|Thursday 12 March 1998||Back Next|
While driving into London on Monday, Skip spotted a scaffolding van with this on the side: "Make sure your next erection is in good hands."
There's little planned for today except for a tasty Bagshot curry tonight with some of Skip's ex-coworkers from GeoVision. As it's an almost sunny day, I may step out to snap a few pictures of picturesque Camberley. I saw a hedge a couple of days back that deserves preservation in film. It was all cedar, packed very tight, very tall, in a way I've never seen a cedar before. Remember my crack about builders being mad about walls here? If you can't have a wall, a tall dense hedge is the next best thing. Better even.
When in bookstores, I'm astounding by the CanCon [Canadian Content, oh my foreign readers]. The Englishman's Boy is currently on many front-of-shop displays. I spotted a copy of Fugitive Pieces on cassette last night in Islington. Anything by Michael Ondaatje is an easy score, as is Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood. What happened? Since when does anyone take notice of Canadian fiction? If this keeps up, we'll have to find a replacement for our national inferiority complex.
Visited the Globe & Mail's web site last night to check up on some Canadian news. Charest now says he'll need tome to consider taking the job of Québec Liberal party leader. "Taking" should read "running for," but no one talks of it that way. I imagine this little blip in politics will be staggeringly uninteresting to just about everyone within three years [three months, as it turned out] but with the passing of the winter Olympic games, it's the best news story to be had. CNN would have you believe the story is US president Clinton's alleged affair with Whitehouse aide Monica Lewinsky, but I think they're talking to the windscreen there. I doubt anyone really cares. I've seen more vital reactions to increasing student parking at university. Snoresville.
Why do you suppose people go on vacations? What was the reason you went on your last one? To see friends? To relax? Did you feel you needed a change? If so, what was it you wanted to change, exactly?
I came to see a play. And a friend. I came to unwind from a stressful job (which still awaits me with the patience of death.) Perhaps I'm here to expand my personal argot -- something that gets stale after running in the same circle of friends for so long. To escape? Doubtful. I carry the things from which I'd escape with me. That makes loosing the strait jacket tricky at best. To change... into what? Think of the opportunities: no one knows me here. I could be anything I want. There's no baggage to hold back any sort of transformation. Who do you want to be today?
Maybe there's nothing to be but me. It certainly seems the easiest. And hardest too. You have to shuck the artifice you wrap yourself in for whatever vain reasons. Drop the acts, drop the airs, drop the pretensions, and what you have left must be you. The constantly changing you. Now how do your decide what to chip away? Some? All? Nothing? At that point perhaps the physical imagery breaks down. Let me give you an example. Imagine yourself on a high bluff overlooking the sea after a storm. Your arms outstretched, you can feel the ocean wind flowing around you, purifying you spiritually, leaving you clean and strong. But we're still just talking about you on a rock, and a strong damp breeze. The rocks are still slippery, and if you don't watch yourself, you'll fall right on your arse.
Never mind that bluffs are usually too high to be slicked by sea spray. Maybe it just rained. My point escapes me; I'm just thinking here.