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Jun. 13th, 2006 12:39 pmI was thinking this morning about my blog, and whether it has a "why." I make occasional observations and link to few things, but it's hardly compelling reading. I'm not political enough to monitor and comment on everything; my main focus, such as it is, is trying to get myself and green_trilobite through the week. I can't go really personal though, either, because it would soon become a grind for me and anyone reading it - my life is basically a jumble of details with no shape. This, for instance, is me going to work this morning:
Outside the Royal York bus: outside the window - funeral home, billboard for Moncton as a
vacation destination, semi-circle of small white houses. Inside my head: this screed, tulip
bulbs, giants, hoping my co-workers won't talk to me too much today, sexual fantasies+guilt.
Got on the subway train, tried to figure out how much space I could place between myself and
other passengers without it looking like I was deliberately avoiding anyone and thereby angering them. The key is balance. Cautiously observed people without being able to recall their faces afterward, except for a Black (West-Indian?) woman with an ipod, who looked like my residence floor-don in first year, but probably wasn't. Half-nodded-off and had a sort of waking dream about multiple choice answers in gibberish (I don't remember what (a) was, (b) was "tevensities", (c) was "beoragh").
Got off at Dundas West to get breakfast at the McDonald's counter there. Rehearsed my order in the line-up and had my change ready: the sausage-mcmuffin-no-egg came almost immediately but the coffee took a bit. There was a stack of newspapers on the counter with more-than-usually overwrought prose by Rosie DiManno about terror suspects. Back on the TTC, I set my coffee cup down on the subway floor balanced between my feet while I got out my lactaids. It was very hot but the tab on the plastic lid worked properly for once and stayed folded down instead of flipping up and giving me a hitler mustache when I drank. Someone, apparently the blonde woman sitting next to me in a lacy beige sweater, had their headphones cranked loud enough for me to easily hear the theme from The Green Hornet. My suspicion it was the Kill Bill soundtrack was confirmed when this was followed by Battle Without Honour or Humanity. Next to her a girl in a white pinstriped fedora with a narrow brim was also listening to headphones and kept periodically laughing. At the end of the car a woman with dreadlocks that made her look like Beethoven was reading an Alice Monroe Novel - Our Secrets? The Asian?/Native? woman across from me in Superman colours (bluejeans, red sweatshirt) had a big green military-type duffle bag with a sticker on it that said Sharon. She admired my rhinestone martini sandals and asked did they come with those little glasses on them?) and I said yes and thanks. It occurred to me afterwards she must have noticed thamn when I'd set my coffee down. When she got off at Spadina I saw an older name in pencil on the side of her bag: Craig Atwill (?). The blonde got off too but the Kill Bill soundtrack continued, so it must have been coming from the headphones of the girl in the fedora.
What was she laughing at then?
I looked out the train window and tried to decide if my reflection counted as outside or inside the car, deciding that since it was light rays bouncing back into my eyes it was definitely inside. Tried to sleep but was too busy thinking about thinking. Donlands station as usual made me picture a Warner Brothers desert landscape with several Don Huttons walking around it nodding and waving to each other when their paths crossed. Just before Warden Station I looked at the woman with the Beethoven hair. The Alice Munroe novel's title was Open Secrets - the white lettering had been hard to read against the background photo; it was a bad cover design.
I don't like having to go down stairs in my sandals, they make ugly flapping noises. When the 68 bus arrived I got on, didn't see the empty single seat in time and took the window seat of a double. Looked out at the bench on the platform: the concrete endpiece had eye-shaped cutouts, but not actulally *cut* out, they'd been molded that way. I could see the seam from the molding.Going up Warden I kept drifting in and out of sleep. I dreamed about a wine-bottle shaped press for molding people to fit inside dalek suits, and about a tank with a single guppy in it, and putting in sultana raisins so he would think they were other guppies.
Walking north from Steeles, I saw that that stupid company had their overenthusiastic
industrial-grade lawn sprinklers on again, and had to go out onto the road to avoid being wet. Why do they do that? Are the sprinklers on some sort of automatic system and is the calibration out? Their lawn is one big mud puddle. I think the robins were happy about it, because the water was driving the worms up out of the ground, but it was no good otherwise.
