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How to Address the Toronto Housing Crisis While Benefiting Both Homeowners and Renters, and Without Costing Taxpayers a Dime.

2020.09.29 21:58 matthewkoehler How to Address the Toronto Housing Crisis While Benefiting Both Homeowners and Renters, and Without Costing Taxpayers a Dime.

The average rent for a one bedroom apartment in Toronto was $2,013 for September 2020 according to With the most recent data provided by Statistics Canada showing a median monthly pre-tax income of $2,883 in 2018 for Toronto, this equates to $2,361 after taxes. Leaving a very comfortable $348 left for all other expenses. Clearly something needs to be done to address the affordability crisis in this city.
With a moderate increase in density in residential neighbourhoods we could significantly increase the supply of new rental units. A bylaw change which allows for one additional storey in residential neighbourhoods provided the additional square footage is allocated to a rental unit is one way in which this could be accomplished. See *link* for more detail on how this can be done.
There are 341,755 single- or semi-detached homes in Toronto, with the number increasing to 846,405 when considering the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). By promoting the construction of one rental unit per home we can apply a sustained downwards pressure on rental rates across the city for years to come.
This policy will tackle the housing crisis without the need for increased government spending, a factor which is especially important given the record ballooning debt of both Ontario and Canada.
One of the key benefits to this policy is that it benefits both renters and homeowners, a critical consideration when attempting to garner political support.
Benefits to Homeowners of Constructing a Rental Unit Under Proposed Program
1 - Providing a new source of monthly income.
2 - Providing a viable long term housing solution for elderly family members, children, individuals with special needs and others.
3 - Increasing the value of your home.
4 - Retaining all of your current living space, while being allowed to build higher to accommodate a rental unit. See *link* for more detail.
Below you will find economic, social and environmental reasoning for this policy.
Economic Reasons
1 - Expanding the labour force capable of contributing to housing supply.
2 - Reducing bureaucratic inefficiencies.
3 - By allowing for stick frame construction up to 4 stories we allow for construction methods of approximately 30-35% lower cost in comparison with typical Toronto condominiums.
4 - Stabilizing the cost of doing business in Toronto.
5 - Fostering a competitive marketplace in the construction industry.
6 - Supporting thousands of well paying construction jobs in the city of Toronto.
Social Reasons
1 - It is detrimental to social cohesion to allow housing costs to rise to the point where many Torontonians are unable to live in the city.
2 - The neighborhood in which you grow up is one of the most statistically significant predictors of socioeconomic status later in life. Segregating Toronto neighborhoods based on wealth inhibits socioeconomic mobility as well as eroding social trust in our society.
3 - Helping to create more livable communities.
Environmental Reasons
1 - Combating climate change and protecting the health of local ecosystems.
Informative links
Examples of Other Governments Taking Similar Approaches
submitted by matthewkoehler to urbanplanning [link] [comments]

2020.09.29 20:02 CrowgirlC Rich kid I dated ten years ago sent me a surprise email. Yikes! This is a weird story...

Some background:
Hi everyone! I'm in a weird situation. Some guy I dated ten years ago just emailed me, out of the blue. I haven't communicated with him since 2011. Honestly, I moved on with my life and completely forgot about him. I'm in a very happy relationship that's been going on for three years. So I have no interest in dating him again. And he doesn't want to date me either. We're not even friends, so this is very sudden.
Anyway, first you need some context for my situation. Here it is:
Back in 2011, I was poor and my ex-boyfriend Michael was financially supporting me. I was living with Michael, while openly dating other guys. I was 27 years old at the time. I found a 23 year old guy on Plenty of Fish named Alex, who was very cute. We went on about three dates. After our first date, it was obvious to me that Alex was rich. He worked as a carpenter, and yet he drove a Lexus and a Ferrari. By date two, I found out that he lived with his parents between two homes, one in Mississauga (Toronto) and the other in the Haliburton Highlands, a rural area in Ontario, Canada where a lot of rich people have country mansions.
On date three, I spent a weekend at the mansion of Alex's family in the Haliburton Highlands. His mom was some sort of Bay Street portfolio manager and his dad was an insurance industry executive. THAT'S how a 23 year old carpenter drives a Lexus and a Ferrari! When he lives with his multimillionaire parents and they buy everything for him!
His family had a lot of boats on their lakefront Haliburton Highlands property. No yachts, but four power boats with a seating capacity of 6-20 people each, and a sailboat. We took a couple of boat rides across the lake during that weekend. Alex's parents were watching me very closely, and apparently I looked awkward while boarding and getting off of their boats. Plus Alex made me smoke far into the bush on their property so that his parents wouldn't see that I was a cigarette smoker.
At the end of our Haliburton Highlands weekend date with his family, his mom insisted that Alex drive me back home to Toronto. Apparently his parents decided I wasn't "good enough" for their son and didn't want him to date me ever again. They made a class judgment based on my awkwardness with boating. Meanwhile, Alex couldn't follow his parents' footsteps in high finance and insurance apparently because of his dyslexia. So his parents kind of encouraged his pursuit of carpentry, but at the same time, I think a part of them was ashamed that he was doing real work for a career.
I was very hurt by the experience and I also thought Alex was pathetic if his parents were making his dating decisions at age 23. I concluded that rich people were assholes and decided to never date a rich kid ever again.
A twist!
Alex was exploring his bisexuality and he felt like being a bit rebellious behind his parents' back. We had sex a couple of times while we dated and I'm female. We secretly emailed each other a couple of times after his parents rejected me. My ex-boyfriend I was living with, Michael, is also bisexual. We all agreed to have a threesome at Michael's house.
After that threesome, I never heard from Alex ever again. Until that email I got from him yesterday!
Without revealing any specifc identities, here's the email:
"I hope you are doing well. And I hope you and anyone you know is safe from Covid . I saw your twitter account, and it looks like your doing well. I wanted to apologize for how I was . It was not a good part of my life. And I was very drunk and not happy. And I’m sorry if I hurt you. Anywho. I was also wondering if you could share contact info for Michael with me. I was hoping to talk to him about a few things as I actually have a lot in common with him these days than ever. And if you have Instagram you could see why. In any case. Wishing you the best and hope your happy."
My life after Alex:
Actually no, I don't have an Instgram account, and I have largely forgotten about Alex since 2011. Here's what happened in my life between 2011 and now! I moved out of Michael's house near the end of the year. I fell in love with a poor guy named Sean, and we were in a serious relationship from the end of 2011 to the middle of 2016. During my five years with Sean, we were homeless for a lot of that time. When we weren't homeless, we were living in the slums of Toronto, in deep poverty.
During that time, I gradually built a career researching and writing about cybersecurity. I just kept posting my cybersecurity/computer technology related writing online until it turned into a viable career. I broke up with Sean in September 2016 because I realized that living with him was going to doom me to a life of poverty and horrible luck.
I started dating an eccentric musician named Rob later that month. I moved in with Rob by October 2016. We lived together as boyfriend/girlfriend until we broke up in February 2018. By the end of 2016, my career had EXPLODED. I got my first big break. I got offers to write for a lot of tech company blogs. Between 2016 and now, I've written for these tech companies: AT&T, BlackBerry, Venafi, Sophos, Kaspersky, and many others you may not have heard of. By early 2017, I started making enough money from my writing to live pretty well!
So by the time Rob and I broke up in February 2018, I was able to fully support myself and maintain a middle class lifestyle. I eventually started renting a luxury condo on the Toronto waterfront. I'm not RICH, I'm still probably "middle class" at best. But given the years of poverty I have lived, "middle class" seems like being rich to me. I don't care about money when I go grocery shopping! I was eating in nice restaurants once or twice a week until COVID hit! I have all the clothes and shoes that I want. My writing income hasn't made me a millionaire, but it's nice to be able to live well without worrying about how I'm going to pay my bills. And for pretty much the first time in my life, I'm financially independent. I even have a book that'll be published by a major publisher this December. I'm 36 years old, and I think I can just keep writing books for the rest of my life.
I've been with my boyfriend Jason since March 2018. We don't live together, and we're both financially independent. And we're not going to ever have kids. I think the fact that we stay over at each other's apartments once per week and we don't need financial support from each other is really one of the keys to the success of our relationship. We're also very candid with each other. I tell Jason everything, and I've told him everything I've written in this post. I've also shown Jason the email Alex sent me.
I don't speak to Michael very often, but we still have each other's email addresses and we're on generally good terms.
Honestly, an evil side to me is wondering if there's some way I can exploit Alex in this situation. "I can give you Michael's email address if you send me $50,000!" Heheheheheheh. Obviously Alex wants to have sex with Michael again.
I haven't responded to Alex's email yet. I don't need any money from Alex, but I'd be as happy to receive a few thousand bucks from a desperate rich kid (well now, a desperate 32 year old rich MAN) as anyone else would be. There's also an insecure part of me that wants to show Alex that I'm a VERY RESPECTABLE WOMAN WITH A VERY RESPECTABLE CAREER NOW. lol
What should I do?
submitted by CrowgirlC to Advice [link] [comments]

2020.09.29 02:49 Gorgenapper One year review of my 2019 IS350 AWD F-Sport

tl;dr - I chose the IS350 over some of its competitors because of Lexus reliability. I was willing to give up some power and tech in exchange for the build quality and reliability. My decision to go with the IS350 is not for everyone (nor should it be, as car purchases are very much a personal decision).
What other cars did I look at?
I wanted something that had ~300hp, AWD, 4 doors + folding rear seats, hatch/sedan, and it had to be very reliable. My previous car was a 2010 Mazdaspeed 3 (that I bought new) and I enjoyed every minute of ownership, but it was time for an upgrade to AWD.
The front runners were the Kia Stinger GT (20th Anniversary edition), Genesis G70. Others that I considered: Golf R, Focus RS, STI, M235i xDrive, 340i xDrive (before they changed it to the M340i), S4, C43, Infiniti Q50 Red Sport. The Stinger GT was the only one that came very close to getting my vote because it had a hatchback, all the tech I could want, twin turbo V6 and AWD.
It's Atomic Silver. The 3IS exterior design is still relevant today even though it is over 6 years old now. In my opinion, the Lexus designers really nailed it with the flowing body lines from the roof/hood/sides and rising up from the rear portion of the side skirts to converge on the taillights. I will say that the 2021 3.5IS refresh looks more aggressive and the designers outdid themselves, but the 3IS still holds its own.
Some people hate the Lexus grill, others love them. I'm obviously in the latter camp, and I loved it right from the very start when I first saw one driving around Toronto 6 years ago. The aggressive look is what Lexus needed to get younger buyers in the door.
The tailpipes are real and not molded into the bumper, and I like their squared off shape. The decklid can accommodate a spoiler, but I prefer it without one.
F-Sport wheels are a really good OEM design that were inspired by the LFA. The color is just right to hide brake dust and it complements all the available colors. Sizes are 225/40/18 front, 255/35/18 rear so tires rotations are not possible, sadly. This is just me, but I like 18" wheels over the trend towards 19" ~ 20" wheels - tires are cheaper and are available across more models/manufacturers, the wheels are lighter, and it still looks low profile.
In the winter, I use GTS G505 wheels and Bridgestone Blizzak WS90s (17x8, 225/45/17 all around). These are excellent for the winters here in SW Ontario.
I chose Rioja Red for the Nuluxe interior (which is a type of vinyl that mimics leather). It is a shade of medium red that's one or two steps below what we would consider a bright red. It looks remarkably like its namesake. I've always had dark-colored cloth / leather in my previous cars, so red is a welcome change. The Nuluxe feels good to sit in and touch and it doesn't seem to hit the temperature extremes that real leather is known for. It fits well with the overall black sporty interior.
The steering wheel is good - thick, nicely padded on the sides with grippy perforated leather, and just the right size. It is definitely not as big as the wheel on my family's RX350. It is electric power steering and it is not as heavy or precise in feel compared to a hydraulic setup, but I got used to it within a couple of weeks. It's still fairly heavy, there is no dead spot anywhere, and the response is still immediate and precise. Paddle shifters are the right size, are plastic but they still feel solid enough, and are mounted on the wheel (my preference).
Turn signals are the type which return to center, no matter what. You can tap it up or down to flash 3 times, and you can tap it in the opposite direction to cancel a signal. I prefer the traditional turn signals that only return to center after you make a turn, but I got used to the new ones after a while.
The F-Sport gauge is fun to look at, and also fun to move around, but I left it alone after about a month of ownership. There are definitely some useful things inside it like G-force meter, settings for lane departure/forward collision, TPMS readings and other stuff, but all I need is a speedometer, tach, gear indicator, fuel/coolant gauges. The gauge cluster will always reset to the default center position when you shut the car off.
All the buttons and switchgear look great, and have a high quality touch/tactile feedback. I like the look and feel of the shift lever with its aluminum accent. It has the traditional Toyota shift pattern where you have to move the lever to the right to get it from P down to D, which means that if you push up from D, it'll go into N and no further unless you move the lever over and to the right to get around the 'hump'. Previous years of the IS had a faux aluminum plastic trim with a diamond pattern, but mine has a dark brushed aluminum that, IMO, is probably the best type of surface because it hides the dust, does not scratch easily and it doesn't clash with the rest of the interior. This trim can be found on the doors and on the HVAC stack.
Speaking of the HVAC stack / radio, it looks like a Sony or Nakamichi tape deck. The volume and tuning knobs are made of milled aluminum, and they have a different feel when rotating them (volume is not clicky, tuning knob is clicky). Some people don't like the look of the HVAC stack/radio, but I personally love how it looks and feels, it has a unique Japanese aesthetic to it. I don't like using buttons for HVAC compared to a regular 3 knob setup, but you get used to it. The temperature sliders are an unnecessary gimmick - they're responsive and you can tap on the hot/cold parts to increase or decrease the temperature by 0.5c; however, rotary knobs are still the best.
Interior storage sucks, but the longer you drive the car, the more you get used to it. No sunglass holder, but I put it in the armrest, which can fit a surprising amount of stuff. It's just a little awkward to access when you're in driving position and I have to kind of reach over with my left hand to open and get stuff out. The glovebox has a little removable shelf that lets you separate stuff, and it's deep enough that you can put a large flashlight in there.
The AWD model has a hump in the driver footwell, it doesn't bother me because my leg doesn't touch it.
I got the F-Sport 3 package. This is my first car with a backup camera, which is easily one of my favorite features. It has trajectory and blue lines to indicate where my wheels are (with about 2" or 3" of safety margin) and there are parking assist sensors. I still use the mirrors for backing up, but the camera is a huge help, especially when backing up a long, dark driveway because the lens helps to amplify existing light.
Other features that I use and appreciate are blind spot monitoring, heated/cooled seats, heated steering wheel, heated mirrors/windshield, moonroof, Homelink garage door opener, and the 830w Mark Levinson stereo system. There are more features like auto wipers, auto headlights, auto highbeams, lane departure, ACC but the aforementioned are the only ones that I actually care about.
Triple beam LED headlights are nice and bright, and the LED tailights are also great, but why are the turn signals incandescent? My guess is that incandescent looks better because they flash on and off softly??
I have a CD player, fortunately it isn't literally a tape deck like on some older GS350s. It doesn't bother me, I just ignore it in favor of Bluetooth streaming.
It doesn't have Android Auto / Apple Carplay. People are right to dock Lexus points for not having it. I didn't want to install an aftermarket head unit, so I just stuck my phone into a Proclip mount/holder over the middle air vents, to the right of the analog clock. AA version 0 works quite well actually, there are no wires to connect and I can still navigate just fine on Google maps on my Galaxy S10+ with or without the screen on. Texts/phone calls/etc. can be handled with no real issues. It works well enough, that's all I care about. It wasn't a deal breaker for me, to be honest.
The Lexus mouse infotainment has been consistently derided as one of the worst implementations ever conceived, and here's the reason why - the buttons are placed on the screen in a layout that makes sense when using a mouse/keyboard, but are hard to hit when you are restricted to a finicky mouse (actually a glorified trackpad), especially if you're driving the car at the same time. For example, there are buttons placed right at the very edge of the main screen, and if you move the mouse too far to the right, it'll select the mini map portion instead of the button you wanted. Some buttons are not obvious, such as the 'display' button, which took me a whole week to figure out that it was actually there. Even worse was the text-less button on the climate screen which turns on the pollen filter, that one remained hidden for about 3 months.
Lexus can vastly improve this system by adopting the Mazda or BMW approach. Make all the menu screens consistent with the same-sized buttons on the x or y axis only, and each slide/swipe of the mouse only moves to the next / previous button and the haptic feedback motor resets the mouse to the center position. Never mind the dated looks, or the slight hints of skeumorphism here and there, I can forgive those if the interface worked like iDrive.
Other tidbits I can think of - the interior room is okay, slim people up to 6ft 2" can sit in the back with no issues. Really large people will find it a tight fit. Trunk space is decent, but at least the seats fold 60/40. They don't fold completely flat in the sense that the bottom parts of the seats stick up about 3" - 4" from the floor. There is a spare tire. The trunk lid can be remotely opened, but it doesn't swing up, which is kind of annoying. There is a rear sunshade that folds up and down, it's probably the most useless gimmick in my car and I almost never use it. There is a 12 volt outlet in the armrest that I use for charging my phone along with 2 powered USB ports. There are air vents for the back seat passengers, and each front seat has a map pocket on the back.
0 - 100kmh by CarQuestion
80 - 120kmh also by CarQuestion
Intake sound generator - Alex on Autos
The IS350's competition is fierce, and there is a wide range of twin turbo V6 cars such as the Stinger GT, Genesis G70, 340i/S4/C43, CT5-V, TLX Type-S and so on. The IS350 will get smoked by any of these in a straight line - but then again, only the Stinger GT is cheaper than the IS350 (when optioned up with similar features), and maybe also the Infiniti Q50/Red Sport. I feel that the current (and 2021) IS350 occupies a weird spot (performance-wise) that is higher than the base models like the G70 2.0T and Audi A4, but below the mid-range models such as the G70 3.3T / Audi S4. Never mind that the German 2.0T base cars will equal or beat the IS350 in the 0 - 60 metric, that's where I think the IS350 is currently (and half-assedly) positioned. It's like Lexus didn't want to compete directly against the mid-range twin turbo 6 cylinder competition, but they still want to point out that the IS350 has over 300hp.
So why did I pick the IS350 after having test driven turbo 6 cylinder cars with better 0 - 60 times? The short answer is that it was fast enough for me, at this price point, at this point in my car buying history, and is backed up by Lexus reliability. It doesn't mean that I don't want more power, because if an IS500 ever comes out with the same practicality, same AWD system but sporting a V8 / TTV6, I would be trading in the IS350 when it is financially possible. However, a 311hp V6 in a sedan of this size and weight is already more than enough for street driving.
The characteristics of Toyota's 2GR-FKS V6 are like this - instant throttle response, nice induction note (much better than any inline 4, change my mind), not a lot of torque at the lower end of the rev range until about 3000 rpm, revs quickly and smoothly while making power all the way to redline (6600 rpm). This is an engine that is best kept above 4000 rpm if you're really going for it.
The 6 speed automatic (Aisin A760H) in this AWD model may seem like a downgrade compared to today's 8 - 10 speed automatics, but it is still a good unit. You can hit 60mph / 102kmh at the top end of 2nd gear. It doesn't gear hunt, there are kickdown functions to instantly drop into 1st or 2nd when you floor the gas pedal (~32kmh -> 1st, ~84kmh -> 2nd), and the paddle shifters are responsive enough when you're driving it harder. The shifts are not ZF8 quick, let alone DSG quick, but they're not sluggish except when you're just driving normally and not really stepping on the gas. Basically, just use the paddles to force the car into a lower gear while in automatic mode, or put it into manual mode and really step on the gas pedal for best results. As a side note, the AWD hump in the driver's footwell doesn't bother me, it's positioned in such a way that my calf doesn't really touch it.
Brakes are strong and are not touchy, the brake feel is just right, IMO.
There are drive modes like eco, normal, customize, Sport S and Sport S+. Sport S+ is supposed to make the steering feel a bit heavier and stiffen up the dampers, which it does, but isn't very noticeable. The real benefit of Sport S/S+ is that it holds gears for longer and is more eager to stay in a lower gear than upshift. I mostly leave the car in normal mode because eco is too aggressively sedate. Customize can be set to make a driving mode of your own with respect to powedampers/climate eco on/off, but I mostly just stick to normal and Sport S+.
Paddle shifters can be used in auto or manual mode. In auto mode, if you pull the paddle shifter it'll put the car into a mode where the number after the 'D' is the upper limit of the shift range (ie. D1 = first gear only, D3 = anywhere from 1st - 3rd). I use this mostly to downshift when I anticipate needing to speed up (ie. coasting up to a light that is going to turn green), or to force it into D1 (more on this later). Manual mode can be activated by pulling the shift lever to the left, then the number after the 'M' means the gear that the car will stay in (ie. M1 = first gear, M3 = 3rd gear). The car will override your requested gear or change your gears for you if it detects that you're going at a speed that is not ideal for the gear (ie. you cannot pick M6 at a stop light), or if you hit redline and it'll auto upshift (unless you have traction completely disabled). It works well enough and, frankly, I like knowing that the car will save me from doing stupid things like trying to pick M1 while driving on the highway.
Steering, handling and chassis feel are where this car shines. The steering wheel feels solid and reassuringly heavy around curves and corners at speed, and there are no dead spots. It is precise and response is immediate. Chassis feel is good - I can take roundabouts at a good clip and the IS350 just pulls itself through the curve and onto the exit in a confidence inspiring manner. Driving on curvy country backroads is also confidence inspiring, the car feels planted and body roll is minimal.
Did I mention that the V6 induction and exhaust note at full tilt is an added bonus?
When you're done having fun, the car transforms itself back into a luxury car that is excellent for daily driving. Visibility is great, the car is maneuverable, the dampers and chassis soak up minor bumps but it's still stiff enough to feel sporty and not like a boat.
What I love about the IS350
Instant throttle response and a good V6 sound. My family's Audi Q5 has a 2.0T that's laggy as hell, and completely soulless. It sort of buzzes to life like a weed whacker, delivers power, then falls silent. Not the 2GR-FKS.
Great steering feel, handling, and chassis. Solid and confidence inspiring when driving on aforementioned country roads with lots of curves and the gas pedal floored. You want to go back and do it over and over again, and you never feel like you're out of control at any point (within reason, of course).
I love my backup camera, blind spot monitoring, pre-collision + auto braking (which has saved me because of an e-bike that pulled out in front of me), and other creature comforts like heated steering wheel, ML stereo system, etc.
Tight turning radius (35.4ft) is underrated when considering a car, and the IS350 can do U turns where my speed 3 would have needed 3 point turns.
I actually like the IS350's interior, especially (strangely enough) the Sony / Nakamichi looking HVAC and radio stack.
It's a comfortable daily driver that doesn't drive like crap, and has enough power to make me smile, and I know that it has Lexus reliability. The V6 is used across many Toyota and Lexus products, and despite being 'old' at this point, it is actually quite advanced. The engine's theme is overbuilt, understressed and I'll take that any day over an overstressed small displacement turbo engine.
AWD is amazing in the winter, it's a full time 30/70 system similar to Subaru's VTD / Audi's Torsen quattro, but without the LSDs. It'll only get stuck on ice, or excessive slush, but otherwise it'll go wherever you point the car and step on the gas pedal.
What I don't like about the IS350
The trunk opening is not as good for loading cargo as on a hatchback. I can still fit my bike inside (minus front wheel) but it's a little tricky, and the seats don't fold completely flat. I mean, they do, but there is about 4" of the bottom of the seat sticking up from the floor so you have to sort of lift the bike and get it over that part.
Steering feel is not as good as a hydraulic setup like on my speed 3, but you get used to it. At least it isn't overboosted or too light.
When making a turn or just pulling away normally from a stop light, the car will auto upshift to 2nd even if you're in Sport S/S+. If you're going 34kmh or higher at that point and you floor the gas pedal to take off, it'll stay in 2nd gear when it should have downshifted to 1st and the car feels sluggish (because it is trying to make 2nd gear do 1st gear's job). I find myself needing to step on the gas pedal early before it gets to that 34kmh threshold (which I should be doing anyway, but is hard to gauge when you're making a turn and focusing on getting onto the lane), or hit the left paddle to force it into D1, or drive in full manual mode.
Stock tires suck, replace them with Michelins or Continentals ultra high performance all seasons (AS4, DWS06) or Pilot Sport 4S or whatever you like as long as they're not Ling Long ditchfinders.
I miss my 6 speed MT, but like riding a bike, the skill will never go away.
...and lastly, I want more power without giving up my AWD and practicality, come on IS500, don't disappoint me.
The IS350 is a luxury car with enough sport to make it fun for the daily drive. It is not as fast as the turbo 6 cylinder competition. Even the 330i could beat it in 0 - 100kmh by a smidgeon.
But here's the thing - it's still a fast car despite the numbers and despite its stigma of having an outdated powertrain. The IS350 comes from the era of the Infiniti G37, Acura TL, the BMW 335i with the N54/N55. That definition of fast was from 4 - 6 years ago and the competition has moved on, but it doesn't make the IS350 slow, it's just slower by comparison.
Don't get me wrong, this is not an excuse for Lexus to keep slamming in the same powertrain in the 2021+. I very much want Lexus to wake up and get the V35A-FTS in the IS at some point.
So the question comes back to why I didn't pick something that is faster by 1s in the 0 - 100kmh sprint like the aforementioned cars. I was certainly on the verge of getting a Stinger GT. It was nearly a coin toss at that point, except for the Lexus rep for reliability swaying my vote to the IS350 in the end.
It's like asking why someone would buy a Miata when, for the same (or less money) you could buy a base Mustang GT with a 460+hp V8. Not everything about a car purchase has to be about power. As long as the car is sufficiently fast for me, I can give up some power and some tech in exchange for reliability.
submitted by Gorgenapper to cars [link] [comments]

