The moon last night certainly wasn’t enough to hit my eye like a big pizza pie last night (and what the hell was Dean Martin singing about?), but it was really bright.
I took advantage of the unusually bright moon by setting up my tripod and taking some long exposure shots from the 14th floor apartment that belonged to some pals. While being up in high places can be unnerving, I’m going to have to start doing some exploring in an attempt to find higher vantage points in Toronto. One thing I forgot to do (and am still kind of kicking myself in the ass over) is bracket multiple exposures. Definitely something to keep in mind next time.
Patio furniture and books
Yeah, you read that right. It wasn’t a whole kangaroo (as impressive as that would be), but rather a sausage made from the meat of a kangaroo. Slightly less dramatic, but still a conversation starter. The kangaroo in question was consumed at Wvrst sausage hall at King and Bathurst (approximately). I believe the idea behind Wvrst (it’s pronounced verst) is to do one thing, and do it really well. In the case of Wvrst, it’s sausage, and they do it damn well. Upon seeing the sign outside that read, “we take your favourite animals and turn them into food,” I knew that this would not be the last time I visited this place.
In addition to serving up meats from animals that aren’t normally eaten, the fries were the best I’ve ever had. They’re right up there with the fries you can get at Sequel, but that’s is a post for another day.
Kangaroo Sausage at Wvrst
The kangaroo was delicious, and I washed it down with a bottle of beer that had an owl on it. The beer was called Kiuchi Hitachino Nest Commemorative Ale, and was flavoured with orange peels, coriander, nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla beans. I’m usually not a gigantic fan of coriander. Or orange peels. Or nutmeg, for that matter. Come to think of it, I mostly shy away from spiced things (and that includes beer), but the coriander in the beer didn’t overpower the taste as it often does in things like pho. Also, should note that this beer was actually intended for new year celebrations in Japan, but it’s just as good for a non-celebratory Saturday lunch as it is for ringing in another year.
Kiuchi Hitachino Nest Commemorative Ale
The funniest thing about this bottle of alcohol was that, unlike bottles you see in North America that remind you to drink responsibly, the only provision on this bottle states that the consumption of its contents are meant specifically to allow to drinker to “forget the worries and troubles of the old year.” Excellent thought, but I wonder how much commemorative ale you’d have to drink to wipe 365 days from your memory.
Hot chocolate from SOMA
Following the consumption of animals, Reina and I decided to take a walk down King street, and we came upon SOMA chocolatemaker. Since I can’t resist a good literary reference, I personally feel that the tagline for this place should be, “Better a gram than a damn.” But I suppose that’s nothing but wishful thinking. Anyway, if you have the opportunity to come across SOMA, do try their hot chocolate. Preferably with baked goods on the side. In my case, it was with a slice of bread from the loaf that I happened to have in my backpack. Ghetto as that sounds, a naked slice of bread does make a perfect combination to go with a rich cup of pretty much melted chocolate.
So after spending the last few weeks computer-less, order has been restored. I’m now the proud owner of a new computer, and I’m starting to sift through a few gigs worth of unedited photos.
This weekend, I came across a funk band by the name of Turbo Street Funk who was busking on the sidewalk at one of the intersections along Spadina (probably Queen W., possibly Dundas). With the cacophony of noises downtown, from street preachers telling me that I’m going to hell, to the exchange of curses between angry drivers and TTC bus/streetcar operators, it’s easy to pop in a pair of headphones and try to block everything out.
I was lucky enough to have forgotten my earphones at home this Saturday though, because I had the chance to hear some really good funk music. Seriously, I must have stood for a good 20 minutes just listening. My favourites were the super creative funk covers of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and the Super Mario Bros. theme song. If you get a chance to hear these guys play, take your earphones out of your ears. You won’t regret it.
Toronto buskers, Turbo Street Funk
No, this has nothing to do with Al Gore or the fact that the name of this post is derivative of a popular movie title. What this post is about though, is about how my computer has decided to crap out on me, effectively leaving me unable to transfer, edit or post photos.
Well that’s just bloody perfect, isn’t it: a (sort of) photography blog that lacks photographs.
So friends, for the moment, I’ve resorted to transcribing photos into the written word. Verbal photographs, if you will. One of my writing professors once said that most writing comes down to one’s ability to “write with a video camera on your shoulder.” So here I am at 12:30am, wondering what the hell to write about.
I sat on the bus, staring out the window, but not staring out the window because my mind was somewhere else. The grey skies promised rain, but the ground stayed dry, and traffic was all the better for it. I glanced around as the driver flicked a switch and the bus beeped and lowered and the bent old woman hobbled on board with her walker and nodded at the driver, whose face was emotionless.
The bus rose and the driver accelerated into the North York traffic, and the old woman rummaged through her meager possessions that could be seen through the transparent plastic bag that was tied to her walker. An empty Starbucks cup, running shoes with holes all over and a faded quilt with the discolouration that comes from months and maybe years of going unwashed. At the very bottom of the bag was an entire roll of transparent plastic bags, an empty water bottle, and a granola bar.
The old woman looked around the bus and back at her walker, and adjusted the black shawl that was draped over her shoulders. Underneath the shawl, her jacket came down to her calves, and she wore a pair of winter boots whose laces were missing.
I fell asleep thinking of what the woman would do when her last plastic bag broke and she had no more to replace them, and when I woke up, I was at the subway station, and she was gone.
“You know what I think?” she says. “That people’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn’t matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They’re all just fuel.”
- Haruki Murakami, After Dark
Timelapse sans tripod
Despite downing a gigantic cup of coffee a la Tim Horton’s, I was still lucky enough to capture this shot over a 2 second exposure time with very little jitter. The girl in the Pikachu hat at the bottom left appears to have forgotten that the night was still cold and opted for shorts. Perhaps I could’ve cropped her out of this or used the other shots that I had in this set, but she reminded me of Sumire’s character in Sputnik Sweetheart.
I’m just sitting on the dock of the bay,
wasting time.
- Otis Redding
The most interesting man in the world (the Don Equis guy), “would never initiate a conversation about the weather, even in a typhoon,” however, I am not the most interesting man in the world (far from it), and with a city like Toronto, whose weather-temperament is equally as colourful and numerous as the cultures within it, you’d be hard-pressed to not start a conversation about the weather.
For me, March 16th marked the first day that I could go without a jacket, and I found it a great day to figure out what Otis Redding was referring to when he was singing about being lazy while sitting on a dock near a body of water.
This photo also makes me laugh because (if you haven’t seen it already), I inadvertently caught a fellow habourfront visitee in the top right corner while he was in the middle of bending over to pick something up.
Toronto, March 16th
While not as fancy or timeless as Nighthawks, I feel that the hotdog stand is an accurate modern representation of Edward Hopper’s painting.
Nightdogs
On a winter’s night in Toronto when the weather is a slurry of snow, rain and slush, it’s best to have something to embolden the spirits before braving the elements. Perhaps in the case of one particular commuter at the street level exit of Bay subway station, emboldened spirits came in a box of Allen’s Peach Juice.
Street level exit of Spadina subway station
“Mr. Godot told me to tell you he won’t come this evening but surely tomorrow.”
- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot
The act of waiting and the art of patience go well together. The frayed seats in the boarding area of Montreal-Trudeau International indicate passengers who have perhaps been short of the latter.
A waiting place worthy of Godot
