…continued from previous part.
I’ve been trying to understand the appeal of zombieism — it does, after all, seem to be gaining in popularity. Is it simply a fad? Once the flakes start to fall will they just slow down and freeze, or will they have enough brains to wear parkas?
The battle started ten months ago with seven contenders. By April there were twenty-six sluggers of varying degrees of viability in the ring. Then came the fisticuffs.
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.
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:
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:
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:
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.
Heavens! Has it been a year already?
Yup, season’s fully turning now; a fantastic, cold, autumn fog is rolling over the evening city as I write this; leaves are half-shorn and fully gilded; sun’s setting at around 6, to me the most obvious time for evening to start; squirrel’s are getting pudgy; zombies are back on Toronto streets.
Yeah, sure I was sore I missed it last year, but c’mon, 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning?! You must be dreaming! (That’s how I missed last year’s marathon.)
But by some perversion of nature I was up at around seven this morning listening to the multitude of road-closure notices being issued over the radio. I thanked Jebus for my continuing ability to walk just about anywhere, and shortly thereafter packed my bag and hit the bricks.
I know I’ve advocated imbibing a trifle before heading out for the the evening, but I’m gonna start prefacing that with, “except not to the point of getting shit-faced”.
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”.
Believe it or not, despite taking inexorably long I actually had a point to make with this entire series. It has to do with the kinds of people that attend the C.N.E. (or even just the grounds), and I’m going to call these people Conservationist Urbanists.
As I’m sure I’ve already mentioned, the terminus of the CNE marks the official end of summer here in Toronto. Yes, the Grand Old Lady once again shutters her carnie abodes, winterizes her hot dog stands, and abandons the Exhibition grounds to make way for more indoor, agriculturally-based pursuits.
And a Grand Old Lady she is, probably because of all the foods that abound within the burgeoning fair. It’s the main reason I went this year! :)
Every once in a while a well-meaning relative or friend asks me, “why don’t you come and live out here?”
Part of the answer is in the question, really, isn’t it?
“Out here”.
“Out” can be nice, sure – for a visit — but “in” is definitely more my style. Yet often that’s a bit too abstract to be accepted as an answer. Not like you can’t get good doughnuts out in Whitby or a decent cup of coffee in Burlington. I’m convinced you can even get a good Greek meal out in the far-flung mining town of Sudbury. And the people? Yeah, sure, I bet they’re not all backwoods rapists and gun-toting hillbillies. Somehow, though, the context lacks poetry.
So in lieu of a concrete explanation, I hope to use this post to paint a picture. Perhaps I can print it off and simply hand it over next time the question is put to me – save me having to put up half-smiles and awkward references to twanging banjos.
Between the vagaries of my web development work and daily life — “minor” updates to glade.ca that turned so easily into a complete three-week site overhaul, that challenging Levi’s “Go Forth” campaign, endless TD Canada Trust banners, assorted Purolator stuff, birthdays, and a visit to Canada’s Wonderland (Behemoth is pretty kick-ass, I must say ), I’ve hardly had room to swing a cat through my schedule.
Just as well – Ollie probably wouldn’t have taken well to it.
I finally managed to convince one of the agencies I work with that the term “independent contractor” isn’t merely a figure of speech (that and the liberal use of the term “employee” – why do I keep running into this?!), so I was looking forward to doing some work from home and mixing in healthy doses of blogging. But fate, being the filthy whore she is, pulled another steamy week out of her ass.
That window fan I’ve had going non-stop for about three months now has simply been circulating oven-like heat throughout my living room, over the exposed chassis of my computer and two surprisingly warm monitors (programming with just one monitor is a sort of punishment), and right back at my puffy, bloated face. Oh yeah, and it’s allergy season again.
Anyhow, I finally ran out of excuses tonight and took it to the streets.
With much gracious thanks to new income via new clients (one of whom may be reading this very post – Hi, S!), I’ve once again been able to get into the habit of a leisurely Saturday morning breakfast at the local greasy spoon; sunny, bacon, brown with an orange juice starter. The staff had that shit memorized a year ago, that’s how regular I am. And regular I once again am, the grease sees to that. Yeah, you know what that not-so-subtle word play is getting at.
So I’m terribly pleased to be back to be back to my regular Saturday routine, breakfast, coffee, and extracted sections of the voluminous Saturday Star: the news section, Insight, Weekend Living, and the stalwart comics. If someone were to finally remove the creator of the Family Circus blight, I’d be tempted to call it perfection.
Well, that and a few other unsightly blemishes I’ve noted inside the main news section, namely the condo ads.
Now, to be fair, I’m on record as saying that all the new development around Toronto is a good thing, and I stand by that. Even if some of the architecture is a little uninspired, the corollary benefits are great: lots of competition means lower prices, denser population means less destruction of green space, and being closer to where the action is can effectively remove the need for a car. I gave mine up two years ago and haven’t looked back – surprisingly hard to do without a rear-view mirror.
But the ads for these new condos, they’re just a bit on the weak side. Maybe it’s because I’m such an instantly critical jerkhole, but I immediately read between the lines, often without reading the lines themselves.
Take this ad for FIVE Condos, located at 5 Saint Joseph Street, not terribly far from my own groovy pad:
... with pictures
... with sounds
... with videos
... with opinions
... that's shorter
... that's longer