cheers!

coffeeshopping has taken a temporary hit since a few weeks ago when Luigi and Creepy descended on my usual haunt. (*shiver*) it's seemed like a good idea to keep away from there for a little while. so, in addition to working more frequently at home and in the office (what a concept!), i've been travelling around a bit. sometimes to places relatively far from home. today's feature off-site office, for instance, is aaaaall the way over on the other side of the ottawa river, in the main lobby of the canadian museum of civilization, in gatineau, québec. there's a café in here, actually. but lingering apprehensions keep me at its outskirts, several metres away from the glass wall that separates the smell of java from the aroma of artefacts and hand sanitizer that otherwise pervades the museum air.

still, from this table, the view of the espresso machine is crystal clear. and, before long -- despite my continued lobbying -- i'm ordering a chocolat chaud. and then the phone rings. guess who? it's the Professor, of course. jovial as ever. checking in from our coffee shop headquarters with the usual set of questions -- are you happy? are you working hard? -- and a less usual comment: the nice man who does the crossword puzzle tells me you haven't been here for a while. learning that i'm across the border for the day, he launches into a game of outlandish and hilarious guesses as to my general whereabouts and activities. the last of which particularly hits home: i'll bet you're out on a giant boat, sailing with Jasper! holy Hannah: has he really remembered that (fictitious) character's name? and then, with a kind smile in his voice, he adds: now promise me you're wearing a life jacket.

it's good to have been away. but equally good is knowing when to return home, where everybody -- or at least a handful of baristas and your good friend the Professor -- knows your name. see you in the morning!

and now back to translating...

the jitters

thursday, may 9.

it all takes place at the usual hangout. i'm anticipating a catch-up with Professor FLQ, who's been snowbirding in florida since november. shortly after arriving, he -- who useth not computers -- launches us into a(nother) debate about technology. tell me, tvb, do you think facebook is good or bad? yada yada. i'm with the people who think Steve Jobs has contributed to the destruction of civilization. blah blah blah. people die because of the internet. etc. as i attempt to temper his rather black-and-white take on the world wide web, we are suddenly interrupted. hollering from the wobbly table in the corner is a middle-aged pot-bellied figure, whose sagging man-breasts are toppling out either side of his loose, white, sleeveless shirt, his nipples pointing towards the behemoth tattoos on his darkly tanned arms. his hair is electric; his eyes are alarming; his raspy laugh immediately sends chills up my spine and then right back down again. if you don't mind, i couldn't help overhearing what yous were talking about, and i wanted to put my two cents in. the monologue that ensues is, for the most part, unintelligible, and -- what's this! -- even the Professor can't get a word in edgewise. but the initial bit is perfectly clear: a tale about how, thanks to technology (there's the link!), the cops had hunted him down when he was (not so long ago) on the run, and how -- when he finally "let" them find him -- he flipped them the bird. at this point in the story, wearing a cheshire grin, he proceeds to recreate the moment for us, using one hand to crank the middle finger on the other hand slowly toward the sky. this is when i notice that his fingers are trembling. and that there's relatively fresh blood lining the edges of his raw digits. then, more raspy laughter.

after gingerly removing ourselves from the café, the Professor and i are unsure whether Luigi (he'd introduced himself) is under the influence of alcohol, narcotics or perhaps ptsd. meanwhile, my mind is wandering off, though maybe just down an offshoot of the day's technology path. i'm flashing back to a brief incident from shortly before Luigi's and the Professor's arrivals. when a thirty-something man -- whom i vaguely recognize from previous visits to the coffee shop but definitely have never spoken with -- sat at the table beside me and, just before leaving (roughly twenty minutes later), uttered, kind of under his breath: "did you finish your phd?"

and now back to translating...

i see london, i see france

i see Cougar's underpants.

and now back to translating...

tout à coup

maybe my perception's just skewed by recent readings about the 1973 chilean coup (when Pinochet's military regime, in cahoots with the u.s. government, overthrew the democratically elected president Allende) and by the movie "no" (about the 1988 chilean referendum that finally sent Señor P packing), but it seems increasingly clear that we have something of a small-scale dictator on our coffeeshop hands.

he's the grouchy-gruff fifty-year-old whose face is knotted up in deep creases that puzzlepiece together a permanent grimace. he's the guy whose rare laugh reeks of maliciousness. the guy who loves to engage in "conversations" that see him barking at his table-mate about what is/shouldbe/shouldntbe, and ignoring his compatriot's (prescriptively meagre) contributions altogether. except, of course, when opportunities for ridicule arise: well, i don't know the answer to that -- "Smart-A**" is implicit -- so why don't yooooou tell me! 

