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It’s interesting to point out that Ford’s contention was never the cost of streetcars, which would’ve been the one good reason for him to flip-flop like this (“we can do it now that we’ve magically found more money in the budget!”). Instead, it was an ideological stand against public transit and bicycles in favour of cars.

I’m glad that the mayor is reneging — this city needs way more reliable (and affordable!) transit, not cars on the road; more wheels on the pavement doesn’t solve Toronto’s gridlock, after all. But I can’t help but wonder how his supporters must be feeling watching him slowly chip away at pretty much every pledge and campaign promise he made. I wouldn’t be too pleased about it if I’d voted for him, that’s for sure.

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Fujifilm 400 ISO (Expired)
Nikon F55
Nikkor 50mm 1.8

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Some suffered, I believe, from a simple lack of exposure, which to me translates as a lack of experience. Others put up a pretty good fight but had to concede defeat. Notables include:

Adam Giambrone – Finishing his term as head of Toronto’s Transit Commission and toppled over a sex scandal in February. I didn’t lose any sleep over it. Plus, Jammers is what, like, 18? He’s got plenty of politics ahead of him if he wants to stay in the game.

Giorgio Mammoliti – Had a bit of momentum but in July decided he’d rather try to stay on as a Toronto Councillor for his current ward. No mistaking Giorgio as being anything but 100% bona fide Ai-talian, but I guess it takes more than that these days. I don’t think he even has any mob connections.

Sarah Thompson – Strangely, not yet on the list of mayoral casualties, but Sarah gets an extra star next to her name for being the feisty (previously unknown) newcomer who demonstrated she could play with the big kids. She hung in for quite a while before throwing in the towel about a month ago and joining forces with George Smitherman. She’s a self-made businesswoman and has her own magazine — I think she’ll be fine.

Rocco Rossi - The man with the million-dollar smile is also not on the drop-out list but this was only a couple of weeks ago (the paperwork to update a government website probably takes as long). Rocco was the ringleader behind John Tory’s campaign — the one other man who might’ve broken through in this selection had he chosen to run. Unfortunately, Rocco’s beaming smile and charisma didn’t carry him through and he left quietly without endorsing anyone else.

As many people expected, the race was mostly just casual mud flinging until September or so when the media got in high-gear. Then it was one debate and town hall after another, none of which I attended. To be honest, I think the websites of the top three candidates should be enough, though trying to make out the candidates hollering over each other has its charm.

George Smitherman

When this all started I mentioned that George, “is gay and looks like a bulldog. Both, I believe, in his favour.” I still expect that he’ll probably win although I’m not convinced I’ll be ticking off his name. Some of his key promises include:

• 100-day tax, hiring, spending freeze while the city budget is re-evaluated. Sounds kinda nice but I sure hope nothing happens during those 100 days that might require hiring or spending. And, let’s face it, 100 days later, we might all be paying even more.
• Fair tenant taxes. Apparently I pay more in property taxes through my rent than a homeowner — who knew? However, the $50 / year savings isn’t making me pee myself with excitement.
• Transit. Everyone loves this issue — for a city the size of Toronto, we are pretty damn far behind when it comes to public transit. We only have 3 main subway lines and most of our subway cars / streetcars are antiques. On top of this, streetcars take up literally 50% of the roads downtown but the roads can’t be expanded — we’ve got light rail-infrastructure but not enough room. George wants to phase in updates over 10 years starting with getting transit going along the lake shore for the Pan Am Games in 2015. After that he wants to start construction on East-West lines in the north and update the Scarborough LRT (an eastern extension to the Bloor Subway line). Generally speaking, I’m not against this idea, but it seems incredibly wasteful to essentially scrap Transit City.
• Creating about 500 jobs through an Economic Ambassador program and prodding businesses to hire locally. Most of the city’s  financial troubles will be addressed through attrition (not replacing people who retire), and by combining fire and emergency services. Electricity provider Toronto Hydro would stay in public hands. Sounds long and tedious, possibly necessary.

Rob Ford

Rob has been so easy to criticize during this campaign. He’s well known for making off-colour public remarks and sticking his foot into his mouth on a regular basis. I don’t think he’s a bad guy, he’s just not very diplomatic. The beefy football coach’s campaign was managed by his brother (not dissimilar in many ways), and was unsurprisingly dotted with all manner of scandal and accusation. Still, Rob weathered the storm and he’s neck-and-neck with George; most polls agree it could easily go either way today.

Some of what Rob says he’ll do includes:

• Cut City Hall. Just generally, cut it. Rob’s “stop the gravy train” message resonates with many people who think politicians have been getting a free ride for too long. Councillors like Sandra Bussin, who think nothing of making anonymous phone calls to radio stations, Paula Fletcher who screams down opposition, or my own ward’s now-retired Kyle Rae who probably shouldn’t have thrown himself a $12,000 going-away party, have really helped to cement Rob’s line. While I like the rigour with which Rob approaches this, and cutting back City Hall is just a good idea anyway, most of the plan seems way too small to make a significant difference. Good try, Rob, but you need to think bigger!
• Make the TTC an essential service. Right now transit can be shut down by a strike, something that wouldn’t happen if it was designated to be essential. Mostly, though, Rob wants to end the “war on cars” he says is being perpetrated by the city so it’s obvious where his heart lies on this issue. Incredibly myopic and with few details. Sorry, Rob, another miss.
• Eliminate Land Transfer and Vehicle Registration Taxes. Obviously this one’s for the burbs. Good on Rob for reaching out but I’m feeling a bit left out here. No love, Rob, no love.
• Consider privatizing garbage collection. After last year’s strike, this is certainly something to consider. But I’m starting to sense a bit of a theme here…garbage strike pissed people off, traffic pisses people off, City Hall spending pisses people off, etc. While I’d be happy to see these things addressed, this is definitely reactionary politics; I don’t see a long-term plan here.

