The early bird gets the buck seventy-five deal :D

For cheapskates, spendthrifts, and watchapennies, today was the day to visit The Ex. Today was my day!

I think you may recall last Thursday when they were still setting up? Well, today was opening day:

There was just so much to do and see that a narrative of any kind would be foolhardy. I just kind of ricocheted back and forth along the CNE grounds until I was eventually spit out through the Prince’s Gates. Everything was there; the food, the rides … everything except the horses! *earnest disappointment* I had my lemonade all ready, and the horse pavilion certainly smelled like horses. But no horses. Equine-free. :(

Anyway, here’s some other fun stuff. I guess:

I guess that’s why it’s cheapy day today. When you pay the regular fifteen dollar cover, you get horses. For sixty more you get Bill Clinton. I guess that’s fair; horses gotta eat too. Bill though, he’s milking it. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’d be doing exactly the same if I were in his shoes. Just saying s’all.

Well, tomorrow will no doubt be similar to today. It will involve a children’s birthday party. The kids I like. We communicate on a common level. It’s the stamina that kills me. They’re as fresh on their fiftieth “helicopter ride” as they are on their first. I put that into quotes because I want you to hold whatever vision of that that pops up in your imagination. Okay, now make it just a bit too dangerous; throw the kid up just a bit too high; spin them upside down for just a bit too long; include a ceiling fan, and why not the kitchen sink?

Kids love it.

Mostly I hate having to explain to the parents. Again.

I mean well. And the kids are always ecstatic just before the tears. Bah. They’re old enough to start going to amusement parks anyway.

Someone had recently asked me what my favourite part of the CNE was.

That’s easy! It’s the danger!

To sum it up, it’s the danger of riding unsafe, potentially deadly rides. Nothing quite as exhilarating. That’s what The Ex has meant to me since I first went there with my folks. I was a little immigrant kid and lots of stuff impressed me back then. These days, that’s a bit more rare, but The Ex has managed to retain that feeling of charm and wonder to it. To me, it’s still still a carnival on a really big scale:

These grounds and all the buildings on them were built specifically for the Canadian National Exhibition, which only takes place once a year. The rest of the time, the grounds are used for the Indy and the various buildings are used for conventions, shows, and other large events. But The Exhibition, that’s this place’s raison d’être.

Like most big gatherings, The Ex started way back in the day when it was an agricultural fair. You came to exhibit your prized cows, corncob pipes, and pumpkins.  Someone would buy up your handsome heifers and you’d walk off with a wad of cash. The roads were mud at that time.

Eventually, agriculture gave way to modernity, and cool fifties’ style buildings were erected; kind of like the buildings in The Jetsons but more tame, more Canadian. And as seems to be the modern trend in downtown architecture these days, old buildings were extended, built onto, with the new buildings becoming a sort of cover for the old. The older building inside was pristinely restored and, being inside, better preserved. Usually, the outside structure involved a lot of glass.

But let’s say you come for other reasons:

The rides! And for me, it’s just more fun on the old ones. I mean, some of them have taken on mythic proportions. Could you imagine The Ex without the Polar Express?

Yup, this guy’s seen some mileage. And it’s a lot of fun without stopping your heart. There’s also the ride that almost always seems to claim a casualty, my absolute favourite, the Starship 4000:

I think it used to be called the Gyrotron, or something like that, but it’s still exactly the same ride. Inside the (fully constructed) saucer are stretchers on wheels sitting against the reclining walls. You rest up against them and as the ship starts to spin, the stretchers are pulled up to the centre with the you stuck to them. One year, I also remember riding a (more common) variation where people stuck to the inside of a drum while the floor dropped out from under them. Same idea but in the saucer you move away from each other as you accelerate. And the DJ sits in the middle blasting out tunes. Sometimes really good tunes.

Invariably, some kid tries to stand up, loses his balance, and goes flying for the corner of the saucer, bashing himself up in all sorts of funny ways. It’s never as serious as it should be, but they always close the ride for a while as a result. I know it’s meant to punish us. I must say, it works.

I just don’t think that kids these days are getting the thrills they need. Roller-coaster wise, I mean. Look at this thing:

Oh, look, a pretty ladybug out for a flight in a field of smiling flowers and swaying grass. Yes, every self-respecting teen is clambering to get onto it. And this is, arguably, the tallest and fastest coaster here. I suppose that tower-drop thing will have to do.

There’s more to The Ex anyway.

To me, the old livestock pavilions are where it’s at. Serene, shaded, and hushed. The animals are chillin’, you’re chillin’. Bit of straw for you, sip of lemonade for me. Ahhh. Pleasant. The weather for The Ex is usually hot and air-con doesn’t agree with me. I’m willing to co-exist with some manure if that’s what it takes.

Wee beasties not to your liking? Well, this year the feds pumped a bunch of cash into The Ex which has been used to get some big names to pay us a visit. Like Bill Clinton. So there’s that. And you know, there’s always a lot of classic Ex food:

Plus, there’s the food building for “real” food. Oh, and the air show at the end; not as boring as it sounds.

You know? There’s a lot to do there. I guess that’s why I like it too; you can be your normal ADD self, or you can be that old fogey watching the ponies, and it all just works as nature intended. The Ex has been around for so long that a good number of the streetcar lines converge there, so it’s easy to get to. And if you take care to note the location of washrooms when you first enter, you’re golden!

Do you remember yesterday with those street-borne communiqués around the city?

This time we have a website and a comfortable patch of grass. I would applaud this effort, I really would. But I actually started to read the web page:

“We want to re-examine public space and to create work which explores our relationship with the space we inhabit. We wish to de-center and disrupt the accepted n…”

*snore*

*snore*

Wuzzuh?!

