Welcome to the throne.

For years you toiled as a lowly pauper under the rule of another castle. Sure, maybe the leaders of your old kingdom ruled with a fair hand but there were times your ideas and their ideas clashed. They wanted quiet, you wanted a pet jester, they wanted curfews, you wanted courtyard parties, they wanted bunk beds in the barracks, you wanted your own tower.

Now you’ve moved out and got yourself your own place. Sure, the moat’s in rough shape and the stables are a writeoff, but at least it reflects your personality and your taste. You’ve got a new responsibility and can do anything you want: put purple tapestries on the stone walls, hold court with new boyfriends, or skip the castle kitchen to go out for turkey drumsticks and a few glasses of mead.

Long live the king. Long live the queen.

Long live your new kingdom of

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

My dad might be Austin Powers.

When you open his closet it’s like being transported straight into the 1960s prom scene. Dark velour suits, purple polka-dot ties, and frilly shirts hang beside each other like dusty friends from days gone by. “Can you spare some mothballs?” I picture a silk shirt saying to a velvet vest. “I’m not going to make it otherwise.”

My dad was a high school teacher for the first thirty years after he came to Canada and he loved chaperoning school dances and bringing my mom along. They would swirl and twirl with big smiles on their faces as they slid their slippery shoes across sandy gym floors deep into the high school crowd.

Like most kids, my sister and I almost always saw my parents in the context of us. Reading Berenstain Bears before bed, swerving station wagons to school, or boiling macaroni for dinner, they were always there, starring in their forever-long feature roles of Mom and Dad.

I think that’s why it’s beautiful seeing your parents dance.

When they slip into an embrace on the dance floor at a wedding they suddenly dissolve out of your world and into their own. They’re not parents but people in love. It’s like getting a window into their first dates and their falling in love … with you spying from the sidelines or just smiling from above.

Your parents disappear and in their place you suddenly see the reason you came to exist. Frilly shirts, floral dresses, and velvet ties spin straight into swirling rainbow swirls of love that existed long before you arrived.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here

Wrap the blankets around you like a mummy, squish your pillow like you’re beating it up, wedge your arm under your head and all over the place, twist and freeze-frame your legs like you’re a chalk drawing, and then when you’re finally done twisting and turning into position… breathe a sigh of relief and feel your body unclench and slowly sink into a beautifully long night of

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

I feel sorry for the DJ.

Sometimes he’s earphone-grooving on the mini-stage and nobody’s stepping out onto the disco-ball spinning floor. Thumping jams, booming beats, I feel like he might start screaming “What will it take, people!?” Dinner chatter still happening, drinks still finishing, nobody’s brave enough to make the first move.

But then eventually the tidal wave pours onto the floor and slow-dancing couples, sweaty seniors, and spinning strangers start filling up the square with hip-shakes and crazy arms. When we’re all on the sidelines there’s the fear of looking stupid, but when we’re all in the middle it’s time to chase down the stragglers and get the whole joint jumping.

That guy who never dances is usually found sipping drinks at the bar, leaning on a backwards dining chair, or smoking outside. He’s avoiding you, he’s avoiding us, because he just doesn’t like dancing. No rhythm, no moves, no desire, no grooves.

But it’s time to get over that, no dancing guy. We’re ready to grab your arms, yank your feet, and push you from behind, because we know once you fade into the screaming mess you’ll fit right into our big dancing moment of

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Symbiosis ain’t what it used to be.

When the neon-and-concrete jungles crash-landed on all the ponds and tall grasses it seems like one lanky species just stomped all the others away.

Since then, is it just me or does it sometimes get lonely living in the big city? I miss the days when wild horses woke you up in the morning, buffalo slept under your porch, and upside-down possums waved goodbye when you went to work.

Now it’s just people, people, people, everywhere.

That’s why I was surprised this morning when I saw a bunch of tiny birds picking away mindlessly on crumbs and pebbles on the speedy on-ramp between two highways. Wedged between billboards, broken bottles, and glass towers, these guys didn’t have a care in the world. They were just gutsy city animals doing their thing.

Yes, I say it’s refreshing when wild animals pop into city life because it reminds us this isn’t our home — we just live here. Earth’s been spinning longer without our glass doors and liquor stores so let’s give props to city animals gutsy enough to bunk with us.

