an ode, to fruit

I love fruit, but apples and bananas are the ones I consume most. There's something so satisfying about biting into a crisp, sweet Royal Gala apple that is incomparable to anything on this earth. I can say the same for biting into a perfectly ripened yet still firm banana. Whenever I am ordering a smoothie, I always go for one with bananas because it adds that extra creamy sweetness that nothing else comes close to replicating.

Of course, there are many other types of fruit that I love to eat, but they are seasonal and prone to my whims, whereas I can eat apples and bananas at any time throughout the year. Mangoes, oranges, watermelons, cherries, nectarines, peaches, pineapples, cantaloupes, honeydew melons, grapes, plums, and strawberries are all on my list of fruit that's good for eatin', but in the end I always go back to my classic red and yellow.

People should really eat more fruit- natural reds and yellows, as opposed to those printed on containers of greasy french fries and hamburgers of a certain fast-food chain corporation which shall go unnamed here. Think of how different the United States of America could be if everyone did replace their red-and-yellow containers of harmful, artificial "food" for wholesome apples and bananas! It would transform the country into a more prosperous, healthier nation of smiling Americans (because apples keep your teeth strong!) with marvelously well-adjusted bowel movements.

Mmm, now I am craving an apple and a banana.

the single life

Sir Frederick Gorky was the type of man who was not inclined to covet his neighbours' posessions. He was rather proud of his comfortable, respectable-looking townhouse in the surburbs of London, and his large collection of stamps from all over the world, some dating back to the early 18th century. Although he had lost his left foot in the Second World War as a young man-- and the love of his first wife as a result-- Sir Gorky accepted these misfortunes as a counterbalance to the many blessings he felt he had recieved later on in life.

"One does not recieve a perfect collector's set. It is something to be acquired through trial, tribulation, and a bit of luck," he liked to say, stroking his favourite stockbook of extremely rare Madagascan stamps. His aging gray tabby Thorace would meow softly in response, scratching absent-mindedly at a stray piece of carpeting on the stairs. Thorace had been Sir Gorky's companion for eight years, and his presence seldom failed to surprise the occasional and increasingly rare visitors to Sir Gorky's home.

"Who knew that the crusty old geezer had a soft spot- for a fat cat? Oh, and I daresay that it was ugly as sin!"

Yes, Thorace was a bit hefty, but Sir Gorky liked him that way. Despite his own austere lifestyle, which included a lot of dry toast (no butter) and Tetley English Breakfast tea, he took great pleasure in feeding Thorace the most sumptious and fattening of cat foods. After his ample meals, Thorace would pad about the house lazily, emitting his distinctive meows of satisfaction. Occasionally, he would also fart- but Sir Gorky didn't mind that. He liked Thorace's presence in the house just the way it was- he could feel it, but not enough to feel intruded on. In fact, Sir Gorky had grown so fond of Thorace's unintrusive companionship that he rarely left the house, except to pick up his usual can of beans, brown bread, and eggs at the local grocers.

One fine Sunday morning, Sir Gorky was sitting in his usual armchair, poring over a new package from Australia containing freshly minted stamps commemorating Australia's aborigional culture. As he carefully picked up a stamp with metal tweezers to place into a sleeve of his stampbook, he heard a loud crashing of glass and wood that reverbarated like thunder throughout the still house.

"What in bloody heavens?!" Sir Gorky rose unsteadily to his feet, his thin body trembling with sudden adrenaline. Somewhere at the back of the house, near the kitchen, Sir Gorky heard Thorace meow softly.

When he arrived, Thorace was already dead. The scene was something akin to the tableau from Martin Scorcese's film Taxi Driver. In lieu of bullet holes and dead pimps, there was shattered glass, ceramics and a badly squished cat under a large display cabinet. Thorace's grey head was facing the kitchen entrace, where Sir Gorky stood frozen with terror and shock. His eyes, black and lifeless, and his mouth had remained open, as if in mid-scream. "Ahh," Thorace seemed to be gasping. "Ahhhh."

Sir Gorky began to tremble uncontrollably, gripping a chair for support. He wrenched his eyes away from Thorace's strained face, and staggered haphazardly toward his armchair. He collapsed onto it heavily, knocking over his metal tweezers and a few rows of stamps in the process. He felt something in the very core of his head snap, slightly above the junction of his skull and neck. An overwhelmingly profound grief enveloped him. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw again Thorace's sad, gasping face. "Ahhhh."

