http://toronto.ctv.ca/servlet/an/local/CTVNews/20110530/toronto-police-layoffs-possible-110530/20110530?hub=TorontoNewHome&utm_source=torontocitylife

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How do you make the Toronto mayoral race interesting?

Well, I dunno if I have a definitive answer to that, but there’s a bunch of stuff you can do to prevent it from being less relevant.

I mean, the first televised debate earlier this week on local all-news CP24 was mangled pretty good. Judging by the reaction from the few remaining media outlets not owned by Rogers Communications, I wasn’t the only one underwhelmed by the ADD spectacle. This was made more acute by the fact CP24 is owned by Citytv which is owned by CTVglobemedia, a Rogers joint. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rogers already owns a controlling interest in Toronto City Life. Monopolistic issues aside, none of these organizations is exactly new to this type of thing, so their combined wisdom really should’ve produced something a bit more substantial.

Really, my biggest issue with the thing was that out of the twenty-six candidates currently running, CP24 invited only the six they thought were most worthy.

Okay okay, I wouldn’t invite some of these people to a public internet chat room let alone a televised debate, but some of them are viable candidates who are simply being ignored. Take Wendell Brereton, for example; a well-spoken, intelligent Regent Park Pastor and former police officer with a solid platform and an enthusiasm for this city’s future.

Some people have suggested that candidates like Wendell weren’t invited to the CP24 debate because their chances of being elected are slim, this based on their level of experience in municipal politics. If that’s the case then could someone explain how Sarah Thomson got a seat at the table? Nothing against her personally; she’s also got some good ideas, a vibrant personality, and she handled herself well in the debate, but I’m sure Wendell would’ve done just as well. If it was a matter of having the token female candidate present to level things out, wouldn’t a token black candidate have been a good inclusion as well?

There were also suggestions that candidates like Mr. Brereton weren’t doing enough to reach out to media in order to make themselves visible. I know from my own research that some of the mayoral wannabes really don’t seem to want to be found. But in the case of Wendell, and I suspect a few other candidates besides, this isn’t the case.

Newstalk 1010’s resident loudmouth Jerry Agar, after watching the debate, invited Wendell onto his talk show where they touched on the topic.

Jerry: “People in the media, me being one of them, we get accused sometimes of ignoring the supposed other candidates. But I’m talking to you, you’re a Pastor, you’re a former police officer, you’ve got this idea of above-ground rail like they have in Chicago, of a visitor road toll that might affect the 905 [Greater Toronto Area] but not 416 [Metro Toronto], and these are the kinds of the issues that some reporters, some talk show hosts, might hook into, wanna talk about. How come I’ve never heard from you? I mean, in the end is it your fault I didn’t talk about you before I decided on my own to talk to other candidates?”

Wendell: “No, I’m gonna blame you.” [both laugh] “We put up our web site, I think we have…”

Jerry: “I don’t have control of web sites. Why haven’t you sent me a press release on these ideas?

Wendell: “We have! We press release weekly, I’ve actually called your station…”

Jerry: “But you haven’t contacted me.”

Wendell: “No I haven’t contacted you directly … we’ve tried. We’ve done our best, we’ve contacted media. We’ve reached out but unfortunately, news is news. People want things that are newsworthy, the media want things that they consider to be newsworthy, and for some reason they did not consider us to be newsworthy. But we kept pushing…”

Look, TCL’s political research department at the moment is me. Our newsgathering budget is whatever lint I have in my pocket. My investigative journalistic experience extends to a summer I spent at the Scarborough Mirror writing ad copy. Yet, little old Toronto City Life not only knew about Wendell Brereton well over a month ago, but I linked to his site and even watched his campaign video. So my question is, what the fuck is everyone else’s excuse? Sorry, Jerry … I love your station and your show, but that’s pathetic.

Aside from the fact that air time is allotted mostly to people hocking new movies, useless pet products, and other shit that is in no way news, CP24 and it’s parent stations suffer from a few other problems that were blatantly obvious during the debate.

To begin with, why CP24? Why choose a station where the debate is stuck into about a quarter of the screen (before any extra graphics are added to squeeze the real estate even more), surrounded by weather reports, stock market tickers (really? the majority of people really need this info?), and banner ads for junk removal services?

Citytv, CP24’s parent station, broadcasts full screen and is about as downtown Toronto as it gets. They seem unwilling, however, to preempt The Bachelor or whatever fluffy piece of crap they happen to be showing at that time.

Then there’s the format.

CP24 had Ben Mulroney on constant standby as they cut away from the debate for pointless commentary and insightless analysis with random passer-bys. Maybe they were thinking that with his dad being the former Prime Minister, Benny might be well-suited for the role. Except that he’s spent most of his broadcast career hosting award shows and waxing mundane on various Hollywood starlets’ pantiless excursions. And Benedict Martin Paul Mulroney is a snooze at that, kind of like a well-groomed rock — if he simply exists on camera, says nothing, does nothing, the show is about as exciting as otherwise.

