Portrait of a Nation

Portrait of a Nation

America’s population is growing, graying, and moving West

Americans love statistics about themselves. Hardly a day passes without a poll being released. Here, gleaned from the pages of the Statistical Abstract of the United States, the national data book published annually by the Department of Commerce, are some other facts and figures that describe how we lived and how the country is changing.

Headcount: When the first estimate of the population was made in 1790, some 3.9 million people were living in the continental United States. According to the 1990 census, the U.S. Was almost 249 million, an increase of nearly 10 percent from the 1980 figure. The United States is the third most populous country in the world; only China and India have more people.

The Melting Pot: During the 20th century, the greatest number of legal immigrations flooded our shores between 1901 and 1910 – 8.8 million people came to call America home. The second greatest were 7.3 million – arrived during the ’80s. Figures are available, and the immigration rate doesn’t seem to be dropping off. The greatest number of new immigrants are coming from Mexico, Vietnam, and the Philippines.

Manhattan. Heart of New York City. Photo by Elena

Who we are: 1992, women accounted for 51 percent of the population. The male-female ration isn’t projected to change much for the next 50 years. The median age of the entire population was 33.4 years. Just shy of 83 percent of Americans are white, 12.6 percent black, and 4.5 percent “other”. People of Hispanic origin account for 9.5 percent of the population.

Where we live: Almost 80 percent of the population live in metropolitan areas (New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago are the country’s three largest cities). The fastest-growing areas of the country are the Rocky Mountain states and the Southeast. New England, the Middle Atlantic states, and the Midwest either are losing population or growing at a much slower pace.

What we earn: The median income for a white family in 1993 was $28,909; for a black family $21,161. Almost a third of black families are below the poverty level, only 9 percent of white families. Nationwide, 12 percent of American families are living below the poverty level.

No Placeholder for You, My Love

No Placeholder for You, My Love

By Nick Wolven (excerpt)

Claire didn’t see him again for a thousand nights.

It felt like a thousand, anyway. It may have been more. Claire had stopped counting long, long ago.

There were always more nights, more partied, more diversions. And, miraculous as it seemed, more people. Where did they come from? How could there be so many pretty young men, with leonine confidence and smiling lips? How could there be so many women arising out of the million chance assortments of the clubs, swimming through parties as if it could still be a thrill to have a thousand eyes fish for them – as if, like the fish in the proverbial sea, they one day hoped to be hooked?

Claire considered them, contemplated them, and let them go their way. She dated, for a time, a very old, handsome man whose name, in some remote and esoteric way, commanded powerful sources of credit. His wealth opened up new possibilities: private beaches where no one save they two had ever stepped, mountain lodges where the seasons manifested with iconic perfection, pink and green and gold and white. But they weren’t, as the language ran, “compatible”; they were old and tired in different ways.

She met a girl whose face flashed with the markings of youth: sharp earrings, studs, lipstick that blazed in toxic colors. But the girl’s eyes moved slowly, with the irony of age. Theirs was a sexual connection. Night after night, they bowed out of cocktail hours, feeling for each other’ hands across the crush of dances. Every exit was an escape. They sought the nearest private roome they could find: the neon-bright retreats of city hotels, secret brick basements in converted factories. The thrill was one of shared expertise. Both women knew the limits of sex: what moves were possible, what borders impermeable. They cultivated the matched rhythm, the long caress. Sometimes Claire’s new lover – whose name, she learned after three anonymous encounters, was Isolde – fed delicacies to her, improbable foods, ice carvings and whole cakes, a hundred olives impaled on swizzle sticks, fruit rinds in paintbox colors, orange and lime, stolen from the bottomless bins of restaurants. It was musical sport. Isolde perfected her timing spacing each treat. Claire eased into a langour of tension and release, one by one, they flickered immediately into nothingness – gone the instant she felt them, like words on her tongue.

A happy time, this. But love? Every night they were careful to say that magic phrase, far in advance of the midnight chime.

Claire and Isolde. Par Christian Louboutin, Christian Louboutins, Louboutins, Loubis... The famous red soles… Every girl’s fantasy?photo by Elena

“I want to see you again.”

“I want to see you, too.”

And so the nights went by, and the dates, and the parties, spiced with anticipation.

Soon, Claire knew, it was bound to happen.

The end came in Eastern Europe.

“We could have been compatible, don’t you think?”

They were reposing, at that moment, in a grand hotel with mountain views, somewhere west of the Caucasus, naked in bed while snow flicked the window. Isolde lifted a rum ball from a chases steel tray, manipulation it with silver tongs. She touched it to the candle, collected a curl of flame, brought the morsel, still burning, to her mouth, and snuffed it out of existence, fire and all, against her tongue.

Claire clasped her hands around a pillow. “Do you think so?”

Isolde seemed nervous tonight, opening and closing the tongs, pretending to measure, as with calipers, Claire’s thigh, her knee.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying we are compatible. I’m only talking about, you know. What might have been.”

