Crime of Life, posted on January 30, 2010 at 05h47
I’ve been on dates with women who found me funny, but none were so awkward as my date with the Comedian. I hesitate for to call her that because it was not her profession, but perhaps it’s more fitting than the other, the one with the badge.
When I was funny, she told me. Everything was dissected and analyzed. Over and over, she would tell me that I should do stand-up, but always emphasized amateur nights. She did not do amateur nights any more. She’d done her time as an amateur, she said.
I wasn’t trying to be funny, I didn’t care if she found me funny or not. Maybe she was being defensive, maybe not, but to the Comedian, one way or another, the date was serious. To me, it was just something funny that happened.
Briefs of Fiction, posted on January 27, 2010 at 05h01
Abdul Kalam did not jump. He did not swim, he did not fly, or roll, and he ran only when he had to. He had not been doing these things since he was seventeen, when the blind man told him not to. There were great possibilities awaiting those who walked. The blind man gave Abdul his glasses. And a warning.
These were the glasses of a man gone mad by them. A man beyond his life who had followed his steps backwards so often it consumed him. A man so tempted by seeing that he took his sight. A man who did not jump or swim; a man who would only walk.
For a time, Abdul was amused. The glasses showed every step that he took perfectly, and as the blind man said, when they were followed perfectly backwards, so too would that time pass backward. When he stopped walking, his life would resume as it was before all those steps were taken. It was a gift of many second chances.
Abdul excelled in his life. He made many poor decisions although things never went poorly. Eventually he would always have the best possible outcome. He succeeded in school, in business, and in love. Everything at his fingertips, he wondered how the blind man could have ever gone mad. Abdul must have been, in all his accounts, far wiser than the man who had given him this gift.
As the end of his life approached, though, Abdul wandered the same dusty street where he had met the blind man. Now he was walking backwards, himself blind. He tripped and fell to the ground, then began to weep. This was it. A dozen years since his life had been so wonderful, Abdul could no longer follow his poor steps. Most of his life was spent going back to relive it. Just as the blind man had discovered, there is no future in the past. And this was all he had.
My Regular Mind, posted on January 26, 2010 at 01h30
Tonight will be my twelfth night back in Alberta. Tonight, I’m in my home town, in the house I spent most of my life sleeping in. It’s funny how easily it is to sink into that old comfort.
This town is exactly the same as when I was young. Although the buildings have changed and the people only look like people I might have known, this town is completely memory. I don’t walk the new streets, even when I’m on them. I walk the memories.
I’m so different than I was then. This town isn’t, but it reminds me how far I’ve come. And how far I’ve gone.
Lyrics, posted on January 25, 2010 at 01h53
These lyrics are my rewrite for a cover of M.I.A.’s song Paper Planes, played in a folksy way.
I fly like paper, get high like planes
If you catch me on the corner, I’ve got more than just my name
Don’t come around here unless I get paid
Shoot off at the mouth and I’ll shoot off at the brain
Sometimes I think sitting on trains
Every stop I get to I’m clocking that game
Everyone’s a winner, I’m dealing out fame
Bonafide hustler making my name
Continued…
Crime of Life, posted on January 23, 2010 at 01h40
Among my little-known talents is my knack for certain discretions in public places. One particular evening found me visiting friends in the city, out at a school fundraiser concert. Too much cheap draft beer in too little time, and soon enough I was a wee bit wobbly.
As an aside, this was back in 2000, and the band playing was Nickelback. This was before their surprising commercial success, and I hate to admit that I remember thinking they were really good. Also, I could hardly stand.
After the party, our group of eight went to Boston Pizza for last call. We ordered lots of beer and pizza bread, and though I was already over my limit, I drank more. Then it all hit me. Right there at the table.
I casually pulled a pizza bread basket towards me, moved its contents to another basket, and quietly relieved my nausea into it.
Completely unnoticed, I sat there for a moment afterwards, not sure what to do next. I might’ve even sat there forever had it not been for a friend helping himself to my full pizza bread basket. Instead, seven guys leapt to their feet, paid their bills, and got the hell out of there. I hope I tipped enough.
