What da dilly yo, bow what da drilly yo…

Ten hours and four events into a 13-hour, five-event Saturday, Olivia Chow is sitting in the back seat of a crossover SUV trying to learn a speech she is supposed to give in 30 minutes at a fundraising dinner for a Jamaican high school’s “Old Boys Association.” Her driver and self-appointed radio DJ, musician and process server Marcus Chonsky, has changed the station from the soothing 91.1 Jazz FM to the event-appropriate Flow 93.5. The Toronto mayoral candidate, a 57-year-old from Hong Kong, is bobbing her head to rapper Missy Elliott.

Get yo’ freak on...

The car is parked outside a North York banquet hall. Chow arrived sooner than she thought she would. (“Rats.”) Between tweeting photos from her last event and changing, in a Tim Hortons washroom, from the red dress she wore all day to a Jamaica-themed green dress, she hasn’t had time to study.

Get yo’ freak on...

She bounces in place, right hand tapping the door in time with the bhangra beat, head staring down on the page. She finds a line she likes — “Get rid of carding and racial profiling now” — and says it with gusto. And then, just a few minutes after saying “let’s see what this speech is about,” she declares herself ready to go.

Showtime. Again.

Home

9:50 a.m.: Chow walks out of her Huron St. house. She is balancing an egg sandwich in a Ziploc bag on top of two birthday cards.

Chonsky is behind the wheel of the Chevrolet Equinox she leased for the campaign. Maureen Brown, a tea sommelier, is handling her schedule. Along for the ride are one reporter and one member of Chow’s media team, union man and former Toronto Sun editor Brad Honywill, whose job is to deal with the reporter.

“I’ll sit in the middle. I’m the smallest,” Chow says. She takes the least comfortable seat.

Wychwood Barns farmers’ market, Christie and St. Clair

10:17 a.m.: Chow’s kind of crowd. She doesn’t have to approach people. They come to her.

“You look so much nicer in person than on TV!” a woman says, rubbing Chow’s arm.

Chow: “Really? Do I look that bad on TV?”

At least eight people, all of them women, comment on Chow’s appearance by the end of the day.

10:22 a.m.: Barbara Mathews, who went to the University of Guelph and OCAD with Chow, offers up some campaign advice.

“You’re very nice,” Mathews says, “but go for the jugular.”

10:30 a.m.: A sudden downpour. Chow darts into the building, then stops just inside the door. She spies an opportunity.

“Hey,” she says, “I can be the receiving line.” As the market crowd flees the rain behind her, she shakes hand after hand.

10:38 a.m.: Chow has a casual conversation with a man dressed like Frankenstein.

“All the monsters like you,” he says.

“All the monsters like me because the real monster is — nah,” she says.

The candidate and the Frankenstein laugh about Rob Ford. There is a brief pause.

“So,” he says. “How’s your campaign going?”

The candidate says it is good. The Frankenstein says he thinks Ford has a chance.

“Sometimes I think he’s going to get voted in just because it’s good comedy,” he says.

They pose for photos.

10:49 a.m.: “With the latest poll,” Lyba Spring tells her, “I thought, OK, I’ll get off my a-- and go and volunteer.”

Chow claims she isn’t worried about that poll — the poll that showed John Tory in first place at 34 per cent, Ford in second at 31 per cent, and Chow, once the frontrunner, in third at 23 per cent. Her supporters don’t pretend.

10:55 a.m.: Chow and her volunteers, from the Equinox and a second car, pose for a photo together while making an O with their hands. Volunteer Elizabeth Glor-Bell jokes to Chow about the triangle hand sign of the Illuminati, the secret society conspiracy theorists believe controls the world. Just for a brief moment, Chow throws it up.

11:03 a.m.: The sun comes out. Anjula Gogia, a bookstore employee who knows Chow from the defunct Toronto Women’s Bookstore, tells her, “I’m praying for you.” Chow thanks her — then, swiftly, suggests she hold a pro-Chow house party.

Canvassing, like running a car dealership, is about upselling. A possible supporter can be turned into a likely supporter. A supporter can be turned into a sign-taker or a volunteer. A prayer can be turned into an earthly contribution.

“I’ll do a house party,” Gogia says.

11:08 a.m.: Judith Saul introduces Chow to her Jack Russell terrier. His name is Jack Russell.

Saul: “He has a Facebook page.” Chow: “He has a Facebook page?”

11:30 a.m.: “How are you?” Chow, her mouth full of Tibetan dumplings, says to a passing woman.

“Please chew,” Beth Lawrence responds.

Chow does, and Lawrence asks for her advice. She is thinking of making a “My Mayor Embarrasses Me” sign, she says, but she doesn’t know if she should.

“More posssitive,” Chow says. She suggests a slogan such as, “Olivia as mayor will bring back pride.”

