Gotta say I was starting to lose faith in our new(ish) mayor, but it looks like he’s gonna come through after all. And he’ll even be dressed for the occasion!

That’s the spirit! I dunno if I’d have the courage to strut around with assless chaps and a hand betwixt the pillows, but good on Rob, eh?

We owe a debt of gratitude to Paula Corbett of Bad Bunny Puppets for convincing Rob to be a part of the parade. She and our risqué mayor will be hanging out in front of St. Lawrence Market’s north hall for the next couple of days and, of course, you can drop by her site to pay your respects for all her hard work too.

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At the same time, people are free not to be a part of this event. You don’t have to like gay people or the folks that come out to support them; that’s your right and I’m 100% behind you in support of that right. I’m certain that there are folks in the LGBT community that have equally close-minded opinions of the straights, or blacks, or women, etc. Whatever…we’re all a little prejudiced, racist, and otherwise bigoted, and while I don’t support those views, I support people’s rights to hold them and even express them.

If you’re not hurting, or advocating hurting anyone, or impinging on their rights or freedoms, I take no issue with you. In fact, I kinda wish there was a Straight Pride parade, and an International Men’s day, or a Caucasian Celebration Weekend, etc. None of these come from a place of hatred or jealousy as I’ve often heard implied, I’d just like to be celebrated for who I am instead of being reminded of some nebulous history that I’m associated with simply by my gender, sexual orientation, or colour of skin.

But Pride has never felt anything but welcoming to me, and I’ve never gotten the impression that it would be anything else to anyone else. And that includes our controversial mayor, Rob Ford.

Yeah, Rob doesn’t come across as someone who’d strut down Yonge in assless chaps, but as I’ve just finished explaining, there’s nothing wrong with that. Some might even say that’s a good thing. Even his comments lumping gay people with intravenous drug users and AIDS are, though dumb, mostly innocuous and somewhat representative of the 905 (that’s Toronto’s suburbs for those of you who don’t live here) — the people who voted him into office.

So what, exactly, is wrong with Rob choosing to go to his Huntsville cottage instead of attending Pride? Isn’t it his right, as mayor, to opt out of such events if he so chooses? And what about his family’s 30-year tradition of heading up north for the Canada Day weekend … why should he be expected to give that up for an event he clearly doesn’t support? Why, in fact, should he be supporting a “special-interest” group lest he be labelled a homophobe?

Okay, let me start with that last statement and explain, categorically, why he not only should be attending, but also why it’s hypocritical of him not to. Hopefully I’ll correct a few other fallacies while I’m at it.

First off, that homophobic label isn’t being assigned by the so-called “special-interest” groups that, apparently, have taken such vitriolic offense to the mayor’s snub of Pride. At least, not anything I’ve read or heard.

In fact, the only place I’ve heard the term being used is by people like Barbara Kay of the National Post who support his decision by implying that that’s what Pride supporters are saying about Ford. In other words, she’s claiming that the LGBT community is calling Ford a homophobe because he’s choosing not to attend, yet she’s the only one I’ve read actually using or even implying that term. Ford’s supporters are coming out and calling the Pride people intolerant, citing such unsubstantiated statements as fact, and then basing their arguments on these baseless and, I suspect untrue, statements.

See, when I make such broad proclamations about what a whole group of people think, I try to link to such statements … you know, back up my claims. So far, and as far as I can tell, the only people who have called Rob a homophobe are those supporting his decision not to go to Pride, and those same people are then using such statements to springboard all manner of baseless commentary. And I’ve seen Kay link to other statements, even in the article to which I refer, so I know she’s capable of it if she wants to. It’s Fox News style “reporting” which serves only to expose the bias of the author and her audience, not of the people to whom she refers.

Still, Rob has every right to avoid Pride. He also has every right to miss Caribana (erm, I mean, the Scotiabank Caribbean Festival), or The Taste of the Danforth, or for that matter any of the other nine or so major events that happen around the city every year. Yup, that’s all within his purview … he can choose to ignore all of these festivals, and it doesn’t even have to ideologically based as, I’m sure, is the case with Pride. In fact, Rob can just sit in his office, do the absolute bare-bones minimum expected of him as a mayor, and I’m sure the 905 crowd who voted him into office would be a-okay with that.

