How do you make the Toronto mayoral race interesting?

Well, I dunno if I have a definitive answer to that, but there’s a bunch of stuff you can do to prevent it from being less relevant.

I mean, the first televised debate earlier this week on local all-news CP24 was mangled pretty good. Judging by the reaction from the few remaining media outlets not owned by Rogers Communications, I wasn’t the only one underwhelmed by the ADD spectacle. This was made more acute by the fact CP24 is owned by Citytv which is owned by CTVglobemedia, a Rogers joint. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rogers already owns a controlling interest in Toronto City Life. Monopolistic issues aside, none of these organizations is exactly new to this type of thing, so their combined wisdom really should’ve produced something a bit more substantial.

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You know, dear reader, the most aggravating thing about this whole affair lately has been that it got me off kilter. Weren’t we talking about Regent Park or something? Dang.

Unfortunately that seems like a lifetime ago now. And, also unfortunately, I’ve recently very much enjoyed re-connecting with the city again (i.e. more frickin’ pictures). So I’m going to pull some academia out of my butt here and am calling this final installment a “photo essay”. Haha! Wicked. Whoever thought of that one gets a high-five from me!

This implies there will be no words. *snicker*

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The “trial by fire”, as my manager put it, continues. This is the eighth straight day of 12-hours-per-day, no-breaks keyboard bashing and code-slinging. Sheer exhaustion set in about two days ago. The deadline looms, I get it — I just better get a few days off after this is all over!

In the meantime, however, the small pocket of wit I had stored at the back of my brain was used up about four days ago. I hope you bear with me through this challenging time, dear reader. It’s hard enough to just string a sentence together let alone something coherent. At least there are some photos to fill in the gibberish!

Plus, thankfully, Regent Park has a history that I can regurgitate to pretend like I’m saying something meaningful :) For example, after a little digging around I learned that Regent Park was considered a slum in the heart of Cabbagetown well before it was destined for the projects. In other words, I don’t think the buildings necessarily made it what it is. But I don’t think they helped.

There, didn’t that sound meaningful? Haha … I can’t even tell anymore!

Anystars, the northern part of Regent Park was built in the early fifties, the southern nearly a decade later. Apparently the guy who designed the southern towers won an award. From the air, I guess, they’re nicely arranged. On the ground though, they just don’t seem terribly people-friendly.

Oh don’t get me wrong, the place has “fascinating history” written all over it, even if that history isn’t necessarily all happy. Why the heck else would I go there? I already have enough crack at home.

There are some unusual aspects to the place that give it a little more fat around the jowl; you know — character. It is, after all, easy to dismiss it as that place you avoid at night, but that’s way too simplistic.

The majority of Regent Park is composed of mostly poor Asian people who’ve been living there for decades, most of them with kids. The predominant ethnic group is Chinese. Which pretty much proves that the Chinese are troublemakers. But if you don’t buy that, it at least shows that the problems that Regent Park has aren’t necessarily caused by one group or another.

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Wow, I sure am being put through the paces these days. Big client. Big deadlines. No weekend :( Gonna be pounding the keyboard hard, so I’ll keep it brief and choppy. But luckily, that’s probably the best style to adopt for what’s coming up.

Also, I luckily managed to string that U of T series along for a bit, and even more luckily, the this week’s stuff is considerably less soppy: Regent Park!

It all started with a great documentary called Invisible City that I saw on TVO last Sunday.

In it I learned all sorts of interesting things, like Regent Park is Canada’s original housing project. And much like many of it’s American cousins, this one went south. You know, the usual stuff; drugs, violence, poverty, all mushed together in a gooey mess. There’s a northern part, made up of short and brutish red brick buildings facing each other antagonistically, and a southern part consisting of a cluster of tall, low-privacy, high-density apartments ringed by run-down townhouses.

What struck me as sad about the documentary, though, is that the two kids are already feeling a bit nostalgic for the place, both because of the course of their lives and, I suspect, because the neighbourhood’s being torn down. The new buildings being put up contain starter condos — around $200 Gs. That’s a very reasonable price for a downtown location and is a much more affordable starter loan. As shocking as this may sound, I think the city actually did something right there – it seems to make sense.

Unfortunately, it also means that Regent Park may be disappearing. I mean, it’ll be a while yet, but the revitalization is slated for completion around 2015. And, once again, bizarre as this may seem, I believe that the project is mostly on schedule. Weird, right? Maybe it’s because this is my homegirl’s ward.

In any event, shortly after watching the documentary I decided I had to see it for myself. I only had to walk a few blocks. I know! All this time and I’ve never been!

Well, I went, and I got a little panorama-happy. At least at the beginning — kept me in a natural three-sixty motion. Smart! But I relaxed eventually, though the place continued to be unpleasant. In the middle of February, not a place to bring your valentine. Well, maybe the right one ;)

Anyhow, the buildings may look a bit warped, but at least you’ll have context. But, because of so much context, I humbly request your patience when you click on the pics -– they’re loading, they’re just big. Now’s the time to get that refreshment you’ve been thinking about. Go ahead, it’s alright, that photo won’t go nowhere :)

Also, I’d recommend turning on full-screen mode (usually under the “View” menu at the top – or try hitting the F11 key). Stick your schnoz into the monitor to complete the effect. Finally, because the photos will probably take up more than your whole window, you should probably know how to get back here :D You have a few options:

1) Hit the ESC key. Works for me, probably will for you :)
2) Use the scroll bars, or the arrow keys, to scroll to the lower-right corner of the photo (down and right). Just below that is the close button.
3) Use the scroll bars, or the arrow keys, to scroll above or below the photo. Then just click anywhere on the blog.

