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

As they set up to shoot the night scenes for “The Bridge” (a police biopic, I discovered), I took the opportunity of snapping a few photos of the outdoor set. This is the only one that didn’t feature one or another person’s ass:

Aside from the doily on top, I’m sure they chose this house because of its age.  It’s probably the oldest on the block, though there are numerous contenders for that honour in the neighbourhood.

My own apartment building is an old-style house not unlike the one pictured here, only wider (to accommodate ten apartments), and minus the personality.

It’s, let’s say, quaint. It feels warm and comfortable like my previous residence in rural Pickering in the same way that an old sock does. That smell of feet never really airs out and it’s drafty around the toes, but man it’s comfortable.

In the context of my neighbourhood, I think that my place is probably mid-range (price, size, etc.) A tall apartment building directly to the left of the “Bridge” house would be best described by the words “swollen” and “hovel”. If I were an upwardly-mobile young crack whore, I’d be setting my sights here. A little paint, some vacuuming, and that stank of bitter, life-ending self loathing comes right out.

But there are also places with “ROB THIS HOUSE” posted on every inch of the property; multi-million dollar reno jobs spilling over with gaudy fountains, ostentatious statuary, and semi-circular driveways on properties not more than eight meters (twenty-six feet) wide. They’re clearly just for show. Or clown cars.

Stuck between Casa di Rockbottom and the House of Betterthanyou are numerous alleys where the destitute make their home. Here, property boundaries are divided into areas for disposed bottle caps, areas for disposed Listerine bottles to which those caps belonged, and areas for inebriated homeless guys with sparklingly fresh breath who had recently consumed said bottles of Listerine.

I’m telling you, my neighbourhood’s a panoply of colour!

Unfortunately, the drafty window in my bedroom played a part in my decision to start looking for a new place. Well, that and the fact that the German superintendent is leaving soon. Who knew Germans could be so non-genocidal?

Now, I haven’t actually started looking so the ultimate decision about whether or not to move isn’t available. But I thought, if I’m out there looking through other peoples’ places; going through their medicine cabinets; stealing anything I may enjoy on my own shelves; why not take the readers of TCL along?

If you’re thinking of moving to urban Toronto or just enjoy descriptions of interesting smells, perhaps you may get something out of the series. It won’t be regular or anything, but I will try my damnedest to divulge the disturbing/kinky/amusing secrets of the places I visit.