Back in August, I went to the ninetieth anniversary celebrations at the Music Hall on Danforth. It was difficult to resist the lure of seeing a silent movie with live accompaniment for a loonie, even though I had a pile of work to do that night.
Two problems during the evening:
1) The number of speakers before the movie should have been cut in half due to the ludicrous amount of shilling for an upcoming production of the Toxic Avenger musical. By the third or fourth pitch to see Toxie sing, I came this close to fleeing. I waited for a dignitary to fall to their knees and plead with the audience to buy tickets for the musical like a televangelist sobbing for money.
2) The DVD froze around the middle of the film. The piano player improvised as the film moved at a rate of one frame per minute, but even he threw up his hands when the pace crawled to a standstill. At least one cry to fix the machine came from the audience, which soon prompted an intermission. It was smooth sailing for the rest of the night.
Common Green Damer Dragonfly. Taken at Point Pelee, August 3, 2009. Placed here for no particular reason.
Disagreeing with the way David Miller has governed Toronto is one thing. Some comments left on local media sites since Miller announced he won't run for a third term are mindboggling—they feel like the antics of s**t-disturbers or sad cries for attention from lonely, embittered people chained to their computers.
Oh dear, the latter succeeded...
Memo to self: when visiting the Leslie Spit after sunset in late August, bring plenty of bug repellent. Other than that, it's a lovely spot to spend a Saturday evening in the summer with fellow psychogeographers.
One stumbling block: the start of the walk coincided with the end of an evening charity run. I discovered this when I reached a police stop at Leslie and Commissioners. Suffering from my usual state of nervousness whenever doing something technically against rules of any sort (the spit officially closes at sunset), I told the officer I was headed to T&T on Cherry Street. After taking the roundabout route to the spit, I met up with those who had biked to the park entrance and we waited for the last batch of runners to stagger by before heading in. My level of paranoia was, as usual, unjustified—nobody said anything about our presence.
The glow of the city
We stopped by the lighthouse, where another group had come to rest. They were stunned when they learned we had walked down to the tip. The bugs put a slight damper on a celebratory birthday drink for one member of the expedition, but it was a relaxing spot to spend the evening gathered around candlelight.
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