Blog Off, Canadian Style

Just returned from our trip to Toronto with Meg and Dennis. As usual I used the guise of a group trip to drag my friends to a place that only I wanted to go to. Meg was gracious and sweet as Dennis, Joe, and I enjoyed the Hockey Hall of Fame. Dennis and I spiced up the weekend by competing in a kind of photography competition....who could document the trip better. I think we both lost, but we got some good pics and as usual, had a good time.

It's a surprisingly short trip from Rochester to Toronto. We took Joe's trusty new car 'Martin Brodeur' the Ford Escape for his first road trip. Meg and I once again reminisced about driving to law school from Rochester to Buffalo. We're always congratulating ourselves for driving back and forth from Rochester for the last two years of law school. Of course, our three day a week heroics are beginning to pale in comparison to Joe's four days a week to Orchard Park.

There was some concern that crossing the border would be impossible with our potpourri of 'documentation' of citizenship. After a late night of searching from the basement filing cabinets to the attic boxes, Joe could not find his birth certificate. He was able to locate his passport....which had expired over 10 years ago. Certainly this expired passport containing a picture of Joe with long thick black hair and braces would not cause ANY concern from a border patrol agent. Dennis being more organized and pulled together had his birth certificate but a quick search of the Border Patrol website revealed that a non-notarized copy of a birth certificate was not acceptable and would probably cause an immediate search of his body, seizure of his birthday cake, and immediate forfeiture of his American Flag Banner. (not to be confused with an actual American flag)

Turns out that our group fretting was unnecessary. Joe told the border patrol lady that we were going to Canada to visit the Hockey Hall of Fame and she was pacified. She didn't even notice that one of the 'birth certificates' we handed her was actually a marriage certificate and that Ralph Macchio was playing the part of Joe on his passport. Four adults heading to the Hockey Hall of Fame is the perfect cover for all illegals trying to sneak into Canada.

Toronto was lovely and virtually free of traffic. Our hotel was as plush and friendly as advertised. We were all checked in and on our way to the HHoF before noon. At the last minute I decided against the purple blouse I had specially purchased for it's Stanley Cup photogenic qualities. Our hotel was on the corner of Younge and Bloor Street. (Bloor must be pronouced by forcing the word quickly out of your mouth and bending your lips outwards into a pout). We choose to walk to the HHoF. The very Canadian sounding front desk person at the Marriott thought we were coo-koo for walking but advised us to 'do as we please'.

Toronto has a great 'big city' feel without being unfriendly or 'too cool'. We ran into a large group of teen aged boys who reeked of pot. In New York City this large throng of marauding boys might have been a little scary but in Toronto one of them bumped into me and apologized sincerely. This is a great town! Walking around a large city reminds me that I like to walk from one destination to another. When you spend virtually every day in the car driving between 10 to 15 miles to get to anything that you need the luxury of being able to walk 15 minutes to a multitude of exciting destinations shrinks the city experience. Walking around makes you part of a landscape, more of a participant, and less of an aloof observer which often happens in the car.

Well, it was raining, and we got pretty wet by the time we got a few miles down Younge Street. The walk wasn't long or difficult but the hotel dude had a point about the subway.

We had a little trouble finding the HHoF. Remember in Pee Wee's Big Adventure when Pee Wee travels the country attempting to get to his bike which he believes is in the basement of the Alamo only to find out that "There's no basement in the Alamo!"...well....you know what is in the basement? Yes, the Hockey Hall of Fame is in the basement, with the food court.

So I guess it goes without saying that the HHoF is super fun and inspiring. There were a lot of display cases with a lot of hockey sweaters in them. Megan didn't believe that the jerseys were called sweaters, then we saw some old tattered hockey sweaters in the display cases. The game worn sweaters of course begged the question, 'What do those things smell like?' We'll never know how those crusty sweaters smell as they are safely behind glass. Dennis excelled at taking pictures of the display cases. I don't like display cases. Something in the case should move or wave or flash to catch my attention. Having said that, some of the cases had very cool artifacts. I was really impressed with the net in which Wayne Gretzky scored his 802nd goal. It was the first time I stood next to an actual hockey net. It's pretty big. Come on guys, with a net that big let's score some more.

Anyone who has been in any kind of contact with me over the past few weeks knows the real reason why we went to Toronto was so that I could meet the Stanley Cup. (Dennis told us that Megan called it the Stanley Trophy which is super cute but she seemed embarrassed by this, of course her embarrassment did not stop the teasing). Before making our trip to the HHoF, I carefully chose an outfit for Lord Stanley to see me in. I had my eyebrows waxed and made a hair appointment. I really thought that I would save seeing the Stanley Cup as the last thing we did at the HHoF but when I saw a sign like this I ran towards the cup like they might be giving it away in a raffle soon and I would miss my chance. By the way, how cool is this sign.....bathroom, exit, Stanley Cup.

