] nor have in vivo tests found evidence of carcinogenic activity.[citation needed] Methylchloroisothiazolinone is an allergen 2-3% of individuals.[4][5] A common indication of an allergic reaction is eczematous (rashy) symptoms such as redness and itching on surfaces exposed to the allergen. These symptoms will disappear several weeks after exposure is ceased. Common points of exposure in household items are shampoos, hair conditioners, soaps and pre-moistened toilet/bath wipes.”

(I will see your cancer, and raise you a chemical burn…)

What the fuck Dove?! What the Fuck?!

No wonder my hair looks and feels like shit. I could almost feel all the natural nutrients being sucked out of each strand of hair as I worked that oh-so-glorious lather into abundance. Goodbye Keratin, hello clean but severely damaged hair. But I mean, it’s not just Dove (Unilever), they aren’t the only hygiene product con-glom to blame. I know Fructis is just as bad if not worse. Pantene Pro-V revolts me; I think the issue here may be drugstore brands. According to totalbeauty.com the top 8 worst drugstore brands are in descending order to 1:

Herbal Essences,
Head and Shoulders,
Burt’s Bees More Moisture Raspberry and Brazil Nut,
Pantene Pro-V Nature Fusion Smooth Vitality (…What is with these names?!),
TreSemme ColourThrive Brunette,
Burt’s Bees Rosemary Mint Shampoo Bar (Okay, this is a no-fucking-brainer. We aren’t talking about washing our locks with hand soap here…),
John Frieda Radiant Red Colour Captivating,
TreSemme Vitamin B12 & and Gelatin Anti- Breakage.

Fructis, good for you, you suck only slightly less than your drugstore counterparts!

The problem is, I don’t necessarily trust the designer shampoos either… but what is a person to do?! I think ultimately, we may all be better off beating an egg into an emulsified oil concoction and calling it a day…

That is all I have the time or energy for at the moment. When my quest for a decent shampoo yields some noteworthy results, I’ll let ya’ll know. In the meantime enjoy your Methylchloroisothiazolinone.

Sylvia “Just-Say-No-to-Dove” Stout.

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“It is not so much that there are ironies of history, it is that history itself is ironic. It is not that there are no certainties, it is that it is an absolute certainty that there are no certainties. It is not only true that the test of knowledge is an acute and cultivated awareness of how little one knows (as Socrates knew so well), it is true that the unbounded areas and fields of one’s ignorance are now expanding in such a way, and at such a velocity, as to make the contemplation of them almost fantastically beautiful. One reason, then, that I would not relive my life is that one cannot be born knowing such things, but must find them out, even when they then seem bloody obvious, for oneself. If I had set out to put this on paper so as to spare you some or even any of the effort, I would be doing you an injustice.”

-Page 420 of Hitch-22

Christopher Hitchens

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Bonnabyeeeee!

Goodbye, goodbye, I’m sailing away to Tennessee to see some bands, knock off a few brain cells, and commune with my furry brethren. See?

It was at Bonnaroo last year that Sylvia and I first fell in love. The drive down was a daisy chain of laughter and fun, and our whole experience at the Farm was vibrantly coloured by our newfound infatuation: each other. Thus it is with greatest sadness that I part from my beloved Syl for a whole week; she simply shan’t be coming to Roo this year! After all, someone has to earn some money around here!

So in honour of my friendiversary with Syl, I thought I’d share some honeymoon pics. These are all from Roo 2011. More to follow upon my return. For now my darlings, feast your eyes on these beauts …..

 

Syl messing around with Gary. I’m not sure it’s water in that Camelbak.

 

Sometimes what you need to stumble upon at seven am is an impromptu dubstep party!

 

Now that I think of it, this was the first time I’d ever encountered a Spirit Hood. Funny how much things change in a year, non? PS: I still love you Tim. You, and your moustache.

 

Gary about to go shank a bitch.

 

Some Roo freaks and geeks.

Love you all and promise to keep you at least sporadically informed of my … activities …
xoxo,
Sar
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Capitalism…

I asked my friend My Man McCann about what he felt I should post today. I have been running around all day like a chopped chicken, and MMM frankly saved me from hours of internet surfage and content deliberation.

It may not be Friday, but this shit is off the hook

Sneak Peak:

Syyyyyylvia!

