This continues from passing through the border.
8:45 PM Thursday evening, we get to the hotel in time to get Claire to the poetry reading.
9:00 PM The rest of us--me, Larry Santoro, and Roger Dale Trexler--decide to go to the 5th floor hospitality suite for free food. I find that I can't get Jack Black--not the actor--straight up no ice and I find myself on a mission. I palm a pen and pads of paper for the Marriot and put them in my jacket pocket. This will be important later.
9:30 PM The three of us walk to the Bond hotel, where we stay just the one night.
9:45 PM The hotel is in a bizarre Blade Runner-like area, with giant moving billboards for Maybelline and things I have never heard of. (Sorry I missed this part. I didn't know Toronto had anything like that. Countries other than the U.S. always seem to have higher tech billboards. Why is that? --Sid)
10:29 PM Larry goes to bed, Roger joins me on my mission and we cross the street to the Imperial Pub, an odd little joint with fake pal tress and an honest to God old-timey Seeburg jukebox. There were many obscure names, I played some, annoyed for some reason when I heard Bing Crosby from the speakers. I met a guy in the bathroom who told me where Roger and I could continue our mission, the Zanzibar.
11:45 PM We are told by a huge man at the Zanzibar that we were too drunk to come in. We did not argue. Back to the hotel and bed.
10:30 AM Friday. Larry and Roger leave for the other hotel. I sleep in for a bit, mostly from the hangover but also because the previous night I worked 14 hours, came home, watched LOST, ate a meal, then slept for an hour before Roger pulled up. Claire told me I slept for about thirty minutes at one point during the ride. Regardless, I WAS indeed hungover.
11:45 AM I leave the hotel with my backpack and bag. I realize I do not know what hotel to go to, mostly because I had a ball peen hammer stuck between my eyes. I walk to the Sheraton and find my friends not registered. I call Larry's cell and leave a message, not thinking that the roaming charge will cost him $22.37 at least. The clerk looks at me as if I am Rain Man, and tells me that perhaps I am thinking of the Hilton.
12:30 PM I then start to trudge there, but stop at Mr. Happy Fries, a type of ice cream truck-thing, only with hot dogs and fries. I gave the guy an extra tip when I was done eating because it was so good. He surprised me by saying it was an honor to serve me because I was a guest in his country. I could not figure out how he knew I was a guest, unless it was because I was wearing my Superman shirt.
12:50 PM A woman on the street finally point me in the direction of the Hilton, and I walk past a church. Happy that I am on my way, I talk to the pigeons around me, still thinking about Mr. Happy Fries comment. I see a homeless guy, his beard stained by nicotine, and I wave hello. He says to me and I quote "Why the fuck are you talking to birds?" I had no real answer and continued forward.
1:15 PM The Hilton has no knowledge, but a clerk Googles the convention and tells me it is at the Marriot. I take the pad from my jacket pocket to write directions, the pad that reads Marriot, and the clerk looks at me as if the ball peen hammer in my head had performed a lobotomy. At least I knew I was on the right track.
1:45 PM I am at the Marriot, the desk clerk calls up to Roger and tells him his associate is here, and he okays me to come to the 15th floor. From the window by the elevator I can see the church and the guy who yelled at me but asked an honest question.
Sid, I shall stop here. Tomorrow I will write about the autograph party, and the melodrama afterwards, then Saturday as well. Feel free to enter it in your journal.