Like many Canadians (or Torontonians, more specifically), I spent the labour day long-weekend away at a cottage. My parent’s are aiming to sell the cottage so this could very well have been the last summer spent there.
I painted my mother’s nails a lovely silvery blue that I’m all but certain she’s already removed. I watched everyone get very drunk by the campfire, before we headed into the basement to play darts. I don’t know how to play darts. It turns out there’s a bunch of math involved which practically eliminates Alistair and I from the get-go. It turns out my father is actually very good at darts–he hit 3 bull’s-eyes within his first couple turns. The things you learn about people…
The next day was a beach day. We took the ferry over to Christian Island–an Ojibwa reserve that has some very nice beaches on Georgian Bay.
Let’s celebrate summer’s end with copious pictures of yours truly…
It’s a $40 ferry ride to visit Christian Island
Georgian Bay
Napping on the beach
I’m doing all the hard work, trudging through the sand with our gear (*not pictured are the 3 heavy bags Alistair had to carry).
Obligatory bikini picture. I love this beach because it has a sort of lush, green, tropical feel to it.
Shadow art!
And now…back to work. A week of night-shoots, in the pouring rain…*sigh*
If you grew up in Ontario, you know that jingle and it rattles about your brain every year.
The C.N.E. officially marks the beginning of the end of summer. It’s dirty, crowded and expensive, but an important Toronto tradition–a giant carnival in a city centre. Most people that grow up in the G.T.A have fond memories of this annual event. My best friend Teri and I threw up after too much spinning and ice cream–but that’s just what the Ex is all about! My parents used to take me every summer when I was a kid; my mom doesn’t do rides so my dad would be my partner–every year we would ride the Polar Express and his weight would nearly crush me as we went spinning in circles, squished in a tiny cart. For people who aren’t into rides, there are many buildings to explore, filled with vendors selling arts and crafts, housewares, discounted makeup, and other oddities.
That rosy, nostalgic haze that surrounds my CNE memories certainly wore off as I grew up and it became hard to defend. The rides no longer looked fun, they looked rickety. The buildings? Filled with junk. Regularly, it costs $16 per person just for entry, and $55 will get you 6 rides worth of tickets…per person. For that same price you can go to Canada’s Wonderland and go on great rides that don’t make you fear for your safety. It’s a carnival! How do entire families afford this? The Ex became synonymous with disappointment and I stopped going. Yet, every year, I wistfully consider it…
The Ex opened yesterday and I forced Alistair to go. And you know what? I had a great night. In celebration of its opening, special pricing was in effect! Admission was $8 rather than $16. And $20 got us 5 rides each. Now at those prices, I can’t be disappointed!
I’m a sucker for carnivals. There’s something romantic about blinking neon lights and the smell of candy apples. And I absolutely love a good ferris wheel.
A Toronto institution. For many people, the very reason to go to the CNE is to sample the varied foods offered from vendors in the Food Building. Here, you can find Tiny Tom Donuts, spaghetti for $1, Bacon, Beaver Tails, Halal…whatever your heart (or stomach) desires.
There’s deals to be had! 5 DVDs for $20! Granted, it was pretty hard to find anything I’d want to watch, but I managed. An entire season of This American Life for $5? Not bad.
Guys. I’ve found the perfect Christmas gift! What does everyone both want and need? My face hologrammed into a glass cube! I plan to give them to all my friends, family, and acquaintances. I expect they’ll place me in a prominent position in their homes–the fireplace mantel, the toilet tank…wherever they see fit.
My favourite part of the Ex this year has to be their newest “ride”. The Sky Ride is a chair lift that glides above the Midway, from one end to the other. It’s hard to call it a ride, but I loved looking down at all the bright lights, rides, and people while snacking on a bag of cotton candy.
The view from above. The Sky Ride takes you on a relaxing ride from one end of the CNE grounds to the other.
A cozy chair life ride and some cotton candy are all you really need on a Friday night.
On paper, the CNE is nothing more than an overpriced fair; crappy rides, flea market goods, fried foods and lineups. But that’s not why we go to the Ex. We go because it’s part of Toronto’s collective conscience. We go because it’s tradition.
I am back at home, sweating on my couch, and I figure I ought to finish off my travel log by telling you about my last day. I was freezing the entire time I was in NYC–the air conditioning turned me into a whiny baby. Here in Toronto, it’s so hot and muggy that I’m an impatient, angry monster. I told Alistair he could take his pick.
