… in which Brock and Rebekah put on a convincing performance and a deep secret is revealed.

… in which inspiration opens locked doors and an escape plan is hatched.

… in which Section B runs up against some closed doors in their pursuit of a hastily retreating Shindan Academy.

… in which the premises of Shindan Academy are unsuccessfully penetrated. An intriguing twist emerges.

… in which Section B receives agency assistance of an unnerving nature.

Unfortunately, I don’t know who wrote this Pastebin entry about the Toronto and Vancouver real estate markets, but it’s a salient and seemingly well-researched piece, certainly better than the vast majority of so-called “news” sites out there anyways.

I’ve copied it here in its entirety and would love to be able to attribute it to whoever wrote it (if you know, drop me a line!).

The real estate market everywhere will be in turmoil by September. The bankers know it. The realtors smell it. The sheeple have no idea what’s coming.

Investor and consumer behaviour’s been irrational. Your friends, relatives and the people at work have been employing leverage on a scale not seen since the 1920s to speculate that assets already priced at record levels will go higher. Net worth has been consolidated in houses, as it was in stocks prior to the Great Depression and in US real estate before the GFC. The consequences will be the same. F knows this. It’s why the hammer dropped two weeks ago. Too late.

An astonishing number of people are about to be turned into crispy critters by something they see as safe and benign. A whack of them lined up outside a new Vancouver-area condo development called Cambie+7 a few days ago – the latest reminder of the lust we saw weeks ago north of Toronto when people stormed a sales centre and bought million-dollar homes in five minutes.

Here they are:

What they’re buying: Lilliputian units (less than 600 feet), in an unbuilt structure in a regional city with a declining real estate market for an average of $710 a square foot. Why? Two reasons. “Proven value appreciation,” says the developer. “Condos in the area went up 35% in the last three years.” So, of course, they’ll go up forever. Second, a 5% deposit – putting rank speculation on a $500,000 asset within the grasp of anyone with $25,000.

By the way, here’s what half a million (including closing costs) gets you:

That real estate is troubled will become apparent to everyone in a few months. For those who care to look now, the cracks are widening. Quite apart from the public delusion mentioned above, Vancouver (for example) is unraveling. In the next day or so the real estate board will try to caramelize and fluff the latest ugly set of numbers. But June was a disaster, as this pathetic blog told you would happen.

Sales of detached houses crashed 37%
Prices have declined for four consecutive months, the first such occurrence in 16 years.
The average SFH has lost almost 13% of its value, likely one-third or less of what’s coming.
Condo sales were down 20%. Prices were down 6% in a single month.
Listings of detached homes have exploded higher 27% over this time a year ago.
But this is not a Vancouver story. It will define economic lives in every significant community. Prices could actually revert to the mean, which historically places the cost of owning a house close to that of renting the same digs. By this measure houses in Toronto and Vancouver are overvalued by about half. You can just imagine the consequences.
Bankers can. That elfin deity known as F tried to calm jittery Bay Street nerves with a conference call on Friday, addressing head-on fears that slashing the amortization rate and curtailing lending will crash housing. It didn’t work. “We are prepared to take that risk, quite frankly, because of the greater risk of the development over time of a housing bubble,” he said. “I realize it may have some dampening effect on the economy and I realize it may have some dampening effect in the residential real estate market.”

For their part bankers are uncharacteristically speaking out. As RBC’s head of banking told a Globe reporter, “This is not like turning a Ferrari. This is like a big ship. And it takes a while to turn. And sometimes if you over steer, you can’t re-steer the other way.”

It’s all just beginning. The odds of us having a soft landing, as I detailed last week, are fading daily. One on hand the lenders, agents, developers, brokers and bankers understand what just happened and where it’s leading. On the other, idiot buyers, popped on leverage, are embracing deals they see as riskless.

When the facts emerge, expect chaos at the exits.

Oh God, it’s that time again … gift season. I believe this adds a great deal of stress to anyone’s holiday schedule. You have to be both a creatively gifted person and have your finger on the pulse of commerce to both avoid getting the same presents year over year, and to know where / how /  when / for how much your idea may be fulfilled.