Lawrence, a landscaper, says she is also thinking about getting a group of people to go to a Ford event and have them all whip out crack pipes when he starts speaking.

Chow: “How about we do posssitive?”

The car

12:07 p.m.: Chow plugs in her BlackBerry and checks her email, then grabs her iPad and pulls up Twitter.

“OK,” she says. “What are we saying about Wychwood Barns?”

She settles on “eat local, shop local.” But she can’t tweet it yet: she doesn’t know the Barns’ preferred Twitter hashtag.

“Maureen,” she says, “can you look for the Wychwood Barns hashtag or handle? I could too, but hey.”

Brown starts looking. Chow, though, doesn’t appear to want to delegate even this most mundane of tasks. “I can find it,” she says quietly, and she keeps searching. She also decides she needs to personally crop one of the photos she plans to tweet.

“Excellent cropping,” Honywill says.

“Hey, I went to art school,” Chow says. “You have to be good at something.”

St. Lawrence Market, Jarvis and Front

12:30 p.m.: To Chow’s chagrin, almost nobody has shown up at the two Scarborough events she had planned to attend. Instead, she heads to the downtown market — fish in a barrel.

People stop her and praise her. Then a man peddling a street newspaper and holding open the door for marketgoers calls her name.

“I’m glad you’re in last place,” Charlie Rankin says cheerfully. “You’ve always the underdog, and you always pull through in the end.”

Chow, ignoring the “last place” part, says thank you.

12:47 p.m.: A young man tells her he’s undecided. She asks him what matters to him. He says transit, lamenting that Hong Kong and other cities have superior systems. She notes that Hong Kong has light rail as well as subways — Ford, she says, “says that light rail is terrible” — and that the downtown relief line is the TTC’s top priority.

“We need to invest now,” she says. Now is her new slogan.

12:51 p.m.: Gabriela Haden-Pawlowska complains to Chow about Ford.

“I’m looking at the polls,” she says, “and I’m going, ‘What the hell is going on?’“ Chow: “It’s the summer! Relax!” Haden-Pawlowska: “I can’t.”

12:53 p.m.: “Singing ambassadors” from the Waterfront BIA serenade Chow with Pharrell’s “Happy.”

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1:06 p.m.: Chow’s official photographer and resident jokester, former Maclean’s columnist Mitchel Raphael, begins lobbying her to stop for peameal bacon. Ten minutes later, she gives in.

“Let’s do this so he won’t bug us anymore,” she says.

1:59 p.m.: “I hope this time there’s gonna be change,” a woman at a bulk stall tells Chow. “Don’t drink and drive.” Chow: “I don’t drink and drive.”

2:04 p.m.: Chow regularly breaks out two sound effects: a pirate-esque “grrrr” grunt when something goes mildly wrong, a girlish “woo-hoo!” when she wants to convey exaggerated happiness at something slightly absurd.

“That’s a perfect dress,” a woman tells her.

“It’s not just good,” Chow says, “it’s ‘perfect’! Woo-hoo!”

The car

2:21 p.m.: Chow picks up the iPad for her post-event tweet. Her latest problem: she can’t get her Twitter link-shortening tool to work. (“Grrrr.”) She is also stuck in a downtown traffic jam on the way northwest to Weston Village.

Chonsky: “Should I even try the Gardiner, Olivia?” Chow: “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

She uses the gridlock time to try to think of something “brilliant” to tweet about the St. Lawrence Market. She gets temporarily distracted.

“I don’t understand how Mitchel, being Jewish, can eat bacon,” she says.

She resuscitates the link-shortener. Her tweet: “Lots of support at St Lawrence Market. Excellent peameal bacon sandwich for lunch.”

3:02 p.m.: Chow inspects the two birthday cards as the Equinox heads north on downtrodden Weston Rd. She has to pick one for her daughter-in-law, Brett, the wife of Councillor Mike Layton.

“I’m not at home enough,” she says, “so I do all these things in the car.”

Best of Weston festival and sidewalk sale, Weston and Lawrence

3:25 p.m.: Chow arrives to squeals from a group of young women in abayas. “She’s right here!” “It’s her!” “That’s who I’m voting for!”

“I don’t see Rob up here,” another woman tells her.

Chow tells the woman, Laura, about her plan to boost bus service. Laura says the area needs more than transit — it needs opportunities and activities for children. Chow launches into her plan to expand city after-school programs for kids ages 6 to 12. Laura says she wants programs for kids older than that.

“Keep them active,” Laura says. “We don’t want what America got.”

3:51 p.m.: After less than half an hour on Weston, Chow walks briskly back to the Equinox. “I need to learn some Spanish lines for the Latin American festival,” she says.

