We were on Queen St. in Toronto, directly across from Left Bank, trying to find a restaurant that Birdman, Angelator and I could agree on. There were protests going on all over the city, from anti war, to solar energy, single mothers and buddhist priests dancing in and around the streets. It was my first time on Queen St. where I could legally eat lunch, and because we couldn't bring weed over the border, the first time I could drink in public. The thing about Toronto is, you can't really tell if it's you changing, or the city. There's a sort of energy that Torontorians emit that will make you feel uncool, that concentrated area between the Condom Shack and the Shanti Baba that you will infinitely reconsider your outfit while standing at a red light with 300 different hair colors and the faint scent of patchouli, polo sport, and marijuana.

In the middle of deciding our lunch fate, a small peace rally, complete with chanting monks, bells and drums, moves in from the right. At that exact moment, an even smaller group of hard core punk rock skateboarders had created their own "rally" with signs they had probably stolen from an earlier demonstration, and moved in from the left. We became lost in the middle for several minutes, caught somewhere between peace and anarchy.

Last night I signed a card we're giving to one of the women at work that will be called in for active duty in less than two days if Saddam doesn't surrender his troops, and on my way home from Toronto that day, I found out Bruce McCulloch got married...