*wipe drool*

I don’t know what that site meant but I’ve reprimanded my netbook for showing it to me. I’m sorely tempted to put my programming skills to use in creating a tedious content filter of some sort. When it would detect a web page that fell below the customizable tedium level, the browser would warn you with a gentle weeping sound lest you waste a moment of your valuable life. Also, a shudder if your hardware is equipped for it.

Meh. I’d rather be outside anyway. It’s hard to be bored, especially with Caribana just around the corner. And the rampant crime that goes with it:

That’ll go up to twenty bucks on the weekend. Bumbaclot!

Lamport Stadium is where the Caribana judging takes place, and if memory serves, they have about one-hundred million-billion floats and get-ups to evaluate. It’s a lot, whatever the precise number is.

When it comes to parade costumes, people go certifiably insane. They seal themselves up in darkened workshops for months on end, devoid of any human contact. There, they toil away, metamorphosing wire, fabric, and sequins into wings, antennae, and gaudy headdresses.

Finally, after many months and a third refinancing of the house, they emerge.

As a beautiful, gargantuan butterfly!

I’m sure it’s much more impressive than it looks. From what I remember of past parades, the costumes are enormous. That thing he’s pulling out of the truck is probably meant to be worn on the eyebrow. The rest of the costume usually arrives by helicopter.

I suppose I can understand why they’d want these creations protected behind fences this weekend, but I’m not sure if they’re legally allowed to call it Caribana unless everyone, including spectators, are jumping around. Seems like a fence would dampen that enthusiasm.

When I walked along Lakeshore Boulevard (the parade route) today, it felt a bit like I was in a penitentiary exercise yard. With the natural barrier of Lake Ontario on one side, and the gun-turret-like projections of the Direct Energy Centre on the other, winin’ and/or grinin’ just seems out of place.

Guess we’ll just have to see.

A friend tipped me off as to the whereabouts of a trash-free zone. After yesterday’s harrowing adventure I was grateful for a respite from the War.

I made my way to the Indy race track post-haste.

Maybe it was the lack of an umbrella, but this time when I was refused admittance to the track it seemed more gentle. More Canadian. The apologetic security guard actually went out of his way to suggest other less patrolled points of entry. I thanked him, fully intending to take his advice.

Unfortunately, the entire length of the CNE grounds was sealed with a tall, thin, awkward-to-climb fence. As a deterrent, it performed it’s duties admirably. I won’t bore you with the details of my Ninja-like maneuvers, but I managed to end up behind the main grandstand:

And after some deft footwork past a dozy security guard (unionized?), I waltzed onto the main track:

You’ll note a total absence of refuse. No candy wrappers, no cans, not even a butt.

The immaculate street was lined with stacked tires, probably the only thing that would even come close to trash. Even the ubiquitous caution tape that makes its way into every garbage heap was here neatly and purposefully attached to signage:

The drivers would probably just drive straight into the wall if that tape wasn’t there. Safety first!

As I went through the Princess Gates, I realized I had just returned to the real world; the world of War-ravaged streets where the 416/79 squadron tries to have it’s way with the innocent people of Toronto.

But unlike yesterday, today it was easy to be upbeat. Every time I looked up, it was as if the universe was trying to make me smile. Or in the case of glaring erections and innocent Torontonians and their cherries, a laugh:

Or maybe I’m just happy because I’m sleeping in tomorrow. Hard to say.

As a colleague and I ascended in the elevator at lunch today, he mentioned rather casually that he didn’t like elevators. Naturally, my first instinct was to ask why. Claustrophobia? Mistrust of machines? Embarrassing erections?

The answer was “no” to all three questions. The closest I got to an insight was that “people would be scared if the elevator had a glass bottom.”

I wasn’t going to press the issue any further; he’s a Java developer, I’m a Flash developer, and our people don’t intermingle. It is forbidden.

He did have a point, though; glass bottoms and heights can be pretty freaky.

But not really. I mean, when you think about it, there’s not much chance you’ll be plummeting to your death via the see-through floor. Like Michael Jackson, the glass floor might look scary, but it’s based on the perception of dilapidation rather than the presence of any real danger. Mikey’s struts’ll hold a while longer.

This isn’t too far removed from the rides at Canada’s Wonderland. With modern materials, construction techniques, and ongoing maintenance, any real threat is pretty much eliminated. You’re safer being held in place by the padded lap bar of Behemoth than you are crossing the street.

The only ride at Wonderland with even a hint of real danger is the Mighty Canadian Minebuster, where the rickety wooden structure and ancient cars make for a potentially deadly experience. I believe the wheels briefly leave the track roughly three-quarters of the way through. Now that’s a ride!

Really, isn’t it infinitely more exciting to be on a ride where you can actually die?!

Traveling carnivals, the kind where prisoners on the lam or ex-cons accompany your children to steel cages for the expressed purpose of making them scream, have a huge advantage. The carnies themselves, aside from looking dangerous, have all sorts of thrilling diseases coursing through their veins. The rides they set up are equally shifty. You just can’t go wrong!

I’d be hideously remiss if I didn’t mention Toronto’s greatest carnie gathering, the Canadian National Exhibition. Sadly, the prima donna of unsafe roller coasters, the Flyer, was retired some years ago. But I’m heartened to hear that despite a ten-year absence in real accidents, the spirit of danger lives on. As if that wasn’t enough value for your money, the food at the Ex is likely to leave you clinging to life as well. Even the curbs are sharp and pointy!

I’m willing to bet that, with the weather improving daily, you’re going to find a ramshackle Ferris wheel in front of your local Walmart. I bet it’s not even going to be busy. So why waste money on skydiving or riding funny objects down ski hills when this option is so much cheaper?