The car

4:05 p.m.: “Senors ... y ... senoras.” As she heads toward Mel Lastman Square, Chow haltingly begins sounding out the basic Spanish words she is supposed to use at the beginning and end of her Hispanic Fiesta speech.

Chow: “How do you pronounce the next one?”

Honywill: “Chicos y chiquitas.”

Chow: “What does that mean?”

They proceed to the pronunciation of “muchas gracias,” “como estas,” and the name of the festival’s organizer, Fernando Valladares. Chonsky informs her that the two Ls are pronounced like a Y.

“I was trying to wing this,” Chow says. “There’s no way I can wing this.”

Hispanic Fiesta, Mel Lastman Square

4:40 p.m.: A woman asks if she can talk to Chow in Cantonese. Chow listens to her complaint about a company’s use of temporary foreign workers.

4:55 p.m.: “What are your ideas?” an earnest young man asks Chow. She rattles off her platform — and says, in a shot at John Tory’s SmartTrack, that she is the candidate of practical changes, now, rather than implausible schemes.

4:58 p.m.: A man, Ali, informs Chow there is someone representing Ford at the festival. “I don’t know how he can even be here,” he says. Chow: “Democracy.”

5:07 p.m.: Woman: “I wish you win.” Chow: “Muchas gracias, senora.” Then to a volunteer: “I think I remember enough that I don’t need to read the damn thing. OK let me practise a few more times.”

5:11 p.m.: Chow to supporter: “Muchas gracias.” Supporter to Chow: “I’m Hungarian.”

6:12 p.m.: Chow is supposed to speak at 6:45. She is worried. “I think it is going to rain,” she says, “and I think I should speak now. That is my instinct. Let’s negotiate an earlier time.”

6:14 p.m.: It starts to rain.

6:17 p.m.: Chow encounters Tory at the side of the stage. They make small talk.

6:33 p.m.: “Hola! How are you? Senors y senoras! Uhh, chicos y chiquitas!” Chow delivers her speech without reading it, and the laboured “chicos y chiquitas” gets an appreciative little laugh. She concludes: “Let us create a better city for our future, especially for our children! Thank you so much! Muchas gracias!” Hearty applause.

7:27 p.m.: “I always admire you. Give me a hug,” says Ana Hernandez. “And you look great, by the way.”

7:28 p.m.: Chow walks into a Starbucks with the green dress in a garment bag, then walks right back out. Mayoral candidates don’t get to skip the washroom line.

The car

7:41 p.m.: Eastbound on the 401. Chonsky starts looking for somewhere Chow could conceivably put on the dress.

“Anything that doesn’t look sketchy,” Brown tells him.

“I don’t mind being sketchy,” Chow says.

Chonsky pulls into the parking lot of a Tim Hortons on Victoria Park near Sheppard.

“Do we have to buy Timmies to justify this?” Chow asks.

She and Brown hurry in.

Calabar Old Boys Association Summer Benefit Dinner Concert, Victoria Park and Sheppard

8:57 p.m.: Chow delivers the speech to a hungry pre-dinner crowd that pays little attention. She shortens and alters the prepared text, launching into an improvised riff on the Louis Armstrong song that has just been performed, “What A Wonderful World.” She skips the racial profiling line she recited with such enthusiasm in the car.

“It didn’t fit the tone,” she says afterward. “I go in and get the feel.”

The car

9:47 p.m.: Almost exactly 12 hours after Chow left her house, the Equinox heads back down the DVP. Everybody around the candidate has sagged. She has not.

“Anybody want to go to Chinatown and have some beef noodle soup?” she says. “I’m starving.”

The radio is now playing “Hungry for Love.” Chow: “I’m not hungry for love. I’m hungry for food.”

Seor Ak San, Spadina

10:09 p.m.: Chow, Raphael, Brown and Chonsky sit down in a basement Korean restaurant around the corner from her house. Chow takes out the iPad and peruses her redesigned website. Checking her BlackBerry, she finds out that she is supposed to be at the launch of the new TTC streetcar at 9:30 a.m. the next day.

She is undaunted. Last Saturday, she says, she did twice as many events.

“This was a light day,” she says.

10:56 p.m.: It is not over. As Chow finishes her bibimbap, a young man, Milton, approaches the table — “Are you Olivia Chow?” — and tells her he is undecided and concerned about transit. She tells him she doesn’t understand why the downtown relief line is not at the top of Tory’s list. And then she hears it again.

“I’m kind of scared about the polls,” Milton says.

“Ehh,” Chow says. “They go up and down.”

11:11 p.m.: Chow pays the bill and gets up to leave. The people running the restaurant ask her to pose for a photo. They take it, and she starts walking out.

“Olivia, sorry about that, but — the picture came out bad.”

The candidate doesn’t hesitate.

“Do it again!”

One last smile, a short walk back to Huron St., and a little bit of sleep before she does it again.

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