That’s right, you read it here first … Rob Ford will be attending Pride after all! Here’s the official statement:

Gotta say I was starting to lose faith in our new(ish) mayor, but it looks like he’s gonna come through after all. And he’ll even be dressed for the occasion!

That’s the spirit! I dunno if I’d have the courage to strut around with assless chaps and a hand betwixt the pillows, but good on Rob, eh?

We owe a debt of gratitude to Paula Corbett of Bad Bunny Puppets for convincing Rob to be a part of the parade. She and our risqué mayor will be hanging out in front of St. Lawrence Market’s north hall for the next couple of days and, of course, you can drop by her site to pay your respects for all her hard work too.

Throw a little sunshine in and it’s not a bad way to get to work. Here’s my morning car dodge in near real-time: Allan Gardens -> Pembroke Street -> Moss Park -> George Street -> Richmond Street -> Jarvis Street -> Queen’s Quay -> anon and yonder

Every now and again, when people learn about what I do (did), they ask me earnestly why I’d choose to stay in Toronto.

Easy to answer: it’s an awesome city. As soon as the right people are at the helm at City Hall, it’ll be truly world-class. In some ways the city is already busting at the seams in this regard, it’s simply the government that keeps reining it in.

Election day is coming and, regardless of this, the city is blooming with construction, flowers, and lovely ladies. And as I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I’ve seen a good selection of cities; enough to know that I haven’t seen nearly enough. Toronto isn’t the cheapest, or the cleanest, or the busiest, or the biggest, but it’s also not the dirtiest, most boring, barren, or small by any means. Any tourists that complain about deficiencies in these areas are, well, tourists. The city’s way bigger than that (have you see how little I’ve covered in TCLand?), and growing by leaps and bounds. Frickin’ jackhammer outside my window right now, in fact.

With so much growth it’s extremely important to keep a steady vision otherwise it could get real messy. Here’s a great example: the new designs recently unveiled for the new north hall of St. Lawrence Market. The market has been around since basically Toronto’s been here but the north hall, which to me resembles a stripped-down school gymnasium, is much newer. On Saturdays local growers truck in their produce and on Sundays it’s an antique market.

I know I’ve probably mentioned this before but I know that many people don’t get a chance to visit that area, so to help you out I’ve taken photos from approximately the same locations as in the literature. That way you can see the before and proposed-after shots.

The design teams for the north hall project are split up into five colours but obviously the orange team is the best. A rooftop garden? Hells yeah!

Anyhow, here they are, winner to be decided by committee. :(

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Zach’s post about the G20 kinda freaked me out a bit. Not about the clampdown on the city or anything, I think that’ll be a riot. My main concern is the volume of simultaneous stuff that’ll be happening, and the lack of bodies to attend. Last year I got a request to cover Caribana so I spent the whole day wriggling through a million people in the blistering heat. I had to miss about three other things that day, three things within my highly limited scope of “what’s happening”.

This year the city’s shipping in Euro-crazies for the summer, doing a mayoral throw-down, plus all the other usual seasonal stuff that’s supposed to happen. It’s all a bit overwhelming.

One day at a time.

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It’s been a helluva few days around here, dear reader. I’ve been cleaning the flat, apologizing to Ollie, and getting some stuff for my fridge. That last part I was once again pleased to be able to do at St. Lawrence Market There really is great stuff there that I haven’t seen anywhere else around town, and the neighbourhood locals are unparalleled. The one old lady I bumped into this time happened to be buying a loaf of bread from Future Bakery. I lucked out (one Vienna Rye still left!), and she seemed pleased / perplexed with her purchase.

The rest of this story I’ll narrate around the walk that I took shortly after that conversation. That talk propelled me into the walk, as it were. I pulled the shopping cart behind me the whole way (surprisingly, pears: unharmed), along Wellington Street. Just headed directly west. And  don’t know about you, but that’s one sexy street. Even just the way it begins!

The old city basically starts to spread itself open here. Wellington is an old-time street, it’s near enough to the lake to belong to the original town, I figure, plus there are enough old buildings left along it to suggest the same thing.

I love walking down here in the late afternoon; with the sun almost equally aligned between the pillars; it’s über-dramatic.

But I was discussing the old lady, wasn’t I? Right.

So, as we were waiting to pay for our loaves, she mouthed something imperceptibly. She’d done the same thing earlier when she saw me helping myself to the few bagged breads remaining on top of the display case (they’re loosely cordoned). She held up her own and said something. I’m not sure if she was proud of her ability to have heaved her shriveled frame up that case to retrieve her own bread, or if she had been finger-wagged by the staff for the same offense. Or both. Her face was an uncertain mix of smiling and frowning. At the same time. And she spoke so softly, I couldn’t make out anything she was saying.

It was a bit unsettling.

I thought she’d left by the time I’d finished pawing the merchandise, but she suddenly reappeared at the cash counter around the corner. Holy shit!

“You know zat voman? Zat funny vun? Wis ze sree uzer guys?”

This time, I guess, she’d cleared her throat or something, and was finally able to speak. Okay, but seriously, what an awkward opener? Zat woman? My mind jumped to Catherine O’Hara when she’d been on SCTV. But ze sree uzer guys? I’m pretty sure there were more than sree guys on SCTV at that time.

That’s where my thought train made its last stop. I was just left standing in the billowing steam at the station with a blank expression on my face.

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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!)

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 Copper people are doing their thing in the neighbourhood again:

Exciting scene with some woman getting pulled over by the cop. As he gets out of the squad car, she continues to roll. He yells at her to stop, she revs her engine!! … well, I won’t spoil it for you. But as I write this, the wind is picking up, possibly in anticipation of the interesting weather planned for tonight. Those prop trash bags on the lawn are keeping more than one crew member entertained; they’re filled with styrofoam or something similarly light, and they’re not tethered to anything. Flying, Valkyrian garbage! It’s happening all over again!

:D Not really.

The only things flying around the city these days are rain, knives and performers.

Dear reader, more artisans from Buskerfest (loud link!) for your entertainment. And, ah, if you wanna show your appreciation with a small donation, that would be great. Preferably bills:

Remember the Australian-region guy? He does actually do something. But not before my foot had fallen asleep waiting for him to stop flapping his gums and do it already:

And then this guy did a variation on it. He actually took the pains to point out that, unlike that guy over there, he wasn’t being supported by anyone:

And finally, the item that I so egregiously omitted yesterday, the human beatbox video. To retain the live spirit of the performance, and because I’m lazy, I didn’t edit the video at all.

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Doesn’t that just take the cake?

Well, I’m all buskered out. But those folks are doing it all weekend. And why not? After this it’s back to Dundas Square or subway stations, so they might as well rake in as much as they can.

God’s speed, little buskers.

And to you, dear reader, a fair and pleasant weekend.