Monday, March 01, 2004
The show that was originally scheduled for our basement on Saturday March 6th is now rescheduled for Friday March 5th because Philip has to attend Adult Learning Class so that he can overcome his reading disability. So that's Friday March 5th, 6pm at 5554 Bloomfield Street. I'll be in touch if the date change affects you (ie you're in one of the bands playing).
I took the number nine home from downtown today and sat across from a middle aged man in Red Sox hat. Within minutes we had struck up a conversation. We talked about sketchy Quebec Major Junior Hockey League trades, the Stanley Cup, the World Juniors, Blue Monday, and of course our mutual love of the Red Sox and hatred of the Yankees. I was so into the conversation that I went well beyond my stop. I went about five blocks past my stop and ended up beyond the hydrostone. I was actually quite a bit lost. It was worth it just to talk baseball for a few extra minutes.
The off-season in baseball is filled with so much potential, anything is possible, nothing is inevitable. I'm really good with daydreams, I'm really good with possibility, I'm not so great with reality sometimes. Baseball with its endless possibilities is a natural sport for me to be attracted to. Every at bat is a new possibility, a new chance, a clean slate. For someone who ponders situations daily, baseball is a natural fit. The off-season with its dearth of inevitability even more so.
This isn't finished, maybe that's fitting.
The off-season in baseball is filled with so much potential, anything is possible, nothing is inevitable. I'm really good with daydreams, I'm really good with possibility, I'm not so great with reality sometimes. Baseball with its endless possibilities is a natural sport for me to be attracted to. Every at bat is a new possibility, a new chance, a clean slate. For someone who ponders situations daily, baseball is a natural fit. The off-season with its dearth of inevitability even more so.
This isn't finished, maybe that's fitting.
I remember one night coming home from a bar in Banff rather drunk and seeing a young woman and a young man fighting outside the local pizza place. It wasn't so much a fight as it was a series of deriding and berating comments directed towards the young woman from the young man. The comments didn't seem intended just for her to hear as he was speaking loud enough for anyone on that block to overhear.
The woman begin to walk off by herself while her male 'friend' attempted to pull her back by grasping her arm. She pulled away and continued on and then in mid-step she must have had a change of heart and she waited for him to catch up.
'Who's in charge of your destiny, some dumb fuck or is it you?'
He insulted her again and by this time was beginning to annoy me, not that it was any of my business, but it was hard to not listen as his voice had risen in volume and his words had become more intense and derisive.
I wanted to say something. I wanted to say "What an asshole!" I wanted to tell her that she didn't need to wait for this jerk and as a matter of fact she didn't need that shit at all, but I couldn't croak anything out. My mouth opened, no sound, closed again, turned my back, and I stumbled home.
A few nights ago, breaking curfew, I took my usual path home. I turned down a side street a few blocks away from my house. Up ahead a dozen paces ahead of me through the blowing I saw my friend whose friendship I was quite certain I had lost. I wasn't spotted. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound hollow as my mouth pushed it out into the cold February air.
I didn't yell anything out. I pulled my scarf up over my mouth, lest my voice betray me, and steeled myself against the snow and trudged home.
The woman begin to walk off by herself while her male 'friend' attempted to pull her back by grasping her arm. She pulled away and continued on and then in mid-step she must have had a change of heart and she waited for him to catch up.
'Who's in charge of your destiny, some dumb fuck or is it you?'
He insulted her again and by this time was beginning to annoy me, not that it was any of my business, but it was hard to not listen as his voice had risen in volume and his words had become more intense and derisive.
I wanted to say something. I wanted to say "What an asshole!" I wanted to tell her that she didn't need to wait for this jerk and as a matter of fact she didn't need that shit at all, but I couldn't croak anything out. My mouth opened, no sound, closed again, turned my back, and I stumbled home.
A few nights ago, breaking curfew, I took my usual path home. I turned down a side street a few blocks away from my house. Up ahead a dozen paces ahead of me through the blowing I saw my friend whose friendship I was quite certain I had lost. I wasn't spotted. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound hollow as my mouth pushed it out into the cold February air.
I didn't yell anything out. I pulled my scarf up over my mouth, lest my voice betray me, and steeled myself against the snow and trudged home.
"So what English courses are you taking in school?"
"Well there's Canadian Contemporary Literature, African American Literature, and Literature Health and Healing. The last one basically examines various health issues and how they're treated in a variety of literary texts."
"Ohhhh, I'm reading a book now called 'The Healing Power of Prayer' have you read that?"
"Uhm uh, well no"
"Well there's Canadian Contemporary Literature, African American Literature, and Literature Health and Healing. The last one basically examines various health issues and how they're treated in a variety of literary texts."
"Ohhhh, I'm reading a book now called 'The Healing Power of Prayer' have you read that?"
"Uhm uh, well no"