Thing is, these events are big money makers. Pride draws around a million people, and growing, every year. In 2014 and under Ford’s watch, Toronto will be hosting World Pride which promises to be even bigger, and in my estimation, the current event is nothing to sneeze at. The bottom line is the bottom line, and for a mayor who’s major platform during the election was money, money, money, you’d think he’d embrace this cash influx as something positive. He doesn’t need to walk down the street emblazoned with glitter and soaking sweaty bodies with squirt guns, but a show of support – even a simple written statement saying “enjoy the parade” – would demonstrate that he’s standing behind his own campaign pledges. Yeah, apparently this thing isn’t even worth a simple note that could be read in absentia saying “welcome to Toronto, have a fun time”.

Instead, he’s mulling ineffectual ideas like corporate sponsorship (and renaming) of our subway stations or cutting the City Hall snack budget, all the while nullifying these financial drops in the bucket with concessions to the suburbs, still clinging to 1950s notions that the car is king, highways and big houses are the bee’s knees, and the suburbs are where it’s at. His solutions exacerbate the city’s myriad problems, and the few solutions that could offer some relief, at least financially, are being rejected because Ford’s cottage takes precedence over his duties as mayor.

Yeah, but what about that family tradition? Why shouldn’t he get to spend time with his family and relax a bit?

Yeah … why shouldn’t he? Pride is 10 days long, not just one weekend (that’s the parade). Rob could easily attend something or other and still spend the whole Canada Day weekend guzzling beer and fishing. The trip back from Huntsville, which I’ve made numerous times, takes a few hours but is definitely do-able. He could even just say that he’ll come back to town and then miss the event because of “traffic” … totally believable and shows at least a modicum of effort. Or, failing that, offer the written message I’d mentioned, delivered by a representative who’ll be sticking around for the celebrations.

Even Rob’s brother, Doug, concedes that this isn’t the brightest move and said that he’d try to “twist” Rob’s arm to get him to attend, that’s how deep their family’s 30-year tradition runs. Regardless, as mayor of a city the size of Toronto, sometimes you have to break with tradition. Not that he’d have to.

To say that Rob isn’t doing this for ideological reasons is bullshit. Of course it is! But clearly Rob’s distaste for the gay community outweighs his ideology of gravy cutting and revenue making for the city. Yes, Rob Ford can dislike gay people and that doesn’t make him a homophobe — that’s his right. What people seem to be missing is that he also has a duty, as mayor, to support the city, not just when he likes it or when it doesn’t conflict with his leisure time, but for his entire term in office.

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On Monday I spent the day in bed throwing up and nursing what I can only assume must’ve been heat stroke. Much of today was about basic, sweaty survival. An honest-to-goodness heat wave has settled over the city and even parading around completely naked in front of my front windows isn’t helping. Thanks for the suggestion, Pride folks, but it’s not as liberating as I’ve been led to believe.

The weather people say that my flat should stop being an oven by the end of the week. I’m afraid that in the meantime, by leaving my computer on for too long, I’ll be taking the temperature of my living room too close to the point of combustion. Basically, it’s not terribly conducive to either writing or photography (though there’s still plenty left from the G20 protests!) Plus, I’m still trying to deal with my no-means-of-income situation; that continues to eat up precious blogging time.

In the meantime, here’s the 2010 Pride Parade from Sunday. It’s now officially the world’s largest gay/lesbian/trans/etc./etc. parade. It used to be just LGBT but they added so many letters to the acronym this year that I’m just not going to bother taking it any further (there’s even a “25″ in there somewhere!). If organizers can manage it, the world’s first international event will also be hosted here some time in the future. Sorry, Seattle. *snicker*

Not much else to say; it was hot, fun, and those Queers Against Israeli Apartheid people just couldn’t keep away, despite initially being banned. Not sure how their message changed between then and now to get them unbanned, but I’m sure we’ll be hearing more about that in the future.

Enough hot air, here’s the fun.

Continued in part 2…

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Consider this, for example:

Awww. You see Santa’s Workshop, a few rosy-cheeked, satisfied elves sitting outside with the happy labours of the year past, some cute houses topped with fluffy snow and powdered sugar. Merry Christmas, kids!

From another angle, this is Santa’s Sweatshop, miserly and terribly underdressed children cast outside their warm shelters in the middle of a cold Siberian winter, no doubt for under-producing for the “jolly old elf” (who’s probably enjoying himself a back-alley rub-and-tug somewhere in Bangkok). Merry freakin’ Christmas, kids.

At this point, some parents may say, “But I’ve taught my kids well. They’ll make the right choices.” I’ve no reason to doubt anyone’s parenting skills, but upbringing is no match for military-style indoctrination. Pretty soon your kid’s goose-stepping down University Avenue with the rest of his comrades:

Still not willing to co-operate? Let’s see how he feels after this:

No? I see; junior likes to play hardball, huh?

