But, just as I start to think how hard we have it, an unconscious decision is made (if it was conscious I’d tell you who made it), to once again flip through the Toronto Archives, to remind me that I’m just being a whiny little bitch.

Maybe it’s because life was simple then that the frosty elements didn’t bother people so much. Maybe the people were simple.

Note the position of the SHUTTLECOCK behind the net where it has just been introduced by Flaily O’Flappy on the right there. So, you know, considering that SHUTTLECOCKS are actually designed to slow down as they fly, you’d think he’d have enough time to follow this one – savour his victory. But instead he’s gazing straight up and to the left like he’s just spotted a masturbating squirrel in a nearby tree. His jaw is dropping, that’s how stupefied he is.

Then there’s the issue of his opponent, the guy who, at a very casual glance seems to have just missed the shot. But if you look at the picture for more than half a second you see that the guy is way too far back to ever hope for getting that return, seems not to be in too much of a hurry anyways (casual hand on hip), and is swatting at a very wrong spot. That’s if he’s swatting at all because his posture, that look, the whole package, they say gleeful resignation to me.

The skates are really more of a sidebar at this point.

I wonder, was every winter costume so penisy? I may have to wear a bulky parka, coif-destroying toque, and highly overrated gloves, but I think I prefer those to looking like an early twentieth century dick.

I guess protecting oneself from the elements wasn’t a priority in 1911. At the top of a Riverdale Park hill there, that’s Charles Houghtington the Third of “Where’s Waldo” fame (odd about the name really) — before the fame. At this point he was just sporting his trademark striped socks and a coat that said “I just don’t care”. I guess that’s pretty cool. Sadly, this would be among Charles’ last trips down the hill; the whole group was involved in a fatal high-speed collision with a cow. In the carnage that followed, apparently, it was impossible to tell where one body began and another ended. No one could find Waldo. And that’s pretty much how the whole sad book project got started.

Here’s anther example of how rough people had it back in the early nineteen hundreds; this whole community had to share a single toboggan at High Park. Note the lady at the left of this photo, so cold that she’s willing to abandon sensible dress for parading around as a warm winter cabbage. Dreadful.

Okay, and here are a bunch of people hanging around in an ice boat, ready to head out onto Lake Ontario. Notice something unusual? That’s right, they’re all donning impractical head gear. Once again this is at the turn of the century and obviously health and safety regulations don’t yet exist. So, people had to make due with puffy hats. Note the lady at the back is playing it extra safe.

And here we have Stan and Yosh Shmenge, obviously sharing a single pair of skis between them at some Toronto park. The poles were a symbol of prestige in the thirties, but with skis … wow, the perceived power emanating  from that guy’s groinal area would be unbelievable. Skis were the shit. That’s why anyone on them could afford to dress like a total dork.

Lest we forget the conjoined Quinzy quintuplets, seen here at the Old Orchard skating club. Most people in the twenties were horribly deformed, they were just able to conceal it well through snappy banter, flapper jigs, and sounding exactly like Edward G. Robinson; nyah, seee?

SHUTTLECOCK.

I rest my case.

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The thing is, I’m not sure if it’s technically mid-life at thirty-five. Also, doesn’t that usually come during the marriage? And I have absolutely no wish to buy a flashy sports car, get hair plugs, or date younger women. Well, maybe that last part. But basically, I’m not exhibiting the standard signs of a crisis. Except maybe uncertainty about my job. No, my vocation; my calling.

This morning, waiting for the streetcar, I looked up at a window washer and seriously thought, “Could I do that?”

I think the main problem is that programming’s just not fun anymore. I’m not talking about sidebar widgets, but the everyday working-for-the-man kind of stuff. On a broader scale, I know that working for money always involves working-for-the-man.  The man has projects and ideas about how he wants those projects to act/look/feel/sound/touch/react/sparkle/etc. Sometimes, it’s hard to get enthusiastic about all those ideas. Sometimes they’re not really even ideas, just innuendo.

As I usually do in my darker moments, I found solace in the Toronto Archives. They revealed that my situation isn’t unique. That others have suffered as I have. That I am not alone:

Gah! That even looks like the office where I work!

Look at them, slaving away for that jerk back there, flipping through filthy mags and abusing himself. And back then, shackles came off only after the shift was finished, and the boss could fire you for anything!

Check out the terrible working conditions some people had to put up with:

To stop oncoming streetcars with your head, to essentially act as the brake, is a horribly dangerous profession. If the guy in the picture thinks that by covering his face he’s somehow better-protected from the oncoming multi-tonne vehicle, he’s sorely mistaken. Same goes for that flimsy-looking tether he’s got snaking over his foot. He’s not even tied in!

Wow.

And I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw this photo:

In one sudden and terrifying moment she realizes who she’s been producing munitions for all this time. The Red Chinese!

Talk about a demoralizing work environment.

Kind of like this:

Unbelievable. First they make him drive that hunk of crap on, what is that? a dirt road? And look who’s along for the ride; a bunch of cripples! Add insult to injury, then the driver gets to wear “Special” above his head all day.

I don’t know how he put up with it. In fact, I don’t know how any of them could do what they did all day. But in a sense, I’m glad they did. Helped to throw some perspective on my modern lack of enthusiasm. Yup. Totally justified.

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That’s what happens when I’m knackered and I’ve spent most of the night swooping around the financial district in Street View instead of posting! Oh well, if you’ll forgive a few sentences that don’t quite seem to make sense, we’ll be able get through this.

Man, I wish Google never came out with Street View. Between every few words … I manage to travel another couple of blocks.

It’s been thirty minutes since my last sentence!

Back in the olden days they wouldn’t have had these frivolous time wasters. The men with their genitals exposed to the raw atmosphere had enough to occupy their time.

The Royal Alex isn’t one of those locations that’s changed much. Guys are still freezing their nuts off out there.

The next random location — just because it happens to be a few steps down the street doesn’t mean it’s not random! — the next random location I decided on for comparison was the Elephant and Castle across the street from Roy Thomson Hall. In this case, there was a world of difference between then and now.

I figured I’d include something in the picture that I could match to something in the archives. Luckily, I was right. It’s the black building in the above photo that stands in the spot where the building below stood.

Hahaha! What the hell was that?! No one’s getting drunk in that podunk town!

Wow. Thank God we’ve progressed so far.

Savages.

Compare the genteel stoicism of the modern city…

…with the barbaric, angled-for-impalement twenties.

I mean, I like old buildings, just not those mud-covered rectangular bunkers where manual labourers came to die. But, most of those have been demolished and replaced with more interesting buildings, so it all worked out in the end.

The reason I brought this up was that Street View back then would have sucked donkey balls. Major. It’s almost as if back then they really wouldn’t have had a need for any modern technology. Wouldn’t be much to use it on. Horses’d still stink. Mud and dog feces’d still be indistinguishable from one another. No bikinis anywhere.

I don’t know what those people were thinking, but at least we seem to have gotten it together a bit more since then.

The only piece missing now is that sleep I mentioned at the beginning.

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