British Days: Fat Records

In London I worked for Fat Records, a breakbeat label in London; and my time there was spent doing online marketing, clerical work and listening to a lot of breakbeat music. It was not the most exciting job and it mostly consisted of making as many friends for Fat Records on their myspace.com web-site. Since I didn't have a lot of things to do at Fat Records I got to observe what running a record label was really like.

Far from being situated in a neat, clean place the office of Fat Records was housed in a slightly dilapidated warehouse-like building in south London. Like many such buildings it had a peculiar smell, which I can best describe as being like many of the odors that would emanate from a woodshop class. Also, a visit to the restroom was enough to make you realize the building was far from music-biz glamor. The toilets in the men's room were a disgusting sight--as if they had been neglected to be cleaned or replaced. When a man walked into the restroom when I was in there one time he looked at the toilet and invoke the son of God's name in shock.

The office of Fat Records was basically a make shift room. Upon entering the room you could see various record label paraphenelia: DJ magazine covers covered the walls, a CD and turn table for playing music and four computers which were organized close together. But no matter how much personality the room had it always retained its warehouse-like origins, and a grayness and stillness seemed to mix with the personality of the room. It was as if somebody had given temporary life to an otherwise bland room, and that the blandness of the room was an inescapable part of it. No matter how much personality was given to the room it would always retain an element of blandness.

My three co-workers, Rory, Clair and Paul, were always working hard. As I sat at my computer trying to make as many friends for them for their myspace.com web-site they'd be typing away, recieving calls and making calls and the only time they seemed like they got a reprieve is when they went to lunch. Life at a record label seemed frantic; they'd always be calling someone to bug them to do something for them and somebody would always be calling them to bug them to do something for them, and this seemed like it was standard protocol for the industry as a whole. And I suspect I know why it is. If they didn't do things like that then somebody would be more likely to forget something and in the music business things need to get done as quick as possible. Also, Paul who owned the label was self-employed--the record label was his label and Rory and Clair were his employees--so there was a lot of encentive to do things like this. They didn't make a lot of money. They all made their money from club nights, and they'd usually be able to split even, which was just enough to make a living doing what they loved doing. So they couldn't afford to waste money and opportunities, which meant if they wanted to do what they loved as a living then they were going to have to keep up with the frantic pace of the business.

The way Fat Records was started is an interesting story in itself and worthy of its own blog entry. The label grew out of Paul's parties. When he was a teenager he'd throw parties when his mum wasn't around, and one day he decided to make money from it, and this practice turned into his record label. His first record label was called Certificate 16, which was another breakbeat label and still has a web-site, but that record label went out of business. Paul says it was because he didn't use common business sense, such as spending too much on art work.

The biggest thing I learned from working at Fat Records is the music business is a business; and like any business the bottom-line was to make money. Clair told me some people were in the business for precisely that reason. The only reason why they were in the music business was because they could make a livlihood from it, and that was the only reason they had any interest in it. But Rory, Paul and Clair were in the business because they loved doing what they did. Rory and Paul were DJs themselves, and they'd often have to leave for days to DJ somewhere in the world, which was a constant reminder why they were in the business in the first place.

British Days: Going Back to England, Pt. 2

It was the fall semester, and surprisingly I didn't think about my decision to not go to England that much. I was too busy with classes to think about that. Life had gone on and I had other things to worry about. But in one of my media studies classes my professor, Dr. Worringham, told us he and Dr. Waite (another media studies professor) was organizing a group of students to go to London for internships.

This was the golden opportunity I had wanted, but ironically it didn't dawn on me at first to take advantage of the opportunity. I had already completed my internship for credit, so I thought I wouldn't qualify to go. But over the course of the semester Dr. Worringham persisted in telling us about the trip to London, but few people in the class showed any enthusiasm about going to London. One day Dr. Worringham reiterated what he had been telling us all semester long: This was a golden opportunity. But this time he said it with some frustration, obviously disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm in the class. That's when I realized some people did an internship after they had walked*, and maybe it was possible I could do another one, even if I had already gotten credit for it.

I approached Dr. Worringham after class, and he told me it was possible that I could do another internship. I was estatic. Although the participants in the program had to be picked by the professors (I overheard someone say they had over 80 applications) I thought I had a good chance of being selected. I was on good terms with all the professors in the media studies department and I was the department's Dean's Scholar, which is the highest academic award a student can achieve on the university level, and I'd been in England twice before, so I knew what to expect. I was almost certain I'd be a shoe-in, and to unsurprisingly I was selected for the program.

