Dang … almost forgot I had a blog and a camera! I totally blame winter for my shut-in-edness and lack of motivation. TIME FOR REVENGE!!

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Gazing out the window while chatting on the phone this afternoon (i.e. trying to look busy), I spotted this guy smoothing out the concrete of the new George Brown College building next door.

I dunno what this contraption is called but the sharp, spinning, metal blades just scream fun and hijinx, don’t you think?

…it hardly feels like work.

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“Toronto waterfront skyline” by Cameron Ogilvie / musicandmotion

You know, I really thought that last post about letting your kids wander around alone in a city would’ve been more contentious. Apparently not. Gotta say, the TCL readership is waaaaaay more liberal than I ever could’ve imagined. Cool!

Or you’re still reading. Sorry, it was kinda long. I’ll do my best to keep this one lighter.

Nothing much to say anyway. The Music Garden is supposed to communicate through other senses.

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I probably looked like someone preparing for an assassination. But I had a purpose, dear reader. Yes, a master plan. A secret master plan.

That’s right, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss why I looked like I would be involved in a Bourne-like plot, but I could see how my behaviour could be construed as such.

I stood at the each location, gazing across the street to check the sightlines. Then I’d go to that location and gaze back from there. Suspicious. And, being the proud papa of a short new cut, along with my daunting shades, I probably looked the part of someone who might use those sightlines for nefarious purposes.

And I was on a mission.

Determined to hit as many of my ten destinations as I could. I managed six. Well, seven if you count the bendy CN Tower. I’m not sure if I’m counting it just yet; we’ll see which way I’m leaning later on. But I trekked the hell out of those streets. Up to the steps of Casa Loma…

…down to the most prominent building on Queen Street…

…onward to the CBC where I had a shouting match with Glenn Gould…

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Regarding the title, I simply came to the conclusion that, really, is there a better opportunity to use it than today? I mean, tomorrow the interweb could break and then I’d be kicking myself in the pants for weeks for having missed the golden moment. So there’s that explained.

Of course, this all has to do with my insistence on integrity. You see, I may resort to describing the glistening contours of the thing that emerged from my bowels this morning, but only if that thing actually took form, and I’m really hurting for a topic. So when I make a bowl of miso, I may freely incorporate it into the discussion, and title, and rest assured it’s better than just any old shit.

This particular bowl of miso also has a history.

I was walking near the lakeshore on Cherry Street pretending to be Rain Man and taking pictures of random stuff in the sky. Here’s one I call “Wapner’s on at three”:

The wind in that area is out to murder people; not hurt or maim, murder. I pulled my hands out for, maybe, three seconds to take that picture and I nearly lost them both to exposure. I need to get a glove fund started or pretty soon I’ll be the famous stumpy blogger who mashes out his photos like he mashes out his posts, poorly. I’m not good with stumps.

By keeping my hands in my pockets, I managed to defrost them long enough to take a few more pictures, but the closer I got to the lake the more it was looking like the wind would have its way with me before tossing my bedraggled corpse over the side of the bridge into the dark, choppy waters below.

And I gotta tell ya, that just didn’t sound like fun at all.

Huddled in my coat and hands stuffed as far away from danger as possible, I double-timed it out of there. The two surviving photos are entitled “I’m an excellent driver” and “Wapner’s on at three redux”, respectively:

Okay, so I’ve just escaped a savage death at the hands of the elements but I’m still not out of the woods; now the miso comes into play.

In that God-forsaken land where there is naught but wailing and gnashing of teeth, there stands a gaily lit T&T Supermarket. The T&T carries probably the most extensive assortment of Asian / Taiwanese goods outside of Asia / Taiwan, many of which I picked up a taste for during my expat years. The winters during that time were cold and damp and my rock-solid cure for them was hot miso and cold sushi. Well, mostly the miso. The sushi came around on one of those little conveyor belts — the fish was kinda secondary. Plus they had killer wasabi.

So I ducked into the T&T and, completely separated from the maelstrom outside, picked through green onions to the soothing sounds of Gordon Lightfoot. I wandered the aisles pretending to be shopping for chopsticks or … woks or … live squid or … tampons until I warmed up enough for the daunting journey back home. … Continue Reading

Okay, I can honestly say I gave him a chance, but I’m not really enjoying waking up to John Moore. The the thing about Bill Carroll (the former radio timeslot), I think, is that he’s a lot angrier. Bill’s got that righteous indignation thing down. John goes on a lot about stuff in a way that makes me not care about it. It’s blood-curdling rage emanating from the radio that helps me get up in the morning. Without it, I’m just too warm and snuggly in my bed.

