I am home from my trek to Carbon Gambinos on Queen East and I am still smelling pee from the guy that sat near me on the Eastbound streetcar. That was 35 minutes ago.
I think his peesmell transfered to me somehow.
Category Archives: Toronto
The Gym Report, April 2006
Hello and welcome! Tonight’s top stories:
Dress to Impress
Mr Breaky Still Rampant
The Tell Tale Staff
Toller Cranston Cybex
Daddy’s Little Bird
Dress to Impress
It seems that Mr Blackwell hasn’t done a stint at the Downtown Y to see all the worst dressed fitness freaks, but I will do nicely. Notice the woman of library matronly manner, wearing a knitted baby blue sweater replete with crocheted roses in a lovely arch across her bosom, scruntching oh so fashionly as she does her seated Lat Pulls. See the lovely streetwear boots revealed as her slacks (yes slacks, not sweatpants for this fashion plate) ride up over her ankles as she straddles the cycling equipment. Daring! Darling!
Mr Breaky Still Rampant
Dispite larger signs in the sauna proclaiming the demise of the heating unit if one was to put “water on the rocks” Mr Breaky still douses the rocks with a wet towel he steals out of the used towel bin (ew. simply ew) and soaks in the showers before his sauna visits. I realize that I may be obsessing with Mr Breaky but his fate as possibly the most hated person I have never confronted was sealed when, while discussing his up coming property taxes assesment to whoever would listen to him in the sauna, he unjokingly said “There’s something unethical about paying taxes”. Recently I’ve spied him shaving in the sauna too, the “no Shaving” proudly ignored on the sauna door. This man is a blight. Have I complained? You bet! Which leads us into…
The Tell Tale Staff
See the porky man over there on the treadmill? The guy on the ‘mill that’s raised to maximum incline and jacked up to Olympic gold medal sprint speeds? Yeah the man who is hanging on for dear life and is on such a worrysome angle that my inner voice screams “LAWSUIT IN THE MAKING”. I wonder why he thinks that if he’s running real fast, yet cheating by gripping the loosening control panel, it’s good for him, at any costs. Along comes a Red Shirt Y staff to scold him! Oh wait, no. The Red Shirt is scolding the other visibly healthy guy running at a controlled speed because he’s making a loudish noise the way his feet are hitting the treadmill. And spy the woman on the Eliptical machine, chugging along like she’s in a K-hole filled with molasses! Wow she’s certainly working out. Oh wait. She deliberately didn’t turn on the machine because she wanted the resistance. Wow. That’s edgy! So is replacing a stripped, slipping Eliptical machine motor, ruined by misuse. Why aren’t the staff doing anything about this? They certainly have time since they congregate over by the water fountain 90% of the time.
Toller Cranston Cybex
Maybe the ever dilligent staff will take better care of the new machines they rolled in as I was leaving today. Judging by the life sized poster of a rather bouffant-haired “hunk” in light blue spandex (not even sexually confused metrosexuals wear light blue spandex), we’re getting the latest in faux-reality based exercising. Rollerblading machines! It’s so Phillip K Dick, I’m dreaming of exercising!
Daddy’s Little Bird
Hey buddy! I’m sorry your wife isn’t here to help you look after your 3 year old daughter as you work out. Now I don’t care that you walk around naked in front of your kids at home. Good on ya! That’ll learn them to not hate their bodies so much. Maybe your kids will grow up to accept themselves as beautiful machines, not like the guys who insist on wearing their underwear in the showers (I didn’t need to see your skiddies, shyboy), but you know what? I really don’t want to be included in your social studies experiment. Get your fucking daughter out of the showers. Don’t bring her, put her in the individual private stalls or take her home stinky. Thanks!
This has been The Gym Report. Good night and good sweating!
11 to Thunder Bay
Yonge and Gloucester, 11am
Scruffy Guy: (falling in line with me as I walk north) Buddy! Sir! Bud?
Me: Uh yeah?
SG: Is this the 11?
Me: –?
SG: Highway 11. To Thunder Bay?
Me: It’s the 11, all right. Dont know if it goes to Thunder Bay.
SG: mumble Thunder Bay that’s me mumble.
Me: Yeah. Longest street in the world, at least.
SG: If I don’t turn and keep going I’ll make it. Three days.
Me: Three days?
SG: I keep going!
Me: Good luck with that!
A little help…?
Does any Torontoite know of a store in Toronto that would sell a DUAL needle cartridge (DN 239) for a turntable?
I’m googled into a skewer.
The Ballad of Dogface
Sharkboy and I push open our front door and are face to snout with a slim man standing in our alcove, his miniature Daschund sniffing round the inside of our front door suspiciously.
You must know that in our neighbourhood, our front door alcove is right at a streetcar stop which people use to get out of the rain or wind while waiting for their ride. No problem. However, some use the alcove as a smoking room which stinks up into our apartment. Some use it as a washroom. Nice.
