I was in Toronto last weekend and I called my friend Bob at the last minute to see if he could drive up from Buffalo for our annual boys-night-out weekend of depravity and debauchery. Last year, the event was to be scheduled around the Toronto International Boat Show, but when my dad got sick we had to cancel. In years past we have often chosen to spend the weekend in Niagara Falls, Ontario. You hear and see a lot of ads extolling the excitement you’ll experience when you drop your life savings at the Fallsview Casino, but Bob and I are not big gamblers. We choose Niagara Falls, Ontario because we can’t get enough of them chamber of horror wax museums.
This year, we did a walking tour of Toronto’s several entertainment districts. We walked from our apartment down to University and Front to a sports bar, where we watched the Sabres succumb to the Bruins as we dined on bar food, then watched the thrilling conclusion to a Raptors/Heat game, wherein the Raptors won. That’s right, I watched part of a basketball game. The thing about Toronto is, it’s such a great sports town that one can get vicariously caught up in the fan frenzy, regardless of the event. I’m not a baseball fan either, but I was up here when the Toronto Blue Jays won the World Series back in the early 90’s, and the town just erupted in unbridled glee. I, along with tens of thousands of jubilant fans walked up Yonge Street to celebrate that momentous event, and it was an experience I will never forget. As a Bills fan (and a Leafs fan … ugh), I’ve learned to take what I can get.
Because the Air Canada Centre is close to the bar we were in, when the Raptors game was over, the bar filled up rapidly with Raptors fans. Nothing makes me feel old (hey, I’m like only 54, and that is totally not that old)) like finding myself in a sports bar surrounded by twenty-somethings … six hundred young-uns with their beers in one hand and their Blackberrys in the other. Bob and I joked about how there was clearly a buffer zone between us and everyone else; as if they feared they might catch some virulent strain of old age if they ventured too close. “Stay away from the creepy old guys, I think they’re like, narcs or something!” The only time anyone came near us was if they became so mesmerized by the text message on their personal communication devices that they strayed into our circle of fossildom. Brief aside, I realize this is the age of texting, but does anyone else find this a strange social phenomenon? Was this bar full of young, single adults, texting other young, single adults at other bars, presumably to let them know they were somewhere other than where they should be? Decades ago, when I was a young, wild, and crazy playboy (hah!), I didn’t call people from bars, I went to the bar WITH them, and then talked (or didn’t talk) TO them, FACE TO FACE. There is some kind of weird social disconnect going on here.
A nightcap at the legendary Horseshoe Tavern on Queen Street, my Mecca of dive bars, and then back up to the apartment, again on foot, with a few stops along the way, mostly to relieve myself. The older I get, the less booze I drink, and the more I brag about “the experience” afterwards. Next time, I’m wearing “Depends” … those bar bathrooms are deeesgustin’. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This year, we did a walking tour of Toronto’s several entertainment districts. We walked from our apartment down to University and Front to a sports bar, where we watched the Sabres succumb to the Bruins as we dined on bar food, then watched the thrilling conclusion to a Raptors/Heat game, wherein the Raptors won. That’s right, I watched part of a basketball game. The thing about Toronto is, it’s such a great sports town that one can get vicariously caught up in the fan frenzy, regardless of the event. I’m not a baseball fan either, but I was up here when the Toronto Blue Jays won the World Series back in the early 90’s, and the town just erupted in unbridled glee. I, along with tens of thousands of jubilant fans walked up Yonge Street to celebrate that momentous event, and it was an experience I will never forget. As a Bills fan (and a Leafs fan … ugh), I’ve learned to take what I can get.
Because the Air Canada Centre is close to the bar we were in, when the Raptors game was over, the bar filled up rapidly with Raptors fans. Nothing makes me feel old (hey, I’m like only 54, and that is totally not that old)) like finding myself in a sports bar surrounded by twenty-somethings … six hundred young-uns with their beers in one hand and their Blackberrys in the other. Bob and I joked about how there was clearly a buffer zone between us and everyone else; as if they feared they might catch some virulent strain of old age if they ventured too close. “Stay away from the creepy old guys, I think they’re like, narcs or something!” The only time anyone came near us was if they became so mesmerized by the text message on their personal communication devices that they strayed into our circle of fossildom. Brief aside, I realize this is the age of texting, but does anyone else find this a strange social phenomenon? Was this bar full of young, single adults, texting other young, single adults at other bars, presumably to let them know they were somewhere other than where they should be? Decades ago, when I was a young, wild, and crazy playboy (hah!), I didn’t call people from bars, I went to the bar WITH them, and then talked (or didn’t talk) TO them, FACE TO FACE. There is some kind of weird social disconnect going on here.
A nightcap at the legendary Horseshoe Tavern on Queen Street, my Mecca of dive bars, and then back up to the apartment, again on foot, with a few stops along the way, mostly to relieve myself. The older I get, the less booze I drink, and the more I brag about “the experience” afterwards. Next time, I’m wearing “Depends” … those bar bathrooms are deeesgustin’. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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