Dimanche Gras

The Sunday sun rises slowly over Toronto...something to do with it being North, I suppose. Today was a simple day. Fat Sunday in the Great White North.

After some orange juice and a bit of reading, Tammy and I walked down to the beach, as the Weather Network (note: NOT Weather Channel) informed us that neither the sunshine nor the warmth (about 50 degrees F) would be lasting long.

Snow and ice run until the give way directly to sand and surf on the north shore of Lake Ontario. The wind was furious this morning. I assumed this blowing was the normal state of things in the city and possibly attributed to the poor state of the Maple Leafs over the last few years. Apparently, though, such a breeze is quite unusal in the area, causing accidents, bridge closings, and other assorted consequences.

It sure made the lake choppy, though. Not that it seemed to bother these ducks:

After the morning sojourn, it was time to prepare the Fat Sunday feast! A trip to the store yielded baked ravioli, maple baked beans, and piorges.

Football abounds with the last of the playoff positions decided (including a Philly-drubbing of the Cowboys, which made Fat very happy). Most importantly though, the streak ends and yours truly wraps up not one, but TWO fantasy football championships.

Beef stew simmers away in the kitchen as I write this, so I best get to it. Above, check out the dining room (unused thus far, as is customr on Fat Sunday), and the quaint front sitting room.

The preview of the house will continue tomorrow as I cover...well, whatever we end up doing tomorrow.

Tune in then and find out. Same Bat-Time. Same Bat-Channel.

Hockey Night in Canada

Day 1 is complete. Actually, Day 1 and day 2 are complete, in a disjointed half-assed sort of fashion. And we are in Toronto. And by "we" I mean Tammy, Fat, and myself. The other prospective Canada travelers all backed out. Not that we need them to have a good time. Just some Alexander Keith's and Hockey Night in Canada.

How did we get here? In two dstinct parts. First was the evening shift, last night's run for the border from Crestwood to Windsor, douchebag capital of North America. Seriously, Windsor is just a place for every college kid that isn't old enough to buy alcohol nor cool enough to join the Pikes to come get drunk and find chicks to get intimate with, where the definition of "get intimate" is take back to the room, get her blood-alcohol level higher than her IQ, and have your way. After all, it's not a mistake if she can't remember it, right? Not that the girls aren't doing their best to look like a

Boxing Day special walking down the street in mini-skirts and scoop-cut shirts in 40 degree (F) temperatures and rain.

But hey we made it a Boxing Day (they celebrate that up here) to remember, with the Hawks on the TV in a sports bar and a trip to the Aardvark, ending with a well-deserved night's sleep.

Picking up in the morning, we have breakfast at a McDonald's that doesn't have biscuits (at all, everything's a McMuffin or a bagel) and hit the road in FogRace '08. I never considered that rising temperatures could actually cause snow to porduce fog but, alas, there it is! A dicey drive across the piece of Ontario between lakes Huron and Ontario, and we finally reach Toronto, to find our beautiful house for the week, where we've settled down for that most sacred of Candian traditions, beer and Hockey Night in Canada.

O Canada, indeed.

More to come in the following days.