The Godfather, The Ethiopians, The Canaries

DIARY

This is, of course, still a personal blog.
I haven't gone all political.

Two things from the last month I left out that I didn't want to, and one addendum:

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THE GODFATHER

About a month ago, Jess and I went to Saturday Mass at St. Thomas, and we ran into Tom, my godfather, and his friends Michael and Mike. They invited us back to Tom's apartment for dinner, and so we joined them afterward.

Tom used to lived in a gorgeous house on Harper... it's the sort of place I want more than anything some day... maybe in Carriage Town rather than Hyde Park... but the sort of large-but-cluttered, rambling-but-bright Victorian house, with trees breathing all about and three floors of books and carpet and the smell of coffee, tea, and mothballs.

Tom moved, though, to a spartan garden apartment near the Ray school, and has filled it with his paintings; gorgeous portraits and profiles, all rendered in black and purple and blue and gray, and all with pensive expressions.

We made linguini and salad, and sat and talked for many hours, generally about politics. It's interesting; all of my friends have soemthing vested in current events, but it turns on such a different angle for each of us. For Tom and his friends, the issues circle around the relationship of the Church to gay Catholics, which is, of course, mirrord in the so-called secular debate of the Federal Marriage Amendment.

(Was I supposed to capitalize that? See, that's why I don't get to write among the Big Blogs...)

Justifying Current Obsessions:
All of the questions asked in the political sphere right now are one of the doubles that Artaud constantly referred to... the connection to what we really want is, for now at least, deep and rooted. I think that's why our logic has become so knotty and tangled:

1. You want to convince someone of what you want, but the reason you want what you want is not the most effective argument.

2. You defer to a more effective argument, easier to defend, but with which you are far more unfamiliar.

3. It's because the reasons you can provide for wanting something are not up to the rationales you can provide for wanting it.

And so on.

(I should edit that whole last bit out. See, that's why I don't get to write among the Big Blogs...)

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THE ETHIOPIANS

About two weeks ago, Sam and his father came down when I was in the final stages of setting up my room. This was about 2 days before out apartment warming party. They went down to the Museum of Science and Industry that day. I remained and worked on my room. They came back. We all went out for Ethiopian food.

I'd only had Ethiopian once before, in New York, at eighteen. So I'd pretty much forgotten the experience. The incense we smelled upon entering the small restaurant on Broadway reminded Mr. Harbin and I both of the sort of incense they burn at High Mass. Colorful sashes hung on the whitewashed walls, with stylized paintings.

The waitress allowed us to choose between "tables" and "traditional" and we chose the latter; a sort of wooden basin supported by circular woven reeds. The food arrived on a flat pan and consisted of three entrees and three side dishes, all set upon a spongy cake. The grain was native to Ethiopia, and had the consistency of a thin pancake, but a distinctly, faintly spicy, sour flavor. We are until we were full, but walked easily afterward. The waitress happily expalined the customary "right" way to eat, so we didn't embarass ourselves too much. And the coffee... I loved the coffee. Not dissimilar to Turkish coffee, I thought, but less bitter.

We walked up Broadway, taking in the smells of Bosnian, Mexican, Cajun, and barbecue as we went. At Devon, we turned off and walked through the campus of Loyola, passing clusters of students; nineteen-year olds giggling and probably a little tipsy. We hoped the rope guard at the lake and hopped along the rocks. Then, we made our way back to Sheridan, and the alley, and Kenmore, and home, and Jessica came over to visit.

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THE CANARIES

I finally compiled all the corrections made to the Canaryville context page and was in the middle of revising it when my password stopped working.
So if I get any more hate mail, I'll just reply, "Hey. I was working on it. I got kicked off the site."
I've written to Topcities.
I'm waiting to hear back.

~ Connor

PS. Let it be noted that Gemma and Ben didn't leave until 3 AM. ;)