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A Beck’s Taxi zooms through the intersection at Yonge & College.
Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Become a fan of the cool Froz’n Motion Facebook page at FACEBOOK or visit www.froznmotion.com

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Yup, May 21st – Judgment Day. Probably why everyone is so busy stocking up on goods.

Awww, how sweet!! I sure do hope they’re conscious.

Why do Saturdays always seem to end up this way? Oh well, there are plans afoot to man-ify this evening with a visit to the pub, perhaps to drown a snifter or two of port. Or beer.

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Hi,
There is an Internet Webpage that has my address showing right under the Webpage. Could you please remove my address from seemingly being associated with the wall collapsing as I want to put my property up for sale.

My address is XXXXXXXXXXXX

I guess the cache has to have the content removed according to Google, and then the Google crawler can delete it from the Internet. If you Google my address, you’ll be able to more clearly see what I mean. I do thank you and appreciate it if you could do this.
Please email me back.
Sincerely,
S

What S is referring to is an old post on AllVoices that shows the wall collapse above the old Salad King location on Yonge and Gould; entirely unrelated to her address except that AllVoices, at some point in the past, included a “related” video that mentioned her address at the bottom of the page (along with numerous other links which, I guess, are now tainted).

I replied:

Hello S,

The cached page you sent me below has the address mentioned in a completely separate video link (“Video Source: xml. truveo.com”) – which is neither edited, controlled nor maintained by me (nor does it even appear below my post any longer – have a look at the non-cached version). I suggest you contact Google and AllVoices with this issue and inquire why these two pieces of information are being conflated in the search results; if it’s happening here, chances are very good you’ll see it again with some other random post.

My photos make no mention of your address either directly or indirectly  and I furthermore have no control over Google’s cached pages or how AllVoices chooses to combine what they deem to be related content on their pages. And, to be quite blunt, I’m not in the habit of removing things just because some third-party site may incidentally decide to include them alongside something else that may affect your resale. To put it into perspective, my name appears in the search results along with a millinery and a high school in Thunder Bay — should I ask them to remove their sites because they might be misleading when I go looking for a job? After all, I don’t live in Thunder Bay and I’ve never made a hat in my life, yet these appear right next to my name in Google’s search results.

Should potential buyers express reservations based on the link you sent me, feel free to refer them to http://www.google.ca/search?q=interwebs+for+n00bs

Best of luck,
Patrick

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TORONTO,ON

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The correlation was, you do drugs, you will get a taste for human flesh. Inevitable, jerkhole.

There’s a really interesting corollary between those anti-drug campaigns, eggs sitting on tops of walls (and subsequently falling off), the falling of the walls themselves (below), the frying of the whole place (further below), and — it seems — a drug-induced stupor at City Hall that allowed the whole thing to happen. And then the egg on their faces. Thus the circle of life is complete.

It was April 16th of last year when the facade came down near Ryerson, just over the Salad King restaurant which everyone suddenly remembered with cherished memories and the inevitable adage, “…but I haven’t been there for a while.”

Recall:

I think Salad King was planning to re-open some time tragically soon — just to pour Thai hot sauce on that open wound. And that’s exactly what it’s been since it came down: just a gaping gash on Gould Street. They threw a big tarp over the rubble on the street, fenced the area off, and that’s how it sat until this week’s fire.

Okay, so I’ve been asking this question for a while now … why has this building been allowed to sit as a wreck for this long? Why cover the frickin’ rubble with a tarp?

Well, apparently the thing was a heritage building and City Hall was mulling over what to do with it. Guess the bricks in the rubble were historic as well, hence the tarp.

But while Councillors were chewing the end-of-term / beginning-of-term cud, getting tours of City Hall, cancelling snacks, etc., the thing was left unattended and this week exploded into a six-alarm blaze — didn’t know there were that many alarms!

Even when I dropped by the next day the thing was still smouldering, apparently having re-erupted earlier that morning. “Normal for a fire of this magnitude”, I was assured.

Some are thinking potentially arson, I’m thinking dangerous exposed building left to the elements. Probably electrical, caused by the recent thaw, and then enjoying a very comfortable stay in the mostly wooden, former Empress Hotel building.

In the meantime, Yonge Street is now closed along with Gould (foot traffic ‘n all), and the open sore is much more so. That can’t go on too long.

My suggestion: get Ryerson University – literally across the street – involved. I mean, let all the investigators finish up, but after that I’m sure there are plenty of classes that could benefit from having to identify historic remains to salvage, perform actual fire forensics investigations, do structural engineering studies, and so on. Maybe George Brown get get itself a piece of that sweet action too. Real-world experience, free work force who get to take those spongy livers outside for some fresh air.

Just don’t let that building go to ruin a third time, you know?

—

Sponsored links:

wall systems

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If ever you’ve experienced an aversion to screaming midget hellions accompanied by double-wide-stroller-pushing “adults”, this is the one event that’s guaranteed to permanently damage your brain. Santa becomes Satan so very easily.

Dante’s little excursion through his so-called “Inferno” was, in comparison, a pleasant bonfire. Which would’ve been nice as this particular circle of hell was damn close to freezing over.

On top of this, imagine thousands of screaming infants, cranky at the excessive gaps in the procession because there were no more clowns to keep them entertained (or because they’d just been entertained by clowns).

Oh, it wasn’t all TSA-approved body cavity searches. Some of the floats were your standard Christmas parade fare and that’s okay. But even then I noticed a general propensity for using characters that had massive, Japanese Anime-like eyes. Except the Japs’ stylized characters are usually pleasant, if not mildly arousing. The things atop these trailers looked more like Smeagol (a.k.a. Gollum). Preciousssss.

