value judgements, yo
The hi-jinks began on Thursday night. Since Sarah had finished her last exam that day, we decided to go to the Runt Club for a celebratory drink. I had a craving for Newcastle beer and so wanted to go. We invited Tim out with us, as he lives just down the street. He should be an honorary war bride considering he’s the only other person we hang out with in London. It’s pretty funny - he often threatens to beat up our boyfriends when they come back because they’re “jerks”, particularly Mike.
Maybe he can be the gimpy soldier that couldn’t go to war.
We asked Tim if, in his time in the New Grand, groupies propositioned him but I guess New Grand groupies weren’t into giving out sex or at least, they weren’t into giving Tim sex but rather, Michael P. Clive (boo). Tim described his New Grand groupies to be like us.
There was an older man with a little ponytail that spent the night checking out Sarah. I wanted to pull his wee ponytail on the way out but I resisted.
There was also a partially naked girl that made it a point to walk back and forth in the tiny space of that is the Runt Club. I think she was trying to make a point.
We went back to Tim’s place and he gave us a tour of his apartment. The apartment itself is small but the rooms (or Tim’s room) were nice. I was surprised that Tim had it nicely decorated. He had lots of records that I snooped through. Also, I snooped through his books. I like snooping.
He showed us photos from his time in Japan and photos from London of the New Grand. We listened to Zumpano on vinyl. We also listened to the Wooden Stars and Latryx! Sarah pointed out the next night that she thinks it’s bullshit that I don’t know how to flirt because I was lying on Tim’s bed (she was sitting on the edge) but for the record, I don’t know how lying on someone’s bed and flirting are interconnected. Plus, I was more reclining than anything else and I was listening to Zumpano!
Zumpano!
Friday night, Sarah and I grabbed a late dinner at Prince Al’s. Baisha saw us and came in to chat for a few minutes. I realise now what it is about Baisha that bothers me. I think she’s a nice person with a good heart but I think she’s full of shit at the same time. I don’t like talking with her because it’s not actually a conversation but Baisha telling you like it is. She’s got a fucking opinion on every topic under the sun and she not conscientious enough to know to let you talk too. Pick the most obscure, difficult minutiae of a topic and she’s got something to say about it. On top of that, she’s will often refer back to her jet-setting travels through Europe - somehow, everything can be related back to an experience in Europe. For example, she asked Sarah and I about recommending a bar with a patio and we suggested going to the Runt Club because it was 10 metres down the street and it has the best patio in London (though I think they’re kind of skimpy on the variety of beers). She hadn’t ever heard of the Runt Club - I guess London is one thing she doesn’t know much about but probably because she’s too damn busy acquiring experiences in Europe. Anyway, I said the Runt Club is good because they have Newcastle on tap and she was like “Oh yes! I’ve had Newcastle in England blah blah blah”. I find that dubious.
Sometimes, I wish I was that clueless and could spew forth shit about Scotland, Spain, Ohio and California. I want someone to bring up a completely disparate topic like their bad menstrual cramps and I want to respond with an anecdote about the time I got cramps in Scotland or something ass like that.
Fuck.
Saturday was a long day. Even though I had to get up early because I was going with Sarah and her dad to Guelph to help her look for summer sublets, I couldn’t fall asleep after I got home from the diner. So, I decided this was the best time to scrub the kitchen sink clean and then hand wash 3 woollen items and one cotton sweater. Yes, this was the absolutely best possible time to do this. I think I eventually went to bed at 3 am, after an hour and a half of squeeze Woolite through my sweaters. I woke up at 5:30 to call Warren and get ready for the day.
It was a long day. Sarah was really organised though and had scheduled each appointment half an hour apart and also scheduled them in such a way that they were more or less in the same areas and neighbourhoods. It felt like I was going to work because the first appointment was at 9 am and the last one was at 6:30 pm and there was (luckily) an hour and half for lunch.
Sarah settled on the second last place we saw - it was the cheapest and the nicest - she would have pretty much the whole townhouse to herself. There were quite a number of duds. At first, I felt kind of awkward being with her dad because what could I possibly offer? Sarah’s dad is in this business and I would imagine he would have more to say than me, a mere renter. But luckily, with my quick eye, I was able to provide much of the comedic breaks.
We saw one place that reminded me of my place in second year. A woman named Kim owned it and she reminded me of my landlord at the time, Susan. Kim had a personality that I found off putting and I think she was a slumlord. She had a house and she was trying to pack in as many students as possible into this one house that had a country geese, folksy decorative theme. The one boy that was there was a skinny, quiet metal fan named Jeff. He had long, stringy blonde hair. He reminded me of Jay (Jay and Silent Bob) and when Jeff began to talk, I was expecting a slew of expletives to fly out. I think Jay came out into the kitchen to get a piece of the mashed-potato something in the kitchen. When we walked through the kitchen, I noticed this huge mass of pale creamy white something. Sarah and her dad think it was a loaf of bread or biscuit but I think it was mashed potatoes. It was lying in a baking pan. I wanted to put my finger in it.
