the daily snivel

 

Something I haven't been too eager to share is the fact that my girlfriend Mélanie and I broke up during the winter. Despite a solid, beautiful friendship and nearly three years together, we reached the point where it was no longer happy for us. I made Mélanie feel insecure and more than a little confused and unhappy by virtue of my wariness of defining an extremely serious relationship with a solid future, and she in turn made me feel somewhat constrained and a bit trapped. I don't think either of us was truly at fault; we cared about one another deeply (and still do), and get along even better now as friends (and far more easily). That said, the unhappy moments were increasing in number and we were both dealing with different, powerful stresses in our lives. It eventually seemed the best decision to make, though at first it was sort of a "trial" breakup to see how we fared. It was confusing and ill-defined, but I had to admit I was happier being friends. We could spend time together because we wanted to, not because we had to as a couple.

This of course is all further complicated by the fact that Mel lives in the apartment upstairs from me, and we have joint custody of a cat that she adopted in January. George lives downstairs with me, because it turns out that Mélanie is severely allergic to him (to the point of having asthmatic attacks), but she adores him and visits him every day, brings him upstairs for snuggly naps, buys his food, pays the veterinary bills, etc. I have a good arrangement. I just put the food in his bowl, add some love, scoop out the litter box and give him a warm place to sleep, and he wakes me up every morning with disgusting cat kisses all over my lips and nose. So, we still don't have a clearly delineated home situation. This makes moving on difficult, not only because our daily lives are peppered with constant communication and contact, but because that is such a comfortable way to do manage our lives right now. It would be very hard to introduce new people and new situations to that balance, or to want to.

By no means am I ready for a new relationship in any event. I really am happy with things the way they are right now. It's fuzzy but uncomplicated. I think it's a good idea for people to get comfortable with the idea of being single -- to learn that they shouldn't define their lives in terms of a relationship or another person. Loneliness is natural, and the more time goes by the more frequently one's thoughts will turn to lovin' or smooching or something similar, but the rush to be in a relationship can mean making bad choices, and can make it harder to leave a relationship if it goes sour. It's better to see solitude as a choice, and a bit of a luxury, so that sharing oneself with another person becomes a bit of a sacrifice (or a love offering), and not a "completion" or something similarly self-abnegating. This is not easy for someone who has been known to be very sucky and needy in the past, but I'm trying to see things in a new way, especially after historically alternating between being badly hurt and similarly hurting others.

Still. I do admit (from personal experience) that a body does sometimes want the thrill of going out on dates with new and interesting people. It makes you feel attractive and desirable and buoyed by optimism and a little positive momentum. It's possibly even zesty. And, yes, it can lead to smooching.

So, I decided to try my luck within the bizarre world of on-line dating. It's a bit like the cybernetic world of TRON, having adventure and pitfalls and computer generated images and lots of acronyms (like... shudder... 'LOL' and 'RU' and 'PPL'), but without the reassuring certainty that because it's fiction, and Disney, and 1982, everything will work out perfectly in the end and everyone will be happy and get what they deserve. No, on-line dating has no such guarantees.

I'm sure you've all visited websites like The Onion, Salon.com, Nerve.com, and Television Without Pity (and so on), and I'm sure you've all noticed the photo of some hottie of the day posted prominently at each. This is the front face of an interconnected network of portals run by Spring Street Networks, which has been making lots and lots of money of late by hooking readers of said sites up. Granted, the demographics involved (young, educated, liberal, urban) makes for a fairly enlightened sample, and so I decided to sign myself up.

If curiousity ever got the better of you, I could be found therein as 'atypical_male' (I mean, what else?).

I'm swallowing my pride by admitting all this to you, but I figure it's about time someone was honest about it. And, to be sure, I felt that the guy I saw last week when I was out with friends at The Honest Lawyer -- who was really and truly dressed in a shirt that was halfway unbuttoned, with chains around his neck, and was all by himself and looking to pick up drunk chicks -- was a LOT more pathetic and desperate than someone who can face up to the fact that it is sometimes hard to meet new, single people in this big and disconnected urban civilization. I basically decided that since I wasn't looking for a serious relationship anyway, I had very little to lose by dating some local smartypantses and adding some cheese (not spice) to my social life.

So, interested in the dates themselves? Tired of contrived romance on so-called reality TV? Got a voyeuristic penchant for some genuine dirt? Wanna live vicariously through me by getting the juicy details?

Then stay tuned. 

