Zanta Q&A

A shorter version of this appeared in the Post yesterday. Go me! And props to Dov for taking the photo.

With the film fest in town, there’s a good chance you’ll run into some celebrities this weekend. Ethan Hawke. Jennifer Lopez. Spike Lee. Yoko Ono. David Zancai? Zancai, a.k.a. Zanta, is our own local celeb of sorts. You’ve probably seen him on the Toronto streets. He’s hard to miss. He’s the tanned, beefy, half-naked guy in the Santa hat doing push-ups all over the city while howling his very own version of “Ho Ho Ho” — “Yes Yes Yes.”

Zancai became Zanta on December 31, 2004 when he appeared at a Toronto family court in a Santa hat to fight for custody of his baby daughter. Because the former contractor hadn’t seen his daughter on Christmas, he decided to wear the hat until he brought her home. He hasn’t taken it off since.

At first, you would see him “performing” on the subways and in the club district. But, about a year ago, when he was banned from the downtown core for appearing in the background of one too many newscasts, the North York-born Zanta started hanging out in posh Yorkville instead. He writes “Google me” and “www.torontozanta.ca” on the classy Cumberland sidewalks in colourful chalk, flexing his muscles for all passers-by. Wikipedia even has an entry on him! Here, he talks frantically about push-ups, the fuzz and his plans for the future.

What’s with the outfit, man?
I’m flipping through the TV stations and all of a sudden something hits me. Jerry Springer, Ricki Lake, Montel Williams, all these talk shows. I thought, “There is no one out there in the world wearing a red Santa Claus hat and shorts and boots and does push-ups all over the city.” So off I went, Yonge, Queen, King, Front, John. I figured, if someone’s going to see me outside, with no shirt in a snow storm, when it’s raining outside or freezing ass cold, they’re gonna look at me and say, “Hey, I gotta check that guy out.” Rrrr-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. There is no one else in the world who does something like this. I can finally leave my mark here on this earth. Yes yes yes rrrrr. Not only world fame — this here is gonna put me in the history books.

I’ve seen you do push-ups all over the city. How come?
I’ve been on compensation since April 2000 when I fell 25 feet and landed on my back into a staircase. I spent 23 days in a coma, 17 days on life support, three-and-a-half months in a walker and 10 months in a body brace. When I could walk again, I started doing push-ups at the gym. Then I did them in the most wildest of places — on cabs, mailboxes, poles, in the middle of intersections. Anywhere where someone is gonna look. I usually do about 2,000 to 3,000 on a typical day, and I can do them for maybe 15, 20 minutes non-stop. But no matter how many I do, when I finish my show, someone’s got to tell someone else. They just can’t keep it to themselves. Yes yes yes — rrrrr.

What are those strange noises you’re making?
That’s all hydrolics — rrrrrr. When I started doing push-ups, I realized, “You know what, I hate doing push-ups.” But I figured I’m just gonna do it. Don’t stop, don’t stop, something’s gotta give. So as I was pushing harder and harder — uhhh uhhh — and then slowly it became rrrrrr rrrrrr — and then started to evolve into hydrolics — aaarrrrrrrrrr aaarrrrrrrrrr.

Why do you think people like you?
People don’t like me. They love me. Yes, all ages love Zanta. Straight, gay — everything loves Zanta. Male, female, whatever. Because I’m the fucking man — da dat dat da da. This character is wild.

What’s your next move?
I’m on my last leg in Yorkville. I figure before I get killed I better back outta here. I’m banned from Yorkville’s historical laneway and the police harass me all the time. I’m gonna go, but it’s time to boost it up to the next level. This fall I’ll be on Kenny vs. Spenny on Showcase. The First Annual Zanta Parade will hit the streets in 2007 and I’ll have people flying in from all over the world. I got a lot of fans. And now that my website is up and running, I’ve had about 18,000 hits already. Now the cops are going to find out that all this time they’ve been harassing me, my fans have been watching all along.

