Tomorrow and Tomorrow

On Monday night, my grandmother passed away at home. Since her terminal illness diagnosis, she had progressively gotten weaker each time I visited. Two Fridays ago, she was unable to sit up without help. But we could still talk and she asked me about the band tee I got in Toronto the week before. Last Friday, she barely whispered a few instructions to my mom. Mostly she was in a sedated doze while holding my hand. When my mother returned home on Saturday I was told that a priest will be performing last rites on Monday just in case.

I hadn't planned on going, as I wanted to spend time with her, not stand around reciting prayers. But yesterday after lunch, my mom called to say that things had taken a drastic turn in the morning. According to the palliative doctor, who administered several different injections, it was only a matter of hours. When I arrived, she was no longer aware of her surroundings. Over the course of the afternoon, the whole extended family came: all her children and their children. My cousin who recently moved to Vancouver had booked a last-minute flight and came straight from the airport. The older 4th generation kids didn't come, but 2 of the toddling great-grandkids were there with the parents. Each made emotional good-byes upon arrival then caught up with the rest of the family. I think my grandma would not have minded the chatter even if she herself was never a fan of "gossip".

After last rites, my cousins ordered take-out. My mom and I returned to our apartment. The doctor had left behind multiple doses to last through the night. So perhaps she will make it to another sunrise. But after dinner, my sibling called to say that grandma had stopped breathing. The matriarch of our extended family and the last member of the greater extended family was gone.

On the way home, I thought about several things. First, my mom had lamented to her siblings that, despite several aunts taking turns as well as professional support (PSW, visiting nurses), my grandma's care was hard. For their generation, with fewer (and busier) children, it could be "impossible". Sadly, she's not wrong. My situation will be even more dire as I have no partner or progeny. So I will have to manage all my infirmities alone.

This led to my second thought about MAID. For sure I have to include the possibility in my end-of-life planning. I wondered if my grandma would have chosen it if we did not hide her diagnosis. Even in early July, she complained to me that she usually recovers quickly from an illness. This last month may be nothing compared to friends who have family members with more than a decade of care. Still, given the last few weeks of "indignities", she might have opted to leave while in a relatively healthier state. She was well enough at the end of June to receive my sibling and my nieces after their month-long trip to Japan and the old country. And to lovingly tease him about the many photos of eating food.

Third, without my mother, I would consider going "no-contact" with the rest of the family after this. There is no trauma or negative feelings. It's just that, similar to my old buddies, our interaction has become simply an annual Christmas get-together. Not among themselves, just between us due to my temperament and the age-gap (I'm closer to uncle age to some of my cousins and grandpa age to their kids). Better to let our relationships lapse and be out-of-mind until some decades in the future when they receive something in my will. No great riches but maybe enough for a vacation.

Finally, a possible exception to the previous scenario. If my nieces, in their middle-age some years hence, want to reach out to me about forgotten relatives, then I could share few stories from their great grandma. Maybe details about her own siblings and the "greater" extended family. But my generation has already lost most contact (or never had any), so I doubt theirs will care except in a family-tree way. I could even talk about my own great grandmother, what few memories I have, augmented by second-hand tales. A connection through me back to someone from 1899 and forward through them (and their children?) into the 2100s could be affirming. On the other hand, they may not want to bother with the half-forgotten, hermit relative.

Eliza 6.0

I said that my trip to Toronto was on a whim. And although it was a last-minute decision, it wasn't without thought. Descartes a Kant was an art-pop band (devo meets nine-inch-nails meets kate bush) from Mexico. I saw a few videos online over the last year and liked their sound and aesthetic. Around since 2001 with a debut album in 2007, they've never visited Canada. Lately I've been to a some great concerts from Youtube finds: Penelope Scott, The Marías, The Regrettes, and Ginger Root. So with the likelihood that they may never play here again, I booked a quick stay in The Big Smoke.

