Discovering the lost city: Fifth Line West

Fifth Line West, south of Hwy 401, MapArt

For years now I've had this interest in old, abandoned roads. I don't know for sure what it is. Maybe it's the fascination and slight horror I find in the idea that a public place, once so important, can not only be eclipsed by improvements, but fall into disuse and, in fact, be completely forgotten, or forgotten by all but a few hikers and dog-walkers.

Given the nature of blogs, I have to post these in reverse order for them to make any sense. So I guess it's only fair that I post last the thing I found first.

Back when I was university, I was out driving with a buddy of mine in our neighbourhood. We were just wandering around, killing time on a Saturday. We came to what was then the end of Aquitaine Avenue, which at that time terminated in a cul-de-sac with a short, crumbly road running from it, which itself ended a few dozen yards south at a creek. The sign gave the name of the stub as Fifth Line. I knew that most of the major north-south streets in Mississauga were once numbered concession lines (McLaughlin was once First Line, Creditview was Third...). But this one? To our backs was the 401. Obviously this particular road had been bisected by the superhighway in the 50s and never bridged. I went home, consulted a map, and realized that this little chunk of road had once been part of one of those concession lines. South, it had become Erin Mills Parkway, a major thoroughfare. But the section between the 401 and Battleford Drive had been erased between the mid-70s and the mid-80s. The little strip in these photos was all that remained.


City of Toronto Archives, 1967, plate 188 detail

To orient the image: north is at the top. The broad diagonal path is Highway 401, today the busiest superhighway in North America. The horizontal east-west road near the bottom is Derry Road. Running north-south at centre-left is Fifth Line West. All sections you see here south of the 401 are closed, including the section immediately south of the highway, which is being discussed here. The property of Bill Arch is between the railroad line and the 401, west (left) of Fifth Line...


Corner of Fifth Line West and Argentia Blvd., winter of 1990-1991


Looking south down Fifth Line West, winter, 1990-1991


Looking south, 1997 or 1998


Closed, Feb. 2002

Even this little chunk has slowly been debilitated. When I first found it in 1990, I could (and did) drive it all the way to the lip of the creek. By the mid-90s, first portable concrete barriers and later permanent wooden ones were erected half way down. You can see them in some of these shots. Then, a couple of years ago when I was passing through in the winter (2002, I think), I noticed the road had finally been closed off to vehicles for good. Large boulders had been placed at the mouth of the street where it connected to Aquitaine, by then a through street all the way to Winston Churchill Blvd.


Looking north, 1997 or 1998

Passing through again on the weekend, I got the biggest shock of all. The road is now entirely gone. Closed, it’s apparently been sold to the adjacent properties. The warehouse it once ran beside has consumed it for its parking lot; the stand of trees that once lined the east side completely gone. I could hardly believe it. These two views are essentially the same, except that I’m probably standing a few yards further right in the new shot. They’re separated by about seven or eight years. The road’s completely gone; not a hint of it remains. No one will ever again stumble upon it, wonder at it, glance at a map and ponder the history. The whole reason the road survived so long is that the other property, which is still treed, was once the home of Canadian general who fought in the Second World War, a man named Bill Arch, who had a lumber business that was (last time I checked in the 90s) still a going concern in Streetsville, due south of these shots. He had a large home in the copse there, with a duck pond that’s still there, and in 1990, his driveway and pillars at its entrance were still there. There’s not a hint of it now.


Looking north towards the 401, 1997 or 1998


Looking north towards the 401, 2005


Looking south towards the creek, railroad tracks, warehouse, and Derry Road, 1997 or 1998


Looking south towards the creek, railroad tracks, warehouse, and Derry Road, 2005

I find such losses of communal memory wistful, generally. But this one has a personal sadness to it. In the mid-90s, I stood with a buddy of mine out there one summer evening. His marriage was coming to an end, and we’d gone out there to talk about his plans. He was about to move out to British Columbia, where his folks were, and I stood there knowing that, odds are, it was one of the last times we would have together. While we were there, the Northern Lights appeared. It’s the only time in my life I can actually remember seeing them. They were beautiful, and they really do make a sound. Like breath, or soft wind, but not quite. They make you feel like a momentary blip in something much more ancient and permanent in a way the stars are much too ever-present to really manage. And I stood there with this high school chum about to disappear from my life, watching these sheets of pink, blue, and green shift above us, shielded from the city lights by the trees, just listening. And now even the place itself is gone.

The following is information I compiled about the property on the west side of these shots (the area in trees in all shots, opposite the warehouse) in October of 1990...

COMPILED INFORMATION CONCERNING
FIFTH LINE WEST, PEEL REGION
AND A CERTAIN PROPERTY THEREON

Began investigation Saturday, September 15, 1990 (returning from Cooksville and following Argentia Rd. to its intersection with Fifth Line West in the company of a friend; stopped to investigate Argentia-extention to Winston Churchill Blvd. under construction and stumbled upon remnants of demolished property with driveway on Fifth Line West).

Telephone poles and manhole covers on Argentia Rd. north of Derry Rd. dated 1982; probable construction date: map dating from 1979 does not show Argentia crossing Derry Rd.

Telephone poles on remnant of Fifth Line West south of 401 and north of Derry Rd. dated 1954; spikes in them read "HEPC [(Ontario) Hydro-Electric Power Corporation] 55", possibly the installation date (1955?). Possible extention of Hydro service up Fifth Line West at this time if not sooner (???).

Highway 401 opened in Peel in two segments. Between Highway 10 (Hurontario St.) and Highway 27, the 401 opened on November 3, 1958. Further west, between Highway 10 and Highway 25, the 401 opened a year later on November 26, 1959; this is the section that intersects Fifth Line West. Maps prior to the 1950s show Fifth Line West here as a through street. South of Britannia Rd., Fifth Line West was County Road 18. Fifth Line West formerly made a correction several yards to the northwest at Eglinton Ave. (formerly it ran through what is now the Credit Valley Hospital); this correction was smoothed into continuity by a gentle curve as it now exists on Erin Mills Pkwy.

According to 'A History of Peel County', the 401 "crossed Peel in 1952". Presumably this is when construction began and when Fifth Line West was interrupted.

Fifth Line West at one time ran unbroken between the 401 and Britannia Rd. Between Battleford Rd. and Derry Rd. it ran along what is now the border between Meadowvale's east residential boundary and its west industrial boundary. It was deleted in sections according to by-laws; the section between the corner of Battleford Rd. and Erin Mills Pkwy., and Surveyor Rd., was closed by By-Law 904-81 (81, presumably, is the year of the order); the section between Surveyor Rd. and the corner of Millcreek Dr. and Aquitaine Ave. was closed by By-Law 740-83; the section between Millcreek Dr. and Derry Rd. was closed by By-Law 141-75. North of Derry Rd., Fifth Line West was cut back to its present dimensions (and separated from Derry Rd.) by By-Law 637-83. All these deletions post-date Mississauga's incorporation in 1974.

Manhole covers on Surveyor Rd. date to 1975; it appears on a map dated 1979, intersecting a now-deleted section of Fifth Line West.

The house was probably never serviced with sewage or storm drains; the City has no records of existing or abandoned drains in that area that would have serviced the residence. There is a large, loose patch on the property that could alternately have been either a basement or, it seems more likely, a septic tank.

The property in question is HSW Concession 6, Lot 11. Records from 1877 show the property as part of a larger property stretching from Winston Churchill Blvd. to Fifth Line West, along Derry Rd. and as far north as the point that the 401 intersects Fifth Line West; its is noted as belonging to one Mrs. Isaac Waite. On the property is a house, just to the east of a church, both fronting on Derry Rd. (the church was torn down within living memory; today there is a parkette there; directly across Derry Rd. there is a small cemetery).

The last recorded residential owner is one William C. Arch, recorded as owner and resident in a 1978 survey for 1979 taxation purposes. His mailing address is given as "85 Queen St. N., Streetsville, ON, L5N 1A4. The property is presently, and was then, a wedge of 9.8 acres in the eastern quarter of the land recorded as Mrs. Waite's (in 1877), widening from a point as it heads north. The map from 1979 records a lone structure on the west side of Fifth Line West between Derry Rd. and the 401; although there are several on the east side (where the Canara building now sits). There was also, according to the record, a tenant on the property; there were two tenant portions on the property on record.

The property's deed now resides with the Erin Mills Development Corporation. It now fronts on Argentia Rd., with the address 2785 Argentia Rd., leading one to wonder if the remaining section of Fifth Line West in question is shortly to be deleted as well.

A well-drilling record for the property exists as follows:
Hurontario St., West Concession 6, Lot 11 Well #49-2690; easting 599670, northing 4828042 Elevation 640'
Drilled July 24, 1962, by licence holder 1307 Fresh water at 20'; 75 GPM; domestic use 30" diameter
Brown topsoil to 10', then gravel; well depth 30' Owner, Bill Arch
License 1307 held by Maurice Babiuk
361 West Mall, Apt. 304 Etobicoke, ON

According to Bob Bell, Supervisor of the Northern District (with whom I spoke Oct. 2, 1990; reference, telephone no. 677-0181), Bill Arch was a general in the army; he kept a garden on the property which he tended himself; the pool formed by the stream running through the property was a duck pond; he owned a lumber business called Forest Products on Mississauga Rd. below Derry Rd. near the railroad tracks. Mr. Bell says Fifth Line West was never paved, but was a "Grade B surface" road. Mr. Bell has worked for the City out of the Streetsville office for sixteen years (probably since the Incorporation).