Add to that the challenge of crowded parking lots, shoppers wired on their kids’ Ritalin and ready to pounce on anyone who gets in their way, and the simple challenge of just getting around in the seasonal conditions – and you’ve got yourself some war planning to do. Old Man Winter’s pretty much made himself at home and he’s, well, he’s not always at his sexiest. Because he’s so ubiquitous, I couldn’t take a photo of him, so instead here’s a Titanic-style rendering:

I never feel like shopping after walking in on that.

Well, since most of my shopping will probably consist of gift cards and video games (nephews are the perfect age!), there really won’t be anything interesting to document this year. Unless the store at which I’m purchasing said gift card or video game is being held up, but I usually never get the camera out in time so I wouldn’t bank on it.

Due to this, I decided instead to compile some (hopefully) unique and original gift ideas – for you and your loved one. Of course, they may no suit everyone’s tastes, but that’s why there’s more than one thing on the list :)

The Toronto City Life 2009 Gift Guide

If you live with one of those snooty sonsabitches who wishes for world peace, you’re probably thinking what a miserable, selfish asshole! I mean, how the hell are you supposed to pull that one off in time for Christmas? You can either tell them to go to hell, or if they’re that important to you, you can do the next best thing and get them a world piece. Maybe lop a desk globe in half (or smaller), and gift wrap. Couldn’t be simpler, more affordable, and practically the same thing.

If your recipient just wants cold, hard cash like all normal people, you can exotify the gift by sticking it into a decorative red envelope and calling it a Han Bau. This is the traditional gift in China. Typically it’s given during the Lunar New Year and most often to kids, but I don’t know about you, but I ain’t Chinese so to hell with tradition. For the ultimate in authenticity, get the envelopes with some Chinese characters on them (do you really care what they say?), and hand the wad over with a gong-shi gong-shi ni-a! (that’s the traditional way of congratulating someone for surviving another year)

In the olden days, a lump of coal was seen as one of the worst things that anyone could receive. Of course, back in them ignorant times people had no clue how versatile coal really is. We now know that it’s the raw material for producing diamonds (this year, giver her a lump), and as energy prices continue to skyrocket, something to help heat the home is indeed a terrific gift!

And shit, if you’re giving coal, you may as well include a canary. If the coal decides to get any bad ideas, the canary will die (an old miner trick), saving you the embarrassment of having to drag the gassed-out carcass of your significant other onto the front lawn.

But I know that ladies aren’t always into practical things so something that appeals to their aesthetic sense is a great alternative. I thought about this one for a while and came to the conclusion that a pair of front teeth is a swell and inexpensive gift. I believe there was even a song written about it.

Ladies, in my experience, also just enjoy extensively hugging things – cuddling, I believe they call it. Doesn’t the Cuddle Fish sound like the perfect gift for the woman in your life? If you’re having trouble finding one, try the alternate spelling of Cuttlefish — the pronunciation is the same. Even sounds cute!

For your man, nothing says “I put effort into this bitch” more than a city sewer grate. To begin with, there’s gotta be at least five bucks’ worth of raw material in there so there’s that, and once he realizes the effort required to lift it (let alone gift wrap it), he’ll fall in love all over again. On top of all this, you’re out zilch and now have an amazing conversation piece in your living room! Not a world piece, mind you, but almost as good.

If you’re trying to avoid theft this Christmas, and you happen to be environmentally conscious, a year’s worth of natural gas can apparently be had entirely for free. I know, it’s practical, but for free you can make it a stocking stuffer! I’m not sure how the process works but it involves something called a Dutch oven and fine Egyptian cotton sheets.

A packet of farm-fresh Anthrax is, I’m told, also a well-received gift. It’s incumbent on you to ensure that the receiver knows it’s Anthrax. Of course, if they don’t believe you, they deserve what they get – untrusting louts. Otherwise, it’s theirs to dispense with as they please. The youth I’ve given it to in the past all assure me it was a “sick” gift. That means cool ;)

Finally, I was tossing around the possibility of getting someone an Ewok. You know, from the forest moon of Endor. They’re cute, anthropomorphic as all get out, and pretty damn rare in North America. Imagine the surprise when one pops out of a box with a ribbon on its head. I won’t recommend this one until I can figure out where to obtain a pet Ewok, but I thought I’d throw that out in case you happen to know of a reliable supplier. In which case, can you hook me up?