Beyond the window, white flakes swarmed in the sky, a portrait of aimless, random motion.

Montreal Exchange

Montreal Exchange

The Montreal Exchange (MX) happens to be Canada’s oldest exchange, which fails to halt it from being ultramodern. According to the MX’s website, they are contributing to the fight against global warming, thanks to the project together with the Chicago Exchange. They also offer some educational resources. Speaking of education, the MX sometimes provides data to academic researchers on certain conditions.

Concerning the MX’s everyday affairs, there are upwards of 40 rules and policies, several pages for each item, as regard to different matters. They currently work with equity, currency and ETF options as well as index, interest rate, and energy derivatives.

Back in 1832, the formation known today as the Montreal Exchange, made its first historical move: stocks were traded at the Exchange Coffee House. Montreal’s first Broker’s Association (for those trading in securities and commodities) was established in 1849. The glorious day when the Montreal Exchange, then called the Montreal Stock Exchange (MSE), sees its official foundation, by Charter, comes somewhat later in the year 1874 (prior to this date it was operational but informal). Stocks concentrate mainly on banking and railroads.

Time and history follow their courses. World War I begins in 1914. At that moment, 109 companies are catalogued, trading a total volume of 10,000 shares on a daily basis. In the aftermath of the war, in the 1920s, the exchange grows exponentially. Two years after the end of WWI, close to 12,000 shares are already traded daily.

Old Montreal. Youville street. Photo by ElenaB.

An infamous date: October 24, 1929. The MSE sells almost 400,000 (a record) shares on the day of the market crash.

In 1965, the MSE moves to the building it will still occupy in 2010, the Exchange Tower on Victoria Square. A hundred years after becoming formal, the MSE merges with the Canadian Exchange, an endeavor common among exchanges worldwide. A year later, the MSE will proudly act as the first Canadian exchange to offer stock options.

Further, the year is 1982. By now, the Montreal Stock Exchange trades not only in stocks, but also increasingly in options, futures and other financial instruments. The logical step of formally changing its name to Montreal Exchange is realized. Five years elapse and another major market correction shakes the world. The XXM (Canadian Market Portfolio Index) drops 300 points on October 19.

In 1990, the Electronic Order Book is implemented into floor equity trading. Moving on. Aside from celebrating its century plus a quarter birthday, the MSE starts working alongside GLOBEX ® Alliance, a pioneer in the electronic world of financial futures and option contracts trading.

In 2005, the 11th FINA (Aquatics) World Championship held in Montreal is made possible on account of the MSE. Chicago and Montreal exchanges begin working together to create the Climate Exchange, a market for environmental products. Toronto and Montreal Exchanges have fused in 2008, the explanation behind the TMX abbreviation. In the summer of 2010, the Canadian Heavy Crude Oil Differential Price Features (WCH) are recorded.

Reference:

TMX | Montreal Exchange: www.m-x.ca

Stock Exchange Tower

P.O. Box 61

800 Victoria Square

Mtl, Qc H4Z 1A9

Tel.: 514 871-2424

Fax: 514 871-3514

Toronto Reviews

Toronto Reviews

Beautiful, cosmopolitan city of Toronto, Ontario

In theory, Toronto is a city with all work and no play, which can make Jack a dull boy (Shining, Stephen King), but in practice, this vibrant, magnificent city, is as lively as can be. Similarly, in theory (and in practice!) Websites like Expedia and TripAdvisor may come in handy in planning an escapade to a distant destination, but a detailed personal experience account may likewise enlighten one on places top visit, where to stay and how to eat and stay healthy in a new environment.

Where to stay in Toronto, Ontario:

Like most North American cities, Toronto has hotels and motels for almost all budges. Most places will require a valid credit card to book a room, and absolutely all accommodations demand to see some form of ID (from the ones we visited).

The Sheraton hotel chain hardly needs any introduction. An established luxury line of hotels and resorts, the Sheraton is a worldwide elite place to stay in, as long as you can afford it. Popular among businesspeople and couples celebrating their honeymoon, Sheraton hotels exist all over the world, being present in Canadian cities such as Montreal and Toronto, as well as exotic tropical islands such as Bora Bora. The Toronto Sheraton hotel is no different, containing all the amenities necessary for a more than pleasant stay, with more than 40 floors in altitude, splendid rooms and a high perched lounge overseeing the metropolitan. Rates vary from standard rooms to upscale, high end suites, but usually Sheraton hotels are considered in the pricier continuum of the temporary accommodation spectrum, although quite affordable if you consider the number of stars and services available (i.e. price and quality trade off).

The Fairmont Royal York hotel of Toronto is right in front of the train (Union station subway) downtown. The spectacular VIP hotel may be seen as a counterpart to the famous Fairmont Queen Elizabeth in Montreal, of international fame due to Yoko Ono’s and John Lennon’s sleep in for world peace. Naturally, Toronto likewise has the Hilton, Omni, Soho, Marriott and Ritz Carlton (list by far non extensive).

