On Wednesday I was walking Queen Street after taking care of banking – got the money order for June rent, booyah! – & an idea for a blog post / journal entry / article-type thingy came to mind. The tentative title is: “The Outgoing Agoraphobic’s Guide To Going Outside” and it’s going to be as much about all there is to do in Toronto (innumerable possibilities!) as it will be my own reveal of what it’s like to want to do everything but yet have to struggle to get out and do much of anything. I’ll share in numbered points (with descriptive brief paragraphs below each one) how to get past the panic and participate. I think it might also shed some insight into what people who have this type of panic disorder go through while I also want to touch upon all the awesome things there are to do in this city. I intend to put actual effort, research & linkage into this piece because the topic is all too relevant in my life and perhaps it may help some people understand just how much of a battle it can be – especially when you’re someone who loves to interact with people, has a love & interest in what’s going on and truly does want to be present. So yes, that’s in the works. I don’t know how long it will take me to write it. Meaning, I don’t know how long it will take before I begin writing it. I know that once I start, it won’t take long. I’m procrastinating because I’m often resistant to completing projects that are best for me.

In other related artsy news, I wish I could make a holder for my photograph cards. I need something sturdy but crafty (not cheezy!) that will display them in an interesting & compact way. A kleenex box just isn’t cutting it and while I attempted to put together something using multiple kleenex boxes, the end result is pretty lame. I’m an amateur photographer, dammit, not an artist! Aside from that, I have continued to get a few bucks here & there when I’ve had the courage to go into the pie shack. The kind owner told me again that he gets a lot of compliments about the cards – that when he explains I’m a local unknown & such there’s generally some surprise. So far, he’s the only person I’ve approached to have my cards sold in his shop. It’s a nice thought to think of strangers out there with prints of my very own original photographs, eh? I hope to print some new photos (“fresh” ones) in July. But yeah, first I really need to figure out a better way to display the cards.

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After welcoming Amber Dawn to the fold I decided I wouldn’t count anymore. I have every confidence that you can do that yourself, dear reader.

Besides, I wouldn’t assign a number to Matthew Del Biondi; he’s a little too much of himself to be categorized in that manner.

As a weekly feature contributor Matt will be giving us the video lowdown on Toronto’s social, arts, and party scenes, not necessarily in that order. Perhaps this isn’t an adequate description. To be honest, I didn’t ask him to elaborate, mostly because I like to be surprised.

In fact, I don’t really know much about Mr. Biondi. Mr. Del Biondi? Judging by his last name I’d guess he’s Italian. Judging by his MySpace account I’d say he’s an artist. Judging by his YouTube channel I’d surmise he’s a bit of a social butterfly with something to say. And judging by the initial email he sent me in which he mentioned seeing a TCL advert hanging in a local supermarket, he must live within a few blocks. Or he comes down here to buy groceries.

In any event, I’m very pleased to welcome Matt to the TCL team! I’ve been assured that what he has in store for TCL will be something different, but just like you I’ll have to be patient to find out exactly what that is. If involves “Life” in the “City” of “Toronto”, as I’m sure it will, it’ll be right up my alley.

So welcome, Matt! Super glad to have you with us.

Nuit Blanche was one of those rare nights when the “Bohemian” artist set get to … no, are encouraged to get their lazy asses out of bed extra late. Getting there at half past six in the evening is actually arriving early, ten at night is when things are just starting to get going, and two in the morning is about right to avoid the big crowds and still get a good walk in. I chose the third option and managed, with the assistance of my favourite energy drink, to stay up until closing time. I couldn’t think of any other night to do this than Saturday.

The event was both hoote and anny. It’s hard to know where to begin; so many strange things on the street that night.

First, there were the kids on acid who stumbled onto mindblowing, totally fucked up shit … oh man, this is too much man! it’s too much!

