Category: It Happened to Me

As if the evening weren’t going badly enough (and unbloggably, I’m afraid), I got robbed last night.

I was busking outside Amato’s Pizza, trying to push away the less-than-fun events that took place earlier that evening. I was a little distracted, so my form was terrible. I was missing notes that I normally never missed, screwing up solos that I can play in my sleep and forgetting lyrics that I can remember even after many pints of beer. Still, getting outside and doing something even vaguely productive helps take the edge off. In spite of my terrible playing, I was still making money — I had about thirty or thrity-five bucks in loonies and toonies in my cap.

A couple of weeks ago, B., a street kid who got thrown out of her house for swearing and listing to Marilyn Manson CDs, had warned me about a guy who’d been going around Queen Street West stealing money from buskers and panhandlers. His modus operandi was simple enough: he’d run down the sidewalk towards a busker, slow down just enough to be able to grab his hat or guitar case, and then escape around the nearest corner. Buskers were probably very easy marks; they’re too busy trying to entertain their crowd, and it’s difficult to chase someone while you’ve got an instrument strapped on.

I was in the middle of fumbling my way through Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap when he appeared. A scruffy guy in a blue denim jacket and black jeans pushed through the crowd of exiting club-goers that typically gathered around the pizza place. B., who was there, yelled “Look out! It’s him!” He ran by me and In one smooth motion, he stooped and scooped the baseball cap that held all the change I’d made. There was no way I’d be able to catch up with him with my accordion strapped on. I barely had time to reach for my unopened bottle of Diet Coke at throw it at his head. It winged his ear, but since the bottle was plastic, it didn’t slow him down a bit. A couple of guys who were watching me put down their pizza slices and chased him, but they were too late.

One of the people who saw it happen gave me a fiver out of sympathy. Thank you, whoever you are.

I played a little longer, after which I packed up my accordion and joined some friends from Thirsty People of Toronto, who were going to check out a house party down the street. As I left, I tossed a toonie in B.’s hat.

“After what happened, you don’t really have to,” she said.

Not true. Craptacular as the night was, I was still going to sleep in a king-size bed with a roof over my head. She was going to crash in a sleeping bag in the park on a night when it might rain.

“I need the karma,” I replied. “I’m trying to end the evening on an up note.”

Last Thursday’s Reclaim the Streets party was a success and fun to boot. The group gathering at Denison Square Park in Kensington Market. At about 7:30, an open topped U-Haul trailer full of musicans, their instruments and their amplifiers (surrounded by other walking musicians) started leading the parade down Denison towards Queen Street West. We went east on Queen Street West, taking up the eastbound lanes until we reached the corner of Queen and Spadina, where we were joined by a pipes-and-drums marching band, took up the intersection for about 10 minutes and then proceeded east to City Hall. From City Hall, we went to the Eaton Centre, Yonge Street was closed anyway — there was some kind of construction that took up the entire block south of Yonge and Shuter. At the Eaton Centre, they brought out a sound system and turntables, after which some of Toronto’s finest DJs started spinning tunes.

This year’s Reclaim the Streets certainly went more smoothly than last year’s. It looks as though the organizers made arrangements to have bicycle police escort the parade and it doesn’t seem as if anyone got arrested. Just in case, people handed out small leaflets with the phone number of the Reclaim the Streets designated legal support line and reminded people that if they are arrested, they need only provide their name, address and date of birth (sounds rather like “if captured, give the enemy only your name, rank and serial number!”). Kudos to the organizers, attendees and cops for all doing their part in making it run smoothly.

I took pictures, but right now my Flashpath card readers seems to have gone AWOL. As soon as I find it, I’ll upload them.