And please enjoy your visit!

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…continued from part 1.

Regent Park is an original City of Toronto housing project. The projects of Toronto. I’d say there are similar areas in all the cities that make up the GTA. Scarborough has Malvern (did my teens around there). North York has Jane and Finch (played marbles around the corner). And downtown Toronto has Regent Park (a pleasant stroll of a block for me). Out of all of them, I’d have to say that Regent Park seems the most genteel.

The buildings are smaller, and these days the area’s more run-down than anything else. But at night, especially around some of the inner courtyards between the buildings, it can still be a pretty menacing place.

And that’s where King’s hero would find himself. I’m sure Stevie wouldn’t be able to resist throwing something schmaltzy into the plot … a basketball, rolling slowly out of the pitch shadows, slowly but with no sign of decelerating, as if being propelled by something other. And just before hitting the man’s foot, coming to a sickeningly sudden stop. He would back away as he gazed upwards, the slowly illuminating multitudes of windows in the buildings encircling him filled with horrible shapes, nausea and fear rising into a knot at the back of his throat, terror pulling his pupils into dense points straining to shield him from seeing what he was seeing … up there.

And now Kingie would wreck a perfectly good horror and have the hero’s dead son stand in one of the windows or some other such bullshit. Why?! Why can’t it just be a purely evil force facing well-adjusted individuals? The baggage gets in the way of the train, if you get my meaning.

I prefer my horror noir. Just a bunch of people get brutally massacred; don’t read too much into it. Sometimes, a shadowy villain is all there needs to be.

So after escaping that horror, King would take the poor sap back up through southern Cabbagetown only to be accosted by some huddled baddie in a toque.

At this point I’d turn off the movie and go to bed.

Great neighbourhood, is what I’m getting at. Full of contradictions, as I used to end my grade eight essays with. As with a lot of other neighbourhoods, the dividing boundary is literally the line down the street. On one side you buy your crack, on the other a hand-blown artisan glass pipe in which to smoke it. Cabbagetown, ironically, is named after cabbages, the only vegetable the dirt-poor Irish immigrants could manage to grow. Luckily they stopped leeching off society and we now have a vibrant and mostly Irish-free slice of old Toronto.

Haha! Just kidding. Those ruddy-haired bastards are swarming over Toronto like Black Death itself.

(It’s okay, I have Irish friends. :D Well, associates. Associate. And I enjoy Guinness. Plus Irish Cream flavoured anything. :D )

Anyhow, there you have it; Cabbagetown, up to the armpits in history and conveniently close. Good on cold days, über-quaint, and bordered by something evil. Actually, now that I think about it, that’s probably closer to a M. Night Shyamalamadingdong plot.

Sorry, but I’m just going to stop right there before it leads me down some road I’d rather not take. Can’t stand that guy. He’s not even scary!

Before I go, I just wanted to give a shout-out to CardSwap.ca who sent me a nice new year greeting and informed me they were also fellow Torontonians. Easy sell. The site is basically a way to buy and sell used (or new, I guess, whatever turns your crank), gift and discount cards. CardSwap guarantees delivery. This is clearly their time to shine so I’d like to wish them all the best.  I’m certainly not above gift cards myself.

“Your fingers aren’t frozen?”

I had to pause a moment to ponder the question. That’s the problem with brains on ice, they’re just not that quick. Mine especially.

“Almost!”

Was my ultra-witty reply to the beady-eyed parka as it and its occupant passed me on a southern Cabbagetown street corner.

I know, I’m ashamed. It’s why I prefer to write. When the mouth isn’t engaged, it goes a whole lot better. But, in my defence, it was pretty darn cold out there. Those from Yellowknife would probably be out there in their trunks bouncing around beach balls and carrying frozen drinks with little umbrellas, but –14 Celsius (6 Fahr.) is chilly for Toronto. I was double-panted, double-socked, scarved good and proper, hatted – you bet, gloved – oh yeah, ass cheeks – frozen as all get-out. And of course once the ass goes, the fingers are next.

So please allow me to present…

Wanderings of a Frozen Finger

Reflections on a freakin’ cold Cabbagetown

by Patrick

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CABBAGETOWN (haiku)

Cabbagetown is cold

Holy shit! It’s really cold!

Plus I hate haiku.

I … did not enjoy poetry at school much. Repress your words until you hurt, is poetry, to me. No thanks, I’m of the thousand words or more school. I prefer the lazy man’s thousand words, however.

Here are some people with their younguns seeking shelter from the awful cold, well-heeled natives striding past them confidently, callously, and a mischievous elf out on a smoke break. Also, some old lady standing at the corner about to risk her life. I’m pretty sure she’ll hardly be looking one way let alone both. Behind isn’t even on the radar, and the radar extends out to maybe half a meter anyway.

You’re thinking about her now, aren’t you? The old lady about to be potentially banged around by a car. But what can you do? I drove down here many times and when the old people jump out in front of you, you basically treat them like deer. Bust out the binoculars and start looking them over. If it freaks them out and they hustle off the road, great. It’s in everyone’s best interest. But unfortunately, you gotta wait for those old people to cross. I reserve that privilege for when I’m an old fart, so I feel I should live by the opposite side of that  understanding today. At about 65 or so, we earn the right step out into traffic at any point from anywhere. That’s just all there is to it.

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