^{Former Scientology Toronto HQ @ Yonge and St. Mary}

Okay, so it’s not exactly a concrete plan of action or anything, but finally it’s looking like Metrolinx is investigating a downtown relief line for the Yonge subway. I say finally because the subject of at least one downtown relief line has been floating about for some time (and certainly far longer than any TCL post would indicate).

The problem is a two-fold, compound one at the present time:

1. This seems to be a far second consideration for almost everyone with a say in the transit debate, from Metrolinx to Karen Stintz. Most of the focus is on building new lines to the suburbs and this is just the beginning of starting to think about the topic.
2. The downtown lines are already pretty crowded as it is. Take any downtown train, streetcar, or bus — especially when the weather’s a bit iffy — and you’ll get the idea.

So while there are big efforts underway to get more people onto the downtown lines, there’s almost no effort to expand the already crowded system — certainly not from the Ford administration.  If something doesn’t change, and soon, the disaster will be one of Fordian proportions.

Naturally there’s been a lot of talk about the G20 coming to town and how, overall, it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be any benefit for the city from this crazy assembly. Costs have gone up almost ten-fold to about a billion bucks (how does the government manage to get everything so wrong all the time?), all of which is going toward making the G20 leaders’ visits nice and comfortable. Chunks of downtown are being completely shut down, much to residents’ chagrin, and not a penny of that exorbitant sum is being spent to help locals or businesses with lost profits, protest damage, etc. Organizers aren’t even hiring local security for the job.

Basically, unless someone can come up with one tangible benefit, the summit will end up being a huge middle finger to Toronto as well as the taxpayers of Canada. Nebulous statements of “benefits to the city” made by officials are not very convincing. Like, what benefits, exactly?

Well, there is one that I can think of, and it applies to only a very small group of Torontonians. Like myself. :)

I’m talking about the global media coverage that the G20 will invariably get. It’ll do nothing for local businesses, and I’m fairly certain most Canadian tax payers don’t give a flying fuck if the summit makes headlines in Brazil. But for anyone in the media, stories like this are akin to a sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top, especially if shit really does go down and the protests start to get violent. For insignificant bloggers who happen to live near the turmoil, that’s especially true.

As crass as that may sound, it’s the truth. Tragedies, disasters, protest movements – they’re all headline fodder extraordinaire.

Take the recent seizing of Palestinian aid ships by the Israeli army, for example. Israel, Palestine, and the ships may all be half a world away, but thanks to Toronto’s Palestinian population the story came right to my front door. And thanks to an unfortunate series of events that resulted in the pro-Palestine demonstration yesterday, the topic can happily fly under the Toronto City Life flag.

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So as I was saying yesterday about convenience, here’s a terrific example.

I was planning to do a post about urban public gardens. I know, it seems a little bent at the wrist, but I wanted to do it more in the context of the unforgiving city. Those little squares of land nestled in between caverns of glass. Had a great story ‘n everything. Then this happens:

I know it’s not war-torn Bosnia, but still, you don’t get many brick walls coming down in such a prominent location, in the middle of the day. Extremely convenient for me, if I may be frank. So I believe this proves my point. Unless someone’s suggesting I brought the wall down just to prove a point. :|

Anyhow, can I get a little personal here? I felt totally legit today – schedule ‘n all. I weaved in and out of the news crowd like it was nothing, had conversations with a few of them. Also witnessed a Ryerson student being turned back at the yellow tape. One of the camera guys joked with me with a “nice try, eh? You’re not from Ryerson, are you?” To which I replied, “Hell no.” Reply, *nod*.

That’s how it’s done. No one stopped me when I ducked under the yellow tape. Or stood on the wall. Or the electrical box. QED.

I probably don’t need to tell you what happened if you listen to local news. But if you don’t, it’s pretty straightforward. This wall came down on a street just north of Yonge-Dundas Square, so good foot traffic. Plus it’s the edge of Ryerson University. Some time early this afternoon, it slumped. And then came down. No one was hurt, so very lucky.

See? Simple. Probably the sign attached to the front from what I heard.

I had dinner at the place next door a few weeks back and I don’t recall the building bulging any. Also didn’t notice anything every other day I walked past there either. I use that corner a lot, is what I’m getting at, and can’t say I saw anything untoward.

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Well, it’s happened. I’m getting antsy.

I was watching Breakfast Television this morning to see if Dina Pugliese would entice me into a passionate new day (and for the weather report). She didn’t; she’s just so dry (and it’s supposed to start raining tomorrow).  The over-boiled supposed-to-be-soft-boiled egg was digesting in my stomach, as was the thick, crunchy, crusty hunk of Vienna Rye (I buy it for a reason!) I was up early again and was feeling the need to get inspired. Portfolio’s a waitin’

Dina obviously wouldn’t do it for me so I decided to kill a few birds with one stone: head outside for a walk, get some inspiration, and take a few photos of it. I firmly believe that to solve a problem it’s best to walk away from it; just the excuse I needed.

