"We do not ask for what purpose the birds do sing, for their song is pleasure since they were created for singing. Similarly, we ought not ask why the human mind troubles to fathom the secrets of the heavens. The diversity of the phenomena of Nature is so great, and the treasures hidden in the heavens so rich, precisely in order that the human mind shall never be lacking in fresh nourishment." -- Kepler

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Relationship resume - first installment

Recently I tried out the online dating scene. Talk about killing the magic. The first conversation you have with every potential beau eventually comes around to past relationships and basically, why haven't you found the one yet? It's pretty fucking soul destroying. But through the experience I did come up with the idea of doing a "Relationship Resume" coffee table book. Imagine distilling all of your previous potentials down to a one pager, plus glossy illustrations of course. Not only would it be hilarious, it could in fact be quite useful to all the other women they are going to try and woo - a kind of warning label for some, instruction manual for others and I can think of a few whose relationship resume would simply be a big giant DANGER sign.

So, after only a month I canceled my online dating membership and have decided to go out into the big bad world of real people. I figure it's got to be a hell of a lot less about wasting time and more about the race. But I don't want my $40 dollars and my great idea to go to waste, so for as long as I can stay interested I'm going to mock up a few resumes from the greatest hits of losers.

top 10 things I'm not so sure about in Israel

10.the heat can probably fry your brain inside your head
9.everyone is opinionated
8.people don't wait in lines - everybody rushes up to the front
7.uzzi's in the open
6.security at all entrances
5.everyone drives everywhere
4.I don't think they have urban planners here...
3.there's a lot of b.o.
2.no one can stay in one lane of traffic
1.everything is really literal - fuck subtlety

Top 10 things I like about Israel

10.the place is full of slow walkers
9.lunch at 3pm
8.everyday is a white party in a desert
7.pink boganvillias
6.it's actually pretty darn multi-cultural
5.the coke has real sugar in it
4.the antiques here are really OLD
3.delicious salads - even for breakfast
2.the people are so warm they're hot
1.are you kidding? the mediterranean!

a momentary pause...

I'm working at a deadline right now. Excuse me team for taking this time, but I wanted to make the document both for posterity and for present inspiration. I hope we'll be able to apprecitate it with hindsight.

I've been working on the script for our studio project presentation. This wednesday is our final. I could do another big Elvis style entrance for this story and tell you the entire history and where I am now, but the bare minimum will have to do with this huge deadline looming.

I work hard and I don't usually enjoy it. It's been a while since I've been burning to get at a project, in fact since first semester - with an interlude of 2 years of 100 hour weeks - without feeling confident about the content of and how to express my ideas. I think I'm starting to figure out why Bruce held such high regard for the design education. Again, I digress.

Now that passion is coming back at the end of a project - usually when I'm at my most burnt out and drone-like. It's kind of amazing. I can't stop thinking about how to tell the story best, really give it the presentation it deserves. I guess I was never confident enough in my own work to be excited about presenting it. But I'm so overwhelmed with the talent in my group that I know in my heart of hearts we did a good job.

And then I know. I've done it. There has been a transformation. So obvious - but why was it so hard to believe you really did have to go through all that shit to get to the unicorn dream. That's what you have to do, and we as gsdesigners have chosen to get over that pile of shit by outsmarting it. So this is our challenge. Bear it with confidence and glee when you finally do climb over that pile of bullshit and all the bullshit experiences you've had along the way will transform your future into a unicorn dream.

Professor John R Stilgoe - term paper

Professor John R Stilgoe

History of North American Seacoasts:

Discovery Period to the Present

December 12, 2006

Ruth Silver

I’ve written a blog for a term paper. Unconventional? Yes, but perfectly justifiable. This course is about the fringes – what happens between Davey Jones’s locker and terra firma. The space flanked by security and danger, where the mold starts to grow when the yeast and oxygen get cozy. I’ve been obsessive about exploring that ephemeral edge, struggling to grow-up and impress while maintaining a firm position on the periphery. I’m pretty sure that juxtaposition has been the catalyst responsible for the crazy shit that happens to me. This term paper and blog will be an ongoing, dynamic account of my adventures as a Lady Pirate striving for Consilience: Navigating the Margins in an Amphibious Vehicle.

