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Another shot from my “Great Fog Storm of November 2010″ Series.
The Benches in Allan Gardens.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

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Another shot from my “Great Fog Storm of November 2010″ Series.
A lonely early morning walk, Allan Gardens.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Become a fan of the cool Froz’n Motion Facebook page at FACEBOOK or visit www.froznmotion.com

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Part of the answer is in the question, really, isn’t it?

“Out here”.

“Out” can be nice, sure – for a visit — but “in” is definitely more my style. Yet often that’s a bit too abstract to be accepted as an answer. Not like you can’t get good doughnuts out in Whitby or a decent cup of coffee in Burlington. I’m convinced you can even get a good Greek meal out in the far-flung mining town of Sudbury. And the people? Yeah, sure, I bet they’re not all backwoods rapists and gun-toting hillbillies. Somehow, though, the context lacks poetry.

So in lieu of a concrete explanation, I hope to use this post to paint a picture. Perhaps I can print it off and simply hand it over next time the question is put to me – save me having to put up half-smiles and awkward references to twanging banjos.

Monday. Beep. Hiss. Medium double-double. I’ll have mine black. And a blueberry muffin; I know, I know — diet. Off in thirty seconds, dash dash dash to catch the streetcar.

Tuesday. The DVP’s backed up again? You don’t say. No, don’t take the Gardiner, that won’t get you anywhere – Lakeshore’s a better alternate. Maybe I should bike it in tomorrow. Wonder how much rent is down here?

Wednesday. Shock’s worn off. Gotta be in the office early today – why’s the damn GO train late again? “Attention TTC passengers…” Great, another jumper on the Yonge line — the day I get the car with no A/C!

Thursday. Late day. Overcast, gray. Spicy food hangs on the slow breeze and from somewhere high above a solo saxophone plucks emotion out of the air. Looks like rain.

Friday. Steamy mist from rises from the grates in the market; meaty men unpack trucks, hand over hand. Fresh fish, raw vegetables, new meat, freshly baked breads, mature cheeses, and coffee; all the world wafts through the narrow cobbled streets.

Saturday. Chinese people in the park moving in slow, circular motions in unity, pulling and pushing invisible objects. A solo erhu plays from a nearby bench. An old man with an older pipe strokes his long white beard; long white curl of smoke rises in antithesis. Joggers smile.

Sunday. Chess under the Cathedral. Click-clack of pieces on the cement tables. SMASH! the time clock – “check”! The old man doffs his cap to the young black man in his gaze. Respect. Flipside at the next table over. Third one down, it’s a mate between friends. St. Michael watches patiently.

Today…

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It’s mostly the rhetoric and misinformation guiding the protest that I take exception to. After all, people were just expressing themselves and exercising their right to peaceful protest which, much to John Clarke’s chagrin, ended up actually being peaceful. There were a few arrests made along the route, that’s true, but I suspect they involved the kind of people that would get arrested any old day, protest or not.

For most of us on the street the Friday afternoon was more like a parade.

Or a carnival perhaps.

Although it’s difficult to make out facial expressions beneath the gas masks, I can attest to the fact that more than one cop was willing to crack a smile and a joke that day.

And despite (or perhaps because of), the heavy police presence, the march generally felt quite safe.

A little loud perhaps…

…but safe.

As more than one fellow photographer pointed out, it’ll be a while before we get photo-ops like this again. Because, contrary to many of the protesters’ assertions, this “police state” we live in hardly ever gets this many cops in one place at one time.

As the group wound its way south along University Avenue, blocking off motorists, pedestrians, and businesses, they came up to a line of police at Elm Street. Apparently unaware of the irony of the situation, they demanded that they be allowed to walk further and that their rights to be on the streets were being violated.

This resulted in the first tense moment of the weekend (and it wasn’t even the weekend yet!), as Montreal riot police marched out from some side alley, pounding their shield in a menacing display of force. I was intimidated, that’s for sure.

As I stood perched on top of a nearby statue recording the situation I began to get the sinking feeling that, perhaps, things wouldn’t go well. The cops weren’t standing in direct opposition to the group – it wasn’t a showdown, in other words — but I knew they were ready to rush into the melee should anything start.

After a few moments the protest group grew silent and onlookers were told to move farther south. Uh-oh. Was this when the violence would erupt?

Thankfully, after containing the crowd along University Avenue for a few minutes the police decided to open up their lines along Elm Street to allow a thin stream of protesters to continue along the alternate route. Maybe it was alternate; the actual direction of the protest wasn’t really shared with anyone in the crowd. The organizers spent more time talking about bringing war to the city than telling people what, specifically, would be happening.

