I see your schwartz is as big as mine!

I went to a few Luminato exhibits on Friday with the dear old sis. I mention it because the robot chair was nowhere near as exciting as it sounds; the artist had it billed as a "metaphor for life," so apparently life metaphorically involves a lot of whirring, long pauses, and a tech cheating a little to help the chair reconstruct itself. I was unimpressed. I prefer my metaphors to be much more abstract, high falutin', and exciting.

We also went down to the Harbourfront to check out the pulse light thingy. There are searchlights rigged up all around, and you can go up to them and hold onto some bars, and then your pulse is flashed across the sky in light form. It was definitely cool--so cool, in fact, that I forgot to say the hilarious thing I'd come up with for once I grabbed the bars (see the title of the post. I try not to miss opportunities for quoting Spaceballs). My pulse seems disappointingly weak when beamed out into the Toronto sky, I have to say.

Last night I went to a club for an old friend's birthday. Definitely not my scene; when faced with places where I hate the music and am uncomfortable with the people, I tend to get drunk in self-defence. Unfortunately, the drinks were six bucks a pop. Luckily, vodka and water isn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, so besides a random shot of passion fruit liqueur, I managed to stay somewhat within the bounds of my detox. I mean, I'm not technically supposed to have any alcohol at all, but apparently vodka, gin and tequila are passable because they're low on sugars and distilled, or something.

Anyway, I managed not to fall over, despite wearing the infamous yellow shoes.