Toronto is all shiny silver beams and wide blue sky. It feels modern and wind-blown and clean. And I knew that it’s supposed to be so international and all that, but I was still surprised when nearly every single person with whom we came into contact had a different foreign accent. We met some lovely Jamaican vegans at an outdoor market and they fed us the best curried hummus I ever ate. We also met people from Australia, Russia, Romania, England, Thailand and Kenya.
Another Canadian curiosity (and I say this as a rabid devotee of Paris): super-friendly people with French accents. Brian lost his phone on the plane and they RETURNED it, to our HOTEL. Merci, indeed.
We were in Toronto for a few days, so Scott and T-Bone and I got to do some sightseeing. We wandered the harbourfront and caught a couple of songs by a world-beat kind of band. T danced a little bit, but really, all he wanted to do was watch the airplanes take off over the water. His is a world of airplanes. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing.
Q: Tariku, do you see that boat?
A: AIRPLANE!!! (insert airplane noise and point at the sky)
Q: Tariku, do you see that horsie?
A: AIRPLANE!!! (you know what to do)
By the time we showed up at the CN tower, the line was an hour long. So Scott and T ate hotdogs, then Scott left for rehearsal and T and I cruised Queen Street by ourselves for a couple of hours. In between the hand-painted clothing boutique and the record shop, we met the friendliest nun, wearing the whole old-school penguin habit. That’s like saying I went down to Melrose and met a nun. Anyway, I was glad that T seems to like just walking around and people watching as much as I do. T is outrageously popular with the ladies, nuns and all. For a small fee, I’m willing to loan him out for walks to any single male friends who are looking for a date.
Then we got in the van and went to the show. Ah, the rock show. T has been to them before and loved them, so I wasn’t anticipating any trouble. I anticipated wrong. He was fine for the first hour or so. All the Blink guys have their kids along, so there’s a big play room set up at the venues. I met Mark’s smoking hot wife and their son and then…
(a side note – I think I’m going to have to bust out some serious shoes if I’m going to keep up with these ladies)
.. and then T was playing with the other kids and having a good ol’ time, when suddenly things went south. Way south. Like three hours of uninterrupted hysterics kind of south.
I did everything. I walked him around the parking lot. I brought him to listen to the music. I took him away from the music. I tried to feed him. I tried to give him milk. I gave him homeopathics. I busted out the big Orajel and Motrin guns. I sang to him. Concerned security guards were bringing us stuffed Toronto Bluejays bears and glow-in-the-dark yo-yos. I abandoned ship and took him back to the hotel. Still he screamed like someone was ripping his toenails out.
We still don’t know if it was his teeth or if, in fact, his toenail was getting ripped out. He has one toenail that’s falling off after a particularly nasty stub, and it might have gotten wedged wrong in his sandal. That’s my best guess. Though I would have thought he would have least been pointing at his toe, if that was the case. He finally exhausted himself and went to sleep. I was traumatized. Though he woke up just fine and very excited to go to the airport and see the AIRPLANES.
I hear the show went great. I have a tradition of taking a picture of the outside of every venue we’re at, so at least I got this one picture.