Posted on April 25, 2005


Yesterday I had a funky dream and during the dream I actually recall thinking about how weird the goings-on were and telling myself to remember to blog about them. I had no idea this had sunk to that level of my subconscious. Of course, now that I’m awake I realize it wasn’t worth blogging about since weird things routinely happen in dreams. Boo.

In other news, I actually lost something else in my huge curly hair today, unbelievably. A dime. Not, one would think, the most adhesive of objects. I shook my hair a bit and jumped up and down, but nothing. My hair was even loose. Anyway, I couldn’t go on doing this very long because I was paying for coffee and the cashier was looking at me expectantly as I jiggled, as were the people behind me in line.
I sat down with my coffee and the dime rolled out from somewhere. I left it on the floor to commemorate the awesome power of The Hair.

As I waited for the elevator in my building today I had a novel in my hand that I had been reading on the bus. A neighbour approached and I instantly clutched my book to me so that he wouldn’t see the frivolous title (it was called Chasing Men – could anything be more damning). Normally, of course, it is just egotism to assumes that anyone cares in the slightest what people next to them are reading. But sure enough, after an exchange of pleasantries, he asked me what I was reading. To be fair, the last time I ran into him he had a book and I asked what it was and it was some improving tome about imperialism. We had a lofty discussion about the merits of a possible class action suit against the American and Canadian governments for…get this!..slavery. I gave him my informed legal opinion (as if). So understandably I was reluctant to reveal my true persona – some girl who reads chicklit voraciously. So I blushed and said “No! It’s embarrassing!” and clutched it closer. Of course it was the kind of book where the title was in letters a foot high. To cover my ass I hurriedly said “I’m relaxing my mind.” Right. It’s already so relaxed it could pour out of my ears.
So we got on the elevator and I assumed my illicit reading material was safe, since there were some five other people in there, all of whom looked like they thought Nietzsche was a laugh riot. But no…he waited until there was total silence and asked again “So, come on, what are you reading?” Five pairs of eyes swivelled to me. I stammered something about it not being any of his busines (but more polite than that). I hopped off with my dignity intact.
It’s worth noting that this is a guy who for months actually doffed his fedora to me and bowed every time he saw me. Being fascinating and beautiful, I accepted this sort of behaviour as my due. Well, actually, first I asked my roommate if he did the same to her and when she said no, I then accepted that it was my fascinating-and-beautiful due. Didn’t want to falsely encourage my ego, you know. One day he introduced himself to me with the question “What’s your background, Miss?” People are always asking me this…I have become accustomed to being racialized. Although frankly there are tens of thousands of Middle Eastern people in this city and people should really have a ballpark region. It’s not like he heard me talk a foreign language or something, that he should be so consumed with curiosity as to ask this question. But it was the “Miss” that bugged me. Am I a grownup now? But perhaps the fedora should have tipped me off as to his formal predilections. Anyway so I said in surprise “I’m Arab.”
“No, Egyptian.”
“Ah….an African sister,” he said in satisfaction. I was irritated. African unity is an even sillier concept than Arab unity. We’re not the same. So I said “Um….Yeah,” and beat it round the corner.