.toronto is baking.

well, right now I'm sitting in Ori Dagan's house, which I have the run of until he gets back from work. The grievously weird thing about his house? There is no clutter. There is no excess of possessions. It is a high ceilinged, hardwood-floored, immaculate white torontonian thing. With tasteful Matisse prints. I have always grown up in a house where there is a colossal mess waiting to be found in every closet and inch of storage space. Well...Ori's parents don't have that. They have neat, well organized spaces...and closets...there is no mess. Anywhere.
Yesterday I did Toronto for very little cash. I slept in a little park by my favourite nightclub. I awoke in a slightly grumpy mood three hours later upon discovering that my shade had moved over dramatically.
Reuniting with my Toronto buds was sweet, to say the least.
But I am le tired, so now I must call into local radio station and sing for them. Tonight I'm performing, too, and I've got nothing. I steadfastly refuse to perform "summertime"...I will not be that woman. You know...the chick who ALWAYS kicks the "summertime" carcass one more time. It's a mean thing to do to a beautiful song. So yes. I'm looking up jazzy gospel.