Tag Archives: Brooks Brothers

A Barberian’s birthday

The Beast didn’t get home until 10:00 p.m last night because he worked late. So I came home to an empty house. At first, I thought I could wait to eat dinner with him. But by 8:00 p.m., I gave up.

It was our Friday night pizza party. While I prepared my toppings and waited for the oven to heat up, I decided to watch some TV on my computer in the kitchen. For no explicable reason, I settled on the last episode of the last season of Six Feet Under, a series I’ve already seen but have never revisited.

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Springtime gnocchi, birthday dreams and road trips

The Beast and I drove to London, Ont. recently to visit with my mom. The two-hour drive there was eventful.

Foodie: We should really do a weekend trip to Buffalo, don’t you think? We could stay at a fancy hotel, which would be like super-cheap because it’s Buffalo, and we could go to the Albright Knox and eat chicken wings at the Anchor Bar and look at Frank Lloyd Wright architecture and that Louis Sullivan building, too. What’s that called again? And that would be just on Friday night and Saturday morning. And then we could stay in Niagara-on-the Lake on Saturday night at some enchanting little inn and just be enchanted and stuff. We could drive back Sunday morning in time to get you to work. What do you think?

Beast: The Guaranty Building.


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Brando boners and Hungarian pancakes

I worry that 2013 will mark the year that the Beast and I morph into some crazy Grey Gardens-like couple, who hoard stuff and forget how to communicate with the outside world. We’ve both exhibited an unhealthy obsession with material things–of the fashionable sort–as of late. I’m only now becoming acutely aware of it.


On a recent Sunday night, we had 15 minutes to kill before visiting my new nephew Ben so we decided to pop into The Bay at Queen and Yonge. We got separated in the store, where everything was 40 per cent off the last sale price, and were forced to rendezvous out front. In that 15 minutes, the Beast bought a green and white striped Polo shirt and I bought three pairs of shoes. We showed each other are wares like we were common criminals. “Whatchoo get?”

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