The search begins

image courtesy of dilbert.com

With the exciting news (for me) of my upcoming graduation from public relations (pr) looming (in June), now comes the "fun" part: looking for a job. I knew this was coming as I've alluded to it many times on this blog. Now that it's here, in my face, ready to be dealt with, I'll admit to having a small case of nerves. So I sat down last week to check out my resume, and after going over it I thought to myself " Self, this doesn't look so bad." The inner voice, however, was also suggesting perhaps it would be wise to let someone else take a look, you know, just to make sure the resume really will be taken seriously. After all, when you've been out of the game for a while it never hurts to get a second or third, even a fourth opinion. Well the resulting review was this: the resume was shit. Shockingly, I didn't take offense because once I re-read it from his perspective and saw it for what it was, I agreed wholeheartedly - it really was shit. Where the heck was the pr professional in this resume? Good question, because he sure wasn't in this document. I'll tell you something else; ten years ago I would not have handled that criticism gracefully! Ah, look what time and maturity can do to a person eh?

So I've spent the past week re-writing, re-formatting and NOW I think it's good, but again it's time for a second opinion. Thankfully one of my instructors from school has kindly offered to take a look and now, just like in school, I'll wait patiently (sort of) for her remarks!

I'm very aware that the job situation has changed dramatically since I last looked for employment. Every time you watch the news, scan the net or read the papers about the current economic situation and jobless rate, you feel your stomach shrink for fear you'll be yet another unemployed statistic. Call me naive, or nutty (hey I've been called worse), but I believe there is a job for me, and I will find it! Hey, if I can travel the world on my own and come out of that experience somewhat unscathed, then I can find a job.

Patience and luck.

The search begins...

A hungry man reviews...a restaurant!

pictures courtesy of cookiesandtomatoes.com

Grab the smelling salts!! This is something I haven't done in a very long time on the blog. Yes the name of the blog is a hungry man travels and yes, I should be blabbing more about food, and that's my fault for losing track of the point of this blog. I'm now going to attempt to correct this oversight.

Now to be fair to myself, I have mentioned various restaurants where I've had the pleasure of sampling menus around this big wide world. I have been very lucky to check them out and have said this or that about the food I've had the pleasure of eating. This time was different. Not Japan different (note: Japan will ALWAYS be my measurement of outstanding food), but pretty close. Despite the many world culinary adventures, I just haven't felt compelled to write a review or reviews about my hometown (Toronto) restaurants - partly due to laziness and partly due to the fact that there are so many opinions in cyberspace, so why add to it? I made a mistake about that and now I'm making an exception to that extraordinarily stupid mindset. I mean c'mon, aren't you supposed to share good news when you receive it? Particularly if it's local (culinary) good news? So here it is: I love this restaurant. I am in love with The Black Hoof. I repeat, love The Black Hoof.

Although you can go wrong with in-house made charcuterie, the Black Hoof hasn't. It was said from the start of this restaurant that the charcuterie was amazing, and I think that claim can still be made almost five years later. Sausage, foie gras mousse, venison brasaola, prosciutto, pancetta, salami and chorizo, served with mouth watering bread - oh God a meat lovers wet dream and so damn good. And again, all made in-house except for the bread, provided by french bread maker extraordinaire (and slightly nutty) Chef Marc Thuet. My dinner companion and I shared a fabulous horsemeat tartare with either a sensational cinnamon cap or clamshell mushroom cream sauce (should have asked), so freaking good. A vegetable dish of Brussels sprouts with peanut sauce, followed by a spicy tripe dish and I'm still kicking myself for not having the foie gras. And for dessert? Oh the dessert..... polenta cake with lemon curd cream and rhubarb, is your mouth watering?? It should be because you HAVE to try. Please, please make room for it, you will not be disappointed. I honestly haven't blabbed about a Toronto restaurant in years until now, and believe me when I say that I've been very blessed to have eaten in some fantastic Toronto restaurants over the years ( why hello Auberge du Pommier, what a nice summer we had last year).

