Don't Sin Near Me. Anywhere Else is Fine.

On the second day of our trip to Toronto, which I am going to hereby dub the TOdyssey, the first thing I remember is the wake up call. No, I did not schedule a wake up call. No, I did not WANT a wake up call. No, it was not the hotel which was making the wake up call. It was D, having woken up about three hours earlier than expected and run out of things to do while tottering around the hotel room in her gitch, poking me with cold little hands until consciousness reared its ugly head.
I don't actual mind these ministrations. It's become something of an established routine that if D actually has the opportunity to sleep in, she takes advantage of that opportunity and doesn't. I, on the other hand, when given the opportunity to sleep in, nay even the suggestion that sleeping in may be a possibility, leap into it with true passion. We end up connecting somewhere in between sleeping in and getting up early, and the result is D getting several hours of suggestible, gullible tired Jeremy who she then hauls around like a walking purse to whatever morning activities her imagination can conjure.
On this particular morning I actually got a coffee with my wake up call. It was terrible coffee, as coffee goes, but it was the ichor of the black god and hence it left me feeling mildly refreshed. I don't actually feel awake until my third cup but D was not that patient. I was commanded to shower and dress and that we were going to go to Nathan Phillips square again. I assumed that D was feeling better.
I won't go into details about my shower. Suffice it to say I ended up clean.
We left the hotel room, D with a giddy bounce to her step and I with the promise of coffee to come dancing in my head. Yes, I wanted more coffee. See my point about needing three cups at least. At this point I'd had one.
We exited the hotel and the very first shop (I briefly thanked the Black God for this courtesy) up the street from the hotel was a Starbucks.
I had never had Starbucks before. I had avoided it in the same way that someone who drinks Colt 45 avoids even the scent of a Guiness, believing it to be some fouled decoction from the abyssal planes. There was something about the way people talked about Starbucks that had always set it up in my mind as a place a Tim Hortons' regular (heck, a Tim Hortons' thrall) should avoid. It turned out I was correct in my assumptions.
Ordering coffee at Starbucks made me feel like I was filthy, unworthy of the sophistication offered by the establishment. I looked at the menu and it looked as though a dozen italians had thrown up all their adjectives onto an advertisement for homosexual pornography featuring a 50's diner in france. "Grande Bold Cafe Latte Crapuccino." is one example. "Tall No Foam Espresso Malt-shake" is another. Perhaps I exaggerate. Okay, I do exagerrate, but a first time customer should not walk up to the counter and before opening his mouth feel like a complete and total idiot before even laying down his money. It's like being a virgin all over again.
I left Starbucks feeling spiritually belittled, and it seemed the perfect cue to be introduced to a raving madman. The best word for how he walked is loped. He was a loper. Huge strides that carried him rapidly down the street, spreading his word of... something far and wide. At first I thought him inarticulate but it became quite apparent that the gospel he preached involved quite a number of statements about how jesus flows over us and coats us and all sorts of other imagery that seemed quite inappropriate to attach to a divine symbol. His most interesting statement, D and I found, was "Take your sin away from here. Don't sin near me." As though he feels it perfectly acceptable to sin, just not in his vicinity. Now, D and I were walking along holding hands at this point so maybe he thought we were somehow copulating in public (I have no idea what a raving madman's grasp on reality actually is. He might have thought this.) Anyway, we didn't feel like aggravating him further so we took our sin into the mall, the perfect place for it.
The mall was amusing for me. There's a games workshop store there, tucked down in the bottom under the stairs, with bad lighting outside, making it look like a forgotten tobaccanist's shop or an ancient billiards parlour. The one thing I love about games workshop stores is that I can walk in with my girlfriend and start chatting up the employees and immediately realize that while I may be a nerd, these people have PERFECTED that state. They're like monks who have spent thousands of hours fasting in basements, memorizing tables and rules and army lists until they are incapable of discussing any other subject, and so become games workshop employees. I always feel better about myself after that.
