Friday 27 May 2016

Second Blog Entry In A Series of Six

Hello again. I'm doing this once more, in an attempt to prove the first time wasn't a fluke. You can do most anything once, but the real test is when you come back to do it again and again. It's been three days since the first entry, so I took my time. But here I am.

So... things to talk about. I've been hitting the gym pretty hard the last three days, and as soon as I finish this I'll go hit it again. (I'm actually typing this on a laptop in a coffee shop close to the gym.) The goal is to go four times in a row this week. It's exhausting but fun.

Saw what looked like a C-130 fly over the house on Wednesday. It was dark coloured and definitely wasn't a water bomber like this plane. The C-130 was flying roughly west-to-east and slowly gaining altitude, lumbering through the air like it was ready fall down at any moment. No grace at all. Maybe a military flight?

Looking at traffic is kind of fun. It's constantly changing but always the same, like watching waves or flames. Visual white noise. The cars are a lot more drab than they used to be. So many whites and greys! Every once in a while a Yellow Cab goes by and it's like an exclamation point. When did car owners start to crave anonymity? Cars used to come in all colours, and the older they got the more interesting the colours became. People who owned twenty or thirty year old cars would often give them a neat custom paint job, or decal flames or stripes - and on the flipside, people who neglected their cars would end up with weird mixtures from flaking and rust, or vari-coloured replacement panels. Nothing looks neglected these days, but nothing looks exciting either. The cars all look like plastic toys.

Speaking of interesting looks, I just saw a guy go past the window in a white fur coat, pork pie hat, and black tights. There's a man who isn't afraid to make a statement. There are still people like that, who put a lot of energy into being characters. Last night I was on Whyte Avenue at about 10PM when this shirtless guy on a bicycle flies past me while playing a guitar. He was guiding the bike with his legs and strumming away. The interesting thing is that I've seen him before, in the daytime about two months ago when it was cold, and he was shirtless then as well. Apparently he spends all his time on that bike, and can be found day and night, immune to cold, riding and strumming away. He goes quite fast, too.

Writing something in  public is a bit like that. No matter how much I try to suppress it, I still feel a bit like those guys, awkwardly panhandling for attention from passers by. But if no one stands out, then what fun is that? We become a sea of anonymous white and grey people hurrying back and forth. Someone's got to make an effort.

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