You get so bogged down in stupid stuff sometimes, you forget to take a breath, don’t ya? I know I do. Every day I run through vapid revenge fantasies to help me deal with some of the unfortunate people I have to interact with.

My current fantasy involves coming up with some well-written, polite, but stern reasons why the person pissing me off at the moment should cease and desist their transgressions immediately, transcribing these reasons onto index cards, and pulling them out whenever the opportunity presents itself. One for every topic, arranged alphabetically. This would save me the “I should have said…” regret while allowing me to express myself in the most concise, effective manner possible. Pre-delivery, a single index finger held aloft to indicate a moment’s pause while searching through the cards. After delivery, a nod, a wave, and a now move on — you’ve clearly been bested look.

If this doesn’t come to fruition, a long walk is a good place to clear the head or scheme. I did this on east Gerrard Street yesterday; ended up feeling both more optimistic about my ability to write sharp preemptive repartee on index cards, and surprised that for some reason I’d never been there before. Another Chinatown near my own neighbourhood, and this one comes with a cool movie set:

Not unlike the Chinatown on Spadina, but a little more calm. I still managed to get authentically jostled on the sidewalk though, and there was a good amount of that genuine, frenzied replenishment action by the markets’ stock boys.

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You know, it’s almost that time when everyone and their dog will be revealing what they think will happen in 2010. I visited a few such lists on the internet and they ran the gamut from the total annihilation of the earth to Jesus returning from heaven heavily armed and pissed. Obviously the problem here is that the lists are being produced by people and their dogs. Everyone knows cats have spooky psychic abilities, they’re the choice for predicting the future.

I decided to make a title image for this because I paid four bucks for that sheet of Bristol board and I’ll be damned if I only use it once.

For tonight I decided to ask Oliver just one question after starving him for the evening. Figure I’d cut him some slack on the first time out. Here’s how the setup works: In round 1, a psychic motivator (in blue package below) is placed on each number to, well, motivate Oliver to make a selection, thus informing us of his psychic prediction. The numbers represent the number of letters in the answer, the letters are used to spell out the answer. Cat Ouija, basically.

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I like Christmas, I really do.

I’m always a little surprised to hear someone say that they don’t. To me, the dislike inevitably always boils down to poor management, doesn’t matter the back story.

What do you see when you look at the following picture?

Do you see a brightly decorated foyer with a festively blue wreath above the door, or is that a translucently hot sun about to go supernova and tear you and your family limb from limb? I’m going to suggest that both are possible depending on how you look at it. This can either be the prelude to an idyllic Christmas, or it can the foreshadowing of utter bloody terror. What’s the difference? I believe the answer is expectations.

In the first scenario, the only expectation is that you’ll be home, happy with your family, and hopefully you’ll get to enjoy some relaxing time off and a couple of good meals. Pretty simple, easy to fulfill. In the next scenario, well, I don’t have enough space here for the lists, recipes, schedules, budgets, planning, planning, and more planning that needs to takes place. And that show really needs to hit the road ASAP if it’s going to get some traction by December.

The first scenario has fairly low expectations. The second’s are in the stratosphere. So the trick is to simply bring those expectations down. Manage them.

Part of that is letting everyone know you want to keep it as simple as possible this year:

Take a page from the people in the business district, they didn’t dick around. “Throw a string of shit on that tree and let’s get the fuck outta here, we’ve got money to make”, is most probably how it went down. The essence of pragmatism.

But the idea is to take a page and not the whole book, because otherwise you start getting stuff like this:

Okay, it’s certainly better than barf on the windows, but it seems a little cold. Guess I’m more of a traditional Christmas kinda guy; gimme a fireplace, a mug full of booze, and a comely lass on the knee. Trees are also nice. I probably wouldn’t choose to put giant, blood-red impalement pyramids in the entrance to my place. I think it gives off the wrong message.

Bay Street sure likes it’s Christmas angular and abstract. But that’s okay, I don’t expect any more than that.

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Warmest welcome once again, dear reader!

It’s so nice to have the pleasure of your company for another instalment of the Guide. I do hope that life has treated you kindly and that during the odd times when it hasn’t that you’ve had some opportunities to practice being practical. And, more importantly, that that practice has brought you some satisfaction.

