My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Thursday, December 30, 2004

forget paris

I spoke too quickly when I told her. One word overlapping the next. I wouldn't be going to Paris with her; everything we had planned was gone. An acceptance letter from the university I'd dreamed of had changed everything. We wouldn't be moving to Paris together. I wouldn't be going to Paris at all. I was headed to Toronto.

A stunned expression soon turned to tears, hateful words, and a distant friendship. I'd ruined everything. I hated myself. I hated her for hating me. One of my best friends now looked at me in the same way she'd looked at her worst enemies. Speak to me in short sentences that had no meaning.

There was a sense of forgiveness around the time of grad. We stood close to each other with glasses of champagne, something still missing. I'd taken away my word and lost a lot of respect.

Around the time of my birthday I tossed in my bed at residence. In my dream I returned to Vancouver to see her and she ignored me. Acted as if I wasn't there. The next morning I received a letter from her in the mail. She gave the best birthday gift yet. She forgave me. She said she had put too much weight on me at the time, taking out too many things on the wrong person.

The other night I went to her apartment with another friend and had dinner. The bonds between us all were still there. After a few glasses of wine we talked about how happy we were. She told me how much she saw in me, as if I was bursting with potential. That I had a glow. She showered me in generosity and love. It felt like I regained a friend. I might barely see her in the next year, but we've still got our connection; a pace to our conversation that doesn't come easily.

We'll both probably never forget Paris. Dreams made; lost; broken. But I don't think we could forget each other either.


My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

look around you

Snow storms hit Toronto. An earth shattering earthquake hits Indonesia. I look around me. Comfort. How did I ever get so lucky? Friends and family pour me wine; laugh with me; dance with me.

I look around me. The sun glows on the Pacific Ocean. Take it in..take it in...take it all in. It won't be long until the icy streets of Toronto throw you on your face. The city I love is slowly turning into a winter wonderland. Wonderland as in 'I wonder if this winter will ever end..'

Let the photos speak of my last couple days.

Spending quality time with my women at Aimee's good bye party.
With my beautiful Greek, who looks more like Prince every day.
A moment of serenity caught on yesterday's bright sunshiney day.
Trying to keep up with those who walk in the sea wall.
The wine flowing at my family's Hawaiin themed gathering.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Saturday, December 25, 2004

merry christmas

Oh the joys of a digital camera. My wish was truly granted this year. This little piece of magic will lead to much enjoyment on my part...see for yourself. Enjoy. Hope you all had a great Christmas.

Oh baby you sure can work it.
What friends are for.
The beautiful people that brought me here.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Friday, December 24, 2004

what to tell you

Last night I stumbled out of a club with the side of a gingerbread house in my hand. It was part of a display and I was so damn hungry I was happy to eat it. One of the bouncers asked me "Where'd you get that?"

"I brought it with me."


"Yes..I made it myself."

Then I skipped off with a big smile and a mouth full of gingerbread. One homeless man rapped a reggae tune for me and I danced on the spot.

The joys of a night out on the town with the girls. For my friend's birthday we wined, dined, and then hit up a club downtown to sweat our sins away. I fell in love with a beautiful stranger; a man that could actually dance. A young man who seemed to be fascinated by every aspect of me. Adoration is a sweet thing; a smile lingered on my face all night.

The last week here has been full to the brim of love and indulgence. Good food; great people; memories in the making.

I can be a bit of a scrooge at Christmas in thinking gift giving isn't necessary. But I've seen the light. It started with a cheeky pair of underwear from Shirin. Then it was a package of cookies and a CD from my room mate in the mail. Then a wonderful thoughtful gift from the beautiful Marlene. The gifts made me feel all warm inside. They made me feel like my very being was appreciated.

It's good to be home. It was good to drive to Seattle with my mother on a bright sunshiney day, "It's a great day to be alive!" blasting from my country CD. To take two days just for us. To buy some new make up. To coo over $500 shoes at Nordstrom. To talk over dinner layed out on our hotel room floor.

January third I'll return to Toronto with a pot belly of Christmas baking (I can't get enough), and a sense of satisfaction. Of knowing that I still have a home I can come back to, where love runs as vast and deep as the Pacific Ocean.

What to tell you? I love you. All of you. It is Christmas and I am full of love.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Friday, December 17, 2004

life or something like it

My dad says he expected me to look older. My brother says he's glad the city hasn't changed me. My friend tells me I dress much more feminine. Three months can't really change a person can they?

