Silence Is Golden

Research shows that chronically alone people have long-term health problems. But one advantage of my 3-month sublet was only occasionally talking to people. Because whenever I do, people usually opine unsavoury opinions. It could be that I am of the "intolerant left" as declared by those of a rightward bent. I am not a true leftist though because I don't care to fix society or make people see the light; apres moi and all that.

For example, during a company meet-and-greet in March, I found out that a co-worker held punitive and carceral views when it comes to unhoused folks and drug users. As they also lead annual missionary trips to "3rd-world countries", it didn't surprise me. There's no hate like Christian love, as the kids say. My annoyance surfaced over my typical politeness until we moved to less fraught topics.

It happened twice in one week since my return to Ottawa. On Easter Sunday last week, my sibling hosted a lunch with a big East-meets-West spread. Lately, our lunches have been smaller due to sick or unavailable relatives. When our chat turned to the current state of the world, my judgmental aunt and the "labourer" wife of my uncle both saw through the buffoonery of the Orange-In-Chief. But my mom kept repeating like an wind-up robot: "I am pro-Orange". This was her first time she had spoken out-loud what I have been suspecting for some time. How did someone who was proud of her education and cosmopolitanism with no access to right-wing media got this way? Sadly, she watches endless videos of people of her generation who have nostalgic memories of our European colonizers, exaggerated views of the accomplishments of the ancien regime, and abiding hatred of those "evil Reds". This means that these elders also align themselves with those here whose worldview also hearkened to an imaginary golden past and only grievances for the present. The irony, of course, was that the supremacists' ideal society would not include her cohort even if they had carried water for them.

Meanwhile, my sibling was worried about their next-door neighbour. First, the house was foreclosed. Then the owners were seen back in the house. Were they illegal squatters? This led them and my cousins to recount anecdotes and hearsay from "a friend of a friend" that showed that landlords were the real victims in real estate. I was so tired of it all I went and sat by myself for a while. So on Friday, I decided to finally reply to a post on Craigslist about a sublet. It was the same apartment I stayed at back in 2022. Next month, I will once again have several weeks of quiet solo living.

On Saturday, I met up with a friend for lunch at Decca Delight. We both had vague memories that this place used to be another restaurant. I then recalled that I had wandered in here looking for Korean corn dogs at Seoul Dog until I saw the bar. Asian street food in an English-style pub seemed out of place. Decca offered mostly Indian dishes but also a handful of Hakka (Indian-Chinese) dishes. Our lunch consisted of Gobi Manchurian ($15.99), Malai Kofta ($15.99), Vijayawada Byriani ($17.99) and naan ($3.49). The portions were large, tasty, but a bit on the salty side.

The same could be said of our conversation. We touched on raising teenagers, work travails, and relaxation (I went to Toronto, they vacationed in Mexico and Spain). I talked about mutual friends who were considering retirement. I felt that they were unjustified in their worries because their government pension outclassed most Canadians' modest fixed income. They declared "not my problem" with the average Joe's precarity. Then came statements about the obsolescence of unions and lazy workers. We bid goodbye until the next time.

April Shower

I thought there would be some outings for the last 2 days of my sublet but with work deadlines I ended up staying inside. Though my own part was done, I needed to be "on standby" for others. I spent Monday afternoon cleaning up the loft; I keep my living spaces clean so this was just the usual chore. In the evening, there were two possibilities. First, I could go to a record store show at Sonic Boom for Lia Pappas-Kemps for her new album Winged. It has been more than a decade since I went there, or rather their old location on Bloor, for an in-store performance. The bonus was that Sonic Boom was only a few streetcar stops from Fresca so I could get a final Toronto-style slice of pizza. Second, I could have dinner with an ex-coworker that I haven't seen in a decade, but only talked to on the phone. I wasn't keen on the second option since they had several weeks to plan something instead of this late ask. I ended up doing neither because I was tasked at 5 pm to fix someone else's last-minute screw-up.

There was more cleaning on Tuesday though I was determined to get back my after-hours labour. I lounged around until I went out for lunch. The OG proprietor of 241 Pizza was there so I finally pulled the trigger on my final panzerotti. The cashier mistakenly charged me $13.99 for an $11.99 special but let us treat that as a tip (though my anal side dislike screw-ups). Also, the combination of chewy crust and gooey cheese was sufficient compensation for an error. Continuous rain meant no final show in the evening.

Wednesday morning, I decided to forgo a dry breakfast of toast as I have emptied out the fridge. But Progress Bakery was opened at 5:30 a.m. When I went inside, unlike this wonderful boulangerie that also opened early, most the shelves here have not yet been stocked. I suspected the ham and cheese croissant ($5.25) was from the previous day. The first few bites did not pass muster but things got better after 30 seconds in the microwave. I said goodbye to the plants; it was too bad I won't see the bloom. My friend will likely chopped off its stalk when they drop by.

The other half of the croissant made an acceptable meal on the bus. This was the first time I did not buy lunch at my Kingston break. Mr. Sub has palled lately and Fat Bastard Burrito was still on my time-out list. I was back in Ottawa a bit early but the transit ride home took an hour for a 6-7 minute car trip. Ah, the unreliable OC Transpo, how I do not miss thee.

