It's raining. I mention this because each of those cute little droplets have conspired to make my plans go down the drain. Thanks a lot, rain. Like plants are more important that free outdoor movies. Like we need them to survive or something. Sheesh.
As the cars swish by, I sit here writing this, and thinking about the rain and, more importantly, about the elusive Luminato. The first event I wanted to go to was an Evening with Neil Gaiman, which sounded somewhere far beyond awesome. Like comparatively, awesome was just a small side street that the coolness of the road of the event passed by early on. Anyway, it was sold out, which is good--don't get me wrong--just not for me.
Yesterday there was another event that sounded very cool: a reading with authors commissioned to write about "Gothic Toronto". When my friend and I arrived, we learned the line up had begun long, long before. I bought a "chap book", which was kind of sort of proof of being there. I added it to the endless pile of books I have yet to read. Might take some time to count the pile, much less make a dent in reading the books in it, but one of these days...
So, after being turned away from the reading, we went off in search of a large red ball. Apparently it's touring the city, being squashed into the most unlikely of locations. One of the volunteers pointed us in the right direction. I figured, even if it had moved, surely we'd find it. I mean, it's a giant red ball, definitely no relation to a needle. Where could it hide, really? I had this image of the ball rolling through the streets of Toronto with people following it like it was the Pied Piper. We looked and looked, but suffice to say, it was no where to be found. Clearly, the Red Ball had disappeared into some mystical rabbit hole, and would re-emerge in Australia.
Wandering somewhat aimlessly, we found ourselves at Yonge & Dundas square where they had swing dancing music that seemed more slow and jazzy than swing. The photography there was cool. It was a theme, see...photographers obsessed with music, musicians obsessed with photography. For some reason, the image of the snake eating its tail comes to mind. I'd want to yank the tail out of its mouth, and tell it that it's better off biting the hand that feeds it then its own tail....but back to the non-completely circular story.
Eventually, swearing we'd return the next day, blanket and goodies in hand, for Tales of the Uncanny and live accompaniment, we departed. We synchronized our watches, or we would have if either of us were wearing them. The point is we planned. We figured we'd be there around 8:00, a full hour and a half earlier then the show was set to begin. Nothing could possibly stop us.
Yes. The reading may have been read without us, the audience may have lacked us for the evening with Neil Gaiman, the Red Ball may have rolled away and disappeared into another continent or dimension, but there was no way we'd miss the movies.
And then in rained. Brave the cruel rain, you say? Sit with precariously balanced umbrellas and damp blankets of doom? I think not. We de-synchronized our non-existent watches. My friend ate our picnic (in the same vein as Homer eating his pet lobster, I'd imagine) and I...well, I took a nap. And wrote this. I suppose there's still hope of going to an event or two....Luminato's not over yet. And after all, as an eventually wise lady named after a certain shade of red once said, tomorrow is another day.
Unless it rains.