I started thinking a bit the other day, as I am wont to do sometimes. About why municipal politics catches my interest while, at the same time, I just couldn’t care less about anything beyond that.

I live in Ontario, but other than the way the provincial government’s been hosing the city lately, I don’t follow anything Queen’s Park. Federally, well, who’s our Prime Minister again? Some wet blanket, obviously.

So why do I care? Local politicians may be mouthier than their higher-ups but it’s still politics. Oh yeah, says the brain, there will undoubtedly be rallies and bullhorns and all sortsa shit to complement the summer. Eureka!

Instantly puts a smile on my face. Plus, apparently the local campaign is considerably longer (10 months), than any other level of government, so it tends to attract hardboiled characters. Everything about it just seems feistier, grittier. And I want to be perfectly clear; I definitely DON’T want anyone to be assassinated or even hurt, but wouldn’t an attempt be the coolest thing ever?

The hardboiled characters are in a constant state of flux, which is also a bonus. Back in early January there were 7 potential or confirmed candidates.  The one candidate I just knew would take a pummelling was, within a few months, blasted with a scandal. He shuffled off the stage in tears after delivering only half of his resignation speech (hardboiled characters only, Jammers).

The roster of current candidates has grown to 26, with an additional 6 having dropped out. I’ll try to keep it quick, but I suspect I’ll need to draw on it in the future, so this list may be a necessary evil. No particular order.

← Rocco Kusi Achampong; born in Ghana on Christmas day, 31-years-old, had the foresight to provide a profile photo on Wikimedia Commons.

→ Don Andrews; born Vilim Zlomislic, leader of the neo-Nazi Nationalist Party of Canada and unremitting racist.

← George Babula; no public profile, but let’s assume he’s born in Toronto. It would make sense considering George’s “Parkdale Party” is running mostly on a platform of nostalgia.

→ Andrew Barton;  I thought Jammers was young! I think Andrew is just doing this for a school project.

← Wendell Brereton; the inner city reverend needs to get a name that’s easier to spell. Excellent headwear and best campaign video yet.

→ Douglas Campbell; another old fuddy-duddy with no online presence, not even a photo. His legacy: “If you vote for a capitalist candidate, you’re voting to kill children.”

← Jaime Castillo; is this how they run things in Peru?! Every single thing on the web page (including the “new plan”) links to the 2003 campaign, now offline. You think you’d have your shit together this time around.

→ Mark Cidade; constantly changing hair style may leave voters anxious. Marxidad is a catchy moniker, and I also speak nerd, but is that enough to win an election?

← Keith Cole; right … fucking … on. If one thing’s sorely missing in municipal politics it’s drag queens. Most direct campaign slogan yet: “Get over it!”

→ Selwyn Firth; hides behind a carefully veiled wall of secrecy and factoids. Facebook profile nearly empty. His kind will take over humanity if not contained. Slogan: “Science should trump emotions.”

← Rob Ford; political heavyweight muscling his way onto Smitherman’s scene (see George Smitherman). He’s a contender. Media connections, dad’s political grease, his own largesse around City Hall – all these add serious weight to his campaign.

→ Baquie Ghazi; obvious name problem aside, why choose to email the platform to some random dude’s blog? If he’s not going to be serious about this…

← Howard Gomberg; how can you not love this guy? Stage experience ranks high on my mayoral skill set, as do improv skills. Keep watching this guy.

→ Monowar Hossain; can’t understand a word you’re saying, my friend! I think I picked up “ruling ideology” in there somewhere, and I appreciate you showing off your diploma, but this is not a great platform to run on.

← John Letonja; misspelling his own site name on his own site makes me dubious of John’s qualifications. But I’d still like to see us “build are own products and manufacture are own goods”.

→ Colin Magee: Tweets need work. That is all.

← Giorgio Mammoliti; did I say he looks like a gangster or what? Giorgio’s another politician who’s been around the block a few times and he’s well supported by “legitimate” business interests.

→ Joseph Pampena; I actually think Joseph’s idea of listing the city on the Toronto Stock Exchange is worth discussing. Let’s see if JP Public Relations Inc. (one client?) can get it out there.

← Joe Pantalone; this is the guy in the current mayor’s butt crack, the Deputy Mayor. I guess he’s pretty well qualified, but won’t everyone just step all over him once he’s mayor?

