Moment of peace at the horse palace at the CNE.
Daniel .. Toronto, CANADA
dandmb50.blogspot.com/

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Believe it or not, despite taking inexorably long I actually had a point to make with this entire series. It has to do with the kinds of people that attend the C.N.E. (or even just the grounds), and I’m going to call these people Conservationist Urbanists.

They’re a group typified by the belief that older was definitely better and although they like the urban thing wholeheartedly, they prefer to do it in the city of the 1930s, for example. I think I’d count myself one of these people – the historical edifice on the city is something I trip out to regularly.

The other group, those standing in opposition, I’d like to call the Progressive Urbanists. They like change for change’s sake, new is good and more of it please. I’m wishy-washy enough to count myself a Progressive Urbanist too in that, as long as aesthetic has been taken account, supplanting something older isn’t necessarily the end of days. After all, another, even older building once made way for what I’m sure in its day was called the new monstrosity on the block. Now it’s just another monstrosity.

It’s my theory that Progressive Urbanists have a natural aversion the C.N.E. (you can grow into it!) After all, the heat, noise, and crowds don’t stop the maddening throngs from hitting up Canada’s Wonderland every summer, so that’s hardly an excuse. And yes, you drag your kids to these things (sometimes they drag you), so let’s let them decide how much fun the “olde tyme city fayre” would be for them.

What I’m trying to say is that there aren’t many good excuses. It’s a matter of preference, and that’s all I’ll accept, damn it! But I’m cool with that – to each his own and all. A direct, “I just don’t like the Ex” will probably save a lot of time and effort.

Conservationist Urbanists look at the Exhibition with a little melancholy twinkle in their eyes. They see the world that existed at a time when they would’ve liked to have been there, all in the context of 2010.

I like a good merry-go-round as much as the next guy but I try to remember that at one time even this simple amusement was a novelty. It probably replaced a rock-throwing competition (what else would you do in Muddy York in them days?)

I’m afflicted with an equal measure of the Conservationist and the Progressive. The old Ferris Wheel is still a pretty good ride, no?

Ya get up in those little teetery pods and you’re just kinda hovering over the crowd, looking out, chatting with your girl / boy, doing illicit substances with your buddies, whatever – that ride is at its zenith, you can’t improve it much.

Other activities are on par with the rock-throwing brouhaha of yesteryear and I’d say good riddance any day.

The gambling along the midway is a good way for some children to learn how some mommies and daddies trifle away their inheritance. Downright educational.

I find it really hard to hold to one particular ideal or another because I see merits in both. It’s a sort of Asian approach, embracing the yin and yang, as it were.

At the end of the day I find it telling to see who enjoys the Ex and who doesn’t – I always invite at least a few people to come with and say goodbye to the summer. It has, thus far, been a fairly accurate gauge of the stance of the invitee. I try to always whittle down the memories and excuses to that final, guttural feeling that expresses the like / dislike of the fair.

At that point, and on rare occasions, sometimes people who thought they liked moving forward discover that looking back isn’t so bad, and people who prefer the past can see beyond it to the promise of the future’s past.

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Look to the skies!

Continued in next part…

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And a Grand Old Lady she is, probably because of all the foods that abound within the burgeoning fair. It’s the main reason I went this year! :)

To be more precise, I wanted to try the deep-fried butter being sold for the first time. Possibly the last. We’ll see where the coronary takes us. Yeah, you read that right: deep-fried butter. No tricky wording or false advertising here – you get four balls of chilled butter on the ends of toothpicks, coated in batter, plunged into hot oil for a few seconds, and drizzled with a variety of sweet sauces.

If your arteries don’t harden just looking at that then you’re not looking hard enough!

So what does deep-fried butter taste like? Fucking good.

The butter has a chance to fully melt into the surrounding batter by the time you eat it, so what you end up with is a buttery, ball-shaped puff of deep-fried batter. Yeah, not bad at all.

