Here’s what I like to plug my ears with on my way to work. They’re also a great idea for days like, well, all this week — rain, rain, and rainy. They are all Toronto (at least produced here) but, ironically, hardly contain any music at all.
They’re at it again!
I always loved those commercials. They kind of implied that brains would taste pretty good sopped up with some chunky toasted bread and maybe a hash brown, butter, and bacon (or short pig), on the side. And f-f-f-f-f-f-Fava beans, Clarissssssssssse.
The correlation was, you do drugs, you will get a taste for human flesh. Inevitable, jerkhole.
There’s a really interesting corollary between those anti-drug campaigns, eggs sitting on tops of walls (and subsequently falling off), the falling of the walls themselves (below), the frying of the whole place (further below), and — it seems — a drug-induced stupor at City Hall that allowed the whole thing to happen. And then the egg on their faces. Thus the circle of life is complete.
It was April 16th of last year when the facade came down near Ryerson, just over the Salad King restaurant which everyone suddenly remembered with cherished memories and the inevitable adage, “…but I haven’t been there for a while.”
Recall:
I think Salad King was planning to re-open some time tragically soon — just to pour Thai hot sauce on that open wound. And that’s exactly what it’s been since it came down: just a gaping gash on Gould Street. They threw a big tarp over the rubble on the street, fenced the area off, and that’s how it sat until this week’s fire.
Okay, so I’ve been asking this question for a while now … why has this building been allowed to sit as a wreck for this long? Why cover the frickin’ rubble with a tarp?
Well, apparently the thing was a heritage building and City Hall was mulling over what to do with it. Guess the bricks in the rubble were historic as well, hence the tarp.
But while Councillors were chewing the end-of-term / beginning-of-term cud, getting tours of City Hall, cancelling snacks, etc., the thing was left unattended and this week exploded into a six-alarm blaze — didn’t know there were that many alarms!
Even when I dropped by the next day the thing was still smouldering, apparently having re-erupted earlier that morning. “Normal for a fire of this magnitude”, I was assured.
Some are thinking potentially arson, I’m thinking dangerous exposed building left to the elements. Probably electrical, caused by the recent thaw, and then enjoying a very comfortable stay in the mostly wooden, former Empress Hotel building.
In the meantime, Yonge Street is now closed along with Gould (foot traffic ‘n all), and the open sore is much more so. That can’t go on too long.
My suggestion: get Ryerson University – literally across the street – involved. I mean, let all the investigators finish up, but after that I’m sure there are plenty of classes that could benefit from having to identify historic remains to salvage, perform actual fire forensics investigations, do structural engineering studies, and so on. Maybe George Brown get get itself a piece of that sweet action too. Real-world experience, free work force who get to take those spongy livers outside for some fresh air.
Just don’t let that building go to ruin a third time, you know?
…continued from previous part.
And here we are, the year 2010 summed up in just 5 measly posts. The best of the best, baby! Bust out the caviar.
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/10/04/white-night-2010/
Nuit Blanche is one of those events that may be getting just a bit too big for its britches. I make it a point never to head out before midnight, and this year even that might’ve been too early.
The exhibits are different every year so I like the fact that I don’t have to wander far. Despite vowing to do so every single time.
The submission process for this year ended in early December, 2010 – some artists are contacted by the curators and commissioned, some can apply for an honorarium, and there are a bunch of open slots available for people who want to do their own thing. This year they might move the application process up on the calendar. I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a behemoth!
I think it would make for an interesting documentary to see someone attempt to visit every exhibit during the overnight event. It could be called “Race through the Night” or something, and it could be part tongue-in-cheek and part busted lip. The last time I did the calculations, it should be possible if every exhibit was experienced for roughly 30 seconds. Then quick quick travel.
This is one to toast with a couple of energy drinks.
Those people with the end-of-the-world sandwich boards were eerily accurate now that I think of it; the end did indeed come! (this after being nigh for a whole year)
But do you notice how they never bother to mention the party that happens at the end, or how, really, the only thing that ends on New Year’s is sobriety?
I’d wanted to knock a few glasses during the countdown but my celebrations ended up being a bit more demure. Wait, no, non-existent is a lot more correct. Maybe it was the change in weather (the overcast, rainy evening), or maybe I’m just getting old, but I plunked my ass on the sofa at around nine in the evening intending to head out in a couple of hours, and I closed my eyes for just a few moments — just a few goddam moments! – and that was that.
I woke up on the first at around four-thirty in the morning with a Jersey Shore marathon doing laps in the background, Ollie spread-eagled in the middle of the living room, and everything so painfully over that there was really nothing left to do but turn it all off and get back to resting my eyes.