The loud group filled the narrow street and, after a few more stops along the way, were re-directed back to University and then back along College Street. At that point the tension had all but disappeared and the police became just an escort again.

The protesters got their message out, which police officers undoubtedly rushed to share with the G20 delegation, and all of us, now tuckered out after a long afternoon’s march, returned to Allan Gardens where the protesters pitched a tent city and continued loudly into the night.

I heard what sounded like live hip-hop performances and other acts (funky stuff, if I must say so myself). There didn’t seem to be much concern for the civil rights of nearby residents but, if nothing else, the park was clean and clear the next morning. And were I to judge by the interactions between police and protesters that evening, with people bringing ice cream and snacks to cops seated on curbs, I don’t think there was any animosity between the two groups.

Had people been able to keep that attitude into the weekend, I can’t help but get the feeling that what happened on Saturday wouldn’t have happened.

Continued in next part…

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I am, of course, referring to the G20 summit that shut down most of Toronto over the weekend. I’m sure most people are now well aware of the outrageous costs surrounding the event and I wanted to see what kind of security that kind of money could buy. Even more than that, I wanted to see how the situation would be handled.

At every one of these meetings there are accusations of police brutality, protest situations getting out of hand, riot police, riot police, and more riot police. I needed to see the instigators for myself and not have to rely on either the media, the police, or the protesters for the facts – they could be quite skewed in all directions. The only way I can say anything with authority is to be right there between the riot police and the balaclava’d opposition.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Lots of stuff happened over the weekend but plenty happened before that. There were a number of protest marches and demonstrations throughout the city that, unfortunately, were lost in the subsequent shuffle. There were also a couple of related news items that I think are worth mentioning.

Despite some of the images you may have seen coming out of Toronto over the past few days, the vast majority of the protests and protesters were entirely peaceful.

A number of protests gathered at Allan Gardens, the public park just north of my flat. Protest organizers contacted police well ahead of time and the cops responded by clearing the park of any throw-able objects (I think the garbage cans are coming back today). Protesters also shared their route with the police who in turn cleared a path through traffic and escorted them. The police upheld (often with smiles and friendly banter), citizens’ rights to peaceable assembly and demonstration. Shock!

Just about every one of these early rallies was organized by one main group but typically composed of a variety of sympathetic ones that lent their voices of support. For example, the Native Rights group in these photos were really a collection of different tribes from around Canada and also included anti-poverty activists, minority rights people, women’s rights demonstrators, and so on. Say what you will about these people, even some of the more militant factions, they conducted themselves with dignity and there wasn’t even a hint of violence. I hope they don’t do it too often but I’d welcome them to march down the streets of Toronto any day.

Even some of the groups that protested closer to the G20 had some minor skirmishes with the police — but not these folks. I must profess a deep respect for what I saw, especially in light of what took place later during the weekend. And I learned a few things that I feel bear further study, things like disturbingly large number of missing native women, as well as stories of life in foster care, and so on. Many of the personal tales ended on an upbeat tone – people had gotten their lives together and are trying to provide a better one for their kids; it wasn’t whining or complaining, in other words.

No lazy alcoholic Indians in sight.

As the week wore on the protests intensified, the rhetoric did as well. That’s a shame because it ended up providing air time for people with increasingly smaller brains. And, although there were increasingly restrictive, and by all accounts secret (no one was told about them!), measures piled on Toronto citizens, these too led to shrill hyperbole that, well … have a look for yourself. (Try not to crack a smile.)

Turns out this law had been on the books for some time (it applies to police stations, government offices, etc.), but was extended to five meters (sixteen feet) around the security fence. Only temporarily, I should add – the added powers given to the police expired about ten hours ago as of this post. And I believe only two people were arrested under it, including Charlie Veitch, the guy being interviewed in the video acting all innocent (sorry, Charlie, but I was right there in the crowd with you!), and Dave Vasey the guy Charlie mentions he was in jail with. And who also turned out to be a bit of an instigator.

But many of the measures initially seemed draconian and like something out of a George Orwell novel. The term “police state” was bandied about a lot and, for a while there, I admit that I bought into it.

Were the police really going to start cracking down, putting bags over our heads, murdering us, and stealing out organs?!

Continued in next part…

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So, until I get a chance to sit down and do it up properly, here’s the OCAP-led (Ontario Coalition Against Poverty), protest in hastily slapped-together videos.