Ok, so the hall where they keep the cup is really cool. All of the other NHL trophies are surrounding the Cup. The NHL has the best trophies of any sport. The sheer number, the fact that the trophies are shared and the varied and inventive designs of the trophies really make visiting them rewarding. Although I've seen pictures of all of the trophies before, they really need to be seen in person in order to be appreciated. Like the Prince of Wales Trophy has this cool clump of glass 'ice' in the middle of it that I had never noticed before. And the Rocket Richard trophy is so modern and glow-y. Joe and I named the Hart Trophy our favorite. It looks like a sacred heart on a stick.

The king of all trophies, the Stanley Cup, was in the middle of the room on a little stage, with a ramp leading up to it. It wasn't in a display case or behind a velvet rope, it was just sitting out. So I got all twitchy and nervous that a bus load of Canadians might be pulling up behind me and they might cause some kind of mobbish line that would never wind down so I darted up to quickly get my chance to stand near the cup. It was both nerve racking and totally exhilarating to be standing RIGHT NEXT TO THE STANLEY CUP.

Also, they let you touch the Cup. They encourage touching it! There aren't any guards or wardens or ushers around the cup. There is a guy charging you for professional photographs but that's about it. Other observations regarding Lord Stanley's mug: it's a little shorter than I thought it would be, it's super shiny, the typographical errors on it are very obvious and very fun to find, the writing on it is clear and easy to read. I ran my fingers over two of the times that Marty Brodeur's name appears on it.

Joe and I both felt nervous about being near the Cup and having our pictures taken with it. Please see the photographic proof of our nervousness below.

I highly recommend spending some time with the Stanley Cup. Although all sports have trophies and awards, hockey really knows how to do it up right.

The rest of the HHoF was entertaining, but not as cool as the Cup. We watched an infernal and repetitious movie about the beginning of hockey. Apparently it was pretty cold for the pioneers of Canada and they would while away the hours growing sleazy mustaches and pushing a ball around a frozen pond. The movie told us that Canada was the place 'where winter was invented', was the 'home of winter' and also where winter was 'born'. The movie made a jerky segue into showing some generic players in a scrimage with some seriously dramatic music. Then the whole production took a left turn into recounting every detail of ALL FIVE of the games in the Stanley Cup finals where the stupid Anaheim Ducks won the Cup. Worst Movie Ever. But I have to admit that watching Neidermayer hoist the Cup over his head at the end of game five made me a little misty eyed. I know I'll be in full blown hysterics when I see Jason Pomminville lifiting the cup for a victory lap in 2009.

After a drenching walk back to the hotel we were starving. Dennis found a listing for Wayne Gretzky's restaurant in the city guide. The ad claimed that the restaurant was 'upscale', had 'hockey murals', and boasted table tops that looked like slabs of ice. Although this would have been the finest dining experience of my life we decided to cut Megan a break and went to Hemmingway's an 'eclectic' dining spot very close to the hotel. (ed. note- I just went the Gretzky restaurant website, we should have gone there, the ice tables alone would have been worth it- Dennis, you and me and Gretzky's soon. And I bet they had a brownie sundae)

Hemmingway's was basically a restaurant on a roof with a tarp pulled over it. The atmosphere was really friendly (Canadian) and Joe got a beer that dwarfed all three of our drinks combined. The food was good but not great and Megan's plan to foil the rest of our hockey weekend was destroyed when Hemmingway's turned on Hockey Night in Canada so that everyone could watch the Philly/Montreal game.

We took a walk around the University of Toronto after dinner but hurried back to the Hotel for the conclusion of the game. Megan sweetly claimed not to mind and even said that she wanted to like hockey too. I'm currently trying to convert her. I sent her all of the pictures I have of Sidney Crosby in various states of undress.

The next day, after a brief detour (read: Joe goes on a directionless lark) we headed out of Toronto loaded up with 20 Canadian candy bars and Tim Horton's Dutchies. We stopped at Ikea in Hamilton where Meg and Dennis picked out a new chair. They debated between the Glorg, the Yowerg, and the Bloor. They went with the Bloor.

At the U.S./Canadian border the U.S. customs agent was even less interested in our 'documentation' of citizenship. Again we flashed the badge of the HHoF and she was mollified. At the border we spotted the Syracuse AHL team The Crunch in their team bus presumably heading to or returning from a match up with the Toronto Marlies. I noted that 'The Crunch' sounds like something that a baby makes in it's diaper. Joe thought the Syracuse team should be called 'The Sludge' in honor of Onondaga Lake's smell and Dennis liked the 'Lake Monsters' better.

As a little epilogue to our trip, on Monday when Joe went into work he saw a patient who may or may not be a retired member of a local NHL team, and may or may not have been one third of the most famous line of forwards which may or may not have been named after a famous movie having to do with some people's alleged Frenchness. This person asked Joe what he did over the weekend and when Joe told him we had gone to the HHoF he asked, 'Why would you want to go there?' and then told Joe that he had a stack of free tickets to the HHoF, which apparently they pass out to former All-Star NHL'ers that may or may not have had their numbers retired. I'm sure that free tickets are all that I need to waive in order to convince Megan to make a trip back to Toronto for some more hockey madness.