~ WestJet sent me a reminder this morning that I’m catching a plane home on Sunday. I didn’t appreciate this concrete intrusion into my Taoist “living in the moment” zen fantasy that this trip is going to last forever. I’m having a good time, though not really doing anything. That’s not much of a story.
~ We went to Honest Ed’s yesterday. I started getting the spins about three quarters of the way through the building. There’s a fun-house mirror there that made Nicole and I look like dwarves. We made a cute dwarf couple. Honest Ed’s makes you feel sad about humanity in nine different ways every direction you look. That’s not much of a story.
~ We went to dinner with Katherine, Matt and Nathan to a bistro/pub called Hair of The Dog on wednesday. Best halibut and chips I’ve ever had. The bathroom was hard to find. I hope Nathan moves to Toronto instead of some city where I’m not living. That’s not much of a story.
~ Yesterday was the first time we hit peak hours sardine on the streetcar and subway. It wasn’t so bad. Though I wish I’d brought my portable recorder to catch a few of the inane conversations going on around us. I think that might be a project of mine when I move here. Streetcar field recordings. We did see a woman in a zebra-stripe mu-mu and a full-on crisply dressed rube-boy pimp. That’s not much of a story.
~ Lake Ontario is very flat. It doesn’t look like an ocean. It looks like a huge diorama of an ocean. That, the smog, several Speedos, the naked child with passed out grandpa duo, and the smokestacks lining it made it pretty much the creepiest beach I’ve ever been to. Also it was jesus mother of unholy fuckers hot. That’s not much of a story.
~ The dog here, Mishka, is bonkers. She’s a border collie / lab mutt puppy who doesn’t get as much attention as she’d please. Yesterday, while we were having coffee with Nicole’s friend, Danielle, in the kitchen, the dog, in ninja-like stealth, left a ringer on the living room table. And another upstairs somewhere and pissed in front of the door after refusing to go when taken into the yard. She also ate the crotch out of my boxers the night before. I now have a plaid flannel kilt. That’s kind of a good story.