The chocolate covered bacon I can’t vouch for simply because I didn’t have any – maybe next year. Same goes for the deep-fried Mars / Twinkie bars; I have a lard limit and I still had to try Tiny Tom’s Donuts.

People are always a little shocked when I tell them I’ve never tried Tiny Tom’s – the place has been a CNE institution since anyone can remember and almost everyone has some sort of warm and fuzzy memory associated with the miniature treats.

And now I finally understand what makes them so popular.

The doughnut-making machines squirt little rings of batter into hot oil which is kept moving in an outward spiral. During their trip through the wash, the doughnuts have enough time to properly cook before plunking out onto a moving conveyor belt which ends right at the cash register. The bag they hand you has cooled just enough to keep you from getting scalded. Mmmm.

Funnel Cakes (first photo above), can be found just about anywhere there are carnies. They’re a nest of deep-fried dough covered with (one of more of), ice cream, preserved strawberries, icing sugar, apple goop, and honey. They’re called funnel cakes because the batter is squeezed into the hot oil out of a funnel.

Batter and hot oil; a certain theme begins to emerge after a while, doesn’t it? I believe you could deep-fry dog crap and still sell it on a stick. There’s something about the process that makes all food and food-like items good.

Of course, there are exceptions.

Note, however, that the blocks of ice cream must still be buttressed by waffles – another buttery batter. And if it’s absolutely necessary that oil / butter / fat and batter be kept out of the concoction, it should still have copious amounts of sugar.

Even simple things like popcorn are typically swimming in congealed cow fat … and to offset the lack of sugar, salt to wrest what little effort is left out of your overwrought taste buds.

One of the main reasons I find the CNE so quaint is that mixed among all these junky / junkie foods are antique delicacies that were probably the shit back when the Ex was still more or less an agricultural exhibition (with a fun fair attached).

I would expect to find old-timers lined up at these concession stands, folks for whom the penchant for liver ‘n onions has given way to dangerous culinary leanings these few days out of the year; yet it’s not unusual to find kids lined up for a smidgen of bratwurst or a slathering of Canadian back bacon.

These days, people I know who attend the CNE spend most of their time in the Food Building, a large honeycomb of food shops serving anything from Swiss Chalet to Khlav Khalash. It used to be about the rides and the farm animals, now it’s all about getting your gourmand on.

Gourmand is probably a strong word. It implies that there’s some sort of hoity-toity food snobbery going on, kinda hard to accomplish when you’re squatting down over any available hunk of grass to scarf down your meal. Gluttony is, perhaps, more accurate.

Plus, having food in your belly isn’t necessarily a fait accompli if one intends to engage in any other activity the CNE has to offer.

Continued in next part…

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The sun’s hanging lower in the sky, the CNE is shuttering up for another year, and the kids are going back to school tomorrow. That’s the end of the summer, no matter what the calendar says.

As part of that last effort to get kids to forget their miseries, the Ex has the annual closing-weekend air show.

The announcers always go into excruciating technical detail like maybe we’re looking to pick up a couple of the aircraft after the show. Fires a hundred rounds a second, you say? I may be interested, keep talking.

Then, while waiting for the planes to fly into the show, the announcers go into all the crazy certifications and programs you’d have to go through before you’re even allowed to approach one of these things. For who’s benefit is that? The three-year-old standing next to me who should realistically start thinking about university now if he wants to be a pilot?

Then, the Top Gun music kicks in:

The show’s not entirely ironic. There were plenty of jet fighters on hand going down the real danger zone highway:

This happened to be the air show’s 60th anniversary, so the Blue Angels flew up from the US and with a salute:

This is the second time I’ve attended the show and I’ve really enjoyed it both times. The planes fly close enough to knock toupees off and the little prop ones do some really crazy stuff. Like climbing up into the sky, then cutting the engine, starting a crazy wobbly spin around every possible axis of rotation while plummeting back toward the water, and mere moments before impact, straightening out, re-starting the engine, and pulling up. Just insane.

