Category Archives: Toronto

This wacky city I live in.

Toronto’s Top Bloggers

Toronto

I think I’m wearing a nice shirt. I think I look good. I walk into the room and realize I’m about 20 years too old and 20 minutes too late – the meeting had started long before I arrived. Oh hello…?

Foto from smojoe.com

Back in May, I was invited to an informal meeting of “Toronto’s Top Bloggers” as defined by Rob Campbell, a kinetic social media guru who, when he walks into a room, sweeps you up into his schemes with his charm and charisma, like a Canadian Steve Jobs without the temper. I looked around the room at the top bloggers and recognized …no one.  We all took turns to speak about our sites, our styles and our future plans/desires when it came to blogging. As we spoke,  a camera was focused on us as we addressed the group. Whoosh, the halogen light poured over me as the one-eyed monster drunk me in. I said:

“I’m Ted Healey, I run Deadrobot.com and I’m the resident queer.”

“Holy shit dude!” exclaims Raymi, from Raymi the Minx, as only Raymi could. If you’ve ever met her in person, you’d get that last statement.

We discuss creating a powerhouse of networked blogs that will become a marketing force using referrals through links and trackbacks. We also discuss Lenzr, which, as you know, I still write for from time to time. The camera gets shut off and we’re free to mingle up on the patio for pictures and individual video interviews. It was here that I got to meet the other bloggers.

And walked away feeling like I just auditioned for a reality TV show.

And didn’t get in.

Each person I spoke to asked me politely about my blog and then waited for me to ask about theirs. Which I didn’t. Because I didn’t know any of their sites and didn’t want to come off as an ignorant dolt. Blame me for not researching before I snapped up the free drinks.

Awkward.

In hindsight, the lot of us in a reality TV show would have made a more entertaining show than that crappy Lofters drivel. Picture it: The show would be great if they had stuck us into a house and given us cams and access to our blogs, we could slag each other off in the name of celebrity and let the public choose who wrote the better slaggin’ combined with our on-air personalities. Immunity could be achieved if we could hack into the back end of each others site and upload embarrassing video. Or eat worms live on TV. Or wear ladies underwear.

I digress (call me, MTVCanada!)…

Yesterday I learned that the three biggest personalities in the room (read: the ones who did the most talking) have joined together to fully brand themselves as Toronto Blog Stars (TBS), and has gone so far as to get themselves an agent. I learned this through a slightly smarmy yadda yadda yadda article over on Torontoist where they review the TBS event on how to be a big deal online. Newsflash: the only way you will become a celebrity through blogging is by becoming a superstar. Read: You gotta believe! Surprised? Me either.

The article is a good read yet go to the comments. The raging debate over “brand”, “celebrity” and “ego” is fascinating. Two of the TBS show up to defend themselves from the douchebaggery that they’ve slightly been painted as. I say slightly because the author of the article didn’t enjoy the fact that the TBS’ online egos didn’t translate well in Meatspace, yet agreed with their premise (cause?) regardless.

Best comment (if you want to skip it all):

Corina Newby
Other than overstating the obvious a tad, this article/comment thread beautifully demonstrates the blogger ego.

I sit here currently struggling to end this post: my ego (“Why wasn’t I asked?! I want to be known!” Yells my inner brat) and my relief (“Holy shit, I’m glad I don’t have to face a review where I look slightly douchey” comments my inner Marketing Manager) are conflicting each other right now.

So I’ll just…

Booze unCanny

Toronto

Speaking of my life in crime, Rob reminded me of a small misdemeanor I did a few times when working for that notorious Toronto leather bar – I attended after hours Booze Cans.

Back in 1997, close to the second weekend I was working at the leather bar, I was hanging around cash out at 3am, waiting for my cut of the tips from the bartenders when the staff suggested that I tag along to a booze can around the corner from the bar.

“After hours drinking? You can do that?” I naively ask. I had got a 95% on my Smart Serve certificate.

“Erm. No. But it is $5 to get in!”