My first thought when I hit Yonge-Dundas Square was to make the portfolio like a building. Each floor would house a project I’d worked on that you could fly into via the magic of Adobe Flash. The Woo building (I’m sure it has another name — but is it as catchy?), seemed like a suitable candidate. Lots of windows and spinny, twirly, moving things. Plus, I remember the Woo website being somewhat slick – the location must’ve worked for them.

Except that it’s been done, like, a million and one times already.  Every agency and creative somethingorother showcase their loft, or their building, or some nearby space on their web pages.

Okay, how about something like a construction site then?

I could have the shovels, umm, shoveling content. And the dump trucks … dumping … stuff. Hmmm.

That idea had two unfortunate connotations. First, the connection between trucks, dumping, and the intertubes. Not sure if that’s the image I want to give off. Second, this thing:

Ultra-cheese since it first appeared in a Netscape window. I haven’t used Netscape since I don’t even know when.

So that pretty much put an end to the construction idea.

For some reason, fire trucks were racing along Yonge Street the whole morning. I didn’t see a single emergency (no smoke or stretchers), but they did spark off an idea.

Maybe I’d been over thinking it. Maybe I could just use one complex, rotating, 3D object in the middle of a pristine white web page. The object could be something like a fire truck, the Swiss Army knife of vehicles. Or a Swiss Army knife. I imagined it would be kind fun to poke and prod this thing on screen, having each prodable doohickey act as an activator to some portfolio piece that would pop up beside it.

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To be perfectly honest, there’s nothing I enjoy more than having someone tell me how to operate my own equipment. I mean, a suggestion is one thing. That I don’t mind at all. It doesn’t make any presumptions. But when that short, older man (wearing a Yankees cap!) told me, “you can’t shoot directly into the sun, son”, I could scarcely contain my rage.

I took him to the nearby corner of Yonge-Dundas Square and I showed him a few things.

“You see, sucker”, I thought to myself. “There’s enough ambient light on the sidewalk”, now out-loud, “to illuminate subjects from the front. They’re kind of shadowy, but I think that’s kinda cool. All thanks to this iContrast thingie.”

“Ah!”, he marvelled. “What camera is this? I have an EOS Rebel XSi at home. Is that a Rebel too?”

“No”, I replied, “it’s a … umm …”. I’d forgotten the name. Flipped it over. “Oh, yeah, a Powershot … SX 10 … IS. Fixed lens (can’t stick another lens on there) … but what a lens!”

I went on to extole the virtues of the camera and its lens while flipping through the other photos.

“So, it has all the same software?”

What an odd question.

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This is starting to look bad, isn’t it? Second Friday post that didn’t make it out until the weekend. But this time, dear reader, I want to assure you it was an absolute necessity. You see, an event took place this weekend that marks TCL’s first technical anniversary and I didn’t want to waste a post on something more mundane.

I say technical because if you look at the archives, TCL only goes back to January. But it’s really been online since November of last year.

Luckily the WayBack Machine has, as yet, no record of it.

At that time TCL had a mostly-black theme with content that induced hemorrhaging from the eyeballs and projectile vomiting. Pretty awful stuff. Back then I didn’t have the experience or the sphincteric relaxation to do anything interesting, really. Had anyone suggested I run a shocking exposé on what really happens at the annual Santa Claus Parade, I would’ve balked!

But in mid-November I attended Illuminite, the annual Christmas lighting of Yonge-Dundas Square. It was a cold and rainy November night, but the show went on anyway. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to muscle my way up to the front of the crowd, and it was in that soggy moment of inspiration that I remembered it was Toronto City Life. Most of these people were alive, so they qualified. I was getting all bent out of shape for nothing!

That epiphany, and the attitudinal adjustment that came with it, carried me through all the way around to this year’s event. Good thing too because there were a lot more people this time around:

Most of the show, consisting of fire, sparks, trampolines, and dancing, took place at the far end of the square. There was a lot of loud music that, more often than not, descended into a raucous noise that in no way said season’s greetings to me. Eventually, the same spooky music I remember from last year came on as the fire dancers wound their way across the square toward the stage I’d plunked myself behind:

The dancers paraded around on stage in wintry white and silver, twirling fiery objects and having pyrotechnics go off behind them as if to say, “here’s the last blast of warmth you’re getting for the next six months”:

The audience were close enough that one slip and the girl in the red hood got a face full of fire. Now if that’s not a reason to go see something live, I don’t know what is. The fireworks were pretty scary too:

Behind the dancers was the reason for the whole display, the tree.

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Dear guy who fell at the AMC theatre,

Hahaha! *wipe tear* Oh man, you made my morning today. Thank you.

So I take it you fell off the side of one of the escalators in the enclosed photograph, correct?

Look, I don’t think actions such as these should be punishable by death, so I hope you get better. But seriously? Trying to ride the handrail? Here?

