Today’s Existential Forecast™!

DavidGravatarToday will be overly diffident, with occasional outbreaks of sarcasm followed by regret.

Competence will be nominal-to-intermittent as measured in “oPrahs”.

GENERAL: A collapsible umbrella advisory is in place. The rims of cups containing scalding beverages are farther away than they appear.

Wear socks to determine if there’s water on the kitchen floor, or go barefoot to locate the one remaining shard of broken Champagne flute.

Three PM brings 100% probability of reliving the split with your ex as you change the Band-aid on your heel. Downcast gives way to defiant after a swig of “Absolut”.

Evening finds you unsuccessful in your attempt to mask your home’s lingering smell of chain-smoking with a devil-may-care spritz of Axe Personal Fragrance.

Yes, that caller with a private number is “Collections”.

TECH INSIGHT: Take extra care to place your smartphone in your back pants pocket, so when you sit down you can accidentally send your account director that text you drafted calling him a “sociopathic catamite”.

It’s best to get these things over and done with.

DRESS TIPS: Tentative recos are clip-on tie and loafers OR scarf with brooch and ballet flats. Crocs and sweatpants? Play it by ear, but only definitely if you’ve completely forgotten that at 1 P.M. you and the team are treating Ronald Lauder and Renée Fleming to lunch at The Carlyle.

Distractibility is high today, clocking in at eight-out-of-ten on a scale where:

1 equals making yourself a cup of instant coffee in under 30 minutes but still forgetting the milk is off;


10 equals setting out to check your calendar and ending up eight hours later with a new operating system that’s worse than your previous one (the “Ubuntu factor”); PLUS an order confirmation for purchase of a vintage “Mister Potato Head” kit from eBay; and a whole slew of hate mail from “just-repeal-it-then-impeach-the-socialist-towel-head-dot-com”.

Fig. 1:  Emotional turbulence (note decorative cushion)

Emotional Turbulence (Fig. 1):  There may be unexpected gusts of low-self-esteem-induced hysteria.

Never, but we mean NEVER, take refuge under a tree.

Instead, watch for the throwing of a small, decorative cushion, which signals that the hysteria has passed.

You’re welcome!

Count slowly from the outbreak of hysteria to find out how long until the cushion-throwing!

Today’s ATF (Asshole Tolerance Factor): Zero, peaking at 1. Some of you might want to remain indoors.

We’re just sayin’.

Overall outlook for —

MEN: Breezy, but with toe rubbers. You’ll despise, yet be powerless to change, the general perception that your mother still buys your clothes, and/or that you’ve just left a Presbyterian seminary.

As our fashion maven has it: “GAP ‘Relaxed Fit’ is death’s French kiss!”

POINTS TO PONDER: The way your boss stares at your sandwich while adjusting her pencil-skirt will make you question the cool-factor of waxed paper. Also egg salad.

WOMEN: Brave, with just the tiniest tragic hint of your grandmother’s pill-box hat. You’ll spend the day trying to project the plucky vulnerability of Dorothy Gale, while actually coming across as a more vitriolic Dorothy Parker, only without the redeeming wit.

WHAT WOULD IVANKA DO?: A Singapore Sling* at The Algonquin or similar establishment may help with your tendency to assume the role of “Ms. Quark-y Gluon Who Holds the Universe Together”.

But your PMS will hate you.

High tonight? (as in, Will you be…?) Seriously? Like, does the Pope wear Balenciaga? We totally think he does!

This has been Today’s Existential Forecast™ : We face the world so you don’t have to!™


*[Sorry — That should read “A Singapore Sling or five”. My bad! LMAO!! — ed.]

♥♥♥♥ Qu♥tes t♥, like? Live by?!! L♥L!! ♥♥♥♥

marie-curie (1).png
“Radioactivity!” – Egyptian child-goddess Po Ra. (This is your eagerly-anticipated Bonus Quote.  Since you asked.)

Just wanted you to be totally aware that I wasted some of my immeasurably valuable time in my Canadian Tire hip waders, sloshing through the digital swamp that is the “Innernet”, and why?

Why, the better to direct, albeit remotely, every tedious, one-more-Percocet-to-oblivion waking moment of your sorry life, that’s why.

OK?  You getting this down and suitably grateful?  Or at least pretending?

Armed with these cultured pearls of Woolworth-level wisdom – today’s fob-off for inspiration – your goal of achieving POTUS will seem, well,  just that few pathetic millimetres closer. If you were to stick your face right up to it.  Your goal, I mean.

