On this month’s City Council agenda: inclusionary zoning, pot crackdowns in midtown, licensing landlords, and our financial future.
A spring afternoon in Trinity-Bellwoods, at a picnic table with a small bottle of Coke and fries with pepper mayo from Chippy’s. Perfect weather, and the time of day when the sun is so golden it hurts.
Just finished reading Cary Fagan’s City Hall & Mrs. God (Mercury Press, 1990), a vivid tour through Toronto’s richest and poorest echelons as they race further away from each other. Pre-amalgamation. A lot has changed, a lot hasn’t. There are many familiar names.
A trio of chirping robins descends on me, sensing uneaten fries. In the shade of the trees the tightrope walkers are practising.
I ought to be writing things. Most immediately, an ebook on internet privacy, but also just stuff in general, like that essay on urbanism and liberation theology I’ve been meaning to prod into shape. Right now everything is building up to the AMC. After that I can catch my breath.
I don’t need to know you to believe you. I don’t need to know what happened to you. I don’t need to know how “severe” or “serious” it was, because we should take all sexual assault seriously. Period.
For people I know, this is what I would say to them. And to people I don’t…I just felt we ought to have something, somewhere, on some semi-official platform, that isn’t blaming or questioning or denying.
Yesterday some lady complained about strollers and so everyone’s complaining about strollers and I complain about people complaining about strollers.