I say no to:
- laziness
- a lack of ambition (see above)
- a low sex drive
- narrow mindedness
- apathy
- ignorance
I say yes to:
- passion
- dedication
- intelligence
- a high sex drive (see above)
- honesty
It’s not too much to ask.
No and Yes
True Toronto Stories: Ray? Is that you?
The transit gods were with me today. You know the type of days where you just need to step out your front door and walk at a leisurely pace to your given stop? You board the streetcar flawlessly, the driver handing you a transfer without an impatient sigh or needed to be prompted. Streetcar slides into the station like butter, and wait, what’s that familiar rush of air as you near the bottom of the subway stairs? Why it’s the train of course, with the doors sliding to a stop neatly in front of your now-smug face.
Thus I found myself on the subway today around noon. It was sparsely populated, and perhaps because of this, one man stood out moreso than he otherwise would have. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the wild motions of a man playing a mean air-piano. I guessed from his pace that it was something bluesy. I glanced briefly and observed a man whom I assume was blind. Sunglasses staring straight ahead. Fingers a-twitch, and lips moving in time. I could only wonder what amazing song he was listening to.
It was only at this point I finally realized he wasn’t sporting earphones.
I don’t get it….
I don’t get the Family Blog. Usually penned by overindulgent mothers and bored housewives, this one never fails to baffle me. A blog (or any form of journal) is generally a pretty personal thing. Only one person can write in it at a time. These Family Blogs are never writings from all members, but more often they are from the perspective of one parent (Probably Mom. See previous re: bored housewives and the like), writing on behalf of the family; “We did this….we went there…we think…we feel….we we we…”
In reality, there’s no real ‘we’ here. It’s the ‘we’ one parent has chosen to create for their readership, be that readership all of Price Edward County or just Nana out in BC.
So maybe I lied. I do get the Family Blog. I just don’t like it. 
On romance.
A new experiment: leaving myself open for encounters in the world. In a city where unsolicited eye contact is almost taboo, I’ll attempt to break out of my usual rut, and smile. Or start a conversation. Maybe I’ll take myself out for a pint and a good book. I’ve got to rediscover those random, heart palpitating moments. I need romance.
True Toronto Stories: The Bakery
This True Toronto Story was guest-written by Mr Matt, over at Mr Matt’s Musings. I’m very glad to see I’m not the only one noticing, and writing about the beautiful and romance found in wee corners of the city. Enjoy!
i just had the universe show me once again that life
is going in the direction that it needs to. today, i
went to go pick up a fresh loaf of bread.
me (m), lady of the bakery (b)
m | coming home after spending some time with his sister
and hopping off the bus at annette and walking in to his
local baker
bakery is very low-key and nothing fancy. 3 or 4 different
types of bread, a few things for the sweet tooth, everything
is fresh and delicious.
b | a woman probably in her 60s with a hint of an estonian
accent. she took the time to talk with me about the differnt
and had recommended the sovitol on my first visit there.
m – good afternoon the sovitol was fantastic!
b – isn’t it though!
m – yeah i ran out on sunday and you were closed for sunday and monday
b – haha yes we need the rest
m – many people don’t get enough of it, it’s good to take care of your
soul too; everyone needs time off to refresh.
b – yes indeed, $3.49
m hands her a 5 and starts rummaging through his pockets for change,
coming across a toonie, a loonie, and two quarters.
m – actually, i have $3.50 right here!
b – perfect! and one penny for you in return!
m – oh, no thank you. please, keep it.
b – please take it, it’s your lucky penny!
m – and i shall charish it for all the day!
m takes the penny and walks out of the bakery with his loaf of bread
and one penny. walking up towards his house, m examines the penny
further and notices the date is rubbing off from wear, he can read 198.
at a closer look he saw the full date: 1983 – the year of his birth.
True Toronto Stories: Flashback
While going through some old pieces, I came across this gem. Originally published in the original Green Tea Diary on Feb 20th, 2005.
