There’s a western stretch of the delicate, crumbly Gardiner Expressway called The Bentway. To be more accurate, The Bentway is below the Gardiner and it’s about as aesthetically pleasing as can reasonably be expected.

Every year at this time there’s an event called the Bentway Block Party and since we’d never been, me and Sarah decided to mosey on down to check it out.

I imagined the entire length of the walk being occupied by barbecues, boom boxes, and beverages. Instead, everything was crammed into a small area just off Strachan Avenue.

There was a small stage and square performance area which, when we arrived, was being used for some sort of lame strut exhibition involving what seemed like randos from the crowd. I still don’t quite understand the MC’s directions to, “OWN THE CATWALK! BE THE CATWALK! EAT THE CATWALK! STOMP THE CATWALK!”

It was just a little too fierce for me, I guess.

I honestly don’t know what was happening there but it came across as some sort of weird debutante diva show. No one seemed happy to be walking around. Some may not have been conscious.

But the “entertainment” aside, when combined with the apparent lack of food, dearth of drink options, and an overall lack of expected block party accoutrements, the whole thing was monotonous and thoroughly underwhelming. I’m genuinely surprised that it attracted as many people as it did.

Possibly the most interesting part of the Bentway Block Party was that they had a RSVP link on their website that invited you to add all sorts of information in order to confirm your “free ticket”. I’m not sure how the collected information was used because there wasn’t even a hint of anyone checking “tickets”.

Would we go again next year? There’d have to be a pretty compelling reason, that’s all I can say.

There’s just not much money in it:

Scott and Maggie Cassella discussing equal opportunity sex toys:

Last year’s Luminato experience, at least for me, consisted of a giant red ball, a pricey half pint of beer, and a few moments with Disco Inferno. I didn’t quite know what to make of the festival then and, to be honest, I still don’t really have a handle on what it’s supposed to be.

On the one hand there are events such as live theatre, literature, and artsy staples such as painting and photography, but on the other hand many of the free family-friendly events would be difficult to classify as anything other than pure entertainment.

For a hardcore art experience, Nuit Blanche is a safer bet, and free outdoor entertainment can easily be found, well, just about anywhere during the summer. If you like meaty literature, it’s not tough to find, and getting your live action fix is easily doable too.

But for a festival that seems to be trying to be all things to all people, they do sometimes succeed in breaching the niche in a very satisfying way.

Last night, for example, Luminato had The Moist Towelettes throwing down on the main Yonge-Dundas stage as part of the J-Pop Divas thing.

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I was just on my way home last night when I overheard this heartwarming tune being performed at Yonge-Dundas Square (part of Luminato).

In lieu of good audio quality, here are the lyrics to the snippet I recorded:

…she’s a sex machine, yeah.
She just turned 18.
And she buys me methamphetamines.

That’s why I’m dumping you, biatch, that’s why I’m out the door.
Go on an close the dumpster cuz you’re still a skanky whore.

A skanky skanky skanky skanky whore.

You spend the night at truck stops,
and at the tattoo shops,
and it don’t make you an actress just because you’ve been on Cops.

And sure you finished college,
well whoop-di-frickin-doo,
If I blew all my teachers I’d finish college too.

That’s why I’m dumping you, bzatch,
that’s why I’m out the door,
She told me she’s your sister but you’re still a skanky whore.

She’s a little skanky too, but you’re a whole lot more,
You creepy, cranky, stinky, stanky,
skanky, skanky whore.

So now that we’ve had our first, proper winter cold, I’m starting to feel a little better. It was getting close to minus ten (14 Fahr.) this evening, but I had a good pace going and my bits were all looking like they wouldn’t be falling off. It helped that it wasn’t windy – the body can maintain a pretty good micro-climate around the skin as long as it’s not constantly being ripped away. The micro-climate, I mean. Well, the skin too, I suppose. Winter storms can be a bit rippy. It’s mostly the millions of tiny, razor-sharp ice shards being blasted against your skin at high velocity that does the trick. They momentarily melt as they slide (you have to imagine this in slo-mo), tiny rivulets of water running across your exposed cheek and, just before being lifted aloft again by the incessant wind, freezing; microscopic icicles suddenly snapping and being borne aloft in the frenzy of the beastly rush.

Except that didn’t happen tonight. I was just saying it could (and at some point will) happen.

But as everyone around here seems to be so keen on saying, that’s what a Toronto winter is. Bam! And you take your licks whether you drive, bike (hahaha!), walk, ride the rails, or none of the above. Everyone gets equally abused during the dark months. And the current one’s still getting darker. Ouch.

