One For The Money

About 10 years ago, my friend Mandy made me a t-shirt that said “I LOVE ELVIS”. Truth is, I don’t love Elvis (Sorry Mandy), I love Elton. But, I do like Elvis, a lot. And if I still had the t-shirt, I’d have worn it this weekend to Collingwood’s 2011 Elvis Fest.

My initial reaction was that this must be what Graceland feels like – All Elvis, all the time. The devoted passion and love for this rock n’ roll icon was pretty phenomenal – and so was the festival. Elvi of every age, race and gender littered the streets, performers belted out hits, vendors sold every type of Elvis paraphernalia imaginable, and fans sported sunglasses, sideburns and sequins.

Saturday we scored tickets for the “ELVIS : ULTIMATE BEST” performance at the Eddie Bush Memorial Arena. It featured some of the best Elvis impersonators at the festival, and these guys certainly put all the street performers to shame. It was, in a word, fantastic. These guys had the light, the band, the backup singers, the sequined wardrobes, the hip thrusting moves, the remarkably similar voices, and the screaming women at the stage. I was pretty enthralled by it all, and even joined the crowd stage-side to catch a few photos of the pseudo-king in action.

Sunday, though, just put the icing on the cake. I concluded the weekend by fulfilling a three-day mission to become the Foursquare mayor of Elvis fest – a simple, geeky, glorifying defeat. Enjoying my mayorship over a most delicious brunch at the Huron Club, Elvis came over to sing to me at the table. I felt pretty awesome, (and embarrassed) and enjoyed it thoroughly.

If the story concluded there, I would have beenhappy, but it got one step better. My friend Kate’s mom thought I hadn’t had enough of the Elvis excitement and falsely proclaimed to this serenading performer that I was getting married. He called me onstage, and while I couldn’t help but laugh the entire time he sang to me, we shared a moment – a moment I tried to end early, but he pulled back closer, uttering into the microphone in his deep, southern, Elvisy voice “You’re not married yet, baby”. To which, I might have replied “And you’re not really the King” – but that would have ruined it. Because this weekend, I think I really did love Elvis.

An Old Obsession, A New Crush, A Night to Remember

It started as a joke sometime back in high school with me, my sister and K Lite FM in the kitchen of Tim Horton’s. I can’t quite recall the details or the timeframe and evolution, but there I was, a 16 year old committed Elton John fan.

Tuesday night I had my third date with Sir Elton. As usual, he was a spectacle and spectacular performer - sequined jacket, stone-studded sunglasses belting out hit after hit after hit. Only this time he didn’t come alone. I’ll admit that I was slightly sceptical of having a third wheel along for the night. Beyond Piano Man, I wasn’t sure I knew much of Billy Joel’s stuff, and wasn’t quite certain how I felt about having him there.

But, who knew that a 60 year old in suit could win me over so easily. His set was entertaining and his songs were classics I knew well. His jokes were perverse, and made me feel slightly uncomfortable, as though your dad just said something dirty, and you’re not sure whether it’s appropriate to laugh (especially when you’re sitting next to your grandmom). He rocked the stage and his microphone stand along with his talented team of musicians.

The duets were remarkable in the way that only two legendary icons teaming up to play classic hits could be. Three and a half hours of awesome.

So, here I am, a 27 year old newly converted Billy Joel fan. Rest assured however, that this new crush has nothing on my decade-long love affair.

Apologies for a Lost Alarm Clock on a Miserable Friday.

Wake Up. Grumble at Alarm. Slowly Roll Over. Want to Hit Snooze. Frantically Search for Phone. Lost. Scramble through Sheets. Half Asleep. Phone has Fallen Behind Bed. Try to Find it. Still Half Alseep. Roomate Yells at Me. Phone, Found.

Get Ready. Drop Everything. Hate Mornings. No Time for Tea. or Breakfast. Stumble Outside.

It's Raining. Cold Feet. Wet. Blistered. Hurting. Wrong Shoes. Get to the Next Street. Wind Takes Umbrella. Flips Inside-Out. Breaks. Hold It Together. Broken. Two-handed task. Head down. Trudge Through the Rain. Skirt Flies up. Hustle to Streetcar stop. Car drives by Slowly. Honks. Waves. ASSHOLE. Keep Hustling to Stop. Asshole Makes U-Turn. Drives by Again. More honks. More waves. Me, Wet Mess.

Get To School. Wet. Hair Matted. Umbrella Broken. Angry.

Public Affairs Class. Forget To Silence Phone. Text Arrives. "Rockstar" Interrupts Lecture. Bleep Bleep.
"I just took a free day because I didn't want to go out in the rain. Haha. Happy Friday".

Visible Pout. Jealousy.