Forest Products is listed in the phone book as 826-1117, with the address of 85 Queen St. N. (Mississauga Rd. is called Queen St. where it runs through Streetsville, since Streetsville was, up till 1974, a separate town). This is the same address as the mailing address on Bill Arch's 1978 survey record.

Another interviewee recalls a struggle to remove "an old man" from the nub of Fifth Line West sometime in the early 1980s (possibly 1982 or 1983); she identified the property in question as this same contested property to her brother, Alan. The property had been re-zoned as industrial by then; the City was probably attempting to secure the land from Bill Arch at the time. This would explain the deletion of Fifth Line West north of Derry Rd. in 1983 stopping exactly at the southern edge of the property's driveway. Presumably the house (along with whatever structures accompanied it) was demolished sometime after 1983.

MISC. HISTORICAL NOTES

Toronto Township was named in 1805.

The survey of the northern section of Toronto Township was completed on Oct. 1, 1819, by Richard Bristol, partnered with Timothy Street (founder of Streetsville); herein is the origin of Fifth Line West.

Toronto Township became the Town of Mississauga (named by a vote in December, 1967) on Jan. 1, 1968.

To counter the territorial claims of the Towns of Streetsville and Port Credit in 1973, the Town of Mississauga counter-sued to annex them and form the City of Mississauga. It succeeded; on Jan. 1, 1974, the City of Mississauga and the Regional Municipality of Peel were proclaimed. Mississauga lost Churchville and half the land between Steeles Ave. and the 401 to Brampton, but acquired Streetsville and Port Credit, as well as Halton's Tenth and Eleventh Concessions between the 401 and Dundas St. Otherwise the external boundaries of Peel County did not change with the inception of the Region.

In March, 1989, Peel Region, along with the regions of Halton, York, Metro, and Durham, formed the Greater Toronto Area. Ruth Grier was named the first Minister Responsible for the GTA on Oct. 1, 1990.

McCarron farm, Fifth Line West

McCarron farm location on (closed) Fifth Line, MapArt

This is the other end of the closed section of Fifth Line, about a mile south of the section above that’s now vanished into a parking lot. It’s just north of spot where Erin Mills Parkway (once Fifth Line) suddenly heads northeast to link up with Mississauga Road. The old road surface is closed, and the clearance east and west of the centre line has been sold off the adjacent properties: to the west, a high school built in the 80s, and to the east, a small, 10-acre section of property that was once a little farm. Last time I checked, in the mid-90s, it was actually still zoned agricultural. People lived here until 1974. The road was closed, and the house was torn down.


City of Toronto Archives, 1967, plate 157 detail

In the image above, taken in 1967, the McCarron farm property (then inhabited by a couple named Shortell) is the treelined square just to the upper left of centre. North is at the top. To the west (left) is the Nixon farm. Between them is Fifth Line West, a section closed since the 1980s. To the east is the Canadian Pacific Railway. The fence in the views following is smack in the middle of the road allowance, and end at the upper left of the property. Surveyor Road runs along the north side of the property, from Millcreek Drive, which runs today roughly northwest about half way between the property and the CPR line.

In 1877, a map of Peel County (today Peel Region) shows this property. It belonged to a certain Owen McCarron. I discovered the place in 1990, when the whole story of the road closure was just coming to my attention.


Fence, circa 1990


Fence, Feb. 1999


Fence, Feb. 2002


Fence, June 2005

Back then, there was a new fence that had only recently been put up between the properties, down what had once been the middle of the road. One either side, tall trees stood in long, wind-shielding lines. The whole 10-acre property, in fact, was lined with trees on all sides. You can see the trees that lined both side in the earlier shots. The ones on the McCarron property were cut down in the late 90s. Back then, the property was not so wild. It was easy to move around in it, and I found the foundations of the house that once stood there. There was something like a root cellar, and it was clearly used by teenagers as a hangout to drink. I made a panorama of shots I took there in the mid-90s, and you can see the place was attractive.

More recently, the fence has suffered from repeated snow loads (it’s at the of Surveyor Drive, so snowplows dump tons of snow there every winter). There are posted plans to build a warehouse on the property, but so far, nothing’s been done. The property is increasingly overgrown; I found it far too much trouble when I was there on the weekend to make my way to the house foundations, even if I could have remembered exactly where they were.

Interestingly, in the late 90s, I was briefly in touch with a young woman who was the grandchild of the people who owned the farm and home just the other side of the road from here (on what’s now the land of the high school). The family name was Nixon, and they inhabited their home there till the 1970s as well, when the city closed off this section of Fifth Line.


Looking south, 1997 or 1998


Looking south again, 1997 or 1998


Looking south, 2005


Looking further south, 2005


Panorama, 1997 or 1998


Panorama, 2005


Property foundations, 2002

Ninth Line bridge

Ninth Line bridge map, MapArt

Everything here really stems from that Saturday afternoon in September of 1990 when I “discovered” Fifth Line. Ever since then, I’ve been fascinated by maps, aerial photographs, and looking into the changes in the road grid of the city over time. I’m always moved by the things that get left behind, disused, relegated to history, slow decay... once-important parts of human public life being swallowed up again by nature.

Sometime in the 1990s I noticed there was a little gap in Ninth Line down by the Ford plant at the Queen Elizabeth Way (more commonly called the QEW). I drove down there one afternoon and was completely amazed to discover a bridge completely hidden by the trees, but otherwise literally in sight of a major intersection. It was fascinating reminder of all the hidden things peppered all around us that we never see because nature so completely cloaks her work of reclamation.


Ninth Line bridge

I went back there on the weekend. It’s only the second time I’ve been there, and it’s been most of decade at least since last time, so aside from knowing there was a bridge there, it was a lot like finding it for the first time. I parked south of it on the unused, cul-de-sac tail end of Ninth Line, and stepped into the forest. It was only about fifteen seconds into the woods, and I didn’t even see it till I was right on top of it. Literally! I happened to glance over to the left and caught sight of one of the big concrete anchors to the guard rail, and I actually said, “Oh!”. That’s how completely hidden in the trees this place has become.

It’s the dream of every child who ever had a big imagination. I wish I’d had it when I was ten. Surrounded on trees pressing in from all sides, the bridge stands over a gorgeous, briskly-running stream called Joshua’s Creek. The road surface still exists, but it’s clear that it will eventually be covered with grass and then lost in brush. But as I remarked to a friend when I told him about it, at the moment it would make a wonderful bridge to the Enterprise, or landing deck of an air craft carrier, or any other number of fantastic settings a band of kids could come up with, if they only knew it was there. And it’s smack in the middle of civilization on all sides; a golf course immediately on the west, a major road to the east, a car factory to the south, and subdivisions to the north.


Looking north


Looking south

I don’t know exactly when this bridge was abandoned, but a map I have shows it still in use in the mid-70s. By 1990, it had been circumvented and was no longer on the map. A water main cover at the south end has the date 1987 on it, which suggests to me major construction was going on there about that time, so it was probably closed around then, not quite twenty years ago. I’ve seen a lot of abandoned little bridges, and they all tend to be ancient, one-lane deals that obviously were of use to rural communities with light traffic, but which had to be given up once urbanity rolled up. But this bridge is wide; two lanes, and sidewalks up both sides. While not equal to the traffic that runs from Ninth Line to Ford Drive now, it must have been a comparatively modern bridge in the first place. Strictly at a guess, I’d say it was built in the 1960s; no earlier than the late 50s. As bridges go, it had a pretty brief career. Now it’s been handed over for nature to look after. There’s enough of a footpath in and out that I can see it’s still being visited by a few people. But there’s no garbage on it, and even what little graffiti I did see looked old and faded. If it’s still in use by pedestrians, there aren’t many. Quite a change for a bridge that once probably carried scores or even hundreds of cars a day less than a quarter century ago.

A few notes from Hamilton

My parents live in Hamilton, and last year I leased a car in Brantford (Wayne Gretsky's home town, if you're counting). Hamilton falls neatly between Brantford and Toronto, so I killed two birds with one stone and dropped in on my folks for a short visit while I took my car in for servicing. Since I had Friday off, I showed up at their place in the afternoon.

Dad and I, and my cousin Doug and his family, took off in the evening to go to a race trace on the Six Nations Reserve in Brant County (Joseph Brant, for whom the county and Brantford are named, was an Iroquois Loyalist who sided with the British in the American Revolution, and brought his people to Ontario afterwards). The town of Ohskewen is on the reserve, and that's where the track is. The race featured two different kinds of racing... real, honest-to-God stock car racing, populated by real honest-to-God cars that were once on the road... none of that pretentious NASCAR pretty boy stuff... and something called "dirt sport" cars. Aptly named. The stock car racing was slower and less disruptive. The dirt sport cars covered us with dust each and every time they went by. We started joking that we were going to get in trouble when we left because we figured between the six of us, we were leaving with the land of at least three of the nations on our clothes. It's the first time I can remember having sand in my ears since I was a kid on the beach in Nova Scotia.


