April 9, 2010

Duets

One day I’d like to pick up an instru­ment with a big­ger range (than a ukulele1), and start writ­ing my own mate­r­ial. It’d be even bet­ter if I could form a duo with a per­son I was roman­ti­cally involved with, like The Dresden Dolls or Wild Strawberries2.

Sometimes The Dresden Dolls play extended ver­sions of their songs at con­certs3. The way they inter­act reveals such inti­macy. In each face, you can see how they’re com­pletely lost to the music in those moments of dis­so­nant bliss, but they’re lost together. From body lan­guage alone, they read each other for tim­ing, vol­ume, and inten­sity, until they feel where the other is going by instinct. That kind of chem­istry is rare, and it’d be amaz­ing to be able to share that with someone.

  1. The high-g reen­trant is what gives the ukulele it’s dis­tinct sound, but it feels so lim­it­ing some­times. []
  2. Hellllllllllooooooooo Roberta Carter-Harrison circa Quiver. []
  3. Okay, admit­tedly, Amanda’s singing isn’t any­where as good in the video as on the stu­dio ver­sion, but the nearly five-minute extended intro with Brian’s bril­liant drum solo would be worth the price of admis­sion by itself. []
November 9, 2009

Wingman

A good wing­man says “no prob­lem bro” when you ask him to go with you, and takes it as an oppor­tu­nity to hang out.

He lis­tens and com­mis­er­ates and backs you up on your feel­ings when you’re catch­ing him up.

He even pays for din­ner when he’s the one doing you a favour.

He keeps a look­out in the sea of peo­ple so he can be aware of the sit­u­a­tion and warn you.

He stands fac­ing the door so you can have your back to it when talk­ing to him, and won’t be caught off guard.

He teases you about the cute ones, just like the good old days, when you went drink­ing in places too loud to talk.

He leads when you’re too ner­vous or self-conscious to do any­thing, and he fol­lows with­out ques­tion when you take action.

He has a great time, and thanks you for the night.

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October 15, 2009

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October 8, 2009

Ottawa Foodies Pot Luck

Digging in

Thumbnail: Roof-patio view
Thumbnail: Cheese on baguette
Thumbnail: Cookies
Thumbnail: Pie
Thumbnail: Pizza
Thumbnail: Pulled pork
Thumbnail: Rhubarb pie
Thumbnail: Salad
Thumbnail: Spread and toast
Thumbnail: Tofu stew

Cherry tomato pizza

Tiana brought me as her guest to the Ottawa Foodies pot luck, run by Pam1, and held on a rooftop patio right on Bank Street. It was a true potluck, where no one knew what any­one else was bringing.

The Ottawa Foodies usu­ally gather in the Ottawa Foodie forums, where they dis­cuss recipes and restau­rants in Ottawa, so this was the first in-person meet­ing for many. Many didn’t know each oth­ers real names, so there were intro­duc­tions like, “Hi, I’m MissMuffins862”, or ‚“Hi, I’m Thomas, aka BagelRapist”.

I don’t think Tiana was quite ready for the food dorks, the type of which I was already some­what accus­tomed to dur­ing my time at the com­puter sci­ence pro­gram at Ottawa U. I’ve deter­mined that food dorks are just as bad as wine snobs and com­puter geeks. For example:

There were two guys who got into a heated argu­ment about the kind of fat used in Mcdonald’s french fries. One of these guys also preached to me about the ben­e­fits of good rice, (and me — being Chinese — knew absolutely noth­ing about rice). There was one guy who said, “I’m doing a doc­u­men­tary on the youngest head chef in the ———- region”. I asked “Wow, how did he get that posi­tion?”, and his reply was “His par­ents own the restau­rant”. Then real­iz­ing the fact that nepo­tism ruins the cred­i­bil­ity of his ini­tial state­ment, he fol­lowed this with “He also made a flow­er­less brownie at 11.” Tiana asked, “Did he invent it?”. “No, he fol­lowed a recipe”. At that point, Tiana and got silent and we just looked at each other.

But what some of these peo­ple lack in social skills, they make up for in culi­nary abil­i­ties, and the food was amaz­ing.

So I basi­cally hung out with Tiana the whole time, and pigged out on every­thing I could. By the end of the night, my truf­fles, usu­ally rolled in coco pow­der to pre­vent them from stick­ing to each other, had turned into a truffle.

  1. Who also hap­pens to know Tim. Ottawa is really small. []
September 2, 2009

Close Call With A Creepy Past

Something weird hap­pened while I was in Toronto.

I was sit­ting on a patio with John on Queen Street West, when I noticed Mike walk­ing down the street with a girl. I met Mike as we were simul­ta­ne­ously earn­ing our com­puter sci­ence degrees in Ottawa, so I call him over, and I ask him what he’s doing it Toronto. He tells me he moved here about a year ago, which I didn’t know; the last time I saw him was at Pat’s birth­day party.

We make some more small talk, and he intro­duces me to his friend. Then, for some rea­son, he turns to me and says, “I don’t know how things are between you and [the stalker], but she’s friends with her too”.