2020.09.28 21:18 normancrane Iris [3/3]

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3 <-- You are here.
I awoke to a world without women.
I rolled off the bed into sore thighs and guilt, got up to emptiness that echoed the slightest noise, and left my wife’s clothes on the sheets without thinking that eventually I’d have to pack them into a plastic bag and slide them down the garbage chute. I felt magnified and hollow. In the kitchen, I used the stove top as a table because the actual table had my wife’s tablet on it, and spilled instant coffee. What I didn’t spill I drank in a few gulps, the way I used to drink ice cold milk as a boy. I stood in front of the living room window for a while before realizing I was naked, then realizing that it didn’t matter because men changed in front of each other at the pool and peed next to one another into urinals in public restrooms, and there weren’t any women to hide from, no one to offend. The world, I told myself, was now a sprawling men’s pisser, so I slammed the window open and pissed.
I wanted to call someone—to tell them that my wife was dead, because that’s a duty owed by the living—but whom could I call: her sister, her parents? Her sister was dead. Her father had a dead wife and two dead daughters. There was nothing to say. Everyone knew. I called my wife’s father anyway. Was he still my father-in-law now that I was a widower? He didn’t accept the connection. Widower: a word loses all but historical meaning when there are no alternatives. If all animals were dogs, we’d purge one of those words from our vocabulary. We were all widowers. It was synonymous with man. I switched on the television and stared, crying, at a montage of photographs showing the bloody landscapes of cities, hospitals, retirement homes, schools and churches, all under the tasteless headline: “International Pop”. Would we clean it up, these remnants of the people we loved? Could we even use the same buildings, knowing what had happened in them? The illusion of practical thinking pushed my feeling of emptiness away. I missed arms wrapping around me from behind while I stared through rain streaked windows. I missed barking and a wagging tail that hit my leg whenever I was standing too close. Happiness seemed impossible. I called Bakshi because I needed confirmation that I still had a voice. “They’re the lucky ones,” he said right after I’d introduced myself. “They’re out. We’re the fools still locked in, and now we’re all alone.”
For three weeks, I expected my wife to show up at the apartment door. I removed her clothes from the bed and stuffed them into a garbage bag, but kept the garbage bag in the small space between the fridge and the kitchen wall. I probably would have kept a dead body in the freezer if I had one and it fit. As a city and as a world, those were grim, disorganized weeks for us. Nobody worked. I don’t know what we did. Sat around and drank, smoked. And we called each other, often out of the blue. Every day, I received a call from someone I knew but hadn’t spoken to in years. The conversations all followed a pattern. There was no catching up and no explanation of lost time, just a question like “How are you holding up?” followed by a thoughtless answer (“Fine, I guess. And you?”) followed by an exchange of details about the women we’d lost. Mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, girlfriends, friends, cousins, aunts, teachers, students, co-workers. We talked about the colour of their hair, their senses of humour, their favourite movies. We said nothing about ourselves, choosing instead to inhabit the personas of those whom we’d loved. In the hallway, I would put on my wife’s coats but never look at myself in the mirror. I wore her winter hats in the middle of July. Facebook became a graveyard, with the gender field separating the mourners from the dead.
The World Health Organization issued a communique stating that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all the women in the world were dead, but it called for any woman still alive to come forward immediately. The language of the communique was as sterile as the Earth. Nobody came forward. The World Wildlife Fund created an inventory of all mammalian species that listed in ascending order how long each species would exist. Humans were on the bottom. Both the World Health Organization and the World Wildlife Fund predicted that unless significant technological progress occurred in the field of fertility within the next fifty years, the last human, a theoretical boy named Philip born into a theoretical developed country on March 26, 2025, would die in 93 years. On the day of his death, Philip would be the last remaining mammal—although not necessarily animal—on Earth. No organization or government has ever officially stated that July 4, 2025, was the most destructive day in recorded history, on the morning of which, Eastern Time, four billion out of a total of eight billion people ceased to exist as anything more than memories. What killed them was neither an act of war nor an act of terrorism. Neither was it human negligence. There was no one to blame and no one to prosecute. In the western countries, where the majority of people no longer believed in any religion, we could not even call it an act of God. So we responded by calling it nothing at all.
And, like nothing, our lives persisted. We ate, we slept and we adapted. After the first wave of suicides ended, we hosed off what the rain hadn’t already washed away and began to reorganize the systems on which our societies ran. It was a challenge tempered only slightly in countries where women had not made up a significant portion of the workforce. We held new elections, formed me boards of directors and slowed down the assembly lines and bus schedules to make it possible for our communities to keep running. There was less food in the supermarkets, but we also needed less food. Instead of two trains we ran one, but one sufficed. I don’t remember the day when I finally took the black garbage bag from its resting place and walked it to the chute. “How are you holding up?” a male voice would say on the street. “Fine, I guess. And you?” I’d answer. ##!! wrote a piece of Python code to predict the box office profitability of new movies, in which real actors played alongside computer-generated actresses. The code was only partially successful. Because while it did accurately predict the success of new movies in relation to one other, it failed to include the overwhelming popularity of re-releases of films from the past—films starring Bette Davis, Giulietta Masina, Meryl Streep: women who at least on screen were still flesh and blood. Theatres played retrospectives. On Amazon, books by female authors topped the charts. Sales of albums by women vocalists surged. We thirsted for another sex. I watched, read and listened like everyone else, and in between I cherished any media on which I found images or recordings of my wife. I was angry for not having made more. I looked at the same photos and watched the same clips over and over again. I memorized my wife’s Facebook timeline and tagged all her Tweets by date, theme and my own rating. When I went out, I would talk to the air as if she was walking beside me, sometimes quoting her actual words as answers to my questions and sometimes inventing my own as if she was a beloved character in an imagined novel. When people looked at me like I was crazy, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the only one. But, more importantly, my wife meant more to me than they did. I remembered times when we’d stroll through the park or down downtown sidewalks and I would be too ashamed to kiss her in the presence of strangers. Now, I would tell her that I love her in the densest crowd. I would ask her whether I should buy ketchup or mustard in the condiments aisle. She helped me pick out my clothes in the morning. She convinced me to eat healthy and exercise.
In November, I was in Bakshi’s apartment for the first time, waiting for a pizza delivery boy, when one of Bakshi’s friends who was browsing Reddit told us that the Tribe of Akna was starting a Kickstarter campaign in an attempt to buy the Republic of Suriname, rename it Xibalba and close its borders for all except the enlightened. Xibalba would have no laws, Salvador Abaroa said in a message on the site. He was banging his gong as he did. Everything would be legal, and anyone who pledged $100 would receive a two-week visa to this new "Mayan Buddhist Eden". If you pledged over $10,000, you would receive citizenship. “Everything in life is destroyed by energy,” Abaroa said. “But let the energy enlighten you before it consumes your body. Xibalba is finite life unbound.” Bakshi’s phone buzzed. The pizza boy had sent an email. He couldn’t get upstairs, so Bakshi and I took the elevator to the building’s front entrance. The boy’s face was so white that I saw it as soon as the elevator doors slid open. Walking closer, I saw that he was powdered. His cheeks were also rouged, and he was wearing cranberry coloured lipstick, a Marilyn Monroe wig and a short black skirt. Compared to his face, his thin legs looked like incongruously dark popsicle sticks. Bakshi paid for the pizza and added another five dollars for the tip. The boy batted his fake eyelashes and asked if maybe he could do something to earn a little more. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could come upstairs and clean the place up a little. You two live alone?” Bakshi passed me the two pizza boxes—They felt hot in my hands.—and dug around in his wallet. “It’s not just the two of us,” I said. The boy smiled. “That’s OK. I’ve done parties before if that’s what you’re into.” I saw the reaction on Bakshi’s face, and I saw the boy’s grotesque caricature of a woman. “There’s condoms and lube in the car,” the boy said, pointing to a sedan with a pizza spray-painted across its side parked by the curb. “My boss says I can take up to two hours but it’s not like he uses a stopwatch.” I stepped on Bakshi’s foot and shouldered him away. He was still fiddling with his wallet. “We’re not interested,” I said to the boy. He just shrugged. “Suit yourselves. If you change your mind, order another pizza and ask for Ruby.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As we shuffled inside, I saw Bakshi’s cheeks turn red. “I’m not actually—” he mumbled, but I didn’t let him finish. What had bothered me so much about the boy wasn’t the way he looked or acted; in fact, it wasn’t really the boy at all. He was just trying to make a buck. What bothered me was how ruthlessly we’d already begun to exploit each other.
For those of us who were heterosexual, sex was a definite weakness. I missed it. I would never have it with a woman again. The closest substitute was pornography, whose price rose with its popularity, but which, at least for me, now came scented with the unpleasantness of historicity and nostalgia. Videos and photos, not to mention physical magazines, were collector’s items in the same way that we once collected coins or action figures. The richest men bought up the exclusive rights to their favourite porn stars and guarded them by law with a viciousness once reserved for the RIAA and MPAA. Perhaps exclusivity gave them a possessive satisfaction. In response, we pirated whatever we could and fought for a pornographic public domain. Although new pornography was still being produced, either with the help of the same virtual technology they used for mainstream movies or with the participation of young men in costume, it lacked the taste of the originals. It was like eating chocolate made without cocoa. The best pornography, and therefore the best sex, became the pornography of the mind.
The Tribe of Akna reached its Kickstarter goal in early December. On December 20, I went to church for the first time since getting married because that was the theoretical date that my wife—along with every other woman—was supposed to have given birth. I wanted to be alone with others. Someone posted a video on TikTok from Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront, dubbing over Marlon Brando’s speech to say: “You don’t understand. I could’a had a piece of ass. I could’a been a school board member. I could’a been a son’s daddy”. It was juvenile and heartbreaking. By Christmas, the Surinamese government was already expelling its citizens, each of whom had theoretically been given a fraction of the funds paid to the government from the Tribe of Akna’s Kickstarter pool, and Salvador Abaroa’s lawyers were petitioning for international recognition of the new state of Xibalba. Neither Canada nor the United States opened diplomatic relations, but others did. I knew people who had pledged money, and when in January they disappeared on trips, I had no doubt to where. Infamy spread in the form of stories and urban legends. There’s no need for details. People disappeared, and ethicists wrote about the ethical neutrality of murder, arguing that because we were all slated to die, leaving the Earth barren in a century, destruction was a human inevitability, and what is inevitable can never be bad, even when it comes earlier than expected—even when it comes by force. Because, as a species, we hadn’t chosen destruction for ourselves, neither should any individual member of our species be able to choose now for himself. To the ethicists of what became known as the New Inevitability School, suicide was a greater evil than murder because it implied choice and inequality. If the ship was going down, no one should be allowed to get off. A second wave of suicides coincided with the debate, leading many governments to pass laws making suicide illegal. But how do you punish someone who already wants to die? In China: by keeping him alive and selling him to Xibalba, where he becomes the physical plaything of its citizens and visa-holders. The Chinese was the first embassy to open in Xibalban Paramaribo.
The men working on Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything continued working, steadily adding new variables to their equations, complicating their calculations in the hopes that someday the variable they added would be the final one and the equation would yield an answer. “It’s pointless,” Bakshi would comment after reading about one of the small breakthroughs they periodically announced. “Even if they do manage to predict something, anything, it won’t amount to anything more than the painfully obvious. And after decades of adding and subtracting their beans, they’ll come out of their Los Alamos datalabs like groundhogs into a world blanketed by storm clouds and conclude, finally and with plenty of self-congratulations, that it’s about to fucking rain.”
It rained a lot in February. It was one of the warmest Februaries in Toronto’s history. Sometimes I went for walks along the waterfront, talking to my wife, listening to Billie Holiday and trying to recall as many female faces as I could. Ones from the distant past: my mother, my grandmothers. Ones from the recent past: the woman whose life my wife saved on the way to the hospital, the Armenian woman with the film magazine and the injured son, the Jamaican woman, Bakshi’s wife. I focused on their faces, then zoomed out to see their bodies. I carried an umbrella but seldom opened it because the pounding of the raindrops against the material distorted my mental images. I saw people rush across the street holding newspapers above their heads while dogs roamed the alleyways wearing nothing at all. Of the two, it was dogs that had the shorter time left on Earth, and if they could let the rain soak their fur and drip off their bodies, I could surely let it run down my face. It was first my mother and later my wife who told me to always cover up in the rain, “because moisture causes colds,” but I was alone now and I didn’t want to be separated from the falling water by a sheet of glass anymore. I already was cold. I saw a man sit down on a bench, open his briefcase, pack rocks into it, then close it, tie it to his wrist, check his watch and start to walk into the polluted waters of Lake Ontario. Another man took out his phone and tapped his screen a few times. The man in the lake walked slowly, savouring each step. When the police arrived, sirens blaring, the water was up to his neck. I felt guilty for watching the three officers splash into the lake after him. I don’t know what happened after that because I turned my back and walked away. I hope they didn’t stop him. I hope he got to do what he wanted to do.
“Screw the police.” Bakshi passed me a book. “You should read this,” he said. It was by a professor of film and media studies at a small university in Texas. There was a stage on the cover, flanked by two red curtains. The photo had been taken from the actors’ side, looking out at an audience that the stage lights made too dark to see. The title was Hiding Behind The Curtains. I flipped the book over. There was no photo of the author. “It’s a theory,” Bakshi said, “that undercuts what Abaroa and the Inevitabilists are saying. It’s a little too poetic in parts but—listen, you ever read Atlas Shrugged?” I said I hadn’t. “Well, anyway, what this guy says is that what if instead of our situation letting us do anything we want, it’s actually the opposite, a test to see how we act when we only think that we’re doomed. I mean what if the women who died in March, what if they’re just—” “Hiding behind the curtains,” I said. He bit his lower lip. “It sounds stupid when you say it like that but, as a metaphor, it has a kind of elegance, right?” I flipped through the book, reading a few sentences at random. It struck me as neo-Christian. “Isn’t this a little too spiritual for you? I thought we were all locked into one path,” I said. “I thought that, too, but lately I’ve been able to do things—things that I didn’t really want to do.” For a second I was concerned. “Nothing bad,” he said. “I mean I’ve felt like I’m locked into doing one thing, say having a drink of water, but I resist and pour myself a glass of orange juice instead.” I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. That’s how most theories ended, I thought: reason and evidence up to a crucial point, and then it gets so personal that it’s hard to explain. You either make the jump or you don’t. “Just read it,” he said. “Please read it. You don’t have to agree with it, I just want to get your opinion, an objective opinion.”
I never did read the book, and Bakshi forgot about it, too, but that day he was excited and happy, and those were rare feelings. I was simultaneously glad for him and jealous. Afterwards, we went out onto the balcony and drank Czech beer until morning. When it got cool, we put on our coats. It started to drizzle so we wore blue plastic suits like the ones they used to give you on boat rides in Niagara Falls. When it was time to go home, I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. I almost got into a fight, the first one of my life, because I bumped into a man on the street and told him to get the fuck out of my way. I don’t remember much more of my walk home. The only reason I remember Behind The Curtains at all is because when I woke up in the afternoon it was the first thing that my hung over brain recognized. It was lying on the floor beside the bed. Then I opened the blinds covering my bedroom window and, through my spread fingers that I’d meant to use as a shield from the first blast of daylight, I saw the pincers for the first time.