Ohsweken Speedway bill of fare

Saturday morning my folks drove in with me to Brantford. Actually, I followed them in my car. We figured we'd catch some breakfast while the dealship did the work. We went to a nice family restaurant just up the road, called The Sherwood. It's a great place; good food and really good prices (in my opinion); nice decore, and very popular. Just popular enough that you know it's good, but not so popular you have to wait to be seated. The perfect mix. If you happen to find yourself in Brantford, definitely make a stop there. I mention the place not just to recommend the food but to remark on something that struck me funny. When I was paying the bill, I happened to noticed they had an unusual way of referring to the taxes. Typically, such a bill will list PST (provincial sales tax, 8% in Ontario) and GST (Goods and Services Tax, 7% federally). But in this case, the restaurant stuck them to the people in charge... "Dalton's tax", which refers to Ontario's premier, Dalton McGuinty, and "Paul's tax", referring to the prime minister, Paul Martin... click to enlarge the image. I think it's funny. :)


Debt and taxes

Twenty bucks for three people? Even adding in the tip, you won't hear me complaining.

That lynching stuff? Sorry 'bout that... kinda...

Also from e-mail I received today:

*******************************************************************
NATIONAL COALITION FOR HISTORY (NCH) WASHINGTON UPDATE
(Vol. 11, #27; 16 June 2005)
********************************************************************

SENATE ISSUES APOLOGY FOR ITS HISTORY ON LYNCHING

On 13 June 2005 the U.S. Senate approved a resolution (S. Res. 39) "apologizing to the victims of lynching and the descendants of those victims for the failure of the Senate to enact anti-lynching legislation." This is the first time the upper chamber has apologized for the American nation's treatment of, principally African Americans but also other ethnic minorities, who were victims of lynchings going back as far as 105 years. "Lynching," states the resolution, is "the ultimate expression of racism in the United States following Reconstruction...[and with the enactment of this legislation this body] remembers the history of lynching, to ensure that these tragedies will be neither forgotten nor repeated."

Between the years 1882 and 1968, over 4700 people were lynched throughout this country in all states but four, but most frequently in the Deep South. Over the past 65 years, seven presidents asked Congress to outlaw lynching. Congress responded to various request by introducing more than 200 anti-lynching bills. On three occasions, the House passed legislation but every time, southern legislators in the Senate opposed the measures -- often arguing that "states rights" were being infringed. Consequently, they filibustered every bill thus ending any hope of passing legislation.

The resolution was introduced by Senators Mary Landrieu (D-LA) and George Allen (R-VA) and was co-sponsored by 80 of the Senate's 100 members. Notably missing from the list of co-sponsors were the Republican senators Trent Lott and Thad Cochran from Mississippi -- the state that reported the most lynchings. According to a statement issued by Senator Cochran's press representative, Cochran did not agree to the measure as, "I don't feel I should apologize for the passage or the failure to pass any legislation by the U.S. Senate, but I deplore and regret that lynchings occurred and that those committing them were not punished." By contrast, in his remarks on the floor of the Senate, Senator John Kerry (D-MA) stated, "I am personally struck, even at this significant moment, by the undeniable and inescapable reality that there aren't 100 senators and co-sponsors."

According to spokesperson in Senator Allen's office, "lynching is a thing of the past" and therefore today there is no pressing need for the introduction of legislation making lynching a federal crime. In reality, the 1968 Civil Rights Act includes a provision for "federal intervention" in the case of lynching should it ever be necessary thus negating the need for federal legislation; in addition, many states have enacted anti-lynching legislation at the state level.

Following three hours of debate on the apology, the moment when the resolution passage lacked any drama: few senators were on the floor, there was no roll call and no accounting for each vote. Nevertheless, for the 200 descendants and family friends of lynching victims that were invited to Washington to witness the historic event, it was an experience they soon will not forget.

The sweet sting of irony

Just got in from a short trip; found this link in my e-mail:

http://www.ucomics.com/rallcom/2005/06/09/

Wanna sleep in my spare room? Only one dead guy...

Man, I had the weirdest dream last night. My friend Kaid, a guy I've known for 15 years now on and off, came around with the news he was dying. Might have been cancer; I don't remember but given how Jody still dwells in my subconscious, I'd have to guess that was the cause. I remember that my home wasn't the apartment I live in now, but much of the rest was the same... me alone, two cats. Kaid, for some reason, wanted to spend time with me before he died. The weather was summery but rainy... like I remember Dallas when I was there for Jody's funeral. Kaid's health was nominally fine and he and I did some kicking around, having some fun just out doing things. Eventually whatever it was that ailed him became too much for him to cope with, and so I stayed beside him while he injected some sort of chemical to put himself to sleep. I don't know why it was Kaid, though. It would have made some sense if it had been Jody; I sometimes used to wonder if he might make such a choice if and when the pain got bad enough, but he never did. Kaid, for the record, is a healthy guy in his mid-30s, and not all in immediate mortal danger that I know of. Though he's nerdy enough that he gives even me a cool edge. On the other hand, he managed to find someone to marry. I'm just ranting now. I'll stop.

Withstanding the notwithstanding clause...

With reference to this posting on BlogsCanada: Green Leader Harris: Invoke Notwithstanding Clause to Save Health Care...

I always wondered what would happen if a court ruling came down that troubled me. Would I change my tune on the notwithstanding clause?

Well, not so far. I'm troubled by the potential implications, but I don't agree Quebec should use the clause to get off the hook. If the system needs to be better funded so people have reasonable access, then that's what Quebec has to do. Either that, or open the flood gates. But just hanging up the phone on the courts accomplishes nothing.

Who'll stop the rain

So I was asking where the rain was...? Well, now I know. Be careful what you ask for!

Tornadoes touch down in Ontario

The weather got pretty interesting yesterday evening around 8 or 8:30. Horizontal rain, trees bending down, couldn't even see into the Don Valley from my balcony. It got strong enough for a while I started wondering if I weren't about to see a twister stroll by. Thankfully, they decided to tour the province a little further to the north.

Red magic

Generally speaking, I'm a Liberal supporter. I've voted Liberal in most (although not all) elections, and by and large, they're the party that best reflects my own views on social progressiveness and fiscal pragmatism.

Even so, I have to confess I'm perplexed by their recent rise in the polls since they hung on by the skin of their teeth in last month's confidence vote. At the moment, they're well ahead of the Tories in nearly all parts of the country. I'm not sure how to account for this. I'm not being smug, though, when I suggest it really could come down to Stephen Harper and how the Tories are perceived.

First of all, there's the lingering sense that Harper's some kind of throwback to Bible Bill Aberhart. I believe that most Canadians, regardless of whether they support or oppose gay marriage, would really rather leave that up to individual people to decide, rather than have a decision forced upon them. Canadians probably aren't the most libertarian bunch in the world but I still get the feeling there's a hesitancy among us to brick people up with legislated norms. That seems too American. That's the kind of thing "they" do... define what's "American" and then fight to put everyone who doesn't agree on the other side of a legislated line. This is a country that endures a separatist party in Parliament, after all.

Secondly, there's this regional aspect to it. More and more, it looks like a grudge match between Alberta and everyone else. The rest of us seem to bend and sway with the breezes, but not them. Having staked their claim, they're bound and determined to have their way. If they don't, they blame Ontario. They blame Quebec. They blame everyone else. But everyone else seems capable of electing other parties. In my voting lifetime, Ontario has elected Conservative, Liberal, and NDP governments. It has helped elect Conservative and Liberal federal governments. When was the last time Alberta had a non-Tory provincial government, or didn't largely vote Tory or Reform federally? Their attitudes are carved in stone, but the rest of us, we're the problem. The idea has been creeping in, particularly since the Reform Party (Alliance, whatever) hijacked the Tories, that the Conservatives are the Bloc Alberta, trying to recruit outside Calgary. As long as it's perceived that way, support even in the rest of the West, particularly B.C., is going to be soft. The Tories really need to find a leader who sounds like he or she is speaking for Canada and addressing the issues of Alberta, instead of the other way around. Alberta already has a provincial Tory party. The CPC is supposed to be the federal one.

I think the third problem for the Tories is the whole Grewal thing. The Tories have been making the Sponsorship Scandal their bread and butter for a long time now. Sleaze, corruption, moral bankruptcy! Then along comes Grewal with his claims that the Grits offered him a cabinet position if he'd cross the floor. Shocking! Scandalous! Till we found out that not only had he gone to them on a fishing expedition and been told it wasn't that simple, but that he fabricated evidence to support his charges. Kickbacks are bad enough, but fraud and blackmail aren't just whistling Dixie either. So now Canadians are left with a choice between a sleazy Liberal government they know can run the country and balance the books, and a potential sleazy Tory government of unknown ability, along with a lot of disquieting talk of banning this, disallowing that, etc., etc., etc. Given the choice, it's not hard to see why they resign themselves to their fallback position.

I don't know what's going to happen in the long run. Canadians have to be a little fed up with the Grits. But they don't trust the NDP with their credit cards and the Tories seem too much like they want everyone to read the Bible and go to bed early. So I think we're looking at low voter turn-out, and likely the Liberals holding on, unless the Gomery Inquiry really digs up a body or something (literally). I know I admitted I generally support the Liberals, and I don't like the idea of kickbacks, but I can't be the only Canadian who, when they heard the money involved was $1.9 million, secretly thought, "What, that's it?" Yes, I know there's a principle involved, but still... you wouldn't quit your job these days if that's all you won in the lottery.

