it's a politician! it's a Sens fan! no...it's a date!

earlier this week, i'm hunkered down and hard at work in the lap of luxury (aka seated at the long, wooden table of the Château Laurier lobby), when the man nearby -- who (wiley thing that he is!) has clearly popped by the hotel just so he can take advantage of the free copy of the Globe & Mail -- mentions that Jean and Aline Chrétien have just walked in. oooh! except i can't see them from the table, am too lazy and fearful for my computer's safety to get up, and decide to be content knowing some kind of interesting celebrity (think choke-hold / "Shawinigan Handshake") is within earshot.

this evening, as one of only four people in the café, i think i see a first date only a couple of tables over. there's even some (trivial) intrigue because of the noticeable age gap between the date candidates (candi"dates"?): the woman is probably mid-30s, the man -- judging by the colour of his hair, which is all i can really see of him -- is 60+. the would-be date proves a bit of a bust, though. first of all, they're clearly just colleagues or platonic friends of some sort. second, the only other thing that catches the eye is that, at one point, the dude's trenchcoat falls off his chair and on to the floor. i nearly go over to pick it up for him. but all in all, there's just nothing much to say about them. or so i think! as it's not long before they're getting ready to leave, and Dude turns around to grab said coat and expose himself as none other than Bob Rae.

after his departure, the café's quite empty, and the street outside the window is a sea of Senators' jerseys -- racing to get into the nearest bar with a television -- and cars -- scrambling to find parking for tonight's Game 7 against the Rangers.

and then it happens. with bated breath, and for weeks now, i have been waiting for this moment: a date. a true blue, bona fide, in-the-flesh and totally uncomfortable coffee-shop date! and this one's a doozie.

the girl arrives early. the guy arrives on time (i assume), some 20 minutes after her. he's got a kind of punk-prep thing going on. i dig his shoes. she's cute. pixie blonde, cowl-neck sweater. whatever. but -- holy mother of pearl -- Pixie's an absolute date drill sergeant! let's be clear: she's not telling him what to do. what she is doing, however, is peppering him with seriously loaded questions as though, earlier today, she'd secured a machine gun to her brain, channelled it through her mouth and is now aiming it directly at Shoes. here's a snapshot -- and i swear i haven't made any of it up:

[inhale]

doyouhaveanysiblings? whendidyoubreakupwithyourlastgirlfriend? areyouclosewithyourgrandfather? doyouwatchsoccer? i'vebeentospain -- didn'tlikebarcelona -- doyou like spain? whatareyoulookingforinapartnerrightnow? doyouwannajusthavefunwithme? ordoyouwantmore? whataboutYOU? areYOURparentsstilltogether? doyoufindottawaboring? it'sagoodplaceforraisingafamily, don'tyouthink?

and on, and on, and on...

it's in these moments that i believe in every stereotype there ever was about women who chatter on and scare men on all levels. at one point, she leaves to go to the washroom, and the guy seems to sigh from relief. truth be told, i sighed with him. poor soul. poor poor, Shoes.

and now back to translating...

traps?

hmmm, it's possible this blog will soon require some editing (read: deleting), as Professor FLQ strikes again, unofficially offering me translation work:

1. he boasts that he will "personally" ensure my name appears on the translation publications currently underway (imagine proud dad-like har-har-harring)
2. explains he will have articles about Ignatieff + separatism coming out soon -- and that, by the by, Iggy never should have said what he said yesterday!
3. i, half-jokingly, offer to translate said articles
4. he says there will indeed be some in french, so "why don't i get your contact info"
5. two thoughts simultaneously cross my mind: 1) this could be really interesting work, 2) thank goodness for cryptic university email addresses -- as, still unsure of this guy's true intentions, i'm loath to relinquish my anonymity. and, before that transaction will take place, there's gonna need to be some proof of identification on his part: i'm talking about official, university-approved business cards.

mini conclusion #1: coffee shops are, apparently, hotbeds for potentially nabbing contracts.

in other news: this starb*cks has just witnessed a bit of drama. sorry, let me rephrase: that should be "drama". there's a trapdoor in the floor among the chairs and tables, and a worker has just discreetly opened it and dipped inside the cavern, nowhere to be seen, to do something or other. enter middle-class chic-ster: 60-year-old who screams "wannabe artist", with her ginormous dark-rimmed glasses, long trenchcoat, upswept hair and flashy fashionista scarf. for some reason, the trapdoor scene makes me think of those thirty-some chilean miners trapped underground for days in 2010. however, when Artista spots the open space in the floor, she's caught off-guard, and -- without the slightest hint of irony in her voice -- exclaims: "isn't that just everyone's nightmare!"