Lyrics, posted on January 22, 2010 at 06h55
Written by Michael Lagace
I’d kiss all your scars if you asked me to
But would that be healing or distracting you
From a life you feel you’re passing through?
I hold you close and collapse with you
What else would you have me do?
I can’t sit back and detach from you
And if you run I’ll run after you
You’re beautiful but tragic too
And oh I think you’re great
Tell me darling, are you pretty today?
Continued…
Crime of Life, posted on January 21, 2010 at 01h25
For the ceremony, I was asked to give the welcome to the family speech. Thing was, I didn’t particularly want to welcome him to the family. I didn’t know him that well, and to be honest, time alone with him was usually awkward. I got the impression that he was always trying to fill a role and that his performance wasn’t genuine. How could I welcome this?
I tried writing my speech for months. I had lots of ideas and drafts, but none of them seemed right. None of it was what I could ever really say. Instead of being a speech for him, it was simply him, it wasn’t honest.
The final version was. Sort of. I talked about his efficiency in helping me move, but not how things were broken in the process. I talked about how he helped me fix my car, but not how he’d forgotten to connect a hose. What I joked about was truthful, though it wasn’t quite exact. And he was by my words welcomed into our family, but only so long as he could fill the role.
Storytime, posted on January 17, 2010 at 06h55
Written by Michael Lagace, based on Alice Mattison’s “Two People Come Out Of A Building” writing exercise.
On a dreary September morning, two men in long, warm coats stepped out of Majestics, the country’s most renowned supplier of authentic magic, and into the swirling fog littering the street. Arthur, the taller of the two, with narrow glasses and a wide, well-kept moustache, asked his friend if he’d found anything interesting during their outing.
Mr. Starweather, who preferred to be called by his stage name at all times, reached into his shopping bag and pulled out a small box. It was plain and ordinary-looking; larger than a single di but smaller than two, with six sides all sparkling a peculiar blue.
“And what is that, exactly?” asked Arthur. He was very curious and poor at concealing it.
Mr. Starweather held the box up in his open palm. “This,” he said, “is a Sparrow Cube.”
Continued…
Lyrics, posted on January 15, 2010 at 06h55
Written by Michael Lagace
I can look so deep inside your eyes
But I can’t see what’s on your mind
You carefully conceal your smile
And won’t reveal that you feel at all
Does it help you sleep at night
To lay so silent by my side?
Or do you believe your feelings lie?
Between us like some demon you can’t fight
And you’ve got me waiting, waiting for you
You’re often changing and fading from view
You’ve gotten shaky, are you afraid of the truth?
You forsake me but you’re dangerous too
Continued…
Out wandering our neighbourhood late Saturday evening, we stopped in to the Topanga Cafe for a spontaneous pitcher of margaritas. Never having ordered a pitcher of margaritas in my life, nobody knows why I did then; certainly not because I wanted the smell of tequila to linger into bed with me. At the waiter’s suggestion, we also ended up ordering the eggplant-stuffed burrito, which was likely the best burrito I’ve ever had.
I. and I have experienced outstanding service lately. Last week we went to Steamworks, and when I asked about vegan food, our server was knowledgeable and accommodating. He offered us a stir fry with vegetables, something off the menu. It sounded interesting, but we finished our beers and left, finding ourselves a few blocks East at Six Acres. Once again, our server was helpful and we enjoyed some tasty bean fajitas; but all in all, even hippie-loving Vancouver is slow on the vegan menu courtesy.
I’ve ranted about this before but must mention it again: if a restaurant wanted to increase its sales, it would expand its menu to accommodate all customers. This seems like the most logical thing in the world to me. I’m not talking about changing over entire menus, but adding two or three entrées isn’t going to ruin the business. Most restaurants already stock the ingredients used in vegan cooking, it’s just a willingness to offer it that’s missing. Veganism is a growing trend, and the lack of vegan choices in restaurants is not a reflection of veganism itself, but a reflection of the society it exists within. It is a society that has historically opposed differences, it is a society that is often slow to change. But I understand that this process takes time, given how many different mechanisms of oppression are still ongoing today. We can only counter this oppression with patience and understanding.
That’s the hard part.
