In the interest of friday being procrastination free (and because according to my clock, it's friday already) I'm doing this entry early. Enjoy!
One of the more extraordinary gentlemen I've had the priveledge to meet, recently made a move away from his lady love in search of whatever it is men find compelling in Edmonton. I assume it's natives (OH!) or tar sands (double OH!). Mild racism aside, I think he wanted to be closer to his family (excusable), but has very recently begun rethinking his move for various reasons. His lady love was naturally upset by his departure (he's kind of a catch) and he, in the event of his return, would like to ride a wave of love on his surfboard of romance back to the city. He sought to make a start today when he learned his lady was sick.
How to make your love seem to reach miles and miles over land and sea to our little town of Toronto (wherein his lady love resides) but still keep your physical form in Edmonton (withOUT a flying phone box/time machine)? Text the coolest guy you know in TO to bring her some delicious Tim Hortons soup and doughnuts, that's how. This was my mission should I choose to accept it and despite the looming deadline to reach my sister's show this evening (Duel of Ages as part of the Fringe Festival) I chose to accept.
Did I budget enough time? Yes. Did the Tim Hortons I google-mapped on the way to lady love's residence even serve soup? No. Wait, what? NO SOUP!? It's now 8:20p and I need to be on the complete other side of downtown for a 9p curtain (and there's NO late admittance).
JAMES! Leaps tall buildings (or rather runs BACK the way he came to the downtown core) to reach an alternate timmy's. LEAPS them once again to get back to the residence (I was humming a super hero theme song while running, no joke). I know the girl's name and her room number, shouldn't be a problem. Guy at the desk says that unless I know her extension, he can't even acknowledge she lives in the building. Wait, what? Are you fucking kidding me? It's for romance! It's gotta be just right! Come on man, it's just soup and timbits, you gotta throw me a bone here! After captain pre-pubecent of the power-tripathons FINALLY accedes to call the room so she can come get her care package (of love: multiple entendre!) I bolt out the door and start racing for Queen St. to grab the streetcar across town (no thanks to Rob Ford. Douche).
Fingers flying on my qwerty text-a-phone, I try to figure out if I'll make it. After some (excessive) swearing, falling in a snow bank and crossing the same street multiple times I finally make it to the Fringe tent. 3 minutes to curtain! The woman (rightly) doesn't trust I'll find the theatre after getting my tickets, and actually leaves the tent to lead me down the street. I walk through the door in the nick of time and what is there? A front row seat, right on the aisle, I shit you not, LAST seat in the house.
Any who know me well or venture to know me well will learn I'm not a man of faith, but only a truly pompous man would ignore my good kharma layin out a clear path. OR someone who believes I know transit travel times really well and plan for delays, thus ensuring my own success. In the interest of appreciation recreation, I'm gonna under-think it and say WOO KHARMA! That's close enough to the theme, right? Fuck it. It's a good story.
Final report: Romance achieved, show watched, sister kills it, blog written. It's been a good Thursday.
If you at all have a chance this weekend, check out Duel of Ages at the Next Stage Theatre Festival (it's somehow Fringe related. Don't ask me). It's honestly some of the best theatre I've seen in years AND there's tons of violence! What-what!