I read about blogs, blogging, bloggers and the like. Fascinating stuff – you could easily get lost for days in the muck. But I’m at the GSD. I have no time to get lost so I took a step back and asked myself, why am I interested in blogs? And I realized I was actually interested in blogging; the act of creating an intimate document for the sole purpose of sharing it freely with anyone. Even the thought of divulging my secret thoughts and wishes to strangers is delicious, it tickles my inner voyeur. My ultimate fantasy is that one day; I will become a cult icon replete with fans, maybe even a fansite…. I digress. Rather than write about blogs I have written a blog. Using the proper jargon, I’ve become an “escribitionist” for my term paper.[1]

Blogs reek of marginality both because they are the progeny of, and because they could only exist drifting in, a landscape where the rules have yet to be made and are far from being enforced. Actually, you see it on TV. Deadwood is the story of the western expansion of the United States fueled by gold. A landscape in which there was no law until rapid growth necessitated the allying of enemies for common, self-interested goals. The internet is the contemporary gold rush; a new landscape without rules. But before we know it, the rules developed to protect the self-interests of the powerful will be here. Most tools that disseminate and doscument information are already insidious as hell. Did I just write the “Matrix”? Inevitably that’s what spending too much time on the web will do to you. I should get out for a walk, I hear they’re magic. What I’ve discovered in blogging is that it’s not as easy as you’d think to be truly, 100% self-expressive. You can be as candid as possible but ultimately in any blog there are still layers upon layers of filtration.

I hope you find my blog entertaining and maybe even enlightening. I recommend checking it out online, blogs read much better in their natural habitat. Oh and by the way, I don’t know anything about television but this might be a good fact to impress a class with; I suspect Dougie Howser was the first blogger.

---

[1] A blog is anything the author’s heart desires, but it is always a virtual, dynamic, self-publication. RJS

blog epiphany 1

I know I'm supposed to already know this, but, sometimes revelations have to come to you in your own words to be understood. Last night I had an epiphany. I was at a party where I didn't know anyone. I was looking around comparing myself to the other women. My first reaction was one of superiority, "I bet none of these people are as smart as I am... certainly they aren't as good looking or well dressed."

And it occured to me - what the hell am I doing besides being nasty? I could be meeting new people and laughing. But instead I've chosen to sit in a corner, with the friend I came with, talking about the GSD (the military sentance they call the graduate school of design; our daily life we love to loathe). We came to this party to escape and here we are acting like the people we hate.

The only thing I can think of that is generated by preying on our collective insecurities is profit. "Buy this and you will be more beautiful." It's a one-liner; a boring, repetative hoax to float the market. It's my choice and I will resist.

Our Lady of Guadeloupe’s moustache

I use the moustache as a litmus test. It's stuck to a portrait of Our Lady of Guadeloupe hanging in my bedroom, which I don't mind saying is a fine print; it was even signed by Pope John Paul III and handed down to me from my Safta. Anyway, if the viewer laughs out loud then they score a point. If there's trepidation I'm cautious about doling out affection. If someone doesn't think God has a sense of humour, what can you possibly think of them? Honestly?

I got the moustache at a party. Come to think of it, it's probably the moustache's and my 1 year anniversary this week. I got the moustache at my darling Megumi's birthday party last year, which, I believe was hosted by Death Metal Jeff. Someone handed them out at the door. I was so excited to receive the moustache, I felt like it was my birthday too!

At the time I was dating 2 boys and had successfully conned one of them, the sexy & silent construction worker into growing a real moustache for jokes. Anyway, I was going through this phase where I wanted my partner aka boyfriend to know and accept EVERYTHING about me. I wanted him to know my history - good and bad, and the risks I would likely take and to be proud of that and to revel with me in my HUGENESS. I wanted a rock star relationship and I wanted to be the rock star.

4 heartbreaks later I am realizing that wasn't the most successful strategy, and to be honest, after much reflection, it actually wasn't very nice... I wonder how I would respond to the Mack truck approach? Probably worse than the boys I pulled it on.

Back to the moustache. It made me feel powerful. I never believed in penis envy but moustache envy – now that’s envy I could buy. I felt like I had all the powers of a man and a woman, but put together. I was HUGE. I made out with pretty much every single person at that party that I had ever been mildly attracted to. Mike (local boyfriend, the one without the moustache) was not particularly impressed and I think that was probably the beginning of the end.

Let me get back on track: there were 2 things I wanted to explore with this post. First; the power of the moustache; there was magic and I'm curious about it. The second realization the moustache brought to the forefront was the desire to have a partner that - well I can't think of the right word at this point - I need to write about it to figure it out. But just to get the idea out there.... I wanted a partner who was excited about being with a multi-billion-faceted individual - a veritable rock star. I want to be loved because I am someone really bent on exploring and experimenting - and not just for the hell of it but as a diligent, disciplined and talented study of adventure.

