I’m out with a friend for All-U-Can-Eat sushi. He’s in love… with a couple people – as usual – but the newest lady is the current stand-out. He’s telling me how this time, he’s going to play it cool, not give too much away, aloof even. I feel the pinch of recent experience and say that tactic doesn’t tend to work out so well. He smiles and leans across the table, “It never works out.”
I drop my head and before I realize what’s happening, a big alligator tear rolls down my nose and splats on the table. Damn. Didn’t I cry the last time the two of us were out for all-you-can-eat sushi? Of course I did! At least I had the decency to keep it together long enough to make it to the curb of Burrard. The situation was different then – even if the issues are thematically the same – and called for heavy sobs, where the present one deserves only a few silent tears of frustration.
I dish out the general overview through watery eyes and finish with the ever eloquent and conclusive, “What does it matter anyway?”
“It always matters. It always matter, and it never works out.”
Small giggle.
The server puts the cheque on the table. He picks it up and chuckles.
“Shows what they know, huh?”
He points to where our order is listed at the top: 2 Adults.
“You okay there, Heartbreak?”
Sniff, nod.
All this ridiculousness because I was scared.
Which brings me to Caravaggio.
***
My friend Owen told me about Caravaggio, a famous Italian painter from the early 17th century. He and his gang would run the streets of Rome, rapiers at their sides and servants following close behind, moving from tennis court to palazzo in search of action – both romantic and combative. Caravaggio eventually ended up killing a man in a brawl and fled Rome, but it was the gang’s motto that intrigued Owen: “Without Hope or Fear.”
He told me he’s recently adopted it as his own motto:
“It sounds negative at first, but when you really try to imagine what life would be like if you could live like that, it’s very tempting!”
Without hope or fear. It’s worth a shot.
After all, there are only so many all-you-can-eat sushi places in this city.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Poker Night
Samm taught me to play poker the last time I was in Vancouver. I won $50 the second time we played and, as much as I’d love to credit solid instruction and/or deliriously incredible talent, we all know it was Fortune Fair, as is so often the case with me.
We’re playing nickel & dime for tonight’s game and everyone is super chill and having fun, for the most part. Steve, however, takes his poker very seriously. His surliness increases each time I take him out. My combination of no skill and dumb luck only make it worse. I get multiple straights on the river throughout the course of the evening, when a better player would have folded.
Steve and Johnny lecture me that it’s one thing to play like that if it’s only every once in a while, but it would never work if I played regularly.
I smile and happily take my extra $20.
***
En route to poker, one of the players came across a poster with tear-away phone numbers entirely in Mandarin, except for this at the bottom:
I will come and take your children when you are at work.
Two of the slips were torn off.
We’re playing nickel & dime for tonight’s game and everyone is super chill and having fun, for the most part. Steve, however, takes his poker very seriously. His surliness increases each time I take him out. My combination of no skill and dumb luck only make it worse. I get multiple straights on the river throughout the course of the evening, when a better player would have folded.
Steve and Johnny lecture me that it’s one thing to play like that if it’s only every once in a while, but it would never work if I played regularly.
I smile and happily take my extra $20.
***
En route to poker, one of the players came across a poster with tear-away phone numbers entirely in Mandarin, except for this at the bottom:
I will come and take your children when you are at work.
Two of the slips were torn off.
Tuesday Clean-Up
Samm is hosting poker, so the afternoon is spent cleaning. He hasn’t been at the place much in the last month or so, and it’s a bit disastrous. We’ve been friends for quite a few years now and from time to time, I have the uncanny ability to annoy the hell out of him, little sister style.
Oh sure, sometimes it’s intentional: Christmas ‘07 I tagged along for some very last minute shopping. After the initial novelty the bustle has when you’re not searching for something dissipated, I took it upon myself to “help” by intermittently pointing to an item and asking, “How about this? I bet your grandma/brother/letter-carrier would looooove this! Or oooh… what about this?!” He was needless to say not amused and I was more than lucky not to have ended up in a snowbank.
But other times, the pestering is completely inadvertent. I never felt well suited in my role as an older sister. Clearly, my strength lies as a younger one.
Me, from the hallway: “What is this book?”
Samm, from the living room: “How can I know if I can’t see it?!”
Upon discovering a delightful velvet landscape: “Can I hang this up??’
Sigh. “Yes.”
