Yesterday someone insisted that ALL cigars from the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and Honduras were deeply connected to the Illuminati. And started asking hard questions about Mexican leaf. Before suggesting that Canada was far too Arab for comfort. I couldn't wait to have them put some distance between me and them. Because, truth be told, I pride myself on my illumined Arab Canadianity.
Salaam aleikum, eh. Keif halak? Bikhair, eh?
Now please imagine a burst of light.
It's so illuminative!
As we get closer to Christmas, more neurotic behaviour will become manifest. By Christmas eve there will have been several live-action replays of scenes from Marat-Sade.
[The Persecution and Assassination of Jean-Paul Marat as Performed by the Inmates of the Asylum of Charenton Under the Direction of the Marquis de Sade (Auf Deutsch: Die Verfolgung und Ermordung Jean Paul Marats dargestellt durch die Schauspielgruppe des Hospizes zu Charenton unter Anleitung des Herrn de Sade).]
One wishes the bars to the cage were still up.
Keep some of you people inside.
There are discordant noises in the distance. Probably someone's internal karaoke.
More of the crazies are singing than ever before. Their instability is more evident, and their hair dye is running. I have realized that one of the things I like about Chinatown is the greater predictability of people there. They aren't such screaming and insistent unique individuals with personalities that must be expressed no matter how disturbing that might be to their fellow humans. Fewer meaningful tattoos, idiosyncratic piercings, studs, and scarification. Less unwarranted tribal markings, artsy frip-fraps worn as personal adornment or bohemian headgear, and no non-sequiturial imparting of pride in their German or Swedish ancestry, no tartans, nor bottoms spiritually painted blue. Normal people. Who act normally. As a matter of course. And expect the same from other people speaking Cantonese. As is logical.
All the rest of you are exotic and precious and I do wish you'd shut up.
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