Canadian Gold

So the Olympics happened. And, like most Canadians, mostly what I cared about was the hockey. In fact, I probably cared MORE about the hockey this year since I now live, most of the time anyway, in America.

So some of my Canadian friends and I joined five hundred other Canadians at a mid-town bar at an event organized by some Facebook group called Canadians in NYC. We got there at around noon for the 3:15 game. There were no tables left. "Well," said the waitress, pointing to the one table at the very front, "those guys over there are here for brunch, and if they're not staying for the game then we can reserve that table for you. We don't usually do that but there's ten of you so it would be ok for today." So we checked it out, and they didn't even know there was a game, and said sure we could have their table. So we grabbed some drinks from the bar and stood around. And stood around some more. Finally, at 2pm their food came out. Because their food had taken so long, they were drinking up loads and loads of the free champagne that was coming with their all-inclusive brunch. By 3pm, only half of them left and there was barely standing room in the bar. So we went over to get our table. "OH, we're not leaving," one guy slurred. Excuse me? "Well... this lookslikefun. And I like fun." So our waitress had to go over and bully them. (As a waitress, I know how incredibly satisfying that sort of thing can be, esp when those customers have been assholes, which these guys were. Still, I could have kissed her.)

By the time the actual game started, you couldn't move. After the first period, I had to go ACROSS THE STREET to go to the bathroom. And then plead and con my way back in. ("But I have a table, and food getting cold!") Drunken Canadians pushed at me from almost all sides, though at one point I was in the corner, with no one jostling me, and a great view of the bar: a sea of red and white, Canadian flags and hockey jerseys. Honestly, Canadians don't get patriotic about much, but holy shit do we get patriotic about hockey. Which is something that some American friends learned that day. They were great sports, but they sat there the entire time with bewildered looks on their faces, like they had encountered a strange alien species. When Canada finally won in overtime, the bar ROARED. And the Americans looked bewildered. And then we all got gift certificates to Porter Airlines.

Hockey: more than just a game.

Celebrity Sightings, Volume 2: Cool or Creepy?

Ok so I don't know what's going on with my celebrity radar this week but they keep popping up everywhere. I'm not sure if I'm becoming more observant/aware or if it's just a coincidence. Anyway, I already saw SJP, which was MY 'ultimate' celeb-sighting experience, but last week I saw the person who most other New Yorkers would deem the ultimate New York celebrity-sighting: Woody Allen.

I was on my way back from work, and had decided to walk down to 68th and Lex, instead of getting on at 77th. So I'm walking south, and just as I am coming up to 70th Street, I look up and I see him. Not JUST Woody Allen, however. Woody and Soon-Yi. (Cool. But creepy. But cool. But.... creepy) She was standing there holding some sort of box of something or other, and he was standing on the corner, wearing a hat that was partly shading his face, with a cane, and on his cell phone. What interesting, though, is that unlike all of my other celebrity-sighting experiences ('hey I know that girl from somewhere... where is it? Uni? Toronto? Oh no wait... that's Mary-Kate Olsen'), this time I recognized him *immediately*. But not only did I recognize him immediately, for a brief second I actually felt like I was IN A MOVIE.

Just as I thought that, he looked up at me, ready to recognize that I was recognizing him, but only making eye contact for a moment, because I was already looking away, and he went back to his phone conversation.

Celebrity Sightings

Since moving to New York I've seen a few celebrities. Not as many as you'd think, but then again while walking down the street I tend to have my head in the clouds.

My first celebrity sighting was in Greenwich Village, in the fall of 2006, while trying to find somewhere to have lunch with my Dad. Meandering up 4th Avenue, we happened to be behind Jon Stewart who was out with his son. Weird to see such a cool and witty celeb running along the sidewalk yelling 'now we're swimming we're swimming' while miming front crawl while his two year old son ran beside him laughing and squealing. So cute though. I think I fell a little bit in love with Jon Stewart that day.

Since then I've seen a number of less well-known celebs: the mom from Knocked Up in Scoops on Bleeker, the supporting nurse from Nurse Jackie at the YMCA on the elliptical trainer opposite me, and once when I was having coffee with a friend at Joe's Coffee at 13th and 5th, Parker Posey was apparently sitting next to me, waiting for her coffee - though to be fair that doesn't really count as a 'sighting' as my friend didn't tell me that until she'd left.

Which is fair enough. With the exception of the mom from Knocked Up, who looked as though she was thrilled that I'd clearly recognized her, most celebrities probably get sick of being constantly stared at/pointed at etc.

