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Phantom of the Opera In Torontoby Jason Kantz |
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Phantom of the Opera In Torontoby Jason Kantz |
Note: If you're looking for phantom tickets ... I bought ours online through Ticketmaster Canada: http://info.ticketmaster.ca. But I don't think the Phantom of the Opera is playing in Toronto any more.
At the Canadian border the lady asked, "Where do you live?"
My brain had some interference, and I said "Um ..."
I thought, getting searched would be such a waste of our time. Finally, my mind latched on to the right answer, and I said, "Grand Rapids!"
The border lady said, "Where are you going?"
I said, "Toronto."
She said, "For how long?"
"Three days."
Angela and I navigated our way into Toronto using the National Geographic Road Atlas and a map that Gail provided. We were on Toronto highways during rush hour, and I recognized the Yonge St. exit, but stayed on the highway based on an instant and elaborate line of reasoning that Angela had the map and would tell me where to go because she had formed a plan for getting to the hotel. I didn't want to drive outside of that plan. One flaw in my reasoning--Angela hadn't finished making that plan. We drove right off our map.
After frustration that comes with seven hours of driving and efforts from Angela to help me look on the bright side, we found our way back to the streets on the map.
I parked on the street. A passing Canadian couple turned our attention to a tow truck attaching itself to a car about 100 yards away. They said, "You're not from Toronto are you. Did you know that they open these lanes for rush hour traffic?" Needless to say, we parked somewhere else.
When we walked inside, Angela thought the lady at the front desk would
tell us we had the wrong hotel. We gaped around the classy King
Edward hotel before going up eight floors to our room. The hallway
looked like a scene from the Titanic, and the room--
When people leave the King Eddie Hotel, a guy in a fuzzy brown fur coat and a matching fuzzy hat holds the door open.
We rode the metro to Union Station in search of the highly recommended
Library Bar. We walked in a big circle between the underground mall
and the freezing, above-ground streets in search of this Library Bar.
Finally, settling underground at Piper's Bar and Grill, Angela proudly
ordered a Merlot without being asked for her ID. I enjoyed an
Ontario-Nut-Ale-Something-or-Other. Canadians make damn good beer.
We split a spicy BBQ sandwich and talked about childhood family
vacations. Angela told me about riding bikes on Macinaw Island, and I
told her about staying in a cabin in New Buffalo on Lake Michigan with
Polish people.
We soon found the Library Bar--we'd practically passed it twice before--and the DAMN thing was closed for the holiday. The typing on the white piece of paper taped to the window said the bar would re-open Jan 4--two days after the end of our stay.
Back at the lounge in the King Eddie hotel Angela ordered another Merlot; I clumsily ordered a Martini. (It was my first time.) The lounge had a great atmosphere:
I asked Angela, "What's the funniest thing that has ever happened to you?"
She told me about an embarassing cheearleading picture. Then she described her surprise birthday party in Washington D.C. A couple of her roommates took her out to dinner and the waiter kept them at the restaurant so long that Angela was furious and mean to him, leaving only a dollar tip. She planned on coming home and reading, but with the "Surprise!" ended up having a birthday party instead. I told Angela about a time I was fixing the door on my first car and accidently shattered the window with my screwdriver.
Angela had a hard time sleeping. She finally fell asleep at 2:00 a.m. At 4:00 a.m. she woke up to some repetitive beeps and a message:
Attention Guests. This is the Hotel Manager. Please remain in your rooms. The fire department is on the premises investigating the cause of the alarm. We will notify you as soon as there is more information.
This scared Angela, and she woke me up. I would have slept right through the alarm otherwise. We looked outside: no flames, no smoke. We laid waiting to see what would happen. Eventually the manager announced that everything was okay. In the morning we found a letter that had been slipped under our door. In so many words it said that it was a false alarm. Angela and I noted some mistakes of spelling and grammar in the letter.
Angela started her day with a shower. I started mine with some stretching on the floor in the hallway by the door. When she came out of the bathroom, I was nowhere to be seen. She looked around and thought, "Where the hell is he?" Then she saw some feet sticking out from around the corner. She laughed when she saw me lying on my back after a stretch.
Angela spent about an hour in the bathroom. When she finished she looked beautiful. I told Angela that she was beautiful, smart, and intelligent. With a smile she said, "Yep. I know. I'm very intelligent. I'm very beautiful."