1. MOUSTACHE MAGIC
Power of Disguise
Being Simultaneously Ugly + Beautiful
Taller + Trashy
2. TAKE ALL OF ME
Madonna & the Whore
Five years old or Fifty-five?
Contradiction as a reoccurring theme ...funny, now I'm Mack trucking all you readers

Sorry for the sound bites - that's what the GSD will do to you. How do you say it in 10 words and a drawing? Well I didn't bother with the drawing this time but I think I got an outline to draw from. Let's tackle number 1; moustache magic.

There was definitely something magical about being in disguise, I guess that's why everyone loves Halloween. The girls dress up like sluts and the boys dress up like girls. But for me, the moustache was a special kind of disguise. It was obviously still Ruth but I was equally Ruth in disguise... like when a little kid closes their eyes and then thinks that you can't see them. I remember getting ready that night, I took extra time and wore make-up. I blow dried my hair and I was wearing a v-cut tight shirt, hip-hugger jeans, high heel boots, a belt with a big old buckle - I was directing the eyes that were looking, to my breasts, my hips, my ass and to below my belly-button. And then, for la piece de resistance, I set it off with a moustache. It's coming to me now; I think it was a big'ol fuck you. I was doing everything I was supposed to do as the lesser sex to attract a man, and then I set it off with something repulsive.

Aha! Another litmus test for the moustache. But what was I testing? That which I always test about boys of course. I can be pretty and I can flit around. But that's not all of me and if that's what a boy likes about me I can't respect that. They can think that's a good quality of mine - that I can play that game but they must know that all that "creature" stuff is a game. I don't respect men who can't see past that and even thought it wasn't preconceived; the moustache is the perfect test.









Take all of me - well the nice thing about writing is that things that seemed disconnected at first can connect. This entry is all the same thing; here I am. I'm complex, funny and pretty and stupid and awkward and powerful - and you can take it or leave it. And if you take it you better keep up, I don't wait around.

My Magical Summer Romance with Elvis Presley

This is one of the most magical things that has ever happened to me. There's a lot to it and I'll do my best to show you the wonder of it all.

So.... the most important thing to remember is that I love Elvis. I always have. I'm not really sure how it started but it's been with me for as long as I can remember. It didn't start with the music; I didn't even like it at first. Okay, I'll be honest; I thought he was a babe. I was a bit of a late bloomer and not really interested in boys for a long time. I think it was mostly that I was scared of them, and I pretty much thought I was ugly and undesirable, and, have you ever stepped into a grade eight gym class? It's not pretty. And it's not the girls who are awkward and skinny and immature... I'm just saying. But to have a crush on someone who you never had to speak to, was nice to his mother, sexy as hell, and who was deemed by the majority of his generation and the 3 that followed, as prince charming crossed with bad boy, well that there is what I would call a safe bet. You know what else I always liked about Elvis? I liked the idea that everybody loved him; he was a modern Jesus, an ICON. I find the whole idea of charisma and leadership fascinating. Both the people who posses the traits and the way society reacts to them.

Over the years I started to collect Elvis things. A golden bust here, a deck of playing cards there, and yes it begun to accumulate. Having an interest can be a curse. I remember the first Christmas after I had gotten Tiger, I got everything cat. Cat mug, cat calendar, cat jewelry box - it's great to have a hobby but don't ever tell anyone about it. Anyway, having Elvis books meant I started to read about Elvis. Mostly picture books at first and then I started getting interested in kitsch and I included some of his imagery in my collages at art school. The kitsch phase of course led to record collecting and of course to new (actually old) music. As my tastes became more eclectic I found a new respect for the classics and a new branch of my love for Elvis developed through the music. Well that went on for years and I was here and there and everywhere but the turning point came at the Lesbanese Palace.