In previous years I experimented with food and standard pets, but they either start to mold pretty severely or their body begins decomposing well before the box is opened (even if you put them in alive). And I always seal the boxes really well, so air leaking in is not the cause. Guess they just don’t make good gifts. It doesn’t make for a nice Christmas eve (our family opens gifts on the 24th); kids cry, maggots get all over the carpet, smell ruins the hell out of the Carp dinner. Besides, why not do something different this time?

(this was the best I could come up with — St. Lawrence market is really distracting!)

It was a good, proper fall day today. Rainy, cold, dark and introspective. I’m all for days like this being declared municipal emergencies; everyone stay at home in your nice warm beds until the situation is alleviated! By order of the Mayor’s office!

I will do my duty, sir! Covers at regulation height!

Unfortunately, that never happens. The closest I came was pulling the somewhat ineffectual hood of my anorak over my head as it started to rain. As the excessive flap of the coat blocked most of my vision (either that or walk like a fully extended parachute in the wind), I found myself travelling in a very trance-like state. I could only see maybe one and a half meters in front of me, so I had to assume a certain attitude of resolution. Yes, a knife-wielding maniac may come screaming from an alley, and at that visual distance, I’m fairly certain I’d be dead. I had to resolve to be okay with that.

So I started to think about that vocation thing again. What, you didn’t think I came up with that just to fill up a post, did you? This is real angst! Jeez!

Okay, angsty; something I’d like to get resolved. So I must’ve had that in my sensory deprivation cloak with me on my walk home because suddenly I snapped out of my trance — something told me to look up, and what I saw looked awfully familiar:

Of course! I’ll become a thief!

No, not a common thief; I don’t want to abscond with bananas and gum; an international diamond thief  (I guess I could steal other expensive stuff too). A sophisticated gentleman cat burglar in the style of Cary Grant in “To Catch a Thief”, or  George Clooney in “Ocean’s Eleven”. Well, George Clooney in a few roles, but that one was especially well-suited. Flashy and always well-rested. *two thumbs up*

Oh, you’re probably wondering how I went from a Chinatown supermarket to becoming a thief. Sorry, let me take you back a little earlier in the day.

Over lunch, I read a Star story about a certain Mister David Chen, owner and proprietor of one ultra-ironic Lucky Moose Food Mart (pictured above; “lucky” moose on second floor). He’s being brought up on charges of kidnapping and forcible confinement because he tried to foil another robbery at his store.

The undisputed story goes that the thief was well-known and had stolen stuff from there (and nearby stores), numerous times. So, I guess Mister Chen wasn’t going to stand for it any more and when the thief dropped in to borrow a few other items, Mr. Chen and two buddies chased him down in a van, tossed him in the back, tied him up, and beat the snot out of him. Police found him tied up in some dank corner of Chinatown.

Well, yeah, that kind of is kidnapping. But somewhat understandable, I think. Mister Chen claims (and others corroborate this), that he had requested some sort of assistance from the police, but none was given. The thief was allowed to continue running around stealing stuff even though with his record, he probably shouldn’t have been out of a cell. Or at least some sort of supervised and controlled environment.

Another thing that I think Mister Chen is allowed to have a chafed butt over is the fact that his store is so close to 52 Division. Five minutes by foot, is my estimation.

But I’m not sure if I’d resort to grabbing someone off a street and mashing them up for stealing a few plants. Plus, it’s just so unimaginative. So generally speaking, I can see where the kidnapping and forcible confinement charges come from.

But what hit me over the head in today’s article was the fact the court made a bargain with the thief to testify against the store owner!

Yes – freakin’ – way.

The little scumbag got 30 days instead of 90 (and is apparently right back up to his old tricks), and in a complete reversal of roles, the store owner is now facing some serious charges. He could be put away with the thief’s help!

My idea doesn’t seem so crazy now, does it? As a thief, I could help put away the bad guys I steal from by testifying against them. I’ll hire interns for the beatings. And if I don’t get caught, I get to keep the loot!