I also met “the stalker” in uni­ver­sity. We started as friends, but at some point she told me we were meant for each other, then got all psy­cho when she said I wasn’t spend­ing enough time with her, and started send­ing me ram­bling e-mails like this:

u have a beau­ti­ful mind dude… i donno who told u dif­fer­ent was it that
red­head bitch that wouldn’t date u? i think i’m feel­ing homi­cidial against
her right now >:{

yor mind is awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

who the fuck cares if yor good at school or not.….…

I haven’t talked to her since — in early 2005 — and I’ve been avoid­ing any con­tact with her, des­per­ately hop­ing she would for­get about me, but she kept send­ing me e-mails, some as recent as last year, and read­ing my blog. I don’t know how Mike knows about the whole sit­u­a­tion between us, because I didn’t say any­thing to any­one but my close friends1.

So I remain silent, hop­ing the entire mat­ter will be dropped, but a voice in my head is scream­ing “WHY ARE YOU BRINGING THIS UP?!” Then Mike’s friend turns to me and says, “Oh, you know [the stalker] too! I’m going to CALL HER AND LET HER KNOW YOURE HERE” (empha­sis mine) as she pulls out her cell phone.

As politely and calmly as I can, I say, “Please don’t”, while try­ing to mask my grow­ing dis­com­fort. In order to remain civil, avert gos­sip, and avoid turn­ing her against “the stalker” with my side of the story, I don’t say any­thing or offer an expla­na­tion. For some rea­son, she doesn’t get it, and she brings her phone to her ear. I’m par­a­lyzed by anx­i­ety, unsure of what to say, won­der­ing to myself, “Is this really happening?”

I real­ize it would prob­a­bly be inap­pro­pri­ate to smack the phone out of her hand, so I sit. And wait. And after what seems like an eter­nity, she puts the phone down, and says, “I couldn’t get a hold of her”.

Oh thank you god thank you god thank you god, I promise to add some­thing to the col­lec­tion plate next time I’m in church.

When she sees the relief in my face, she says, “Oh, I didn’t real­ize there’s some kind of his­tory between you two. I thought you were jok­ing. I won’t bring it up with her.”, and I do my best to muster a calm, “Probably a good idea”.

John says it makes a great story. I think it made a great heart attack.

  1. Although she did choose to pub­licly embar­rass her­self by post­ing crazy com­ments on some of my entries, so maybe that’s how. []
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August 28, 2009

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July 13, 2009

Vegetarian Pot Luck

Drinks over dinner

Thumbnail: Tofu, salad, and tourtière
Thumbnail: Salad
Thumbnail: Candlelight
Thumbnail: Dessert
Thumbnail: Dance

A chance to try new recipes and share them with oth­ers. Also, a chance to learn some dance moves so you may not feel so out-of-place the next time you’re at a Jewish wed­ding. I wish I had started tak­ing pic­tures sooner instead of get­ting dis­tracted by all the food, because there was so much of it. We sat around and ate and con­versed until the sun went down, then ate some more.

I love meet­ing inter­est­ing peo­ple. People with some­thing to say (in beau­ti­ful accents), and new per­spec­tives to offer. People who are as curi­ous about you, as you them.

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April 14, 2009

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March 21, 2009

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March 5, 2009

Sensitive To Sensitivity

I almost walked out of Tai Chi class the other night.

Someone asked me if I was going to “pass out again”, because I got light-headed the class before and had to leave early, most likely due to a side-effect of the new med­ica­tion I’m on, though I was far from pass­ing out.

I was flat-out offended, and began expe­ri­enc­ing what my ther­a­pist explained are “auto­matic thoughts” — irra­tional thoughts that affect mood neg­a­tively. I had to step back from the sit­u­a­tion, put the words out of my head, and calm myself down. If not, I would have over­re­acted, and prob­a­bly regret­ted it. But I couldn’t fig­ure out why I was so upset. After all, I’m far from one who gets offended easily.

Was I being pub­licly emas­cu­lated? Was I being judged with­out con­sid­er­a­tion of all the facts? Was my com­mit­ment to attend prac­tice after not eat­ing for two days being belit­tled? Was it the tone? Was it because I couldn’t speak back and defend myself, for fear of pol­lut­ing the sanc­tity of the class1 with my per­sonal pol­i­tics? Probably a bit of each.

I tend to have sim­i­larly bad reac­tions to peo­ple being sur­prised that I don’t know some­thing. It feels like I’m being judged, as if they pre­sume to know who I am. Even though it’s sup­posed to be a com­pli­ment, it’s a back-handed one, like say­ing “I thought you were smarter than that”. John used to be espe­cially guilty of this2, but he suc­cess­fully cor­rected the behav­iour years ago. It took a psy­chol­o­gist to point it out to him, and adverse reac­tions from sev­eral peo­ple, includ­ing me.

