On the Danforth Online

Why the toilet is hub of literary activity

By Naoko Asano

At the intersection of public and private space is that muddy area known as the public bathroom. This space accommodates the performance of a very private biological function but is also an open gathering place for strangers. Because of this weird convergence of public and private, public bathrooms are particularly well suited to a unique form of art: graffiti. It’s the stuff found scrawled all over the stall or elsewhere on bathroom walls — confessional rants, political diatribes, jokes, gibberish, doodles, phone numbers — and after a quick survey of the public bathrooms in cafés, restaurants and bars along the Danforth you can see how common this form of self-expression is. What distinguishes bathroom graffiti from the ordinary street variety is that its practitioners aren’t skilled artists who engage in high-risk vandalism, but rather they are regular folk who answer nature’s call anonymously. This — the notion of the toilet as a locus of secret self-expression — is what makes bathroom graffiti worth noticing.

Graffiti itself is an old practice

Take, for instance, the discovery of ancient wall writing in Pompeii. Modern street graffiti has been granted some form of artistic and economic legitimacy in recent times. Though not similarly validated, bathroom graffiti is a thriving form of cost-free communication. The bulk of it consists of spontaneous writing, a kind of self-expression that allows people to scribble down some tentative ideas on whatever subject interests them at that specific moment. It is uncensored and unexpected thought — part of the appeal of bathroom graffiti is discovering it in the most unusual places. In one restaurant on the Danforth, in a clean and well-appointed bathroom, there is a lengthy back-and-forth dialogue about what it means for a woman to marry. The reader, alone inside the stall, is left to wonder what inspired someone to contribute to this low-tech message board. Whether the words are pretentious or stupid, provocative or clever, people feel compelled to set them down in ink. Not to mention the thrill of transgression — the walls of a public bathroom offer a kind of protection that allows people to make their thoughts public without having to worry about being caught. It’s a kind of non-committal soapbox, taking private thoughts into the pubic realm without sacrificing the identity of the author.

Bathroom graffiti is a captivating form of art vandalism that hasn’t gone entirely unnoticed. As a mode of public writing, it has occasionally been acknowledged as a source of fascination, if indirectly, by writers of fiction. John Cheever’s story “Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin” uses bathroom graffiti as a way of discussing a character’s alienation from a society he’s been absent from for too long. The story’s protagonist returns to New York from Europe only to notice an unusual style of prose scribbled on the walls of several public bathrooms. He begins to suspect that this graffiti is evidence of a new style of writing, and his reaction to it drives the story forward. Stephen King likewise makes dramatic use of a character’s noticing of bathroom graffiti in his story “All That You Love Will Be Carried Away.” Both stories show how taking graffiti seriously is seen as strange. The focus is not on the practice of writing bathroom graffiti, or on the morally problematic aspect of art-as-vandalism, but rather on the act of noticing this apparently perverse phenomenon. The particular pleasure in reading bathroom graffiti comes from a necessary dose of voyeurism. We are observing a stranger’s private thoughts in a place that, by its very intimate nature, gives the whole experience an almost absurd quality.

Experiencing bathroom graffiti

There are websites devoted to collecting the experience of bathroom graffiti, posting examples either in photographs or text-only versions. But the best way to appreciate bathroom graffiti is to see it for yourself. Like found art, contextualizing it is needed in order for it to really leave an impression. Recasting street art in a lavatory setting means that the visual impact is inevitably lessened. While the graffiti you see out in the open is often quite graphic and beautiful, the stuff you see in the stall consists mostly of graffiti in its most basic form: words.  And yet the special thrill of discovering one person’s funny observation, or being angered by another’s myopic worldview, comes from the authenticity of the experience and the access to private thoughts made anonymously public. A toilet stall provides an egalitarian platform — writing on the wall requires no special skill or authority, no costly supplies or painstaking preparation. The writers seek no recognition, and the point isn’t for them to mean anything, to intend anything, but rather simply to act, impulsively, to scribble something. It’s what people have been doing since they learned to hold a pen — using language to make a record of experience.

