Today was my first appointment in the odyssey of ME, or, the first stop in the road to recovery, or, I went to see the naturopathic doctor today.

She's lovely, and young, and possibly a huge liar. I can't be sure. But I am sure that I learned a few things today:

1) I'm a skeptic
2) My scale at home lies to the tune of -10 pounds (that was a shocker...time to hold back on the frappucinos)
3) Besides the weight thing, I know myself too well (if I had remembered that I set my dashboard clock about 10 minutes ahead, I wouldn't have broken so many laws to get there. I was still 5 minutes late. But, see JNads, it works)
4) My small intestine is "unhappy" (That's a quote.)
5) I'm a skeptic

The visit to the doctor was...interesting. They weighed, measured, and assessed me in other ways. She drummed me, looked at my tongue, and then asked me to pee in a cup. Kinky! I guess that the point of visiting her is that she will assess my health and wellness, determine my problems, and then send me to specialists. It made me feel so special.

I had made plans to meet former PF classmate Barb D. after my appointment, but she phoned first thing this morning (while I was stuck in traffic waiting to get on the first of 2 bridges) to say that she had been called into a meeting. I wonder if it's one of the government meetings where they fly her to Victoria? I'll have to ask.

So instead, I drove over the Lion's Gate bridge (very brave of me for several reasons including my fear of heights and the rickety-ness of that old chunk of iron), through Stanley Park, and over the Burrard Street bridge. My goal: two favourite bakeries - Patisserie Lebeau (for cream cheese danish, crispy croissants, and liege waffles...delicious) and Terra Breads (for their fruit-filled pecan loaf). I strolled around Granville Island before meeting a friend for lunch. Then I drove home to a huge pile of homework. What a tragic way to end a very good day.

But now that I think of it...today was a personal best for bridge crossing. Five in total including the Alex Fraser, which I had to cross to get home. That's a lot of bridges to nowhere.

My big accomplishment over the weekend, well on Friday, was that I bought a spanking new set of file cabinets. Okay, two drawers. I bought them with the hope that my clutter would disappear.

I put the cabinet in my room. Pointed it towards the pile'o'crap I've acquired over the last few months. I closed the door to my room. I left the cabinet alone with my ephemera. I came back a couple of hours later, and nothing had happened. Great, I thought, I guess that I'll have to do this myself.

So I spent half the day Friday sort of cleaning out my crap. I didn't manage to get through my heap of newspaper clippings. No, that fire hazard is still intact. But it has been moved! It now occupies the coveted spot on top of the file cabinet (I purposefully bought the two-drawer model because I figured that I could use the top to pile more stuff on. I was right. It totally works.) I moved some other junk around. Emptied out some hanging file boxes that I kept stacked up in the closet. That made room for more crap. I put the files in the shiny, new cabinet. So basically, everything got shuffled around, and then I crowned the whole thing with the newspaper clippings. It's funny how I don't feel like accomplished anything. Oh, right...that's because I didn't.

Next step: throw some shit out. I'll let you know how that goes. I should get to it sometime next year.

I wrote the draft for my rhetorical analysis in a couple of hours, after about 4 hours of sleep. It's either brilliant or shit.

I'll know by the end of tomorrow.

I had a sleepless night. I do believe that I bring it onto myself. I get all tense and anxious when going to bed, even when I've just been falling asleep at the computer. I think that the biggest contributing factor is that I'm way behind on school already. I don't like being out of control like this. I wish that I could tell myself that I will get it all done, and it will be fine. But I can't. I don't have enough credibility with myself. Dammit. The damn rhetorical analysis is creeping in here, too.

Bah!

Multiple levels of disappointment today, starting with the fact that I can't remember what I was going to complain about. Maybe I should eat more fish.

I've finally got the stupid invitation design to a point of being somewhat designerly. This is the time that I regret that I hadn't spent all summer farting around with InDesign, Illustrator, and Photoshop as I had intended. My skill level with these tools is still very low. I'm not pleased with my design. I think that I came up with one that would please John more. But there's a time when you have to say enough!

I struggled with rhetorical analysis last night. It's no fun and I got nowhere. That means that I'll have to do that whole thing tomorrow, plus finalize and annotate my invitation design, plus do Vande Kopple and whateve Diana wants us to do, plus whatever homework needs to be done in the other classes.

