8/25/2007
Night sounds
Pony and I sat on the verandah last night and listed all the sounds we could hear: ciccadas; crickets; the voices of greek grannies; wind; the dull clank of southsea shells hanging from creepy voodoo windchimes; the soft sustained gonging of metal pipe windchimes; broad wet catalpah leaves rustling; distant traffic; less distant traffic; visiting children playing nextdoor; footsteps; a car horn; my cellphone beeping with a waiting text message; a dog barking.
8/12/2007
Stink of the Danforth*
The annual Taste of the Danforth weekend, a tribute to Hellenic culture, where one can enjoy samplings of Greek cuisine and music, sport and performance, surrounded by a street festival atmosphere in the largest Hellenic business community in North America.
Except every year it runs during August when it's a gazillion degrees and the Air Quality reading is off the scale anyway and half the city makes their way to Greektown, packs themselves into a sweaty mass of sunburnt manfat and bad boobjobs and waddles the Danforth Strip from Broadview to Jones** stuffing their gobs with barbequed meat on a stick.
The locals flee, those who can. And local vegetarians? Even the most polite of them who normally wouldn't get in people's faces about their dietary choices have a really fucking hard time. It's an out of control meat-fest shrouding the neighbourhood in clouds of smoking animal fat, clogging the subway stations with slowmoving over-stuffed carnivores (and their kids), and making a general stinking mess of the otherwise pretty streets.
Ever seen Souvlaki on the sidewalk the next day once all that grease coagulates?
And who hired that crackerjack creative team this year for the posters and banners? A vaguely mediterranean-looking woman in a white sheet gazes vacantly at a sword skewered with little pictorial icons of Hellenic culture, such as a lyre, an urn, a soccer ball, and pint of beer (well, don't look at me), something red, and a chunk of burnt lamb.
The only good thing*** about the Taste of the Danforth weekend is the early mornings before the fat-splattered barbeques have been fired up and no one's around, but the street is closed and so you can walk down the middle of the road and only see like a bicycle or something. That and the cute rookie cops they always haul out for special occasions. Ooh Mary.
* This is Tonia's name for it. I was just calling it Taste of the bloody Danforth. Lame. I know.
** Jones now is it? Fuck.
*** Okay okay they've raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for Toronto East General Hospital.
Except every year it runs during August when it's a gazillion degrees and the Air Quality reading is off the scale anyway and half the city makes their way to Greektown, packs themselves into a sweaty mass of sunburnt manfat and bad boobjobs and waddles the Danforth Strip from Broadview to Jones** stuffing their gobs with barbequed meat on a stick.
The locals flee, those who can. And local vegetarians? Even the most polite of them who normally wouldn't get in people's faces about their dietary choices have a really fucking hard time. It's an out of control meat-fest shrouding the neighbourhood in clouds of smoking animal fat, clogging the subway stations with slowmoving over-stuffed carnivores (and their kids), and making a general stinking mess of the otherwise pretty streets.
Ever seen Souvlaki on the sidewalk the next day once all that grease coagulates?
And who hired that crackerjack creative team this year for the posters and banners? A vaguely mediterranean-looking woman in a white sheet gazes vacantly at a sword skewered with little pictorial icons of Hellenic culture, such as a lyre, an urn, a soccer ball, and pint of beer (well, don't look at me), something red, and a chunk of burnt lamb.
The only good thing*** about the Taste of the Danforth weekend is the early mornings before the fat-splattered barbeques have been fired up and no one's around, but the street is closed and so you can walk down the middle of the road and only see like a bicycle or something. That and the cute rookie cops they always haul out for special occasions. Ooh Mary.
* This is Tonia's name for it. I was just calling it Taste of the bloody Danforth. Lame. I know.
** Jones now is it? Fuck.
*** Okay okay they've raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for Toronto East General Hospital.
8/06/2007
Perfect long weekend: Monday
The day starts slowly; I think I'm the first in the whole city to wake. The backdoor is propped open letting in the early morning sun. My neighbour waters his newly landscaped backyard, gardenhose in one hand, lit cigarette in the other. His mug of coffee steams on a new glass table. I've proofread a chapter from a colleague's dissertation and earned 50 bucks before my lover's even stirred. I picture her now in her bedroom, rolling over into her sinful dark curls and petting her kitties who have likely been poking at her for a while.
