Daily Activities, February 14, 2004 6:34 PM 0 comments
Transit conversations and Cereal DVDs
Standing with me on the 76 bus to the big boat on Friday were two first year rower jocks. Funny thing, snippets of their conversation were actually interesting. Definite keeper was when they described a friend of theirs who had recently undergone some hour-long erg, heart rate all 190, working himself so hard "his deodorant was foaming."
Waiting with the walk-ons at the dock, watching a BC Ferry van pull a string of luggage trailers onto the Queen of Saanich, a little girl remarked: "look, it's got cabooses."
Packed four people to a six-seat row on board the old boat and was forced to try and finally read No Logo (Naomi Klein, 2001) while two mid-twenties women within kicking distance discussed/complained about their live-in boyfriends. Both were trying to figure out how the one's beau could clean his car-greased hands on a new white bath towel or wash the kitchen floor with a fresh tea towel. Both agreed that his explanations – ‘Don't worry, I'll wash it' and ‘It's just a tea-towel, jeeze' - were poor ones. Their logic said ‘We have old rags, we only have so many nice things, why wear out the nice things faster?' I couldn't have agreed with them more. I wanted to jump in and offer my condolences to their cause, but chickened out and continued to re-read the same page.
Returned a box of brown sugar frosted Mini-Wheats to Save-On with the girlfriend today because the free DVD inside had been stolen. She hadn't realized when she bought it that the top was open and the movie (one of The Mask, Alice in Wonderland, Monkey Trouble or Spy Kids) was gone. The disks aren't packaged inside the actual bag the little wheaties are, but sit between the bag and the box. Was no problem exchanging the damaged goods for a new one. The lady at the desk said it had happened before. So tonight we'll either see a risqué student comedy play at SFU or watch Spy Kids.
A man may be very industrious, and yet not spend his time well. There is no more fatal blunderer than he who consumes the greater part of life getting his living.—Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)
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