Toronto Night View from  the Queens Quay. Photo : Elena

For hotels in the middle price range, there are places like the Comfort Inn (several locations), the Ramada (double suite extremely comfortable, with “at home” apartment feel’), the Best Western (Primrose) downtown and the Radisson Admiral Harbourfront on the new and refurbished Queen’s Quay.

Other hotels include the Econo Lodge (quite affordable hotel on Jarvis Street, close to Carlton intersection). Finally, for those without a credit card and on more modest budgets, the Weaverly, on the corner of College and Spadina may come in handy. With Toronto’s Chinatown’s attractions, a colorful market, countless laundromats and dry cleaners nearby, the inn may come in handy for a traveler looking for their next adventure.

Finally, last but not least, the Shangri-La hotel is rumored to be among the best the city has to offer, with out-of-this-world suites commanding several thousands per night! Goes without saying, we had to pass…

On a more general note, the main streets of Toronto include Bloor (Yorkville), York, Yonge and Bay. With multiple Holt Renfrews (classy, exclusive shopping malls) and various designer and jewelry boutiques (Rolex, Cartier, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Chanel, Gucci, Fendi, Burberry, Hermes, Dior, Agent Provocateur – the sultry British lingerie brand endorsed by sexy actress Penelope Cruz – and countless others), the city (which at time of writing, just underwent mayoral elections on October 27, 2014, replacing celebrity mayor Rob Ford with John Tory) is one of the most popular cities in the world to visit, well, at least as far as we’re concerned. Also, obviously, don’t forget the breathtaking CN Tower and the adjacent aquarium (Aquarium of Canada)…

Toronto's Coat of Arms. Photo by Elena

Billy Tumult

Billy Tumult

By Nick Harkaway (excerpt)

Billy Tumult, walking down the street. Tips his hat to the ladies, bids the fellas good afternoon. Going to the Marshall’s office. Want to be in good with the local force. No stink-of-armipit law-keeper, this one, but a high buttoned pinstripe and waistcoat number, almost a dandy. What are the chances, Billy Tumult growls. Man might could be Billy’s brother, might could use him for shaving around that dandy moustache. Patient’s been thinking about coming to see Billy Tumult for long enough that he’s got hisself a tulpa in here, a little imaginary robot doing what the patient thinks Billy’d do. Ain’t that just the sweetest thing?”

Marshall William says hello, and Billy says hello right back and they shake hands. It’s like iceberg colliding. The Marshall’s got two shooters on his hips, of couse, just like in the brochure. What’s behind his back, Billy wonders’ maybe a third gun, maybe a humungous nature of a knife. That would figure. But when they get into the Marsall’s office and the fella takes off his coat, mother of Christ, it’s a dynamite vest, a bandolier. Thy guy so much as farts wrong and they’re all in the next county over and fuck if he doesn’t actually smoke. Laws of sanity have been suspended for Billy’s oversold publicicty-and-marketing hardassery. Thank God if the thing goes up the worst that happens to Billy is a damn reset and the whole surgery to redo from start, pain in the ass, but if this was the real world or if Billy was really part of this whole deal then he’d be pasta sauce.

Pasta sauce is authentic. Billy tweaks the filter again. He prefers the gangster aspect, can’t keep the horses-and-mud shit straight in his brain. Well, if the patient can have Eskimos, Billy can have pasta sauce, call if fair play.

A path. Photo by Elena

I’m Billy Tumult of the Pinkertons, he tells Marshall William, come lookin’ for a dangerous man. We got plenty, says the Marshall, which one you want? Or take’em all, I surely won’t miss’em. I want the new guy, Billy says, the one in the black hat living over the story. The one Missus Roth has an arrangement with. Now hold on, begins the Marshall, no not that kind of arrangement, the feedin’kind is all I mean, I got no beef with the Widow Roth.

Widow my ass, parenthiesizes Billy Tumult, if I know how this goes, but never mind that for now.

He’s an odd one, sure, says the Marshall Odd and I don’t like him and he don’t much like me. But I figure the one he’s looking out for is you, now I think on it. He offered me a whole shit-ton of gold, I saw it right there in that room, to tell him if a fella came askin’ about him. You say yes? Billy wants to know. No, Marshall replies, “Course not, he says, and rolls his shoulder.

Cutaway: a thin man naked in a room full of gold, lean like a leather-gnarled spider stretched too tight on his own bones. He tilts his head and listens to the sound of the town, and he knows someone’s coming. Slips down the gold rockface into his pants and shoes – demons evidently need no socks – and buckles on his gun. Not much of a thing, this gun. Small and dirty and badly kept. Buckles it on, long black coat around his shoulders. Tan galan on his head: bare-chested Grendel in a hat, and that’s as good a name as any. Arms and legs too long, Grendel spderabs out of the golden room and into shadow, gone a-huntin’. Too fast, he’s under the balcony across the street, flickers in the dark alley by the blacksmith, by the sawbones, by the water tower. Too fast, too quiet. All of a sudden: it’s not clear at all who’s gonna win this one.