That’s right. If they don’t get him one way, it’ll be another. Do you really want your kid playing a tuba? What kind of a horrible parent are you to even consider that question?

And if you think that maybe some discipline might actually be good for your kid, take a moment to consider this: these groups are all about coercion, cohesion, group-think; discipline here is mostly founded on fear and mistrust. They don’t think twice about throwing a few members under the car to preserve the organization:

If, at this point, you still think that attending the parade with your children is acceptable, consider how the police will protect your kids once they’re “in the wild”:

Exactly, not at all. The cops stood there the entire time, not a care on their faces. Smiles, some of them. Instead of doing their jobs and clubbing / shooting / arresting people, they just stood around watching the procession like it was the eleven o’clock news. I think some of them were even drinking some sort of hot chocolate beverage. Drinking. On the job.

I did mention some of these displays were insidious, didn’t I? See if you can spot the hazard in the following scene:

Yes, university-aged girls are dangerous, but I’m talking about something more immediate. Imagine, the moment the pyramid goes up, the sweaty old men come out of the woodwork clutching their malodourous camera phones, flashing yellow smiles, and sporting all sorts of unpleasant stains on their sweatpants.

I’m sorry to have to get so graphic, but it’s important that parents everywhere be aware of what really goes down every year. This is simply no place for kids.

And finally, what about jolly old Saint Nick? What’s his ultimate role in all of this?

I don’t think any secret has ever been made of Santa Claus’ hyper-critical judgment of humanity: rewarding lists of people who fall within his insane definition of “nice”, monitoring those on the “naughty” lists for whom he reserves his own personal retribution. And heaven help you if you don’t accept one of his magnanimous “gifts” come Christmas.

Once again, I can’t stress enough how terribly inappropriate this event is for children. The numerous examples given in these two posts are, I think, sufficient to convey the imminent dangers you’d be placing your children under. Keep them away for all the right reasons.

Plus, they start to get irritatingly loud and underfoot after a couple of hours.

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To begin with, you have strange men winding their way through the audience snapping random pictures of children and posting them on only God-knows what website. That alone should be enough, but there’s much more to be wary of.

Consider the example set by  pre-pubescent delinquents who don’t think twice about defacing public property:

“Welcome Santa” must be kid code for “deliver crack cocaine here”. If only that were the worst of it. What happens when your child learns to steal cars? Driving without a license (and training) not only means a harsher jail sentence, it’s also extremely dangerous:

If you don’t believe me you can ask the cops. There were plenty of them along the parade route, handing out literature to educate the young about the dangers of falling in with the wrong crowd. Why they even allowed kids to attend is beyond me:

Those are just a few of the criminal influences that could befall your child at the Santa Claus Parade. Besides the dangers of running afoul of the law, kids also run the risk of mental / emotional trauma. Those who attended and have a fear of clowns are probably catatonic by now:

Reasonable people would think that inspiring terror on this scale would be enough. They’re just kids, for heaven’s sake! But no, parade organizers had to take it to twisted new heights:

As if fear weren’t enough, bringing children to the event means exposing them to all sorts of filth:

Every cunning device is used to ensure that no child escapes unscathed. For those with more active imaginations, a terrible portrait is carefully painted to resonate with their young minds. Imagine being held fast by a giant, blood-red beast who’s probably already feasted on your friends:

The parade of horrors continues with strange, nightmarish creatures that are neither beast nor man, but some ghoulish mixture of both:

Unfortunately I’ve run out of space in this post, but sufficed to say that the hazards lurking about the Santa Claus parade are many, some much more insidious than what’s shown here. I’ll continue with these tomorrow but if you have a kid or two and are considering a similar event in your home town, I urge you to reconsider. Attending is a first-class ticket to a shattered future. Won’t you please think of the children?

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Every year they keep demanding brains (like that’s gonna happen!) and better severance.

One of the things that shocked me about the whole thing was how punctual the zombies were. These days I’ve come to expect events starting thirty minutes to an hour late. But on Saturday, the undead were off and moving at 3:30 sharp.

Also shocking is the size of the demonstration, not to mention the aggressiveness of the group:

I only escaped unharmed because of one amazing fact. That I will share with you tomorrow. You see, the march was so prolific, I simply have no choice but to milk it for two whole posts. Besides, some of the zombies put so much effort into the event, I feel it’s only fair to give them a little air time:

One guess as to what this fellow was demonstrating for. Yup, brains. I don’t get it, are they that tasty?