How the funeral industry profits from grief

By Cynthia Lessard

“I think we should make a guest list,” my mother said. We were sitting in our customary seats next to each other, she on the faded sofa and I on the matching loveseat, separated by a coffee table where we usually place our drinks. “You girls will be there obviously. Colleen, Shar, Peggy. I don’t know about Phil. My brother Terry definitely not…”

“A guest list?” I asked. “Should I hire a bouncer too?” We laughed, both fans of black humour. The event we were planning was her funeral.

My mother (my best friend) was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer when I was thirteen; she was forty-six. Her prognosis was good — the doctors anticipated a full recovery subsequent to her having a lumpectomy, chemotherapy, and radiation. She went into remission and joined RowBust, a dragon boat team for breast cancer survivors. For all my adolescent self knew, life was back to normal. Cancer became nothing but an unpleasant memory for me — a thief who stole a year from our family and lurked outside our house threatening to steal more time.

But it recurred. The cancer reappeared in her left breast and pre-cancerous cells were detected in the right. She gave up her breasts, those all-important curves that mark the transition from childhood to womanhood, in order to save her life.

Then it spread — to her bones and her ovaries, to her brain. For the next ten years, cancer turned my mother’s body into her enemy; her skin was a prison from which she could not escape. Every pain, no matter how slight, caused her mental anguish. In all that time, I never asked my mother about death. I had seen her through the most complicated experimental surgeries; she had suffered through so many injections that her veins collapsed and she needed a special nursing team to administer her chemo. The way I figured it, my mother was a warrior and she would not die until she was good and ready. So I did not ask, but I think she knew that when she chose death, I would be the one left to deal with the aftermath.

At first, like many people, she assumed she would have a traditional church funeral followed by a wake. As her disease progressed, however, our conversations about death, funerals, and even heaven changed. She began to question the ritual and its cost. She adopted the attitude that funerals were fine for some, especially those who died suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving friends and loved ones shocked and grief-stricken. “I’ve been dying for close to ten years,” my mother said one day. “If my friends want to say goodbye, they can do it while I still have the chance to say ‘see you soon!’”

When my father was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer, our house was in foreclosure in lieu of property taxes. With this financial setback, and feeling the alienation produced by terminal illness, my mother decided not to have a funeral. I was happy. After dealing with the physical and emotional exhaustion of working to pay the family’s bills, accompanying both my parents to and from doctor’s appointments, administering needles and medication, and going to school, I did not have any energy left to plan a funeral. I had no idea that the hidden costs of sheltering their bodies and signing death certificates would be so exorbitant. It was difficult for me to realize that had my parents wanted funerals, I would not have been able to afford them on my own and would have gone into debt to pay for the kind of send-off they deserved.

My parents did not want to die at home — my mother felt that this would create an unnatural attachment to the house and she feared that we might never move out. My father was the first to be admitted to the palliative care department at Parkwood Hospital in London, Ontario. This is when the costs associated with death became very clear to me. My mother and I sat in a comfortable room on the fifth floor that was designed to look like a living room in a family home, complete with cushy sofas, a kitchen and dining room, and a piano — a convincing show, save for the boxes of tissue on every surface. A kind but terse social worker asked us about funeral arrangements and I had to explain that we had decided not to have funerals. She explained to me that we still needed to contact a funeral home to have a place to transfer the body and arrange for either burial or cremation.

Luckily, my mom was good friends with Leon Gregory, a funeral director at a local funeral home. He was a gentle bear-like man, extremely sensitive and perceptive. His views on funerals and their associated costs were similar to my mom’s. “Put me in a box and throw some dirt on me” were his exact words.

