If you read TCL semi-regularly, you’ll know I don’t indulge in Top 10 lists. Top 5 either. Top Anything, for that matter. I just don’t find them terribly informative, mostly.

But, you know, sometimes you end up wandering aimlessly for a couple of days and don’t really have a good way to tie any of the resulting photos together. So in that spirit, here’s my list of 5 main reasons why I think living in the city, and in Toronto especially, is so durned good. With photos.

#1 – Spring Chickenism

This is definitely tops on my list. Here’s the thing, I’m down to the last notch on my last two remaining belts. A pair of pants that I’d held onto just in case I ever slimmed down now also require a belt. Some of my old pants are like potato sacks. But very comfortable, I’ll say that. In fact, if it wasn’t for a steady diet of junk food and, recently, Cadbury’s Easter Creme Eggs, I’d be forced to go out and buy a whole new wardrobe. Or some heavy-duty suspenders. I figure bad food is a cheaper alternative.

Now don’t get me wrong, I could still use some … toning. But in terms of my overall physical dimensions, I’ve shrunk. This with not caring at all about what I eat.

Are you asking, dear reader, what kind of exercise regimen I’m on? Perhaps what special “supplements” I take?

Nothing special, I just live downtown.

Unfortunately, I can’t locate the link at the moment, but I remember reading an article that compared the fitness of city-dwellers to non-urbanites. The consensus was generally that people in the city were a little healthier, a little slimmer. On average, of course. And, as I can attest, it doesn’t have much to do with our eating habits

It’s mostly to do with the fact that in the city, walking or cycling are much better ways to get around. One-way streets? Who gives a shit? No parking? I so couldn’t care less. Private property? These boots were made for climbin’, and that’s just what they’ll do.

I swear on all that is good that I’ve matched pace with a streetcar, more than once, from the sidewalk. And I wasn’t even going that fast. It’s why parking downtown is always such a pain; because everyone wants to do it and get around the smart way instead.

But as I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I understand the need for a car for the suburbs. I’ve been there, done that. And the sticks too. They had their charm — but I was undeniably chunkier.

#2 – Conveniencism

Everything is just, like, right there. Everything.

Sure, that store might not have it, but did you try those other six? Within walking distance, I mean.

It’s the density that makes it possible. When you cram enough potential customers together — within walking distance, say — it’s easier to sell niche items. There’s stuff I’ve found in dusty little shops around the city I never imagined I’d find. Or find again.

I ordered something off the web one day. I could’ve had it in my possession in half an hour had I bothered to do a Google search of nearby stores. The ones with websites, obviously.

There are still a few exotic items I haven’t found. Nothing I need, but still. For example, Green Oil, a Taiwanese product intended to be used similarly to Tiger Balm, but it’s liquid and comes in little glass bottles. It’s minty going on and leaves you smelling really nice for the whole day. I can’t even find a website for the damn thing. But then again, there are probably a gazillion local Chinese apothecaries I haven’t checked yet.

It’d be nice to be able to go later in the day, though. I’m watching TV right now. Oh, it’s open 24 hours? On account of it’s economically feasible for them to do so? Great! Back to TV…

… Continue Reading

According to Bill McKibben, the environment has it in for us. All of us. Like, real bad.

I got the opportunity to hear him and Margaret Atwood chew the cud on the problem at the UofT Bookstore‘s Reading Series.  After all, the environment lurks mercilessly outside all of our homes, constantly waiting to pounce; needs a brainstormer, no doubt.

What I liked about Atwood was her willingness to delve into the causes of why the environment is being such a dick; let’s not be ignorant of the enemy. That and she brought up coffee and hemp as possible solutions. I like her. :)

So what did McKibben have to say? Basically that, at this point, the environment is already over the edge. Forget trying to slow it down — blast that motherfucker with everything we have!!

He goes into greater detail in his new book “Eaarth”, but wants to emphasize that it’s still, “all a long shot”.

Bill’s message isn’t terribly upbeat, even though he somehow is. Diplomacy, recycling, full-on frontal attack, we’ll need to do whatever it takes if we stand a chance against the environment.

