Monday lunch @ Tim Horton's.
In accordance with vacation irony, our last day in Toronto was sunny and warm.
The checkout time for our hotel was at 1 PM, so we took our time packing. And for the first time in our trip, Alex finally washed his hair, which was caked with nicotine, gravy and absinth residue. All weekend he'd complain about how long we took to get ready - but it's because we actually had showering as part of our routine.
"I wash it about once every three days, man. Otherwise it'd get dry and unspectacular," he explained. Holy shit, it's just a matter of time before he starts using an eyebrow pencil.
Paul and Rain took off after lunch. I had a late flight, so I tagged along with Alex for a photoshoot he was doing for a magazine article about carbs. I wasn't too keen about helping him and his coworkers haul a cast-iron bathtub, which would serve as the main prop. That fucker was heavy ... didn't help that we didn't realize we were carrying it the wrong way until we were done.
But I thoroughly enjoyed helping them place cold spaghetti noodles on a topless Brooke Burke look-alike as she lay in the tub. I'm assuming she was the reason he washed his hair, that filthy split-ends-fearing bastard. Can't blame him though, I'd shampoo my hair for her too.
I've got to hand it to Alex - it's a great way to make a living. The photoshoots for my client involve shiny automobiles, old men, and waking up before dawn to get the best lighting. Car advertising blows.
On the way to the airport, the cab driver gave me the history of Toronto strip joints ("I was there when the whole blowjob thing got started, man. Before that it was just, you know, the hand thingy.") This was then followed by him telling me about how he'd almost picked up a transsexual the previous night at a bar.
"Beautiful, gorgeous face, man. Long, slender legs. Great, big tits out to here," he said, cupping an imaginary set of breasts that apparently would've made steering a car difficult. "If I'da been just a little drunker, I might've gone for it."
"Yeah I can picture you sobering up in a jiffy when the clothes came off though," I replied.
He paused for a moment.
"I don't know man. I'm not into dicks or anything. But this chick was beautiful, man. Amazing tits. No way I could score a bitch like that if she was a real woman. If I was drunk enough, you know, maybe a blowjob. I mean, who can tell right?"
I didn't know how to respond.
"So, did you go to the Taste of Danforth?" I asked.
The Hells Angels' Toronto headquarters was next door to the place where we picked up the bathtub. Alex quivered with fear and hid behind a wall when I whipped out my camera to snap a quick shot. Sure, the security cams and rusty winged skull sculptures are a little intimidating. But c'mon, these guys have a Web site for crying out loud, how dangerous can they really be?
This was inside a Chinese mall on Spadina. Upon closer inspection, it turned out the kids were actually tiny Cantonese men racing for money, and they were whipping each other with chains.
Toronto's the only city in the world that's still ruled by an evil wizard. Apparently the Ents came to save them, but were mistakenly chopped down by lumberjacks.
I was told that this is the Harvard of Canada.
The little red building's first day in building prison was not a good one.
Eaton Center's this large mall in downtown Toronto. But with Photoshop, you can turn it into the album cover for a New Age meditation CD.
Rain was the one who suggested this trip in the first place. Not too long after he and I came back from our Tokyo trip, he emailed me, Alex and Paul, asking if we all wanted to meet up somewhere and brainstorm ideas for something.
Somehow we all ended up agreeing on Toronto as our host city. I guess after Tokyo, Rain and I wanted to continue our streak of visiting tidy, crime-free metropolises. Plus I’d never been to Canada, the Nicky Hilton to America’s Paris.
I really looked forward to this trip, because as some of you know, I’ve been in a creative funk for some time now. In regards to fixing ruts, some people go somewhere quiet and isolated – like a log cabin or haunted monastery – to be alone with their thoughts; OR they go someplace where they can mix shit up and inject something atypical into their usual, predictable diet.
I was hoping that a weekend of hanging out with these hilarious motherfuckers would help fix whatever it was that ailed me. At the very least, I could steal some of their comedic brilliance for my own personal gain.
Lord knows if it helped any of us creatively (we'll see in the upcoming month), but we had a great time. As much as I've teased Toronto on this trip, I really like this town. I'd move here in a second if the winters weren't so long and lethal, and my gross income wasn't taxed 60%.