We never actually went to the funeral home until after my father had died. My mother, my sister, and I arrived at the funeral home a few hours after seeing my father for the last time. His body was already there. They charged us $250 for the transfer from the hospital to the funeral home and another $100 to transfer his body to the crematorium. “Couldn’t you just transfer him directly to the crematorium without bringing him to the funeral home since we aren’t actually having a service?” I asked.

“Oh no, we never do that!” said the funeral director (not Leon, as he was on vacation at the time). This man was slightly insensitive and short with us, all business: “We need to prepare and shelter the remains.” That was another $100.

“What’s involved in this ‘preparing and sheltering’ if he’s being cremated?” my mother asked, tired and dizzy from a recent round of intense radiation to her brain.

“Well, he needs to be put in a container for cremation. We have some fine solid pine…” he said. I looked at the price list he’d handed me: $650 for a container that was going to be burned to ash. “We have a reinforced cardboard container for just $275 if cost is an issue. He has to be in some kind of container for cremation. Oh, and we have payment plans.”

We didn’t need a payment plan, we needed the services to be more affordable. We knew that the arrangements we wanted would be covered by the Canada Pension Plan (CPP) Death Benefit, a one-time lump-sum payment to the deceased person’s estate after death. The benefit maxes out at $2500, depending on how much and for how long the deceased has paid into the CPP, which is enough to cover paperwork and cremation, but not enough for services. I used to think that all Canadians were eligible for this benefit and was shocked to see that it only goes to those who have paid a significant amount into the CPP. What happens to the people who work many part-time jobs and don’t make significant CPP contributions, or to those who die when they are young? Does the family have to incur the costs themselves?

In total, we spent the entire maximum death benefit on the arrangements and cremation — nothing fancy. The bulk of the money, $695, was spent on meeting the funeral director just to sign the documents. Less than two weeks later I was back at the funeral home with my mother, but this time we were in different rooms and in different states of being, and I was signing her paperwork.

Most people don’t know what their loved ones want when they die. Most people don’t ever have that conversation. They step into the funeral home and are willing to pay any price to show the world their love. If my parents had wanted to be buried in pure gold coffins lined with silk, I would have found a way to finance it. Associating money with love is a mistake everyone makes, and is why the funeral industry can charge so much for their services. Grief-stricken people do not have the time or mental energy to ask why services are so expensive. It’s not that I think the funeral industry is unimportant; they provide an essential service. I just think that if my parents had wanted a service, I should not have to go into debt to pay for it. Fortunately, we had talked about my parents’ wishes and I knew that they wanted nothing more than for me to carry them home, which is what I did. I drove to the funeral home after they had been cremated and carried their ashes in my arms, surprised by how light they felt.

By Rachel Horner

Cycling in Toronto has exploded as the choice alternative to motorized transit. Although getting around by bike has always been the perfect compliment to an eco-friendly, economical, and healthy lifestyle, it is only since the wild fluctuation of gas prices that motorists have sat up and taken notice of the bicycle and the increasing number of cyclists on the city’s roads.

When I was a child, I’d spend every waking moment on my bike. When puberty struck, the bicycle became a source of social awkwardness and a hindrance to looking cool. The echoes of the taunts about my helmet haunted me from bike rack to door step. My shame on two wheels sat in my parents’ garage collecting dust for the better part of my adolescence.

In my early twenties I rediscovered the joy of cycling, recapturing the feeling I had known in my youth. I went all-out this time. I spent an entire paycheque on a three-speed cruiser with a cushy, shock-absorbent seat, a bell, a removable basket, and a helmet with a flaming skull on the front. It was, and is, my pride and joy.

If you haven’t been on a bike in awhile, fear not. There are plenty of Toronto-based groups with dedicated members and experts eager to share their love of cycling and local cycle-culture. The first step is to get yourself a bicycle (if you don’t have one already).

Types of Bikes for the Urban Cyclist

ROAD BIKE: There are a variety of categories for road bikes: touring, racing, and sport. But they all share some common qualities. A road bike will range from 12 to 21 speeds. They are either built for speed, as with the racing bike, or comfort, as with the touring bike. The sport bike is a clever combination of the racing and touring bike, therefore making it a versatile vehicle. These bikes are great for long rides and long distances.

