I Like Him

I saw a one-legged bike courier riding in front of my place. He caught my eye as he was going by and gave me a nod and a look that said very distinctly, "yeah, you better believe it".

Now THERE is a guy who's up for a challenge. Very nice.

Once Again

I didn't make the list.


I think I may need to do more sit-ups.

Pride (In The Name Of Love?)

I saw a homeless guy on the walk home from - of all places - church today. Maybe you know the one... fairly young guy, carries his stuff in a golf cart (not the one like a go-kart, the kind you pull along behind you).

I had some fruit in my bag for the little chick, and I thought maybe I should offer it to him. But I didn't.

I've tried offering food to people on the street a few times... in Geneva, in Calgary, and in Toronto, and it's been refused every time. Sometimes it's been unsealed - a sandwich from my lunch - but sometimes it's been food still packaged as I walk home from the grocery store. I'm not sure exactly why everyone I've offered it to has turned me down... I never asked, and they never volunteered. But it bothers me that I've let it stand in the way of doing something that I think I should probably do, from showing a little bit of love to someone who, whether or not he's in the mood for a banana, could probably use some love.

Am I that fragile, that I can't take being told "no" when I offer something to a stranger? Is it that these are people who, I figure, should be happy to get what I'm giving them, and so I reduce them to a caricature, without the dignity of real choice? I'm not sure where it comes from, but it saddens me. I wish I would have just offered him the fruit. It's a little late now.

Geneva Street

I went out and took a few shots at lunchtime yesterday. This is what you missed:

Do I Know You?

As promised, for Troyhead.

I get this question a lot, in one of two forms.

1. The standard: "You look really familiar. Do I know you?"

I used to actually try to address this head-on. Because, sometimes, they really do know me. I have a memory that, generously speaking, is several steps beyond terrible. There was someone who once stayed at my house for about a week (whose face I can at least picture and whose name might be... Terran? something like that...?) who came up to me about a year later and said "hi" like she knew me. I was in trouble, and I knew it.

Now here's the first reason I choose to just take on the question as legitimate... I am a terrible liar. Thankfully, I haven't taken much opportunity to practice, but when I don't know someone, there is no point in me pretending I do. They'll know. And she knew. So she proceeded to introduce herself (again), to remind me of why, how, and from where we were already acquainted, and carry on the conversation from there. By that point I had started to remember her, and, at least, her story seemed to check out, so I had no reason to doubt her. It was good.

The problem, though, is that I have traveled a lot, and I have met a lot of people who have also traveled a lot. And when I meet one of them in a different context, it gets even stranger. So sometimes I'm back visiting my family in Calgary and someone asks me if they know me (and, actually that should be a dead giveaway... I mean, for anyone who really knew me, I would be the last person they would ask. They'd be more likely to turn and ask a stranger beside us for possible confirmation, or maybe try to find it on the internet. But I digress...) In this case, I end up launching into a rather bizarre routine:

"Well, have you ever been to Geneva? Do you go to church in Calgary... or, rather, did you 7 to 10 years ago? Did I meet you while I was travelling for work? Are you from Toronto? Dubai? Zurich? Do you play in a band? Did you see my band? I've been in Germany a lot. Are you from Germany? Do you work for an airline? Are you into cigars?"

This approach has had it's benefits, I think. First, if it's someone who actually does know me, they probably are able to pick out where from pretty quickly.

Second.... well, I think I need to qualify the second part. As far as I can remember (read this with the "world's worst memory" disclaimer in mind), I have only ever been asked this question by women. Maybe guys have an easier time remembering me. Maybe they just don't care if they remember me. I don't know, but it's always a woman asking. So, second, if she's trying to pick me up, a short rant like that can clear up the "is this going to go anywhere" tension pretty quickly. Generally, by the end, I'm waving my arms around, a little excited, speaking quicker than should be allowed in a public place and about as frightening as I get. Which is not very, but - it turns out, for someone who was married and intent on staying that way - usually enough.

And, of course, that's without even touching on the disturbing issue of why they always ask me if they know me, rather than asking me if I know them. Really... how am I supposed to tell them what they do or don't know? My few (but colorful) experiences with telling people what they do or don't know has never ended happily to date, and I'm not about to head in that direction again without very good reason.

2. The freaky derivative: "I know someone just like you from ________"

Now this one troubles me on a number of fronts.

First, why do they insist on telling me where My Mysterious Twin (MMT) is from? Do they think I'm going to look for him? Like if they say "Topeka" I'll say, "That's impossible!" but if they say "Duluth" I'll ask if his name is Martin? Am I going to plan a series of vacations one day around the sightings I've heard about, hoping to hear more as I close in on ground zero and picking up MMTs to join in the quest as I go? That eventually there will be a small army of us scouring Sydney, looking for the rumoured final one who survived in the outback for a heroic 15 minutes without a sunburn?

Second, this message (which, again, tends to come from women) is usually delivered by someone who has known me less than a week, and frequently within the first 15 minutes of our acquaintance. You don't even know me yet - how can you know someone just like me? Or do you mean he just looks like me? I suppose it could be that they know MMT so well that only a glance at me is enough to confirm it beyond any doubt. But I do find it a bit offensive that they believe I am one-dimensional enough to be known that quickly. I have layers, baby! I take time!

Third, how much like me do you suppose he really is? I mean, if he is truly exactly like me, I am, along with most of humanity, frightened beyond what I can describe in words I'll let my daughter read. Don't get me wrong - I like me well enough, but I'm pretty sure that one of me is enough. And if he's just mostly like me, what is that going to do to our respective odds at making our way in the world? If MMT is like me in every way except that he is fabulous with directions, imagine the problems (or crazy hijinks, if you prefer) that will ensue when someone who knows him entrusts me with the duty of getting them to the hospital on time to deliver the baby. That's just not going to help anyone! And think of his frustration when someone who knows me asks him how to get to the theatre and then goes in the exact opposite direction. No, this is just a no-win situation for anyone involved.

So this, oddly enough, brings us back to Tattoo You. I think one memorable tattoo in the middle of my forehead should be enough to keep me from having to deal with this question for a long, long while. Maybe the Zildjian logo?

Pictures From Florence

These pictures are from a trip I made with L'Hopper last summer. I love Tuscany, and need to get back... they are mostly people who caught my eye on the street. If you find yourself in one of the pictures, coffee is on me!