They probably have no idea what they really want. I mean, they pick their leader based on who’s got an extra appendage:

What I found particularly interesting was that while zombies don’t have the wherewithal or the sense to eat infants in a civilized manner, they nonetheless possess the forethought to pack an umbrella for the impending rain:

You may be thinking that I escaped this terrible occasion because of the security forces attending the route. Haha! Wow, you’re so wrong. The security forces were useless. When they managed to hit their targets, it wasn’t in the head, so the zombies just got back up and kept on going. In fact, I don’t think the personnel were shooting anything by the number of zombies they managed to kill: zero!

Perched snipers seemed to have the same problem, and many of the security weren’t even armed. And the posts they gave them to guard … who thought of that?!

This guy managed to stand his ground for a little while. He beat down the first zombie that managed to climb up and then, wisely, decided to ditch his post:

He jumped into a nearby dumpster which proved to be even less effective in protecting against zombies. And they want his brains?

In the end he managed to rip free from their clutches and beat a hasty retreat around the corner of the building yelling, “28 days later!”

And then, the few civvies left were alone in a sea of zombies. We pushed through the crowd with whatever we could. Just when I thought I’d run out of compatriots to shove into the straining arms of the hordes, I discovered something incredible.

Tomorrow, the amazing tale of how I managed to preserve my voluminous brain; the secret to keeping zombies off you. You’re not gonna wanna miss it!

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Those tall fences along the Caribana parade route were a good idea. Unfortunately (for the people in the parade), the fencing only ran down one side of the road, and only for half the distance. That left three-quarters of the roughly one kilometer route (a little over half a mile), open and easily accessible. Once people started climbing the barriers and walking along it, the procession slowed to a crawl.

Despite the crush of people, almost everyone was wearing a grin and either dancing or chowing down on the food that lined the route. It was pretty hard not to have a good time; my rump also shook rhythmically. The sound systems didn’t hurt either; to say that they mashed up the placed would be a bit of an understatement. I still have a collapsed lung!

Awesome.

Today is Simcoe Day and I’ve yet to set foot outside so I’ll let the photos take over from here on in. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those Wordless Weekday things, just capping off the holiday with bit of a break.

Enjoy!

(And be patient; the post takes a while to load)

Oh, and there’s a part 2, too.

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I highly recommend grabbing a coffee or a Red Stripe before you continue. The photos go on as long as the parade did.

Great parade, but maybe next year a helicopter might be a better way to get around; I don’t think it’s getting any less popular.

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This time we have a website and a comfortable patch of grass. I would applaud this effort, I really would. But I actually started to read the web page:

“We want to re-examine public space and to create work which explores our relationship with the space we inhabit. We wish to de-center and disrupt the accepted n…”

*snore*

*snore*

Wuzzuh?!

*wipe drool*

I don’t know what that site meant but I’ve reprimanded my netbook for showing it to me. I’m sorely tempted to put my programming skills to use in creating a tedious content filter of some sort. When it would detect a web page that fell below the customizable tedium level, the browser would warn you with a gentle weeping sound lest you waste a moment of your valuable life. Also, a shudder if your hardware is equipped for it.

Meh. I’d rather be outside anyway. It’s hard to be bored, especially with Caribana just around the corner. And the rampant crime that goes with it:

That’ll go up to twenty bucks on the weekend. Bumbaclot!

Lamport Stadium is where the Caribana judging takes place, and if memory serves, they have about one-hundred million-billion floats and get-ups to evaluate. It’s a lot, whatever the precise number is.

When it comes to parade costumes, people go certifiably insane. They seal themselves up in darkened workshops for months on end, devoid of any human contact. There, they toil away, metamorphosing wire, fabric, and sequins into wings, antennae, and gaudy headdresses.

Finally, after many months and a third refinancing of the house, they emerge.

As a beautiful, gargantuan butterfly!

I’m sure it’s much more impressive than it looks. From what I remember of past parades, the costumes are enormous. That thing he’s pulling out of the truck is probably meant to be worn on the eyebrow. The rest of the costume usually arrives by helicopter.

I suppose I can understand why they’d want these creations protected behind fences this weekend, but I’m not sure if they’re legally allowed to call it Caribana unless everyone, including spectators, are jumping around. Seems like a fence would dampen that enthusiasm.