Friday night, the 501 streetcar took me across town. Queen St. East (Leslieville) was fairly lively since gentrification but Queen St. West was absolutely packed. Nobody was lining up 20-deep for gelato (Mizzica Gelaterie) or filling up the shops and restos in the East End. They tore down The Horseshoe Tavern's next-door neighbour to make way for the new Queen/Spadina subway station (and additional commercial properties). Despite its heritage status, only the front façade was kept (a practice I despise).

Inside the Shoe, it was a small crowd for opener Beach Fox. Their music was a little of everything but mostly driven by a fast "double-time" tempo: hint of surf rock, pop-punk, and some noise. Their final song, a cheeky teenage dirtbag anthem about "I like cheap beer so eff you", was a bit out of left-field.

It wasn't a full house but still good-sized group that awaited Descartes. The nice thing about Toronto was no matter where the artist comes from, they will find their countrymen in the audience and locals who knew their music. So tonight's contingent included folks from Mexico and Torontonians (oddly a few well into their retirement years) who cheered every number.

The conceit of the new album was our feelings about a digitally-mediated life. So onstage along with the band was a cyberpunk computer that bleeped and blooped. With a flat electronic voice and 80s graphics, DAK promised to turn our pain into art, find our ideal partner (sex releases dopamine!), offer fixes for depression (cocaine, alcohol, but ice cream is best), and recommend ways to live our best lives (why not dance?). Meanwhile Descartes, dressed in futuristic orange nylon jumpsuits, on songs like Graceless and Woman Sobbing played music filled with changing time signatures, staccato riffs, furious drumming, and driving bass. By the time things wrapped up with the dance-friendly After Destruction, my faith in live music was restored. The show ended with the members donning lighted fishbowl helmets while DAK led everyone through some feel-good affirmations and meditative mantras.

With the thematic portion over, Descartes a Kant played an extended encore with several songs from their back catalogue. Early on, band founder Sandrusca Petrova told the crowd that she had a feeling that DAK's first show in Canada would be special. Each member professed their Canadaphilia: Ryan Gosling (a song was inspired by him circa his Drive era), Avril Lavigne, Norm MacDonald. When Sandrusca and guitarist Ana played the penultimate Buy All My Dreams while moshing in the crowd, everyone returned their love. But why did they finally make this first appearance? It turned out that their former synth player Ano Muños left during Covid to live in the Great White North. Maybe he reached to them for a show before they depart on a European tour. In any case, Muños joined Descartes for an emotional final number.

The band was diligent with manning the merch table themselves from the start of the evening. There was a steady stream of buyers early on. I bought 2 t-shirts myself ($30/each) since the ticket was a mere $20. I would have taken the vinyl as well (despite the $60 tag) but my last such purchase suffered some damage in transit back to Ottawa. I didn't stay after the show, but after such a performance, Descartes deserved a long line of purchasers. Even DAK, as a good corporate digital avatar, recommended consumerism as one form of therapy.

Dang It

On these trips to Toronto, I still work remotely. But I take advantage of the early wake-up to get most of my work in. So after the daily meeting before noon, I was done for the day. Friday morning, I struggled to get through some peer reviews. Perhaps I'm turning into a cranky greybeard, but these greenhorn always implement unnecessarily complex solutions to simple problems. Paradoxically, they don't scale to handle the hard problems. But our flat structure meant I have no authority to be the final arbiter. So perhaps it was time to take a step back: "not my circus, not my monkeys".

Filipino cafe Teako opened after my sublet. I tried their tea on one of my later visit to the area. I promised to sample the food, and one year later, I finally made good on it. Instead of crepes and sandwiches, I chose from the filipino section and ordered Chicken Adobo ($16.99). The sky was partly cloudy but the oppressive heat was still in place. So a Jasmine iced tea ($5.99) sounded like perfect drink.