Over an hour was spent in the mall, window shopping, browsing for outfits for D, although she actually showed little interest in buying anything, or even looking, but we were trying to waste time while waiting for events to start at Nathan Phillips Square. On several occasions she rued the fact -rued it I say- that she'd woken me up so early.
Eventually we decided to head back towards the hotel to pick up our skates and do some skating before Nathan Phillips Square opened. On our way saw the raving madman again, who appeared to be growing short of breath, but was still marching strong, this time on the opposite side of the street. I realized that his circuit must take him up and down Yonge street, allowing him the opportunity to harass thousands of people a day. Quite the ambitious madman.
We got to the hotel without incident, grabbed the skates (yes, we hauled them with us to Toronto) and went back to city hall.
It should be mentioned that I enjoy skating. I got D her skates for Christmas and mine as well, and we've put them to good use. I'm not very good at skating but then again, I'm not exactly that adept at walking either. There is one thing that I excel at, however, and that's spatial perception. It is easy for me to notice that I am close to another person and avoid impact with said person by the expedient of moving out of the way. This is a talent that 98% of children somehow lack, or neglect. D and I were consistently the targets of ballistic infants whose only goal, as far as I could determine, was to hamstring the adults on the skating rink and claim it as their own territory Lord of the Flies style. I even saw one of them playing with a conch. It became eventually perilous to stand still on the rink, let alone maneuver around the injured skaters littering the ice, so we decided to check out a cooking demonstration.
We were pretty cold when we went inside city hall, so we were ready to be entertained by anything that happened to be going on when we got there. D and I had a quick argument which I quickly won, about what event was about to start (this is the first argument I've actually won by dint of being correct, so it was a memorable accomplishment) and we sat down to watch some opera singers.
There were three women called the Duelling Divas, whose individual names I've forgotten, because what I primarily noticed about them was three things:
1: They were attractive
2: They sang very well
3: I knew none of the songs they were singing, but D knew them all
So I sat there and enjoyed three hot women singing while D spent her time actually listening to the music. It worked out for both of us.
The presentation that occurred next was for lack of a better word dull. The description in the pamphlet intrigued me, but it ended up being a very pleasant jamaican woman rhyming off her spice shopping list for half an hour. She was herself a charming lady, but unfortunately if I wanted to listen to someone talking about their shopping... well, I can't honestly say that's an entertainment I would choose.
Following that was an East Indian woman performing a traditional dance that I found quite intriguing not because of my fondness for East Indian women (she was too old for me) but because while I could not necessarily interpret it, the dance seemed to be telling a story about the woman's day, her activities, may in fact have been a microcosmic representation of a woman's entire life. I would love to have a better understanding of that type of traditional dance to better enjoy such a presentation but in my own limited capacity I found it quite fascinating.
From there we were off to lunch. A quick stop back at the hotel to drop off the skates (Raving madman was now crouched in a doorway, muttering to himself, apparently having run out of religious go-juice). We had lunch at a restaurant D had visited years before called Fred's Not Here. I, as usual, was worried we'd be late, but we ended up arriving early and had to sit at the bar in the basement (which was actually a sub restaurant called the Red Tomato). D mocked me for ordering a ceasar. I like ceasars, and I don't have to defend that fact.
Lunch was for me amazing. D was not so enthused. She had her tastebuds back so she was able to tell that the gnocci dish she had this time was dreadful compared with what she'd had at Romagna Mia the other day. It was venison over spinach gnocci and she found the gnocci starchy and lacking in flavour. She enjoyed the other aspects of the meal, her appetizer and her dessert. For dessert we had bread pudding... which was not the best bread pudding I've ever had.
My appetizer was escargot "purses" which were actually little pastry puffs with the escargot inside. They were delicious. For main course I had their "Holy Basil Stir Fry Chicken" which was.... well, holy. I devoured it the flavour was so robust and delightful. There was not a scrap of food left on any of my plates. D had leftover main course AND dessert, but claimed this is because she was getting over a cold.
I'm not sure what we did with our afternoon. Memory fails me. I do know that we found something to do to entertain ourselves until dinner, which was at the Drake Hotel.