HYBRID: If the mountain bike and the road bike had a love child, the hybrid would be it. This is the perfect bike for riding around town and taking care of business — it is best for short rides and commutes. Generally a hybrid will have 21 gears and an upright riding position. Hybrids have inherited the sturdiness of the mountain bike, but are lighter weight, although with slightly less zip than the road bike.

Cycling in Toronto doesn’t have to just be about transportation: many people have turned to cycling to express their desire for a more sustainable way of living. Groups such as the Toronto Cyclists’ Union advocate creating infrastructure exclusively for cyclists, and improving the safety of cycling in the city. Although the Toronto Cyclists’ Union is relatively new on the scene, founded in 2008, they are sure to make a positive impact for cyclists all over the city with their ambitious “Paint the Plan” campaign.

The best places for newbie cyclists to get information are probably online and at their local bike shop. Most community groups have a site that provides accurate and up-to-date information about the activities and collective concerns of their members. Similarly, the City of Toronto’s website has all sorts of useful information ranging from course listings, route maps, bicycle registration, and theft prevention to register your bike with the Toronto Police, lists of bylaws, and other necessary resources for new and veteran cyclists.

Bike Repair Courses

Bicycle maintenance doesn’t have to be a daunting experience. With a few basic tools and a little patience, you can help keep your bike in top-form with some very basic techniques.

For example, cleaning your bike chain takes just a few easy steps and items you likely already have around your house: a mild citrus solvent, a sturdy rag, and your favourite type of bicycle lube (don’t even think about replacing bike lube with your preferred brand of cooking oil or motor oil). For greater ease, turn your bicycle upside down so the saddle and handle bars are supporting the rest of the bicycle. Spray the rag with the solvent and hold the rag around the chain, wiping away all the excess grime that has accumulated in the teeth of the chain. If the chain is more pigpen-esque than you had previously imagined, a little dish detergent in water will help where the solvent might have failed. Once your chain is clean, apply the bicycle-specific lube of your choice.

Another easy way to maintain your bicycle is to check your tire pressure before you set out for a ride. The air pressure gauge for your tires should be located on the sidewall. Keeping the right amount of pressure will ensure that your tires last longer and that your ride will be easier. You can pick up a tire pressure gauge at your local bike shop and most hardware stores.

The Multi-Tool: Your New Best Friend

Forget about spending hundreds of dollars on tools to keep your bike in shipshape. For the savvy beginner, the best investment you can make is purchasing a multi-tool. Not only do they have all the necessary allen keys and screwdrivers you will need, but they are portable and affordable. Brands that come highly recommended by local enthusiasts are Crank Brothers [www.crankbrothers.com] and Topeak.[http://www.topeak.com/] Recommended: Cyclemania at 281 Danforth Avenue.
For those who want to get zen about the art of bicycle maintenance, you might want to check out the resources below:

The Community Bicycle Network
761 Queen Street West, Toronto
The Community Bicycle Network (where Wenches with Wrenches is housed) offers courses with experienced mechanics and limited class sizes. Not only will they save you money on your future repairs, they’ll also instill you with a sense of pride and confidence. The CBN offers more than just courses — they also provide inexpensive bicycle rentals, used bicycle sales, and skills courses on navigating the urban landscape by bike.

Wenches with Wrenches
Run for women, by women, Wenches with Wrenches hosts a variety of workshops that make basic bicycle repair and maintenance skills accessible. At the same time, the workshops draw on the tradition of knowledge-sharing between women who have gathered together in a safe, friendly place — much like a stitch n’ bitch, but with a more bike-centric theme.

Courses by the CBN and Wenches with Wrenches are offered at various intervals throughout the year. Check their website for the latest news and schedules.

Get Involved!