Flawless.

I’m even thinking of leaving behind personalized, scented business cards of some sort, bearing a message of regret for their loss, but at least they lost it to the best; or something to that effect.

I’m gonna need a little work. I don’t even know how to properly pick a lock yet! I guess it’s hardcore training from here on in.

But don’t worry, dear reader. I’m keeping TCL in the back pocket. Hey, who knows, maybe it’ll be my daytime cover story. That’d be pretty cool 8-) George Clooney cool.

I opened up my fridge today and all that came out were tumble weeds and cobwebs. Strange stuff to have in the fridge, huh?

But no food, which means I get to take a trip to St. Lawrence Market! I guess you can tell by the exclamation that I really dig the place.

It’s got that established old market feel to it, much like Kensington. But I think St. Lawrence is a bit older, and by my sharp eye, a bit bigger. Stores are packed closely together in the two-storey hall (plus one more on the north side of the street on weekends), which is great if you’re either lazy or it’s cold outside. Or both, really.

The north farmer’s market is awash in local produce this time of year. There are some genuine salt of the earth people there, trucking their stuff  in for a 5 a.m. opening on Saturday mornings. The people who sell vegetables have rough, calloused hands with dirt under the fingernails. Much of the food was still in the ground the night before. And if you fancy wild deer, maybe some fresh cottontail, they have that too. The guy’ll cleave you off a sample with his impressive hunting knife. No, blade. And he doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on reality, so it’s an experience.

On Sundays they sell antiques.

But I tend to relax into my weekends so I’ve not yet been able to hit the north market’s opening hours. In fact, by the time I get there, the place is usually packing up for the week. A couple of people are usually stuck inside with unsold product. I … cannot recommend purchasing any of it. It’s unsold for a reason. You see, all the sleepless geriatrics have picked through every mound by a quarter past five in the morning. By noon, you’re lucky if you get a bug-eaten twig that the label claims is basil while granny cackles over her gold at home. Bitch.

Luckily, the south market is more accustomed to my ilk:

And it’s all still local produce. Even in winter, greenhouses churn out fresh herbs and other potable plants and deliver here daily. It’s a great place to pick up a big bushel of basil for that comfortably fattening pesto. Without even any bugs on it!

Then there’s this place:

That guy made me buy a ridiculously expensive amount of Parmigiano Reggiano; he just kept slicing off sliver after sliver until I had to submit. YES, GODDAM IT! IT’S DELICIOUS! GIMME A HUNK, YOU BASTARD!

But then you sprinkle ample amounts of that over the fresh basil pesto, peppered with pine nuts, and tossed with minutes-old, hand-made pasta … and bastard is forgiven.

You can even come right at the end of the day and scour the “wundolla! wundolla! wundolla!” tables for bargains. At a buck a pop, it’s almost a crime not to pick up a radish or dozen. However, if you insist on paying full retail, the product is good right up until they start kicking people out:

There are also interesting things in the downstairs I haven’t seen anywhere else. Exotic flours for all those PBS cooking shows that call for them (I can have hobbies!), interesting seeds and grains, and a whole store dedicated just to honey. The Tasmanian Leatherwood is like candy, flowers, sunshine, and children’s laughter all dancing across my tongue. It’s really good.

Plus, there are plenty of places to stuff your gob with prepared food if fondling Rambutans isn’t your scene. And if the husband / wife isn’t spending enough time in the kitchen, there are ways to send subtle hints.

Just avoid the place on Saturdays because a) it’s packed with people and b) I’m one of those people and we don’t need one more body in the crowd to jam their shopping basket into my calf, thanks.

The Criterium had all the bone-crunching, flesh-rending action I was looking for. Too bad none of it happened where I was standing. Oh well, here’s some other stuff instead:

No visible injuries, but we can be certain that at least a good number of testicles were crushed (have you seen those seats?!). Next year perhaps they’ll incorporate fast and hungry animals or perhaps someone riding shotgun, with a shotgun, in the pace Lamborghini. Just for the psychological effect.

Still, it was a pretty good race and I got to smell the ass crack of almost every racer. It was a very real, very intimate experience.

And plenty of alcohol along the route too!