My favourite was when the riot police came out in formation. :D

Everyone gathered at Allan Gardens…

…then they marched along Carlton/College Street (same street, it just changes name halfway through), to University Avenue where they turned south and were met with a pretty imposing group of riot police.

After the little standoff the group decided to head west along Elm Street. However, after dead-ending in the narrow street they decided to do a loop back to University and back onto College…

…and then we all went back to Allan Gardens for ice cream and songs around the campfire — we were all tuckered out. The protesters are currently camped out there and I can still hear them whooping it up.

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I mean, the G20 meeting is easy to criticize. The cost, the purpose (or lack thereof), the way the rights of the citizens of Toronto are seemingly being shoved aside without regard; yeah, that all needs to be questioned.

Now more than ever, it seems.

Folks who follow my tweets will no doubt have read about my concerns about the seeming lack of any legal basis for any of the security restrictions. And that’s not just me saying that. Plus, I’ve been asking police what laws I’d be breaking should I breach the security barriers or if I fail to comply with their demands. Not that I necessarily plan to do so, but I’m deeply troubled by the fact that the police themselves don’t know what, specifically, they’re enforcing. If there’s a law (or laws), so be it — if I don’t like it then there’s a system through which it can be changed. But if there is no law…

In other words, if I was put into handcuffs, what would I be charged with? Keeping the peace, protecting private property, these things I understand and respect, but I want to be assured that I can’t be detained for no other reason than “heightened security”. That’s not a law, that’s an excuse, and a very dangerous one at that.

And that’s no longer just my pontification on the subject.

In the middle of the afternoon yesterday I heard about an impromptu protest being staged by the Toronto Community Mobilization Network, a group playing host to many of the protesters coming to the city. They started their march in Allan Gardens, moved down adjacent Sherbourne Street, and were routed west along Dundas by police until they decided to “take over” an Esso gas station at Jarvis. This route wasn’t planned in any way and by the time I got to Sherbourne the group was gone. I though they might’ve moved farther south so I continued along Sherbourne to Queen Street East. There I spotted a number of unmarked vehicles carrying riot police – must be the spot the protesters are heading towards, I thought.

I stopped by one of the open cars and asked one of the officers if they knew anything about the protest. Not a thing, he replied. So I waited under a shady tree in adjacent Moss Park, camera hanging off my arm by the strap, directly in front of the riot police. And waited. And waited.

I must’ve stood there for twenty minutes waiting for the protest group to come down, checking websites and tweeting from my mobile phone to try to get some more info. Every now and again I raised my head to see if anything was happening – nothing but the cops passing out drink bottles and engaging in casual chatter with each other.

Then two of the riot police approached me.

“Sir, are you with the media?”

“No”, I replied. Trying to be honest, I don’t consider TCL to be an established news organization. Not yet anyway. :)

“Then we’re going to have to ask you to leave the area for your own protection.”

I kind of stood there and blinked for a moment, dumbfounded.

Moss Park must’ve had some twenty to thirty people in it, some sun tanning, some walking their dogs, some just standing around like me. A further group of people were sitting on the curbs and nearby concrete embankments, also not doing a whole heck of a lot except sitting there and staring at the cops. I think if you were to pick out any particularly suspicious physical characteristic (mirror shades, five o’clock shadow, dishevelled clothing, etc.), you’d have been able to find at least two other people who were more likely suspects than me.

“My own protection? Will you be asking everyone to leave too?”, I asked. I felt like I was being singled out. But, if the protesters were coming then, yeah, they would be asking everyone else to leave too. Right?

“It’s because you’re taking photos of us getting kitted up”, replied the second cop, considerably less cordial than the first.

“I’m not taking photos…”, but was cut off before I could finish. “You were back there, I saw you”, replied cop number two. “Leave the area now”. End of pleasantness.

I was now getting rather annoyed, to be honest. Moments earlier I had spotted another photographer with a camera just as prominent as mine (more so, in fact), poking his lens right into the vehicles and taking more than a few photos of the cops up close and personal. He had what looked like a media tag slung around his neck with a lanyard. I don’t know who he was with, but I know that the cops didn’t even bat an eyelash in his direction – certainly didn’t check his “credentials”. They decided, instead, to arbitrarily pick on me.

“How about if I put the lens cap back on?”, I offered.

“Please leave the area.”

“What about if I just put the camera in my bag?”, I continued.

“Leave the area now.”

“Look, I’ve got a zoom lens on this thing. I could be at the other end of the park and take close-up pictures of you”, I tried to reason.