They may not be in Greektown, but they’re good eggs — Wenches with Wrenches and the CBN seek volunteers to help keep their programs running. It’s a great opportunity to get your hands dirty and make a difference in your community. Please see their websites, listed above, for more details.

Don’t Get Busted

Think riding a bike makes you immune from the rules of the road? Think again: not only do you have to obey regular traffic laws, but there are other laws that apply specifically to cyclists.

• According to the Ontario Highway Traffic Act, it is illegal to have a defective bell on your bicycle — this seemingly minor infraction could land you a hefty fine of $110.
• Bill-124 was adopted by the legislature and came into effect on October 1, 1995, requiring cyclists under the age of 18 years to wear helmets.
• Riding a bike makes you a part of traffic, and you can therefore be charged with offenses ranging from careless driving, to operating an unsafe vehicle — both have expensive fines attached.

By Jason Rhyno

Aside from his wonderfully wicked humour, what we love about Jon Dore is that he has fully staffed The Jon Dore Television Show with his friends and fellow comedians. The award-winning, Gemini-nominated show is equal parts satirical shock and sheer honesty, and the fact that he makes a point of hiring and working with his friends is, to steal a line from Jon, “rad to the boner.”

Did you study comedy?
I took a kindergarten stand-up comedy class when I was five. I did a TV Broadcasting course at Algonquin College in Ottawa. That’s around the same time I started doing stand-up.

How old are you now?
59.

So you just learned from watching other comics?
Yeah, a lot of trial and error. It was a lot of getting over nerves and learning how to write a joke [...] until I was finally happy with what I was doing and how I was telling jokes. And that’s still changing to this day. It was a lot of watching as much comedy as you can and doing as much comedy as you can.

Who did you watch?
My favorite would probably be Steve Martin even though I didn’t get into his stuff until later on. The girls on The View are hilarious. There are so many comics — Louis CK, the South Park guys, Mr. Show — those would be huge influences.

The playful, exploratory format of the show is interesting. Can you talk a bit about the writing process?
When the writers and I get together, we start with an accessible story so that’s the most important. I had a fear of bats growing up, so we’ll explore the topic of fear and sometimes we’ll have to narrow the topic or broaden the topic. We try to find a story that my character can either relate to — or not relate to — but it might be a bigger topic in the world or a personal problem.

How do you handle some of the harsher critical reviews of your show?
I get a bottle of scotch and a revolver and take a long look at myself in the mirror.

The beard is in. How has the beard changed your life? From grooming to eating to lovemaking?
I actually just shaved my beard. I made sure to make love to it before I flushed it down the toilet. I made love to it before I shaved it off…I was impressed too.

What Canadian comics do you like?
Mark Forward, who also writes on our show. Steve Patterson, who also writes on our show and is also my roommate. Seán Cullen, to me, is probably the funniest person alive.

How important is it to work with your friends?
Very, very important — it’s the most important thing. They know me very well. They are the funniest people in my life so I trust them, and I think they trust me. Beyond the writers and the actors, the directors we have on the show are close friends of mine that share similar sensibilities, and are brilliant. Ed MacDonald is a brilliant writer. Our art director is a friend of mine from way back, and she’s brilliant. Making the show is the most fun because we are all friends and we all laugh. For me, I would hate to go into work and not feel comfortable and not enjoy it.

Reading anything lately? Favourite book?
I am currently reading Hooking Up with Tila Tequila: A Guide to Love, Fame, Happiness, Success, and Being the Life of the Party. My favourite book is the bible. It’s hilarious.

What music are you listening to?
Bill Haley and the Comets. Mostly the Comets.

Best comedy club in Toronto?
There are so many. I perform a lot at Yuk Yuk’s downtown; the Rivoli is a great stage. The Comedy Bar is a lot of fun. I can’t pick one, they’re all different.

Favourite pub?
The Old Nick, man!

Best local beer?
The best local beer is Heineken if you are in Amsterdam.