6 posts tagged “toronto”
I had a "what are we going to do next with this post-diploma program" meeting scheduled this evening across town and decided to bike to it. There is a distinct chill in the air these days, although it isn't exactly "cold" ... it isn't balmy, either. I bundled up a bit for the bike ride.
My meeting was at a coffee shoppe at Spadina and Queen. I left early enough to bike leisurely. I'm not an experienced enough cyclist in this city to know the "best" route from A to B, but it is fun trying to figure it out. I tend to sort of make up my route as I go along.
I proceeded along Wellesley, past Church, towards Yonge. Church/Wellesley has been, for better or worse, the centre of my world for over 20 years. A focal point, a hub, even when I lived far from Toronto. It is plump with memories and energy. Some good, some not.
I carried on, past Yonge, to Bay. The traffic lightened up here and it seemed as good a time as any to head south. As I pedalled along Bay, past Grosvenor, I realized that I was passing the downtown Y - a place near and dear to my heart - from a perspective that I don't usually see. I approached College St. and noted that I was only one block from the MaRS building, another landmark for me. A tad further along and I was at a building on Bay known as LuCliff Place, famous in my life as being the place where a bunch of us used to gather regularly about 12 years ago to play pub trivia in a pub that no longer exists. Further still on this street, I realized that I was just north of City Hall and had last been here with Dry Ice and her husband as we strolled to the art exhibit this summer.
Veering right on Queen seemed a good idea, given the traffic patterns at that moment. I kept my eyes carefully on the road as I crossed University, but if I had been able to look up a bit, I would have seen the sculpture that one of my friends in undergrad dubbed "Gumby Goes To Heaven" shortly after it was unveiled 24 years ago. About a block and a half along Queen, past University, I passed Trimurti, the best Indian restaurant in the city that I have had the distinct pleasure of introducing several people to. The complex aroma wafting from Trimurti almost caused me to be late for my meeting! Steeling myself, I forged onward. Traffic was oddly quiet in that moment so I decided to head south again because I mistakenly thought the Lettieri was at King and Spadina, rather than Queen and Spadina.
I hit King just east of John, which took me past the Second Cup at King and John and, moments later, Mountain Equipment Co-op, which all the cool kids refer to as MEC. This whole stretch of road puts a silly little smile on my face. Just as I reached Spadina, I noticed a stray, lost baguette in front of the streetcar stop on King. It cried out to be photographed and I can see that I'm starting to stretch beyond the limits of my equipment and my skills. But, you get the general idea of what I was going for here. The pedestrians, and the drivers no doubt, wondered what the hell this person was doing crouching down in the gutter with her bike helmet still on, light flashing, to take multiple versions of this with a variety of settings.
Moments later, I had reached my destination. After the very enjoyable and enlightening time with an alumni of our retired post-diploma program (RIP), I headed north on Spadina. I think I've eaten at at least one restaurant per 100 metres along this stretch, both sides of the road. I carried on past College and remembered attending meetings at the U of T's women's centre on Spadina Circle. A right turn on Harbord puts me almost directly under the overhanging "O". Its existance is a bit of a mystery, but there it is. I drive under the "O" about six times a week, heading to/from hockey. The lights at Huron remind me of a long, cold walk and a long, cold and teary conversation with someone I was seeing briefly a few years ago. I love cycling through Queen's Park but at this point I noted with alarm that the batteries were fading in my headlight - it is really dark in that park at night!
I was shortly back on Wellesley, headed directly for home.
If you had told me 20 years ago that I would find myself happily living in downtown Toronto, I would have said "You're insane". I remember saying Toronto was a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. I found the energy of the place too frenetic, too fast-paced, too self-indulgent. Visting Toronto from the outside would inevitably put me in a state similar to caffeine-induced jitters. Yet, here I am - no jitters at all. Feels pretty peaceful, really. Roots have taken hold. It seems to fit me at the moment, and I like that feeling, that sense of place and fit.
Key word of the day: Stimulus ... a sensory feast.
I love the "rough around the edges" quality to this market. Stalls are roughly, but not precisely where they were last week. Or not. The use of space is not fully prescribed, charted and regulated. It is inefficient, signage is vague and there is no particular prescribed traffic pattern or flow. Love it. Feels very ... organic.
