Monday, January 11, 2010

I recently attended a social soirée involving a varied group of people, some of whom I know rather well and some not at all. Given that I am a relative new-comer to this city, this is not a rare occurrence; the fact that I even knew some of them was an advantage often absent from my social exploits. At home in Winnipeg, when I am completely relaxed with my kinfolk, I tend to take on the role of wisecracking social organizer, priding myself on hosting abilities, witty repartée and occasional sexual party favours. However, in a group of n00bs, I am a great deal less affable, contenting myself in the role of observer, perhaps spouting out the odd cultural reference or double-entendre, but generally laying back until I find a connection, usually female, occasionally alcohol, a medium through which I 'join' the group. Sometimes, though, there is one individual who just jumps out at me in a completely arresting manner, effectively shutting down any humour or confidence I might have emitted. Usually, there is some physical attraction to this person and, as such, they are generally male, but this pull is not necessarily induced by physical beauty so much as an aura, presence, call it what you like. Whatever term you choose, it still shuts me down quicker than a Republican at a critical thinking conference. At this recent event, however, I was very conscious of the fact that there was no physical attraction, yet I still felt that pseudo-paralysation, perhaps due to their total comfort in that environment or that they were a controling force in the events of the evening. Who knows? Not this kid. But I'd like to. I want to study this, this quality that causes me to de-David-ify, perhaps even coming up with some sort of unit of measurement for my awkwardness (the "Um" perhaps?) and eventually arriving at a formula I can use on the spot to once again become my awesome, vivacious embodiment-of-a-Cole-Porter-lead-character self. Cause I'm fucking delovely, goddamnit!

Yesterday on the streetcar, I overheard a woman berating a man for choking his dog (he wasn't) and then screaming wildly about cruelty to animals. When I looked over to berate her with a raised eyebrow, I saw that she was, in fact, wearing a fur coat. Mind you, I'd place it's time of sartorial creation at roughly 1972 and she was clearly one of those bus crazies that, while not homeless, surely was living on welfare due to a plethora of social and mental diseases. This was confirmed as she began a conversation with two unwitting 19 year olds, which began with their nose rings and why, if they were so determined to put a ring in it, they didn't at least have the good sense to get diamond rings. Rhinestones, evidently, would not do. She then claimed to live in Thornhill (Jewish, moneyed enclave; I don't think so, Social Assistance Sally), to be a lawyer (cause legal professionals are frequently reputed to brag about bringing their own teabags to Tim Horton's and asking for hot water) and to know the owner of a Kipling-area electronics store that, should they inform one Mr. David Rosenbaum that "Regina" had sent them, would surely give them a discount on a used TV.

The Little Portuguese is acting somewhat distant. The last time we saw each other (Tuesday night through Wednesday morning) he was totally affectionate, to the point of sleep detriment which I'm convinced caused this cold in the first place. I let him sleep in while I went to work and while he didn't even make the bed, he did left an adorable note saying he'd had a wonderful time. Ah, the joys of dating teenagers. Now, however, things feel decidedly cooler. My invitation to call me should he want to do something this weekend was not accepted, he has ceased to initiate msn/text conversations and is being altogether enigmatic. And I'm not sure I really like him anyway. Ah, the shitfalls of dating teenagers.

As such, I spent most of my weekend in bed watching Captain Planet episodes and I have some observations:

-You can cut the sexual tension between Wheeler and Linka with a knife. Gi and Kwami would probably be doing it too if he wasn't such a pussy, i.e. voiced by LeVar Burton.
-The main musical theme when CP is kicking echo-villain ass is a complete and total knock off of the Star Wars theme, but with midi strings. You stay classy, early 90's.
- Captain Planet is the gayest superhero that has ever graced the skies in spandex. Despite his straight-porn-alluding mullet, you know he was totally touching Ma-Ti when Gaia wasn't looking and I don't mean his 'heart'. How else do you explain why that kid is so faggy?

Next on my youtube list: Jem and the Holograms. Rumour on the street is that she's truly outrageous.

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