They shrugged. “Sir, please leave the area. For your own safety.”

Obviously not because of any protesters. And obviously just me. Was it because they would be threatening my own safety?

I decided there would be no reasoning with these guys so I acquiesced. I receded a few meters into the park, leaned up against the fence, and continued to try to get more information on the protest. The two cops, leaning into the car windows, pointed me out to their buddies and discussed how much of a threat I would be (I guess). The other guy with the camera went on his merry way, snapping even more photos as he walked by, passer-bys took shots with their mobile phones, but the police attention was still trained on me, fingers occasionally pointing in my direction.

I had my ID with me, I would’ve volunteered to have my bag searched, and I would’ve been happy to answer their questions – considerably more than your average citizen is required to do. I really had nothing to hide and, up until that point, had no gripe with the police. Unfortunately, none of this was an option – I guess they’d already made up their minds about me.

Eventually the group got back into their vehicles and sped off. Well, tried to. You know, downtown traffic pretty much ensured that I could easily keep up on foot. I guess the protest had broken up at that point, however, and the vehicles eventually dispersed in separate directions to go harass some other innocent civilian.

Here’s the thing: what the fuck ?!

Expressing concern about their identities being revealed, that I could understand. Not revealing license plate information also makes sense to me. Hell, if they knew anything about the law, they could’ve even requested that I not use their faces – that’s their right as citizens under the Copyright Act (you own the rights to your face and can refuse to have it used—seems sensible, no?). Besides, the police aren’t asking permission to take high-definition photos of everyone passing under the newly installed cameras that appear, literally, on every street corner.

Photographers are allowed, by law, to take photos in public places. Can you imagine how unwieldy it would be to try to get permission from everyone that appeared in the frame when taking a street shot? It’s why I can do what I do, and it’s why police can install cameras on street corners.

Okay, so at this point you’re probably asking what the big deal is? Wasn’t like they were beating me with batons and, frankly, I could’ve told them to go to hell.

What this situation does, unfortunately, is to demonstrate just how illegal and intrusive some police actions may be during the summit. You see, I wasn’t anywhere near the fenced security zone, I was a block away from my flat. My neighbourhood. Allan Gardens, the park where the protest started, is across the street from me.

When it’s calm, the riot cops can afford to walk up to “suspicious” people to try to intimidate them, but if things start to get a bit more heated, I doubt that they’ll take the time out to ask who I am, what my purpose is, or even try to take off their riot gear to identify themselves. The most likely scenario will be: there’s a guy with a camera (or whatever) — we don’t like the looks of him, attack / arrest first, maybe ask questions later. In my neighbourhood, on my street, out in public. How likely is this? Based on this recent interaction, I’d say very.

See the problem?

Following this run-in I flagged down a group of about nine Toronto bicycle cops – plenty around these days. I asked them if I’d done anything illegal or even just questionable, if they could think of any reason why the riot police would’ve approached me like that, and if it was within their power to detain me or remove me from the area (had I decided to take it that far). I explained the situation fully, including the few photos I took when I arrived at the scene. The bicycle cops looked me over, perhaps to see if I was menacing enough to warrant that sort of action, mulled it over a bit, and answered that they really couldn’t think of a reason. I hadn’t broken any law and, in fact, was free to take photos out in public as long as I wasn’t trespassing on private property. Exactly as I understood my rights. Exactly what I had done (and only briefly at that).

I should point out, once again, that the Toronto police are for the most part really decent folks. The bicycle cops joked around with me, smiled, and wished me a pleasant day as I was leaving. If the riot cops took that attitude, shit, I’d have even offered to delete the photos I took. My problem isn’t with the cops, per se, it’s simply the fact that they’re carrying weapons, restraints, authority, but apparently not terribly sure about what laws they’re enforcing. Not a single cop has been able to cite any legal justification for what’s happening around the city. Again, if I was breaking shit, trespassing, or being a jerk to the police, all of that is covered by law and good enough reason for them to slap the cuffs on me. I want them to have that power, it seems perfectly reasonable.

I was, however, breaking no law, doing or even thinking nothing wrong – literally standing under a shady tree in a public park, adjacent to a public sidewalk, among a group of other people who were loitering much as I was. My aim was to photograph the protesters, believing that the cops get a bum rap in the media when it comes to most altercations. Yes, actually on the side of the police and hoping to show them in a positive light.