They’d appeared while I was asleep. I turned on the television and checked my phone. The media and the internet were feverish, but nobody knew what the thing was, just a massive, vaguely rectangular shape blotting out a strip of the sky. NASA stated that it had received no extraterrestrial messages to coincide with the appearance. Every government claimed ignorance. The panel discussions on television only worsened my headache. Bakshi emailed me links to photos from Mumbai, Cape Town, Sydney and Mexico City, all showing the same shape; or rather one of a pair of shapes, for there were two of them, one on each side of the Earth, and they’d trapped our planet between themselves like gargantuan fingers clutching an equally gargantuan ping-pong ball. That’s why somebody came up with the term “the pincers”. It stuck. Because I’d slept in last night’s clothes I was already dressed, so I ran down the stairs and out of my apartment building to get a better look at them from the parking lot. You’re not supposed to look at the sun, but I wasn’t the only one breaking that rule. There were entire crowds with upturned faces in the streets. If the pincers, too, could see, they would perhaps be as baffled by us as we were of them: billions of tiny specks all over the surface of this ping-pong ball gathering in points on a grid, coagulating into large puddles that vanished overnight only to reassemble in the morning. In the following days, scientists scrambled to study the pincers and their potential effects on us, but they discovered nothing. The pincers did nothing. They emitted nothing, consumed nothing. They simply were. And they could not be measured or detected in any way other than by eyesight. When we shot rays at them, the rays continued on their paths unaffected, as if nothing was there. The pincers did, however, affect the sun’s rays coming towards us. They cut up our days. The sun would rise, travel over the sky, hide behind a pincer—enveloping us in a second night—before revealing itself again as a second day. But if the pincers’ physical effect on us was limited to its blockage of light, their mental effects on us were astoundingly severe. For many, this was the sign they’d been waiting for. It brought hope. It brought gloom. It broke and confirmed ideas that were hard to explain. In their ambiguity, the pincers could be anything, but in their strangeness they at least reassured us of the reality of the strange times in which we were living. Men walked away from the theory of everything, citing the pincers as the ultimate variable that proved the futility of prognostication. Others took up the calculations because if the pincers could appear, what else was out there in our future? However, ambiguity can only last for a certain period. Information narrows possibilities. On April 1, 2026, every Twitter account in the world received the following message:
as you can see this message is longer than the allowed one hundred forty characters time and space are malleable you thought you had one hundred years but prepare for the plucking
The sender was @. The message appeared in each user’s feed at exactly the same time and in his first language, without punctuation. Because of the date most of us thought it was a hoax, but the developers of Twitter denied this vehemently. It wasn’t until a court forced them to reveal their code, which proved that a message of that length and sent by a blank user was impossible, that our doubts ceased. ##!! took bets on what the message meant. Salvador Abaroa broadcast a response into space in a language he called Bodhi Mayan, then addressed the rest of us in English, saying that in the pincers he had identified an all-powerful prehistoric fire deity, described in an old Sanskrit text as having the resemblance of mirrored black fangs, whose appearance signified the end of time. “All of us will burn,” he said, “but paradise shall be known only to those who burn willingly.” Two days later, The Tribe of Akna announced that in one month it would seal Xibalba from the world and set fire to everything and everyone in it. For the first time, its spokesman said, an entire nation would commit suicide as one. Jonestown was but a blip. As a gesture of goodwill, he said that Xibalba was offering free immolation visas to anyone who applied within the next week. The New Inevitability School condemned the plan as “offensively unethical” and inequalitist and urged an international Xibalban boycott. Nothing came of it. When the date arrived, we watched with rapt attention on live streams and from the vantage points of circling news planes as Salvador Abaroa struck flint against steel, creating the spark that caught the char cloth, starting a fire that blossomed bright crimson and in the next weeks consumed all 163,821 square kilometres of the former Republic of Suriname and all 2,500,000 of its estimated Xibalban inhabitants. Despite concerns that the fire would spread beyond Xibalba’s borders, The Tribe of Akna had been careful. There were no accidental casualties and no unplanned property damage. No borders were crossed. Once the fire burned out, reporters competed to be first to capture the mood on the ground. Paramaribo resembled the smouldering darkness of a fire pit.
It was a few days later while sitting on Bakshi’s balcony, looking up at the pincers and rereading a reproduction of @’s message—someone had spray-painted it across the wall of a building opposite Bakshi’s—that I remembered Iris. The memory was so absorbing that I didn’t notice when Bakshi slid open the balcony door and sat down beside me, but I must have been smiling because he said, “I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you look a little loony tonight. Seriously, man, you do not look sufficiently freaked out.” I’d remembered Iris before, swirling elements of her plain face, but now I also remembered her words and her theory. I turned to Bakshi, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, and said, “Let’s get up on the roof of this place.” He grabbed my arm and held on tightly. “I’m not going to jump, if that’s what you mean.” It wasn’t what I meant, but I asked, “why not?” He said, “I don’t know. I know we’re fucked as a species and all that, but I figure if I’m still alive I might as well see what happens next, like in a bad movie you want to see through to the end.” I promised him that I wasn’t going to jump, either. Then I scrambled inside his apartment, grabbed my hat and jacket from the closet by the front door and put them on while speed walking down the hall, toward the fire escape. I realized I’d been spending a lot of time here. The alarm went off as soon I pushed open the door with my hip but I didn’t care. When Bakshi caught up with me, I was already outside, leaping up two stairs at a time. The metal construction was rusted. The treads wobbled. On the roof, the wind nearly blew my hat off and it was so loud I could have screamed and no one would have heard me. Holding my hat in my hands, I crouched and looked out over the twinkling city spread out in front of me. It looked alive in spite of the pincers in the sky. “Let’s do something crazy,” I yelled. Bakshi was still catching his breath behind me. “What, like this isn’t crazy enough?” The NHL may have been gone but my hat still bore the Maple Leafs logo, as quaint and obsolete by then as the Weimar Republic in the summer of 1945. “When’s the last time you played ball hockey?” I asked. Bakshi crouched beside me. “You’re acting weird. And I haven’t played ball hockey in ages.” I stood up so suddenly that Bakshi almost fell over. This time I knew I was smiling. “So call your buddies,” I said. “Tell them to bring their sticks and their gear and to meet us in front of the ACC in one hour.” Bakshi patted me on the back. Toronto shone like jewels scattered over black velvet. “The ACC’s been closed for years, buddy. I think you’re really starting to lose it.” I knew it was closed. “Lose what?” I asked. “It’s closed and we’re going to break in.”
The chains broke apart like shortbread. The electricity worked. The clouds of dust made me sneeze. We used duffel bags to mark out the goals. We raced up and down the stands and bent over, wheezing at imaginary finish lines. We got into the announcer’s booth and called each other cunts through the microphone. We ran, fell and shot rubber pucks for hours. We didn’t keep score. We didn’t worry. “What about the police?” someone asked. The rest of us answered: “Screw the fucking police!”
And when everybody packed up and went home, I stayed behind.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bakshi asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Because I have to get back so that I can shower, get changed and get to work.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
“And you promise me you’ll catch a cab?”
“I’m not suicidal.”
He fixed his grip on his duffel bag. “I didn’t say you were. I was just checking.”
“I want to see the end of the movie, too,” I said.
He saluted. I watched him leave. When he was gone, my wife walked down from the nosebleeds and took a seat beside me. “There’s someone I want to tell you about,” I said. She lifted her chin like she always does when something unexpected catches her interest, and scooted closer. I put my arm across the back of her beautiful shoulders. She always liked that, even though the position drives me crazy because I tend to talk a lot with my hands. “Stuck at Leafs-Wings snorefest,” she said. “Game sucks but I love the man sitting beside me.” (January 15, 2019. Themes: hockey, love, me. Rating: 5/5). “Her name was Iris,” I said.


“What if the whole universe was a giant garden—like a hydroponics thing, like how they grow tomatoes and marijuana, so there wouldn’t need to be any soil, all the nutrients would just get injected straight into the seeds or however they do it—or, even better, space itself was the soil, you know how they talk about dark matter being this invisible and mysterious thing that exists out there and we don’t know what it does, if it actually affect anything, gravity…”
She blew a cloud of pot smoke my way that made me cough and probably gave her time to think. She said, “So dark matter is like the soil, and in this space garden of course they don’t grow plants but something else.”
“Just eyes, or body parts in general?” I asked.
“Just eyes.”
The music from the party thumped. “But the eyes are our planets, like Mars is an eye, Neptune is an eye, and the Earth is an eye, maybe even the best eye.”
“The best for what? Who’s growing them?”
“God,” she said.
I took the joint from her and took a long drag. “I didn’t know you believed in God.”
“I don’t, I guess—except when I’m on dope. Anyway, you’ve got to understand me because when I say God I don’t mean like the old man with muscles and a beard. This God, the one I’m talking about, it’s more like a one-eyed monster.”
“Like a cyclops?” I asked.
“Yeah, like that, like a cyclops. So it’s growing these eyes in the dark matter in space—I mean right now, you and me, we’re literally sitting on one of these eyes and we’re contributing to its being grown because the nutrients the cyclops God injected into them, that’s us.”
“Why does God need so many extra eyes?”
“It’s not a question of having so many of them, but more about having the right one, like growing the perfect tomato.” I gave her back the joint and leaned back, looking at the stars. “Because every once in a while the cyclops God goes blind, its eye stops working—not in the same way we go blind, because the cyclops God doesn’t see reality in the same way we see reality—but more like we see through our brains and our eyes put together.”
“Like x-ray vision?” I asked.
“No, not like that at all,” she said.
“A glass eye?”
“Glass eyes are fake.”
“OK,” I said, “so maybe try something else. Give me a different angle. Tell me what role we’re playing in all of this because right now it seems that we’re pretty insignificant. I mean, you said we’re nutrients but what’s the difference between, say, Mars and Earth in terms of being eyes?”
She looked over at me. “Are you absolutely sure you want to hear about this?”
“I am,” I said.
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Compared to what?”
“I don’t know, just stupid in general.”
“I don’t.”
“I like you,” she said.
“Because I don’t think you’re stupid?” I asked.
“That’s just a bonus. I mean more that you’re up here with me instead of being down there with everyone, and we’re talking and even though we’re not in love I know somehow we’ll never forget each other for as long as we live.”
“It’s hard to forget being on the surface of a giant floating eyeball.”
“You’re scared that you won’t find anyone to love,” she said suddenly, causing me to nearly choke on my own saliva. “Don’t ask me how I know—I just do. But before I go any further about the cyclops God, I want you to know that you’ll find someone to love and who’ll love you back, and whatever happens you’ll always have that because no one can take away the past.”
“You’re scared of going blind,” I said.
“I am going blind.”
“Not yet.”
“And I’m learning not to be scared because everything I see until that day will always belong to me.”
“The doctors said it would be gradual,” I reminded her.
“That’s horrible.”
“Because you wouldn’t want to find someone to love and then know that every day you wake up the love between you grows dimmer and dimmer, would you?”
“I guess not,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you much rather feel the full strength of that love up to and including in the final second before the world goes black?”
“It would probably be painful to lose it all at once like that.”
“Painful because you actually had something to lose. For me, I know I can’t wish away blindness, but I sure wish that the last image I ever see—in that final second before my world goes black—is the most vivid and beautiful image of all.”
Because I didn’t know what to say to that, I mumbled: “I’m sorry.”
“That I’m going blind?”
“Yeah, and that we can’t grow eyes.”
This time I looked over, and she was the one gazing at the stars. “Before, you asked if we were insignificant,” she said. “But because you’re sorry—that’s kind of why we’re the most significant of all, why Earth is better than the other planets.”
“For the cyclops God?”
“He cares about my feelings?”
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking, but in a different way that’s exactly what the cyclops God cares about most because that’s what it’s looking for in an eye. All the amazing stuff we’ve ever built, all our ancient civilizations and supercomputers and cities you can see from the Moon—that’s just useless cosmetics to the cyclops God, except in how all of it has made us feel about things that aren’t us.”
“I think you’re talking about morality.”
“I think so, too.”
“So by feeling sorry for you I’m showing compassion, and the cyclops God likes compassion?”
“That’s not totally wrong but it’s a little upside down. We have this black matter garden and these planets the cyclops God has grown as potential eyes to replace its own eye once it stops working, but its own eye is like an eye and a brain mixed together. Wait—” she said.
I waited.
“Imagine a pair of tinted sunglasses.”
I imagined green-tinted ones.
“Now imagine that instead of the lenses being a certain colour, they’re a certain morality, and if you wear the glasses you see the world tinted according to that morality.”
I was kind of able to imagine that. I supposed it would help show who was good and who was bad. “But the eye and the tinted glasses are the same thing in this case.”
“Exactly, there’s no one without the other, and what makes the tint special is us—not that the cyclops God cares at all about individuals any more than we care about individual honey bees. That’s why he’s kind of a monster.”
“Isn’t people’s morality always changing, though?”
“Only up to a point. Green is green even when you have a bunch of shades of it, and a laptop screen still works fine even with a few dead pixels, right? And the more globalized and connected we get, the smoother our morality gets, but if you’re asking more about how our changing morals work when the cyclops God finally comes to take its eye, I assume it has a way to freeze our progress. To cut our roots. Then it makes some kind of final evaluation. If it’s satisfied it takes the planet and sticks it into its eye socket, and if it doesn’t like us then it lets us alone, although because we’re frozen and possibly rootless I suppose we die—maybe that’s what the other planets are, so many of them in space without any sort of life. Cold, rejected eyes.”
From sunglasses to bees to monitors in three metaphors, and now we were back to space. This was getting confusing. The stars twinkled, some of them dead, too: their light still arriving at our eyes from sources that no longer existed. “That’s kind of depressing,” I said to end the silence.
“What about it?”
“Being bees,” I said, “that work for so long at tinting a pair of glasses just so that a cyclops God can try them on.”
“I don’t think it’s any more depressing than being a tomato.”
“I’ve never thought about that.”
“You should. It’s beautiful, like love,” she said. “Because if you think about it, being a tomato and being a person are really quite similar. They’re both about growing and existing for the enjoyment of someone else. As a tomato you’re planted, you grow and mature and then an animal comes along and eats you. The juicier you look and the nicer you smell, the greater the chance that you’ll get plucked but also the more pleasure the animal will get from you. As a person, you’re also born and you grow up and you mature into a one of a kind personality with a one of a kind face, and then someone comes along and makes you fall in love with them and all the growing you did was really just for their enjoyment of your love.”
“Except love lasts longer than chewing a tomato.”
“Sometimes,” she said.
“And you have to admit that two tomatoes can’t eat each other the way two people can love each other mutually.”
“I admit that’s a good point,” she said.
“And what happens to someone who never gets fallen in love with?”
“The same thing that happens to a tomato that never gets eaten or an eye that the cyclops God never takes. They die and they rot, and they darken and harden, decomposing until they don’t look like tomatoes anymore. It’s not a nice fate. I’d rather live awhile and get eaten, to be honest.”
“As a tomato or person?”
I thought for a few seconds. “That explanation works for things on Earth, but nothing actually decomposes in space.”
“That’s why there are so many dead planets,” she said.
submitted by normancrane to cryosleep [link] [comments]

