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Driving along York Mills Road a few weeks ago, it was difficult practising my Simon Cowell scowl in the tiny rear view mirror, but I did my best.

I'd been invited by the Ontario Association of Architects to spend the day judging the province's brightest and best new architecture at their large, airy building on Moatfield Drive in Don Mills. (The building is a competition winner like the group's former headquarters on Park Road.)

As I walked up the stairs to the reception area, I flirted briefly with the idea of calling my fellow judges "dog," like Randy Jackson, but quickly dismissed the idea when I reminded myself of their calibre. Our non-voting architectural adviser for the day was Peter Burton, partner in charge of the Toronto office of Ventin Group Architects (and son of Pierre Burton, no less). The voting members, besides myself, were University of New York (Buffalo) dean of architecture Brian Carter, Joe Berridge of Urban Strategies Inc., and Hilary Smyth, deputy editor of Canadian House and Home magazine.

Nope, no dogs in that pack.

Better to gain the trust of my colleagues by feigning Paula Abdul-like love and understanding at first, then unleash my inner Simon when the judging began.

Over coffee and muffins, our OAA hosts gave us a rundown on what to expect over the next seven or eight hours. My group, one of two assembled, would handle the following categories: single-family residential, multiunit residential, institutional, commercial, intern projects and the Landmark Award, which celebrates a building 25 years or older that has achieved landmark status (more on this later).

Basically, it worked as follows: We'd start with single-family residential, and all entries (in this case 18) would be laid out around a long conference table. Each binder represented a single entry and contained a write-up on the building with, perhaps, an explanation of the problems it attempted to solve for the client, followed by elevations, floor plans and gorgeous photographs of the completed structure (of which some were not so gorgeous and others were too gorgeous because of excessive "photoshopping"). The name of the client, architect or firm was not given for obvious reasons.

We, the judges -- armed with a notepad, pen and sticky notes in our own individual colour -- would digest as much information as possible while recording things that struck us, good or bad, for each. (Note to next year's entrants: Keep your opening text short and to the point. It's hard to read a 600-word essay when 15 other binders lay unopened.) Then, if we felt sufficiently positive about a project, we'd attach a sticky note to the binder's cover.

Mr. Burton, our adviser, would familiarize himself with each binder as well. Then, he and his other non-voting helpers would gather only the marked binders for discussion.

In cases where a binder had just one sticky note, the person who put it there would have to be prepared to convince the others of the project's merits. Four notes on a binder and we had a winner. Four on two or more binders and it was time for discussion. If Mr. Burton felt we'd missed projects worthy of a second look, he'd bring them to our attention. Repeat this for each of the categories and that would be our day.

I rubbed my hands together as the first group was laid out, limp and helpless, for examination. It was finally time to Simonize. Careers hung in the balance. Tension was in the air. I cocked an eyebrow, affixed the rehearsed Cowell scowl to my mug and opened the first binder.

Problem was, it was filled with great stuff. And so was the next one, and the one after that. The future of Ontario's residential architecture looked very good indeed, and I was alarmed to find that starry-eyed look that Paula gets when sexy male contestants croon to her smeared all over my face.

And it kept happening, even in the institutional buildings category, with a whopping 31 entries, and also in considering the single entry for the Landmark Award.

In the latter case, we declared the entry most definitely deserving of the honour, which makes it doubly sad to think this mid-1960s gem will fold under the wrecker's ball later this year. Or perhaps no one will blink an eye, since many don't view buildings from the 1950s, '60s and '70s as historic.

Gordon Grice, editor of the OAA's Perspectives magazine, reluctantly admits that in a "casual survey" they did a few years ago, "the average age of people's favourite buildings was 80 years." What they'd love to see, he says, is for folks "to like 25 to 50-year-old buildings a lot more."

Maybe if they knew that nominations for the Landmark Award aren't restricted to architects (which I didn't know), it would generate some interest in our modernist buildings; at the very least it might cause a few to think about the built environment in general.

Or we could pitch a television show to Fox. But don't ask me to be Simon . . . I'm much more of a Paula Abdul.

The OAA awards will be presented May 12 at the Westin Hotel in Ottawa, and will be published in the summer 2006 issue of Perspectives. For more information visit http://www.oaa.on.ca

Dave LeBlanc hosts The Architourist on CFRB Sunday mornings. Inquiries can be sent to dave.leblanc@globeandmail.com.