So I think this is the LG Fashion Week.

I gotta be honest with you, I don’t follow it too closely. I mean, I may not be that stereotypical sport-watching (unless you count Formula 1), beer-drinking (not averse though), guy who communicates through bodily noises (though I’m guilty of relaxing, certainly), but fashion is lost on me entirely. I firmly believe that heterosexual male genes do not allow one to comprehend fashion. The mind simply does not connect with it. Sure, it looks good on the girl, but in what way is it practical?

Will it keep my hands warm in the winter? Is it coloured neon orange so that in the event of an emergency I can wave it aloft to signal airborne emergency crews? Is it worth the money? Because I don’t need any tassels or doohickeys, and sure as hell no fluffy balls; I just want my money’s worth (and an extra pair of shoelaces). Since fashion is simply a word, a subjective concept like God or banana bread, it doesn’t affect the decision-making process.

And then there’s this:

I don’t know how the women put up with this. When I sit down for a haircut, I’m expecting to be out in fifteen minutes. Chatter to a minimum – cutting of the hair is priority. These girls probably sit in those chairs for hours having crap smeared on their faces and chemicals tossed on their hair. I’d have a powder brush to someone’s throat in about thirty seconds.

I doubt there will be a repeat of last year’s humorously inebriated speech by Robin Kay, the president of the Fashion Design Council of Canada (and major Fashion Week organizer).  “[That] kind of bad behaviour is the equivalent of wearing a bad accessory”, said one of the event’s vice-presidents afterwards.

I really only have a gestural response to this one: *palm up, shrug, and “I have no idea” smirk*

I might also add: *gentle side-to-side head shake*; for emphasis.

The same could be said of the following item:

You may have noticed that this doesn’t look much like Fashion Week anymore, but it is somewhat related. They’re trying to get me to call this “yarnbombing” after the graffiti word “bomb” (to paint), but I refuse to do it. It’s a bunch of knitted yarn tied a utility pole in a park for the purpose of beautifying it. I read about it in a Star article today which tried to equate the activity of affixing a knitted square to a fence, to spray-painting a wall in a dank, dark alley.

Don’t get me wrong, putting cozies on everything isn’t such a bad thing. But as many people (mostly ladies) who put their knitting and stitching up last year discovered, a little rain or snow will quickly give their good intentions the middle finger.

Just not practical.

That’s it, it’s officially the last day of summer.

The sun’s hanging lower in the sky, the CNE is shuttering up for another year, and the kids are going back to school tomorrow. That’s the end of the summer, no matter what the calendar says.

As part of that last effort to get kids to forget their miseries, the Ex has the annual closing-weekend air show.

The announcers always go into excruciating technical detail like maybe we’re looking to pick up a couple of the aircraft after the show. Fires a hundred rounds a second, you say? I may be interested, keep talking.

Then, while waiting for the planes to fly into the show, the announcers go into all the crazy certifications and programs you’d have to go through before you’re even allowed to approach one of these things. For who’s benefit is that? The three-year-old standing next to me who should realistically start thinking about university now if he wants to be a pilot?

Then, the Top Gun music kicks in:

The show’s not entirely ironic. There were plenty of jet fighters on hand going down the real danger zone highway:

This happened to be the air show’s 60th anniversary, so the Blue Angels flew up from the US and with a salute:

This is the second time I’ve attended the show and I’ve really enjoyed it both times. The planes fly close enough to knock toupees off and the little prop ones do some really crazy stuff. Like climbing up into the sky, then cutting the engine, starting a crazy wobbly spin around every possible axis of rotation while plummeting back toward the water, and mere moments before impact, straightening out, re-starting the engine, and pulling up. Just insane.

I didn’t get to chill with the horses in the horse pavilion this year. That’s a regret. But the holiday weekend tradition I like to call “the flu” probably needed a bit of sunshine, so it was good to get out. And, all in all, it’s been a pretty happening summer. Maybe too happening; next year I’d like to see some of those things I missed this time around. I figure it’ll probably take four to five years to properly see most of the concurrent festivals, parades, and events that happen around the city every year. And with all the random news, changes, and just interesting stuff around … good frickin’ luck with that timeline!

I’m going to have to learn to pace myself.