Jane called it Heartbreak Hotel when Julie moved in. Originally it was me and Lisa and Amanda. We were house sitting for the year while Sophie did her MA in Art History at the University of Chicago and Jane took sabbatical from her radio show on the CBC. I knew Lisa would bring Enid and Smooches and I was looking forward to living with pets again. It was Phoebe I didn't expect. The week we all moved in Lisa met Victoria and they were instantly glued at the hip. It was fine, rather great - it was a huge house and Vikki was hilarious. But her baby was Phoebe, the Brigitte Bardot of dogs. Cute in her own Basset Hound way but man that lady could mess up your pant leg faster and with more gusto than any other animal I've ever met. Anyway, all this to say that the house was full; 3 lesbians, the vegan one recently turned hetero and carnivorous, 2 cats, a dirty dog and me. But don't get me wrong we were all loving it. Pretty much exclusively on the heels of a "divorce" we relished in our new found space, literally in our huge Victorian house with front and back yard in the city and in the atmosphere of deliberate choices about life. Well, Amanda's good friend Julie suddenly fit the bill. She broke up with her younger live-in boyfriend and wanted out stat. So of course we invited her to stay.
Talk about margins. This girl, or maybe woman, was living a life precariously perched between that of rigour and the chaos of floundering, so she came to stay with us at Heartbreak Hotel. Jane had sent me an MP3 of an interview she did with Peter Guralnik, author of "Last Train to Memphis" and I was sitting in the dark listening to it on the couch. Julie came in and joined me. She was an Elvis fan. She knew everything about him; it ran in her family for krissakes! Her dad loved him, she grew up listening to the music and gosh darn it she was British and read gossipy paperbacks. Anyway after our initial marvel we got to talking, she had the biographies written by Priscilla Bealieau, Ed Parker (EP karate teacher) and Jerry Schilling (EP hairdresser). Well I was already reading Peter Guralnik's masterpiece; "Last Train to Memphis" and as fate would have it I was laid off the next week and suddenly had a whole lot of time on my hands. I borrowed her books and bought a bunch of my own and went on an Elvis reading spree. I think I must've read over 5000 pages of Elvis biographies that summer.

The culmination of my summer before grad school, where I did anything I wanted to, including eating ice cream for breakfast, swimming everyday, teaching myself to garden and dating like I was on TV was to attend the Elvis festival in Collingwood Ontario. I chose 3 girls to join me; Julie the British Elvis expert and 6’, 110 lb black belt, Jennifer the brilliant journalist who relied on her looks although she really didn't have to and Katherine the angry government clerk with whom I played badminton at lunch time. Anyway we rented a car and it broke down. I was devastated, but lady luck hadn't abandoned me, she was just waiting to surprise me. Switching the cars was a horrible ordeal but eventually our Budget Rental Agent produced a brand new cream Cadillac. I didn't even ask where he got the damn thing I just put on my matching jaunty little cream hat and tipped the brim goodbye.

Well I'll tell you, I was not disappointed by the Collingwood Elvis Festival. Although I would never in my life camp in another "no families allowed" campground, the Festival carved a place deep in my heart. It's not like you're going to an Elvis concert, come on the guy is dead. And it's not as if you're going to some museum showing his stuff. It's not even like a trade show where people are trying to sell you stuff. To be honest with you the closest thing I can compare it with is an old fashioned school fair. There are tons of things to do and see, everybody is happy to be there, they all share at least one topic of conversation, there are young and old, local and tourist and everybody has been looking forward to the festival all year. These folks are truly fans, in the nicest, most sincere and loving way. There's no competition - we're all on the same team! And it's fun to discuss why each person is there and what they get out of it; it really is different for everybody. That summer, I fell in love with the fans, the rapport the Tribute Artists (TA’s) build with them, and the legacy that Elvis created.

Now I go every year. I've started bringing my mom and she has a blast too. It's a great thing to do together; I want to bring the whole family next year. Well last year Jess and her boyfriend Vince were supposed to come with us but they got so busy with their respective theses they had to cancel last minute. It was a shame because Vince had a friend TA. Well my mom and I went anyway and got tickets to the big arena show on Saturday and left Sunday open to grab last minute seats for our favourite TA's . At the arena we had great seats, in the front section just off to the left. Immediately upon sitting down, we met the ladies sitting next to us, Linda and Barb; sisters in law from Barrie. They also come every year. They were experts about the TA's, it seemed like they went to shows year round and even to some of the other summer festivals. They told me Gino was the best. I said I thought that if it was the guy I was thinking of I think I have a mutual friend, maybe someone who went to high school with him. Linda asked me if I could get him to sign her chest, but I wasn't sure it was a favour I could ask of someone I'd never met….

The show opened with Dean Vegas, a charming TA from Melbourne Australia. Although he's a little skinny for the role he does a great show-years tribute but, I tell you when Gino Monopoli walked out on that stage next I nearly fainted, my knees actually went weak, my heart pounded and my stomach dropped. I felt like my soul had separated from my body and was now on an unstoppable journey to join its true love. I ran from my seat and threw myself at the stage. Barb came with me; Linda kept my mom company in our seats. I got a few snapshots in but I didn't want to be trapped behind the lens of a camera when I was so close to this man. I squealed and screamed so loud a security guy came over and told me to sit down. That was just the first song. When I got back to my seat, I told my mom, "Mom that is the man I am going to marry."