From my regular viewing of public television, I know that small island nations like the Maldives are already under attack. They’re seriously looking into evacuation plans for whole countries, that’s how bad it’s getting. And unfortunately, publicity stunts don’t really seem to be getting the word out.

Bill had a big hand in 350.org, a site dedicated to disseminating information about the struggle. And a struggle it’ll be. According to what I’ve read there, it’s not a matter of if we’ll be attacked, but how severely. The best we can do now is to mitigate the damages. I’m definitely not getting that mortgage now.

… Continue Reading

…continued from previous part.

I hope I haven’t misled you, dear reader. As the name implies, Rosedale isn’t all weird and unusual structures. The common Meadow Rose is rumoured to still spring up there, if that’s any indication of the place’s frilly beginnings. Probably still some growing around some of the older buildings. A testament to the fact that some of those buildings have been around since Rosedale got the name.

Back in the day, the community was thought to be waaaay out in the sticks. Maids wouldn’t travel out there so people didn’t want to buy houses for fear of  having to “rough” it. No shit. And there were some interesting goings-on too, like the disappearance of Ambrose Small in 1919, just after he’d sold all his theatre properties for $1.7 mill. Lots of suspicion on the wife, one of Small’s employees makes off with $100,000; sounds like good Sunday afternoon reading. Doesn’t Rosedale seem like a good setting for it?

Also there’s the story of Bill Bull, a prolifically ironic writer on church history, who in ‘31 had Al Capone trying to kill him. Hey, no one ever said that all the neighbourhood money was legit, did they? It certainly would explain why all the buildings have such imposing facades too. Plenty of spots for snipers to sit in wait for assassins. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that moats had once existed around some of these homes.

… Continue Reading

I didn’t feel like getting an autograph from the Weasley brothers. I hadn’t really read their books. :( I’d heard of Henry Porter, though; not like I’m totally ignorant. I’d be ashamed to show my face down at the Science Centre again if I hadn’t done a little research.

But as I mentioned, I didn’t get around to reading the novels, so the movie(s?) is a bit of a hazy area for me. Fitting on a day like yesterday.

I suppose it would’ve been good to get acquainted with the Henry Porter series before setting out, but I managed just fine. There was plenty of time to stand around and gape (hence learn), while groups were taken through. The exhibit is timed so that people get ample gawk time when actually in it. In the circular waiting room clips from the movie(s?) are played in faux antique frames on the wall, possibly to suggest moving paintings. Not sure why. Then a big curtain at one side of the room opens with a billow of smoke and you’re ushered into the museum.

We were escorted through by Eddie Newquist and Robin Stapley, two gents from GES responsible for bringing the thing to Toronto. They were both gushing with enthusiasm over each and every item. Guess it took a lot for them to swipe the lot. Apparently even the walls are moulded duplicas of those used in the Dogwert’s castle. In the movie(s), I mean. That name’ll probably mean more to fans.

… Continue Reading

…continued from previous part.

Industrial design has been a monkey on my back ever since I picked up the habit about eight years ago. My misbegotten aim was simply to learn about design – to get better at my Flash stuff. But, as was foreseeable, I got sidetracked. Into the industrial aspect; you know, design for mass production.

The movement started some time in in the early 1900s when factory production for most domestic items became widely available. They’d started to do weird stuff with wood and plastics were making a splash. But design still had much of an influence, despite the shared credo of “form follows function”. In fact, industrial designers concerned themselves more with the practicality of appearance than function most of the time; function was left to the engineers.

This extended to architecture too.

There are, of course, nasty leftovers from industrialization. Environment / people / health problems aside, many manufacturers took the opportunity to cut out the designer and head directly for cheaper products which has caused the epidemic of poorly-produced / copied domestic items we see today. If it wasn’t for stores like Ikea, we’d never know who was responsible for coming up with the objects sitting on our kitchen table. Or the kitchen table itself.

But I think the spirit of that earlier era still lives in architecture, and in places like Rosedale. Mostly because industrial design always came across as generally domestically oriented that I find it most obvious here. People in the area generally have the money to dabble with and buildings tend to last longer.

