Downtown parks have way more variety than parks in the suburbs. Sure, you have the typical runners and Frisbee enthusiasts, but there are so many more groups of people that you just don’t find in the suburbs.
Who You’ll Find at a Hipster Park
The Ill Prepared
It’s 30 degrees Celsius and sunny. Maybe don’t wear black slacks and a black polo shirt.
The Well Prepared
Why sit on the ground when you have a chair that folds away into our backpack?
The Over Prepared
It’s the park. It’s not a 10 day trek across the Andes.
Stoners Learning to Hula Hoop
The hippie just pulled out his iPad. I don’t know how i feel about this. Aren’t hippies supposed to be against “the man”? I guess technology isn’t so bad? Although, his attention seems to be more drawn to the stoner hula hoopers.
Hipsters That Think They Can Throw a Football
Again, pretty self-explanatory.
The Newlyweds That Think a Busy Park is the Perfect Wedding Photo Backdrop
I’m sure they’ll look back at their photos for years to come with fondness…
Hipster Garage Sale
Another thing that can often be found in a hipster park is a garage sale. Hipster garage sales are not like ordinary garage sales. I grew up in a place where a garage sale meant collecting all of your old toys and clothes and hoping someone else wanted them. If someone was willing to pay you $10 for your “vintage” friendship making kit, that was a steal! I recently ventured downtown and learned that garage sales mean something very different here.
I don’t understand how all of these people just “happen” to have antique glassware and (overpriced) records they’re trying to unload. It would also appear that used hats are all the rage (Head lice risk? No, thank you).
Of course fan clubs meet in hipster parks. Now I’ve never seen Orphan Black, but from the fan club, it would appear to have something to do with clones and pencils. Black clothes and yellow hair also seem to play a role. Oh, they have press-on tattoos…I wonder if they have any that aren’t Orphan Black related.
Bonus Fun Fact: There’s never a fear of being the palest/least tanned person at a hipster park. At a hipster park, if you’re tanned, you stand out.
Some days, you never quite know where the day will take you. One minute you’re just going about your day. The next minute you’re watching a random guy faun over a c-list celebrity while he tries to enjoy a coffee with his wife. Seriously, I’m pretty sure this rando is truly hoping they’ll become best friends. I don’t think the celeb feels quite the same way. Oh, he did not just mention he wrote a screenplay…Run c-list celeb! Run!
Now, I will not drop the name of the celebrity I spotted. Mainly, to protect his (or her) identity, but also to keep the mystery alive. I always think the world could use more mystery, but I digress. However, I am going to share some helpful tips so you don’t end up stumbling upon an embarrassing situation for yourself.
So, you’ve spotted someone famous, now what?
1. Are you sure they’re famous?
C-list celebrities are tricky. Unlike A-list (and most B-list celebs), you don’t always know when one crosses your path. They almost look like normal civilians. They don’t have swarms of people following them as if they’re Brad Pitt. You end up staring at them for an uncomfortably long time trying to figure out why they look so familiar. It’s generally best if you can figure out who the individual is before you interrupt their peaceful afternoon, or frighten them.
2. No, he didn’t come to Starbucks to meet you.
I know, it’s shocking. I love when a stranger just plunks himself down next to a fairly well-known actor and starts talking to them like they’re friends. Just because someone’s on TV, and (virtually) spends a lot of time in your living room, that doesn’t mean you know them. Okay, maybe you know them, but they definitely don’t know you. Just let the man drink his coffee. I bet he wishes he didn’t sit down at the communal table. That’s always a gamble. Fortunately, for me, the gamble payed off with this interesting exchange. I’m not sure this actor feels the same way.
3. No, you are not the same person.
I love when certain individuals meet people with interesting jobs and they all of a sudden try to justify how they’re pretty much the same person. Ok, yeah…that’s why you’re not a fire fighter. “Oh, you’re an actor? I did theatre in high school.” Yeah, that’s the same. “I’m actually working on a screenplay…” (They always happen to be working on a screenplay). “You have a “daughter” who wants to be an actor? Great…”
Today is Canada Day. For you non-Canadian readers, every July 1st, Canada pauses to think about what truly makes us Canadian. We celebrate that fateful day where the Britain politely asked us if we wanted to be an independent country and we said sure. To commemorate this polite entrance into independence, most of us head up north, sit on a calm lake (or the dock in front of it), and think to ourselves, “It’s nice I didn’t have to go to work today.”
Unfourtunately, this year, Canada Day falls on a Wednesday. So unless you have some vacation time stored up, it’s back to work tomorrow. Needless to say, there’s not a whole lot to do with one day off in the middle of the week, especially when everything’s closed.
