my other life

[confusion/day one]

I am taking a couple of much needed days off to get away from the office. yesterday, I was having one of those new frappy drinks at starbucks, when some girl came up to me and asked, “Are you Igor?”

“I’m sorry? Igor?” I asked startled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to meet this guy here.” She smiled and then parked her bags next to me. I’m thinking, blind date with some asian guy named Igor? Russian mafia princess? Daytime escort? Minutes later, in comes a Chinese guy with a giant forehead (we’re talking alien size here), and a hairline almost past the point of receding and approaching that threshold where you have enough hair that requires attention but not enough to do anything with, which leaves you shaving it off. But what do you do with a giant head? shaving off the hair doesn’t make the head actually smaller.

He shook hands with her and apologized for being late. “We’ve been talking for the last few weeks. I’m just so busy we can never meet,” she said in response to his apology. blind date I thought. gawd, he’s not my type.

“Everyone is so busy in the summer. But it’s good we can meet now.” Igor had flipped open a portfolio. oh, she’s a model looking for work, I thought. she’s cute in that plain not that interesting sorta way. she can’t be THAT busy I thought.

“Yeah, it’s good. It’s so busy. Even I can’t get together with my friend to do this project together. We just don’t have the same schedule.” she looked at the photos.

“Well, it’s easier for you than for me. There’s a lot of photographers, but not so many stylists. I’ve been calling so many and everyone is too busy.” okay, not a model, which apparently explained the shopping bags. but I thought she really sounded like one. they talked a bit longer about the business and about what other projects they were working on and about the shopping she had to do. I’ve never seen two people in this business chitchat before. name dropping, website name dropping, magazine names dropping.

“We saw their website and so we hired them.”

“Oh, yeah they’re good. I worked on {blah-blah}.” Her smiles sparkled in the dark shop.

“I don’t know that one.”

“No? They’re based in San Francisco and Toronto. They sell here.” I’ve never heard of it either.

“Yeah, well. They (the website) guys do good work. But I never heard of these website guys either. I’m just wondering how come they just suddenly appear on the scene. John is pretty good.”

“John? I didn’t talk to him.”

“You never met them?” he asked as his body shifted forward.

“No, not before the work. After, yeah.” At that point for the briefest of seconds, their conversation was taken over by their bodies, each person moving their hands, fiddling with the portfolio, grabbing the drink. their song and dance suddenly stopped, their rhythm broken by the dissonance of their patter.

“My schedule is full, but I know someone who could really help you. She’s good, her name is Teresa. Do you mind if I give her your number?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s great. I know how busy you stylists are. Here, give her my website too.” He handed her his business card. Minutes later, the bags disappeared, the portfolio gone. She had to meet more people. Igor had to go up to Bloor St., for no discernable reason. they left me thinking, “What? Do I look like an Igor? Is my forehead that big and am I really that balding?”

[confusion/day two]

I’m at starbucks on Church St. I’m not addicted to their coffee, but I do like watching the cute guys walking through. I noticed a blue t-shirt coming in through the door. I look at the logo wondering what brand for no reason. he bounded upstairs and looked around. obviously not seeing someone he expected, he walked back down, but each time politely waiting for the opposing guy to pass. at the bottom, he looked up again, but at me, and I smiled. he’s cute I thought.

he walked through the door and stood with his hand still keeping it open, his body as if caught in mid-motion. he paused and then continued out the door. but within seconds, I saw his t-shirt coming through the door again and up the stairs he went.

looking down at me, he asked if he could sit. I smiled and nodded.

“Hi, what’s your name?”

“Joe, and yours?”

“Hi, I’m Jamal. I’m not from here. I’m from somewhere faraway.”

“Where are you from?”

“Africa. But I’m staying in Brampton.”

“Brampton?” I said. “Well, that’s very faraway!” Brampton is a suburb about an hour away.

“I’m supposed to meet my friend. But he called me and said he couldn’t make it.”