The other day I even saw Mary-Kate or Ashley Olsen at Cafe Loup. And it's sort of weird to see someone I consider a big celeb, because I'm not used to seeing them, and so it takes me a minute sometimes to realize that I'm recognizing someone famous, as opposed to someone I recognize from uni or whatever.

But yesterday, I had probably what would be for me the ultimate celebrity sighting, and again at the YMCA (what's up with that? I thought celebrities could afford

personal trainers? Is the economy that bad??). Again, head in the clouds, I came into the Y, gave my card to the girl to scan, hopped down the stairs and just as I was about to enter the Ladies' change room, a hoard of kids came out, jerking me out of my reverie. As I glanced up to avoid them I noticed that they were with a lady, not much taller than they were, and I thought, once again: hey that lady looks familiar... (Brain: whhrr whrrr... click click...) Then as she looked up at me, everything finally clicked into place and I thought: oh my god, that's Sarah Jessica Parker! And just as I thought that she glanced away.

Wow. Awesome.

Snow days

Another point where New York diverges from Toronto: snow. Snow here is less frequent, and thus has a bigger impact on the city. NYC will get the occasional light snowfall, but now and then there will be a 'Noreaster' which is a big storm that hits the northeast corner of the States. Last week we had one of these such 'blizzards' where we got about a foot of snow, six inches of which stuck overnight, and then it all turned to slush. The morning of the blizzard I came out of my building, heading to work, and I was gobsmacked by how dead the street was. The city basically shut down for the day. I managed to get my shift at work in, but by the time I got home (2ish) stores were closing down early, everyone was heading home. And so I stayed in my apt watching the snow fall for the rest of the evening, and for the first time, in the city that never sleeps, I couldn't go anywhere.

New York Visitors

I recently had my first real visitor in my NYC studio (apart from my mum - sorry mum). I love visitors – it often means I’ll get to do things that I wouldn’t otherwise. Some highlights:

BAM: We went to see "As You Like It" at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, which is part of the Sam Mendes 'Bridge Project,' - a company created of both American and British actors. My friend (who, just for context, is Italian born and raised) leans over and says to me: are only some of them doing English accents? Isn't that a bit weird?

I don't think it is weird, because although I'm not that familiar with how Shakespeare is done in America, it's pretty standard these days (in Canada) to do one's own accent. (After all, the kind of English accent that Shakespeare would have had, I hear from experts anyway, sounds much more like how they speak in Newfoundland. Weird.)

Anyway, the production was ok, which was a bit disappointing considering all the hype. I mean, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't inspiring. Highlights:

Set: high production value. Orlando: flat, ugh. Rosalind: annoying, Jaques: amazing. (which by extension meant that the 'All the World's a Stage' speech almost made up for the rest of the production)

House of Yes: Saturday night was spent at The House of Yes - typical Williamsburg (well ok, Bushwick) warehouse style indie space, $10 cover, four or five bands, BYOB. We ended up leaving early (I wasn't feeling well). Still, we managed to see the first three bands, pole dancers (she looked good on the pole but we realized it was an optical illusion, since when she got down you could see that she must have been anorexic), fire-eaters, a lady about the age of a grandma yoga-dancing to the second band, and a gymnastic routine.

Who’s next?

Welcome to NYC

It has been said that Toronto is like New York run by the Swiss. That is, Toronto is a like a cleaner, neater, better run, safer and more polite version of New York. And this is not entirely wrong, because otherwise Toronto wouldn’t play the part of New York so often in movies.

But mostly, Toronto is not like New York. In fact I think that the best line I’ve heard on this subject is something Alec Baldwin’s character on 30 Rock says: “Yeah Toronto! It’s just like New York. Except without all the stuff.”

The reason that this is funny, at least to me, is that ‘all the stuff’ is precisely what makes New York the way it is. Manhattan especially is crammed full of everything imaginable, and, as Huey Lewis notes, where else can you do half a million things, all at a quarter to three?

Anyway, this is a long-winded way of explaining that whenever I come back to New York, especially after a long time away, I have to mentally prepare myself for coming back to all the stuff: people crammed into subways especially during rush hour such that one has about half a millimeter of personal space, the crowds on the streets, especially in my area of town, the noise, the pace, people yelling, things crashing, neighbours playing loud music etc. Beyond all of this though, there is almost always a moment, an encounter or an observation where it finally really hits me: aha! Yes, yes I am back in New York now, aren’t I?

To give some past examples, there was a beautiful day in September when I was walking up 5^th Avenue and thinking to myself how beautiful New York is in the fall. I was still in Toronto-mode, so I was politely waiting for the light to change at 11^th street, daydreaming a bit, when all of a sudden some lady jumps into the cab in front of me and it starts pulling away. Two seconds later another lady runs up to the same cab, waving her arms around and screaming: “THAT’S MY FUCKIN CAB, BITCH! MY FUCKIN CAB!!!”