Right now, I’m sitting on my front porch watching the neighbour’s dog chase a fly. Some dogs are brighter than others…So maybe my dog’s not the sharpest tool in the shed (she may have tried to run through a sliding glass window), but she doesn’t chase flies! And there she goes. Master calls. Oh look, it’s starting to rain. I wonder how long it will crawl up those steps before I have to go inside. There it goes. Well, that didn’t take long.
Ok, so we’ve moved inside. Sorry, as I was saying, Canada is a pretty great place to live. Where else can you drop your wallet in the subway, have people help gather your things and not steal anything. Yeah, I checked.
Sure, Independence Day is flashy and full of heave ho (I assume), but sitting calmly and being politely grateful is kind of nice.
To check out a few more reasons why I love living in Canada, click here.
Not long ago, I took a highly revered internet test letting me know my true age. After a grilling list of questions, it revealed that I am 62. Seeing as I was only born 26 years ago, this should have offended me; however, since the description following my “real age” was pretty accurate, it was hard to argue.
I’ve recently noticed that I’m having a hard time keeping up with what the “kids” are into. Actually, it’s not so much that I can’t keep up as I don’t care. I’m not interested in the latest acronym or abbreviation. I don’t need to stay up until the wee hours of the morning in order to call the night a success. When the clock strikes midnight, I’m out. If you can’t manage to fit in a good time before that, you must not be very fun. I’m basically Cinderella, and you wouldn’t call Cinderella old, would you? Exactly.
I’m not quite ready to jump straight to matinee shows and early bird dinners…well, at least not every night. Even if I could skip working for the next 30-some odd years and retire now, I wouldn’t…probably. I want to enjoy living the rest of my days, working full-time and all. I just want to do it my way, the slightly older way. I’m young. I’m full of life and possibility, but I also want to go to bed at a reasonable hour and wake up in a familiar place. If that makes me old, then embroider me an afghan and call me Deloris.
The sad whipped boyfriend. We’ve all seen him. He’s often a few steps behind his girlfriend, carrying a gold, glittery purse stuffed to the brim with every in-case-of-emergency item imaginable. He always looks dissapointed, answering every order with a “Yes, dear.”
I recently had a thought looking at one of these sad, poor men. If the man’s going to be carrying his girlfriend’s purse around fairly frequently, shouldn’t they have more say in what it looks like?
Hear me out. Ladies, if you had a purse that looked less like an impractical designer explosion, and more of a rugged, leather satchel, your man probably wouldn’t give you as much grief about carrying it around. Maybe he wouldn’t be a few steps behind you, possibly rethinking his life decisions. Maybe you wouldn’t have to ask him to carry your bag anymore. Maybe he would own it and it would become his bag that you throw your crap into.
Some men carry great bags, and some men have girly bags thrust upon them. Think about it.
I’ve learned that, if you crowd enough people around and throw a few cameras into the mix, you can convince onlookers that they’re in the presence of a celebrity. The crowd will grow. People will stand around for great lengths, and for no apparent reason. I admit, I may have gotten caught up in a possible celebrity sighting once or twice. Although, after standing around for a few seconds, I quickly realized that no one was going to appear any time soon, and I kept moving. Why do we do it? They’re just people. Are we amazed that they jumped out of the TV and are now standing in front of us?
Personally, I’m glad my face isn’t world-famous. I enjoy blending into crowds and drinking my coffee in peace without being bombarded for autographs. Sure, if I was offered a celebrity-sized salary, I’d probably give it a try. You know, in the name of research.
I hate to lose. Unfortunately I’m winning-challenged and I lose quite often. It doesn’t really matter what I’m playing, The Game of Life, Chinese Checkers, or Fantasy Football. I lose so often that I’ve started to settle for “not last”. It’s become too far to reach for the top. If I can beat at least one person, I’ll probably agree to play the game again, maybe. If not, there’s a good chance I’ll throw the game board and all its pieces up in the air and storm out of the room. I may not be the best loser.
What’s the big deal about winning anyways? Is it really necessary to put someone down in order to feel better about ourselves? It’s just not enough for people to enjoy the inward satisfaction of winning. They have to constantly remind you that they beat you. Like they can’t fully enjoy winning unless you realize how you’ve failed in comparison to their greatness. Come on! It’s Fantasy Football! Can’t we shake hands and say ‘good game’ like regular football?!?!
Personally, I think there are worse things in the world than losing, like a building falling on you. That would be pretty hard to bounce back from. Yet, when someone beats you at a game of Risk, they might as well have conquered the real world. You didn’t actually conquer the world! It’s just pretend!! You wouldn’t last two seconds leading the charge in a real war!!! But I digress.
Losing builds character. Thousands (probably) of famous people were giant losers before they became the successful giants (not physically…well, maybe physically) that they now are. Maybe you should build some character and practice losing…so I can win.