As a source of information, I’ve never been a huge fan of the Sun newspaper, a tabloid rag that panders to the lowest common denominator with a few blurby bits of print parading around on each page awash in seas of advertising. The vast majority of their content comes in off the wire via AP or Reuters, often to the point where you can read entire articles — verbatim — in other local papers.
The Sun “newspaper” carries skimpily-clad Sunshine Girls on the back page, features way more sports coverage than international news, and is filled to the brim with bright, colourful photos, eezee-to-read sentences, and sensationalist headlines up the wazoo.
Basically, if you want to have your news predigested and regurgitated for mindless consumption along with a heaping bowlful of red-blooded stereotype, the Sun is for you!
Normally, I wouldn’t give a toss about the Sun. Live and let exist to wipe my ass with, I say. But recently it’s become painfully clear that this “newspaper” is a reflection of the myocardial infarction we currently have sitting in Toronto’s mayoral chair, as well as his ruddy-faced lap dogs like Giorgio Mamolitti who whine like little girls whenever their precious feelings have been hurt by public opinion, contradictory free speech, or that terrible terrible thing we call a democracy (I’ll have to post his bitchings during the last marathon depositions on YouTube).
And to be honest, I’m getting fucking sick and tired of hearing clamoring idiots calling for myopic, one-dimensional, all-pennies-and-no-brains bullshit with which to fix this city’s problems with.
Most meat-headed partisans like to think they’re in the clear, the “he was voted in so he must have majority support” fallacy. Except that only 47% of the people who voted actually voted for Rob Ford. That means that less than half of the people who voted directly support His Rotundness. Moreover, only about half of Toronto actually voted, so the bellowing loudmouths milling around in Ford Nation account for only about 25% of Toronto. And guess what, most of downtown didn’t vote for Ford — the people who will be most affected by his actions are the ones who can’t stand him the most.
The other fact that Fordites continue to forget is that there are 44 councillors at City Hall which must approve stuff before any of Ford’s ridiculous plans can ever come to fruition. “But Ford is going to do blah blah blah…” Yeah, no he’s not, because he’s a bully and he can barely make friends with a fire hydrant let alone a thinking councillor.
Fordites also can’t seem to come to grips with the fact that their portly hero is full of shit.
Those people with the end-of-the-world sandwich boards were eerily accurate now that I think of it; the end did indeed come! (this after being nigh for a whole year)
But do you notice how they never bother to mention the party that happens at the end, or how, really, the only thing that ends on New Year’s is sobriety?
I’d wanted to knock a few glasses during the countdown but my celebrations ended up being a bit more demure. Wait, no, non-existent is a lot more correct. Maybe it was the change in weather (the overcast, rainy evening), or maybe I’m just getting old, but I plunked my ass on the sofa at around nine in the evening intending to head out in a couple of hours, and I closed my eyes for just a few moments — just a few goddam moments! – and that was that.
I woke up on the first at around four-thirty in the morning with a Jersey Shore marathon doing laps in the background, Ollie spread-eagled in the middle of the living room, and everything so painfully over that there was really nothing left to do but turn it all off and get back to resting my eyes.
Yup, Toronto City Life isn’t all glamour and glitz, despite what you might read around here. And what exactly is it about, then? Why, perhaps I could start off with the first picks in a top-ten list of my fave posts from 2010, to illustrate. (Hey, everyone’s doing it!)
Definitely makes the cut because of relative ease of access, great location, great subjects, and almost guaranteed drama. I’m still a little surprised that this event isn’t more popular but I’m thanking my lucky stars at the same time — you can get just about anywhere around the track while enjoying fine beverages and meals along the way. It’s a classy sort of spectator sport in that way, and is quite a grueling workout for the commoners out there on their bicycles every year, grinding metal and bone against pavement for your amusement while you feast and imbibe. Can’t be beat!
Regent Park is a volatile place at the best of times. Just when police thought they had a hold on the violence in the area that erupted there a decade or so ago (if I’m not mistaken), it seems to be returning as of the end of 2010.