“But you’re here, now,” I said sympathetically. we both awkwardly talked for a couple of minutes. I couldn’t help but be attracted to his eyes.

“Have you been with a black man before?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“And? Was it good?” he asked playfully.

“Yes. Very good.”

“I’ve never been with an asian guy before.”

“That’s very good, too!” I said, and smiled.

“Well, I don’t know what to do now since my friend isn’t here.” and so we talked a little more, and he got up to leave, gracefully letting me back to my music. I said I had work to do, but it was nice to meet him. he seemed a little disappointed, but he left smiling one last smile before he walked through the door without any hesitation.

quotes of the moment

[famous/words]

"Whole Foods Market... where the food is more organic than the people!"
- Y remarked at Whole Foods cafe in Yorkville, while we stared in awe at the blonde with unblinking botoxed eyes and giant boobs, and her pink polo shirted man-child boyfriend eating tiny strawberries from his mesclun salad with a baby blue fork.

"Back off garbage!"
- brucebruce's famous quote during the drug addled seventies; to be used (if and when Toronto's garbage collectors go on strike) during his management re-assignment to the animal shelters, while he ponders the significance of the poop he scoops and the work his unionized underlings are doing.

these cadences repeat

[coincidences]

these days have passed strangely. I don’t know why, but this past week I thought of someone I love, someone I knew, someone I no longer knew and someone I thought I had forgotten.

I was writing a letter to shib last Saturday at Starbucks and was recalling fond memories of my trip with Y years ago to the States to visit her. we had spent one weekend in Savannah with shib and her friend Jenn, whom I remember as being troubled over a lost and irresponsible trust fund boyfriend. I was thinking of how lovely the beach was and how good it was to see shib. I had not known how sweet her voice was in the blazing sun of the South, as we had only been friends in the icy snow of Toronto during our undergrad years. I have a photo of shib in Y’s arms, smiling in the blue-green ocean of that beach, stuck up on my desk, and I look at them thinking of how the world was then, for us. the next day, a postcard from shib arrived in the mail and she wrote from St. Simon’s Island. she said there were beaches like the ones in Savannah when Y and I visited. my letter hadn’t been posted yet.

with news about London, I thought of ayse, Jei and João and wondered how they were doing. thinking of ayse, I was reminded of the first days starting at my current company and found working for a giant corporation heartless and cold. she was a breath of fresh air, and made me laugh, thinking I wasn’t the only sane person working there. and my memory rolled over to Frank who had trained me on my first day. he was teaching me about the business and all I could wonder at was the idiocy of the paper that passed by my desk. I wondered how he was doing now, as I remembered how hard he was working to escape the drudgery of our world to enter a new world of real students and teaching. and so Friday, I looked up from my desk and there was Frank, smiling his goofy smile and then he thoughtfully said, “I’ve got two months vacation, so I’m visiting!” like a lost friend found, it was good to see him.

to be reminded of a beginning at the current ring of hell, also made me think of the end of another ring. after a few years working at Ispos-Reid, the company was expanding elsewhere, but Toronto. and so almost all of us were packaged off to try new careers and adventures. it was one of the happiest moment of my working life, it was like being freed from prison. I thought of my time there and the craziest assortment of people working there, from actors to playwrights, from coolest art students to delinquent teens, from former housewives to somewhat illegal aliens. I missed the transient waves of people who, for only a few hours a day, intersected in an office briefly, their crazy lives as backdrops to the droning masses that agreed to do our market research and political surveys. Y and I were standing in Indigo, looking for a graduation gift for SuperMario, when I found a book about what Canadians think, from Ipsos-Reid. I thought it was a perfect read and a fun gift. a familiar voice came out of no where, and there was Wayne, whom I haven’t seen since that final day at the office with our good-bye packages. we didn’t chat, our conversation was like it was still yesterday. I held up the book, and laughingly said, “Funny, I was about to buy this book!” Wayne saw the flash of Ispos-Reid and jokingly said, “I used to work for that company at one time!" as quickly as my memory flashed in my head, it was over. we waved good-bye at the cash, each of us with our packages of books.