On the well-rested side, I slept comfortably in the knowledge that Nathan Phillips Square likely wouldn’t have been any different than it had been during the past few years: no-name entertainment, Citytv dignitaries, fireworks going off thrillingly close to City Hall, rain, cold, and the same old rigmarole.
Yup, Toronto City Life isn’t all glamour and glitz, despite what you might read around here. And what exactly is it about, then? Why, perhaps I could start off with the first picks in a top-ten list of my fave posts from 2010, to illustrate. (Hey, everyone’s doing it!)
—
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/06/02/sweat-and-spandex-2010/
Definitely makes the cut because of relative ease of access, great location, great subjects, and almost guaranteed drama. I’m still a little surprised that this event isn’t more popular but I’m thanking my lucky stars at the same time — you can get just about anywhere around the track while enjoying fine beverages and meals along the way. It’s a classy sort of spectator sport in that way, and is quite a grueling workout for the commoners out there on their bicycles every year, grinding metal and bone against pavement for your amusement while you feast and imbibe. Can’t be beat!
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/03/07/the-projects-project-pt-3-the-photo-essay-one/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/02/23/the-projects-project-pt-2-2/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/02/19/the-projects-project-pt-1/
Regent Park is a volatile place at the best of times. Just when police thought they had a hold on the violence in the area that erupted there a decade or so ago (if I’m not mistaken), it seems to be returning as of the end of 2010.
Gotta be honest, if it wasn’t for the graffiti, the place would look like a prison camp. Straight up. The buildings are squat, brutish, and not usually well cared for. Dumpsters sit prominently in front of each squat and it’s mostly nothing but pavement and brick of the same ilk in all directions.
It’s meant as the go-between place for people new to Toronto. At least, that seems to have been the idea since time immemorial. But some people are never able to make it out for one reason or another. Not sure why someone would choose to be stuck there, especially when you see the amount of hopeful / guiding / mournful / unifying / uplifting stuff that adorns neighbourhood’s walls.
And don’t mistake Regent Park as some dropping off point for criminals, although it seems to be a good place to engender some. There are people there from all over, many with kids, most just trying to do better. The city can just be a bitch sometimes.
All the best in the new year, Regent Park!
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/02/03/honest-education-pt-3/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/02/01/honest-education-pt-2/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/01/29/honest-education-pt-1/
When old Ed Mirvish died a few years ago, among the eulogizing attendees at his funeral were the mayor (plus two former mayors) of Toronto, current and former Premieres of Ontario, and the Lieutenant Governor of Ontario.
Ed was a big cheese.
That goes for every sense of the word too. When you enter into Ed’s store, the wacky tacky three-ring and block-wide circus of shopping, there’s absolutely no doubt that P.T. Barnum and Mirvish were cut from the same cloth. The amount (and I believe it’s growing), of memorabilia hanging from the walls is sometimes staggering.
My faves include old posters from the shows that Ed put on at his growing retinue of theatres, and the signed photos from the actors that appeared in them. Then there are the enlarged reproductions of Ed hob-knobbing it with the Brat Pack, the Queen of England, and famous people of all kinds – singers, actors, politicians; it just keeps going and going.
And just when you think there couldn’t possibly be more, you hit the basement where they sell very different stuff – a 19th century Thai shrine, for example; a cool $24,000. But it’s all sitting out on the floor just like the $2 socks on the level above. Come to think of it, the socks were more neatly arranged.
I still can’t believe they didn’t shoo me out of the store for whipping out my lens at every opportunity, and just for that I can continue to recommend Ed’s as a place to buy quality merchandise at cheapo prices. Those $10 blankets I bought during that visit are holding up well, and if you visit at around this time of year you might end up with a free turkey too.
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/10/24/zombieology-101/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/10/26/zombieology-102/
Brains. Braaains. Brains. Brns brns brns. Braaains. Brains. Brains brains, brains brains brains Brains brains? Haha! No effin’ brains. Brains brains brains braaaaaaains.
Brains brains brains – brains, and more brains – brains brains brns. BRAAAAAAAINS! I brained. Brain brain brain, brain brain? Brains! I brained a brain and brains brained the brain. After that, it was all just braaaaaaains and brains brains brain brain brains.
Brain the brains next year. BRAAAAAAAAINS 2010.
brains.
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/01/11/tripping-a-frozen-sunset-pt-1/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/01/14/tripping-a-frozen-sunset-pt-2/
http://www.torontocitylife.com/2010/01/16/tripping-a-frozen-sunset-pt-3/
This wasn’t a series I liked because of its brains but because of its beauty.