So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit less than enthusiastic about the Olympic torch passing through town. I mean, there are worse things to cheer for than people striving for physical limits, this I know, but I like watching televised events that take me to exotic locales, not another view of winter. Makes me feel like, you know, maybe I should be out there doing that too. A little cross-city skiing or something. There are many occasions when that’s actually not unreasonable, it all depends on the fickle snow. After all, it was ten years ago that MC Mayor Melly-Mel Noooooobody! Lastman (in hindsight, the most entertaining mayor of them all), called in the troops to help with the snow. That spring I shook my fist out the window as my plane took off for the east. Far east. For a while.

Now I have a new perspective :). But perspective doesn’t keep you warm. So standing around waiting for some dude with a flaming stick to run by … meh, I prefer to keep my fingers. But I did catch the rehearsals for the City Hall torch ceremony the day before. Ah, balmier times.

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So, let’s have a look at what we have here, shall we?

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First of all, ignore the percentages shown above. The -41% thing would suggest that, perhaps, they’re not entirely accurate.

So, out of 42 votes cast the highest percentage (21%), believed that Mondays should be illegal. A further 14% cast a disparaging glance at the rest of the week too — something about shooting the weekdays while we’re at it? Crazy gun-nutty Americans :) Most shocking, however, are the serious allegations of impropriety on the part of Mondays, with a whopping 17% of you (that’s nearly 1 in 5), reporting that Mondays have made unwanted sexual advances toward you. Only one vote was cast for the whole poll not making any sense, and I cast that one, so we can safely assume everyone understood the question. Except me.

But who cares? Isn’t that shocking?! I sure do hope the local media pick up this story.

My own experience with Monday is one of pain. I woke up today in some discomfort, having finally attended Dream in the Park.

The discomfort portion of the story, I’m ashamed to report, is one-hundred percent me.

They do recommend bringing a blanket, jacket, and bug repellant. I did not. To complicate matters further, I had biked to High Park, pushing it up that final bitch of a road like a real man:

Then walking the remaining half of the hill like a real tired man.

By the time I got to the top I had worked up a good, healthy sweat. As I may have mentioned before, the seating for Dream is literally on the ground. The stage is simply a wooden platform and the audience sits in an amphitheatre cut out of the hillside in front of it. Luckily, I did have something between me and the moist earth, but I hadn’t planned on the chill wind that swept down into the valley that night. If the play hadn’t been so engrossing, I would’ve picked up and left. But those assholes were so damn good that I ended up with a sore back!

Okay, so it’s Shakespeare. Yeah, it put me to sleep in high school too. English; borringest subject ever. The Tempest; *sticking finger down throat*. But people actually brought their kids to this!

I don’t want to sound like someone’s paying me to say this because, alas, I remain sponsorless, but this is really a show to see. With the Pay-What-You-Can pricing, it’s always affordable. You’re encouraged to bring snacks and anything you want to make yourself comfortable. And I can assure you that whatever your equivalent of the suggested $20  donation is, the feature-length show will be well worth it.

The beauty of this production is that it’s been taken back to its roots. No, not rag-adorned, unwashed, Elizabethan showmen; I’m talking about the people for whom Shakespeare wrote his works for. Unfortunately, the language isn’t quite as up-to-date as it once may have been, but the actors make up for this through their modern intonation, great acting, and physical improvisation. They really bring out the comedic, entertaining nature of the play. And even though they’re all speaking at a fair clip, the whole story is completely intelligible. It’s almost like you’re a filth-covered Shakespearean commoner out for a night on the mud.

I had never actually read The Tempest. I knew the gist of it; banished wizard-Duke Prospero, big storm, deserted island, yadda yadda; but never the nitty gritty. I’m fairly certain that the glaring Gilligan’s Island overtones present throughout the Dream version are not part of the original story, but it did help to set the context.

Prospero was replaced with Prospera (Karen Robinson), and Ariel (Audrey Dwyer) did a couple of Lion-King-inspired musical sequences, presumably to give the show a softer touch. Nothing over the top, mind you; old Willy’s work is still kept pretty much intact. Just enough to break up the slow parts. Worked for me.

The music and sound effects worked with the trees, bees, and birds around them rather than trying to fight it out. The crickets started to sound like cicadas after a while. You kind of got the feeling you were actually on Prospera’s island:

Yeah, I really liked it. A modernized classic that was genuinely entertaining. Can’t say any of that about any movie I’ve paid to see lately.

Okay, time for me to get back to the heating pad. Mondays …