It's safe to say that I'm goint to miss yet another Word on the Street, and that's really pissing me off.

Then some jackass uploaded a bunch of files to myDouglas which have to be read by Friday, plus an assignment, plus the assignment and quiz from the class two weeks ago. Thanks for the excellent timing, assholes. Don't you think you could have gotten your respective asses in gear a little sooner?

I'm just bitter over the WOTS thing. This is just highlighting another reason why it sucks to not live in the city. But then I go outside in the sun, listen to the birds, watch the squirrels run through the yard, watch the dog watching the squirrels run through the yard, and I realize it's not so bad. Until some idiot rides by on his Harley (get a tune-up), or some loser walks through the schoolground with his/her huge drug dealer dog offleash, and the dog runs crazily, catches a bird, and then rips it apart. That happened the other day. It can put you off your Cheerios.

Cheerio.

Because other semesters have been accomplished without too much hair loss or vomiting, I thought that I could take on a bit more this semester.

I managed to finagle my way back into alive magazine. I heard through the grapevine that they might need some extra help, so I sent an email. As soon as I hit "send", I received emails with writing and editing assignments. Hmmm, I don't want to complain, but, I was hoping for a longer, less frightening transition. The good part is that I'll be able to say "see ya" to the hated weekend job at the golf course. I've been counting the days, and they knew it (it's called pragmatics, people).

But there's going to be a painful overlap which will be difficult to get through. I thought that I had my shit together, but the magazine called, yet again. When I was leaving, they asked if I would be willing to participate in a life makeover series. Sure, I said, with visions of free massages and a personal chef. It's to appear in the magazine starting in January, and, stupidly I assumed that would be the timeline. Why would I do that? I interned there. I know how the magazine works, sort of. So what this means is that I have to write a 500 word article every couple of weeks on top of schoolwork and the part-time work I've agreed to do for the mag.

I wonder if this life makeover deal includes a personal assistant?

Why am I complaining? These are all good opportunities. I just hope that I'll be able to keep up with it all without going postal. Then I really would have to change my design for the portfolio show invitation.

Am I overly passive, extremely calm, or indifferent?

Because my mom was going out with the crazy Red Hat ladies last night, I decided to spring for a treat for my dad. He never gets hamburgers because my mom doesn't like them (and yes, she dictates at meal time). So I stopped by the local Burger King to pick up a couple burgers on my way home from school.

There was a line. I dutifully joined the line because there was only one till open. I had just been lulled into my happy place because the woman in front of me was just way too forgetful and demanding (oh, and could I get that cut in half...and could I get a different lid...and could I get some mayo instead of ketchup...), when another till opened. BKG (Burger King Girl) called out "can I help the next one in line". Before I could respond, this old guy, who was just approaching the counter, swung around to face the BKG and started demanding food. BKG gave me a "what can I do?" look, and went on with the transaction. Some guys in the line behind me made some noise. I leaned over and said to rude guy "hey, were you in the line? There's a line over here." He brilliantly said "you guys are in that line for that till, and I'm in this line for this till." Well, he had a point (somewhat), so I turned to the people behind me and kind of shrugged/smiled. The guy at the back of the line made some more noise, and then gave up. Clearly, we were dealing with some sort of crazy genius.

But the funny thing is that while I was waiting for my "food", it came to be guy in the back of the line's turn. And what did he want? What was he so upset that he had to wait another minute for? "Cold water, please."

At least he was polite about it.

Now that I've finished blogging about the trip to Toronto, I don't really have much to say. This only feeds the fire that is The Brat's disinterest in blogs.

What's new is that I received an email today from Maureen asking me where the hell my internship report is. That's funny, in a way, because now I want to know. I sent it to June on August 14, and I have been talking to people. Some have heard back from her. Some haven't. I guess that she somehow misplaced their reports. Terrrrrrific.

I can't think of anything too interesting, so instead I will provide the link to an amazing, clever video. You might have heard about it. The band's name is OK Go. Enjoy.

Last Sunday was my final day in Toronto. My flight left some time after 7pm, so I had almost a full day.

We stayed in Craig's neighbourhood for most of the day. Throughout my visit, he explained to me the ethnicity of each neighbourhood. Apparently Toronto is quite ethnically divided into neighbourhoods. He neglected to tell me that he lives in the Polish/Ukranian neighbourhood. His gramma is Polish/Ukranian, so I wondered if he chose to live where he does for that reason. He said that he just thought it was a nice neighbourhood. The possibility of homemade perogies was just a bonus.