Authentication and fact-checking:  You may be wondering.  These qu♥tes have been rigorously checked against my own entries on Wikipedia, “The encyclopedia you write yourself!”™ , and have received my approval.

Qu♥tes t♥, like? Live by?!! L♥L!!


“You see this triangular-shaped mark on my right cheek?  You might think that was from Annie Sullivan.  But you wanna know the truth?  I answered the iron!  Yes, seriously!  Talk about your wa-WAAAA moment, eh?!

— Helen Keller

“Pierre – !  Where the ‘ell did I put ze radium ?   Zut alors !!”

— Marie Curie

“Sure, I changed, like, mankind’s understanding of space and time.  But I’d give it all up to have, you know.  Normal hair.  Seriously.  Let’s make absolutely sure we’re on the same page here:  I’m talking jet-black, straight, lanky, Japanese-style hair that looks like I stayed up all night ironing it.”

— Albert Einstein

“Wait a minute! Clamato juice … add vodka to clamato juice!  Whatever that is!  Seriously! And garnish it with – a stalk of celery!  They’ll love it in Des Moines!  Dude, are you getting this down?”

Julius Caesar

(Disambiguation: NOT Caesar Salad, who succeeded him).

“Hey, what did the Queen Mother give Fergie for her birthday?  A  trip to Paris, dinner at the Ritz, and a chauffeur-driven limousine!  I know.  I don’t get it either.  Anyway. What do you think with the blouse – scarf or tiara?” 

— Diana, Princess ♥f Wales

 Ask not what your country can do for you – just ask Marilyn to turn up around 7:20 at the Pentagon and proceed to the men’s washroom.  I’ll be in stall three.

— J♥hn Fitzgerald Kennedy

The only rule is don’t be bring and dress cute wherever you go. Life is too shrt to blend in. <giggle>

 Nels♥n Mandela

There is no such thing as society: there are individual men and women.

In my case, individual men and women with their noses falling off in big, leprous chunks. Seriously, EWWWWW!

—M♥ther Teresa

Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see.

— Arthur Sch♥penhauer

Mediocrity hits the broad side of a barn while driving a stretch Hummer filled
with overweight bridesmaids.  Sexting.

 Als♥ Sprach David R♥ddis


Yes I will call you …

Puttin’ the Moves on Pride

Here in Toronto, the City Without A Soul, where the terrible WAR ON CARS rages unabated – at least, according to the Neanderthals from the 905, who drink petroleum for breakfast and, although unable to cope with words greater than one syllable or concepts greater than one person, think nothing of simultaneously texting, reading the National Post and driving an SUV up Jarvis Street, all the while dragging that morning’s decapitated cyclist under the rear axle – and where an architecturally-significant Victorian pile like the James Cooper House can be bent over the kitchen table by developers, its voluminous petticoats lifted and a condo shoved up its ass —

it’s Pride Weekend.

You know. Gay Christmas. Will it be an Arnold Palmer Table-top Golf Set©? Or a lump of coal?

Your call, baby.

In the days leading up, I like to spend a little time getting in shape before that big ol’ parade passes by. (And you can just shut your trap, Barbra. This is MY moment for closure.)

Seriously, at my age you can’t spend too much time toning up. Especially since I hocked my diamonds. One needs a little – glitter and be gay – around the turkey-wattle, not to mention an emergency supply of drab turtlenecks from the fashion mausoleum that is logo_en.

(Re:  Diamonds.  That’s ticket 43b at McTamney’s Pawnbrokers, 139 Church. If anyone’s interested..?)

No point being bitter.

Please, please don't do this warm up without warming up.  Ow!
Please, please don’t do this warm up without warming up. Seriously.

So, in the spirit of sharing and caring that is the exquisitely-distilled essence of Pride, here’s a little taste of my warm-up routine. Just for you. Advanced, you cry?  Perhaps, but I guarantee that, once mastered, this little sucker of a move will blast your cares from here to Des Moines!

Now, before you all dash out in a frenzy to your graveled rooftops and start your reinforced gussets a-poppin’, a word of advice: Please, please don’t try getting in shape without warming up, will you?

Or without diamonds.


(Half-hearted Photo Credit:  Photo so totally not by me, of me, or any-preposition-you-can-think-of, me.

I stole, sorry, re-purposed it and subjected it to inappropriate context and public derision.

It’s—what I do.)