The one redeeming quality about this whole thing is that it’s only the first of six televised debates, so they’ll have another five chances to get it right. You know, get hosts that at least seem to know something about municipal politics, maybe do a Google search to see if there are more than six candidates running, pretend like they’re professional news organizations — that kinda thing.

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After all, the word “novem” means new. Or nine, but that doesn’t make much sense so Newvember it is! I realize that it’s not exactly the month of visible renewal. It’s a month in which the last of the leaves reluctantly leave their perch in the branches to join their departed brethren below. It’s a time of year when I switch to the “Sentimental” category of my MP3 collection and consider taking up drinking hard liquor to match the ambiance. Yeah, it’s solo-sax-on-the-street time.

That leads me to the first change for which my friend Casie Stewart is responsible. She’s managed to land herself a gig with the social media people at MuchMusic/MTV/CTV.

So congratulations, Casie!

According to the words I put in her mouth, I will never have to stand outside another CTV-run event like a common schmuck. Imagine, backstage passes to the MMVAs! No more standing around naked in the bushes outside of parties anymore.

And that leads me to the second change around here; I’ve decided to try writing in the morning rather than at night. I’m hoping this will give the posts a bit more clarity, less of that slobbering grunting quality. Also, I was recently invited to participate in a Whisky tasting by a local ad firm, and that’s happening tonight. Even if I manage to soberly comport myself (I don’t see those chances being high), I’ll still be getting home too late to think of anything interesting to say about it. And being able to pull strings with Ms. Stewart will probably mean more evening events like this.

We’ll see how it goes. This is my first morning post and I haven’t passed out yet, so we’re in strange new territory. This might yet work out, but as I’m getting light-headed, I won’t push too hard. How do people get up in the mornings?!

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It didn’t pan out.

First off, I wouldn’t know fashion if it ran up to me, tugged at my sleeve, and called me dad. So most of the clothing stores and their slight, jaded attendants with aborted personalities, were out of the question. And any haircut I would plunk down three digits for (as if!), would be experimental. I don’t wear experimental well. I have a utilitarian, European head. It’s made for thinking, imbibing spirits, and spectacular love-making. Not for unusual hair styles.

But that’s okay. If I can’t spend my money on anything else, I can always buy a new MIDI controller of some kind that I’ll use, like, three times and then forget about.

I used to flip through the comics at Silver Snail regularly as a teen, but they don’t carry much of what I enjoy anymore. I keep tellin’ em there’s a market for it. They keep tellin’ me that what I want is “illegal” and “sick” and that they “never carried it” and “please stop masturbating”.  Hey, their loss.

I’ll happily take my business elsewhere.

I enjoy a genital piercing as much as the next guy, but I was pretty intent on getting that haircut. That’s the problem with Queen West though, isn’t it? There’s always something to distract you. If it’s not a novelty condom store or the exciting fall 2009 line of designer bongs and smoking accessories,  it’s street voodoo:

So, naturally, by the time I got to the old Citytv building, the first thing and the other thing (there were two, right?), had broken free of my skull and fled. Something about a hat and a vest?

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. Wish I could say the same for  poor Moses Znaimer.

Oh yeah, now I remember. Yeah. No way I’m getting a haircut now.

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The audience line waiting outside the Masonic Temple studio was  a curious mix of downtown sophistiques who had undoubtedly just come in straight from the Annex, a ragtag group of teenagers for whom adolescence seemed to be going especially painfully, and other assorted people who served mostly as organic wallpaper. There was some drama in the air above us as a flock of pigeons circled a hawk; I think he had encroached on their turf and shit was about to go down.

Unfortunately, they huddled us in and up the stairs to the second floor of the studio before I had a chance to see how it ended. I remembered being here before; with my sister and friends; when the walls were sweating and the Beastie Boys were discussing the importance of the individual freedom to celebrate and enjoy oneself. The Temple staff certainly got the stank out good since then.

The Qubit set was pretty neat; at the center was a very large sheet of of plastic or maybe polarized glass leaning diagonally like a big canopy over the main stage. From below, some kind of projector shone a moving image of a glassy 3D cube (the logo), onto the screen creating a pretty realistic hologram effect. I sat right in front of it and that shit was trippy. On camera, you can’t see the screen at all so the effect is even better.

You’d think they’d use this in some cool way, wouldn’t you? You know, have the contestants duke it out virtually with the dreaded cube in the final round or something. Unfortunately, no, the entire show takes place in front of the hologram screen which, though admittedly cool, seems a bit gimmicky.

