2004-03-30

I have returned, and it sucked. Not being in Toronto, of course, but the actual “returning” aspect. As usual, I got to spend the five-hour bus ride developing an unwelcome intimacy with the class of human being who would best serve their purpose to the human race as a whole by becoming laboratory test subjects. You know the type. The shaved monkey I got paired with was a teenaged girl who spent the entire ride having an “Oh my God, like, totally” conversation with her friend across the aisle about a party they were both at the night before. They spent five hours talking about a party they’d both attended! Apparently exhaustive analysis was required of drunken conversations they’d had with each other (“…and then you were like, ‘Look at my shoes! They’re awesome!” and I was like ‘I know, you told me!” and you were like ‘But look at them!’”). Apparently their intellects function much like a hamster in a wheel, tirelessly and squeakily re-treading the same miniscule territory. After the batteries on my walkman died, I passed the time engaging in pleasant fantasies of vivisection.

But Toronto itself was great. I got to meet the illustrious Joey Cuppa – or rather, his alter-ego, the mild-mannered “Joe.” I suspect I may have been a disappointment: my hard-partying days, I fear, are behind me. At eleven o’clock, after my lone post-dinner hot chocolate and whiskey, I got all blinky-tired and cranky and had to hobble bed-wards like a senior citizen.

Which I am, pretty much. I turned twenty-six on Sunday. In lieu of gifts, donations can be made to the Osteoporosis Foundation.