When Sharkboy said “I hope he doesn’t pee here!” he might have been a bit pushy but he was just voicing a valid concern that our doorway refugee might not had realized about our predicament. We walk on. About 10 seconds and a few metres away, we get “YES! Yes he’s going to pee!” tossed at our backs.
Whatever.
As we’re walking along Carlton, we’re passed by a streetcar and the slim man’s face is stuck out the window. Remember kids, its dangerous to stick things out the window of a moving streetcar, but this dolt had a mission. Sharkboy and I are in disagreement as to what he actually yelled, but the highly feminine slur was the same: Sharkboy thought he yelled “(something something)…You two girls!” and I thought I heard “You two Queens!” We both agreed we heard the sibilant long sssssss after.
Why he thought that attacking our sexuality was important because we suspected his dog of urinating on our doorstep is beyond me. People like this just tire me.
Now we’re walking up into Gaytown, Church and Alexander. Where we’re all equal and free and able to live our lives equally with pride and bla bla bla. And you guessed it, there he is, his precious fucking mutt in his arms because he really needed to look like Paris Hilton, sashaying right passed us, his face twisted in hope we don’t recognize him.
Here’s where Sharkboy and I agree on what happened next. Simultaneously we verbally lash out at Dogface:
Sharkboy: “Well, well. It’s HER again.”
Dead Robot: (slow, deliberate, loud) “Sssssssssssssss!!”
And all Dogface could say was “Yeah. Well!”
We laugh as she sticks her haughty nose into the air and continues on with Fluffy tucked in her arms.
Obviously this fucktard didn’t realize that attacking our sexuality was probably not the brightest thing to do, especially if he was so blatantly gay himself. And before you start flooding my comments with “Well how did you know he was gay?” just ask yourself how many times you’ve seen a low slung, buttcrack-showing jeans wearing manboy with Kate and Ashley sized sunglasses pushed up on their “Stupid Girl” face, wandering Church street and said to yourself “Jeepers. That person’s sexuality certainly is in question”. Human brains are pattern recognition machines. We are designed to judge. What we do with our judgment separates the intelligent from the animals.
“Those Retards!” Or Why You Should Avoid UPS Always.
This is a UPS rant.
I know they suck. I’ve heard the Crank Yanker tapes and seen the UPS 1-800 phone hijacking site, but do you think I listen to reason? Good lord no! They’re in my neighbourhood and closer than a post office (where the hell are the post offices these days?) so I used them to ship two identical boxes to Mike in Vancouver.
Two weeks ago. Two boxes. Identical. Going to the same address. Same day. $60+tax. 5 buisness days later, I get a call from the store on the Danforth saying that there was no door call number for Mike on the package. I email Mike for his buzz code. “It’s on the entry panel under my name,” he says. I can hear him roll his eyes from here. I call the Danforth UPS store back with his phone number and buzz code. Two days later, I get an email from Mike saying he has the delivery.
Wait 4 business days. Yesterday I get a call from an unidentifiable UPS store. The box I sent came back unaccounted for. Huh? I email Mike. “Were there two?” he asks. I can hear his eyes scrape the back of his head, they’re rolling so hard.
I call the UPS store.
“Hi, Ted here, I got a message from one of your staff saying a box I sent to Vancouver came back unclaimed?”
Pause.
“Can you help me?”
“I could if I could hear you,” says the cheery voice.
I repeat myself louder into the phone. “I sent two on the same day, to the same address.” I finish up. “He got one.”
“Those retards!”
I”m beggining to think that I am on an episode of Crank Yankers.
“You’ll resend, I’m assuming?”
“Yeup!”
“Do you need a phone number and buzz code for that box? I! Bet! You! Do!” I add sarcastically.
“Yeap!”
I give it to him. “I’ll email my friend and tell him to expect the box!”
“I’ll get right on it,” says Dan the cheeriest UPS voice, ever.
I fear that Mike will never get this box. I have tossed the receipt the day I got Mike’s first email thanking me.
Kids, always go with your gut. As soon as I walked into that store I knew I was going to have a problem. But then I thought Naaaah. That’s just a funny tv myth.
Things I’ve learned in the last 48 hours:
Trash wanders through Cabbagetown. The city does pick up large trash if you call them and ask specific direct questions. And if you put a bag of plastic hangers outside your door, it will dissapear within minutes. However, for every item you put to the curb to magically make dissapear, an equal mass of cigarette wrappers will wind up inside your front hall vestibule, making a vaguely cute a tornado swirl every time you open your door.
I am in a mortal war with food packets. On my trip down to Miami last year, I nearly doused myself and Sharkboy with Marinara sauce for my Air Canada sandwich. If we were sitting in regular seats and not the emergency leg room row, we would have covered our nice “travellin’ duds” in red sauce. Last night the enemy attacked again, spraying vinegar all over my backpack instead of my fries. At least I smelled clean all during improv class.
