Are you feeling astute today? Well, give that brain a scratch and see if you can spot three things in the following photo that are out of the ordinary:

If you guessed the trucks, but not really sure why, you’re absolutely correct! That’s a movie crew and those trucks are just sitting there like that with not a soul in sight. This is in a slightly sketchy neighbourhood, and people do sometimes help themselves to stuff they “find”. So that’s one.

Number two is the complete absence of people on the street. The aforementioned missing souls are missing from everywhere. I think we can chalk that one up to the cold.

The third, and I must admit not so easy to spot, thing wrong with the photo is that it was shot at the end of September, not today. See? Hard to spot.

But today was much like it looks in the picture. If you splashed a bit more yellow on the leaves and had steam coming up from sewers, this would be pretty accurate. And I still think it’s due to the cold.

It’s either that or my slight frame is getting even slighter. And I start to look emaciated at 170 pounds! So what else can I do but take it indoors again.

I hit the PATH from in front of the CN Tower and Convention Centre South building, which is in the lower left-hand corner of the map. That area gets windy and cold in the summer, and if it wasn’t for the brewery across the street, it’d be a completely desolate wasteland. With a big tower.

From there I shivered across the Skywalk to Union Station, tried to get warm as I made my way up through the Toronto-Dominion Centre, and did my best to thaw out as I headed east of First Canadian Place, north to Scotia Plaza, and then out to the intersection of Yonge and King through MetLife Place. Stopping every four steps to take a photo.

Outside, I was cold again. *sigh*

The Bay Adelaide Centre will be a nice addition. It’ll be the other main artery north and give me something new to look at while I try to lose the chills. My God, it’s still just October!

Okay, enough yammering. You know the drill, if you don’t have the Adobe Flash Player, get it here: http://get.adobe.com/flashplayer/

If you can see the dark, grainy silhouette of the CN Tower with a big “play” button on it below, you’re good! Just hit that button but keep in mind that this is a 5 minute animation, so give it some time to transfer to your computer first. Feel like you need a pee break? Now’s the time ;)

[kml_flashembed publishmethod=”static” fversion=”10.0.2″ useexpressinstall=”true” movie=”/wp-content/uploads/flash/PATH2.swf” width=”500″ height=”375″ targetclass=”flashmovie”][/kml_flashembed]

I think I’m going to need that Second Cup sponsorship if I’m to survive this winter. That fine, flavourful, and hot brew on a cold autumn morning, what could be better?

Dear reader, it’s so good to see you again! It’s been months, hasn’t it? How’s the significant other? And the things you look after, they’re doing okay? Boss being good to you?

Wonderful! :D

Well, let me not waste any more of your time with idle small talk. After all, we’re both here to discuss matters of the practically passive-aggressive gentleman as regards the urban sphere. And the rudeness therein. Right?

For this instalment, I’ve been blessed with the endorsement of the Toronto Transit Commission. Sort of. Lets not belabour that point because what’s important is the general agreement that as temperatures drop, people will be required to be in close quarters with one another as public transit passengers. Notwithstanding the challenges of H1N1, an even larger threat looms on the horizon. It wears the face of the young buck who decides to use the seat in front of him as a footrest, or the young buckette who insists that everyone should hear her mobile conversation, or sometimes that young crowd over there who believe that no one should disembark the train before they first board.

Such behaviour is crass, uncouth, and frankly, insolent. So what’s the practical gentleman to do?

A great deal has been scribed on the walls of public washrooms as regards these matters, but please allow me to at least get the ball rolling:

Flatulence for Feet

A variation of this technique was featured in a previous guide. However, on closer inspection, the advice within that guide proved most unpractical. Gathering large numbers of people together is difficult enough. Doing so for group farts, even more so.

However, working individually, I believe it could be accomplished. The premise is the same as in the previous guide; load up on legumes, Brussels sprouts, and anything that will arm your gut with something genuinely unpleasant. Improvise: eggs, onions (good on both ends), fried garlic (ditto! plus delicious!), pickled cabbages, and so on. Make a meal of it. :D

Then, when you spot yonder young man with legs outstretched o’er the spot in front of him, shoes dripping wet muck directly into the middle of the seat, you must smite him directly! And of course, by that I mean that you simply sit beside him, saddle up good and close, and start tearing off some justice. Be all cool and relaxed about it, like you’ve just come home, sat on the couch, and just let it all hang out. “Ahhh. Comfy.” The odour should infect the cabin forthwith.

