Seat
      Sale:
      On
      Rockin’
      the
      T-Dot
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      For
      my
      Reading
      Week,
      I
      flew
      to
     
     
      Toronto.
      (And
      yes,
      I,
      too
      have
      to
      stop
     
     
      myself
      from
      calling
      it
      Spring
      Break,
      but
     
     
      unless
      you
      can
      comfortably
      wear
      sandals
     
     
      and
      shorts,
      I'm
      sorry,
      it's
      not
      Spring
     
     
      Break.)
      I've
      applied
      for
      Universities
      in
     
     
      southern
      Ontario,
      so
      I
      thought
      I'd
      go
      and
     
     
      visit
      a
      couple
      of
      friends
      and
      look
      at
     
     
      schools.
      Of
      course,
      I
      was
      having
      too
      much
     
     
      fun
      with
      my
      friends
      and
      only
      saw
      one;
     
     
      Wilfrid
      Laurier
      University,
      my
      number
      one
     
     
      choice.
      The
      rest
      of
      the
      time
      I
      spent
      cling-
     
     
      ing
      to
      my
      friends
      in
      the
      face
      of
      the
      big
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      must
      admit,
      I
      did
      feel
      like
      a
      bit
     
     
      of
      a
      hayseed.
      Driving
      towards
      my
      friend's
     
     
      apartment,
      I
      was
      astounded
      by
      the
      mass
      of
     
     
      cookie-cutter
      suburbia
      that
      just
      wouldn't
     
     
      stop.
      It
      went
      on
      and
      on,
      like
      a
      Stratford
      on
     
     
      steroids.
      That's
      the
      point
      when,
      a
      mere
     
     
      half-hour
      into
      my
      arrival
      in
      Toronto,
      I
     
     
      started
      to
      think
      longingly
      for
      home.
      I
      felt
     
     
      sorry
      for
      those
      houses
      and
      the
      people
      that
     
    
   
   
    
     
      lived
      in
      them.
      They
      commuted
      for
      hours
      to
      .
     
    
   
   
    
     
      strut
      down
      the
      cold
      pavement,
      ignoring
     
     
      cold
      panhandlers
      and
      eating
      their
      cold
      left-
     
     
      overs
      from
      last
      night's
      meal.
      Um,
      which
     
     
      was
      cold.
     
    

    
     
      That's
      when
      the
      vision
      of
      swing-
     
    
   
   
    
     
      2
      ing
      metropolitan
      life
      started
      to
      fade
      away.
     
     
      It
      started
      to
      resemble
      more
      of
      a
      purgatory.
      .
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Somewhere
      you'd
      have
      to
      pay
      penance
      for
     
     
      a
      while
      before
      living
      somewhere
      you
      truly
     
     
      wanted
      to
      be.
     
    

    
     
      One
      part
      of
      Toronto
      that
      I
      had
      a
     
     
      hard
      time
      with
      was
      the
      transit
      system.
      I
     
     
      didn't
      know
      where
      things
      were
      located
     
     
      above
      ground,
      so
      the
      subway
      was
      beguil-
     
     
      ing,
      and
      the
      above-ground
      transit
      ran
      in
     
     
      relation
      to
      compass
      points,
      but
      I
      had
      no
     
     
      idea
      where
      North
      and
      South
      were,
      so
      that
     
     
      was
      no
      great
      help.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      transit
      system
      sold
      no
      weekly
     
    
   
   
    
     
      passes,
      so
      I
      was
      forced
      to
      buy
      tokens.
     
     
      The
      tokens
      are
      $2.25
      each
      and
      the
      exact
     
     
      size
      as
      dimes,
      but
      without
      notched
     
     
      edges.
      Needless
      to
      say,
      it
      was
      very
     
     
      important
      to
      keep
      the
      tokens
      and
      your
     
     
      dimes
      separate
      because
      if
      you
      gave
      a
     
     
      cashier
      a
      token
      by
      mistake,
      they're
      not
     
     
      going
      to
      say
      anything
      you're
      out
      $2.15.
     
    

    
     
      The
      buses
      and
      streetcars
      cris-
     
     
      cross
      the
      city
      every
      ten
      minutes.
      I
      liked
     
     
      the
      streetcars.
      They
      have
     
     
      an
      air
      of
      nostalgia
      about
     
     
      them.
      They
      can't
      be
      hidden
      =
     
     
      in
      a
      garage
      like
      the
      buses,
     
     
      as
      ihes
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
        
     
     
         
     
     
         
     
     
         
     
     
         
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
        
       
     
     
       
       
     
     
         
     
    
   
   
    
     
      they
      didn't
      even
      exist.
      Their
      wires
      are
      like
     
     
      an
      overhead
      cage,
      and
      the
      rails
      scar
      the
     
     
      streets,
      both
      connected
      by
      the
      kitsch
      trol-
     
     
      ley.
     