This is all leading up to the fact that his neighbourhood was having a Polish/Ukranian festival that weekend. We walked the few blocks to the main streets, in the humidity, and enjoyed some ethnic food. I shopped a bit, picking up something for my dad (a trucker's cap which he will not wear ironically...I had to tell him to remove the cardboard that was used to keep the cap's shape while being shipped), for my mom (an Easter egg keychain), for The Brat (because she's Ukranian), and for JNads (because he's damn hard to buy for, and because I couldn't find a Mennonite comic book the day before). I took some photos, but now I wish that I had taken some before the festival. You can't really see the neighbourhood in these photos.


As you can see, it was a little dismal that day. But it was still humid! The entertainment did its best to cheer us up. I was distracted by the coats those poor bastards were wearing. Who's idea was it to make them dance in the humidity while wearing long, red velvet coats?





We didn't stick around to see the rest of the entertainment, even though there was a band that had everyone on their feet the day before, still to come in the program.


Craig lovingly took a photo of my bald spot, but then told me to turn around and smile. So I did. I think that the one from behind worked out better.


Those were the last photos taken in Toronto. We wandered around the street fest for a while, sampling perogies and Polish vodka. It both smells and tastes like nail polish remover! Yummy.

I managed to cram all of my stuff into my suitcase, Craig's hockey bag, and my backpack. At around 5:30pm, he drove me to the airport and dropped me off. I checked in without a problem and without waiting too long (this electronic check-in and seat selection is truly civilized), and then I went to the PizzaPizza stand for one last taste of Toronto. I got a little souvenir with my ghetto slice...a piece of metal about the size of a grain of rice. Luckily, I didn't crack a tooth, so I wouldn't have to delay my flight while taking legal actions. I should have saved that bit of shrapnel, but I just tossed it away. So much for sentimentality.

After a few hours, I was back in Vancouver, where it was sunny, warm, and comfortable. The Ontarians can keep their humidity.
________________________________________

Addendum: This has nothing to do with the trip, but, it does. The lovely, expensive, organic, earth-friendly dog toy that was purchased in Niagara-on-the-lake lasted less than five minutes. See.

To answer The Brat's inquiry, I took all of the photos in my blog and that I've posted on Flickr. Thanks for the compliment. I am proud of the photos; I think that they're pretty good, dammit.

For my final full day in Toronto, we drove the rented car out to Kitchener/Waterloo (don't ask my why it's hyphenated, but it is) to give The Stratford Festival a visit. Once again, we hadn't planned ahead, so we didn't have tix to any performances. I was quite interested, though, because Canadian acting dynamo and Trudeau look-alike Colm Feore was credited as playing the lead role in three plays: the title role in Shakespeare's Coriolanus; Fagin in Oliver!; and the title character in Don Juan. I think that he also sewed all the costumes, designed the lighting, and was a barista at intermission. A little show-offy? I think so.

Anyhow, the day started without breakfast. Craig promised that he was going to take me to this awesome German town for a hearty German breakfast. Now that I'm thinking about it, this plan probably involved a beehaus and tankards of ale. Crafty bastard. But his cleverness failed him because he couldn't find either the town or the restaurant. No, we didn't consult a map. Maps are for women. So instead, we circled and backtracked, and then gave up.

Instead, we ended up in St. Jacobs (or Jakobs?) in the Mennonite country. It was a lovely place, and it was very busy. There were fewer brick buildings. That alone probably drew the busloads of tourists.

We stopped at the restaurant and inn on the right side of this photo. Craig was still forgoing his vegetarian diet, and so he had a roast porl sandwich. The thought of roast pork still makes my stomach churn. That's an old, painful story from my youth. It's better to not talk about it.


It was a cool little town full of Mennonite-related nick-nick stores, furniture stores, and quilt stores. Lots of restaurants. There was a candy store with fresh Turkish delight. I really wanted to buy some for a friend, but it wouldn't still be fresh by the time I got it to her.


I bought a few books for myself in a used book/antique store. I could have bought a few more, but I had to consider packing for the plane. I lucked out and found what I think is an incredibly suitable gift for Evil Xine in this town. I do hope she likes it.

