A Secret And French Toast

Badonkadonkey – Born Ruffians

Here’s a little personal blogging secret. When I’m putting together a post, I occasionally find myself writing with a particular person in mind. There are certain jokes I’ll make or won’t make and phrases that I know will resonate with said reader and it actually makes things go a lot smoother most of the time. Thus, there are certain tales that I’ve already recollected orally that I choose to put on here because they’re good stories and I don’t always know when I’ll have a chance to share them with people. Jess has been really busy with school these days and I don’t know when she’ll have time to hear this story, so in this case I’m writing for her. Plus, I think it’s a story she’d get a kick out of.

Did you know Shirley is psychic? Her power manifests itself in strange ways, but it is there, no doubt about it. For instance, she has the uncanny ability to call my cell phone in the rare instances where I don’t have it on me. Like, it’ll be at my side the whole day, but in that short window of time that it takes me to take a shower she will inevitably call. It’s one of the reasons I’ve stopped showering altogether.

This came up on Saturday when she called me to have breakfast…as I found out hours later. I charge my phone about once a week and yes, I turn it off when I do so. I’ve heard legend that it’s good for the battery, but I don’t know for sure. It goes without saying that she called while it was off, leaving a nice message that promptly had me cursing into my pillow after I finished listening to it.

Saturday breakfast became Monday brunch and here is where the story begins. Following Annia’s advice, I suggested that we eat at Cora’s. I’ve never eaten there before, but she said it was cool and that Shirley would like it and I didn’t have any other ideas so that was fine with me. It wasn’t my first choice. Actually, when I got her message on Saturday morning I thought about how cool it would be if I had her over and cooked something for her. Then I remembered that the only thing I could cook was an omelette. Then I remembered that I forgot how to do that. Oy. We talked on Sunday.

Me: Hey, do you want to go to Cora’s tomorrow?
Her: Why don’t we make breakfast instead?

Did you know Shirley is psychic?

Now when I was tric…er, volunteered for this I thought that it would be a 50/50 kind of thing. Like, maybe I’d crack the eggs and flip the toast and she’d do, well, everything else. She quickly informed me that this would not be the case and that her role would be simply to instruct and observe. I should mention here that up until this point Shirley was almost deathly ill with some kind of virus, but once she got into that kitchen she was possessed by some kind of cooking demon. Crack the eggs! Beat the eggs! Dip the toast! Flip the toast! Cut the bananas! Crack the eggs! Whisk you son of a bitch, whisk! I’m paraphrasing.

I definitely learned some things. For one thing, when you’re cutting bananas, it is not wise to act like you’re Miyamoto Musashi, as tempting as that may be. Don’t get me wrong, those bananas will not be forgetting who they fucked with on this day, but my slices weren’t easy to cook with. I also learned that an effective whisker makes a circular motion when beating the eggs. Shirley explained that I need to imagine that I’m drawing a circle on a piece of paper. As we all know, drawing a circle freehand is nearly impossible so I don’t know how this was supposed to make things easier for me, but eventually I found some kind of rhythm.

The food was not poisonous and I didn’t burn a single body part or any of the kitchen equipment so on some level, this experiment could be considered a success. At the very, very least, I have to think that I provided Shirley with a potent combination of amusement and anxiety, which is not as easy as it sounds. You can’t see me, but I’m patting myself on the back right now. Sitting down and eating was almost an afterthought, but I realized that it had been so long since I’d sat down and had breakfast or brunch with anyone. It’s my favourite meal of the day and it was nice to have it with her.

We also watched The Motorcycle Diaries aka “Shirley’s Favourite Movie Ever For Reals”. It’s excellent. I have to say that I had one of those awful reflective moments early in the film when I realized that the main character was 23 or 24. I’m 23 or 24. The film’s protagonists embark on a journey across South America to live and learn and fuck. I’m sitting my room writing a blog. I’m always acutely aware of what other people are doing or did when they were my age. When I was 14, I remember that the first lines of the song You Get What You Give were directed at us. When I was 16 or 17, I remember first hearing about some kid named LeBron James who was actually younger than me by a month or so. Here I am, watching a young Che Guevara journeying through the land on a busted old motorcycle and I can’t help but wonder if my time is being mispent.

Then again, I don’t think Che ever learned to make French toast.

*****

I really enjoyed Robert “Mr. Fantastic” Muraine on So You Think You Can Dance, so please watch this if you haven’t already. You really only need to watch the first half, but the post audition chicanery is also quite charming. I don’t know why this performance affected me so much. I’m not a dancing or popping expert by any means, but I found this routine so funny and creative and precise that my eyes start to tear up when I watch it. No lie.

My eyes also start to tear up when I watch this Van Damme dance scene from Kickboxer, albeit for different reasons. I’ll admit that I took this from an old list I saw on Stuffmagazine.com. I challenge you to watch this and not laugh. I CHALLENGE YOU.

Will you tell me something?
Perhaps.
When I dream, sometimes I remember how to fly. You just lift one leg, then you lift the other leg, and you’re not standing on anything, and you can fly. And then when I wake up I can’t remember how to do it anymore.
So?
So what I want to know is, when I’m asleep, do I really remember how to fly? And forget when I wake up? Or am I just dreaming I can fly?
When you dream, sometimes you remember. When you wake, you always forget.
But that’s not fair…
No.