Sinister: birdies and geeses and buses *och my*

[marisa stroud]

(please excuse me, I'm writing an essay on Pope's 'Rape of the Lock')

*Canto I*

I would like to apologise to one of the sinister gentleman with whom I was 
exchanging messages with earlier this fall...I seem to have lost his emails 
in the dense mists of time. But it was thinking about him, and how I should 
reply to his last email (although, despite my best efforts, I was unable to 
find it) that made me remember this.

He said he found Glasgow cold and bleak. Didn’t fancy it much. I wanted to 
tell him, yes it is cold, and the endless concrete and harsh Weegie accents 
can make it seem unfriendly.

*(apologies to all Glaswegians: I know you’re a lovely friendly people. But 
the weegie ned accent is in the top five most grating of all accents of the 
entire world, and you all know it)*

But sometime in spring, when the days are starting to last well into the 
night and the mornings can’t wait till morning, you may find yourself 
sitting up in your flat all on your own, trying to write an essay due the 
next afternoon for which you’ve not read the books when all of a sudden you 
notice that the sky is lightening and the trees planted inside your flat 
complex’s yard are full of birds who think they have to cheer the sun along 
in order to make it rise.

* ink polaroid *

I am wearing the black stretch Adidas pants that I bought to wear to the gym 
(but who have only seen the inside of my bedroom as I relax with a book) and 
the big red Queen’s University (Canada) hoodie that I wear to invoke 
studious karma. I heard the birds calling to each other in the trees, shut 
off the standing lamp beside my coffee table/desk, and climbed up onto the 
wide windowsill. Opening the me-sized screenless window as wide as I can, I 
perch sideways on the edge of the sill, breathe in the smell of new leaves 
and listen to the birds screaming in the trees.

(Incidentally, I might love that Arab Strap song just because it invokes 
this memory)

I’ve never told anyone about this memory, for no particular reason. But 
whenever I think back on my time in Glasgow, being a student at the uni 
there and living in a real live, genuine British flat, that morning always 
sticks out in my mind. I’m the only one I ever caught sitting on the 
windowsill, enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees and loving the dear 
green place. It belongs just to me, and to a really good time in my life. I 
miss the days where everything was possible and nothing was urgent.

I miss Glasgow.

Here all the windows have screens, and the streets smell like gasoline. The 
birds don’t scream when they’ve all flown south.

Don’t worry, Jen, the geese do take turns being at the head of the triangle 
when they all fly south. The formation is designed to reduce wind 
resistance, helping them use as little energy as possible during their long 
flights sough. The further back you are in the formation, the less energy 
you have to use to stay aloft. When the head goose gets tired, s/he falls 
back to the end of the triangle, and another goose takes over.

The lesson here? Geese are bloody Commies! (go with it)

That’s the kind of thing you learn when you live in the Land of the Canada 
Goose.

They also poop everywhere and are slightly menacing. So I don’t mind that we 
only have them for six months of the year.

*Canto II*

I was thinking about Kieran’s post (and his post-post post) about the bus. I 
lived within walking distance to my school until I got to high school. There 
were two, then three, then four of us in my neighbourhood who went to the 
same school, so we got rides in the morning from parents. We usually made 
our own way home via public transportation, which gave us a taste for 
freedom and independence. We began having adventures on the bus, and took it 
lots of places (until we started to get our drivers licenses and wouldn’t 
deign to go anywhere without a point-to-point chauffeur). I remember waiting 
at the bus stop, idly watching the traffic and looking for the noisy giant 
beetle to come trundling along the right lane of traffic. People in their 
cars would always gawk at us in the bus shelter, as if we were a particular 
species of bus-people not often seen outside of zoos or travelling freak 
shows. I think we overestimate our untouchability when we’re in cars: we 
think we’re safe and cozy and inside, but we’re separated from the outside 
world only by metal and tires and plush seats. True, there aren’t many 
beautiful people on buses, but as I watched the cars go by I didn’t see many 
beautiful people in them, either.

They must hide somewhere else altogether. Jets, maybe. Or galleons.

Or maybe they were the exclusive recipients of those HoverCars we were all 
promised by the year 2000.

Bastards.

(If anyone ever gets a HoverCar, I’ll give them my set of B&S playing cards 
for a ride in it. Wait...they were 30 Canadian dollars...let me think about 
that one...)

*Canto III*

I sent out my Sinister Christmas Presents yesterday! I feel a bit gauche 
cause I didn't have any glitter, but I made sure to use two gluesticks in 
cut-and-paste efforts to make up for it. Hope it will suffice, and I promise 
to invest in sparkly things for next year.

(Was I the only one to get funny looks for making presents for strangers on 
a emailing list?)

I like giving presents to people I don't know cause if they don't like them, 
they can pass them on without worrying if I'll be offended. If someone 
didn't like the present I gave them, I'd rather they gave it away to someone 
who'd appreciate it instead of letting junk clutter up their house.

*do I sense an onslaught of donations to someboysjumpers?*

I think I should stop now. Merry Christmas Shopping, everyone.

marisa.

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