But I do feel different. Insecurities aren't getting in my way as much. I don't sweat the small stuff. I walk comfortably in my skin. I speak to people I don't know with ease. I can see that I can be charming, even persuasive, if I feel I'd like to be.

I speak of Toronto with such love. When I'm there sometimes I think "What a cement hell hole of high rises". But I also think "Oh my god, I am happy." I feed off urban energy and know that I'm where I should be. Here I glance nervously at West Coasters, thinking, 'Damn..I should go for a run'. People have this pure, natural; wealthy West Coast air to them. I get nervous and apply more eyeliner.

I went to UBC the other day to see my dear Shirin. She drank a bottle of red wine, me a bottle of white, and we took off from where we left each other at the end of the summer. We danced. We talked. We laughed until our stomachs cramped up. She wants me to be happy. She sees a part of me she feels doesn't need to exist. The part of me that hates myself and tears me up. I agree. But then I think...that is a part of me. I need every part of me. Even if it kills is inspiring..and it makes me whole. It brings out emotion, emotion is beautiful. But I see what she means, and happiness is beautiful.

Today I went out with my mother and her friend Marlene. Watching the two it's as if they're growing young, not old. They ooze feminine beauty. They are like Parisian women: classic, femine, stylish and confident. They're playful, strong, intelligent women. They laugh together like young girls. It feels good to be with them. There is an air of comfort and well being. There was no point where I would rather have been somewhere else, or with somebody else.

Afterwards I came home shortly, then headed over to my aunt Bev's. She lives in a wealthy neighbourhood over town, where she was having a christmas party. Her family's home is large and spacious, with decorating that would have Martha Stewart in a jealous rage. I was called over to help out in the kitchen. I spent the night preparing hors doeuvres, setting them out, serving them, and cleaning up. I almost felt I didn't deserve to be paid, considering I really enjoyed it. I love people, I love food, and I love displaying things. My brother drove me home, money in my palm and a smile on my face.

My family is being wonderful.

I am still a little lost somewhere between reality, my past, and my imagination. But I'm slowly finding ground.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

she's baaack

Yesterday morning I set out, dragging my luggage on a brisk Toronto day. My hands freezing over as they poked out of my jacket to grasp my bags. One plane ride, one happy mother, two cheeky brothers, one stop at Whole Foods, two vodkas and a home cooked meal later, I was home.

On our way home from the airport we stopped at the new Whole Foods. The fact that I could throw any desired food into the cart had me walking around blankly. And playing around with my brothers, 22 and 26, who will always act like older brothers around me. Tricks and teases just ooze once I arrive. I love it. I spied on other shoppers and truly felt I was in West Vancouver. Women trying to look younger than they are, a fresh botox smile, counting calories and carbs on loafs on bread.

It is strange to be here.

Wonderful to be able to sit down with my family, to eat and laugh. To hold my mom's hand and feel the familiar warmth. To have her smile every time she looks at me, congradulating me on the small things I've accomplished.

My room doesn't really feel like my room. Taken over by my cousin, it now has her personality, not mine. But for now, it is hers, and I don't mind. I enjoy pretending I'm on vacation on my new big bed, bought from a set sale for the TV series 'The Days' (which I've never heard of).

My dad says the house isn't the same without my energy. It must be hard living without an obnoxious teenager running around at high volume. One who has no control over her singing, dancing, and horrible sense of humour. I would miss me too.

I've got my schedule planned already. Going to be very busy, and keep having to remind myself that it's not work I have planned. That I am on vacation, all my plans are meant to be fun. And they will be.

It is a dark morning. Probably raining. Vancouver's beauty is often taken away from by winter dreary darkness. I have yet to see it in the light and be reminded of what I was missing. A completely different beauty than Toronto.

In all Toronto's ugliness I often find it amazing. The CN tower looming over the city. The buildings catching the light in just the right way. It's a dirty city that can be a little scummy, but in the right light it's stunning.

But I'm sure the Pacific Ocean will have me seduced in no time.

Lock your liquor cabinets; hide your sons; I'm home.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Monday, December 13, 2004


Remnants of my dreams still float around my head. They come back like scenes of adventure and fantasy films.