I'll admit to something. I'm truly sorry I didn't visit the Hoof when I first heard about it in my culinary school days of 2009. The reason why I avoided the place is so immature I won't even bother to mention it. Wait, Ill give you a clue. Do you remember that classic Seinfeld episode where Elaine did not want to see the film 'The English Patient', because everyone kept telling her she had too? Yeah that was me with this restaurant. See? I told you it was immature. Suffice to say I was the idiot who until recently, totally missed out on serious culinary deliciousness for what, close to five years now. 'Tis ok, my lovely friend Tracy T. showed me the way, back to the reason why I LOVE food, why I love eating out when the food is amazing and the service is exceptional, and why I highly recommend this restaurant to friends and anyone wanting a truly adventurous dining experience without the pretension that can sometimes be attached to that. Yes it was and is worth all the hype. Run, dont walk, for simple yet amazing food. The Black Hoof. Nothing else needs to be said (expcet hooray for charcuterie, horsemeat tartare and the most amazing dessert I have ever had, and if you've read this site, you know I crave desserts!!!!!!!!!)

Oh and just so you know, I don't work for this place. I do not do PR for the restaurant (although Id be happy to if asked). This review is completely and utterly removed from anything to do with the restaurant or its staff. Wow, that sounded official didn't it.

If you do have the chance to check it out, do it. I swear you won't be disappointed. Oh and another note, avoid the weekends unless of course you're a fan of standing in line (no reservation policy - fair warning!).

Mission accomplished!

When I see those two words 'mission accomplished', it always reminds me of that ridiculous battleship shot of President George W. Bush with the infamous words floating on a banner behind him. Can I just say as a sidebar, that I would have loved to have been part of the pr/communications team that came up with that? Or at least wished I was in the room where the strategic planning sessions and conversations took place. Do you remember the sign? I'd understand if you were trying to forget those years, but here's a reminder. I'd better digress. That situation was more than just a bunch of words on a banner, but I'm a political animal and it would be best to let it go or I'll be writing all night!

For this post I'm taking those two words back. I recently accomplished something that's been on my 'things I'd like to accomplish' or yup, I'm going to say it, my 'mission accomplished' list. I had a list. I still have it. Just a few more things I'm currently working on, but a good chunk of it has been, well, accomplished (sorry for overuse of the word 'accomplished'). Maybe one day I'll write the list in a post. Then again, maybe not. I'm sure everyone is sick to death of seeing posts about "my wish list" or "things to do before turning 20, 30, 40," and so on.

So after the last couple of rather dire posts, I'm actually reporting (finally) some great news, hence the mission accomplished (I can't stop saying it now!) headline. I've finished school!! I will graduate with my public relations certification from Ryerson University in June! Man, you have no idea how exciting it is to have this certificate. It's been something I've been wanting to finish for years. I started it in 2002, but stopped a year later because work, mortgages, life (just fill in an excuse in the blank space) got in the way. Once I had the chance to do it, and FINISH it, I jumped. No excuses. And now it's finished!!! Apologies for the endless exclaimation points. I'm just extremely, well you know..and again, the exclaimations says it all right?

At one point, some of my friends weren't quite sure what the hell I was really doing in school. There was some confusion as to what it meant to get a public relations certificate. In hindsite I can completely understand the confusion. I mean it's not as obvious as graduating from veterinarian school or becoming a lawyer. The best way I can answer is that when I was in school, I took courses where I received professional instructions on what public relations really means, and learned to understand and navigate the many different ways/tools we can use to communicate messages. Simple but true.

So now what? Hopefully a great pr gig in the big, wide culinary world, and if I can't find it, I'll have to create it! For the frst time in years there are no plans or limits. It's freeing, but it's also a bit(ok hugely) nerve-wracking too. We'll see what the next chapter brings..

Oh, and as for my previous musings (whinges) where I've said in posts, "oh, I'm not sure if I'll have the time to travel and blah, blah, freaking blah?" I'll make the time.

Dreams deferred: The truth about dying - Final

Five years later...

Five years later: I thank God that we live in the times we do. Although gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgendered people still face discrimination or worse on a daily basis, I am so glad that at least here in Canada we've become progressive enough where I was allowed to be right by Rob's side during his illness. Where I was viewed as his partner, his family, and not kept to the side because of our sexuality or that we didn't have the same 'blood'. I feel for anyone who couldn't be there for their partners in the past and even in the present because they were denied access due to archaic hospital or society rules, or just plain bigotry.

