Lately, every time I set out to visit some of my favourite concrete-edged green spots, something else comes up. I think it’s a trend.

As I was adding more stuff to TCLand (you haven’t been?! It’s that map icon at the top of the page; basically TCL on a map, current to mid-July 2009 as of this post), I was looking through the archives to see what happened in April last year. That’s when the number of posts jumped … lotsa stuff happening, it seems. I have every reason to believe that this year should be much the same. Although I don’t know if I can count on another Tamil protest happening.

Movie productions, though, probably yes.

They blocked off a section of Victoria at King to shoot a scene for The Thing. Once again Toronto was whored out as New York. Manhattan to be precise. Okay, I can understand not wanting to alienate the massive US market. And I guess it’s a compliment. But one day people will learn the truth about their idyllic New York. Then they can come to Toronto to see what it really looks like.

Thing or no, I did actually manage to hit a couple of in-town parkettes.

Berczy Park, unfortunately, wasn’t in full swing yet. The fountain was off and only the early-spring flowers were poking through the soil. I’ll have to re-visit. But the upshot is that the rear facade of the adjacent Flatiron building is mostly visible from the park.

I don’t think this is the most flowery park anyways. It’s just a wedge of land between Wellington and Front Streets and, if you ask me, the fountain makes it. Nice shady place to chill in the summer. Self-roasting is on tap at the Flatiron, as is beer, if the trees are starting to piss you off.

The realistic shadow beneath the curtain is accomplished by having it physically stand off the wall. I’m sure auto insurance rates have suffered because of it.

If that doesn’t grab you, the wildlife in the park seem especially intelligent — I spotted a small cluster of pigeons trying to operate a drinking fountain, with some success. Just watch your wallet, the squirrels look a bit shifty.

Another nearby park offers a slightly lower I.Q. but considerably more greenery and flowers. When they bud, of course. The park is what I can only describe as a cute Victorian garden stuck up again St. James Cathedral on King Street East. Unsurprisingly it’s called St. James Park.

This is the place to have your afternoon tea and crumpet. It’s ornate and just oozes colonial Britain, even down to the selection of flowers. The garden blooms for the whole summer (they rotate some flowers), and it’s a heady rush of perfume whenever you walk through the wrought-iron gates. Care to guess how old it is?

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a statuary, but in keeping with the character, there are a few statues scattered around the grounds. Like Berczy, it’s not a big park; I wouldn’t cram anything else in there.

The little shady hills are nice to blanket down on when it gets hot. You can either stare at the cathedral or a book. Or attractive passer-bys.

With the ornamentation, it’s a nice park to walk through in the winter too. You know, it’s got that Victorian Christmas feel to it. Not a quiet park by any means; traffic, streetcars, sirens, cathedral bells. But I don’t believe it could properly be called an urban park without those things, wouldn’t you agree?

Oh, and have you guessed how old the garden is? It’s only thirty years old. It is modelled on Victorian gardens but was added to the park in 1980. I don’t find it hard to pretend otherwise, though.

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This is the sad news I mentioned on Wednesday; you have this weekend to drop in and pay your last respects, because The Carlton shuffles off this mortal coil on Sunday.

*sniff*

I spent more than one Ferris-Bueller’s-Day-Off-like day off here sipping up weird foreign and off-beat movies after a downtown traipse and a nice meal, a wonderful dénouement to a well-skipped afternoon of high school. The last movie to warp my susceptible mind was David Lynch’s “Lost Highway”. It was typical Lynchian fare, all dark corners and creepy music, and I remember the fuzzy dismemberment scene being particularly poignant on that tiny projection screen.

I think, ultimately, this is the theatre’s downfall. As I recall, the screens are slightly larger than modern big-screen LCD TVs, each screening room holds maybe twenty people, and the experience includes the standard sticky floors and a mandatory interaction with someone else’s discarded gum beneath the arm rest; still minty by the smell on the fingertips.

It’s dingy.

Was dingy.

It was one of the most sophisticated things I could do as a newly carded teenager – sip an over-priced drink or two before a film. (you’re not allowed to call them “movies” there) The Carlton is one of the only theatres (or at least was the last time I was there), that has a bar.

Had a bar.

Strangely, I wasn’t very popular at my high school. Not unpopular either. Just wallpaper. But my sideline clique observations taught me that all things are transient so, in some small way, I always knew this was coming.

At one time The Carlton was a desecration of whatever stood in its place before it, much in the same way that people are bitching about what will come in its place now. It probably won’t continue to be a theatre anymore but the history will be subsumed into something new and different. Its been happening pretty regularly around the city, just up the street is an excellent example:

(big!)

