Convention Blues

One of the ways Bryan and I justify our big trips is by always working them around some type of convention so we can write the trip off. The downside to this is that we have to actually go to the convention. Court reporters are a dorky lot, and I do not by any means exclude myself from this label. Many turn up for the annual convention, but only the diehards show up for midyear. Topics at this year's midyear include Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Court Reporting 101 and Advanced Knowledge of Even More You Don't Care About.

One of the things I looked most forward to on this vacation was not having to set an alarm. The East-to-West jet lag aids me in this, but I wanted to get Bjork tickets, which went on sale this morning at 11 in NY, so I had to get up at 8 this morning. The problem is that yesterday I was confused and thought it was Friday, so I was up yesterday at 8 as well. It took me about 20 minutes and a phone call to Radio City Music Hall before I spoke to a human that informed me it was only Thursday. And now I have to actually get up really early tomorrow as the first seminar starts at 8:30.

Other than the convention, we didn't do much else of note today. We did hit Granville, the next road over, and did a bit of rock shopping. I picked up a few more stage outfits and this awesome Nikki Sixx framed trading card with a little fake Thunderbird bass attached. I about died when I saw it. It was as if it was crafted specifically for me.

We ate dinner tonight at a place called Nu on the water, a small plates place that took the word "small" to another level. Just as we started to comment on the slow service, the manager came over to tell us that he would give us free desserts. I think I'm going to start using the word "Canadian" in place of "really" when referring to a new level of nice; as in "he isn't just nice, he's, like, Canadian nice." I actually joked before the desserts came out that maybe since I dropped the fact we were from NY to our waiter, that we'd get free dessert, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. We've got one more night in Canada for me to add another inch to my waistline, so I just might even don a fanny pack just to make sure they know we're tourists.