It happened again! When I read the story, I knew something about it sounded really familiar.

And it was.

Basically, some old guy in Barrie decided to clean the busy street in front of his house using his snow blower. In the middle of the afternoon commute. Inebriated. Police had to arrest him for his own protection. Oh the podunkery.

Similar to the earlier incident in Keswick where a fellow was caught riding his mower all over the road, also pickled. Also hilarious.

Keswick is north-east of Toronto, Barrie north-west. Both are picturesque and both have that sex-with-the-cousin-behind-the-barn kinda feel to them.

I’ll grant that Barrie is a large city so that’s a broad generalization, and it’s increasingly common for people to commute to Toronto from there. Citytv’s Kevin Frankish makes the drive every day although with his crazy TV hours he probably doesn’t get to experience the nightmare that is the 400 commute. I mean, if the 401 is hell on four wheels then I figure the 400 has to be at least at the nightmarish level, no? The Toronto Star clocked the average speed on Toronto highways at 42 kilometres (26 miles) per hour. The speed limit is 100 kilometres (62 miles) per hour.

If the road was running at 100% capacity — as envisioned back in the early fifties when everyone had one and a half grotesque kids (the half would have to be, wouldn’t they?), a sparkly new highway stretched out to the future just behind your back yard, and dad smoked a pipe — everyone should still be able to drive at the limit, albeit surrounded by their neighbours. However, because of the marvellous correlation to percentages, we can easily see that the highways of today are running at 158% capacity (every kilometre in speed lost is a percent in capacity gained). At 200%, the commute will cease to be.

That’s kind of the funny thing about all those people who complain about how unfair life is for them as drivers; they have a lot of compelling points, I won’t take that away from them, but who cares? It’s obviously untenable and not getting any better. Doesn’t matter what I say about it. Doesn’t matter what they say about it. You either start preparing for some Mad Max action or you take alternative measures. Now I, personally, prefer to walk. But if there’s going to be some awesome rolling carnage along the Don Valley Parkway, I’d be down with that too. As a spectator.

Oh, and speaking of really familiar (skilfully referring back to the top), do you remember the five-cent plastic bag fee that started back in June? Seems like a lot of people missed the news – I still hear it being called a tax. Nothing could be further from the truth, dear reader! It is a fee, put into place by the city, but collected – and used – by the retailers. Not a penny goes to the city; the shop owners are supposed to decide what to do with all those pretty shiny nickels.

This wasn’t as a result of an outcry from shopkeepers who were losing money on bags, it was put in by City Hall to try to cut down their overall use (and disposal). And that part has worked pretty well. But lots of people questioned why the city wasn’t collecting that money (or at least a part of it). They’re doing it in Washington DC, and it seems to be working well for them. Telling a businessman that he can put up a bunch of new swings around the corner with the money he’s collected is kind of like telling a monkey he could write Shakespeare with a banana. We all know exactly what that businessman is going to do with that banana. No, government must step in and snatch the banana from that spiteful monkey’s hands.

And to back up my assertions, I offer up the cases of Weizhen Tang and Stan Grmovsek. Tang is accused of running a ponzi scheme – take from a new “customer” and give part of that to existing ones, repeat – and Stan got mixed up with a bunch of no-good Bay Street types in an insider trading affair. They corrupted an innocent lawyer!

Who knows what the city could do with that money; new mass transit, better roads, alcohol treatment centres. They could even sponsor the Don Valley Parkway Drive-Till-You-Die competition – how many birds would that stone kill, huh?

…continued from part 1.

Regent Park is an original City of Toronto housing project. The projects of Toronto. I’d say there are similar areas in all the cities that make up the GTA. Scarborough has Malvern (did my teens around there). North York has Jane and Finch (played marbles around the corner). And downtown Toronto has Regent Park (a pleasant stroll of a block for me). Out of all of them, I’d have to say that Regent Park seems the most genteel.

The buildings are smaller, and these days the area’s more run-down than anything else. But at night, especially around some of the inner courtyards between the buildings, it can still be a pretty menacing place.

