Toronto is in the midst of heat wave. If you haven’t noticed then there’s a good chance you’ve been living in a cave, and most of the GTA is envious of your accommodations. With the beginning of summer and the heat wave, so begins the Canadian obsession with the almighty Humidex. Unfortunately, I have some bad news for you Toronto: People that live in really hot countries don’t complain about the Humidex. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Cambodia, notice the local not complaining or suffering.

When I was in Cambodia, do you know what locals did on a really hot day? Sold more Fanta. In Australia while the temperatures were capping forty-five degrees celsius – no humidex – do you know what they did? What they normally did, just sweatier. Canada on the other hand has an institutionalized whiny weather attitude.

The past fourteen months is the first full year I have lived in Canada since 2006-2007, and if I have learned anything from my time abroad and my time at home, it’s that Canadians LOVE, absolutely adore, complaining about the weather. And although Canadians will never admit it, the worse the weather is the happier they are. Sometimes, if you’re careful not to spook a Canadian, you can catch them slip from describing the bad weather to bragging about it. Try it, I dare you, you might even catch yourself.

In Australia, Nature Territory is code for 'surface of the sun'

With this in mind it should come as no surprise that the Humidex rating is the favourite weather term in Canadian meteorological history. Allow me to elaborate:

As I’ve already mentioned, Canadians love bad weather. And the only thing worse than hot sticky tropical temperatures is to make that temperature magically jump by as much as ten degrees with just saying one sentence, “Actually, with the humidex it’s…”

This one term has turned hot weather into a game of one upmanship. Humidex is now the ace up your sleeve when you’re talking to your friends in North Carolina, and you might even find yourself saying, “Well it’s actually hotter here with the humidex, plus it’s icky and humid.”

There is no winter equivalent to the all holy Humidex, but if there was it would have to be Heavy Snow – which I just made up. Whereby super dense snow would fall, and although it would only be one foot deep it would actually weigh and feel like you were carrying twice the weight of snow. Imagine the complaining we could do as a country then!

Maple syrup has limited hydration properties. It should only be used as a last resort.

Now I’m sure I’ll get some bitchy comment from somebody about something I’ve said. First and foremost, nobody tied you to a chair and force-fed you this blog – with the exception of a few people and you know who you are. So if you choose to complain about my choice of topic or stance on the issue you’re proving my point about the Canadian passion for complaining. For this I am grateful. Second of all, I too am Canadian and I too love to complain. So I’m not saying I’m better than you, just that we should be a little more self-aware and objective. That and I am more acclimatized to hotter temperatures. Point Nik. Finally, yes it is hot. Don’t go for a run in the middle of the day, drink lots of water, if you are taking care of an elderly person keep them in a cool damp sack and if you feel faint go sit in the shade or have a cold shower – you’ll find it more helpful than you ever did in highschool. I believe that fulfills my public service announcement quota for this blog.

Staying cool and looking hot are not mutually exclusive.

I’m done now, but it’s worth noting that while I’m writing this sweaty masterpiece it’s currently thirty-three degrees celsius, and that isn’t even including the Humidex…

The plan was simple, Liam and I would drive to New York City and try to get tickets to Saturday Night live hosted by none other than Will Ferrell – try being the operative word. The basic itinerary for this ‘relaxing’ weekend was to drive through the night on Thursday, arrive in New York city Friday morning, and wait in line until Saturday morning for Saturday Night Live tickets. This is where the plan ended. I never said it was a good plan.

They clearly were not talking about my times.

I do have cousins and friends in the big apple, unfortunately, aside from informing them I would be in the greater Manhattan area for the weekend, I made no firm plans to visit them or their couches. This was not a well planned expedition, but the best ones never are in my opinion. I hope Liam is still of the same opinion. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, let’s go back to the beginning of this urban adventure.

Liam and I left Thursday at 8:45 PM. I had spent the day making a two car garage disappear with a sledgehammer and sawzall, and Liam had spent the day playing catch up at his office so he could sneak away from work a day early. In short, we were both starting our marathon of fun very tired. Excitement overrides exhaustion, at least for a while, but we would find out for exactly how long.

The drive was going well..until half past three in the morning when the fun fuel tank started to run dry. I found what is best described as a haunted restaurant that could double as a horror movie set – but everything looks haunted at night with the exception of a tanning salon – reclined my seat and got exactly forty-five minutes of desperately needed shut-eye. I slept in the car, and I never sleep in cars.