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Feed Me.

SO. Last night I went to that talk I was telling you about – thereby braving both the rush hour bike traffic on King West, and the nervous feeling that comes when you show up to something and realize you stick out like a sore thumb. In my case a soft, pasty, meat-eating thumb, slightly tipsy on cider. I don’t think anyone at Patagonia liked my eyelet lace crop top, or my mullet skirt. But in I went.

My earlier hunch about snacks being provided was correct: there were apples and bowls of trail mix on offer. Yay, dinner! I manged away, and the talk began …

First we watched a video about Foodshare, a program that works with schools to teach kids how to feed themselves. Community gardens, cooking classes, food ed … they do all kinds of cool stuff. Then Chef Brad Long began to speak. He was wonderful to listen to, instructive, pragmatic, and calm. He described his upbringing in the 60′s, a time when humans were really divorced from food — where it came from, what it was made of — and believed that cooking was women’s work, and that farming was dirty work. Isn’t it funny how things change? My generation absolutely fetishizes food and farming; we want to know the name of the pig whose belly we’re eating, whose grandmother pickled those peppers, and where that wooden bar top was reclaimed from.  To us there’s nothing more noble and worthy than farming, nothing sexier and more glamourous than cooking. That’s why big food corporations now use terms like “hand-crafted,” “homestyle,” “artisanal,” and “natural” to sell the same bullshit processed food Chef Brad was surrounded by in his childhood. Back then, artificial was a good thing, and processed meant safe. Now they’ve got to stretch their marketing muscles to keep us shopping for their products.

But Chef Brad is in no way an alarmist or an extremist. When he said, “You don’t have to stop shopping at Loblaws,” I breathed a sigh of relief. He advocates balance, buying seasonally, forming relationships with farmers/vendors, but also being reasonable. Food is fuel, and sometimes you just have to eat what’s at hand. That is, he reminded us, why fast food was invented.

Next, Debbie Field spoke. She’s the executive director of Foodshare, and comes at things from that perspective. She spoke a lot about the health (read: obsesity) crisis in North America, and made a very salient point which is that as much as we’d all love to live in a food utopia, many people can’t afford to buy organic or free-range anything. Having said that, it’s important to teach kids how to nourish themselves. According to her, she’s just tapping into the excitement about food that kids already have, and that she’s “never met a kid who didn’t like cherry tomatoes.” I found this a bit hard to believe, since my relationship with fresh vegetables essentially began at age 18, but maybe if I’d been gardening at school and had had the chance to taste the veggies of my labour, things would’ve been different.

There was a question period during which this super-annoying girl said she was concerned about buying local because local things are often not organic, and she was worried that even with the organic certification, chemicals might still be getting into her food, especially apples because they’re so thin-skinned, and she was frightened of GM foods … finally Chef Brad looked at her and said, “What are you so afraid of?” I could’ve leapt up and cheered. We live in a dirty, dirty world, and pesticides are pretty low on the list of Things That Are In the World That Will Kill You. Chef also made a great point, which is that if anyone should be concerned about the long-term effects of pesticides, it’s the farmers who breathe them in all day.

The man next to me raised his hand, and told us that he has one of the healthiest diets on earth, and everyone in the world should eat like him. His two superfoods of choice? Chia seeds and grasshoppers. I actually read a feature in the New Yorker last year about how insects could be the solution to global hunger, so the idea of eating bugs isn’t completely foreign to me. However I still had a bit of a giggle as I imagined this guy grinning self-righteously as he ate his delicious daily dose of crickets.

In the end, attending this event reinforced what I already knew, which is that critical thinking and moderation are my BFFs. No one is going to map out the correct route for me, at the grocery store or anywhere else. I left with two good new bits of info, as well. One is Debbie Field’s hearty recommendation of the Dufferin Grove farmer’s market. I live really close to it but have never gone to check it out. I resolve to do so as soon as this abysmal flood abates. The other thing I learned is that there’s a plan afoot to uproot the Ontario Food Terminal in favour of — you guessed it — CONDOS. Come onnnnnn. Can you say short-sighted and money-grubbing?? So I’m going to write a letter to someone. My MP perhaps? I’ll keep ya posted.

Happy happy Friday afternoon to all,

Sar

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