Where's the drought?

I'm kind of a thunderstorm person. Whenever I muse about moving to Vancouver (it rarely snows there), friends say, "Oh, yeah, but it rains, you never see the sun." But I always loved the rain. I get creative when the weather's bad (even snowstorms). Something about the oppression of the weather just works that way.

Lately the Weather Network's been promising us thunderstorms here in Toronto on just about a daily basis. But they never come. They never seem to get here. It's like they evaporate along the way or something. We were supposed to have them yesterday. Not a drop; hardly a cloud. Same thing for this morning. It's overcast, but it doesn't feel like rain. How can they be that wrong over less than 24 hours? I thought they had the 72-hour forecast down. They're sure good at calling the snow... they never got that one wrong.

The other thing that's starting to puzzle me is that I don't think I've seen rain at all in weeks. I mean, literally. I cannot remember the last time I drove out and had to put on my windshield wipers or woke up in the middle of the night and heard the rain outside. But everything's green, the trees are doing fine, the lawns look good. Nobody waters all that stuff. So what's going on? Where's it coming from? I can't remember seeing things like this before.

The Distillery District Blues Festival (Belch, part two)

As per the plan, I headed out this morning and linked up with P-Doug at his place, and we drove downtown to take in the Blues Festival at the Distillery District. We got there about quarter after eleven, plenty of time to find a good seat. P-Doug demonstrated an unerring knack for finding a great spot that stayed shaded all day, put us in the front rows, and kept us near the suds. The weather co-operated by pouring a gorgeous breeze off the Lake that, combined with the shade, kept us nicely comfortable despite what I understand was 41 degree Celcius weather with the humidex. That's 106 Fahrenheit to you non-Metric types.


Looking back towards the entrance to the District.

A little downrange of this shot is a sandwich place P-Doug and I always eat at when we're down here called the Brick Street Bakery. (N.B.: at time of writing, their site consists of their address and a note "...site coming soon". But they may eventually have something worth looking at, so I include it as a nod to their good intentions.) Since we didn't want to lose our place, we each went separately. I went first; bought the turkey chili with cheddar. This comes with a couple of slices of their organic bread, robust and chewy; perfect for dunking. I also bought a scone. Scones from this place are bigger than your fist, and they're fantastic. It's like eating a little bit of Scottish cake that's butch enough to kick in the door to The Bread-Only Social Club and demand to be served. P-Doug bought a shepherd's pie and a scone. The irony is, it's a sandwich place, like I said. If you ever find yourself there, check 'em out.

We were surrounded by beer taps. I stood the first round. A couple of little cups, not quite a pint, I'd have to say, cost me twelve bucks. A little steep, but that's the nature of yuppie venues. That one went pretty fast. While we were sitting there letting the music and the breeze pour over us, we noticed a guy buying a pitcher. It had never occurred to either of us that that was an option. P-Doug hopped up and got one. I'm figuring, well, thirty bucks. No way! Eighteen! And we got about five glasses out of it, which cuts the cost-per from $6 to $3.60. Screw buying it by the cup down there anymore. A word to the wise!


Gary Kendall Band.

We sat through the sets of two bands while we were there. The first was the Gary Kendall Band. These guys were good. Downside for them was, they started just after noon, and there was hardly anyone there yet. Upside was, no one was too hot and tired yet, so the applause they got was enthusiastic.


Grant Lyle.

Round about 2PM, Grant Lyle and his band set up. The crowd was getting pretty full by then, especially under the canopy where P-Doug and I were sitting. Maybe I was just getting logy by then, but I didn't think they had the same spark Gary Kendall's band had. The crowd seemed less enthusiastic too. Again, that might have been a function of the heat, but there were also a lot more people to applaud, so... For myself, I found my listening became far less active and more passive. This is not to say I didn't enjoy their music; I did. Just that Kendall's clicked with me more.


Georgette Fry.

At one point during Gary Kendall's set, P-Doug excused himself to go to the washroom. He was gone about 45 minutes. I was wondering if I should call the Coast Guard; did he flush himself into Lake Ontario? Turns out he'd just gone wandering. Came back with a magazine and a CD. So, later on, towards the end of Grant Lyle's set, I decide to do the same. I won't burden you with my speculations as to just what was making the men's room floor so slippery I nearly landed on my keester; I'll just say that I, too, went for a post-piss stroll. I ended up at the main stage where Georgette Fry and her band were playing...


Blues, hell! So happy, they're dancing!

I noticed a couple of young women were up by the stage, dancing, and I couldn't resist taking a few shots of them enjoying themselves. It was one of those rare moments when the American underpinning of the Canadian character pushes through the easily-embarrassed British veneer and says "What the hell." Good for them!


Hope the boss doesn't recognize the back of his head...

Did I mention that we were sitting literally ten feet from one of the bars? We saw an interesting array of people pass by between us and the stage. When P-Doug pointed out this guy's shirt, I just had to get a shot of it. It's a boozy take-off on Green Eggs and Ham of Dr. Seuss fame. Wish I had this shirt. :)

Anyway, by the time the second set was over, around 3:30 or so, I was ready to head out. We headed back to P-Doug's place, got G, and had supper at Shopsy's Deli up at Woodbine and Steeles. P & G dote on the place, but I have to confess, the tuna wrap notwithstanding, I find the fare surprisingly bland and usually a little disappointing, given the prices. The smoked turkey I had this evening ($8.99) was generous, but epicureanistically not at all inspiring. (Okay, I liked the potato salad). Given the tiresome flack we take from Montrealers (including my mother) about how they're the only people in the universe capable of making a smoked meat sandwich worthy of the name, I'd love to be able to take them someplace in T.O. to prove them wrong. Sadly, I think this would be evidence for the defense. But have the tuna wrap; that, they seem to have a real flair for.

Belch, part one

G's birthday was yesterday, so I met her and P-Doug down at Jawny Baker's, which you see below. Actually, I took this shot on the way out, around 9PM, and cranked the exposure up a couple of notches so it wouldn't be too murky.


Here's the streetfront of Jawny Baker's on O'Connor Drive...

The card I made up a couple of hours ahead of time, that paid tribute to an inside joke involving the occasion P-Doug, in a hurry, bought G an anniversary card titled "To the man I love", went over exceedingly well. They both got an honest laugh out of it.

The restaurant was paying part of the freight for G's meal, since it was her birthday and she's registered there, so they sent her a discount card. They each ordered a steak sandwich; I ordered the Monterrey chicken salad. It came in a tortilla bowl. Pretty neat. I had the presense of mind, about half way through, to take a shot of it. Hell, I brought the camera. A nice, colourful dish, you'll agree, and it made pleasant fare.


Alas, poor salad; I ate it, Horatio...

...Actually, now that I come to look at the photo, it looks like the autopsy of one of those face-huggers from Alien. Okay, trust me. The picture doesn't do it justice. It really was a nice medley of vegetables, salsa, and chicken.

I admit, I feel sorry for the chicken. She didn't ask for this. I hope her family never sees this entry.

Firefighters' Memorial at Queen's Park

One of the new things in the city is the Firefighters' Memorial. I was down there a few weeks ago with P-Doug and my buddy Richard, visiting from New England. It's of some importance to me personally because my great-grandfather's name is carved on it. He died fighting a fire in northern Ontario not quite a hundred years ago.

One leaf of the memorial, Queen's Park in the background.

The memorial is situated just southeast of the provincial legislature (a.k.a., Queen's Park) near the intersection of Bloor St. and University Ave. I heard for some time they planned to build it, but the weird thing was, the three of us just came out out of the subway and there it was, fait accompli. It was a wonderful personal bonus to our little sight-seeing trip.

Me culpa: I'm a dick

Jody's friend Jenn sent me a little package late in May; I got it a week ago today. I still haven't phoned, e-mailed, or responded in any way. I meant to! I really did. But there are some inadequacy issues...

First of all, she's moved around a lot, and she e-mails very rarely, so I'm not sure I even have her correct address. I talked to Jody's dad Tuesday evening and he gave me her phone number, but I hate phoning people. I'm not the most spontaneous conversationalist... I prefer media like this where I have time to compose my thoughts. Like now... I'm about to get up for a cup of coffee. Be right back...

There. Miss me? So anyway... Jenn seems to be doing a lot to keep Jody's memory alive. She sent me a tiny piece of agate from the road near the driveway to his home when he was in high school. She sent photographs — I mean the real, glossy, hold-in-your-hand photos like we used to have before computers — some of which I hadn't seen before. I found myself looking at them and wishing I'd known him, and having to remind myself I had already been his friend for two or three years when they were taken! Jody and I had a deeply intimate relationship on the spiritual level, but we were completely alienated physically by distance. This is the world we're living in. I probably only spoke to him on the phone a half a dozen times. Anyway... there were other items... a brochure from UNM, questions from a logic test I can't begin to understand, a little plastic cheetah I've placed on the cedar chest with his ashes, and, most touching of all, a bracelet she made for him, but never got to give him. I'm wearing it right now. It's cleverly, beautifully constructed of alternating short black beads, and longer amber beads with black spots... a cheetah motif. Cheetahs, as you may by now have guessed, were Jody's all-time favourite animal. In her letter, Jenn said she thought it was appropriate I should have the bracelet.

