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There are a few other things about Honest Ed’s that I find mirrored in Toronto. Probably the most prominent is a fairly deep-rooted sense of history. Okay, I know, it’s no European or Asian history, but it’s a minor miracle that some of this stuff has survived over a hundred years. Some more than that. The weather’s not kind to any structure — frozen water in cracks can split boulders — so I find it kind of impressive that one of the gargoyles on Old City Hall hasn’t crushed anyone yet. Honest Ed’s wears its age in the same way — proud and stalwart.

And I know I’ve mentioned it before, but I think it’s fantastic how many new buildings are being constructed on, outside, or inside new structures. There’s no point in keeping a rotting building standing, but that doesn’t mean something can’t be salvaged. And parking lots, raze and raise anew, that’s a no-brainer. In fact, a well-planned building can significantly increase public parking simply through increased vertical space. Assuming you’d need to drive.

I actually laughed when I read through the whole article in the next photo. I included it extra-large so that you can read it for yourself, dear reader. I hope — I didn’t want to make it too big. The gist of it is, why can’t the queen do something more interesting while she’s in Canada. Among the suggestions of gently ageing attractions is, of course, Honest Ed’s. Honest Ed’s is, in fact, mentioned exactly twice: once in the headline, and once in very much the same phrasing, context, and spirit as the headline, at the bottom of the first paragraph.

It’s as pawing and inoffensive (i.e. saying as little as possible), as cheese gets, kinda like Céline Dion (on behalf of all Canadians, I’m deeply sorry). Yet, despite the awful awful writing and pointless drivel (Gary Lautens’ way of saying “I just don’t care anymore”), Ed decided to blow it up, frame it, and stick it front-and-center on his store. It doesn’t say Honest Ed’s is a cheap-hound’s humping leg (note: *woof!*). Nor does it it insinuate that Ed Mirvish may have been unbelievably high on LSD for most of his adult life (note: I’m willing to start this rumour if you are – I think it’ll fly).

In fact, nothing provocative is said about the store at all except that, on average, the writer thinks you’ll spend about half an hour there. And I dunno about you but that provokes nothing in me. Maybe, yeah, I guess I spend half an hour in there? Maybe more? Ooh, sizzling controversy!

And this, writing about a guy who really didn’t keep much in.

What I find both funny and revealing about this is that the strangest people get a voice in this city. Sometimes we call these people special-interest groups – which they obviously are – or loud kooks, or in this case I can’t help but get the feeling that Ed and Gary were chums.

So it’s kind of nice that I can wander on down to the corner and start screaming whatever I damn well please. Or pretty much. Also, even though I most certainly reserve the unmitigated right to continue to be arbitrarily critical, I do like the fact that  ridiculous stuff is getting a hearing. In fact, it almost forces a reply!

Same goes for scandal. Okay, I won’t defend it – of course not; but the fact that we’re hearing about it means that it’s getting uncovered. And sometimes TCL benefits.

Okay, I know that the connection between this version of things and Honest Ed’s is a bit tenuous. But nonetheless true – I saw things differently that day. I’ve considered the possibility that it was just because I’d recently accepted a new job, or because I happened to be a little pickled, and I’ll cede that both are likely to have played a large role. But something stayed with me even to this day. Ed took me to school  (from beyond the grave!)

Really decent prices too.

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The reason that Honest Ed’s is kid-safe is because of all the nooks and crannies that the little hellions can occupy themselves in. The place is chock-a-block with weird props from all the retired Mirvish shows, plus a bunch of other stuff that Ed collected over the years. Most of it just lying around. At one moment you’re staring into a fun-house mirror, the next you’re enjoying the thrilling rape of Persephone by Hades (bringing us joyous winter every year). Right next to the dirt-cheap sweat pants.

The valuable stuff is all cordoned off with lazily hung caution tape; basically a wishful suggestion. And if you wander around long enough, you get into parts of the store where even the yellow tape is absent. Maybe the stuff is for sale, but he price seems a bit steep for most of Honest Ed’s regulars.

I don’t want to give anyone any ideas but … c’mon! Isn’t this just asking to be robbed?! What kind of an effort would you have to make? Even if you wanted to play Mission Impossible, that ceiling wouldn’t really pose much of a challenge, would it? It would be a really uneventful mission, totally possible. You’d be sorry you bought all that fancy equipment; probably coulda just waltzed in off the street and strolled back out with a 19th century Thai shrine and a few reasonably-priced stainless steel pots.