Almost a fortnight later, the milkman finally decided to investigate the mystery of Sir Gorky's uncollected, curdled milk. Sir Gorky's feisty Mexican neighbour Francesca Lopez, who knew where the spare key was hidden, entered the house with the milkman lingering uneasily at the door. Moments later, she ran out screaming hyterically and cursing in Spanish. The milkman trembled with fear and anticipation, but dared not enter.

The police found Sir Gorky's corpse slumped on his armchair, with what came to 247 stockbooks of stamps stacked up all around him like a miniature fortress. In his arms was his badly decomposed and flattened cat, its arms and legs spread out in an eternal snow angel.

"Blimey, mate. That kitty smells like the arse of Satan 'imself," one of the police officers said, breaking the silence. The others nodded or grunted their agreement, and pinched their noses.

A note, written with neat, legible writing was found in Sir Gorky's blazer pocket.

"Dear sir or madam,

I have asked for nothing more than some peace, quiet, and balance in my life. By balance, I mean some form of compensation for the many misfortunes I have endured. I am fortunate enough to have enjoyed just compensation for the past decade or so, especially with my dearest feline companion Thorace. So in the light of this most recent misfortune, which is to say his most untimely death, I would request that you auction off my stamp collection, and donate the proceeds to The Royal Philatelic Society London.

Also, I should like my and Thorace's ashes to be scattered over a beach in Madagascar. The name of it escapes me at this time due to my grief, but if you look in page 201 of stampbook volume iii, there is only one stamp on the entire page with a beach on it. I should like very much to be blessed one last time."

a hyperbolic ode

Michael Ondaatje.

I want to marry you and your beautiful brain and soul and emotional history. Where in the world did you go, what did you see, feel, hear, breathe, smell, touch to get this gift you have of writing such lush prose? Sometimes I stop reading to ponder how you even come up with certain turns of phrase, metaphors so strikingly original and mildly cryptic, like a deeper wisdom that I feel I am too young to appreciate until I go back to that same passage years and years from now. Then maybe my face will light up with a shadow of understanding, that "Ahhh" moment.

But most of all, I love you because you help me forget everything- including myself. I wish you could be immortal so that you can keep leading me into the deep woods, getting me lost with my full permission.

P.S. Divisadero.

starbucks romance

You know what's such a cliché these days? Meeting someone at Starbucks.

I was sitting with my laptop today, trying to get some work done for my United Nations committee (now 13 days overdue) when I noticed a pretty, petite girl with dark hair and a really cute guy stealing looks at each other. This was made all the more obvious by the fact that the girl had her laptop out and open, but was obviously not working on anything...in fact, she kept turning her head to look at the guy, who was sitting behind her to the right. This arrangement made it so that whenever she glanced at him it was super obvious and screamed, "Hey cutie! I'm checking you out!" But it was so cute because she was trying to be discreet about it, and the guy kept glancing up from his book (which he was obviously not reading) to look at her too, and a few times they caught each other doing it and hastily returned to their barely-contained longing to exchange numbers.

So this whole scenario was pretty much unfolding before my eyes like a saccharine made-for-corporate-headquarters television special, and I must admit that I was totally sucked into it. I couldn't resist smiling and stealing looks at them, stealing looks at each other. If I filmed them, it'd make a damn good commercial for Starbucks.

As for me, I am resigned to my lifelong romance with coffee, wherever it can be found. I've already decided that the wedding will involve dancing goats and David Sedaris. You're all invited, of course.

i like chess playing goats but dancing goats are even better

Wednesday July 10, 2008 will go down in history as the day I met David Sedaris.

He came to the Indigo bookstore on Bloor Street to promote his new book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames. I actually read it while waiting in line, which was fortunate because I arrived 2 and a half hours early and was already the 20th person. I am delighted to report that Mr.Sedaris has made a heady comeback from the great stinker that was Dress Your Family in Couroy and Denim. Unfortunately I have no pictures from the event itself, as it was made abundantly clear that at the request of the author, "there is absolutely no photography or videography allowed," at the risk of being removed from the store. Nevertheless, I was so happy that at last I would be meeting David Sedaris in person.