 

You're the United Nations!

Most people think you're ineffective, but you are trying to completely save the world from itself, so there's always going to be a long way to go.  You're always the one trying to get friends to talk to each other, enemies to talk to each other, anyone who can to just talk instead of beating each other about the head and torso.  Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, and you get very schizophrenic as a result.  But your heart is in the right place, and sometimes also in New York.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

Describes me right down to my Netherlands. Thanks to Cruinne for pointing that one out. 

  the fruits of a photobooth:

 

I like to periodically capture images of myself through the reliably terrible medium of bus terminal photobooths, because nothing captures a soul like grainy, grainy film drenched in overexposed lighting. My only regret about this photo is that it cut off the best part of my hand, which of course was pointed at my pretty head like an imaginary gun. And I'm trying to wince, but of course I can't take myself seriously and am smiling quite genially. One of the reasons I took it was so that I could post it on the salon/nerve/onion personals site so as to update my profile. After some waffling and wrestling with the last lingering vestiges of my personal pride, I decided that I'm finally going to write a piece about my many tragically comic (or comically tragic... tramedy?) experiences in on-line dating in the next couple of days, and I want something obvious out there if people are at all inclined to find me and see what sorts of offerings I'm dangling in front of my fellow electronic lonelyhearts.

Meanwhile, of course, I have to talk about the crazy blackout that I and millions of other people in Ontario and the US Eastern Seaboard endured through 24 hours or so of pure inconvenience. I was at work when the lights went out, and at first we assumed that the problem was confined to our floor, or at the very worst our building. Looking out my office window, however, I could see dozens of people stepping out onto their balconies, almost in unison, and looking out at one another in a shared consciousness of confusion and a/be/musement. People met each other's eyes, and shrugged, and milled about, staring into the streets for some sign of what had happened, and so I knew that the problem spanned at least a significant chunk of downtown Ottawa. After fifteen minutes of blackness, it was clear the lights weren't coming back on in time to save the afternoon, so my colleagues left work early. I promised to lock up, as I had to change into my bicycle shorts and didn't want to have to do that in a pitch-black bathroom.

The neat thing about cycling everywhere is that one tends to rely on a security blanket of tools and attachments that might come in handy in adverse situations. Some would find it inconvenient to always have a backpack, but I wouldn't head out without its reassuring presence. In mine I keep a tire pump, a hand-sized toolkit, LED head and tail-lamps, spare batteries, lubricant, and of course gobs and gobs of ire to share with motorists who aren't sharing the road, and those pesky people sashaying through life on in-line skates. Anyway, the important extra of that day was my Cateye headlamp, which served quite well as a flashlight and allowed me to see my way through dark hallways and the sightless depths of the bathroom, which I ultimately had to make use of despite my best efforts.

When I finally left for the day, I found the streets locked up in the worst kind of traffic, as traffic lights everywhere were dead and people essentially had to commute through rush hour on good intentions and barely remembered Drivers' Ed instructions on how to treat a four-way intersection when the lights go out. I stopped by a pet store on Bank Street in the hopes of finding crickets for my hungry tree frogs, but all I found were the employees sitting outside and glued to a portable radio. "There won't be any crickets until tomorrow," the clerk told me, "and I'm not even sure about that." From what she could gather, all power in North America was out, and it sounded to her like a terrorist attack. I was incredulous, and speculated that in all likelihood the grid for Ontario and the East Coast had been overloaded in much the same way as in 1965 (knowledge of which I gladly attribute to James Burke's amazing series Connections, which highlighted the cascade of events responsible for this). Ontario hydro officials have been speculating about something similar for years now, because demand is far outstripping supply, and in the summer heat as transmission lines sag and strain to provide enough precious juice, all it would take is an overload somewhere to send the system tumbling.

I sound much more like a know-it-all in hindsight. At the time, my gifted insight sounded much more like, "Nah, it was probably just one air conditioner too many."

On the ride home, I tried (oh, how I tried) to obey the rules of the road. I sat at one intersection for ten minutes, waiting for a bus to move enough past me that I could see whether the lane I wanted to turn into was clear, even for a moment. A young woman had taken the opportunity to park herself on the corner with a notebook, and was busy jotting down everyone's reactions to the outage. For the most part, it seemed like people were just confused. No one had a great deal of information, and conflicting accounts drifted through the air from one conversation to the next.