It is sad to see the theatre go but, in retrospect, its demise was was spelled out well in advance. The market for interesting movies is still out there but it’s hard to justify plunking down increasingly hard-earned cash for that kind of environment; I have plenty of grungy filth to sit in front of at home, thanks.

The Invisible Hand wipes away anything that doesn’t measure up – I don’t even think that’s economics, just Darwinism. If it can justify its own existence, a building can withstand a wholesale razing of the neighbourhood and still come out swinging. Here’s a great example:

The Bell Lightbox might be looming ominously in the background, but Champs is holding it’s own. What can I tell you, it’s a contender; the demand for street meat has never been higher.

I’ll miss The Carlton, no doubt, but the few history classes I did attend informed me that change is often painful. With just about everything available digitally, in high-def, at home, the time for mediocre theatres has passed. It’s no longer enough just to provide a way for your patrons to intoxicate themselves, the theatre also needs to not suck.

I have no idea how teens spend their time cutting class these days, but I’m fairly certain it’s not at The Carlton. I was a heck of a geek during my own teen years and I found that the theatre only seemed to attract people of my own nerdy ilk; not a sustainable business model. I doubt that the alternative film market will dry up in Toronto, it’ll just have to consolidate.

Unfortunately for The Carlton, it’s too late to join in.

Rest now, sweet, sticky prince.

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I have my standards. It’s the finicky Canadian in me. Or maybe the obstinate Czech. If the Canadian government had higher standards, maybe they’d keep the likes of Winona Ryder out of Canada. They came out with a new guide for immigrants today, but I don’t see how it protects anyone from anything.

Here are the things I took away from this:

“Serving on a jury is a privilege”

I’m not sure that needs any comment.

“In the visual arts, Canada is historically perhaps best known for the Group of Seven…”

If that’s true then we really need to do something. Now!

“In our federal state, the federal government takes responsibility for…”

Whoa there! Who said anything about taking responsibility? The government takes no stand on this issue.

June 24 – Fête Nationale (Quebec)

Once again Quebecers get a perk that the rest of Canada doesn’t. On my tax money, no doubt!

“Saskatchewan, once known as the ‘breadbasket of the world’ and the ‘wheat province’…”

Yeah, Saskatchewan used to be something. What kind of message is that?

“’Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law.’ This phrase underlines the importance of religious traditions to Canadian society and the dignity and worth of the human person.”

Ooh, Zeus and the gang are not gonna be pleased about this one.

I think the problem with government publications is that they white-wash everything. The (we can safely assume) exorbitant budget probably had earmarked a proofreader for every individual sentence. Two for the God parts. What that guarantees is that, having used this booklet as preparation for citizenship, newcomers are not in any way prepared for the reality of Canadian life. This isn’t the land of milk and maple syrup they thought it was. Well, kind of. Good organic milk too. But it’s more expensive than they thought it was.

Really, I think the government is doing landed immigrants a disservice. They should be a little more honest, get a little more brutal, tell them how things really are. I’m hardly qualified to talk about Canada as a whole, but I’m at the senior kindergarten level in municipal affairs so at least I can offer up some samples from that. Here then are a few excerpts from my proposed Toronto Citizenship Test Preparation Booklet™. Answers are included; there’s really no way to cheat.

• Question: What is the role of the Toronto City Council?
• Answer: To take your money.

• Question: What services are accessible through Metro Hall?
• Answer: I don’t know. I’ve been standing in the same spot in line for hours!

• Question: Name one of Toronto’s excellent metropolitan or regional transit services.
• Answer: Haha! Trick question! None of them are excellent; fair at best.

• Bonus Question: Who or what has the right of way on most Canadian roads and streets?
• Bonus Answer: A taxi. Always. Even on the sidewalk, and especially through reds.

As above, each question in the test prep booklet would be accompanied by a photo or nice drawing of some sort. That way the student has something pleasant to look at while they pretend to study. For the test, the prospective citizen and the interviewer would shoot the shit in a local coffee shop. If the guy / gal can carry on an interesting conversation and shows no leaning toward homicidal tendencies, well, welcome to Toronto! What else do you want, a handshake from the Queen?

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They’re usually pretty courteous and … oh look! It’s Keanu Reeves!

Thanks, Keanu. You’re looking … well.

But Rebecca Miller, she’s too transfixed by someone’s scruffy locks to say hi to me:

Nice. Yes, that’s supposed to be sarcastic.

