let's pause here and rightfully call "spring" (Glorious) Interruption Number One.
next is music. it's a mostly Marley kind of day here. at one point, though, "everybody wants to rule the world" chimes in. 80s junkies know this song's by brit band tears for fears. but, for some reason, i've mistaken them for aussie group inxs -- as in, the original; not the one partially constructed via reality tv (pfff!) -- and so my mind wanders 25 years back in time and 600 kilometres southwest of here to the giant inxs posters on my cousin Erin's bedroom walls, to that big beautiful creaky-floored waterfront house, to the backyard volleyball net, to that (now defunct?) supercool suspended wicker chair in the quasi-patio, to --
bah! ok, back to academic analyses already.
except that then the creepiest guys -- ever -- arrive. three 30- and 40-somethings who are brand-named to the max, have their hair gelled and waxed to a shiny-stiff mass, and always sit cocky in the café for hours, barely talking. instead, they text (i'm pretty sure they're spies) and deliberately turn their chairs away from each other in order to ogle any and all female guests. yikes -- avoid all eye contact and pray they sit nowhere near you! but what's this? they're opting for the patio today. (i guess they'll want to soak up the direct sunlight to optimize their "hair glare.") *sigh of relief*
return to readings on migration flows.
what next distracts is a full-on boob. (the Oglers should've stuck around.) it's not necessarily what you'd call a sexy b(r)east: it's a large, heavy number, with the nipple pointing 45˚ downward. but it is absolute perfection. Mom lifts the right side of her blouse, and Baby instantly becomes a happy-latcher. very likely looking like a pervert, i'm completely entranced -- loving (admiring, even) how she's lifted her shirt and exposed her entire, giant mammary without ever glancing around the room to see who might care. and i also think of all the (riveting!) controversy over Elisabeth Badinter's recent writings on "modern motherhood" and, in particular, on the repercussions (for moms, dads and kids alike) of current pressures on women to breastfeed. i'm intellectually titillated! (that's right: i went there.)
now playing: radiohead's high and dry... but i digress. where'd that quote about exile get to?
it's at this moment that an increasingly familiar figure enters: professor FLQ. and here's where "interruption" takes on a capital "i." after the initial delight of running into each other again (i can't deny it: i was also happy), he engages me in a 60-minute dialogue on various hot topics: the quebec referenda (of course!); prime ministers who have made a difference, "good" or "bad"; feminism and abortion (male profs who teach courses on feminism, like i did, are hard to come by! -- at which point i remark to him on how humble he is); Pierre vs. Justin Trudeau; fund management and left-wing politics at the CBC, ... it was all such a whirlwind that, were it not for the charisma and momentum of his upbeat personality and for his great conversational skills, i might have felt like the victim of a Pixie drill! interspersed between these back-and-forths, he explains that he feels like we're interviewing each other. evidently, this is something like xmas for him, as the mere idea of an interview sends this small-framed man into hearty Santa-like laughter. who's your favourite interviewer? mine's Diane Sawyer. i feel like you're Diane Sawyer!
and then onto psychology. after mentioning he has an oncology appointment in a few hours, he declares that -- insert important hear ye, hear ye voice -- attitude is the key to life: never once during my career did i wake up and say to myself: 'i don't want to go to work today!' then he pauses and begins his analysis. you know what i want you to do? look at yourself in the mirror everyday and say to yourself: "TVB, i like the woman i've become." the guy to the left of the Professor has been witnessing the whole interaction. he cannot wipe the smirk off his face. and particularly enjoys what follows: promise me one thing, says Professor, promise me that i get to make a speech at your wedding. i point out that, in order for that to happen, i'd have to 1) have a wedding (insert something-or-other about how the average canadian wedding costs $23,000 -- oh! and about how i'm single) and 2) still know him whenever said wedding occurs. these strike him as insignificant details, and he proceeds to foretell the future: his name will be Jasper; the wedding will be 2014. mark my words! and now, i've taken up enough of your time. get back to work.
and now back to translating...
(oh, who'm i kidding! this day is shot.)