I wish I brought my Lomo so I could have documented the day.
We saw another townhouse that seemed pretty good. It was one of the best places we saw that day but it felt like we were on the moon. It was on top of the complex’s above ground parking garage and to walk to the front door, you would have to cross the roof of the garage. Instead of having grass and flowerbeds, it was all rocks and pebbles. There was no life. It was so weird. The girl that showed us around reminded me of a doughy Amy and she had a handshake like a dead fish.
Sarah got the address wrong of one place we went to see so we showed up at a repossessed house.
There was an old house we saw close to downtown. As we approached the house, I pointed to the top floor window whose “window treatment” was a fleece blanket with a white tiger (the type you find at fairs and the Gilbraltar Trade Centre in London) and told Sarah that’s going to be her room. We started laughing really hard but Sarah noticed that I had done that exactly when one of the tenant’s (the one that showed us around) had walked by the open window and saw me point and laugh. But you know what? I was right. That was the room being sublet for the summer.
How to ascertain this is not the right place for you: Labatt Blue or Molson Canadian paraphenalia littering the walls.
Sarah's first-runner up was a house owned by a boy named Ben. He was around our age - maybe a little older but he was super nice and super cool. He offered us tea before he took us on a tour. His house was the only house that owned a record player and he had Neil Young records in an old pine box (similar to the boxes that Bryan holds his records in). He reminded us of all of you boys rolled into one skinny boy. He could have been on the cover of Non-Threatening Boy Monthly. We talked about old furniture and gardening. However, Sarah's dad did not like this place because Sarah would be living with only boys. For a second there, it reminded me of being with my parents.
My favourite shitty place was in a bad neighbourhood of Guelph and it was a brown townhouse in a weird little complex. Sophie’s (the girl that showed us around) was nice and her dad owned the townhouse. It still had it’s original shag carpeting. Sarah was being shown a bedroom in the basement that had no windows. It had bad, fake wood panelling and it was pretty sketchy since Sophie said they were thinking of partitioning the basement again to create another bedroom. There was one wall in the basement I couldn’t stop staring at. I think it was a portal to dementia. It had a photomural of an autumnal scene and it reminded me of the Terry Jack song, Seasons in the Sun.
The homemade unicorn paintings and the hubcap trophy were the clinchers. Someone had taken a waxy china crayon and wrote “Best Tease 2003”. It was awesome!
Maybe he can be the gimpy soldier that couldn’t go to war.
We asked Tim if, in his time in the New Grand, groupies propositioned him but I guess New Grand groupies weren’t into giving out sex or at least, they weren’t into giving Tim sex but rather, Michael P. Clive (boo). Tim described his New Grand groupies to be like us.
There was an older man with a little ponytail that spent the night checking out Sarah. I wanted to pull his wee ponytail on the way out but I resisted.
There was also a partially naked girl that made it a point to walk back and forth in the tiny space of that is the Runt Club. I think she was trying to make a point.
We went back to Tim’s place and he gave us a tour of his apartment. The apartment itself is small but the rooms (or Tim’s room) were nice. I was surprised that Tim had it nicely decorated. He had lots of records that I snooped through. Also, I snooped through his books. I like snooping.
He showed us photos from his time in Japan and photos from London of the New Grand. We listened to Zumpano on vinyl. We also listened to the Wooden Stars and Latryx! Sarah pointed out the next night that she thinks it’s bullshit that I don’t know how to flirt because I was lying on Tim’s bed (she was sitting on the edge) but for the record, I don’t know how lying on someone’s bed and flirting are interconnected. Plus, I was more reclining than anything else and I was listening to Zumpano!
Zumpano!
Friday night, Sarah and I grabbed a late dinner at Prince Al’s. Baisha saw us and came in to chat for a few minutes. I realise now what it is about Baisha that bothers me. I think she’s a nice person with a good heart but I think she’s full of shit at the same time. I don’t like talking with her because it’s not actually a conversation but Baisha telling you like it is. She’s got a fucking opinion on every topic under the sun and she not conscientious enough to know to let you talk too. Pick the most obscure, difficult minutiae of a topic and she’s got something to say about it. On top of that, she’s will often refer back to her jet-setting travels through Europe - somehow, everything can be related back to an experience in Europe. For example, she asked Sarah and I about recommending a bar with a patio and we suggested going to the Runt Club because it was 10 metres down the street and it has the best patio in London (though I think they’re kind of skimpy on the variety of beers). She hadn’t ever heard of the Runt Club - I guess London is one thing she doesn’t know much about but probably because she’s too damn busy acquiring experiences in Europe. Anyway, I said the Runt Club is good because they have Newcastle on tap and she was like “Oh yes! I’ve had Newcastle in England blah blah blah”. I find that dubious.