When I got in my computer password didn't work and I had to call the help desk to reset it.
I think that took longer to write out in my word processor, in odd moments of company time, than the trip itself, and then the formatting went out when I pasted it here.
Outside the Royal York bus: outside the window - funeral home, billboard for Moncton as a
vacation destination, semi-circle of small white houses. Inside my head: this screed, tulip
bulbs, giants, hoping my co-workers won't talk to me too much today, sexual fantasies+guilt.
Got on the subway train, tried to figure out how much space I could place between myself and
other passengers without it looking like I was deliberately avoiding anyone and thereby angering them. The key is balance. Cautiously observed people without being able to recall their faces afterward, except for a Black (West-Indian?) woman with an ipod, who looked like my residence floor-don in first year, but probably wasn't. Half-nodded-off and had a sort of waking dream about multiple choice answers in gibberish (I don't remember what (a) was, (b) was "tevensities", (c) was "beoragh").
Got off at Dundas West to get breakfast at the McDonald's counter there. Rehearsed my order in the line-up and had my change ready: the sausage-mcmuffin-no-egg came almost immediately but the coffee took a bit. There was a stack of newspapers on the counter with more-than-usually overwrought prose by Rosie DiManno about terror suspects. Back on the TTC, I set my coffee cup down on the subway floor balanced between my feet while I got out my lactaids. It was very hot but the tab on the plastic lid worked properly for once and stayed folded down instead of flipping up and giving me a hitler mustache when I drank. Someone, apparently the blonde woman sitting next to me in a lacy beige sweater, had their headphones cranked loud enough for me to easily hear the theme from The Green Hornet. My suspicion it was the Kill Bill soundtrack was confirmed when this was followed by Battle Without Honour or Humanity. Next to her a girl in a white pinstriped fedora with a narrow brim was also listening to headphones and kept periodically laughing. At the end of the car a woman with dreadlocks that made her look like Beethoven was reading an Alice Monroe Novel - Our Secrets? The Asian?/Native? woman across from me in Superman colours (bluejeans, red sweatshirt) had a big green military-type duffle bag with a sticker on it that said Sharon. She admired my rhinestone martini sandals and asked did they come with those little glasses on them?) and I said yes and thanks. It occurred to me afterwards she must have noticed thamn when I'd set my coffee down. When she got off at Spadina I saw an older name in pencil on the side of her bag: Craig Atwill (?). The blonde got off too but the Kill Bill soundtrack continued, so it must have been coming from the headphones of the girl in the fedora.
What was she laughing at then?
I looked out the train window and tried to decide if my reflection counted as outside or inside the car, deciding that since it was light rays bouncing back into my eyes it was definitely inside. Tried to sleep but was too busy thinking about thinking. Donlands station as usual made me picture a Warner Brothers desert landscape with several Don Huttons walking around it nodding and waving to each other when their paths crossed. Just before Warden Station I looked at the woman with the Beethoven hair. The Alice Munroe novel's title was Open Secrets - the white lettering had been hard to read against the background photo; it was a bad cover design.
I don't like having to go down stairs in my sandals, they make ugly flapping noises. When the 68 bus arrived I got on, didn't see the empty single seat in time and took the window seat of a double. Looked out at the bench on the platform: the concrete endpiece had eye-shaped cutouts, but not actulally *cut* out, they'd been molded that way. I could see the seam from the molding.Going up Warden I kept drifting in and out of sleep. I dreamed about a wine-bottle shaped press for molding people to fit inside dalek suits, and about a tank with a single guppy in it, and putting in sultana raisins so he would think they were other guppies.
Walking north from Steeles, I saw that that stupid company had their overenthusiastic
industrial-grade lawn sprinklers on again, and had to go out onto the road to avoid being wet. Why do they do that? Are the sprinklers on some sort of automatic system and is the calibration out? Their lawn is one big mud puddle. I think the robins were happy about it, because the water was driving the worms up out of the ground, but it was no good otherwise.
When I got in my computer password didn't work and I had to call the help desk to reset it.
I think that took longer to write out in my word processor, in odd moments of company time, than the trip itself, and then the formatting went out when I pasted it here.