Anyway.
We went to Soho to do some shopping, but started off with a great meal at Barolo Ristorante. Now, faithful readers, you know I don’t give a shit about food, but I do care about a great deal! I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Barolo was participating in something called New York City Restaurant Week; they were offering a 3-course prix fixe menu! $24 for lunch! An amazing bargoon!
After lunch, I got to shopping. More deals! I went to Reiss–their clothes are normally far too expensive for me, but I buy a hat from them annually–and they had sales between 50-70% off! I bought a beautiful skirt and top. While they had no great sales to speak of, I’m a big fan of Big Drop NYC on Spring Street.
For the evening, we headed to Brooklyn to meet up with our friends Jared and Emma. We had a meal and then planned to go see some stand-up comedy featuring Hannibal Buress. BUT it was sold out. I didn’t know free events could sell out before the doors open, but they do. Nothing but lineups this whole trip. Here’s Hannibal…
So, we missed the show and spent the evening talking in a bar–just as good.
All in all, one of our best NYC trips yet.
Welcome Home nails!
The glitter is American Apparel Galaxy, with a matte top coat to tone it down a touch.
We started today by spending a bit of time in the West Village before walking the High Line trail, which I highly recommend! The High Line is an abandoned railway line that has been repurposed as an elevated walking trail along the lower West side of Manhattan. Lots of nice views, and you can hop on and off the trail to explore the neighbourhoods below.
We jumped off the trail in Chelsea to check out a couple galleries.
Sleep No More
You follow the actors and their individual stories, or you can methodically explore the hotel room by room.
The evening ended with an 11pm showing of “Sleep No More”, presented by British site-specific theatre company Punchdrunk. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t do a better job of describing this than the NY Times:
“Everyone who attends “Sleep No More” is required to wear (and keep on) a Venetian carnival-style mask. You are also asked not to utter a word during the two and a half hours you are given to follow the characters of your choice from room to room. But you are encouraged to poke around in corners and trunks and bookcases, and allowed to get as close as (in)decency permits to the lithe-bodied denizens of this chic spook house. (Just don’t touch them, though they may well reach out and touch you.) “Sleep No More” is, in short, a voyeur’s delight, with all the creepy, shameful pleasures that entails.The idea is once you’re let loose on one of the floors of the hotel, you pick out a single character and pursue him or her (though you can switch any time you want), as the performer runs, dances and vaults all over the place.”
Everyone in the audience is made to wear the masks (very Eyes Wide Shut), and absolutely no speaking is allowed.
We were encouraged to separate from whomever we arrived with and have an individual journey through this sprawling site, and that’s what we did. Alistair and I had entirely different experiences and saw entirely different performances (I saw a full-nudity, strobe-light orgy where someone wore a bull’s head…and Alistair never even saw that!). It’s a bizarre sensory experience, with practically no words uttered and largely movement/dance based. It’s truly incredible and mostly indescribable. The anonymity provided by the masks we wear allows you to be bold and get up real close to the actors and dig through the room unabashedly. It took us all of three hours and we were exhausted and disoriented by the time we got out; I know that I only covered a small portion of what there was to see and practically missed an entire floor. If we had more time and if weren’t sold out, I would definitely go see it again. Really incredible.
New York has decided to rain on my parade and fuck over our daily plans–all of which were outside.
Hey, you know what every tourist does on a rainy day in New York? They go to galleries and museums. The lineups were crazy for everything, so we did nothing. A bit of shopping and dining, that’s it.
Father and Son – Diner
We stopped for a meal at another cute little diner and were seated near to an old man and his son. I swear, listening to the two of them was better than the play we saw the other night; Alistair and I discussed casting and decided that Albert Brooks would play the son, and James Whitmore would be well-cast as the father–if not for the fact that he’s dead.