And Robin Wright also showed up but absolutely refused to be photographed in focus. You have to understand, if she’s gonna waste my time like that, I’ve got a toilet at home that needs scrubbing.

Besides, I was able to find real talent not too far away:

Note the blur on the guy’s foot with respect to objects behind, like moving vehicles. *fwoosh!*  Ball never touched the ground. Cool cool stuff.

Strangely, this guy and his partner weren’t busking. Next time I see them, I’m going to suggest that they should. It’d help to pay for their cleats and deodorant and whatnot. And that’s the other thing I want to talk to them about; what exactly did they mean when they said they were “practicing”? Sounds mysterious. Gives me something to follow up on tomorrow if Natalie Portman starts to annoy me.

Oh, as regards that real talent thing, I was referring to one of the three people I took time out of my busy schedule to see, not necessarily Robin Wright. I probably shouldn’t say his name or mention his gender. Let’s just say his name begins with “Kean” and ends width “eeves”. And it’s the only he in the group.

It’s Keanu Reeves.

I’m sure he’s a swell guy, but his acting often makes me long for unconsciousness.  His performance in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure set an insurmountable precedent, really. It was his breakthrough role; he shone like a real star for the very first time. That part was his.

Anyhow, I still managed a surly post today so Robin, Keanu, and Becky didn’t spoil everything. I just hope that the bigshots understand just how valuable my time is before it’s too late. I only have a finite amount of patience. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.

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“Who’s here tonight?”

*mumble* ” Sheen.”

“Martin Sheen? Really? I didn’t know he was supposed to come.”

“Yeah.”

“Haha! You can’t handle the truth!”

“What?”

“You know … from that movie?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

I was sceptical.

I’m not very good with names, but I was pretty certain that no *mumble* Sheen was involved with A Few Good Men. The shrug that I got along with “Oh. Yeah”, also made me think that Martin Sheen wouldn’t be showing up. But before I had a chance to ask anyone else, people started to arrive for the premiere.

First to stroll up the path  (guess the locals walk — or take the bus), were a few members of Toronto FC, the city’s red-scarf-donning professional soccer club:

With Jim Brennan (the team captain), and his cadre making an appearance, I figured the movie had something to do with soccer. Or football, as the majority British crowd was calling it. Those were also important clues

While I waited for the search of the evening’s screening schedule to load up on my mobile, I exchanged pleasantries with retired general and current mayor, David Miller:

Many people think that because of Miller’s handling of the War on Trash, he might be out of a job come the next municipal election. I was also disappointed that after a forty day strike, he ended up giving the unions everything they asked for.

Oh well.

Let’s ask these people what they think:

Never heard of Miller. Who struck who now?

But, as it turns out, the British couple had seen The Damned United (the movie being premiered), a full six months earlier. The gentleman confirmed that it was indeed a football pic about Brian Clough, the manager of the Leeds United football club. Mr. Clough’s part was was played by Michael Sheen, which explained the earlier confusion about the name. Except that I still had no idea who Michael Sheen was. But then … oh look! It’s Michael Sheen!

Riiiight!

He played the leader of the Lycans in Underworld and, more recently, British TV personality David Frost in Frost/Nixon. No relation to Martin Sheen.

I like to think that if I’m ever being held hostage and threatened with my life unless I can identify who this actor is, I’ll walk away safe and sound. Not sure what circumstances would lead me to be in such a situation, or why my captors would ask such a question, but at least I’ll be prepared.

Of course, I’ll still stand around future red carpet events like an ignorant potato. I could find out who’s coming, but unless my life’s in danger, what’s the point?

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So now that I’ve been a-gawkin’ for the first time I can say that there’s an awful lot of standing around and scratching your butt. The stars come in piece-meal, irregularly spaced, and they don’t stick around long. Out of of the hour or so that I stood there, maybe five or six TIFF SUVs rolled bearing someone or other. A Toyota Camry also made an appearance; no idea who that was. But still, you had to stay on your toes because … oh look! It’s Jennifer Connelly!

