I’ve always prided myself on not having any cash on me and managing to survive quite fine. Of course living so close to school and never having to take the transit makes it all the more dandy, and I don’t have an annoying clunk of loose change weighing me down.
Hallelujah for debit cards. I am euphoric on the daring chances I take on living loose-change-free. Yeah I live life on the edge. This state of peace, of serenity if you must, was brought to an abrupt and painful death couple of days ago. Me and D were shamelessly checking out the new psychology first years, and amidst making eyes at the lil fellows we decided to get coffee.
Now for anyone who’s bought coffee at school, it’s a relatively simple process, select cup, fill coffee at those super fun looking dispensers that make you wish you could be a coffee dispensing person for the rest of your life, cos c’mon who doesn’t love pushing the button, and watching it pour out, knowing that you had the power to STOP THE FLOW ANYTIME…. Wow. ..and umm yea take it too nice friendly cashier lady who calls you ‘love” or “hun” if she’s feeling extra flirtatious, and pay for said coffee. See all went to plan, except for the paying for the coffee part.
Now Tim’s charges me a nice $1.30 or something for my caffeine rush.
This little stop run by big momma from the prairies, that I went to sells “free trade” coffee. That meaning that I the consumer had to pay the real price that poor starving farmers ought to get for their coffee, instead of paying less so that big corporations such as Tim Hortons could rip said farmers off, and send them spiralling into a deep mesh of poverty, while they watch Consumer Canada smack their lips on poorly traded inexpensive coffee. I know there’s an economic term or something for this, but I can’t remember. So this particular day, D coughed up the requisite 1.30 so I could get my coffee, and armed with my money I head over anticipating the joy at using the coffee machine. Only to find that the coffee was now $2. hmph. This isn’t generally a problem, I’m not that cheap that I can’t pay an extra 70 cents, except I didn’t have any on me. Nada. Zilch. And neither did D, she managed to fish out a quarter but that was it. So I’m thinking maybe I could wing it by telling the cashier I had no money and she would give m the coffee for $1.55 heh. So much for that
So me “ umm wow I had no idea coffee went up in price” frantically count money on palm. “ I just seem to have a $1.55” “…………..” awkward pause while I wait for her to say its fine. Her- “oh.”
And that was it, no “oh you poor thing you look like you really need that coffee, here let me give it to you for less, because you deserve it” just “oh” end of story.
D tells me I should stop trying to be so brown and expect favours, she isn’t my “aunty”after all. Ah boo. Free trade sucks.
Oh and also if anyone’s in Toronto next week, come check out the U of T drama festival, at the Hart House, we shall be treated to imitating, imagining, lights and music and later get gloriously drunk and have street fights. Ok so I don’t have a plan for after, but come meet us, we could always dig a hole and bury a time capsule at Queens Park. Meh, I’m just thinking.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
random play
the weekend felt like it flew past, a row of computer stores downtown, long trips on the subway with even longer bus rides, korean food, the homeless guy on the street, chocolate crackle ice cream, the fast and the furious, poseidon, danielle duval at indigo, hot chocolate, the jazz club, china town, best friends, narrow beds and a few tears later, its tuesday. 12.20 am on a tuesday morning, and i'm thinking i need to go to bed. a growing pile of readings, and articles awaits me. at 1 this afternoon my philosophy proffessor will tell me whether my conclusions follow my premise, logically. i really couldn't care whether it did or not. i'd rather be listening to Leydon tell me about retail geography in downtown Toronto, and that the solution to overstaying children lies in cheese, and about the shadier "toys" purchase online. I want to hear about living in wellesley and parliament, about the red light district, Irish pints, his wifes niece and the sicilian Alberto who was bought over by the koreans. But i won't, and instead i will be sitting in a economics lecuture that bores me to tears. well not really. my 500 peers in that class frustrate me in thier naivete and normal-ness. thankfully theres lots of ways to pass the time in a two hour lecture. the stick figure and boobette series continues, albeit in the margins of economics course notes.
