Dec 2018 27

I have encountered a lot of strangeness during this holiday season – there was the lady who spit on me and shouted obscenities, for instance – I’ll get to that one, but for now, just to get back into a bit of writing, I present my comedy failure at the X-Ray Clinic today.

 

So I went for an X-Ray.

Yup, finally decided to get my wonky left knee checked out by my Doctor last week. It doesn’t hurt all the time. Just going up stairs – which I avoid except in the subway stations cause the bottleneck on the escalator is just too much to handle – and it has to ‘crack’ when I’m riding bike before it feels fully functional. Which is probably how I screwed it up in the first place – one too many falls on the streets of Toronto. BTW, wondering if everyone has a dominant side when they fall off their bike? I always go left for some reason. Maybe to avoid the curb. Which is odd to think that falling into moving traffic is a better move than hitting my head on a curb. Ah, the choices we make when considering our best chances for survival.

Oh, you don’t have a dominant ‘falling’ side, because you stay upright on your bike, huh? Well, congratulations.

Anyhow, my Doctor’s theory is I fucked up my patella. He confirmed his hypothesis with some magic move squeezing down on my thigh/knee like a tube of toothpaste and I saw stars it was so painful. Seriously, I must have freaked out everyone in the waiting room cause I howled like Han Solo getting tortured in Cloud City.

So he sends me for an X-Ray. Which I went for today.

I am always amazed at the various personalities (or lack of) that you encounter in the healthcare professions. Personally, I like to joke around a bit. It’s a nervous habit, and also I feel for people who are working in a dark X-Ray clinic day after day.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Take off your pants and put this on.”

All business.

“Okay. Will do.”

So I grab the gown held out for me, enter the change room, and proceed to de-trouser. So there I am barely covered by the threadbare gown, my butt hanging out the back. But I am wearing a lovely new pair of plumb-coloured Calvin Kleins.

I emerge and say to the technician, while spinning around…

“Well, what do you think? Is it me?”

Her response, without any emotion on her face – disgust, amusement, or otherwise…

“Yes. It is still you.”

So, yah. I went for an X-Ray. And she saw right through me.

 

 

 

Dec 2018 22

 

“Ya, no one will be at the Eaton Centre after 7 tonight”

 

“Oh, lots of people at the Eaton Centre tonight. Wow.”

 

“No problem. I’m focused. Gonna grab the last things I need. Focused.”

 

“Gosh, I hate humans.”

 

“Oooh, Sbarro is still in the food court. Yum. Fuck this shit.”

 

 

Dec 2018 20

Solstice

Posted In Blog,The world

 

in the days of darkness

lost mittens

and desperate shoppers

there are seeds

slumbering

a subterranean conspiracy

of hope
 

Dec 2018 17

In an effort to be more positive about this time of year, which is tough for me to do to be honest, I’ve decided to pull a Julie Andrews and list some of my favourite things about the holidays. This will be like crunching on hard candy for me and feeling my teeth ache.

 

I’m a fan of the orange in the stocking toe.
The sound of wrapping paper hungrily being ripped open and flung, forgotten.
Sagging inflatable lawn Santas.
Dogs sporting reindeer horns.
Old chipped and fading tree ornaments.
And gaudy encrusted fake-jewel snowflake pins old women wear on jackets that you know only come out from their closets in December.

I’m a fan of charity bubbles with folded up bills.
Coloured lights, not white (those are for sociopaths).
The sound of Zooey Deschanel singing anything Christmas-y.
Smashing Ginger Bread Houses like Godzilla attacking Tokyo.
Homemade cards.
Vixen.
And the taste of hot apple cider, probably from a powdered mix, in a cheap paper cup that feels like the soggy bottom could give out at any moment.

I like the ‘shoosh shoosh shoosh’ that kids legs in snowsuits make as they walk.
Knowing the Christmas tree drank water overnight.
Laughing at Baby Jesus nativity scenes.
The smell of old Christmas records.
Canned gravy.
The feel of shortbread cookies with sprinkles on them.
Checking the mailbox.
When George grabs his Uncle Billy and screams ‘Where’s the money you silly, stupid old fool!?’
Seeing co-workers hug goodbye with their relief that they don’t have to see each other for a week.
Carrots on rooftops.
Waking up on the 26th with nothing to do.
And most of all, believing in a better world next year.

 

 

 

Dec 2018 14

I don’t dabble with poetry or lyrics much. But in an effort to keep moving forward and try things, I wrote some words down on the streetcar this morning. With a heavy garage rock soundtrack in my headphones and inspired by the rain, the time of year, and fellow commuters, the following tumbled out between Roncesvalles and John St. 

Give it to me raw
Free run
unpasteurized
Unbleached grain
The stem still on

What’s on the secret menu
That’s for me
I’ll take two
Don’t pack it to go
I’ll eat here

All I want is real
All I want is real
Gimme the fruit
I’ll devour the peel

All I want is real
All I want is real
Cloudy, with lumps
The unfiltered deal

Top shoots
Bottom roots
The funky stuff that smells so earthy
The heart
The innards
Blood, 6th toe, and gizzards
Gimme the down
Gimme the dirty

All I want is real
All I want is real
Gimme the fruit
I’ll devour the peel

All I want is real
All I want is real
Cloudy, with lumps
The unfiltered deal