And that’s where King’s hero would find himself. I’m sure Stevie wouldn’t be able to resist throwing something schmaltzy into the plot … a basketball, rolling slowly out of the pitch shadows, slowly but with no sign of decelerating, as if being propelled by something other. And just before hitting the man’s foot, coming to a sickeningly sudden stop. He would back away as he gazed upwards, the slowly illuminating multitudes of windows in the buildings encircling him filled with horrible shapes, nausea and fear rising into a knot at the back of his throat, terror pulling his pupils into dense points straining to shield him from seeing what he was seeing … up there.

And now Kingie would wreck a perfectly good horror and have the hero’s dead son stand in one of the windows or some other such bullshit. Why?! Why can’t it just be a purely evil force facing well-adjusted individuals? The baggage gets in the way of the train, if you get my meaning.

I prefer my horror noir. Just a bunch of people get brutally massacred; don’t read too much into it. Sometimes, a shadowy villain is all there needs to be.

So after escaping that horror, King would take the poor sap back up through southern Cabbagetown only to be accosted by some huddled baddie in a toque.

At this point I’d turn off the movie and go to bed.

Great neighbourhood, is what I’m getting at. Full of contradictions, as I used to end my grade eight essays with. As with a lot of other neighbourhoods, the dividing boundary is literally the line down the street. On one side you buy your crack, on the other a hand-blown artisan glass pipe in which to smoke it. Cabbagetown, ironically, is named after cabbages, the only vegetable the dirt-poor Irish immigrants could manage to grow. Luckily they stopped leeching off society and we now have a vibrant and mostly Irish-free slice of old Toronto.

Haha! Just kidding. Those ruddy-haired bastards are swarming over Toronto like Black Death itself.

(It’s okay, I have Irish friends. :D Well, associates. Associate. And I enjoy Guinness. Plus Irish Cream flavoured anything. :D )

Anyhow, there you have it; Cabbagetown, up to the armpits in history and conveniently close. Good on cold days, über-quaint, and bordered by something evil. Actually, now that I think about it, that’s probably closer to a M. Night Shyamalamadingdong plot.

Sorry, but I’m just going to stop right there before it leads me down some road I’d rather not take. Can’t stand that guy. He’s not even scary!

Before I go, I just wanted to give a shout-out to CardSwap.ca who sent me a nice new year greeting and informed me they were also fellow Torontonians. Easy sell. The site is basically a way to buy and sell used (or new, I guess, whatever turns your crank), gift and discount cards. CardSwap guarantees delivery. This is clearly their time to shine so I’d like to wish them all the best.  I’m certainly not above gift cards myself.

Oh boy! I finally got my Christmas present from the city of Toronto! Thanks, municipality!

And it’s just what I always wanted too — a brand-spanking new election year! (even the exact colour)

Now, truth be told, I’m a total n00b (a word requiring not one but two zeroes to denote the level of experience), when it comes to municipal politics. I learn a little bit every now and then when a scandal breaks out, but other than that I only know that good old Davie Miller is our mayor until the last week of October. And that candidates are now free to register after which they can start fundraising.

But despite my overall lack of knowledge, this is a great opportunity to dive in headfirst and learn. And pray for muck flinging, name calling, and other assorted hijinx. I sincerely hope that municipal politicking is as kooky as I imagine it is. And in the meantime, I get ten months of increasingly busy campaigning to revert to when my brain goes all mushy for topics. It’s the gift that keeps on giving — even though that’s technically incorrect since people give gifts (could you imagine the horror of gifts giving people?). But it’s the thought that counts. :)

Also, dear reader, you now know as much as I do. Oh, wait, maybe a few more things:

Giorgio Mammoliti (confirmed)
— http://www.facebook.com/people/Giorgio-Mammoliti/532699017
— http://twitter.com/giorgio_4_mayor

Adam “Jammy Jams” Giambrone (potential)
— http://www.adamgiambrone.ca/
— http://twitter.com/Adam_Giambrone

George Smitherman (expected)
— http://www.georgesmitherman.com/
— http://twitter.com/Smitherman2010

John Tory (potential)
— http://www.johntory.ca/
— http://twitter.com/John_Tory

Joe Pantalone (expected)
— http://www.joepantalone.org/
— twitless

Rocco Rossi (confirmed)
— http://www.facebook.com/roccorossi
— http://twitter.com/liberalrocco

Shelley Carroll (potential)
— http://shelleycarroll.ca/
— http://twitter.com/shelleycarroll

That’s the current roster. The “expected” candidates have either quit their day job or stated publicly that they’ll be registering – both pretty strong indicators of intent.