The Drake Hotel was where we were going to drop the most cash out of any of the restaurants we visited on the weekend, so we got there anticipating a fine, classy establishment full of people in suits, sort of like somewhere Niles and Frasier would frequent. What we got was... something else.
I can best describe the Drake Hotel as a combination of Jane Bond, Del Dente's and The Starlight. The entrance to the hotel was a standard lobby, with a couple of funky chairs and statues and a hostess dressed in one of the most atrocious outfits I have ever seen, at least when visiting an establishment which charges $35 per person on a Price Fixe menu, let alone on a regular basis. She had a jean miniskirt. There was a run in her stocking. She looked like Uma Thurman after a bad drug trip and a hurricane of clothing set free by Courney Love. It was bad.
But what was worse came next. She was dealing with a couple who had never made a reservation. We were standing in line behind this couple. The hostess' co hostess came in.... and proceeded to ignore our existence. We waited there while the co hostess greeted a couple that came in after us, sat them, returned, greeted another couple and seated them, before the first hostess who was now finished with the reservationless pair decided that it might be important to attend to us. By this point both D and I were livid.
We were taken inside the restaurant but our table was not ready yet, as we were early for our reservation. Fine, I can understand that. We took a seat at the sushi bar. Yes, there was a sushi bar. I drooled while watching those two men make plate after plate of spicy salmon rolls.
Of course, my fascination with the food only held at bay my growing anger for so long, as our reservation time came, went, and then fifteen minutes passed. I finally got up and went up to the woman who would actually be seating us and she told me that our table was almost ready. At this point, I was ready to explode.
And then, like a miracle, things started to get better.
A very pleasant, very perky young woman, quite stylishly and professionally dressed and as courteous as you could ever want found us at the sushi bar, took our coats, took D's hat and escorted us to our table. She was blonde and almost diabetically sweet to us.
At our table we were almost immediately offered glasses of champaigne to apologize for the fact that we had been sat late. The server was professional, prompt, and knowledgeable. The food was spectacular. I had sushi, a lovely risotto, and some sort of lemony dessert. That's the only word my mind brings to bear on it. Lemony. I can't remember anything else about the dessert.
Suffice it to say we were not only mollified but left the restaurant feeling quite content, pleased with our choice and with the overall level of service the hotel had shown us, even given the ineptitude of certain individuals.
Our next and final activity of the night was to visit Second City, which we do almost every time we visit Toronto. Telling you about the sketches would ruin them if you ever see them. However, D and I were howling with laughter almost the entire evening. If you go to Toronto, go to Second City on a Saturday night for their 10:30 show. It's worth it. Stay for the improv after. It's almost better than the main attraction, sometimes.
Satisfied in our hearts and in our stomachs we walked home through the growing cold of the early morning. The TD tower was surrounded in mist and glowing green, and I wondered if the city is ruled by a supervillain called the Toronto Dominionator who strikes down with fury from his sickly emerald tower.
D laughed at me because I'm a nerd.
At the hotel, we watched TV, then slept. The next day we would be leaving.
And I will tell more later.

Leaving on a GO Train

This past weekend, D took me to Toronto, which is a dangerous thing to attempt as many of you know, since I do not travel well. But she braved my irrational fears and booked us a two night stay at the Suites on King West, and then proceeded to tell me we were going.
That's usually the best way to do it.
Anyway, we left again from Milton, and okay, we didn't leave on a train PER SE but we did take a GO bus... but bus doesn't really work with the song lyrics and makes for a crappy post title. Allow me my artistic license, damnit!
It was Friday morning, and this time, there were no creepy criminals at the terminal, although there was a possession bag from the police laying empty on the ground. The GO station must be a popular departure point for malefactors.
I'm going to reiterate that Milton is a suburban wasteland. It's a scary place. Imagine Mordor, and fill it with young urban professionals and acres of semi-detached homes. *shudder*
The bus trip was relatively uneventful, which suited me fine. Except for the guy who hopped on the bus without enough money to buy a ticket and argued with the driver until finally being kicked off, little happened of note.