Joe Pantalone

If you didn’t know Joey Pants before, you do now. If nothing else can be said about this dimunitive Deputy Mayor, he’s the most eminently qualified — he’s almost mayor now. However, and perhaps because of his height, Joe’s had to jump up and down and wave twice as hard as anyone else just to be heard.

Even though the chances of him becoming mayor are slim at this point, you gotta give the little guy credit for hanging in there; only he and George stayed on for the full ten months. Plus, everything I’ve heard about him indicates he’s genuinely a nice guy with a good head for this sort of thing. He just falls below the radar, that’s all.

Here’s what Joe promises our fair city if he’s elected:

• Improved transit and everyone’s welcome on the roads. Of all the candidates, Joe has the most complete plans I’ve seen (and fanciest Powerpoint slides too). In this area he’s taking the sanest most middle-of-the-road approach, but puts most of his weight behind bikes (rentals, better lanes, etc.), and public transit. He’s a fan of Transit City, the big plan put in place by current Mayor Miller to expand transit both out of town and fix what we have here. If you ask me, this is the most sensible approach — Transit City is already underway and the plan extends out to all of Toronto. Tearing it down and starting something new would be a massive waste.
• Reducing poverty and homelessness. Again, Joe has solid numbers he wants to see year over year, including building of new affordable housing units, finding housing for homeless people, and so on. I have no idea if any of these numbers are realistic but I’m thinking that Joe probably had a pretty good idea by now.
• Predictable taxes and fare increases. No promises of tax reductions here, just that tax and fare increases should be transparent and predictable. Joe wants Community Councils to run their own budgets while pushing some provincial service costs to the province. Currently, they say how stuff gets run but we in the city pay for it. How the hell did that happen?!
• Sustainable / environment initiatives. Pantalone’s got a green thumb, it seems. He’s one of the few candidates mentioning this topic and is demonstrating that he’s both a tie-dyed hippie and a bleeding heart. Besides investing in so-called green programs, Pantalone also want the city to get more involved in food production, increase support services for women, children, and families, and he’s got a whole section on helping out the elderly.
• Support diversity and youth, and tackle bed bugs. Generic, general, and really? Joe’s not the only candidate to mention bed bugs but news on this has been fairly sparse lately — and you know media love bed bug stories. Well, here’s the deal, I don’t have bed bugs and I didn’t see any mention of rent reductions so that about does it for me.

I don’t believe in the throw-away, lesser-of-evils, vote-by-fear approach. Anyone who trudges out that old pony should quickly be reminded that a minority win is just as significant on the make up of City Hall. Or Parliament. Or whatever. We should vote for the best candidate even if they’re a long-shot.

In another four years we’ll be doing this again so that little bit of support could make the difference next time around. And it’s note-worthy to point out that City Hall isn’t just the mayor, there are 44 Councillors representing the various wards of this sprawling metropolis, and they all get a vote just like the Mayor. Plus, the Council vote is just as crucial; it’s traditionally been the Councillors that have been the biggest dicks at City Hall.

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Two brothers, I dunno, ten and and eleven, were escorted to the back of the streetcar where I was sitting, by their dad. He sat them down and suddenly realized he’d forgotten to get transfers. The one kid was buzzing to look out the back of the car and he kneeled on the empty seat between me and the matronly, scraggly-haired woman on the other end. His dad sat him back down. Guess he thought the kid would be pestering us.

There were two empty seats across from me – the back  is a half-circle facing each other – so I offered to give the kid my seat. I knew the dad would want to sit with the kids anyways (correctomundo, btw), so I thought the kid might as well have a few seconds of fun gazing out the back of the streetcar. I loved looking out through the front of subway cars when I was young, so I get it. And I honestly didn’t see the harm. The boy was polite, he was obeying his dad, he was keeping his feet off the seats, backpack neatly to the side – damn if that kid didn’t deserve an ice cream sundae!

So shit, peeking through a greasy, filth-covered window for ten seconds seemed appropriate for a young man of that calibre.

Offered it to him twice. Twice he refused.

Scraggly-hair to my left says, “good for you!”, to him. “You listen to your dad!”

Okay, guess she had a point. But you know, not like he’s gonna roll up his sleeve, tie off a vein, and start hitting the dragon back there. Plus, potential weirdo ends up in a seat farther away from the kids. Where would be the downside?

Dad came back, seat gladly accepted. The opportunity was gone.

Oh well, the kid did refuse. And that should’ve been the end of it.

Scraggly-hair pointed at the kids and said to the dad, “You shouldn’t leave them alone like that here. This isn’t a safe neighbourhood.”

