A letter from 2.5 yeas ago to Noah and Wayne (friends from my time in J'lem.) in London that i just found in my drafts folder on hotmail. Wow, 2.5 years can really be a lifetime.
Hello lovelies: It is the second week of January and it has yet to snow. The occasional flurry, sure, but none of that grass-killing, snot-freezing, boot-staining snow that usually defines January. Today, in fact, it is much like Jerusalem in the winter, or, for that matter, London. Pissing rain. Everyone looks wan and haggard.
I feel that this whole Global Warming deal has affected me in that seasonal-affective-disorder way. The indecisive weather has rendered me paralysingly indecisive and off-kilter. Yesterday, I went for brunch as usual with the "coven" (as Malcolm calls Julia, Rebecca, and Emily). our discussion became very intense. three hours passed and I had no recollection of eating my breakfast or having my coffee refilled (Noah, you'd better explain the concept of free coffee refills to the British. Actually, you should explain the concept of coffee). We stumbled out into the pissy afternoon feeling stunned from good from conversation, and went our separate ways.
I found myself dithering in Kensington Market with a pounding headache,unable to walk the short way home. My favorite vegetable stand had gone out of business, the empanada shop had no more veggie empanadas, and I was convinced that I was coming down with the flu. All seemed askew. I went to Asia's house in the market to drop off my groceries for a dinner party and pick up my bike, but her bubble-head Israeli roomate cornered me and went on about her latest sexual conquests. I had to get home. I got 1 block away to Karlen's house, dragged my bike in, and lay my head down on his kitchen table, unable to move. It was four o'clock and I was supposed to go to a dinner party and bring the food. I had my new bike (a swanky schwinn who I have named Voodoo Polly) that I needed to bring home, I had to write the copy for an ad for a yoga studio but no way to send it. Karlen set me up at his computer, helped me design the ad and send it off, and made me a wicked spinach curry with basmati rice.I ate well and left for home.
I never got home that night. Instead of going home, I ended up at the Cameron, watching this Waitsian group called Mad Bastards (www.kevinquain.com), drinking far too much whiskey with Malcolm's roomate, Rob, and his friends, these brothers who don't speak much, but stare a lot. (They recently bought a chicken in little Portugal and slaughtered it, plucked it, cooked it, and ate it, just to see what it was like. Then Khan arrived, having recently confessed to being an alchoholic, and ordered a pint.Am I an enabler?
Rob and I walked home at 2:30 and suggested that I go back to his place and crash with M., then we could all get up in the morning, eat sugar cereal and watch cartoons. I had to get home. I didn't. We got to M. and rob's place, but the Café downstairs was still open and M. and Sean were both being hit on by these tipsy, dizzy, art-school students who were all of twenty. When we walked in, M. looked like a deer caught in headlights and asked me to help him with one of the girls who was practically sitting in his lap. I wish he could just enjoy stuff like that and not be so neurotic. Rob and I had more whiskey at the bar and talked to the girls, and let sean tell us that he went from having a 6-inch penis to a 9-inch penis because of some bizarre swelling/incision that occurred in 1998. Sean is insane.
This morning, more rain. Thunder showers, actually. M., me and Jasper, Rob's dog, lay in bed, talking (jasper just snored) about how we were going to disentangle ourselves from this physical intimacy habit,cuz it has occurred to me that I want a long-term healthy relationship one day and even, perhaps, an opportunity to procreate.
But I get embarassed at that topic. It is hopelessly bourgeois, I think, and I would rather talk about cervical scrapes than settling down. So, instead, we talked about jasper, and whether, like every dog, he has had his day. I have been on this kick of toasting and celebrating everything in need of a toast or celebration, so I suggested we give Jasper a day. Throw him a party, celebrate Jasper, who does nothing all day but wait for someone to scratch his bum for him and take him to the park.
In one month I will be in the Habi@t program at the Canadian Film Centre and this should be fun. i really look forward to it. Crazy how much digital storytelling has become a buzzword. At the last meeting for Steelbridge, someone suggested that we need a "storyteller" to tell our company story. hah. Hey, you can look at our 0.1 version of My Little Robot through Freshmeat or through devel.steelbridge.com. Wayne, thanks for you input on the game design. It's going pretty well, so far.Talk to you soon and have an excellent visit. Drink a toast to me, and I hope both you dogs have your day. Love, Adina