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. :D

Share / save this post

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…

I also wasn’t sure I got the Trainspotting baby-things stuck to the wall at the OCAD:

I didn’t read about the installation before I went. In hindsight, I’m kind of glad I didn’t because that would’ve ruined the expected sense of otherwhere I think they were trying to achieve. Mostly, though, I think it was all the inebriated goofs getting their pictures taken doing all sorts of things to the giant stuffed baby-things that ruined the atmosphere. Then again, I guess it was a college.

Things were a lot more sober down at Union Station:

Was the “Imminent Departure” piece intended to establish irony? I don’t want to mislead you, the thing was noisy. Lots of recordings of loud talking, noisy trains, clamorous transit stations, and flashing lights through the fog. But like most other places, I think people were just starting to peter out a bit. You’d have to have an almost military-type mindset to still be sharp at 4:30 in the morning.

This is the Centre for Tactical Magic’s “Witches’ Cradles”. Yup, you read that right; tactical magic. They have stickers on their website that you can print off and stick on any corporation or business you want to curse. And they quote 50 Cent.

The Cradle piece wasn’t so much an art piece as it was a way to get messed up. In a nutshell, it’s a sensory deprivation chamber except without the chamber. Participants wait their turns blindfolded until they’re brought to a sturdy, pentagram-shaped sack in which they sit. The sack is pulled up around them and they’re hoisted into the air on a winch. Each sack comes with its own attendant who periodically nudges it, presumably to cause the person inside to lose their orientation.

And that wasn’t the only mind-squishing piece of art:

“The Blinking Eyes of Everything” was a giant, stroboscopic trance machine inside the Church of the Holy Trinity. According to the piece’s description, it was intended to cause hallucinations. During the time I was there, the “soundtrack” was composed of a single note played on the organ. I didn’t participate, but I’m certain that numerous Torontonians are out there right now, destroying the word. Not sure what that means, but I suspect we’ll be reading about it in the crime section of the news shortly.

Thankfully, not all of the artists were out to control our minds. Some just wanted to get us drunk and take us home.

The “Vodka Pool” seemed conspicuously shallow. It was intended for viewers to “ponder the volatile and symbolic qualities of 80-proof vodka” as it relates to the financial institutions surrounding it. But after a while, the fumes made all that money look attractive. That’s not even irony, that’s just being sloshed.

And apparently that’s how you’re supposed to go to Nuit Blanche. I think I see the wisdom in that. By 7:30 the following morning, they were taking down the signs and I was going there myself. Had I been a bit more spirited, I might’ve been able to stay up a bit longer. Any spirit, really. Even beer.

I’m glad they only do this thing once a year. I barely hit a quarter of what was out there (this post has only the highlights of that quarter), and I’d been trudging around for five hours. By my calculations, to see all the projects you’d have to see eleven per hour. That’s one every five and a half minutes. If we factor in a somewhat unreasonable two minutes travel time between projects, you could appreciate each one for roughly three and a half minutes before dashing off to the next one. And you’d have to keep up the pace for the full twelve hours.

Technically, it should be possible. Sounds like we have a challenge. :D

Share / save this post

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?”)