in the wise words of my 13 year old cousin, sex complicates everything. i'm not going to even bother writing about this, because this rather sweeping overarching statement has too many arguments, premises and a host of opinions attached to it. why am i thinking about this, i dont know, maybe because some of my best friends are confused, and thier confusion is slowly seeping into me, maybe because last week Guy Allen read the pregnancy test story in class, and my heart was beating faster, my hands were clammy, and i couldn't think straight becuase i could almost feel what she felt, and i dont even know why. or it maybe becuase i know too many people who matter so much to me, and this has become all too real in thier lives, maybe because Kat's story kissing bellmonts was too real, maybe because sexuality and gender have become so ingrained in thier specific roles in our minds that theres no other way to think about it, or maybe its becuase feminists are twisted and right, and Pontierro converted me. no matter, i have a story for this, and i shall write it and get it out of me.
I've been on a list making binge lately. so much so that i put up a dry erase board, and filling it with more lists. the scraps of paper that i have in my wallet, and bag and files are still full of lists; i found grocery lists from 2005, a scribbled half list of resolutions, a bookmark with a list of my favourite people (maybe i thought i would forget who they were unless i wrote it down. heh), book lists, call numbers for library books, a list of albums, lists of numbers, of assignments, of funds, of places, stores downtown, stores in general, route maps, priorities and it goes on and on. i dont know why i do it. i started up again. this time i'm listing everything that i'm going to change, this is not a new years resolution by any means, its a comparison, and all i can think is i've screwed up along the way.
i miss living with the L-cat and Haven, my current housemates are less than ideal, but in a perfect world Lisa would be with Max, Haven would be having a blast on her final year and make it into grad school without any hitches, i will have my own place, Jill would stop making out in the next room, i would stop burning the pots, and the damn house would get cleaned up. no actually in a perfect world i would be able to get these words out of my mind.
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in november
from 8.00 this morning the songs been playing in my mind, on repeat, and i can almost hear the disc slipping from exhaustion, but it goes on and on, till i can shoot myself from the frustration.
F you postal service. yeah how pointless was that . i know.
in the wise words of my 13 year old cousin, sex complicates everything. i'm not going to even bother writing about this, because this rather sweeping overarching statement has too many arguments, premises and a host of opinions attached to it. why am i thinking about this, i dont know, maybe because some of my best friends are confused, and thier confusion is slowly seeping into me, maybe because last week Guy Allen read the pregnancy test story in class, and my heart was beating faster, my hands were clammy, and i couldn't think straight becuase i could almost feel what she felt, and i dont even know why. or it maybe becuase i know too many people who matter so much to me, and this has become all too real in thier lives, maybe because Kat's story kissing bellmonts was too real, maybe because sexuality and gender have become so ingrained in thier specific roles in our minds that theres no other way to think about it, or maybe its becuase feminists are twisted and right, and Pontierro converted me. no matter, i have a story for this, and i shall write it and get it out of me.
I've been on a list making binge lately. so much so that i put up a dry erase board, and filling it with more lists. the scraps of paper that i have in my wallet, and bag and files are still full of lists; i found grocery lists from 2005, a scribbled half list of resolutions, a bookmark with a list of my favourite people (maybe i thought i would forget who they were unless i wrote it down. heh), book lists, call numbers for library books, a list of albums, lists of numbers, of assignments, of funds, of places, stores downtown, stores in general, route maps, priorities and it goes on and on. i dont know why i do it. i started up again. this time i'm listing everything that i'm going to change, this is not a new years resolution by any means, its a comparison, and all i can think is i've screwed up along the way.
i miss living with the L-cat and Haven, my current housemates are less than ideal, but in a perfect world Lisa would be with Max, Haven would be having a blast on her final year and make it into grad school without any hitches, i will have my own place, Jill would stop making out in the next room, i would stop burning the pots, and the damn house would get cleaned up. no actually in a perfect world i would be able to get these words out of my mind.
The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in november
from 8.00 this morning the songs been playing in my mind, on repeat, and i can almost hear the disc slipping from exhaustion, but it goes on and on, till i can shoot myself from the frustration.