this morning, Y and I had coffee to recover from the excess of food and wine and beer from the night before at Sugar’s & SuperMario’s belated celebratory graduation dinner party and also at NoH’s afternoon get-together. I spied a left over copy of the Sunday New York Times and a nice table by the window. iced coffee and muffins in hand, we barely said two words and I didn’t get past the second headline, when faust appeared almost out of nowhere. faust worked with Y years ago, he was a very charming and smooth operator and had escaped Toronto at the height of his machinations. we saw a lot of him then, he knew quite a few of our friends, as the world then seemed closer and perhaps more naive. we liked him, we all did, but faust never said a word that you could completely trust. words were tools, weapons, currency. I don’t think he meant to hurt anyone intentionally, because I think his intentions were always about himself. to see him standing at our table, it was like a step back into time. memories unexpectedly washed over me, forgotten faces and names floating to the surface. but these inconsequential faces were like the flotsam and jetsam of our lives. some things are too damaged to salvage.

I am puzzled at the number of coincidences this past week. just a thought of someone, and then it materializes as easily as an echo reverberates, a meaningless scream into a void. or have no thought at all, and it appears unexpectedly, like a loose photo falling out of an album. Friday night I dreamt three skyscrapers catching on fire in Toronto, three giant buildings that don’t exist burning up the night sky with nearly black smoke and orange flames. when the top of the tallest building came crashing down, I grabbed onto Y’s hand, scared not because of the disaster, but because of not understanding why these buildings that do not exist were burning. eL thinks London is on my mind. I don’t know. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand these coincidences. I don’t understand why these buildings must burn. I don’t understand why these past few days passed so strangely.

Happy Canada Day!

[cheer]

it’s Canada’s special day and we’re all celebrating the country’s 138th birthday since Confederation. lots of fireworks and barbeques, lots of balloons and possibly free stuff at Queen’s Park. so happy Canada Day to everyone in Canada and to my Canadian friends abroad! come by for some Canadian Club and why don't you bring a 2-4, eh?

the number you have called is not in service. please check the number and try again.

[update]

on the way to more furniture shopping with beingboring and Y, I passed by my stalker, just a few hundred metres from our place. I mouthed “hi” but didn’t stop and introduce beingboring and Y to stalker-man. I hadn’t gotten around to emailing him back, though I had fully intended to. now, I’m a little creeped out, so I think I will just not bother emailing him, just in case he hadn’t actually dumped me. I thought maybe he just liked me a bit too much, and didn’t know how to let it go. I think we can all relate to having “stalked” our objects of affection at some point in our lives and I thought that’s all it was, just a harmless crush, twisted maybe, but harmless nonetheless. now, I’m not sure if this is just burning embers I should not touch.

we’ve also been getting hang-ups from a particular no-name telephone number. I answered the calls and after the caller heard my “hello?” I get a long pause and then a hang-up. I can hear noise in the background, but the caller never says anything. when I see the number now, I just pick it up and go, “hello? hello? okay, goodbye!” and hang up. since Y never answers the phone, I suspect the calls are for him. Y did have his own stalker-like friend for a little while. we called him the flower-man, after he had appeared downstairs in the lobby with flowers after first time meeting Y. I remember one Saturday, he called every hour looking for Y while I as at home. after answering the first couple of times, I stopped. by late evening, I broke down and snapped at him, telling him to stop calling and that I would pass on the message to Y. flower-man emailed Y and had the audacity to say that I must’ve been screening out the calls. like, hello? the only way I could possibly fool Y into missing flower-man’s calls is to drug him up and hypnotize him into thinking 20+ entries of flower-man’s phone number on our call display were actually telemarketing calls. and the constant telephone ringing throughout the day was just voices in his head. fortunately, Y (the bastard) took care of it, in typical Y fashion. he ignored all his emails and phone calls. flower-man never called back.

so now these mysterious hang-ups make me think of flower-man. after all, my stalker-man wouldn’t hang up on me, would he?