Thursday I walked to the local strip mall to restock some fridge items and cleaning supplies. Speaking of which, with the snow melting away, winter detritus and litter was revealed in their glory. I still can't get over how dirty Ottawa is compared to Toronto. Combined that with the high volume of afternoon traffic and my trip was grimmer than grocery runs in The Big Smoke. For the holiday Friday and also Saturday morning, I did yet more cleaning. I wasn't sure how these jobs require more elbow grease because it has only been 2.5 weeks since my last trip back. With no plans to go out, the rest of the long week-end was catching up on shows from streaming services.

Lamb Shank Redemption

On Sunday, my ability to get a final meal from Chef Saha at BHK Roll hit several snags. I first headed there for lunch but the subway was out-of-commission again. Another signal upgrade from Jane to Ossington would not have affected me. Yet when I got to the station, a train with un-cooperative doors at Ossington itself had extended the shutdown to all stations. I spent 10 minutes waiting for a bus to take me to Wellesley station. This alternate route would leave me 1 stop from my destination.

But since it didn't arrive promptly, I stayed in the neighbourhood and went to Hana Sushi instead. I sat between some elderly folks: one was having lunch with her daughter and grandkids, the other was a couple of old friends going to see "talkies" (i.e., classic movies) at The Paradise. It was interesting to watch people who were not exposed to non-mainstream cuisine during their early adulthood. The grandma had never even tried edomame. It wasn't surprising that they all ordered bento boxes; tempura pieces and chicken teriyaki were familiar enough to other food to not be scary. My own sushi combo ($18) included 8 nigiri pieces and california rolls. I previously liked the veggie combo but forgot from my first visit that the fish were rather bland here. Or maybe like my grandma, my taste buds have dulled as I've gotten older.

For dinner, I tried the subway again. It was slower than usual since the trains had to unload passengers at Ossington and then reverse to head back the other way. When I got to BHK Roll, there were 2 minor problems. First, their internet was out so it was cash or e-transfer. Second, the roti option wasn't available tonight. I chose the Gosht Nizami ($24) and got 2 more surprises. The basmati rice was actually biriyani and the lamb was still on the bone. The meal was quite rich and tasty but the meat, while tender, was gamier than last time. Also, using food-court utensils to cut the meat, and with the whole thing inside a cardboard take-out container, was an exercise in "move very slowly and carefully".

Chimerical

On Saturday, I found conclusive proof that the unhoused person who owned the shopping carts was still around. During the day, I went to the library at Gladstone to look at some newspaper. I was, once again, almost certain that a woman sleeping inside was her. Unlike the male indigents in the neighbourhood, she kept her hair clean and her clothes neat. So there were no obvious markers of homelessness. In the late evening, the shopping carts were finally moved. They were blocking the doorway to a store, providing some measure of privacy, while she laid in a sleeping bag behind them. It did meant that throughout the winter months since January when they were stuck in the snowdrift, she wasn't using them.

Lunch was a mixture of veggies from No Frills, fried rice from South Pacific, spicy potatoes (they were correctly described as shredded potato, but stir-fried and then cool down) from Szechuan Noodle Bowl, and a cinnamon donut from Better Days. On my way to the library, I had seen some runners finished off their run by visiting the shop. Bloor had even more runners, though not quite in the obnoxious packs I have seen in online videos.

At night I visited The Burdock, a venue I haven't gone to during my sublet. Doors at 8:30 pm suggested a late show, but the first band started promptly at 9 pm. Bitchstick's members were definitely young, if not high-school teenagers, then not far from it. Or maybe everybody under 30 look like babies to me now. Their fans were split between equally young friends and some family members. I didn't mind as much as other "family shows" because one, they were just starting their musical career, and two, they played music that sounded fresh and contemporary.

I came because my online curiosity was pique by the band called Monstrosa. They turned out to be primarily women except for the drummer. The members wore Lucha Libra mask, Halloween demon mask, or what looked like a welding mask brightly painted and decorated with plastic monster fangs. Meanwhile, Pryce and her back-up singer were glammed up with glittery make-up and clubby clothes.

I have opined about liking danceable music. It seems I also like songs with furious drumming, chugging chords, and riff-heavy runs (oh, so many riffs). It was wall-to-wall bangers including a rocking cover of Blondie's Call Me. Debbie Harry was an inspiration because she didn't achieve success until she was 30. This was a good reminder for Pryce as a counteract to a youth-obsessed scene (Olivia Rodrigo, Billie Eilish). Well, I hoped that Monstrosa get some traction because to be both lead singer and guitarist, Pryce had the musical chops. The rest of the band was equally energetic. If Arenas played a $30 set for a $20 show, Monstrosa gave us a $40 act for $10 cover. It was too bad there was no merch for sale.

I was feeling the effects of late nights (for me) and stressful days. So I headed back home instead of staying for another rock band going by the moniker of Nameless Friends.