→ Rocco Rossi; sports a Smithermanesque (see George Smitherman) dome and pretends to be Italian, but lacks a red-meat rage. Lackadaisically high in the polls.

← George Smitherman; Furious George has an interesting back story, apt mix of social awareness, a “fuck you we’re getting it done” attitude, and occasionally resembles Lex Luthor. Front-runner and still my fave to win, even if I didn’t like him.

→ Mark State; resume says born in South Porcupine; okay, good start. Experience includes “Casual Worker”. Good.  And “NLP Practitioner”. Interesting. I wasn’t aware that NLP Practitioner was a profession but I’m sure it comes in handy. We’ll call you as soon as we’ve made our decision, Mark.

← Tom Sullivan; he’s busy disseminating his message far and wide. Just not anywhere I can find it. Apparently he exists, that’s all I can say at the moment.

→ Sarah Thomson; Sarah Thomson … Sarah Palin; the coincidences are hard to ignore. Although Mrs. Thomson comes across as carrying more in the attic, her hyper-businessy past doesn’t sit well with me.

← Rata Wadhwa; Rata continues to plug away at his campaign from a very low profile. His 2003 platform of legalized prostitution, pot, free condoms and Viagra, didn’t win him much initial support. Seven years later and his third time around, can this 55-year-old Charlie Chaplin impersonator give the other candidates a run for their money?

→ Sonny Yeung; Sonny describes himself as a “successfully nominated” candidate, probably owing to his “I won’t be an autocrat” left-wing and “I love deregulation” right-wing olive branches. However, Sonny seems unfocused, stating that his “aim is to offer thought and analysis of the whole campaign.” See, I thought it was to become mayor.

I think it’ll be good fun watching these hardboiled candidates crack. I gather that, for a number of them, the campaign is being run for ulterior motives, but for most of them it’s going to be a brutal, sweaty six months. Many won’t make it.

Maybe I’m stuck in my plebeian ways but this is my kind of politics.

What’s the shortest distance between two points?

“How would you answer that?”

What a good sport.

Katrina waited for me for probably, oh I dunno, forty-five minutes at a Starbucks location that repeatedly failed to register in my mind. Oh no, she said it quite clearly, it just seemed to ooze right out of my ear the moment I heard it.

I spent about thirty minutes waiting at a nearby location and then, after a brief phone conversation, hastily made my way to another completely incorrect one. Sheepishly, I repeated this process once more. Not that that helped any. I thought better of re-confirming at the third wrong coffee shop I’d hit, choosing instead to try my memory. It’d been a while.

But, as I mentioned, Katrina’s a good sport. I found her at the back of Starbucks with nary a sign that the effrontery she’d just been subjected to had affected her. Just a nice smile and a warm handshake.

Destiny: bitch or what?

“I flip-flop whether or not I believe in destiny. Some days it feels like there’s not and then other times it feels like it had to be destiny. [I lean toward] making your own destiny, I don’t think things just happen.”

I pulled out my little digital audio recorder and asked if she was okay with it. I had to hope she was, you know, given the track record up until then. Without that little wonderful device, I wouldn’t be able to write what you’re reading now. It’d be something more like: yeah, so I met this local artist name, urm, Cat — something. Except not spelled that way, I think. Oh yeah, and she’s a shaman.

But thanks to modern gadgetry, I can actually call myself a liar on the spot. “Katrina” would’ve been close, but the “Schaman” part is the family name, and pronounced shaw-mn besides. And I got the distinct impression that Katrina’s folks are most likely not practicing shamans either, despite all appearances.

Jesus Christ, overrated?

“I would have to say no, or my mother would murder me. I’ll say underrated.”

I’m referring to Katrina’s art, of course; it’s wholly organic in the same way that a peyote button is (though I think the word psychedelic doesn’t do the work  justice). Deeper into the conversation, Katrina explained to me how her consciousness intrudes onto the canvas in a way that can be disastrous.

“One decision can ruin the entire painting.” When the painting starts with a predefined form, she says, it runs the risk of becoming stale. But when it starts with some abstract swooping arcs, a more dynamic (yet oddly recognizable) image emerges naturally. And those are my words — “I start off abstract…”, are hers. “I used to take a piece of paper, draw exactly what I wanted to paint, and then I’d transfer that drawing onto the painting. It was almost like a paint-by-number at that point … it got really stressful.”