Unfortunately, claims by protesters about police harassment now seem quite likely to me. What’s worse, the cops can’t seem to even claim any basis in law to support their actions. At the moment, what we have on the streets of Toronto are basically a bunch of armed, armoured thugs walking / driving around in unmarked vehicles and intimidating random people. I’m still trying to remain open-minded, still reminding myself of the law-abiding, friendly cops I’ve had interactions with. Perhaps these riot police are not natives, as the bike cops suggested, perhaps Montreal police shipped in for the occasion. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck where they’re from – it’s their duty to follow the laws they’re supposedly enforcing. Whatever those are.

And then there are the protesters…

Continued in part 2…

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“What gives?”, was my initial reaction, but without a jolt of caffeine and the other magical energy ingredients found in my canned morning concoction, I’m pretty much useless at that time of day, so that’s as far as that line of questioning went.

But once I got back to the flat and downed all 473 millilitres of liquid inspiration it suddenly dawned on me that something in the park was amiss, so I grabbed my camera and my curiosity and headed back.

The curly-haired dude in the park was actually a city bylaw officer who had been sent there in response to some accident that had happened the day previous between a dog walker and cyclist. I didn’t ask him to elaborate – seemed pretty self-evident.

If you’ve been reading TCL for a while, dear reader, you’ll know that I’m not too fond of aggressive cyclists, but none of the cyclists going through Allan Gardens this morning seemed particularly agitated. In fact, it was a warm and sunny morning and other than the fact that they were being stopped by some city employee and being told to walk their bikes through the park, none of the cyclists seemed particularly upset. Correction, most of them didn’t seem upset.

A few people did seem a little miffed at not being able to ride their bikes through a public park, and I readily admit that I shared in their miffiness. So I took curly-hair to task; “You’re not allowed to ride bicycles through public parks?”, I asked. “Through some parks and ravines, no, you can’t”, he replied. “Do you happen to know what bylaw this is? Is it posted?”, I followed up, genuinely taken aback.

Curly-hair replied by citing the city bylaw and pointing out that there was inadequate signage (to be rectified), at the north end of the park to this effect. He was nice enough about his interactions with me and other people and wasn’t handing out any citations, so I don’t want to give the impression of some brutal government clampdown on cyclists, at least not during this situation. However, the laws he was gently enforcing are still on the books and still technically punishable.

Now at this point I want to just pause for a moment and discuss municipal bylaw interpretation. I’m no lawyer; never claimed to be. But bylaws, and infractions thereupon, usually wouldn’t involve lawyers – a fine at most. Furthermore, bylaws are intended for common everyday citizens; if we can’t interpret municipal bylaws for ourselves then I’d like to suggest that there’s a serious flaw in the way that they’re written. In other words, a lay interpretation of these laws should be sufficient. Hence, if I’m reading them wrong then they need to be revised. Or I’m incredibly stupid.

The specific law being cited in this instance is part of Chapter 608 of the Municipal Code which states that “While in a park, no person shall ride or operate or be in possession of a bicycle where posted to prohibit bicycles”.

On the one hand it’s understandable that, if bikes are to be considered vehicles, that they shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with foot traffic. I mean, if they’re potentially that dangerous then yeah, ban those fuckers. But ban them everywhere – all footpaths, all parks, anywhere where they’re likely to come into as close contact with pedestrians as they might in Allan Gardens. And considering how wide the paths through that park are, that should mean pretty much everywhere.

But if arbitrary enforcement of laws based on knee-jerk reactions is the soup du jour then we have a potentially much more serious problems staring us in the face. I mean, the cycling bylaw is somewhat sensible, but this section of the Municipal Code has a few other things to say about what citizens can and can’t do in public parks. Here are some choice selections:

Section 608-3 C. “No person shall release any balloons filled with lighter-than-air gases in a park.”

This was probably intended to prevent people from launching weather balloons and parade floats from public parks. Unfortunately, it also covers your kid’s helium balloon.

Section 608-17 A. “Arrange or engage in an organized sport or activity, unless authorized by permit.”

Okay, no professional soccer matches; makes sense. Unfortunately it also covers you and a group of your friends tossing the Frisbee around. What constitutes an “organized sport or activity”? — “… a game or activity pre-planned by a group or organization whether or not formally constituted and whether or not the players or members wear uniforms.”

Section 608-9 B. “Unless authorized by permit, no person shall use, enter or gather in a park between the hours of 12:01 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.”

All those late tipsy nights stumbling home through Allan Gardens, all those Tai Chi practitioners in the park before dawn – CRIMINALS!

