Having never been in downtown Toronto for any significant amount of time, this recent journey has defintely been educational.

The first thing to notice is not the architecture (which is strikingly different), but essentially, the vibe. Anyone who enjoys the two simple activities of “sitting” and “drinking” will love Toronto. The ’scene’ is much different here. While I have not been to any fancy clubs (aka, nice shoes/button-up shirt places), the places I have been to have been filled with merriment in the same fashion as the Blarney Stone, but performed much better and in a less repetitive manner. There is much more emphasis on what is in your hand as opposed as to what is on your feet – Much as it should be.

What is perhaps the most striking feature, however, is the city itself. One gets the impression that the city never sleeps. And while this is a clichéd term, it is very true.

Vancouver has always struck me as the sort of city that smokes pot at three in the afternoon, has a nap, wakes up just in time to go to the bar, and hits the hay around three at night.

Toronto truly seems like a force in and of itself. While I am sleeping in my bed, it is prowling the countryside for a party, ready to partake in early morning pancake eateries or all night drunk sessions. It does not discriminate. Unlike Vancouver, it watches over everyone, keeping a steady eye at all times refraining from the regular weed naps that we are all accustomed to. Toronto may seem like it’s on a constant coke binge, but I think everyone appreciates a city that finds it difficult to close it’s eyes.

And while I will always – with the upmost contempt – state that the Leafs do indeed suck, I cannot say so much of the city. While it’s lack of trees, pot, and general nature and wildlife are discouraging, it more than makes up with its abundance of a particular feeling that is hard to state. It is at once a city of immense size and overpowering culture, while at the same time feeling like a place you’ve always known and loved.

It is a paradox of the modern city as only someone from Vancouver could understand.

If you’ve ever read Robert Fulghum’s collection of essays entitled, “Uh-oh”, you’ll know that the phrase is all encompassing, ranging from the tiniest error, to the largest catastrophe. It is its most rudimentary form, however, of which I have most recently become accustomed to.

You see, our living-room table has wobbly legs. Everyday that I sit on the couch with my feet up I can feel the table wobbling beneath me, precariously balanced between a false sense of stability and it’s utter and complete collapse.

And everyday that I’m on that couch with my feet on the table I think about fixing it. All I have to do is go get my screwdriver, I say. Just get up and go fix this damn table!

Well, today I decided I would fix the table. I got up, walked to my bedroom, found my screwdriver and returned to the table.

I think you can start to see where the “Uh-oh”, comes in.

I began to lift the table so I could reach underneath and screw the legs back on tight. It was at this point that I realized that the glass that sits on said table is not bound in by any means except that of gravity itself.

Uh-oh.

That was the only phrase that came to mind as I witnessed the glass falling out of the table and onto the floor in perfect slow motion, smashing into many many tiny pieces.

Sometimes it’s comforting to know that in the most dire of situations, our immensely complex brain can only come up with “Uh-oh”.

Although I must admit, while I may have thought “Uh-oh”, I most definitely said “Fuck”.

I’ll chalk it up as a Freudian slip.

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On Wednesday I will be heading to the most desolate and terrible regions known to anyone raised in B.C: Toronto.

That’s right. I’m going straight to the center of the known universe – according to Torontonians.

It is going to be absolute hell, and I fear for my mental and physical safety in such a place. Not necessarily because I will be mentally or physically attacked, but because I may just actually like the damned place.

Oh well. The Leafs still suck.

With the celebrated marijuana holiday “420″ just a day away, I figured it would be important to give new users of the substance a quick guide on getting arrested.

Unfortunately, arrests do happen. But hopefully this short guide can help new users appreciate and understand the steps to getting arrested while smoking marijuana.

1. Firstly, it is always important to have a huge fatty rolled. These will not only impress cops, but they’re also just plain fun to smoke. Make sure to use at least two papers, because cops can smell an amateur a mile away.

2. When hotboxing, make sure to open the windows once the cop is at the car. This ensures a sense of confidence, while also getting the cop a little high. He’ll appreciate that.

3. Make sure that any uncontrollable laughter is not suppressed. Police officers strongly dislike the sound of a suppressed laugh, and you’d be surprised to know that many of them would enjoy a laugh too.

4. The more elaborate pipe or smoking device you have the better. This will tell the cop that you’re serious about your craft. Just like the Olympics, no officer wants to arrest someone who is seriously invested in their sport of choice.

5. Always make sure to offer the police some of your munchies. It’s just good etiquette.

6. Make sure to ask for the police officer’s first name. Not only does it give you the chance to report them if a serious violation occurs, it also creates a nice, friendly environment to talk in.

7. While not always recommended, some police officers would like to discuss the philosophical workings of the universe with you and your friends. If possible, always explore this option.

8. Refer to the police officer as “man” as often as possible, and always finish your sentences with the same word. It creates a sense of community between you, the officer, and the rest of the human race.

Hopefully, this eight-step guide will help you and your friends enjoy a safe and incredibly high 420 holiday.

Happy Smoking.