Internally, I begged to differ. Oddballs? Painful piercings? Imaginative body modifications? Yes, yes, and yes. Dangerous? No. But, this was still just between her and the three of them. :)

The dad replied, “I teach my sons well and they know how to handle themselves.”

The buzzing kid popped erect, beaming a smile, and immediately added, “We take the streetcar by ourselves all the time. We walk home, we take the subways, we take the buses. I know what to do if I get lost. On this streetcar, if I got lost, I would get off at St. Andrew Station and …”

It went on for another five minutes with the other boy interjecting excitedly in sporadic bursts to further heighten the tales of their prowess. The dad finally stopped them when they got on the subject of late-night taxi rides (if only he’d let them look out the window).

“You never know who’s around them down here. All sorts of people”, responded scraggly-hair after a short pause. “It’s just not safe.”

Then she looked over at me. For fucks’ sake!!

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re a criminal”, she explained sheepishly.

Steady, old boy, I thought to myself. Not a problem, a broad smile and that’ll be my reply. No problem. I never felt myself to be a criminal, so ho harm no foul. And no statement. :)

“But don’t you think it’s dangerous?”, still looking at me. :(

“Well”, I replied, measuring each word, “I remember watching a documentary about urban parents that send their kids into the city by themselves. This guy isn’t alone. Personally, I’d be hesitant to send out any kid younger than ten, maybe eleven. But, you know, that’s just me. Not my call to make on anyone else’s behalf.”

“But you gotta admit it’s dangerous. Even for us!” She wasn’t going to let this go.

“To be honest”, I said gingerly, “I’ve lived in a number of cities and I can’t say that Toronto is that bad. I’d let my kids out by themselves.”

The look on her face … the look on her face … lipsed pursed tight, eyes squinting shut, head shaking gently from side to side, mouth pulled back in that broad, thin smile that says, unequivocally, that  you are so fucking wrong.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Well I’ve lived here for six years and I’ve experienced some terrible moments”, she retorted.

Out of nowhere, the dad cut in firmly, “I’ve lived here for forty years and I think it’s just fine.”

Silence for the next two stops, at which point the three left the streetcar.

Scraggly-hair stayed on with me for another few stops. She’d only meant it in the best interests of the boys, she assured me. He (the dad), was mad at her, she could tell.  Yeah, she was sure of it. And Toronto is no place to be sending children alone. She was attacked not too long ago herself!

“Oh wow, what happened?”, I asked, hiding a regretful and nearly instantaneous wince.

“Just down there … you know … the park on Queen?”

“Yeah … Trinity.”

“No, the one on McCaul.”

“Oh, that one.” (There is no park at McCaul and Queen.)

“Some drunk, or maybe whacked out on drugs, grabbed my backpack like this”, she motioned feebly at the air much as an injured walrus might. “If my partner wasn’t there, I don’t know what would’ve happened. My partner stood between him and me”, she made another pathetic attempt at a blocking gesture with her elbows, “he stood between us, and he said ‘no!’ And the man was scared because my partner is, like, six foot two, and then he ran away. My partner scared him away. Lucky for me.”

Lucky indeed, I thought. Lucky he’s your “partner”, as you keep reiterating, and not some other less formal entity in your life. That ten-foot pole distance would probably suit me fine too.

But lucky for me, her stop had come more suddenly than she’d realized and she had to bid me a hasty goodbye as she ran for the rear exit. “Stay safe!”, she urged, leaning back into the car for one final wave.

Maybe, I remember thinking, my kids will have something to fear down here after all.

By the way, the faux posters above are from a new National Post campaign to promote better manners on public transit. They may be real posters if anyone prints them out — large sizes available on the Post’s site. The “TTCC” stands for “Toronto Transit Civility Commission”; a quiet pet project of the paper. Normally I make a point of linking to the Star but what can ya do? A good idea is a good idea.

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And they kinda did it to themselves.

I know that I spend a good chunk of my time despairing over the future of transit, especially now that I’ve contracted a rather nasty strain of lazy and the cold outside has settled in for the season. But I had a chance to ride the regional rails during a visit with my financial guy, and all those awful, tearful memories of the daily GO train commute came flooding back.

I’m not referring to the actual trains themselves; those are fairly modern, quiet, comfortable, and if you can get a seat, a nice way to travel. Each car has a toilet for when your business just can’t wait, electrical outlets for when the feature-length porn flick starts to eat into your laptop’s battery, and getting carted around in a heated space is also very nice when the snow starts to fall.

The problem I’m talking about is one of simple math. For GO people, the cost of a monthly pass to one of the regional stops (the only real reason to take GO), can actually be more expensive than driving a car. For example, my pass used to set me back around $230. That didn’t include the follow-up hop onto the TTC at Union Station, so even at a few extra trips per week it would soon add up. For most commuters, the TTC’s a must to continue into the city since the GO train line is right up against the lake. So that’s an extra $100 for the TTC monthly pass. $109, whatever.

All together, a $300 monthly public transit travel budget is not uncommon.

In contrast, a car ride of the same distance costs about $5 in gas ($10 if we include things like occasional oil, windshield washer fluid, repairs, etc.) With an average $5 a day for parking, a trip to work by car runs about $15. The same trip on the GO train, transferring to TTC, will also be $15; and that doesn’t include the drive just to get to a GO station — most passengers still need to drive a car.

