Attachment Theory

I think Bowlby was on to something with his attachment theory. Consider me an infant and Tronts my 'primary caregiver'. Let's leave this thought to marinate for a little while and come back to it later.

So I went to Montréal last week. It's a beautiful city. I haven't been to Europe so I can't comment on how the architecture or the culture or the cobblestone paths compare. All I can say is how it made me feel and it did feel like how I would imagine Europe would feel. That's vague and whimsical I know, but walking the streets and being swept up in the Parisian-like atmosphere and the bilingualism, made me think I'd left Canadian shores. Well, right up until the point where I started to converse with people in English and suddenly they weren't speaking French any more - they were speaking English with a Canadian accent. It's hard to explain the unique interwinding of old and new that the city seems to balance so well. There's something terribly romantic about it all.

Some of the highlights of Monts included:

• the view from the top of the mountain which gave the city its name, Mount Royal (or Le Mont Royal to the Frenchies);
• the light and sound show at the Notre-Dame Basilica and its thoroughly entertaining (albeit saccharine) depiction of the history of Montréal and the church - let's just say that watching people mouth French words on a screen and listening to an English version through headphones makes for some hilariously funny viewing and;
• the most frightening bathroom trip I think I will ever endure at the 'Le Club Sandwich' restaurant (picture walking into a very dimly lit, creepily silent, enormous, yet empty bathroom).

On our last night, Alex and I went to a lezzie bar in the Gay Village called 'Le Drugstore'. Lame name, but it was a pretty cool little hang out. There were at least two other girls there wearing flannel. It is reassuring to know that girl lovers all around the world share a similar fashion sense, even the French-Canadians. There were two big television screens in front of us broadcasting a live NHL game. It just so happens that that night, the Montréal Canadiens were playing the Toronto Maple Leafs. The Leafs won by one goal in the end. I couldn't help but feel a little twinge of pride.

As I was boarding the bus to travel back to Tronts I felt a sense of relief and calmness come over me; the same feeling you get if you've been travelling for a while and you're returning home. I was only away for three days but I missed Tronts.

In attachment theory it is my understanding that infants become attached to primary caregiver adults who interact with them for any extended period during their early years. When a child starts to experience and interact with the world around them, they look to these caregivers for support, and they act as a secure base to explore from and come back to. Once removed from a caregiver, separation anxiety may occur.

I'm no psychologist, so maybe I'm just bending theories to suit. Or perhaps my ramblings have some backbone and I've got a mummy named Brisbane and a daddy called Tronts.

Shawarma

It's 10:30pm Sunday night and I'm chilling the fuck out watching Grey's Anatomy online and imbibing some quality Australian shiraz. A few minutes ago I started to feel an all-over 'warmth' and momentarily I was confused as to why because I had only had two glasses. The befuddlement dissipated once I glanced over at my Tyrannosaurus Rex wine vessel.

A shawarma sandwich is basically a more civilised version of the kebab. Zahir and Nadya (collectively I shall henceforth refer to them as 'Zan'), my employers, bought me one today, just because they are delicious and they thought I should try one. I just realised that sentence made it sound like I think Zan is delicious. I also received a text message tonight: "thanks for all your help, see you next week". Amazing.

I just worked three days straight for the first time in two months and I'm exhausted. I was sitting on the train on the way home feeling a whole range of things - proud, tired, sore, calm, agog, thankful. Proud because I know I'm doing a good job. Tired and sore because I'm getting on and I have a dodgy ankle and I'm used to doing my work from a comfortable office chair. Calm because I feel like I'm finally blending in here - I even got asked for directions yesterday. I did not know how to help the girl get to Millicent Avenue, but I must have looked like I did. Agog because I'm going to Montreal on Tuesday. Thankful because I found a job where I'm treated like a person, not just an employee. And I like the fact that I can somehow, albeit minute, make a positive impact on someone else's day just by smiling and being polite

Tyrannosaurus Rex is empty. Two final thoughts enter my mind: I need to go to bed and; I hope to fucking God I haven't spelt anything incorrectly in this post.

Simple Maths

Age. With age comes wisdom. This saying has exactitude...right? The last few weeks I've found myself trying to figure out if there is an intelligence pinnacle; a point in life where you are the smartest you're ever going to be. Or does the adage hold true? Is the wisest wise we'll ever be the day we take our last breath? 

A lot of people I know seem to be born in February. I had a notification in my email inbox alerting me that seven of my facebook friends were having birthdays this week. Maybe it's just a coincidence among my friends, who knows. I just want to know why May is 'the month' to bump uglies. Mother's day? Surely not.

Yesterday it was my roommate Sahira's birthday. In case it isn't common knowledge, my roommates are Mexican, and are therefore native Spanish speakers. The past week I've been trying to learn Spanish in an effort to better communicate with them and their friends, and to better my intelligence. Estoy confundida - to say the least. Sahira had a small gathering last night to celebrate. I was the only person in the room who couldn't speak Spanish. I didn't understand 95% of the conversation going on around me. I listened hard. I watched their facial expressions and hand gestures and body language for clues as to the content of the stories being told. But still, I was at a loss. An unnerving feeling invaded me. For the first time in a long time, I felt really stupid.

When that feeling kicked in I started to think about all of the unknown 'stuff' out there; all of the information that I don't know, and that I might never know. I don't know how to fix a car, or sail a yacht, or karate-chop a piece of wood in half. I don't know how to play an oboe, or make a martini, or fold a fitted sheet correctly. I especially don't know how to speak Spanish.   

I've arrived at the conclusion that wisdom does come with age. It's inevitable really. It's all tied up with experience. Think of it like a simple mathematics equation: age + experience = wisdom. Maybe, inadvertently, I'm just here in Tronts to learn Spanish. Or maybe the experience / wisdom I'm gaining is immeasurable; limited only by my own limitations.

