Do you hear that sucking sound Toronto? It’s the sound of Oprah leaving our air space with her pockets full of Canadian money. Last night, at the second taping of Oprah’s Lifeclass which aired live from the Toronto Convention Center, 8500 people learned the importance of forgiveness. The topic was spot on considering the audience seemed none too pleased by the time we hit the auditorium.

In line for the first couple of hours patience was a necessity. Blocks and blocks of women chatted, got to know each other and had great fun staring down judgemental men who had to do things, “more important than Oprah.” We terrified them. It was fun.

Approaching the third hour, the sun occasionally ducked behind clouds, rain threatened, shoes came off and we huddled to escape the wind.

Going into the fourth hour and way past 3:15pm when the doors were supposed to open all politeness went out the window. People who just arrived in cabs were hit with the harsh reality they might need another one to take them to the back of the line. So, they tried the old merge technique.

Perhaps it would’ve been overlooked if there was just a couple, but alas, they just kept coming. Let’s just say when you’re in any line for that long you’re well aware of who’s been on the journey with you, so when a newcomer steps in at the last minute it’s an invitation for trouble and these people were not having it.

Not up in here, Flossy.

Things got tense. People shouted and actually sang when the police came to make the offenders take the long walk of shame to the back of the line.

“Na na na Na, Na na na na, Hey hey hey…Goodbye.”

This crowd had no forgiveness.

Finally the doors opened. Do you remember the pushing and shoving of a general admission concert?  Well, this was a toned down, better dressed version. In body we moved fast and efficiently but in our heads we were maniac and ready to throw down at the first sign of trouble.

The front section was full. It was painfully obvious no matter how long we had waited we weren’t going to see Oprah we were going to watch her on big monitors. So my friend and I claimed seats and watched the insanity unfold.

At 5pm Deepak Chopra began as people were still being herded in. The live taping part was to begin at 8pm, which meant they had three hours to get through four amazing, inspirational speakers.  Under the best circumstances I have an issue understanding Deepak, so after trying to hear him over the echoing sound of hundreds of high heels across cement, I gave up. Inner peace couldn’t have been further away.

After everyone had settled, Iyanla Vanzant swept into the room and there was a noticeable shift. I admit I had no idea who she was, but now I want to know more. She instantly won everyone over.  Her energy was undeniable, her message clear and articulated through a smile that took up the entire room. When she left we missed her.

Tony Robbins continued the momentum and literally made the audience closer by having us do some body language exercises. Whenever I see Tony Robbins and his chest beating intensity I’m reminded of The Hulk and I imagine him just ripping off his shirt. Yes, he’s over the top, but the man knows what he’s doing.

I missed most of Bishop Jackes because of an overwhelming need to pee. And can I just say this real quick off topic? If there is one thing I took away from all the years of the Oprah Winfrey Show it is this;

Ladies, please DO NOT HOVER AND PEE…SIT YOUR BUTT DOWN. If we all did we could limit the splatter. Of course I realize Oprah has never birthed a baby and doesn’t have the amount of urine range some of us do, but in the end she’s right.

Thanks Oprah.

By now I’m going into the seventh hour of my Oprah experience. No food or drinks were allowed inside so needless to say I was starving.  So I slipped into the concession area with the rest of the people awkwardly standing around inhaling food because there wasn’t a chair to be found. Ten hours from start to finish and they can’t put out some chairs in the eating area?

Finally, I’m back burping up sushi just in time for Bishop Jackes to make me pregnant. He says we all have a baby inside us dying to get out. The baby represents our dreams but in order to give birth to our possibilities we must endure some pain. He ended his speech with us all holding hands and pushing to birth our babies. You really had to be there.

Finally the time came. The energy was electric. Chants of Oprah vibrated off the walls. I know you’ve all seen her show and the experience was just like you’ve imagined.  It was interesting to see her interact with her producer during the commercial breaks. She was charming, engaging and professional. She kept telling the back she was coming to see us. “I’m going to need a car to get me back there.”

We all laughed. Silly Oprah.

As she began to wrap up, the back rows left their seats in anticipation filling in the aisles and blocking exits. Needless to say, she never came. She would’ve been swarmed.