So you see, I'm a dick for not getting back to her right away. The way I expressed it to Jim (Jody's dad) is that I feel like the Little Drummer Boy. I have no gift to bring, pa-rum-pa-pa-pum. She knew Jody face to face... all I really have of him is my memories, my logged conversations. I don't feel like there's anything I can give back. I guess I've partly been holding back, hoping that inspiration would hit me and give me the answer. Something worth responding with. But I have to bite the bullet and own up that really, all I have is my gratitude.

The other reason I don't want to phone is, like, she's married (or as good as). That always feels awkward. "Hi, can I talk to your wife?"

Yes, we fugly bananas...

The Royal Ontario Museum's in the midst of going after the crown for Canada's ugliest public building, currently held by Mississauga's city hall. They're building a new wing on that's supposed to resemble a crystal when it's finished, but which looks to me, and most people I've talked to, like something that fell down. Here's what it looks like as of a couple of weeks ago...


Coming to a subway stop near you: fugly!!!

Supposedly, when it's all finished, it's going to look like this. I'm reminded of the scene in The Blob when the blob escapes from the movie theatre and oozes around the side of the building, partially engulfing it. Apparently, among other things, the museum's dinosaur bones are going to be displayed there. No doubt the dinosaurs will be powerfully reminded of their final moments as the asteroid smashed into the Earth.

Keep on workin' in the Free World

Here's something kind of new. The Province of Ontario is tabling legislation to end mandatory retirement at 65.

I'm not sure exactly how to feel about this. I've always understood "mandatory" retirement to be a form of protection for people. The idea was that as they got older, there was a set date at which they'd be allowed to quit the 9-to-5 grind, and that they, the government, and the company they worked for would all be aiming at making sure there was something there to support them. This seems like a good idea to me, overall.

Some people, of course, manage to find other jobs after 65. They don't pay as well, but they're usually less demanding. It seems to me a good compromise.

As well, it gives younger people a chance. Positions open up for them to move into. They get their chance to shine in turn, have the bigger salaries (and the lifestyle that comes with it). This, again, strikes me on the whole as a good thing.

At first blush, I'm suspicious that this is the thin edge of the wedge to getting people back to working their whole lives — which are bound to be shortened by the prolonged stresses. The sooner you die, the sooner you're off the OHIP roles. The sooner you're off CPP. The sooner your estate gets inherited (i.e., taxed). The less urgency there is for companies to invest in your retirement fund... since you ain't gonna retire. I might be overreacting here, but on the whole, this strikes me as a retrograde idea. Why don't we get kids back in the workforce while we're at it? No doubt they'll thrive on the experience they're denied languishing in public education...

Blues and booze

This is a shot of The Boiler Room from September last year.

This weekend, there's a blues festival going on down at the Distillery District. I'm not really up on the blues, but I didn't think I was up on jazz, either. But last summer my buddy P-Doug took me down to the DD and we sat outside The Boiler House here, drinking beer brewed by the Mill St. Brewery just across from this shot, to the right, sweltering in the heat, and listening to Kevin Clark's Jazz Kitchen. Clark was a tall, blondish, bespectacled guy of about 40... not the stereotype for a jazz man. But he was, believe it or not, from Louisianna (he married a Canuck and moved to Toronto), and he's also a chef. His CD has New Orleans recipes on it... P-Doug's tried some, I think. But the music was great. One of his songs, Tom's Jones, about a fellow jazz musician jonesing for Diet Coke, is one of my favourites to listen to. The band's great, and I'm looking forward to seeing them down there this summer over the suds, God willing.

Anyway, this weekend is blues, not jazz. P-Doug's tastes are pretty eclectic; he favours baroque, but jazz, classical, rock, and apparently blues are also in his repertoire. The weather folks are warning us of 40 degree Celcius weather with the humidex; that, and / or thunderstorms. P-Doug's hedging, but that kind of weather's just my cup of tea. If it's warm, and I don't have to be anywhere sitting around right afterwards, I don't mind getting caught in the rain. I think it could be great, to tell you the truth. We'll see how it goes.

Da, tovarich!

From e-mail with P-Doug today:

Me: The QA guys have invaded my room here at work. They're led by a guy from Newfoundland called Leslie, but otherwise, to a man (and woman), they're Russians. So yesterday before I left, I went on Altavista and translated "This person needs to learn the Russian language!" into Russian and printed it, and tacked it on his cube. The Russians all got a laugh out of it (I had fun listening to them explain it to him this morning), and one Russian woman, not even his group, came up to me today and congratulated me on the joke. Leslie's decided to leave the page up. :)

P-Doug: When Leslie is not looking, replace the sign with one that has the Russian translation of "This person is proud of his three testicles!" and see if he notices. If the Russians can't keep a poker face, who can?

June 7th, a year come and gone

Well, here it is. June 7th. A year ago today, Jody died. I guess as I write this, he was still with us a year ago, but obviously in a very bad way. Sometime between 9 and 10 in Dallas that morning, he woke up in distress, tried to call his roommates, and collapsed on the floor. Timber found him and tried to resuscitate him, in vain. Jody's Uncle Jesse thinks it was Jody's liver finally giving out, since he says Jody's body was jaundiced. I know there was a big tumor there.

It still amazes me and frightens me how sudden it was. Not just Jody's death itself, but the course of his cancer. I can still remember him telling me, online, that he felt a disturbing pain in his side... I was there (if you see what I mean). That was very late in October or early November of 2003... it's hard to remember exactly. And then, early in June, with all these tumors, gone. Fine in the fall, gone before summer. And only 26.

I knew him about ten years, and now a whole year's gone by without him in my life. There were gaps in the conversation early on... I'd say our correspondence was pretty spotty from about 1998-2000, but never more than a few weeks at a time, I don't think. Once we were both on the net during the day, things really took off again. I thought it would be this way for years. It should have been.

Jody deserves more than this, but today promises to be a busy day of meetings (one rather early that I'm not looking forward to with my boss), so I really need to close off for now and get rolling. I need to think about things, try to consider what's changed. Hopefully I'll get back to this later today or this evening.

Peace, Jody. Peace and love.

Weekend weirdness :)

Before I forget, I want to record a weird dream I had last night. Remember that guy from Third Rock from the Sun, the communications guy who used to say "Incoming message from the Big Giant Head"? Well, in my dream, he was running some little space-themed tourist spot I was visiting. He seemed really nice and personable, enthusiastic about what he was doing and helpful to folks. He started the spiel with that line from the show, too. Quirky little dream. I barely remember it.

Anyway, this weekend I didn't do much. I took off Saturday morning to photograph the Jane and Finch street signs for R-Lang. While I was there, I walked a little ways up Jane St. and saw a sign for the Montego Jerk restaurant. Someone had rearranged the letters of the special to read "JERK ME OFF", and I got a shot of it. Okay, juvenile, but I got a good laugh out of it reviewing the pictures later. I also went to the bridge at Morning Star Drive over the 427, and took a few pictures of what used to be the intersection there in the middle of the superhighway. Part of the road surface the led up from the highway to Morning Star was still there, but all cracked up and beginning to grow over. I still find it utterly amazing there was ever a stoplight there, but there was. I stopped it myself, years ago, when Alan and I used to visit Brad in Malton and get off the highway there. That chunk of dying pavement was a road we drove up and down, dozens of times.

Sunday I just stayed in. Rained pretty hard for a while. I just drew, watched movies, ate too much, goofed off. Well, it was Sunday, after all.

I've heard good things about Madagascar lately... the animal movie, that is. Both R-Lang and Alan (guy at work here, not my high school buddy) both give it thumbs up. I might go and see it cheap tomorrow night. Maybe I'll suggest it to P-Doug and G.

Oh yeah, at one point, Larry was over. Brought his new MST3K DVDs. They were pretty funny. Rum, otter chow. All in all, a good evening.

Chocolate appendix

In my entry about what I got up to when R-Lang was here, I meant to make a note about the chocolate, but I neglected to. What happened was, just after I got back from the airport, I threw most of it down the chute. Wasted money. I always do that. Buy stuff I shouldn't eat, eat a little of it, get guilt, and throw it out. It's a form of idiot tax; a tithe to a lack of willpower up-front.

I still feel awful about yesterday. I'm thinking about taking another wander in the woods this afternoon at lunch time... we'll see. It may rain, but even that would be a new experience.

Tomorrow I'm hoping to get to Jane and Finch to photograph the street signs for R-Lang... his didn't come out. Then I want to see about getting down to the old intersection of Morningstar and the 427, take a few shots. You know me; I love that kind of thing. Old roads, unused bridges. Hey, there's the old 9th Line bridge near Upper Middle Road and the Ford plant out in Oakville... maybe I could make a day of it. Again, we'll see.

I've decided not to go to Hamilton tomorrow. I should call my folks and let them know. Put it off till mid-June when I know I can cover the maintenance fees on the car.

In fact it sucked

Oh yeah, and Thursday sucked. I headed to work early to get a jump on whatever revisions anyone sent me for the release notes I was working on, and of course the traffic was the shits any way I turned. Exiting the 404 to Hwy 7, stuffed. So I took the 407 to Warden; that's gonna cost me $8. Then I couldn't get on Apple Creek. Up to 16th. On and on, more traffic at every turn. A 15 minute trip turned into 40, eating up the extra time.