It’s true that the train beats sitting in traffic … until the day when someone commits suicide on the tracks and you’re left sitting there for four hours while they scrape the bits off the front of the train. Or if there’s a signal failure. Or something’s wrong with the engine. Or someone pressed the emergency alarm strip. Or it’s the third Wednesday of the month.

For the TTC it’s a problem of bone-headedness. If you buy the monthly Metropass and take the rails / wheels 20 times a month (to and from work), you’ll just about break even compared to the cost of tokens or just paying cash.

The equation is simple:

Metropass = $109

Workdays per month = 20

$109 / 20 = $5.45 (per day)

$5.45 / 2 trips per day = $2.73 per trip ($2.75 regular fare)

Here we have a whopping savings of $0.04 per day, or the awesome sum of $9.60 per year. If the price doesn’t change, you’d be able to add $96 to your kid’s college fund in 10 years — *almost* the cost of one Metropass. I’m not sure if that includes taxes.

But whatever, it’s still technically cheaper and more convenient (plus weekends), so what’s the problem?

To begin with, the Metropass is apparently losing money for the TTC. By the end of the year, they’re expecting to be about $22 mill. in the hole.

Yup. They came up with something that’s losing them money. What that means is that the Metropass is only artificially saving $0.02 per trip; it’s actually subsidized through taxes so we still pay for it. And that’s despite record high ridership numbers this year (or maybe because of them?!)  I would just love to see the business model behind this.

So I’m gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that the latest move by the TTC to provide deeply discounted Metropasses to businesses who purchase in bulk is just totally out to lunch. I’m trying to imagine the thought process: “The current 0.7% discount is a real money pit. Hey, I know! Why don’t we go up to 12%?” However it really went, I have to ask why the TTC’s head honcho would be pitching it to the press as a good idea.

A TTC fare hike now seems to be the only solution because the thought of cut-backs and reductions in service is taboo. And while I agree that the TTC should remain in full service, I happen to think we could probably save some money by getting rid of some of the ineffective ladies and gentlemen who put the Commission into this situation. In fact, I’m all in favour of a coup d’etat at GO too because I happen to know I’m not the only one that finds their service lacking; nice seats and shitters, but how often did I get stranded by GO’s policy to just shut down when something breaks?

The city may not be for everyone, but I don’t think anyone would argue with the advantages of being able to get around on foot. I remember not having that freedom; how beholden I was to the transit authorities. A fare hike always felt like a slap in the face. Not so much because I couldn’t understand that, possibly, the cost of running things had gone up too, but because it was another missed opportunity to avoid that same feeling in the future.

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Wonderful! :D

Well, let me not waste any more of your time with idle small talk. After all, we’re both here to discuss matters of the practically passive-aggressive gentleman as regards the urban sphere. And the rudeness therein. Right?

For this instalment, I’ve been blessed with the endorsement of the Toronto Transit Commission. Sort of. Lets not belabour that point because what’s important is the general agreement that as temperatures drop, people will be required to be in close quarters with one another as public transit passengers. Notwithstanding the challenges of H1N1, an even larger threat looms on the horizon. It wears the face of the young buck who decides to use the seat in front of him as a footrest, or the young buckette who insists that everyone should hear her mobile conversation, or sometimes that young crowd over there who believe that no one should disembark the train before they first board.

Such behaviour is crass, uncouth, and frankly, insolent. So what’s the practical gentleman to do?

A great deal has been scribed on the walls of public washrooms as regards these matters, but please allow me to at least get the ball rolling:

Flatulence for Feet

A variation of this technique was featured in a previous guide. However, on closer inspection, the advice within that guide proved most unpractical. Gathering large numbers of people together is difficult enough. Doing so for group farts, even more so.

However, working individually, I believe it could be accomplished. The premise is the same as in the previous guide; load up on legumes, Brussels sprouts, and anything that will arm your gut with something genuinely unpleasant. Improvise: eggs, onions (good on both ends), fried garlic (ditto! plus delicious!), pickled cabbages, and so on. Make a meal of it. :D

Then, when you spot yonder young man with legs outstretched o’er the spot in front of him, shoes dripping wet muck directly into the middle of the seat, you must smite him directly! And of course, by that I mean that you simply sit beside him, saddle up good and close, and start tearing off some justice. Be all cool and relaxed about it, like you’ve just come home, sat on the couch, and just let it all hang out. “Ahhh. Comfy.” The odour should infect the cabin forthwith.

If the offending party protests, simply smile and inquire why he should get to make himself at home and you can’t. You paid your ticket like everyone else, didn’t you? Feet on the seat? Okay. But I get to fart. It’s how I get comfortable.

Hopefully the point will be driven straight up the nose and off the seat.

Of course, you could also simply try asking him to take his  feet off the seat first, but that would defeat the purpose of the ghastly meal you’d ingested the night before, wouldn’t it?

Music for Mouths

Is it safe to assume that most of us have cell phones today? Why not use them to battle those who abuse their own mobiles by TALKING TOO LOUD. For this, you need to read a section of your owner’s manual for the device to figure out how to preview ringtone sounds and set the speaker volume to maximum. You probably already know how – I trust that all TCL readers are exceptionally clever.