Squirrels darting between delivery trucks, pigeons wandering across park pathways, and even raccoons fist-fighting your dog for chicken bones all help remind us our paved parking paradise can still create a rich world where we aren’t the only ones doing the living.

Canada Goose, go ahead and lay your eggs behind the grocery store.

Seagull, squawk and swoop through the downtown core.

Armadillo, walk across the street even slower.

We’re just glad you’re here.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

What’s your favorite local diner?

Mine has gotta be California Sandwiches, a tiny hole-in-the-wall wedged between rusting clapboard houses in the middle of downtown Toronto. Sure, the word “sandwiches” is spelled wrong on the sign, the floor is always greasy, and the bathrooms may or may not have hot water, soap, and paper towels, but the sandwiches are always delicious, let me tell you that.

Old ladies wearing frilly aprons and dark black glasses deep-fry pancake-sized breaded chicken breasts till they’re brown, crisping, and dripping with hot oil. Then they place them neatly on big doughy buns the size of cabbages, pour ladles of fresh steaming tomato sauce on top, toss some cheese and mushrooms on there, and wrap the sandwich in a mirrory foil before handing it to you with fifty thin paper napkins and a grunt.

Last time we ate there a droopy-eyed guy wearing a backwards cap slowly walked through the seating area dragging two black garbage bags. But Leslie and I barely noticed because we were chowing down like starved pigs over a fresh trough full of slop. Twenty minutes later, with our faces smeared in sauce, bellies bursting, and belts unbuckled, we left with tired eyes and satisfied smiles.

I love California Sandwiches but then again I love any restaurant with old ladies doing the cooking in the back. After all, old ladies have been here longer than anybody and chances are they’ve been cooking a lot longer too. Sure, I could probably order a pizza online faster, but I’m no match when it comes to caramelizing onions, frying fish, or building a sandwich with fresh bread, sliced cheese, and extra TLC.

So next time you bite into Granny’s date squares from the bakery, chomp meatballs from her pizza place, or slurp soup from her sandwich shop, just remember to say thanks for the homemade meal that taste’s like mom’s, thanks for the love, and thanks for the

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

The Echo Meal is any perfectly recreated plate of turkey, veggies, stuffing, and pie made from all the leftovers from yesterday’s pig-out. Microwaved brussels sprouts, steamed turkey chunks, and stirred up gravy all combine into a perfect follow-up to the feast.

AWESOME!

Let freedom ring from the felt-covered walls of cubicle farms. Let freedom ring from the dimly lit university dorms. Let freedom ring from cell phones at the back of the train. Let freedom ring from laptops at the back of the plane. But not only that — let freedom ring from daily coupon deals! Let freedom ring from weekly donation appeals! Let freedom ring from alumni sponsorship requests! And let freedom ring from random marketing contests!

And when this happens, when we let freedom ring, let’s all join hands and sing “Free at last! Free at last! Look at this empty inbox, we are free at last!”

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

It’s time to fill your plate with two kinds of pie, Grandma’s homemade squares, a few scattered pieces of fruit, and a big swirl of whipped cream over everything.

Nobody will judge you on Thanksgiving.

Just make sure you use the big plate.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Standing is big.

After all, we’re the audience here — we came, we paid, we get to sit down. The deal is we put our feet up, spill popcorn everywhere, and whisper to our friends while you prance about trying to entertain us. Dance your little dance, speech your little speech, play your little play, because we came, we paid, and we get to have our way.

A deal’s a deal.

Oh sure, when everything’s over we’re going to stand up and walk out of here anyway, but our end of the bargain is so scrimpy that standing up thirty seconds earlier is a huge deal. It’s a special sign that this audiences cares, they really care, and it’s not something that happens every day.

Now that one guy who jumps out of their seat before everyone else to get the standing ovation going is pretty gutsy. Blocking views to become the focus point leaves them temporarily naked and alone. Yes, there’s a chance everybody else at the 3D cartoon, library reading, or local debate may just shove past them as they wipe hot tears off their bright red cheeks.

It’s a risky move.

But that’s what makes it so great when that guy gets the whole crowd roaring together. Girl in the hat starts clapping, guy in the jeans starts slapping, then you feel a little rustle as the row behind you stands up … and now it’s on. The theater is rumbling, the music is blaring, and everything’s crashing into

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here