I waited for people to file out because I knew my blistered feet wouldn’t move me as fast as I would like. I searched the expressions of the crowd as they moved toward the exits. No longer were their faces painted with frustration over long line ups, no food, bad seats and missing their chance to touch Oprah. They seemed content, tired and dare I say…forgiving.

This past Saturday I had a good old fashion Girl’s Night Out. Four of us went to see Daughtry at Massey Hall in Toronto. Now I know all the serious musicians in my life are balking at our choice of music. Back off. We’re girls. We weren’t going to delight in the mastering of music. We were going to oogle at eye candy and dance. Or so I thought.

We started the night Sex in the City style with cocktails and sushi. We’re nothing if not original. When sufficiently stuffed food and clothing wise we headed out to Massey where we took our seats; front and center in the first balcony. If you’ve never been there, it’s a small intimate venue and an excellent place to see a concert. This was going to be so much fun.

Daughtry hit the stage and we were ready! On the floor everyone stood up. From both sides on the second and third level balconies; cheers and dancing. They were ready! The people all around us; not so ready. NO ONE stood up.

I was afraid of this. Toronto’s Concert Curse.

Growing up across the water from Detroit whenever one ventured over for a concert you knew once you got through customs, parked and paid the local gang member waving the big stick $20 for “parking insurance,” you were going to have a good time.

There was no sitting unless you were intoxicated. We danced our butts off, were covered in sweat, got to know the people around us, sang and yelled until our voices disappeared.

In Toronto (in my experience) this is rarely the case, especially if you go to a smaller venue. People associate size with rowdiness. So, because the concert was at Massey Hall there was a more diverse audience including some older, (some would say more sophisticated) people as well as younger less experienced concert goers. And it seemed, they were all piled together in my section.

“Hey Henry, let’s take the grandkids to see that fella from American Idol.”

In this situation I’m torn. I feel cheated and conflicted. Did I really get out of my yoga pants for this? On one hand I want to stand up. I want to dance. I want to show my appreciation to the artists who are playing to the best of their ability. I paid my money. I want to take back my Girl’s Night Out.

However the other side of me, the calm, rational, Canadian side doesn’t want to block Henry’s view. He paid his money too. I became painfully aware I was caught between a rock and hard place. There’s no way out unless you’re a particularly rude person who cares nothing of the ones around you. So I remained seated and chair danced.

I feel bad for the artist when this happens. It’s a small venue. They can clearly see we’re sitting. And I wonder about their conversations after the show about the lame middle section.

To Chris Daughtry and the rest of his band, I am one of the lame.

With everything I had I wanted to be able to explain my predicament. To stand up and make big swiping gestures exclaiming, “It’s them Chris, not me. I appreciate you. Even though you have a noticeable cold and the band seems to be playing one beat slower than your CD. Still, I don’t care. I’m here with my friends and I want to dance, but I can’t because the Canadian in me won’t allow me to be rude.”

Fuck. What do you want me to do Chris Daughtry? Get off my back.

I wanted to be a rebel like the two ladies to my right who are up and down like yoyos and kept getting polite taps on their shoulders. I felt for them. I wanted to send them a vibe of togetherness and understanding, but they were too far away and clearly not interested in me. This would never happen in Detroit. If someone was standing in front of you, well, you were either going to stand up too or get a face full of ass.

The only one who seemed to get away with it was a great big guy who boldly stood up daring anyone to tap him. No one did. Probably a good call. The guitar player noticed him and gave him the fake gunshot fingers followed by a thumbs up. He appreciated his rebellion. I wanted to be that guy. I’m needy that way.

Next time I’m bringing this guy.

Look, I know Canadians have a thing about being rude, but shouldn’t we have some protocol when it comes to situations like this? Who’s in the right, the people with their butt in their seat or the ones shaking it in front of you? Maybe we could section it out; dancers to the left, seat warmers to the right.

Maybe at the purchasing stage we could click a box with “Stander” or “Sitter” so they could arrange seating accordingly. Because it’s the experience you take home. All I took home was severely sore arms from waving them wildly and overcompensating for my lack of vertical grooving.

The following video/link is more important than anything I could possibly say this week. Please take 30 mins of your time.

Kony 2012

Remember this face.