Jeremy and Emma,
Could I borrow The Last Waltz?
Signed,
Merely a Wall Away.
Always a source of entertainment, they are.
Anyway, someone said the greatest possible thing they could to me, the other day. I was stepping out of Dark Horse (where I've spent an inordinate amount of time lately, it's just so much closer than Manic and Ideal Coffee... and I'm in love with the barista who likes Edward Sharpe. And the one who laughed so much when I made a 'that's what she said' joke.) onto the sidewalk, Spadina... and this middle aged man, with a heavy accent said behind me, "That is a beautiful colour combination you are wearing. I am a painter, and I love colour. It is beautiful, I wish there was more colour like that around". I was so taken aback, I had just said to someone the day before, those are the kind of people I dress for. People who look to see. I told him it was the nicest possible thing he could have said to me, about my clothing, and walked with him for a few blocks out of my way. He studied at OCAD when it was just OCA, and was from the Czech Republic. It might be the best, most meaningful compliment I've ever received. Oh, and I was wearing dark red brogues, mustard yellow tights, a short, dark red jacket over a green and black knit sweater, with a navy purse... One of those outfits that you just feel right in, and clearly this man thought so too. It was wonderful.
Also wonderful: I was sitting in Dark Horse again today, writing a letter. To quote precisely, I had written, "... a fascinating person. And I usually reserve that term for the bearded man in plaid slacks sitting in the corner, reading about existential motifs in Russian literature, that I never talk to or see again..." The letter progressed, and I ate more scone and drank more latté. Then suddenly, in walks a bearded man wearing two plaid shirts. Not slacks, alas, but enough shirt to compensate. Okay, interesting. Then he sits across from me. In the corner. And pulls out a book. On. Nietzsche. I was so disconcerted, I just got up and left. I had completely concocted this figure in my head, and he suddenly just appeared. I stole the 'existential motifs' thing from Annie Hall, which is brilliant, by the way, but this guy was the personification of what I had written. It was uncanny. My heart actually started pumping like crazy, it was so weird.
Anyway, Annie Hall. Go watch it right now. Woody Allen is so frickin funny. And uh, I so know who I'm being for Hallowe'en next year, and/or every day until then.
Annieway, I have a lot of homework to do before tomorrow morning, and considering class was cancelled today and I had the entire day to do it... I should be ashamed of myself. HA.
I've been singing Dylan's original "It Ain't Me, Babe" a lot lately. You should probably listen to it.
B