Speaking of art, I bought a new piece yesterday at the BrickWorks. Visitors to my condo learn two things about me: that I love the colour green, and that I collect images of loons. I'm pretty fussy about my loons. I tend to buy as close to the artist as I can, direct from the artist if I can manage it. If I buy from a shop or gallery, I try to establish that the gallery/shop owner knows the artist personally. I just want some assurance that the artist is actually going to get rewarded for their work. Secondly, the image has to be unique. Anyone can schlep down to the bottom of the Skylon Tower and buy a fake soapstone "carving" (mold) image of a loon. No snow globe loons for me, no sir. I haven't bought anything new to add to my loon collection for years as my criteria are pretty specific. And there are many common images of the Common Loon. But the right piece presented itself yesterday, and I got to speak directly to the artist, Joanne Victoria ... and out came the debit card.
Noon / Afternoon - Lunch and More Art With Friends: Dry Ice and her husband Martin ventured downtown for lunch, a visit, and a stroll through the annual art show at Nathan Phillip's Square. Dry Ice has blogged about this adventure from her perspective, with more photos. :-)
Martin took this photo of me with my camera. Somehow, all photos taken of me yesterday made me look either like I was about to fall asleep or had just woken up. Hm.
We staggered from the restaurant south to Nathan Phillips Square to the pretty darn crowded art show. I'd never been to this art show before ... and there is a wee story behind that. Once upon a time, I vowed never ever to go to an art gallery, art opening or other such event again. I'd been to lots, more than a lifetime's worth. All the people there seemed more interesting, more worldly, more thoughtful etc. than I could ever hope to be. I was also convinced that I had no visual language of my own, no way of seeing or feeling the visuals that original fine art so depends upon. Going to art galleries, shows, openings made me feel like a little girl off the farm, standing in the middle of the room with her shit-covered wellingtons and wide-eyed gaze.
It seems evident to me that I've acquired some confidence in my visual sensibilities now. Especially lately ... it just takes being more open to it.
Still, I don't always pay attention to the things I'm supposed to pay attention to. For example, I love the view of Old City Hall from Nathan Phillip's Square, juxtaposing the old Victorian architecture against the ultra-modern glass structure in behind. But I couldn't quite get my little point'n'shoot to do its thing.
Evening - Asian Night Market @ Warden / Steeles: Well, actually, there were two events. First, we were invited to gather for refreshments on Jeff's deck prior to the Night Market adventure. Jeff and I added to our collection of photos of each other taking pictures of each other ... and I discovered cheese nirvana.
Off we headed to pick up Gerry at the subway and head north to the land of yummy street food.
No one told me about the stinky tofu. That is actually what it is called: Stinky or Smelly Tofu. Fermented, deep-fried, tofu that is a feature of most night markets, or so I know NOW. The smell really defies description but let's say it isn't appealing to most Western palates. To get to the market proper, you have to walk past about three Stinky Tofu booths. It was a test of will. I resisted the, um, temptation to try eating the stuff, although I'm assured it is worth the effort. I headed instead for the more familiar scallops and shrimp, lamb skewers and smoothies.
Lex did her photo thing and I felt some responsibility to document the documentor.
Bellies full and curiosities satisfied, we made it back downtown roughly around 1:00 a.m.
It was a good day. :-)
More contributions to the Canadian economy this week.
First, my frustration with two appliances in my house reached breaking point about mid-week. These are two items that you don't really notice until they don't work properly. I've had my rather stylish Sony clock radio for years, maybe as long as 10 years. It was subtle, grey, mimicked the design of the Bose radios but at a fraction of the cost. I mastered the overly complex task of setting time and alarm. I only used the CD function maybe once or twice in its lifetime. Let's face it - waking up in the morning is a routine and CBC One's Metro Morning, as much as Andy Barrie makes me grit my teeth, is mine. I guess it takes an officious, dull, insensitive oaf to get my ass out of bed in the morning.
In any case, my beloved Sony started making a faint electronic buzzing sound, 24/7, several months ago. It sat on my night stand along with a lamp and a phone. I would inspect each of these in turn, regularly, to puzzle out where the buzzing was coming from. It was definitely coming from the radio and I couldn't figure out how to make it stop. Furthermore, the thin wire that comprised the aerial was making me crazy, as was the FM signal drift. CBC is famous for many things, one of which is not always having the most reliable signal even if you are living mere blocks from CBC HQ. I guess the cutbacks have meant that they are using a cheaper brand of tin foil to repair the broadcast antenna. The signal is fine one day and then it gets all fuzzy the next, often depending on where I am standing in the room. Annoying and getting progressively worse. Finally, I realized that as much as I don't want a neon display of the time glowing at me all night, I really need something more than black LED on a beige background. This is especially true at 3:26 a.m.