The fad in industrial design, at least initially, was to combine basic geometric shapes to produce interesting everyday objects (i.e. simple geometry=simple / mass construction). To me, the house above looks like an architectural draft, all linear and arcy. Note the simplicity of the form and the commonality of the building materials. Very industrial design. Here’s another Rosedale example:

Looks like a garage from a Lexus commercial, doesn’t it? Guess they have to shoot ’em somewhere. Not the kind of place I’d be keen to live in, but I’m glad someone does. :)

If I had to pick one of the more modern Rosedale houses to live in I’d veer more toward the homes that depend on a variety of materials rather than unusual structural shapes. Seems like they’d be more comfortable:

Rosedale  is quiet, and chock-a-block with flowers and people with too much time / money on their hands. And being just north of money-laden Yorkville, it’s essentially a part of downtown Toronto. If they weren’t all driving fancy talking cars, Rosedale residents could take the subway if they wanted to.

Continued in next part…

Welcome welcome welcome!

Welcome once again, dear reader, to yet another instalment of The Guide! I must say it’s been far too long, hasn’t it? Since before Christmas, if memory serves. Too long. Too long. :(

I do, however, trust you had a nice Christmas / New Year / Valentine’s Day / Easter / etc. I certainly did, experiencing a whole gaggle of insolent behaviour that requires redress; just the impetus a practical gentleman requires to adopt some practical solutions.

For this edition we will be revisiting one particularly insidious form of urban insolence that appears to have thwarted repeated attempts at eradication: feet on seats. We will also be exploring farther afield where we shall encounter the land of the text-walkers, and we will be delving into the jungles of our neighbours’ flats to see if we can’t get them to hush up. And, as always, we will try to answer the age-old question: what’s the practical gentleman to do?

A great deal of wisdom has been written in many a travel brochure as regards these matters, but please allow me to at least get the ball rolling.

The Footsy Redux

As previously mentioned, this form of insolence appears to have gained a solid foothold throughout our fair metropolis. One can expect to encounter feet on just about any sitting surface these days. Sometimes even dining surfaces. :(

In a previous guide we explored the use of chemical deterrents to prevent the untimely soiling of our backsides. Unfortunately this technique is proving either too cumbersome or people are simply opting not to employ it. Either way the flow of malevolent feet has not been stayed.

So please allow me to suggest an alternative.

In this scenario we simply approach the subject and stare directly at their feet, motioning with our eyebrows (and sparkly eyes), that something’s amiss roundabout the region of their feet. If the culprit still doesn’t get it, we follow up with a helpful, “I’m sorry. Just wanted to let you know I think you stepped in something.” (pointing to offending feet)

When the subject pulls in their feet to examine the soles of their soul, the practical gentleman could simply swoop into the newly vacated seat. However, this would necessitate getting one’s coattails dirty and should be dealt with a bit more sternly. After all, we are now put out.

Prior to sitting, one could draw out the conversation, insisting that the subject had indeed stepped in something and should look closer. Closer. Get as close to some introspection as you can. Nothing? Do you want to know what you stepped in? My seat.

Yeah.

An indignant lady porting a bright newly-purchased ensemble may also devolve the conversation from there. Ladies will have an advantage over the gentlemen here, I’m afraid. Sorry fellas, we can’t win ‘em all.

The Noisy Neighbours

Some of us have ‘em.

The Guide’s own neighbours throw the occasional spontaneous rackets. It makes production of The Guide tritely taxing, to be frank. But we march on, don’t we? Even as the door slamming, banging of pots, etc., continues. (And they were bringing in what looked like baby furniture yesterday!)

One could, of course, resort to police. Possibly even asking to see if everything’s alright first; talking to them, in other words. But, if one or both of these options fail, or if you won’t wanna, consider billing your unruly neighbours for the time lost due to their negligence. Nothing exorbitant, of course; we are gentlemen here. But our time is valuable as are the works that we produce with that time.

The Guide would also like to suggest a nice letterhead for the bill and including an itemized explanation of each charge; the neighbours’ questions should be addressed up front. The document should be prominently posted on their front door to ensure successful discovery. Don’t want that thing getting lost.

Payment may be made to anonymous location in / around building if discretion is sought.

