Hot Dog

            Ugly. Everything was so ugly here. The phone rang for the thirty seventh time, chorusing with the other strident rings of the office.
            And noisy.
            I sighed and stared at the telephone for a while, as it insistently called for attention. I finally willed my arm to move, and picked up the handset.
            "ClearSoul Insurance, how can I help you?" I don't know why the company had such a New Agey name. It didn't really seem very credible. Of course, everyone in the company thought it was pretty serious stuff, judging from all the bustling about, the frantic rhythm of salesman speech, the false enthusiasm of office banter, and the permanent smell of watered-down coffee. I wished everyone would see it. The ugliness, that is. Everything was so ugly. From the moment I woke up to the moment I slid back under my covers, I felt assailed by it. Sometimes, it even found its way to my dreams. And yet, everyday I rose to endure it again, and again.
            "Hello? Hello?" Oh.
            "Yes, my apologies, ma'am." Shrivel up and die, old hag.
            Soon, too late, came my lunch break. I always found it so ironic. What was I taking a break from? Every day, I would take this dreary office and its ugliness, only to find myself faced with more ugliness. Cafeteria, diner across the street, hot dog vendor, ugly. I don't know when I started noticing all this hideousness, or when the word "ugly" took on such a predominant presence in my thoughts.
            I sighed.
            I paid the hot dog vendor double what he charged me, mumbled my goodbyes, and went back through the revolving glass doors. It took all of three minutes and twenty-three seconds. While I stood waiting for the elevator, a sudden thought struck me. I would search for my own beauty in this ugly world. I mean, it must exist somewhere, right? Suddenly excited, I spun right, headed through the fire exit and flew up the stairs. I burst through the other fire door, at the very top, and onto the roof. I stood there for a moment, mustard smeared against my impeccable suit, tie, the works.
            Then I laughed.
            Oh, how I laughed. It was a hearty sound, one so unfamiliar, and I wondered if I had ever laughed this honestly with this adult voice. Somewhat lightheaded from this euphoria, I leaned against the railing, taking a bite of my ruined hot dog.
            Glass and steel expanded before me in pillars, each a different shade, a different size, but all the same. Down below, the criss-crossing lines of traffic seemed so insignificant, and the buffetting winds muffled the honking cacophony, the human chaos. Far, far away, yet bulging so close was the orange sun, so low on the horizon yet merely kissing the world with a burst of light, an explosion ready to cleanse the Earth.
            I leaned further forward, one hand on the railing, the other reaching towards the glowing orb, the long-forgotten hot dog having tumbled down below, returning home. Oh, how I wished I could take a hold of that sun, that burning yet dying light, make it mine. I stretched forward, desire burning within me.
            Suddenly, the wind blew stronger, soaring through me. The world below seemed closer, its chaotic sounds fanfaring loudly, and the sun seemed to grow closer too. I reached out, towards its burning glow, and grasped it.
            Beautiful. Everything was so beautiful here.

Wearied World

            Every Sunday evening, he would be there. People knew there wasn't much happening on Sunday evenings. People like him. But Sunday evenings was all he could get, and so Sunday evenings he would take. This Sunday evening was different, he could feel it. He could see it in the faces of the people hurrying by, smell it in the coffee shop's brew, hear it in his strings. There was a piece playing at the nearby theatre tonight, and the affluence was greater than normal. He was still looking for his song. It hadn't called him yet, and he never played unless the song called him. It wasn't very polite otherwise. And so he waited at his usual spot, propped up on a plastic bucket which had once contained paint, or bleach. He couldn't be sure.
            Eventually, he heard a low human rumble, making its way forth from the long and wide hallway, the sound reverberating off the marble floors. Then he heard the song calling him. It was a sweet sound, so very sad, so very true. And so, as the rumbling grew louder, he heard it less, and stood up. He pulled out his violin from his case, all tuned and ready as it always is. He drew his bow, and closed his eyes.
            The moment his bow touched the violin's string, the music no longer called to him, but flowed through him. It flowed through him, to the strings, and forth to the world. Through his closed eyes, he could see it all. He could see the mesmerizing ribbons twirl and twirl in the air, dyeing it a myriad of colors, from deep burgundy to a piercing blue. Then everything drooped, as the music cried. It mourned for all, for everything, took in all the pain and dissolved it. The poignant melody resonated in the hall, vibrating in his whole body swaying it to its rhythm. This song sang of the world, for the world. It was a heartfelt cry, yet also a subtle reproach. After what felt to him like an eternity spent too fast, his bow drew the last note painfully, drawing it off and letting it die on its own. He stood there for a moment, his eyes still closed and still seeing so far away, watching as the colors faded. Then he opened his eyes, to the usual sight of people walking past in a hurry.
            But this was not to be, as he was met with roaring applause, whistling, cheering, and most of all, crying. Men, women, children were crying, some with a single tear gently trickling down their cheeks, others bent over in wracking sobs. One child tugged on his mother's sleeve.
            "Momma! Momma!" he called. "Wasn't that great? This song is like that play we just saw."
            "Yes it was, honey. That man plays beautifully."
            And he wept. He wept for these poor fools.