Although Middlesex had been a sacrified opportunity this one turned out to be a better one. We stayed with homestays which was great since I had the chance to be immersed in English culture instead of just being a tourist. When you're a tourist you just see a place but you don't get to know it intimately. Also, I got to stay in Muswell Hill--the neighborhood were Ray Davies of The Kinks, one of my favorite songwriters, grew up. The family I stayed with even said they knew Ray; they'd gone to school with The Kinks. And I got to intern at a record label. Things had come full-circle. I had been motivated to go to London because of music, and when I went back for the third time I got to stay in the heart of Kinkdom and intern at a record label. It would be hard for me to wish for anything more. If I had gone to Middlesex it is likely I would have spent my time doing homework, and I would have missed out on a lot. But with this opportunity I didn't have to do any schoolwork, and that allowed me to take full advantage of what London had to offer. Also, when we got to London the first place we went to was Russell Square, a place I'd been to during my first two visits. The familiar gray English sky loomed over the day, and when I looked at London College, the British Musuem, the park in Russell Square for the third time I felt a sense of familiarity, and I thought I'm back. Things had come full circle indeed.

*This is in reference to taking part in the graduation ceremony.

British Days: Going Back to England, Pt. 1

"The opportunities you pass up in life you never get back," the man told me.

It was dinner time at the university, and I was sitting at a table in the dining hall eating my meal, which I often ate alone. But on this day my solitary meal was interrupted by one of the workers on the cafeteria staff who gave me this invaluable piece of advice. He was a middle-aged man, and obviously did not want me to make the same life-mistakes he had made. Once he told me this I knew I was in for a life lecture and wouldn't be eating my meal in peace. He went on to tell me about how a friend once offered him an opportunity to work in South America when he was around my age, but passed it up because he thought he needed to stay behind and work to make money.

"Why did I do that?" The man said, regretting his decision. "When you're that age you don't need to worry about losing money. It's always coming back."

But it was too late for him because he had a family now, and once you have a family it becomes harder to travel because of family responsibilities. I nodded my head in acquiesce, but my calm reaction was a facade. My anxiety level shot up, and I got nervous and imagined the worse. Oh, God! What if I do something like that?! What if I pass up some important opportunity for not-so-good reasons? What if I miss my opportunity to travel abroad!? Am I going to be looking back on that decision with regret forever!?

Ever since I entered college I had wanted to go to England, specifically London. As a teenager I had gotten in to rock music, and most of my favorite bands were from England, and ever since then I had wanted to visit that country. I knew college could give me the opportunity to go because many colleges have study abroad programs for their students to study in England. I had already been England twice with a study abroad group at the community college I used to attend, but those trips were short trips, and had lasted about a week each. I wanted to go to England and spend some time there, and I was hoping if I had another opportunity to go I would be able to stay for a few months. But the man's advice made me nervous because it implied I might be in a situation where I would have the opportunity to go but not take advantage of the opportunity because of perceived "extenuating circumstances." I walked out of the cafeteria hoping nothing like that would happen to me. I hoped I would never be in a situation where choosing to go or not to go England was a difficult decision because of my circumstances. I wanted that decision to be as anxiety free as possible because I had been longing to go back to London for a long time.

During my senior year I was set to study abroad in London at Middlesex University. Everything was official, and all I had to do was go over there the next semester. But there was one big problem--Middlesex offered no class that would transfer in for the capstone class in Philosophy (Minds and Machines), which I had to take to complete my minor. There were several options I had to deal with the situation, and none were appealing to me. I could take the capstone class as an independent study while I was at Middlesex, but I didn't think that was a good idea. Any capstone class is supposed to be the hardest class a department has to offer, and I thought if this is the thoughest philosophy class it would be best that I took it at the university instead of by myself. Or I could not take the capstone class and go to Middlesex anyway. But that would mean not completing my minor; all philosophy majors and minors had to take it to complete the program, and since I loved philosophy so much I didn't want that to happen. Also, the class was only offered in the fall, so I couldn't take it in the spring. I could theoretically come back in the fall of the following year to finish my minor. But I thought that would be wasting time when I could be working. Going to Middlesex during spring semester was not an option too. The university's exchange programme was only for the fall semester, and if I went in the spring I'd have to be accepted in to Middlesex as one of their students, and I'd have to pay their tuition, which was twice as much as Radofrd University's because the pound is worth twice as much as the dollar. As the deadline approached to finalize classes for fall semester I brooded about my situation. My choices came down to doing either one of two things: either go to Middlesex and forfeit the completion of my minor or stay at the university and not go to Middlesex and complete the minor. This was a dilemma and nightmare I had wanted to avoid. I recalled the cafeteria worker's advice to me: "The opportunities you pass up in life you never get back." But whatever I chose in this situation I was going to have to sacrifice an opportunity to gain one, and I might not get back the opportunity I chose to sacrifice.

