That’s Jazz, Baby

Crucial – k-os

All summers should be like this. It’s funny. I used to hate when people would ask me what I was doing during the summer. Of course, my answer would always be “nothing”. How was I supposed to explain to people that my day was divided neatly into 12 hours of video games/watching TV/net-porn and 12 hours of sleeping? If my parents dragged me out to go somewhere like Louisiana or Savannah, my answer would become “nothing and a trip”. Seeing as how this has been my most active summer ever, you would think my answer would change. But I’m having dinner with Sarah Tulley on Wednesday and she asks me what I’m doing for the summer.

“Aaaahhh…nothing, really.”

The difference now is that “nothing” has changed completely. Nothing is going to rock concerts. Nothing is eating out with friends at least once a week. Nothing is watching Batman Begins three times. Nothing is talking to Annia almost every day. Nothing is staying at Max Wong’s house for two days with 4 L. of Sunny Delight as your only sustenance. Nothing is laughing at the predicament of not being able to spend time with all the people you love, because you love too many. Nothing is a trip to the beach.

I was always amused when everyone I talked to said they did nothing during their summers, but I realize now that our definitions weren’t the same. Most people go on boat cruises or hang out at their cottages every weekend (like Sarah) or find summer projects to occupy themselves that they don’t bother to tell other people about. We don’t like to make big deals about these things. Apparently, having a life means not having to constantly remind people that you have one. I believe I’m getting there.

One last note about my dinner with Sarah. Some people have your number, you know? They get you every time. It’s like the L.A. Lakers and the Sacramento Kings. The Kings were a great team from ’00-’03, but they could never beat the Lakers. This doesn’t take away from their accomplishments, but the Lakers just had their number. There was nothing they could do. Seeing Sarah at my door was like Shaq opening up the game with a monster jam. Having to sit across from her and talk to her during dinner was like Kobe dissecting the opponent with a streak of drives and jumpers. And the hug at the end, as awkward as it always is with me, was the Horry dagger. You don’t see someone for a while and you think you’ll be ready the next time, but there I was, off my game the entire night. She got me.

Today I went to see the Beaches Jazz Festival with my English Majors clique. That would be Leanna, who some of you may know as the “bulldyke” in my previous posts. I hesitated to write that, because she was actually cool today. But yeah, that’s how you may know her. The others were Rosena, the part-time cartoonist, Arlene, more on her later, her friend Laura, Patrick and two Russian chicks that Patrick brought along just to show what a pimp he was. Whatever, dude.

There was so much to take in. We just walked on the same street for two hours, stopping to listen to a band or enter a store or check out a vender. I hadn’t been around this area before, so I was letting everything soak in. A new experience can be like rain on the skin. You let it wash over you. There was a lead guitarist who looked like he was being tortured in the fires of Hades as he broke off some tasty licks. There was a band called the Blackboard Blues Band, of which I immediately remarked, “Teachers”. There was a mini-carnival off to the side, which featured one of those inflatable joust arenas. Two kids were on there barely hitting each other. The operators looked like they were convicts doing community service who wanted to MURDER EVERYONE THERE. Nice.

Though I’ve never been at a Mardi Gras, I would describe the event as Mardi Gras-lite. Or perhaps Mardi Gras North. It was a different part of downtown than I was used to, but the characters were the same. There were the freaks who could never love anyone. There was a dude with a lizard. And the women…wow, the women. I realize that some people (read: women) don’t understand the appeal in ogling random women. They don’t see the point. As I caught a glance of a gorgeous creature passing by, whose image I have already forgotten, it hit me. When you see a beautiful woman on the subway or on the street or in somesuch place, you’re probably not going to see them ever again. This is definitely true in Toronto. So that look, that glance, is the closest you’ll ever get. You’ll never capture that first look, that first feeling, again. This happened to me at least a dozen times today.

Then again, there is the appeal of the chase, which I also experienced today. Arlene is kind of a hottie. She’s got these high cheekbones and a nice, feminine voice. I dig her. So as our group moved, I spent most of the time trying to get myself into position to talk to her. I wasn’t bringing the funny though, probably because I have no gauge for her humour yet and I didn’t want to come on too strong. But yeah, on more than one occasion I managed to isolate her and engage her in some chit-chat. The only obstacle was her friend Laura, but I managed to, um, not cock block her, I guess that wouldn’t make sense…clit block her? The three of us would be walking and I would just shut her out from the conversation. I felt kind of bad about it…but also kind of great.

So for those of you keeping score at home:

OUT: Adriana, the underaged coworker. Especially after last Saturday’s phone debacle.

IN: Arlene, the cute friend of a friend. It’s on, baby. It’s so fucking on.

*****

Baby, that was money! Tell me that wasn’t money.
That was so demeaning.
She smiled, baby.
I can’t believe what an asshole you are.
Did she, or did she not smile?
She was smiling at what an asshole you are.
She was smiling at how money I am, baby.