My second appliance failure was, sadly, the toaster oven given to me by wizzy and her partner as a condo-warming giftie. (No, I did not "earn" it with lezzie points.) The much-storied toaster oven simply stopped toasting several weeks ago. I'm on this low carb eating thing so I can't really pinpoint when the lack of toastability began. It would heat bread to a nice warm temp, but no actual "toasting" occurred. The state of affairs became really apparent when I set the toaster oven to cook a frozen President's Choice Blue Menu Chicken Breast Stuffed with Ricotta and Spinach. Most toaster ovens can knock this out of the park, no problem. Mine barely thawed the thing, even when given twice the allotted time to complete the task. Something had to be done.
Besides the fact that I don't like tossing out a gift, I also don't like tossing out something like a toaster oven. Shouldn't this be repairable? I'm sure that all is wrong is that an element has died. Yes, of course it should be repairable. If I were a skilled small appliance repair person - if such people still even exist - I'd happily order the parts and do it myself. I'm not eating that much toast these days anyway. But I am not such a skilled person. The best I can manage is speaking sternly to the toaster oven and telling it to shape up. That didn't seem to work.
I feel very conscious of throwing these kinds of items out into landfill but, happily, our building has developed its own peculiar internal recycling program:
1. Place used item prominently in garbage room.
2. Check often to see if it is still there.
3. If it is still there in three days, no one wants it. Next, try FreeCycle.
Happily, it would appear that both the toaster oven and the old Sony have found new homes, and new life, with people in the 'hood. Perhaps with people who possess repair skills beyond finger-wagging.
Thus, on Wednesday, I did some research online before shopping, and then arrived home with a new toaster oven (Bravetti, on sale @ Canadian Tire for $39.99) and an RCA Clock Radio. I don't know why you can't buy a clock radio without a CD player anymore. Although I am a creature of repetition, why would I want to wake up to the same song or same artist every day?
This reminds me of Bob Seger. In 1971, he released the album Brand New Morning and the first track is the title track. This is an acoustic album unlike anything he did before then or has done since. My brothers bought this record and rejected it out of hand for not having any fuzz or feedback. I was eight years old when it was released and I loved it. Years later, when I was a teenager performing with a touring children's theatre troupe, the manager/director of the troupe asked me to put together a tape of music we could all listen to each morning as she led us through our warm-up routine - part yoga, part meditation, part breathing, etc. We needed about 20 minutes of music and I led off the tape with Brand New Morning. The troupe loved it - for about the first four mornings. After then, they all started to resent Bob and his cheery, hopeful thoughts about this new morning as he strummed on his guitar. I hated to admit that I also tired of hearing the same music each time we started stretching. So I'm pretty sure that waking up to the same thing every morning would not work for me.
But, as usual, I digress. My new toaster oven totally rocked the PC Chicken lump test and does a nice even toast on Weight Watchers Whole Wheat English Muffins. The new clock radio is smaller, way easier to set, picks up and holds the required CBC signal, and lets you select what colour and how bright you want the display to be. Not surprisingly, I picked green. I am now bathed in faint green LED light when I sleep. Cool.
(I just want to say that I was over at wizzy & co.'s pad a few weeks ago and they still lead the pack in the chic and cosmopolitan toaster oven category. I have no idea what the specs are on that thing but who needs a new car when it looks like you should be able to just get in your toaster oven and drive it around town. That's all I'm sayin' ...)
Yesterday was a red letter day for me. I went here and got properly fitted for bras. Clearly, I have been misguided for most of my 44 years (well, about 31 bra-wearing years) regarding this foundation garment. The fitting process took about an hour and 20 minutes and I'm sure I tried on at least 20 bras in the process. Apparently, this is normal. A very sweet young thing was helping me out which certainly helped the time pass smoothly. Let's just say that all my old bras are gone (really gone - you can't re-use a bra - yuck!) and have been replaced by the new girls. I am a new woman ... my only concern is that as I continue to drop poundage, these bras will also need replacing, likely in about six months. Expensive, but worth it. Secrets From Your Sister is a funky, politically attuned store with staff trained in the dual arts of bra-fitting and helping people feel at ease about bra-fitting. I highly recommend a visit there to anyone who needs to lift and separate.
Hm, come to think of it, wearing a new bra really makes me want to sing Brand New Morning ... maybe I'll go against type and name one of them Bob.
