Category Archives: Rant

Breaking: Canada Gets A Daily Paper And So Do I

I’m a complete and utter newspaper nerd. I read about 75 newspapers online every day — my favourite being the Old Gray Lady — because, apparently, I am a news junkie. Political news excepted, of course. I abhor reading political news articles — the ridiculous and ignorant comments from the howling monkey brigades always manage to make my blood pressure go up about 140 points and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

While I know it’s not really en vogue to read newspapers in print anymore, I must admit that I am still an old-fashioned kind of newspaper girl. I like holding the *actual* newspaper in my hand while I, say, eat my cereal in the morning or leisurely drink cafe au lait at my favourite T.O. coffeeshop. I like being able to scan the articles at a glance without having to squint on my iPhone and risk ruining my perfectly good botox injections^, and I also love when my fingertips get all smudgy from the ink.

The aforementioned reasons are why I recently began subscribing to the weekend edition of the Globe and Mail. It’s sort of like Canada’s version of USA Today and, while I don’t really know which way it leans — what with Canada’s three political parties — whichever way it is, I like it. Actually, the only thing I don’t like about Globe and Mail thus far is that, for some reason, it seems very unevenly weighted to news outside of Ontario. I mean, everyone knows that Toronto is the center of the (Canadian) universe, so I’m unsure what this is about. 🙂

Moving on. I recently went home to Houston for a long weekend, where my parents gave me the best present evar and phoned in a big giant heatwave for me. Thanks Mom and Dad! Before I left Toronto, I called the Globe and Mail to put a “vacation stop” on my paper. Yes, I know it was only for three days, but I live at the entrance door to my floor, so anyone who lives on my “wing” would totally have known I was gone and what’s it to you anyway?! So after about 79 repeats of the “we’ll be with you shortly” message, the representative finally came on. Mind you, this is the newspaper. The newspaper I get twice weekly. The newspaper for which I pay a mere $13 a month. First, she asks for my phone number. Then she asks me to verify my address.  Then I have to provide her my birthdate. Then she tells me my mobile number and asks me to confirm. Then she asks for my password, my social insurance number^^ , the secret doorknock and a note from my Grade Three teacher. K, just kidding about the latter, but everything else? True story. I actually giggled when she kept asking me to verify my info. I thought “I just called the Harris County Tax Appraiser to get some information about my taxes — you know, on the home I *own* and on which I pay a mortgage every month and on which I almost broke my hand signing my life away — and even *they* didn’t ask me to verify half the stuff that the Globe and Mail did! For the sake of Pete, people! 

One thing’s for sure — you can rest assured that nothing’s getting past the astute customer service representatives at Canada’s Globe and Mail. They are serious security ninjas, where everybody certainly does *not* know your name (or any of your other personal information for that matter)!

Related: When I am able, I like to be the first to deliver good news, so feast your eyes on the video below explaining how Canada just got their first daily paper (around the 2:40 mark). Also, they got a second area code, too. It’s like 1982 up in here!

 

 

^Well, I don’t have botox injections yet, so there’s nothing to ruin. Yet.

^^Social Insurance Numbers are Canada’s equivalent to American Social Security Numbers. I don’t know why Canada couldn’t have just played along and named them the same thing. I mean, we all know that they wish they were American anyway. 😉

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Filed under Canada, Rant

As If The Doll Wasn’t Bad Enough

iPhone 003I was recently strolling through the Bay, the venerable Canadian department store founded before the earth cooled^, and noticed a very stylish winter coat. It seemed to beckon me over with a wink and a smile and, being that Canada is on the cusp of becoming the frozen wasteland into which it turns for eight months a year, I stopped to lovingly gawk at it. However, what I noticed on the tag made me take two steps backwards. I spied (gasp!) a Barbie logo on the label. I did a double take — had I somehow wandered into the tween section? Was it just some designer trying to garner attention by changing her name to Barbie and using pink ink and puffy lettering?

Now, please prepare yourself for a true Texas girl rant.  Alas, no. It was neither me wandering off course in the department store nor an impersonating designer. Rather, what I spied was a Barbie clothing line created by David Dixon, who is surely the devil reincarnated. As if the standard by which women are judged isn’t stringent enough, now we have to deal with Barbie clothes for real stick people?  I mean, who comes up with these cockamamied ideas anyway? I can just imagine it: a boardroom is filled with highly paid executives trying their best to think up the next “it” thing that’s going to be featured on Oprah’s “Favourite Things” list and make everyone  a bazillion dollars. Exec A says to Exec B “hey, I’ve always thought Barbie was hot. And well-dressed. I used to steal my sister’s Barbies to play with them, but, of course, no one else needs to know that. Anyway, what about coming up with a Barbie clothing line?! You know, real life Barbie clothes. Average size 12 adult women would *kill* to be dressed like Barbie, and, I bet they’d even pay through the nose for the chance, too!” 

Am I the only one who believes that this kind of ridiculousness isn’t really some kind of patriarchical manifesto aimed at keeping wimmin down?!  I mean, doesn’t the very idea of a Barbie clothes line equal a serious revert to an era where Mad Men are running around chain-smoking and making untoward advances at their secretaries?  What will they think of next?  Some other thing requiring more de-programming of gender stereotypes, no doubt; a perfectionist fallacy, to be sure. Next thing you know, we’ll be getting dating tips from a 50 year-old plastic doll. 😉 

Phew! That is all. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a fierce winter coat to try on.  😉

 

 

^No kidding — it was seriously founded in 1669. I know this because I made the lengthy and concerted effort to click through the six (!) links it took me to get to their history. Actually, I didn’t even know there *was* a Canada in 1669. I guess I stand corrected.

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Filed under Fashion, Rant