And now, a word from our spiritual leader

No matter which side of the spiritual fence you come down on, unless you're a member of a Chinese junta, you have to admire the Dalai Lama.

Who else, except maybe for Gandhi, Mama Theresa and Paula Abdul, have been so consistently positive in the face of incredible adversity?

For you, this Friday morning:

We can never make peace in our outer world, until we make peace with ourselves.


Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.


If you can, help others; If you cannot, at least do not harm them.


If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.

Boys don't make passes

My new eyeglasses are ready. I'm picking them up tonight.

I don't even want to tell you how much they're costing me.

My prescription alone, with the requisite progressive lenses signalling my impending decrepitude, costs more than a sizable plot of land in a South American dictatorship.

Still, I'm pretty excited about them.

When you consider that I can barely get to the bathroom in the middle of the night without putting on my glasses, they're an investment worth making. Plus, I'm hoping they'll help me on the spring fever front.

Walking the talk

I ordinarily walk to work. It takes me about 35 minutes, at a good clip.

My route takes me over the Bloor Viaduct, so I get the quintessential Toronto experience -- a view of the Don Valley and the CN Tower (which I've yet to go up, despite taking every visitor from out of town I've ever had to its mighty base, to experience the grandeur).

It's such a pleasant way to start the day.

That thirty five minutes of heart-pumping exercise helps me march out the cobwebs and allows me to arrive at work without the all-too-familiar shoulders above the ears feeling that accompanies multiple deadlines.

Last week, because of a variety of early morning meetings, I either TTCed it or drove.

Toward the end of last week, I noticed that while my problems were the same, my reaction to them was different. I had a harder time prioritizing. I had a harder time sleeping. There was no outlet for my excess energy.

Yesterday and today, I had the good fortune to walk. I even walked home last night. What a difference exercise makes to my stress level.

Idea Graveyard

Nearly every creative person I know has a story about the idea the client didn't buy.

I used to have one such example in my book.

It was for a Chapters Online campaign meant to run in gay pubs during the week long Pride festivities. The offer was a $5 off all books purchased online. The visual was of a hand perched on top of a mouse. The headline read: 5 bucks for a hand job.

I recorded four radio spots for Stratford yesterday.

Here's one of the ones they didn't pick:

(SFX: Sound of newspaper ruffling)
(Woman’s Voice)
Babe, I think we should see a musical at Stratford this summer?

(Man’s Voice)
Why don’t you just kill me now?

(Woman)
I think you’ll like this one.

(Man)
Like I liked “27 Dresses”? No thanks. I still feel emasculated.

(Woman)
No seriously. Cabaret has sex, politics and intrigue….

(Man – chimes in enthusiastically)
…sounds like Hookergate!...

(Woman)
…unforgettable songs, great dance numbers…and nudity.

(Man)
Sold!

(Narrator)
The 2008 Festival season has begun.

Have you got your tickets?

Call 1-800-567-1600 or visit Stratford Shakespeare Festival dot com.

See, the early bird really does catch the worm

Lucky, lucky me. Some people working on a big project at work were looking for someone to fly to Nova Scotia this weekend. The task: to drive around the province, visit retailers, and observe the client's product in a real retail setting.

Are you kidding me?

You'll pay me to fly somewhere, rent a car, stay in a fancy hotel, and go shopping? I'm the luckiest girl on the planet.

So that's how I spent my weekend.

I'm still reeling from Digby scallops and salt cod mashed potatoes I had for dinner at the Five Fishermen in Halifax on Saturday night. That, and the sight of Team Latvia, with their faces painted blue, in town for the World Hockey Championship.

I don't care what anyone says. Maritimers really are nicer than the rest of us.

I got up especially early on Sunday morning to drive to Peggy's Cove, where I ate breakfast overlooking the Atlantic. I had to put my hand on the lighthouse to remind myself that this was really happening. It was.

Wow. Great weekend.

What just happened?

Do you ever really know someone?

You're going along in your relationship and suddenly, seemingly out of left field, something completely out of character happens. You're absolutely blind-sided.

This was the hot topic during my haircut last evening.

My beloved hairdresser (who is also my new neighbour, if you remember previous posts) was a week into a recent break-up with his partner of more than two years.

The partner came over one night (they weren't officially living together), had dinner, they watched a bit of Family Guy on TV, went to bed, had sex (we share the deets, my hairdresser and I) and, when my hairdresser was leaving for work the next morning, his partner announced that he'd bought himself a condo. A week ago.

Whump! You what?

I think we've all been on the receiving end of these kinds of revelations.

One minute you're on steady ground and the next you're flat on your back and looking up at the aurora borealis.

In my hairdresser's head, the future was joyful co-habitation and Kermit and Miss Piggy running through a field of daisies.

But the story is never as simple as it first appears. They never are.

When something like this happens, you tend to examine the past with the greatest of care. And you realize that there were signs along the way. Plenty of them.

But sometimes the desire for daisies suppresses all reality.

God do I know that drill.

My hairdresser said that his partner had never once told him he loved him in the last year and a half that they were together. No amount of pleading, cajoling or pouting brought the desired result.

But rather than leave, he did back flips to try to make him happy. He did more, bought him more dinners, and took him on more trips -- all even though my hairdresser makes considerably less than his more affluent partner. He swallowed his own needs as he poured every ounce of energy into fixing the unfixable.

But this is the sad truth. No matter how hard you try, sometimes we love someone who has no love to give.

They broke up last Friday night after a conversation that lasted for more than two and a half hours. It was, my hairdresser admits, the longest period of unbroken conversation they'd had in a long, long while.

And when he was leaving, the now ex-partner turned to my hairdresser and said (you guessed it), "I love you very much, you know."

Whump squared.

Mini Me

This morning I'm interviewing someone at 7:30 -- a time that generally makes creative people squirm or fart and roll over. She graduated from the same university as me (albeit 15 years later). And, like me, she spent a year in Australia. So I asked her what she took in her Starbucks, so I'd have it ready for her when she arrived. You guessed it...same order as me.

Did anyone see Fight Club? I think I might be interviewing myself.