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Saturday
(a second-hand conversation, reported with permission)
(parent takes child soccer-enthusiast to his first-ever Toronto FC game)
Child: Why are those people yelling at the players? Don’t they know how hard it is to play soccer?
Parent (explains about the concept of heckling)
Child: Oh, so they’ve never played soccer themselves. I see.

Tuesday
Just a reminder that my first name is REBECCA; however, a lot of my digital footprint (instagram account, email address) is under some variant of the name Rrose. This is either a dull abbreviation of my name (first initial plus first half of my last name) OR an extremely obscure reference to Marcel Duchamp’s drag alter ego, Rrose Selavy, that name being itself an aural pun in French (say it aloud: Eros, c’est la vie!) Am I pretentious, obsessed with sex, obsessed with Dadaism? We’ll never know—but my name is definitely Rebecca, hence that first R. For the THIRD time in 2024, someone just called me Rose after seeing my email address even though we had had a previous—and recent, moments before—conversation wherein I said “my name is Rebecca.” I actually have come to hate my email address because it’s not gmail, even though I think it’s better than gmail, because everyone always expects gmail and I have to spell it aloud, often while yelling in a crowded place. I have started asking people if I can write it out for them or even asking to key it into their phone for them, but this does not help with the apparent INSISTENCE that everyone’s email address include their first name. I cannot unbrainwash people who ALREADY knew my name that this new piece of information is not going to change that and I am too deeply interconnected electronically to change my email addresss. This is a very minor problem and I don’t know why I care but three seems like too many and it has been an annoying day.

The Following Tuesday (this post just sits in my drafts and when it has enough content I post it)
Mark: Did I overhear you on the phone arguing with GoTransit?
RR: Yeah.
MS: About what?
RR: About a problem that has already been resolved, but not to my satisfaction.
MS: …I see.
RR: I’m one of those people now.
MS: Uh-huh.
RR: You know what would cheer me up? If you could go get my engagement ring out of my jewellery box and come put it on my finger.
MS: Ok. (departs)
RR (yelling) It’s in the top compartment.
MS: Yep. (does not return)
RR (yelling) How’s it going?
MS: I can’t get the drawer open. Oh! It’s not a drawer. (returns, holds out ring) Will you marry me?
RR: Yes!
MS (puts ring on RR’s finger, kisses her)
RR: Never gets old!
MS: Never gets old!
(both return to work)

Somehow Still the Same Tuesday (what a day!)
(discussing the song “Because the Night”)
MS: I need to send you the Bruce live version.
RR: I like the Patti Smith version. Of all the ones I’ve heard: Bruce, Patti, 10,000 Maniacs, Sting…Patti is the best.
MS: You need this live one though. But promise you’ll watch it, not just listen, ok?
RR: No, not Sting…Bono. There’s a Bono version, not Sting. They are the same. Similar.
MS: No, they are not the same. And it’s pronounced BAH-no, not BONE-oh.
RR: Really? I never knew that. I guess I’m not a big U2 fan. I always said BONE-oh.
MS: That’d be the Australian slang for sex.
RR: Wait, it IS or it sounds like?
MS: It WOULD be, if it were a real word. But it isn’t.
RR: Ok.
MS: Watch the video. I’m gonna send it.

This is the video—it really is good, and it’s as old as I am.

Saturday (a different one)
(visiting my momintator)
RR: Is there anything else you need me to do while I’m here?
Mom: Well, it’s not a big deal and you don’t have to worry about it, but I wasn’t able to change one of my alarm clocks during fall back. Last time I couldn’t do it and Ben had to try for a long time but then he did it.
RR: It sounds like the problem is that your alarm clock is broken.
Mom: One of my alarm clocks.
RR: Why do you need to keep a broken alarm clock? Or any alarm clock? Why do you have this?
Mom: I’ve had it for years. It’s the one that Dad had downstairs, remember?
RR: No.
Mom: You don’t have to worry about it. It doesn’t matter.
RR: No, no, I can try to help you fix it, I’m just trying to…understand the context.
(we go into the bedroom and look at the right bedside table, which, sure enough, contains two alarm clocks)
RR: This one has the right time.
Mom: That one doesn’t light up…mainly. This one is an hour off and I can’t change it. Of course, I also have the atomic clock that we got for $5. I like to carry that one from room to room with me.
RR: I—I’m not going to address that. I will try to fix the clock. (very unexpectedly: fixes clock)
Mom: Well that’s great, thank you.
(RR’s gaze falls on the other, clockless, night stand)
Mom: Sometimes Josey [cat] goes on that nightstand.

Wednesday
I am off this week and have the opportunity to observe things happening during the workday out on the street. I was walking in the Annex and noticed a large group of school kids apparently being herded into a Sleep Country. I had no trouble believing in this as an extremely lacklustre school trip, as when I was in grade 7 my class—my gifted class, which was consistently lacklustre—was taken to a Tim Hortons as a field trip. I learned almost nothing except how jelly doughnuts are made, which is (one of) the reasons I cannot eat jelly doughnuts. Anyway, it turned out I was wrong and the students were being herded into a Spirit of Math beside the Sleep Country, which made slightly more sense. But still—either way.

Wednesday (yet another one—I have to end this post)
RR (glances at Mark’s phone screen): Why do you have the Domino’s Pizza app?
MS: I put it there.
RR: So why do you never order the pizza?
MS: Because you are so good at it.
RR: That is not a thing a person can be good it.
MS: You…find deals…and stuff.
RR: So why do you need the app, since I have to do all the pizza-ordering. With my superior skills.
MS: It’s so I can have pizza when you’re not around. Even though I don’t get the best deals.
RR: Uh-huh.
MS: And then I can watch its progress on the pizza tracker. You know how I enjoy that.
RR: Yes, I know you do.
MS: It’s great.
RR: I feel if my father were alive, he also would enjoy the pizza tracker.
MS: Yeah! It’s like the indoor-outdoor thermometer—it’s in a similar part of the brain.
RR: And both are located on the Y chromosome.

(the extremely odd header pic was designed by Freepik. I either love it or hate it, one of those)