I spent all afternoon trying to get in touch with Jess. I was so worried that he might be married already that I just couldn't sit still. I brought him up in every conversation with the other fans, trying to glean whatever I could about his personal life. To make an agonizing story shorter, he was the guy Jess and Vince knew, he was not married, and he lived in Toronto! I couldn't believe my luck. When I got home after the festival the first thing I did was get in touch with Vince.

----------------------------------------
> Date: Mon, 31 Jul 2006 22:14:52 
> Subject: do it for true love....
> From: rsilver@gsd.harvard.edu
> To: vandrisani@hotmail.com
> CC: mckillopjessica@hotmail.com
> 
> Hi Vince
> 
> Now we don't have to rely on Jess, we have email to bring us together! I
> hope work on your thesis is going well, I know the feeling when school
> ties you up and whips you. But Vincie you can do it! Plus it always helps
> to remember that every grad student feels like this and in the end thinks
> they've handed in a piece of crap but when you look back on it you'll
> actually be proud and think how smart you were. If you need more pep
> talking call me cause lord knows I owe a whole lot of pep in the karma
> circle.
> 
> Now Vince, I'm sure you know why I'm writing. It's cause I really, really
> want to meet Gino Monopoli. I'm aware that the request sounds a bit crazy
> - but I'm a really nice girl, you don't have to worry about introducing
> him to a bonafide nut job. I guess I just really get the Elvis fan thing
> and it seems to me that someone who can be so charming, gracious, sweet
> and funny regardless of how they are feeling has a character worth getting
> to know. Well and he's gorgeous - there I said it. So I'm in town until
> August 11 and then I'm going to Spain and from there back to school for
> one more year - and if I could meet him before I go back, well you could
> make my dreams come true!
> 
> Thanks Vince - may the wind be always at your back and may the road rise
> up to meet you! xo
> 
> -- 
> Ruth Silver
> 617.909.6630

----------------------------------------
Date: August 4, 2006 23:07:43 
Subject: do it for true love....
From: rsilver@gsd.harvard.edu

To: vandrisani@hotmail.com

Ruthiebaby!
school is totally tying me up and whipping me...you guessed absolutely rite.  and
it's doing a hell of a job too.  bummer.
so u liked gino's show?!?  he's great...glad u enjoyed.
i spoke w him today and informed him of your wishes...he sounds absolutely
flattered.  he's real shy believe it or not.

as for scheduling...this next week for me is an absolute disaster.  i have a ton of
writing to do...and taking a nite off is getting more and more difficult.  the 11th,
you said you're leaving...and gino's off to the states for some shows around the
same time.

so...i'm gonna leave you his number.  he said he wouldnt mind you calling...and he'd
like to chat. 647.226.4466

so give him a shout...he said he'd be expecting your call.
hope this works for you ruthie.  enjoy.

vinnie
<@>Music has seven letters.  Writing has twenty-six notes.<@> - Joseph Joubert

----------------------------------------

Well I didn't know what to do. I'm kinda shy too, well not exactly shy but I felt dumb calling up a total stranger so believe it or not I hummed and hawed about what to do for the next few days. But I was having pretty good luck with the boys around that time and was feeling good; I only had 2 weeks left of work and a 3 week European holiday to look forward to. And plus, take a look at this: www.ginomonopoli.com I found myself making Gino Monopoli note-paper at work. The guy is drop dead gorgeous; the kind of good looking that makes you feel sick. I figured I had to call, he was expecting me to, it would be rude not to. So I had a glass of wine, and I did it, I mustered up the nerve and I called. Gino Monopoli was watching Judge Judy. I'm not kidding. Really, it should have been a sign, but I wasn’t really looking. He said he'd call me back later and when he did we had a good conversation. We decided to go out on Friday night when I got off work. He doesn't have a regular 9am-5pm schedule because he is a full time Tribute Artist. Can you believe it?! I spent all day at work planning out the perfect date; trying to imagine what someone in show business would like to do. I ended up with reservations at a Moroccan restaurant replete with belly dancing show and only a few blocks from a live jazz bar where, if it was going well we could have drinks afterwards. I'll be the first to admit, it was a TV style date, but remember this was me fulfilling my fantasy. So I called and told him we had reservations for 8pm and he said "for dinner?" like I had to be out of my mind to eat that late. Then I told him about the date I planned, thinking it would be so much fun. He gracefully squirmed out of it and offered to make me dinner, well not what I planned but sure, that sounded nice. He said he'd be right over!

