I love my neighbourhood. I enjoy the youthful presence of students and young workers such as myself, still in our twenties, still enjoying the freedom from parents, home and now, financial burdens. I smile at the traffic - both pedestrian and auto - when I see someone pass by first one way, then the other. I imagine what led these people to travel down my street.
This form of people watching isn't new. Ever since I moved out here, I've lived on the top floor of whatever building I happened to be in: residence, walk up, or house. The balcony of my apartment afforded me a wonderful perspective of the street: raised high enough with a barrier so that I was removed from the experience: a passerby might not notice that I was there watching, but I was close enough that by calling out I could become, at least marginally, part of that experience. There was also a lot more to see from the fourth floor: an view of the river valley that extended from the Hotel MacDonald downtown all the way to the University this side of the river. I was witness to hundreds of beautiful sunsets, and once I even caught the waterfall that pours off the High Level Bridge a couple times every summer.
But for all the things I saw, I was never really a part of the scene: I could never slip on my shoes and jump into the street to play catch or invite someone over. This has been the most rewarding part of living in a house in my new neighbourhood. I still live close to Whyte Avenue, close to the Univerisity, close to Strathcona and although not quite as close, the river valley is not so far away (only 6 blocks instead of across the street). And I've met my neigbours: something I can hardly say about the apartment building I lived in - the only neighbours I knew there were people I had known before they moved to the neighbourhood.
Living in a student area means students come and go, and the of folks I met last summer sitting on my porch (half hidden behind a couple of large pines) only a few remain. But this only means more opportunities to meet more people. I'm looking forward to the sunny afternoons and evenings I'll spend on the steps, beer in hand, watching the people come and go along my street, playing catch across the road, and chipping the ball at (sometimes moving) targets. It's nice to know that the summer's only just begun (and I've already spent many many hours doing exactly these things).
Yesterday, I made a cup of ginger tea in a travel mug. Less than two minutes after pouring the boiling water into the mug, I distractedly took a huge swig. The sound I made from the searing pain was described as "inhuman" and impossible to recreate. I couldn't spit it out -- there was nowhere to spit! So I swallowed it as soon as I could manage, but not until after the damage had been done.
I figure since half my mouth is already sore, and I can't feel parts of my tongue, now would be a good time to get a tongue-ring! That way, I'd at least have something to show for it. I'm already talking funny, but I suppose it would take a lot longer to recover from the piercing...
Realistically, though, a tongue ring isn't in my future. I'd love to get a tattoo, a belly ring, streaks in my hair... but I think about how much money this would take and I chose to spend it on travel instead.
I saw Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith over the weekend. What can I say? It was entertaining in the way Star Wars is entertaining. The space physics is still all wrong, the lines are super cheesy (with a side order of extra cheese), and the fight scenes are cool. My biggest complaint is the actor who plays Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen) just doesn't work in this role.
Aside from all that, I still enjoyed the movie. I loved how it went over the top at times: what could be better than having our heroes fight over a river of lava? How about lava FALLS?! Oh, the tension was so high, I almost couldn't bear it! Oh, and Yoda still kicks ass.
I have to wonder, though, about how much my expectations have to do with my enjoying the movie. I didn't expect much after a disappointing Episode I and II. The same thing happened with Spider Man: the sequel was more enjoyable because I didn't think it would be good, and I was surprised to find myself entertained, almost pleased with the movie. Does this mean my standards are just too high for Hollywood to please me with a good film? ...Not that it really matters -- they got me to the theatre, they got my money. And even though I'm a dissatisfied customer, they know I'll be back for more eventually.
This is it: this is my passion; this is not something I learned from anybody else. My writing is the crutch that carries me through each stage of my life, the witness of my thoughts and feelings, the interpretation of my days. There are other things to which I'm exposed by the people I meet: the interactions they've experienced, the interests they've shared with others and now also with me. I learn new things, try my hand at something different, discover something about myself and the world around me. The people come and go, the interest are sometimes pursued after the influence of the person has worn off, but my writing is not one of these. Writing has always been mine, and though I may share this experience with some, it will never fade away completely out of my life. In the past, I've become complacent, ignoring my need to put emotions and ideas into words, but I've always returned to my words in times of need, and it is this writing that grounds me in dark times; it is my therapy, my constant. This is mine and it won't be taken away from me.
I started golfing (again - but the last time I was out was an evening when I was about 12 years old) about three weeks ago when my neighbours and I went to the park near our house to hit the ball around with a pitching wedge and a nine iron. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, so I asked them to show me exactly what I needed to do. "And then just whack the ball," they told me. So I did. DING! It flew! Of course, not every swing connected with the ball, and I topped it fairly often, so it went only a few yards, but I had a great time! They kept saying that I had good form and that I was a natural. Of course, this encouraged me to try it more!
Last night I went to the driving range for the first time in my life. This was the first opportunity I've had to try out all my clubs. I started out a little rusty, but once I relaxed and remembered that I was a natural, I did much better. By the second half of my bucket of balls, I could consistently connect with the ball, sending it more than a few dozen yards. I kept trying to think too much: place feet here, bend knees like so, power comes from the hips, blah blah blah, so that my brain was working instead of my body. Then I remembered what Kris said to me as we were loading the clubs in the car: "Keep your eye on the ball." I repeated this to myself every time I started my swing, and it worked!
The last ball I had, Tony gave me a mark, told me to use my 9 iron to hit a target 115 yards away. After he gave me a few pointers, I took a swing and made it! I did a little jig, sorry I didn't bet anything on it!
I'm excited to get out to both the driving range and the course this weekend!
I like nicknames. I will respond to almost anything shouted in my direction, but I'm just easy that way. When someone bothers to make up a new name for me, it makes me feel special in some way. It's like a bond between that person and me.
I suppose it might stem from the fact that I feel my name never really suited me. I didn't have a nickname from my parents, and when I went to school, it was so long that the rest of my kindergarten class had to wait for me to finish writing it all out. Christopher's name was longer, but since people called him Chris, that's what he wrote.
I've often thought of changing my name, trying out something new, but I would have to be in a situation where nobody around me knew my given names. And I would have to choose carefully, since that name could change me, shape me as I wear it. Much more subtly than the labels we apply to ourselves and others, the names we choose for ourselves reveal something of our character, even as they mold us.
I like to test out interesting names on characters in stories: how do they wear them? How is Jason different from Sun Jin and how does that shape his responses in the situations I put these characters? And which part of myself is written into each of them? And who will recognise me?