Section 608-25 A, B, C. “While in a park, no person shall fly a kite with a line that is metallic or contains wire; fly a kite within 25 metres of any tree, building, light pole or hydro or other utility pole; fly a kite in parking lots, roadways or pathways;”

Now I know this is supposed to keep people from getting fried but has anyone realistically tried to keep within these limits? It’s a bit like the proposed three-foot berth that cycling advocates want motorists to stick to when passing bicycles – is there even three feet of road available for this?

Section 608-32 “The maximum rate of speed for vehicles, motorized recreational vehicles, bicycles and personally powered devices in a park is 20 kilometres per hour.”

That’s 12 miles per hour if you’re imperially Inclined. On a bike that may be reasonable though I have yet to see a single bicycle with a speedometer installed. And in a car, well, let’s say I tried it, manual transmission, on the lowest gear possible, with my foot off the gas, the lowest engine RPMs pulling me along, and I was breaking the law at 25 clicks.

Sections 608-34.1 to 608-34.3 – The most extensive part and covering about four pages deals with regulations for commercial dog walkers, obviously a scourge on modern society.

Section 608-35 “No person as owner or person having the control of an animal shall bring into or permit the animal to enter a park if it may or does constitute a danger to other persons or wildlife, or is reasonably likely to frighten other persons.”

Get that butt-ugly dog of out of our parks!

Section 608-43 “The Commissioner is authorized to prune or cause to be pruned all trees located on private property, the branches of which extend over a park, including the pruning of branches that are hazardous or create an unsafe condition.”

I wasn’t able, in my five-minutes’-worth of research, to find out who the commissioner is, but clearly you’ll need them by your side to do your yard work.

Section 608-47 “While in a park, no person shall take or permit to be taken for remuneration any film, photograph, videotape or television broadcast unless permitted under the City’s film bylaw28 and authorized by permit from the Toronto Film and Television Office.”

Well fuck, I guess that photo at the top is illegal. Do you supposed that if I make more than a buck off advertising that they’ll take me to court?

—

Look, I know that a lot of these bylaws won’t be fully enforced, and many of them probably have good intentions behind them. But since witnessing the bylaw officer tongue-lashing cyclists in the park this morning I’m not fully convinced that the laws are entirely benign. At the very least they’re unenforceable and basically a waste of money to keep on the books; beyond that, they tend to verge on this side of absurdity. Or worse.

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As usual, the place was transcendent:

I’ve come to the conclusion that there is a major architectural flaw in the design of the Gardens. The main entrance gallery is situated right in between the other four galleries. So, you turn right, see two galleries, turn around and come all the way back to see the other two. It’s just not convenient.

But at least there’s enough to see on the way and back:

It’s not a big space, mind you. I guess back when they built it, people were a lot smaller. You could just see them shuffling in, foot, foot-n-a-half tall, little Edwardian frocks and brollies all puffed up in newfound Torontonian pride, reeking of horse manure and mud. The olden days…

These days all you have are people sticking their cameras into every flower they see. Well, no, hold on. You do get bums coming in to do whatever they’re coming to do in the washroom. And in the rain, everyone always runs in ridiculously soaked. Those in the know know that there are hot air dryers in the washrooms. *wink wink*

Unfortunately, the Arabica tree is gone. I’m gonna just come right and point the finger at the Gardens’ staff who are undoubtedly brewing a fresh pot of freshly grown-roasted-ground coffee right now!

I also noticed a distinct absence of Peyote. You tell me what that means.

Anyhow, as nice as the Gardens are, their healing effects wear off the moment you step outside. I’ve had the prelude to some kind of sniffles for the last couple of days and no amount of fresh medicinal succulents help any more. Great, and now the walls are waving around.

I’m just going to go an l; [p;f

fs

e/

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baking, blazing, blistering, boiling, broiling,burning, calescent, close, decalescent, febrile, fevered, feverish, feverous, fiery, flaming, heated, humid, igneous, incandescent, like an oven, on fire, ovenlike, parching, piping, recalescent, red, roasting, scalding, scorching, etc.

I believe they’re all applicable. Except maybe calescent (and its cousins), because it’s supposed to mean “growing warm” and it’s way too obscure besides.

Oh, sorry, I’m talking about this past weekend. And today. Probably tomorrow too. And for a few more days beyond that.

It’s hat. That’s hot said with a mouth that’s too hot and tired to form a proper “o” sound. If you start off hissing like a cat, you’ve got it bang on.

