For Whom The Uber Tolls

I Drive S.F.

city_blur

It’s Saturday night… not even late. A few minutes after nine. I’m at Mission and 7th. Get a request for an address on Market, a block and a half away. I take a right on 7th and pull into the far left lane. As I turn onto Market, a girl in cut-off jeans and a tank top waves me down. She’s practically in the middle of the street. Grabs my door handle before I can even stop. Climbs in the backseat. I ask if she’s Andrea, the name of the person I’m supposed to pick up. She mumbles something and rolls down the window. The rider destination has already been added in the app so I start the ride.

“We’re going to the Richmond then?” I ask.

She says nothing. I look over my shoulder. She’s curled up against the door, passed out. I start driving. Turn off Market onto Hayes and then…

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College Albums 1 : Glenn Gould

Good Music Speaks

I have this image in my head of three albums that were almost required of a college student in the early 1960’s.  Albums that were essential to a resident of a dormitory at one of the universities on the east coast of the United States.  There was so much great music in the sixties, but the things I have in mind were specific to a student trying to seem collegiate, sophisticated and worldly.  I could have this picture all wrong.  I wasn’t there.   But these are three great albums just the same.

I miss albums, those twelve inch vinyl records with good sized artwork and liner notes on the back of the sleeve.  Compact discs were a trade off, being more durable but having smaller artwork and not quite the same feel.  Digital downloads are even more of a sacrifice for convenience and cost.  I get tiny thumbnail images, no…

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Canada, In the Shadow of a Gunman

The 14th Floor

The Attack

I sat down on Wednesday morning in my office shortly after 9 pm to plot out, ironically, how I was going to leave Canada. Academics can be a cruel game when it comes to deciding where one is going to live, and as a young intellectual in search of a job, I was staring out at words like Lingnan University, Gettysburg College, Fordham University…all places outside my home country.

And then it started. A flash across my twitter feed, headlines across the CBC…a solider gunned down at the War Memorial, shots fired in the Center Block of Parliament… immediately, images of military forces fanning out across Ottawa flooded my computer screen. There were reports that one gunman had been killed in Center Block, but that others were still on the loose. Maybe they were on the roof of a building? Maybe in the dense woodland area off the…

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poor persecuted pervert?

Sex Geek

There’s a scandal breaking in Canada. It’s about BDSM. Or is it? I’m not so sure.

Short version: Jian Ghomeshi is a wicked popular CBC host, and the CBC just fired him without disclosing why. He’s retaliating with a $50 million lawsuit (unheard of in non-litigious Canada) and a demand for reinstatement. On Sunday, he made a Facebook post which discloses that he’s kinky and about to be defamed by an unnamed ex-girlfriend and several other past dates she’s recruited, who will insist that his behaviour was non-consensual. A couple hours later, I heard about a semi-recent xoJane article by Carla Ciccone detailing some very creepy behaviour on the part of an unnamed “Canadian C-list celebrity” whom many speculate is Ghomeshi. This article has apparently earned her a serious thrashing by trolls. Later Sunday evening, the Toronto Star posted an article detailing their interviews with four women who are remaining…

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the hierarchy of desire

girl in the hat

image courtesy angelica maria zorrilla via Flickr image courtesy angelica maria zorrilla via Flickr

With both aching arms outstretched and loaded with plates (tightrope catwalk, hot plate crucifixion), she walks slowly across the dining room to table 19 and places the plates down in front of the bodies that ordered them.

Escargot Bourguignon. Pasta puttanesca. Squab, burrata and truffled fig, fingerling. ” She rolls the syllables around in her mouth like bits of velvet. If you saw her, you’d see eyes glistening wetly as if she were intoning a love poem she’d written herself, but no one looks up from their plates.

At table 8, she introduces herself (I am your hole-filler, your anonymous food-bringer, faceless feeder), takes their order, and scoots back to the kitchen where her boss, Mulholland, is waiting by the door. His lips are pursed, but he’s not asking for a kiss. “Full hands in, full hands out,” he reminds…

View original post 578 more words

the hierarchy of desire

girl in the hat

image courtesy angelica maria zorrilla via Flickr image courtesy angelica maria zorrilla via Flickr

With both aching arms outstretched and loaded with plates (tightrope catwalk, hot plate crucifixion), she walks slowly across the dining room to table 19 and places the plates down in front of the bodies that ordered them.

Escargot Bourguignon. Pasta puttanesca. Squab, burrata and truffled fig, fingerling. ” She rolls the syllables around in her mouth like bits of velvet. If you saw her, you’d see eyes glistening wetly as if she were intoning a love poem she’d written herself, but no one looks up from their plates.

At table 8, she introduces herself (I am your hole-filler, your anonymous food-bringer, faceless feeder), takes their order, and scoots back to the kitchen where her boss, Mulholland, is waiting by the door. His lips are pursed, but he’s not asking for a kiss. “Full hands in, full hands out,” he reminds…

View original post 578 more words