Worked on the notes during the day, and just when I thought I had it, I remembered the project manager had suggested having a section for the patches we'd done to the previous iteration. Never been in the release notes before, and this was my first crack doing it. Like a fool, I called him up to find out if he wanted all the defects related to them in there, or just the ones already in scope for the document. He involved my boss, and she wasn't pleased. I was on the phone with her with one of the business analysts in our office, and when she said she was "disappointed" because this was happening like an hour before the deadline, I felt two inches tall. Ever since I was transferred to this new section I've felt like a disorganized fuck-up. Not only do I no longer expect to be promoted, I'm not sure she'll keep me around. Probably wouldn't take much at this point.

Anyway, we ended up working like mad to plug the hole, and I was there till 7 getting it straightened out (I had to leave a message with P-Doug at work telling him I'd have to give the IMAX show a pass this evening... figures it would be the one night in the year). Turned out we only needed to add three tickets and amend a handful of others, but the damage was done. She knew I'd let it slip past me, and I've probably used up the last of the confidence she has in me. She's been spoonfeeding me the job for six months or more and she's probably wondering what the fuck the company kept me around for this long, but I never had the demands on me like this previously. It's not that there's too much to do, it's just that everywhere I turn now, there's more detail, more fucking red tape. It's too hard to keep it all straight. It's beyond my capacity. I probably shouldn't be doing this job.

She's off tomorrow and Monday (Memorial Day in the US), so a bit of the pressure's off, but she's going to remembering how I fucked up come Tuesday. Man, I don't know what to say. Anthony, the guy I was working with this afternoon, seems to feel it was all smoothed over, but he has her confidence. She knows he's competent. I feel like I'm right back at square one, which is a shitty place to be five years and change into the job, and eight months into the position.

The scent of a song

They say that smell is the most immediate sense where memory is concerned. Funny, because it's pretty much our weakest sense. Music has always been the great placeholder for me. I don't pretend to be a musician. But the right song can take me right back to something and fill me up with whatever I was feeling long ago.

Just a minute ago I listened to Yellow by Coldplay. It's a song that came along for me after Jody died; two or three months later. I've mentioned it here before. The chorus lyric about "skin and bones" will always remind me of Jody and Jenny; one human who wanted to be feline, the other a feline whose whole world was occupied by humans. I have the ashes of both of them, at least in part, on the top shelf of the cabinet in the living room. I still ache when the thought strikes me that this is the only way I ever came into Jody's physical presence in life... well, my life, anyway.

It's been a while since I cried for him, but I guess that's why I played the song. Like pouring wine for an old flame, I wanted to offer my the deep waters of my feelings to Jody. I can feel the hot salty sting on my cheeks. It's all I have to give him.

We're closing in on the anniversary of his passing. I try to think back a year to the place I was in before he died. Worried for him, of course. Fearing the worst, eventually. Wishing I could ease his mind, his pain. Little suspecting how little time we had left together. How little time he had. I think now he suspected he had very little time left but never said so to me. I know I've taken you down this road before, but I'm the sort of person who will always revisit comforting memories, or cling to what he's lost. This is the only way I can reinvent Jody for myself, keep building him up in my mind even when he's not here to re-enforce the effort. Ten years, and I took so much for granted. I'm bothered by the knowledge that my parents are getting older... they're in the 60s now, just passed the 40th anniversary. I barely speak to my dad... it's not that there's any enmity, it's just we don't have much in common. You'd think 32 years in the same house would leave you with lots to talk about but he's WASPishly guarded about his feelings and embarrassed to discuss them or his life, so it's hard to know him as anyone other than my dad, you know what I mean? It would probably be easier if I lived closer, but I don't. I'm sure most people have these regrets.

I visited Timber's blog today for the first time in several months. That guy is living five times the life I am. I can't believe it; it's nearly a James Bond novel. "Should I move to India? Or just Baja California?" Shit, there's no one in the next town interested in moving me away. Jealous? Oh, hell yes. :) He's tall, thin, good looking, and not even 30 yet... and the whole world's flirting with him.

On the other hand, he walked into a room one morning with one of his best friends lying cold and dead on the floor, and worked frantically to revive him. Timber's a man who's lived some extremes in his short life. Not quite the extreme Jody did (after all, Timber's still alive), but probably a broader range of experience, all things considered.

I haven't talked to Jody's dad in several days. Weeks, really. It's down to e-mail. Curse the company I work for for needlessly shutting down AIM and ICQ. There was no real need to do that. It was mean-spirited and gratuitous. Thanks be to God they didn't do it while Jody was still alive. I feel bad for how it's isolated me from Jim. When I get home, I just want to cocoon. But at work, I'm online anyway, so I was open to the world. It was a grace. I suppose I ought to be thankful for what I did have... it allowed me years to cultivate a wonderful friendship with Jody, and his dad, and Richard as well. But all I can focus on now is my anger and frustration at needlessly having that taken away from me. Motherfuckers.

That's enough rambling for tonight. I'm too sober to justify this.

Milling around

Yesterday, actually in the course of writing the previous entry, I managed get out of here over lunch and get up to the Bruce Mill Conservation Area.  I've been waiting since October to get back out there.Yesterday, actually in the course of writing the previous entry, I managed get out of here over lunch and get up to the Bruce Mill Conservation Area. I've been waiting since October to get back out there. It was gorgeous. I was expecting to be hit up for a $4.25 entry fee but the booth was still unmanned, just like last year. Hope it stays that way!

Oh, it was gorgeous. All the trees leafed out... a perfect sea of green. If you've read the journal from last fall, you'll remember that I started wandering the woods barefoot in a minor communion with nature. Did that again yesterday. I was always afraid I'd rip myself open in two seconds, but it's not really like that. I'm sure you can get hurt, but if you just look where you're stepping, or keep to the path while you're looking around, it's not a problem at all. It's like opening both eyes and suddenly seeing in three dimensions. Walking the forest shod is like wearing a clothespin on your nose in a bakery. Barefoot, you can feel the soft, crisp leaves of last autumn; the cool, moist clay; dry, brittle twigs and the surprisingly soft pine needles. Warm wood of the smooth planks on the path and the bridges. The differences in temperatures between light and shade is startling. It's a lot more interesting when you approach it with a whole other sense. I took a lot of pictures with the little $80 digicam I bought last winter... dozens. Even took a few videos, birds chirping, trees in the breeze. I guess I was there not quite an hour. I got as far as last time, and this time went down the hill on the far side. There was an even more elaborate bridge down there. I would have forded the stream in the soft mud, but I had to get back to work so I couldn't get too mucky. Maybe some Friday when I'm not working. But it was fantastic. It was like I had the whole forest to myself. All the time I was there, I didn't see another person. I walked on mossy fallen logs, took pictures of the sky through the trees, watched a light grey squirrel run past me, and investigated what seemed to be an old ruined bridge. I sat in the forest gloom for a few minutes and just relaxed with myself. I wish I'd had all afternoon.

I wish there were some way to post a few of the photos; they're so full of colour... but I think you have to be a paying user to do that, and I'm not. I'm here on the blog's good graces. But I just thought I'd share one of the simple joys of life with any of you who happen by. If you're bored some summer afternoon, go experience the forest. It was gorgeous.  I was expecting to be hit up for a $4.25 entry fee but the booth was still unmanned, just like last year.  Hope it stays that way!

Oh, it was gorgeous.  All the trees leafed out... a perfect sea of green.  If you've read the journal from last fall, you'll remember that I started wandering the woods barefoot in a minor communion with nature.  Did that again yesterday.  I was always afraid I'd rip myself open in two seconds, but it's not really like that.  I'm sure you can get hurt, but if you just look where you're stepping, or keep to the path while you're looking around, it's not a problem at all.  It's like opening both eyes and suddenly seeing in three dimensions.  Walking the forest shod is like wearing a clothespin on your nose in a bakery.  Barefoot, you can feel the soft, crisp leaves of last autumn; the cool, moist clay; dry, brittle twigs and the surprisingly soft pine needles.  Warm wood of the smooth planks on the path and the bridges.  The differences in temperatures between light and shade is startling.  It's a lot more interesting when you approach it with a whole other sense.  I took a lot of pictures with the little $80 digicam I bought last winter... dozens.  Even took a few videos, birds chirping, trees in the breeze.  I guess I was there not quite an hour.  I got as far as last time, and this time went down the hill on the far side.  There was an even more elaborate bridge down there.  I would have forded the stream in the soft mud, but I had to get back to work so I couldn't get too mucky.  Maybe some Friday when I'm not working.  But it was fantastic.  It was like I had the whole forest to myself.  All the time I was there, I didn't see another person.  I walked on mossy fallen logs, took pictures of the sky through the trees, watched a light grey squirrel run past me, and investigated what seemed to be an old ruined bridge.  I sat in the forest gloom for a few minutes and just relaxed with myself.  I wish I'd had all afternoon.

I wish there were some way to post a few of the photos; they're so full of colour... but I think you have to be a paying user to do that, and I'm not.  I'm here on the blog's good graces.  But I just thought I'd share one of the simple joys of life with any of you who happen by.  If you're bored some summer afternoon, go experience the forest.