If the offending party protests, simply smile and inquire why he should get to make himself at home and you can’t. You paid your ticket like everyone else, didn’t you? Feet on the seat? Okay. But I get to fart. It’s how I get comfortable.

Hopefully the point will be driven straight up the nose and off the seat.

Of course, you could also simply try asking him to take his  feet off the seat first, but that would defeat the purpose of the ghastly meal you’d ingested the night before, wouldn’t it?

Music for Mouths

Is it safe to assume that most of us have cell phones today? Why not use them to battle those who abuse their own mobiles by TALKING TOO LOUD. For this, you need to read a section of your owner’s manual for the device to figure out how to preview ringtone sounds and set the speaker volume to maximum. You probably already know how – I trust that all TCL readers are exceptionally clever.

In this exercise the offending party, who is making a racket into her mobile, is simply approached. No interaction required; in fact, a nonchalant looking the other way is more effective. Then, our mobile phone is extracted from its hiding place, and the previewing of the ringtones commences. At top volume. Start bobbing your head. Damn, all so good – can’t decide. “Hello, Moto” – funky fresh!

“Excuse me sir, could you please stop doing that?!” (over the din *giggle*)

“Huh?!” *looking genuinely puzzled, but not enough to stop playback*

“Could you please stop doing that?!”

“Oh!! Oh!!” *sudden stop*

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear my phone over the din of your voice. And din (*wearing a look that says “smarten up!”*) means loud noise.”

You can leave that last bit off; it’s there just for extra bite. :D

To be even less conspicuous you could use the music playback capabilities of your phone to loop a frenetic sounding ringtone. Many phones may have a record option, in which case you can simply scream into the phone to record your message. Plug your headphones into your MP3 player, turn that bad boy up, and do the same with your phone. Use your back pocket to host the merry noisemaker – good if you’re standing and the offending party’s sitting. You get the added benefit of having the racket coming directly from your ass. Terrific!

Again, there is the option of approaching the offending party and simply asking them to tone it down if possible, but what waste of much research and masterful skill, don’t you think?

Pricks for Pushers

This particular example of insolence may do more than simply annoy you, it may cause you to miss your stop entirely. In this scenario, the offending parties are multiple, seemingly aligned against you and closing in as a unit (this actually happens regularly!). You just need for one person to step aside and let you through because you’ve got nowhere else to go but back onto the train. Alas, no one does you the courtesy.

In this case, I feel it’s fair to single out one person who seems to be particularly obstinate, and simply approach him, stare at his crotchal area for a bit, point firmly to it, and returning to look him in the eye say, “Your penis is showing.” Fully serious face.

If it happens to be a woman who is hell-bent on pushing you back on the train, the same words may work just as well if delivered with conviction. I find that a single nod while speaking to drive home the point is the gesture that makes it a serious matter.

The point here isn’t to deliver a crushing insult or even a glancing blow, it’s simply to stun the opponent momentarily while you brush by them with an “excuse me”. Classy.

This example is one of those rare cases where I believe there is no alternative approach. There simply isn’t time to reason in that situation, and the offending party’s ego shouldn’t be sufficiently bruised to make him want to miss his train. Or her train. Though in all honesty,  a delivery by a lady to a gentleman is probably the most powerful version of this technique. Ladies will have an advantage over the gentlemen here, I’m afraid. Sorry fellas, we can’t win ‘em all.

—

Well, wasn’t that a rousing collection of techniques? I certainly do hope you get some practical use out of them. Apply liberally, for insolence does not sleep when we are tired. We should seek to banish it from within our midst at every opportunity. Because, and I don’t know about you, but I must admit to an innate dislike of the wet seat, the unnecessary noise, and the strange unwillingness to hold back just one second so that I can leave the train.

However, I firmly believe that together, we can lick this problem, one offending party at a time. As long as we hold to the ideals of justice, truth, an eye for an eye, and two men enter — one man leaves, then we can be sure we’re doing it for the right reasons.

Till next time!

Maybe there was something in the air up there because I was in bed before ten almost every night! *yawner*

Maybe it was the journey there. Bo-o-o-ring.

Thank goodness for the tinted windows inside the car. It made the unsightly earth bulges a bit more bearable.