2020.09.28 19:50 butterfly78901234 UofT Life Sci as an IB graduate part 1

Hey, to all of you IB students looking for universities and maybe considering UofT life sci.
my description:
Intro Bio:
So far, intro bio covers a lot of the things already covered in HL bio. I'm not fond of evolution so I'm not as comfortable with it, neglected it in HL bio but I still think I'm fine. I don't think this depth of evolution is covered in Ontario curriculum, so I guess it doesn't really start at a super basic level.
Intro Chem:
Intro chem, is largely covered by IB chem. So far, there has only been 1 new thing I found new, and that is more focus on p and d orbital shapes, and a bit more detail in electron configuration trends.
Intro Psych:
Intro psych, teaches you things that you need to include in the evaluation part of your paper 1/2, so things like biases, ethics, you know, just general evaluations. It is definitely more memory-based though since most evaluations have been multiple choice.

In general, for these 3 courses, the content covered are content I've already learned in IB. I don't want to say I find the content easy because I know everyone is at different levels. But the way they teach this to you, is as if you don't know anything. Obviously this is to put every uni student at the same level because everyone is coming from different cities and countries. But especially in chem, things like pH which you've learned in grade 9 if you live in Toronto, they teach it to you like you heard it for the first time.
There is one big difference between IB and Uni and that's the workload. I found that in IB, the teachers are more forgiving. They're willing to move due dates or whatever if it's conflicting with a big project I don't know. But in general, the workload is much greater in uoft. It's easy to drown in them but if you're surviving Ib with decent grades, then you probably already have a good work ethic. If you still procrastinate, I would advise against that, at least in the first few weeks, just to see see if the work in the course are manageable.
I do all the readings which add to the workload. I've never done any textbook readings in chem and bio but for the first time, I actually like how the textbooks complement the lectures so I'm going with it.
But so far, it seems that other students aren't even doing the readings and just reading the lecture slides. I don't know how well they're doing, but so far I'm on top of my work, with high marks and labs submitted at least a good 3-7 days before the due date.
I don't have official marks yet -- reading week is in 2 weeks and mid terms is about a week after that so maybe I'll send an update after. I also don't know if they're gonna down curve us (like I said, I don't know how well others are doing).
Thoughts right now: I wish I used my transfer credits but this would be a good GPA builder and its also not a bad idea to strengthen foundations so I only regret it 50%. Again, I'm literally in the 4th week so I don't know how hard everything will be later.
Also, I'm taking a philosophy class and I can't believe I'm saying this actually helps?
submitted by butterfly78901234 to UofT [link] [comments]

2020.09.28 17:39 DeezNuts90210 Ditched School and my Friends to Watch Avengers Endgame Without Them. Don't Tell a Soul Please.

I can't believe I pulled this off
For context, I live in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada and I'm a pretty popular guy at my school. My friends (10+ people) and I are big Marvel fans and for the longest time I could remember, we've always watched Marvel movies on release day in theaters. This tradition started all the way back since the first Avengers movie (2012) and after the events of Avengers Infinity War, you bet your ass we we're hyped for Endgame. We've always held discussions during lunch breaks to talk about movies and TV shows, and for the weeks leading up to Endgame that was all we wanted to talk about. MCU theories, list of new movies coming, evening avoiding spoilers and trailers like it was the plague so the experience wouldn't be ruined.
Me being the parent of my friend group took the responsibility to purchase the tickets. I understood that I was likely going to have to compete with other head hunchos of friend groups in order to get a row of seats just for all of us. In Ottawa there's really only two main theaters people go to and luckily one of them was just down the road from our school. We were a simple bus ride away from watching any new releases with badass reclining chairs. Being in one of two of these high end theaters made you feel like a baller watching cinema.
Now it may seem like Ottawa isn't a major city (it's the Capital of Canada for you U.S. readers), I can assure it's pretty big. Just we're not known for having screenings for shows, movies in Canada really blow up in Ottawa's sister city Toronto but the viewing experience is utter dog shit with fucked up chairs and no surround sound. Ottawa has a lot of other theaters besides the two I've mentioned but they all have shitty seats that may give you scoliosis and sell food that may give you food poisoning and long term health issues. We'll get back to that in a sec.
So it was March 2019 and I remember staying up all night so tickets wouldn't be sold out and feel like I dropped the ball for the homies. As I slowly wait for the passing hands on the clock tick away millimeter by millimeter. I killed the time watching pewdiepie while simultaneously avoiding any teasers for Endgame. At one point I had to go to the washroom after 4+ hours of watching dank memes and reddit videos. As I was washing my hands, I didn't realize the time on my phone reading 12:01. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It took me a second to gather myself and sprint right out the bathroom back to my computer bashing my knee in the process. But with all the adrenalin pumping through my viens I couldn't feel the pain and I was telling my body to suffer later. I make it to my computer to refresh the page only to see one of the shitter theaters hosting the movie on April 26 (Opening Night). My heart dropped, I was thinking to myself 'Did I fuck up?' 'The one time I step away from my computer is when I needed to be on and purchase the tickets.' 'And all that's left of Endgame tickets are at shit theaters.'
I'm not one to cry, but this was the closes I've felt to balling out and letting my emotions take the best of me. I sat in my chair preparing to break the bad news to my friends and expecting their reactions of pure hatred and disguised especially how this was the biggest MCU thing to date. It's 12:10 at this moments, and I figure 'I'd rather watch the movie on release day with my friends then dodge spoilers for another 24 more hours even if that means going to a C level theater.' I bought the tickets and I tried my best to be as optimistic as I can be and be grateful that we at least watch together and not worry about getting our seats taken.
I go to sleep that night still rehearsing what I'm going to say to my friends the next day. And as I get out of bed getting ready for school I decide to check on the seating arrangement for our auditorium on the Movie App on my phone. This is where my heart sinks even further than it was the night before. Our main theater that's just down the road from our school (the one with awesome chairs and room service treatment) started selling Endgame tickets. I thought to myself 'how's that possible ?' I look at the seating plan and no one has bought a single seat at this theater, mind you it's currently 7 in the morning. What ended up happening was that I was so fast to my computer that I didn't give time for the webpage to download the other theaters and the one theater that was downloaded just so happen to be one of the shit theaters. Had I wait another 30 more minutes, those seats at our main theater would have been ours with no contest.
Not only do I need to break the bad news to my friends in that we're not watching Endgame at our main theater but also the fact that I was so early that I just bought them because I thought I fucked up. Reminds me a lot about the ending to 'The Mist.' What bad luck. I went to school that morning feeling sick and the next thing I know my squad of friends start asking me 'DeezNuts90210, did you get them?' This is where I started holding back tears, "Yeah I got them but they're not at our usual theater." I left out the part where if I waited we could have watched it at our main theater but I thought that it would be best that ignorance is bliss at that moment. Surprisingly they all reacted pretty well and yes they we're disappointed but they we're all happy we can watch together.
Here comes the confession. Some days go by and I think nothing of it, but my curiosity got the best of me when I was looking up the seat plan for the main theater. All seats we're occupied but one seat at the very top dead center of the screen. I joked to my brother that I could watch Endgame without my friends and make my parents think I was at school (the viewing was at 10:20 am). He scoffed at the idea and went to his room living me alone in the living room. As I sat their on the Lazy Boy couch my mind start coming up with ways of how I could pull this mastermind plan off, almost like Bradley Cooper from 'Limitless.' I was conflicted between two points. On one hand I wanted to watch Endgame with my friends to top off the incredible experience MCU has done over the past 11 years and have it end on a Friday would be the highlight of the year for me. But on the flip side I wanted to watch Endgame at our main royalty theater just down the road and avoid spoilers from 10-year-olds at my school and online.
A lot of thought went into this decision but I decided to go for the latter and ended up taking the last seat in that auditorium. As Thanos says, "The hardest choices require the strongest wills." And that night I thought of my plan, I knew the week before Endgames release I would be going to Montreal to visit family. So at the beginning of the week of when Endgame drops I told my friends I'd be going to Montreal to visit family but will be back to watch Endgame in Ottawa. Unbeknownst to my friends I already visited my family in Montreal, but I wanted to create an alibi so if they asked me where I was and what I did, I'd be able to recount what I did in Montreal the week prior. I knew I need to get out of school but I had to do it without my parents being notified from the school that I skipped school with no notice. At my school, you're only allowed a handful of skips with no notice for your high school career before you get expelled and I wanted to save my skip with no notice for more serious things like a health emergency. Some of the tactics I thought of were to create a note in my mother's hand writing and present it to the school while other thoughts we're to try and make anonymous school threats. But I ended up settling on faking my dad's voice and telling the school that I'll be in Montreal.
Some weeks pass by and after planning out my route on what bus I need to take and timing how long it takes to get to theater and back. It's now Thursday April 25, 2019 (The eve of Avengers Endgame). I got up extra early to call my school in my dads voice hoping to get some automated message instead of some live receptionist asking who I am. I knew this will take some time but I also know that I only had one shot or the school and my parents will be on to me. I wrote out and practice what I needed to say and how I was going to say it to make the receptionist listening to the message mark down why I'm absent and to not notify my parents. After about 5 minutes of pure focus and my heart pounding like crazy. I finally picked up the phone with my hands still shaking knowing that if I was caught I would most likely get expelled and maybe kicked out at home. I dialed the school number and luck was on my side this time and got an automated message. I left the message of what I had written down and how I was going to say it and hung up. A big sigh of relieve came over me and the hard part was dealt with, all I can do is hope it was enough to be bought by whoever was listening to that message on the other end. I head to school and into my classes and at break head home preparing for my long day ahead of my tomorrow (April 26).
It's now April 26 (Endgame). I get ready as always but this time I tell my mom to drop me off at school early due to a project I needed to work on (which is obviously a lie). And all I needed to do was to have her see me walk through those front doors, wait for her to go to work and leave out the back door of the school without any of my friends seeing me and I would be home free. I tell my mom to have a good day as I close the passenger door and as placed my hand on the handle door she left as if she was never there. I couldn't help but smile that I was going to do this. I walk into the lobby ready to head out the back door where my bus stop was waiting for me. But a girl friend (a friend who just so happens to be a girl) made eye contact with me. She wasn't surprised or shocked to see me, so I took the opportunity to chat with her and tell her that 'I'm in Montreal, don't tell anyone that you saw me.' She obviously looked confused but agreed to my promise and went out the back door to catch my bus that came at a perfect time.
I arrived at the theater, and let me tell you that shit was packed to the brim. You got kids watching it with their parents who told their employers that they're sick. The person sitting beside me was telling me how him and his 4 other co-workers all had to go on emergency family gatherings. All in all one hell of an experience.
It's currently 1:30 in the afternoon and I'm ready to head back to school to watch Endgame again but with my friends this time. They all ask me how my Montreal trip went and I tell them accordingly, we all take a moment to catch up over some dinner at McDonalds just down the road from the shit theater we were about to go into. And man was this second theater crazy. This was filled with not only other kids who went to school near this theater but crazy superfans and you can bet that there was a lot of cheering and more of it in this one. Just a crazy day of anxiety of not getting caught by my parents and school and excitement to see how this MARVELous (sorry for the pun) series would end.
Some closing remarks. Am I sorry for what I've done. FUCK no. If anything I'm happy because some twat went around my school shouting spoilers in every classroom and in the cafeteria ruining it for my friends while I was seeing it all unfold right before my eyes as that was going on. As for my friends, we're still tight with one another but they will never no the extent to what I've done. If you've made it this far thank you for reading and I hope you got a kick out of it.
T.L.D.R. - Committed the worst crime ever imaginable, I'm on the run from authorities. Please don't snitch me out
submitted by DeezNuts90210 to confessions [link] [comments]

2020.09.28 03:15 matthewkoehler Argument Against Single Family Zoning

Looking for any feedback on how to improve this document, thanks.
How to Address the Housing Crisis While Benefiting Both Homeowners and Renters, and Without Costing Taxpayers a Dime.
The average rent for a one bedroom apartment in Toronto is $2,013 for September 2020 according to With the most recent data provided by Statistics Canada showing a median monthly pre-tax income of $2,883 in 2018 for Toronto, this equates to $2,361 after taxes. Leaving a very comfortable $348 left for all other expenses. Clearly something needs to be done to address the affordability crisis in this city.
With a moderate increase in density in residential neighbourhoods we could significantly increase the supply of new rental units. A bylaw change which allows for one additional storey in residential neighbourhoods provided the additional square footage is allocated to a rental unit is one way in which this could be accomplished. See *link* for more detail on how this can be done.
There are 341,755 single- or semi-detached homes in Toronto, with the number increasing to 846,405 when considering the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). By promoting the construction of one rental unit per home we can apply a sustained downwards pressure on rental rates across the city for years to come.
This policy will tackle the housing crisis without the need for increased government spending, a factor which is especially important given the record ballooning debt of both Ontario and Canada.
One of the key benefits to this policy is that it benefits both renters and homeowners, a critical consideration when attempting to garner political support.
Benefits to Homeowners of Constructing a Rental Unit Under Proposed Program
1 - Providing a new source of monthly income.
2 - Providing a viable long term housing solution for elderly family members, children, individuals with special needs and others.
3 - Increasing the value of your home.
4 - Retaining all of your current living space, while being allowed to build higher toaccommodate a rental unit. See *link* for more detail.
Below you will find economic, social and environmental reasoning for this policy.
Economic Reasons
1 - Expanding the labour force capable of contributing to housing supply.
2 - Reducing bureaucratic inefficiencies.
3 - By allowing for stick frame construction up to 4 stories we allow for construction methods of approximately 30-35% lower cost in comparison with typical Toronto condominiums.
4 - Stabilizing the cost of doing business in Toronto.
5 - Fostering a competitive marketplace in the construction industry.
6 - Supporting thousands of well paying construction jobs in the city of Toronto.
Social Reasons
1 - It is detrimental to social cohesion to allow housing costs to rise to the point where many Torontonians are unable to live in the city.
2 - The neighborhood in which you grow up is one of the most statistically significant predictors of socioeconomic status later in life. Segregating Toronto neighborhoods based on wealth inhibits socioeconomic mobility as well as eroding social trust in our society.
3 - Helping to create more livable communities.
Environmental Reasons
1 - Combating climate change and protecting the health of local ecosystems.
Informative links
Examples of Other Governments Taking Similar Approaches
submitted by matthewkoehler to yimby [link] [comments]