Winter Wonderful

The first snowfall of the season is always exciting; true, it's a signal of the cold and miserable weather to come, but it's beautifully refreshing and I love it..and the winter bliss that fell on the city this past Wednesday was just what I needed. Under the night sky it was beautiful and peaceful and wonderful. While waiting for Alex at the streetcar stop, bundled up and cozy, I stood staring at the snowflakes in the streetlights, just watching, enjoying, loving every minute of it.
After dinner we came outside to see a white blanket covering the concrete and pavement we had left behind. It was unbelievably exciting, and I remembered how much I loved this feeling, and had missed it the past year. So, we celebrated with a snowball fight at the streetcar stop, in the middle of the financial district where rowdy behaviour like this probably probably doesn’t happen everyday. We made snow angels in the park and on the road, and enjoyed a few more snowball tosses before getting home, warming up and unwinding.
This was exactly what I needed to settle my unrest, warm my heart, freeze my toes, and unleash my inner child.

Rain, Dirt, Beer

Picture this: Thousands of drinkers, acres of outdoor space, a bunch of beer tents, and over 200 brands of beer… this is beerfest.
Now, picture rain, lots of it, coming down in torrents. Picture these same thousand drinkers decked out in ponchos, with umbrellas, or just completely soaked. Picture the green space now wet and sloppy, and dirt patches transformed into muddy pits. Picture the same amount of beer, drowning the rainy, sorrows of these drinkers, who are rammed into these tents, trudging through the mud, getting wetter, and filthier and drunker. This was beerfest.
For 6 hours, we partied in the wet and the beer, and made the best of the circumstances. At three we arrived and three thirty saw the commencement of (and my initiation into) the Hour of Power. One token buys you 4oz of beer, and must be consumed every 5 minutes for the full hour. Trapped in the Singha tent, it wasn’t how I would have envisioned it, but its completion set the tone for a day : one mindless of the rain, and focused on the beer. There was a lot of losing companions, frantic phone calls, sloppy trips to the port-o-pottys, awkward run-ins, fabulous reunifications, and beer.
The sun would have changed this event, would have diversified my beer selections throughout the day, would have kept me dry and warm and clean. But as it stands the wet and dirty didn’t turn out so bad at all.

Scrabulous-less

I’m 26 going on 81. I’m a grandma in a mid-twenties disguise. I have bad hips and a sore back. I like tea, knitting, making soup, game-shows, card games, board games, pinching cheeks, and above all… Scrabble. I acquired this love in highschool, but with my no-nonsense attitude, most refused my competition-save for my mom. I’m a scrabble geek. I know the 2 letter word list by heart, I’ve almost memorized the value of each letter and how often it appears in the game, and I recognize that zax, raj, and qintar are valid words. Then, in Korea, I met friends who shared my passion, spent equal time reading the dictionary, also thought in seven letter words, and kept me busy many, many nights a weeks (yes, I went to Korea to play scrabble).
…and then they left…

….but then along came Scrabulous…
What a fabulously wonderful way to let me continue playing with my scrabble entourage. What an amazingly great means to encourage others to play. What a superbly rewarding way for me to prove my abilities to those who underestimated them. And what a heartbreakingly painful day when Scrabulous finally lost its fight with Hasbro/Mattel and had to be removed.

Yes, yes I understand the legalities, but just look at what it’s done. It brought the love of words and tiny block letters to thousands of people who normally would have shied away. It enhanced our vocabularies and fueled our facebook addictions. It gave us something mind-stimulating to occupy the workday. It kept competition alive.
And now it’s gone.

And so, I bid farewell to a fine addiction…
*tears*
Perchance this new-age technology wasn’t quite right for my old-age persona anyway.

Mis-Adventure

I returned home 3 months ago, and after the initial ugliness of reverse culture shock, all the necessary catch up and my efforts to re-establish my life in Toronto, I feel I’ve hit a wall- bored, uninspired, craving drama, excitement, adventure – I’m restless.
Tuesday night, I rekindled with my Korea counterpart, and met up with Lynn at Harbourfront for some necessary catch-up. Lured by the big screen and hoping to seek early refuge from the storm that was approaching, we sat down for the 9pm outdoor movie, as daunting black clouds enclosed around us. Halfway through the film the rains began, lightning illuminated the sky, striking the CN tower up the street, thunder echoed around us but we were cozy with the overhead as protection and were enjoying both shows …that is until the wind shifted and we knew our luck had changed. Chilling winds, wet necks, covered in goosebumps, we trooped it out for a short while until the excitement wore thin and the discomfort set in and we sought shelter in a small tent until the end of the movie. It appeared though, that all our efforts to will the rain to stop had been in vain, and it was then that we realized there was nothing else to do but accept our fate. So, with the credits running to the tune of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”, we embraced the work of Mother Nature, and ventured into the pouring rain and danced. On bleachers, among the other viewers, as free spirits, we busted a move,--all smiles, all laughter, all wet.
What followed was a frenzy of mishaps which saw me drenched, running in the pouring rain and blackness of a storm at 11pm, after cabs and streetcars, standing stranded on street corners, aimlessly running in helpless circles and banging on bus doors , until I eventually got a lucky break and made it to my subdivision. – what a rush: worry, frustration, excitement, fear. But I made it.
So, soaking wet and chilled to the bone - like I’d taken a cold shower fully clothed –I picked up my shoes and sprinted the home stretch, barefoot and happy. I needed this.