My company hates me. 2 days ago I found a pre-print draft of our consumer newsletter with the following amendment from a contest we were running: “Sorry! Our web designer forgot to put one of our packages in this contest on our site… (bla bla bla)” Of course, I had nothing to do with this and wasn’t presented any web amendments regarding upcoming contests. I brought this up with my boss and he promised to change it. He joked that they were going to put this as the main story, front page. “Great! OUR WEBMASTER SUCKS! in war-time font!” I said, sarcastically. His phone rang and that was that.
My coworker likes me. Today my print layout coworker taps me on the shoulder and shows me the offensive retraction showing our clients how much of a forgetful jerk I am. “Nothing like the blame game, eh? Did you know about this?” she asks. I said I knew of it but wasn’t responsible for the upload error. I didn’t mention that our boss was going to change it. She turns to her keyboard and removes “our web designer” and places “We” instead. “That’s horrid.” she says. She went right over someone’s head doing that. And I thank her.
More Mons!
Carlton Streetcar, 6pm.
At Sherbourne two teens dressed in similar, well kept shirt and tie combos climb onto the half full streetcar and start to make their way down the aisle. My iPod is on but I can see they’re engaging everyone they pass. Howdy! Hello! Good day to you!
Good lord. Mormons!
I gaze intently at the outside whizzing by as Mormon #2 passes and smiles at me. I don’t respond. Mormon #1 is trying to speak to someone near the front while Mormon #2 sits himself down beside a gay man by the rear doors. I turn my iPod down. I’m not going to miss this!
“Wonderfull weather today!”
“Yes.” Curt. The gay guy knows whats coming.
“My name is (bleh),” he says and extends his hand to be shook.
The gay guy shakes it and does this bizzare thing after. Dissmissive, flippand, his hand does a “no more, please” up in front of the Mormon’s face. The Mormon gets the hint. He gets up and wanders to the back.
As I’m leaving I make eye contact with the gay guy. I roll my eyes. He rolls his.
Comedy On the Danforth, And Other Bits
My improv instructor, Gord Oxley as well as other intrepid souls, will be braving the savage crowds at Timothys Coffee (by the Carrot Common on the Danforth) Friday night, 9pm. It’s “pay what you can” so that means bring a dollar.
On odd Friday nights (starting this St Paddy’s day) Gord’s troup The Wrecking Crew perform. On evens, its Better Than Nothing (you might recognize Angela as the woman who yells “Arriba!” to the pidgeon in the courier commercials a few months back).
Also, one of the Bad Dog Theatre alumni posted this movie a while back. Jedi Breakfast.Â
Who knew this sort of thing was going on?
The Innocent Eye Test – A 35 Second Review
I’ve asked Shelly to take a break from the reviewing seeing how this is my brother and all.
The Innocent Eye Test was the fart that Healey needed to release. Actually referring to people’s perchance to build up hate, the “fart” monologue turns out to be the most thoughtful and meaningful moment in this farce. Michael needed to get this play out there as he ventures into different writing genres. A typical Healey play is abundant with well written actrobatic comedy and Eye doesn’t dissapoint. However I’ve always equated “farce” with “Blake Edwards” (the later, forced, unfunny Blake) and this “farce” doesn’t dissapoint me in that way either.
Eye has all you’d expect in a farce: entrances, exits, slamming doors and mistaken identities, deftly handled by Christopher Newton (as an emerging actor, Michael sent Mr Newton a series of letters over a period of a year and later adapted it into a novella called “Dear Mr Newton” making Eye a bit of a cyclic moment for Healey). Eye had typical production woes as well, made evident by the loud mouthed patron behind me, eager to explain to whomever what scenes were re-written from the Winnipeg production, including the ending! Well thank you, you schmuck! Why not pull out your cell phone and do a play-by-play while you’re at it. And yeah, I know Kate Lynch too.
Eye pulls from my family life with low level reconnaisance accuracy (without giving away much of the plot): the gay husband on vacation, the Italian setting – a possible reference to my mother, my brother’s facination for the city of Vegas, vast amounts of drinking, and of course, the signature “lead character’s pants off in the saftey of their room” moment. I’m probably reading too much into all that but it’s easy to see where he’s getting his inspriation. Is my family a farce?
Who’s isn’t, when you take parts of it and put it up on stage?
In all, an excellent evening. I did find some of the Canadian vs American dialogue a bit atypical, almost mirrored from any episode of The Rick Mercer Report, but the majority of the play was brilliantly written, if I do say so myself. I have to mention the excellent work on the set design and lighting. In a farce, characters enter and exit with bravado and to have the cast all pour through Mona Lisa’s eye was a stroke of genius.
I give Innocent Eye Test an unbiased 4 out of 5.