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10 Things I Know for Sure... and One Niggling Query

9/7/2013

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1.       Being a Leo is awesome. Except if you are a Pisces. Then being a Leo is doubly awesome.

2.       Cats rule.


3.       Prejudice unites minorities which, counter-intuitively, serves us all well.

4.       They say nothing tastes as good as being thin feels. Exception: mac ‘n’ cheese with gruyere.

5.       Vodka also rules though rarely in conjunction with cats.

6.       Unless filled with Botox, needles have no business near skin.

7.       Summer is better than winter, but winter is better than rain.

8.       Dogs rule too but, despite received wisdom, they aren’t as smart as cats.

9.       There really is nothing quite as satisfying as falling headfirst into a good book.


10.   I used to fear getting older; now I fear the exact opposite.


11.   If mankind could establish that a single eyelash contains enough DNA to rightly convict a murderer 20 years after the fact, is there truly no cure for cancer?

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Stagger, stagger, gulp, gulp

8/12/2013

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The world sure is a funny place. Sometimes you find yourself saying things you never, ever thought you’d say. Things like, ‘You know, in this particular case, I kind of see things from Toronto Mayor Rob Ford’s point of view.’

Case in point: what has come to be known as the Taste of the Danforth Incident. I guess I have a bit of a vested interest in this one because I am tangentially involved. Or rather, my front porch is. That’s where an unsteady and vaguely incoherent Ford – attending the above-mentioned Greektown shindig and apparently parked nearby on Greenwood Ave – was swarmed by mobile-phone-wielding passersby.

My house is clearly visible behind him as are those of my neighbours as Ford makes his way north towards Danforth Ave for a coffee at the nearby Tim Hortons. Yes, Ford seems a bit hammered; he admitted as much yesterday on his weekly radio show.

But assuming he wasn’t driving – and he insisted to the ugly iPhone mob that he wasn’t – then I don’t see a huge problem. Dude is on the town on a Friday night in August celebrating a major street festival and letting off steam. Big whoop.

Sure, it’s a bit unbecoming to see a city official publicly drunk – and it’s certainly a pity he can bring himself to attend Taste of the Danforth but not Pride, which also brings millions into the city core – but honestly, this all just seems like a tempest to me.

Plus, when you watch the video, the surging crowd surrounding Ford seems way scarier. Jostling for an image, asking stupid questions, surrounding Ford… no wonder he felt off-balance. Naturally, I was far too protective of my vodka cache to invite the Mayor inside (a girl can only go so far) but still.

Editorials have pointed out that Ford’s deportment shows bad judgment and, far from being an anomaly, further corroborates evidence of a substance abuse problem. No argument here, Rosie. But for once I am willing to lend Ford a bit of slack. Me and my beautiful porch. Lord knows I pay enough taxes to keep it.  

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Come Back May and June... I Miss You Already

7/16/2013

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Mid-July and already it feels as though summer is slipping by... at least, what little of summer we have had so far seems perilously close to being over. OK, I know - who untied the pessimist?

But here's the thing: winter really, truly grinds me down to a nub.  I revel in summer - yes, even in stupid excessive heat (especially in stupid, excessive heat) and the thought that Labour Day is less than two months away makes me feel just a little sick. Plus I feel like I haven't DONE anything this summer... no magic swims in lakes at midnight, no amazing bike rides past towering pines, not even a dip at the local pool.

(New flash: Here is an item I was humbled to write for the very good folks at Annex Cat Rescue. Guaranteed to be the most bittersweet story you read all week.)

Wait... did I really just open this blog entry with a comment about the weather? Sigh - I do need to get out more. When you tell people you work from home, the reaction is often 'Oh you are so lucky.' And yes, there are pluses to working from home (cheap lunch in my favorite restaurant every day, feline assistants, rock-bottom wardrobe and cosmetic overhead). But the downsides are isolation, ennui and a sharp lack of stimuli, ergo a blog entry about the weather. What next: my aches and pains?

I read somewhere (New York Times I think) about this loosely organized collective of people who are self-employed and who congregate daily  in a kind of rented ad hoc office space. The idea is simply to give shut-ins like me an opportunity to mingle and trade stories with others over coffee before listlessly slinking back to the computer.

