There’s a blind man burning a cigarette into his face. What do you want to do for lunch?

I saw that. The blind guy burning his face, that is. Sure, it was shocking – I mean, how do you prepare for a random display of self-mutilation? Ideally you get at least a day’s warning. But what was even more eye opening was the casual way my friend and I dealt with the whole thing. ‘Wow, he’s burning that cigarette right into his cheek. That’s horrifying. He’s not even flinching. I think he’s enjoying it. I’m sad, shocked, disgusted, and frightened. Anywho… are we still heading to Mr. Sub for lunch?”

My tolerance for mind-boggling slaps to my brain has become remarkably strong over the years. In the past, a homeless guy with a completely exposed ass walking in front of me would have been quite an ordeal.  Now it’s as everyday as crossing the street.

Sometimes you don’t even have to witness something strange for it to affect your day.  For instance, seconds before going for a cigarette a few months ago, I found out that a flasher had been exposing himself to women while they smoked.  Of course, when I got outside, I was the only guy in a sea of women. Not knowing quite what to do, I jokingly said, “I’m not the flasher by the way”. They laughed, BUT I wonder if I hadn’t said anything, would they have spent the rest of their break wondering if I’d end up trading the smoke in my hand for the pecker in my pants? Again. How the hell could I have prepared for this? God I hate cocks.

Anyways, I think these swift kicks to our comfort zones are needed. We need quick reminders about how dark, twisted and crazy the world outside you actually is. And if that comes in the form of a vagrant’s arse, so be it.

These run-ins expose survival instincts you didn’t even know you had. Did I know how to react to the transsexual hairdresser with hands the size of John Goodman that cut my hair last month? Of course not.  But after 20 minutes of having my skull palmed by what looked like Jackie Chan in drag, I discovered a safe place in my head that I know I can call upon again when needed.

The moral of this story? When life throws you a blind man burning his face with a cigarette while exposing his ass to a transsexual hairdresser who saw a man flash his pecker, make lemonade.

There's no soul in a minivan.

 I’ve always loved hip hop. From the first time I heard it I was sold.  So, being the nerd I am, I embraced it in a relatively extreme manner. As my brother will happily recall, I did, at one point, fashion my moss-like hair into a flat-top complete with lines shaved into the side of my head.   The line thing got worse when myself and the other members of our school’s 400 metre relay team decided to shave the word “bye” into the back of our heads in anticipation of our dominance. We lost and the word “bye” quickly burnt into our skulls as we skulked out of the stadium.. But there’s more. How about a polka dot shirt? Complete Raiders outfits in honour of Public Enemy and NWA.  “Just Do It” track pants. Track pants! Patrick Ewing shoes. No running mans.  But I witnessed many. And may have offered an Arsenio Hall fist pump in support.

But with age came wisdom. I was a white kid with an extremely Italian name. What the hell was I doing? So I continued to embrace the music, but lost the soul brother persona. From there I got into funk, jazz, soul, etc.  Things I pursued and ended up deejaying for most of my twenties­– primarily to Tragically-Hip-listening- Tevas- with- socks-wearing Waterloo kids.  I made beats, produced a few groups, and continue to hunt for rare vinyl like the true nerd that I am.

Flash forward to today. I’m driving down the street, listening to some classic 90s hip hop, and I start bobbing my head. It felt natural. No big deal, right?. Until, of course, I notice that the car beside me has been watching me the whole time. I froze. Wow. Really? How do I recover? And why did I think that the windows of my car were some sort of shield from the prying eyes I was literally surrounded by? So I quickly decided to make it look like my neck was in need of a stretch – this would surely cover up what they had seen. It had to, but I doubt it did. So after a few moments of incredibly uncomfortable eye contact, I drove off, resisting the urge to bob my head, for fear of being discovered yet again.  The moral? People can see in your car. It’s not a safe zone. Windows are made of glass. People can see through glass. Bob your head cautiously. You’re white. Being in a Mazda 5 minivan certainly doesn’t change that. 

Now serving Buffalo…Bill.

There’s a restaurant on the way to Muskoka called “The Pit”. As I drove by it last summer I thought, that’s what Buffalo Bill from Silence of The Lambs would likely name a burger joint had he gotten away with the whole skin jacket thingy. How would he run the place?  Would he make his staff do his trademark tuck while they worked?  The city would surely object.  Would he have night vision goggle hour and make his customers struggle to find condiments etc while he watched and taunted them? Would an actual pit be the stand-in for the playgrounds found at McDonald’s? And No it wouldn’t be for kids. That’s just weird. It’d be for adults. Would his version of a happy meal contain lipstick and rare moths?  Would he walk around and give customers the hose if they don’t put mustard on the bun exactly when they’re told? I bet he would.  That’s just what Bill does.  It’s his shtick.

Meeting in the boardroom. Bat in the cave.

So the other day I was presenting in front of a sizeable group of people. It went well. Really well. So I thought. Turns out, unbeknownst to me, I had a bat in the cave the entire time.  It was a sizeable nugget that certainly couldn’t have gone unnoticed.  It’s then that I realized that boogers are indeed the great equalizer. No matter what you say or how you say it, the nugget dangling from your beak steals the spotlight. Rich. Poor. Young. Old. We’re all on the same playing field once a green one makes an appearance. If Einstein had presented the theory of relativity with bat on board it’s quite likely that his findings may have gone unnoticed. “Hey, did you see that guy with the crazy grey hair and the snot hanging from his nose?” What if Martin Luther King was sporting a nostril earring during his I have a dream speech? Sure, he’d still have had a dream. But to those in the front row, he'd also have a booger.

It’s almost, yes ALMOST as uncomfortable being the observer of a nugget. I can’t count how many times in my life I’ve looked over and thought, “Man, I want and should say something, but I can’t.  Not sure why. I mean I’ve told people they have something in their teeth, but mucous? That has to remain unsaid. It’s taboo. We will suffer in silence.  His flawless plan for peace in the Middle East is captivating, but I’ve forgotten what he’s talking about because of what’s hanging from his nose.