Now what happens next has largely been retold to me by Liam, because I don’t remember a lot, which in itself is a little scary. Something woke both Liam and I up in the same instant, but we each had very different reactions. In one fluid motion and without hesitation after waking up, I did the following: put my seat upright, start the car, put it into reverse and drive away. I then drove less than a minute down the highway, pulled the car over, peed in the ditch, got back in the car and said to Liam, “I don’t know what just happened.”

Apparently my first reaction when I am suddenly awoken is to drive more. I was born for road trips or to be a truck driver, but I don’t like peeing in bottles.

Welcome to the centre of the universe.

We drove hard the rest of those early hours when even the busiest highways need to sleep, but by the time we arrived in NYC just after eight the world was again in full swing. Unlike us, the world had gotten a good nights sleep and had not sleep driven onto the interstate until the need to pee woke them up.

I didn't make the list.

After arriving at the centre of the universe the strangest thing happened in Brooklyn: when we pulled into a garage to park my car, someone parked it for me. I don’t hang out at valet parking venues so handing the keys over was a foreign feeling. I had visions of Ferris Bueller, fortunately my car is a 2008 Kia Rio with only one working speaker; the worst joyriding option in North America…unless you love getting great mileage whilst breaking the law. This would be a very small demographic of criminal, because if you’re going to steal the car you’re probably also not bothered by stealing more gas, but I digress.

Liam and I survived phase one of the plan, get to New York, it was now time for phase two, camp out for SNL tickets.

We arrived to discover that dedicated New Yorkers had been camping out since the Wednesday for a chance at tickets to that week’s episode hosted by Will Ferrell.

Having just driven ten hours, we unfolded our very discreet Canada flag folding lawn chairs and got comfortable. However, there are two problems with this.
1. The sidewalk is not a comfortable place to call home.
2. Camping chairs lack the lumbar support needed to comfortably sit for 24 hours.

Welcome home.

It was going to be a long 24 hours, especially when all of our neighbors had so many creature comforts to comfort. Some had chairs that had evolved to recline, others had beds, and some brought nothing – I was not envious of these people.

Over the course of the most sleep deprived day of my life I saw, heard and experienced a lot from the sidewalk we came to know as home. Oh and I felt physically uncomfortable, very uncomfortable.

I heard the engines of the thousands of tour buses stopping right beside our chairs; I overheard people complaining about ‘how far’ they had come all the way from New Jersey to wait in line; I heard the romantic clip clop of horse and carriages – and enjoyed the fecal souvenir they left behind; and I heard one question thousands of times: “So what are you guys waiting for?”

The sign says it better than I ever could.

These four words were said so many times that a sign was posted in an effort to save us from answering. Apparently people don’t like to read though. ‘What are you waiting for?’ started to lose all meaning, so we got creative. People started saying that dead celebrities were hosting SNL, we were in line for Dr. OZ or Ellen, but my personal favourite was my own creation – obviously – “We’re waiting for the bathroom.”

The family.

But I’ve overlooked perhaps the most important part of the trip so far, the people in the lineup. Going back to the moment of our entry into the SNL lineup, it didn’t take long to make friends. As a joke, I asked if anyone in line knew how to play euchre, because, to my knowledge, I have more fingers and toes then there are people in America who know how to play this Canadian card game. As luck would have it, two of those nineteen people were in front of us in line. These were two of our first new best friends.

The group would quickly expand. Before we knew it, the sun was setting and we were in a heated royal rumble of sidewalk charades. The group was as follows: Liam and I of course, Shey, Lauren, Nikki, Tim, Patrick and Julie. And so, we became a bizarre dysfunctional family with terrible dining habits. The whole family ate, almost exclusively, either fast food or gourmet cupcakes. Strength in numbers, not in eating habits.

It's a bed if I decide to sleep there.

After the cheeseburgers and cupcakes had been savagely devoured, we all packed it in for the night. Liam lucked out and slept on the curb while my bed was a little more central sidewalk.

Earlier that day, I had commented on a butterfly that was floating around me. Tim informed me that it was a moth.

One man’s moth is another man’s butterfly I guess.

PS. You might be asking, “Did those two stooges ever get into the show?!” Well, you’ll just have to tune in next week to find out won’t you. Or just call me and ask, your choice. Oh and if you were wondering what line culture is like watch the video below.