I learned two things today. One: biologists in Madagascar have discovered a moth that drinks the tears off sleeping birds (creepy). Two: I hate the the Ontario Science Centre.

I have a huge headache and maybe that's why I'm so grumpy, but it's the Ontario Science Centre's own fault for having so many insufferable demonstrations that send me on aural overload. Hey kids, be your own DJ; pump up the volume and dance, dance--wait, no, over here; make a tune by smacking a couple of metal spoons together or try whacking them on a steel washboard. Have you ever played with Indonesian clashing symbols? Now's your chance! ARRRGGGHHH!!!!

Mommy needs some quite time.

I chased this hot chariot racer until he pulled over long enough for me to click his pic. Part of the Movie Networks's promotion for the new upcoming season of HBO's ROME, this gladiator must sure be happy it isn't as drafty underneath his skirt at it should be this time of year.

Standing inside the uppermost tower of Casa Loma, my breath is taken away, not by the view, but by the multitude of graffiti markings on every brick, announcing Toronto was here. The sheer patina of names massed on top of each other is astounding, and for this reason the earliest marking I can find is dated 1984.

"Darn, I was hoping this was the tower that wasn't enclosed," Ethan complains before continuing, "Oh, by the way, did you know I'm afraid of heights?"

I look down the first of many flights of stairs. Now he tells me.

Casa Loma is not for the feint of feet. There is a lot of walking, and although there are service elevators to several floors, there is no magic way of getting down from the top. If only I had fairy dust, I grumble.

As I mentioned in CityPass Toronto Part One: The ROM, I had recently purchased CityPass booklets to spend some time at several attractions in the city on the cheap, namely: the ROM, Casa Loma, the Ontario Science Centre, the AGO, the Toronto Zoo and the CN Tower.

"FREEZE! Step out from the Art work, Ma'am"

I had wondered into Carlos Garaicoa's Ikea lamp inspired From the Series of New Architectures installation, currently at the ROM's Institute for Contemporary Culture until December 31, when I heard the voice of authority reprimanding me. I turned to face the scolding security guard who attempted to guide me out with explicit directions: "Lift up your right foot, SLOWLY! Place it gently on the floor".

I interrupted him with the slow deliberate voice of a hostage negotiator, "Everything Will Be All Right. I Am An Experienced Artist. I've Been Inside Art Before. I Know What To Do."

(The Security Guard didn't find it funny either).

Now that the semester is finished and I have all this free time on my hands, I decided to book in my Toronto vacation with the kids. While we are not on that tight of a budget, our entertainment leash is still somewhat restricted. So when I see a fair deal such as Toronto's CityPass, I jump on it.

After an awesome scotiabank Nuit Blanche, and a kick-ass year in the Toronto Art's community, today's announcement that the Untitled Art Awards (UAA) will be on hiatus for 2006 after three stellar years of operating will be received as a low blow kick to the stomach, an irony not overlooked by many of us.

For those of you not in the know, art is largely a labour of love. The UAA not only presented much needed and well received cash prizes, it also provided long overdue recognition to the "more than 180 of Toronto's leading artists, curators, art writers and supporters" awarded in the past events, with pats on the back all around for the Toronto Art's community.

The reason, as always: strapped for cash now that their presenting partner, the Centre for Contemporary Canadian Art (CCCA), can no longer sustain their contributions to the gala event.

While the UAA has quite a few wonderful contributing sponsors, they really are in need of a corporate sponsor to step up to the plate and fill in the shortfall.

So I would like to remind any would be corporate sponsors out there that Nuit Blanche proved Torontonians love their artists and cultural producers, now you can love us too. Why not get in on that? It's a win-win-win situation.

Image: Kent Monkman's Salon Indien

Kent Monkman's wigwam has that new carpet smell, and it's giving me a headache. I'm standing inside the heavy Victorian-parlour drapery of Salon Indien, watching "Group of Seven Inches" projected from the chandelier above onto the underside of a bear skin rug strewn on the floor below. As Miss Chief Eagle Testickle, Kent Monkman bears a striking resemblance to Cher in a Bill Blass dress (or lack thereof), and the Guy Maddin schtick goes on a smidgen too long. While hiting the nail repeatedly on the head, Salon Indien revels in campy fun undercutting the serious undertow of colonial language appropriated. If the flick isn't didactic enough, there's a three page legal sized handout to read besides. "This is my first booth, and I could go home right now and have plenty enough to write about", I stated to the MOCCA folks, not realizing how true this statement was.

There is a lot of competent, well-crafted art at the TIAF (Toronto International Art Fair), and not succumbing to sensory overload takes skill. However, this year's fair feels weaker than those previous, while "matchy-poo" art (as in "this painting matchy-poos my couch and that one matchy-poos my curtains") reigns supreme.