Friday, August 29, 2008

Toronto, Canada.



A social experiment.

How many birthdays can one person celebrate in a year before people catch on?

My guess. Three.

The funny thing is that people who were actually AT MY BIRTHDAY PARTY less than two months ago are still wishing me the best this morning on, this, my third birthday of the year.

Fascinating.

You see, every couple of months I've been quietly changing my birth date on Facebook. And every couple of months THE SAME PEOPLE are wishing me a happy birthday.

The messages on my wall are wonderfully 'personal'... such as "Wow! Same day as me!" (Nope.) or "I always knew you and I get along because we're both August babies" (I'm not one. And we really don't get along.)

We use birthdays as a form of identification and as a secure means of checking legal age, social qualification and astrological sign.

"What is your birthday?" is the question that is generally used to differentiate similar people with the same name who are mistakenly on the no-fly list.

It's on those forms you hand in at customs at the airport. It's how people choose their lucky lottery numbers. When timed correctly, it's good for a free piece of cake at your favorite chain restaurant.

Birthdays are probably not the most static and secure piece of personal information.

(1) Who's going to prove you wrong? There's no real way to prove what DAY someone was born on.
(2) People generally have no memory for remembering occasions for which they were not a part.
(3) People like the positive feeling and feedback that they get when they acknowledge another person regardless of whether or not the reason for the praise is valid.

It seems to be a pretty serious social taboo to mess with your date of birth.

"I know that's not really your birthday."


Come on. Do you have anything to suggest that the date which I am referring to my birthday now is any more or less valid that the date I may have told you before?

Life goes on... it just gets harder and harder to blow out all the candles on the cake.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

New York City, USA



"Pardon me sir, where is the Men's Room?"

The Men's room.

A euphamism if there ever was one.

It sounds like some fancy, exclusive club.

A place to negotiate contracts and debate the minutia of some professional endeavor.

Yes, you too can be invited inside this sphere of influence and prosperity.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Chicago, USA



There are two Chicagos.

Maybe three.

They exist at completely different Cartesian coordinates.

I can't quite figure out what made the pilot change directions, but we're clearly in the other one.

I strike up conversation.

"You've changed, Jim. You're a completely different person."

Perhaps that's because he is.

He has no idea who I am or why I'm talking to him.

He's staring at me like I'm a complete stranger. Which I am.

Nice buildings. Beautiful waterfront. Passionate optimism.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

New York City, USA







He seemed like such a nice man the moment I got into the car.

"Hello Sir. Where to?" he asks in his strong Indian-tinged accent.

"39th and Lex."

"Ok, right away."

And we're off. The taxi rolls into action. Shoots down through the Village like Knight Rider. The poor driver is losing his mind. Swearing like a sailor.

"Fffffffffuckkkkkkkk YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!" he leans out the window and screams at a man legally crossing the street.

"FFFFFFFFffffffffffukkkkkkkkkkk YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!" at the woman in the Honda alongside as he swerves to cut her off, almost tossing her and her car straight into Gramercy Park.

"FFFFFUCKKK YOUUUUU!" to the left. "FFFFFUCK YOUUUUUU!" to the right.

Rollercoaster meets Bangalore meets Tourettes.

Holding on for dear life. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. Stop.

"Thank you." His demenour instantly shifts back to calm blue ocean.

I arrive at the restaurant where my friend begins to describe for me the New York social scene.

The way I understand it, here... everyone is a proverbial cab. Everyone's vacant light goes on every once in a while. There might be good fares, and there might be those that decide to leave before paying... but in the end...the whole social interacion thing is a truly temporary experience.

There are lots of nice cabs. They'll take you anywhere, anytime... but you're likely to just get taken for a ride.

Love New York.