On Elgin Street, stuck at another intersection, a very nice young woman walking down the street smiled at me and suggested that I should just ride on the sidewalks, as she'd come from further downtown and there was simply no hope as far as traffic was concerned. I'd been thinking the same thing, but had hoped it wouldn't come down to that, as I think it's obnoxious when cyclists hog sidewalks. We agreed that the extenuating circumstances provided something of a justification, and I guiltily hoisted my shiny red bike up onto the sidewalk and continued on my way -- guiltily, but also a lot more speedily. Here and there, at very major intersections, the police were directing traffic (at one or two places, private citizens had bravely or foolishly taken it upon themselves to do the same), but for the most part it was driving anarchy.

I stuck to the roads when I could, though. I didn't believe it when I read it, but most cycling accidents happen on paths or sidewalks or otherwise off city streets. On reflection, though, it begins to make sense, since most of the people who cycle on the road are basically competent to do so safely, whereas any jackass can ride on the sidewalk down a one-way street or zip around the many twists and turns of a recreational path. Indeed, one of our law school colleagues is having a practical exercise in torts right now, as she was involved in a bike accident when the person cycling ahead of her stopped abruptly and improperly. Our friend was thrown from her bike, ruined her knee, required facial stitches and broke her helmet into three pieces. The police kept her helmet. Apparently they like to show the crushed helmets to kids as a reminder of what could have happened to a head in that situation. Our friend needs reconstructive knee surgery and one of our professors is helping with a legal action against the tortfeasor to recover the costs incurred. And all this on a bike path.

Anyway, I made it home safe and sound, and plugged into all the radio news I could get through the CBC. I made sure my friends were also home and safe, and actually had a long nap instead of running around getting freaked out (or drunk). I woke up and lit some candles in the bathroom, making use of some iron sconces there and in the hallway that only rarely get used. Dinner was simple fare -- I could have lit the barbecue or something, but I was tired, and running low on useful foods, so I made peanut butter and jam sandwiches for my friend Mélanie, and ate two cold tofu burgers myself. Overall, it was a pleasant evening, and not really all that humbling. I mean, the lights went out and we all survived. People behaved themselves for the most part, and the power was back on in most of the region by midnight or so. The next day, we put up with rolling blackouts, but the local grocery store had its own generator, so I was able to drop by and pick up everything I needed to survive for a week of blackouts, and still go out later with friends for drinks.

Since then, it's mainly been an exercise in saving power. I bought a laundry rack so that I could dry my clothes outside, and have avoided the air conditioner, the TV, the stove, and the dryer. My iBook has been my trusty friend through all of it, since it has its own battery, connects through dial-up internet, and uses very little power compared to a desktop when plugged in. I actually have the entire week off work, though I'm trying to get work done from home, and find myself trying to make projects for myself that require leaving the house so that I don't turn into a slug. Just yesterday I cycled all the way to Billings Bridge along the river just to buy those crickets I'd been needing, and some school supplies. Today I even cycled to work so I could pick up some files. It's just nice to get out and be productive, even if I am sleeping in to ungodly hours.

In other news, I finally learned which division of the Community Legal Clinic I will be working at come September. As part of our degrees, all law students are required to fulfill oral advocacy requirements that strengthen their presentation, research, and advocacy skills. This can be done through things like moot courts, but I opted to apply for a position at the clinic. Clinic work is similar to what I did with the duty counsel during my undergraduate degree. We're assigned to different divisions (criminal, civil, women's, tenant, HIV, and community legal education) and in these we interview clients, manage cases, and even make some court appearances. It's a lot of extra work, but nevertheless a privilege to be selected for the clinic program. My older sister loved her work in the Women's Division last fall and winter (and she has a summer job there as well), and I knew from before I applied to the University of Ottawa that clinic work really spoke to me.

Anyway, I learned in July that I would be in the clinic program. I learned three days ago that I would be in the criminal division, which was my first choice for placement. This means I'll be responsible for low-level criminal cases (no risk of jail time), assisting people who cannot afford their own legal representation. I may even get to work with some of the amazing lawyers who guided me so aptly during my stint with duty counsel. Needless to say, I'm delighted. It's a lot of responsibility (which does still intimidate me a little), but is real, hands-on experience that most people don't get until they start articling.

Which also reminds me that I have to brag and let you know that my older sister Tamara just found out that she'll be articling with the Crown Attorney's office in Newmarket, Ontario (an hour's commute north of Toronto). Yep, this family is big on crime. Sometimes we're even on the good side of the courtroom (the side that's being paid to be there).