new column: what is cool? hint: it's not the edison bar

I shy away from using my column as a grinding stone for axes...pettiness isn't an attractive trait in a columnist, or anyone else for that matter. But every so often, something galls my gizzard enough to make me want to write about it. The trick is tying it into a bigger picture. In this case, a ridiculous incident at the Edison ties into the bigger picture of sexist double-standards in fashion:

The first time I was mortally offended while going out, I was 10 (give or take). It was an upscale restaurant in Old Montreal, an establishment called Chez Queue that is amazingly still there, and I had ordered a dessert of strawberries and vanilla ice cream. Only, I didn’t like vanilla at the time. So I asked for chocolate ice cream instead. The waiter pulled a face, a disgusted face, as if I had ordered the strawberries with relish and hot sauce or something equally weird. I was outraged. My parents were far from impressed, and we never went back. Oh, I look back and laugh now. But the incident, and the sheer absurd insult of it all, is the defining memory I have of that place. And that is pretty much how I feel about a recent experience at the Edison bar. Read the rest of What is Cool? Hint: It's not the Edison Bar.

As a postscript, it's worth mentioning that while wandering away from the Edison in search of drinks at a friendly venue, a fellow walking past me spontaneously complimented me on my sandals. Vindication!