Maybe what did me in was the trip I took with a gentleman who I think has the capacity to create death rays or teleporters in his spare time, my brother-in-law’s brother. The brobro. Very interesting individual. It’s a rare treat that one gets to discuss the impending attack of zombies and how one might protect oneself from said attack. He has excellent theories, and because they’re so excellent, I’m not sharing.

I must also say that his idea for this year’s Halloween costume is probably one of the best ones I’ve heard of in years. He really thought outside the box on this one. Well, he’s ordering it online, but what a great find! I sure hope I get a few snaps of it but until the day it’s revealed, it’s another top-secret project.

Basically, it was a genuine pleasure to hike and chat with him.

When we could talk, that is. Nature saw to it that that sole pleasure was interrupted as often as possible.

The trail had some warmup rock climbing and then hours of trudging through the goddam forest:

The narrow footpath wasn’t always well-marked, so it was easy to wander into some ghetto hoods:

What is that, moss? Isn’t that a fungus? Gross.

… Continue Reading

I’m going north to visit the folks for the Thanksgiving weekend (Canada has it in the correct month). When I say north, I mean black bears and moose in the backyard kinda north. Logging trucks on logging roads kinda north.

I’m hitching a ride with my younger sister in her familymobile; two boys and the “fun” uncle (me). Yay!

To compound matters, I also decided to volunteer my services in the dessert department. Pumpkin pie and crème brûlée. Something healthy, I thought.

Here’s the stash, ready for packing:

Oh no! A perfectly good pie shell ruined! Guess I’ll Have to make a pie right now :)

The part I hate is the killing of the pumpkin. Gruesome business, no matter how it’s done.

I admit, sometimes I feel a little remorse.

… Continue Reading

Well now I’ve gone and done it. I’ve brazenly ripped off yet another set of photos from the Toronto Archives.

That’s what happens when I’m knackered and I’ve spent most of the night swooping around the financial district in Street View instead of posting! Oh well, if you’ll forgive a few sentences that don’t quite seem to make sense, we’ll be able get through this.

Man, I wish Google never came out with Street View. Between every few words … I manage to travel another couple of blocks.

It’s been thirty minutes since my last sentence!

Back in the olden days they wouldn’t have had these frivolous time wasters. The men with their genitals exposed to the raw atmosphere had enough to occupy their time.

The Royal Alex isn’t one of those locations that’s changed much. Guys are still freezing their nuts off out there.

The next random location — just because it happens to be a few steps down the street doesn’t mean it’s not random! — the next random location I decided on for comparison was the Elephant and Castle across the street from Roy Thomson Hall. In this case, there was a world of difference between then and now.

I figured I’d include something in the picture that I could match to something in the archives. Luckily, I was right. It’s the black building in the above photo that stands in the spot where the building below stood.

Hahaha! What the hell was that?! No one’s getting drunk in that podunk town!

… Continue Reading

Oh … my … freakin’ … God.

It’s here. Street View is here.

The loss of productivity in Toronto this morning must’ve been staggering; into the billions I bet. Once you start flying around the city, it’s kinda hard to stop. I know I was on a tour of my neighbourhood for hours.

Addictive, packed to the rafters with photos, and backed by Google; TCL’s so screwed. How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?!

As a minor consolation, it took the Google car a really long time to capture the whole city, so maybe I can produce something more up-to-date. Well, eventually.

View Larger Map

You tried the Street View thing, didn’t you?

See? It’s hard to resist. But until Google figures out how to incorporate street festivals or higher resolution dead musicians, at least there’s some hope.

View Larger Map

I’m also glad that the Google car seems to have avoided alleys and sidewalks. It saved the lives of thousands of pedestrians, but more importantly, it left a small window of opportunity for something unique.

View Larger Map

*sigh*

Why do they always have to pick on the little guy? Just when I thought I was getting the hang of this blogging thing, along come Larry and Sergey and kick me in the painful bits.

What did I ever do to them?!

I was having a chat with a colleague this afternoon about living in the city. He shook his head in rejection of it. He liked the burbs, he said. Didn’t like the hustle and bustle of the grit. I can honestly say that the entire time I’ve lived here I’ve not once been hustled, and bustled only on a handful of occasions.