When I walked along Lakeshore Boulevard (the parade route) today, it felt a bit like I was in a penitentiary exercise yard. With the natural barrier of Lake Ontario on one side, and the gun-turret-like projections of the Direct Energy Centre on the other, winin’ and/or grinin’ just seems out of place.

Guess we’ll just have to see.

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Take the detention camp down the street; I pass that pile of trash bags regularly to watch their behaviour in daily life and I have to be honest, they don’t seem that aggressive.

Actually, they seem downright lethargic. Engaged in a game of pickup, most of them just flop over each other like dirty hippies:

No wonder they’re so out of shape!

As the War gets more complex and information becomes muddled, I’m starting to wonder how much of a threat they really are. Maybe they’re just puppets of the 416/79 light infantry. Mushy, stinky puppets.

I wonder if they feel loss the same way we do, if they express their grief and sorrow just like us:

(yup, more Pride stuff)

Where was I going with this again? Oh yeah; grief and sorrow just like us. I wonder if they love and hate like we do, raise children, grow old, have to keep putting up with incessant TV shoots in their neighbourhoods:

I’ll admit it; I’m confused.

Who’s Being Erica, and why is she in the middle of my War reportage? Maybe after the War correspondence desk gets some shut eye will it make more sense. Maybe after some sleep will the War correspondence desk will stop referring to himself as a desk in the third person.

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Pride two-oh-nine. Despite the overcast, it was a blast. People of all sorts showed up, from the surprisingly foreign to the surprisingly naked:

Wow! Bet you didn’t expect that with your Sunday croissant! But it wasn’t all fun and free-swingin’ frolic. General Miller scurried through the crowd seeking out insurgents and taking them out with his bare hands:

The man in the middle of the group conducting himself surreptitiously is Adam Vaughan. He’s not been too popular with the electorate lately; maybe that’s why he’s hanging out with my girl. Too bad being awesome doesn’t rub off as easily as body glitter.

I imagined the boisterous procession would be a wonderful morale booster and I think the crowd supported that idea. Everyone screamed as loudly as they could at every opportunity, trampling trash underfoot to demonstrate their spirit of solidarity and resoluteness. The throng was composed of every age, every colour, every race, every gender, and many in between:

(this is Olive Mee)

As you may recall, I had eagerly anticipated the military portion of the parade. Keeping in mind that the two Canadian tanks we have are off fighting the War, I was pleasantly surprised to see almost the entire remaining fighting force winding its way down Yonge street:

As the parade wound down and out onto Gerrard (yeah, it’s that kind of street), the crowd dispersed in every direction creating that hilarious people-wedged-in-the-doorway moment. On a much bigger scale. It wasn’t funny being part of it though. The trash underfoot was making all sorts of ridiculous noises and everybody wanted to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to make a phone call. The only people to escape the crush were the people hanging off the sides of buildings:

How’s that for not liking trash? They don’t even want to be on the same level as it!

True patriots.

At the end of the day I was filled with renewed pride (so that’s why they call it that!), renewed hope, and renewed vision. And the streets are neater today than they were yesterday! Well done. Well done.

I even got a little naked.

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The first step was to set up detention centres for asylum seekers; the city has no doubt that we’ll be seeing many defectors from the other side. I was skeptical but hardly had they opened the gates than the first truckload was brought in.

Despite looking exactly like the deathly piles of trash we’ve been witness to, this lively group made a conscious decision to abandon their ranks:

Of course, this skill for mimicry makes them that much more dangerous. I remain skeptical.

General Miller is offering an olive branch; let’s see what happens. But just in case:

The building in the back is the Moss Park Armoury; no coincidence. I don’t mean to say that I’m a fan of herding bags into steel cages with guns pointed at them, but I’m also a pragmatist. I hope for the best but know that this is all likely necessary.

The short distance to my flat is unnerving, but I suppose nowhere in this town is safe. Even the front lawn is  a short distance from becoming a pedestrian parade of obscenities:

That’s what war does to people; make them write using words like “pedestrian” and “obscenities”. And “parade”. What a price.

Actually kinda sounds like Pride. Words too. I expect to see a few military men there. Certainly uniforms of some kind. And it’ll be one of the few areas that’ll be trash-free thanks to a private security firm. Gaydar towers scanning continuously on all frequencies, water bottle and condom distribution duty; some among them will make the ultimate sacrifice and go commando*.

These are the unsung heroes of the war. Maybe I’ll have the honour of telling their tales one day.

* I had a spin-off with G-String Joe and COBRA but it just started getting out of hand. Sorry.

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