Another time, I had been on the subway when a drunken old man approached me, saying crude things and following me through a couple of subway cars. Now, in this case, he was short and ‘pissed out of his box’, as the Irish would say, and so if it had come down to it I could have pushed him over with my pinkie. And I managed to lose him eventually. Nevertheless, it was a bit unsettling, and as I was going to catch the train later that day I saw a cop standing around looking bored. So I decided to ask him what he recommended that I do in that situation, should it come up again. The scene went something as follows:

Cop: (looking me up and down - slowly) You sure he just wasn’t hitting on you now?

Me: Pardon?

Cop: Cause you know (hitches up belt) you’re a beautiful lady, and sometimes shy gentlemen such as myself don’t always know what to say to beautiful ladies like you.

Me: …

He then proceeded to offer to buy me pepper spray, and then tried to get my number so that he could ‘deliver it’ to me. Welcome to NYC.

This time I haven’t obviously had one of those moments, and I’m not sure why, but I think it might also be because I am more and more used to the craziness of New York. But I was having drinks with a friend last night, and he told me something that led me, vicariously, to have an ‘aha! I’m back in NYC’ moment, but this time it had slightly more positive overtones. Background: we were talking about what it takes for a New Yorker to help someone. There’s a checklist that you go through in your mind whenever you see someone in need of help, about if the person is crazy, how much they need, how much time will this take me, etc. New Yorkers aren’t as cold as their reputation would indicate, but they also don’t have a lot of time. (By contrast I find Torontonians much colder.) Anyway my friend was walking north on 8^th Ave, and saw a father and daughter trying to hail a cab, and failing badly. The father was only half-heartedly holding out his arm, and as any good New Yorker knows, you need to be a little more

assertive than that. After all, everyone is trying to hail a cab - you’ve got to hail with conviction. So he took pity on them, and without missing a beat, or losing a step, my friend lets out a loud whistle, and gestures assertively across the street to the cabbie, who pulls over immediately and the father and daughter get in. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t realize what I’d done,” he says to me. “But it was my good deed of the day.”

Welcome to NYC.

Pride and Prejudices

I don't think it's news that North Americans have a certain romantic conception of 'Britishness.' Even as someone who went to an Anglican girls school, where about 30% of my teachers were British of some description, and even though I have loads of cousins in the UK, the accent still always had a sort of romantic ring to it. I'm not sure what it is but anything said in a (particular sort of) British accent always sounds prettier, cleverer. Or at least it did until I lived there for three years. And I sort of regret that loss, even though I am happy to be disabused of certain fancies of what it means to be British.

On the other side of things, it is often thought that Brits think that Americans are a bit ignorant. And they do. But there is a less obvious, and more romantic notion of Americans that I think the Brits are less eager to share, because it is slightly more humbling for them. I didn't realize that this sort of romantic stereotyping went both ways until a friend in Edinburgh informed me that her only understanding of America was from television and films, and so she had this skewed yet persistent idea that everyone in New York lived like the characters on

Seinfeld or Friends. (This sort of reminds me of another friend from school who, when she was younger, changed schools three times in the space of three or four years, and somehow it just happened that she had only Canadian history for about three or four years in a row. As a result she entered her teenage years with the strange notion that everyone around the world for the past 500 years had been pioneers who lived in log cabins. She knew it was wrong and yet she couldn't get the image out of her head.)

Anyway, examples of this more romantic stereotype of Americans can be seen in many of Richard Curtis's films, such as Four Weddings and a Funeral. I have seen this movie about a hundred times, but I will never forget the one time I watched it with an American friend. She became increasingly agitated while watching it, until she finally turned to me and said angrily, referring to Andie McDowell's character: "Is that really how the rest of the world views Americans? As complete sluts?" Now, while it's true that there is a scene in which this character, Carrie, confesses that she's slept with something like 34 men (is that even a huge number these days? anyway), until that moment it had never occurred to me that it was a negative depiction. "Er, I don't think that's what Richard Curtis means by that character," I replied. "Honestly I think it's coming more from a sense of quiet admiration for American sexuality." I mean, throughout that scene Hugh Grant looks on with a uncomfortable awe, not disgust. What's interesting about this is that my American friend seemed to disapprove of Carrie much more than the British ever would.

But I'm still trying to figure out what the romantic notion of a Canadian is. So far the most I've gotten is that Canadians are 'nice' and 'tolerant.' Which isn't really romantic. But I think that we can use this to our advantage. Thoughts?