If we live the fullest life we possibly can, we will get unwittingly wise. Even still, we can never know everything there is to know. Frustrating, yet sobering. But I guess it's just something we all have to accept.

Buenas noches.

Café Au Lait

I heart my new job. I love it. The owners are amazing to work for / with. I feel totally supported, and maybe even a little bit special. The café's name, Cake Town, is a play on words of their South African mother city, Cape Town. It's unique in its easterly Tronts location; surrounded by a pell-mell luncheonette, a bakery that can't bake, a dodgy restaurant that gives off a cringe-worthy 80's wedding reception vibe, and the city's attempt at pizza that should win some kind of award for its breathtakingly creative name, Pizza Pizza.

Nadya bakes everything fresh daily. Brownies, tarts, cookies, sausage rolls, and the pièce de résistance - the scones. Don't get me started on the scones. Today we had caramel apple, blueberry and lemon, cranberry clementine, and cheddar cheese. Just give me a minute to wipe the drool from my chin. Of course, it is a well-known fact that my mum's pumpkin scones are still the best scones in the world, ever. Thattagirl Nelly!

I wouldn't say I made it through the day unscathed. I'm as rusty as an old gate on the espresso machine. The group handles were difficult to lock in to the machine and the buttons and knobs were unfamiliar. A long black is an Americano. Cappuccinos have no chocolate powder on them. There is no such thing as a flat white. And most people want filtered coffee. Seriously?

My finest moment would have to be when I made a skinny latte on half-and-half milk; a delectable dairy blend of cream and milk (because yes, that does exist here in Canada). Better yet, I didn't realise the error of my ways until the customer had left the shop. Just to give you an idea of the enormity of that stuff up - half-and-half milk has a butterfat content of roughly 16%, whereas skim milk has a butterfat content of about 1%. I'm sure it was the best skinny latte that customer will ever drink. He may however be a little confused as to why he's grown a second arse overnight.

Labour Pains

Enter week two of job hunting. Yay! Today I had an interview for a food and beverage position at an elite health club. Yes, ironic I know, considering my movements for the last eight weeks have somewhat resembled those of a South American sloth. On a side note, I recently read on Wikipedia (the world's most reliable resource) that some species of sloth have been documented eating human faeces from open latrines. Isn't that interesting and disturbing all at once?

And now returning to the story at hand. I say elite because the health club is quite fancy. I think purely based on the fact that it's called a 'health club' and not a gym, gives it added sophistication. I felt a little out of place rocking up in my black skinny jeans, strolling amongst the best and brightest of the Toronto Financial District, dressed in their professional athletic apparel. There were some ladies limbering up in their all whites over by the squash courts that looked like they were about to face off against Commonwealth Games gold medalist and world number six, Kasey Brown. Just sayin'.

If nothing else, today's meeting with Denis, the French-Canadian food and beverage manager / chef, has given me an iota of hope that my resume must not be too shabby. He said there were over 60 applicants and I was one of nine that were being interviewed. I will hopefully know by the end of the week if I have secured a second interview. It all seems a little O.T.T for a hospitality position, but I guess they've got to find someone that fits the bill. I feel a little bit guilty now, knowing the great lengths that Denis is going to to find a suitable counter attendant / barista, that I lied and said I would be here permanently. I have no idea how long I'm going to be here for. But hey, sometimes you've just got to do what you've got to do. After all, I need to be able to support myself and my drinking habits. Oh, and the free gym membership and health cover would be saaaawwweeeet!

Anyway, I'll keep you posted. Literally.

Shake 'n' Bake

According to http://dictionary.com/

 rec·i·pe

[res-uh-pee]

–noun  

1. a set of instructions for making or preparing something, esp. a food dish: a recipe for a cake.

2. a Medical prescription.

3. a method to attain a desired end: a recipe for success.

Let's roll with number three. In which case, I might just have the recipe for short-term happiness. I say short-term only because I'm old enough now to know that all happiness is transient. Without the sour, the sweet is never as sweet.

The Recipe for Short-term Happiness

Ingredients:

• 1 x beautifully sunny Torontian day
• 1 x job interview
• 3 x subway trips (with at least one Spadina North/South to East/West tunnel interchange)
• 1 x amazingly delightful fresh food market (preferably a Whole Foods Market)
• 1 x iPod with wicked tunes
• 1 x pair of black Rayban wayfarers
• 1 x pair of black Dr. Marten's boots
• 1 x black woollen coat

Method:

1. Wake up on the right side of the bed. A positive attitude is always the best way to start your day!
2. Peel back the curtains and let the morning rays of sunshine filter through the window
3. Administer yourself a nutritious, filling breakfast and wash it down with a cuppa
4. Shower, dress and groom meticulously; wear a suitable amount of black - now's the time to whip out the sunnies, boots and coat
5. Take one of your three subway trips
6. Attend job interview; perform well so that even if you don't get the job, you'll know you've done the best you can
7. Take your second subway trip
8. Walk several blocks through Yorkville, taking in the aesthetically-pleasing surrounds
9. Stumble upon Whole Foods Market
10. Walk around Whole Foods trying to contain your gastronomic orgasm
11. Emerge from Whole Foods $35 poorer (having only purchased five items) but feeling like you've had an orgasm nonetheless
12. Take your last subway trip, making sure you use the Spadina tunnel interchange
13. Emanate from the train at Spadina with your headphones on, listening to Moby at full volume on your iPod
14. Make the journey through the Spadina tunnel interchange, swathed in black, with the bravado of a charlatan
15. Smile to yourself knowing that at that very moment you feel like a character in a movie and the music blaring in your ears is the soundtrack   

  

Simple as that folks