Victoria Day weekend: The Doings

I had a pretty great long weekend there with R-Lang visiting from Connecticut. I took off Friday and Tuesday (Monday was a holiday here, Victoria Day).

I spent most of Friday cleaning up my apartment... never really did finish the job; never will, I imagine. I guess I'm not my mother's son in this regard. Was always lazy, and always resented housework. Living alone, I let the place get in a state before I do anything about it. This usually results in weekend-long bouts of cleaning every month or two that are quickly undone over the course of the following week... but hey. It does get done. :)

He was due in at 5:02, so I left my place at 3:45 to get to the airport. Tons of time! Or so I thought. The 401 was just creeping. Naturally, just as I was getting to the exit to the 409, the highway that actually goes into the airport, cop cars and fire engines rush past me. Obvious conclusion is there's an accident ahead. Yup. Sign tells me it's blocking the two right lanes before Islington Ave. These are, of course, the exit to Hwy 409. So I got off at Weston Road and headed north to Finch. At Finch, it took three lights to turn left because assholes there will continue to turn left for about three days after the light turns red for them and green for anyone else, eating up the advanced greens. I gave the asshole in the van who did this to us the finger, and promptly went on to do the same myself. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Fuck 'em. I had to get to the airport, and if courtesy's dead, I'll spin my tires on its corpse too.

I got to the airport about 5:30. In the distance, I actually saw R-Lang milling around, but he didn't spot me, and he vanished behind a bank of phones. I caught up to him just before he made the call. It was great to see him again and as we put his stuff in the trunk, he presented me with two three-disk sets of the Benny Hill Show. I couldn't believe it. So I now have the whole show from 1969-1974 or so, I think. We ended up watching the first three disks over the course of his stay. Not everything Benny did was funny, but man, when he hit the mark, it was laugh-out-loud hilarity.

We headed up to an Indian restaurant in Malton called the Dawat, which is traditional on his arrival. Closed for renovation. Cripes. Nice fucking timing, boys; first long weekend of the "summer". Did you pick it out of a hat, or are you really that stupid? Anyway, we went on to an Indian restaurant I know in Markham (Jikoree), which I think R-Lang preferred anyway. At least, he said the naan was better, though he felt it was blasphemy to say so. We had an eggplant paste (quite good, in fact; guilt-free till he told me it was actually full of oil) and Tandoori chicken.

Saturday we were due to link up with P-Doug so we headed down to East York to his place, walked to the Main St. subway station, bought day passes, and headed downtown. We went to the National Film Board, the new computerized displays that opened just days after R-Lang's last visit. We spent most of the time watching animated shorts, although R-Lang indulged me and we also watched Ryan, a film about 1960s NFB animator Ryan Larkin. The film won the Oscar recently. P-Doug, who was doing his own thing, came up and asked if I'd shown him Cactus Swing yet, and we watched that one too. After about two hours, we were ready to eat, and we went looking for P-Doug. Guy was invisible! We couldn't see him anywhere. He did find us as we left the place. He'd been sitting behind a pillar or something. We went to one of the Firkin pubs and began the long weekend of indulging in fatty foods. Burgers, fries, onion rings, beer. Nice warm sunshine; interesting and/or attractive people wandering by... it was everything I hoped it would be. We caught the subway to Queen's Park, couldn't get in; wandered up to the Royal Ontario Museum but they were rebuilding it so we didn't get into the gift shop, though we did agree the "crystal" section they're adding on will be an eyesore. After that, we caught the subway again, wandered through Nathan Philips Square on the way to Yonge St. We made our way through the Eaton Centre and then went to HMV and Sam the Record Man. After that, we caught the subway again to eat on the Danforth. R-Lang and I got off at Chester, and P-Doug went on back to Main to link up with G. R-Lang and I got us a place outside the Poppas Restaurant, and he ordered a couple of appetizers I'd never seen in my life before. One was a flakey pastry filled with spinach and the other was vine leaves stuff with rice and ground meat. I still don't know why, but it took P-Doug forever to get back with G and park; most of an hour. During that time, the temperature fell and it was less comfortable outdoors (I was in shorts; fine all day till then), but we toughed it out and ate well. I had chicken souvlaki and rice and Greek salad. Great stuff. Afterwards we all went to Dezzerts where I, for once, managed to avoid temptation. The coffee and conversation were just fine; I honestly didn't feel at all deprived. Though I did sample the sweet goo left on various plates afterwards. :)

That evening we watched the first half of Team America World Police. It was pretty funny alright, but the famed puppet sex scene included some scat elements that went beyond the pale for me, and I won't be sorry if I miss that scene next time I watch the movie. But otherwise, they nicely pushed the envelope.

P-Doug and G suggested meeting up with us at The Great Khan between 11:30 and noon. Just before we headed out, R-Lang suggested calling them. Turned out to have been a good idea indeed; P-Doug had not roused G yet, and hinted that was my fault for not calling him at 10:30 as he'd understood I would. Given the number of times they've promised to call me "on our way out the door" only to actually do so as they drove past the intersection of Sheppard and Don Mills, giving me two minutes to shower and dress, I was a bit put off by that suggestion, not to mention the fact that it was clearly understood we'd be meeting them there at an appointed hour. As it was, we postponed heading out for an hour and met them there at 12:30. We ate well, and I remarked, only half-jokingly, to R-Lang that sprouts tend to make me gassy (sometimes they do, sometimes they don't). About the time we arrived at the Ontario Science Centre, they did. As we visited the space section -- essentially a large, donut-shaped room -- I quietly vented. And it was a powerful force of nature, despite its stealth. Moments later from behind us came the comment from a little girl entering that "it stinks in here", and her mother first agreeing, then cutting herself off as she observed what the smell likely was. R-Lang and I both fought to maintain our composure but moments later, at another display, we both fell into a fit of giggles. It was a classic moment that only men can understand. :) Serendipity was with us; the day before, while meeting up with P-Doug at his place, we encountered his neighbour Joanne, who works at the OSC, and furnished us with a free group pass. It saved us about $30. I think the Science Centre is somewhat underwhelming, myself; it's probably just that we live in an age where we're extremely difficult to impress. I imagine R-Lang felt the same way but was too polite to slag the place in front of me. IMAX might have been a little more interesting, but the timing wasn't right, and somehow, it would have taken the cool edge off the place if we'd (or rather, probably, R-Lang; let's be honest here) had wound up paying for anything. We got in free and to the best of my recollection, didn't pay a dime aside from parking (which we also could have avoided by parking elsewhere and walking for a few minutes). So in a way I'm glad we skipped that.

Sunday evening, we had pizza. Pizza and beer, while we watched movies. Hey, that's what it's all about, right?

Monday we set off for St. Jacobs. Our first stop was Picard's, where in spite of the promises I made to myself, I spent about $12 on chocolates. We split a peanut butter bar in the car; it half melted, but we recovered it. As for R-Lang, he bought about $90 worth of stuff, mostly as gifts for people back in Connecticut. After that we went to The Crossroads, and I ate well, but fairly sensibly for once, the Boston cream pie slice notwithstanding. It was good food, things that R-Lang liked, and he seemed surprised that it was rather less expensive than he'd anticipated, though irked that the coffee was not included in the buffet. He has a point there; if coffee's all you're having, I can see charging, but if you're doing the buffet, you're going to want to drink something. A coffee or soft drink could be folded in there and cost the place virtually nothing.

After that, we went to St. Jacobs proper. We spent an hour or so in the antique shop where I found a number of old books and got them pretty cheaply. While we were there, the fellow running the place put on a record (and I do mean an LP), and the music was really pleasant. I remembered to ask him what it was. It was Eric Clapton's 1985 album Behind the Sun. I checked for a track list this morning on the net and Knock On Wood, which I remember hearing, was on there, so I know that was the one. I'll have to see if Sam's has that downtown. Maybe I'll call. Anyway, after that, we went into the market we usually go. P-Doug was right; they've been extensively rebuilding it. The hot sauce shop is now on the ground floor. It was closed momentarily when we got there (turns out the woman manning the register was in the washroom), so we amused ourselves making fun of the kitsch in the souvenir shop next door. Then the hot sauce joint opened up and it was all business! They didn't have that "Z" stuff I was looking for so she showed me a number of other hot sauces. There were some good ones, and I finally settled on a sweet apple cinnamon one, and another very hot one that came in a clever wooden case. After that, R-Lang and I headed back to Toronto, where we ate at Swiss Chalet on Leslie. He had the chicken and ribs combo (shared a rib with me; very tender) and I had the Santa Fe chicken sandwich.

Inevitably, Tuesday rolled around, and it was time for R-Lang to head home. He booked a later flight so we could linger a little. We headed for Perkin's on Dixon Road, but the 401 was ridiculous (we saw it on the Weather Network), so I headed west on Finch. R-Lang remembered a drawing I'd done years ago with a wild rabbit doe at the corner of Jane and Finch and asked if we'd be passing it, so rather than head down to Lawrence at Bayview, I asked if he cared to just keep heading west on Finch. He agreed, and had the chance to snap a couple of shots at that intersection. It'll be interesting to see if they come out. We turned south at Martin Grove and ate at Perkin's, per the plan. R-Lang had the breakfast with the twelve items he'd been craving (damn him for being so thin!), and I had an omlette with hash browns and a pancake. I took him to the airport and saw him off... these days, once you check in your baggage, you go with it. So that was that.