Then we drove to Stratford. It is an amazingly picturesque little town busy with pretentious theatre-goers. As per our rule since childhood, Craig coerced me into posing stupidly on a cannon. I chose to ignore the inner voice which usually alerts me to his buffonery. To his credit, though, he orchestrated the moment masterfully. He told me to get up on the cannon, staddle it, and then just before he snapped the photo, he told me to sing for the troops.

That explains the laughter.

I got him back by encouraging him to pose like this with this statue.

He was horrified to find out that it was a War Memorial. I have to admit that I felt a little guilty.

I took many photos around Stratford.











We did manage to get away from the little river that runs through the town. Once again, there were many brick buildings. We unfortunately got there too late in the day. All of the shops were closing, which was weird considering that it was The Stratford Festival. You would think that there would be festival hours.



We were surprised to find out that thatt last building is the town's jail. It all seemed so civil. The parking spaces are written in script (all caps). Not legible, but impressive, I suppose.

As you can see in the photos, it was getting quite dark. It also started to rain. We headed home after this, stopping for a beverage break before turning in for the night. I had to confirm my flight and reservation through Westjet. I have to say that they were so very pleasant at all times. I also had to plan for packing, which turned out to be a bit of a puzzle. I had to borrow a hockey bag from Craig to bring all the new found/purchased junk home in.

We rented the car on Friday morning from the lovely people at _______. Why do I have trouble retaining such details? Perhaps it's because I don't care too much. Nevertheless, the people were lovely. I say that like I expected them to be anything other than professionally nice. But I think that they were genuinely nice. When we talked about buying extra insurance, it reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry and Elaine rent a car. Jerry ends up pissed about not getting the type of car he requested. When the rent-a-car lady asks if he wants to buy the extra insurance, he tells her something like "Yes. Because I intend to beat the shit out of this car." It had nothing to do with our experience. I just think that it's funny.

I don't remember what we did for breakfast this day. We ended up heading out of town around mid morning. Craig, with sadly misplaced good intentions, decided to take the scenic route, which is winding and meandering, and twice as long as it needs to be. We passed through many charming little "towns" full of charming little to big brick houses and buildings. We passed the memorial to ________ in _________ town, the site of Canada's only military battle. Once again, I've lost the details, but that's because by this time I was a little carsick. I was so focused on holding back the vomit that I forgot to take notes. Craig is always good at receiving, retaining, and spewing forth this kinds of trivial details. I have to be really interested to receive and retain such details. Oh, and not nauseous.

Eventually, we got to Niagara-on-the-Lake, which is an alarmingly beautiful little town. The Shaw festival was on. We didn't plan ahead, so there was no chance of seeing anything. Besides, my cousin isn't too into the theatre. I am a little, but not to the detriment of a holiday. There's usually only so much time, and I want to see the place, not sit in the dark. Here are some photos of Niagara-on-the-Lake.









These two photos are of the Prince of Wales hotel.








We ate lunch at some pub (so maybe we didn't have breakfast). It is the yellow building on the corner in of the photo.


I took two photos of this building. I have no idea what it is, but it's quite pretty. It has a stature of George Bernard Shaw (hence the festival), and some really fancy landscaping/flowers.








There was much good shopping here. Although I coveted all the fancy wool sweaters and cotton shirts at the Irish, I didn't buy anything for myself. This store reminded me of when we went to summer school in England. I bought myself one of those cable knit sweaters. When I got home, I somehow managed to shrink it into a doggy sweater. Of course it was too hot for the dog, so the sweater disappeared. Having learned my lesson, I decided to not spend a few hundred dollars on a fancy sweater or shirts this time. Instead, I bought my mother a subtly Celtic designed necklace and pendant with sparkly purple and green stones. Not only are these her favourite colours, but because there are more purple than green stones, the necklace fits in with the Red Hat ladies dress code. She just joined them this year but is eager to catch up on all the tackiness of the red and purple dress code.

The best find was this fancy pet store:

where I found an organic, fair trade, blah-de-blah dog toy for the monster. He destroyed it within 5 minutes of receiving it, so the poor toy has been banished to the cupboard of maimed friends.