After thinking about the situation for a long time, and after experiencing a lot of anxiety, I decided to stay at the university and canceled out of the exchange program. When I told the International Director I was canceling out of the program he told if I had a dream not to give up on it. But I was still devastated, and wondered whether I was doing to right thing and if I had just passed up my last opportunity to go back to England. I didn't know if I would ever get another chance. But I loved philosophy, and I wanted to complete my minor and take the Minds and Machines class. If I went to England I'd miss out on it, and I'd be missing out on something important. A couple of days later I told somebody who had studied at Middlesex University what I decided, and she told me I should have gone because she had to give up all sorts of things--such as honor club memberships--to go. But little did I know at the time that another opportunity would come my way.

Canadian Days: Playing Good-Will Ambassador For Sloan

Most people who know me know how much I love music. I'm always listening to music and I rarely go anywhere without my MP3 player. I also buy at least one new album a month and I have aspirations of being a rock journalist. I eat, breath and live music, and since I'm so passionate about music I'm always eager to expose my friends to the music I'm passionate about, especially to bands who are worthy of having a bigger audience. These artists need all the exposure they can get, and since I'm one of their dedicated fans I have no problem doing all I can for them. After all, if it wasn't for people like me--people who'll buy almost everything these bands will release--these bands would have a harder time making a living as musicians, and it would be a shame if these people quit making music for financial reasons.

The WinterCity festival in Toronto gave me a chance to spread the word about my favorite Canadian band, Sloan, who are always in need of converts so they can continue to make records.
The WinterCity festival is a huge arty event. Over two weeks the city of Toronto puts on an extravaganza of what it has to offer: a vibrant arts scene, great food, the ability to bring in Canada's most popular performers and free concerts. Since Sloan were playing in the festival it was prime time to play good-will ambassador for them. And since the concert was free the people I would be trying to convert to the band wouldn't have much to lose. If they didn't like them they couldn't gripe to me about how they lost 10 to 15 dollars. I hyped up how good Sloan were to my friends. I'd been a Sloan fan for awhile, and had all their albums. I described them as "Canada's finest," and that they were the band I wanted to see the most in Canada.

The evening got off to a promising start. My friends and I headed down to Nathan's Phillips Square where Sloan would be taking the stage, and a medium-sized crowed was out there, eagerly anticipating Canada's finest. Right before Sloan took the stage MuchMusic* introduced the band as "the east coast legends." I felt what I had told my friends about the band had been vindicated with good reason. Everything was falling into place. I had gotten my friends out there in the bitter cold just to see Sloan, and MuchMoreTV had backed up what I had said to my friends about the band. Now all Sloan had to do was rock their way to glory, and they'd have some new converts on their hands, courtesy of me.

But things did not go according to plan. The concert got off to a good start. Sloan played a stomping version of "Who Taught You to Live Like That?" But after that the concert devolved into Sloan ploughing there way through the new songs off their new album "Never Hear The End of It," which didn't go over as well as their earlier material. The songs off "Never Hear The End of It" aren't bad, and I consider the album as the ultimate Sloan record. "Never Hear The End of It" is the most ambitious Sloan record. It consists of 30 songs and represents a culmination of everything the band has ever done. It just doesn't translate well live. The album is similar to "Abbey Road." The second half of that record consist of short songs that immediately phase into each other. It's more of a theatrical performance than a collection of individual songs, and "Never Hear The End of It" is the same way throughout the entire record. There are only a handful of songs that could be singles, which are the songs that would be more suited for a live performance. Compounding the problem is most of the songs on the album are complicated; the songs tend to go through alot of changes, and songs like that are hard on the ears. It's the sort of record you'd have to listen to five or six times before you started to like, and the record you'd think twice about giving someone in effort to convert them to Sloan.