David did book signings first, and when it was my turn I literally squealed with excitement.

"Oh my god! This is like meeting a unicorn!"
"Why gosh, that's awfully flattering. How old are you?"
"I'm turning twenty in about two weeks."
"Oh, well here...I have a gift for you."

And then he pulled out a transparent plastic bag filled with random things that he got from a brief sojourn in Brazil. He pulled out two items, a complimentary shampoo bottle from the Copacabana hotel, and a cheap little bracelet he bought from a street vendor. I asked him if I could have both, to which he chuckled and said, "No, you can't have both....choose one."

So I chose the bracelet. Look!


I think that I was the only person who got a 2 cent gift from David Sedaris that night. I was so very very happy. It's funny how the smallest things can make me so content with life.

Also, I told him about how I blogged about him and dancing goats, and this what he wrote on my book:



"To Beth, I like chess playing goats but dancing goats are even better....DS"

Later, he read an essay from his new book, titled "All the Beauty You Will Ever Need," which featured among many other colourful characters Beth, the drug dealer's wife who refers to the remote control as a "ni**er." And then he read out some hilarious diary entries from all over the place-- London, Paris, the United States. And then he read out some short stories he was working on, in which all the characters were animals. The set up was a cat getting her hair done at a hair salon....run by a baboon. And after, there was a Q&A, and then it was over. I think I walked home with a huge goofy grin on my face. That two and a half hours in line was definitely worth the wait. I love it when things are worth the wait-- especially since it happens so rarely. Story of my life: I bust my butt for something, only to find that it was not worth the effort/time/energy.

So here's to dancing goats, which are better than chess playing ones (according to David Sedaris), and David Sedaris himself, who has regained his rightful place in my heart as one of the funniest men alive.

dancing goats and david sedaris

While walking home with my beautiful friend Soo and my roommate Neil near Yorkville, Soo makes a casual observation that makes me stop and screech like a madwoman with her hair on fire.

"Hey look, David Sedaris is coming."

"OH MY GOD WHAT, DAVID SEDARIS IS COMING TO TORONTO? WHAT? WHAT?!!"

And as I say this, I am already whipping out my cellphone so that I can schedule it to remind me: July 10, 7 PM. David Sedaris. My love since high school.

If you have never read any of his books, namely Me Talk Pretty One Day, Naked, or Santaland Diaries (in my opinion his three best), then you don't know what you've been missing. He writes essays, mostly autobiographical but with so much witty insight and humorous flourish that you find yourself unable to hold your laughter in. I literally had to control my laughter once on the bus, reading Naked. He's just that funny. But then again, I suppose a disclaimer is necessary here: his humor is of the dry, acerbic kind-- if you tend to enjoy more bathroom humor, you may not enjoy his writing so much.

But as for me, you know where I'll be tomorrow, at 6 pm. I will be camped out in front of Indigo on Bay and Bloor, with butterflies in my stomach.

And, on a completely unrelated note, here is a charming little tidbit I found out on coffee:

"Coffee use can be traced at least to as early as the 9th century, when it appeared in the highlands of Ethiopia. According to legend, Ethiopian shepherds were the first to observe the influence of the caffeine in coffee beans when the goats appeared to "dance" and to have an increased level of energy after consuming wild coffee berries."

Coffee is the one thing I will never give up. I tried a few times, with little success. Nothing really has the same effect on me as coffee does- sleep, energy teas, fruit, et cetera.

Besides, anything that makes goats dance cannot be a bad thing. Don't you agree?

waxing falafelosical: beauty

I've had the opportunity to make lots of leaps and bounds in my quest to understand myself as of late, especially regarding my relationships with many people. This is the result of my involuntary isolation from meaningful face-to-face conversation and encounters with close friends in Montreal. There, I have friends I can call and meet. I find nothing more refreshing than catching up with a friend who I haven't seen for awhile and just sharing stories, laughing, reflecting. But this summer in Toronto (like last summer in France), has seen a lot of fleeting acquaintances, half-hearted promises to hang out "sometime" this or that weekend, and ultimately ended with me sitting at home or most likely a café with a book. I remember clearly sitting one day near a window at the Starbucks on Queen Street West, reading Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World," but I kept getting distracted by all the people passing by.