I didn’t get to chill with the horses in the horse pavilion this year. That’s a regret. But the holiday weekend tradition I like to call “the flu” probably needed a bit of sunshine, so it was good to get out. And, all in all, it’s been a pretty happening summer. Maybe too happening; next year I’d like to see some of those things I missed this time around. I figure it’ll probably take four to five years to properly see most of the concurrent festivals, parades, and events that happen around the city every year. And with all the random news, changes, and just interesting stuff around … good frickin’ luck with that timeline!

I’m going to have to learn to pace myself.

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For cheapskates, spendthrifts, and watchapennies, today was the day to visit The Ex. Today was my day!

I think you may recall last Thursday when they were still setting up? Well, today was opening day:

There was just so much to do and see that a narrative of any kind would be foolhardy. I just kind of ricocheted back and forth along the CNE grounds until I was eventually spit out through the Prince’s Gates. Everything was there; the food, the rides … everything except the horses! *earnest disappointment* I had my lemonade all ready, and the horse pavilion certainly smelled like horses. But no horses. Equine-free. :(

Anyway, here’s some other fun stuff. I guess:

I guess that’s why it’s cheapy day today. When you pay the regular fifteen dollar cover, you get horses. For sixty more you get Bill Clinton. I guess that’s fair; horses gotta eat too. Bill though, he’s milking it. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’d be doing exactly the same if I were in his shoes. Just saying s’all.

Well, tomorrow will no doubt be similar to today. It will involve a children’s birthday party. The kids I like. We communicate on a common level. It’s the stamina that kills me. They’re as fresh on their fiftieth “helicopter ride” as they are on their first. I put that into quotes because I want you to hold whatever vision of that that pops up in your imagination. Okay, now make it just a bit too dangerous; throw the kid up just a bit too high; spin them upside down for just a bit too long; include a ceiling fan, and why not the kitchen sink?

Kids love it.

Mostly I hate having to explain to the parents. Again.

I mean well. And the kids are always ecstatic just before the tears. Bah. They’re old enough to start going to amusement parks anyway.

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That’s easy! It’s the danger!

To sum it up, it’s the danger of riding unsafe, potentially deadly rides. Nothing quite as exhilarating. That’s what The Ex has meant to me since I first went there with my folks. I was a little immigrant kid and lots of stuff impressed me back then. These days, that’s a bit more rare, but The Ex has managed to retain that feeling of charm and wonder to it. To me, it’s still still a carnival on a really big scale:

These grounds and all the buildings on them were built specifically for the Canadian National Exhibition, which only takes place once a year. The rest of the time, the grounds are used for the Indy and the various buildings are used for conventions, shows, and other large events. But The Exhibition, that’s this place’s raison d’être.

Like most big gatherings, The Ex started way back in the day when it was an agricultural fair. You came to exhibit your prized cows, corncob pipes, and pumpkins.  Someone would buy up your handsome heifers and you’d walk off with a wad of cash. The roads were mud at that time.

Eventually, agriculture gave way to modernity, and cool fifties’ style buildings were erected; kind of like the buildings in The Jetsons but more tame, more Canadian. And as seems to be the modern trend in downtown architecture these days, old buildings were extended, built onto, with the new buildings becoming a sort of cover for the old. The older building inside was pristinely restored and, being inside, better preserved. Usually, the outside structure involved a lot of glass.

But let’s say you come for other reasons:

The rides! And for me, it’s just more fun on the old ones. I mean, some of them have taken on mythic proportions. Could you imagine The Ex without the Polar Express?