In one scene I am standing on a tall green mountain top that overlooks the rest of the land. The kind of mountain top I imagine in Africa or the Tropics. I'm up very high. I remember wondering why heights make me nervous. Why I always have to live in fear, unlike those who live recklessly and fearlessly. I notice a small mossy ledge that will catch me from an initial fall. I calm down.

Another scene is more of a horror scene. I am standing on the terrace of my wood cabin home. I have a husband and kids. The house is on stilts and is surrounded by a jungle of thick bushes and plants that you must hack your way through. If someone is standing down in the bushes all you can see is the top of their head. In it there are two men. They are running through with large weed wackers. We can hear them brutally slashing people to death. There are screams. I grab my family in fear and we run away. They don't catch us.

In another scene I am flown over the remnants of a lost city. Buildings and structures lie decrepit and devastated. Towers are on the ground. Broken glass and dust. A whole city. The sight is beautiful and unexpected. It goes on for miles. Suddenly I am in a tour boat looking at it. Someone tells me "It's all made of cotton," and the scene loses it's intensity.

Another scene I sit on a log on the beach with some friends. A few feet away lie three dead bodies. They are not disturbing somehow. These bodies lie peaceful, faces partly in the sand, as if death were the most ordinary thing. I feel tempted to go up to them and look at their faces. I know my curiosity will be regarded strangely so I stay sitting. I want to search their faces for expression, identity; life. And I remember wondering: is this why soldiers and murderers can kill people so easily? Because it's not so disturbing after all? Because it seems so harmless?

Went I went to bed last night it was much earlier than usual. I felt an overwhelming fatigue. My head felt light and I felt I was half sleeping already. I had the sense I was losing ground between reality and my dreams.

Sometimes I fear my imagination will take over my mind. That I'll lose all ground. People will wonder what happened to me. Everyone will say: "We've lost her to her dreams". I'll look back at them numbly, and know that I can see something they can't.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

i'll be home for christmas

Walking hurriedly to work this morning, I walked by Dundas Square to see a stage set up. A young man with his head hooded by a sweatshirt was preparing for a show, singing while playing the guitar. I have no idea who he was, but his voice hit my heart strings. Moments like this in the city have me walking around with a seduced smile.

My affair with Toronto is going to be over for about a month, and I wish I felt better about it.

My heart aches in anticipation to see friends and family, but not for Vancouver. I don't know what it is.

My affair with this this city makes me feel alive. And it's as if I'm returning to Vancouver, my husband, a man who just doesn't know how to touch me right. We have too much of a history together. When Vancouver calls my name I just don't get that thrill I used to get. The butterflies flew out of my stomach years ago. Toronto is younger, more mysterious, and has no set idea of who I am. Toronto brings out the woman in me.

I will probably cave in once I see the people I love on a back drop of the Pacific Ocean and mountains. Once I walk the sea wall. Once I am reminded of it's exceeding beauty.

It's just..I've been gone for around five months now and I wish I was more excited.

I'm somehow afraid. I feel so happy with myself right now; I'm afraid I'll feel differently in Vancouver.

That without the independence and movement of the city I will lose myself again.

But it's a state of mind right? Not a location on a map.

For some reason when I think of Vancouver I think of me with a pained expression, staring out at a grey sky. I should be thinking of my warm home, my amazing family. I went through an old photo album and ripped up some pictures of myself. They weren't horrible, but they didn't look like me. Fake smiles, or too drunk to know my facial expression. A face doing a bad job at covering up how I actually felt. The only genuine smiles I can find are in my grad pictures, ready to end a chapter of my life and move on.

But Vancouver is home. Once I arrive at the familiar airport to familiar faces, I will remember this. I will soak this up and love it, probably resenting the fact that I have to return to Toronto.

I guess I just hope Vancouver loves me back this time.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

nothing is simple.

Not even a simple day. Not even a simple blonde girl, wandering the streets of Toronto with a lost expression on her face.

Not even buying new clothes, not even if someone else is paying for them.

When I asked my mom on advice over a clothing purchase she told me she would pay for it. She doesn't want me to freeze here. She is always very generous and protective about her youngest, only daughter, the baby of the family. I would say she spoils me, but I hate the word spoiled. When food goes rotten it is spoiled. My grandmother told me I was spoiled as a young girl. I hated to think of me, rotting away because people were too good to me. Being given too much for such a young thing.

