FASHION OF THE MIND

Finally, a park bench uncontaminated with pigeon excrement. I relaxed to let my gym bag slip off my shoulders, and sat down facing a lukewarm sunset amidst subsiding rumbles of downtown rush hour bus services. While one hand texting and the other feeding me with an energy bar, I glanced up to find a stern-looking women shuffling her feet anxiously before me. 

I was taken quite aback, of course, and stopped chewing. She wanted change but also wanted to hand me some kind of brochure, like she was begging and selling at the same time? So, I shook my head, lowered it, and ignored her. 

Two benches to my left, she started hassling a couple. But the couple appeared to be concentrating compassionately on her expressions, for that woman was deaf. Some time passed before it registered to me that she was selling something to people on the streets to make a living. And I felt horrible. 

I stood up with my hands diving into all my pockets and I scanned eagerly for her. She was just a pedestrian crossing or so away from me, but she hurried along, as I’m sure she had a warm home to return to for dinner soon. I swung myself away from the bench and jogged towards her with a looney at my fingertips. 

Being deaf, she didn’t expect me, and so she jumped even with a gentle tap of the shoulder. But her face light up so much… that it seemed to delay the sunset. And I felt more than lukewarm inside. 

As I walked away equipped with my new sign language brochure, I said sorry. 

Thanks for reading.

OMG NOM NOM NOM

(The difference a “God” makes.)

For Lisa

Don’t let a wishbone grow where a backbone should be.

via all plaidout

The transition to adulthood in modern and urbanized societies is quickly becoming synonymous with mothers kicking their sons out of the basement. And I’ve been thinking about this. My domestic journey through adolescence is nearing its final destination, and when I step off, there should be a transit terminal ready to connect me to international manhood. I don’t expect reclining against leather and sampling caviar, but I do look forward to booking a cattle class seat by the left wing. As you can imagine, I’m making my way these days through the departure hall. No wait. Actually, I’m still checking in my luggage, with last farewells. And now, I’m lost in duty-free. 

Anyway, enough with the airport metaphors. Where are the coming of age ceremonies? Where are the rites of passage? The Satere-Mawe tribe in the Amazon rainforest endure their ant gloves, the Spartans faced krypteia, and the Vanuatus land-dive into manhood. (Sorry, these examples are not gender-neutral.)

What about our generation/society/culture? College? University? You have got to be kidding me, especially when you realize that not everyone is privileged enough to earn a degree. Something important is quickly unweaving itself from the synthetic fabric of modern manhood.

I can’t stay lost in duty-free forever. 

Thanks for reading.

There is a critical shortage of familiar friendly smiles during my weekends. 

—-

Making homophobic guys uncomfortable is a new hobby of mine. Rock climbing is also a new hobby of mine.

—-

How common is it for honeymoon hotel rooms to have full length closet mirrors that are parallel to the bed?

—-

I’m still an ugly duckling with glasses. 

—-

I can be pretty heartless when people rub me the wrong way, especially when they insist on giving me one of those painful yet ticklish full body massages. (See what I did there?)

saw - sunrise and sunset frame-by-frame reflected in condominium glass and steel. 

listened - to presentations by green roofing experts about the advantages of moss blankets over your house.

smelled - for the first time in five days by escaping Hamilton, and with it, my allergies.

tasted - glorious dark liquid and light creamy bubbles, that is Guinness. 

felt - cold, tired, lost, caffeinated, inspired, adventurous, friendly, comfortable, warm, and hungry. 

Two little old ladies were attending a rather long church service. 

One leaned over and whispered, “My butt is going to sleep.”

“I know,” replied her companion, “I heard is snore three times.”

It’s an honour sitting next to you, Your Majesty.

My new interpretation of “Keep your chin up”:

Your biceps aren’t strong enough, mate. 

It’s come to the point where I avoid cooking at peak hours to avoid small talk (or at any time for any size talk) with my non-student Hamiltonian roommates. 

During my stir-fry session tonight, one roommate repeatedly referred to his girlfriend as his b*itch. I then told him I really wish I had a black belt in jujutsu. 

Also, the whispers of sexual innuendos coming through the slit in my door from a slightly disturbed middle-aged woman is far far far, far, far… far from comforting. My door suddenly seems too flimsy, and one lock seems insufficient. I don’t think she lives here either, which makes me even more uneasy.

Finally, I’d rather not share the latest weekend plans or complain about the weather with my favourite defensive neurotic retired chef of a roommate. Who the hell makes small talk when the other person is in the shower? 

The only two things I really want to say are 1) Stop stealing my food and 2) You may not come in my room. 

(See my last post, and realize the irony.)

In the following order, this is how the Beef Avocado Stir-fry experiment proceeded:

1) Pan heated with olive oil.

2) Threw in minced garlic and diced onions.

3) MIxed in ground beef.

4) When the beef was nearly there, mini broccoli heads flew in the pan.

5) Chunky bits of avocado joined the party.

6) Added paprika and rosemary.

7) Turned to high heat. Melt that avocado around.

8) Added salt and black pepper to taste.

9) Served with egg-fried rice!

10) Couldn’t take pictures because it’s already gone.

11) Blueberries for dessert! Yes!

I feel like I’m being driven up a wall that curves into a spherical dome that slopes into a bowl-like basin that curves into a larger spherical dome that slopes into a deeper bowl-like basin… and I’m definitely not on a really cool motorcycle. So, fun is not what I am having.

“It’s that time of month again… time to eat poutine that is.”

- Justin S. Lim

Figure 1. Chinese Poutine a.k.a. “Special Fries” (Source: seizeneuf)

For Carolyn

Homeless man under house arrest?