We climbed back into the car and made our way to the mecca of tackiness, Niagara Falls. What an amazing natural wonder/man-made disaster. I took too many photos, and I won't bore you with them because it's possibly one of the most photographed things ever. But I am particularly proud of this one, which juxtaposes the tackiness of the commercial tourist ventures with the natural wonder that started it all, the falls.

You can barely see the falls in the lower right corner, and that's pretty much an accurate symbol to what has happened to the area.

We didn't shell out the big bucks to partake in any of the panty-drenching tourist rip-offery such as The Maid of the Mist or the tour Behind the Falls. All it took, besides seeing the prices, was for Craig to point out the surging green sludge at the edge of the falls. "That's in the air," he said, smiling like a bastard. We were silent for quite a while as we walked through the mist. God that place is damp. You can't escape the mist cloud that rises from the falls. It's only kinda gross.

We paused long enough to get photos of ourselves. I'm in front of the American Falls; he's in front of the Canadian Falls. Over my right shoulder, you can see the newest adventure by those crazy Americans: a balloon that goes out over the falls. Nifty.









The call of all things commercial beckoned us up the hill. Ripley's Believe It or Not. Madame Tussaud's Estranged Nephew's Wax Museum. Too many haunted house-type things to count. So many restaurants. There were some guys parked on the side of the road, rap music blasting, trying to sell their cd to passersby. They called out to many people around us, and ignored us altogether. Just another confirmation that we're getting old, and have never been hip or cool. We were dissed by the desperate street vendors!


After wandering around for a while, buying too much unspecial stuff at the Hershey's store, we ended up in a couple of arcades. Craig insisted that we pose for photos in the first one, so naturally we tried to cram our fat asses onto some kiddie rides.



Bert's got the bad deal in the first one, and I've apparently sprouted cat ears in the second one. We then went to the Marvel Comics arcade, and played a lame ride-through lazer gun thingy themed with Spider-man. It might have been cutting-edge technology a few years ago, but now it's about as tired as the kids running it.

On the way back to the car, I took a few parting shots of the falls at twilight. This one made the cut. The faint tower on the left side is Marineland. We didn't make it there this time, even though everyone loves Marineland.


And then we drove the two hours back to Craig's apartment. We had another early morning planned for Saturday.

My cousin and I just walked around the city last Thursday, doing a little shopping and site-seeing. We started at the train station, where I couldn't resist my photog's/tourist's instincts, and I had to take some photos.


As you can see, I do like to use natural lighting. It's a lovely train station...it has everything you want in a grand, old, stone train station except that it isn't in New York. Craig really wanted to show me the fancy urinals. He had told me about them a few days before. Although I do agree that they are quite special (porcelain and freestanding, like oddly shaped flowers coming out of the floor), they weren't worthy of photographing. Besides, it's where people pee. Then again, if I stuck to that rule, I wouldn't have too many photos, now would I?

From there, he dragged me to the hockey hall of fame, which isn't anything like I'd thought it would be. Somehow, someone has successfully incorporated a wonderful old building into a new complex. They bridged the buildings and the architectural styles using an almost futuristic glass hallway. I loved it.


We walked past the Gridiron Building (anyone know if this is correct?)

which is apparently famous and interesting. Perhaps it's more interesting when there are less trees blocking the sightlines. We were heading to the St. Lawrence Market, which is a good-sized market housed in an old warehouse.

To get there, we had to fight our way through a busker's festival. Every five feet, someone pestered us to "donate" at least $2 to the cause. In return, they would give us a sticker to wear which told the others to leave us alone. That's quite a catch-22. Either you pay them to leave you alone, or you pay them which validates them. We stuck with a grumpy "we're heading to the market", which got us through.

I really wish that I hadn't been so jaded at that particular time. When we got into the market, I was all "our Granville Island market is waaaaaaaaaaaay better than this market. This market could only dream of being as great as Granville Island." So I didn't take any photos, but I did buy myself a few second hand books. One is apparently about the history of footnotes. And I ask you, doesn't that interest you just a little? It got my attention. Yes, I know...I'm a word geek. Get over it.

After escaping the market, we walked the long walk to the still-in-development Distillery District. Along the way, Craig and I talked about my sister and his father, and death, and all kinds of fun, happy things like how a death in the family can rip it apart. We ended with a "well that went to a fun place", and then dove into the market for a few hours of over-priced shopping and eating.

