take me out to the bike show.

Today I am going to the bike show. And I am extraordinarily excited. I've wanted to go for three years now, but haven't had the organizational skills, the wherewithal, or, let's face it, the balls to go before.
Then, a few weeks ago, Scott Waters B.T.B.E (Big Time Bike Enthusiast) mentioned it and i thought "NOW'S MY CHANCE!!". Shan S.P.B.H ia (Seeker of Pink Bike Helmet in absentia) has assured me that if I stay close by Willy E.F.W.E.M.E.Z.C (Exemplary Five-year-old Wearing Even More Exemplary Zelda Cap) I will get loads of free stuff.

Now. Seeing as I am a member of the M.E.S.I.C.R (Much Enthused But Stunningly Ignorant Cyclist Rabble), i find myself in a bit of a state. This is the big time. My "impressive" record of changing flats and brake cables will garner me nothing in this lions' den, but perhaps a derisive snicker, a lollipop, and directions to the ladies' loo. But it's a fact; much like talking to people about television, pop culture, or the daily news, I only know what things look like, not what they are called. And if you think my grave misdemeanours surrounding the subject of clipless pedals are bad, don't even bother asking how long I went without knowing what Seinfeld looks like.

And, in my feeble defense, I draw real good. I could tell you a very great deal about the minutiae of graphite pencils, were the need to arise.

But back to my bikeless lingo. Contemplating possible disguises of this grievous problem i considered a few things. A strategically placed shim on my wedding finger? An allen key dangling from my shoelace?
Then I relented. Like most states of nature, there's nothing to be done for the ignorance, except bask in it.
So, may your sympathies be with me, dear reader(s). And though I imagine a brown leather saddle might still be piteously out of my price range, please, Great Gods of Bicycle Pimping, PLEASE MAY THERE BE BLUE TIRES!!!!

It's lunch-time and Coco is not here.

Which gives me no recourse except this bloody blog.
So.
Walking home yesterday i saw a man moping along with a giant blue snow-shovel. I thought this a rather clever thing, given the state of the sidewalks, althought he was swinging it around in a way that was also vaguely disconcerting, especially as I tromped by him.
Then this morning, on my way to work, i saw him again, still with the shovel, this time clearing away watery muck as he walked.
I wonder if he thinks that he has to clear a new path through his life every day, just so he can get through it all.

the name Pru.

I'm not allowed to blog about how this name came about, but Sweet Lord. PRU. A nickname. For someone who is not named Prudence, and who lives in Chichester, no less.

today's banal events of note.

I was told by an author I'm corresponding with for work that I have the most "pleasant emailside manner" ever.
Sigh. Emailside manner.
Such a modern and lovely compliment, and I'm citing it here that I might remember to use it in the future on like-mannered people.

Left my beloved bike and walked home (west-west end) today, 'coz I'm just not that hard-core, and wasn't in the mood to get trapped under something four-wheeled and menacing. PASSED ON FOOT AT DUFFERIN the streetcar that wouldn't pick up passengers at University Ave, where I started my meander. You'd think we know how to handle snow a bit better than all that by now.

And then, in the evening, drilled a hole into my thumb. By accident you understand. But noteable, nonetheless.

we now return to our regularly scheduled banalities.

Scanning down this blog, i realize i've been going on about cultural outings at great length of late, and sounding like a wanker. (well, to me at least. and i read this blog too, you know.)
So enough of that.
It's time to get back to Real Life, and post some daily banal events that make blogs so...bloggy.
so.

BANAL EVENT NUMBER ONE.
Today i saw a great big man wearing a white bella clava and a camouflage puff-daddy coat (okay, i don't know if it was a puff-daddy coat 'coz i don't know what puff-daddy looks like 'coz i live under a rock, but the coat looked like what i imagine someone named puff-daddy would wear).
Anyhow. Said man, in said bella-clava, with said "puff-daddy" coat, was tearing down the sidewalk in a little automized wheelchair vehicle, that was about half the size of him. He was downright RECKLESS and nearly took down an old lady and an OCAD student, all at once.

And I thought it was funny.

of little use, but so funny.

(as a clarification in hindsight, in light of this bad photo) the two matches =the twin towers.

the Overcoat and a lamentation.

Went to see the Overcoat tonight, second time (first time was in 2000). SO.GOOD. Like, Gratuitous Weeping Good.

In a nutshell. It's about a dishevelled old man who works relentlessly at an office full of gits, gets a new overcoat, gets drunk and cocky whilst wearing it, loses it to a whore, and finds himself coatless in an insane asylum, until they give him a straightjacket and the curtain falls.
But it's like a Kafka story incarnate, all dark and odd and haunted and bureaucratic and such. And the performers are FUCKING MAGIC.

Instead of attempting to explain its brilliance, I will content myself with a few notes about the production from the program:
• 22 actors play 64 characters in this interpretation of Gogol's bitter and comic tale.
• There are 85 costumes and a two-storey, 20-tonne set, which travels in two 53-foot tractor=trailers on land or in four massive, ocean-going containers across water.

And a few of my own crucial observations:
• The entire play is silent, there are no words, just selections of Shostakovich's Jazz Suites, Piano Concertos etc.
• Props include sewing dummies (!), many bowler hats,(!), one well-set dinner table (!!) wooden drafting tables on wheels (!!!), and a very old kermit-the-frog-like bicycle (thumpa thumpa!!).
• The pieces of furniture move by virtue of actors lurking underneath them and crawling around on stage.
• The main character is the only one who has a name, and his name is The Man.
• The backdrop is a huge wall of fogged out windows that open and close to form everything from a police station, an apartment building with a trollope leaning out the window, the offices, etc etc. And there is a huge rolling staircase. And rolls of blueprints. And ladies dressed dapperly.
• A man in a bowler hat cycles across the stage twice (twice!!!) during the production.

If i could ever make an illustrated book the way that play is constructed, I would consider myself a Very Clever Person Indeed. Actually i'd LOSEMYMIND.

Other than that, today I lamented the fact that I have no idea what it's like to be 60. And there is nothing I can do about it.

pursuant to the evening with the Shameless Dames

There was an act in Friday evening's burlesque show where the three ladies frittered around the man with leather pants, who was holding up a giant egg. A giant egg.
And Coco exclaimed, "Paris!" and I thought, sigh, no it isn't, would that it was, but the burlesque makes us feel that much closer, doesn't it.
And then she said "I'm sure of it, Paris!" and I turned, thinking the red wine had obviously gone to her head. And then she explained the story of the Judgement of Paris, which had obviously been modernized in this act with an egg for an apple.
Of Course! She confirmed it with a quick googling the next day, and the reminder that one really should never go to a burlesque show without a clever and literary sort in tow.

a quick addendum to the pastys situation: I was given a fuzzy white heart by a very handsome stranger last night, and when I got home and stuck it to the wall next to my door I suddenly remarked to myself that of course! it is sticky on the other side! And that, i think, qualifies most admirably.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am now one pasty shy of being a Better person.