F you postal service. yeah how pointless was that . i know.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
first days..
the first day of the rest of my life...I cant even remember the number of times i said that to myself repeating it like a mantra, this is it, this is the first day of the rest of my life, i change, things are going to change, the first day, the first day, for the rest of my life.... as a veteran of 'first days of the rest of your life', i can say this, its the best day ever. you are not morally responsible for your past, your future is just beginning, and things can only go upwards.
but tomorrow comes, and suddenly its the second day of the rest of your life, and you need to start living the damn life. maybe time for another first day of the rest of your life, but of course its too soon, a major calamity hasnt occured yet... and so the second day is frustrating, you are tentative, eager to try out your new wings of faith, scared that you arent ready to fly yet, and you end up holed up in a corner, with your knees drawn up, with plans and improvements, the soul searching behind, and you know you are equipped to face it, and then it hits home..oh my God, time is catching up, and i haven't started to live yet...
how ironic, we are always waiting to begin life, to "start living" i'm waiting for this life, my life, the life i'm meant to live, to start..
today was the second day of the second semester of my second year at university. the lap of learning. the seat's uncomfortable. i'm busy being educated, and as fast as i can so that i can leave and start living my life. i was stopped in my tracks today, by a tall white man. he stood in front of me in a plush carpeted room, with soft peachy lights, boardroom tables, and swivelling chairs.
he stood in front of me, and 20 of my peers, and told us to stop learning and get educated.
the slightly narcisisstic, greying man in his fifties, who swears like a gushing sewer, who paces up and down the room, and looks you in the eye, and laughs at you, and those around you, who speaks of emotions, and language, and words, of living, and feeling, and life, who believes the guy who runs the bookstore is a bastard, who tells you to look up the history of the word fuck, who is fond of his own voiice, who sneers and smirks, who holds a Ph.D in a subject he loves, who is eccentric, who is a teacher, a leader, an instructor, is also the man who will decide whether we are good enough for his course.
he stands and tells us, that if we dont stop and enjoy the act of learning, savour the moments when are minds are inspired, expanded, and where new ideas born then our university experience is worthless. and he is right, but we are inherently practical, and we plan for a future of financial freedom, of stability, of money. lots of money. and of course, my economics professor tells me time is money. and so i, like thousands before me, strategise a way out.
today i felt like staying longer, i felt like stopping, and breathing, and blocking out all the voices of sensibility, i put my hands up against my ears and block out the static. the sound if silence. i've been running so fast things are blurring. who knows, my elusive life might even be along the scenic route. it might be time to take the long way home.
but tomorrow comes, and suddenly its the second day of the rest of your life, and you need to start living the damn life. maybe time for another first day of the rest of your life, but of course its too soon, a major calamity hasnt occured yet... and so the second day is frustrating, you are tentative, eager to try out your new wings of faith, scared that you arent ready to fly yet, and you end up holed up in a corner, with your knees drawn up, with plans and improvements, the soul searching behind, and you know you are equipped to face it, and then it hits home..oh my God, time is catching up, and i haven't started to live yet...
how ironic, we are always waiting to begin life, to "start living" i'm waiting for this life, my life, the life i'm meant to live, to start..
today was the second day of the second semester of my second year at university. the lap of learning. the seat's uncomfortable. i'm busy being educated, and as fast as i can so that i can leave and start living my life. i was stopped in my tracks today, by a tall white man. he stood in front of me in a plush carpeted room, with soft peachy lights, boardroom tables, and swivelling chairs.
he stood in front of me, and 20 of my peers, and told us to stop learning and get educated.
the slightly narcisisstic, greying man in his fifties, who swears like a gushing sewer, who paces up and down the room, and looks you in the eye, and laughs at you, and those around you, who speaks of emotions, and language, and words, of living, and feeling, and life, who believes the guy who runs the bookstore is a bastard, who tells you to look up the history of the word fuck, who is fond of his own voiice, who sneers and smirks, who holds a Ph.D in a subject he loves, who is eccentric, who is a teacher, a leader, an instructor, is also the man who will decide whether we are good enough for his course.
