Hello dear old Sinister, Well no one's posted in well over an hour now - I don't think that you're taking my needs into account. Here I sit, in my recepetionist's fort of papers, paperclips and post-it notes, defenseless against the pointlessness of my little daily chores. The weekend is so close I can almost smell it (could be the alcohol vapour lingering in the air from the breath of the last bike courier who was here. Those guys are inspirational. The gunslingers of the corporate world.) It would just be sick and wrong to get some work done at this point. I need some sinister distraction! Now I'm forced to provide it myself. A shocking prospect for a spoiled little lurker like moi. Right, but anyway, there I was on the Queen streetcar last night with my friend Lesley (who has just been telling me about the unusual number of stranger exchanges she's had recently) when an energetic man in his early forties with long silver hair, a polartec ensemble, two sparkly stickers on his cheek, and carrying a very worn file folder, charges up from behind her and exclaims directly to us "Whoa! Everybody's going to the Humber!" (I think fairly translatable to, "My, this streetcar, whose final destination is the Humber River loop, is a lot fuller than usual." with undertones of "EVERYONE ON THE STREETCAR HAS FINALLY REALIZED THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BUT TO HURTLE - LEMMING STYLE - TO OUR TOXIC DOOM AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HUMBER RIVER, YES MY FRIENDS, IT'S THE END OF THE LINE INDEED!") Now Lesley and I have an ongoing discussion about the level to which it's sensible to engage with people who have a tendancy towards such capital-lettered undertones. We both switch up stances regularly. I can be a bit impatient and cowardly sometimes whereas she is more of a patient and giving idealist. But then sometimes I get consumed by an adventurous I-want-to-look-the-world-in-the-eye-at-all-costs spirit and likewise sometimes her will can be broken by the sheer number of people who sense her openness and capitolize on it. So yesterday I was up for it and she was not. I gamely agreed with this guy about the Humber (whatever the implications) and Lesley just looked lamely at her knee with an apologetic smile. I couldn't help but have the feeling that the rest of the people on the streetcar (maybe Lesley too) felt like I was being a traitor for inviting futher outbursts from our man and that I was "asking for it" - maybe just paranoia on my part. To the rest of the streetcar's credit, he did go on to say that he was on an anti-anxiety pill called Xanxtrablax (or similar) and that it was - with a significant glint in his eye - great. He was happy to notice that we were on the "joint" (the little circular swivelly bit of extra-long streetcars that enables them to make turns.) Standing on this bit of the streetcar is one of the small joys of my life as its like a mini amusement park ride which comes free with admission. So again, I cheerfully agreed (only now pausing to wonder if he was making any pharmaceutical/anatomical references - so naive) (pronounced knave, as in Hal Hartley's "Trust"). Then he tells us, he used to sail the Humber as a kid. And I'm thinking, there now see! This is quite a fascinating converation I'm having with a striking peson -enhanced by Xanxtrablax though he may be - that I never would have had if I had been all chicken and cynical. But then he goes and tells poor Lesley that she has amazing eyes and did she know that - his eyes doing more ominous glinting (maybe trying to live up to hers). So then I said "Wouldn't want to do that, now it's all polluted, what if you fell in!", gave a tight little bright little smile and joined Lesley in some intent knee examining. Then he said something like, "I gotta get out of here..." and took off. Lesley and I ended up feeling like chumps somehow. We were feeling guilty for suddenly closing up on him. But this is my point (yes indeed, oh ye of little faith): one can never seem to win in those situations! You can either be a wimpy little drone worker bee in your little private-in-public-pod and constantly miss out on genuine human interaction or you can enter into these crazy exchanges but eventually you'll end up having to extricate yourself and you'll feel like a hypocrite traitor. Maybe the answer is to not feel weird guilt at having to walk away. At least you tried. It's how people (me included) end up not giving to people on the street because they don't know where to draw the line. If I give a dollar, why not 20? Why not my wallet? paycheque? apartment? Why give to this person and not the next ten I pass? You just get overwhelmed. The tyranny of charity. But it's a rotten reason not to give anything at all. Well, that turned itself neatly into a nice little social commentary just in time for the holidays. And holy long post! Sorry (to any diehards remaining.) And now look! I'm officially 23 minutes into the week-end! Thanks all for seeing me through! Off to waste time on my OWN terms. Kate p.s. (Some of the preceding thoughts on genuine interaction with strangers are also brought to you by the brilliant movie Waking Life. And the letter C.) +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+