I made a significant contribution to the Canadian economy last Friday. First, B and I headed off for a field trip to Scarborough, complete with a stop at Federick's, Toronto's greatest Haka Chinese restaurant. After a brief debate with the owner about whether Egg Foo Young should have dollops of oyster sauce (me = yes, Simon = no!), we headed off to Kitchen Stuff Plus for a minor consumer orgy as we rummaged through their January sales. I found so many deals that B had to help me load it all into my place when we got home.
Later in the evening, M and I headed out on the "let's get Venus in some decent jeans" mission. For our shopping pleasure, we headed to Yorkdale mall. Neither of us are mall rats, and they keep renovating the place, so we got thoroughly lost a few times. We had a stop at Jean Machine, the kind of store I NEVER set foot in. I didn't buy anything there, but I must have tried on 100 pairs of jeans - all cut for someone who is 14 and doesn't mind showing the top of her butt to the world. I mind, what with me no longer being 14. I need to say that although the clothing in this store was not age, or style, appropriate for me, the staff rocked and were determined to find something that would appeal to the old fart wincing in the change booth. At one point, there were three staff members slinging jeans over the top of the booth.
Finally we wound up at Cotton Ginny, a much more appropriate choice, where M convinced me to try on the size 16. I am grateful.
When M and I go out on a Friday adventure, we often wind up at Xe Lua, a Vietnamese Pho place on Spadina. We had planned to do exactly that, however, Xe Lua seems to have disappeared. For many, this comprises a Pho 911. We wound up at Hello, Saigon (formerly Miss Saigon). This was a treat and proves that one should venture off the well-worn path once in a while. This restaurant appears to be owned by a husband and wife who are somewhat English-challenged but certainly not enthusiasm challenged. They really want to you like their food. Happily, that isn't difficult. The mango salad rolls were yummy and unusual and the Pho was rich and infused with an extra dash of five spice powder.
M is on the same eating discipline as me and likes to try to order her noodle soup with no noodles. This proves to be an interesting exercise if the person taking the order has limited English. Who goes out for Pho with no pho? How could someone with limited English understand that the customer doesn't want noodles in their noodle soup? Not surprisingly, after a lengthy ordering discussion involving lots of smiling, nodding and hand gestures, M's soup arrived with noodles. M wasn't about to complain or send it back as the fragrance of the soup drew us both in. Very nice broth and a generous serving. I need to say that the server, Husband, was sweet and charming and clearly wanted us to enjoy our restaurant experience. In addition to the food, I think he is one of the restaurant's greatest assets.
Rumour has it that Xe Lua is re-opening on the second floor of the same building ... anyone know? Wherever they re-appear, they may have to go way over the top to earn our Friday night Pho business from Hello Saigon.
A few months back, I wrote some flippant bit that suggested that I have an excellent sense of direction. While I still believe this to be true, as this has always been true in the past, I have gotten lost (sort of) on my way to work three times in the past month. In a part of the world I know very very well. Let me explain.
I live in Toronto ... I work, a few days a week anyway, in Guelph. Note Handy Reference Map below.
Toronto to Guelph. Assuming (and perhaps I shouldn't) that north is where you expect it to be, Guelph is pretty much due west of Toronto, right?
I was at a business networking thing about six weeks ago, meeting perfect strangers and making chit chat. I was out in Guelph for this shindig and it isn't unusual at these things for talk to float around to where do you live and where do you work. The fellow that I was speaking with that day said, helpfully, "Oh - I know a shortcut from Toronto to Guelph - I do it all the time." This is where my trouble began.
I was led into short-cut temptation by my revulsion for the Gardiner/427/Airport route which is the route any rational person would assume is the natural way to get from downtown Toronto to Guelph. I find that, between the hours of 7:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m., people driving on the 427 have some kind of auto-lobotomy on the on-ramp and lose all their driving inhibitions. I hate it. So I was all ears when offered an alternative.
"It is easy," the devil man said. "Stay on the Gardiner/QEW to Winston Churchill, then just duck over to the 403 from Upper Middle Rd. Take 403 to 407 and you hit the 401 just before Milton ... no more airport, and 20 minutes saved in rush hour by being in free flowing traffic."
Brilliant!!
Although I could visualize this easily (because, remember, I'm good at this spacial relationship stuff ...), I did take the trouble to look this up on a real map and, lo and behold, it did seem to make sense. It looks good, right?