I headed home up Airport Road but did a deke onto Morningstar Drive to see the bridge they built over the 427. I was telling R-Lang that when I first started driving, they actually had a red light intersection there on the highway to give people access to Morningstar, and I can't imagine how many accidents that must have caused. It's long gone, but as I drove over the bridge, I glanced right and caught sight of the old road surface snaking up the side of the hill, all cracked and broken and getting overgrown. Made me realize how much time has been passing.

I got home about 12:15 and decided to go to the mall. I ended up seeing Star Wars Revenge of the Sith. Best of the recent three, without a doubt, and for me, one of the better of the six. They did pull a lot of stuff right out of their ass at the end to tie things up, but I don't mind. It hung together well enough, and the transformation of Anekin (did I spell that right?) was believable enough.

There... I think that's about all there is to say on all that. :)

Remembering to remember

It's been a couple of weeks since I bothered to come on here and blather. Lately it just doesn't seem as important to slop down a thick lather of what I'm feeling or up to, but it's due, so I suppose I should get caught up... if only for myself.

And that's the weird thing. I've gotten used to the idea that no one reads this stuff (why would they?) and I'm just jotting stuff down for myself that someone might trot along and read sometime. It's just in the last few days that I've been reminded it isn't always so. Most recently, I just noticed that Dave in Dublin seems to have taken some minor offense at my characterization of his call in January. Sorry, Dave, didn't mean to slag you, if that's how it came off. I just commenting on how strange and out of the blue the whole episode was. I wasn't upset by it or anything, or trying to make fun of you, just felt weird and kind of put on the spot. I'm not much of a phone person; I tend to like e-mail and that kind of thing, where I can take a few minutes and compose my thoughts. Spontaneity isn't my bag.

Also, this weekend, a friend of Jody's also got in touch with me. Her name's Jen but she goes by Cran, so I think I'd better get used to that. :) Cran had a much more face-to-face relationship with Jody than I did (hey, who didn't?). She went to school with him and sent me pictures of the highway that went past his place. I remember Jody talking about it; Route 217, I think. It was kind of what I imagined; rural, isolated, big, wide expanses of awing vistas. But it was still something to actually see it. I had a moment like that kind of in reverse after visiting Dallas... Jody's dad, Jim, pointing to a mall parking lot and saying "that's where Jody got his suit for work when he started here..." and later, when I was home again, Jim sent me the photos of that occasion, years ago. Suddenly, there was Jody, standing in the place I'd been. Kind of a weird time-loop thing going on. Anyway, this time, it was having my imaginary view of the road paved over by the real one... which is more in keeping with how these things usually go on.

I didn't forget the 7th, incidentally. It was a Saturday. And, as usual, Jody came to mind when I was in the shower. Nothing salacious, it's just one of those places where you're pretty much utterly alone with your thoughts. There's nothing distracting going on. You're not cutting onions and trying not to slice your thumb, or guessing if the Mustang's going to cut you off, or typing in your blog. You're just standing there in the warm water with nothing in the world but what's going on in your head. So interesting things, or nagging things, or regrets tend to show up to wash your back for you. Typically, since Jody got cancer, this is where I've found it least avoidable. Talking to him on ICQ I was nearly always chipper. He was alive, he was so dear, he was talking to me. There was hope. It was standing there alone in the gloom in the mornings when I would entertain those dark considerations that actually finally came to pass last June. It didn't end there, of course. Saturday on the 7th they were still in there with me, even though Jody is not in pain and I'm not longer afraid for his life, his comfort. Regrets, sadness, loss. I wonder what purpose they serve. Sure, they're part of being human, they're part of what makes us what we are. But if they weren't part of us, we wouldn't miss them. So why do we have them? I'd be loathe to give up my feelings for Jody, even though he's gone... but I wonder what reason behind it is. If there's a biological survival advantage in it, I'm not sure what it is.

This time last year, as this year, I was preparing for the Victoria Day weekend visit of my friend R-Lang, from Connecticut. We have a lot of things planned this year. He's a creature of habit. The things we've done before he largely wants to do again. But I understand that. If I had a place I went once a year for a few days, I think I'd be like that too. Show me one or two new things, but let's do something familiar... something that re-enforces the good feelings and good times we have before. Unfortunately for me, a lot of this is based on food. I was pretty good over the past month about sticking to program, and I lost about 9 lbs. I really blew it out my ass this past weekend, though. Probably put back 3 or 4. And next weekend, same deal. I really do want to get back under 200 and go back to Harvey's in triumph. But fuck me, it's hard. I mean, you have to be pure and fucking virginal 100% of the time, and you just squeak a little more off here, a little bit more off that. But slip up even a little, and you're right back where you started. I know I have this cross to bear, but Jesus Christ, it upsets me that it's that fucking one-sided. You can't live at all. Not at fucking all. No goddamn fucken margin AT ALL. So next weekend, without really living all that badly, I'm going to piss away all the progress I made since March, no doubt.

Anyways, I suppose that's it for now.

Sculpting in cyberspace

Ugh... how long will it be before "cyberspace" is one of those eye-rolling anachronisms from a naive age? Is it already? I don't know what other word to use yet. So we're stuck with it, you and I.

What I'd like to do here is just talk a little about my wanderings. Nothing big or fancy. Just something to remind myself where I've been, what I saw. If other people come by and find it interesting, so much the better. Just sort of starting out here. I don't even know what's possible yet. I'll work it out as I go along.

I'm kind of here because I stumbled across Laura K's We Move to Canada blog a few nights ago, and I feel kind of strange posting anonymous comments there. I figured I should probably have an ID of some kind. But what to do with the blog? Well, I've always wanted to kind of showcase the personal-interest research I've done into the city and some of its places and the way it's changed, so maybe I'll give that a whirl. I don't know how much room the blog affords people graphically, but maybe it'll be the start of something fun to do. Who knows? I'll just roll with it for now. :)

Come First of May... oops, missed it

It's the lusty month of May. It's not very warm yet, though. It was hailing a few minutes ago as I sat in a phone meeting. Outside, I mean. The hail, that is. Not the meeting. Anyway...

Friday I went out with P-Doug and had pop and bruschetta. Cost me about eight bucks. We talked for a while, but nothing gelled for the weekend. I had my heart set on going to the Anglican Book Centre and he was talking about going the following weekend when he'd have money. For me, I'd have even less by then. Mostly, I think, I just wanted to do the subway adventure.

G, apparently, we keen to get out of town and do some driving. So, Saturday morning when we all touched base, it was clear to me it was a loss to make it all work. So I wished them well, got dressed, and headed out. I walked up to Fairview. It was cold enough that I wore my sneakers, but I did see people here and there in sandals. But I had a lot of walking to do and it was cold on my hands, so I think I made the right choice. I got the subway and transferred at Yonge. The trip to Bloor was shorter than I remembered it. In the course of it, I ended up surrounded by these four women, one of whom, it seems to me, had been on the train even before the others, but they clearly knew her. How they found her in that particular train and car I don't know. These women switched back and forth between French and unaccented English with the ease of an automatic transmission. It was interesting, if strange.

Anyway, I got off at Bloor and made my way to Hayden. Turns out the ABC is across Church Street. I went in, went downstairs, and there it all was. There's a lot of interesting material down there. I was introduced to a couple of intriguing Bible translations I may eventually follow up on. The NRSV has the whole Apocrypha, and has a version where it's presented in the Catholic format (Susanna and Bel and the Dragon are put into Daniel, for instance). Very cool. I bought a book on the Anglican catechism called "What Anglicans Believe" and another book called "In the Beginning" that's about the creation of the King James Bible and the conditions leading up to it. It's a really good read so far; I'm about 160 pages in, just getting to the point where James commissions the new bible to supersede the Geneva Bible he found too republican. I was at the ABC a little over an hour, and $40 later, I left to go home. This was about 12:45.

I got on the subway on the same side. Bad move; that sent me southbound again. I couldn't easily switch to the northbound train till Union Station. Oh, well. I had my books. So I got to Fairview about an hour after leaving the ABC. I bought the chicken curry and lentil soup at Fit for Life and a couple shots of the frozen yogurt at Cultures, and when I left the mall, it was 2:00. Lunch was good. I really enjoyed it. I spent the afternoon just quietly reading "In the Beginning".

Sunday, Roc came by around 11. About noon, we went to Swiss Chalet. We both had the Santa Fe chicken sandwich, him with a potato and me with a salad (he had a salad for starters and I had the soup). We shared a bottle of White Zinfindel, and then had the frozen yogurt. It was his treat; cost him about $70. It was a really nice afternoon.

I had a couple of encouraging signs of spring, despite it all. At Swiss Chalet, I caught a glimpse of a guy about my age in sandals and peddle pushers, so I'm not the only guy who likes them. Also, Roc had to go to Aurora to get his mom and sister, so I suggested showing him how to get to the 404. As we drove up Leslie, I saw a woman walking barefoot up the sidewalk with her sandals in her hand. I was pleased by both of these occurrences. Maybe I'll be a little freer myself this summer.