Some uniquely Canadian sentiments from recent anti-Ford protests at Nathan Phillips Square:

And the pièce de résistance:

Rob Ford’s failures are easy pickings; they’re numerous and obvious. But every once in awhile, he also registers a victory which would be incredibly disingenuous of me not to mention.

Like yesterday’s vote, for example.

That Council item, made a top “priority” by Rob Ford, centered around the food concessions in the currently-under-renovation Nathan Phillips Square. Up until recently, those consisted of chips, chocolate, and fizzy drinks offered while the skating rink had blades on it. The rest of the time, the place was shuttered and the only place to grab a bite was at one of the food trucks parked on Queen Street.

But yesterday, led by Ford, Council flipped on a previous decision to not allow a local food chain to move in, and essentially greenlighted Hero Burgers for the location.

I need to point out that I have nothing against Hero Burgers. After Big Smoke and Gourmet, Hero is easily my third choice for tasty burgers (within walking distance). So I don’t have any issues with another Hero location opening up in front of City Hall. But it is interesting to point out the context…

Rob Ford made fatty fast food a top priority and managed to shove it down the City’s throat in record time. His push for subways was, and continues to be, a dismal failure. His repeated “guarantees” to remove or reduce the Land Transfer Tax are a lesson in how not to get things done. His constant threats to sic “Ford Nation” on various politicians is more or less a joke. And so on.

But let’s give credit where it’s due: when it comes to accessibility to greasy foods, you can expect Rob’s full support, undivided attention, and unrelenting determination. Rob also works tirelessly in other areas, like helping homeless Torontonians with a few temporary beds — and by that I mean being the sole dissenting vote against the simple, humanitarian measure.

I was strolling by the south-west corner of Nathan Phillips Square a couple of weeks ago when I noticed something was conspicuously missing:

I recalled that on this very spot used to stand a podium dedicated to free speech. But was it just some weird mixed-up memory that was bubbling up to the surface?

I searched the web and discovered that I had, in fact, been correct. The podium was called Speakers’ Corner:

Yeah, that’s the one! It was a podium guarded over by the ghost of Winston Churchill, dedicated to free speech and public expression.

Except that now, it’s gone. All that’s left is a slab of concrete where it used to stand. And to be honest, I don’t remember the last time I’d seen it there anyways.

I visited City Hall and asked the information desk about its whereabouts.

At first they had no clue what I was talking about — a podium? Speakers’ Corner? Oh, wasn’t that at the old Citytv building further west on Queen Street?

Nope, I replied. It was in front of the old statue of Churchill.

Ask security, said the woman behind the desk. Maybe it’s been temporarily moved because of the construction.

Okay, I suppose (even though it wasn’t near the fence).

The guy at the security desk also had equally little idea of what I was talking about. He called the boss and was told that the podium can be found at the south-east end of the Square.

Umm, actually, I think it had been moved from there, I replied. And besides, it’s definitely not there. Not south-west either.

The security guy shrugged his shoulders and said he had no idea. But maybe I could call the City of Toronto information line?

Okay, I’ll do that.

3-1-1 … hello?

The guy on the other end responded courteously.

“Hi. Just a quick question for you…I’m looking to find out what happened to Speakers’ Corner. It was a dais at the south-west corner of Nathan Phillips Square where people could go to speak their mind.”

“Oh, well if you want information about Citytv…”

“No, no, not that Speakers’ Corner. I’m talking about the lectern that used to sit in front of the Winston Churchill statue at the south end of the square. It had a plaque on it that read that it was provided by the city for the people of Toronto. Dedicated to free speech.”

“Hmm, I’ve never heard of it. You should try to contact the City Hall staff…”

“Oh, I already did. I spoke to the receptionist as well as to security. Neither of them had even heard of it.”

*pause*

“Well, I suppose Marguerite Reid might know something about it. She’s the special events coordinator at City Hall.”

Special events? Didn’t seem like a special event. Still, I let the 311 guy connect me to her extension which landed me in her voice mail. It told me that she’ll be on vacation until the 13th of August, at which point I have no doubt that she’ll try to refer me to Citytv to discover what happened to their vaunted corner.

Essentially, the tiny section of City Hall set aside for citizens to voice their opinions and express their free speech disappeared, and no one noticed. In fact, few people even remember it.

Okay, yeah, it might not have gotten much use over the years that it had been there, but then again no one “uses” the statue of Churchill just behind where it stood either. Yet the statue remains while the podium, a symbol of citizen freedoms, was quietly removed. And yeah, it’s fair to say that it was mostly symbolic. In the same way, the Canadian flag is merely a symbol of the country, even if it doesn’t really do anything. It could just as easily be replaced with something like a twisted Swastika or a sickle and hammer. A few years down the road, would anyone even remember what Canada had been?

Jack Layton, former Toronto Councillor and deputy mayor (and most recently leader of the NDP), lying in state at City Hall on Friday night was surrounded by an outpouring of support.

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Sarah and I went to see Jack Layton on Friday evening as he lay in state at City Hall. The outpouring of support was impressive.

