But I am Le Tired/ Variant B

In truth I haven't been to the Village in like a week. Quite frankly I've become irrationally scared of the place. If we remeber my Village lifestyle history we happen upon the Pussy Posse - yes that infamous group of fifty year old dot com millionaires and day traders who sit there every night. They scare the crap out of me to be honest and every time I've been down in the Village, either driving though there, or going to the bank, the Pussy Posse is there, drinking coffee and talking about pussy. The last time I went to the Village to do some work I actually sat in the Second Cup patio because I didn't want to run in to anyone.

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In other late breaking medical news, the CDC has identified a new variant of Faux Hill-iticis. I call it Faux Hill-iticis Variant B. The symptoms of Variant B are similar enough to Faux Hill-iticis, but with one shocking difference: those who suffer from Variant B don't think of themselves as infected at all. To quote the daughter of a family friend at a recent Sangria/BBQ who was gushing about her Birthright trip, "I also really needed to get away from those Toronto Forest Hill Jews." Now one would think that said daughter, who later lamented the fact that it was sunday and Yorkdale closes early, is an easy diagnosis of Faux HIll-iticis... alas with that comment, however, the intrepid doctor can diagnosis her with the much more malicious Variant B stream. It's like SARS people, but less deadly, and with more Coach.

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Inquiring minds I'm sure at this point are wondering how is Rama? Well I've given him a new nickname - Pot; this after he got all huffy when I told him that - egads - went on a date with someone else. Rama, at home in Calgary, suggested that I shouldn't be so picky or I may wind up alone. To which I responded, "is that the pot calling the kettle black?" Rama, ne Pot, has taken to writing me every day and has also taken to espousing my fabulous characteristics in his emails, (like being cute, charming, witty, etc...) but we're still just best friends forever. BBF SWAK. Lame.

The Roomate

When you date someone, you have to contend with their roomate, and subsequently as a roomate, you have to contend with your roomate's significant other. It's a not always easy dance to be honest. The M Brad's roomate and I always had a decent relationship; we discussed very little beyond pleasantries and generally I tried to stay out of his way while simultaneously laughing at his on line gambling habit with him.
So with a bit of uprehension yesterday I happened to run into the M Brad's roomate, Lipton. Now Lipton and I haven't spoken since January; I believe we saw each other every day at McGill and gave each other awkward looks that I always assumed meant that Lipton wanted me dead... but alas it wasn't so. Lipton saw me, walked over and asked how I was doing, what I was up to, my summer plans, etc... etc... I asked how his roomate was doing (M Brad) he's apparently doing well - although from my perspective he's being self destructive in Montreal, but whatever. Up until this point, this was probably the most reasonable and adult conversation I had with anyone associated with the M Brad, ever. I wished Lipton a safe trip to Europe, before he grabbed my hand, looked me straight in the eye, and said very meaningfully, "take it easy, ok?" And thus another nail in the coffin of closure as Lipton's very adult, very reasonable approach was just another hint that even those associated with the M Brad are aware of his emotional instability.

Perspective

I recently saw a family friend whose daughter passed away. We chatted briefly and eventually got onto the topic of dogs as another family friend was in the process of putting down their dog. I told by this family friend, "from my perspective, these days - it's only a dog."
I suppose that it's been a year of figuring out that perspective; and in our world things can change in an instant, that one second when I met the M-Brad for example, led to a series of catacylsmic events that could have been avoided if I had stuck to studying at the Law Library and not the sixth floor of McLennan.
And so today... as I awoke up and realized that Rama had sent me eight one sentence emails about nothing, there was much too much more important things going on in the world. Word from Sim, Sim, Sima -just decamped to London - had yet to arrive as to whether or not she was ok and dearest KB was live and well if not a bit shaken up from the confines of her residence room in London as well. Papa Len was sitting freaking out in his office, his hear growing whiter by the minute...
And in that one instant as someone's world can come crashing down, someone's perspective changes.

Outbreak

Spoke to my friend J Lo last night. She's recently been struck with a case of "Faux Hill-iticis." She much like many of the neighbourhood girls has applied to law school and is waiting to hear back from her number one choice - Western. What's she been up to since? Well... when we spoke she was in London decorating her boyfriends apartment and playing house. Her words not mine. I suggested she get a job when she opined that if she wanted to she could work for her parents as a medical secretary. J Lo... much like every other girl who has been diagnosed with Faux Hill-iticis has never worked a real job. She has never handed in her resume to a Starbucks, folded a t-shirt at the Gap, scooped icecream as Baskin Robbins, or waited tables on Eglinton. Her resume experience is working for her parents at a medical office, how lame is that?
But to quote Coombs, who was quoting Elizabeth Darko, at a party the other night, "It doesn't really matter, they're just biding time till they squeeze one out." I suppose the alpha male in Coombs was a bit crude, but he didn't mean his comment in offence or in sexism, he meant it in truth. Years after the women's liberation movement,after bra's were burnt, there is still a sick subculture of women who will never work but rely on their husband to be the breadwinner. They will sit, post yoga, in the Faux Hill Village discussing whether or not to go to Yorkdale or Holt's. What's sad of course is that these people are worth more then that... they've just contacted a disease that renders them useless.
Be carefull though Faux Hill-iticis is contagious and it's spreading.