“Ali, do you think hot glue will keep this together?”
“It could possibly work.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the insight, kid. [muttering]… could possibly…”
“So Al, should we pull the 2nd table out?”
“Depends. How many people are coming?”
“You’re consulting has been rock-solid today.”
Ah, few people are so easy for me to antagonize!
Fortunately, the snowbanks have all but melted here.
Oh sure, sometimes it’s intentional: Christmas ‘07 I tagged along for some very last minute shopping. After the initial novelty the bustle has when you’re not searching for something dissipated, I took it upon myself to “help” by intermittently pointing to an item and asking, “How about this? I bet your grandma/brother/letter-carrier would looooove this! Or oooh… what about this?!” He was needless to say not amused and I was more than lucky not to have ended up in a snowbank.
But other times, the pestering is completely inadvertent. I never felt well suited in my role as an older sister. Clearly, my strength lies as a younger one.
Me, from the hallway: “What is this book?”
Samm, from the living room: “How can I know if I can’t see it?!”
Upon discovering a delightful velvet landscape: “Can I hang this up??’
Sigh. “Yes.”
“Ali, do you think hot glue will keep this together?”
“It could possibly work.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for the insight, kid. [muttering]… could possibly…”
“So Al, should we pull the 2nd table out?”
“Depends. How many people are coming?”
“You’re consulting has been rock-solid today.”
Ah, few people are so easy for me to antagonize!
Fortunately, the snowbanks have all but melted here.
Vancouver
The fog has been a constant since my arrival. So has spring-like weather, much to my delight. I am staying with my friend Samm near Main and 16th and have been amusing myself strolling around the city between visits with friends.
Monday evening I walked over to Chinatown to see Colin and Chris practice with their band, Analog Bell Service. The name comes from the system they have set up between the alleyway and the 2nd floor jam space: a string from the upstairs window attached to a pole by the backdoor that, when pulled, rings a cluster of bells. Buzzers are so lame. The music was great fun and the evening very silly.
Colin, who’s from home but also my roommate from the Marlee days in Toronto, recognized my coat. It’s fairly ratty and I had brought it to BC with the intention of leaving it here (thinking it would be overkill for my warm-weather travels). I had entirely forgotten how old it was. Neither of us could recall if it originally belonged to Colin or our other roommate, but it had passed between all three of us at some point. There were quite a few articles like that back then. Colin tried it on for old times sake. Still fit like a charm.
Monday evening I walked over to Chinatown to see Colin and Chris practice with their band, Analog Bell Service. The name comes from the system they have set up between the alleyway and the 2nd floor jam space: a string from the upstairs window attached to a pole by the backdoor that, when pulled, rings a cluster of bells. Buzzers are so lame. The music was great fun and the evening very silly.
Colin, who’s from home but also my roommate from the Marlee days in Toronto, recognized my coat. It’s fairly ratty and I had brought it to BC with the intention of leaving it here (thinking it would be overkill for my warm-weather travels). I had entirely forgotten how old it was. Neither of us could recall if it originally belonged to Colin or our other roommate, but it had passed between all three of us at some point. There were quite a few articles like that back then. Colin tried it on for old times sake. Still fit like a charm.
Carnet de Voyage
Welcome to my Carnet Binaire. Ah, the CB!
Now, I have no illusions that “carnet binaire” will replace the ever-subtly grating “blog” as popular nomenclature for web-based journals, but it does have a nice ring to it. And without “blog,” we would no longer encounter bloggers blogging in the… ugh, blogosphere. Which will undoubtedly be of relief to the vast majority of modern society [Heather Narduzzi presenting the primary exception].
You’re welcome, Society.
I write this from Vancouver, having arrived here very early a week ago on January 18th. Waiting to depart at the airport in Moncton, Janet, Heather, and I discussed my itinerary and that, with the time zones, I had traveled into the future (Ottawa – NB) and was now going into the past (NB – BC), then into the far future (losing an entire day from LA – Fiji). At which point Heather, who recently told me she loves safety, asked: “Can you stop at the Internet?? And blog from there?!”
Although I had been organizing and setting things aside well before my departure, packing was naturally only completed at the last minute. I paced back and forth, fully ready down to coat, scarf, and sneakers, waiting for the computer to finish burning a backup CD, ten minutes after we should have left for the airport. Even though the task could have been accomplished weeks ago. I am nothing if not predictable.