Five years later: Although Rob's family and I are estranged, I still think about them often, particularly on March 15th, and I hope that they are doing ok.

Five years later: Continuing a life without 'the one'. I used to hate it when people would say he or she's my "soul mate" or "the one", but I was single at the time and stupid. Then I met Rob and I finally understood when it meant. I remember being out with my friends at a bar during my single years and this girl, she was bit tipsy, said "Do you want to know why I want to meet someone? Because I don't want to be alone when I die." At the time I thought that was the stupidest thing I ever heard. I was very wrong about that, and if I ever see that girl again I'd hug her and tell her she was right.

Five years later: Finally getting over the loud quiet of being lonely without him. It didn't hit me in the days after he died. I was so numb. That feeling changed - fast. At first it didn't hit me quite as much when I was alone in the condo, mostly because I had become used to him not being there as he was in hospital. It would hit me when I left the condo to do things, like go shopping. I'd automatically pick up the favourite things he liked to eat and then have to go and put them back. Then I would hurry through the grocery so I wouldn't have a breakdown in aisle 6 (little joke there). It would hit me on my way to work as I'd have to pass by the hospital (the office where I worked at the time was only about two blocks away from the hospital). It would hit me when the condo was so quiet and I'd think I hear the phone ring, thinking it would be Rob calling from the hospital, or work, or just to say Hi, only to realize it was in my head. Or I'd look out the window, thinking he was on his way home from work. Now those feelings are gone, but I'm still single and I often wonder if I'll meet someone again, to re-live the joys (and pains) of being a couple again.

Five years later: I recall my amazing world trip and what I was ignoring at the time. My health. It was the time of my life but what I wasn't sharing on the blog about my travels was my health, particularly my physical health. I had to cancel a lot of things that were planned because I wasn't physically up for it. I had terrible body aches and pains, some days I could barely walk! I was downing advils like crazy just to get through the day, then slump into bed at night. My guide in New Zealand, the wonderful Sheriff Alex said I looked like death when I got off the plane in my black clothes, all slumped over (he was very blunt but I loved him for that!). When I finally returned to Canada, my Doctor was extremely worried. My body was so run-down. Everything hurt, it hurt just to lift my hand in the air, and I had a lost a great deal of weight before and during the trip. Was it residual feelings due to Robbie's death? Yes, but I didn't know it then. I know it now.

Five years later: I'm in better health mentally and physically, but I'm still trying to find my place. I look back at things that have happened from time to time, but mostly what my mind seems to be doing is peforming a slight form of amnesia. Is that a good thing? In some ways yes, but in some worrying ways no. I'm definitely forgetting some really unpleasant things that have happened which is fine, but I also find I'm forgetting the good things too. I ve said it before how grateful I'am to have this blog, and it's for reasons like the aforementioned amnesia that really brings that point home!

Five years later: I've finally written something I've been wanting to write for a very long time. Fear held me back from doing it, and I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure I had my reasons. It doesn't matter now. All I know is that it just feels so good to get it out of my system, and talk about what happened in a truthful way. To acknowledge the (many) mistakes I made before, during, and after his death.

Five years later: Continuing to realize and know just how lucky and blessed I was to have had those years with Robbie. I wouldn't take anything back before, during and/or afterwards. It was all an important learning experience and I'm still learning - that's the way it should be, and I know that's what he would have liked to see me doing. No looking back now, keep moving forward.

Five years later: He taught me to appreciate the people who have come and gone in my life, the good and the bad. To love them for who they are and want nothing but the best for them and myself.

Five years later: Life is short, don't waste it.

Me, five years later:

Dreams deferred: The truth about dying: Part 2

It was Friday, March 15th, around noon, and by this time everyone had arrived at the hospital. His family: cousins, aunts, uncles, they were all there. My family came from Barrie. So while everyone was at the hospital, where was Steve? At the lawyers office. Why? Well there was an issue with Rob's will that had to be resolved. Rob and I kept putting it off and putting it off, we knew it had to be done but it just got buried under all the other things that were happening at the time. It needed to be sorted while he was alive and if it wasn't taken care of I knew there'd be trouble. Turns out that the time I wasted sorting that out with the lawyer instead of being with Rob was for nothing. It still led to trouble. Can you believe it? Probably not. There are so many horrible stories about families and wills out there that sometimes it's really more of a tragedy than the death itself. It really sucked that I had to deal with his will at a time like that. It was Rob's and my fault for not taking care of things properly before things got so out of hand. We were really stupid about that, but it was just not a priority and I paid for that ignorance after he died. Now I tell everyone to get a proper will - do it!! No excuses. It will save you so much unnecessary trouble and trauma.