The right uppercut is the heat, the repeated left jab is the humidity. I was down for the count since Saturday morning, hardly able to peel myself off the sofa where my new window fan is paying dividends! I actually fantasized about having this fan last summer, kind of like a heat-induced delirium. So I got one this year. But she struggles. I have a neat little neo-vintage desk fan too, but that one’s been dropped a few times and now makes all sorts of interesting, potentially explosive noises. I keep it on at night. That way, when it happens, I die in my sleep. Groovy.

So, what would cause me to grab the fifth shower of the day and begin contemplating venturing out? Have a listen for yourself:

(If you don’t see anything, you might need Flash installed [my bread and butter; 100% legit, I promise], so click here to install it. Then just reload. )

If you invested in a good set of computer speakers or, failing that, headphones, you should be good. And turn it down a couple of notches;  it’s supposed to be ambient :)

What you’re hearing …

What? You didn’t start it playing? Just hit the little triangle! Jeez, what’re you saving your bytes for a rainy day or something?

…good. Thank you.

What you’re hearing is an unpublicized event that took place in Allan Gardens park, obviously not too far from my place. Judging by the signage, the show was put on by the Carpenters’ Union. They had a couple of politicians show up, and I have no idea what it was for. My best guess would be that it was just a union summer picnic with a talent show tacked on. If you read casually, as I do, you’re probably hearing the results of that talent show now. (You did start the audio, didn’t you?)

The first chunk was a bit of bad (in the Michael Jackson sense) bidness that was the deal breaker for me. Had to go check it out. Looped riddims and live vocals:

Yup. Hurt my pelvis a couple of times. Good stuff.

And then there were some rather fierce Punjabis. Or Pakistanis? I must confess my ignorance here and if anyone can correct me, I’d be much obliged. In any event, they beat up on the stage pretty good:

My elbow still hurts from resting it on that red strip. Thanks, guys!

I was going to leave after that; the following act were some young ladies showing off their choreographed Beyonce moves and, I must say, I didn’t approve. Terrible. No photo for you!

But then, about thirty minutes in (you can fast-forward in the audio player), comes the saving grace. A local Toronto busker named Smokie. Smoky? Yup; he’s that local:

I’m gonna go with Smoky. Again, corrections welcome.

Anyway, he really ripped up the stage; while I was busting a sweat pressing the trigger. Even more impressive, Smoky’s daughters and sons barely broke a sweat either:

Truth be told, aside from the drummer and Smoky, the act was a lot more demure. Well, except for the way those girls slapped those guitars; they should be ashamed of themselves!

So at this point, if you hadn’t pressed play on the audio player, you’ll be missing out on the performance that Smoky and his family put on. It’s a bit quiet, but you’ll get the gist of it. It was … awesome.

Okay, I know he probably sang the same tunes every week busking at Yonge and Dundas. But c’mon, with that much practice, he’s got it down!

Hands-down winner. I’ll see if I can crack a web address out of him next time.

Right. And that’s it. Too hot to do anything else. Back to the flat, plunk down on the sofa, and grow roots.

Now if you’ll excuse me …

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The imagined timeline floated in the haze of somewhere around mid-January.

Yes. Chilled drinks did factor into that vision, as did various activities combining snow and nudity.

Despite this, my pragmatism allowed me to recognize that winter would also suck in many ways. I knew that, for example, snow would feel great on my ruddy bits for only a few minutes at most. After that, the joy would be gone.

I make sure I don’t look forward with too much adoration. That way on my daily travels, when I expect the destination to suck, it’s kind of nice to arrive and find that it sucks less. A shitty day can so often be transformed into a less shitty day by the expectation (but clear lack) of an even shittier day.

In between sweat, I paused to gaze forward in time again.

The year was 2009. It was a cold, bitter January. Much to everyone’s horror, Bush had proclaimed himself president for a third term. The Clintons were forming an insurgent militia and Barack Obama, having won the election proper, was being held “for questioning” by Homeland Security.

Looting and pillaging were daily occurrences. Police and even the army stood back, trying merely to contain the borders of the swelling uprising growing from within. Almost all major city cores exploded with a shockwaves of violence that rippled outward, ripping up any vestiges of civility, kindness, and humanity.

Savage survival was all that remained.

I thought to myself, if it’s still standing in the midst of all this, where could one visit to take a bit of a break? You know, shoulder the automatic, dash through the gauntlet of unfriendly fire, then to the safety of the bullet-worn garbage bin. Something within walking range.

The first thing that popped into my mind was also the most improbable one.

Allan Gardens.