Crap. I had to scramble to figure out what to wear. I had this fantasy of wearing a 1950's style polka-dot sundress but it was right before my period and I was a bit too busty to wear it for a first date. Crap. I was going on a first date with Elvis. I couldn't believe it. The man who had made me weak in the knees was coming over to my house. Now! Crap. Okay get a hold of yourself woman. I settled on a brown sundress with a little more coverage on top. Now the house. It was hot inside. Get out the fans. It was pretty neat - do some dishes. Make the bed. Put the pillows on the couch nicely. Okay. What about music? Well I couldn't play Elvis - that would be way too cheesy. Um... something that everyone likes - Paul Simon? Can't find it. Ooooh Ron Sexmith, easy to listen to, good beat and has a certain amount of cache. Good choice. Lighting? Lamps no overheads. What else? Crap. Clean the bathroom but don’t get sweaty or dirty.

So there he is. Gino Monopoli is standing outside my front door. He's brought all kinds of stuff. I invite him up - he's pleased that I want to cook. It’s an old fashioned thing to do and not too many girls are into that anymore. (Those are his words.) But I'm house-sitting and I'm not sure what they have in the kitchen, honestly I've been eating pizza and cereal for two weeks. But that's not normal for me so I don't want him to think I live like a teenage boy. I digress. There he is Gino Monopoli, at my house just to spend time with me. Crap. So I invite him in. He's brought slippers to change into at the front door - who is this guy? And he's brought a pizza pan, vegetables from his garden, flour and yeast. It's freaking adorable. I don't think he could have done anything that would have made me like him more. Crap. So I don't have cheese or anything else to put on the pizza. We decide to make the crust and while we're waiting for it to do its thing go to the market to get more ingredients. He pours the flour on the counter and I knead it. I've made bread before but not pies - oh ya he calls pizza, pizza pie or pie for short. Did I mention his Italian accent? Yes, he has one, one of those Italian-American style ones, with the Al Pacino inflections. I'm a natural pulling the dough and he thinks I'm shitting him that I've never made a pie before. Anyway we have to go out to get more ingredients.

We take his car. It is a boat, a veritable cruising luxury automobile. I've never even seen a car like this before, and when we get in Frank Sinatra is playing on the stereo. I can't believe this guy - I've never met anyone like this. What year is this? So first we go to little Italy to get some cheese. There's a line-up at the corner and Gino Monopoli stops to ask what people are waiting for. A stranger responds, "Gary Newman". Gino says, "Well I know Victor Newman - but who's Gary Newman?" I die laughing. Victor Newman is the protagonist on the soap opera I've been watching since I was 5 years old. I'm trying not to go bezerk at this point and fall face over heels but I'm a very picky and bizarrely quirky girl and this guy is hitting every secret requirement, square on the head. I can't tell if it's creepy or true love.

Then we go to Kensington Market to get vegetables. I pick out some cute little enoki mushrooms and he makes a racial comment – another sign… We already have tomatoes and garlic from the garden. He suggests spinach, cilantro and feta cheese so we're set. I call it our Toronto pizza, some Asian, some Italian, some Greek and some French. He’s not sure it’s going to work out with all the diversity. When we get back to the apartment we do a good job cooking together, our rhythm and cadence are well matched. While we wait for ingredients to cook we share a bottle of wine. He loves the apartment. Although he lives in "Toronto" technically he really lives in the suburbs, while I'm right downtown. We chat, he tells me about his family, it's low-key and I'm surprisingly relaxed in his company. The more we get to know each other the more I am interested in being his friend, it's becoming less romantic but I'm totally okay with the direction. Anyway, we eat the pie and it's delicious. It's probably around 9pm at this point so I'm starving - who knows if it was actually as good as I thought it was! Afterwards we decide to go to a local bar for a drink. On our way out he notices that my hall light is out and insists that he change it for me. Where did this man come from? Heaven? or maybe just another time....

We walk down to Bloor Street. On the way he tells me that he has no friends that are girls. That boys and girls can't just be friends. That inevitably he ends up hitting on his "friends" that are girls or they are together with his guy friends and that it would be improper to be friends with them. I am appalled, almost outraged. Well I vow to be Gino Monopoli's friend, I tell him he is impoverished as a person without friends that are girls, and I believe it. A monkey wrench, damn I was looking forward to him hitting on me until this point. Crap. Well we go for our drink and find that we both have a penchant for telling tall tales. We manage to convince the waiter that we are friends of his college buddy and that I am a singer songwriter from Nova Scotia visiting the city just for the weekend. We strike up a conversation with the neighbouring table - I've never been on a date with someone who'll talk to anyone before. I love it. It's turning into a real adventure! After a few we decide to walk around for a bit, the night is lovely and there are tons of people out. He won't let me pay for anything. I find it kind of embarrassing but I realize it would be worse for him if I insisted so we carry on.