2020.09.24 01:28 pudgythepudgo “Riding out” a nightmare house

I’m basically living every first-time home owners’ nightmare. It’s going to be a long post.
My husband and I bought a two story home last year. We had a home inspection and everything looked fine for a ~100 year old home. My husband and I are both civil engineers and we were present for the inspection. My dad has lots of home reno experience and he came along as well. No red flags during the inspection. Slightly uneven floors but no “bounciness”, no creaking, no door sticking, etc.
The house was dated but very clean - exactly what we were looking for (we wanted a little bit of a project... in hindsight... sigh). The basement was technically “finished”, i.e. lots of flimsy wood paneling and cheap vinyl.
After we closed on the house, we started removing the old laminate floors from the living room and immediately found termite damage. Upstairs, we found more damage (and active termites 🤢) in the floors as well. We decided to poke around in the basement to see the extent of damage and what started as a “poke” became a full on demo. Termite damage everywhere. For some reason the termites didn’t touch the joists but the beams near the foundation were basically mud. Sill plates are Swiss cheese. After demo and removal off all non-structural wood, we bought a bunch of posts and put them everywhere.
Our termite control guy said it looks like the bugs have been around for ~20 years. He treated the entire house and we’ve had him back a few time whenever we see a new mud tube coming through the basement wall. It seems like a slow war against the termites and I feel like we’ve already lost.
In the meantime, my husband and I have been doing some aesthetic upgrades to the home to keep the morale up. We’ve painted, put in new flooring, a few upgrades to one of the bathroom. We’ve done it all ourselves, both to save money and because we do honestly enjoy doing it. Honestly, it you don’t go into our basement, our house looks great! We have fantastic neighbors, our garden is thriving, the backyard deck is a sanctuary, and some days we even forget about what’s lurking in our walls.
In terms of moving ahead, we came up with a few options:
1) Sell the house in ~5 years. We are sure that our property values will increase over the next 5-10 years by 10-20% (one of the reasons we chose the current location). Hopefully, even with the damage disclosed, we will still break even.
2) Live here for another ~10 years, then tear down and build new. Our neighborhood is on the rise and if we really love it here, we should have enough money finance a custom build. Realistically, the trend in our neighborhood is to tear down houses that look like ours and rebuild anyway.
Both options would require us to live here another 5-10 years. We will keep up with maintenance and keep an eye on the structural integrity (what’s left of it) of the house. We’ll leave that rotted sill plate and the rest as it is and keep the important things supported. Maybe we’ll do some cosmetic upgrades to the kitchen.
Not sure what I’m asking here... Support? Anecdotes? A prayer?
If it helps, we are in Toronto, Ontario, the land of crazy real estate prices. Luckily we bought at the bottom of our budget.
submitted by pudgythepudgo to homeowners [link] [comments]

2020.09.23 02:48 normancrane Iris [1/3]

Part 1 <-- You are here.
Part 2
Part 3


The first person to ever tell me the theory was Iris. It was nighttime in 2015, and we were lying on an old mattress on the roof of a four-storey apartment building in a university town in southern Ontario. A party was going on downstairs to which we’d both been invited and from whose monotony we’d helped each other escape through an ordinary white door that said “No entrance”. It was summer. I remember the heat waves and the radiating warmth of the asphalt. Our semester was over and we had started existing until the next one started in the way all students exist when they don’t spend their months off at home or touring Europe. I could feel the bass thumping from below. I could see the infinite stars in the cloudless sky. The sound seemed so disconnected from the image. Iris and I weren’t dating, we were just friends, but she leaned toward me on the mattress that night until I could feel her breathing on my neck, and, with my eyes pointed spaceward, she began: “What if…”
Back then it was pure speculation, a wild fantasy inspired by the THC from the joint we were passing back and forth and uninhibited by the beer we’d already drunk. There was nothing scientific or even philosophical about Iris’ telling of it. The theory was a flight of imagination influenced by her name and personalized by the genetic defect of her eyes, which her doctors had said would render her blind by fifty. Even thirty-five seemed far away. It’s heartbreaking now to know that Iris never did live to experience her blindness—her own genetic fate interrupted by the genetic fate of the world—but that night, imagination, the quality Einstein called more important than knowledge, lit up both our brains in synapses of neon as we shared our joint, sucking it into glowing nothingness, Iris paranoid that she’d wake up one morning in eternal darkness despite the doctors’ assurances that her blindness would occur gradually, and me fearing that I would never find love, never share my life with anyone, but soothed at least by Iris’ words and her impossible ideas because Einstein was right, and imagination is magical enough to cure anything.

2025, Pre-

I graduated with a degree in one field, found a low paying job in another, got married, worked my way to slightly better pay, wanted to have a child, bought a Beagle named Pillow as a temporary substitute, lived in an apartment overlooking a green garbage bin that was always full of beer cans and pizza boxes, and held my wife, crying, when we found out that we couldn’t have children. Somewhere along the way my parents died and Kurt Schwaller, a physicist from the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, proved a grand theory of everything that rather than being based on the vibrations of strings, was based on a property of particles called viscous time force. I never understood the details. To me they lacked imagination. The overriding point, the experts on television told us, was that given enough data and computing power we could now predict the outcome of anything. The effect was that no one wanted to study theoretical physics and everyone wanted to make breakthroughs in data collection systems and biological hardware. Hackers created a version of Linux that ran from DNA. Western Digital released the first working holographic storage drive. The NSA, FSB, BND and other agencies rushed to put their suddenly valuable mass of unprocessed raw spy data to prognostic use. A Chinese bookmaker known only by the nick ##!! wrote a piece of Python code that could predict the outcomes of hockey games. Within a month, the NHL and KHL were scrambling to come up with ways of saving their leagues by making them more unpredictable. They introduced elements of chance: power plays without penalties, a tilting ice surface, fluctuating rules that sometimes allowed for icings and offsides and sometimes not, and, finally, a pre-game lottery by which the names of the players on both teams were put into a pot and randomly drawn into two squads. Given enough variables, the strategy did thwart the code, but the inherent unfairness of the innovations alienated the players, the draft made owners question why they were paying the salaries of superstars who played against them half of the time, and the fans simply stopped paying attention to a league full of teams for which their already dwindling loyalty had bottomed out. Besides, the code was basic. ##!! had room to expand. The KHL folded first, followed by the NHL, and then the other sports leagues, preemptively. They didn’t bother to wait until their own codes were broken. I remember seeing an interview with ##!! while this was still front page news. The reporter, a perpetually smiling big-breasted blonde with blindingly white teeth, asked him if he thought that hockey could be rescued by the creation of roving blue lines that would continually alter the relative sizes of both offensive zones and the neutral zone. ##!! answered that he didn’t know what a blue line was because he’d never watched a hockey game in his life. His voice was cold, objective, and there was something terrifyingly inhuman about the idea that a person with no knowledge of a subject could nevertheless understand it so completely. Content had become a mere input of form.
By 2025, mainstream interest in the theory of everything faded, not because the theory was wrong but because it was too right and too abstract and now there weren’t any young theoretical physicists to help explain it using cute graphics on YouTube. We consumed what we understood and passively accepted the fallout while going on with our daily lives. The people who did understand made money, but for the rest of us the consequences were less than their potential, because even with enough time, memory and microprocessors the most we could know was the what and the when, not the why. For the governments and corporations pouring taxes and tax-free earnings into complex models of world domination, that didn’t matter. They weren’t interested in cause. They were in the business of exploiting certainty to gain power. As long as they could predict lightning, they were satisfied. If they could make it, all the better. Away from the cutting edge, however, like ants or ancients, what we craved to know was where the lightning came from, what it meant, and on that issue the theory was silent. As Kurt Schwaller put it in a speech to the United Nations, “All I’ve given you is a tool—a microscope to magnify the minutes, so to speak—with which to investigate in perfect detail the entirety of our interrelations. But the investigations still have to made, ladies and gentlemen. Have a hay stack, look for the needle. Know there might not be one.”
In January, my wife and I began a fertility treatment for which we’d been saving for years. It was undoubtedly the reason we became so emotionally involved in the media attention around Aiko, the lovely, black-haired and fashionable Crown Princess of Japan, who along with her husband was going through the same ordeal that we were. For a few months, it seemed as if the whole world sat on the edges of its seat, wishing for this beautiful royal couple to conceive. And we sat on two, our own and one somewhere in an exotic Japan updated by the royal Twitter feed. It strikes me now that royalty has always fascinated the proles, a feeling that historically went in tandem with hatred, respect or awe, but it was the Japanese who held our attentions the longest and the most genuinely in the twenty-first century, when equality had more or less rendered a hereditary ruling class obsolete. The British declared themselves post-Christian in 2014 and post-Royal in 2021, the European Court of Justice ruled all other European royals invalid in 2022, and the Muslim monarchs pompously degraded themselves one-by-one into their own exiles and executions. Only the Japanese line survived, adapting to the times by refusing to take itself seriously on anything but the most superficial level. They dressed nicely, acted politely and observed a social protocol that we admired without wanting to follow it ourselves. Before he died, my father had often marvelled that the Second World War began with Japan being led by an emperor god, and ended with the American occupation forcing him to renounce his divinity. The Japanese god had died because MacArthur willed it and Hirohito spoke it. Godhood was like plaque. If your mother told you to brush your teeth, off it went, provided you used the right flavour of Colgate. Kings had once ruled by divine right. By 2025, the Crown Princess of Japan ruled our hearts merely by popular approval. She was our special friend, with whom we were all on intimate and imaginary terms. Indeed, on the day she died—on the day they all died—Princess Aiko’s was the most friended account on Facebook.
That’s why March 27, 2025, was such a joyous occasion for us. In hindsight, it’s utterly sick to associate the date with happiness of any kind, but history must always be understood in context, and the context of the announcement was a wirelessly connected world whose collective hopes came suddenly true to the jingle of a breaking news story on the BBC. I was in the kitchen sauteing onions when I heard it. Cutting them had made me cry and my eyes were still red. Then the announcer’s voice broke as he was setting up his intro, and in a video clip that was subsequently rebroadcast, downloaded and parodied close to a billion times in the one hundred thirty-two days that followed, he said: “The Crown Princess of Japan is pregnant!”
I ran to the living room and hugged my wife, who’d fallen to her knees in front of the wall-mounted monitor. Pillow was doing laps on and off the sofa. The BBC cut away from the announcer’s joyful face to a live feed from Japan. As I held my wife, her body felt warm and full of life. The top of her jeans cut into her waist. Her tears wetted the top of my shirt sleeve. Both of our phones started to buzz—emails and Twitter notifications streaming in. On the monitor, Aiko and her husband, both of their angular faces larger than life in 110” 1080p, waved to the crowd in Tokyo and the billions watching around the world. They spoke in Japanese and a woman on the BBC translated, but we hardly needed to know her exact words to understand the emotions. If them, why not also us? I knew my wife was having the same thought. We, too, could have a family. Then I smelled burning oil and the pungency of onions and I remembered my sauteing. I gently removed my arms from around my wife’s shoulders and ran back to the kitchen, still listening to Aiko’s voice and its polite English echo, and my hands must have been shaking, or else my whole body was shaking, because after I had turned down the heat I reached for the handle of the frying pan, knocked the pan off the stove top instead, and burned myself while stupidly trying to catch it before it fell, clattering, to the floor. The burned onions splattered. I’d cracked one of the kitchen tiles. My hand turned pale and I felt a numbness before my skin started to overflow with the warmth of pain. Without turning off the broadcast, my wife shooed me downstairs to the garage where we kept our car and drove me to the hospital.
The Toronto streets were raucous. Horns honked. J-pop blared. In the commotion we nearly hit a pedestrian, a middle-aged white woman pushing a baby carriage, who’d cut across Lake Shore without looking both ways. She had appeared suddenly from behind a parked transport—and my wife instinctively jerked the car from the left lane to the right, scraping our side mirror against the truck but saving two lives. The woman barely noticed. She disappeared into a crowd of Asian kids on the other side of street who were dancing to electronica and waving half a dozen Japanese flags, one of which was the Rising Sun Flag, the military flag of Imperial Japan. Clutching my wrist in the hope it would dull the pain in my hand, I wondered how many of them knew about the suffering Japanese soldiers had inflicted on countless Chinese in the name of that flag. To the right, Lake Ontario shone and sparkled in the late afternoon light. A passenger jet took off from Toronto Island Airport and climbed into the sky.
In the hospital waiting room, I sat next to a woman who was reading a movie magazine with Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s face on the cover. The Cannes film festival was coming up. My wife checked me in at the reception desk. The woman beside me put down her magazine and told me that she was there with her son, as if needing to justify her presence. I affirmed by nodding. He’d hurt his leg playing soccer for a local Armenian junior boys team, she went on. I said I’d hurt myself frying onions and that I was here with my wife. She said my wife was pretty and asked if I liked movies. Without meaning to do it, I tried to guess her age—unsuccessfully—and proceeded to imagine having doggy style sex with her. She had dark eyes that barely blinked and plump thighs. When I started to feel guilty, I answered her question: sometimes I watched movies at home, but I hadn’t been to a theatre in a decade. When my wife sat down, I let the two of them talk about the woman’s son. I was having trouble concentrating. I took my phone out of my pocket and read all the new emails about the royal conception, then stared at the seconds hand going slowly around its digital clock face on my home screen, wondering why we so often emulated the limitations of analogue machines on devices that were no longer bound by them. I switched my clock type to a digital readout. Now the seconds no longer rotated but flickered away. They called my name over the crackling intercom and a nurse led me to one of the empty rooms. “How about that baby,” he said while we walked. I didn’t see his face, only the shaved back of his head. “The things they can do these days, even for infertile couples.”
I waited for over thirty minutes for a doctor. When one came in, she inspected my hand for less than ten seconds before telling me that I was fine and hinting that I shouldn’t have wasted her time by coming to the emergency room. She had high cheek bones, thin lips and bony wrists. Her tablet had a faux clipboard wallpaper. Maybe I had only misinterpreted her tone. “How about that baby,” I said.
“It’s not a baby yet,” she answered.
This time her tone was impossible to misinterpret. I was only repeating what the nurse had said, I told myself. But I didn’t say that to her. Instead, I imagined her coming home at night to an empty apartment, furnished possibly in a minimalistic Japanese or Swedish style, brewing a cup of black coffee and settling into an armchair to re-read a Simone de Beauvoir novel. I was about to imagine having sex with her when I caught hold of myself and wondered what was up with me today.
When I got back to the waiting room, my wife was no longer there—but the Armenian woman was. She pointed down the hall and told me a room number. She said that sometime after I left, my wife had gotten a cramp and started to vomit all over the floor. Someone was still mopping up. The other people in the waiting room, which was filling up, gave me tactfully dirty looks, either because I was with the vomiter or because I’d shirked my responsible by being away during the vomiting. Irrationally, I wiped my own mouth and fled down the hall.
Inside the numbered room, my wife was sitting hunched over on an observation bed, slowly kicking her feet back and forth. “Are you OK?” I asked.
“Come here,” she said.
I did, and sat beside her on the bed. I repeated my question. She still smelled a little of vomit, but she looked up at me like the world’s luckiest puppy, her eyes big and glassy, and said, “Norman, I’m pregnant.”
That’s all she could say—
That’s all either of us could say for a while.
We just sat there on the examination bed like a pair of best friends on a swing set after dark, dangling our feet and taking turns pulling each other closer. “Are you sure?” I finally asked. My voice was hoarse. I sounded like a frog.
“Yes.” She kicked the heel of my shoe with the rubber toe of hers. “We’re going to have a baby.”
It was beautiful. The most wonderful moment of my life. I remembered the day we met and our little marriage ceremony. I thought about being a father, and felt positively terrified, and about being a better husband, and felt absolutely determined, and as I kissed my wife there in the little hospital room with its sterile green walls, I imagined making love to her. I kept imagining it as we drove back to the apartment through partying Toronto streets. “Not since the Maple Leafs won the Stanley Cup!” the radio announcer proclaimed—before I turned him off. I also turned off my phone and my wife’s phone. No more buzzing. In the underground parking lot, I leaned over and licked her soft neck. I pushed her through the open apartment door and straight into the living room, onto the sofa, and wished I could be the cushions beneath her thighs and the air invading her lungs. Pillow barked a greeting and wagged her tail. The monitor on the wall showed talking heads and fertility experts. I unbuttoned my wife’s blouse. She unbuckled my belt. The picture on the monitor dissolved to a close-up of Aiko’s smiling face. My wife and I took turns sliding off each other’s jeans. I kissed her bare stomach. She ran her hands through my hair. I dimmed the lights. We made love.
When we were done it was starry nighttime. My wife bandaged my hand. We turned off the television. The silence was refreshing because people on television too often talk like they’re trying to push you off a ledge. My wife excused me from the duty of making supper because of my ineptness with the frying pan, and handed me a leash instead. I hooked it up to Pillow’s collar and took her outside. While she peed, I gazed up at the sky and identified the Big Dipper. It and the Little Dipper were the only constellations I could identify without using a smartphone app. After Pillow finished, we ducked into a nook and I peed, too. The March sky was amazingly clear of smog. My urine splashed on the concrete and I felt embarrassingly primal. I breathed in, shook out the last drops and zipped up.
In the apartment, we ate grilled portabella mushrooms topped with parmesan and parsley and drank brown rice tea. My wife had changed into fresh clothes. I had changed into fresh skin. Every time she said “mom” and “dad”, the words discharged trickles of electricity up and down my peripheral nervous system. We were happy; we were going to have a baby. The whole world was happy; the Crown Princess of Japan of was going to have a baby. The sounds of drunken urban celebrations drifted in through our bedroom window all night like fog, and we barely slept.