I think what he was referring to were the sometimes congested sidewalks, and usually congested roads downtown. The driving part can’t be helped much. Owning a car in the city is frivolous, if you ask me. Walking for half an hour to just about anything you need isn’t gonna kill either you or your kids — just look both ways. And the congested sidewalks are entirely avoidable — just walk over to the next parallel street. Or, if you don’t mind getting a bit more risqué, the next parallel alley.

Hang on to your hat, you’re never gonna believe what this place is called…

Graffiti Alley

Yeah, I know. I’m gonna go with Graffalley to try to salvage something from it. Maybe it should be District Graff, since it’s really crawling up each of the adjacent alleys too. And it’s on everything:

Okay, that’s kind of a crummy example. But you just have to turn around and travel backwards in time to see a slightly livelier one:

… Continue Reading

Nuit Blanche was one of those rare nights when the “Bohemian” artist set get to … no, are encouraged to get their lazy asses out of bed extra late. Getting there at half past six in the evening is actually arriving early, ten at night is when things are just starting to get going, and two in the morning is about right to avoid the big crowds and still get a good walk in. I chose the third option and managed, with the assistance of my favourite energy drink, to stay up until closing time. I couldn’t think of any other night to do this than Saturday.

The event was both hoote and anny. It’s hard to know where to begin; so many strange things on the street that night.

First, there were the kids on acid who stumbled onto mindblowing, totally fucked up shit … oh man, this is too much man! it’s too much!

I made that part up. The imaginatively named “Rabbit Balloon” at the Eaton Centre only had a few tired-looking security guards around it.  The kids on acid (and E, and K, and all the other letters too), were freaking out on the edge of Grange Park behind a truck blasting out what sounded suspiciously like happy hardcore. I wasn’t partial to it back in my youth, I’m not partial to it today, whatever it’s being called now. Just a bit too spazzed out for me. I like my music a bit mellower these days.

Hmmm. Except not this mellow. This was called “Dirge for Dead Slang” and I guess it was supposed to be some sort of lamentation for outmoded language. It had this monotonous soundtrack playing over loudspeakers that was a tad too loud, so no one could really hear what the ghosts were listing off. Intended?

Just down the street at City Hall, was this:

This had the unfulfilled title “Beautiful Light: 4 LETTER WORD MACHINE”. I stood around for a few patterns; not letters. As I was leaving, some words … French? I thought this was supposed to be the “4-letter word” machine. I can think of a few to try maintenant, and they’re in English. For an English audience. I was imagining they would at least flash “bull” and “shit” in alternating sequences; isn’t that why it’s in front of City Hall?

My next stop was at this performance, the “Dead Philosophers’ Limbo”:

Radios were alternately brought out into the crowd (I kinda wasn’t paying attention to what was being read on them), and then brought into the center and piled onto one of the girls in the middle. Then, in slow-mo, the dancers came back and removed them. The middle girl jerked around a while, now surrounded by the other dancers, each holding a pose. They alternated between each other, taking turns to move in interesting ways.

I didn’t get it…

… Continue Reading

Let me take you way back to last Friday. For me it’s way back.

Anyway, former politician John Tory was on CFRB voicing his views on the announcement by Mayor Miller that he wouldn’t be running for office again next year. John and co-host Tarek took a call from a “Sandra from Toronto” who vigorously defended the mayor and his handling of the garbage strike.

“What the mayor did during negotiations is, for the first time, tackled that with two of the unions and said it couldn’t go on.” – Do I sense a spark?

“And I bet, John, if you run for office, you wouldn’t be able to do what he accomplished.” – Oh my! Is it getting warm in here?

“…putting out the most ridiculous comments about a man who’s probably the most brilliant politician, municipally, anywhere in the country who leads all the other mayors across Canada and was chosen by those mayors to speak on their behalf.” – Woaw, Sandra! Put it back in your pants!

Okay, maybe I’m misreading it, but that’s a whole lotta man-stand-behindin’ for an anonymous “Sandra”. And she didn’t sound like a typical CFRB caller. She was conspicuously comfortable with publicly gobbing off. At least I remember it that way; I was half awake when I heard the replay the following week. The one part that stuck with me, though, was this:

“And good luck to you, John, because you’re a three-time loser and I don’t see you being successful in the future.”

Come on, “Sandra”, why don’t you tell us how you really feel?

Okay, but that’s just the beginning. You see, “Sandra” apparently has a pretty recognizable voice. Tarek asked her, “”Sandra, do you work for the city?”, to which she replied:

“I don’t work for the city, but I’m telling you the truth.”