Take the Toronto City Centre Airport story, for example. I’m not sure many people would care about the tussle going on there. It’s a three-way shoving match between the city, the Port Authority which controls the airport and I believe has it’s own squad of shadowy assassins, and Porter Airlines which managed to pull in record profits pretty much every year since it started flying. Oh, and the island residents who basically bitch 24-7, 365 about everything (“The city’s too loud! The lights are too bright! The planes are too scary! Wah! Wah!”)

(big!)

Bill would gnaw at this, getting angrier and angrier right up until the commercial break. I don’t remember his stance on the issue, but I clearly recall the outraged timbre of his voice. The current topic of contention is the proposed tunnel to the airport which no level of government wants to pay for.  It’s intended to replace the current ferry service which, at a full 20-second trip (maybe 30) from shore to shore, seems kind of inefficient:

But whatever. I’m sure Porter contributes to this inefficiency from its growing wallet so who cares? Bill does. Passionately. Desperately. I bet the fact that Toronto got the 2015 Pan Am Games probably caused his head to just explode. They probably had to drag his headless, blood-soaked corpse out of the studio live on the air. That would’ve been some show. If only it was still on at a time when I could listen.

I can just imagine his reaction at the $2.4 billion cost. He either would have been rejoicing that his beloved Etobicoke was getting a pool make-over, or cheesed that the athletes’ village will be in what is currently a large mud pit bisecting the east edge of town (ON TAXPAYERS’ MONEY, AND DOWNTOWN GETS ALL THE BENEFITS!!), or both.

He doesn’t care that he sometimes contradicts himself. Bill shoots from the hip and asks questions later. If there’s time. I don’t think John Moore even owns a gun.

Now I have at least three more days of waking up to do. Quite possibly a few decades on top of that. With Bill gone, I’m left sleeping in almost every day, but I don’t know where else to turn. The radio dial to. And with it staying dark outside later and later now, the problem is becoming more urgent. “Nature Sounds I” just won’t cut it, but what’s the alternative … the buzzer?!

That’s it, it’s officially the last day of summer.

The sun’s hanging lower in the sky, the CNE is shuttering up for another year, and the kids are going back to school tomorrow. That’s the end of the summer, no matter what the calendar says.

As part of that last effort to get kids to forget their miseries, the Ex has the annual closing-weekend air show.

The announcers always go into excruciating technical detail like maybe we’re looking to pick up a couple of the aircraft after the show. Fires a hundred rounds a second, you say? I may be interested, keep talking.

Then, while waiting for the planes to fly into the show, the announcers go into all the crazy certifications and programs you’d have to go through before you’re even allowed to approach one of these things. For who’s benefit is that? The three-year-old standing next to me who should realistically start thinking about university now if he wants to be a pilot?

Then, the Top Gun music kicks in:

The show’s not entirely ironic. There were plenty of jet fighters on hand going down the real danger zone highway:

This happened to be the air show’s 60th anniversary, so the Blue Angels flew up from the US and with a salute:

This is the second time I’ve attended the show and I’ve really enjoyed it both times. The planes fly close enough to knock toupees off and the little prop ones do some really crazy stuff. Like climbing up into the sky, then cutting the engine, starting a crazy wobbly spin around every possible axis of rotation while plummeting back toward the water, and mere moments before impact, straightening out, re-starting the engine, and pulling up. Just insane.

I didn’t get to chill with the horses in the horse pavilion this year. That’s a regret. But the holiday weekend tradition I like to call “the flu” probably needed a bit of sunshine, so it was good to get out. And, all in all, it’s been a pretty happening summer. Maybe too happening; next year I’d like to see some of those things I missed this time around. I figure it’ll probably take four to five years to properly see most of the concurrent festivals, parades, and events that happen around the city every year. And with all the random news, changes, and just interesting stuff around … good frickin’ luck with that timeline!

I’m going to have to learn to pace myself.

Already 4 hours into the parade and no sign of stopping:

I highly recommend grabbing a coffee or a Red Stripe before you continue. The photos go on as long as the parade did.

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