Gotta be honest, if it wasn’t for the graffiti, the place would look like a prison camp. Straight up. The buildings are squat, brutish, and not usually well cared for. Dumpsters sit prominently in front of each squat and it’s mostly nothing but pavement and brick of the same ilk in all directions.
It’s meant as the go-between place for people new to Toronto. At least, that seems to have been the idea since time immemorial. But some people are never able to make it out for one reason or another. Not sure why someone would choose to be stuck there, especially when you see the amount of hopeful / guiding / mournful / unifying / uplifting stuff that adorns neighbourhood’s walls.
And don’t mistake Regent Park as some dropping off point for criminals, although it seems to be a good place to engender some. There are people there from all over, many with kids, most just trying to do better. The city can just be a bitch sometimes.
When old Ed Mirvish died a few years ago, among the eulogizing attendees at his funeral were the mayor (plus two former mayors) of Toronto, current and former Premieres of Ontario, and the Lieutenant Governor of Ontario.
Ed was a big cheese.
That goes for every sense of the word too. When you enter into Ed’s store, the wacky tacky three-ring and block-wide circus of shopping, there’s absolutely no doubt that P.T. Barnum and Mirvish were cut from the same cloth. The amount (and I believe it’s growing), of memorabilia hanging from the walls is sometimes staggering.
My faves include old posters from the shows that Ed put on at his growing retinue of theatres, and the signed photos from the actors that appeared in them. Then there are the enlarged reproductions of Ed hob-knobbing it with the Brat Pack, the Queen of England, and famous people of all kinds – singers, actors, politicians; it just keeps going and going.
And just when you think there couldn’t possibly be more, you hit the basement where they sell very different stuff – a 19th century Thai shrine, for example; a cool $24,000. But it’s all sitting out on the floor just like the $2 socks on the level above. Come to think of it, the socks were more neatly arranged.
I still can’t believe they didn’t shoo me out of the store for whipping out my lens at every opportunity, and just for that I can continue to recommend Ed’s as a place to buy quality merchandise at cheapo prices. Those $10 blankets I bought during that visit are holding up well, and if you visit at around this time of year you might end up with a free turkey too.
Brains brains brains – brains, and more brains – brains brains brns. BRAAAAAAAINS! I brained. Brain brain brain, brain brain? Brains! I brained a brain and brains brained the brain. After that, it was all just braaaaaaains and brains brains brain brain brains.
This wasn’t a series I liked because of its brains but because of its beauty.
One of the problems of living in Toronto is winter. It sucks outside the city all the more, but it can get just as cold and frozen here as anywhere else. About now is when that period begins.
And there are the short days too. You look outside at noon and you’d think it was the middle of the frickin’ afternoon! The sun hangs low in the south so if you’re blessed with a clear day, the only place to get good lighting during an early winter sunset is by the lake.
One of the cool things about living in Toronto is what the ice and snow do the city, especially by the water. You can get an eyeful there at the right time of day (or night). It’s the scale of the thing that I enjoy; a frozen lake of that size, illuminated by a glowing sunset or piercing city lights – that’s something to see.
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Oooh! There you have the first 5 picks of 2010. And believe me when I tell you, I agonized over every post I’d written in the past year during the selection process. I mean, just picking out 10 random posts with photos would be cheap and meaningless, right? Hehe. *nervous laugh*
I tried to warn my sis. I referred her to last year’s experience. I told her this was no place for impressionable young kids. Did she listen? Did she do the responsible thing and not accept my invitation to the Santa Claus Parade? Am I wallowing in rhetoric just to fill up a few sentences?
Ask anyone who knows me, I’m definitely not phobic of long-term relationships, I think it’s just that I’m trying to recreate some of those televised dorm room shenanigans because of my own, contrary college experience. It was a community college, strikingly similar to the grouped-together rejects of the TV show Community, but with less of the dry, carefully crafted and craftily delivered humour rolling off Joel McHale’s tongue.