Some of the stuff, yeah, I understand … owner’s name all over, so that wouldn’t pawn well:

But that’s all beside the point. I believe I was originally on about epiphanies, and why I think Ed’s set them into motion. I think it started when I started to notice some of the really big names that Ed and his wife had shaken hands with (that’s the Queen of England in that little black-and-white), had dinner with, or had perform for them. Sometimes all three. Perhaps even took it a bit farther. Hey! Just speculating! No facts here! No facts!

It occurred to me that Ed achieved all of this through a whole bunch of little steps (plus hard work and yadda yadda). But the fact that Ed managed to keep up that cheesy showmanship throughout these years, that makes the place something special, if you ask me. (The lighting even changes from room to room — exciting!)

It’s kind of an extension of who Ed was. The fact that he bought up theatres and liked to put on shows, that seems perfectly natural to me. His choice of shows, also 100% true to Honest Ed’s heart, don’t you think? Currently, Mirvish Productions is putting on Rock of Ages (maybe stick “’n Roll” in there as a qualifier and the title is no more complicated than that), and Little House on the Prairie, The Musical (featuring Melissa Gilbert in typecast hell). Total Mirvish.

But that was Ed; he put it out there, he put it out there hard, and in the end he exploded all over. He wasn’t ashamed of his limitations – all he knew was that he was pretty good at getting people’s attention, so he rode that talent into history. I don’t know what else he tried to do with his life, but I’m glad he didn’t succeed.

And in the same way, I’m glad that Toronto, for one reason or another, hasn’t become a cookie-cutter copy of other major cities. Well, some sections try to be, but they feel artificial. Spots like Yonge-Dundas Square were manufactured, which makes them feel like they’re trying too hard, and judging by the tough economic times some of the surrounding businesses have had (before last year’s ongoing economic crisis began), that seems to be a shared sentiment. Not that the place won’t get some character in a decade or two, but it needs to see some history first.

But I don’t want to seem like I’m ignorant of the many problems that the city has. It’s just … I see them all in a completely different light after visiting Ed’s. Like, either they’re something to lament, to bemoan, or something to view as an opportunity, an advantage. I imagine Ed opted for the latter.

Continued in next part…

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It all began with my trip to Honest Ed’s.

Actually, it’d begun earlier in the day when I’d met a long-ago co-worker suddenly turned neighbour — a conversation that self-destructed after we’d conducted it ;) ;) – and ended with drinks and friends somewhere on the west end. Well, technically it ended with me flipping through sickeningly unsteady photos, but that’s neither here nor there.

But I’m pretty sure Honest Ed Mirvish’s disturbed vision had a big role to play in the tone of my thoughts, and so contributed to the epiphany I was about to have in a very big way.

I’m not even sure how to begin describing the place. To try is like trying to squeeze one of those morbidly obese guys — the ones with cowboy hats and aviator glasses and locomoting about on struggling motor scooters — into a standard-size kitchen disposal bag. Ba-tam! Can’t be done.

So this won’t be easy, and definitely not complete, but it’s a start.

Well, I guess the most obvious feature is that Ed’s is the granddaddy of all cheapie stores.

The prices are really really good. And, considering how much you’re plunking down for a set of PJs, you can usually expect pretty good value for the money. Better than disposable, one-use sleeping attire, were I forced to quantify it.

However, that “cheap” tag is really wholly inadequate. I trust that if you’ve been, dear reader, you’d agree. For starters, each and every sign is hand-painted. That’s quite a feat considering the amount of product they carry.

Then there’s the wall-to-wall kitsch.

Most of it is actually left over from the multitudes of productions that the Mirvish family have lavished on Toronto over the years. Most of those are equally kitschy, for-the-masses spectacles. Not my flavour, but maybe I haven’t given them a fair shake. Lots of people swear by them. That’s entertainment!

The walls of the double-jointed store (the alley between is integral to the experience), are littered with the famous names that have been in a Mirvish show, or that have personally shaken Ed’s hand. I couldn’t tell you who a lot of the people are, but they seem like a generally classy lot. Lotsa Brylcreem going on there, seems respectably dandy.

However, if that was all to this store, I really don’t think I’d be able to recommend bringing the kids along. Or a heist crew.

Please allow me to elaborate, dear reader.

Continued in next part…

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To begin with, I completely missed Halloween. My hemorrhagic fever (I cut myself shaving) not only cost me my opportunity for cheap chocolate, but I didn’t even get to see my brobro’s costume. I asked my younger sis to send me a pic but that may or may not come to pass. May lady Fate smile on us.

Next came that Daylight Saving Time fiasco.

Today when I stepped out for a much-needed haircut, I was met with stark darkness:

I thought the entire point of D.S.T. was to save our daylight hours, not destroy them completely! Thanks a lot, Mr. Hudson. (shifty Kiwi, of course!)