I should mention here that D was sick. Practically all I heard from the seat beside me was the snort and slurp of nasal congestion, and its subsequent expulsion into a growing tumour of kleenexes stored up her sleeve. By the time we got off the bus I was travelling with Popeye. At one point I contemplated trying to find her forearms but immediately recoiled from the idea, not knowing what sort of mucus-spawned monster I would find hybernating within.
We got off the bus and immediately went in search of the hotel so that we could drop off our luggage with their valet service as we were about 2 hours early for our check in time. We did not know before booking the hotel that the valet service would hold our luggage like this, but apparently it's commonplace. We were ecstatic about that.
The hotel was literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the train station (for Superman) and we got there a lot more quickly than I originally anticipated.
We were immediately impressed by the hotel. A very cleanly dressed valet opened the door for us, welcomed us cheerfully, and we walked into a small yet sophisticated main lobby area. It was clean, well appointed, with friendly looking staff and a professional air. The valets were only too happy to take our bags and wish us on our way.
Now the reason D wanted to travel to Toronto was to take advantage of Toronto's Wintercity festival, specifically the Winterlicious Price Fixe (that's how they spelled it) that many of the high end restaurants were offering. Essentially, at a participating restaurant for lunch you can obtain a 3 course meal for $15-$20 or for dinner you can get a 3 course for $25-$35. That's an appetizer, main course, and dessert for what most of these restaurants would charge just for an appetizer.
Our first stop was to a restaurant called Romagna Mia on Front Street. We experienced a small hiccup in trying to find the restaurant when we walked into 106 Front Street and found it was in fact an office complex. Luckily there were two girls smoking outside who apparently dealt with tourists like ourselves every day, just as I deal with people trying to find the passport office every day, and they directed us to walk ten feet further and turn the corner. Lo and behold we found the restaurant.
I'm going to give this restaurant the highest praise I will ever give a restaurant. The service was exemplary. The host, the server, all the staff were professional, well trained and polite. Our server in particular was attentive almost to a fault without actually ever hovering over the table. If he even thought that we needed him to come he would attempt to engage my eyes from across the room to confirm his suspicion, and if I wavered or became distracted he still kept and eye on me to make sure I didn't need anything. The moment I made a definite movement that I required his presence he was there, ready to serve. I was truly, thoroughly impressed.
At that restaurant I had an appetizer that I can only describe as an extremely tasty scrambled egg patty on a bed of roasted asparagus and sauteed mushrooms. It was divinely flavoured but a little too hot, temperaturewise. D, because she was sick, had chick pea soup, which she described as "Mushy". It was probably quite tasty but no match for the creature living in her nose. For a main course I had a beef brisquet on polenta (I immediately thought of a penny arcade cartoon where Gabe wishes for a placenta sandwich, but that's not my story to tell: go to the website www.penny-arcade.com and look in their archives for the comic titled "I don't think he knows what that is.") and D had a cheesy gnocci dish which was extremely tasty and delicately textured. For dessert we had a delightful panna cotta. I was thoroughly sated.
From the restaurant we proceeded back to the hotel to check in. As soon as we got to the room we dropped out luggage to the floor and had a nap. Ah, what a nap. 3 hours of blissful sleep. D needed it, and I wanted it.
Once we woke we were thoroughly energized for the evening.
We walked up to Nathan Phillips square, just a quick jog up the street. The first thing we did was head into the art exhibit they had going on called Paintings Below Zero by Gordon Halloran (I think that's his name: I'll check the website later and update if necessary). Basically what he did was dye some water and freeze it using the same cooling elements they use in skating rinks. He shattered the dyed ice and arranged it in some very beautiful patterns. Part of the exhibit appeared to me to be a cityscape, but D thought he just ran out of ice at that end. Ah, D, always the cynic. Overall the exhibit was quite lovely.