From odd to weird.

So, today was a weird day. I don't know how to describe it.

1- I arrived very strangely before class started, by a margin of about 30 min.

2- I ran some errands across downtown, running back and forth and wasting 2 hours.

3- I stepped in a ridiculously deep puddle of frozen mudslush. It looked like solid ice capped with mudslush.

4- Five different highway lights died while I drove past.

5- I kept on hearing my name from random shouts, conversations, even when there was no one.

6- See picture. What the crap.

Stranger's Kiss

            It was cold. It was cold, yet I was standing outside freezing my ass off. I sighed, and my breath escaped in a steamy swirl in the frosty air. The sun was setting, somewhere, but in the middle of this concrete and steel mess, it was already dark. I was standing against the wall, next to the entrance to the coffee shop, where I had left my things. I didn't want to go back in, couldn't.
            Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't realized that someone had taken the empty wall spot next to me. The rest of the wall was occupied by smokers. It was rather comical, this line of people leaning against the wall, smoking their cigarettes, but I didn't know why. I didn't care, really. I don't smoke. Then, the person next to me unexpectedly spoke up, breaking the unwritten rule of no communication between city strangers.
            "Do you have a light?"
            I turned my head to look at her. "Yeah," I replied, wondering why she would ask the one person on this wall who was not smoking. I fetched the lighter from my pant pocket, and handed it to her.
            She took it, brought it to her cigarette and flicked it a few times until she lit it. She was rather attractive, now that I took the time to actually look. Her short hair was a stylish mess, with strands sticking out haphazardly at all angles, in an eccentric but fitting assortment of purple, red and pink. It rather complemented her small but nicely shaped face, which was adorned with a small, pointy but elegant nose. She turned to hand back the lighter.
            "Thanks a bunch," she said with a large smile. She had clear brown eyes, with a dark green tinge around the edges.
            "Sure." I turned back to face forward, and resumed staring at the glass doors and glass windows and glass everything of the building on the other side of the street.
            "I don't actually smoke," she said after a while, breaking that rule again.
            "So...why?"
            "Life is hard." Such a line, from such a petite little girl with an innocent face. I wondered just how old she was.
            "It's a bitch," I agreed. It pretty much summed up my present feelings. She nodded, and fell silent again. This time the silence felt different, somehow. More companionable. Not the usual silence that followed a forced social interaction between two strangers who really wanted to be elsewhere instead of doing small talk.
            After some time, after my mind left, after the wall occupants changed, she spoke up again. "Want to talk about it?"
            "What?" I stared at her, a little surprised, a lot confused.
            "About how life's a bitch. Fine, I'll start." And she proceeded to tell me about what seemed like all of her life's problems. A boyfriend who was seeing other women. A long time friend who had left for another continent. A father dying of lung cancer (at which point she took a long drag from her cigarette). A mother who was slowing driving her insane. School. Work. Life. "What about you?" She looked at me expectantly.
            "Nothing much," I replied, not used to this kind of interaction with another person. She tilted her head slightly, and raised a delicate eyebrow, signaling a clear skepticism. I hesitated for a few moments then suddenly, facing those clear, innocent-looking eyes, I thought it would be okay. "We broke up. I came in today, I saw her in the far corner, talking to some guy, holding his hand." I realized it sounded rather insignificant in comparison. "Like I said, it's nothing much," I added.
            "So you're hiding from her?"
            "I guess."
            "Then won't she see you when she comes out?"
            "I guess." I hadn't thought of that.
            "Well, then," she announced with finality, and reverted to leaning against the wall, having apparently decided that the conversation was over.
            A few more moments in silence passed. This time, I felt it was heavy, pressing. There was an itching urge to say more. I looked over at her, but she seemed perfectly at ease, a slight smile gracing her lips as she looked at the passerbys. I stared at the glass building again, returning to my thoughts.
            "Can I kiss you?"
            I turned to stare at her.
            "Can I kiss you," she asked again, as if I hadn't heard.
            "I'm sort of taken."
            "'Taken' is such a pretentious term."
            "I meant I'm with someone."
            "I know. And that's a lie."
            "Damn." I turned away from her again. I knew I was avoiding her. And who wouldn't? Kiss me? What a craze. A few more moments passed in silence.
            "So why not?"
            I turned towards her again. "Because it doesn't make sense." I was getting angry, and I didn't know why.
            "So everything has to make sense to you? Does your life make sense to you?" She was getting aggressive too, but a little smirk kept on tugging at the corner of her lips.
            "Not always," I admitted.
            "Then let me kiss you."
            "No," I replied forcefully.
            "It will make you feel better. Let me kiss you. As a friend, only as a friend," she was almost begging, strangely enough. What in the world did I get into? I stared at her for a while longer.
            "Okay," came the reply, before I was even aware of formulating it. "As a friend," I insisted, and leaned my cheek towards her.
            She grasped my chin gently with cold fingers, and turned my head to face her. Then she stared deep in my eyes for a fraction of a second, closed her yes, and her lips touched mine, feather light. The pressure increased ever so slightly, and she pulled back, smiling.
            "If that's how you kiss your friends, I want to be one."
            "You are now." She winked, and without any warning, simply picked up her bag, and walked off skipping lightly, her flashy hair bouncing.

