Skip to main content

Sundays, Skype, Superbowl?

Sunday afternoons are meant for two things: napping & catching up with far-away-friends. After a little lay-down I opted for a couple of Skype dates instead of the Superbowl.

Date #1:

Me: Hello? Can you hear me? Can you see me?
Friend: Why do you have butterflies on your sweater?
Me: Uh, because it is a butterfly sweater?
Friend: Where did you get it?
Me: Um, a bag of clothing?
Friend: Like the dumpster?
Me: (laughter) No... my housemate's girlfriend & her roommate were getting rid of clothes. It was in there, and I thought maybe I could pull it off...
Friend: Yeah, maybe...
Me: (faking surprise) What? You don't like it? How about this butterfly?? (I lean towards the webcam so she gets a good view of the butterfly on my shoulder...)
Friend: Mmmmm. (sarcastic)

Moral of the story: apparently I can't rock this sweater.


Sometimes I get distracted in conversations by unintentional and irrelevant pop-culture reference. Talking about roommate relationships (we lived together in university), I commented, "In a way, what goes around comes around..." and heard Justin Timberlake's voice in my head...

For the record, I don't like the content of this song, but I do like the sound of it. Specifically the use of the sitar. I think it's a sitar? Let's say it is.


Later on, she said something about worrying "if this is the new normal, how it's going to be from now on..." What I heard was David's voice.
"Is this going to be forever??"



The second skype call lasted the entire Superbowl...sometimes there is a lot to say.

Apparently the Saints won? Go Saints.

Comments

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Watching the super bowl game is something that needs to be done in community, at least that's how I feel.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...