From the get-go I decided that I didn’t much like the son–he seemed exasperated and hurried. He waved the waiter over and said “I’m done with this, get me some coffee”, then turned his attention to his 88-year old father and dismissively waved at the ceiling – “that why you like coming here? the old 40s music?”. The old man responded that it was indeed his reason, and that he was sad to not hear his music anymore and this was the only place he heard the songs he liked. The son went on to explain that they have these things called iPods now, and that his phone was both an iPod and a phone. It was clear from the surface-level tone of conversation that they were not close, or perhaps just hadn’t seen each other in a while. The son had taken his father out for breakfast with a purpose in mind, to suggest that he consider moving into a retirement home. He expressed that he was pleased to find his father well and healthy, but that in 5 years that might not be the case; if he has to go through the efforts of moving, then he may as well move into an accommodation that could look after his medical needs. Every so often, the father would sing aloud to whatever Bing Crosby-esque song was playing while the son patiently waited to resume the discussion, but to no avail. I know nothing of their relationship, but I found his impatience off-putting; he interrupted his father mid-sentence to say “are you going to eat that? you’ve been holding that bagel for ten minutes”. “I like to eat slow”, he said.
His son went to the washroom and I could tell that the old man was desperate to talk to just about anyone, and I figured that I could be that anyone! We exchanged friendly smiles and nods, but the waiter interrupted our impending friendship by asking if he was enjoying his Arnold Palmer. He took that time to inform the now captive waiter that he used to sing the song currently playing–“people would dance, and they used me as a singer”. The waiter didn’t get it.
I wanted to tell him that he had a beautiful voice, but I didn’t. When he left, he looked at me and waved–clearly he knew that we could have been great friends, too.
Here But I’m Gone – A 70th Birthday Tribute to Curtis Mayfield
It’s me! At the Lincoln Center!
We went to the Lincoln Center tonight to see this Curtis Mayfield tribute concert. Performers included: The Impressions, Mavis Staples, Meshell Ndgeocello, Sinead O’Connor (crazy, right?), The Roots, TV on the Radio and many, many more! It was wonderful. My favourite performance of the night was Ryan Montbleau’s simple, unaffected rendition of “Here But I’m Gone”. The concert gave equal reverence to the politically conscious songs, as well as the funk. Oh, and I saw Cornel West on the patio! I really wanted to go shake his hand, but he was eating a meal and I didn’t want to pester him–I regret it now though. Ah well. It was a fun evening of amazing performances.
We arrived early to our hotel to drop our bags before setting out for the day. We asked the the girl at the desk if she could recommend a restaurant nearby to grab a bite before we got started on our day. She suggested a place called Ellen’s Stardust Diner; I’m not picky and anything will do, or so I thought, and off we went. Alistair suggested we follow our iphones to somewhere that was well-reviewed, but I insisted that we listen to the girl–she lives here, she knows.
I could tell from the look of it that it wasn’t for me–the sign advertising the “singing waitstaff” was the real indicator, but Alistair was now amused and committed. Inside, a woman was screeching some show-tune as we were seated. I watched as she aggressively belted her song in the face of a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with her, and then she berated him for not paying attention to her. No. I am not eating here. I refuse to be bullied into listening to a mediocre singer and then be forced to clap for her. This place offended my every sensibility. We left and went to some other unremarkable diner–more my type of thing–plain food, served by people with accents. I had a tuna club and was satisfied. More than anything, I was offended that the hotel girl sent us there in the first place; if she could honestly tell me that she has personally eaten there and enjoyed it, then all damage would be undone. She’s lost my trust forever, and she doesn’t even know it.
International Centre for Photography
I love photography because, for a moment, we can see through someone else’s eyes. Through framing and composition, we see an eternal present–it’s immediate, here and now…a tiny slice of time, captured forever.
It just so happens that the ICP currently has an exhibit of Weegee’s photography, “Murder is My Business”. Weegee was a tabloid/photo-journalist that specialized in sensationalized crime scene photography. Two reasons I love his work: 1 – he has a great sense of humour and irony–note the film title on the marquee.
2 – he captures the news event but, more interesting to me, he focuses on crowd reactions and their response. I’m interested in the glee and detachment, the casualness of the spectator in contrast with the gruesome murder. This one is called “Their First Murder”–a small-time racketeer was shot and killed across the street.
Coney Island! Look at all the people…
Clybourne Park
We finished off our evening by going to see Clybourne Park–this year’s Tony winner for best play. It’s a discourse on race and gentrification and property. I found the play lacked a sort of emotional centre and was hard to connect with, but I guess that’s also the point–detached viewing allows for a more analytical eexperience. It’s context and content over characters which is all well and good, but it left me a bit cold. Still, happy to have seen it.
Rockefeller Center
Lastly, we visited the top of Rockefeller Center to take in the cityscape at night–our hotel is conveniently across the street.
Is This the Way the World Ends? 