mini conclusion #2: sometimes i'm terribly embarrassed to be middle-class white folk.

luckily, i'm quickly able to forget about our "traumatized" latte-sipping fool, as the current café playlist track is Rilo Kiley's "Silver Lining".

mini conclusion #3: art is usually what makes a day a little bit better. three cheers!

and now back to translating...

"read"-handed?

Professor FLQ's legitimacy has become even more questionable. literally thirty seconds after i post the last entry, he pops over beside me, with an all-knowing grin on his face. the conversation goes something like this:

-pro(f)lq: *enthusiastic* you look like you're a journalist! 
-me: *slightly awkward laugh* no...
-pro(f)lq: oh! i could have sworn you were just working on your column for tomorrow.
-me: *more uncomfortable laughter* my thesis advisor sure would be thrilled if i wrote something for him tomorrow! but, no, i'm translating.
-pro(f)lq: *excited* oh! traduction? at the university of ottawa? well, *encouraging tone* there's going to be a lot of work for you! and i look forward to reading your work in *uses hands to draw some impressive banner in the sky* The Translator! you are going to be great. i can tell...

the fact that he pounced so quickly, was clearly trying to be charming -- the oldest manipulation trick in the book! -- and (i can't deny it) was doing so very successfully just may suggest that he's as "undercover constable" as i'd suspected! the question now (aside from: what might he have read off my computer screen?) is: what exactly is he "undercovering"? perhaps, just like me, he's wondering why there are so many cops in the coffee shop today...

and now back to translating...

it's raining (police)men

the grey drizzle of dreary skies makes the cozy insides of coffee shops particularly alluring. this has never been more true (it seems) than for the male police officers of ottawa this morning. they are not only fulfilling everyone's favourite stereotype -- though mixing it up a bit by favouring the danish over the traditional doughnut (this is a classier bunch than you might have expected!) -- but also doing it all in impressive numbers. within less than two hours, four groups of three (or more) cops have visited. and these are just the ones in uniform! who knows if the elderly guy in the trenchcoat behind me -- the one who's loudly claiming to be a professor researching the FLQ (pfff, a likely story!) -- isn't actually an undercover constable.

and now back to translating...

it takes two: take two

speaking of Bette Midler...

one of today's barristas fancies herself a musical-theatre genius. think Showboat, Les Miz, Joseph and the Colourful Whatchamacallit. or something from a cruise ship. (go ahead, and imagine the cancan dancers.) anyway, with each song that plays (none of which could possibly be categorized as "musical theatre"), she's enjoying belting out -- no, i mean, BELTING out -- the lines. what's worse: she's delivering them some four bars ahead of time. as if to say: "um, yeah, i pretty much know every song...better than you do". 'nuff said.

in other Midler news: there is, at my one o'clock, a woman who bears a striking physical resemblance to Bette, circa 1988. similar build. same long, poofy red hair. i can't remember the last time i saw such a match. the fact that she arrived after the last blog entry was posted makes me wonder just who is puppeteering this production -- supplying far too many interrelated stories for me to concentrate on much else. all to say, if Mayim Bailik (aka young C.C. Bloom-cum-Blossom) walks through the door, my jaw will not drop.

and now back to translating...

it takes two (androgynous voices)

so, today i'm transported back to 1988. *time travel music*

remember the calgary winter olympics and the Battle of the Brians? and, in politics, the battle of the Brian (Mulroney, that is), with his second, majority win as PM? (no comment.) also, it was a decent year for movies: "Big", "Rain Man", "Naked Gun". but it's another 1988 film that comes to mind this afternoon in this downtown café...

