Yesterday Jocelyn Cook and I wandered in circles downtown looking for a bowtie for a going away present for our friend George, who is moving to Bangladesh for work soon. Well first Laura came storming over and told me I could get a hard labour job ($$$) if I called some woman and bullshitted a few things. Which I can't do worth shit, even if I am "good peasant stock." Anyway we were unsuccessful with the bowties and ended up back on my front porch with toast and ginger beers. Jo's friend headed over from four blocks up, got lost on the way, we talked for a bit.
Had to go downtown and have my semi-monthly sushi date with Marketa. She asked my advice about this woman that she hired. I told her my honest opinion. Apparently I have a reputation for that. Then I told her about this treeplanting deal and she gave me this long convoluted story about the summer after she graduated art school. And how she didn't buy the right equipment (tent with a zipper) so she ended up with a kidney infection and had to charter a helicopter out. But before that she was nervous because all the men in her camp were ex-cons except this big British footballer, who she started sleeping with for protection (her words). Anyway in the long run he turned out to be psycho too and extremely jealous and beat the crap out of her regularly and kicked her entire door plus door frame in because he thought she was fooling around with this girl she had over (later ended up in a mental institution, they were giving her elctro-shocks just last week). And he followed her out of the country when she went back to Prague. So that was her experience. She made some good friends though, one of whom was David Suzuki's son.
And I went to Bluegrass night out at Cornerstone after this conversation, a little worse off for the saki, a little better off for the fish. And Joey was there and he starts talking about his endeavor to pursue his research into pirate radio as a means for broadcasting graffiti. And he offered me a job at his camp, teaching kids to do stop-animation, even though I have no experience with either children or anything remotely more technical than this keyboard. And he invited me to his birthday party, which he is firmly calling PartyFest. Apparently the menu is comprised of Brass Monkeys or "shotgunned beverages." I didn't have the heart to tell him that I have no idea what Brass Monkeys is. There will be a band (no pony rides or dancing bears though, possibly snacks)
So that was my day. Cutting out the bookstore rummage of a morning, starring Laura V. and Kat's brother, however briefly.
