Hi, how’s it going.
When talking about haircuts, I always say, “My stylist”. As soon as this comes out of my mouth, I wonder if this makes me sound snooty and pretentious. Most people seem to say, “hairdresser”, which I imagine is the same thing, with the former being a way to charge an extra $15–30 for a haircut. But the only reason why I say “stylist” is because that’s what the receptionists say (“…and what stylist would you like?”) when booking appointments. But stylists are so different from barbers, in my experience. And my stylist has gone for courses in the US, so I’m thinking this actually gives him the title.
I also say “chacun à son goût” when the phrase is appropriate. I wonder if this makes me sound pretentious too. The only reason why I say that instead of “each to his own taste” is because I learned the expression first in grade 8 French class. There was a picture of King Henry saying, “chacun a MON gout!”, as if he was famous for being in demanding king. Ever since, I relate the phrase to the French. Sometimes, I imagine I’m in late Imperial Russia, when French was considered the hallmark of a civilized society, so people threw in French phrases to impress people or fit in. I imagine myself saying, “Ho ho, mon cher, je méprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer car autrement la vie serait un mélodrame trop ridicule”, while throwing my head back with dainty laugh.
Sometimes my nights are spent like this:
My favourite pastime at the moment is playing Flight Control while listening to music. I have a sort of running competition going with Pat (high score 99) and John (high score 67). So far I’ve been able to best their scores at 292, but now I’m trying to pad the victory even more, because Pat and John have as much of a healthy competitive streak as I do, and actually spend some extra effort trying to beat each other. So sometimes I’ll just sit down and put some music on and play. I’ve also tried cooking while playing, but my foods ends up getting burnt. There has also been some stand-up comedy listening while I play, but laughter always gets in the way of fine motor controls.
When I was younger, my parents owned a convenience store. It got held up a couple of times, late at night when my dad was working. He never talked about it, not because it was shocking, but because he didn’t care. Sometimes, I wonder how my dad felt with a gun pointed at him. One time they caught the three or four guys involved in one hold-up, and my dad had to go to court to testify. Somehow my dad handled it, but going through all of this would probably freak me out.
