Friday, April 08, 2005 Grit

"Jesus Christ, You nail a guy to a 2x4 and suddenly he's Gods gift to mankind"


I woke up at noon today coughing up blood. Shit I love the weekends. Right now its 7pm. I've already drank 14 cups of coffee and smoked half a pack of cigarettes. I think I might also have a lung infection.

On that cheery note....

The Beaches of Toronto is a hub of upper middle class social masturbation. Its as if Martha Stewart squatted down and aborted her magazine all over a few kilometers of prime waterfront property. Imagine this:

You are a 39 year old professional. Your husband works for an American movie company and spends more time at work than with you. He also has a girlfriend that you pretend not to know about. You are a lawyer. Your neighbor is also your sons orthodontist. She also pretends she doesn't know about your husband's girlfriend. You live in a century old house that you gut and renovate every few years. Open concept modern(1992), English Country(1998), Contemporary Californian(2000). The television you bought dominates the den where you relax. Your dining room is a museum perpetually set for a dinner party you will never have. Your maid owned the house you live in 30 years before you. She's so old you could cut her in half and count the rings. She speaks with an English accent that gives you a fulfilling idea of not being "Nouveau Riche". Your son attends a private highschool in which you are a parents committee member. He is only home for two hours a day. When he is, he calls you a whore. But that's ok because you've got Paxil(c). In the mornings he waits for you to leave for work then fucks his girlfriend on your imported Italian silk couch. When you come back from work, your liquor is gone and your CD collection is covered in a fine white dust. He spends his free time selling weed to his friends and using that money, as well as the money he stole from you to buy coke and clothing. When you were growing up your heroes were Pop Stars. Your kids heroes are crack dealers turned rap stars from Detroit. You cook dinner and your hands shake because your life is crumbling around you. You realize your life is a steaming log of highly perfumed shit served on a velvet cushion. Time for you to "Ask Your Doctor Whats Right For You".

Your house is in a neighborhood perfectly situated between a waste treatment plant and a sewer outlet. Both of these are hidden from view by trees and clever zoning. All that is visible is a massive smoke stack that looks like a cigarette. When your family was new and happy you used to go down to the beach and swim in the polluted water. You don't do that now, since your family hates you. Not that you could anyways, last summer some psychopath was burying razor blades in the sand so the beach was closed.

The old families that used to live in the neighborhood have been pushed north. Up the hill and away from the waterfront property they can no longer afford on the wages you and your neighbors pay them. This is not an exception, it is the rule. The trick is that after working so hard to create the perfect life, its just easier to try and ignore the devastating problems that have destroyed everything you worked for.

There are shadows of ugly reality left everywhere. The aging yuppies who live in the neighborhood now would never know them even if they walked past. Besides, what's the purpose of buying a $500,000 house if you wake up one night and find some slob pissing on your flowers?. Escapism is played in very different ways. It can be ignoring the homeless guy you know you see every day, or in this case one of the worst bars in Toronto located 2 blocks from your parked Lexus. Reality is becoming a symptom of fantasy withdrawl.

Located conveniently within walking distance to or from the local police station, this bar runs out of a converted coffee shop. You can still see the donuts sign underneath the thin paint that now reads "Sports Bar". When you walk in, the first thing you'll notice are the Christmas lights strung around the room. These, as well as the remaining shreds of paper streamers are the owners attempt at making the place look hospitable. The walls are tiled like a public washroom, (I should add that on occasion it does in fact serve as a public washroom). The tile is half painted over in pink and a sick green colour. The floors are bare concrete grided with the marks of where the linoleum used to be. The song "Brothers In Arms" plays on repeat from stolen speakers rigged together with exposed wiring running from a greasy looking jukebox. There is one beer on tap. "Cool", a low priced beer that tastes a lot like malt liquor, its served from a kitchen facet somehow rigged to the keg tap.