Then, whoosh! Inside. Didn’t even autograph my butt cheeks; isn’t that kinda rude? I used to have a crush on you, Jennifer! *sigh*

And then more waiting. I quickly lost my illusion that the event was being televised live or something because even the hosts did a lot of standing around:

I could see how there can be a lot of alcohol involved in the live broadcast industry. Later, when I saw the edited broadcast at YDS, some of the responses that the interviewers got made me wince. Calling Jennifer “smokin’ hot” in front of her husband seemed inappropriate. And a lot of the questions really missed anything substantial, like what she thought of her dresses in Creation, the Charles Darwin biopic she was cracking the seal on. Paul Bettany was asked about his inspiration, his thoughts on Origin of the Species, etc. The bunch watching the rebroadcast at YDS were less enthusiastic than even Jennifer seemed to be:

So the delayed feed isn’t a crowd pleaser. It is better to be there live. But YDS did fill up once the band came on:

That’s DJ Champion on the decks. You can hear for yourself what it sounded like: http://www.djchampion.net/

I’m a big fan of deep house, and I don’t snub my nose at other styles of house, but this just didn’t catch me. Sounds like it’s trying to be all things to all people, so it comes across as a bit of a dud. To me, anyway.

Aw, who cares. Plenty of options out there; the Dixie Chicks are coming!

Haha! Nah, just kidding. My inner snob is alive and well there. I’m sure there’ll be more stuff; hope doesn’t die with a twang. And the butt cheeks may yet have a signature on them.

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Anyhow, there it is. Guess I’ll just have to deal with it. Medication, maybe.

I don’t think I could ever tell you more about the festival than the actual website, but one of the things that does seem to be lacking is a useful celebrity list. The Toronto Star has a very complete list but much of the time I couldn’t put name to face.  I’m usually not great with names, more of a faces guy. Do you suffer from the same affliction? You may find this somewhat useful:

http://www.torontocitylife.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/TIFF-celeb-list.jpg

That took more than a few pee breaks, but — it’s complete! Or at least as complete as it’ll get. Some of the names were either a bit too obscure or their web presence wasn’t very strong. By that I mean that if I had to click more than once to find out who it was, it just wasn’t worth it. I don’t get paid by the click, you know!

I figured it could be used as an “Oh shit, is that who I think it is?” list.

Yep. Now you know it’s someone famous. You just don’t know who.

And who cares?! Take a picture, take one more … nnnnnn Run! Push everyone aside – grandma can go straight to hell – leap over hoods of cars – here’s my indicator, buddy!! — figure it all out later.

Get p-a-i-d!

Slick.

Well, maybe not so much for me. I know that the moment I’d go to run, I’d slip on something and come straight down on my chin and camera and all. One big flubby smash, digitally stored in a multitude of devices and angles, many of which would be capable of playing it all out in slo-mo. And the blood. Lots of it. People would panic, some guy in front of me would faint. I’d be a mess, bawling from the awfulness of it all. The celebrity now long gone having been whisked into a waiting car even as I was still coming down. Probably the scream. And the photographers — pissed. I’d just cost them the day’s wage.

So, yeah, I hope to be there.

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This could easily be mistaken as the final portrait of a vanquished foe. But it is, in fact, simply good timing. The canister was still smouldering when this shot was taken and the strikers were probably just on break (big surprise!). Okay, well, it was Sunday afternoon. But still — they’re the bad guys!

I sincerely hope I didn’t lead anyone down the wrong path. The War is still raging. Maybe it’s just that it’s become normal for us who live in it; run-of-the-mill; almost mundane. The stalwart tin soldiers along the sides of streets are all packed to capacity, but the sight has become so commonplace that it doesn’t seem worthwhile to mention anymore.

Not when there are more urgent, immediate needs in the rest of the city. Many shop attendants (at least the ones I’ve talked to), are reporting a severe shortage of sticky fly paper strips. A number stared at me as though they had no idea what I was talking about, like they didn’t understand English. That was probably the case. But no sticky paper for me and I could really use some.

Luckily the War is taking place in the middle of a (thus far) very pleasant summer, and all those fruit flies can go straight to hell as far as I’m concerned. There’s plenty to see and do outside while their minuscule corpses carpet my carpet:

Since I moved here just over a year ago, this popular film location (the house a few doors down), has hosted at least four major productions; the kind that close the street and have edgy, over-caffeinated set managers walking around wringing their bony hands making sure no one walks into their open shoot. Or maybe they’re really just praying for good lighting. Maybe death.

But no umbrella in the face! Just handsome cops with glowing complexions and a boom mic guy who will never be out of a job. Any man with the natural ability to scrub elephant anus will not be unemployed if he doesn’t want to be, that’s just facts:

I wasn’t able to find a single relevant mention for the movie “Copper” so this is either a super hush-hush film (in which case I’m committing treason right now), or it’s going direct to DVD.

Well, it’s been another terrifically real Monday but we got through it. Some, like the gentleman who with a partially severed foot was dragged for five clicks (about three miles) by a train, had it more real than others.  “Ouch!”, indeed, Sergeant Tim Burrows.

I feel it’s only right to ask…

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