And in bygone days we had corporate sponsors to blame for the declining mirth, now it’s a lineup of what looks like recycled floats with the soft drink logos ripped off. ‘cept they’re not fooling me, I know who these polar bears use to shill for.

Both my nephews still believe in the fat guy. I blame that irresponsibility on their parents.

Maybe my sis is trying to do some vicarious holidaying; she maintains that I stripped the joy out of Christmas by forcing on her irrefutable evidence that Santa doesn’t exist. Sounds like something I’d do. But listen, the earlier they learn that reindeer don’t fly, rabbits don’t shit chocolate eggs, and that uncle Patrick is really the guy who ponied up for their awesome new PS3 game, the earlier we can all get to enjoying the true meaning of Christmas: alcohol and time off work.

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Weaving between teenagers hardly capable of holding their drink let alone appreciating art of any kind, and the puddles of vomit they leave about the place, to me, kinda cheapens the experience. Not unlike using the English translation of Nuit Blanche.

So that’s the one thing about Nuit that this year stood out loud and sore for me.

Beyond that, I was sure the crowds would dissipate post midnight. Last year I headed out at around one o’clock, this year I was there sometime after two in the morning, but with considerably more people. I suppose that’s inevitable; the event now draws in excess of a million people and I’m sure there’ll be more next year. Clearly single-digit temperatures and the threat of rain means nothing to the swarthy outdoors art crowd.

Okay, criticisms dispensed with. Let’s get to the meat and potatoes, shall we?

So, once again I found myself unable to make it to the elusive Zone C. Since I live on the eastern edge of Zone A I necessarily have to traverse it to get to the other side. It’s about an hour of distractions, crowds, and everything and anything designed to ensure that you never make it through.

For starters, there’s always something going on at Nathan Phillips Square. This year the area in front of City Hall hosted a sprawling performance by Daniel Lanois entitled “Later That Night At The Drive-In”.

That angled mirrored roof I assumed was still to be installed was actually intended to sit at an angle in order to allow the audience a view at the group of musicians beneath, churning out eerie Pink-Floyd-like riffs to accompany cut-up bits of classic cinema projected onto conical cloth towers, sections of the sidewalk, parts of City Hall, even the pond / soon-to-be skating rink.

I stuck around for a remix of Hitchcock’s Vertigo but once the electric guitars started to get shrill, I got gone.

The one installation I really wanted to see was Max Streicher’s “Endgame (Coulrophobia)”. The giant inflated, super-creepy clown heads, wedged between a couple of Yonge Street buildings were, frankly, everything I’d hoped for.

Coulrophobia is a fear of clowns, communicated with amazing precision. The head at the bottom looked especially savage.

Not far away was Michael Fernandes’ antithetically friendly “Arrivals/Departures” where visitors were encouraged to scoop up a piece of chalk and, on a very large blackboard, record where they came from / were going.

I wrote, “veni, vidi, vici” which got a chuckle from Nuit volunteers – “is that a band from the eighties?” they quizzed. “You bet your Ides of March!” I assured them.

I didn’t really feel like lobbing a third reference over their heads so I left to see the exhibit across the street. Besides the giant clown heads, this was definitely one of the coolest bits of art I saw.

The piece, “Big O” by Zilvinas Kalpinas, had intelligence in the design if nothing else.

It consisted of two rows of fans that faced each other and between them, caught on the undulating air currents, was a big loop of magnetic tape that I’m fairly certain came from an old VHS cassette. The whole thing, from the choice of materials to the intrinsic understanding of thermodynamics, left me with the  impression that there was a deep commentary in there — about the changing boundaries of technology, the maleable nature of the world around us, maybe a bit of both, or more, or less. Simple but effective.

While other works weren’t quite as elegant, many of the installations demonstrated a terrific sense of humour. Unfortunately I can’t find the name of the piece or the artist (this was in a section showcasing last year’s favourites), but the statue of E.T. holding his famous, glowing life-giving finger over the lifeless body of Yoda and surrounded by religious symbolism — pretty fucking hilarious.

Funny thing about Nuit Blanche is that half the time you’re not sure if you’re looking at a piece of art or something that’s always been on the street and you just never noticed before. Some people suggest that that’s the point of the exercise.

Take this “piece”, for example:

Fog and bright lights; people weren’t sure what to make of it but everyone who stood before it walked away with altered perceptions. Literally. The most common comment was, “Holy shit that’s bright! I can’t see a damn thing!”

I ended the morning with a double-header, Martin Arnold and Micah Lexier’s piece named “Erik Satie’s Vexations”. The performance consisted of two pianos simultaneously playing a single sheet of music, over and over and over again; 840 over-agains, in fact. The thing was originally supposed to be played by just one pianist but the twelve-hour constraint for Nuit required the piece to be performed in tandem, in essence playing at double the rate.

The composition wasn’t long, maybe a minute of music, at which point assistants would replace the completed sheet of music with a new one. They would then take the sheet to the other side of the building where it would be folded into a paper “sculpture” by two more “performers”.

Twelve straight hours of playing, folding, and back-and-forth ferrying. “Vexations” — seems like an accurate name, doesn’t it?

Of course I’m just scratching the surface here. Out of about 130 exhibits I saw 10 — if I was lucky. Anything more than that would’ve required planning and preparation – on weekends I try not to burden myself with such things. Besides, art is meant to be enjoyed organically and with a sense or surprise. Wandering around is, in other words, the best way to do it. And a damn fine excuse for not making it to Zone C too!

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Of course there was nudity again this year. Just more seemingly painful nudity. But I’ll let you be the judge. First try to find it. Then try not to cringe.

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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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