Last weekend, we went to Toronto to attend Hoss’s wedding in Fonthill. Yes, Fonthill is a small town outside of St. Catherine’s, but we got a ride off Juice from TO to there. Thanks to Silverlotus being caught in the Burlington transformer fire in June and my own grueling 5 hour ride after the Great Blackout just recently, I managed to get some travel credit and get a cheap VIA 1 first class ticket. Sirloin steak, here I come.
So, on Friday we were in the heart of TO’s snooty district at the Marriott Bloor-Yorkville. Yorkville is packed with boutiques and trendy salons. The Marriott’s six floors are actually sandwiched vertically between a Bay department store in the basement and an apartment tower above. “Even the pigeons are jaded here,” Silverlotus quipped, as the birds weaved ambivalently through foot traffic.
Even the street beggars in Yorkville are rich. One played a xylophone. Another had a karaoke machine. A karaoke machine. Our hotel had no pool though. Go figure.
On Saturday we were in a small Presbyterian church in the middle of nowhere. At one point the driving directions said, “Turn left at the Pioneer Gas station at the next light.” The “next light’ turned out to be twenty kilometres away. “I would have stopped at a gas station and asked for directions,” Juice remarked, “but there aren’t any.”
The wedding was great, very romantic. Good to see the ol’ Mac Eng gang again. Some mental notes for my future wedding: a) don’t invite the weird relatives (you know the ones, everyone has them) and b) get a wedding DJ that actually carries wedding-ish music like Olivia Newton-John or Ella Fitzgerald, not “She Bangs” from Ricky Martin.
I wish Hoss all the best.