And now, my observations…

Chalk

An annoying trend on the rise in left-leaning demonstrations and rallies is the organizers and participants try to incorporate as many causes as possible into their event. There were signs of this in the sidewalk chalk slogans left by the Reclaimers. There were the ones that you’d expect — ones that I would’ve written:

• Use public transport
• Streets are for people
• Less cars, more bikes
• Walk, it’s good for you
• Partying is not a crime

Then there were some that weren’t quite related:

• Smash the state
• Anarchy now
• Read between the lines (written between the cross-hatches marking a pedestrian crosswalk; nicely done)
• Plant a tree

And those that came in from — pardon the pun — left field:

• Off the pigs
• Free Palestine
• Stop the so-called “War on Terrorism”
• THIEFT (my personal favourite, written outside one of the entrances to the Eaton Centre)

Gasoline

A conversation that took place on Queen Street West, near University Avenue:

Her: Gasoline and oil have caused nothing but war and pollution. I think we should stop using non-human powered vehicles. I don’t even use the TTC anymore — it’s walking or my bike.

Me: I wouldn’t rule it out entirely. Sometimes only a car or truck will do. What about…

I paused for a moment, because I was about to say “police”, but for the sake of not getting into a side argument, I skipped mentioning them.

Me: …um, an ambulance? Or the fire department? I don’t think I want to stick them with bikes. Or even horse-drawn carts. In an emergency, you want those guys to show up with lots of equipment, and pronto.

I suppose I could’ve gone farther and said that horse-drawn carts might be considered animal slave labour, but that might’ve been pushing my luck.

Her: (Silently tilting head to one side.)

Me: And there’s kids. My sister has a son who’s turning one…

I flip on the display on my digital camera and do a quick search…I find a couple of shots of my nephew Aidan. This is a completely cheeseball debating tactic, but hey, I was feeling a little testy.

Her: (Looking at the display) Awww….

All too easy.

Me: Anyhow, kids are really difficult to haul around, she’s a doctor with a busy schedule and a baby makes for a helluva lot of groceries. The baby bike seat might be fine on a nice summer’s day, but what about a blizzard in February? Sometimes only a car will do.

Her: Okay. But what about pollution?

Me: Hey, you don’t have to sell me on that. I go to Manila every year or so, and yeah, I’ve seen the brown haze over the city. You don’t have to tell me what a lot of cars — with old engines that haven’t had a tune-up in years — can do.

Her: Yeah, I’ve seen that too. I backpacked through Asia last year. That’s where I got this T-shirt.

She points to her Beerlao T-shirt. Beerlao is a brand of beer available in Laos.

Me: I take it you flew there rather than sailed? In an airplane, I’ll bet. A gasoline-powered airplane.

(Yes, I know that airplanes are fueled with jet fuel, not gasoline. I’m going for debating points here.)

Her: Okay, point taken.

Me: Hey, we’re relying on gasoline right now.

Her: Where? Even the U-Haul trailer is being pushed by hand.

Me: The power for the band’s amps — they’re using a generator.

Her: It’s not batteries?

Me: Listen for the thing that sounds like a lawnmower.

Her: I was wondering what that was!

Why are We Here?

At City Hall, a Chinese woman and her friend asked some of us what was going on. There was a bit of a language barrier, despite the fact she spoke English fluently…

Woman: So what is this demonstration about?

Dude: Well, it’s kind of like this, see…we’re against oppression.

Woman: What kind of oppression?

Dude: People who don’t like freedom. Like, police.

Woman: So this is about police brutality?

Dude: Well, no, not exactly. It’s like…why do they always have to come down when all we want to do is party?

Woman: So this is just a party?

Dude: No, dude, it’s like we’re making a statement. About war. And freedom. And…

Another Dude: (to Dude) Yo, man, Henry’s got a big fat J ready for us. C’mon!

Dude: Gotta run.

Dude runs off after Another Dude, presumably to partake in the smoking of aforementioned J.

Woman: (to me, with that “I hope I get a more satisfactory answer out of you / you can never get a straight answer out of a gwei lo” look): So what is this demonstration about?

