Wednesday, October 11, 2006

myth and the city

I find the concepts of myth and urbanism combining in my mind more and more lately. There's magic in cities, and there's heroes and heroines, legends, and - if a neighbourhood's been around long enough - there's folklore.

As I experience the stop-and-go rhythms of rush hour traffic in my daily commute to work; it leaves me quite a bit of time to examine the scenery. This is where myth comes into play, as strange, fantastical tales develop in my head, but in an urban setting.

Old school fairytales a la Hans Christian Andersen, mix with the multi-racial city of my imagination, all to a Roni Size-influenced soundtrack.

I amuse myself by picturing Queen Street West yuppies running around and screaming, spilling their extra-hot soy lattes (no whipped, please), as Toronto gets attacked by a raging dragon. God knows how many airport limo drivers out there think I'm crazy, as they honk and overtake me as I sit there, giggling.

It's a pastiche of childhood literary memories, altered by an infatuation with pulp fiction and real beat poetry, combined with environmental concerns, and interpreted in the context of an ongoing lover's brawl with the city I live in.

The Little Mermaid becomes a horrific genetic mutation - half snakehead, half human, and nowhere near amazing. She haunts my nightmares, reeking of sewage, wearing zebra mussels as pasties. Take it as a warning.

Snow White's an African albino, modelled after an old acquaintance called Yellowman, who hustles her way through the city, loses seven years to mental illness, and is finally rescued, not by a white prince on a white horse, but by the implementation of culturally aware social services.

I gotta write this down.

Monday, October 02, 2006

the things people say, now/every night and every day, now

Hanging out in Yorkville for Toronto's very successful rip off of Nuit Blanche reminded me why sometimes, I really do like this city. Props to the organisers, I was well impressed and I had a blast - thank you.

The night started off by finding a free parking spot within five minutes of getting to Yorkville (score!), walking past oodles of yuppies to the ROM, where we checked out a fascinating and stimulating exhibit by Cuban artist Carlos Garaicoa. The ROM was crazy packed with families, couples, singles, and just peoplepoeplepeople of all ages checking it out. It wasn't just about the exhibition (which was amazing), as it was about the fact that here was a public space open to everybody for an entire night. This is what cultural accessibility is all about.

Afterward, we decided to make a cameo at the Ballroom Party, which consisted of a gymnasium, hundreds of balloon-like balls, and 10 year old DJs. Let me tell you, there is nothing cuter than 10 year old DJs. Not even fluffy little bunnies.

Due to time constraints, we were only able to check out a few other spots really briefly, but that little dose of fun was great.

Saturday night was all about eavesdropping and overheard fragments of conversations. As private conversations were made accessible by the simple act of having them in a public place, I managed to collect quite a few snippets of conversation.

Eavesdropping is the aural equivalent of voyeurism; there's a secret delight in receiving information you have no right to. Engaging in passive eavesdropping, as well as passive voyeurism, when there is no perverse intent behind it, is like finding a treat.

Here are a few of my favourites from Saturday night:

Two older ladies, yelled at the Bloor/Avenue intersection:
"Do you know the story about the opaque glass [in the ROM's crystal]?" "Which story?" "You know, about the opaque glass." "Yes."

Gino, on cellphone:
"We're on Dundas West.... we'll meet you on Dundas West..." (repeat til fade)

Two youths, outside the Ballroom party venue:
"Is this where the kids are?" "Darren's thing?" "Yeah." "I think this is it."

In the smoking section of a house party (a.k.a. the front porch):
"AKS.KJNKJBFDW:KF(@MNSE@END{@F#@*&@$UHSGRK;JHP&T@PIUHJ"
There were about 20 people on the porch, and I swear, everyone was talking, no-one was listening, and I couldn't make out a single word from the cacophony.

And the best - a totally random and apparently unsolicited - from a young tall male:
"Eeeuuuuurrrggghhh!"