Even though it was closer to 4am when we set off for the ‘can, I wanted to keep going on my natural high of working a really busy night around the bar. Plus I had a crush on one of the bartenders who insisted I party with him. The promise of a snog from this handsome fellow, coupled with the night was in my veins led me along like Pinocchio off to Pleasure Island. It also didn’t help that I had a fist full of cash in my pocket.

We arrive at the Booze Can – a stand alone house surrounded by vacant trash heap lots, giving the solitary dwelling an atmosphere that it was rejected for location shooting for the movie Se7en. A large metal door greeted us. “There’s a nice door,” I say, the Inner Martha Steward boiling up past my lips.

“It keeps the cops out,” says my Stygian co-worker, shutting my pansy-mouth good. “Don’t give the guy at the door your money, give it to the guy at the top of the stairs. Also, if the doorman doesn’t like you, don’t argue, turn around and go home.” He makes a fist punching a fist motion. Message received!

I really should have given this a second thought, but at 4am, I wasn’t thinking, really. I do know by this time I was eager to see what went on behind that door.

We got in after some slight hesitation – I was a new face and treated with distrust but the cute bartender co-worker vouched for me (sigh! such a cutie!), and paid our fee. Beers were $5 each (at the time, a beer was $3.25 so this was a bit steep) and the music was loud, whatever it was.

Basically it was a John Hughes movie house party come to life. The living room was decorated in a depressed University student style: legless couch, milk crate coffee table, carpet as stained as a Hollywood starlet’s limo’s back seat. The windows were taped over with dark fabric, the reason for which I would learn later. And people were draped over every surface imaginable. Not doing lewd things as the LCBO would have you believe. Just having a good time. Mostly it was other bar staff from the gay village, letting off steam from a busy night. I can say I didn’t see anything illegal other than the beer being sold for astronomical prices.

This night also held another first – talking to my first Drag Queen. I was introduced around as “The New Guy” from the bar and when it came to meeting the towering drag queen in the corner I admit I blubbered a bit. I’ve never actually talked to one before, other than shouting at them from the audience. I decided to speak to her considering her just above “sister” status and somewhere below “monarch”. I asked about performing and the Toronto drag scene and where she got her outfits. Basically I went George Stroumboulopoulos on her padded ass. She loved the attention.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting and drinking. When the money ran out (I bought drinks for my co-workers a couple times) it was time to go home. I discovered the reason that the windows were covered were to keep people partying, despite the inevitable sunrise. And here I thought it was to keep the neighbours from getting an eyeful. Coming out of the house to full sunlight was a shock to the system. The drunken Walk of Shame seemed less shamey, probably because of the alcohol.

Over the next couple years I visited 2 other booze cans within a few blocks of the Village. They lost my interest when I realized that coming home drunk at 8am was really not healthy, mentally or physically.

And the cute bartender moved on from me being fresh meat at the bar and found himself a new bus boy to take under his wing. Meh.

All are torn down now except for the grey metal door house, which was reno-ed into a duplex a couple years back. Now the house has a normal wood and glass front door like everyone else.

I Too, Have Had Sext Relations With Adam Giambrone

Celebs and Media, Toronto

A few months back I was on the TTC and at Bloor station, Adam G hopped on and immediately whipped out his Blackberry.

I was utterly surprised!

He’s taller than I expected and was quite striking in his finely tailored suit – something you don’t see often on the subway. Even though I knew he was the Chair of the TTC, I thought it odd that he would actually use the Teet as part of his daily commute. I mean come on! He’s the friggin’ chair, right? Limos!

Anyway, he was so intent on getting a message out before the train moved (and killed the signal, I guess) that he huddled over his unit with utmost concern. As quickly as it started, he finished his business and seemed more relaxed and amicable to his surroundings. Was he sexting his current beau? Or another? Or some dude?

That’s actually the end of my story. Can we please leave the poor bastard alone now?

Rough Weather Run

Personal Bits, Toronto

Toronto’s first storm and my first rough weather run turned out to be a challenge. The slush on the sidewalk was untouched at 5:30am so I had to be careful how I landed my feet as the soup was about 2″ deep in most places. The rain/sleet felt like bees getting a hate-on all over my earlobes and cheeks. I was soaked through my gloves within 5 minutes.