I bought new comfortable stretch pants since my other black ones have turned to a shade of brown from too much wear. A small hole in the bum. And a warm hooded zip up to protect me from Toronto's strong icy winds, good for layering in chilly weather.

Together they cost a lot for such simple things. I keep hoping they're good enough. I look at myself wearing them. Leave. Go back to the mirror and look again. Are they good enough? Should I return them? They're for comfort and warmth, stop looking at them.

Simple things like this drive me crazy.

I've bought many things in this city. I'm glad I've been working for them, the cash coming out of my own pocket. I've bought the things I was always too cheap to buy. Over time I've bought a proper pair of running shoes, a winter jacket, good sunglasses (also necessary for wind protection), work clothes, jeans, a wok for stir fries. I've also updated my wardrobe through clothes swaps with other girls in residence, or dirt cheap items from thrift stores.

I sometimes wish I wasn't so attracted to beautiful things. I love beauty. Sometimes it's hard to determine vanity from beauty. When I spend time putting on make-up in the morning, I do it for confidence. Not for vanity or admiration. I like to feel good. To feel my face is beautiful. But is it vain and sad not to be able to venture out with a naked face? Sometimes it's just a bit of eyeliner, but shouldn't my bare eyes be enough?

Nothing is simple. Today was a simple day, no more classes, do some studying, buy a sweatshirt and stretch pants.

I started off oozing happiness and now I'm back to my typical frustration. And why the hell aren't I studying?

My room mate says I'm complicated. Even a simple looking girl may not be so simple. How could one be in a world that's anything but simple?

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Why women are attracted to assholes

Illustration: the assholes get all the attention.
By Gillian Young

All the nice guys want to know. How are all their good intentions put to waste while jerks barely lift a finger and women come running? What is it about being an asshole that makes a man a sex god? For one thing, women are always complaining about the assholes. They can be heard from miles away as they whine over their non-fat lattes, “How are there no nice guys out there?” Then some guy walks in, undresses them with his eyes, flashes a sleazy smile and they melt. “Ooh he’s nice.”

There are a few things that separate assholes from other men. They are cocky, distant, proud, ignorant and sometimes rude. They are also extremely talented at picking up women. They are the men we cry over. They are the men who throw us into fits of depression and force us to spend the night with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s instead of a date.

The new best seller He’s Just Not That Into You tells women to forget him. The printing order originally set at 30,000 jumped to 410,000 in a flash. The book is addressed to women who make up excuses for their boyfriends, who in reality, just aren’t that into them. “The book is about being honest with yourself and setting your standards higher,” says co-author Greg Behrendt. This might be exactly what women need to do, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

Time and time again, strong intelligent women are drawn to these dark creatures. Seduced by a standoffish attitude and a self-assured grin, the assholes always win women over.

There’s something to be said about the confidence of a typical jerk. About a smile that says “I can give you want you want”, and masculine hands that look like they know the way around a woman’s body. It’s not the abuse that keeps women coming back: it’s a man who seems to know what he’s doing. Think of Jack Nicholson, the man relies on confidence. Without that big cocky smile he could be any creepy old man. But now he’s a semi-sexy old guy who still stars in movies with younger babes.

Unfortunately, when his ego’s bigger than your credit card bills, it’s easy to brush off his bad sides. “We idealize. We see what we want to in our lover,” says Ursula Carsen, psychoanalyst. If the man thinks he’s a hero you might start to believe him. If he knows how to hold you, you can forget the stupid things he said.

Michel Champagne, 24, a student, idealized her boyfriend of many years. “The problem is some men don’t seem like assholes at first, and by then you’ve fallen in love with this amazing person you thought they were.”

Many of us are attached to the traditional idea of what a man should be. Driven by our personal fantasies about Superman, we think all men should be made of steel. “Women have an ideal image of the perfect man: macho, strong; secure,” says Carsen. She adds that being too nice won’t win a woman over. “If you come across overly nice you are not secure within yourself, you are too needy to please,” she says.

If a man calls, says he loves you, and is always on time, we tend to think “Oh my god, what personal issues does he have?”

Smart women are used to overcoming challenges. Whether it’s getting the kids to school on time or winning a court case, the job will be done. Everyday is a damn challenge if you wear stilettos to work. Challenges are invigorating and often empowering; sometimes women are drawn to challenges in their personal life as well. In Matthew Fitzgerald’s Sexploytation he says ‘Women are attracted to excitement; bad boys have a recklessness and untamed sexuality. They also represent a challenge.’