When you sit down, you notice that the tables and chairs are the type you find in a McDonald's. The chairs swivel and are attached to the table. The tables are bolted to the ground. The owners are from Beijing. A husband and wife that bought the place from the owner of another bar I mentioned in a previous story. In China, the wife used to dance professionally in Chinese Classical Opera, you can tell she misses it. In the center of the room is a pool table that is the battle ground of the various factions that go there. I've been visiting this place for a year now. When you're bored and want to be a tourist for reality, its cheaper than a movie and more entertaining.

My friends and I arrived there at about 10pm after we had split a 40 of whiskey down at the waterfront. When we arrived at the "Sports Bar", the place was nearly empty for a Saturday night. There was a group of Natives that have tried to pick fights with us and befriended us alternately over the year, but today they were keeping to themselves. The crack heads who run in and out over the course of the night were also strangely absent. Usually I'll be sitting and talking with my friends when one of them will come out of no where, take the empty seat and begin talking. Usually beginning with "Spare a Smoke" "Spare a dollar" "Spare whatever you have that I might want". After saying no repeatedly and deciding we can't be punked, they usually threaten to kill us, then befriend us and tell their life story. "I work for the TTC" or "I got shot last week", it doesn't matter, whatever they say is usually bullshit, but its amusing as long as they don't pull a knife.

"Sing", is the nickname given to the co-owner of the place. Sing likes my friends and I because we don't fight, we spend a lot of money and we are respectful of her business. We like Sing because she is amusing. Sing speaks in a mix of proper English and street slang she has learned from school and the patrons. When we sit down Sing dances over to us with a sincere smile and tells us she loves us and that we have a "solid crew".

The only other person in the bar is an Asian-Indian sitting by himself in the corner. He's wearing track pants and a fur jacket. He looks about 40 years old has unwashed matted hair and meticulously plucked eyebrows. He sits with one leg crossed over the other and is very flamboyantly gay. He's screaming at Sing that she is flirting with "These Beautiful Hunks" and warning Sing's husband that she is going to cheat on him. Sing, on the other hand is smiling and attempting to ignore him while playing a game of pool. Being ignored, the guy screams louder and then after finishing another beer he gets up from the table. In the door way he reaches down the back of his track pants, down his underwear and pulls a joint out of his ass. He proceeds to go out side and smoke it while everyone looks in disgust. When he comes back, he settles himself behind his beer, and starts up again. Think about that. This guy was sitting there screaming and drinking beer since before my friends and I arrived. We must have been drinking for about an hour before he decided to get up and do this. Which means he carried a tightly rolled paper wrapped joint in his ass for atleast an hour before deciding that it was just the right time to smoke it. Now THAT, is a special kind of crazy.

"Sing, look at all these people, Red, Orange, Brown! Looks at all the Hunks you are flirting with!"

He says this in a surprisingly educated English accent. He screams again

"Flirting with Indians!"

Now, this is the thing. This bar does have all sorts of people in it. Among them, Asian-Indians, and Natives. Natives who do not like being called Indians. One of the natives gets up from his table and approaches the guy in the corner. The guy screams with wild bug eyes "Get away from me you awful man!" he throws his hands up in the air and shakes the curtains behind him. The other guy laughs. The crazy still has the look of terror on his face and crawls over his table spilling his beer and breaking the pint glass. The Native guy is still laughing. No longer cornered, the crazy is now insulted by the laughter and decided to get even. Sing is busy cleaning up the mess while a friend of mine helps her. The Crazy then crawls onto the pool table, squatting under the lamp set over it. He's screaming about "the awful coloured people". My friends and I sit looking at each other, we're all trying to decide whether we can take this anymore, looking for the clue of "lets leave" on our faces. Always a tourist, I look over and realize the crazy is being pulled off of the table and beaten. At first I thought it was just because he was disrupting the game, then I realized he had dropped his pants and had taken a shit on the pool table. We left the bar, and walked out on to the street surrounded by half million dollar homes. I will never play pool there again.

If you ever go there, the bar has Wanton Soup for $4.00 when you buy a beer ($3 a pint) the soup can also be substituted for a plate of 6 dumplings.