The long walk I will take will start at the re-vamped Tod Morden Mills and meander beside the river all the way down the Lower Don Trail. I'll want to follow it to Cherry Beach then through the cruisin' badlands of the Eastern Port to Ashbridges Bay and then the Beaches boardwalk. But it'll be blocked for construction before Lakeshore and so I'll have to climb the Queen Street Stairs past the snotty girlfirends who are making their sweaty boyfirends carry their bikes all the way up from the valley to street level. I love walking. And today, because of my quick pace but frequent stops for photographs I'll end up doing a strange long-distance leapfrog with a chinese guy until he exits the path at Gerrard Street.
The power will be off when I arrive home though there's been no heavy winds or other signs of a summer storm. I'll be reminded of the Blackout of '03 and become nervous about widespread societal breakdown. I'll curse all AC-hogs. The power will come back on within an hour but I'll pretend it doesn't and get high and think about how brittle my body feels. I'll reflect on the bitchin fitness routine that has my body showing me where it's weak and misaligned and I'll truly realize what a tailspin I'm coming out of: two years of high-level academic performance while coping with displacements, loneliness, steep weightlosses, a lover's bipolar diagnosis, and daily prayers that my tenants will please please check the lint trap and not burn my house down in my absence. But the spin's almost spun and I can feel myself slide into my situation, relaxing into my funky place, cruising into my work. Getting ready 'cause these are going to be some hot years.
I'll have a shower then make a savoury tofu scramble that I'll eat from a bowl with red chopsticks and gaze out at my crazy front garden while the sun sets.
The long walk I will take will start at the re-vamped Tod Morden Mills and meander beside the river all the way down the Lower Don Trail. I'll want to follow it to Cherry Beach then through the cruisin' badlands of the Eastern Port to Ashbridges Bay and then the Beaches boardwalk. But it'll be blocked for construction before Lakeshore and so I'll have to climb the Queen Street Stairs past the snotty girlfirends who are making their sweaty boyfirends carry their bikes all the way up from the valley to street level. I love walking. And today, because of my quick pace but frequent stops for photographs I'll end up doing a strange long-distance leapfrog with a chinese guy until he exits the path at Gerrard Street.
The power will be off when I arrive home though there's been no heavy winds or other signs of a summer storm. I'll be reminded of the Blackout of '03 and become nervous about widespread societal breakdown. I'll curse all AC-hogs. The power will come back on within an hour but I'll pretend it doesn't and get high and think about how brittle my body feels. I'll reflect on the bitchin fitness routine that has my body showing me where it's weak and misaligned and I'll truly realize what a tailspin I'm coming out of: two years of high-level academic performance while coping with displacements, loneliness, steep weightlosses, a lover's bipolar diagnosis, and daily prayers that my tenants will please please check the lint trap and not burn my house down in my absence. But the spin's almost spun and I can feel myself slide into my situation, relaxing into my funky place, cruising into my work. Getting ready 'cause these are going to be some hot years.
I'll have a shower then make a savoury tofu scramble that I'll eat from a bowl with red chopsticks and gaze out at my crazy front garden while the sun sets.
Perfect long weekend: Sunday
Make lattes for two.
Chill in lounge chairs next to the AC.
Take a stroll to the Rogers at Gerrard and Vic Park for a movie and chips.
Get high.
Watch the movie and eat the chips.
Kiss at the door.
Walk home smiling past all the men oozing out of the sports bars that line the shabbier part of the Danforth strip from Main Street to Pape...
Chill in lounge chairs next to the AC.
Take a stroll to the Rogers at Gerrard and Vic Park for a movie and chips.
Get high.
Watch the movie and eat the chips.
Kiss at the door.
Walk home smiling past all the men oozing out of the sports bars that line the shabbier part of the Danforth strip from Main Street to Pape...
Perfect long weekend: Saturday
I've slept in. Difficult for me as I've actually become a morning person. But today is a special day and I've needed my beauty rest. I have much lounging to do before I get to the serious fluffing and buffing.
Tonia and I started dating three years ago and tonight we will celebrate our spicysweet love with sexy outfits, serious heels and martinis. Party girls that we are we have a history of actually having too much fun* so we decide to make it a relatively early night and limit our drinks to two at the bar and one later at Tonia's.
