After twelve hours and twenty-seven drinks, it was time to actually experience some music during Canadian Music Week. Along with my local friend/guide/professional cat wrangler, Keith and I headed to the Horseshoe Tavern, which I only just now realized is a famous 60 year old bar. That said, it seems fitting that I also just realized that the first band we saw on Friday night was Hot Panda, a group that has generated quite a buzz lately, especially after their trip to SXSW. You know what else I just realized? I got to see something cool before all those tight pants wearin’ motherfuckers down in Austin. Fuck y’all, I’m from Texas. Not that that has anything to do with Hot Panda at SXSW, or anything else for that matter. I’m just saying. Something. I think.
… Meanwhile, back in a time before the writer became distracted with the thought of a bunch of douchebags ordering Shiner Bock in a Texas bar because some silly L.A. music blogger said that the beer was “a local brew” …
The next band we saw that night was The Schomberg Fair. Their bass player has to have the lowest voice this side of a thrice-testicaled Jennifer Aniston. Does any more really need to be said?
Bass! How low can you go? So goddamn low that Keith needed to leave and head back to the Gladstone to continue watching curling in the hotel bed. Not that I blamed him. Curling is a lot like Wesley Willis.
After Keith took a cab back to our room, my local friend showed me around the area in Toronto that’s safe to walk the streets at 4:00 in the morning. Which is to say she showed me Toronto. We ended up at an all night cafe. The cafe employees thanked us for our patronage by randomly turning the lights up and down and vacuuming intermittently.
On my taxi ride to the hotel, I learned that I was my cabbie’s first fare of the morning. He seemed rather uninterested in conversation until he dropped me off and I gave him what must have been a larger tip than he was accustomed to receiving.
“It’s gonna be a great day!” He shouted to me as I remained in the back seat, trying to collect my things. “A great day!” I opened the door and pulled myself out of the car using the door to steady my legs, attempting to stand up straight on the dividing line between one day and the next. I gained my footing, flew open the doors to the Gladstone, gave the hotel clerk a look that said “I fucking own this city!” and started running up the stairs.
After passing the second floor I realized that I probably looked like the biggest dick ever to the clerk with that goddamn pretentious fucking look, and I was way too out of shape to sprint up four flights of stairs. I stopped to catch my breath as I pretended to look at art hung in the third floor lobby, slowly walked back up towards my room, opened the door, attempted to place a tiny piece of chewing gum in Keith’s beard, took off two shoes and one glove, fell flat on the bed and went to sleep.
Next post: “I think this table is in the shape of a Canadian province.” “Nah, that’s just a blob.” * Big Buck Hunter – The Universal Language * Motorcycle rage Canadian style (hint: features tea.)