Just polished off my post-superbowl adventure on Storehouse . What a crazy night. Used to seek this kind of thing with my pals in university, fuelled by youth and a case of beer. Astoundingly, I chose to head out into last Sunday’s storm sober as judge, minus the wisdom.
If you played the video game Myst back in the day, the RC Harris Water Treatment Facility at the east end of The Beach may seem strangely familiar. Standing on its grounds, you can feel like you’re the last person on earth, having stumbled upon an elaborate operation of vague purpose and wondering what happened to its occupants, and if they’ll be back.
Built throughout the 1930s by little-known architect Thomas Canfield Pomphrey and named for the public works commissioner at the time, the facility still supplies Toronto with about a third of its drinking water, pumped all the way up from the middle of the Lake Ontario, treated, then pumped all the way north to Markham and west to Rosedale. It’s an eerie place, and one of coolest examples of art deco this side of the Don (and granted National Engineering Historic Site status in 1992).
I live near the treatment plant and spend a fair amount here, walking the dog or going for a run. The facility’s main buildings and intersecting road sprawl over a 2-3 block stretch at the end of Queen street, a.k.a., the end of Toronto. Imposing as a fortress, the largest building stands guard atop a hill over Lake Ontario, as if scanning for enemy yankee ships bound from Rochester. There’s a real dash of style to the place too, exemplified by the elaborate and repeating artwork and statues etched within the stone walls of the complex’s three buildings’ and the expansive, rising windows that look out on to the lake.
Peering through the windows at the rows of antiquated valves, tanks and gauges, with nary an employee insight, compels you to find a way in and explore some more. Apparently that’s not all that difficult, or mysterious: you can go on a tour of the facilities, when the doors open to the public once a year (count me in). Check out out, at the end of the world. Or for the lazy and still underwhelmed, here it is in 90-seconds.
Terry stood still, poised on one foot, the other frozen in forward motion as he watched for signs of life from Sharon. When the door bell rang again, Sharon sighed and rolled over toward the opposite wall. 3 tentative steps later, Terry slipped out the bedroom door. Getting rid of the front door pest -priority number 1; reconciling how he ended up in the sack with, technically speaking, a member of his family – priority #2.
The bright light that streamed through the front door window of his cousin’s flat felt like daggers. As Jerry opened the door, he vaguely realized he too was nude. Perfect. He hoped the arse on the other side of door had a coronary.
As Jerry prepared to confront the ringer in full frontal, he almost felt disappointed when nobody stood on the other side to witness his full splendour. ‘Christ’, Jerry muttered and went to close the door.
That’s when he noticed the small, brown paper package lying on the doormat, addressed to him.
I got a new lens for Christmas and I think my family feels like they’re being stalked. It’s a 35mm lens that allows for decent shots, portraits especially, in low light without needing to use your crappy built-in flash which tends to wash the main subject with stark, artificial light.
Here are some of the results from tailing Kristin, Sunny and the kids throughout the house over the holidays looking more and more like a hobo in my pyjamas and scraggly holiday beard. The rest from the holidays are here on Flickr.
When the buzzing finally woke Terry from his vodka-fueled slumber, he was not amused. Each successive ring acted like a drill, probing his heavily-cocooned consciousness, until it hit pay dirt, his eyes shot open. Confused, nauseous and grappling with what felt like a rodent, furiously scratching at the middle of his forehead from the inside out, Terry struggled to comprehend the source of his sonic torment, emanating throughout his cousin’s apartment. His ‘aha’ moment unfolded upon the 8th shrilling ring; it came from downstairs he thought… the front hallway?… the doorbell!
Terry rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the bedroom door, eyes half shut, intending to politely shoo away the Jehovah’s Witness, or UPS dude, or whomever had forced this far-to-early-in-the-morning reckoning with his hangover. As he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite the bed, though, Terry surmised two factors that would temporarily impede his forward mobility: 1) He was completely nude 2) His cousin’s wife lay sleeping in the bed.
I like to walk through this section of downtown Toronto, usually after lunch, between Bathurst and Spadina just north of Front. There’s some great architecture, where ad agencies and cafes have taken up residence in old garment factory buildings, while the business core’s skyscrapers looming over to the east.
But there’s this small park, Victoria Memorial Square, that I like the most, partly as an oasis in a busy stretch of town, but also for the really old headstones (in north american terms), running parallel to Portland st.