And now, with the half-price Halloween candies still hanging around on shelves, all manner of Christmas gaudiness is blasting everyone in the face. Don’t we still have Rememberance Day? And what about U.S. Thanksgiving? I mean, it’s in the wrong month, but I say live and let eat turkey. Where’s the harm? Why you gotta get people all worked up and credit cardy?

I know, I know; it’s nothing new, but it still manages to somehow surprise me every year. This year the shock was somewhat mitigated by the general classiness that some retailers chose to adopt. For example, the Hudson’s Bay Company (no relation), chose to forgo the neon, abstract, tree-like constructs they’ve been sporting since the eighties in favour of more classic window displays:

Isn’t that nice? I figure if it’s going to be cold outside and I’m being forced to spend my non-existent money on garbage (gifts) I wouldn’t buy at any other time of the year, I don’t need to stare at the Bay’s rendition of a profitable holiday season. I believe they’re on my wavelength because not a thing in these displays is for sale; just for gawkin’:

The couplets that accompany the windows talk mostly about some fat guy with a remote shop where he forces slave labourers to produce “gifts” for his own self-aggrandizement; not my idea of yuletide joy. Guess that’s a corporate Christmas for ya!

Despite the dictatorial overtones, however, I’m glad that the Bay is trying to take Christmas back to something a bit more soulful. Earlier this year they re-opened up The Room on the third floor of the store to sell couture women’s clothing, once again in a style that’s reminiscent of something a bit grander:

People questioned the logic behind this move in the middle of the current financial storm, but I think it has more to do with looking forward, giving hope, and at least getting people to stand in front of the windows. Hopefully, when they have some cash, they’ll come and spend it here. With my own current financial micro-climate, I’m glad that the penny-pinching miser appears to be gaining some traction with retailers. I’ll remember them when I make my millions.

Tomorrow I’m taking a trip to the east end to meet with my RRSP guy; I get to find out how much my only investment’s tanked. I probably won’t be doing any shopping at the Bay any time soon, but at least I get to stare at the windows. From the cold, dark street. *shiver*

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Wow! I’m sure that when you look at that, you’re thinking the same thing I am: Marijuana.

There seem to be some misconceptions about what is and isn’t legal here in Toronto. There also aren’t the really important facts such as the variety and quality of weed in Toronto, price, and how much you’ll get pumped full of lead for.

To start with, 30 grams is considered a “personal” amount and unlikely to get you more than a fine – assuming police will bother. It’s still not kosher in the eyes of the law, but the current legal framework is proving very unwieldy. There’s always the possibility that some asshole cop decides he wants to shake you down, but for the most part I’ve found police to be absolutely delightful. Also, events like the Global Marijuana March convinces me that the Toronto police get it: pot smokers are, for the most part, not a big problem.

With larger amounts it’s considered trafficking and, I’m afraid, the knickers come off at that point.

So no, technically not legal unless you have a doctor’s note, but that’s a lotta hoop to jump through. Practically, however, pot is not a rare commodity in Toronto.

The selection is wonderful, although there are ebbs and flows as the big suppliers get taken down. This season has seen a mild and aromatic Blueberry, a sensuously rich – dare I say decadent — AK47, some skunky-but-a-goody shiznatch, and something that seemed to be composed entirely of THC crystal.

Now, I don’t do weights. Don’t believe in ‘em. Prefer to eyeball it.

So if you took a regular, mid-sized sandwich baggie (kind that seals), and filled it to a quarter with plump buds, that’d be about $100 worth of prime quality goodness. They key to getting the most out of such a fine product is the grinder.

Where to obtain such a grinder?

This is where Toronto steps out of the Marijuana closet and declares itself to proud and free. Queen street west alone has a number of locations such as The Friendly Stranger,  Jupiter, and the secluded but infinitely more exotic Shanti Baba (my personal fave).

Yonge street is better for the DIY enthusiast. Stores such as the cleverly titled Toronto Hemp Company carry all of the professional equipment you’ll need, while just a bit down the street lies Sacred Seed which carries an excellent, if pricey, selection of pot seed varieties. They carry all sorts of interesting seeds, in fact. And you’ll be pleased to know that seeds are perfectly legal; presumably to use in your salad. Grown plants – not so much.

You can already feel a bit of summer in the air as the leaves ooze out of the branches. It’s unsettling to think that the hedge has grown with such intensity and apparent intent that one day it will reach out, pull down my pants, and give me the wedgie of a lifetime. *shudder*

I like friendly, neighbourly plants.

Oh, and here’s the kind of grinder to invest in: http://www.jupitergrass.ca/shop/Yin%20Yang%20Grinder%20Combo.html

Kief; did you even know that was a word?