1984 was a stellar year for the ninja community. The release of countless films and a syndicated TV show (The Master starring Lee Van Cleef) made it a proud time to be a mercenary assassin. We were finally getting the recognition we deserved (even if it was only for legions of black-pyjamaed 12 year olds flicking cardboard throwing-stars at their siblings). Who knew then that the spotlight would shift so quickly, leaving us once again in the shadows.

Now our phones no longer ring. No more requests for backflips off buildings, or reversed clips of ninjas jumping out of trees. So we wait. The optimists among us dream of the next "great wave." But most of us just sit and remember the time long ago when we were admired.

I fall into the latter category, which explains why I often find myself in the piano lounge at the Casa Mendoza Motel (2161 Lakeshore Blvd. W.). Years ago this place was one of many glorious motels adorning the strip along Toronto's Lakeshore near Humber Bay Park. But fate has also been cruel to these architectural jewels. One by one they have been bulldozed to make room for super condos. Mimico's motel legacy may soon be eradicated forever. But for the time being, the Mendoza is a survivor. Kind of like ninjas, in a way.

In the summer, visitors can sit on an Astroturf-covered patio and enjoy the view of the city's skyline across the bay. Diners are apparently permitted to feed the family of raccoons that has made the motel rooftop their home. Toss up bits of bread and veggies and watch them get gobbled up.

Step inside the lounge and you'll find a cozy Spanish-rustic motif, circa 1970. Lots of wood and serapes. Curiously though, there are slabs of stainless steel covering a section of floor near the window. This Carl Andre-esque minimalist sculpture seems a bit incongruent with the general folksiness, until one notices the coloured spotlights hanging from the ceiling. Aha ... this is not an Andre sculpture at all. It's a dance floor, with music provided by the grand piano with the padded bar curving around its perimeter.

Every other Friday, Rhonda Silver plays here. Tonight she's performing, and I'm seated on a barstool not five feet away from her. She has a commanding yet comforting presence, and a technical skill that can only be described as ninja-exact.

I am captivated, as she tosses out ballad after ballad, like a barrage of razor-sharp throwing daggers aimed straight for the heart. Rhonda is the real thing with a resume to prove it, having worked with the likes of Bob Seger, Anne Murray, and Shania Twain. She answers a few of my questions.