But the best was the trees.

Right by the Toronto Necropolis there are a ton of fir trees that generate a special kind of noise when the wind goes through them. A noise that stirs something primal, like an alarm for us to head back to the cave and tend to a fire, because the weather is going to be the suck. When we use to go camping the fir trees near our site would whisper the coming summer storms just like they were this morning.

Rounding the corner of Sumac and Wellesley Street, I nearly slip. My ankles have been complaining since starting this endeavour and I’ve not been pushing it, but to have one suddenly lop to one side in the slush worried me some. I walked a bit. When I started up again, everything fine until I came to a downed branch across the sidewalk. Easy peasy, I just hopped onto the road and passed it. Jumping back up onto the sidewalk my foot slid about 4 inches. I went with it but it spooked me good. Combined with the complete soaking my feet had experienced, I thought it best to go back in.

As an aside, I am starting to name the scraggly people I see at this time of the morning. My favorite so far is The Black Chicklette. She’s 5ft nothing and wears black tights, super puffy black coat and a black touque. Think: an evil, anti-Fruit of the Loom grape. Twice I’ve rounded a corner and she’s scared the shit out of me.

Stuff I could populate our apartment with list is growing!

  • 2 Toilets!
  • A wicker porch chair
  • A canvas patio umbrella
  • A double mattress
  • An office chair
  • A surprise luggage case (I didn’t open it)

The Power Of Music

Toronto

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air

SharkBoy and I hit the corner of Gerrard and Woodbine and stand in front of the TTC stop, waiting for the streetcar. With us is a well dress couple who, probably like us, are coming home from a seasonal house party.

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim

The stop is just outside a divey bar – the kind that generally fills up when a major sports event or end-of-the-month cheques come out.

I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;

The four of us are doing little dances to keep warm.

I heard the mission bell

The woman of the other couple notices a solo guy standing in the front window of the bar. He’s holding a mike and staring at a karaoke machine. The monitor is showing the next song, but the musical lead in is really long. We should totally sing this, the woman says.

And I was thinking to myself,
this could be heaven or this could be hell

We start to sing like it’s Xmas. I haven’t heard this song since my high school days (it reminds me of drunk cottage parties) and I’m amazed at how I stumble over the quick lyrics.

Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say…

We sing the song, add some falsetto harmonies and the odd comment (“Any time of year, you can drink a beer!”). The song ends and we applaud and get a nod from the singer. As if on cue the street car comes. We say nothing else to each other as we board the car, the awkward Toronto attitude killing any further conversation, falling like a curtain. Moment over.

Welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel california
Any time of year, you can find it here

Things I Could Have

Toronto

Here’s a list of things I’ve seen, and theoretically could decorate/stock my apartment with, in the last 2 weeks while runung around Cabbagetown at 5am:

  • A coffee maker
  • A computer
  • A pair of shelf speakers
  • A wooden 12ft ladder
  • A regular door
  • A larger door
  • A wingback chair
  • An upholstered side chair
  • A kitchen chair
  • A fax machine

Getting curious about someone’s trash reminds me of the episode of The Oblongs where they get excited about Garbage Day from the Hill folk (sadly no YouTube example…). Expect updates.

I Laughed Then Felt Awful

Toronto, You Stupid Dick

ceilingcatOkay the whole Toronto Humane Society thing is a horrid mess. It’s not funny in any way shape or form. I sort of thought something was up when we last went there – it certainly was over crowded but I just equated the cramped quarters to any “hospital” these days: overcrowded and hella busy.

The mummified cat found in the trap up in the ceiling panels made me sick to my stomach. I can’t imagine it’s last dying moments. I don’t want to.

However, according to the Globe and Mail, someone at the shelter had a sense of humour (emphasis mine):

The cat, known as Casper, was labelled “a ceiling cat” in his charts. The shelter’s database showed that the young, skittish feline had been adopted and then returned to the THS, and that his microchip was scanned nearly two months after the database was updated to say he’d been euthanized.