he stands and tells us, that if we dont stop and enjoy the act of learning, savour the moments when are minds are inspired, expanded, and where new ideas born then our university experience is worthless. and he is right, but we are inherently practical, and we plan for a future of financial freedom, of stability, of money. lots of money. and of course, my economics professor tells me time is money. and so i, like thousands before me, strategise a way out.
today i felt like staying longer, i felt like stopping, and breathing, and blocking out all the voices of sensibility, i put my hands up against my ears and block out the static. the sound if silence. i've been running so fast things are blurring. who knows, my elusive life might even be along the scenic route. it might be time to take the long way home.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
To you, a passing paradise
you are brilliant, insatiable, incorrigible. what an amazing time. what amazing memories. I remember a warm night a long time ago when we were so little, so naive, full of adult thoughts in children's bodies, and every act somehow seemed so wrong and grown up. and we ventured in tasting, touching, feeling, loving.
and then later on we laughed, laughed at absurd little skits, laughed at silly clothes, ugly makeup. black beetles scurried across the concrete floor, naked and blinded by flourescent lights, and that unmistakable oily odour pervaded. notes were passed around, the bugs rained down, the lights dimmed, and brightened, and we sat, and listened, and sometimes our minds wandered, and met, and collided, and the air was thick and heavy with thoughts and ideas, palpable. if we listened carefully enough we heard the million internal conversations, the bantering, the coyness, the half smiles.
and then we would sing old cheesy camp songs, loudly, untunefully, revelling in noise. in all that noise.silly songs about best friends, undying love..campy...touchy feely, utterly useless. but we find ourselves after all theses years still remembering snatches of song, the words slide off easily, and we remember that dangerous collective insanity, brought on by desert heat, and too many like minded people. too many joyous, volatile, violently happy, elated, tearful people.
and then we would talk about a fire, attempt one, and leave it, bored by the regularity of it, some of us stayed back, fire light mesmerising, certain in our hearts that it is the most beautiful thing we have seen, till tomorrow we find something more amazing, fragile, gentle, beautiful.
and then another time i saw you out of the corner of my eye, in that dark theatre, you were with the girl whose mascara bled, and you held her hand. no wait, that didint happen, at all, i forget what exists in my mind never existed in yours. but i remember her brown hair swishing around her neck, her eyes lifted and looking up she sings, loud and clear...
five days of surreal, imagined, parallel lives.
and i am glad we spoke, i am glad to hear what you've done, wht you will do, and maybe the next time we speak we will pretend to be best friends again, maybe flirt and laugh and remember days of ago...
and then later on we laughed, laughed at absurd little skits, laughed at silly clothes, ugly makeup. black beetles scurried across the concrete floor, naked and blinded by flourescent lights, and that unmistakable oily odour pervaded. notes were passed around, the bugs rained down, the lights dimmed, and brightened, and we sat, and listened, and sometimes our minds wandered, and met, and collided, and the air was thick and heavy with thoughts and ideas, palpable. if we listened carefully enough we heard the million internal conversations, the bantering, the coyness, the half smiles.
and then we would sing old cheesy camp songs, loudly, untunefully, revelling in noise. in all that noise.silly songs about best friends, undying love..campy...touchy feely, utterly useless. but we find ourselves after all theses years still remembering snatches of song, the words slide off easily, and we remember that dangerous collective insanity, brought on by desert heat, and too many like minded people. too many joyous, volatile, violently happy, elated, tearful people.
and then we would talk about a fire, attempt one, and leave it, bored by the regularity of it, some of us stayed back, fire light mesmerising, certain in our hearts that it is the most beautiful thing we have seen, till tomorrow we find something more amazing, fragile, gentle, beautiful.
and then another time i saw you out of the corner of my eye, in that dark theatre, you were with the girl whose mascara bled, and you held her hand. no wait, that didint happen, at all, i forget what exists in my mind never existed in yours. but i remember her brown hair swishing around her neck, her eyes lifted and looking up she sings, loud and clear...
five days of surreal, imagined, parallel lives.
and i am glad we spoke, i am glad to hear what you've done, wht you will do, and maybe the next time we speak we will pretend to be best friends again, maybe flirt and laugh and remember days of ago...
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