Me: It’s called Reclaim the Streets, and it’s a reminder that streets are for people and not necessarily just for cars. It’s also about being able to organize a party without getting the assistance of a corporation or necessarily having to get City Hall approval for a gathering. And having fun while you’re at it. At least that’s how I interpret it.

Woman: I understand now. Thank you. Have fun!

A Little Joyous Noise

At the corner of Yonge and Dundas, some old men were handing out Bibles.

Bible-thumper: Please, take one (proffers a pocket Bible).

Man: (looking at Bible and recoiling, as if he were being handed a severed human head) Yiiiii!

Me: It’s not toxic. (To Bible-thumper) I’ll take one, I lost mine (I take it and put it in my pocket).

Really, I can’t find my copy. Some fundie friends of my parents gave them a gold-leaf trimmed copy of the King James version (“the only true version“, they said), which my folks then gave to me. It usually sits on my bookshelf beside the Bhagavad-Gita and for extra0flaky contrast, the Urantia Book. Did I lend it out to someone? I can’t recall.

Man: Not my scene. I’m a Buddhist.

Me: That doesn’t rule out reading the Bible. Buddhists consider the teachings of many other religions valid. They consider Christ to have been enlightened.

Man: No shit?

Me: Ever read Living Buddha, Living Christ?

Man: Um…never even heard of it.

Of course not. I decided to adminsiter the “Are you really a Buddhist, or are you doing the religion-as-fashion-statement thing” test.

Me: You know the Four Noble Truths, right?

Man: Uh…I’m still new at it…life is suffering, um…

Me: There’s the one with desire…

Man: That it! Desire sucks…then the eight paths…

I can see Siddhartha himself saying, “Yo! Desire sucks, dawg!”

Me: Three down, one to go.

Man: Uh…

Me: You can be happy and suffering can be kicked.

Man: You sure?

Me: Pretty sure. But I’d ask one of the Men In Orange just to be certain.

The Bible-thumpers look a bit sad; there’s a whole crowd of young people here, and nobody’s interested in what they’re giving away for free. I decide to cheer them up a little.

Me: You like you could use a song.

Bible-thumper: Do you know any hymns?

Me: They’re not part of my usual repertoire, but I do know Amazing Grace. Even the lyrics.

I play some intro chords, and then we start. Another Bible-thumper joins us, and together we are an old black man, and old white man and a young Asian guy. A couple of kids, who somehow knew the lyrics also joined in. It probably looked like a Benetton ad aimed at Holy Rollas.

Peacemaker

At this point in the party, we’d all settled down in front of the Eaton Centre and the dance party on the street has begun. One of the Chicks Dig It DJs is sitting cross-legged on the asphalt, spinning some drum and bass on the turntables, which are just sitting on the street. I’m playing accordion over the beats, accompanied by a couple of guys who brought their African drums.

I decide it’s time to talk to the cops. I walk over to a phalanx of officers, all sitting on their white police-issue mountain bikes, watching the scene. I appraoch the one who’s most likely to have a sense of humour; he has a bell on his bike that’s shaped like a pig.

Me: Evenin’, officer.

Cop 1: Hey there.

Me: How’ve the kids been tonight? No one giving you a hard time?

Cop 2: Not really. Only a couple aren’t happy to see us and are itching for some kind of confrontation, but most of the people here have been pretty good.

Me: So what’s the plan now that they’ve set up the dance party?

Cop 1: We’re here until it’s over, when everyone gets tired and goes home.

Cop 2: Yeah, we don’t care. We’re gettimg time-and-a-half for this.

Cop 1: Just looks like kids dancing to me.

Cop 2: (Pointing to my accordion) Can you play that?

Me: Sure. Want a song?

Cop 1: Yeah.

I sing Born to be Wild, during which an older cop walks over to listen.

Older Cop: That was nice. Who does that song?

Cop 1 and 2 laugh at the older cop’s uncoolness in failing to recognize a popular song that’s a quarter-century old.