Our exploration of Toronto:
Angela didn't buy a hat. I bought one at the Gap. The amazing thing about Toronto is that it seems like one big, crime-free shopping mall with a Starbucks and a Gap on every other corner. There was even "Gap for Babies." When Angela and I were reading the book Microserfs on the way home, ironically, there was an allusion to Gap in Toronto. The book referred to the very Gap store in the Eaton Mall where I bought my hat:
"Deep in your heart, you go to the Gap because you hope that they'll have something that other Gap stores won't have ... even the most meager deviation from the highly standardized inventoried norm becomes a valued treasure. It's like when you go into a McDonald's and they're test-marketing Lamb McNuggets, or something, and you know that it's an experiment."
Ethan broke in and agreed wholeheartedly: "Last December at the Eaton Centre in Toronto I purchased a 'GP 2000' Commander Picard-like red-and-black sweatshirt that I have yet to see in a Gap anywhere else." (Coupland 271)
When I was trying to decide if I should buy the hat, Angela told me it was the right hat for me. (brat) When I saw my reflection on the glass of a building, I noticed it looked a little dork-like. I think that's why she wanted me to buy it--because it looked cute and a little dork-like. We combed the Eaton Mall for a hat for Angela. I explained to her how men only have one calorie of shopping energy, and when it's gone ... that's it, no more shopping. Then Angela explained how my hat fits my personality and that she can't buy a hat unless it fits hers. Note on the difference between women and men: what begins as a simple need to find something to keep your ears warm ends as a total fasion/personality thing for women.
Note: Angela has this remarkable ability to smell my cologne anywhere on the windy streets of Toronto.
We walked on the glass floor in
the CN tower, and I took a picture of our feet floating 144 stories
above the ground. There was a restaurant and we ate at a table beside
a window overlooking the expanse of Toronto.
Angela and I have noticed that the ground has seemed to move a few times while in Toronto. In our hotel the floor moved, and we thought the building was swaying. In the Eaton Centre the ground seemed to move while we were buying an Orange Julius. Our theories:
I put on my suit. Angela was in the bathroom she heard me mumbling, "Shit," and grumbling, "Damn." She came out to see what I was doing. I was tying my tie. Toronto seems so upper-class-like. I've never seen so many restaurants that serve martinis and four-course meals. Two hours before dinner time on New Year's Eve, we called around looking to make a reservation. Each restaurant replied the same: "All booked." One available restaurant was charging $98 a plate. Angela and I walked to a Thai restaurant, but I think it was too weird for her. I think she secretly feared ordering something that accidentally had a squid or an octopus in it. We remembered reading about, and walking past, a restaurant called, "The Senator" located next to the Pantages Theater.
We followed a family of three into The Senator. The host told the jolly, talkative father that they were booked. We were almost all turning back out to the street, when the father said "Oh, we're just looking to have a bite to eat. You could seat us at the bar. We wouldn't mind."
Angela and I said, "We'd like to eat at the bar too." A lady gave us
menues and we went into the corner of the bar. Angela ordered steak.
I ordered smoked salmon. Angela put her knapkin on her lap. I put my
knapkin on my lap. Angela put her silverware on the right. I put my
silverware on the right. Angela laid her dirty butter knife across
her bread plate. I laid my dirty butter knife across my bread plate.
Angela: "Relax. You look really formal and worried that you're going
to do something wrong." I told her that she was right and admitted to
copying her etiquette. We laughed about it and I relaxed.
I didn't realize that smoked salmon is served cold. The fish felt cold and squirmy in my mouth. I ended up eating half of Angela's steak. I heard someone order martinis: "Two martinis. Very cold. Very Dry. Up with a twist."
After dinner we saw Phantom of the Opera. We sat in the third row. A highlight of the opera:
You will curse the day you fail to do all that the Phantom asks of you!
The flames from this particular scene shot up in such a blaze that we shielded our faces and I nearly jumped into the row behind me.
The opera was very 'Romantic' as opposed to 'Classical' or 'Naturalistic'. I mean it wasn't just everyday events in this opera. The events were dramatic and exagerated. There was not a clear line between good guy and bad guy. The Phantom, a brilliant composer/inventor, was tormented by his horrible face and the realization that no one will see him--only his face. He calls himself an Angel in Hell. You had to dislike the Phantom, but couldn't help to have some sympathy for him. The other quality that made it a Romantic Opera was that the characters faced tough choices. Does Christine do what the Phantom commands to save the theatre and her lover? Does she do what her lover asks to destroy the Phantom? Do the managers obey the Phantom in order to keep their opera house open? The dramatic questions and grotesque style made this a very entertaining opera.
The grotesque is the quality of drama that French writer Victor Hugo thought of as defining Romanticism. For example, the grotesque is comedy mixed with tragedy, or the beautiful intertwined with the repelling, or the grand combined with the frivolous. I tried to write my own little dramatic piece once, called The End of Albert Star. I guess it boils down to the irony that makes things interesting. These are the ironies that I'll remember from this trip:
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