As the day became night, Rob was deteriorating pretty quickly. I had sorted out the will issue and was back at the hospital with him. He was breathing with the help of a respirator. He was still very aware, but barely able to talk or do anything else. There were so many scares that afternoon. There was a time when his breathing almost stopped, and he was shaking and having seizures (I understand now that was his body beginning to shut down). Oh my God, he looked so shocked and scared when these things began to happen. I would have killed for him at that moment if he asked me to, if it would help him. Anything to help him. As the shocks and shakes began to subside, he was sleeping more and more. The last time he was awake, I told him I loved him, and with a swollen tongue he whispered I love you too, and that was the last time we spoke to each other.

Around 10:30pm, his brothers told me they wanted to stay the night with him, and for me to go home. Although at first I REALLY protested that idea, eventually I welcomed it. I didn't want to leave him, but I couldn't stay there watching him die anymore, I just couldn't do it. The self -protection bubble was deflating. Fast. So before I left, I whispered in his ear how much I loved him and that I will see him soon. Even though he was comatose at this point, I knew he heard me because he turned his head towards my mouth, the sound of my voice whispering in is ear, just slightly, but he heard me. I know he did. When I got home, I said good bye to my Mum and sister, I cried, smoked a joint, drank half a bottle of vodka, and passed out. This was becoming a rather scary routine over the previous five months while he was sick and in hospital. That, along with crying in the bathroom at work, and at home, but rarely in front of him. It was important to be strong for him. At the time and even now I called that coping. No excuses and no judgements.

It was around five or six in the morning on Saturday that I received a phone call. It was from one of his brothers, could have been Dave, or Steve, I can't remember, I think it was Dave. Anyway, he said, "Steve, Robbie has died, please come to the hospital". I was calm - very, very calm, and said "I'll be right there". I felt nothing when Dave told me. Nothing. Again, I was very calm, very collected. I got up, had a shower, got changed, called for a taxi and left for the hospital.

I don't remember anything about the drive there. I remember walking through the atrium in the hospital to the elevators, and it was so quiet. Usually when I would go to see him, it would be much later in the morning or right after work, so it was busy. That Saturday morning was so quiet. Or maybe I thought it was. I don't even remember if I paid the taxi driver! I took the elevator to the palliative floor, and as I rethink this, I can actually see myself kinda floating along to his room. His brothers were there waiting, I think I said hello and hugged them. I said hello to the palliative nurse on duty. I walked into his room and looked at the bed and there he was. I can't remember if his eyes were opened or closed. I asked his brothers what happened and I think Steve told me but I can't remember. I think I had asked why didn't anyone call me when it started to happen, whatever 'it' was that happened when people are about to die. I know I asked if he called out for me. I can't remember Steve's answer. I walked over to Rob, touched his face and kissed him - he was still warm. Then I left the room (I have to add that there were seriously unpleasant issues happening between myself and Rob's family during his illness which got worse as time went on, so any, and I mean ANY excuse I could find to get the f*ck away from them, I took).

I went to the floor where Robbie was first admitted to see the staff. We were so blessed to have had such an amazing staff at Princess Margaret Hospital. They took very good care of him, and kept me informed of everything that was happening. I will never forget that one of the nurses even came to his wake! On the day the priest came to his room to perform last rites, I swear half of the staff from that floor, including the cleaning staff, came to pay their respects to Rob. We are talking about a VERY special man here.

I told the staff he had died, and thanked them for everything they had done for him because they were, as I repeat, the best f*cking medical staff ever. Then I went back to the palliative wing. I sat in a chair, called my Mum, called my sister, called my boss and called a few friends to let them know what had happened. I made my way back to his room and that was when his Mother came. I don't remember if we hugged. I think we did. I do remember she was crying. She was saying things to Rob, I think it was prayers. I left the room again at that point because I just needed to breath. The rest of his family had arrived at that point. They called me back to his room and there we all were, in a circle surrounding his bed, discussing funeral arrangements while he lay there in the bed. Dead. I know right? If you're thinking that must have been extremely unpleasant, believe me it was and worse. Throw in serious tensions, sadness and anger and, well, I don't think I have to explain any further. What a conversation to have, especially at that time in that room. I could barely process his death and now we have to talk about funeral arrangements while he's just lying there?

