Thursday, April 3, 2008

disregard this

I'm doing this to distract myself from the mountain of work waiting menacingly on my floor. Yeah, the floor. The pile grew too large for my desktop. That's how bad it is. Excuse me as I quiver with anxiety... but first, a solo MGMT dance party.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

pawn shops aren't only for crack addicts anymore

Today, after class, I braved the strong winds in hopes of finding a cheap ukulele downtown, in Pawn Shop central. I saw some desperate souls on the stretch of Church street, just steps away from the notorious Regent Park "community" and several shelters. A row of about seven shops dominate the block, only interrupted by a McDonald's, Gino's Pizza, the United Church on the west side of the street, McDonald's being the sorriest place to be at 4:30 PM on a Tuesday afternoon, although I'm sure it's much worse at 11:30 PM on a Saturday night.

After interrogating an Eastern European clerk for twenty minutes (Me: "Do you sell ukuleles?" He points to an acoustic guitar. Me: "No. A ukulele. A small four-stringed guitar." He shrugs, points to a banjo. I leave), I finally make my way up to William's: the cleanest and most organized of them all. One shop was merely a 10-foot pile of semi-broken 1980's radios and receivers with wires and plugs protruding from every crack. The sign on the wall reads "quality good's. make us a offer!" I turn to leave, hindered only by the walleyed cat weaving between my legs, shedding all over my dark wash jeans.

I enter William's, attracted by the relatively vast array of instruments in the window (a clarinet, a bent slide trombone, a Yamaha acoustic guitar) and absorb my surroundings. There's a man with a deep scar on his left cheek, squeezing the last new pennies out of one of the brokers. There's a sleeping infant in the stroller next to him occasionally twitching and sleep-suckling. The stroller is one of those cheap fabric backs with warped and discolored handles and spastic wheels, one of which is perpendicular from all the others. He mumbles something to the broker, and motions to the sleeping infant, a sadness and longing in his eyes. The broker nods understandingly, sighs, and flees to the back office. As soon as her back is turned, a sly grin emerges on the man's face. His eyes scan the store and he cracks his knuckles.

My eyes slide over to the wall of hanging string instruments. All the guitars in pawn shops look the same. Same brands, same dull, worn out paint jobs, all of them right-handed. I look past the typical used Strat copies and see a tiny, mahogany ukulele, hanging from its tuning pegs, suspended lopsided in the air by a piece of fishing wire. I'm surprised how light it actually is; the body weighs almost nothing. The mother of pearl marking the 5th and 7th frets look uneven, somehow. Despite everything, I knew I wanted it.

It's funny how that happens sometimes. Despite all the problems that may follow, you just feel compelled to drive to something. This is quite prominent in my life, and ranges in severity and importance. I could be walking home in the rain and feel the sudden urge to jump in a puddle, knowing that I'll be soaked seconds after my feet hit the surface of the water. Although I have time restraints and, obviously, clothing issues, I'll do it anyway. I feel genuinely happy; clean, even. It's amazing how something so simple and childish can make you feel like that. This theme also plays a role in my social life. I'll see a person I'm attracted to -in any way- and see the problems that are tied around them and shrug. So I'll deal with them later, just let me be happy.

That drive has lead me into some problems recently. Awhile ago, I met someone that I thought I liked. He was physically attractive, smart, funny, and what I thought was nice. We introduced each other in that gentile and polite way, saying no more than "Hi, I'm Rachel, how are you? Oh, that's good." I used that one exchange as a ground for "liking him". I thought he was sweet. After that, I obsessed a bit. I didn't talk to him much, we didn't see each other that often, but I still thought about him more than I should have. When he would tease someone, I would laugh and discount it as fooling around. That was until he started on me. It started off as trivial little quips now and then, but has grown to something intolerable. I still think about him, though. Only now I think about pushing him in front of a train instead of dating him. Strange how things turn out.