I tried this out the first time early in the a.m. on my way to Guelph. I missed the Upper Middle Road Turn off, but other than that I made it to the 403 from Burnhamthorpe Rd. Herein lies the root of this problem. Confronted with the choice of "403 West" or "403 East", remembering that I am heading WEST to Guelph, and that I haven't finished my first coffee just yet, I selected for my viewing pleasure that day "403 West".
Wrong.
You see, the designers of this highway assume that everyone travels from the very easternmost point to Hamilton which, in truth, is more south than west. But now I'm splitting hairs, I suppose. In any case, if you get on the 403 in Oakville and you select "West", you are actually travelling SOUTH EAST towards Hamilton.
I did manage to figure this out in fairly short order, cleverly noting that I was driving into the sunrise, not away from it.
So I exited, crossed over, and headed back in the direction from whence I came. Next, I was offered the choice of selecting "407 West" or 407 East". They don't give you much time to decide and it is pretty confusing, especially since the choice that would really be best ("407 North to 401") doesn't exist. I took a deep breath and selected "407 West" - mostly because "407 East" just sounded stupid since I am going to GUELPH for heaven's sake - and promptly found myself trundling back off (south east) towards Hamilton again.
I am ashamed to say that I repeated some version of this two more times before I started to recite the following to myself.
Morning - QEW to 403 EAST to 407 EAST to 401 WEST .... don't fight it ... drive EAST to Guelph.
Afternoon - 401 East to 407 WEST to 403 WEST to QEW ... don't fight it ... drive WEST to Toronto.
The happy ending ... now that I'm getting lost less frequently, the stress of the whole 427/airport lunacy is not missed. It is a very leisurely drive as long as I'm not arguing with myself about which direction I should be driving in.
I was the model of productivity today. I loaded my bundle of marking for the day into my knapsack and headed for The Danforth. You see, when I can park myself somewhere, like in a restaurant or cafe, for a few hours - I get much more marking done. Toronto readers will think this post is about trying to parallel park on one of Toronto's liveliest streets but NO! A-ha ... I fooled you!
"The Danforth" is actually, officially, Danforth Avenue but no one ever calls it that. Why? I have no idea. This is similar to calling the thing you cross to get to The Danforth from downtown - "The Bloor Viaduct". It is a bridge, ok? A bridge. Toronto English seems to lean towards pretension.
Anyway, I wandered along The Danforth, looking for just the right spot. It was lunch time, yet I needed to find a place that was not crowded with lunchers and that had excellent lighting and that would be willing to let me - a single occupant - take up a table for four. See, this is trickier than it sounds. What would you call a place that is open for lunch but that is not crowded and would be happy to see me take up four seats? You would call that "not a very good restaurant". Nonetheless, I spied The Willow, a Tex-Mex place with not a single person in there at 12:30 p.m. Normally, I'd go running away from such a place but, today, it suited my needs exactly. I got a window seat and the server was pleased just to have another human being sucking air in her general vicinity.
I was hovered over, in short. It was fine, though, and the food was surprisingly good. Homemade soup, salsa and excellent nacho chips.
I finished my target allottment for the day - which is why I'm posting now. I also looked out the window a lot at street life on The Danforth. Here is a selection of what I saw:
- A woman, I'd say about mid-late '50's, in a powder-blue ski jacket, wearing a knapsack that appeared to be chock full of stuff. She was hugging three stuffed animals to her chest, one was a teddy bear. She had a sort of lost, vacant look about her.
- A man, 30-40's, in a baseball cap and a black and yellow jacket. He walked by me several times and he kept bending down and picking something up off the sidewalk at various points. I realized, after watching closely, that he was picking up partially smoked cigarettes.
- Speaking of smoking - which I speak of as infrequently as possible - the percentage of people who walk down the street while smoking is well beyond what I would have expected. I would say about 80% of the people I saw today walking down The Danforth were smoking. This seemed to cross age segments, economic status, gender, race, sexual orientation and pretty well any other segment I can think of. The new anti-smoking laws have clearly driven people out of restaurants to get their nicotine fix along with a cardio work-out. I don't really get it.
In my quest to be more like Lex when I grow up, I have taken to hauling my camera around with me. As I have said
before, I'm not a visual person. Sounds/music - yes, I'm all over that. Words - yes, gimme more ... words words words. So, I did have my camera today and what did I use it for? For taking a picture of words, that's what! These particular words were on the side of a funeral home. I think I got in a bit too close for the 60 Minutes extreme close-up, but the gist is clear.
I'll be back tomorrow, if I hit my daily marking target. Or, more accurately, I'll be somewhere tomorrow, trying to hit my daily marking target. Stay tuned ...