It had been awhile since I just sat at a window seat and watched people, so that's exactly what I did: I sat for perhaps 4 hours and watched, occasionally writing down observations and thoughts into my little blue notebook. I suppose the one thing that struck me the most from that day was all the beauty I saw that day. And when I say "beauty" I do not refer only to physical appearance. I saw beauty in almost everyone that passed by, in all shapes, ages, sizes and groups. I saw beauty in the scraggle of teenagers walking by, basking in the warm glow of summer and laughing infectiously amongst each other about something one can probably only laugh about as a teenager. I saw beauty in the old woman dressed in her simple summer dress and carefully coiffed hair, walking alone. I saw beauty in a young African-Canadian woman and her vibrant dress and graceful walk, and of course I saw beauty in the countless couples that walked by, holding hands and talking about this and that.

I used to struggle a lot with the concept of beauty on a personal level, in terms of what it meant for me and others. I think that I still struggle with it even now...although not to the extent that I did earlier on, in my adolescence. I looked up "beauty" on Wikipedia and found a surprisingly succinct, and insightful introduction to the concept of beauty:

Beauty is a characteristic of a person, place, object or idea that provides a perceptual experience of pleasure, meaning or satisfaction. Beauty is studied as part of aesthetics, sociology, social psychology and culture. As a cultural creation, beauty has been extremely commercialized.

An "ideal beauty" is a person who is admired, or possesses features widely attributed to beauty in a particular culture. A number of historical individuals have become icons of beauty - for example, women like Cleopatra VII, Helen of Troy, and Marilyn Monroe.

The subjective experience of "beauty" often involves the interpretation of some entity as being in balance and harmony with nature, which may lead to feelings of attraction and emotional well-being. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" is a common phrase that expresses this concept.^[1]

In its most profound sense, beauty may engender a salient experience of positive reflection about the meaning of one's own existence. An "object of beauty" is anything that reveals or resonates with personal meaning.

While I'm sure that in the realm of philosophy, there is much more to be said on the subject, I can gladly resign myself-- for the moment-- to accepting that I am very much a subjective beholder of beauty in this world. I think that objects of beauty live, breathe, and walk among us every day, embodied if not in individuals then in their presence with others, in their words, their actions, their creations. It's one of the reasons life is really worth living.

What do you think?

cold water

There's something about listening to Damien Rice that brings out the complete emo girl in me.

I need to make some friends in this city!!!

"nobody knows i'm a lesbian"

Seriously one of the best t-shirts I've seen a guy wear in a long, long time.

Went shopping at Kensington Market for some groceries this evening, after a frantic scrubbing and cleaning session of our entire apartment, because I had a horde of potential subletters lined up to view it.

To elaborate, I am a stupid dumbass and signed a lease that goes until the end of August, even though clearly I am leaving at the end of July. I am such a tactless dimwit sometimes. Anyways, Neil was getting ready for his hot date with the new man in his life, so I am left sitting here by myself, drinking cranberry juice and updating my oft-neglected blog.

Well, I guess it could always be worse. I could be watching Schindler's List by myself like that fateful Monday night two weeks ago when I...sigh. Okay, this is way too depressing. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts!

Oh, here's a happy thought: my mommy wants to give me money to go to the United States of America. Specifically Harvard Law school. Yes, this woman is on a mission to make me her unfulfilled dream. All I can say is, travel is travel. I am going to start planning my trip like....right now.

ladies, gentlemen and ladyboys...unite!

Last week= amazing.


A lot of first times for me in the last several days, including my very first Pride week! The theme for this year was Unified! as seen above.


This pictures makes me happy to no end.


There were male go-go dancers on top of this lounge/bar all week long. They were hypnotising to watch, especially at night.


Gay-shas!!! (Sorry, I had to.)


Ahhh, sausage fest.






Neil and I, getting happy in the afternoon.


Sarah and her friend Allison came down for the festivities too! :)


Ahaha. Priceless.

Also, some pictures from a Wednesday night at Zelda's (in anticipation of Pride Week)


There was a wet underwear contest!!!

Before:


...and After:



Our host(esses) had way too much fun with their water guns, lol.


The drag queens absolutely love Neil.

There was also a couples makeout contest:


Announcing the winners...


All in all, a great week. There were so many things that happened in between, but those stories are the best recounted face to face. ;) You can see more fabulous scandalousness here.

I hope you all had a wonderful week as well.