I was surrounded by forty-seven-year-old men who, back home, had been military jet technicians, architects, and — no kidding — bona fide brain surgeons. Often, they would correct the professor (or teacher for those who weren’t allowed to assume the title), much to everyone’s mutual amusement. (“Can’t believe I pay for this horseshit!! Why don’t I just hang around with Mr. Kim here?!”) Plus, our language and cultures often kept our relationships simply cordial. I mean, I was curious to learn about The East, but I found that I really didn’t like kimchi at all. That pretty much put an end to me trying any Korean beer. Plus, they each had families and worked 50 hours after school + studying just to be able to cover tuition (it’s a lot higher if you’re not Canadian), and sadly, yes, in the most prototypical downtown convenience stores one could imagine.
On the recognized work experience scale, I was roughly their supervisor’s supervisor. I could definitely fire their sorry asses. It was a strange dynamic, but at least I was in enough debt that we could share that misery equally (but usually them more than me). And cheating off them was a guaranteed success (a generous coffee a day gets you places! ;) ). But it was no Joel McHale making out with Gillian Jacobs, or Alison Brie. Or even Yvette Nicole Brown. (Even though you know that that last plot line will have to develop at some point. Only way to keep the show classy.)
Maybe I’m being unnecessarily sentimental. I should probably stop listening to those awful Chet Baker songs, especially this time of year.
Are you like me? Do you like to sit on the floor in a crumpled, sobbing heap, running through all the missed opportunities of your youth in your head, again and again? Right, exactly, neither do I. I mean, I’ve tried it a few times but I just can’t seem to get the rhythm of the comforting rocking motion down. And I just don’t see how it solves anything.
But old Chet and his awful good music remind us how cool it is to be a bachelor, especially this time of year.
Oh who am I kidding?! There’s no way that last Friday’s post will make it online now! Guess I’ll have to call that the lost Friday. It really did swirl all the way down the black hole, to be completely honest.
In my defence, I was somewhat preoccupied with a perplexing new development. I mulled it over all weekend, only popping my head outside on Sunday afternoon to catch the dying gasps of fall. It was one of those staggeringly beautiful weekends that, if you miss them, you’re required to commit suicide. You just missed something that nice. So I had to.
Anyhow, it was a stark contrast to the development I mentioned, which has to do with my ex-wife and my ex-car. Okay, I know, it sounds whiny already, but I promise to keep that to a minimum. And the story gets a little unusual.
I figured I wouldn’t need the car while living downtown, so I let the ex drive it until the lease expired. I’ve been described both as a nice guy and a sucker. I’d probably stick myself somewhere in between. Besides, it shouldn’t have been a problem; car’s in my name and my folks guaranteed the lease. Whatever I chose to do at the end of it (this month), would’ve been to my advantage. Karma returning a favour, I thought.
After reading yesterday’s post about the harrowing zombie situation in Toronto, you’re probably eager to discover how I escaped completely unscathed. After all, researchers have used zombie scenarios to predict the spread of H1N1, so I believe this information will be quite relevant even after the zombies have retired.
So where did I leave off yesterday? Oh yes, the zombies had me surrounded and I’d run out of people to toss in their path. The situation was getting really ugly:
The great discovery happened when I pulled out my camera and started to take photos. I figured I could record my final few moments for TCL; become the first post-mortem blogger — I believe that would make for interesting content. But it wasn’t to be.
You see, it seems that zombies actually like to have their photos taken. Anyone in the crowd who happened to be brandishing a camera was given a wide berth and, often, cooperative smiles (or menacing grimaces – whatever the scene called for):
And I feel that branding them all as brain-hungry murderers really isn’t representative of the zombie population. Being undead, apparently, isn’t enough to stave off the requirements of the workaday world, but the zombies seemed to take it all in stride. If it wasn’t for the homicidal tendency of ingesting live human brains, they’d probably make decent citizens.
Haha! *insert social commentary here*
Speaking of commentary, who’s tailing the wag here?
Let me start by saying that KISS ended up doing the right thing and scheduling that concert in Oshawa. Good call, gentlemen. But I guess Gene Simmons didn’t like the negative spotlight of this little aside and he went and started blaming the media for spoiling the surprise the band had had in store the entire time.
