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dragonlady7Cut and pasted from a textwrangler box typed into whilst upon the QEW:
****
I have lived in some places with heavy traffic. I used to commute over the George Washington Bridge. I've driven the Jersey Turnpike, dealt with the Saw Mill Parkway, driven the Northway in a heavy blizzard, gone off-roading in a minivan, feathered my clutch through stop-and-go Jersey traffic, crossed through the Holland Tunnel and worse.
But Ontario takes the cake.
I just watched a subcompact stone-cold CUT OFF a semi-trailer by inches with nary a blink-- and the truck never touched its brakes-- and was actually compelled to cover my eyes rather than witness what boneheaded stunt a young Ontarioan was about to pull as he revved his Yamaha crotch trocket from the slow lane of the QEW into an entrance ramp so he could pass another semi on the right. I still don't know what happened, as my eyes were firmly covered, but as I saw no flames afterward I can only assume he survived. Or died quietly. I don't know.
Jesus, Canada.
****
I'm serious in that I actually did have my hands over my eyes. It was terrifying. Walking around the streets, it's a little bit like New York, in that it's very vertical, very alive, very crowded, but for one thing, it smells way less (I know New York in the summer. It's, ah, fragrant. Phui.), for another thing, the streetcars are terrifying, and for a third thing, holy Jesus the traffic is fucking crazy. They're doing like sixty in the parking lane and like driving over the sidewalk. Although they respect the crosswalks like it's their job, to their credit.
My theory is that they don't know how fast kilometers are either.
At least they're efficient. You try to let somebody in at a merge in Buffalo, you have to give them thirty yards and flash your headlights and come to a complete stop and roll down the window and wave and get out fo the car and scream "WILL YOU FUCKING DRIVE ALREADY?" and finally you just go and leave them sitting there with their blinker on looking concerned and puzzled. In Ontario, you just have to kind of blink, and they'll happily wedge themselves into the two inches in front of your bumper. No hesitation: very efficient. Z was pleased. He has good brakes and loathes inefficiency more than he fears fender-benders.
We got here around 4ish, found a parking place in the garage for some exorbitant rate per day, checked in, played with the hotel room (I unpacked and put everything into a drawer or on a shelf, just for the novelty of it: it's not like I've ever done that in my own home), I curled my hair (!) and put on makeup ("Your face is much more high-contrast now," Z observed), and we wandered off down through the chic downtown districts of Toronto. Wound up someplace fun in the middle of Buskerfest. Had a bunch of home-brewed pints, ate some food, ate some dessert, fed Z coffee, tried to drag Z home. He was sleepy. We wandered, paused, watched a boy from Sydney climb a 12-foot pole and juggle knives. Put some American dollars into his hat. It's Buskerfest: street performers from all over the world are here.
We were back at the hotel by 9, which is sort of sad, but just as well. I have shit to do tomorrow, and Z is adorable when he sleeps. I took a long hot bath in the immaculate bathtub. Perhaps later tonight I will go swim in one of the two swimming pools, but perhaps I will do it tomorrow morning instead. I should mention that from my tenth-floor window I can look down into both swimming pools, and also into the waterfall in the open courtyard surrounded by large live trees. I can hear the waterfall and it actually drowns out some of the noise of the city; it is relatively quiet, although a church nearby has bells that ring up until at least eleven pm.
All told, Toronto is lovely so far. I am glad we came here. I don't even care if we don't get to any festivals or events. Just having walked around the city is enough.
Z has been here many times, but not since he was young. So it is sort of amusing to watch him trying to remember where things are. He's remarkably good at it-- better than I am in my own native city. I have gotten lost on the very street where I was actually birthed, so that's not saying much. (Troy can be confusing, and I didn't learn to drive until a scant two months before I moved away for good, so I have some excuse, sort of.)
Anyway. Half an hour until I'm legally 27, although technically I wasn't born until 7 am-- just as the shifts were changing at the hospital, as the story goes. "You'll be just like this for hours," the outgoing nurse said, patting Mom's hand. "Just hang in there." The incoming nurse came in right away, said hi, looked, and said, "Jesus, get a doctor in here!" and out I came. Ta-daa! Not always a procrastinator, although I was a few days late. I like to keep deadlines on their toes, to mix a metaphor.
****
I have lived in some places with heavy traffic. I used to commute over the George Washington Bridge. I've driven the Jersey Turnpike, dealt with the Saw Mill Parkway, driven the Northway in a heavy blizzard, gone off-roading in a minivan, feathered my clutch through stop-and-go Jersey traffic, crossed through the Holland Tunnel and worse.