Boo. 'Tis hard.

Trying out the charcoals!



So, it's much more difficult than I thought it would be. And way different from my memories. So I won't show you my drafts just yet because they don't look like anything that make sense.

Also, I've got a bone to pick with you art people:


What the hell?

At least the white charcoal didn't end up the same as the others, too.

One last gasp.

What doesn't kill you makes you

stronger.
                                                                                                               so they say





                              I can't do it.

I despise you, frozen wasteland, heartless jungle.

Yet, I love you so.



PS: Sorry bout the hair... :/

PPS: I seem to keep on discovering new ways to suffer in this Siberian frost. Try filling up your tank at -24 with no gloves on, with a very pressing need for bladder relief.

Snotsicles.

What pooptacular weather. Not to be mundane and absently discussing the weather or anything, but holy Bonhomme Carnaval was it ever freezing these last two days. And yes, this post is simply to talk about my day. You may disregard it.

So, I actually wore my thermal pants. Under my jeans. It made me feel all sexy and super awkward. I still froze to major shrinkage this morning, waiting for the goddamn bus to honor their promise of "increased service on line 105". Cowpoop.

It was so cold, it felt like I just returned from a ski trip every time I dodged inside in a random store on my way to another building. Hence, I had a huge snowboard-worthy (guilty) meal:



Then I felt bad and went to get a green tea at Starbucks. It was horrid. Oh, then I discovered a true GEM. I found out there an Omer DeSerres inside the EV building! How absolutely crazy. I splurged a whole 5$ on charcoals.



The last time I've actually used charcoals was probably in primary school (grade school, elementary school, whatever. Jsuis Queb, sti). But I've always wanted to pick it back up, and my recent renewed interest in the visual arts made me go "Why not now?" Ain't I right?

Also, I had no idea white charcoal existed. It must be magical.

Then, after a long and arctic day, I found myself wondering just how I kept sane while waiting amidst a MASSIVE THRONG of people, all waiting to get on the bus ride to home sweet home.