I spend the morning in barefeet, dawdling around the cool interior of my home, tidying clothes, making sure my outfit works, digging through shoes and purses. These remain spilling out of suitcases in the basement because I have yet to create a home for them. I snatch the sultry black high heels that my friend Keely gave me last summer.
Keely: "Hey Lizzie, you want these shoes? I got them in L.A. They KILL my feet."
Me: "Ohmigod, YEAH. Thanks honeybunch!"
Several lattes later I'm in the shower. It's fantastic and I almost drain the hotwater tank. It's a full-on prettygirl shower in which every part of my body receives some form of punishment or pampering.
I am nervous. I only find out later that Tonia has been as well. I'm in a white linen skirt through which my thighs are completely discernible and a tight black microfibre halter. I LOVE what this top does for my breasts. The shoes are downright gorgeous and I am wearing silver dangly earrings, my solid silver cuff bracelet and two simple silver rings. I spend a frightful few minutes in front of my mirrored closet door wondering if I look like a call-girl.
I arrive at Tonia's with the barest overnight necessities and a gift in a shiny silverblue bag. Before she answers the door I hear the bells she's recently been wearing around her ankles. She opens the door dressed in a white linen sundress-style dress, feet bare, hair loose. She's dropdead sexy.
Dressed in our finest we head to the Village. Not that we really need the gaybourhood particularly or that we don't like to party in the straight world; it's just that we can relax more here, look sexy, hold hands and kiss without actually putting ourselves in personal peril. A slice of PizzaPizza pizza before martinis may not sound that hot to begin an anniversary date but considering our history** we decide some food before alcohol is the smartest thing to do. Hence the hottest.
Byzantuim is THE place for martinis now that Babylon is closed and we find a sexy little nook out on the patio. Fabric throw-cushions on white benches, glass table, and we ease into soft banter while the waiter fetches round one—The Blackout. Stoli, Black Sambuca, and Jagermeister. It's a righteously delicious martini. Thankfully it's mostly finished before something drops into my glass from the treetops high above our patio nest. We peer into my glass and start to giggle. Oh, do NOT tell me that something is bird droppings!
Round two includes espresso and Créme de Cacao but no poop and we're both that nice kind of tipsy when we climb into a cab.
One more martini and we're kissing; one hand up her dress and we're in bed. Tonia is holding my skirt in her left hand. "Are you wearing this tomorrow?"
"No."
She drops it to the floor and we giggle some more. Within moments there's white linen and lace panties all over her bedroom.
* So much fun that when it comes to the lovemaking part we're too exhausted. This has happened on numerous occasions. It's a crime against sexiness everywhere.
** See note supra.
Tonia and I started dating three years ago and tonight we will celebrate our spicysweet love with sexy outfits, serious heels and martinis. Party girls that we are we have a history of actually having too much fun* so we decide to make it a relatively early night and limit our drinks to two at the bar and one later at Tonia's.
I spend the morning in barefeet, dawdling around the cool interior of my home, tidying clothes, making sure my outfit works, digging through shoes and purses. These remain spilling out of suitcases in the basement because I have yet to create a home for them. I snatch the sultry black high heels that my friend Keely gave me last summer.
Keely: "Hey Lizzie, you want these shoes? I got them in L.A. They KILL my feet."
Me: "Ohmigod, YEAH. Thanks honeybunch!"
Several lattes later I'm in the shower. It's fantastic and I almost drain the hotwater tank. It's a full-on prettygirl shower in which every part of my body receives some form of punishment or pampering.
I am nervous. I only find out later that Tonia has been as well. I'm in a white linen skirt through which my thighs are completely discernible and a tight black microfibre halter. I LOVE what this top does for my breasts. The shoes are downright gorgeous and I am wearing silver dangly earrings, my solid silver cuff bracelet and two simple silver rings. I spend a frightful few minutes in front of my mirrored closet door wondering if I look like a call-girl.
I arrive at Tonia's with the barest overnight necessities and a gift in a shiny silverblue bag. Before she answers the door I hear the bells she's recently been wearing around her ankles. She opens the door dressed in a white linen sundress-style dress, feet bare, hair loose. She's dropdead sexy.
