...a hundred and two fedoras...

It occurred to me the other day that I write less because these days there are less things to complain about, less things to annoy me.

And then today happened:

i) A customer said "When I need a Paki to help me, I'll ask".
ii) I've been sick for two days, with no end in sight.
iii) Some bastard stole my lunch from the staff room.
iv) Alley Cat scratched my arm, and my new Spoof top.

On a happier note, it seems the Littlest Jew is back in Toronto. I would like to see her please.

...bells and bombs...

This week has taken a hundred million strengths out of me (at the same time as adding at least 5 comfort pounds). Families are lovely, and the Iranian concept of family which just as strongly binds the closest friends to it is even lovelier. But when they are hurting, you are hurting and it gets very heavy and hard. Eventually I needed to run a little bit, and after a particularly hard day I made my escape. I told my family I was with Farnam, and told Farnam I was with my family (sorry dear) and spent the evening with no one. Sat on a bench at Harbourfront for about three hours and did some writing, then some thinking, a little crying.

Another sad bit of news here.

The boy gave me this gorgeous necklace today, on his birthday. Goddamn I'm crazy about him. It was for thanks, and for be happy, and for just because. He "makes me happy when skies are grey" as the song goes.

...the japanese ray liotta...

He looks like he's been beaten to a pulp. The cancer has beaten him up. Yet all the physical changes, the deteriorations would still be tolerable if only his eyes hadn't lost their brightness.

My heart is breaking.

...dream of the city...

Last night at Cirque du Soleil - so incredible. Not, unfortunately, as good as the last two shows I have seen. I found this performance to be too concentrated on storyline and as a result many of the acts were short and less developed than I am used to. It was still breathtaking though. The finale, the finale of the first act, and the hoops were the highlights, as was little Valentina, who was precious.

The night before that, we were at the ROM. All cultured and educated, and such. It's a shame because Toronto is an incredible city, but the ROM really is not a very good museum. It has nothing on some of the other museums I have seen. Immature and at times somewhat tacky. Although making out in the Bat Cave was a definite plus.

If it wasn't for having previous plans to go to Harbourfront, we could have made out in a condo's $1.4m model suite.


P.S. My boyfriend bought me cereal to keep at his house, so I have something to eat on the mornings I am here. On the count of three: awwwww!

...hot motel, heavy inside...

The girls through Lea a goodbye party for her virginity the other night. In the midst of playing "Pin the Vag on the Penis", Spin the Bottle with the telling of our best/worst sex stories as the stakes, and Pop the Balloon (er... cherry) I couldn't help thinking... damn, no one threw me a party.

*Sigh*.

My second thought was "Shit. Martha should be here, she would get such a kick from this party".

-------------------------------------------------

The choice is hiding or not, keeping still or not. Because maybe baby there is a boy who will arrive on this blog fairly shortly as a result of it somehow slipping into a collective conversation (sssh... he has previously had no knowledge of said blog). And so, we are left to decide if all our words should be left available for him to read, or if we're still unready for that level of candidness.

If you should wake one morning to find all previous entries gone...

...it is, it is...

Over dinner at the Bloor Street Diner, eavesdropping on the insipid conversations of three newtopolitics-lawyer types talking big of small knowledge. The topic is European economy, and someone brings up Macedonia. The Greek lady of the trio says "well actually Paul, there are two Macedonias: Greek Macedonia and the one in Czechoslovakia. And we don't like the Greek one." Paul, in his chinos and pink collared shirt questions "isn't there one in Yugoslavia?" to which she replies, "no I'm pretty sure it's the capital of Serbia, not a UN-recognized country".

From there, they moved to a recounting of their respective past experiences working for Shiela Copps, Maurizio Bevilacqua and Jack Layton as well as their future Canadian political plans.

I couldn't begin to tell you how my overhearing of this conversation gave me faith in the Canadian political field to come.

In other news, the new edition of Oxford's Elementary Student Dictionary is out. On the front cover in bright yellow writing on a blue background: "Trialled and tested in schools!".

...

Are we, collectively, becoming generally more stupid?

...let it ride [reprise]...

P.S. Is it just me or do the lyrics to Ryan Adams' "If I Am A Stranger" make no sense at all?

Just wondering...

...let it ride...

Notes, after an encounter:

i) Even Shania's casual speech is twangy.
ii) As we speak, she is carrying a purple tote bag towards the cash desk full of books of my recommendation.
iii) In her red Roots cap and black leggings, there is no one hotter.

I am forever complaining that celebrities don't end up in my section, and today I caught one. Hurrah!

...a post-modern classic...

As I sit in Starbucks writing this, a cherubic yet ironically demonic white-blond three year old is shrieking at the table next to mine. Her parents and grandmother stare dazedly and make no move to discipline her. They offer bribes of butterfly cookies and sips of Americano espresso (by the way, good job that: give the already hyperactive maniac a registered dietary stimulant).

It leads me to wonder when parents became such pushovers, when they stopped knowing how to handle their children. It also, amusingly, makes me question why it is so politically incorrect for well-meaning strangers to step in with a friendly "shut up kid", or at the very least a gentle yet firm "nice people don't do this in public".

Walking around malls or stores with my friend Natalee and coming upon similar situations, we reminisce about how this kind of thing would not go ignored in our respective home communities (the close-knit neighbourhood in Tehran where my entire family lived within 3 blocks of one another, and Natalee's quaint hometown in Jamaica). In both of these communities, minor acquaintances would have had no qualms in grabbing us when we misbehaved and whopping us on the backside before taking us by the wrist and delivering us to our parents, where they would inevitably stay for tea.

That sort of behaviour by community members was always anticipated, and I think appreciated. Maybe there is something to that idea of a village raising the child. I feel those kids can only benefit from having multiple influences and caregivers, and where one person might hesitate to enforce discipline, another more lacking in patience will have no such hesitation. It's a win-win situation.

And if that doesn't work, I'm always in favour of bringing back more of that good ol'fashioned ass-whopping.

...let me consult my psychic...

Oh, my California queen of Spice, thou art a Golden Goddess and have made my night.

All my love,

A Torontonienne.

...geek in the pink...

In the hope that by doing so I would inspire myself to writing and an optimistic academic year, I bought 6 sparkly, stripey, swirly notebooks from Staples today when I promised my mother I would really be a) looking at desk systems, and b) getting cardboard boxes for moving.

Yes it's finally arrived - the moment of my reintegration into suburban life. Thornhill, here I come. I'm going to miss living right on the subway line. More significantly I'm going to miss condominium living. The new plan sees me saving money and studying hard for the express purpose of getting a great job with lots of money to buy one of those swanky condos, preferably something along the lines of 100 Yorkville, for myself and possibly my perpetually-unemployed and/or sporadically employed artist boyfriend.

Incidentally, 100 Yorkville has the best builders and developers and planners that I have seen in the past couple of years in condos. There was not anything about the suites that I would want to change. They literally thought of everything. Looks like they designed it by imagining themselves living there.

About the notebooks by the way - the idea is that everything this year will be bright and colourful and sparkly and immeasurably cute. School is about being young, and I'm going to revel in that. There is time enough for grownup legal pads and plain black pens. For the moment all I want are my colours, my pigtails, and my Bob the Builder lunch box.

Besides, I'm convinced the boy secretly loves the childishness. He jokes around enough himself but even still the age difference is by no means inevident. Which naturally makes me interpret his enthusiasm for my quirks as borderline pedophilia...

Hmm.