In this exercise the offending party, who is making a racket into her mobile, is simply approached. No interaction required; in fact, a nonchalant looking the other way is more effective. Then, our mobile phone is extracted from its hiding place, and the previewing of the ringtones commences. At top volume. Start bobbing your head. Damn, all so good – can’t decide. “Hello, Moto” – funky fresh!

“Excuse me sir, could you please stop doing that?!” (over the din *giggle*)

“Huh?!” *looking genuinely puzzled, but not enough to stop playback*

“Could you please stop doing that?!”

“Oh!! Oh!!” *sudden stop*

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear my phone over the din of your voice. And din (*wearing a look that says “smarten up!”*) means loud noise.”

You can leave that last bit off; it’s there just for extra bite. :D

To be even less conspicuous you could use the music playback capabilities of your phone to loop a frenetic sounding ringtone. Many phones may have a record option, in which case you can simply scream into the phone to record your message. Plug your headphones into your MP3 player, turn that bad boy up, and do the same with your phone. Use your back pocket to host the merry noisemaker – good if you’re standing and the offending party’s sitting. You get the added benefit of having the racket coming directly from your ass. Terrific!

Again, there is the option of approaching the offending party and simply asking them to tone it down if possible, but what waste of much research and masterful skill, don’t you think?

Pricks for Pushers

This particular example of insolence may do more than simply annoy you, it may cause you to miss your stop entirely. In this scenario, the offending parties are multiple, seemingly aligned against you and closing in as a unit (this actually happens regularly!). You just need for one person to step aside and let you through because you’ve got nowhere else to go but back onto the train. Alas, no one does you the courtesy.

In this case, I feel it’s fair to single out one person who seems to be particularly obstinate, and simply approach him, stare at his crotchal area for a bit, point firmly to it, and returning to look him in the eye say, “Your penis is showing.” Fully serious face.

If it happens to be a woman who is hell-bent on pushing you back on the train, the same words may work just as well if delivered with conviction. I find that a single nod while speaking to drive home the point is the gesture that makes it a serious matter.

The point here isn’t to deliver a crushing insult or even a glancing blow, it’s simply to stun the opponent momentarily while you brush by them with an “excuse me”. Classy.

This example is one of those rare cases where I believe there is no alternative approach. There simply isn’t time to reason in that situation, and the offending party’s ego shouldn’t be sufficiently bruised to make him want to miss his train. Or her train. Though in all honesty,  a delivery by a lady to a gentleman is probably the most powerful version of this technique. Ladies will have an advantage over the gentlemen here, I’m afraid. Sorry fellas, we can’t win ‘em all.

–

Well, wasn’t that a rousing collection of techniques? I certainly do hope you get some practical use out of them. Apply liberally, for insolence does not sleep when we are tired. We should seek to banish it from within our midst at every opportunity. Because, and I don’t know about you, but I must admit to an innate dislike of the wet seat, the unnecessary noise, and the strange unwillingness to hold back just one second so that I can leave the train.

However, I firmly believe that together, we can lick this problem, one offending party at a time. As long as we hold to the ideals of justice, truth, an eye for an eye, and two men enter — one man leaves, then we can be sure we’re doing it for the right reasons.

Till next time!

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I had to travel to the outskirts of Toronto and just a little bit beyond. International airliners were landing next door.

The trip was a bit too long for my liking but at least it gave me the opportunity to loiter in some of the subway stations on the west Bloor-Danforth line. Most of them are the same drab tile tinted a few mild shades … don’t wanna excite the passengers! Not all stations are like that, mind you. Old Mill is a bit more interesting (big!):

The problem with these open platforms is the winter. When it’s cold, it’s cold. Sometimes the tracks freeze, during storms the snow piles up on the edges and the platform ices up, and the shape of the structure seems to actually accelerate the wind as it passes through. And the ticket collector smiling all smug and warm from inside his little booth with his electric heater doesn’t help matters. Then the storm takes the power out. HA HA. Oh. Except now the trains aren’t running.

But at least the view’s nice. Some stations, like Spadina, are entirely enclosed but still connected to the outside; in this case, it’s because it’s a  loop for streetcars:

I imagine that at one time it was probably a pretty grand station. I remember it having two long motorized walkways that connected the north-south and east-west lines. It was so worth it to go one more station past St. George to Spadina to switch lines, even if at St. George the subways are just a flight of stairs away. Unfortunately, the Spadina people-movers are gone and the station’s in pretty rough shape besides. Why would I visit now? To walk down that big hallway? At least have a courtesy vehicle of some sort. Serving mildly alcoholic beverages and perhaps pretzels.

What makes Spadina especially bad is the fact that just a couple of stops down, the Museum stop is decked out to the nines:

They have nubile young women here that bathe and anoint your weary feet as you sit in wait for the next train. Libations flow from faucets in the columns. And if a train doesn’t come regularly every two minutes, they publicly execute the conductor responsible.

It’s a shame they couldn’t use some of that slave labour to fix up Spadina. I mean, if they want to try a passenger carrying service for that hallway, I’d be willing to hop on someone’s back, but I’d rather have the motorized walkway. It was always so much fun to stand there and watch people walking beside the walkway like suckers. You knew you were special then. Now, you’re lucky if they spit on you before they drive that screwdriver into your eyeball. I just wanted a transfer!