Nice guys go truth seeking at sites like, where there’s actually has a section called ‘How Jerks Date Beautiful Women’. It says that jerks have attractive qualities that make women blind to their abuse, that ‘women will rationalize and excuse the abusive behavior because they are so attracted to these other qualities.’ It goes on to list some of their attractive qualities as: unpredictable, uncontrollable, challenging and dominating.

As much as that sounds like a pain in the ass, if it’s all wrapped up in the sexy package of a man, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

A survey by Maxim magazine found that 13 per cent of girls date jerks because they think they can change them, and 36 per cent date jerks because it makes the sweet moments even sweeter.

Sheila*, 30, a phone sex operator, is used to men coming on to her, it’s part of the job description. Even with all the assholes that call in she says, “I’m just not into nice guys. I want adventure not appliances.”

Like most women, Sheila* loves a good challenge: “If you win a jerk’s heart, you feel like you’ve won something.” She also appreciates a man with confidence. “Even if all a guy has going for him is confidence, it’s sexy; it’s a power.” She adds that there’s nothing sexier than a man in a leather jacket. James Dean: you still make us weak in the knees.

Sometimes women know it’s not love, but that’s not what they’re looking for in the first place. Sometimes all a modern day woman wants is to make love, not be in love. “Our society is narcissistic; we are lonely individuals and are afraid of intimacy,” says Carsen, “We tend to thrive off sex and power and are void of love and connection.”

Nice guys are good for connection, long conversations, holding hands and having fun with, but it’s the assholes who get invited upstairs at the end of the night. In today’s day and age, being loving isn’t always enough. “Loving men often get labeled feminine or faggot,” says Carsen.

When she was younger Champagne was short on confidence. “I was an ugly duckling” she says. “I was desperate to find someone. Everybody wants to be loved,” she says. “Sometimes we crave attention from the people who won’t give it to us.”

But assholes are like most bodily pleasures, the joy they give is often short lasting. “When the asshole player types turn 40, they’re just gross, their sexiness becomes sleazy,” says Sheila. “When the nice guys turn 35 and are suddenly successful, that’s when women want them. That’s also when we want babies, a home, and a stable lifestyle.

At some point we all want to settle down and feel loved. So tell the nice guys in your life to hold on. When it’s reproduction time, they’ll be at the top of your speed dial.

As strange as it is, it is a common theory that women are attracted to men like their fathers. “Some women try and replace the father that wasn’t there emotionally or physically,” says Carsen. If you are used to certain relationships you feel the need to repeat them.

Rachel*, 36, an art dealer, settled down with an asshole in the past.
“I had a long-term relationship with an asshole. At first I thought he was different, rebellious and intellectual,” she says. Now she has had to move and change her phone number in trying to avoid him. “When he was abusive I stayed with him,” she says. “Through psychology, I realized I was drawn to assholes because of my abusive father.”

“The reality of this was an awakening,” she added. If you are able to confront this problem and face the reality of it, there is hope for you yet. Once you realize you’d never intentionally try dating a man like your father, you may think twice before trying to replace him. Even if he does have the body your father never had.

Unfortunately this isn’t a math equation and there is no well-defined answer. We can’t change whom we’re attracted to. Desire has a strong pull over every human being. Whether it’s a problem we have psychologically, or we just happen to go weak at the sight of a man with rippling biceps, we love what we love. And yes ladies and gentlemen, it does work both ways. Men don’t always fall for the girl next door. Along with He’s Just Not That Into You, Why Men Love Bitches is a worthy read for men who suffer from a similar affliction.

*Names have been changed

This was my final article before the holidays, the original picture is different.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Monday, December 06, 2004

"oh my god, oh my god"

All I could say this morning to the flurry of snow that swept past my 14th floor window. Because the wind here is so strong, it flew across like a blizzard. Something different. Something unexpected. The snow I've been fearing has made me feel all warm inside.

Met some friends in the cafeteria for breakfast. Christmas decorations bring light to our drab dining hall. Cake and hot coffee went down well as we watched snow fall from the heavens, painting the courtyard white.

The morning journalism lecture was inspirational. Three photographers showed off some of their best work. I drooled and dreamed of digital cameras. It kills me how clever photographers can be. Some shots were amazing. Sent on an assignment to take a picture of a pianist at this home, the photographer managed to get the man's face with the piano keys reflected in his glasses. Brilliant. Excellent turn out. Fashion shots from Paris and Milan had me squirming in my seat. I have a weakness for haute couture these days.

