Reaching For The Stars, Via Building Permit Forms

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Reaching For The Stars, Via Building Permit Forms

Movie mayor Bert Xanadu on building the city up to new heights.

On a warm summer’s eve, or even an abominable sleet-night, or perhaps on a god-fearing thunderous night of infrastructure-shattering lightning, I like to stand astride Toronto, or rather, above it, as is my right as your Mayor.

Whether I am cheerily windblown on City Hall’s idyllic Observation Deck, or simply winded, high atop the Bulova Tower in my pyjama lounge, gazing upon the useless Canadian National Exhibition buildings below, I have but one thought: Man has always aspired to rise above his filthy origins, to build his abode high above the fray. The better to live amongst his ornery neighbours, housed, one hopes, at least 36 floors below.

And so, as a mayor dedicated to serving both your most mundane and your most municipally spiritual wishes, I do everything in my power to facilitate the building of the highest spires in Toronto, be they residential, commercial, or speculative.

Advances in elevator technology, the construction arts, and offshore financing now allow us to aim for the stars, while not reaching them, this being Toronto.

Among the many skyscrapers, cloudscrapers, and taxpayerscrapers currently excavating their foundations, litigating their zoning restrictions, and completing their bribery phases are:

  • The 70-storey Corleone Family Archives, a gift to Toronto from the business-minded olive oil merchant and his family. The building is notable for its 50-storey cement foundations.
  • The 85-storey world headquarters of the Ventriloquists’ Grand Council, the august body that regulates this deceptive profession. The building, accessible only through a tiny slit of an entrance on the back side, will include the globe’s largest ventriloquism theatre, The Sexy Sibilant, and a lip therapy wing. Frank Llloyd Wright’s son, Thad, a talented and plucky amateur architect, has lent his surname and considerable modesty to the project.
  • The Dowagers’ Tower, a wondrous sky-sliver of elderly lady pied-à-terre apartmentettes, to be built in the middle of High Park—the better to keep the hairspray fumes and shouting at butlers distant from the adjacent neighbourhood.
  • Babel 2, Toronto’s very first “condominium,” so named because, as with its word-cousin, the condom, sex is had within. Made of glass, some stained, some unstained, this heavenly haven for the haves, and not the have-nots, will sway in the wind, just a bit, to lull its rich occupants to sleep, so necessary due to their guilty consciences and pending monthly maintenance fee increases.
  • SkyShack, the continent’s first skeet shooting residential tower, will forever eliminate the bother of having to aim up when blasting clay pigeons to kingdom come.

Some of you might say: Mayor Xanadu, won’t these many tall structures blot out the sunshine for the rest of us? Well, have you never complained of sunburn?

Bert Xanadu is Toronto’s movie mayor circa 1973.

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