Sometimes, I wish I was that clueless and could spew forth shit about Scotland, Spain, Ohio and California. I want someone to bring up a completely disparate topic like their bad menstrual cramps and I want to respond with an anecdote about the time I got cramps in Scotland or something ass like that.
Fuck.
Saturday was a long day. Even though I had to get up early because I was going with Sarah and her dad to Guelph to help her look for summer sublets, I couldn’t fall asleep after I got home from the diner. So, I decided this was the best time to scrub the kitchen sink clean and then hand wash 3 woollen items and one cotton sweater. Yes, this was the absolutely best possible time to do this. I think I eventually went to bed at 3 am, after an hour and a half of squeeze Woolite through my sweaters. I woke up at 5:30 to call Warren and get ready for the day.
It was a long day. Sarah was really organised though and had scheduled each appointment half an hour apart and also scheduled them in such a way that they were more or less in the same areas and neighbourhoods. It felt like I was going to work because the first appointment was at 9 am and the last one was at 6:30 pm and there was (luckily) an hour and half for lunch.
Sarah settled on the second last place we saw - it was the cheapest and the nicest - she would have pretty much the whole townhouse to herself. There were quite a number of duds. At first, I felt kind of awkward being with her dad because what could I possibly offer? Sarah’s dad is in this business and I would imagine he would have more to say than me, a mere renter. But luckily, with my quick eye, I was able to provide much of the comedic breaks.
We saw one place that reminded me of my place in second year. A woman named Kim owned it and she reminded me of my landlord at the time, Susan. Kim had a personality that I found off putting and I think she was a slumlord. She had a house and she was trying to pack in as many students as possible into this one house that had a country geese, folksy decorative theme. The one boy that was there was a skinny, quiet metal fan named Jeff. He had long, stringy blonde hair. He reminded me of Jay (Jay and Silent Bob) and when Jeff began to talk, I was expecting a slew of expletives to fly out. I think Jay came out into the kitchen to get a piece of the mashed-potato something in the kitchen. When we walked through the kitchen, I noticed this huge mass of pale creamy white something. Sarah and her dad think it was a loaf of bread or biscuit but I think it was mashed potatoes. It was lying in a baking pan. I wanted to put my finger in it.
I wish I brought my Lomo so I could have documented the day.
We saw another townhouse that seemed pretty good. It was one of the best places we saw that day but it felt like we were on the moon. It was on top of the complex’s above ground parking garage and to walk to the front door, you would have to cross the roof of the garage. Instead of having grass and flowerbeds, it was all rocks and pebbles. There was no life. It was so weird. The girl that showed us around reminded me of a doughy Amy and she had a handshake like a dead fish.
Sarah got the address wrong of one place we went to see so we showed up at a repossessed house.
There was an old house we saw close to downtown. As we approached the house, I pointed to the top floor window whose “window treatment” was a fleece blanket with a white tiger (the type you find at fairs and the Gilbraltar Trade Centre in London) and told Sarah that’s going to be her room. We started laughing really hard but Sarah noticed that I had done that exactly when one of the tenant’s (the one that showed us around) had walked by the open window and saw me point and laugh. But you know what? I was right. That was the room being sublet for the summer.
How to ascertain this is not the right place for you: Labatt Blue or Molson Canadian paraphenalia littering the walls.
Sarah's first-runner up was a house owned by a boy named Ben. He was around our age - maybe a little older but he was super nice and super cool. He offered us tea before he took us on a tour. His house was the only house that owned a record player and he had Neil Young records in an old pine box (similar to the boxes that Bryan holds his records in). He reminded us of all of you boys rolled into one skinny boy. He could have been on the cover of Non-Threatening Boy Monthly. We talked about old furniture and gardening. However, Sarah's dad did not like this place because Sarah would be living with only boys. For a second there, it reminded me of being with my parents.
My favourite shitty place was in a bad neighbourhood of Guelph and it was a brown townhouse in a weird little complex. Sophie’s (the girl that showed us around) was nice and her dad owned the townhouse. It still had it’s original shag carpeting. Sarah was being shown a bedroom in the basement that had no windows. It had bad, fake wood panelling and it was pretty sketchy since Sophie said they were thinking of partitioning the basement again to create another bedroom. There was one wall in the basement I couldn’t stop staring at. I think it was a portal to dementia. It had a photomural of an autumnal scene and it reminded me of the Terry Jack song, Seasons in the Sun.
The homemade unicorn paintings and the hubcap trophy were the clinchers. Someone had taken a waxy china crayon and wrote “Best Tease 2003”. It was awesome!