2025, Post-

Gold is precious because it’s rare. Now close your eyes and imagine that the next time you open them, everything in your world will be golden: your kitchen table, the bananas you bought on the way home from work yesterday, your bottle of shampoo, even your teeth. Now blink. You’re not alone. The market’s flooded. Gold isn’t rare anymore. It’s everywhere. Which means that it’s worth about as much as its weight in mud, because there’s nothing intrinsically good about gold. Can you write on your gold table? It scratches. Surely you can’t eat your golden fruit. Your shampoo’s not a liquid anymore, so your hair’s already starting to get greasy. And if you do find something to eat that’s not made of metal, how long will those gold teeth last before you grind them into finely polished nubs?
For two days the Earth glittered.
For two days we lived in a daze of perfection.
And then, on March 29, a researcher working with lab mice at Stanford University noticed something odd. All of his female mice were pregnant. He contacted several of his colleagues who were also working with mice, rats, and monkeys. All their female animals were pregnant, too. Some of the colleagues had wives and girlfriends. They took innocent-seeming trips to their local pharmacies and bought up all the available pregnancy tests. At home, women took test after test and all of them showed positive. By midnight, the researchers had drafted a joint letter and sent copies of it to the major newspapers in their countries. On the morning of March 30, the news hit.
When I checked my Twitter feed after breakfast, #impregtoo was already trending. Throughout the day, Reddit lit up with increasingly bizarre accounts of pregnancies that physically couldn’t be but, apparently, were. Post-menopausal women, celibate women, prepubescent girls, women who’d had their uteruses removed only to discover that their reproductive systems had spontaneously regenerated like the severed tales of lizards. Existing early stage pregnancies aborted themselves and re-fertilized, like a system rebooting. Later term pregnancies developed Matryoshka-like pregnancies nested within pregnancies. After a while, I stopped reading, choosing to spend time with my wife instead. As night fell, we reclined on the sofa, her head on my chest, Pillow curled up in our tangle of feet, the television off, and the streets of Toronto eerily quiet save for the intermittent blaring of far off sirens, as any lingering doubts about the reality of the situation melted away like the brief, late season snow that floated gently down from the sky, blackening the streets.
On March 30, the World Health Organization issued a communique confirming that based on the available data it was reasonable to assume that all female mammals were pregnant. No cause was identified. It urged any woman who was not pregnant to step forward immediately. Otherwise, the communique offered no guidance. It indicated merely that the organization was already working with governments around the world to prepare for a massive influx of human population in approximately nine months’ time. Most places, including Toronto, reacted with stunned panic. Non-essential workplaces and schools were decried closed. People were urged to stay indoors. Hospitals prepared for possible complications. A few supermarkets ran out of canned food and there were several bank runs, but nothing happened that the existing systems couldn’t handle. Populations kept their nerve. Highway and air traffic increased slightly as people rushed to be with their friends, families and gynaecologists. We spent the entire day in our apartment and let Pillow pee in the tub. Except for the conspiracy theorists, who believed that the Earth was being cosmically pollinated by aliens, most of us weren’t scared to go outside, but we were scared of the unknown, and we preferred to process that fear in the comfort of our own dens.
The New York Times ran a front page editorial arguing for an evaluation of the situation using Kurt Schwaller’s theory of everything. In conjunction with The Washington Post, The Guardian and The Wikipedia Foundation, a website was set up asking users for technical help, monetary donations and the sharing of any surplus computing power.
The project quickly ran into problems. To accurately predict anything, the theory of everything needed sufficient data, and, on April 2, published a series of leaked emails between the French Minister of Health and a high-ranking member of World Health Organization that proved the latter’s communique had been disingenuous at best. Externally, the World Health Organization had concluded that all female mammals were pregnant. That remained true. However, it had failed to admit an even more baffling development: the wombs of all female mammals had inexplicably become impenetrable to all rays and materials that had so far been tried against them. For all intents and purposes, there was no way to see inside the womb, or to destroy it. The only way to revert the body to its natural form, to terminate the pregnancy, was to kill the woman—an experiment that, according to the high-ranking member of the World Health Organization, the French government had helped conduct on unwilling women in Mali. Both parties issued repeated denials until a video surfaced showing the murders. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. They spun their denials into arguments about the necessity of sacrificing lives for the greater good.
Reminded once again of the deception inherent in politics, many turned to religion, but the mainstream religions were hesitant to react. They offered few opinions and no answers. The fringe religions split into two camps. Some leaders welcomed this development, the greatest of all known miracles, while others denounced the same as a universal and unnatural punishment for our collective sins of hedonism, egoism and pride. The most successful of all was the Tribe of Akna, a vaguely mystical Maya revival cult that sprang up seemingly overnight and was led by a Guatemalan freelance programmer named Salvador Abaroa. Although it originated in Mexico City, the Tribe spread as quickly across the world as the computer viruses that Abaroa was notorious for creating. On the Tribe’s homepage, Abaroa could be seen striking an antique brass gong and saying in Spanish-tinged English, “Like energy, life is never destroyed. Every one of us plays an integral part of the cosmic ecosystem. Every man, woman and virus.” Elsewhere on the website, you could buy self-published theological textbooks, listen to scratchy recordings of speeches by Alan Watts and read about the hypothesis that Maya thought was deeply connected to Buddhism because the Mayans had crossed the Pacific Ocean and colonized Asia.
But despite the apparent international cooperation happening at the highest levels, the first week of April was an atomizing period for the so-called people on the ground. We hunkered down. Most personal communication was digital. My wife and I exchanged emails with her parents and sister, but we met no one face-to-face, not even on Skype. We neither invited our neighbours to dinner nor were invited by them, despite how easy it was to walk down the hall and knock. I read far more than I wrote, and even when I did write, responding to a blog post or news story, I found it easier to relate to strangers than to the people I knew. My wife said I had a high tolerance for solitude. “Who do you know in the city?” she asked. Although we’d been living here together for three years, she still considered Toronto mine. She was the stranger, I was the native. I said that I knew a few people from work. She told me to call one of them I’d never called before. I did, and the next day’s sky was cloudless and sunny and there were five of us in the apartment: my wife and I, my friend Bakshi and his wife Jacinda, and their daughter, Greta. Greta drank apple juice while the rest of us drank wine, and all five of us gorged ourselves on freshly baked peach cobbler, laughing at silly faces and cracking immature jokes. It hardly registered for me that the majority of the room was unstoppably pregnant, but wasn’t that the point: to forget—if only for a few hours? Instead of watching the BBC, we streamed BDRips of Hayao Miyazaki movies from The Pirate Bay. Porco Rosso ruled the skies, castles flew, a Catbus arrived at its magical stop. Then Bakshi’s phone rang, and he excused himself from the table to take the call. When he returned, his face was grey. “What’s the matter?” Jacinda asked him. He was still holding the phone to his ear. “It’s Kurt Schwaller,” he said. “They just found his body. They think he killed himself.”
Proceed to Part 2
submitted by normancrane to cryosleep [link] [comments]

2020.09.22 17:29 unholybanana17 No Camping Canada shipping

Has anyone else in Canada still not received their no camping merch?
I am Located in Toronto, Ontario, Canada post says it will be delivered within 5-7 business days of August 26th (obviously super past that date) I filed a ticket with them last week however have not received a response. I reached out to 100t support last week as well and followed up today to see if they can assist, nothing there either.
Maybe Canada post lost the package? Let me know if anyone else has had this issue.
submitted by unholybanana17 to 100thieves [link] [comments]

2020.09.21 21:16 laureate88 You’re NOT an empath, you simply use the label

Have you ever run into one of those people who like to claim they’re an empath and like to divide the world’s population evenly into empaths and sociopaths to suit their own good vs evil narrative that allows them to justify their own contrived position as being the protagonist in the story of their own life regardless of what’s actually happening?
It’s annoying right? Almost as annoying as that incredibly long sentence, but I don’t care right now. I made the mistake of DATING one of those creatures and that exact mental defect (coping mechanism for them, defect for the rest of the world) almost ruined my life.
You see, what it boils down to is that if they’re not the centre of emotional attention, they get a little bit tantrummy. If someone else had some emotional or mental issues around her and required help, even a friend of hers, she would make an entire ordeal out of it and accuse them of faking it all for attention - ironically and hypocritically. She would do kind things, sure, enough to feel good about it and lure you in but expect exaggerated gratuity in return or they’ll label you a user. Which brings me to my main point.
A little over a year ago an old relationship resulted in my first son while this “empath” and I were together in another part of the province of Ontario. I was closer to my son beforehand who was a meer month away from being born, but the “empath” insisted that I move farther away with her while she was working her factory job (while I was looking for another place myself) reassuring me that if I did agree to that, she would ensure that we moved closer once my son was born and that I could go see him at the hospital no matter what when the time came. My name wouldn’t be on the lease, as it would only be a short while before we would move again, but whatever, right? It was only 4 hours away after all as well.
Well, when that time came, I wasn’t at the hospital to see my son being born and to hold him because that self-labelled empathic gf would “rather I did not take the car and I should have made arrangements myself - and forcing her to be in any way apart of that was incredibly insensitive on my part”
Yes. Expecting her to keep her word about an incredibly more important thing she agreed to months before (as a means of luring me further away from my son) was me being insensitive in this “empath’s” eyes. To make matters worse, days later when our argument was over about it, she had invented a completely different scenario about what happened. That it wasn’t her fault for withholding “shared” transportation to my son’s birth, but that the mother of my child had gone into labour secretly and I wasn’t there for that reason. She demonstrated an ability I’ve learned is unique to people with her particular disorder - the ability to create false narratives and memories to smother their own misdeeds. Showing her proof of the contrary just resulted in me being labelled a sociopath that created false texts.
Now, this is grounds for instant dumping. But I couldn’t leave. I had no place to go and would have wound up homeless if I took my diminutive savings and left. Besides, there were over 1000 dollars worth of baby gear at her place that I’d have no way of transporting without careful planning. So I played dumb and decided not to press things further as she already clearly demonstrated how trapped she had me and how in control she was. I played along with her narrative until I could find a means of escape.
Well 7 days later, my boy is out of the hospital and the mother of my child graciously invites me over to hold him for the first time. This I simply wasn’t going to allow to slip through my fingers. But how to get there? Naturally, I waited until two of her close friends (and one roommate) was around the both of us and announced it then, stating in my boldness I would be leaving the next day, loading “our” car with baby gear, and going out to see and hold my son for the first time.
The “empaths” face twisted and reddened for the briefest of moments before she composed herself and put on that fake smile telling me to “go ahead”. And her friends praised her for being basically not a monster and allowing me parental time (they were basically a little screwy too so I came to learn, aside from her very cool roommate whom the “empath” was often jealous of considering how well her and I got along.)
I hit the road to see my son and soaked up every last second I could to see him, it being the best day of my life and all that. Meanwhile, Te “empath” grew more and more emotionally troubled. Texts. Interrupting obnoxious calls. Anger slowly seeping into her voice.
When I finally tore myself away to go back to “her”, I knew I’d be awaiting some contrived overly-emotional hell and would have to pay for my boldness. I didn’t care though. I got to see my boy and half the reason she was so pissed about it was probably because she couldn’t have children of her own and it became some twisted psychosis but...
When I returned she broke up with me and accused me of cheating on her with a woman that less than 7 days ago had given childbirth. The concept was so laughable that I actually laughed, expecting something that at least had some flimsy logic to it aside from something so implausible.
She rendered me homeless that day. Kicked me out instantly (gave me a week originally until I said some cutting words bf she turned it into 24 hours, which after some more cutting words from me became 10 minutes with a police presence).
I lived on the streets of Ingersoll for 2 full days and nights before finally being able to secure funds to take a train to Toronto, where I was homeless for 2 more days until I returned home to Newfoundland with a lot of debt and some family assistance. Covid 19 happened just a few short months later, rendering me with little means of saving money to return to Ontario while taking care of the aforementioned debt of anti homelessness. To make matters worse again, some of my sons belongings were forced to be left behind, (car seat, clothes, whatever I couldn’t fit in the car) and rather than do the right thing by returning an infant’s things to the mother of my child or at least holding them longer than she was legally allowed, she held a party on the day she was legally allowed to get rid of those things and burned them. My sons belongings. As her friends partied and laughed.
Yet to this day, according to her - she is an empath that can do no wrong, and I am the sociopath that “used” her.
Why am I ranting about this now? Because that woman’s derangement has trapped me away from my child in another province. Because she’s convinced nearly everyone (apart from her roommate and father, whom are sane and on my side) that I was a monster. On social media groups. Through word of mouth. She’s even made it harder for me to go back by convincing people I knew in Ontario that I’m a liability to stay with until I get on my feet, forcing me to try to save thousands to move in a notoriously poor part of Canada. And all while thinking what she did was right, and good, and borderline heroic?
Fuck. You. Kourtney.
Please no “This is the wrong subreddit” trolls, this post is empirically a rant. There’s entire rant posts dedicated to you Karens so take a chill pill.
submitted by laureate88 to Rants [link] [comments]

2020.09.21 15:02 uppitysquid All Canadian Med School decisions on the CASPer Snapshot

Similar to the other thread on winter grades, I thought I'd make this one while we get more information on what schools want which.

Currently ONLY Dalhousie and Ottawa require the Snapshot.

Laval, and Sherbrooke are unknown (if someone got an email back, send me a message and I can verify the email).

Rest do not require it.

Sources below:
PLEASE let me know / leave a comment if I made a mistake anywhere. Anyone coming to this post, check the comments for more up to date info I might not have edited in yet.
School Decision on Snapshot Source
University of Alberta not required
University of Calgary no CASPer
University of British Columbia no CASPer
McMaster University not required Confirmed from screenshot of email with Admissions Staff
Queens University not required
Western University no CASPer
University of Ottawa REQUIRED (for both French & English CASPer)
University of Toronto no CASPer
Laval University NO INFO YET
University of Montreal not required (for both French & English CASPer)
McGill University not required (for both French & English CASPer)
University of Sherbrooke NO INFO YET
Northern Ontario no CASPer
University of Manitoba not required
Memorial University not required Confirmed via. email
Dalhousie University REQUIRED
University of Saskatchewan not required
submitted by uppitysquid to premedcanada [link] [comments]

2020.09.20 05:34 Cerealkiller05 $1100 CAD Gaming PC 1080p 75fps

>**What will you be doing with this PC? Be as specific as possible, and include specific games or programs you will be using.**

* Planning to use this in place of the next-gen xboxes, would like to play AAA games like AC odyssey and battlefield but will most commonly be playing Minecraft/total war. Will also be using this to do homework, would like to be able to keep multiple not-super-demanding windows (google docs, classroom, a pdf, etc.) open simultaneously, looking to eventually get a second monitor

>**What is your maximum budget before rebates/shipping/taxes?**

* Hard cap at $1200 Canadian dollars (908.72USD), $1100 CAD ($833USD) would be ideal to have a bit of wiggle room

>**When do you plan on building/buying the PC? Note: beyond a week or two from today means any build you receive will be out of date when you want to buy.**

* The sooner the better but I might be able to get to black Friday / cyber Monday if it would be beneficial

>**What, exactly, do you need included in the budget? (ToweOS/monitokeyboard/mouse/etc\)**

* I've got a 1080p 75hz monitor, and a wireless keyboard and mouse. I can get by without a windows key, I need a tower.

>**Which country (and state/province) will you be purchasing the parts in? If you're in US, do you have access to a Microcenter location?**

* I live in Canada, Ontario, Toronto

>**If reusing any parts (including monitor(s)/keyboard/mouse/etc), what parts will you be reusing? Brands and models are appreciated.**

* this is the monitor I have, 1080p 75hz. The keyboard, and mouse are both decently cheap wireless ones, I might replace them eventually.

>**Will you be overclocking? If yes, are you interested in overclocking right away, or down the line? CPU and/or GPU?**

* I'm not entirely sure, I know enough about computers and googling to be able to overclock but given the choice, I'd prefer not to.

>**Are there any specific features or items you want/need in the build? (ex: SSD, large amount of storage or a RAID setup, CUDA or OpenCL support, etc)**

* I don't need a massive amount of storage so an ssd would be preferred

>**Do you have any specific case preferences (Size like ITX/microATX/mid-towefull-tower, styles, colors, window or not, LED lighting, etc), or a particular color theme preference for the components?**

* I'm not the biggest fan of RGB or the alien tech gamer look, but I'm happy with whatever is the most functional

>**Do you need a copy of Windows included in the budget? If you do need one included, do you have a preference?**

* I want to run windows, I don't have a key but I'm happy to go without for a while, I can't get a free key through school or another computer

>** I don't need anything that would surpass the 1080p 75fps mark but I would like to play future and current titles at high graphics if at all possible **
submitted by Cerealkiller05 to buildapcforme [link] [comments]

2020.09.19 08:04 Chti_59 Canada / Toronto : Quand la Covid-19 touche d’abord les plus pauvres

