So I bought a plane ticket to Iceland

And that means in October, I’m going to take a leak in the continental divide.

The Silfra Crevasse

(Note: not my photo. I did not take this photo. I do not know who did.)

So I guess this means I’ll have stuff to write about for the next little while, right?


What is that smell?

I realized this week, with absolute horror, that I no longer notice the distinctive sewage and garbage smell that I have long associated with Toronto. I realized it this week when I got a whiff of that enticing aroma.

I’m not sure when I stopped noticing that smell. I’m certain that Toronto did not magically plug in some Febreeze noticeables and become a charming place to live. This can only mean one thing: I’m getting used to living here.

It is a positively shocking revelation.


Apparently… most people who come across this blog get here because they have searched for the following terms:

-Traveling (or travelling) monkeys
-Filthy toilets

Now my toilet at home is far from filthy, and my traveling monkey lives at my old job, so I’m not sure how I feel about this.

Now you know!

I apologize for the low quality resolution on this photo, but this constitutes a pretty good end to the day at work:

Also for your viewing pleasure, a Banksy original:

Banksy rat on Spadina

Cell phones take the lousiest photos.


I thought that relocating to a new city would have me posting a lot more. It’s sort of like travelling, only it’s not a foreign country, I speak the language, I’ve been here before, and I don’t have rose-coloured glasses. OK, so it’s not really like travelling, except that I was getting lost on my way to work for the first few days, and there are a lot of restaurants for me to slowly discover. Continue reading


There are a few things in life that get me swearing like a truck driver from Rimouski, pondering the finer things in life. And ever since I relocated to Toronto, I miss certain comfort foods from my past more then I thought I would. Bagels. Poutine. Blanche de Chambly. Very carbohydrate intensive indulgences – and my waistline certainly reflects these indulgences.

It’s not my fault. I lived in Montreal for most of my life, and certain deliciously cheap indulgences were abundant. Street meat in Toronto scares me when I’m sober, and reminds me not to eat meat from a sink-free source. Continue reading