The T Dot

After a day of sloth (and shaving cream), the phoenix in me rose to conquer the world, or at least the Greater Toronto Area. Soon after breakfast, I sauntered down to the 18th Letter's school -- the same school I attended as a kid, which made me feel old and, truth be told, a little nervous -- to observe her class. I'm happy to report that my daughter is one smart cookie. But you already knew that.

After two hours of watching five-year-olds have to go to the bathroom like they were patrons in a bar who had each had about twelve drinks, I met up with my sister, Beatrice, and Legs. Our destination: Toronto, the New York City of Canada. Because my driver's license expired five years ago and Legs lost her international driving permit* somewhere between Tokyo and Toronto, we had to take the bus ($2.75) down to the Go Station and ride the train ($7.80) into the city. I hate communism.

Upon arriving in Toronto, Canada's real capital city**, my sister, Audrey, left us to attend to some personal affairs (read: sports books), and Legs and I headed to that big fucking tower you always see in pictures of the city. I think it's called the Space Needle. Did you know that for the reasonable price of twenty-seven dollars plus tax per person you can ride in an elevator to the top of a tall building and look down at tall-but-considerably less-tall buildings? You do now! If you squint your eyes, you can even see urban gentrification expanding everywhere like a virus spreading under a reverse microscope. Money well spent!

Sorry for sounding caustic, because I really did enjoy the experience; but that's mostly because I forced Legs to have a drink with me in the tower's restaurant. I had heard that the restaurant rotated and was sad to discover it doesn't. But maybe that's my own fault for only ordering one beer.

Our fun time at 553 meters over, we headed back to Union Station to meet my sister, Claudia, and the three of us took the subway*** to...Korea Town. Yes, even though I'll be breathing that fresh peninsular air in less than a week's time, I couldn't help it: I wanted kimchi, soju, and Big Bang on the radio. You can take the boy out of Korea, but you can't take Korea out of the boy.

(But before my appetite would be sated, I dipped into a convenience store for some cigarettes. Upon exiting the Space Needle, I had smoked the last square of the two cartons of Dunhill Legs and I had brought with us on our trip, and I was in dire need of some nicotine -- so much so that I paid $10.80 for a pack of 25 DuMaurier king size cancer sticks. Make fun of me; I deserve it. I haven't felt so guilty for wasting money on something so trivial since that one time I spent $2.75 to ride the subway, or the time I bought Idlewild on CD when I knew full well how shitty it was but thought that actually owning a copy of it might somehow make it better, like how parents of retarded children can grow to love their kids.)

Dinner consisted of nakji bokkeum, haemul jeon, and a whole load of beers. I was -- strangely, mystifyingly -- jonesing for some soju, but when it was pointed out to me that the menu gives you the option of five beers or one bottle of soju, it was pretty clear which alcoholic beverage would win this war. And here I thought Asians were good at math.

I must say, that meal felt like home.


* No car + Canada = a lot of nights at home watching basketball and drinking Labatt Blue. I don't see how that's a bad thing.

** Come on; they have the Leafs, the Raptors, the Blue Jays, and the best hot dog vendors in the world. Beat that, Ottawa (sorry), Montreal, Vancouver, and Fredricton.

*** "Ride the Rocket" is the TTC's slogan. "Only ride it if you have to" is mine. Compared to the Seoul metro, the Toronto underground is like waking up in a world where iPods have been replaced by ham radio, televisions by flip books, Conan O'Brien by Jay Leno, and air conditioning units by paper fans. And, yes, the fare is $2.75. Finally, someone put a price on discomfort. What irks me even more is that I wasn't chased by a lycanthrope on my way out.