I know I’ve already come a long way. I’m not so sen­si­tive about my weight (for a guy) any more. I stopped car­ing what peo­ple think when I know the truth. But this inci­dent made me real­ize that I still har­bor a sen­si­tiv­ity to cer­tain things. I still have some grow­ing up to do. Still have to real­ize that peo­ple say things with­out think­ing, or don’t mean what they say, or that I may even take innocu­ous things the wrong way. Even though I feel that I had a right to be offended, I still don’t want to be.

And the fact that I was offended just makes me more upset.

  1. I approach my work with the same kind of reser­va­tion and detach­ment to remain pro­fes­sional. After all, these are sit­u­a­tions in which we can’t choose the peo­ple we work with, so there’s noth­ing to do but accept and any unpleas­ant­ness. []
  2. And quite self-aware of it. As a per­son obliv­i­ous to pop-culture, he loved to hold it over peo­ple when he knew some­thing they didn’t. []
January 23, 2009

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June 23, 2008

A Change of Flowers

When I left, the flow­ers on my kitchen table looked like this:

Thumbnail: Dead flowers

When I got back, to my sur­prise, they looked like this:

Thumbnail: Fresh flowers

She made the bou­quet her­self — hand-picked the flow­ers, chose the colours, even made sure it was sym­met­ri­cal, know­ing my odd habits1 — and left them there to greet me from my jour­ney home.

I never ask for these things but she does them anyway.

Which is exactly what makes them so significant.

  1. I tend to straighten her neck­laces, her san­dal straps, the curls of her hair, the draw-strings in her hoodie/yoga pants… []
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March 5, 2008

Mute And Muse

Assume as necessary.

Why is it so polit­i­cally incor­rect to show your feel­ings? Would it be inap­pro­pri­ate to tell you that I’m in love?

That your dim­ples are like hinges that purse your lips in the most adorable way, and I want to kiss them. That I want to have you here next to me, to feel the weight of your body press­ing against mine. That I want to smell you on my fin­gers, I want to fold my sheets around you, I want to feel your curls under my hands as I lather and rinse.

Because I’m sick of being polite and I’m tired of propriety.

So let’s deal with this attrac­tion. Let’s not ignore what’s between us.

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February 8, 2008

Wow.

A reader sent me this let­ter (posted with her per­mis­sion, of course):

Almost a year after I had man­aged to leave the island behind, the room, the floor, the sheets, the rape — I acci­dently ended up on your blog entry called “The begin­ning to the end” and it changed my world. It awoke feel­ings inside of me that I had for a years time tried to sup­press and scare off so that I never again would open up to any­one, never trust any­one and there­for never end up in the same sit­u­a­tion again. At that time, all men were a poten­tial threath to me.

Reading and watch­ing that very blo­gen­try have had such a great impact on my life and will to become ‘myself’ again, to reclaim my body and to dare to move towards feel­ing and being ‘beau­ti­ful’ again. Your video granted me the sen­sa­tion of how sin­cere, pure and giv­ing love and affec­tion truly are when it’s shared and not forced. It made me remem­ber blocked out feel­ings and sit­u­a­tions and it made me start to long for some­thing that I had com­pletely shut out for over a year.

I have been want­ing to write you this email for quite some time, but I havent been sure of myself or if the “new” me (which is the old in fact) would sur­vive and I didnt want to make this into a sun­shine story if it really wasnt — but after many down­hills, tri­als and tribu­la­tions, the­r­a­phy and social inter­ac­tion, I am there, I am back and I am stand­ing strong again. Nothing will ever be the same, but at least I made the right choice, for me. I have always been lifelov­ing in over­load and even if I am only halfway there yet, it is still enough to keep me going.

I still watch that video every now and then, to remind myself that any­thing is pos­si­ble and that you can recieve “help” from the most unex­pected sources. It used to make me cry, now it makes me smile instead, isnt that beau­ti­ful? I know per­fectly well that you never meant to post that entry for me, but it helped me in one of the most dif­fi­cult times in my life and for that I will be for­ever grate­ful. Thank you.

Yours sin­cerly,
Emma

I’m at a loss for words.

January 27, 2008

An Unspoken Bond

I met her a few times. She was nice. Quiet. I was one of the more junior stu­dents and she would occa­sion­ally give me words of encouragement.

But what endeared her to me was the way she inter­acted with him. A com­fort­able famil­iar­ity, an unspo­ken bond they never overtly dis­played in pub­lic but kept hid­den between them, a secret they shared as if to reveal it was to spoil it.

Sometimes, they’d talk about their kids. They were get­ting older. Getting mar­ried. Moving out.

When they found the can­cer in her body, he sus­pended classes imme­di­ately. He told us we could find new teach­ers with his bless­ing. I looked up their address and sent a bas­ket filled with pâté and dip­ping oils. That was over a year ago.

They buried her last Wednesday.

And as much as I’d like to do some­thing, any­thing to make him feel bet­ter — offer my con­do­lences, tell him he has an ear — there isn’t any­thing I can do. Nothing will make up for his loss.

Our bond will remain unspo­ken too.

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