In this edition I’d like to pull back from street level and look at a couple of larger forms of urban insolence: government and transit. It’s certainly not necessary to go into any sort of detail; insolence comes in many forms from both sides at this level, from new taxes to higher bus fares, and these are not necessarily local or even urban issues. In fact, as I hope you’ll find, the topics covered here have broader applications.

However, for the practical gentleman this poses a profound conundrum: does one take up arms and revolt against increasingly unjust overlords at great risk to oneself and one’s family, or does one resort to enjoyable but much less effective flaming paper bags (with surprise) left on doorsteps?

Alas, neither option seems agreeable, does it? On the one hand we must choose between radical criminal action, on the other classically amusing but ultimately ineffectual pranks. What’s the practical gentleman to do?

A great deal of wisdom has been scratched onto the walls of prisons as regards these matters, but please allow me to at least get the ball rolling:

The Continental

When one can’t be direct but wishes to nonetheless improve a situation, one must think outside the box. If more money is involuntarily leaving our pocket, more must come in to replenish it. It’s a simple balancing act. Thus, the practical gentleman takes his case directly to the people, bypassing the tight-fisted upper echelons altogether.

In this approach, we simply ask passersby to donate for charity, and I must stress strongly that this is not the same as asking for hand-outs. That would be most ungentlemanly and besides, this is an investment. To convince our fellows of this, however, we are required to present our case with a little more flair. Some call this marketing.

We simply invest in a nice colour print-out of the charity we’re representing, a nice binder to put it on the cover of, and a few hundred charitable donation “receipts” to give to anyone who requests them, to go in said binder. And a pen :) The charity is of course you, only jazzed up a bit; marketed better. Try some interesting twists on your name, combine it with a slogan, borrow a nice logo, but keep it all simple. For example, “The Patrick Fund – Fighting poverty at hom e and abroad”. The name must always be entirely truthful and you should always have a full explanation at the ready. In this case, it is a fund that is in my name and to be used to fight poverty in my home, possibly also to fight that woman I don’t much care for. With minor typographical errors.

For the logo, simply take an existing one from anything around you (using a cell phone camera, for example), and cut off everything but a quarter of the image. For simpler logos, like the Nike swoosh, you may have to use a half of the photo. Or, if cutting doesn’t produce satisfactory results, simply flip the image around horizontally or vertically. The McDonald’s golden arches easily become William’s golden catch basin — for money!

But, most importantly, you must add a prominent outline of the African continent on the logo (hence, “The Continental”). This lets people know you like geography. If you don’t, maybe now’s the time you gave it another try! People aren’t going to give their money to just any old schmuck on the street. Let them know how worldly you are, what a great investment you’ll be, why they should believe. Africa, the symbol of hope.

In this way you don’t hide behind any small print and your honesty and commitment to being upfront will shine through. The donations will come pouring in! At the end of the day you can go home satisfied that your fellow human beings have helped you because of a shared sense of civility. Take that, government!

The Convenient

Did you know that local businesses often provide instant financial support to anyone who strolls in through their front doors? It’s true. In most convenience stores, for example, often placed clearly and visibly in front of the cash register is the leave-a-penny take-a-penny bowl. Most store owners don’t contribute to it so they have no say in how it’s apportioned; it’s a social support system by the people, for the people. Including you.

Penny contributions can be made when pennies are abundant in your life. When they’re scarce, you can of course take. But be sure to do so a penny at a time, thus affording someone else the opportunity to take every alternate penny if they wish. A two-second wait period is customary unless no one else is in front of the counter with you.

The only drawback of the take-a-penny system is that some stores carry larger caches than others. I suggest carrying a strong bag (the pennies will get heavy!) and visiting as many shops as you can. Remember, those pennies already belong to you so you’re not required to make idle chit-chat with the shopkeeper. If they give you any trouble, simply threaten to call police. If this is not your style, you may instead opt to dress provocatively. Ladies will have an advantage over the gentlemen here, I’m afraid. Sorry fellas, we can’t win ‘em all.

The Economic

Many economic pundits have been putting forth the idea that being environmentally conscious and being profitable don’t necessarily have to be exclusive of each other. In fact, an amazing array of novel ideas is beginning to surface during these difficult financial times, many of them designed to produce environmental benefits, and many of those turning in tidy profits for anyone willing to put in some effort. The concept of carbon credits, for example, is ingenious but it hasn’t quite caught on yet. The problem is simply a dearth of mass adoption. This means that the market is still very much wide open … for anyone willing to roll up their sleeves and work for it.

