Blackouts and styrofoam...

I came home last night to a bedroom full of styrofoam pellets. My bed was covered with the stuff. Same with my floor, my bookcase and all the clothes in my closet.

I live at a place which used to be called The Four Holes. Each building was a hole and in many ways, still is. The buildings were bought out and renovated by The Butera Group. All the addicts, hustlers, pimps, prostitutes and welfare recipients were cast aside, the rent was jacked up to prices which would be more fitting of a downtown loft and they got away with it because it's near the college. Yet they have a policy now where they don't rent out to students, which makes no sense to me.

I always make references to "purfume on a pig" when I talk about these apartments because that's exactly what was done to them. Gussied up with mass purchases designed to give the illusion of the upper-middle class. Just because one of my livingroom walls is painted plum, apparently that's supposed to mean something.

Every time a bus drives past my apartment the pig flexes and shudders. The sides of these builings are the only parts that show the pig for what it is. Giant stress cracks creep up the sides of the buildings like the makeup line on an aging stripper still trying to pass off as 25. But the life she's lived is obvious. It shows below the neck.

The old yellow brick of The Four Holes is being ingeniously covered up with styrofoam. Magical enough to make the buildings look solid, but cheap enough not to make any sort of difference whatsoever.

This is how I came to an apartment full of styrofoam. Right now the contractors have finished glueing the foam to the sides of my building and are sanding it down so that the lines between the boards doesn't look so obvious. My parking lot is covered in little styrofoam pellets and it blows around the neighbourhood like snow that never melts.

It got through my cheap bedroom windows and I spent my Friday night cleaning it up. This morning I'm dealing with the sounds of hammer drills, electric sanders and pounding on the walls of my apartment. The hammer drills actually make my room vibrate if they're close enough.

While trying to routinely go through my Saturday morning amidst the clatter, I came across this story about a celebration of the 5th anniversary of the blackout which shut down a huge chunk of the eastern seaboard.

I've always said we should reenact that event once a year and force people to actually join their community.

I'm not a fan of activist groups for the most part, but this new one out of Toronto called The Public Squares seems to have a cool idea.

"Five years ago the lights went out on some 100 million people. We spilled out of our home-box, work-box, shopping and car boxes. We stepped away from computers, microwaves and TV's. The streets became our living rooms as we shared the good company of friends and strangers alike. We rediscovered the power and vitality of the commons. Last night's temporary reclamation of Bloor & Spadina is a festive demonstration of how our city could evolve. The streets and avenues are the veins and arteries of the city. Great intersections like this one are vital organs where people are drawn to work, eat, play and commune. This connection of citizens creates a livable city in a way that an easy left turn never will. See for yourself how this thousand square feet of pavement can better serve us all. 'Get out of your box and into the square.' - the Public Squares"

After I'm finished Day 2 of cleaning my apartment of styrofoam, I think I might just get out and enjoy my community for a while.