enter the androgynous, animated, two-packs-a-day voice from three tables over. i don't even need to look. can close my eyes and see her perfectly. fifty-something. white. rotund. buxom. self-induced leathery tan. jet black hair (dyed, naturally. <-- get it?). unintentionally clownlike make-up. garish nails. chunky-cheap jewellery. and a real penchant for gossip -- generally of the "celebrity" variety. (perhaps she'll leak the news on whether Aniston is really preggers.) yes: it's Lainie Kazan as overbearing, atlantic-city mom from "Beaches". (you know this flick: with Bette Midler, Barbara Hershey, and something about wind?) well, it's her double, anyway. when i do glance over (who could resist!) and see her with her friend, it's all confirmed. i'd missed only a couple of details: the white sun visor (not just a stylish choice; also very useful when indoors) and the hint of Anjelica-Huston-as-Morticia. shiver.

an hour later, the androgynous voice s(t)ings again. strange, since "the Beaches" have already left. but, as it turns out, this is a new coffee-shop dweller: bleach blonde, wiry and, overall, far less frightening than her counterpart. what i learn -- through what is clearly becoming a compulsion to overhear neighbours talking, despite how quiet they might be -- is that this blonde belle used to be a he.

so, i start thinking: in light of Blondie, there's surely something über-important to be said here, perhaps about how sex and gender are, in many ways, just constructs (acquired, accepted or rejected constructions and reconstructions), or about how cool it is that Blondie can nonchalantly talk about her transition, in the public domain of a coffee house. maybe something or other about the Charter? celebrating 30 years? but, nah. we know this already -- after all, it's not 1988 anymore! and, to be honest, it's Atlantic-City Mama i can't stop thinking about. she's like exhibit A in a case for making something all too clear: simply that, despite all the (however necessary) hubbub over cancer, the big C really isn't the only potential outcome of a bad smoking habit and too much time spent baking in the sun. yikes!

and now back to translating...

back to the future

remember the eff-bomb from a couple of weeks ago? it's ba-ack! this time, instead of being loosely pushed around by the brazen business boy, it's exploding -- repeatedly and with force -- from the tireless mouths of my neighbouring duo of 70-year-old gents. picture "Grumpy Old Men", but with ties, groomed beards and briefcases instead of tilley hats, 5-o’clock shadows and fishing rods. and with considerably more potent and political anger. i can pretty much see the accompanying pop-up words, similar to -- though less amusing than -- those on the Batman tv series. na-na na-na, na-na na-na, eff-bomb!

"i've been working here for [some number of] years, for [BOMB]'s sake!" *ka-POW-ee!*

"[blah blah blah], so what the [BOMB]'s your problem!" *ker-SPLAT!*

luckily for all of us, these are allies, not enemies. as they get up to leave, one of them turns to me and looks down at my computer. i freeze. this is no stupid man. perhaps, in his 2.5-second glance, he might read this? and send a violent word my way? he smiles warmly, places his hat upon his shiny spalding of a head, and makes a friendly remark about my various computer gadgets. and they both walk out the door. sigh. the coffee shop is just a little less interesting without them...

and now back to translating...

a medley!

the (mostly) delightful sounds of this second visit to the westboro bridgehead:
1. Neighbourhood #1 (Arcade Fire)
2. The Other Man (Sloan)
3. You Can Go Your Own Way (Fleetwood)
4. random foot tap-tap-tapping (Mister Business Casual with ADHD)

and now back to translating...

law and order

at yesterday's coffee shop outing, i met the Law Fraternity. da boyz: three sturdy "man's men" (whatever that means) law students who are a mix of charming and repulsive. charming because their brains are alive with activity and because they're very supportive of one another -- helping each other out with complicated legal material as they prepare for their final exam (no doubt worth some 100% of the final grade. yowch!). bonus "charm" points for doing it all bilingually (*swoon*). repulsive because of the jumbling of racial slurs and sexist remarks that periodically rear their ugly heads, and because of the general frat-boy guffawing. all of which sends me right back to grade 9 and the feeling i can't quite describe that makes all 5'11" of me -- both then and now -- feel about a big as a ladybug. whatever...

so, today, they're back. sitting closer than yesterday. the loud gravelly voice of Law Dude #1 (let's call him Husky) and the harmonized har-dee-harring of the legal trio are impossible to ignore -- making translating this article very tricky and blogging about these dudes (and therefore further delaying my work) imperative.

here's what's bizarre: i find myself developing a relationship with them. uh-oh. even though we haven't said a word to each other or even acknowledged one another's presence -- er, this blog notwithstanding -- i find myself beginning to think of them as three new younger brothers: little punks who, despite all of my complaints, all of my "shut ups", all of my "dontsaythats", end up making me laugh at their jokes (the unbigoted ones, anyway) and somehow endearing themselves to me.

oh, the little brother always wins! and this surprise reflection makes me realize that my real younger brother -- whose Wookie impersonation is way better than Husky's real voice, and whose heart just might be made of gold -- is the best little punk i know.

and now back to translating...

