Get Back

I went to the Molson Indy — no; wait, it's called the Grand Prix of Toronto now — with Donny over the weekend, and today I spent an hour with my mother-in-law, sitting in Christie Pits park, explaining to her about the hockey cards, after I'd spent almost an hour on the phone with my insurance company explaining to them that while I still own South Beach condo #428, and most of my furniture is there, I am living in #462, and some of my belongings are there, but most of my belongings are in a storage place up on Richmond Street, and yes, I'm still moving to California but I don't have a date yet, and in the meantime could they please continue to insure my property against the unlikely event of a burst pipe, or, god forbid, a fire?

But it was when I found myself watching The Discovery Channel today, a show called "How It's Made," which showed, in slow motion, how bristles are pushed into brushes (fascinating, by the way), that I realized it was about time I got back to telling you, Gentle Reader, about my trip to San Jose, in which I secured an apartment for me and Pinky to live in, come August.

But first, let me tell you about the baskets...