It would be smashed to bits. A makeshift city would no doubt stand in its ruins, the vile stench of humanity rising from it, piercing the brittle peace that sometimes floated on the air.

But what if, by some miracle, it still stood?

The route to run would be short and the snipers along it few. The park would present it’s own dangers, but nothing too bad.

I envisioned bandits hanging from the park trees’ sturdy branches on long, bungee-corded suspenders. These would allow them to snap back to the safety of their arboreal fortresses upon swiping stuff from unlucky passerbys. The Squirrel Men; a name dare not whispered.

But as long as I maintained radius, I would be golden.

Then, after some careful navigation around the strangely alluring empatho-sentient vine (how far science has advanced in 6 months!), I would crawl in through the broken window of the main pavilion, entering the inner sanctum of a lush, overgrown oasis.

It seems, in hindsight, my forecast was not exactly correct except for right at the end. The vine and me, well, that didn’t work out. But, the building’s still there and it’s good for all what ails ya.

Most visible improvements over my worst-case scenario include the absence of tree-bound hoodlums and genetically mutated plants (there was only one…) Also, one may stroll there casually and to be honest, a bullet-proof vest is mostly for show.

However, my overblown expectations of greenery in the middle of a wasteland weren’t ruined by reality. In fact, I believe my imagination was a bit weak.

First thing through the entrance is the smell of thick, fragrant soil. I’m talking top-notch, finely aged, and lovingly nurtured worm excrement.

The earth is always moist, though I’ve never seen anyone watering it. In fact, I’m not really sure who would stop me were I to take a squatty #2 in between the palm and the ficus. Despite this seeming lack of staff, the plants are meticulously maintained. Everything is brilliantly green and blooming every which way.

The elves, it seems, were also busy around Christmas time and there was no end to the shit strung all over everything. If you’re a fan of gargantuan balls hanging from twigs you’ll dig it. I did.

They’re now halfway through the process of extricating the excessive numbers of poinsettia that were stuck into every square inch. The word outrageous is perfectly descriptive of the sheer amount of plant material they trucked in. It was an orgy for the senses. If only they’d allowed peacocks to freely roam the pavillions, that would’ve added so pleasingly to the excess.

Stripped of most of the extravagance, though, the place is no less impressive. Each pavillion is an installation of plants that enjoy similar atmospheric conditions and the selection is pretty broad.

One has a waterwheel (alas, not powering any tiny machinery) that serves to keep moisture in the air. Orchids are kept behind dirty glass but everything else is available for manual enjoyment. Three miniature paths and even a bridge fit into a space not much bigger than your average urban McDonald’s. Smells better too.

This room is attached to what I call the “northern temperate” room. It’s kinda like your grandma’s garden in late fall; a little chilly, meticulously arranged, and contains a classical a sculpture pool. The peacocks would go great with tea here. Most of the plants seem somewhat redundant; many of them don’t seem that far removed from Canadian varieties.

Meh.

The palm pavilion is the main part of the complex. By complex I mean a big glass house of long, interconnected rooms. Here, though, complex isn’t so inappropriate. It’s a glass dome that rises a good ten (thirty-ish feet) from the center of a rounded room. Almost the entire vertical space is used up by fully-grown palms, banana, and other large plants. The humid room is lined with benches and it’s the best place to chill with a coffee and watch the snow fall outside.

Further along is the palm pavilion’s cousin, the tropical plants room. Almost everything here is in bloom, or in some sort of fruiting phase. The medicinal plants section is of particular interest to those seeking to expand their practical pharmacopeial knowledge. You can also play find the Arabica tree. Be sure to tip your spill-proof lid to it when you do.

The dusty trail of the cactus house is a fine denouement to the gaudy displays of the other rooms. Somber, dusky tones remind you that you are about to step back out into bleak reality — but not before twisting your brain on some crazy shapes! There is no doubt in my mind that these suckers were the inspirations for fractal equations. Mandelbrot was definitely trippin’ on some kinda cactus.

The gardens have a few other rooms, mostly for kids to learn that seedlings die and that plants come from the grocery store. Most of the time, though, they lie idle and locked with nothing in them.

All in all, you can’t beat the gardens even if you just want to warm up or take a tinkle (there is a washroom). When you’ve gotten a static zap for the fiftieth fucking time since four o’clock, a little humidty can be very soothing. Also, the place is an instant cure for snow blindness. Add to that the admission price of nothing and how do you go wrong?

You have seven days a week to hit the Gardens but only between nine and five. If I may make a suggestion, going in winter will just make you appreciate it more.

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