JB's Warehouse & Curio Emporium

Day two began with a quick bite in the hotel lounge. It was your standard bare-bones continental: juice, cereal, fruit and Otis Spunkmeyer bagels (the latter displayed little spunk, but an application of apple jelly and Philly helped). I took the Thruway to Utica, then hopped onto New York Route 5 to drive along the north side of the Mohawk River . It was a peaceful drive, with few agitated or pokey drivers between Utica and Schenectady. A relaxing winding highway, towns with baby food factories, places my brother-in-law warned me not to linger in, etc. The weather was a damper, with intermittent showers preventing me from shooting photos. I stopped for lunch at the Farmer Boy diner in Colonie. First up was a soothing squash soup with bonus red peppers and bacon. My main was one of the better-marinated half-chickens I've had, bathed in lemon and oregano and flattened, served atop chicken-flavoured rice pilaf. It was roadtrip comfort food gold. After a few hours on the M

Today, Zato believes in the powerful political philosophy known as Groucho Marxism. Adherents are known to have painted-on facial hair, a knack for humourous quips and a penchant for singing Lydia The Tattooed Lady . Clip from At The Circus (1939) This stencil appears to be in several spots on the streets of Montreal . Photo taken on St. Laurent, Montreal, May 22, 2008 

Rough translation: "The garbage can, the garbage man and the citizen: it's a menage-a-trois" (or "threesome" if you prefer). Having grown used to Toronto's divided-by-garbage-type recepticles, it takes a moment to reacquaint myself with single-serving cans in other cities. (Speaking of our city's garbage, here's Spacing's take on the recently-unveiled street furniture models ) St. Catherine Street, Montreal, May 21, 2008

The May long weekend has traditionally my time to hit the road on a long solo roadtrip to an eastern destination. This year it was Boston's turn for a visit, folded into my annual jaunt to Montreal. I had been up late/woken up early to finish off an article, so I got off to a later start than intended. My first decision was choosing a border crossing. Queenston-Lewiston was out of the question, since it always has backups and its border guards tend to be the crankiest. I headed to my usual crossing, the Rainbow Bridge, only to find it had a bit of a backup. I was resigned to a wait no matter what until a timely intervention from the 680 News traffic report, which indicated no problems at the Peace Bridge. I rarely make the trip to Fort Erie, since my western Empire State misadventures tend to start in Niagara Falls. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I left the line and drove down to the Peace Bridge. The crossing couldn't have been smoother. There was a mild backup but plent

With Toronto in the swing of Bike Month, it seemed appropriate to focus on two-wheeled transport in my Vintage Toronto Ads column on Torontoist . This week, a bike modestly promoted by its manufacturer . You can also catch my most recent Historicist column, covering the sole fatality of the Great Toronto Fire of 1904 . *** Last week, I headed down to the Bloor to catch a fundraiser for the Toronto Cyclists Union , a Rocky Horror-style presentation of Pee-Wee's Big Adventure . A valet lot for bicycles was set up in front of the theatre (alas, I took the subway down - I intended to finally get my bike on the road this weekend, but the weather gods had other ideas). I was surprised to find out how many people I knew in the audience who, like me, had never seen the movie. Can't say I was a big Pee Wee fan at the height of his popularity, nor were most of my peers - it was that age where you (temporarily, as it turned out) reject things that seem childish in nature, even

The model in this ad is - the heaviness of the makeup under her nose makes you wonder what else she may be hiding. Her expression under the clown's smile fits with the ad's message that print ads aren't necessarily fun to produce. Marketing in magazines might not be glitzy, but print ensures longevity for a striking image or campaign even if the passage of time wipes out the advertiser. We apologize to those readers with coulrophobia . Source: Saturday Night , September 1970