So, I'm back. I pretty much took the month of December off from this, and writing for Chicagoist as well. It's funny, because whenever the semester ends, I always vow that I'm going to do all the fun things the I don't get to do when I'm in school. Taking pictures, reading, writing, digging through thrift stores. Those kinds of things.
And in the summer, I'm pretty good about doing those things. But over the holidays, not so good. I get all done with finals, then it's time to catch up on Christmas shopping, and visiting the family, and then it's all over. Whew!
Anyway, for the past few years, I've taken some sort of trip over the holiday. Mexico twice (Chiapas one year, Mexico City the next). Los Angeles. Puerto Rico. This year: Toronto. I know, I know. It's cold. But so what? I live in Chicago for crying out loud, so I think I can get down with a little cold. And Toronto is pretty rad.
Anyway, it was a pretty fun trip. We were supposed to meet up with the staff of Torontoist, and we almost did it. By almost, I mean that we made it to the same bar. But for whatever reason, in spite of me stalking through the bar asking everyone if they knew David Topping, we couldn't find them, and they didn't spot us. But oh well. We had a nice, quick dinner at Pizza Pizza, (you'd think Little Caesar's would sue), and then wandered into a nifty dive bar called The Tap. And let me tell you: Canadian beer? Stronger than American beer. I still can't figure out how many kilometers are in a pint, but the next morning, it sure seemed like a lot.
The United States is often called a melting pot; people immigrate here, and within a few generations they have assimilated. Lots of us have hyphenated heritage: Polish-American, Irish-American, Asian-American. For others, they belong to distinctly American ethnic groups: Jewish, Black, Hispanic. But ultimately everyone gets to be American, whether that means weaving their own history, culture and past into the larger American narrative of liberty, equality, freedom and opportunity, or just assuming an American identity.
On the other hand, Canada is often called a mosaic, and while four days in Toronto hardly makes me a scholar of American-Canadian relations, watching TV (in English and French)I got a sense that each group gets to come to Canada and make it their own. There is no grand notion of Canada that each immigrant group melts into, but rather a broad territory that everyone lives in. One group comes, and the others move over to make a little more room.
We spent most of the long weekend bumming around the neighborhoods on the west side of the city, eating Indian food and digging through junk shops. Except for the blizzard we drove through in Michigan, it wasn't a bad drive. And the All Days House 3 Hostel was clean, quiet and chill. And close to the subway. I forget, sometimes, how much fun it is to forget the day to day, pack some clothes, and get lost. If loving Chicago is like being in a relationship, then visiting Toronto is like having a crush. I'm ready to throw a bag out the window and hop the next freight train out to be with my love, damn the consequences.
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