I made that part up. The imaginatively named “Rabbit Balloon” at the Eaton Centre only had a few tired-looking security guards around it.  The kids on acid (and E, and K, and all the other letters too), were freaking out on the edge of Grange Park behind a truck blasting out what sounded suspiciously like happy hardcore. I wasn’t partial to it back in my youth, I’m not partial to it today, whatever it’s being called now. Just a bit too spazzed out for me. I like my music a bit mellower these days.

Hmmm. Except not this mellow. This was called “Dirge for Dead Slang” and I guess it was supposed to be some sort of lamentation for outmoded language. It had this monotonous soundtrack playing over loudspeakers that was a tad too loud, so no one could really hear what the ghosts were listing off. Intended?

Just down the street at City Hall, was this:

This had the unfulfilled title “Beautiful Light: 4 LETTER WORD MACHINE”. I stood around for a few patterns; not letters. As I was leaving, some words … French? I thought this was supposed to be the “4-letter word” machine. I can think of a few to try maintenant, and they’re in English. For an English audience. I was imagining they would at least flash “bull” and “shit” in alternating sequences; isn’t that why it’s in front of City Hall?

My next stop was at this performance, the “Dead Philosophers’ Limbo”:

Radios were alternately brought out into the crowd (I kinda wasn’t paying attention to what was being read on them), and then brought into the center and piled onto one of the girls in the middle. Then, in slow-mo, the dancers came back and removed them. The middle girl jerked around a while, now surrounded by the other dancers, each holding a pose. They alternated between each other, taking turns to move in interesting ways.

I didn’t get it…

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Nerdiness — with an “i” in the middle — is, in fact, not the right word. It implies a superficial or physical quality: taped glasses; gangly appendages; possible tendencies to be aroused by Klingon women.

Nerdness implies a more profound enlistment of less tangible, but more powerful, traits: the ability to hypnotically cause others to lose all sense of self and surroundings through a dark power called “work talk”;  the skill to instantly and deeply connect with anyone who thinks that the word “nybble” is funnier after learning what it means; the cojones to wax non-commital* in such a way that a deeply engaging chat can continue for upwards of thirty minutes.

The men and women that together comprise this second group are the people who could turn into super villains so easy, it’s best that we do everything we can to push them toward the good side. I am, of course, talking about Saturday morning library patrons, of which I am occasionally one.

So I speak from experience. I too have bathed in my own inner turmoil, distanced by those I had tried to help and left to question my place, if any, in society.

After travelling to Mars and building a giant, crystalline, clockwork palace of thought, I set upon contemplating whether or not humanity deserved my help; would they not simply work towards destroying themselves in increasingly ingenious new ways? Had I not been reminded by my foxy protege of  various great works of human artistic aspiration, I may have simply left this galaxy altogether.

The others, battling Eric Van Lustbader in the stacks and some horrid deformity of Dewey’s in the Hindi magazine section, too would lose faith unless…unless that which gave them to know in their hearts that humanity was still worth fighting for, was re-affirmed. That thing most upheld and uplifting, the beating heart of humanity’s purest hopes: beauty, love, truth, wonder — and art.

Art, above all others. The purest pursuit.

This, surely, must be the reason why the library had decided to widen the MAP program to all regular patrons. A blast of culture and learning to sweep over our fair city and its citizens, heroes, and villains alike. A vertiable explosion of truth and purity to expel the sicknesses of corruption and crime from our streets.

And by virtue of a clumsy four-paragraph segue, I am now free to mention completely out of context that the library carries comics and graphic novels as well. You know that MAUS one? Yeah, even that one; assuming whoever’s had it out for six months returns it.

If you’re cheap and sans BitTorrent, DVDs and CDs are available too, but the selection should not be described as dazzling. Keep hopes and expectations at low to low-medium for best results.  Besides, library loaners are a poor substitute for stuff you would otherwise have to pay for. Only trick is, ticket numbers are limited weekly.

Get yours tomorrow (or later)!

* The ability to carry on a conversation without actually saying anything about anything or, to put it another way, avoiding commitment to any possible viewpoint whatsoever (i.e. “Certainly a lot of weather we’re experiencing today” or “What a season the team’s having, huh?”