First off, let me say how glorious this feels: it's 23 degrees out now, and a delicious breeze is blowing in through my window. It don't get no better than this.
(Well, except that time at that Tijuana whorehosue where we had three pounds of crystal meth, a dozen live lobsters, and a pair of ping-pong paddles. Now that was a good time. But this is good, too, I guess.)
Secondly, if you're going to be in Toronto on Friday, August 11th, and you missed their Lee's Palace show, Khaki Snack will be playing at a place called O'Grady's (on College between University and St. George, right across the street from UofT). It should be a rip-roarin' great time.
(Isn't there some kind of rule that says you can only have one apostrophe in a word? "O'Grady's" just looks... I dunno... wrong.)
But alas, my main reason for writing tonight is to fulfill a promise I made a few days ago, to fill you in on marriage and late-twentysomethingness.
Here's the deal: my parents know that I've led sort of a nomadic life thus far... the UW co-op experience, then settling for four years in Toronto as a teacher, then heading down the road for two more as a grad student, and now back to Toronto for the forseeable future. They've never asked me about my love-life (and I've never told them about anyone I'd been dating until well after the fact).
But this past weekend, when I visited them following my buddy Paul's wedding, I could sense mom was mentally dancing around a question for a while. Then she asked it: "So, are you seeing anybody?"
I replied in the negative, and gave some sort of excuse like, "Well, I've been busy, and I just moved back to Toronto." Is it valid? Maybe, maybe not; at any rate, the question was put to bed fairly quickly and without incident.
Still, though, it's on her mind: "My kid is 28, almost 29, and he's still single? What the hell is going on?" Granted, in small-town Ontario, people tend to marry earlier; hell, at my 10-year high school reunion a couple of years ago, there were tons of people with kids around, some as old as 5 or 6. Perhaps not coincidentally, most of us who were still unmarried were those who went away to school and/or live in a big city.
Maybe my mom's question was mere idle curiosity, maybe not; last time I checked, I'm no psychoanalyst. Still, though, it's thrown me into a really reflective and pensive mood lately, and I'm not quite sure how to get out of it.