Cop 2: That was Steppenwolf, man!

Cop 1: It was in Easy Rider! With Jack Nicholson in the football helmet!

Me: Hey, guys, can I pose with you for a picture?

Cop 1: Sure. Here, you get between us.

I hand my camera to someone to take our picture, bid the cops farewell and return to the dancing.

Dude: Whoa, Accordion Dude! You were talking with the cops! You got your picture taken with them!

Me: Yeah. They don’t seem to mind this thing and are going to let us stay until we get bored. Nice guys.

Dude: Whoa, dude! You made peace with them!

Me: No, they’d already decided that this thing was okay…

Dude: You’re like…like…that guy, Hakuna Matata!

Me: Like who?

Dude: Hakuna Matata! You know, the Indian peace dude! And his massive resistance!

Me: Uh….you mean Mahatma Gandhi…and I think it’s passive resistance.

Dude: Yeah! That’s it!

The one-line conclusion

Next year, let’s not reclaim the streets — let’s reclaim the Board of Education and occupy the building until kids aren’t as thick.

My personal trainer found a sponsor for his entry into a bodybuilding competition and hasn’t been seen since. No one — not even his co-workers at the gym — know where he is. Emil (one of the trainers) and I discussed this.

Emil: Hey there. Say, you lost some weight?

Me: I did?

Emil: Since I last saw you. You look thinner, especially about the face.

Me: Well, you’re the second person to notice my getting into shape. You’re not as cute, but thank you.

Emil: Heh. The workouts going well for you?

Me: Yeah, and the meal plan that Mike set up for me helped, too.

Emil: Ah, Mike. We [points to a co-worker] were just talking about him. Nobody knows where he is.

Me: He didn’t even tell the managers he was leaving?

Emil: No, he just…disappeared [makes a gesture with both hands, as if disappearing in a puff of smoke].

Me: Weird.

Emil: And it’s hard to imagine him disappearing. You can’t easily hide that much muscle. When he was training for the competition, he got really huge.

Me: Drinking all that WheyDelicious pays off.

Emil: “Delicious chocolate flavour!”

Me: Every now and again I throw in a scoop of ice cream. It’s not bad.

Emil: It’s pricey. But Mike said he could get it for me cheaper than retail.

Me: You know, he said the same thing to me too. And in a under-the-table kind of way — as if he were a guy dealing pot. He said he could get me Nitro-Tech bars and WheyDelicious at a serious discount.

Emil: Yeah, he always got quiet whenever he talked about the deals on supplements.

Me: You’d think there was a protein mob.

Emil: A creatine mafia.

Me: A cartel that controls all the whey, soy and red meat in the world. Big Protein.

Emil: Maybe he double-crossed ’em.

Me: Mess the with protein mob, pay the price.

My friend Jay Goldman drove to New York this weekend. He decided to try the legendary Grimaldi’s pizza under the Brooklyn Bridge, which consistently ranks first in the Zagat survey year after year. While waiting in line, he struck up a conversation with a woman who turned out to have the same camera as he did. As the conversation progressed, he found out that she was also originally from Canada, as were her husband and the two friends from out of town that they were showing about. The woman and her hubby, it turned out, went to Queen’s University; the hubby was a manager at the engineering pub where I was the DJ and wrote for the weekly humour paper whose offices were my second home.

Jay thought that there were too many coincidences not to ask “You wouldn’t happen to know Joey deVilla, would you?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” she exclaimed. “Does he know everybody?”

The woman in line was my friend Alicia (a.k.a. “Leesh”), the hubby my old buddy George (they’re the people who are neither me nor Iron Chef Japanese in this picture), and the two out-of-towners with them were my pals Chris and Rob, who’d gone down to Manhattan for the H2K2 conference.

The fact that I can exasperate Leesh even from a great distance amuses me to no end.

Dude 1: These two guys walk up to a whorehouse…

Dude 2: I like this joke already.