The tea was refreshing with a hint of sweetness from the honey. I almost finished it by the time my lunch came out. The wait was worth it though. The chicken was exquisite: lightly sauced, tender, and juicy. The garlic rice was delicious but different than the typical one at filipino restos. Its buttery fluffiness called to mind an elevated version of Uncle Ben's. I felt bad that the owner gave me a complimentary slice of cinnamon roll. I would try their entire menu if I still lived in the area. But I might not return before they close because realistically speaking, their store was at a desolate intersection of a still working-class neighbourhood. The sad demise of Jinglepear Deli, just a few doors down, was proof. Ditto the loss of other recent contenders who didn't even make it to two years: Leni Poki became Cafe Xin Chao (itself not currently opened), Montreal Smoked Meat turned into a Josie's Lock and Key, Fusion Factory (replacing old stalwart Great Burger Kitchen) was also "temporarily closed". 

I spent some time at Greenwood Park digesting my food while watching numerous activities. There must be some sort of day-camp and/or community organization: the playground, wading pool, and outdoor rink were filled with kids. Adult softball teams were playing at the baseball diamonds. The games were from different rec leagues, though one set of teams had uniforms. There were also exercisers, dog walkers, and sun-tanners. This was much busier than my local park in Ottawa.

Since I supported POC proprietors at lunch, I decided to keep doing so for dinner. So I headed to Greenwood and Queen to the tiny Dang Smoke BBQ. Dang Quach started his food truck in 2017 (long after my obsession with them) and finally opened his tiny, mostly take-out spot in 2023. I didn't meet him but two workers sweating in the heat. I chose a Smoked Brisket sandwich ($16) with a side of slaw ($5).

Sadly, this dinner was a bust. The slaw was runny and a touch too sweet. The brisket did satisfyingly fall apart but it didn't have enough seasoning or smoky flavour. What little it had was masked by the "whisky bbq sauce". This cloying gloop came from a large, plastic jug bottle. It didn't matter if it was house-made or came from Sysco, it was just bad. The sticky, chewy brioche buns dealt the final blow. There is never a reason to use this overrated bread. After several great meals including Teako, this was an ignoble last meal for this trip.

The End of History

When I bought some bao ($3.25) from Huy Ky on Wednesday, I also purchased a tofu banh mi ($5.25). This worked out as I was too lethargic from the heat to leave my rental Thursday afternoon for dinner. After another hour of semi-slumber, I finally roused myself for a cold shower and headed to an evening concert.

My spot was only a 10-minute walk to the concert venue History. I hadn't planned to come back here after Rina Sawayama's show. I also felt mildly disappointed at my last Men I Trust concert. Though it turned out to be an excellent show, this was it for me on both counts. More on that later.

The opener Strongboi (a side-project of Alice Phoebe Lou) had a similar vibe as the headliner with chill songs like Tough Girl and Cold. There was more of a smooth 70s R'n'B foundation to their music. So it was apropos when they covered Bound (Ponderosa Twins Plus One). Though the big cheer from the  audience was likely from its sampling in Kanye West's Bound 2.

There were numerous negatives that made me side-eye History: long line-up (Massey Hall is larger without any waiting), airport security (overzealous bag check, scanner gates, screening trays), a young crowd (no masking, someone threw up at the front, another collapsed in the back as I was heading out). They did have a crystal clear sound system though, Men I Trust never sounded so good. But I don't want to set foot in here ever again.

Emma and her band released 2 new albums this year. Along with their back catalogue, they now have a large set of songs to choose from. Some preferred the new, folksy tunes. Others liked the older lofi music but beefed up for a live show. So the applause and participation varied but were never unanimous. Except for about 1 hour into the show when they did a "medley" of their old tunes. That got the crowd more excited than just some head-nodding. Even so, it didn't include other favourites so some wags by the bar screamed for Tailwhip.

Cognizant of the price I paid the last time I overstayed a show, I headed out after that high point. Lightning was flashing in the sky with thunder approaching rapidly. Just as I stepped inside the house, the rain came pouring down. I was mighty glad that I didn't stop by the merch table or for late-night taco (Holi Taco). Not to sound like a hipster, but I wished them much success with the newer fans. I have my memory of their Horseshoe Tavern show when the young'uns were still in grade school.