In recent weeks, I’ve read of several alarming incidents on the TTC where people were pushed onto the tracks. It is really unnerving to hear that there are sick individuals putting innocent commuters in harm’s way. Luckily, most of the victims have escaped with their lives, saved by quick reflexes or the brave action taken by bystanders.

On the right side of winter. Getting through today was like being thrown back in time. From the moment I looked out the bedroom window this morning, the reminders of the last vestiges of the season gone by clung to most every conversation and visual reminder. It was the conversations that made me think the most. The bulk of the talk today was how horrible it was to return to winter. Snow on the ground, traffic snarled, shoes drenched in heavy slush and even a few buses cancelled. One comment in particular echoed the apparent sentiments of the throngs, "Is this ever going to end"?

Are you dancing?

Bill Betteridge was a young man from Brampton Ontario who was in the first boat that landed on Juno Beach, June 6th 1944 under heavy fire. Bill served in the Queens Own Regiment throughout the entire war as a forward area sniper. Though many of his comrades died by his side, Bill served during the entire European campaign until the Liberation of Holland May 1945.

She says it’s persistence. I call it harassment. Since day one, wife has been reminding / nagging me to clean up better. I’m improving but still inadequate. Now our daughters face the same wrath. Wife says she is fed up and threatens to go on strike. God, that would suck.

Compare you to you. I finally got around to booking a haircut on Saturday. While waiting my turn I thumbed through a magazine that was there in a stand. I am always amazed that every magazine in hair salons are for women only. For all the men like me who enter these hallowed vestiges of style, it makes us feel like secret agents on a mission of espionage, looking to spirit back the secrets of the blow dry or high light technique. I digress. Anyway, what struck me looking through this magazine were the models. Women almost exclusively.

Rationalizing making SUVs rather than safe, sensible cars, an auto rep said, “We give the public what it wants.” I want crack and guns. I want thalidomide and trans-fat. I want genocide and cyanide. I want drunk driving. I want to intimidate, maim, and kill. I want an SUV. Gimme.

Al and Amos Arbour, Bill Barilko, Craig Coxe, Dick Duff, Eddie Emberg, Frank Finnigan, Gilles Gilbert, Harry Howell, Ivan Irwin, Jack Johnson, Kelly Kisio, Leo Labine, Mark Messier, Neil Nickolson, Obie O’Brien, Pete Peters, Rene Robert, Serge Savard, Tony Twist, Vaclav Varada, Wes Walz, Zarley Zalapski. No Q,U,X, or Y,

Since moving north, I have met rural democracy. Nothing important happens in a village in Ontario until a committee has looked it over, organized a town hall meeting, reviewed the letters to the local paper provoked by the town hall meeting, and discussed the matter at length with everybody in our local restaurant. None of the steps that I’ve just listed can take place without a minimum of refreshment, and trust me, “minimum refreshment” in Haliburton County is not your “bottled water and little things on a cracker.” Nooooo.

Compare you to you. I finally got around to booking a haircut on Saturday. While waiting my turn I thumbed through a magazine that was there in a stand. I am always amazed that every magazine in hair salons are for women only. For all the men like me who enter these hallowed vestiges of style, it makes us feel like secret agents on a mission of espionage, looking to spirit back the secrets of the blow dry or high light technique. I digress. Anyway, what struck me looking through this magazine were the models. Women almost exclusively.