The subway could use a whole lotta facelift, is all I’m saying. I know I’ve said it before, but now I have to try to imagine spending three hours out of every day in there, and it’s not terribly appealing. So if there’s no alternative, the two gentlemen may have to discuss someone else’s qualifications.

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Haha! I know, that last one’s not transit. But I had to share. I spent enough time around that area to have seen inebriated lawnmower drivers, and let me tell you, it’s hi-freakin-larious. Under normal circumstances, these gentlemen wouldn’t think to drive an unbalanced buggy with sharp, high-velocity, metal blades underneath, up a very steep hill. But then they partake of a few. :D

I guess there was one thing kinda related to the subway, the Toronto Sun’s lament about the state of our highways. Mostly, they were talking about this:

This is the picturesque Don Valley Parkway. It’s picturesque because it’s late in the afternoon on Sunday. At almost any other time, it’s bumper to bumper, stop and go. If you’ve been on it, you know what I’m talkin’ about, right? How many years of your life have you lost on that road? And on some sections, you’ve got a foot between you, the concrete barrier, the car on the other side, and the car in front, and the jerk behind is honking his horn for you to get outta the way. That, buddy, is how that dipshit down in the valley down there crashed his car. That’s why we’re moving extra slow. That’s why you can kiss my flatulent ass you …

Gosh, even thinking about it gets me all worked up; that’s one angry road. The attached 401’s not much better, but that’s a whole different kinda rage; high-speed, low-brow, middle-finger. You can’t shout at those speeds once you achieve them.

Torontonians know what I’m talking about, right? Yeah! Grandma’s doing eighty in the fast lane with nothing in front of her, tapping the breaks a few times a meter. What the fuck is her problem?! HONK H-O-N-K *H-O-N-K* GODDAMMITYARR!! *smash smash smash* GAAAARRR!! Then black out. Wake up under a highway overpass somewhere by the airport with blood on your hands and a dead body in the trunk of your car. Evade police for weeks in a massive manhunt through rural southern Ontario. Eh? Yeah. What Torontonian hasn’t been there?

So to avoid that scene, and since there’s no way we’re biking in from the sticks every day, there’s public transit. But not the fru-fru, surface streetcar my spoiled butt takes every day. We’re talking about the city plumbing; the subway.

There’s been a lot of talk about putting new stuff into the city center, which is fine by me, but it seems like a lot of the outlying, underground stuff is being forgotten. Specifically, the Bloor-Danforth subway line. That’s not to say that the Yonge-University line isn’t need of bit of a facelift too:

Vintage. The tiles look nicotine-friendly, don’t you think? But, at least, in good condition.

However, in the stations, if you’re in a hurry, headphones in, reading email, you might not notice how rustic they’re getting.

Often, it’s not straight ahead; that’s just an attractive young blur. Sometimes you have to wait for the crowd to clear (as in Sunday), and then look up:

Or you have to be at the right end of the platform:

Right, not that right. The other right. Your right. Right :) And you’re right, it is unsightly. But I haven’t heard of any plans to take care of it. Has Scabby Row been foresaken? I did my teen years there and it was pretty grungy. I was back recently and Kennedy Station had an even more watch-your-back feel to it than I remembered.

I’m one of those incurably sunny people who think that one of the ways to deal with the problem is to make the place nicer. For being so busy, it’s a grim station. On one side, it’s got a raised road with a raised LRT train track under it (two storeys of concrete, basically) so it’s dark, and on the other the parking lot of a grey-slab of a community centre. Stabbing or shooting someone here doesn’t seem out of context.

So, change the context I say. I’m sure it’s been tried and tested somewhere. And I’m sure I didn’t come up with it; wouldn’t that be a sad world to live in? I’m just too lazy to find a link.

Spruce up the stations. Scrub off some of that water damage. Repair some of those broken chunks. Put a little more life in there.

That probably won’t come out of the downtown streetcar money, which itself is in question. And that  infrastructure funding that was supposed to have paid for things like this turned out to be not so much. But there is the community.

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That’s something I understand only too well. Riding on the regional GO train not only wasn’t an economically viable alternative (gas+parking+maintenance was cheaper than taking the train), but it was also an extremely frustrating exercise.

When infrequent trains or equipment would break down, GO would offer no alternatives. Despite the fact that they have a fleet of alternate vehicles (buses), they would simply shut down the system and, literally, leave everyone stranded. If the much bigger and less subsidized TTC were to do this, young Adam Giambrone would be out on his ear.

So, let’s see: GO transit sucks for so many reasons + it’s cheaper to drive than it is to take GO = everyone drives

Toronto city hall has managed to entirely miss this equation, but I suppose you can’t blame them if they’ve never had their testicles dyed blue with the chemical flush that splashes around the shallow toilet bowl of a moving train. And only after you’ve put your hand in a pile of stuff do you discover that there’s no water in the tap, all the paper towels have been used to plug up the toilet (oh, Jesus! The blue water’s almost at the rim!), and the last of the toilet paper is stuck to your shoe with a heel-bound sample of self-same stuff. And now the knock on the door: “Ticket inspector! Need to see your ticket!