Pizza Disaster

          I'm chewing on a bite of vegetarian pizza. It's rather bland, with a slightly pasty feel which sort of reminds me of hardening candle wax. I've never tasted wax, mind you, but that's what this pizza nonetheless reminds me of. I've also never eaten vegetarian pizza before, and I wonder if this is what vegetarian pizza should taste like. Anyway, like I was saying, I'm chewing on a bite of vegetarian pizza, when I see her. She's holding a pamphlet of some kind which, from her confused expression and scouting glances, I guess must be a map. Frustrated, she crumples the map in one hand, and turns to the nearest passerby, trying to get his attention. Unsurprisingly, the man goes on about his business, turning his head away, in that ever familiar attempt at nonchalance from the typical city dweller. After witnessing a few more fruitless attempts, I debate whether I should come to her aid. Of course I should, I tell myself. She needs help, I can help her. Probably. Suddenly, a voice shakes me out of my musings. Looking up, I am slightly shocked at seeing a pair of piercing blue eyes gazing back.
          "Having fun?"
          I realize the eyes aren't as much piercing as they are angry. I kind of knew that "piercing blue eyes" was only a cliché found in novels. A second realization sinks in: I am expected to answer.
          "Um..." I manage dashingly.
          "I hope I entertained you thoroughly with that spectacle. Thank you. Really."
          She glares at me some more with those disdainful eyes.
          She is beautiful.
          "Wow. Are you for real? Give me a break," she huffs, before turning to leave.
          It takes a few seconds for it to dawn on me that I spoke my last thought out loud. What a moron. I swallow. A lump of chewy stuff makes it way down my throat. The pizza, I note with an inward groan. Not only did I have my foot in my mouth, it was also happily stomping down on a half-chewed piece of pizza disaster.
          "Wait," I let out, standing up hastily. I freeze. What now? What a moron, I think again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."
          She turns around, still glaring. I briefly wonder what other people must be thinking. The food court-like place was in the middle of the subway station corridor, with a delimiting border giving the customers a sense of seclusion from the chaotic pedestrian traffic. We're both standing on either sides of the social fence. I'm standing up right at my spot at the table, my chair had fallen over with the weight of my backpack hanging on it.
          "I mean, I did mean it, you're beautiful, it just wasn't supposed to come out." I was babbling. I didn't know I could babble. They say self-discovery is a lifetime process. "Let me help you, " I finally blurt out, then hold my breath.
          She looks at me oddly for a moment, then sighs, looking down briefly. "Sure."



Note: That went nowhere.
Note²: I don't suppose pizza in the middle of the night is any healthy.

Technovasion

It can get ridiculous.

"Deliverance"

And so he wept, this broken man, this innocent child. For love won and love lost, for the fainting lullabies and crying pictures. He grasped at spring's laughter, summer's whispers, autumn's smiles, in haste, in hope. In vain. But came winter's gusts, and in their wake remained naught but whiteness, so dark and so red in this unending night.

Mium.

So, here we go for more gratuitous foodism. I wonder if this blog is headed to become a food blog.


We have here garlic spaghetti al dente, with chicken breast cuts seasoned with basil pesto and dijon mustard, topped with cheddar cheese. I actually use jalapeno havarti cheese, but ran out of it. It's definitely better with the jalapeno cheese.


First shot is pre-melting, and the one above is obviously post-melting, with a slightly different configuration of the decorations. I really need to learn how to make nicer presentations. I usually slide a leaf or cluster of basil leaves on top of the mound, but I ran out of those, too. Sigh.




And here, we have an improvised breakfast I made with leftover eggs after making omelets. After putting the cheese on top, I realized it looked an awful lot like smoked salmon. I'll try that next time.

First!

So here we are, my first real blog post. Evar. I'd like to open things up with something beautiful. See the picture? That, my friend. Is true beauty. For those of who are not familiar with the dish -yes, we do actually call it a dish-, it's a staple of French Canadian (Québec) gastronomy. Behold, the POUTINE.

Take some fresh cut fries, fry them in lard (it's actually quite rare, but that's the original recipe), drop a generous portion of cheese curds on the fires, and pour a moderate serving of brown sauce (it's not quite gravy, but I suppose you could call it so) to top it all off. Serve. Eat. Die of cardiac arrest. Yum.

Note that the above pictures are of two variants of said poutine. With added cholesterol and whatnot. More yum-ness.

Edit: I can't for the life of me figure out why the pictures I'm posting do not show up with the adjustments I made on Picasa. Oh well.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.

That's right. Welcome, welcome all to more wasted time, illusionary interest, and addictive procrastination. On your part, of course.

All cynicism aside, this will be a rather useless and fleeting blog, where I'll be posting up anything that strikes my fancy, as well as ongoing and (most often) dropped projects.

This blog's not for you, but for me. Although I'm pretty sure I'll be snagging at least a couple of you and adding to your already incurable time wasting.

Have fun!