Anyway, his family ended up taking over all of the plans for the funeral, and I agreed to everything. I left the room once the 'meeting' was over, and one of the nurses asked me to sign some paperwork to release him, and I did. Then she said we could spend a bit more time with him before they took him away. Did I touch him again? I think I did. I know I told him I loved him again. Then I left. His Mother was the last person in the room. I remember leaving all of his belongings behind in the room and never went back to collect them. I forgot. I think his family took care of that. It was a quiet walk out of the hospital, and I recall it being so sunny outside. Everything else that happened that day is a blur.

The final part is next.

Dreams deferred: The truth about dying: Part 1

Please be forewarned. I am not dying, but this is a three part posting(s) about death and dying. It could be a long and possibly difficult read to get through. It is one of the hardest posts I've written for this blog. It's uncomfortable and messy but that's ok, the topic is uncomfortable and messy. This is a post written from my eyes, and please understand that it is my story. Anyone who has ever been through this has had different experiences, and I respect that more than anything. I welcome any and all comments, be it positive or negative. Even if this makes sense to just one person, then I've done my job.

It's been five years and three days since the passing of my late partner Rob who died on March 15th, 2008, at 36 years old. I've never shown a picture of him, until now. This is Robert John Robinson, the last set of pictures taken of him in good health about a month before he was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukaemia (AML) - the disease that killed him in five months.



Two years ago, I wrote this about the way I was feeling about his death. Five years later, after that world trip and all the events that have occurred, I still keenly understand that life means experiencing changes, but questions remain. Am I the same guy who wrote that post about new ways but love stays? For a long time I've wanted to lay the cards on the table and talk in a truthful, honest way about death and losing someone you love. Someone you dreamed your whole life of meeting, and when you did, you both knew you'd spend the rest of your lives together. How it truly feels to have that taken away in such a brutal fashion, and the aftermath of what it can do to your heart, mind and body. What happens when dreams and reality come crashing together, like the worst car accident you've ever experienced.

Let me brutally honest from the start: death sucks. It f*cking sucks. It's the worst thing ever, ever, EVER!!!!! Sorry I had to scream that last bit, but holy sh*tsnacks it needs to be screamed out loud. No more silence. Even after five years I still shake my head in shock. Five years, but every once in a while it feels like the day he died.

I've never really talked about this, about what happened before and after his death. The reason it's so hard to talk about is because you're afraid you'll diminish the significance, or miss something out of the story. Plus, the fact of the matter is that events leading up to, during and after the day he died were so...nutty. I'll explain as best as I can. I am making this point VERY clear: this is my story and this is what I saw. His family may have differing accounts but that's their story. In my eyes this is what occured.

Looking back, although I was aware of the situation, I was in this weird bubble. I wasn't quite understanding the significance of what was happening. How could I? I had never been around something like this before in my life. His family, having lost their husband/father/brother/cousin to the same disease as Rob, even some of my own family members may have had a much better understanding of what was happening, but I didn't. I remember one day in particular, about a month before his death, Rob's doctor took me on a tour of the palliative wing and rooms at the hospital. I remember thinking "Wow, it is so much nicer than where he is now, he'll like it so much better up here." Of course now I know why the Doctor did that, to prepare both of us for what was coming - but at the time , not a clue.

The last month that Rob was alive, it just felt that things were moving so fast in the wrong direction. His deterioration was accelerating and I was just not getting it, but on the same token I was completely understanding what was going on. Did that make sense to you? No? Welcome to my head at the time. At work I would go online and read about the warning signs of death, signs that he was beginning to display. Clues like forgetting dates, talking out loud in his sleep, sleeping almost all the time, a rapid loss of appetite. Again, I was so aware but also in complete and deliberate denial - I just preferred being clueless. Between hospital visits and home care, it was mentally taking a toll on both of us but I still kept the game face on. The day I knew I had to stop pretending to be clueless and really face the situation, was on the day I was helping him take his medication. He was at home at this point and I had to learn how to operate the machine that would administer his drugs and saline solution so he wouldn't dehydrate. I was hooking him up to the machine and getting things ready, and then I just stopped what I was doing and looked at him, lying on the bed. He looked up at me, and I could see it, and I still see it clearly to this day. His big, brown eyes, looking at me, through me, in me. A look that said I'm ready for this to stop Steve. He didn't say it out loud, he didn't have to - I knew. I touched his face and I said "I know sweetie", and now even the thought of that look he gave me breaks my heart again, but I WILL finish this post.