There we are walking down Bloor Street, listening to the buskers, feeling the city pulse. We stop and ask a little old lady peering into a boarded up shop if she's alright. She starts to tell us about the price of eggs, how this is her favourite shop but it's closed... that she lives down the street. She's lived here all her life, how she's seen the street change - we're entranced. I tell her the store is closed for renovations, not to worry, I can see produce on the shelves so it should be open soon. And eventually we part. Gino Monopoli grabs my hand, pulls me across the street and we run to the nearest grocery store. He buys eggs for our new friend but there is a line up and it takes us a few minutes to get back to where we left her. By this time she's no longer there and we run up and down the street asking if anyone has seen her. We spend time searching but can't find our little old lady. It's the kind of thing I'd do but I've never before met another person who would. I'm out of breath - emotionally - I have to go home and mull this over. I'm leaving in 2 weeks and I never want to leave this man's company. Crap. It's the weekend and I have plans up the wazooh. I don't know when I'll see him again.

Wednesday night he comes to pick me up after work. It was my last day and I'm pretty stoked for vacation. We're not sure what to do - in those situations I invariably end up at the lake. Well I brought him to my summer project site at Cherry Beach. It was a beautiful night. There was a full summer moon and it wasn't too hot, just right. We took the soccer ball and went for a walk on the beach. After a while you have to cut across some property boundaries where the sailing clubs are if you want to keep going. Well I had worked for the city over the summer so I felt a sense of belonging and ownership there, and hell, we're just a couple of kids out for a romantic stroll - who's gonna mind? So we continued on until we saw a long dock at the end of the harbour. I wanted to go sit on the dock and he followed. There was a small rowboat tied up at the end of the first bend. Gino Monopoli jokingly suggested we take it out. I thought it a grand idea. Again - we're just a couple of decent kids; wouldn't the owner of the rowboat want it to be used for a romantic adventure? I know if was mine I would. So I got in. He wasn't so enthusiastic. "Come on, we'll just sit in it, we don't have to go anywhere. It will be nice to be on the water." I said. Reluctantly he got in.

We started to chat, almost forgetting we were in someone else's boat. Without any ceremony I untied the boat and pushed away gently from the dock. He was horrified. I shared my theory that whoever owned this boat would be happy that it was getting some use from some nice kids. "Don't you want to row?" I asked. He did. This time I hit the nail on the head. So he rowed me around the harbour, under the fullest moon I have ever seen. In fact when it was coming up over the horizon for a split second I thought it might be Armageddon; Toronto Island looked like it was on fire. We must've stayed out there for an hour or two just rowing around, talking quietly. At one point he asked me what I was thinking, and I responded honestly, "I was wondering what you were thinking." Then he kissed me. Under the moon, in the rowboat on a warm midsummer's night and all of the sudden firecrackers started going off. I'm not even kidding; even he knew it was magic. "Ruth I don't think it could possibly get anymore romantic than this, what is our next date going to be like?"

We kicked the soccer ball back to the car. On the way we met a photographer out with a hassleblad hooked up to a Mac taking high res stock images of the moon. His equipment was so neat I instantly geeked out and to my surprise Gino Monopoli was really respectful of our conversation. Not that I expected him not to be but most guys will try to intrude on those kinds of conversations or at least be included even if they don't know anything about the subject. The conversation strayed to the impending trip I had planned to Spain and Portugal and Steve, the photographer, painted the most beautiful picture of Europe. He told us about the cheese and the wine and the mountains and the sea. Gino and I would have gone right then if we could have.

The next time I saw Gino Monopoli it was Saturday morning at 3am. I had been a bride's maid in a friend’s wedding and was leaving the next day to go camping with my dad, it would be the last time we’d see each other. Gino drove an hour to come see me and showed up wearing a seer sucker suit, so that I wouldn't feel silly all dressed up in my 'gown'. Swoon. We went down to the lake again, this time in the town where I grew up, to watch the sun come up. It was chilly outside so I changed into long pants and a sweater. I took him to the park my dad took me to as a child. We climbed down the embankment and onto a concrete slab overhanging the water. I've never seen this before but that morning there was only 1 cloud in an otherwise cloudless blue sky, and it was shaped like a giant arm replete with hand giving the okay signal. We both saw it, and were equally stunned. Now that was a message as clear as day. We spent the rest of the morning going on a tour of my hometown parks and chatting with the people we met on the way. It was the most adventurous date I had ever been on. Neither of us wanted to leave one another. We knew it would be our last time together. But finally, around noon it was time. He stopped in at my house to meet my mom when he dropped me off. Every woman on my street stared at him from the window - and phoned the house that day to ask my mom who that man was.