Squawker McSquawkerson

this afternoon, i have made the long-awaited journey to the lovely (if not uppity) Westboro, where chain stores are much harder to come by, every parent (and their dog -- literally! ok...not literally) has their baby in a super-chic three-wheeling sporto-stroller, and even the St. Vincent de Paul sells antiques. (note to self: don’t miss snagging that $199 solid-wood dresser.)

the reason i’ve been meaning to venture out here is -- *drum roll* -- to discover some new coffee shops to work in. or at least to see something new when glancing out the window of familiar locales such as the bridgehead, where i am right now (with Arcade Fire featured in the background).

the food here is tops: chocolate-pecan squares and lemon bars and brownies – oh, my! sadly, however, the hot chocolate tends to be subpar. as in, bo-ring, dull, devoid of character, a total snore. by some stroke of luck, today’s is better than usual: a 7 out of 10, say. (the chocolate-syrup-swirl design helped.) this can only be a good omen! and indeed, a slew of “dates” have cropped up already.

first: the Latin Ladies. only caught the tail end of their get-together, but i immediately took to them – no doubt because they were involved in two of my favourite activities: speaking french and speaking spanish. (oh, boy. nerd alert!) the bubbly québécoise woman was practicing her spanish (¡excelente!) with the sweet hispanic-canadian woman who gently corrected mademoiselle here and there. this just in: they meet here again next week. perhaps i’ll just “happen” by and smilingly nudge my way into their conversation – a linguistic ménage à trois, no? ¡claro que sí!

cita número dos: the McSquawkersons. oy vey! you know these two already. one guy, one girl, one totally platonic friendship (between girl and guy), and two intense romances (as in, the ones each egomaniac is having with his- or herself). everything oozing from them is on a twofold mission: 1) to make sure everyone in the café can hear them –*squawk* “so how ARE you?!” *squaaaawk* (together, they could fuel the economy for at least a few new hearing-aid companies) – , and 2) to make sure everyone in the café understands that these are, without a doubt, the two coolest and “craziest” people in the world. ever. (“no, you don’t even know – sometimes i just get so crazy!” *squawk*). sigh. the bridgehead is particularly prone to hosting such characters…

and last but certainly not least: (incidental) date number three. it was the perfect scene. when I look up from my work, he’s already looking at me from across the way, through the window of the entrance. he smiles shyly. my heart skips a beat. it takes him only a few moments to move over to my side of the coffee shop. he has this sweet blond hair and a cherubic face. and, though not too bold, he’s not nearly as awkward or timid as i’d expected a 5-year-old to be! he says hello to me, puts the café’s toy back in the toybox on the ground, and then, after asking me to help him un-catch the pieces of grass (you know, the ones he’d found outside and decided to save) from under the toy, he does a couple of dance moves, smiles sweetly at me again, and takes off with his dad and two sisters. to paraphrase what my friend Rebecca has recently said about her 5-year-old son, i'm now aching to go back to kindergarten just so that i can have a crush on that little boy!

and now back to translating...

the lovers and the fighters

in one corner: the bible studies committee. leafing through the "good book". quoting so-and-so's.

in the other corner: the business dude. conducting condescending quality assessments of his peer-aged "inferiors". tossing around strategies for manipulating potential clients (aka you and me). regularly dropping the eff-bomb.

as each bomb drops, Corner One glances over at Corner Two. darts shoot quietly from their eyes. they make disapproving faces. resume their quoting. discuss how their conversions are going.

Corner Two: oblivious.

the Spectators: un-com-fortable...

and now back to translating...

spring is in the hair! (from the archives of mar 21, 2012)

oh oh oh -- you know the new season has arrived when first dates begin to "spring" up in all the coffee shops. tonight's 20-something sighting: Mr. Sufficiently-Dashing-with-Big-Hair meets Ms. Very-Long-Hair-with-Shockingly-Purple-Dress. likelihood of a match: very good. reason #1: similar hair preferences (aka big). reason #2: if that dress hasn't scared the dude away yet, their connection must be GOLD!

and now back to translating...