I’ve been living in Toronto since 2005. An ex of mine convinced me that moving here with him would be the best thing ever. We had been broken up since just before the millennium after he had decided on our third year anniversary to take me to a friend’s cottage for a week and tell me he had slept with someone behind my back. Nonetheless we remained friends for way too many years after that and yes I still followed his ass to the big city. We had a couple of okay years as roomies but both our baggage, or should I say luggage, got in the way. I’ve long forgiven him, and one would hope he’s done the same, but a million years later I’m just too old to give a shit.
The ever changing face of relationships is not unlike the face of this great city since I arrived at in 2005. Dundas Square was still a quaint hang out spot for vendors and cheap gifts and it was just sleazy enough you could find a good adult shop without some messed up religious group trying to hand you their great holy book to save you from the wrath of the fire demon. Yup, it was family owned eateries and dildo shops up along the Yonge Street strip. Now Dundas Square is this itty bitty Time Square and all the vendors were told to beat it and replaced with groups like “Do you know what the bible is really about?” and “The other holy book part two” and of course that guy that yells, “Praise!!” all the time just when you pass him so he scares the holy crap right out of you.
The condos are getting taller. That frank leader from the south has had his name removed since his hay day in our apologetic country. Oh, we will hate you. We will just apologize for hating you. And let’s face it, he should be hated.
Even my blog has been witness to the ever closing mom and pop shops since my first blog in 2010. So many cute little places have been bull dozed down to put up a condo lot. There isn’t even enough room to park so the city is trying desperately to build this cross town thing in the hopes that maybe some of us will move out to the suburbs and travel in on their magic train.
I could actually change my blog to “Bruce in the City that’s raping it’s culture for high rises”. Where, by the way, people don’t even live. They are bought out as investment properties by people in foreign countries to buy and sell and the windows remain void of life but that wouldn’t be any fun would it. It’s such a weird time we are living in isn’t it?
The faces we once knew as our friends, as our city, as our planet, are looking like strangers. The more and more strange, the more the faces change. Thank God there is the blog. Maybe the one thing constant is an ever active facelift. Let’s just hope in all the sculpting we don’t find ourselves regretful.
Dedicated to the late great King of Pop Michael Jackson (born Aug 9th)
Editor: Mary Ellen Monk