The Crazies of Kensington

Spent a long time at the doctor's office with my mom today. While sitting around in the waiting room watching the motion sensor lights go on and off (for no reason. There is enough light in the room. I'm convinced it's just there to distract the patients.), I started to think about the really eccentric people who lived (and probably still live) in Kensington Market in Toronto. The three that immediately came to mind were these:

First is the middle-aged Green Mohawk Guy. He was probably the nicest of the three (this is based on the fact that he said hi (or otherwise acknowledged her existence) when Z said hi). He usually hung around on the corner of Augusta and Baldwin with some other buddies. I'm not sure how old he is or what he does, but there was an air about him that seemed to me like he owned that corner of Kensington.  Badass but relatively approachable.

And then there's the Cat Man. Also middle-aged, but he was a little less approachable than GMG, mostly because he usually walked around the market yelling at people or grumbling incoherently to himself. He always wore a giant backpack, on which two or three leashed cats sat napping. The idea of a man walking around with cats on leashes is cute . . . but I generally tried to stay out of his way.

Finally, there's the Bicycle Lady. She had floofy blonde hair, pointy sunglasses, and a polka-dotted fur coat and rode around the market on a tiny bicycle. She yelled at my mom for staring at her once. (Fair enough; my mom has a tendency to ogle.) Slightly aggressive, but generally harmless, methinks.

I imagine Kensington's already changed a lot in the last three years, but I'd like to go back one day . . .

Kensington Fire

M and Z have left. I miss them already!

Talking to Z about our roomiehood in Toronto reminded me of the gigantic fire that burned down the house/garage directly next to our apartment. Marlowe was over, and we were eating dinner and watching Lost or something on TV. I was just popping into my room to look for something during the commercial break when I saw something orange moving outside of my window.

The house next to us was up in flames. We went around to the emergency exit to take a look (stupid), and we couldn't even step outside because it was so hot. While Zane and I ran around panicking and trying to grab things, Marlowe calmly called 911 (who was already at the site, we realized when we went outside) and pulled the fire alarm in the apartment. We grabbed our stuff, knocked on everyone's doors, and left the building. There was a great hubbub outside with three or four fire trucks and a bunch of spectators. The street behind us, where the building was burning, was too narrow for the trucks to get to, so it took them till late in the evening to put out the fire. We stayed over at Marlowe's house for the night because our apartment was kind of smokey. Fortunately, our apartment was completely unaffected and the smokiness was all gone by the next day.

Anyway, a few days later we found out that the building was a grow-op, and indeed, there were a ton of planters discarded on the property.

Also, I drew myself with a backpack on, but in fact, I'd only taken my purse. Because I'm an idiot. I don't even think I took my passport with me . . . this is how well I cope with emergency situations.

Anywho. Found a CTV article on the Kensington fire. It's weird to think that this is already three years ago!