One of the problems of living in Toronto is winter. It sucks outside the city all the more, but it can get just as cold and frozen here as anywhere else. About now is when that period begins.
And there are the short days too. You look outside at noon and you’d think it was the middle of the frickin’ afternoon! The sun hangs low in the south so if you’re blessed with a clear day, the only place to get good lighting during an early winter sunset is by the lake.
One of the cool things about living in Toronto is what the ice and snow do the city, especially by the water. You can get an eyeful there at the right time of day (or night). It’s the scale of the thing that I enjoy; a frozen lake of that size, illuminated by a glowing sunset or piercing city lights – that’s something to see.
—
Oooh! There you have the first 5 picks of 2010. And believe me when I tell you, I agonized over every post I’d written in the past year during the selection process. I mean, just picking out 10 random posts with photos would be cheap and meaningless, right? Hehe. *nervous laugh*
Just for the record, I don’t think the Toronto Star is a rag just because it chooses to indulge in some fluffy writing. But when I saw this posted a few days ago I felt a deep need to open it up to some criticism:
Funny how you forget the little things year after year.
Like the gusts that tear at your exposed flesh at every opportunity, completely oblivious to what the weather report said. And how at -1° Celsius (30° Fahrenheit), you’re allowed to say that the air is literally freezing.
But there you have it, eh? Winter.
Okay, so before we begin, I have to come right out and say that this is an interactive blog post so I have to insert some caveats right up front.
First, make sure you’re physically able to perform a moderate jumping motion. To those of you who mock this warning, you’d be surprised. To those of you not surprised, I urge you to consult with a physician first.
Next, make sure you’re wearing comfortable athletic footwear and clothing and that the area around you is clear.
Stretch your calves, hamstrings, quadriceps, biceps, triceps, glutes, and anything else that stretches or jiggles. Especially if it jiggles.
Now get ready to do a little leaping!
Right down to a little village on the border between the U.S. and Mexico, a spec of mud on a dusty plain known as “concluçions”. The English pronunciation is, as usual, bastardized.
You see, in this lawless land, a man must carry the scales of justice in his own back pocket. I do. Nice, shiny set engraved by my pappy. And that can be a euphemism for whatever you like, darlin’.
I’m using the scales on old Vakhtang Makhniashvili and they’re tellin’ me this guy’s a scoundrel.
If you don’t know the guy, the original story or subsequent events, or how to pronounce his name, I can sum it all up for you in a paragraph.
The name is pronounced: “Vak-zHTeng-toænGgH (K-CHT) MЋë-Shnee-Shmia-Shmeely-Vooly”. The “K-CHT” is an optional clearing of the throat following the first name. He was initially famous because his daughter went missing from her high school just over a year ago (still no sign). And ‘cuz he stabbed someone ‘cuz the dude got too loud.
At that time people were all, like, “he’s under a lot of stress and he’s probably having trouble fitting in anyways on account of being an immigrant, and blah blah blabbidy blah.”
Well I ain’t from around these parts neither, missy, but I’ll tell you whut … that’s horse manure out where I come from.
So, daughter’s missing and he’s languishing in jail, seems like a crappy sitch, no? What I’m getting at is that I wouldn’t stab the people who bailed me out of there, ya know? Like he did to his neighbours, pretty much strangers until they put up the money.
So now Vakhtang’s stuck three people like so much spicy Georgian sausage and I’m starting to think to myself, hmm, you know, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit to think he might’ve stabbed his daughter too.
Is that such a far leap? I dunno, how did it feel for you?
Alls I’m saying is that most oftentimes, the obvious is correct. Occam’s razor et al. And speaking of knives, who told buddy that slashing your way out of a fight is the “in” way to resolve your differences? Knives can do a lot more damage than a pistol can so if you pull one in a fight, one of you is liable to not be walking away. Pretty sure that’s true anywhere in the world.
Stress? Pshyeah right! One stabbing, maybe … but three? Is this how he relieves stress? Well, fuck, I’m glad he’s not doing it for the sexual pleasure.
Basically, it’s summed up by that famous quote from George Bush:
“There’s an old saying in Tennessee – I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee – that says, stab me once, shame on – shame on you. Stab me – you can’t get stabbed again. Heh heh.”
I tried to warn my sis. I referred her to last year’s experience. I told her this was no place for impressionable young kids. Did she listen? Did she do the responsible thing and not accept my invitation to the Santa Claus Parade? Am I wallowing in rhetoric just to fill up a few sentences?
... with pictures
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... with opinions
... that's shorter
... that's longer