*ding*

Tarek was having none of it. He was pretty sure that that had been Sandra Bussin, city councillor for the fru-fru Beaches neighbourhood.

So CFRB did a little interview campaign the following day asking various councillors if the voice on the tape sounded familiar. Most responded by saying that it sounded an awful lot like Sandra Bussin. They’d know because she’s also the Speaker for city council.

It’s the Speaker’s job to establish decorum – basically to set and mediate the tone of meetings. A Speaker should also be (or at least appear to be), impartial so that all sides get to have an equal say during debates. So if this had, in fact, been the Speaker that had called in and been both belligerent and clearly in love with Mayor Miller (i.e. not impartial), that would be pretty serious.

It’s essentially breaking the first two rules of being a city council Speaker. Kind of like a cop murdering an innocent civilian and then committing an armed robbery while on the job. Well, maybe not that serious, but still it demonstrates that there’s an incapability there to carry out the primary duties of the job.

On Wednesday of this week, we discovered that – lo and behold – it was Sandra Bussin that had called in to the show. She fessed up and sent a letter of apology to CFRB in which she did the proper politicianly thing and fudged the facts:

“In hindsight, I realize that some of my comments were intemperate and that I should have clarified my identity.”

“Intemperate”, is that what you call just a wee bit of bitch these days? And I’m going to go ahead and suggest that not having an identity and denying an identity are two different things.

But, I suppose if I were doing something forbidden, I might want to hide my identity too.

“It was a very emotional day for me as result of Mayor Miller’s announcement. I called your program on the spur of the moment upset over remarks that were being made about the Mayor.”

Take a page from David Letterman, honesty will set you free, Sandra!

I found myself out west today. I don’t want to be too obvious about it … just in case a certain someone reads this blog … so maybe I should just say I was reviewing my qualifications with two gentlemen for the purposes of negotiating a regular exchange of services for money. AND IT’S NOT SEXUAL!!

I had to travel to the outskirts of Toronto and just a little bit beyond. International airliners were landing next door.

The trip was a bit too long for my liking but at least it gave me the opportunity to loiter in some of the subway stations on the west Bloor-Danforth line. Most of them are the same drab tile tinted a few mild shades … don’t wanna excite the passengers! Not all stations are like that, mind you. Old Mill is a bit more interesting (big!):

The problem with these open platforms is the winter. When it’s cold, it’s cold. Sometimes the tracks freeze, during storms the snow piles up on the edges and the platform ices up, and the shape of the structure seems to actually accelerate the wind as it passes through. And the ticket collector smiling all smug and warm from inside his little booth with his electric heater doesn’t help matters. Then the storm takes the power out. HA HA. Oh. Except now the trains aren’t running.

But at least the view’s nice. Some stations, like Spadina, are entirely enclosed but still connected to the outside; in this case, it’s because it’s a  loop for streetcars:

I imagine that at one time it was probably a pretty grand station. I remember it having two long motorized walkways that connected the north-south and east-west lines. It was so worth it to go one more station past St. George to Spadina to switch lines, even if at St. George the subways are just a flight of stairs away. Unfortunately, the Spadina people-movers are gone and the station’s in pretty rough shape besides. Why would I visit now? To walk down that big hallway? At least have a courtesy vehicle of some sort. Serving mildly alcoholic beverages and perhaps pretzels.

What makes Spadina especially bad is the fact that just a couple of stops down, the Museum stop is decked out to the nines:

They have nubile young women here that bathe and anoint your weary feet as you sit in wait for the next train. Libations flow from faucets in the columns. And if a train doesn’t come regularly every two minutes, they publicly execute the conductor responsible.

It’s a shame they couldn’t use some of that slave labour to fix up Spadina. I mean, if they want to try a passenger carrying service for that hallway, I’d be willing to hop on someone’s back, but I’d rather have the motorized walkway. It was always so much fun to stand there and watch people walking beside the walkway like suckers. You knew you were special then. Now, you’re lucky if they spit on you before they drive that screwdriver into your eyeball. I just wanted a transfer!

The subway could use a whole lotta facelift, is all I’m saying. I know I’ve said it before, but now I have to try to imagine spending three hours out of every day in there, and it’s not terribly appealing. So if there’s no alternative, the two gentlemen may have to discuss someone else’s qualifications.