We wandered over to the stage that had been set up to see a performance by the Italian theatre group Kitonb. I may be a victim of modern consumer culture here, and maybe that's why I require instant gratification, but the performance really failed to catch my attention. I was not engaged, not engrossed, and in an open public space where I can just walk away at any time that is not a good thing. I should have been hooked within the first fifteen seconds and I can honestly say that I wasn't even hooked after ten minutes of watching. A theatre group may be able to get away with that in a closed stage because the audience has already paid their dollar and anticipated investing their time in a performance, but it's not something that works at a free show. Not to mention that the bass from the soundtrack they were playing was so pervasive that the vibrations actually caused D, perhaps because of her congestion, to feel queasy and nauseated. We were literally driven away from the performance.
We wandered around and did other things while Kitonb finished up, and came back to catch a free concert from the Philosopher Kings (or as they're known in the U.S., the Sorcerer Kings*). We caught three songs before D started to freeze to death (it was -15 out) and so we went back to the hotel.
We had a nice dinner at the hotel but I would not eat there again. They charged $7.50 for a bottle of evian water. My pint of beer cost less, and was approximately the same size. Other than that the prices were good. I had a smoked salmon and caper pizza, and D had more soup. Roasted Vegetable this time. She described its flavour as "eh."
Because we were frozen, tired, and full of food we went up to the room and fell almost immediately asleep.
I'll leave you with that for now. But there is more to come!
* The Philosopher Kings are not actually known as the Sorcerer Kings in the United States. This is a lie. They are actually known as "Johnny Righteous and the Flying Radioactive Plantains." `
`This is also a lie.

Counting the ways

Perhaps it's because it is winter, with the cold days reminding me of all the warmth and joy and happiness in my life that make those days bearable, but I've been thinking a lot about my relationship, the wherefore and the why.
That I love D is not in question. How could I not? But I have a habit of trying to qualify and quantify my feelings towards things, either as an intellectual exercise or because I'm a stubborn bastard who NEEDS to know the core reasons behind everything. So I've been trying to figure out why I love her. It's a futile exercise, as anyone knows, and D herself would probably claim that it's primarily pheremones and body chemistry (she's a cynic through and through).
While I could not come up with an answer to the question, I did remember a number of instances, anecdotes, and moments that really drove home for me just how endearing she is.
The other day D and I were walking to the arena to go skating. She was carrying both pairs of skates, so I called her a pack mule. Her response: "No, I'm a Sherpa. Neigh!" So I paused, grinned, and looked at her. "Let me get this straight." I said, "Are you under the misapprehension that a sherpa is a goat?" And she looked at me with chagrin and replied, "Yes?"
Another instance that occurred when I was still living with my brother makes me chuckle every time I remember it. It was either a day I was finished work or we'd just come through the door, but we were sitting on the couch and D decided to tell a story about her day. She explained that she'd been driving along the road and she saw the cutest animal. "It was brown and furry, and it had this tiny little tail and it looked a bit like a pig! It ran away and dropped into a hole in the ground!" Now my brother and I looked at each other, each knowing EXACTLY what animal she was describing, and we said in unison "Are you perhaps referring to a ground hog, by chance?" (yes, my brother and I both speak like this.) How D managed to live twenty five years without seeing a ground hog baffles the heck out of me.
My brother and I want to publish a book of D's made up words, too. Here's a couple of my favourites:

Debattical: To take a long break from an argument
Influtry: The fourth branch of the military
Broccolie: A false statement about being a vegetarian OR a fraudulent green vegetable

For some reason I can't remember the rest of the list right now (brain fart) but if I remember them I'll put them down.
I love that she's such a capable and together person, more mature and responsible than I will ever be, but who can drop her guard and be unabashedly silly and blissfully ignorant about the most random things. She's obviously brilliant or I wouldn't find her interesting, but one of the things that makes me adore her is those brief yet endearing lapses in understanding or knowledge, or the very infrequent wrong assumptions she makes about things that are understandably unimportant.
It really makes me accept the idea that it is our flaws that keep us together, and because of that they are no longer flaws, but qualities, and I wouldn't take her without them.
Hell, if she can laugh at my jokes, I guess she feels the same about my flaws. I mean, who in their right mind would laugh at one of my jokes? Besides me, I mean.