Afterwards I went for a walk in the snow to 'Buy the Pound', an insanely cheap second hand store, where you fill a bag from crates of clothes, shoes, and accessories, and actually buy by the pound.

I felt like a child. Giddy by the snow under my boots. A wool toque pulled over my long blonde hair. It was if nothing had changed from the days where I was three feet shorter and passionate for anything pink and purple.

Now I have to get to work because I have an overwhelming amount of work to do before I go home. Two projects do in two days. And yes, procrastination has me still trying to finish them.

But oh my god, what a beautiful morning.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Saturday, December 04, 2004

when did passion go out of fashion?

passion: a) ardent affection : LOVE b) a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept c) sexual desire d) an object of desire or deep interest

Red passion

Sitting with my discman and my last cigar I reminisced on passion. Strong vocals and the bittersweet taste of flavored tobacco entering my system. Memories playing out like an overdone music video.

In my day to day life I feel dry of passion.

I'm stuck on France right now. The men and women with more than sex appeal: lust appeal. Passionate about all the things that really matter. Three course meals and an open mind. Late night dancing and romancing. Tradition; a kiss on each cheek; compliments; true appreciation of being a woman.

So I went out and danced. I danced until it hurt. Turned the room into a blur and danced with myself. Turned down every guy that asked to dance with me.

That's another thing holding me back from passion. I've been unable to feel seduced by any man.

Every time a guy came on to me it was more of a personal joke with myself, I laughed, shook my head, and kept dancing.

Maybe it's that dancing with a man I'm not attracted to, liquor on his breath, and his hand on my ass, is only an illusion of passion. Maybe it's that I was sober enough to notice.

Or maybe it was the girl dry humping a guy on the dance floor looking more desperate than sexy.

Sometimes it seems cheesy pick up lines and a push up bra have replaced passion. Three beers and a one night stand. A rich husband and a new washing machine. A Range Rover and a toned body.

Is is just me? Am I too stuck within myself to see it?

Or has passion gone out of fashion in North America and been replaced with an idea of happiness and a list of luxury items?

Or is it just me? Looking away from anyone that stares at me for too long.

Because passion isn't a trend. It runs through every part of your body and makes you do things that seem impossible. It awakens desire. Pushes you. No, it could not go out of fashion.

But I'm not feeling it. Wether it's within myself or my world around me.

I guess I should find it in myself before I expect to see it everywhere else.

My blog has moved! Redirecting...

You should be automatically redirected. If not, visit and update your bookmarks.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

just fucking read this

In journalism you're supposed to grab your reader's attention. Unfortunately our headlines aren't usually allowed to be this blunt.

So how do I grab you, on a day that looked like this?


Dark clouds seen looming from inside a classroom with hydrogen lights.

When I walked into English a girl from my floor said "Hey, what are you doing here?"

English is one of the classes I have trouble going to. I don't like people interpreting novels for me. Sucking the joy out of literature, analysis by analysis. But it does help to have deeper understanding.

So I sat, I listened, and actually enjoyed hearing some of what had to be said. Talking about the characters in The Hours keeps my attention. Virginia the writer, Richard the poet, both playing on the edge of madness. In my need to connect I relate to them. I love them. I love their sadness. Their strangeness.

I walked down Yonge St. to pick up my heels from a small shoe repair shop. The eyes of a young man in a baseball cap, standing at a hot dog stand, followed me until out of view. These looks always throw me off. What is he seeing?

The shoe repair shop is something out of the 40's. It's tiny. Seats line one side of the wall, magazine racks on each arm rest so men and women may have a read while their shoes are shined. Men work away in the back room, talking, whistling; singing. A tall black man, taken by his own charm, tries to make me smile and plays with words. You'd think he was making millions. As I leave I hear him yelling Italian impersonations in the back.

Afterwards I sat in a coffee shop with tears in my eyes. Watching people going, always going. Everyone with a destination in mind. Keeping with the pace of the city. After gazing in inexplicable sadness I get up. I join the pace, residence my destination, start going, keep on going.

And I don't know where I'm going. Now, later, whenever. But I have to go now. There's work to be done and a pace to keep up to. My life is out there asking me to live it.