Nothing about the show was explained to us except that we should clap — at a moderate level — whenever the contestants hit a “Wildside!”. Whatever that was. The whole thing had a slightly first-day-of-grade-1 tinge to it: we practiced clapping and then the audience host gave out pens and book bags to those who participated in his activities. The female half of the nice couple that sat beside me remarked that he was probably a comedian from Yuk Yuk’s. I think she was right. I didn’t realize they let those people out on the streets!

After a lot of movement, light checks, and swooshy sound effects, they finally brought out the three contestants: two men and a woman. The men were comprised of David, a stout gentleman with a British accent and regular make-up reapplications, and John, what Spud from the Trainspotting movie would have looked like had he not done so much smack. The lady’s name utterly escapes me but I remember her being short and unremarkable, so it’s just as well.

This being the first taping, I don’t think it’s surprising that there were a few glitches. The most outstanding one was when the entire hologram shut down and a singular “Unlicensed” floated above the contestants’ heads. I don’t think they downloaded the entire show off BitTorrent though because everything else in the studio seemed to work well.

The game isn’t based on a dazzling or particularly unique concept: contestants choose a prize amount which represents the difficulty of a question in a category. Think Jeopardy but with a cube instead of a board.  There are a couple of twists such as questions that can be made easier during timed rounds in exchange for penalties, but nothing to write home about. No full-contact anything here, that’s for sure.

Bob McDonald, angelically illuminated by a studio light over his seat at the back of the studio, was quizzed by the audience host (not the show’s host), to pass time during breaks. I’m fairly certain that the comedian completely failed to recognize who he was talking to. You can taste the sweet, tangy irony, can’t you? The studio host of a highly science-focused quiz show talking to the science guy of Toronto, maybe even of Canada, and he doesn’t know who he is. “Are you retired, sir?”, was the question he asked Bob.

I sure do hope Qubit does well and that I can sell my first-show ticket on eBay years from now at a considerable markup. The game could do well if they ratcheted up the volume a bit; have the host smoke some crack before the show; intercut the segments with softcore erotica; a pool filled with gelatin for the two-people round. I still think that 3D projector should be interactive somehow. Who’s to say all these concepts couldn’t be combined in some way?

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It really doesn’t matter which station you watch; CTV, City, Global, Omni; there’s an incredible coverup underfoot to hide the truth about the weather from the public. How in the world was this conspiracy allowed to happen?!

Need proof? Just think to the last time you watched the 11 o’clock news…

…but, sadly, the kitten couldn’t be saved.

Tragic story.

It certainly is, Anne. Now we switch over to Michael to tell us what the weather will be like tomorrow. Michael?

Thanks, Gord. I’ll be telling you all about the doozie of a weekend we’ll be having. But first, here’s Kathryn Humphreys with the sports, and I must say, Kathryn, you look like you’ve gained some muscle.

Sure have, Michael. But enough about me. The Leafs. Whole team: dead. Plane crash. More after the messages…

Yadda yadda. Buy stuff, etc. Back to the news…

…police are now looking for the fugitive infant. If you have any tips, call Crime Stoppers. Gord?

Thanks, Dwight. Boy, is it me or are they getting younger and younger?

Hard to understand. Now we go over to Michael with the weather. How’s our weekend shaping up, Michael?

Well, Anne. It was looking a bit dodgy around noon but from the data we’re receiving from our two-hundred-thousand weather stations around the GTA, I would revise my earlier estimate. Things are going to change drastically!

Uh oh! Sounds ominous, Michael. Or is it swinging to extreme good weather?

Well, Anne, now you know I can’t tell you at this moment otherwise I’d have to sneak into your bedroom while you sleep and place a single drop of poison on your lips via a suspended thread, being held by me, a vague shadow somewhere on your ceiling. That is, if I was even there at all. It’s not like I would leave any evidence behind. How about I tell you the full weather picture after the commercial?

Sounds good, Michael. Please join us after the commercial break as we unveil the weather forecast for your weekend.

I’m pretty sure I missed a couple of breaks and segments in there, but you get the idea.

When the weather finally comes, it’s an orgasmic explosion of weather facts. Michael tosses them to the camera benevolently. Ahhh. Now, at long last, we will know whether to hang on for one more weekend or just end it all on Friday.

Wow. Imagine the power in that guy’s groin. He’s probably the belle of the ball everywhere he goes. Women would go to great lengths just to spend one night with him and, perhaps, bring news of the following week’s weather back to their people.

How was this allowed to happen? The weather should be free for everyone! We should all have the right to know whether to wear galoshes or sandals to work tomorrow.

Or tune into the Weather network where they apologize out their ass for not having that shit in front of you, on a silver platter, every ten minutes.

Stone cold pimpin’