Try to put me down and make me feel bad. Do your best to make yourself look good.
Throw some advice my way (I’ll leave it). Assume you know me better than I know myself (what arrogance!). Give me some food for thought, and believe you were anything more than a passing fancy (but try to get over yourself).
My god, how wrong I was about you.
Fresh vegetables and peanut butter on burgers. A low-key deal before leaving. I’m lucky enough to be one of the few.
It’s madness outside. Madness at the stops. Madness on the bus. People rowdy, drunk and drinking. People wearing Canadian, drinking Canadian, speaking Canadian, bearing the standard on cheeks and arms and hats and bodies. Kids, kids throwing beer bottles out the window, pouring Smirnoff ice in their empty water containers.
It’s passed midnight, darkness out the window, and reflections press themselves on me. She looks through me at him and I can see the love triangle in her smile.
Ambulances pass us by. People face-down on the ground. Police questioning witnesses.
Looking for some calm in this chaos, I turn up the volume to drown them out.
you’ve got the lot to burn
a shelve of pig smotherd cries
is there a spirit that spits
upon the exit of signs?is anybody there? (spines in a row)
these steps keep on growing long (spite as an arrow)
bayonet trials rust propellers awaitno
nobody is heard
But my calm is no less chaotic.
I just found a staple — a used, bent staple — in my loose leaf Mao Feng tea from Nihao Tea House. I don’t know if I can trust Nihao anymore, which is unfortunate, as it’s the only tea house in the vicinity.
The girl who works there is somewhat of an anomaly; a Canadian-born Chinese, I’d say only a few years younger than me, wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt. My generation of CBCs usually adapt to the Canadian way of life, eschewing the cutesy culture of Hello Kitty, designer stationary, and stuffed car ornaments. An impostor, by banana1 standards, like a rogue staple among some tea leaves.
equivocality 8.0 has arrived. Though arriving with little fanfare, I felt this design update was important enough to have it’s own entry.
8.0 is an evolution in the design of this blog. I wanted a layout where the information was presented with less clutter, while maintaining the minimalist feel. There’s a reason behind every margin, every line, every shade.
I finally got some new glasses. It’s been years since I had my prescription updated and things in the distance were starting to get blurry, making my eyes tired very early in the day. This time I got a wire-frame pair, instead of the thick emo frames I got last year, though they’re still D&>.
The wide arms are in now, but I really don’t like that style (or maybe it just doesn’t fit my face). I also tend to not buy anything that’s currently fashionable, as I prefer classic designs. The wide wire-frame arms on this pair push the whole idea of trendy, but are otherwise acceptable.
I’m still getting used to the weight. They’re very light, but still not as light as my last commonly worn pair, which were like not wearing glasses at all. The good thing, I’ve come to discover, is that they’re not flexible, and while this makes them more fragile, they’re much easier to clean as they don’t bend when trying to hold steady.
Some people ask me why I don’t get contacts, and it’s because glasses are a part of my personality. In a way, they define me, staying in touch with my dorky past. At the wedding Tom asked me to take them off for the pictures since they turn photo grey from UV light, but I refused. I think I would have looked stranger without my glasses, then with my eyes obscured by tint.
Choosing these frames took a couple of visits. I had a hard time trusting Bronwen’s opinion because sometimes she thinks I look good in things that make me either laugh or hurl. I went to Lenscrafters with Aaron and he tried on one pair that immediately made me think that’s the one, but I didn’t have that instantly recognition with mine. Louise did though when I showed her, and that’s when I decided on them. Apparently they make me look more mature, or some shit.