Honest rewards for honest labour.

The further upshot of this is that the practical gentleman may rest well at night knowing that he’s earning an income from a noble pursuit, its influence continuing well into the future. The only requirement is a nice smile and a number of carbon credit certificates. There is no currently accepted standard for these – be creative, but keep the initial batch inexpensive. The idea is not to lose money here :)

Now the hard part: we go door to door selling carbon credits. There’s no trick here, you just have to shake hands, sip tea, and sell the hell outta that carbon!

Eventually, you may want to to invest in some fancy paper certificates — set yourself apart from the competition. Just work the cost into the price of the credits.

You can promise clients that each carbon credit they buy will be used to directly sequester a certain amount of green (in your pocket), ‘n house gasses. Not sure exactly what those gasses would be, but probably natural (this is a good, light-hearted jest to open the conversation with – and be sure to hug the potential client).

Of course, you must guarantee each and every certificate. Should the client ever wish to redeem it, you must exchange the credit for the appropriate amount of carbon. Although it’s difficult to get pure carbon, rough carbon (mixed with impurities) may be produced simply by burning something to ashes. This is your contractual obligation so you must honour the request within a reasonable time frame.

One of the biggest arguments against buying credits in this way is that (it is claimed) they are really used to prevent the environmental effects of burning stuff. Haha! What nuthouse did that escape from? If you buy a carbon credit, you should be able to exchange it for carbon. Who’s going to pay for not getting something? When the customer understands that this certificate is worth something, then it becomes a lot more valuable. Treat each buyer like the intelligent human being they are; logic will always wins the day ;)

You’ll have to do some research into going carbon credit prices but, since you probably won’t have any immediate competition in your neighbourhood, you may just be able to set whatever price you want. Just be sure not to price yourself out of the market! :D

I hope, dear reader, these points will help you through the tough times. They were inspired by a certain form of insolence, but their application turns out to be much broader. If the challenge was to think outside the box, hopefully that has been achieved. Certainly they are merely a spot from which to cast off, but hopefully they’ll chart a course to some pleasant tropical island with nice beaches, nice people, and nice drinks with little umbrellas in them. Even Mexico might be a nice escape.

Wishing you a bon voyage!

In part 1 of this explosive exposé on the real Santa Claus Parade in Toronto, I went into detail on some of the hazards and ordeals that you are really subjecting your kids to by bringing them along to the event. You may not even be aware of this because, as an adult, you’ve had a good chunk of time to build up your comprehension and so your defences. It’s like understanding how lightning works; it’s still a nervous giggle of a WHAM! outside but you don’t hightail it under your couch like the cat. You know you’re safe.

Consider this, for example:

Awww. You see Santa’s Workshop, a few rosy-cheeked, satisfied elves sitting outside with the happy labours of the year past, some cute houses topped with fluffy snow and powdered sugar. Merry Christmas, kids!

From another angle, this is Santa’s Sweatshop, miserly and terribly underdressed children cast outside their warm shelters in the middle of a cold Siberian winter, no doubt for under-producing for the “jolly old elf” (who’s probably enjoying himself a back-alley rub-and-tug somewhere in Bangkok). Merry freakin’ Christmas, kids.

At this point, some parents may say, “But I’ve taught my kids well. They’ll make the right choices.” I’ve no reason to doubt anyone’s parenting skills, but upbringing is no match for military-style indoctrination. Pretty soon your kid’s goose-stepping down University Avenue with the rest of his comrades:

Still not willing to co-operate? Let’s see how he feels after this:

No? I see; junior likes to play hardball, huh?

That’s right. If they don’t get him one way, it’ll be another. Do you really want your kid playing a tuba? What kind of a horrible parent are you to even consider that question?

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After squeezing my way through my second annual procession on Sunday, I can say without hesitation that the Santa Claus Parade is no place to bring your kids. The dangers are many and very, very real.

To begin with, you have strange men winding their way through the audience snapping random pictures of children and posting them on only God-knows what website. That alone should be enough, but there’s much more to be wary of.

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This is starting to look bad, isn’t it? Second Friday post that didn’t make it out until the weekend. But this time, dear reader, I want to assure you it was an absolute necessity. You see, an event took place this weekend that marks TCL’s first technical anniversary and I didn’t want to waste a post on something more mundane.

I say technical because if you look at the archives, TCL only goes back to January. But it’s really been online since November of last year.