I studied design exactly 0 years. I mean, I’ve read some library books and pored over the pretty pictures, so I kinda feel I know what looks good, but I couldn’t tell you much more than that. But I was pretty sure that Katrina’s paintings weren’t done by an amateur, for whatever that’s worth. The lines are bold and sure, and it doesn’t feel like a square inch of canvas is wasted.

Fashion is for people who don’t know anything about technology. Discuss.

“I wouldn’t say that’s true. In certain ways, technology is fashion; or technology is the fashion for people who don’t like typical fashion.”

And I was right! Katrina had studied fine art at Queen’s. And in case you were thinking her some bohemian layabout with an education, I ask you to consider how readily she made a side journey to digital with Adobe Flash (I guess you already know how I feel about that), and web design – both pretty technically inclined. She’s also produced a number of other pieces, most notably a vibrant children’s book that incorporates her paintings as fills for the illustrations. I know she’s proud of it, but I think it’s fair to say that for Katrina, painting’s really where it’s at.

The choice of the acrylic medium is a mostly practical choice. As Katrina aptly explains, “I can paint a layer, go to the washroom , make a sandwich, come back, and it’s completely dry.” With oil, that wouldn’t be possible. Hard to argue with. And the size of the canvas, that’s mostly market-driven. She and I both agree that we’d rather have giant spectacles on our walls, but at a minimum of thirty-six hours at the canvas, smaller seems to be the going trend.

If you had a hammer, what would you do with it?

“I’d probably break all the junk in my house that I needed to throw out but that was too big to fit into the garbage chute.”

In retrospect I feel kinda funny about asking Katrina about her inspirations; it’s a little like asking who she’s trying to emulate. But luckily we never had to broach that subject as she gently walked around the who of the question: “Generally, if I see something that I like the colours of, or I’ll see something I like the composition of, I’ll try to work that into a painting.”

Yup, she came across a smart cookie. And even though I kept her waiting for that long, and despite running on only a few hours of sleep, she was a still a gracious question-answerer. And, again, take it for what it’s worth but I happen to think she has mad skillz.

A few of her pieces are exemplifying how living spaces could look at the Interior Design Show, and she also has a few tentative dates at various galleries around town (I’ll post details when I get ’em). But if you can’t make it or, like me, are surgically attached to your couch, there’s always Katrina’s web site. Even if you can’t quite see what she sees on the canvas, chances are good that you’ll enjoy what you’re looking at.

As I was walking home today, I spotted this placard being hung by a CUPE striker packing up for the night:

I’ll be honest, this is the first time I’ve been privy to any 416/79 propaganda. But I’m glad I saw it because it gives me an insight into the myopic condition of the enemy. Yeah, anyone who uses the word “comprehend” like this is a jerk.

Referring to the heroic General David Miller as simply “D. Miller” seems pretty derisive. But I suppose that’s to be expected. From a jerk.

What’s tough to swallow, however, is the absence of cause and effect in the 416/79 universe. It’s no secret that the chemicals being sprayed on garbage (the effect), are not terribly healthy. The city actually had to get an injunction against it’s own pesticide bylaws to be able to use them.  And then there’s the reason for their use in the first place (the currently picketing cause).

For the pragmatist in me, chemical warfare is a necessary but regrettable consequence of war that benefits no one. And while I applaud every inch that the city hall infantry gains on the battle field, the argument against prolonging the War is now all the more poignant.

Fresh reinforcements for our battle-weary combatants prove that the War in the city core can continue for some time:

And there you have it; when the going gets tough, Torontonians pick up after themselves. I never had a doubt. It’s just a shame that other local conflicts unrelated to the major War will continue to be eclipsed it.

For example, another city union, local 2003, is clashing with the mammoth Cadillac Fairview corporation. But in this case, the union’s been rotting by the curb since June 16th. I spoke briefly to the nice gentlemen in this photo and they seemed justifiably miffed that the corporation locked them out (that means the suits don’t wanna talk):

And now that I’ve undoubtedly aroused your interest in all things Canadian, I’m pleased as punch to announce that we’re sending our socialist coffee and doughnuts south of the border:

As a gesture to all my southern friends, here’s a little Tim Hortons cross-border dictionary to help you feel at ease with our oft strange lingo:

Timmies (n.): The official Canadian name of Tim Hortons
Tim Horton (pr. n.): A former Maple Leafs player who loved doughnuts and caffeine so much he started his own coffee and bake shop (hence the name, though strangely plural rather than possessive). He died of morbid obesity.
Doughnut (n.): The correct, Canadian spelling of donut. It’s a nut made of dough, not do.
Tim Bit (n.): The doughnut center. Brilliant marketing move by Timmies execs who knew classy Canadians naturally poo-poo the lowly “donut hole”.
Double-double (n.): The popular coffee poured over two creams (measured exactly), and two spoons of sugar. Not stirred (coffee-flavoured sugary goop at the bottom is a genuinely Canadian experience).
Triple-triple (n.): Well, shit, you’re already stuffing your gob with that Boston Cream.
Coffee (n.): A Double-double.
Espresso (n.): What?
Latté (n.): Down that hall and to the left but you might wanna knock first to make sure no one’s in there. Oh, and there’s extra toilet paper on the little table in front in case you need more.

And the most wonderful thing about Tim Hortons is that you can be assured that the Maple glaze doughnuts use 100% authentic Maple sugar. We’d know the difference ;D

The War rages on, Being Erica still makes no sense, yadda yadda.

I recognize that it’s been pretty monotonous around here lately, hasn’t it? It’s not like the combative strike by the 416/79 has paralyzed the city! Let’s see what else is happening around town.

–

And I’m back! Through the wonder of digital technology, I was able to perform the kind of modern miracle of science grandpa would have voided his bowels over: turn a hyphen into three hours.

I’d intended to head down to Ontario Place for the fireworks but in this day of have-nots, it seemed rather indulgent. That was just fine though because on my way I ran into a few interesting places like the Jazz Festival. Not so much a festival as an extended concert for really relaxed people:

I managed to sneak my slight frame behind one of the tent flaps to watch Brandi Disterheft pouring out a gentle “In my solitude”. Dave Brubeck was around somewhere too, just not where I was. In hindsight, I would have loved to cut a rug with Medeski Martin & Wood, but I won’t let regret rule my life. The if-onlys are the things that kill you: if only I’d heard of the festival sooner; if only I’d read the entertainment section more; if only I’d practiced safe sex and worn those damn shin guards. If only.

I wandered away from the square and bumped into my old buddy Steve Mann, hydraulophone guy and seemingly retired cyborg:

Steve is a hero; the only man who can get women all wet by touching his worm in public. I know it’s blue, but it’s better than the green one (yep, still down there – eww!)

Anyhow,  that subject is probably best left to sit in the sun and gather flies. Just as well because I was getting a bit weary of listening to Steve explain (for the third time) the inner workings of the instrument to two people (Mr. Whitey ensemble at the right + guest) who had asked the same question (verbatim) three times. No! The water doesn’t activate electronic actuators! What is wrong with you two?! He just told you it doesn’t! God!

I could actually taste the bitterness subside as I headed back home. I stopped at a lonely a la cart guy in front of Metro Hall to buy a lukewarm veggie samosa. At two bucks it was a greasy good deal, but not really much personality. That was a bit further uptown in front of Metropolitan where I found a bunch of chess players slapping clocks and talking trash:

One of them had a fist raised to the other, growling for “revenge!”. Perhaps jokingly, but I knew that full-contact Aussie rules chess was imminent. I got out of there fast, past overstuffed garbage bins and noticeable roadside litter, as fast as my little legs could carry me. What a night!

Maybe not in that exact order but … what a night!

index fingers out-apart-down-together-snap-sville. Dig?

I feel like I’ve discovered a bewitching new world right where my TV monitor used to be. In the same sense as car crashes or deformed kittens are so damn compelling, local access cable offers a dizzying variety of shows that make looking away impossible.

I just want to point out, right up front, that this is neither moaning, bitching, nor complaining. I watch enough dreck that tries to pass itself off as entertainment that, production values aside, local cable is a comparative gleaming jewel.

I mean, there’s absolutely no pretense here.  These folks know that their audience is extremely limited so their shows have a real laissez-faire atmosphere. During weekdays, some of these shows must skim dangerously low over the ratings plains. The effort matches the budget, matches the content, [unfairly] matches audience numbers.

Yet, despite these seeming obstacles, we find encapsulated in each frozen frame a vast, endless realm of entertainment. Kind of like a heavy acid trip.

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