Yup, this guy’s seen some mileage. And it’s a lot of fun without stopping your heart. There’s also the ride that almost always seems to claim a casualty, my absolute favourite, the Starship 4000:

I think it used to be called the Gyrotron, or something like that, but it’s still exactly the same ride. Inside the (fully constructed) saucer are stretchers on wheels sitting against the reclining walls. You rest up against them and as the ship starts to spin, the stretchers are pulled up to the centre with the you stuck to them. One year, I also remember riding a (more common) variation where people stuck to the inside of a drum while the floor dropped out from under them. Same idea but in the saucer you move away from each other as you accelerate. And the DJ sits in the middle blasting out tunes. Sometimes really good tunes.

Invariably, some kid tries to stand up, loses his balance, and goes flying for the corner of the saucer, bashing himself up in all sorts of funny ways. It’s never as serious as it should be, but they always close the ride for a while as a result. I know it’s meant to punish us. I must say, it works.

I just don’t think that kids these days are getting the thrills they need. Roller-coaster wise, I mean. Look at this thing:

Oh, look, a pretty ladybug out for a flight in a field of smiling flowers and swaying grass. Yes, every self-respecting teen is clambering to get onto it. And this is, arguably, the tallest and fastest coaster here. I suppose that tower-drop thing will have to do.

There’s more to The Ex anyway.

To me, the old livestock pavilions are where it’s at. Serene, shaded, and hushed. The animals are chillin’, you’re chillin’. Bit of straw for you, sip of lemonade for me. Ahhh. Pleasant. The weather for The Ex is usually hot and air-con doesn’t agree with me. I’m willing to co-exist with some manure if that’s what it takes.

Wee beasties not to your liking? Well, this year the feds pumped a bunch of cash into The Ex which has been used to get some big names to pay us a visit. Like Bill Clinton. So there’s that. And you know, there’s always a lot of classic Ex food:

Plus, there’s the food building for “real” food. Oh, and the air show at the end; not as boring as it sounds.

You know? There’s a lot to do there. I guess that’s why I like it too; you can be your normal ADD self, or you can be that old fogey watching the ponies, and it all just works as nature intended. The Ex has been around for so long that a good number of the streetcar lines converge there, so it’s easy to get to. And if you take care to note the location of washrooms when you first enter, you’re golden!

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This time we have a website and a comfortable patch of grass. I would applaud this effort, I really would. But I actually started to read the web page:

“We want to re-examine public space and to create work which explores our relationship with the space we inhabit. We wish to de-center and disrupt the accepted n…”

*snore*

*snore*

Wuzzuh?!

*wipe drool*

I don’t know what that site meant but I’ve reprimanded my netbook for showing it to me. I’m sorely tempted to put my programming skills to use in creating a tedious content filter of some sort. When it would detect a web page that fell below the customizable tedium level, the browser would warn you with a gentle weeping sound lest you waste a moment of your valuable life. Also, a shudder if your hardware is equipped for it.

Meh. I’d rather be outside anyway. It’s hard to be bored, especially with Caribana just around the corner. And the rampant crime that goes with it:

That’ll go up to twenty bucks on the weekend. Bumbaclot!

Lamport Stadium is where the Caribana judging takes place, and if memory serves, they have about one-hundred million-billion floats and get-ups to evaluate. It’s a lot, whatever the precise number is.

When it comes to parade costumes, people go certifiably insane. They seal themselves up in darkened workshops for months on end, devoid of any human contact. There, they toil away, metamorphosing wire, fabric, and sequins into wings, antennae, and gaudy headdresses.

Finally, after many months and a third refinancing of the house, they emerge.

As a beautiful, gargantuan butterfly!

I’m sure it’s much more impressive than it looks. From what I remember of past parades, the costumes are enormous. That thing he’s pulling out of the truck is probably meant to be worn on the eyebrow. The rest of the costume usually arrives by helicopter.

I suppose I can understand why they’d want these creations protected behind fences this weekend, but I’m not sure if they’re legally allowed to call it Caribana unless everyone, including spectators, are jumping around. Seems like a fence would dampen that enthusiasm.

