Random Wanderings and Wonderings
Finally, some truth in advertising; after all, what are antiques if not (usually) the stuff of dead people? Calling this spade a spade is brilliant (& daft), so “Dead People’s Stuff” in Bloomfield is the clear winner in the race to the zenith (& nadir) of business names I’ve encountered in 2010. I’m not entirely sure how this came to be an annual tradition, but I’ve bestowed the honour (& disgrace) on a different business for four years running. Congratulations (& condemnations).
From the “People put the damnedest things on their lawns” file comes this wonderful front yard display in Brighton, on the road leading to Presqu’ile Provincial Park. Nothing like seeing Betty Boop striking a pose while Pudgy belts out some tunes. Too bad (or not, depending on your point of view) there was no soundtrack accompanying the visual feast.
The evidence on Google Street View suggests that the piano stays, but the scene rotates. Betty may have moved on next year.
The latest entries in the “Who knew?” file are the facts that the Canadian Pallet Council exists, has more than 1,200 members, maintains a prominent storefront office in downtown Cobourg, and is responsible for “setting, monitoring and enforcing policies, procedures and standards” for the manufacture and use of shipping pallets for its members. It also offers pallet-tracking software to its members, pallet administration training for members’ employees, as well as a new pallet inspection program. I know little about shipping pallet economics other than the fact that old ones make good firewood, but I wish the Council luck in its Strategic Focus to “resolve Pallet Imbalances” by next year.
So this is what it’s like to be an afterthought. I know that the folks at the Foodland in Millbrook mean well, supplying a bike rack at the store and all (“down back” is still fairly close to the door), but if dogs need a place to sit where they’re out of people’s way, why not provide a dog-specific hitch that doesn’t take space away from cyclists?
(And for the record, the bike rack was bereft of both bikes and dogs when I was at the store on Sunday morning.)
I really don’t understand Leafs fans. For today’s example, I don’t understand why someone would spend more than $300 not only to declare their undying loyalty to a bunch of millionaires who spend eight months of every year chasing a frozen chunk of rubber, but also to express the unending frustration that is the inevitable and eternal result of said loyalty.
You know, I used to be a Leafs fan, just as rabid as any other. I had an official jersey and countless other bits of merchandise, I went to a few games a year, I watched Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday, and I knew the stats of every player. I cheered like you wouldn’t believe that time that they went all the way to the semi-final before being eliminated. Then, when I was just nine years old, they traded Lanny McDonald to Colorado. I decided right then and there that the Leafs would only ever break my heart and weren’t worthy of my loyalty or energy. So I suffered the Leafs for a total of maybe 4 years before getting out.
Looking back with more than thirty years of hindsight, I think that decision was one of the best of my single-digit years and saved me the kind of annual disappointment that could be expressed only on a personalized licence plate. It’s also the very first decision I can actually remember sitting down, thinking about, and then sticking with. So when I see people of my age or older talking about the Leafs’ chances this year, I just shake my head and wonder how they can stand it year after year.
I eventually gave up on the NHL entirely when the 1994 lockout showed me that the entire league wasn’t worthy of my energy. That’s when I rediscovered that playing sports was way more fun than watching them.
“Bike lanes interfere with cars.”
“Isn’t it the other way around?”
— Two pedestrians crossing Queen at Yonge this morning, with nary a bike lane in sight.
These signs are scattered all around Hamilton Township at the entrances to many dirt roads that run between two or more adjacent farms. They’re municipal roads that are used primarily for access to back fields, so the only traffic that they really see are tractors and the occasional dirt bike or ATV. Most are only 1-2 km long and are classified as “summer maintained” or “unopened road allowance” by the township. Some, like the one above, are navigable by your average family sedan. Others, like the one below, call for more of a sense of adventure and either a larger or smaller vehicle:
The road here just kind of disappears into weeds and neatly growing rows of wheat, bordered by trees on one side and a corn field on the other.
Some of the roads not only seem well-maintained in the summer, but also form part of the snowmobile trails that criss-cross Ontario? in the winter:
So, is “Dangerous unmaintained road” a warning or invitation? It depends what you’ve got underneath you at the time. The roadies that I passed on the asphalt a couple of clicks back would have nothing to do with roads like these. A rider on a touring motorcycle was checking one out, but probably wouldn’t take another. But for a guy exploring on a mountain bike, they’re just about irresistible.
The thumb screw on my spindle sander always greets me with a wink and a smile whenever I get ready to put him to work.
I’m usually one to appreciate and advocate both recycling and heritage preservation, but I’m not so sure it’s a wise move in the case of these display cabinets still in use in a Port Hope store. I remember Consumers Distributing as an eminently frustrating place to shop. Cheaper than department stores, but impossible to tell whether anything was in stock or see any merchandise without filling out a little paper slip. Couple that with waiting in line for somewhere between five and thirty minutes before being disappointed, and going to Consumers was always a bit of a crapshoot, a problem that only seemed to get worse as I got older. Still, the local Consumers at Main and Danforth was the primary supplier of AFX slot car sets and Timex watches to my youth.
I’ve seen a lot of strange things in antique stores in my day, but this rocking chair tops pretty much all of them. From the nipple rings to the embracing arms to the six-pack lumbar support, absolutely nothing about this chair says “sit on me.” I suppose it would be a great conversation piece, but I can’t imagine any permutation of that conversation being any more comfortable than the chair.