After working behind a bar for far too many years, the concept of New Years Eve as amateur night, sadly dovetails with all my worst experiences. I understand the night, I’ve worked the night and I’ve made serious bank, thanks to the night, but honestly, I prefer to just lay low these days. Truly, the only NYE that Barry and I ventured out was the Y2K year, when the thought of the world as we knew it would come crashing down thanks to lazy programming protocols.
Like the rest of the week in Toronto, the morning started with the breakfast buffet that was part of our nightly hotel charge. I haven’t mentioned this inclusion to our stay yet, but it really was uneventful. Unlike Barry, I’ve never been the kind of guy who can wake up and eat, but by the fourth day, the egg station person was getting my ‘sorta loose scrambled’ as if I actually cooked them. As usual, Barry enjoyed several trips to the various stations, always signaling his last trip with a mound of fresh fruit.
It was quite windy and snowing as we trotted up Yonge to Shawn’s apartment. Had it been colder, the previous two days of rain would have been an impressive snowfall. I’ve already posted about the brunch we had, so let’s move forward. The sword of Damocles that hung over Barry’s head this entire trip was the final papers he had yet graded. Nothing new, we decide to stay in for the night, and Barry got busy with his student’s ERISA endeavors.
Around 8 or so, I grab the yellow pages and turn to the P’s. A few of the pricey half page ads proudly claim to deliver to all the downtown hotels and I settle on Roma’s. Ordered a large sausage and a side of spaghetti for Barry. I’ve surely had better and worse, yet it all got eaten. The pizza was sliced in triangles and the crust was quite cornmeal crusty.
It started getting crazy loud outside around 11. Looking out of our tenth floor window it seemed like a parade was occurring. Massive amounts of people were milling towards City Hall, just a block away.
City Hall , Finnish architect Viljo Revell’s successful competition winner is the bastard child of Netsch’s brutalist so-called vision and Goldberg’s senior housing on State and Archer. Two curving towers that hug a reflecting pond, the pond is a skating rink during the winter.
Flipping through the TV channels, we see a broadcast of the events a block away. What the hell, we think, let’s go and check it out. Riding the elevator down to the lobby we hear all kinds of screaming and shouting. When the doors open we are amused and embarrassed to see middle-aged white folks conga lining to Buster Pointdexter’s “Hot Hot Hot” throughout the lobby.
Since I am in Canada, I should pose in front of a Zamboni, right?
Shot of the crowd...
decorations...
and another view...
When we got back, the same middle-aged white folks were slow dancing to the Stones, "Start Me Up"....(yeah, I did have Windows 95 thoughts!)
I have to say, it was a fun trip. We look forward to doing it again this summer.
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