The district is amazing. It's kind of like Yaletown, but without the residential compnonent. It's just all shops, galleries, and eateries in refurbished and redesigned brick warehouses.




We walked around, shopped a bit, had lunch (really expensive fish and chips...apparently it's a rarity in Ontario), and bought chocolate and had gelato at the most amazing chocolate shop. It's called Soma, and they make their own chocolate from the cocoa bean. They buy the whole beans, roast them, grind them, and then make chocolates.


As I was picking out my purchases, one of the nice but pretentious staffers encouraged me to use a basket because my body heat will melt the chocolate. That's great advice, but what does she think is going to happen when I take the chocolate outside into the 90 degrees of humidity? Hmmm, precious, what's going to happen then?

We met a couple of dogs in the district. They were both very scary, and were "on duty" keeping their stores safe, so we didn't bother them beyond taking their photos.



The day kind of fell apart from this point. Craig decided that we should walk to Cabbagetown. I have no idea where we went. But we walked for quite a while until he gave up to my whinging (have I mentioned the new hip problem? It hurts when I walk). By this time, we were in one of Toronto's two Chinatown's. We took a cab back to the financial district. We wandered a bit from there. I have to admit that I can't really remember how this day ended. I think that we went back a little early because we had to rent a car for the next two days. So we went back to his apartment and watched Season 5 of The Simpsons while we rented a car. Friday, we were heading off to Niagara Falls, so we wanted an early start.

Addendum:
I forgot to mention that we stopped by the CBC gift shop while wandering around the business district. I really wanted to find some really tacky Degrassi Jr High-related souvenir for a certain rabid fan/friend. But alas, I couldn't find anything. This is possibly because Degrassi was the one, flukey Canadian tv program that wasn't associated with the CBC. I'm sure that I will be filled in by Evil Xine. She'll have to settle for something bought in Mennonite country.

Last Wednesday was the second day I spent on my own in Toronto while my cousin worked. This was to be my "tourist day", when I got all of the touristy things out of the way without having to drag him around to do all the same, old things.

That was the extent of my plans. When I walked across the street to catch the bus to the subway, I realized, upon perusal of my transit map, that there was a streetcar station just a couple of block south. According to the map, this southern route would keep me in the general direction I was going, instead of heading north to take the subway, and then walking or busing back south to the CN Tower et al. To my naive, transit-innocent brain, this seemed like a good idea. Besides, I had just missed the bus, and was facing a little bit of a wait, anyhow.

So I strolled through the charming neighbourhood only to discover that the road on which the streetcar travels was torn up and in some state of repair/renovation. I walked to the next street over, right next to the park, and then walked along the park to the next station. See the photos I took of the park.


When I was about midway of the park's width, I noticed that a streetcar had stopped at the stop which I had figured was not working due to the construction. I watched, helplessly, as it rolled past me to the second stop, to which I was heading, and then carry on towards the city. I realized that I had missed both stops, and would now have to wait for the next one to come along. Not being too familiar with the system, I guessed and hoped that another one would be along soon, and so I turned around and headed back to the first stop. My feeble brain figured that the streetcar would reach that stop first.

I had to wait about 20 minutes for the next streetcar. While waiting, an old woman toddled to the platform. She was pulling one of the foldable shopping carts. As we waited for the streetcar, she kept giving me these meaningful looks like "well, where is it?" I really wanted to tell her that I had no idea, but that I had taken her arrival as a sign that I had guessed correctly and that another streetcar was coming. I assumed that she was thinking the same way about me...that if I was waiting for the streetcar, it was surely on its way.

Finally, it arrived. While getting on, I asked the operator if I was on the correct streetcar to get to the CN Tower. He mumbled some directions. I said "so, yes?" He said, "yes, but you should get off at ______ and catch the ____________. That will get you closer." When I heard him call out a stop that sounded something like what he'd mumbled, I asked him if this was the stop. He told me to get off, go around the corner, and wait for the #____. I took that as a "yes, this is the stop."

For all his grumbliness, he did give me good advice. It was pleasant to ride on the street level through the city to the financial district, which is a few blocks away from the CN Tower.

I stumbled around for a bit looking for a non-Starbuck's coffee place to grab a frozen blended coffee beverage (fbcb). While stumbling, I took this photo, which includes the Roy Thompson Concert Hall on the right side of the photo.