(A police car drives by)
I see a cop car right there, and I’m telling you, the chills I get down my back when I see a cop car. So we were together for the last couple of hours here, OK? I feel like they’re going to grab my ass and arrest me for nothing because the film festival is around.

Were you at the film festival last year?
What month are we in? Oh, I was in jail last September. They threw me in for harassment of my ex. My lawyer is yelling at me, “No more Zanta. You gotta stop the Zanta thing.” I fired him. I told the judge, “Mama, if you were to Google search Toronto Zanta, you’d see so many hits out there. I’ve made myself somewhat of a local celebrity in Toronto, y’know?” She puts on a smile on her face and says, “I realize that, yes yes yes.”

What about all these other celebrities who are going to be invading your turf for the next week?
These are little small boys. Those there are stars. See, me, I’m a character. I’m an actual living character, yes yes yes.

I suck

Ok. I admit it. I'm a bad blogger. Alright, fine. Not just bad. I'm awful. I'm weak. I'm just plain inept.

I have just one excuse. It simply comes down to the fact that I've got absolutely no time. How on earth do all you bloggers do it? Day in and day out, you always have something to say about something or other. Are you neglecting your jobs? Your partners? Your families? There's no question about it. You must be brushing them all off.

I walk into work every morning at 10 on the nose. Ok, it's more like 10:15, 10:30. But oftentimes I'll see reporters sitting at their desks, calmly reading their newspapers with coffees in hand, flipping. flipping. flipping, until noon. I don't even have a chance to read my own personal emails half of the time. And it's not like I'm a slow worker. I'm quicker than anyone I know. I've just got tons of shit to do. Don't you?

Idolatry at its finest

The red carpet makes me sick. "Oh you look so beautiful tonight. Who are you wearing? Your boobs are so big! Are you excited? Can I touch you? Please?" But Jon Stewart made the show. He was, as always, hilarious. Oscar results:

Best supporting actor: George Clooney - Syriana
Best supporting actress: Pregnant Rachel Weisz - The Constant Gardener
Biggest boobs: Dolly Parton (was there ever any doubt?)
Most ridiculous get-up: Ben Stiller in a green unitard
Most ridiculous dress: Charlize Theron's big black bow
Best outfit: Ludacris in black velvet
Best feature documentary: March of the Penguins (loved that tear-jerker)
Most bored attendee: Lindsay Lohan
Most beautiful nominee: Michelle Williams (Dawson's Creek's Jen)
Most thank yous: The academy
Most anorexic presenter: Hilary Swank
Best actor in a leading role: Philip Seymour Hoffman - Capote
Best actress in a leading role: Reese Witherspoon - Walk the Line
Best adapted screenplay: Brokeback Mountain
Best screenplay: Crash
Best director: Brokeback Mountain
Best picture: Crash (the only one I saw, and liked)
Best screw-up: The 15-second blackout at the end of the show
Best honourable mention: George Jonas as writer of Vengeance, the book on which Spielberg's Munich was inspired

OH CANADA

Final Torino Medal Standings:

Germany 29
USA 25
Canada 24
Austria 23
Russia 22

The Olympic committee ranks countries based on overall gold medals, not total medals, placing Canada in fifth with seven golds, ten silvers and seven bronzes. My heroes.

The death of cool

Went to see Common with Nat on Wednesday. Hadn't heard of him before but he was pretty damn cool. Got to the Kool Haus at the Guverment at 8:30, waited in a ridiculous line-up that stretched down the street and around the corner for an hour and Common didn't come on stage till almost 11. In my day, concerts were done by 11. But maybe that's because I only remember the outdoor hippy shows. Shivering in minus something degrees in my "winter" coat, I realized I'd forgotten what it's like to be cool.

