It's coming.

Michael Park, calm the eff down.

Son of a sandbagger, it is cold outside.

So cold, in fact, that I could not wait the extra 15 seconds to wait for the onslaught of rush hour traffic to slow down before crossing Smith St. I would have been fine had the octogenarian who was last in line before I made my dash not been going one seventh of his age in speed, leaving me but 1.6 seconds to dash across the street.

"Oh, look at me!" I thought, "Light as a feather, I frolic across the pasto-" [thud]

My g.d. pointed boot had caught in a crater of the Kilimanjaro-esque snowdrift lining the opposite side of the street, sending my ever-expanding ass into the air as I completed a half-pike, full-turn somersault onto the sidewalk. Freshly sanded.

Fuck, I hate my legs. You would, too, if you knew them as I do. Trust me. They're bitches.

I feel that we should develop some sort of metaphysical medical technology that would allow me to use the legs of 365 of my nearest and dearest for one day a year. Think about it. Not only would you get to do a brother a solid, you would also gain empathy for the gimps of the world. They could even make a Facebook application for it.

In related news: Ow, crap, my knee hurts.

Yesterday I was riding the bus, decked out in my new-old vintage finery, freshly inspired by wunderkind, Patrick Wolf. By itself, public transportation on a Sunday is enough to nearly inspire a Freudian fit, but then I glanced down to take an inventory of the items I was transporting:

- a shoebox containing gorgeous new Brown's boots, on route to be sprayed with leather conditioner
- my Louis Vuitton wallet, beginning to fray at the edges after nearly six years of abuse
- a martini shaker, containing various tonics destined for embibement later that night
- Tzatziki

All were being transported in a plastic purple Superstore tub. And then, right there on the 18 Corydon-Tuxedo, I had an existential break down. How the fuck did I end up on public transit carrying various luxury items, mixed drinks and tapas? I was filled with a mixture of pride and repulsion, odd bedfellows to say the least. Like the contents of my cocktail shaker, what assortment of ingredients had made me into the uber-stylin' superfreak sitting next to Halytosis McPee-Stain onboard Winnipeg's finest?

There's a certain amount of pride that comes with the knowledge that one has successfully bucked the mainstream. Actually, let me reconsider that. There's a certain pride that comes of not fitting into the mainstream, carving your own niche and knowing that you are so much more satisfied with the life you've made than the one they would have offered you. Does it suck to be the queer, gimpy Jewish boy with the odd hairline and body image issues enough to kickstart bulemia if he was any less lazy? Yes. Frequently. But then you find a killer jacket at Chateau V.V. or finish a book that was last checked out the library in 1979 or write a pop song with chromatic disonance and you smile knowing that the vast majority of the populace has no understanding of the thing you've just done. If this sounds like a Me-Generation-aren't-I-amazing?-Love-me!-I'm-unique! diatribe, well, it is. I realize it's self-congratulatory, but if one, by force or by choice, lives, works and plays outside of the global mainframe, it really is cause for survivalist celebration. We'll be serving tapas.

I feel that at times I'm a little in love with everyone.

It's an odd state we're in, the two of us. Something new, but comfortable. Or perhaps, in fairness to accuracy, comforting. Ramblings about arriving at this junction despite different backgrounds seems trite as everyone is from different backgrounds. Otherwise, there would be no need for backgrounds. No, we're much more interesting in this moment. I think loneliness brought us together. One who gave something up and one who never had it to begin with. Lonely, perhaps, but certainly not regretful of our choices. And we have respect for the others choice, though I think it's largely due to ignorance. I have no clue what it's like to put aside something that was once grand when it's time - and bravo; many people cannot. You have no idea what it's like to have gone your entire life without someone to care for and vice versa. You know about deals, compromise, satisfaction. I know of independence, cynicism and observation. I mean really, what purpose have I served so far other than oracle to the love lives of others? Still, I wasn't to yours. It would have been impossible as our bonding point was its petit mort. We fill gaps, you and I. Gaps in conversation, in laughter. Not in bed. God, no. That would be slightly odd, if mostly against my nature. Still, if I turned, we'd be well-suited. At least, I like to think so. The lack of judgment is startling, as well. I find most often when there is little judgment, it is due to little interest; polite nods and mmm-hmmms for something I don't really care about hearing and they don't really care about sharing, at least not with me personally. They are mostly conversations of convenience, like one between a zebra and a house cat forced to share the same living quarters. I'm so glad it's not that between us. We are a lesson in evolution, how to build something without blueprints, just letting it be what it will be. It's so simple, isn't it? The enjoyment of someone's company. This world's inhabitants have a way of fucking it up though. So we lose. Not always, but enough. And we do foolish things. There are no necessarily dire consequences, just small silliness in the choices we make. Last night I decorated a cheesecake with a heart, opened a bottle of Shiraz and spent the night with someone. It would have been a romantically perfect evening if I could imagine, in a thousand years, ever being in love with him. You'll hear about this soon in a conversation I know we'll have and you'll understand. Perhaps not every detail, but why should you have to? You'll tap into a memory, an emotion, for which you may have done the same thing. And you'll nod. Sincerely. Nodding sincerely should be considered a lost art. Also including that list should be the ability to call at the exact moment I need it. It's rather uncanny. Perhaps they can put you on the tenure track for teaching that one. Anyway, I don't need to use a public forum to express my gratitude, but here's something just for you.

On Saturday night, I was hanging out with Seventeen Year Old, talking about a lot of troubling societal issues and cuddling. At one point he went to the bathroom, leaving me to my thoughts - a dangerous idea at the best of times. When he came back, I was staring at my hardwood floor and before he could say a word and without my eyes moving from the ground, this spewed forth from my mouth:

"You know what I just realized? I struggle a lot with this notion that I must curb any femininity in my nature, but the fact is I gain so much strength from it. I catch myself in these moments where I know I'm invoking the Feminine and I feel powerful because of it. We need to draw on both the Masculine and the Feminine to fully realize our full potential. Just think of the jock in the locker room who strives so hard to maintain a solely masculine output of energy and how much more he could be were he to actually let the Feminine work within him. This isn't simply an issue of gender or sexuality. I have straight male friends who are very much in touch with their Feminine and I've conversely known gay men who abhor any sign of femininity. I just think that's so wrong. The powers of Gender are not contingent on what sex organs we have. I mean, when I'm interacting with someone, it's not with my penis. I mean, it can be, but even that is only a fraction of what's really mingling in the situation. There are a million factors that make up each person and yet with all these potentially opposing qualities, everyone is just fundamentally looking for someone to complete them. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. It's like this million-piece puzzle that's near impossible to complete and then when we do, we get treated with such hate because our parts don't match the way theirs do. It's such a small part and it doesn't effect them at all. I don't think they understand that we're all just feeling the same thing. They can't get past the biology. And what are they so afraid of? That we'll rise up like some faggy nation of Israel against Pharaoh so they have to enslave us first? Don't they see that they should be gracious because they get to have something we don't in family, rather than to loathe our existence with every fiber of their beings? We each have entire universes contained in our souls and they hate us for what we don't have!"

I finished and looked up at him for a response. He paused, looked me in the eye and said, "You got all that from the floor?"