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July 7, 2020
Word of the day:
Monachopsis: (noun) The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.
There’s one we can certainly all relate to sometimes; nice to find a single word to describe the feeling.
An interesting aspect of the Spanish language is the two versions of “to be”. One of them is a temporary state of being, like “Yo estoy feliz”… “I am happy”, as in, at this moment, I am happy. But “Yo soy feliz” would imply that I am always happy, as in a happy person.
Indeed, when you think about it, it makes a lot of sense to be able to have that distinction. “You estoy frio” vs. “Yo soy frio”… I am cold at the moment, versus I am a cold person. “I am cold” could mean either.
I think that word is one of those that probably would always be used in the temporary… it’s not like we always feel out of place. Except, I suspect, if I lived in the U.S. at the moment… I am certain I’d be feeling out of place, and I’m pretty sure it’d be a persistent feeling… especially given how the more polarized things get, the more obvious it becomes that things will never get better. There will be no giant moment of national enlightenment… just people sticking their heads in the sand deeper and deeper.
That’s what I find myself thinking when I read the news… some of what people believe – or want to believe – or want others to believe… it’s unbelievable.
One would think this book that’ll be out soon – the one written by Trump’s niece – might serve to start some change. It won’t; it’ll just polarize things more.
Not like I have any solutions… not like there are any. This whole experience is like one of those mathematical models that you can define, but not solve. You have to actually model it… start things off with initial conditions, and let the complicated algorithm works its way through it. And one day, maybe, you have some understanding. We’re all in the midst of that experiment… and it’s certainly filling me with monachopsis. Yo estoy monachopsis.
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July 6, 2020
It’s so strange… the duality of trying to experience normal things… in this (for now, at least) not-so-normal (NSN) world.
Three months behind schedule, Hastings Park finally opened for racing. It’s been more than 30 years since I’ve missed the opening day at the track. And to miss it on a day where we have horses running is off-the-charts inconceivable. But… no fans – not even owners – and only 25 days of racing… but it’s something. And… might I add… our first horse of the year… running in the very first race of the year…won! Way to go, Molesley. So… for at least 20 minutes, we were the leading owners, and we owned the best horse here. I can also say with certainly, by the time you’re reading this, “It was nice while it lasted.”
Also this morning, in this NSN world, I went for a haircut. I wrote about that experience a few weeks ago, but what hit me this time was the emptiness of the place. I was missing the external chatter that I’m often trying to filter out… especially one of the other hairdressers that’s sometimes there (certainly not today), who speaks Hungarian. I grew up around Hungarian as all four grandparents spoke it, and it was the language my parents spoke to each other when they wanted to discuss something not for childrens’ ears. As a result, of course, I learned to understand a fair bit. What also helped was my grandmother and her sister and their friends, all of whom spoke it to each other, and it especially helped that they always talked about the same things…. like food.
If you want a discussion about food in Hungarian, I’m your man. Where’s the food, what’s the food, bring the food, eat your food, this is great food, this is too cold, this is too hot. Actually, wait – “this is too hot” has never been uttered by an older Hungarian person. They will consume soup that is bubbling and boiling and will peel the inside of your mouth… and insist it needs to go back on the stove a bit longer.
On a few occasions at the hairdresser, I’m treated to overhearing a discussion in Hungarian, and it’s wonderful. Hungarian is a ridiculously unique and bizarre language, easily … [Continue Reading]
July 5, 2020
What a beautiful day for a bike ride… so, off I went, on a long one.
Usually, these rides wind up down by the water somewhere… Spanish Banks, Kits, out by Science World, English Bay, Stanley Park. I always manage to wind up at one of them. Today, it was most of them. And certainly, almost always, Vanier Park –- that beautiful, wide-open green space behind the Planetarium. Back in the 90s, when I lived near Granville Island, I was there almost daily. I’d usually walk west from my place… sometimes so lost in thought, I’d suddenly (well, a few hours later) find myself at UBC and have to take a bus back home.
But Vanier Park… there were two reasons I loved that spot. One, my favourite bench (which is still there, overlooking the water) and two… Ray Bethell.
If that name doesn’t ring a bell, it’s about to… because if you were ever down there at some point over the last 40 years, you’ll almost certainly remember the guy whose kite flying was so out-of-this-word that it was hard to imagine that what you were seeing was actually real. The guy flying three kites at once; one from each hand, the third tied to his waist, all three synchronized and doing acrobatics that were hard to believe and astonishingly beautiful.
I got to know Ray pretty well back then, and I’d often stop and chat with him. In fact, when he passed away in December of 2018, I wrote a little bit about it… back in the days when I didn’t post much to Facebook, haha. You can read it here:
https://www.facebook.com/kemeny.ca/posts/10156384761247481
And so today, as I was riding around that corner that used to be his turf, I thought about an interesting aspect of his life; he was older than I am today when he picked up his first kite. He then lived another 38 years… where, over time, he simply became the best in the world. As I wrote in that piece, whether you’ve seen him doing his thing or not, go re-live some memories and/or prepare to be astonished. Just Google the name or find him on YouTube. The dark, leathery tan… the wide grin… the unique cap. A lot of tattoos, with a lot of stories to go with … [Continue Reading]
July 4, 2020
I grew up watching a show called The Dukes of Hazzard… which, in its time, was very entertaining. The two super-cool cousins with their awesome car that could virtually fly over rivers… the buffoon cop Roscoe always chasing them… the even bigger buffoon Boss Hogg — the rich guy who ran the town and for some reason had it in for the Duke boys… perhaps some old score to settle with their Uncle Jesse. And of course, Daisy Duke. That was good TV back in the early 80s.
I’m not sure of the status of that show with respect to re-runs… I expect it’s been yanked, not really for the content… but because the real star of the show was a flaming orange 1969 Dodge Charger named The General Lee… with a big confederate flag painted on its roof. As fun as the show was, some things don’t age well. As a kid, I didn’t have a clue about the implications of any of that. Neither did any of my friends, all of whom watched it too.
But today is The Fourth of July — Happy 244ᵗʰ birthday to our neighbour to the south. You know, thinking back, we’ve all had birthday years we’d all like to forget about? I suspect in hindsight, this will certainly be one of those for the U.S.
Hazzard county was in Georgia, and there’s a lot more to worry about down there these days than those two cousins in their speedy car bootlegging moonshine, or their other cousin who made famous those shorts. I wish that were their biggest problem today… but it’s not.
My birthday wish… for Hazzard country, for Georgia and for the whole country… get better soon.
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July 3, 2020
Donald Trump has been pontificating about his southern border wall for as long as we can all remember. He’ll build the wall, Mexico will pay for it, blah blah. Well… it’s interesting, it may end up happening just like that, for exactly the opposite reason. Certainly, nobody is rushing into those southern states these days, but… on the flip-side, Mexico has problems of their own, and like Canada these days, is not interested in a swarm of American tourists. Build a wall and keep them in…
Up here, we’re dealing with the same thing. There’s a bit of a hole in our virtual wall – the free pass that Alaskan residents get on their way from Washington… they’re supposed to go straight home, but somehow, license plates from Texas, California, Washington etc… have been spotted pretty far from whatever could be defined as a corridor to Alaska. We’re not supposed to be open to American tourist traffic. Especially with this weather.
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