Driving is just more pleasant.

So I get why people want to drive, and I happen to think a recent proposal to ban right turns on red lights in the city is boneheaded. Besides, I don’t think the inconsiderate and frankly dangerous jerks who pick off people at intersections would care one way or another.

I witnessed an altercation between a motorist and a jogger where the motorist yelled at a woman for, “running in the street.”  The lady retorted with, “Pedestrians have the right of way, and especially on a green light! I can run back and forth all I like if I want to!”

Right on, lady!

Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Jerk, Jerk junior, and little miss Jerkette were already peeling out onto Lakeshore boulevard in their angry little suburban minivan (they had an Oshawa sticker on the back).

That’s the sad truth of it: the troglodyte behind the wheel barely has the opposable thumbs to operate the signals let alone understand our complex human speech. Bright colours and loud noises startle him (or her), and sends him into a fit (I think it’s called “road rage”), so he’s pretty much constantly screaming at everything around him.

I don’t mind calling such people rude names; people’s lives are at stake, and over what? So the driver can rush to the next stoplight ten meters down the road? Won’t you join me in wishing them all a heartfelt “fuck you”, another for the horse they rode in on, and one for each life they’ve put into danger?

They probably won’t hear a word. By the time your middle fingers come to full mast, they’ll be mowing down another crowd of pedestrians further down the road.

What’s a practical gentleman to do?

I’m usually in favour of something embarrassing or pejorative, but it’s clear that in this situation that won’t work. The metal shell that protects the offending party makes most standard gestures futile.

Cycling enthusiasts long ago came up with the brilliant key-down-the-side of the car, but paint jobs are surprisingly difficult to scratch these days. It’s also a procedure that can be noisy, potentially resulting in fisticuffs.

Why risk that when there are other interesting solutions?

All of these require preparation of some sort but this wouldn’t be the “practical” guide if they weren’t easy to prepare.

The first of these is very cost-effective and easy to carry around on the street: eggs. They can be kept intact or broken. I believe that scrambled (raw) would be most effective, but I don’t think you’ll lose the effectiveness either way.

Eggs on a car may seem like an obvious, even juvenile, act, but eggs are well known to either discolour or even completely strip paint off of cars. They don’t do this immediately and if the driver stops and cleans them right away, no harm will be done.  If the driver keeps on like a maniac without slowing down, the eggs will deliver delayed justice without remorse. Can you think of a more poignant and ironic way to say you care?

For an immediate effect, the ladies have an advantage over the gents. A simple splash of nail polish (this is what all those awful colours are for), will provide you with satisfaction and chuckles for quite some time. Removing this colour after it’s dried will mean potentially removing the surrounding paint as well; they bond very well. The situation can be made infinitely more amusing if one were to splay themselves on the hood of the car, blood-red polish splashed on hood and windshield, and perhaps a blood-curdling scream if one can be mustered.

If you’re already adding paint, why not consider removing it again? Some lacquer thinner (even nail polish remover may work), and that electric blue car suddenly seems less cheery. Alas, dear reader, this technique is not one that I am personally acquainted with so I can’t recommend the most effective product. But if you spend any time walking in the city, I’m certain you’ll have ample opportunity to conduct field research of your own.

In closing, I would like to remind you that this is act is important for everyone’s safety, not just your own. I can guarantee that I will avoid any horribly defaced car I see in the future; teach your kids to do the same.

Think of the children!

Imagine my surprise when I stumble outdoors into the still-full sunlight of seven o’clock and — there’s the streetcar. This would never have happened when I was all hypothermic in the middle of deepest darkest winter.

Me and the guys from work jump on and continue our discussion of chicks we’d do. Yes, ladies, we are admiring you from afar.

While I remark how short our wait at the TTC stop was, the conversation naturally meanders over to public transit (anything’s interesting inebriated, no?), and we get to talking about the purpose of streetcars. Or maybe that was in the bar.

Anyway, I make a sparkling remark about rails being in the earth since Toronto was a wee’un. We got ‘em, makes sense to keep using ‘em. That must have been the deciding opinion in the discussion because everyone suddenly looses interest in the topic.

As my colleagues alight at University, I settle back to dream about the future of transit in Toronto:

Neat.

I hop off the streetcar at Yonge and head straight for the subway where, much to my surprise, the same chums I left earlier are now chatting up some girls heading north on the same line. In the time it took me to make it two blocks on the streetcar, they were able to go south three, do a u-turn back north a further three, all the time making relaxed stops at stations in between while psychically enticing me to hop on the same train.

That pretty much settles the argument of streetcar efficiency in my mind.

As my buzz starts to wear off I start to wonder how a longer streetcar (that’s basically what the new vehicles will be), would have made this trip any shorter. As much as I like the idea and even the look of the new trains, I suspect that until the city either widens the street or starts randomly detonating taxis, they won’t do much to make transit faster.

But I’d still do ‘em.

If they have a toilet, cuz I really have to wee.

For example, my morning commute on the 504 King West was handled by a dapper fellow donning the full Transit Commission regalia. His headwear was not unlike a full police constable hat (did you know they made these?), his uniform was Picardesquely neat and authoritative, and the mirror shades and Gestapo gloves he gesticulated wildly with were the final word on professionalism.

