[NON BLOG] A Mildly Chaotic Weekend
Dec. 5th, 2004 11:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rfmcdonaldLate Saturday morning, I set out for Stouffville and its country market with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bitterlawngnome and danthered. Though we never left the area of the GTA in the strict sense, there was a transition to countryside. Unsurprisingly, the countryside of southern Ontario in the northern hinterlands of Toronto looks rather different from the countryside of eastern Ontario in the Canadian Shield hinterland of Kingston, which I had the chance to observe back in March, even accounting for the difference of seasons. Greater fertility, perhaps, a landscape more clearly emerged from the post-glacial.
The Country Market itself was rather a nice place to browse: I ended up picking up A-ha's Hunting High and Low (yes, bought I admit for "Take on Me") and Mary J. Blige's What's the 411?, but there were quite a lot of other interesting things (furnishings, clothes, foodstuffs) to examine. Likewise, the visit to the Richter's greenhouse was interested. The hour-and-a-half drive back, in contrast, was nice mainly as a survey of the northern fringe of the GTA and as a fora for further chat with the two gentleman, one to either side of me in the cab ofdanthered's truck.
I'd planned to go home early, to spend a couple of hours doing work before heading home to do my laundry and clean. Perhaps fortunately, I got a call from a friend, N., informing me of S.' birthday party at Banzai Sushi, a new and decidedly bleeding-edge Japanese restaurant. It was nice to join S. in her celebration of her first quarter-century of many, and to meet her friends. The restaurant itself was rather high-tech, with a dominant anime theme and touchscreens allowing customers to order their food remotely and to chat with other tables. Subsequent events included karaoke at the Gladstone Hotel and a visit to a bar Silk on Adelaide Street that was only on its second night of operation. I ran into N. there, as well as the guy I buy my copy of The Globe and Mail from three out of five weekdays in the Yonge-Eglinton Centre en route to the TTC.
(On the 3 o'clock streetcar ride back home, west on Queen Street, I sat in a seat almost at the very front, behind a woman in her late 30s who was talking casually to the driver about her messy divorce and her necessary leave of absence from her nursing work how she wanted to move to PEI near Montague, to be with her parents. Sitting across the aisle from us was a jerk in a business suit with buzzed hair who joked about his sausage being made up with lips and assholes before he turned to the tired Asian clubgoer sitting behind him and tried to flirt with her.)
I slept in, before going towards Yonge Street to pick up my day's copy of The Globe and Mail and drink Starbucks. Some interesting articles, including a fascinating long piece, "Marooned in the moment," by Carolyn Abraham detailing the struggles of a group of young and middle-aged people who have lost their short-term memories. What this means for their relationships with others, or indeed for their identities (who are you without a sense of self through memory?), is rather interesting. Subsequently, over to Ossington Station and a short walk for an excellent dinner-and-conversation piece, as usual.
Now, to home and bed and work in the morning.
bitterlawngnome and danthered. Though we never left the area of the GTA in the strict sense, there was a transition to countryside. Unsurprisingly, the countryside of southern Ontario in the northern hinterlands of Toronto looks rather different from the countryside of eastern Ontario in the Canadian Shield hinterland of Kingston, which I had the chance to observe back in March, even accounting for the difference of seasons. Greater fertility, perhaps, a landscape more clearly emerged from the post-glacial. The Country Market itself was rather a nice place to browse: I ended up picking up A-ha's Hunting High and Low (yes, bought I admit for "Take on Me") and Mary J. Blige's What's the 411?, but there were quite a lot of other interesting things (furnishings, clothes, foodstuffs) to examine. Likewise, the visit to the Richter's greenhouse was interested. The hour-and-a-half drive back, in contrast, was nice mainly as a survey of the northern fringe of the GTA and as a fora for further chat with the two gentleman, one to either side of me in the cab of
danthered's truck.I'd planned to go home early, to spend a couple of hours doing work before heading home to do my laundry and clean. Perhaps fortunately, I got a call from a friend, N., informing me of S.' birthday party at Banzai Sushi, a new and decidedly bleeding-edge Japanese restaurant. It was nice to join S. in her celebration of her first quarter-century of many, and to meet her friends. The restaurant itself was rather high-tech, with a dominant anime theme and touchscreens allowing customers to order their food remotely and to chat with other tables. Subsequent events included karaoke at the Gladstone Hotel and a visit to a bar Silk on Adelaide Street that was only on its second night of operation. I ran into N. there, as well as the guy I buy my copy of The Globe and Mail from three out of five weekdays in the Yonge-Eglinton Centre en route to the TTC.
(On the 3 o'clock streetcar ride back home, west on Queen Street, I sat in a seat almost at the very front, behind a woman in her late 30s who was talking casually to the driver about her messy divorce and her necessary leave of absence from her nursing work how she wanted to move to PEI near Montague, to be with her parents. Sitting across the aisle from us was a jerk in a business suit with buzzed hair who joked about his sausage being made up with lips and assholes before he turned to the tired Asian clubgoer sitting behind him and tried to flirt with her.)
I slept in, before going towards Yonge Street to pick up my day's copy of The Globe and Mail and drink Starbucks. Some interesting articles, including a fascinating long piece, "Marooned in the moment," by Carolyn Abraham detailing the struggles of a group of young and middle-aged people who have lost their short-term memories. What this means for their relationships with others, or indeed for their identities (who are you without a sense of self through memory?), is rather interesting. Subsequently, over to Ossington Station and a short walk for an excellent dinner-and-conversation piece, as usual.
Now, to home and bed and work in the morning.
