New Year’s Eve always produces memorial stories. If you have the energy on New Year’s Day, please come back to Spacing Toronto and share with us your stories of being out in the city during the celebration. We’re not too concerned about what you do inside the place you’re partying, but we want to know about scenes you saw in public spaces: things like witnessing a fist fight at an intersection or meeting a famous person on Yonge Street or Zanta doing push-ups for you on the subway.
Leave your trials and tribulations on the comment section of this post.
And happy New Year’s from Spacing editors!
photo by Sam Javanrouh
11 comments
We discovered at 3:40AM at Cristie Station that “free TTC till 4am” means the east bound subway doesn’t work till that hour perhaps. The man in the booth was very nice, and had a happy new year sign dispayed, and said we had to take a bus on Bloor. We waited for the bus for a bit, then saw the condition of the bus, then took a cab.
i got drunk. in my neighbourhood. i didn’t take a cab, i was a cab.
Being the recovering gimp that I am from an incident involving myself on a bicycle and an unknown vehicle which bumped me repeatedly from behind July 27 – yes, my clavicle is STILL broken – I dragged my sorry and exhausted ass into bed at 8 pm.
A cacophony emanating from the streets roused me about 11. Then it dawned on me these revellers were indeed on Atlantic time and it should be safe to seek sleep again.
About 11:40 something sounding remarkably like gunshots pierced the night from somewhere north (and possibly east) of my abode. I closed my eyes and quietly hoped no one was hurt.
Midnight. Someone very near by had stocked up on Victoria Day and selected this moment to set off their arsenal. Assured these indeed were WMDs (Weapons of Mass Distraction) and not being used to remodel human flesh, I rolled over and pretended it went away.
Sleep returned punctuated by periodic whoops and wails, angered bitter substance abuse induced rants and simple general public drunkenness. In general not all that much different than your average Queen Street Parkdale weekend night and morning.
But for one thing. The boozecan next door had elected not to open. Yes, I’m saying it was actually quieter than expected. Imagine that.
My family and their friends and neighbours held a firework display on our quiet side street. Just as we were finishing, a police car drove up and the officer lectured me from his car that we should have chosen a park for our display since fireworks are a fire hazard (meanwhile everything is covered in fresh snow) and other neighbours may think they heard gunshots. The mystery is why he chose to talk to only me since I was a bystander as opposed to my relatives who were clearly the ones setting off the fireworks. We’re guessing it was because I was the only male present. I kept quiet until he drove off, in order to avoid saying anything I would regret later.
“We discovered at 3:40AM at Christie Station that ‘free TTC till 4am’ means the east bound subway doesn’t work till that hour perhaps.”
The last eastbound subway reached Yonge-Bloor station at about 3:53. I caught the second-last eastbound train from Spadina at about 3:42.
Subway mice! At Spadina station (and probably elsewhere)! I know it’s not unusual to see mice on the tracks under normal circumstances, but I’ve never seen as many at once as I did last night. I figure they’re nocturnal and know that they can usually wander the tracks with impunity by 3:30 a.m.
I have some sympathy for the cop. Small quiet streets aren’t the best place to set off fireworks and fires have been heard of on winter nights. I would be a little ticked if someone shot a roman candle at my place (it being old and woody).
A man got on to the streetcar and sat down beside his friend and showed her his shirt.
She said, “oh my god! its sooooo see through.”
He said, “It’s doesn’t matter since it’s not going to be on for very long.”
She said, “whadya mean?”
“Did you forget? We’re going to an orgy.”
Why geoffrey must be the very spirit of New Years, here to help us celebrate!
^ha ha. After-hours TTC rides might be littered with yesterday’s newspapers, come sporadically or filled with drunken revelers, but it does rip open and expose the city for what it is. Public transit is a moveable feast.
My NYE was just a bunch of people drinking and playing charades. One guy solved ‘Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ in 14 seconds.
My New Year tribulation was not being able to get a decent pizza after 11 pm on our way home from drinks with friends. We had to settle for Pizza Pizza and I forgot to order extra cheese.
11:30PM Bloor Station – on the ride downtown, the passenger that seemed to have possibly gotten the party started early was a 10-year old bouncing off the walls (literally), laughing louder than the happiest drunk. On my way out of the train, I noticed the car behind me was packed to the gills with a large performing an East Indian tune, accompanied by a drum or two. Police watching people stuffing themselves like sardines into the train were smiling.
Near 3AM Eglinton East bus – one reveller planted himself at the front of the bus and introduced himself to all oncoming passengers as “Father Time”.