I was devastated, well torn is maybe a better word. I felt like that was it. That was the love of my life and now I had to wait a whole year to get back to him and who knew if he felt the same way about me. I know I'm impetuous in matters of the heart. I'm the girl who cries love, and am wary enough of my overly romantic tendencies to try and take them with a grain of salt. I told myself that even if this was just a summer romance it was beautiful and I was lucky to have had the experience. But it has taken me 4 months to realize that Gino Monopoli was a fantasy; a teenage dream that in my adult reality would more than likely be a disaster. It's taken me 4 months to stop writing him letters (don't worry, I haven't mailed even one!), sending texts and calling him. And just today I erased his phone number from my cell.

I believe ultimately in a life partner, someone with whom life is an adventure, a million discoveries waiting to be uncovered. I won't compromise; I've worked too hard on becoming who I am to compromise. To yield simply to the side of myself that fell for Gino Monopoli would just that: compromise. I have to always remember my full worth as a human being and to celebrate every facet of that creation in every relationship.

It's funny, I just uploaded the image into this post and it's probably more revealing than the text in some ways. Steve (the photographer we met on the beach) pasted the moon into the image he sent us. I think it an incredibly apt illustration for this account; a perfect moon pasted onto a sky from a different time.

My Mexican Coronation

It started out like any other night with the girls. And like any other night with the girls it quickly devolved to silliness and debauchery. Maybe it was the crown or maybe it was the cape or maybe it was the magic wand... No it was mom who transported us into that rare world of magic as she began to read out loud to us.

Jess and Jess and Meg were over. I think it was Canadian thanksgiving 2006. I came home for a surprise visit, it would be the last family holiday in the home where I grew up. My girls of course were there at the drop of a hat, bless their souls. I am so lucky. But I digress.

The story starts with us doing one of our favourite things; smoking cigarettes on the front porch, each wearing a hat (of my choice) from the wide selection in the front hall closet. As I remember, Lil' Jess had the floppy leather Janis Joplin cowboy hat on, Big Jess had the other leather cowboy hat, the homo-erotic one, Meg had the Edith Piaf pill box leopard print faux-fur number and I had my real retro leopard skin trimmed, wide brimmed black beauty on.

It was cold so eventually we came inside and made the descent to the basement. My mom said it would be okay to smoke pot in the crawl space of the basement, just for old time sakes. Even though we were technically 'allowed' this time, it still felt exhilirating. It was when we started smoking that she began to read to us;

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
---Lewis Carroll----






























The air was silly; full of love and knowing. If you don't have friends that you know absolutely everything about and have known for your whole life I think it would be pretty hard to imagine how you feel towards them and at what level you can interact. Although, I know nothing about film it seems to be a common theme among 'chick flicks' but one that always leaves me feeling a little disappointed and yucky. But if I had to describe it, I guess it's like being able to pick your family - or maybe like knowing who you were going to marry your whole life. Anyway one of the unique things about that particular dynamic in a friendship is that there are a lot of ways to communicate with each other. Well this particular night, surrounded by magic and silliness and love and knowing it was improv who chose us to tell a story.


Meg just reminded me, it all started with my Safta's crown and then there I was, sitting on my thone with a rainbow cape and instantly feather pillow moustaches came my way from every direction. There on the table in front of me just waiting for an occasion was a magic golden star wand. Lil' Jess began documenting. She put on the 'newsies' hat and got serious with the camera. Meg ran upstairs and got her three quarter length jacket with the hood. She was the gimp. She wore the hood and the rest of the jacket became her jaunty little cape. Big Jess found a traditional rainbow coloured Mexican shirt, she became my knight in rainbow armour. She wore the role as gracefully as I wore mine regally.




























I could tell you more but, I suppose ultimately you had to be there. And even so, my mom was there and I doubt she felt the same way that I did about our happening. We connected. We performed a ritual of friendship; an act that is rare in adults but so powerful that its rarity is a crying shame.

Age

Some of us forget,
Some of us change the story.
Some of us remember
and have always remembered,
And some of us
rediscover every day.