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Far-From-Weak Birthday Week

Yesterday was my birthday. I celebrated 46 years on this planet by driving to Toronto from Ottawa and eating large amounts of small-town pizza from Greko’s in Gananoque. For those of you not in the know, Grekos, in spite of having a fantastic website make a slice of pizza that is loads of crust, cheese and heart-attack creating stomach fun. Okay, they’ve got a new one.

But my birthday was just that…a day. Some people decree they are having a “Birthday Week” in order to hide their day-drinking. Others will announce they are having a “BIRTHDAY MONTH!” These are the people in the office that show you pictures of their pets in costumes, demand mandatory participation in Karaoke, and refer to Tim Hortons as “Timmy Ho-Hos” during the Christmas season. Only.

I just wanted a day to celebrate my birthday, not a cluster of them. However, the entire week leading up to it, turned out to be wicked great. Here’s why:

Thanks, Everyone!

And with that, Monday had me turn a fairly decent milestone of an age. There’s something special about having a birthday divisible by 10, and only slightly less champagne-poppingly good about having one divisible by five. So that was this one. Not only divisible by five, but also by nine. That’s right. I’m 90. Hard to believe that in the middle of the Roaring ‘20s, with William Lyon Mackenzie King in office, Canadian comedic icon Don Harron born a mere 10 days previous, and to the tune of “Rhapsody in Blue” I would pop my head outside and signal six more weeks of fall. So a few thoughts.

So Close To Being a Host

Admittedly, this whole rant could be fueled by the fact that I’m reading the Johnny Carson book now, but I’m bummed.

Story is this: I had the chance to host a weekly talk show on TV and now it appears that if the opp were any more dead, it would have been photographed in the company Rob Ford.

Yes, it would have been voluntary. Yes, it would have been without pay. Yes, it would have been hard work. Yes, I was totally up for it. And yes, the producer wanted me to do it. But the all the scenery fell to the floor Charlie Chaplin-style.

An Open Letter to Rob Ford: Let’s Talk

Dear Mr. Ford. I hope this letter finds you well. As I can well imagine, this has been quite a week for you, but from the many radio appearances you've made over the past little while, it seems you're holding your head above water, "fighting for...

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