*ahem*
What was the surprise again? I mean, the cat was out of the bag and running around the room hissing and breaking things when KISS announced that Oshawa had won the well-publicized contest. Toronto was a contender in that contest, as were Los Angeles and New York. Was the “special” surprise that the winner wouldn’t be getting a visit from the group? Would they be revealing some awesome piece of the show simply by announcing that they would be having a show? That would make the tour an awful spoiler. Contest too.
If you don’t want to read the whole article, basically the guy called his family some time in the middle of the afternoon last Saturday. He said two guys with guns were trying to run him off the road. Then silence. Parents called the cops; “he’s been kidnapped!” Almost immediately, strange facts start to pop up in the news. He’d just been fired from his part-time job at IBM and was also arrested for stealing stuff. And he had two grand in his pocket at the time of the kidnapping, allegedly on his way to fly out of the country; a big no-no on account of the theft thing.
Then, yesterday, they found the guy in St. Catharines. No kidnappers. No kidnapping. Just a snitch.
Disappearing, okay, that I can appreciate. The kidnapping though. I mean, that’s a guaranteed manhunt; even more people looking for you. And it’s a race against time because now there’s reason to believe your life may be in danger. Sweet sweet irony.
Look, if you’re evading the law, the best and only way is to fake your own death. Something fiery and bally you can watch from the distance while sipping a rare liqueur. I’ve been considering the various avenues now that the government has decided it’s time for me to start paying my back taxes :( Death is an option.
But that’s not my m.o. I’ll just have to become a master criminal so cunning that the shadowy income I pull in will quickly eliminate any debt I have. The death I’ll save for retirement.
What’s the alternative? Blogging? HahahHAHAHahAHAHAhahe hehe HAHAHAhaha! Oh man that’s funny. *wipe tears*
Oliver had that smug, knowing look on his face this morning. It suggested that maybe I turn on the radio and get an update on the War.
I flipped over to CFRB where it’s guaranteed that even on the slowest of news days, someone will be seething live on the air over something or other. Usually the latest about the War. Today, however, a strange sound emanated from the tinny bedside radio; it sounded like cheers and claps. And it went on for a long time.
Oliver nodded in my direction to indicate that this was it; or that he wanted to be fed. In a few moments, the announcer who had been feeding the delirious applause live through his mike returned. The news did indeed warrant applause.
Before you go on, would you care to pause a moment at the end of this sentence and guess what the celebrations were about?
I should caution that we shouldn’t be unrealistically optimistic here. The “a” in that sentence means one. The 416/79 , as you may recall, is a joint squadron under two commands claiming to speak and move as one. As a condition to ratification, the 416 generals are hanging their peace treaty on a similar one between the 79 and the city. And they, as yet, have nothing. Also, there are some alarming questions being raised about how high a price has been paid for securing this first agreement.
We can only hope and pray that General Miller didn’t cave under pressure. The picture that the unions paint is one of rogue trash consciously creeping out of detention and attacking tourists. Does that seem realistic?
It would be safe to conclude that Gen. Miller hasn’t set foot outside his compound since the start of the War. That would be the only explanation for his lack of oversight on the ground. The atrocity above is real, but scenes like this are increasingly few and far between. I mean, have you seen Chinatown lately? Granted my memories are bit fuzzy, but I don’t remember this intersection being so trendy:
As skeptical as I am of their dubious implications, I believe that two peace treaties will be signed before the week’s end. I can say that with a fair degree of certainty because:
a) I don’t get paid per prediction.
b) If anyone is reading this blog to forecast the future, they should consider seeing a professional. Any kind is okay; they can refer you.
c) If this blog is so influential, where the hell is my free coffee?! That’s right, no free coffee. Not even a phone call to thank me. Nothing.
d) I have seen the times to come and this blog is a record of my visions.
Just messin’ with ya ;). See a shrink. Seriously.
*sigh* I just want to get my old Toronto back; the clean home where all cultures feel comfortable and at ease:
Update: It seems the 79 union now has an agreement too. Now my prognostication seems especially pointless.
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