    

    
     
      Best
      of
      all,
      I
      liked
      the
      subway.
      I
     
     
      _
      preferred
      to
      travel
      by
      streetcar,
      but
      I
      liked
     
    
   
   
    
     
      ‘]
      the
      subway
      for
      different
      reasons.
      It
      had
     
    
   
   
    
     
      its
      own
      life
      force.
      As
      you
      walk
      down
      the
     
     
      stairs
      from
      the
      streets,
      a
      warm
      and
      con-
     
     
      stant
      breeze
      pushes
      back
      at
      you.
      It
      smells
     
    
   
   
    
     
      §
      of
      exhaust
      and
      dust
      and
      people.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Past
      the
      turnstiles,
      there's
      a
      sparse
     
     
      platform
      that
      you
      wait
      on.
      I
      don't
      really
     
     
      wait
      for
      the
      train,
      but
      for
      its
      forerunners.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      .}
      A
      rumble.
      A
      rustle
      of
      debris.
      Lights
      in
     
    
   
   
    
     
      the
      tunnel.
      When
      the
      train
      itself
     
     
      screams
      to
      the
      platform
      at
      an
      impossible
     
     
      F
      speed,
      a
      great
      gust
      of
      wind
      hits
      you
      and
     
     
      momentarily
      ties
      knots
      in
      your
      hair.
     
     
      :
      I
      saw
      Much
      Music,
      Bradford
     
     
      How
      and
      Rick
      the
      Temp.
      Other
      highlights
     
     
      were
      me
      spending
      two
      week's
      pay
      on
      one
     
     
      skirt
      at
      Club
      Monaco
      (oh
      my
      god...),
      mak-
     
     
      ing
      eye
      contact
      with
      Sook-yin
      Lee
      at
      the
     
     
      CBC
      headquarters,
      and
      touching
      Casey
     
     
      and
      Finnigan's
      tree-
     
     
      »
      house
      (garnering
      much
     
     
      envy
      from
      my
      Editor,
     
     
      Matt
      Stewart)
      .
     
     
      :
      I
      didn't
      see
      any
     
     
      live
      the-
     
    
   
   
    
     
      atre
      (I
      can
      probably
      thank
      my
      Club
     
     
      Monaco
      skirt
      for
      that
      budget
      decision),
      but
     
     
      I
      saw
      "The
      Pianist,"
      in
      which
      I
      broke
      all
     
     
      previous
      personal
      records
      for
      crying
      in
      a
     
     
      movie.
      Usually
      I
      might
      silently
      weep
      and
     
     
      sniffle,
      but
      this
      blew
      tepid
      melancholy
      out
     
     
      of
      the
      water.
     
    

    
     
      I
      was
      racked
      with
      heaving
      sobs
     
     
      and
      felt
      like
      I
      was
      going
      to
      have
      to
      walk
     
     
      out
      because
      I
      was
      going
      to
      throw
      up.
      My
     
     
      friends
      didn't
      know
      what
      the
      hell
      to
      do,
     
     
      and
      I
      don't
      blame
      them.
      I
      settled
      down
     
     
      after
      the
      second
      hour,
      but
      then
      continued
     
     
      in
      my
      tried-and-true
      silent
      weeping
      mode.
     
     
      Needless
      to
      say,
      this
      was
      an
      excellent
      film
     
     
      that
      definitely
      deserved
      the
      "Best
      Picture"
     
     
      Oscar
      nod.
     
    

    
     
      Toronto
      is
      undeniably
      a
      very
     
     
      Canadian
      city.
      It's
      huge,
      and
      ultra-diverse
     
     
      (I
      met
      people
      from
      Jamaica,
      Ethiopia,
     
     
      Lebanon
      and
      India),
      and
      dirty
      and
      scary,
     
     
      just
      like
      other
      big
      cities,
      but
      there's
      a
     
     
      humility
      that
      I
      love.
      It's
      fast-paced,
      but
     
     
      inviting.
      I
      was...
      proud
      of
      it.
      It
      felt
      like
     
     
      being
      related
      to
      someone
      who
      is
      a
      success.
     
     
      The
      little
      country
      that
      could,
      building
      a
     
     
      city
      of
      millions.
      Good
      for
      us.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      WIN
      A
      GRAND
      PRIZE
      OF
      $
     
    
   
   
    
     
      10
      prizes
      of
      $500
      =
     
     
      20
      Ostere
      In2itive«
      Blender
      I
      Food
      eels
     
     
      iO
      Mel
      elaleler-
      lig
      Coffeemakers
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
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      13