Nuit Blanche

Part 1 (In which I am enchanted and confused in equal parts by art installations)

Nuit Blanche is a night in which Toronto is turned into an all night giant art exhibition. Free art installations fill the streets and people spend all night wandering the streets until 7am when they presumably go and discuss it in a coffee shop somewhere.
We started at the TIFF cinema where we saw a film called 101 zombie deaths which was a collection of zombie death scenes from scores of different zombie films from the 60s all the way up to the modern day. Whilst this was undeniably awesome, I did wonder where the border line between art and youtube fan film was drawn. I guess having a french title helps (cent une tueries de zombies), although that probably counts for less in a bilingual country.
The next piece of performance art confused me further; a selection of youtube videos played on the big screen with audience interaction via twitter and the two energetic and entusiastic hosts commentating on what we were seeing. The grand finale was a live performance by a youtube hit caberet act, again with the audience joining in. If any art historians are looking for a topic for a thesis I'm sure there is one in here somewhere.

Out on the streets was much less social media based. My fave bits were: the drunken lamp-posts, the space invaders that were invading King Street West and the graffiti artist using icing (or frosting).

Sweet Canadian graffiti

The life cycle of a lettuce. With a flaming pyramid.

Nuit Blanche translates as "bad night to choose to drive"

Ruthless in their predictability

Don't just stand there, run!

Don't know what this is.

"I'm fine to cycle home"

As we got further up Yonge St the crowds got busier and drunker and by the time we reached Dundas square we decided to jump on the subway and head home. Fortunately there was a disturbingly convincing Batman also catching the subway home, so at least we felt safe.







Part 2 (in which I don't buy a watch)

The Eaton centre is a mall in the centre of Toronto, mostly upmarket shops and designer stores. They have a flock of geese flying down through the central atrium, attempting to land just in front of Oakley. I assume they are of the Canadian variety, but I'm no expert.
I was killing time one afternoon and found myself wanting to look at watches in Fossil. Lately, I haven't been wearing a watch. I guess I missed it. In fact I had been regulalrly going into the Fossil shop in Cambridge to look at the watches there, no intention of buying one, but I liked to look at them.
Anyway, as soon as I was 2 paces in the door I was greeted by a young man working there. Not just greeted, he actually walked across the shop to talk to me personally. I could tell he was much cooler than I was, he was wearing a scarf indoors and I felt like I'd maybe made a mistake in coming into the shop in the first place. He could tell I didn't belong there. "I'm just browsing". Get that in there quick, be straight, no awkwardness further down the line. He can ignore me and I can look at the watches in peace. But he isn't going. He wants to have a conversation. Asks me where I'm from. Sheffield? Why does he want to talk to me? No, Cambridge, I reply. (It's only later that I think on how strange a guess Sheffield is. And not an outrageous suggestion either, certainly more accurate than Cambridge. He was probably quite proud of his ability to pick up on accents and now I've shattered his confidence. He won't dare try again. Well, I wouldn't. He's probably got far more self assurance than me.)

But why does he insist on having a conversation? I'm really not that interesting. He keeps picking out watches and forcing them into my hands. "I'm not on comission" he assures me. Then why do you care? What's going on here? Why is he so keen to show me watches?
"I'll be back" I tell him as I dash from the shop. I won't be. Far too stressful. Not that I blame him, I just find any sincere interest in me as a person as suspicious. I think I now understand why customer service in England is so rubbish; we just couldn't handle people being nice to us all the time.