(Image: Christopher Wahl)
February 8, 12:33 p.m. When Karen Stintz called for a special meeting of council to resuscitate the transit plan that Rob Ford had spent considerable political capital trying to scrap, she was risking career suicide. After seven years of being sidelined by David Miller’s administration, Stintz, as chair of the TTC, was finally in a position of power. Ford expected her to be his voice on the commission, and he wanted a subway—even though his plan would reach less of the city and cost about a billion dollars more than Stintz’s light-rail alternative. Remarkably, her motion passed, 25-18. The councillor gamely insisted that the plan would be a win for everyone, including the mayor. Nobody believed that last part. It was a humiliating defeat for Ford. The apoplectic mayor dismissed the vote as irrelevant (it wasn’t), accused Stintz of backstabbing and axed Gary Webster, the TTC’s chief general manager. “Here comes Mayor Stintz,” someone quipped as she approached the cameras outside council chambers. Stintz cracked a smile and launched into her talking points, basking in the prophecy.
As CUPE 416 president, you spent 16 weeks locked in heated negotiations with Team Ford over the new outdoor workers contract. How hostile did it get? 
The Buyers: Viet Nguyen, a 35-year-old lawyer with Devry Smith Frank LLP, and Donna Chui, a 32-year-old veterinarian at Laird Eglinton Pet Hospital.
While it’s true that economic disparity is not as pronounced in Canada as it is in the States, and the European Union could take a few pages—maybe even a whole chapter—from our playbook, the smugness is unwarranted. The Conference Board of Canada, a not-for-profit economic research organization, has found that we’ve been outpacing the U.S. in income inequality since the mid-1990s. The ratio between the top 10 per cent and the bottom 10 per cent of earners is now 10 to one (in the early ’90s, it was eight to one). The country’s wealthiest one per cent account for 32 per cent of all income growth between 1997 and 2007—the largest percentage in our recorded history. In 2010, the average Canadian income was $44,366, while that same year the average compensation for the country’s 100 highest-paid CEOs was more than $8 million. Frank Stronach, the former head of Magna International, received roughly $40 million a year over the last decade and in his last year at Magna pocketed $62 million. (In 2007, he set a Canadian record by collecting over $70 million in compensation.) 
Jack Layton, posthumously, has more influence over Canadian left-wing politics than any living person. When Nycole Turmel, the NDP’s interim chief, announced the date for the party’s March leadership convention, she said, “We will not replace Jack Layton,” the implication being that Layton is irreplaceable. And yet, the main leadership candidates appear to be trying their hardest to prove they can replace the irreplaceable. Brian Topp, the quintessential backroom operator, recently gained prominence as a member of Layton’s inner circle and the author of How We Almost Gave the Tories the Boot: The Inside Story Behind the Coalition. (Note to file: books with the word “almost” in the title are almost never worth reading.) Thomas Mulcair, the MP from Outremont, promotes himself as the creator of Layton’s strategy for taking Quebec, and therefore the most likely candidate to maintain that legacy-defining victory. Peggy Nash, MP for Parkdale–High Park, is the candidate most similar to Layton personally: an urbanist, supported by artists like Sarah Polley, and inspiring in a safe sort of way. (She wants to make Canada a global leader in innovation. Who doesn’t?)
Toronto’s taxi industry has been a mess for more than 50 years. As a passenger, you feel it as soon as you slide your bum onto the vinyl backseat and see the starting fare of $4.25. The meter quickly rolls higher as you lurch through stop-and-go traffic while listening to your driver blather away on his Bluetooth. For this dubious service, Torontonians pay more than taxi customers in New York and Los Angeles.
The smell of an old book. The heft of a thick novel. The sensation of turning the last page of a ripping yarn with a freshly licked index finger. It’s all a bit silly, and kind of gross.
The last couple of years have been fantastic for Toronto diners. The city has experienced an explosion of hole-in-the-wall masterpieces, opened by people you’ve probably never heard of, doing inventive, surprising things with small kitchens. They often don’t care much about decor, and the rooms are usually noisy, but the places are packed night after night. A few weeks ago, on a Monday, I called one such restaurant to book a table for the following Thursday, and the man on the other end of the line laughed at me. He said he had an opening on a Thursday—six weeks from the day I had in mind. Other terrific restaurants don’t even take reservations. If you want a table, plan to wear comfortable shoes, because you’ll likely wait in line. At about 7 p.m. toward the end of the week, Dundas West and Queen West and East are the sidewalk gathering places of curious foodies in from Mississauga and Lawrence Park, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to rack up points on their credit cards. (That is, if the low-tech restaurant in question takes credit cards.) 
Lately, you’ve had some chewy roles on Damages and Weeds. What made you want to be a judge on Canada’s Got Talent?