Dressed in our finest we head to the Village. Not that we really need the gaybourhood particularly or that we don't like to party in the straight world; it's just that we can relax more here, look sexy, hold hands and kiss without actually putting ourselves in personal peril. A slice of PizzaPizza pizza before martinis may not sound that hot to begin an anniversary date but considering our history** we decide some food before alcohol is the smartest thing to do. Hence the hottest.
Byzantuim is THE place for martinis now that Babylon is closed and we find a sexy little nook out on the patio. Fabric throw-cushions on white benches, glass table, and we ease into soft banter while the waiter fetches round one—The Blackout. Stoli, Black Sambuca, and Jagermeister. It's a righteously delicious martini. Thankfully it's mostly finished before something drops into my glass from the treetops high above our patio nest. We peer into my glass and start to giggle. Oh, do NOT tell me that something is bird droppings!
Round two includes espresso and Créme de Cacao but no poop and we're both that nice kind of tipsy when we climb into a cab.
One more martini and we're kissing; one hand up her dress and we're in bed. Tonia is holding my skirt in her left hand. "Are you wearing this tomorrow?"
"No."
She drops it to the floor and we giggle some more. Within moments there's white linen and lace panties all over her bedroom.
* So much fun that when it comes to the lovemaking part we're too exhausted. This has happened on numerous occasions. It's a crime against sexiness everywhere.
** See note supra.
Perfect long weekend: Friday
I'm on the subway to Main Street Station where I'll meet Tonia and we'll head over to her workmate's surprise 40th birthday party. I see a familiar face. It's Ab, one of Tonia's best friends. I lift my shades and wink at him. He looks confused then grins and sits next to me. He's getting off at Main too so he's happy to get a chance to wave to Tonia. He's really cute. I like him. He's good looking, maybe of Indian or Trinidadian descent and unmistakenly gay. Just look at his eyebrows. We climb the escalator and wait inside the windowed entrance, chatting a bit awkwardly. Only awkard since he's Tonia's best friend from highschool and I'm her hotgirl and we just want to be cool and nice and like each other. And we do. I think. We just don't know exactly what to say here because the only other time we met was last year at Pride and we were both really really high*. We decide let's each send Tonia a text message at the same time for a joke.
My text: i'm at main w a cute boy. better hurry. i love you.
Ab's text: hey your girlfriends picking on me.
Tonia arrives not having recieved the messages but does a kind of squeal when she sees me with Ab. She pays her fare and comes in for hugs and kisses. We all chat for a few minutes and then part ways.
Tonia and I arrive at the house, which turns out to be not more than a few blocks away. It's modest on the outside and downright plush inside. We enter realizing we really know no one except for the surprise dude and we're marched around by the hostess to put on name tags and get drinks. There is a massive spread on the diningroom table. The kind of expensive shit you can only get at the St. Lawrence Market. I see a slab of Balderson's® three-year-old cheddar the size of a patio stone. We are issued sort of ley things that we are to wear on our wrists. I snap mine by accident and it continues to unravel into a streamer. I'm kind of embarrassed but I laugh and remove it before someone trips over it. I'll get another before too long. Hostess—surprise guy's sister—is already firing questions a mile a minute and the host is already flirting with my lover. Something to do with writing on her hame tag which is already pasted on her pretty breast.
A few other guests arrive—cute gay men all of them—and we are all instructed to stay away from the front door for obvious reasons. The heat is dissipating and we are all hustled into the backyard, which is multi-decked, leafy, and just freakin stunning. There is a table for gifts, many lounge chairs and an ivy-covered hobbit-looking stone garage that looks nicer than my house. Tonia has trouble with the stairs. She's more afraid of stairs than scary rides.
Party-boy's surprise face is a perfect suprise-party face**,
complete with queeny hand to cheek and "oh my gawd!"
Hugs, kisses darling, snapshots, laughter.
The food is freakin stellar.
Party boy takes us on a tour of his sister's house. We marvel at the walk-in closet and I make a mental note of the back bedroom in my place. Serious walk-in potential. Tonia nearly has a heart attack at all the shoes this chick owns and has to remove her 'queen of shoes' crown. At my request the tour also includes a quick peak at dude's new Prince Albert piercing. I haven't seen a penis since my gay neighbour showed me his Prince Albert piercing. What's up with that?