Here’s a wholly inadequate picture that I took:

If you look real close, you can make out the edges of the hat.

Like I said, wholly inadequate. But that doesn’t matter because I didn’t want to single out one specific driver, though you’ll always be in my heart, streetcar number 4187 operator.

What the situation reminded me of were some of the old photos from the Toronto Archives I’d been browsing recently while stealthily dodging work; pseudo-nostalgic images of a gentler time in the TTC’s history when men were men and ulcers were the size of a baby’s head.

Here are some of the tippity-tops from my short list:

On the way home to murder the cheating wife at a Wellesley bus stop, 1957:

Distracted-lesbian guided tour at King subway station, 1957:

Tommy Holmes, TTC conductor and chronic masturbator, 1930s:

Little Oliver Twist with his mum and their parole officer, 1926:

Holy shit it’s sinking!, 1927:

Hahahahahaha, 1928:

On the way to the re-education camp, 1928:

Here I am plunking down $2.75 a trip and the streetcar doesn’t even mow down pedestrians with a cow-catcher anymore. The TTC used to be the better way, now it’s just the adequate way. At least the operator of the  4187 car is making an effort to rekindle the glory days.

Them’s the times, I guess.

]]> http://www.torontocitylife.com/2009/04/15/hahahahahaha-1928/feed/ 0 http://www.torontocitylife.com/2009/04/06/l-is-around-the-corner/ http://www.torontocitylife.com/2009/04/06/l-is-around-the-corner/#comments Tue, 07 Apr 2009 01:00:17 +0000 Patrick http://www.torontocitylife.com/?p=1429 I’m sure you’ve experienced this too; walking down the street just thinking your own devious thoughts when, all of a sudden, synchronicity jumps out from around the corner, grabbing your wallet and sprinting into a nearby entrance in one clean, continuous, and startling motion.

That was my morning commute;  a drab, water-logged grey smear with occasional pelts of icy snow.

I thought a little old-school tunage would be appropriate, so I plugged in my Zune and managed to run through about three songs in the Trip-Hop list before rounding the building to the 540 King streetcar stop. There, Tricky’s croaking “hell is around the corner” cut into a chill Massive Attack groove, the words foreshadowing the presence of something dark and evil just a few feet away.

Let’s call her L.

I’ve known her professionally for a number of years. Our paths have managed to cross on more than one occasion, and each of those times I was reminded of why I wasn’t keen on seeing her again. To sum it up succinctly, she doesn’t get fired well.

It’s not the kind of not getting fired well you’re probably thinking of. There are no angry expressions, violence, or bridge-burning words; just a psychotic grin accompanied by a wholly unsettling and removed calmness.

Allow me to paint the picture for you. On each occasion, settings aside, the situation is the same: At the time of the incident, she has either spent the previous six months or so producing something she was never asked to produce or, sometimes, nothing at all. There’s usually not great shock when the head of HR approaches her to “have a chat.” After this she returns to work at her desk, broad grin adorning her wide face, giving everyone the impression that she’d just received a raise.

On the contrary, she’d just been let go. Only she’s not letting go.

Management circles her desk and and explains slowly that she’s no longer an employee. She nods, eyes focused, clear, and clearly failing to take in reality, kind of like a serial murderer trying to figure out why the skin suit she fashioned isn’t giving her the power of its’ victims. Then she turns her head back to the monitor and resumes working.

At this point security usually intervene, physically escorting her from the premises. She flashes that magic smile at everyone as she leaves, perhaps still unaware of her situation, or perhaps deciding how best to decapitate all of her favourite ex-colleagues. That, in a scary nutshell, is L and her unceasing smile (trust me, it’s not incredible positivity).

As I swung around the corner this morning, that smile cut through the crowd like a bloodied knife. She looked straight at me with a horrible focus and a curt little Asian head-nod that indicated I was now very possibly the next unsolved murder of the year. Evading conversation seemed like a quick way to a sliced carotid, so I waved and said hello.

Despite my lack of interaction with her in the past, she knew my name, my age, where I’d lived and worked over the past few years, the name of my cat, and other creepy factoids meticulously gathered from the few sentences I spoke in front of her (not to her, as she explained).

My own memories  stopped at the companies where she claimed we had worked together (until they came flooding back later in a long-repressed deluge).

“What’s your name again?” I asked.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” she replied with an even deeper and more unsettling grin.

I glanced nervously at my watch while shaking my head no. Twenty minutes to my destination; God, please let me live through this!

Here is my accumulated trove from the past few days, complete with a likely reconstruction of the sequence in which they came out →

Aren’t they great? Each one a unique fuck up; some mis-cut, some mis-printed, and most that didn’t fully make it through the rollers. Then there’s Blue Mountain of messed up transfers, the double-print. Super gracias, TTC!

These will find a home somewhere on my shelf, lovingly enshrined in my homage to the quirks that make the city great. MiCkie Dick’s and towers don’t a shelf make nah more.

Should you care to brighten your own morning, visit the right-hand machine at the Dundas southbound subway platform, when it’s “fixed”. I’d be just chuffed to share your own sunny treasures here (comment or email, whatever floats your boat).