Wow. I have to be honest, dear reader, I wasn’t expecting the continuing vitriol that I received on Friday when I handed over my resignation. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be happy, but not that. I offered to come back as a contractor in the nicest way I could muster and was told, side-mouth, as jerkwad was walking away from me that “no, that won’t be happening”. I’m absolutely certain that that wasn’t a rational reaction, I think he’d already invested his whole heart into me becoming his personal, absolutely free, work-till-you-drop lap dog. I must’ve really hurt his feelings. :(

I guess you know the story by now, crazy project, crazy hours, and at the end they basically gave me the middle finger for even suggesting that I take some time off. I was “expected” to keep that up for another two months, minimum. After my probationary period, then, maybe, a few days off. What about the time off that the law allows for workers to rest so, you know, we don’t die and stuff? Those came off my vacation days. And again, wasn’t I lucky that they granted me such privileges – what an asshole I was for fucking them over like this. Overtime pay or lieu time?! HOW DARE I?!

When I think about it, I suppose thinking that they’d at least try to consider our plight was optimistic, but I’d hoped that by reminding them of their obligations as employers, under the law, they’d at least pacify me and send me on my way. But no, jerky to the very bitter end.

So I’m filing a complaint with the Ministry of Labour. It’s just not cool to treat people that way, legally or otherwise.

That’s me and a gentleman I met at the Human Rights complaints office. Turned out this wasn’t the office I wanted, they deal mostly with discrimination and everyone at my former employer is treated equally shabbily. I guess my complaint is common enough that the government now conducts most of its business online, so my trip was entirely unnecessary. But it was a nice day and I’d just quit the sweatshop (really, dictionary definition), so why the heck not?

The gentleman accompanying me had a compelling case – former manager in a well-known company, been there for a while, forced out by a higher-up who later turned out to be a bit of a scoundrel. The details certainly seemed to fit and sounded honest, and he claimed to have documented every step of the story. I don’t know if he’ll get the damages he’s asking for, but some of the lower sums he was tossing out (and that the lawyers had been suggesting), seem more likely. But I only know as much about the law as I need to, so that’s that analysis for you.

After our chat we strolled to nearby Nathan Phillips Square where the Paralympic torch relay was being held:

No idea what the point of this was supposed to be but I found it kind of funny that, apparently, you’re allowed to subdivide the flame – there was definitely more than one torch running the track:

I’m thinking that, should my funds start running low, maybe I’ll get into the Olympic flame racket. “No, honest, it came off the Olympic torch. You can even use it to start campfires – Olympic campfires! Think of how good those marshmallows’ll taste.”

In the meantime, though, I’m really averse to being an employee again. I mean, sometimes managers are just boobs, but sometimes they’re absolute tyrants. Either way, I have a really hard time buying what they’re selling. So, here I am on my first free Saturday since early February, jobless, nothing lined up and no feelers out (and no richer off for the experience, let me tell you!). I can honestly say I’ve never been in this position before. Bit scary. Also a bit exhilarating – I do pretty good work under pressure, implying I’ve got about month of layabout time before things start to get serious. But I tend to get antsy after about three days, so I don’t expect I’ll be pushing that envelope very much. Besides, my last fortune cookie said, “You will become an accomplished writer” (undoubtedly referring to TCL) – how can you argue with that?

There’s been more than one occasion when someone’s asked me, “Does anyone actually go to these things? Like, stand out there in the cold?” This is the most common response to my initial, “I’m going to (an outdoor winter event).”

I then typically follow up by popping open a browser (this is usually at work), hitting TCL, and showing them last year’s thing. “Wow, you’d never catch me out there freezing my ass off”, is typically the next statement. “Well, you keep warm by virtue of shared body heat. That’s what makes the evening so magical; improper touching”, I try to sell it. But that’s usually not enough. After revelations that there’s no booze and that the place is swarming with kids, the conversation just peters off into other subjects, “So … Toronto City Life … what is that, a government website?” “Yup.” “Not very interesting.” “Yeah.” ”Have lunch yet?” “Nope.”

People are too jaded. Perhaps because they’re hungry. The Cavalcade of Lights, with this year’s record lack of snow, didn’t really classify as a winter event, so all that hoopla about buttocks falling of in the cold were for naught. The kids were there, but you couldn’t hear them over the din of the show and any ones caught underfoot were pretty much fair game so that problem wasn’t overly daunting. I managed to get up to the front of the crowd with barely any resistance:

The alcohol prohibition thing is also a bit of a moot point. I was not once searched even though I carried a bag big enough to conceal a small keg. A mickey stolen away in a coat pocket would most certainly have gone unnoticed, or you could do as any self-respecting adult would and simply go already lubricated. Essentially, sobriety is for children, the infirm, and stupid people.

But I don’t want to get hung up on methods of smuggling drinks in because with the kind of cover you get in both the scenery and the crowd, you can pretty much set up a temporary shelter where you and your junkie friends can shoot up in complete privacy. Drinking? Please, the cops have bigger things to worry about. Like heroin addicts. Or those guys that sell all that light-up crap that the kids use once before it explodes toxically in the car on the way home. Domestic-quality Chinese products are always hit-and-miss:

The best way to avoid these shuckers of mens’ wallets is to simply avoid them. Look for the guys with the craziest head gear — dead giveaway — and beeline it in the other direction. If you have children with you, a) Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Hehe! Hahaha! *wipe tear* Oh man. Why would you do something like that? and b) Avert their gaze from crazy hat guy. If nothing else, at least save yourself some cash.

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