The smokers assemble out front and giggle in hushed tones. As ever, the coolest people end up in the smoking section, like Tom and Eric who've been together for 14 years and warn us about the 7-year itch, and the superpretty man who actually teaches figure skating.
We smokers are hustled out back again for the cake and presents which include gift cards, knick knacks and an anal douche. Tonia and I discuss wether to use it before sex or after and can't really agree except that one should probably experiment at home alone first to get a handle on the device's effects.
Post-cake and presents, the party boy is demonstrating how gay he is by grabbing my breasts and then holding up his hands and shouting, "Look! Nothing!" Flirty host is over like a shot to see if he can get in on the action, which, forget it.
It takes Tonia and I a while to say goodbye to all the fun people we've met. I have a nice feeling inside because that was a really big deal and took a lot of work. We're given a lift home from a quiet dude and we talk about how good it is to be with cool people who do this stuff. He drops Tonia off first and then lets me out at the foot of my street.
* Get me to tell you about the time at Ab's Pride party where I hallucinated a baby toddler clinging to my skirt and looked down and there was a baby toddler clinging to my skirt and I nearly lost my shit.
** Say that five times really fast.
My text: i'm at main w a cute boy. better hurry. i love you.
Ab's text: hey your girlfriends picking on me.
Tonia arrives not having recieved the messages but does a kind of squeal when she sees me with Ab. She pays her fare and comes in for hugs and kisses. We all chat for a few minutes and then part ways.
Tonia and I arrive at the house, which turns out to be not more than a few blocks away. It's modest on the outside and downright plush inside. We enter realizing we really know no one except for the surprise dude and we're marched around by the hostess to put on name tags and get drinks. There is a massive spread on the diningroom table. The kind of expensive shit you can only get at the St. Lawrence Market. I see a slab of Balderson's® three-year-old cheddar the size of a patio stone. We are issued sort of ley things that we are to wear on our wrists. I snap mine by accident and it continues to unravel into a streamer. I'm kind of embarrassed but I laugh and remove it before someone trips over it. I'll get another before too long. Hostess—surprise guy's sister—is already firing questions a mile a minute and the host is already flirting with my lover. Something to do with writing on her hame tag which is already pasted on her pretty breast.
A few other guests arrive—cute gay men all of them—and we are all instructed to stay away from the front door for obvious reasons. The heat is dissipating and we are all hustled into the backyard, which is multi-decked, leafy, and just freakin stunning. There is a table for gifts, many lounge chairs and an ivy-covered hobbit-looking stone garage that looks nicer than my house. Tonia has trouble with the stairs. She's more afraid of stairs than scary rides.
Party-boy's surprise face is a perfect suprise-party face**,
complete with queeny hand to cheek and "oh my gawd!"
Hugs, kisses darling, snapshots, laughter.
The food is freakin stellar.
Party boy takes us on a tour of his sister's house. We marvel at the walk-in closet and I make a mental note of the back bedroom in my place. Serious walk-in potential. Tonia nearly has a heart attack at all the shoes this chick owns and has to remove her 'queen of shoes' crown. At my request the tour also includes a quick peak at dude's new Prince Albert piercing. I haven't seen a penis since my gay neighbour showed me his Prince Albert piercing. What's up with that?
The smokers assemble out front and giggle in hushed tones. As ever, the coolest people end up in the smoking section, like Tom and Eric who've been together for 14 years and warn us about the 7-year itch, and the superpretty man who actually teaches figure skating.
We smokers are hustled out back again for the cake and presents which include gift cards, knick knacks and an anal douche. Tonia and I discuss wether to use it before sex or after and can't really agree except that one should probably experiment at home alone first to get a handle on the device's effects.
Post-cake and presents, the party boy is demonstrating how gay he is by grabbing my breasts and then holding up his hands and shouting, "Look! Nothing!" Flirty host is over like a shot to see if he can get in on the action, which, forget it.
It takes Tonia and I a while to say goodbye to all the fun people we've met. I have a nice feeling inside because that was a really big deal and took a lot of work. We're given a lift home from a quiet dude and we talk about how good it is to be with cool people who do this stuff. He drops Tonia off first and then lets me out at the foot of my street.
* Get me to tell you about the time at Ab's Pride party where I hallucinated a baby toddler clinging to my skirt and looked down and there was a baby toddler clinging to my skirt and I nearly lost my shit.
** Say that five times really fast.
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