Luckily the WayBack Machine has, as yet, no record of it.

At that time TCL had a mostly-black theme with content that induced hemorrhaging from the eyeballs and projectile vomiting. Pretty awful stuff. Back then I didn’t have the experience or the sphincteric relaxation to do anything interesting, really. Had anyone suggested I run a shocking exposé on what really happens at the annual Santa Claus Parade, I would’ve balked!

But in mid-November I attended Illuminite, the annual Christmas lighting of Yonge-Dundas Square. It was a cold and rainy November night, but the show went on anyway. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to muscle my way up to the front of the crowd, and it was in that soggy moment of inspiration that I remembered it was Toronto City Life. Most of these people were alive, so they qualified. I was getting all bent out of shape for nothing!

That epiphany, and the attitudinal adjustment that came with it, carried me through all the way around to this year’s event. Good thing too because there were a lot more people this time around:

Most of the show, consisting of fire, sparks, trampolines, and dancing, took place at the far end of the square. There was a lot of loud music that, more often than not, descended into a raucous noise that in no way said season’s greetings to me. Eventually, the same spooky music I remember from last year came on as the fire dancers wound their way across the square toward the stage I’d plunked myself behind:

The dancers paraded around on stage in wintry white and silver, twirling fiery objects and having pyrotechnics go off behind them as if to say, “here’s the last blast of warmth you’re getting for the next six months”:

The audience were close enough that one slip and the girl in the red hood got a face full of fire. Now if that’s not a reason to go see something live, I don’t know what is. The fireworks were pretty scary too:

Behind the dancers was the reason for the whole display, the tree.

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Another movie shoot? I gotta be honest with you, I don’t get out of bed for anything less than a feature-length film these days. Made-for-TV is, frankly, below me. And Winona Ryder? Didn’t she steal something? *phft* No thanks.

I have my standards. It’s the finicky Canadian in me. Or maybe the obstinate Czech. If the Canadian government had higher standards, maybe they’d keep the likes of Winona Ryder out of Canada. They came out with a new guide for immigrants today, but I don’t see how it protects anyone from anything.

Here are the things I took away from this:

“Serving on a jury is a privilege”

I’m not sure that needs any comment.

“In the visual arts, Canada is historically perhaps best known for the Group of Seven…”

If that’s true then we really need to do something. Now!

“In our federal state, the federal government takes responsibility for…”

Whoa there! Who said anything about taking responsibility? The government takes no stand on this issue.

June 24 – Fête Nationale (Quebec)

Once again Quebecers get a perk that the rest of Canada doesn’t. On my tax money, no doubt!

“Saskatchewan, once known as the ‘breadbasket of the world’ and the ‘wheat province’…”

Yeah, Saskatchewan used to be something. What kind of message is that?

“’Whereas Canada is founded upon principles that recognize the supremacy of God and the rule of law.’ This phrase underlines the importance of religious traditions to Canadian society and the dignity and worth of the human person.”

Ooh, Zeus and the gang are not gonna be pleased about this one.

I think the problem with government publications is that they white-wash everything. The (we can safely assume) exorbitant budget probably had earmarked a proofreader for every individual sentence. Two for the God parts. What that guarantees is that, having used this booklet as preparation for citizenship, newcomers are not in any way prepared for the reality of Canadian life. This isn’t the land of milk and maple syrup they thought it was. Well, kind of. Good organic milk too. But it’s more expensive than they thought it was.

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I had the best topic for the post all planned out last night and today … I completely forgot! For the life of me I can’t remember what it’s supposed to be, which sucks because I remember it being really good. Damnit!

Instead I had to hurriedly run around looking for something to write about. I did find some ceremony happening in front of Old City Hall:

I thought maybe it was a wedding or something, but there were media there and a bunch of old people wearing medals. Didn’t look very joyous, actually. And the fact that they were setting up in front of the old war memorial seemed pretty morose.

But I was in a rush because my original plan had gone completely out the window, so I didn’t stop to ask what was going on. As a result, today’s post will unfortunately have to rely on some borrowed Toronto Archives material as filler. I apologize.

Hopefully you’ll find it interesting. I chose to include some pictures of Claire Wallace as she interviewed some veterans of the second World War for the CBC. I don’t know why I chose this subject but something about it jumped out at me the moment I saw it. Wish my memory would do the same!

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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?!