Toronto vs. Montreal

So, I was in Toronto, crashing at an old friend's place behind Chinatown.

Toronto never disappoints me.

I go to the Beaches during the day and I feel like I'm in Venice, CA:
the boardwalk, the skatepark, the colorful parasols, the tramp stamps, haha.

At night, I'm heading out to 751. This grungy little place where the owner recognized my friends, but looked at me and said: "You're new, what can I get you hunny-bun?"

I don't remember the last time I was called hunny-bun, but I rolled with it.

Basked of Wings for $4. Sweeeet.

Skip to another night. We were at Sneaky Dee's and I was doing a fair bit of people-watching while my friend went nuts on her blackberry.

Time for Toronto hipsters vs. Montreal hipsters:

It's like if you took a Montreal hipster, ripped up his/her Urban Outfitters clothes a bit, made him/her a bit more punk, get'em tatted up (sleeves please) , don't let them shower for a few days - and there you have it: A hipster a la Toronto.

And of course, my last day in Toronto, we somehow end up at Dance Cave.
This place smells like sweat, cheap beer, puke, and dirty toilets. Ha. Except the music is soooo good. And you dance the night away or until some man in his middle life crisis approaches you wearing a ridiculous newsboy cap and a desperately button-down tropical t-shirt.

Wow. I'm really not making this sound like a place you want to end up.

But it IS just one of those places, you just find yourself singing to your own anthem song at last call.

But the nights didn't end when the bars and clubs close. Nope, not for us.
For two nights in a row, we hopped a fence (a frickin' tall one mind you) to get into an outdoor swimming pool. Stripped to underwear (some braver ones wore even less).
Finally beating the summer heat.

I had an amazing time. I got to live a little/dance a little.

But now I'm all partied out. I kinda just want to crawl back onto my couch in Montreal and watch Season 3 LOST.

Stay Close Chuck

The Book of Silly Lists

Or, How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Katherine Hannemann

If you think my summer reading list consists of canonical pieces of English literature, you’ve got it all wrong. Rummaging through an oversized plastic bin of my favorite written works circa 1995-1998, I came across an essential book for readers of all ages: The Book of Silly Lists. This work contains over 100 lists of vital information, such as America’s shortest presidents and the top ten most popular flavors of ice cream. In the spirit of this newly rediscovered book I thought I would share a short list of objects that summarize a bit of my summer up to this point.

My most essential objects of summer 2009

1. OVERSIZED BICYCLE HELMET. In the words of Marleen P., only the “weird Germans” wear bicycle helmets. Needless to say I was never offered a helmet while biking in the Netherlands. I can say I proudly inherit this aspect of my heritage as I have been bicycling around St. Paul and Minneapolis—only with the safety feature of oversized headgear. I admittedly could not figure out why this helmet was so large until today when I realized I had been taking my father’s helmet this whole time. At least I didn’t accidentally take his reflective vest, which he wears biking home from work at 11 p.m.
2. 24-HOUR DIGITAL CLOCK. Even several months of working at the McGill Executive Institute didn’t train me to memorize the 24-hour clock, essential to the German timetable. If Volkstanzabend starts at 18:30, it starts at 6:30 pm, not 7:30. If you guys ever want to be on time to folk dancing lessons in Germany, you better learn this quick.
3. OREO CAKESTERS. Whereas Julian’s oral surgery induced selfless reflection (see below post), my wisdom teeth removal in mid-July simply provoked a series of ornery internal rants following a one-day vomiting stint caused by “motion sickness” from the anesthesia (you better look out, Ran). Luckily I recovered from that nausea soon enough and the tender sweetness of Oreo cakesters became my source of nutrition during the week I couldn’t chew.
4. GERMAN-ENGLISH DICTIONARY – the paper kind. You’ve got to have it always with you, because if you’re trying to say “self conscious” but you end up saying “self confident,” you’re going to sound like a damn fool. I found myself in a conversation with my 68-year-old host father, who simply would not rest until I came up with the exact translation of Stachelbeere (it literally translates as “thornberry,” but actually means “gooseberry”—what the fuck?), and it would have gone a lot quicker if I actually had the dictionary at that moment.
5. THE BOOK OF SILLY LISTS. Because how else would I know that James Madison was the shortest US president?

Finallyyy.

It's quite a bit different from the original drawing.

Fuck the rooster.

I've been on the road again, but done a few sketches.

I will post them when I get home.