At mid-set my friend Cassie taped me on the shoulder and told me she was leaving. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not impressed. I looked back and saw all my other friends had left. This was embarrassing. I told Cassie O. K., and then she left me out there in the bitter cold. All my efforts to convert my friends to the good cause that is Sloan had been in vain. And what made my efforts even more pointless was the fact that as Cassie left Sloan launched into their classic material, which is what everybody had been waiting for, and the concert took off. As Sloan played these songs the crowd showed more enthusiasm, and Sloan were finally on their way to rocking their way to glory. After "Money City Maniac's" Patrick Pentland, one of the guitarists in the band, shook his fist in the air, as if Sloan had finally conquered the day. But for my friends it was too late.


*MuchMusic is Canada's version of MTV.

Canadian Days: How I Missed Out On Meeting The High Dials

One thing I am passionate about is music. I love rock music, and I collect at least one new album a month. But since I'm from a small out-of-the-way city I rarely have a chance to hear live music, and seeing one of my favorite bands on stage is even rarer. But since Toronto is a major metropolis that wields an enormous cultural influence in Canada I had plenty of opportunities to see my favorite bands. One such opportunity was Canadian Music Week, which is held near the end of winter in Toronto. When I was looking for gigs to go to in Canada I discovered The High Dials, one of my favorite Canadian bands, would be playing at the festival; and what was better was that they'd be playing at the Silver Dollar Club, a club not that far from the hostel.

The Silver Dollar Club was a small venue, and I thought I might have the chance to meet some of the band members. It wasn't an impossibility. At places like The Silver Dollar Club you can walk up to your favorite musicians and have a chat with them. They may be well known in the underground musical community but they aren't so big that they're cut off from the audience, unlike a major touring act, who you won't be meeting in the crowd because they'd get mobbed. When I was in London I met several members of The Church at The Borderline, a small club in the central part of the city. I even got to assist Peter Koppes (one of the guitarists) DJ at an after show party. It was an awesome experience because I got to meet the people who created music I loved, instead of just sitting around somewhere listening to the album. And here was another chance to meet one of my favorite bands.

I got to the club early because I didn't want to miss out on The High Dials. I came so early I had to come back because the person who was taking money wasn't set up yet. So I went across the street to get some coffee, waited a few minutes, and then went back into the club. When I entered the club the first person I saw was Trevor Anderson--lead singer and primary songwriter of the group--with the rest of The High Dials. Here was my chance to meet the man who had penned "War of the Wakening Phantoms," an impressive, eclectic album that I was listening to alot. But I didn't say anything because I figured he was busy getting his gear organized (which usually takes a long time to do) and probably didn't want to be bothered by an awe struck fan.

I had been admitted into the club an hour before the first band was supposed to go on. So I killed time by I sitting on a stool in boredom as I watched a band set up its gear on stage. While I waited Trevor walked up right beside me and ordered a beer at the bar. Here was my second opportunity to introduce myself and tell him how much I liked "War with the Wakening Phantoms." Again, I didn't say anything. Did Trevor really want to be bothered by a fan, especially when he's enjoying a beer? But maybe I was worrying about nothing? After all, it would seem like he would want to meet the fans; the very people who are making his living as a musician possible. Maybe Trevor would be glad to have a chat with me. Still I didn't budge.

Throughout the night this process repeated itself. I'd see Trevor somewhere in club, contemplate introducing myself, and then chicken out. Since I couldn't work up the courage to say anything to him I basically observed him consume beer after beer and overheard snippets of his conversations. Trevor talked about relationships alot, which I assumed were of the romantic kind. While I was observing all this I'd make up excuses why it was potentially inappropriate to talk to him. All sorts of worrisome scenarios would run through my head. Maybe the music was too loud and he wouldn't hear me speaking to him? Maybe the situation would be awkward because he doesn't know me? Maybe he'd think I was too obsessive about their music? Maybe he didn't want to be bothered with? After all, the man is trying to enjoy his beer. He's been drinking alot tonight too. Maybe he'll be too drunk to understand what I'm saying? He's talking to people about relationships. People in rock bands who talk about relationships don't want to be bothered by the trifling concerns of a fan.