Something that isn't mentioned when or if a topic like this comes up, is loneliness. I'm not talking about after someone dies, I'm talking about the time before that even happens. When a loved one is sick and in hospital, loneliness has a way of creeping into your lives. You don't notice at the beginning when you are dealing with the situation at hand, but over time, it makes its presence known. Whether it's a partner, husband or wife, where you once shared a life and a bed, all of a sudden 'boom', you're separated by force from each other. It is a huge adjustment, with false security. Why? Mostly because you aren't thinking about death, you're thinking ok, this is temporary, he or she will be back at home soon enough so stay strong, handle the loneliness and you'll be together again. Ah, the things you tell yourself. I'll never forget this moment. He was not doing well (no surprise, ask anyone who has gone through it and they will say that chemotherapy is f*cking awful), he so was sick from the endless drugs, and just mentally and physically down in general, so I asked if I could get in bed with him. He said yes and I crawled into his hospital bed. Now keep in mind those beds can barely fit one 6'1 guy, could you imagine two? But we made it work and God, it felt so good to just hold him again, even for a little while. It pushed the loneliness into the corner - for a little while.

Hospital life is cruel. Staff do the best they can but it's cruel. For patients, it can be beyond difficult to adjust to hospital life. Trying to rest with blinking lights and noise from the machines keeping you awake. Endless interruptions for blood work and various tests. Terrible food (I would cook at home and bring it to the hospital, and his brothers provided a mini-fridge where we could keep the food right beside his bed). Hospital life drains you. It changes you. It doesn't bring out the life and spirit in you, how could it? He couldn't wait to leave and go home and I didn't blame him at all for those feelings. When discussion came up for bone marrow treatment and he was told it would take him an additional two to three months in the hospital in isolation, maybe more, he did not take the news well at all.

I'll tell you another thing. When he was diagnosed with AML, I knew I was going to lose him. Oh I had hope, please don't get me wrong, but I knew that either sooner, or later, this was going to kill him and I was going to lose him. Mentally battling between denial and acceptance was consistent and constant. That denial I mentioned earlier was a protective mechanism that I used a LOT to handle what was happening.

It was March 14th, and I was getting ready to go to work. Rob's sister was coming to stay with him during the day. As I was kissing him good bye he asked if I could stay with him, and I told him I couldn't I had to get to work but Id be home as soon as I could. After work I met up with my friend Brian and received a phone call from his sister telling me Rob had to be admitted to the hospital. You know that saying: if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I can't take that day back, no matter how hard I try. He was so past being sick and I could not bear/handle seeing him in that state. Can you believe we even had a fight in the hospital? Typical of us, and yet typical of us we laughed about it and made up quickly. We laughed at how small his hospital bed was and how awkward it was having to use a bedpan. I'm still amazed we found some humour in what was happening. At one point his Mother came bursting into the room, screaming at him: "Robbie, are you ready for God?" And Rob was so typically Robbie with his answer: "Mom, will you keep your voice down?" We all had a good laugh at that. That was the last time we laughed.

Coming up Part 2.

Almost here.....

Oh my God I'm so excited!!!! Check out the amazing poster AND pics for the upcoming season six of Mad Men. The poster was created by 1960s ad design genius Brian Sanders - some of his work is featured here , check it out.

Can you believe it's only two more weeks until the premiere? Two weeks!!! I know I'll be counting the days until April 7th (Really Steve? Do you mean all the exclamation points in the post hasn't already indicated your excitement??)! Ok, just to be clear, remember what I said here about my love for Mad Men? Good. Then this posts' over excitement and enthusiasm should not come as a shock!

And now the glam pics of season six (courtesy of AMC)