It struck me as a good idea conceptually although I wonder what freelancer could possibly afford it. Also, would some sort of hierarchy emerge? You know... people would slide into predictable roles (ie: the office gossip, the braggart, the ceaseless talker) making the whole exercise as annoying as a regular workplace but without the pay or the office supplies you can steal.

I guess the point is to try and eek a bit of joy out of every day because you just never know... a platitude but one that is sort of true and not just on yoga mats. Maybe I'll eat lunch outside today and hope that air conditioner repair technician  who is slated to come by (oh yes, my AC broke down yesterday) will defy all odds and pronounce my AC just a little bit sick and needing only minor (read: not crazy-ass expensive) repairs.  It could be worse - it could already be November.

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Straining Credulity at Every Turn

7/4/2013

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If you believe the subject line to an email in my inbox, my new penis has arrived. Also, I have won a trip. And hot chicks are waiting to meet me tonight. Ah spam… you’re just like makeup – taking something OK but kind of lackluster and making it shine, promising free gifts (with purchase - ha!) that you actually have to pay for. And like makeup, you are also capital-F fake with a tendency to smear in a most unbecoming way.

Speaking of bogus, the upcoming issue of  Hello! Canada apparently offers the inside scoop on the recent Chavril nuptials, which allegedly took place July 1 in a French castle. Yeah, I know. I want to be happy for these two crazy kids, I really do. But something in me (you… there in the back row who just yelled ‘Cynic…’ stuff it) just doesn’t buy it for a second.

Maybe it’s because we have never seen Avril Lavingne actually smile before, so the presence of fangs in her nasty little mouth seems kind of surreal. Or that Chad Kroeger looks like her creepy Uncle Ned who, three CC-and-Cokes into the evening, will smirk and insist she pulls his finger.

It could also be that the whole thing just seems too damn convenient, and everyone knows that love is many things but never, ever is it convenient. I don’t ever have to do a Facebook survey to know that’s true. My inky black soul tells the story.

Nickelback’s booking agent, who happens to be an acquaintance and a damn decent fellow, insists the romance is real. So does a friend of mine who runs a fancy-pants restaurant with a private dining room and swears he witnessed the two swapping spit over steak and expensive bottles of plonk. These men have no Earthly reason to lie. And yet…

Well, I guess the Chavril Marriage Death Watch™ is officially on. I am going to get the ball rolling by predicting they’ll last 11 months, tops. Sadly, the effervescent, brown-nosing Hello! Canada will have to leave dissemination of that message to a less forgiving entity like Us Weekly or the National Enquirer. Until then, I’ll be waiting. Heartache will have its revenge.


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The Dawn of a New... "era" Kind of Overstates It. "Day" Sounds Like a Sting Song... 

7/3/2013

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It took me way longer than it should have, but my website is finally live. I'm not sure what the delay was, other than being more or less gainfully employed and pretty devoted to a four-times-weekly hot yoga practice (and, you know, remedial vodka consumption), but better late then never as they say.

The purpose of the site - at least in its present iteration - is simple: it's a place to showcase my work as I actively seek to grow my freelance writing business. I have been enormously lucky to write for some amazing newspapers, magazines and websites over the years (full list on the Contact page) and, ridiculous as it seems in this economy, I actually hope to continue doing it while paying my mortgage (a distinction best made clear lest Confucius - that little fate monkey - is reading. I do want to earn a living, not just bask in the glory on interviewing YouTube stars for MSN, fascinating as that is).

Anyway, I don't expect the world to suddenly come pounding on my door, but you never know. And besides, I am told that "clients" like being able to see a prospective hire's work, which makes sense. As my dear friend Elizabeth B. once noted (sagely as usual), if something or someone she's looking for is not on the web, she immediately dismisses it/them out of hand. Immediate dismissal sucks, so here I am.

In grander moments, I harbor hopes of making this blog so indescribably witty and astute that I might even amass some regular followers. Both of you would be deeply appreciated. At the very least, this is a chance to sound off about stuff not connected to an internet bank transfer (of which I am a huge fan) and maybe to log the odd insight.  Or blag some freebies from gracious publicists. Guess we'll see.  Onwards and upwards, from my brain to the blogosphere.
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    Kim Hughes

    Here resides the random thoughts, blurbs  and dangling participles of the Toronto-based writer named above.

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