As I am without computer, I am unsure how frequently I will be able to post updates. I do, however, have a notebook to keep track of tales to relay.
Or, for the nerdier among us, an analog blog.
Please post comments; it would make me ultra-happy. (It’s easy, Mum: just click on the word “comment”).
Now, I have no illusions that “carnet binaire” will replace the ever-subtly grating “blog” as popular nomenclature for web-based journals, but it does have a nice ring to it. And without “blog,” we would no longer encounter bloggers blogging in the… ugh, blogosphere. Which will undoubtedly be of relief to the vast majority of modern society [Heather Narduzzi presenting the primary exception].
You’re welcome, Society.
I write this from Vancouver, having arrived here very early a week ago on January 18th. Waiting to depart at the airport in Moncton, Janet, Heather, and I discussed my itinerary and that, with the time zones, I had traveled into the future (Ottawa – NB) and was now going into the past (NB – BC), then into the far future (losing an entire day from LA – Fiji). At which point Heather, who recently told me she loves safety, asked: “Can you stop at the Internet?? And blog from there?!”
Although I had been organizing and setting things aside well before my departure, packing was naturally only completed at the last minute. I paced back and forth, fully ready down to coat, scarf, and sneakers, waiting for the computer to finish burning a backup CD, ten minutes after we should have left for the airport. Even though the task could have been accomplished weeks ago. I am nothing if not predictable.
***
As I am without computer, I am unsure how frequently I will be able to post updates. I do, however, have a notebook to keep track of tales to relay.
Or, for the nerdier among us, an analog blog.
Please post comments; it would make me ultra-happy. (It’s easy, Mum: just click on the word “comment”).
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Seeing-Eye Dog
The section of Bank Street where my work is located seems to generate its own special brand of oddities. I have a few stories stockpiled, the following being the most recent.
Dude comes in with a young dog on a "leash" (in this case, a rope tied around the dog's chest). My co-worker kindly informs the man that he cannot bring a dog into the coffee shop. To which he replies, in a possibly-affected British accent, "It's my seeing-eye dog."
Allison and I look at each other and shrug, 'cause it's not even 6pm and the evening's already been kind of weird. The place is packed, except for a single seat in the front window. Our man saunters the vacant table and starts yelling at the dog -- whose name is Whiskey -- to lie down.
At top volume.
"Whiskey, lie down!! Lie down, Whiskey! I said, lie down!!!" and so on.
Allison brings him his tea and quietly tells him he can stay with the dog, but he really has to keep his voice down. The reply:
"I have to yell; it's my seeing-eye dog."
Dude comes in with a young dog on a "leash" (in this case, a rope tied around the dog's chest). My co-worker kindly informs the man that he cannot bring a dog into the coffee shop. To which he replies, in a possibly-affected British accent, "It's my seeing-eye dog."
Allison and I look at each other and shrug, 'cause it's not even 6pm and the evening's already been kind of weird. The place is packed, except for a single seat in the front window. Our man saunters the vacant table and starts yelling at the dog -- whose name is Whiskey -- to lie down.
At top volume.
"Whiskey, lie down!! Lie down, Whiskey! I said, lie down!!!" and so on.
Allison brings him his tea and quietly tells him he can stay with the dog, but he really has to keep his voice down. The reply:
"I have to yell; it's my seeing-eye dog."
***
After he finished his tea, he strolled up to where I was at the cash sans Whiskey and thanked me for what was the finest cup of tea he'd had in ages.
You Can't Honk Your Bus Every Time I'm Doing Something Stupid.
To the bus driver who took it upon himself to honk at me and stop in the middle of Bank Street as I carefully walked across the cement blocks at the corner of Sommerset:
At no point did I think my behavior was either a good or particularly safe idea. Thus, your ever-so artful "use your brain" tapping of finger-to-head achieved zero percent of its intended shaming and succeeded only in making you look like a doofus.
You are not Superman. Your little display doesn't even qualify for Green Hornet status. Sorry.
Better luck next time.
At no point did I think my behavior was either a good or particularly safe idea. Thus, your ever-so artful "use your brain" tapping of finger-to-head achieved zero percent of its intended shaming and succeeded only in making you look like a doofus.
You are not Superman. Your little display doesn't even qualify for Green Hornet status. Sorry.
Better luck next time.
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