It's fucking gray here

I’m at LaGuardia, waiting for the Toronto flight and regretting I forgot my sunglasses. I like to look out the big glass windows and it’s so sunny that it’s too bright.

But no worries. An hour later, I land at the YYZ and it’s gray. It’s always fucking gray here. It’s a good thing I’m not here year-round or my seasonal-affective disorder would kick in and I’d jump off the CN Tower.

“It’s a nice day today,” my parents had announced just a couple of hours earlier about the weather, which puzzled me even further. I guess when a typical day involves subzero temperatures and enough snow to bury a short person, a blizzard-free day with minus-some-single-digit-number temperatures is considered a nice day.

Later that day, I attend an event on a floor high enough that it was probably the same altitude as my flight. There is fancy decor and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. Except it’s ugly. There is no gracious Empire State Building; no sparkly Chrysler Building or lights from the GW. It’s just gray mixed with white snow.

Sure I’m bitching, but that’s the point of this blog, right? Of course there are plenty of those nice Canadian things as well. As soon as I emerged from the PATH –the underground system that allows you to walk through most of downtown without ever coming up for air – I whip out my Toronto map. I don’t even have time to unfold it and a man comes offering to help. He doesn’t seem to be sure of the street, but that doesn’t stop him –in true Canadian politeness, he’s spinning around, looking up, reading numbers, analyzing buildings - spending a good few minutes doing the same task I was gonna perform had he given me enough time to so much as open my map. But hey, it’s Canada and they’re polite. So I tuck in my map and thank him.