Canada / Toronto : Quand la Covid-19 touche d’abord les plus pauvres
Des données récemment publiées montrent comment le virus s’est répandu dans la ville de Toronto, avant de s’emparer des populations les plus pauvres. Les autorités ont souligné que « nous étions tous dans le même bateau ». Mais pour certains quartiers de la ville, ce n’est pas vrai…
Toronto est sous l’emprise de la Covid-19 depuis plus de six mois, bien que cela puisse sembler une éternité. Le chemin du virus est vraiment sinueux : presque chaque mois a apporté un nouveau bouleversement.
En juillet, le service de santé publique de Toronto (TPH) a publié un important ensemble de données : un catalogue de tous les cas signalés dans la ville depuis le premier cas connu fin janvier, soit environ 15 300 au total. Les données d’identification ont été supprimées pour protéger la vie privée, mais chaque cas comprend la tranche d’âge de la personne, son quartier et la source d’infection ; si elle a été hospitalisée, en soins intensifs ou intubée ; si elle s’est rétablie, si elle lutte encore contre l’infection, et plus encore.
Vous croyez peut-être connaître l’histoire de COVID-19 et de Toronto. Mais l’ensemble de données, que le TPH dit avoir publié dans un souci de transparence, contient des révélations sur la façon dont le virus s’est glissé dans Toronto et a pris pied avant de s’attaquer aux résidents et aux quartiers les plus vulnérables. L’analyse de cette mine d’informations par le Star raconte l’histoire inédite de la première vague de l’épidémie – un cauchemar que certains craignent de voir se répéter, si les leçons de ce premier chapitre restent lettre morte.
Le voyage
Chine. Iran. Italie. Dans les premiers jours de la pandémie – lorsque les voyageurs infectés représentaient encore la plus grande menace – ces pays ont suscité des réactions alarmistes, déclenché des conseils aux voyageurs et influencé les personnes qui ont subi le test COVID.
Trois pays ont en effet été responsables de la majorité des premiers cas de voyage à Toronto.
Mais ce n’était pas nécessairement les pays que tout le monde avait supposés au départ. Le premier pays responsable des premières infections de voyageurs était plutôt les États-Unis. Les voyageurs en provenance des États-Unis ont représenté 37 % des cas de voyage à Toronto entre janvier et mars, soit 106 personnes. Pendant les semaines qui ont précédé la fermeture de la frontière, les États-Unis ont constitué la plus grande menace de COVID liée aux voyages.
Le Royaume-Uni a été le deuxième contributeur le plus important, avec 14 % des cas de voyage. Cinq pour cent provenaient de l’Iran. Les infections provenant de toutes les autres destinations, y compris la Chine et l’Italie, ont eu moins de cinq cas chacune au cours de ces trois premiers mois.
« Les autres pays, y compris le sud du pays (et le Royaume-Uni), n’étaient pas dans notre zone de détection des taux élevés de COVID », a déclaré la Dre Vinita Dubey, médecin hygiéniste adjointe au service de santé publique de Toronto. « Nous savons maintenant que les personnes qui sont allées là-bas et qui en sont revenues – ou les voyageurs qui sont venus de ces endroits – ont en fait joué un grand rôle ».
Autre tendance cachée : qui étaient ces premiers voyageurs, et où vivaient-ils ? L’analyse du Star montre qu’un point chaud du centre-ville émergeait déjà silencieusement au moment où les mesures de confinement ont commencé à la mi-mars, le quartier connu sous le nom de « Waterfront Communities-Toronto Island ».
Il comprend des zones comme le Distillery District et les îles de Toronto. Mais la plus grande partie de cette communauté est coincée dans une bande concentrée entre le lac Ontario et Queen Street, y compris le quartier de divertissement King West et les copropriétés CityPlace. Le quartier de Waterfront est jeune et en pleine expansion, en particulier avec des personnes dans la vingtaine et la trentaine.
L’examen des données démographiques sur les infections dues aux voyages dans le Waterfront remet en question les hypothèses initiales selon lesquelles les voyageurs à risque rendaient visite à des amis et à des parents au retour de pays comme l’Iran ou la Chine, a déclaré M. Dubey.
Dans le Waterfront, 71 % des personnes qui ont été infectées lors d’un voyage ont moins de 40 ans.
Ces jeunes voyageurs suivaient les instructions du Premier ministre. La semaine précédant le congé de mars, le premier ministre Doug Ford a exhorté les Ontariens à « partir, s’amuser ». Au cours des deux semaines suivantes, 16 cas de COVID liés à des voyages allaient apparaître dans le Waterfront, soit le nombre le plus élevé parmi les quartiers de Toronto.
À ce jour, plus de quatre mois après la déclaration de la pandémie, le Waterfront est la ville qui compte le plus grand nombre de cas liés aux voyages, et le cinquième plus grand nombre de cas liés aux voyages. (Le taux le plus élevé, qui tient compte de la taille de la population, se trouve dans les quartiers aisés de Bridle Path-Sunnybrook-York Mills).
Le quartier de Waterfront est le plus peuplé de la ville, avec plus de 65 900 personnes au recensement de 2016, il n’est donc peut-être pas surprenant d’y trouver de nombreux cas de voyage. M. Dubey met en garde contre le fait que le nombre de cas de voyage dans le quartier Waterfront est peut-être davantage lié au comportement.
« Est-ce lié à leur âge, car ils sont plus jeunes et plus susceptibles de voyager ? Est-ce parce qu’ils sont plus jeunes et plus susceptibles de se livrer à certaines activités ? demande-t-elle. « Il est très difficile de répondre à cette question. »
On ne sait pas très bien quel rôle ces jeunes voyageurs du centre-ville ont joué dans l’épidémie globale de la ville. En mars, chaque cas de COVID entraînait en moyenne 3,5 nouvelles infections, selon M. Dubey.
Le Waterfront a perdu de son importance en tant que point chaud lorsque les voyages ont cessé d’être la principale source d’infection dans la ville. Le fardeau de la COVID s’est déplacé du centre ville prospère vers les zones plus pauvres en périphérie de Toronto.
Propagation communautaire aux États-Unis fin février, des cas de COVID ont commencé à apparaître chez les Américains qui n’ont pas voyagé ou qui n’ont pas été en contact avec des voyageurs : un signe inquiétant. De tels cas, sans lien épidémiologique, indiquent que le virus se propage localement, via des chaînes de transmission non identifiées.
À Toronto, les journalistes ont commencé à demander si la ville avait enregistré l’un de ces cas « communautaires ». Le docteur Eileen de Villa, médecin hygiéniste de Toronto, a promis d’informer les habitants s’il y en avait.
Le 6 mars, de Villa a déclaré : « actuellement, il n’y a aucune preuve de transmission locale ». Le 12 mars : « Nous ne voyons toujours pas de preuve confirmée de transmission locale. »
Mais le 16 mars, elle a annoncé la nouvelle. Toronto avait vu une recrudescence de cas, « dont certains ne sont pas reliés, et indiquent donc une transmission communautaire. »
La santé publique ne peut agir que sur les cas dont elle a connaissance. De Villa a informé le public très rapidement après avoir été averti : les deux premiers cas ayant une source d’infection « communautaire » signalés à la santé publique de Toronto ont été enregistrés les 12 et 13 mars ; les enquêteurs auraient mis un certain temps à écarter d’autres sources. Le TPH a appris l’existence de quatre autres cas communautaires le 16 mars, le jour où de Villa a confirmé la transmission locale. À l’insu de la direction de la santé publique, la situation était cependant bien plus grave. Le jour de la Saint-Valentin, un mois avant l’annonce de de Villa, une femme d’une trentaine d’années de Trinity-Bellwoods a commencé à présenter des symptômes. Son cas, finalement attribué à une propagation communautaire, n’a été signalé au TPH que le 24 mars, une semaine après les propos de M. de Villa.
Au total, la ville comptait déjà près de 50 cas qui seraient finalement attribués à une propagation communautaire mais qui n’ont été signalés à la santé publique que des jours, des semaines et parfois des mois après l’annonce de de Villa.
Les délais entre l’apparition de ces cas clés et le moment où ils ont été signalés à la santé publique étaient parfois très longs. Peu après l’affaire Trinity-Bellwoods, un homme d’une quarantaine d’années à Humbermede et un homme d’une cinquantaine d’années à Princess-Rosethorn ont attrapé la COVID-19 dans la localité. Ces cas n’ont pas été signalés avant le 6 avril et le 29 mai, respectivement.
La santé publique utilise un terme appelé « date de l’épisode » pour estimer le moment où une infection a été contractée. Si la date d’apparition des symptômes est connue – et elle n’est pas toujours évidente – la date de l’épisode s’y réfère. Lorsqu’une date estimée d’apparition n’est pas disponible, les enquêteurs la remplacent le jour où la personne a été examinée ; lorsque cette date n’est pas connue, ils utilisent le jour où le cas a été signalé à la santé publique.
Pour tous les cas signalés au TPH, l’écart entre la date de l’épisode et la date de signalement s’est réduit au fil du temps. Début mars, la moyenne était de près de 14 jours ; début juillet, de quatre jours seulement. (Ces moyennes excluent les cas avec un écart de zéro jour, dans lesquels la date déclarée a été utilisée pour la date de l’épisode).
Selon M. Dubey, les retards dans la déclaration des cas à la santé publique peuvent avoir plusieurs causes. Les données du TPH de la fin mai suggèrent qu’il s’écoule en moyenne près de cinq jours entre le moment où une personne présente des symptômes et celui où elle se fait tester. Et au cours de ces premiers mois, la province a également restreint les tests de manière très stricte.
Les délais d’exécution des laboratoires ont certainement joué un rôle. M. Dubey a fait remarquer qu’en février et mars, une pénurie de matériel d’essai et un engorgement des laboratoires ont entraîné de longs retards. « Ces retards dans les rapports de laboratoire sont des retards dans le suivi de notre dossier et des contacts ».
Confinement Quand le COVID s’est emparé de la ville à la mi-mars, les fonctionnaires ont brusquement fermé les écoles et les entreprises non essentielles. Ils ont dit à tous ceux qui pouvaient le faire de rester chez eux. Le message était un message d’unité : « Nous sommes tous dans le même bateau. »
Ce n’était pas vrai. Le verrouillage a protégé les quartiers les plus riches et les plus blancs de Toronto, mais pas les plus pauvres et les plus racialisés.
Dans les 20 quartiers les plus blancs et les plus riches de Toronto – où le pourcentage de minorités visibles et de résidents de ménages à faible revenu est le plus faible, selon le recensement de 2016 – les fermetures généralisées ont eu un effet immédiat et durable. Presque instantanément, leur courbe s’est aplatie.
Mais pour les 20 quartiers les plus pauvres et les plus racialisés – avec les pourcentages les plus élevés de résidents de minorités visibles et de personnes à faible revenu – la fermeture n’a fait que peu ou pas de différence. Les cas ont continué à augmenter, et n’ont pas commencé à diminuer pendant deux mois.
Quatre Canadiens sur dix ont un travail qui peut être effectué depuis leur domicile selon Statistiques Canada. La probabilité d’occuper un tel emploi est partagée de manière inégale : les membres des ménages à faible revenu sont beaucoup moins susceptibles de pouvoir travailler à domicile que les ménages à revenu élevé (Et les minorités visibles sont plus susceptibles d’être des travailleurs à faible revenu, selon d’autres recherches).
Ainsi, la fermeture d’entreprises non essentielles était plus susceptible d’avoir l’un des deux impacts terribles pour les travailleurs pauvres : les résidents étaient plus exposés à la perte de leur emploi ; ou plus susceptibles de devoir quitter leur domicile pour continuer à travailler dans des entreprises « essentielles » pendant toute la durée de la fermeture, et de faire face à ce risque d’exposition.
Les données du TPH publiées jeudi confirment la terrible inégalité de la pandémie. L’analyse de ces données, recueillies du 20 mai au 16 juillet, comporte des limites, notamment le fait que 27 % des cas n’ont pas communiqué d’informations sociodémographiques, en particulier ceux qui ont été gravement malades à l’hôpital, et que le nombre de cas reflète des préjugés quant aux personnes ayant accès aux tests.
Néanmoins, les résultats sont frappants. Alors que 48 % de la ville est blanche, seulement 17 % des cas COVID le sont ; alors que 52 % de la ville appartient à une minorité visible, elle représente 83 % des cas COVID. Les personnes faisant partie de ménages à faible revenu représentent plus de la moitié des cas de cette période, mais moins d’un tiers de la composition globale de la ville.
Foyers d’épidémie Le 31 mars, l’épidémiologiste Amy Greer a diffusé un tweet de colère : « Quel genre de muppet show sommes-nous en train de faire ? Je suis sans voix à ce sujet ». Mme Greer, professeur à l’université de Guelph, n’était pas la seule experte en santé à réagir avec incrédulité à une déclaration faite ce jour-là par le médecin hygiéniste en chef de l’Ontario, le Dr David Williams.
Williams a déclaré que les travailleurs de la santé dans les maisons de soins de longue durée n’avaient pas besoin de porter régulièrement des équipements de protection individuelle, tels que des masques, à moins que leur établissement ne connaisse une épidémie de COVID. Il a affirmé que les mesures de santé publique déjà mises en œuvre, telles que le dépistage du personnel et la mise en quarantaine de ceux qui ont récemment voyagé, permettraient d’assurer la sécurité des résidents et du personnel.
Il est impossible de dire à quel point cette politique est responsable de l’horreur qui a suivi.
Le jour où Williams a fait cette déclaration, dix foyers de soins de longue durée en Ontario avaient signalé une épidémie. Au moment où il a fait marche arrière huit jours plus tard et a ordonné le port du masque obligatoire pour le personnel de ces établissements, 58 centres de soins de longue durée étaient en proie à une épidémie. Depuis cette semaine, plus de 325 foyers de soins de longue durée ont une épidémie active ou résorbée.
Huit membres du personnel des centres de soins sont décédés, ainsi que plus de 1 800 résidents.
Environ 75 de ces foyers de maladies infectieuses se trouvent à Toronto. Lorsque l’on dresse la carte des cas associés à l’épidémie – qui, selon la définition du service de santé, comprennent les cas dans les foyers de centre de soins ainsi que dans les maisons de retraite, les hôpitaux, les refuges et autres – cette phase brutale de la pandémie s’intensifie rapidement dans le quartier d’Islington-City Centre Ouest. Les données de la santé publique de Toronto de la fin mai suggèrent qu’il s’écoule en moyenne près de cinq jours entre le moment où une personne présente des symptômes et celui où elle se fait tester. Et au cours de ces premiers mois, la province a également limité les tests à la périphérie ouest d’Etobicoke. C’est là que se trouve le centre de soins d’Eatonville, un établissement de 247 lits, où 184 résidents ont été infectés et 43 sont morts.
Deux quartiers de Scarborough, Rouge et Morningside, suivent de près.
Ces quartiers abritent le centre de soins Altamont et Seven Oaks, où respectivement 53 et 41 résidents sont décédés.
À la fin avril, les militaires ont été déployés à Eatonville, Altamont, Hawthorne Place et Downsview Long-Term Care Centre à North York, ainsi que dans trois autres maisons de soins de longue durée de la région du Grand Toronto.
Le mois suivant, un rapport des forces armées a déclaré que le personnel d’Eatonville ne pouvait pas accéder aux fournitures essentielles, y compris les lingettes, parce qu’elles étaient enfermées ; et a cité une « culture générale de peur d’utiliser des fournitures parce qu’elles coûtent de l’argent », comme les blouses et les gants. À Altamont, l’équipe militaire a soulevé les problèmes de mauvaises pratiques de prévention et de contrôle des infections auprès de la direction de l’établissement, après quoi « le personnel a indiqué qu’il remédierait à ces lacunes ».
Mais si les maisons de retraite et de soins de longue durée de Toronto sont plus densément concentrées dans le centre-ville que dans les quartiers périphériques, la carte de tous les cas associés à l’épidémie est à l’opposé, avec des régions comme le nord-ouest de la ville qui se dévoilent. Les raisons de cette situation ne sont pas tout à fait claires : les foyers où se sont déclarés de graves épidémies sont dispersés dans toute la ville.
Mais cela pourrait s’expliquer en partie par le fait que le personnel de centres de soins de longue durée infecté qui travaille dans un établissement en cas d’épidémie est enregistré par son adresse personnelle et non par son adresse professionnelle.
Certains des quartiers les plus touchés de Toronto par les cas sporadiques (non épidémiques) présentent également les pourcentages les plus élevés d' »aides-infirmiers, d’aides-soignants et d’associés aux services aux patients » – une classification de Statistiques Canada qui inclut les aides-soignants et autres personnels des maisons de soins. (À Toronto, les immigrants représentent 79 % de ce groupe professionnel)
Sans plus de données, il est difficile de dire quel rôle le « feu de forêt » des foyers de soins a joué dans l’épidémie plus importante de Toronto.
Un autre lien est que ces épidémies ont immobilisé les ressources de dépistage pendant des mois ; la province n’a commencé à autoriser tout résident qui le souhaitait à passer un test que le 25 mai, après avoir fait pression pour que tous les employés et résidents des établissements passent un test. La courbe des cas sporadiques de la ville a entamé une trajectoire descendante soutenue cinq semaines après que la courbe des cas associés aux épidémies ait fait de même.
Le quartier le plus touché de Toronto
Début avril, la question devenait urgente : certains groupes minoritaires, en particulier les communautés noires, sont-ils plus exposés à la pandémie ? Les données COVID basées sur la race seraient essentielles pour répondre à cette question. Mais le 10 avril, lorsqu’on lui a demandé s’il allait recueillir ces informations, M. Williams a écarté cette idée.
« Au Canada, nous ne collectons pas les cas désignés par leur race à moins qu’il n’y ait certains facteurs de risque », a déclaré le médecin hygiéniste en chef de la province aux journalistes.
Au moment où il s’exprimait, le coronavirus se répandait déjà de manière mortelle dans le coin nord-ouest de Toronto, l’une des zones les plus racialisées et historiquement marginalisées. Cette semaine-là, Mount Olive-Silverstone Jamestown, l’un des quartiers les plus noirs de Toronto, a vu plus de gens tomber malades à cause du COVID que tout autre quartier de Toronto. La semaine suivante a vu des pics dans deux autres quartiers du nord-ouest, dont la communauté Jane-Finch.
Le 6 mai, lorsque M. Williams a fait marche arrière sur la question des données racialisées, le secteur nord-ouest était déjà la région la plus touchée de Toronto.
Les données publiées jeudi par le TPH révèlent que les Noirs représentent le plus grand pourcentage du total des cas, soit 21 %, et que les Latino-américains ont les taux d’infection les plus élevés, soit 481 cas pour 100 000 personnes.
Les 19 quartiers présentant les taux d’infection les plus élevés de Toronto sont tous situés dans le nord-ouest, où vivent certaines des plus grandes communautés noires et latino-américaines de la ville.
Le premier cas documenté de la région est celui de l’homme d’une quarantaine d’années de Humbermede, qui est le deuxième cas d’infection communautaire dans la ville. Il a développé les symptômes le 1er mars, mais le cas n’a été signalé à la santé publique que le 6 avril.
Lors des deux dernières semaines de mars, les nouveaux cas ont commencé à se multiplier dans deux quartiers du nord-ouest de la ville, qui présentent aujourd’hui des taux d’infection parmi les plus élevés de la ville : Downsview-Roding-CFB – qui a enregistré le plus grand nombre de cas hebdomadaires pendant une grande partie du mois d’avril – et West HumberClairville, dans le nord d’Etobicoke, qui compte actuellement le plus grand nombre d’infections liées à des établissements de santé comme les cabinets médicaux ou les centres de dialyse.
Une semaine après la fête des mères, dont certains craignaient qu’elle ne provoque une augmentation des cas, la courbe épidémique des cas communautaires à Toronto a finalement atteint son point culminant et a commencé à décroître.
Mais un quartier du nord-ouest ne s’est pas inscrit dans la dynamique gagnante. À Mount Olive-Silverstone-Jamestown, les cas ont continué à grimper pendant deux semaines avant d’atteindre un pic. Pendant ce temps, plus de 100 habitants de Mount Olive ont été infectés.
On ne sait pas très bien dans quelle mesure ces chiffres sont liés à l’accès aux tests.
Mais aujourd’hui, Mount Olive a le taux d’infection le plus élevé de tous les quartiers – 1 308 cas pour 100 000 personnes. Mount Olive, grossièrement bordé par Steeles Avenue, la rivière Humber et Martin Grove Road, est le quartier du nord-ouest avec la plus forte concentration de minorités visibles et l’une des zones les plus défavorisées de la ville.
De nombreux résidents n’auraient pas eu le luxe de travailler chez eux ; Mount Olive compte la plus forte proportion de personnes travaillant comme caissiers, chauffeurs de camion et ouvriers dans la fabrication de plastiques. Beaucoup d’entre eux ont été considérés comme « essentiels » pendant le confinement.
En même temps, Mount Olive possède également certains des habitats les plus surpeuplés de la ville.
En effet, les données du TPH montrent que Mount Olive a le taux le plus élevé d’infections COVID liées à un « contact étroit » – une catégorie souvent attribuée lorsqu’une personne est infectée par un membre du foyer.
À la date de vendredi, 431 personnes vivant à Mount Olive avaient été infectées. En comparaison, The Beaches a le taux d’infection le plus bas de Toronto, et c’est la troisième communauté la plus blanche. À ce jour, elle a connu 13 cas.
La COVID chez les enfants
Une importante question reste sans réponse, même avec six mois de données sur chaque cas confirmé à Toronto : comment les enfants sont-ils affectés et quel rôle jouent-ils dans la propagation de la COVID ?
Cette question devient de plus en plus urgente à mesure que les jours diminuent et que la rentrée approche. Pour Mme Dubey, qui exploite les données de la ville, c’est une priorité, surtout maintenant que les infections se manifestent davantage chez les jeunes.
« L’une des tendances que nous observons est que de plus en plus d’enfants contractent la COVID, mais cela pourrait être lié à la multiplication des tests sur les enfants. C’est difficile à savoir », a-t-elle déclaré. « Je pense que c’est une tendance que nous devons prendre en compte pour l’avenir, surtout lorsque nous parlons de la réouverture des écoles ».
Les fermetures d’écoles ont probablement joué un rôle majeur dans la réduction des infections chez les personnes de 19 ans et moins. Le fait que les enfants ont tendance à avoir une maladie légère ou asymptomatique – associé à une aversion parentale à soumettre les jeunes enfants à des prélèvements nasopharyngés – signifie qu’ils avaient probablement moins de chances d’être testés également.
Pourtant, des centaines d’enfants et d’adolescents ont été testés positifs au COVID à Toronto. Le premier cas confirmé chez les moins de 19 ans a été signalé le 11 mars, alors que les familles se préparaient pour les vacances de mars. La jeune fille du quartier de Dovercourt-Wallace Emerson Junction a été infectée lors d’un voyage et s’est rétablie après une hospitalisation.
Depuis, on a enregistré 963 cas supplémentaires chez des enfants ou des adolescents, la plupart ayant été contractés par un contact direct avec un autre cas confirmé. Et les quartiers les plus infectés dans cette tranche d’âge se trouvent également dans le coin nord-ouest, où six communautés ont connu plus de 33 cas.
Le quartier le plus infecté, Downsview, en a eu 69. Les quartiers où les enfants sont le plus touchés se trouvent également dans le secteur nord-ouest, où six quartiers ont eu plus de 30 cas chacun.
Quatorze enfants ont été hospitalisés à Toronto, trois dans l’unité de soins intensifs et un a été intubé.
Un décès infantile a été enregistré, un enfant de moins de 10 ans de le quartier de l’Annex dont l’infection a été contractée dans un cadre institutionnel. Le TPH a déclaré à l’époque que la COVID n’en était peut-être pas la cause, mais le coroner en chef de l’Ontario mène une enquête.
Ce qui va se passer ensuite avec les enfants fait l’objet d’intenses discussions. Les épidémiologistes et les pédiatres ont des idées différentes – parfois radicalement différentes – sur la façon dont la réouverture des écoles affectera l’épidémie de Toronto, qui est en rémission.
M. Dubey a fait remarquer que les rebondissements du COVID ont été profondément influencés par les mesures de santé publique. La forme et l’ampleur d’une éventuelle deuxième vague et de ce qu’il adviendra de la courbe des cas de 19 ans et moins dépendront en grande partie de ce que décideront les responsables politiques.
« Nous réfléchissons assurément sur les tendances observées lors de la première vague », a-t-elle déclaré. « Mais une fois de plus, nous avons vu la COVID et sa transmission dans notre ville changer, même seulement de février à aujourd’hui. Et nous ne pouvons donc pas vraiment prédire l’avenir ».
La province n’a commencé à autoriser les personnes qui le souhaitaient à passer un test qu’à la fin mai, après avoir fait pression pour que tous les travailleurs et résidents des établissements de soins de longue durée passent un test.
Source de la traduction - Les Crises : https://www.les-crises.ftoronto-quand-la-covid-19-touche-d-abord-les-plus-pauvres/
Original : Press Reader, Rachel Mendleson
submitted by Chti_59 to francophonie [link] [comments]