In the last 12 hours, I have witnessed two very bizarre incidents.
#1 Occured this morning on my way to work at Factory. When I stopped at an ATM to get money for tokens, I heard yelling in the store next to me, and saw a middle-aged woman (who may have had a touch of ‘the crazy’) get SHOVED out of the store along with packages being thrown at her, one of them socking her right in the face. I heard her mutter to another lady who passed, “He didn’t want me to suck it”. So we draw the logical conclusion that fellatio, is not, in fact, as widely accepted as say, Visa?
#2 Occured tonight on my way home. I go down into Bathurst station, and across the platform, I hear a group of neo-Brit-punk-13-year-old-fucks yelling at each other and kicking at a bench. When this failed to ellicit a response from the bench, one of the think tank decides that the next step is to whip down his pants and crap on the seat…..the funny thing is, that the guy didn’t count on it not being so easy to shit on command, (much less with your school chums gathered in a semi circle chanting “DO IT DO IT!”) and instead sat there, straining until he was purple in the face and eventually flew upright screaming “I CAN’T FUCKING POOH!!!!”. Furthermore, I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that someone intended to take ashit on a public seat, or the fact that everyone in the vicinity pretended not to notice? Ohhhhh Canada indeed.
True Toronto Stories: Balls of Solid Rock
This will be a new (now official) series of The Green Tea Diary: ‘True Toronto Stories’. They are true, memorable exchanges that I witness between strangers.
Southbound subway. Sunday. 1:30pm.
It’s obvious from the moment he passed through the ‘whoosh’ of the doors. He’s spotted her. With pretty, near white-blonde hair, blue eyes, & uncommonly rosy, pink cheeks, she’s every hetero teenage boy’s initial-wet-dream. He settles his long, gangly limbs in the seat directly across from her.
I watch from behind my sunglasses, silently thanking my earlier self for being too lazy to deal with the harsh lighting of the TTC. This is going to be interesting. I can feel it.
He toys with his iPod. He glances pointedly, and repeatedly at her, with a brashness that usually eludes newly-minted college men. Perhaps this one was a big shot in his high school and has yet to fail. Whatever the reason, however, he gets up, and crosses to sit in the seat adjacent to our blonde beauty.
“Excuse me?” he asks. She either doesn’t hear him, or is pointedly ignoring him. “Excuse me,” he tries again. No answer. He waves a hand at her. “Excuse me!” She takes out her earphones. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you. Yes?”.
He asks for some pretty straightforward directions, which she gives him, with a smile. He asks what she’s listening to. “Lady Gaga”, she replies. He shifts forward in his seat, and they chat briefly about pop music. She smiles more. He leans in further.
Then he asks the question that plainly gives away how green our young buck is,
“So, uh, how old are you?”
“I turn 33 next week”, she laughs, perhaps now more acutely aware of where this has been going in subway-romeo’s mind.
The lad is floored, but I’ve got to hand it to him, he handled himself well. After a moment to gulp, he replied, “Well, happy early birthday then!”.
Having been witness to the entire exchange up until now, I’ve been clocking the young man’s face closely. The brilliant thing about young boys is that they wear it all out on their faces. It’s only later in male life that the mug-filter develops and one is left guessing. I watch his face progress from ‘damn, another one bites the dust’, to ‘hey, this could have a Mrs Robinson-esque up side!’
With balls the size of watermelons, our young hero continues to chat up Ms. Blonde. I watch for the next few stops as they make jokes, talk about travel and make pleasant. I’m beginning to wonder if she is merely humouring the guy, as I get up to step off the train. As the doors close behind me at my stop, I turn around for one last look.
She’s laughing and touching his arm.
How many?
Recently, a male-pinup calendar that I was involved with, was published. It made it’s way into my workplace. Yesterday my coworker was flipping through and the following exchange took place:
Coworker: “So, how may pairs of fuck-me boots DO you own?”
Me:…………(extended pause)…..”a lot”.