You don’t see headstones this old in Toronto; in fact, they are the oldest in downtown Toronto, restored by the neighbourhood’s association and city council to commemorate what was once the burial site of Toronto’s first European settlers.
Dating back to 1793, I like how the headstones symmetrically line up in one, discreet section of the park, both perfectly restored yet with inscriptions slowly fading from historical record. The deceased include Governor James Simcoe’s infant daughter and a sailor who drowned on Lake Ontario.
You can forgive yourself for writing off Buzzfeed’s content as uneven at best, what with coverage from the flames of Ferguson sharing close quarters on its homepage this morning with Baby Alia and her best friend Daisy the sloth. At least Buzzfeed is covering some real news, and reporting on it it quite well, with live updates throughout the night from Buzzfeed reporters on the ground in Ferguson. There’s also their recent, doozy-of-an Uber exec scoop. Both good signs that young folk, despite ‘conventional wisdom’, don’t exclusively obsess on french poodle GIFs and listicles. The Buzzfeed staff know this , because their user analytics play a big role in Ferguson coverage occupying the top slot right now, if not 15 minutes from now.
Maybe Buzzfeed covers real news now more than I give them credit for. I only really drop in to the site occasionally to try and
steal glean a bit of youthful zeitgeist, mostly for my job. Yet only after reading this Business Insider article on Buzzfeed’s release of its latest user numbers did I appreciate Buzzfeed’s potential to shape the future of content consumption, and the economic implications therein. Not surprisingly, Buzzfeed’s monthly millennial reach (again, caveat, according to Buzzfeed) easily outstrips traditional media, such as FOX, CBS and MTV. What’s more interesting, is its out-of-the-gates success in original video content via Buzzfeed Motion Pictures, with average monthly video views growing to whopping 500,000,000 in a year with help from syndication on the usual suspects, including Facebook and YouTube. Further, half of its users watch Buzzfeed’s ad-supported video content on mobile devices, with video views peaking in the evening, aka, traditional TV viewing hours, aka prime TV advertising hours.
Of course it’s in Buzzfeed’s interest to paint a picture of a future media universe with them at the centre. Millennials still likely watch their fair share of TV, but it does seem to ring true that a lot of them are probably doing it while keeping an eye on their phone, on sites like Buzzfeed, especially during TV ad breaks, enjoying Buzzfeed content supported by Buzzfeed’s display and video ads, instead of that 30-second spot on the boob tube. More at Business Insider.
Hogtown has endless interesting vantage points on the CN Tower. I also work pretty much right under it, so maybe that’s why it seems to
watch me follow me wherever I go. It’s easy to forget what an amazing structure the C.N. Tower is when you live here, but I find myself seeing it with fresh eyes these days with a renewed interest in photography. It manages to maintain a modern feel while still reminding me of 1977 (or 1987, 2nd shot below), around when it first rose over a more quaint Toronto ‘The Good’.
I don’t know for how long though, all the condos going up downtown look intent on consuming even this grand lady.
If we can make your audio and video files smaller, we can make cancer smaller. And hunger. And… AIDS. Gavin Belson, CEO, Hooli, HBO’s Silicon Valley.
Okay, massive editorial swing today from the warm and fuzzy, to mad-as-hell tech industry truther! At least I’m not writing it from my mother’s basement. This is pretty juicy though:
Uber (synonyms ‘above’, ‘superior’), the extremely well bankrolled Silicon Valley startup car service is in more hot water, now approaching a boiling point. Today news broke on Buzzfeed that one of Uber’s senior executives and advisor to the Pentagon mused openly to a Buzzfeed editor about spending in the six figures to hire a team of ‘opposition researchers’ tasked with personally smearing media members not on their BFF list, namely, popular PandoDaily tech writer Sarah Lacy – and her family.
When confronted with a wave of backlash (check out #uber for a sample), the exec explained that the conversation was supposed to be off the record and didn’t reflect his or his company’s views.
This reminds me of an extreme version of the kind of vibe I’ve felt in dealing with some folks at big silicon valley companies, who brim with the sanctimonious corporate kool aid.
Hubris at the height of another tech bubble, or the shape of things to come? Either way, it feels like a creepy technological aristocracy forming in a place that still prides itself as revolutionary.