But Ontario takes the cake.
I just watched a subcompact stone-cold CUT OFF a semi-trailer by inches with nary a blink-- and the truck never touched its brakes-- and was actually compelled to cover my eyes rather than witness what boneheaded stunt a young Ontarioan was about to pull as he revved his Yamaha crotch trocket from the slow lane of the QEW into an entrance ramp so he could pass another semi on the right. I still don't know what happened, as my eyes were firmly covered, but as I saw no flames afterward I can only assume he survived. Or died quietly. I don't know.
Jesus, Canada.
****
I'm serious in that I actually did have my hands over my eyes. It was terrifying. Walking around the streets, it's a little bit like New York, in that it's very vertical, very alive, very crowded, but for one thing, it smells way less (I know New York in the summer. It's, ah, fragrant. Phui.), for another thing, the streetcars are terrifying, and for a third thing, holy Jesus the traffic is fucking crazy. They're doing like sixty in the parking lane and like driving over the sidewalk. Although they respect the crosswalks like it's their job, to their credit.
My theory is that they don't know how fast kilometers are either.
At least they're efficient. You try to let somebody in at a merge in Buffalo, you have to give them thirty yards and flash your headlights and come to a complete stop and roll down the window and wave and get out fo the car and scream "WILL YOU FUCKING DRIVE ALREADY?" and finally you just go and leave them sitting there with their blinker on looking concerned and puzzled. In Ontario, you just have to kind of blink, and they'll happily wedge themselves into the two inches in front of your bumper. No hesitation: very efficient. Z was pleased. He has good brakes and loathes inefficiency more than he fears fender-benders.
We got here around 4ish, found a parking place in the garage for some exorbitant rate per day, checked in, played with the hotel room (I unpacked and put everything into a drawer or on a shelf, just for the novelty of it: it's not like I've ever done that in my own home), I curled my hair (!) and put on makeup ("Your face is much more high-contrast now," Z observed), and we wandered off down through the chic downtown districts of Toronto. Wound up someplace fun in the middle of Buskerfest. Had a bunch of home-brewed pints, ate some food, ate some dessert, fed Z coffee, tried to drag Z home. He was sleepy. We wandered, paused, watched a boy from Sydney climb a 12-foot pole and juggle knives. Put some American dollars into his hat. It's Buskerfest: street performers from all over the world are here.
We were back at the hotel by 9, which is sort of sad, but just as well. I have shit to do tomorrow, and Z is adorable when he sleeps. I took a long hot bath in the immaculate bathtub. Perhaps later tonight I will go swim in one of the two swimming pools, but perhaps I will do it tomorrow morning instead. I should mention that from my tenth-floor window I can look down into both swimming pools, and also into the waterfall in the open courtyard surrounded by large live trees. I can hear the waterfall and it actually drowns out some of the noise of the city; it is relatively quiet, although a church nearby has bells that ring up until at least eleven pm.
All told, Toronto is lovely so far. I am glad we came here. I don't even care if we don't get to any festivals or events. Just having walked around the city is enough.
Z has been here many times, but not since he was young. So it is sort of amusing to watch him trying to remember where things are. He's remarkably good at it-- better than I am in my own native city. I have gotten lost on the very street where I was actually birthed, so that's not saying much. (Troy can be confusing, and I didn't learn to drive until a scant two months before I moved away for good, so I have some excuse, sort of.)
Anyway. Half an hour until I'm legally 27, although technically I wasn't born until 7 am-- just as the shifts were changing at the hospital, as the story goes. "You'll be just like this for hours," the outgoing nurse said, patting Mom's hand. "Just hang in there." The incoming nurse came in right away, said hi, looked, and said, "Jesus, get a doctor in here!" and out I came. Ta-daa! Not always a procrastinator, although I was a few days late. I like to keep deadlines on their toes, to mix a metaphor.
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no subject
Date: 2006-08-26 03:35 pm (UTC)Buskerfest sounds awesome. I'm looking forward to your account of adult night at the Pirate festival...I looked at the links and I am sooooo jealous. I totally wanna be in Toronto right NOW. :)
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Date: 2006-08-27 03:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-27 03:06 pm (UTC)darius
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Date: 2006-08-27 11:22 pm (UTC)Just drove back from Toronto myself. Traffic hit a snarl around Hamilton over an accident. Didn't look too bad, though.