I don’t know much about any of these people. I do know that George Smitherman is gay and looks like a bulldog. Both, I believe, in his favour. I also know that, judging by the state of his website, John Tory is either not planning to run or is keeping his candidacy a big and unnecessary secret (and making some affiliate income to boot):

I also know that Adam Giambrone (pronounced like “jam bony”), is a couple of years my junior and is barely holding the Toronto Transit Commission together as its boss. I shudder to think of him at the city’s helm (no way is he getting the Clearasil budget past council, mark my words).

Giorgio Mammoliti looks like an Italian gangster, so he’s pretty cool. Joe Pantalone has a website that reminds me of Toronto City Life during its first few months, so yuck. Also, he’s really wee. Two strikes; he’d better be a good orator. Rocco Rossi, nice wine, but how are the mayor skills? Shelley Carroll has a pretty slick website with some nice Adobe Flash work – it always makes me a bit suspicious when someone can afford to pay the ridiculous sums that Flash developers extort out of their customers. Come to think of it, “Baby Face” Giambrone has some Flash on his site too. Hmmm.

Okay, so now you know exactly what I know; we’ll both be learning as we go along. The contestants (it’s more fun to think of them this way), are allowed to raise $1.5 million to grease constituents’ palms. Then it’ll be a brutal, bare-knuckle free-for-all; winner gets City Hall and medical attention.

And I get material that writes itself. :D

“Your fingers aren’t frozen?”

I had to pause a moment to ponder the question. That’s the problem with brains on ice, they’re just not that quick. Mine especially.

“Almost!”

Was my ultra-witty reply to the beady-eyed parka as it and its occupant passed me on a southern Cabbagetown street corner.

I know, I’m ashamed. It’s why I prefer to write. When the mouth isn’t engaged, it goes a whole lot better. But, in my defence, it was pretty darn cold out there. Those from Yellowknife would probably be out there in their trunks bouncing around beach balls and carrying frozen drinks with little umbrellas, but –14 Celsius (6 Fahr.) is chilly for Toronto. I was double-panted, double-socked, scarved good and proper, hatted – you bet, gloved – oh yeah, ass cheeks – frozen as all get-out. And of course once the ass goes, the fingers are next.

So please allow me to present…

Wanderings of a Frozen Finger

Reflections on a freakin’ cold Cabbagetown

by Patrick

—

CABBAGETOWN (haiku)

Cabbagetown is cold

Holy shit! It’s really cold!

Plus I hate haiku.

I … did not enjoy poetry at school much. Repress your words until you hurt, is poetry, to me. No thanks, I’m of the thousand words or more school. I prefer the lazy man’s thousand words, however.

Here are some people with their younguns seeking shelter from the awful cold, well-heeled natives striding past them confidently, callously, and a mischievous elf out on a smoke break. Also, some old lady standing at the corner about to risk her life. I’m pretty sure she’ll hardly be looking one way let alone both. Behind isn’t even on the radar, and the radar extends out to maybe half a meter anyway.

You’re thinking about her now, aren’t you? The old lady about to be potentially banged around by a car. But what can you do? I drove down here many times and when the old people jump out in front of you, you basically treat them like deer. Bust out the binoculars and start looking them over. If it freaks them out and they hustle off the road, great. It’s in everyone’s best interest. But unfortunately, you gotta wait for those old people to cross. I reserve that privilege for when I’m an old fart, so I feel I should live by the opposite side of that  understanding today. At about 65 or so, we earn the right step out into traffic at any point from anywhere. That’s just all there is to it.

… Continue Reading