I’ve done my fair share regrettable things while inebriated. That was it, right? You were drunk? I get it. I’m always a little more invincible than I really am; I don’t think as well as I should; that’s what alcohol does. But I’ve never once thought that a two or three storey, head-first plunge onto a slab of concrete would be the thing to do. And I don’t know how you could’ve overlooked the height. You probably don’t remember, so have a look at the photograph again. Besides the great visibility, you probably got a good sense of the layout on your way up, no?

Well, listen. If you’re reading this, that’s good news! Stick with the physio and you should regain almost full control over the drooly side of your face. I know your situation sucks, but to be honest, I’m glad it wasn’t me. Then again, at 27, that wasn’t me. When you can dictate or write again, please send me a reply to describe your thought process at the time. I would be most interested.

With ancticipation,
Patrick

—

Dear Ms. Mohamud,

Okay, so let me see if I’ve got the story straight.

You went to Kenya to visit a relative. Had a good couple of weeks; nice place.

So then you went to leave and the people at the Kenyan airport said you didn’t look like your passport. Something about your lips being different? I had a look for myself, as you can see in the enclosed photo, and the passport photo probably bears the greatest resemblance to you out of all your identification.

So if I have it correct so far, they held you in detention (basically jail) while they contacted Canadian officials to verify your passport. Apparently all of the other government-issued identification cards you surrendered (among other things), were also supposed to have been forged or stolen, or something like that. I bet you were thinking the Canadian government would sort it all out for you, huh? After all, you are clearly who you say you are.

If were in your shoes, I would have shat a house when I learned that Canada then cancelled my passport as a verified fake. Are you as curious as I am to know how they came up with that? A government-backed inquiry wouldn’t be a bad idea. I mean, it will take a decade, but might as well start that mossy stone rolling, no?

Okay, so no documents. Honestly, asking to be fingerprinted was really smart. I don’t remember the feds taking my fingerprints when I came to Canada as a kid, but I guess they do. It would seem obvious that as an immigrant, they’d have your prints on file too.

But they didn’t.

Now, I completely understand why they would destroy your prints after doing a background check since, apparently, that’s all they’re supposed to be used for. Sensible, but obviously not of much help to you.

What I don’t get is why they kept you dangling for two weeks refusing to take them, then waiting two more while dithering whether or not to do so, then finally doing so, then two more weeks while they checked back home, and only then discovering that they don’t keep them on file.

Three months of Canada Border Services sitting on their thumbs. I can see how mistakes could be made, but this … how did you not freak out?

I know you haven’t decided whether or not to sue the government, but I want you to know you’ll have my full support if you do. The rolling of heads also gets my vote.

Sincerely,
Patrick

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Dear busker at Dundas Station,

Thanks for letting me take your picture. Your music was like a Siren song. A jazzy Siren song. Minus the Siren. I don’t know how you managed to permeate the whole station, but it was just magical.

I hope you come back again soon.

With admiration,
Patrick

Ah, weekends; two days to remind you of how good life could be.

It’s not that I think Mondays are bad, per se. They’ve simply been relegated to being the first days to shatter happiness and joy, to be the harbingers of pain and sorrow. And so on.

The gosh-durn WordPress update never seems to go smoothly (it’s always one plugin after another, isn’t it?) and, well, the weekend was so interesting, I almost forgot that the War still lurked just around the corner — with a bat and a belief I owed it some money.

Sadly, our own local detention center has now moved off-court onto (I believe) wood-chip-covered earth:

Can you believe that it’s been almost a month now?

But luckily there’s a curious twist at this point, otherwise I’d just be regurgitating the same old war stories again. That’s gross.

If you look at the photo again, right at the back on the left are two guys in DayGlo-yellow shirts. They’re actually taking trash from people’s cars and hauling it in here themselves. Somehow, the 416/79 cavalry have managed to miss my little enclave; these guys were actually helping people get their trash in. Most excellent service too, if I may say. I’ll definitely have to ask more questions tomorrow.

But you know that even if they were strikers, which they were not (?!), it wouldn’t stop some kind of festival from happening. With genuine regret, I managed to completely miss the Festival of India parade, but at least managed to fill my crowd quota for the day with the big balls of Just for Laughs:

All the comics must’ve been on their smoke breaks because everyone there was definitely not funny. Well, there was this one funny part where a gymnast flew dangerously off course, and oh-so-close to the audience:

The look on his face as he lifted himself off the canvas was a masterpiece of raw human emotion; disbelief, horror, embarrassment, relief, self-doubt, and anger; the kind of face you make when you’re in the privy trying, grimly, to eject a particularly unrealistic log. OH, C’MON! WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE!

Anyway, it was funny.

Funnier than cleaning my sofa when I got back to my place:

Eureka, leave a comment and I’ll contact you about where you can send the royalty cheques. What? You didn’t think it’d be just one, did you? Just like foxes, you are.

Now, dear reader, before you berate me for the frequency of my house-keeping, I would like to point out that this is a week’s worth of collected Ollie hair and open-window city exposure.

Plus, we’re in the middle of a war! A dusty, dusty war.