Grouchy Gruff also decides where they sit -- sit, Ubu sit! good dog! -- and when they leave. abruptly, practically mid-sentence: let's go outside. Ubu, who'd just been about to meagrely contribute, pauses. bewildered. very tentatively he asks: why? (it's for another smoke break. but Ubu isn't dignified with a response.) Ubu follows. not like an eager, bright-eyed, panting pup. more like an oppressed pooch who knows better than to think he has much of a choice in the matter.

just then, a man who looks remarkably like Stephen Harper (with shades and a bit more of a gut) walks in.

and now back to translating...

fools

why hello there, April! your timing's impeccable given that, today in particular, the coffee shop is reminiscent of your mascot and my favourite tarot card: The Fool.

look at that sun shining big and bright. the warm yellow background. the figure's upward, outbound gaze. off he goes on his journey, with his traveller's bag in tow, a rose betwixt his fingers, and a colourful top draping his torso. he's a fearless romantic spirit, full of innocence, adventure and joy! and yet...he's also reckless and oblivious: perched on the edge of the cliff, deaf to that little dog's cautionary barking, unaware that -- as things stand -- his next step will send him plummeting into the abyss below(...ow...ow).

downtown ottawa is similarly shiny-bright and warm (albeit windy) today. people are journeying in and out of the coffee shop, a purse or satchel slung over one shoulder, a coffee cup pressed into the other palm, and vibrant hues springing (if you will) off of their clothes. all in all, a happy lot! (even the two curmudgeonly older men to my left have tossed a good dose of laughter into their bickering banter. hurrah!) but the dogs are here, too. leashed up outside. so no one inside can hear them yelping.

what are they barking about, you ask? now, i'm no dog whisperer...but it might be about how the room is currently populated by an unprecedented number of "fashion" (vs sport-related) stretch pants. indeed, something like what The Fool wears. but black, of course. (ps are those...*squinting*...yellow uggs®? such a trendsetter!) and with nothing else covering their behinds. so we're suddenly floating in a sea of puckered flesh, camel toes, underwear seams and -- where commandos and, especially, thin-skinned pants are concerned -- lines of many other kinds. and that's just what's seen from a distance. my neighbour, meanwhile, insists on also providing me with an up-close and personal experience. (*begins feeling nauseated*) so, as she shimmies back and forth between our tables to go to the washroom, and then grab some napkins, and then order a scone (and then...and then...), her back end is (re)positioned directly in front of my face. for the record, she's "got it going on" (please imagine air quotes and a robotic voice). and i suppose i'm grateful she hasn't opted to face the other way when passing by, since that would make me privy to an altogether different recurring view. but neither of these facts makes any of it ok, particularly since she has -- presumably unbeknownst to her -- fallen victim to The Stretch Pant Classic, whereby her butt has footlong hairs, a colony of dust bunnies, aaand basicallyawholefieldoftumbleweed stuck to and/or dangling from it.

mayday! (hmmm..."aprilday" just doesn't have the same ring to it.) m'aidez! enter the (symbolic) cliff. (The Fool is, after all and in part, a warning card.) what if this trend continues? makers of tunics and the swiffer® alike will surely go out of business. and we'll no longer need binge drinking or imaginations -- except, of course, for drinking and imagining away most of what we will have seen. but i guess the joke's on me, since i'm clearly and increasingly outnumbered. still, even a fool knows you should cover your a** before heading out.

and now back to translating...

professor FLQ

he's ba-ack!

and now back to translating...

the (w)rite of spring

this blog was born just a little over a year ago. right around the time Spring had pleasantly surprised us with its very early and uncharacteristic balminess: on march 21/12, ottawa -- as in, the city that's home to the world's largest skating rink -- was some 27˚C! a far cry from spring 2013, which has included one sizeable snowfall and, more recently, midday temperatures hovering somewhere around 6˚. this return to climatic normalcy should probably offer some comfort on the global warming front (*fingers crossed*). yet it seems the contrast between this year and last has some people very, very confused about what to wear. or so says a quick scan of this here coffee shop...

on the one hand, there's the bare-legged young woman in line sporting the increasingly familiar itsy-bitsy black stretch-skirt, which does indeed reveal almost all of her "its" and "bits". meanwhile, there's february's birthday boy, who's now leaving the premises wearing a big fluffy red toque. but it's while watching Birthday walk away that i notice today's most memorable character: a dapper fifty-year-old man, standing by the door in full business attire. dress pants. suit jacket. fancy schmancy shiny shoes. posh purple tie. shades. and just the right amount of 'tude. the fact that there's no sign of a coat or gloves (or a toque, for that matter) isn't particularly shocking. what is startling, however, is that he's got one hand in his pocket, and the other one is -- nope, not hailing a taxi cab (though he does seem to be waiting for one), or wielding a briefcase, or even clutching a cup of coffee. (pfff -- those would all be too obvious!) no, the other hand is holding...a pair of cross-country skis.

poof! just like that -- and just like spring -- the coffee shop has once again proved it's completely unpredictable. "ski suit" will never mean the same thing again.

and now back to translating...