When I walked along Lakeshore Boulevard (the parade route) today, it felt a bit like I was in a penitentiary exercise yard. With the natural barrier of Lake Ontario on one side, and the gun-turret-like projections of the Direct Energy Centre on the other, winin’ and/or grinin’ just seems out of place.

Guess we’ll just have to see.

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I made my way to the Indy race track post-haste.

Maybe it was the lack of an umbrella, but this time when I was refused admittance to the track it seemed more gentle. More Canadian. The apologetic security guard actually went out of his way to suggest other less patrolled points of entry. I thanked him, fully intending to take his advice.

Unfortunately, the entire length of the CNE grounds was sealed with a tall, thin, awkward-to-climb fence. As a deterrent, it performed it’s duties admirably. I won’t bore you with the details of my Ninja-like maneuvers, but I managed to end up behind the main grandstand:

And after some deft footwork past a dozy security guard (unionized?), I waltzed onto the main track:

You’ll note a total absence of refuse. No candy wrappers, no cans, not even a butt.

The immaculate street was lined with stacked tires, probably the only thing that would even come close to trash. Even the ubiquitous caution tape that makes its way into every garbage heap was here neatly and purposefully attached to signage:

The drivers would probably just drive straight into the wall if that tape wasn’t there. Safety first!

As I went through the Princess Gates, I realized I had just returned to the real world; the world of War-ravaged streets where the 416/79 squadron tries to have it’s way with the innocent people of Toronto.

But unlike yesterday, today it was easy to be upbeat. Every time I looked up, it was as if the universe was trying to make me smile. Or in the case of glaring erections and innocent Torontonians and their cherries, a laugh:

Or maybe I’m just happy because I’m sleeping in tomorrow. Hard to say.

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The answer was “no” to all three questions. The closest I got to an insight was that “people would be scared if the elevator had a glass bottom.”

I wasn’t going to press the issue any further; he’s a Java developer, I’m a Flash developer, and our people don’t intermingle. It is forbidden.

He did have a point, though; glass bottoms and heights can be pretty freaky.

But not really. I mean, when you think about it, there’s not much chance you’ll be plummeting to your death via the see-through floor. Like Michael Jackson, the glass floor might look scary, but it’s based on the perception of dilapidation rather than the presence of any real danger. Mikey’s struts’ll hold a while longer.

This isn’t too far removed from the rides at Canada’s Wonderland. With modern materials, construction techniques, and ongoing maintenance, any real threat is pretty much eliminated. You’re safer being held in place by the padded lap bar of Behemoth than you are crossing the street.

The only ride at Wonderland with even a hint of real danger is the Mighty Canadian Minebuster, where the rickety wooden structure and ancient cars make for a potentially deadly experience. I believe the wheels briefly leave the track roughly three-quarters of the way through. Now that’s a ride!

Really, isn’t it infinitely more exciting to be on a ride where you can actually die?!

Traveling carnivals, the kind where prisoners on the lam or ex-cons accompany your children to steel cages for the expressed purpose of making them scream, have a huge advantage. The carnies themselves, aside from looking dangerous, have all sorts of thrilling diseases coursing through their veins. The rides they set up are equally shifty. You just can’t go wrong!

I’d be hideously remiss if I didn’t mention Toronto’s greatest carnie gathering, the Canadian National Exhibition. Sadly, the prima donna of unsafe roller coasters, the Flyer, was retired some years ago. But I’m heartened to hear that despite a ten-year absence in real accidents, the spirit of danger lives on. As if that wasn’t enough value for your money, the food at the Ex is likely to leave you clinging to life as well. Even the curbs are sharp and pointy!

I’m willing to bet that, with the weather improving daily, you’re going to find a ramshackle Ferris wheel in front of your local Walmart. I bet it’s not even going to be busy. So why waste money on skydiving or riding funny objects down ski hills when this option is so much cheaper?