2020.09.15 06:06 thetorontobot Toronto Daily - Sep 15th 2020

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Can people kayak on Oshawa creek? If so, where is a good place to park and carry a Kayak to the water and start? skylego 2
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toronto, what's a good movie to watch on netflix? firsttimeee8 15
Where can I find Korean conditioner? GunslingerLovely 3
Is plastic recycling actually recycled in Toronto? breakfasteatre 5
Does anyone have any dentist recommendations that are taking COVID seriously with precautions? Jenksz 7
Does Toronto have cute boys aged 24-27 Coconut-Bean 16
Is is possible to get a small amount of concrete poured? 64Olds 9
Cheap Auto insurance recommendations lackofabetternam3 11
Best lobster roll? Food_Pre-Chewer 8
Shops for growing weed at home rocorococo 7
Positive covid in the workplace raspberryturnip 15
What are the most reliable parcel forwarding service in Ontario? qudcjf7928 2
Has anyone ever seen a non-mask wearer get fined, reprimanded, or anything even remotely punitive?11 lewd_operator 16
Where to get free/low-cost birth control in Toronto? ohrakupunk 10
What are the best grocery stores in Toronto when it comes to COVID safety measures? modette12 21


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Drive-In 90s Grunge Music Festival this Friday! friendofthep0d 2
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2020.09.14 17:00 AwesomeMathUse Betting Against the House? Canadian Real Estate Through the Pandemic

Robert Kavcic, Director and Senior Economist
Dated September 11th, 2020

Chart 1 - What Correction?

Chart 2 - Lower Pay = Bigger Job Losses

Chart 3 - Government Income Support

Chart 4 - Debt Dynamics Change

Chart 5 - More Pent-Up Demand to Meet

Chart 6 - Sound Payment History
submitted by AwesomeMathUse to econmonitor [link] [comments]

2020.09.13 09:18 SOS-sinking-ship Trying to quit a job immediately.

Location: Toronto, Ontario
I want to quit my current job, it’s stressful beyond compare and takes up a good chunk of my life for a fraction of the pay. Being bought out by a foreign company with a shady reputation, having evening meetings to accommodate their schedules, and watching all of my co-workers become fed up with new (incompetent) management leads me to believe that this is a sinking ship. I have another position lined up, waiting to confirm my start date. Problem is, I had signed a 4-week notice contract with prior (better) management. Will I face legal repercussions if I use all of my remaining vacation days to cover this 4-week notice, or would it better to just bite my tongue and tough it out?
Thanks for any advice.
submitted by SOS-sinking-ship to legaladvice [link] [comments]

2020.09.12 06:07 cone_squared Opinions on Game Design programs?

It was suggested that I also post to a game art thread since a couple programs also focus heavily on characteenvironment modeling. (sorry if this post isn't allowed!!)
Vancouver based specifically for location reasons.
and before anyone inputs with the ~don't go to school for it~ hi yes I learn better in a structured environment than on my own (covid has attested to that) so I chose school as an option.
I'm currently looking at a few different programs and I've gone through some other Reddit threads about other schools too. Right now VCAD, and Think Tank are the ones I'm looking at that have game design-esq specific courses. I've also looked at CapU and their VFX course that I would then apply towards a game related job rather than a film/tv job.
What are the opinions on these programs? What's the school like? What are the courses/curriculum like? Granted a lot of things are online atm so like "school experience" isn't the most important but rather how well do the teachers do? Are they good mentors who know what they're doing? What did you learn from the programs/how much of it was extra or personal work that made it to your reel (if any of the school work did). How about post-grad, did you find a job in the field or no?
Part of me is worried that while I come from an "art background" it's more from a photography and design aspect rather than an illustration background. Is that going to affect my chances of getting accepted? (cue imposter syndrome kicking my ass time and time again)
Finances are also an issue but they all generally cost the same regardless, although CapU looks like the most $$ atm (except the think tank online which I'm also seriously considering + doing the mentorship in person if covid allowed because it's the most feasible option for me).
Sorry if that's a lot of questions, I'm just trying to do my research and obviously each school sells themselves as #1. I genuinely considered VCAD but I noticed the amount of shady reviews which is why I was also looking at other programs. Are there any other ones that I didn't list that might be worth looking into?
I'm not worried about having to go 110% in any case, I know that I need to put in the extra effort if I want to get anywhere (made that mistake once before by not pushing myself better). In the same light, I know that I shouldn't expect to land a top job right off the bat, whether it's with characteenvironment design, level design etc. I just want to make sure that I'm spending my efforts and money in the right places. I have interest in a lot of different aspects of the pipeline; ie. characteenv art, but would also like to learn about game/level design.
tl;dr: opinions on vcad, think tank for game design (CapU for VFX)/what other programs are worth looking into?
any opinions/ thoughts are much appreciated!!!!!
ps. if anyone cares for the context
(I currently live in Ontario but might be making the move to Vancouver, plus I want to go back to school. I have an undergrad in a media related field. Originally wanted to go to school in Toronto but timelines change and desire to move out west grows. also bc I'm a dunce and fucked up some admission timelines; aka misunderstood something about a program that I thought had a winter start date but evidently does not and waiting another full year before even being able to apply was not ideal).
this is being cross posted to Vancouver and gamedesign to get as much opinions as I can so sorry if you're seeing this twice!!!
submitted by cone_squared to GameArt [link] [comments]

2020.09.12 04:09 cone_squared Opinion on Game Design programs?

Vancouver based specifically for location reasons.
and before anyone inputs with the ~don't go to school for it~ hi yes I learn better in a structured environment than on my own (covid has attested to that) so I chose school as an option.
I'm currently looking at a few different programs and I've gone through some other Reddit threads about other schools too. Right now VCAD, and Think Tank are the ones I'm looking at that have game design-esq specific courses. I've also looked at CapU and their VFX course that I would then apply towards a game related job rather than a film/tv job.
What are the opinions on these programs? What's the school like? What are the courses/curriculum like? Granted a lot of things are online atm so like "school experience" isn't the most important but rather how well do the teachers do? Are they good mentors who know what they're doing? What did you learn from the programs/how much of it was extra or personal work that made it to your reel (if any of the school work did). How about post-grad, did you find a job in the field or no?
Part of me is worried that while I come from an "art background" it's more from a photography and design aspect rather than an illustration background. Is that going to affect my chances of getting accepted? (cue imposter syndrome kicking my ass time and time again)
Finances are also an issue but they all generally cost the same regardless, although CapU looks like the most $$ atm (except the think tank online which I'm also seriously considering + doing the mentorship in person if covid allowed because it's the most feasible option for me).
Sorry if that's a lot of questions, I'm just trying to do my research and obviously each school sells themselves as #1. I genuinely considered VCAD but I noticed the amount of shady reviews which is why I was also looking at other programs. Are there any other ones that I didn't list that might be worth looking into?
I'm not worried about having to go 110% in any case, I know that I need to put in the extra effort if I want to get anywhere (made that mistake once before by not pushing myself better). In the same light, I know that I shouldn't expect to land a top job right off the bat, whether it's with characteenvironment design, level design etc. I just want to make sure that I'm spending my efforts and money in the right places. I have interest in a lot of different aspects of the pipeline; ie. characteenv art, but would also like to learn about game/level design.
tl;dr: opinions on vcad, think tank for game design (CapU for VFX)/what other programs are worth looking into?
any opinions/ thoughts are much appreciated!!!!!
ps. if anyone cares for the context
(I currently live in Ontario but might be making the move to Vancouver, plus I want to go back to school. I have an undergrad in a media related field. Originally wanted to go to school in Toronto but timelines change and desire to move out west grows. also bc I'm a dunce and fucked up some admission timelines; aka misunderstood something about a program that I thought had a winter start date but evidently does not and waiting another full year before even being able to apply was not ideal).
this is being cross posted to Vancouver and gamedesign to get as much opinions as I can so sorry if you're seeing this twice!!!
submitted by cone_squared to gamedesign [link] [comments]

2020.09.12 04:08 cone_squared Opinion on Game Design programs?

Vancouver based specifically for location reasons.
and before anyone inputs with the ~don't go to school for it~ hi yes I learn better in a structured environment than on my own (covid has attested to that) so I chose school as an option.
I'm currently looking at a few different programs and I've gone through some other Reddit threads about other schools too. Right now VCAD, and Think Tank are the ones I'm looking at that have game design-esq specific courses. I've also looked at CapU and their VFX course that I would then apply towards a game related job rather than a film/tv job.
What are the opinions on these programs? What's the school like? What are the courses/curriculum like? Granted a lot of things are online atm so like "school experience" isn't the most important but rather how well do the teachers do? Are they good mentors who know what they're doing? What did you learn from the programs/how much of it was extra or personal work that made it to your reel (if any of the school work did). How about post-grad, did you find a job in the field or no?
Part of me is worried that while I come from an "art background" it's more from a photography and design aspect rather than an illustration background. Is that going to affect my chances of getting accepted? (cue imposter syndrome kicking my ass time and time again)
Finances are also an issue but they all generally cost the same regardless, although CapU looks like the most $$ atm (except the think tank online which I'm also seriously considering + doing the mentorship in person if covid allowed because it's the most feasible option for me).
Sorry if that's a lot of questions, I'm just trying to do my research and obviously each school sells themselves as #1. I genuinely considered VCAD but I noticed the amount of shady reviews which is why I was also looking at other programs. Are there any other ones that I didn't list that might be worth looking into?
I'm not worried about having to go 110% in any case, I know that I need to put in the extra effort if I want to get anywhere (made that mistake once before by not pushing myself better). In the same light, I know that I shouldn't expect to land a top job right off the bat, whether it's with characteenvironment design, level design etc. I just want to make sure that I'm spending my efforts and money in the right places. I have interest in a lot of different aspects of the pipeline; ie. characteenv art, but would also like to learn about game/level design.
tl;dr: opinions on vcad, think tank for game design (CapU for VFX)/what other programs are worth looking into?
any opinions/ thoughts are much appreciated!!!!!
ps. if anyone cares for the context
(I currently live in Ontario but might be making the move to Vancouver, plus I want to go back to school. I have an undergrad in a media related field. Originally wanted to go to school in Toronto but timelines change and desire to move out west grows. also bc I'm a dunce and fucked up some admission timelines; aka misunderstood something about a program that I thought had a winter start date but evidently does not and waiting another full year before even being able to apply was not ideal).
this is being cross posted to Vancouver and gamedesign to get as much opinions as I can so sorry if you're seeing this twice!!!
submitted by cone_squared to vancouver [link] [comments]

2020.09.11 19:48 saraofyork Online baby groups or mommy and me groups based in Toronto?

Hi Ask TO! I wasn't sure if I should put this question here or in the new parents section, but as I live in Toronto, I thought I'd try here first.
Does anyone know of any baby groups or mommy and me or similar type groups that are meeting online? We will imminently be first time parents (due date next week) and we are also new to Toronto and looking to find a little parenting support. I am a little hesitant to do any in person ones at the moment because the Ontario Covid numbers are on the rise and I guess I'm being a typical nervous first time parent. I'm interested in ones where parents are based in Toronto mostly so we can find out about the specific support and specific options available for Toronto parents that we could take advantage of.
submitted by saraofyork to askTO [link] [comments]

2020.09.07 22:50 petersnewjobs We found 21 new Toronto/GTA job fairs this week

It's been awhile since we've been here. September has arrived. There's a growing sense of normalcy and more important, an ever so faint job fair heartbeat as evidenced in the 21 new job fairs we found for this week. Hope there's something there that fits you. More details and job fairs on our Toronto career event page. By the way, if we've missed anything, please let us know. Good luck on your job hunt.

w/o Sep 6 Customer Support Representative - Hiring event Toronto
w/o Sep 6 Food Packaging Job Fair 100+ Vacancies
Sep 8, 2020 FirstService Residential Scarborough
Sep 8, 2020 PLANTA Cocina Front of House
Sep 9, 2020 Toronto senior companion job fair Toronto
Sep 9, 2020 Weekly Job Fair - Industrial Packers Needed ASAP Brampton
Sep 9, 2020 Field Staff Job Event for RNs Toronto
Sep 9, 2020 Virtual Job Fair 2020 Toronto
Sep 9, 2020 Hiring event for Licensed Guards Mississauga
Sep 10, 2020 Automotive Finance Manager - Job Fair Bowmanville
Sep 10, 2020 Spectrum Health Care Virtual Hiring Fair Toronto
Sep 10, 2020 Government Security Guard Virtual Job Fair Toronto
Sep 10, 2020 Automotive Sales Peterborough
Sep 11, 2020 SCEA Career and Job Fair Scarborough
Sep 11, 2020 Alumni Placement Specialists Toronto
Sep 12, 2020 Virtual Mega Job Fair - Transportation, Logistics & Warehousing Brampton
Sep 12, 2020 Warehouse Hiring Event Milton
Sep 14, 2020 Greater Toronto Virtual Job Fair Toronto
Sep 14, 2020 Bill Gosling Outsourcing Hiring Event Ontario
Sep 14, 2020 Toronto Personal Support Worker Job Fair Toronto
submitted by petersnewjobs to torontoJobs [link] [comments]

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