Near the end of the gig a woman who was sitting at the bar said something to Trevor, obviously she had been impressed by their show and wanted to greet them. That's all I had to do, but I could never work up the courage to say anything to Trevor, and I walked back to the hostel angry and disappointed with myself. But as I walked on I came to my senses, and realized that what I was getting upset about was ridiculous.

Canadian Days: Rue Morgue Night

When I was in Toronto one thing I always looked forward to was Rue Morgue Night at the Bloor Cinema. Rue Morgue is Canada's premiere horror magazine, and every month they would have a special showcase which involved showing a horror film. It was always interesting and it was a highly anticipated event. Each time I went I had to wait in a long line in the bitter cold just to get in, and I got the impression people typically waited out there for a long time just to experience a Rue Morgue Night. Also, since Rue Morgue was a horror magazine people would express themselves in all sorts of peculiar ways. You might be standing behind someone dressed as a zombie with fake blood dripping down their mouth. Or you might be standing behind someone dressed in drag. I guess in some ways going to a Rue Morgue Night was like going to a Rocky Horror Picture Show. After a hard day of work it was a good excuse for alot of people to indulge in weirdness, which I'm sure kept their sanity.

The first time I went to a Rue Morgue Night they were have a screening of "Phantasm"--the weirdest horror movie I have ever seen. And they were billing this as a special event since it was not only an established classic, but also because people would get to see it on the original grainy film. And not only did you get to see it on the original grainy film there was going to be a question and answer session with one of the actors (Reggie Bannister). When I saw this being advertised on a flyer I thought is this experience really going to out do watching it on DVD? I thought about not going because I'd seen Phantasm, and not only had I seen it but I'd seen it on superior DVD picture quality. But since I had nothing to do in Toronto that night I decided to head down to the Bloor Cinema, and experience "Phantasm" in all its original grainy quality.

When I got there and sat down in the theater they kept telling us we were in for a treat. We were going to see "Phantasm"--the established classic--on the big screen and on the original film. Somebody did mention that the film was old; it had been sitting around since the late-70s, which implied we would really be getting an authentic grainy experience. Then came the big event, what everyone had been waiting for: experiencing a grainy "Phantasm." During the movie people kept laughing because they thought the movie was funny. Somebody once said horror is close to comedy because the stuff that happens in it is just plain ridiculous. The premise of "Phantasm" is an evil alien comes to earth, who takes the form of a evil looking tall man, and turns people and corpses into evil little beings that look like the Jawas in Star Wars. The Jawa-looking-things then run around indulging in all sorts of evil stuff: stalking people, biting them, trying to kill them, freaking them out and in general creating chaos. But there is another reason why people laughed so much through out the movie. The movie is plagued by bad dialogue and sometimes bad acting. "Phantasm" is one of those movies that's good because of its cheesiness, and sometimes cheesiness can be a good thing because it can make a movie more entertaining.

The next movie I watched at Rue Morgue Night was "Fido," a Canadian zombie comedy. Before the start of the movie Rue Morgue held a zombie costume contest. Some people who had shown up looking like zombies were hand picked to come to the stage, and whoever looked the most undead won the prize. Then we watched "Fido." "Fido" took place in an alternate world, much like the universe of George Romero's zombie films, where the dead come back to life and prey upon the living by eating them. It was a worldwide epidemic, and in Canada people were able to fend off the zombies and lived in a sheltered city. Also, people learned how to domesticate the zombies. Once they put a specialized collar on them a zombie was rendered impassive, and these zombies would be kept as pets or used for domestic chores. The movie was like "Lassie" meets "Land of the Dead," or "Leave It to Beaver" meets "Land of the Dead." The entire movie was about a boy's relationship with his pet zombie. He kept telling the zombie to go fetch and to do all sorts of other ridiculous stuff. Also, all the living characters had a 1950s mentality; everyone was complacent, and everyone believed problems--especially the zombie problem--could be dealt with in a clean and efficient manner, which was hilarious considering death was a big part of the movie. Also, families were concerned with "keeping up with the Jones." If another family saw that the Jones had a zombie then they had to have a zombie so they would enjoy the prestige of having a zombie.

