A point of consensus.

I'm in London right now. Two blocks away, on Richmond Street, is a small establishment called Cafe One. Aside from serving pastry, sandwiches, and coffee, they also pride themselves on being known as one of the best "noodleries" in town.

I think we can all agree that the word "noodlery" must be struck, violently, from the English language. "Honey, we simply must try out the noodlery the De Chancellors were raving about! They said the alphabit bolognese was exquisite." No. I'm sorry - this is pure silliness. The word "noodlery" insults my intelligence, and must go. Sooner, rather than later.

The Saskatchewan Party doesn't watch TV.

Because if they did, they'd realize that it's ususally directors and producers who make films, not politicians.

CBC News: Sask. politicians want apology over Douglas miniseries

Actually, I think the provincial NDP should apologize. I imagine it'd go something like this:

"Um, the NDP would like to sincerely apologize to the Saskatchewan Party for the inaccuracies in the Tommy Douglas story. Even though we didn't make the film. Some CBC producers did. But we're still really, really sorry about it. In fact, one of our ministers swears he saw the screenwriter steal an old lady's bus seat once. We probably should've realized, at that point, what we were getting into. Or, well, not really getting into. Because we didn't actually have anything to do with it. We could have, though. We could've sent them a stern e-mail filled with frowny emoticons. But we didn't. And we're sorry."

Also: I had to google "Evil Roy Slade" to figure out just how evil this portrayal truly was. The answer - not very. However, I would have been quite disappointed if someone named "Evil Roy Slade" was not in possession of one of those evil, easily-twirlable moustaches. Thankfully, cheesy 1970s slapstick comedy has once again met my lofty expectations.

Angles.

This is what's going on at the Royal Ontario Museum right now. The construction site's getting so massive that the Ontario government is importing rhombuses and parallelograms from the European Union.

At night, when the iron latticework is silhouetted against the orange-black sky of Bloor Street, it's either a dystopic nightmare or the coolest comic book setting ever. Though I guess those are not necessarily mutually exclusive.

A new challenge.

Over the course of this week, I'm going to see how long it takes for me to navigate between a pair of unrelated topics on Wikipedia, using only their hyperlinks. I'm thinking of starting with the pair "mitochondria" and "Popeye," but I am open to suggestions.

Perhaps this will become a widespread internet fad, much like blogging or inserting Star Trek characters into sexy stories. Hah, I just said "inserting."

Stay tuned for the results.

Our marriage is a sham, don't you see? A sham!

So, where have I been lately? Playing a little game called Facade. I was also sick. Neither are particularly conducive to things like personal hygeine, so it's probably best most of you only experience me over the internet.

The premise behind Facade is that you're the longtime friend of Grace and Trip, two upwardly mobile young urbanites, and they've invited you over to their apartment for a few drinks. In the first scene of this "interactive drama," as the makers describe it, you're standing at the door to Grace and Trip's apartment, waiting to be let in. You can hear them arguing behind the door - a portentous beginning to what is essentially a cocktail party scripted by the writers of The War of the Roses.

So as the evening wears on and the background music swells ominously, Grace and Trip bicker, insinuate, and take passive-aggressivity to such stunning heights that I'm convinced if these people were to appear on the Dr. Phil show, his brain would spontaneously combust. Essentially, how you respond to their barbs and pointed questions will dictate how the evening will end.

You have to engage in a bit of suspension of belief while playing Facade - namely, the fact that anyone could actually be friends with the snivelly Trip and the icily repressed Grace for ten days, much less ten years. (Spoiler: it turns out you introduced them a decade earlier, in college. So this mess is all your fault, chief.) Then again, Facade is not exactly designed to be an enjoyable experience. It can be quite humbling to see all your tactics, from encouraging them to reveal their insecurities to chastising them for being self-absorbed twats, end in Grace storming huffily out of the apartment. Facade also gets you thinking about the level of emotional maturity and sincerity in your own relationships - which elevates it above Grand Theft Auto, I guess, unless you're a pimp. Honestly, I could someday see Facade being employed in marriage counselling sessions. Christopher Walken would be the counsellor, but I could still see it.

Anyways, after eventually realizing that the most appropriate response to this situation - shattering Trip's $95 martini glasses over the bar and shoving the jagged shards into their soulless hearts - is not possible, the game becomes somewhat tedious. There are only so many possible outcomes to the scenario, and while the game's ability to understand your questions is very impressive (there's none of this "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean!" bull patootie - if you say something odd, Grace and Trip will either stare at you like you've sprouted a third eyeball, or just blissfully keep on arguing) when compared to a real-life scenario it's understandably limited. But, if you want, you can continue delving into the vagaries of the human heart, becoming more and more wrapped up in the petty downward spiral that is Grace and Trip's marriage, ad infinitum.

Or, you can pretend you're a bloodthirsty pirate. Guess which I chose!

Law enforcement, Toronto style.

This is who we send to deal with shoplifters and other ne'er-do-wells in Toronto. He's made of recycled motor parts and bicycle chains.

If there were ever a moment when "OMG!!!!!!!!!" would be an appropriate and not cringeworthy response, this would be pretty close.