I like being a tourist. Not really in the classic definition of the title, like the maps, the cameras and brochures of sights and hotspots, souvenirs from gift shops, tourism reliant restaurants and cafes. But I like being a visitor, blending in, spying on things, adventuring, knowing that I will not be here forever, not permanent. I like ending up in strange places, stuff that I want to see, not what is recommended. I take some pictures and video when it is appropriate, kind of my own brand of souvenir, something to remember it by, maybe send a ridiculous postcard to a friend. I seek out restaurants off the beaten path, something good, different than what I can get at home every other day, and it’s usually pretty excellent. Dan will eventually admit that his favorite street-meat vendor lies on the corner of Queens and Spadina, even though they are all relatively the same, maybe differ in the condiment and beverage choices, but still sell the same array of tubed meat products. Most places, I still require a little guidance here and there, but Toronto is a place I got to know personally, spent alot of time here, still figuring it out completely. I know how to get around town, to my sister’s area of town, how to get out of town in each direction. Like anything, there are still unexplored and unfamiliar areas, curiosities, excitement, situations to end up in. And, according to some new friends I’ve made in the past few days, us “Western Folk” have a slight accent, as do the people from the East. I did not notice this so much, but will pay more attention to the divine language of Ontario, the hub of all existence. I poke fun, but mean it only to be that. I love this city.

We parted ways with our dear friend Jeff”oh,Jedi”Ojeda that afternoon, he had to get back to work, the lone guitar-tech for a flourishing pop-band. We wished him all the best and headed to Sneaky-Dee’s, once again, for a little pre-show warm-up with some Tankhouse Ale and Tres Tacos, the Sneaky Dee’s 10th Anniversary recommended special, ended up at the venue at around 7:00pm. Rancho Relaxo, like the last time we played here, in March, a little hole in the wall above another Mexican restaurant where the name speaks for itself, not a very tight ship, people show up and have a good time regardless of the band, get drunk and listen to some new music. This time the show was put on by a new friend, who told us to call her Kay, or Kay-Laser, a self-proclaimed business title. She did a good job promoting it, even came down to The Horseshoe to give us fliers and the incentive to play. She cared, which is not a common trait in a promoter helping out a new and unfamiliar band. The show was good and we played with alot of energy, what we thought was one of the tightest sets so far on tour, and we thought that we won over a few new fans, along with “Davey Parker Radio Sound” and “Foxes In Fiction,” it was a good line-up with some very innovative sounds, starting with a “Weezer-like” radio rock into our pop-punk whatever-you-call-it, then into an experimental, “Sigur Ros” one-man-band kind of thing. Very interesting.

I went to 7-11 down the block to buy some ant-acids, the Tres Tacos obviously did not agree with where they ended up, and on the way I saw two scantily clad girls running for what seemed like their life, and then one of the girls potentially sprain her ankle in the highest heels I have ever seen in my life. It was funny bordering on hilarious, but I felt bad and asked her if she was okay after bailing on the sidewalk. Her friend instinctively snapped up at me coldly “she’s fine! Come on, Tammy!” and helped her up, limping, rushed off to the most important hipster-party of their young lives. I was only trying to help and I probably startled them, but I guess I could have been anybody to her, a tourist looking for a good time, a salesman, a bad dude, untrustworthy, and not to mention, the v-neck I was wearing probably made me look like a goddam sexual tyranosaurus. Not very cool at all, if you ask me.