The *bump*TXT

Epidemic. That is the official word that The Guide has adopted to describe texting on the slick April streets of the city. Even with umbrellas and suitcases in hand they *clickity clickity clack*. Send –>

Of course, dear reader, The Guide must text from in the field in order to provide regular updates to the head office. However, we are quite careful to put the device down whilst in intersections, and frequent gazes up ensure that never has a collision occurred. Yet, reciprocation from others cannot, it seems, be expected. So how can we deal with this?

Allow me to suggest a simple sign worn at the back, attached around the neck. A customized t-shirt is an advanced option, but only for those living in problem areas. The text around this sign should be simple and direct (keep in mind the attention span), something akin to, “Mby U try look up frm fon, dildo!”

To employ the message, simply walk a short distance in front of the offending party and come to a sudden stop. Again, we are gentlemen, so ensure that had they been aware of their surroundings they would have had ample time to stop or go around. But presumably they won’t be and they’ll get a face-full of in-your-face.

The message may be changed, of course. The key is to include “dildo”, at least once. That is the crux of the message to be communicated. And don’t be afraid to cut out vowels left right and center; the window of attention will be brief so we must try to get through as quickly as possible.

If the offending party is cute, you could try wearing a nicer sign on your front and physically connecting in that way. Have fun with it; practical gentlemen need not be stuffy gentlemen!

And thus, dear reader, I leave you in the clutches of blooms and April swoons. This is the time to practice our skills as soon the promenades will be full of insolence of all manner. Take it to the streets, as they say. :) And I shall try to be less absent in the future. Unless my neighbours discover the source of those bills. :(

The TCL headquarters has been under siege all day, dear reader. By heat.

I’ve had the windows open since dawn, fans running, even took a prolonged and luxuriant shower. No good. The hot-water rads having been blazing all day. The superintendent is either cleaning the heating system for the season or the he’s trying to cook us out. By us I mean the whole building; the rads in the landing are all on full-blast so I’m thinking the other flats are probably getting it too. Maybe they’re testing how hot they can get the old iron grills before they explode. My recently relocated blogging chair is now just a nervous foot away from the big cast-iron one. Might be my last post.

So it was good to get outdoors for a bit. That and what the casual observer might mistake as summer outside. No, my living room is presently like summer, but nice try. (Sadly, this is not a hyperbole.) Outside, though, I tripped into a neat old neighbourhood that made me forget about my oven-like flat. Even the garden sheds are probably air conditioned there.

Rosedale is the place. North and a little east of the core. Took me a while to just get there, and once there the terrain is friendly to neither foot nor vehicle. Hilly, twisty, narrow roads, roundabouts going who-knows-where. Never a good time to stand in the middle of the road taking photos.

Took me two successive tries to get through there to my intended destination (with Google Maps on my mobile!). And I was started to feel smugly Torontonian.

Apparently the roads are based on pre-Toronto horse-riding trails, but if you ask me this is how they get away with gating the place without erecting actual gates.

To me Rosedale seems not unlike a miniaturized Bridle Path (farther north and east). On the Path, houses are on massive lots, usually far enough back from the road that getting to the front door would mean having to interact with armed guards and probably dogs. Mansions. The density of rich people in Rosedale necessitates that they settle onto smaller plots. The houses can’t get smaller, of course, so it’s usually the stuff around the houses that gets shrunk. Still neat, just really small.

I wouldn’t like to guess how much condos run for in Rosedale. This wouldn’t have even crossed my mind but smattered occasionally between the gargantuan houses are low-rise buildings that really couldn’t be called flats. Probably not rentals either.

Dang. Now I’m thinking too much about my own place again.

Still hot here.

So hot.

I bet the Rosedalians don’t have to put up with this.

Continued in next part…

Happy death and resurrection of our lord and saviour weekend, dear reader! If you’re into that sorta thing. Me, I’m pretty ambivalent about bunnies and coloured eggs don’t really do much for me, so Easter’s on the bottom of my holiday list. Also, I don’t get Good Friday; isn’t that when Jesus died? I didn’t know the guy but expiring on a cross doesn’t seem good at all. Should be called Ironic Friday, maybe.

But please don’t let me keep you from enjoying it. I am. I’ve managed to run some errands at the east part of town. The Beach.

… Continue Reading