I stopped at Timothy's, and had a horribly strong and bitter fbcb. It was very unsatisfying. While struggling with the beverage, I pulled out my map and guidebook and planned my day. It turned out that I was just around the corner from The Silver Snail, which is apparently one of two must-see comics shops in Toronto. The other, The Beguiling (I think), is supposed to be more upscale and fancy. For JNadiger's sake, I wish that I had found it. Instead, here is a photo of The Silver Snail:


From there, I found my way to the CN Tower, which I didn't go up because 1) there are many photos taken by much talented photogs than myself, which I can buy, so what's the point; and 2) I can shit my pants for free, so why waste the money? (I'm a bit leery of the heights, you know). So instead, I took the required photo:

and then carried on with my day.

As per my guidebook, I headed under this lovely building (on the right in the photo on the left), which is some sort of train station, and headed to the Toronto Island ferries.



The main attraction on Toronto Island is Centreville, which is a little amusement park on the island. There are four ferry landings on the island, and Centreville is the most popular. As per my guidebook's suggestion, I chose to eschew the hordes of families waiting to crowd the ferry to Centreville. Instead, I waited, almost alone, in the lineup for the ferry to Ward's Island, which is just west of Centreville. My guidebook suggested to go to the Ward's Island dock, and walk to Centreville. Seeing the crowds waiting to go to Centreville, I thought that this was a good plan. I'm not much of a people person, but I'm even less of a kid person (and yes, I'm suggesting that kids are NOT people, too, not unless they behave themselves).

While waiting for the ferry, a man and his kids rode up on their bikes. They asked me about the ferry's schedule, and I had to admit that I didn't know and that I was a tourist. We chatted a bit about Toronto. He asked about Vancouver. The ferry came, and, being first in line, I was able to get a choice spot for the 10 minute ride to the island.

Once on the island, pathetically, in front of everyone who disembarked the ferry and then embarked on the walk to Centreville, I set up my camera on a stump, hit the timer, and on the first try, got a decent shot of my with the city of Toronto in the background. Thank god, because I just wanted to pick up the camera and carry on as if I wasn't such a tourist. I think the photo works well at hiding my girth.

Those of you with reasonable memories will remember this photo from before. Please indulge me; it's one of the few photos of myself from this trip.

There are some amazingly lucky folks who live on this island in cute little cabin-y houses. It's an island/water community, so they all have boats and stuff. Here are some kids who are attending a boating day camp, next to a bridge that goes over the canal to a collection of the cute little houses. Regrettably, I didn't take any photos of the houses.


In a way, I felt sorry for the people living there...people must always be taking photos of their homes. I know that I wouldn't like it if hundreds of people took photos of my house every day. Then again, they do get to live with views like this:













As I walked along, singing along to HW on my mp3 player (out loud...people must have thought "No wonder he's alone"), I watched the people playing disc golf on the island's disc golf course, and looked for lovely scenes to photograph. There were too many, so I won't include them in the blog.

I successfully managed to avoid injury by quad bicycle (I wonder if they sell insurance with the rental?), and found my way to Centreville. On one side, is the beach, which I realized several days later wasn't the ocean, but a Great Lake (don't ask me which one...I don't know).

Although it was an overcast day, and although it was humid and I was exhausted from the long walk, I had enough composure to take a photo of the PizzaPizza stand sign (those things are everywhere ), which advertised that they have fresh backed muffins. Yummy!











My inner editor had a small stroke. When it was over, I bought some juice, and walked over to the lovely little amusement park, seen here in a series of photos:















I soon realized that it was getting close to dinner time, and that people would start lining up to leave the island. This time, I chose to leave via the Centreville ferry dock. I was smart to have lined up when I did. It seemed like everyone followed. The line behind me was frightening. I had enough time while waiting for the ferry to take one more photo of the city.

It just started to sprinkle as we were boarding the ferry. I didn't get a prime spot for photo taking on the trip back. The boat was extremely crowded.

Once back on the mainland, my cousin, with superior timing, phoned to see where I was. If we had planned ahead of time, we could have met at the CNE. As it turned out, he was still at the university, and was going for dinner with his friend/coworker Heather, and he wanted to know if I was interested in meeting them. I was still about an hour away, so I said that I'd meet him at his apartment. It was too bad, because aside from the one morning that she gave us a ride to the university, I didn't see Heather at all. Maybe next time.