Anyone reading this might think "Boy, you certainly did experience alot in Canada." And I did experience alot in Canada, including Rue Morgue Night. One thing I've learned about the difference between big cities and small ones is all sorts of weirdness can come out in the big city, but not in most small cities. When I was in London sometimes when I didn't have anything to do I'd go down to Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street because I could see all sorts of weird and interesting things there. One time I saw these guys who looked like The Clash dressed in drag, and I knew there was a biker bar down there too--things I would never see in Danville. Someone from a small city may disdain such things because their not used to it, and because he or she might feel threatened by such activities. But my theory why people do these sorts of things is because it keeps their sanity. In big cities people are subjected to all sorts of stresses people in small cities don't have to worry about. Big cities are pushier, more crowded, and you often have to deal with people who want to beg you for money more, and big cities can become targets for someone to attack. In London a couple of weeks ago somebody tried to blow up a car in Piccadilly Circus--something people in small cities never have to worry about. I see how the accumulated stresses of living in a big city could cause some one to flip. After a hard week it can be a good thing to get away from reality for awhile, and as far as I'm concerned it's best for people to keep their sanity than to lose it.

Canadian Days: How I Made It Out To Niagra Falls

On of the most beautiful things you can experience in Canada--and of existence for that matter--is Niagra Falls. It truly is a great work of nature.

After I decided to go back home I set aside some time to go out to the Falls. Up until then I hadn't done any sightseeing in Canada, largely because I wanted to find a job before I did any, and because I didn't put a priority on it. The first two times I went to Britain I went as a tourist and all I did was sightsee. Sightseeing can be informative and help you understand a culture better, but it's not the same thing as being immersed it. When your a tourist you see the place, but you have limited opportunities to interact with the culture, and I'd rather be immersed in it. That way you can meet people you wouldn't normally meet. I expected to go out to the Falls, see it, and then come back; and that would be the extent of my tourist activities in Canada. But it didn't happen like that.

On a Wednesday morning I groggily woke up, and thought about not going. I was sleepy and I wanted more rest, and I figured since Niagra Falls was a tourist activity it wasn't that important--my rest, however, was. Niagra Falls was just a waterfall, could it really be that exciting? Maybe the experience of the Falls would be like Stonehenge. Alot of tourists want to see Stonehenge when their in Britain, but all that experience amounts to is supposedly looking on in awe at a bunch of rocks in the middle of nowhere. But I decided go to the Falls anyway, despite my skepticism. I'd never been there, and I thought maybe my preconceptions were wrong.

I went with a group of people on the tour, mostly people from hostels in the area. Our itinerary included wine tasting at a winery, a visit to Fort George, a visit to a dam and then Niagra Falls. The winery we stopped at got the tour off to a good start. I have forgotten what the name of the winery was, but it did have a connection to Dan Akroyd, who starred in Ghostbusters (one of my favorite films). Although I rarely drink I took a sip of the wine and it was delicious. It was the best wine I had ever tasted, and I thought about buying a bottle, but the steep price (30 Canadian dollars) prevented me from doing so. So I bought a small bottle instead. Being at Fort George was an interesting experience because it was captured by the Americans in the War of 1812 and then recaptured by the British. As an American I had always rooted for the Americans in the war. But before we got there our tour guide told us he was glad the British took it back because he was Canadian. It doesn't surprise me that he had this attitude. When you travel abroad you encounter different attitudes than what your accustomed to. I always wondered what did the British think about the American Revolution, especially since they lost. But that is a subject I will have to investigate at another time. Then we stopped at an off-shoulder pass on the road which gave us a magnificent view of the river that runs behind Fort George. There was a sign there that said "Niagra Escarpment," one side was in English, the other French. Then it was off to see a dam, and on the other side of the dam was the United States. This was a weird experience. Here I was in a foreign country, and I could walk into the U. S. from where I was at. Far from being an uninteresting tourist experience my day had been interesting so far.

Then we got to Niagra Falls--what we had been waiting for all day--and it certainly wasn't like Stonehenge. It is hard describing what Niagra Falls is like because it is an experience that can not be described in words. Seeing it on television, pictures and reading about it can't do the power and magnificence of the place justice. The best description I can think of is it is what you would expect a giant waterfall to look like in heaven; and only God can make a better waterfall. Our tour guide told us he never got tired of going to Niagra Falls because he was always in awe of it, and I can see why. Going to Niagra Falls was the highlight of a good day, and it was a day that got better with each successive tourist attraction. All these places were unique, and had I not bothered to get out of bed I would have missed out on something. Sometimes tourist attractions can be disappointing, and attractions are often exploited as a way of making money, which can discourage people to go to them. But on this day the experience was worth it.