I was reminded of this sad fact when we approached the Jam Van about halfway through our wait. I sauntered in to this haven of cool to save myself a few minutes of freeze when the Jam Van dude had a chuckle at my expense. "What do you mean you've never seen my van around town before? Do you live in Thornhill or something?" The conversation turned to music, but when he asked what I liked, I mumbled inaudibly and scanned the cds hanging on the walls. Rock and roll wasn't a cool enough answer. Who in their right mind doesn't enjoy anything that came out after the '70s? I had to find something else, and quick. "Metro?" was all I could muster. Like Common, I had never heard of Metro either, but the cool Jam Van guy assured me that I gave him the right answer. He scrolled through his iTunes and played some of the Montreal band's stuff. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I was reminded once more of my lack of cool when I entered the venue itself. I had come directly from work, wearing a tasteful scarf, a too expensive coat, a silly pair of old Silver jeans and a bright red sweater. Even worse, I had gotten my hair cut the night before and my silky-smooth straight hair combined with my outfit made me look like the trendiest of girly-girls out there. Forget the fact that we were at least five years everyone's senior, my sin was in neglecting to accessorize. Jeans folded up to expose knee-high boots, little hats, shiny purses and knitted shrugs surrounded me. And the guys were even cooler. T-shirts underneath button-up shirts underneath unzipped hooded sweatshirts underneath fitted jackets made me yearn for my long abandoned layered look. What had happened to the girl who wasn't allowed to run for president of my all-girls school for wearing a marijuana necklace around my neck, sweatpants under my skirts and long sleeves under short sleeves?

Although it was clear that I needed a new music collection and a new wardrobe, I enjoyed myself immensely. I always liked "Go," the one song I had indeed heard before (despite not knowing its creator), and now I've added some more Common to my newly expanded repetoire. "Faithful" and "Testify" are on the top of my list, mainly because I was too drunk to remember the names of any the songs he sang next.

And the Kool Haus is way kooler than it was the last time I was there back in '98-ish when the same Nat took me to see Ben Harper. (That's a story in itself. I was digging the multi-cultural crowd, amazed at its scope, when Nat explained that the man I'd been listening to all summer was black despite my honky assumptions.) As I was saying, back in '98-ish, the Kool Haus was definitely not as kool as it is today. Now they've got these awesome bars, four to be exact, with big colourful lights overhead. They've also added a chilling area with leather seats, where I sat for most of the show. I was obviously not cool enough to dance with the masses. But I'm cool with that.

Top spots

Winnipeg-born Cindy Klassen just picked up her fourth medal - a gold in the women's 1500-metre speed skating. Ottawa's Kristina Groves took the silver, giving Canada both top spots in the race. We now have 17 medals (almost 18 - Canada's about to beat Russia in the quarter-final men's hockey game), but the Canadian Olympic committee hoped for 25. It's not over yet.

Working at a newspaper is so much fun! Where else can you watch the Olympics all day long?

Meet Mo

My brother is a slut. A frikin slut. He gets all the ladies. Anytime, anywhere. From the hottest of hot to the skankest of skank. He doesn't care. And he doesn't even have to try anymore. He's got frosted tips, a fatty-6'2" frame and more charm than Ryan Phillippe in Cruel Intentions. Women fall at his feet, fall for his oft-rehearsed game hook, line and sinker, and, inevitably, fall madly in love with him. His lopsided grin in an attempt to display an almost unnoticeable dimple works every time. Add that to his favourite ploy, where he introduces her as his fiance, and he simply can't lose. They giggle. They blush. He calls the next day. "Hi cutie." First date: He takes her tanning - it only lasts eight minutes. Half an hour, tops, for the whole shebang. Second date: His house for a movie. His "closing" date? Scaramouche Pasta Bar. He treats her like gold until he gets sick of her. A few weeks later, he's driving her home so drunk he can't see, calls her a "cuntie" and spits in her face. "You can't treat me like that," she'll say almost meaning it. But they always come back for more. He juggles the same girls for months on end. I'm telling ya, some girls just can't get enough of the Mock. He's a lovable little asshole.