Another one from the Nephew
Friday night and there's a larger group of attractive Lebanese girls in the private room. 12 to be precise, all 20 something, with that dark-eyed and attractive complexion that comes of not immersing oneself too deeply in Western Culture.
Now they're all quite pretty, but I'm not interested. I'm far, far too old and I have this prejudice that pairs people of distinct cultural influences with like-minded people of distinct and similar cultural influences....
Some are still in the hajib, they're not eating pork or drinking liquor, but otherwise they seem to be having a good time.
I ask them what's become of the Talking Waiter, we still have no word as to his whereabouts, but that's a different table and they don't know him.
The boys - Nephew and G - keep swinging by the table, chatting to them, they don't, apparently, suffer my cultural prejudices, and eventually the Nephew adds one of them to his phone.
***
Now the Nephew, he's hung over, he had a crazy night on Thursday, drinking several times what was wise and today he's hurting, bad, he's not trying to pick anyone up for this evening, just keeping a door open for later.
But when he gets home the girl begins texting him, she wants him to come over, she's at a friends and they can have a spare room....
Nephew's hurting, not interested, not tonight anyways, but she doesn't give up. Maybe he'd like to split a hotel? She's only 16, and she begins sending him nude photographs of herself....
The Nephew, he tells me this, I believe him, never does he profess the slightest shade of integrity or virtue and nothing he can do or say will even slightly alter my perception of him, he is, in my mind, complete.
And as surprised as I am that people I'd consider to be - well, more morally congruous, are not so entirely, I can't help but to think that if you were to go off the Muslim bandwagon wouldn't it be a bit less taboo to have some pork or a drink? Certainly, comparing the Nephew to a pig, the Pig is a noble beast, the Nephew should have all of the unclean associations. But that's just me.
He's too hungover, the girl keeps sending him pictures of herself in increasingly spicy poses, he eventually blocks her on his phone.
Another one from the Nephew, long to narrate and completely without point but he feels compelled to tell me, only serving to somewhat dispel any illusions I might have harboured that other cultures and religions somehow harboured any greater or more solid values than those decaying in the West.
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3 Places you never want to end up
I could probably find more, but we'll start with these three: Alberta Healthcare, The Police HQ or any of the affiliated Justice Buildings, and anywhere east of the Deerfoot Trail in Calgary. Any of these and you know you're life has taken a turn for the worst.
Our sous-chef, a 50 year old Filipino, perhaps 5 feet tall, fit, but you couldn't find anyone of a more peaceable disposition. And he's managed to hit all 3. Really, he stinks of good Karma. A more timid and gentle soul you couldn't find. But like a lot of new immigrants he's landed somewhere east of the Deerfoot trail, getting home after work involves him taking a bus downtown, then back up to Rundle on the C Train.
It's a bit of a journey, but he needs the job.
On Monday night after work he's walking from the Train station when some young men in a car beckon him over. He doesn't know better, doesn't know Calgary, he's naive and uses his own good nature to appraise others.
Remember, he's 50 years old. And 5 feet tall.
And so he walks over to the car and before he knows it one of the occupants has smashed him across the face with a coke bottle. A funny joke, another drunk night out for a bunch of Hero Calgarians.
His cheekbone's broken, he can't see out of one eye, he's off work for a week and needs surgery. After this he runs - nonstop - a full kilometer home. He's in shock, he's a naturally timid and peaceable person, this is outside his experience.
The next day he goes to the Police station. He files a report, they want the report, these reports, they're gold when you're asking for more funding from the city. But they tell him not to get his hopes up, they probably won't catch the guys that did this (probably they won't even investigate), they get these reports every night. Really, violent crime isn't something the police are into, unless they're instigating things like at the G20 summit in Toronto.
No, the police are more into donuts and issuing traffic tickets, preferably by photo radar. They don't think they'll catch the culprits, but they'll take the complaint, their budget depends on it.
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Occupy Calgary
On Sunday the boy and I, for want of more exciting activities, check out the Occupy Calgary encampment in Olympic Plaza.
Now it's pretty much as been described, mostly hippies and granola's living free off the publicity and trying to bring awareness to Calgary's issues with inequality - read - their inequality. Most of them are unemployed, not particularly searching, how they heard about the Occupy Wall Street movement is the biggest mystery.
As much as I'm for social change and redressing the gross inequalities that a capitalistic society creates, this isn't the way to go about it. Peaceable demonstrations and protests only invite the abuse and scorn of the police and media - to think that any change will be wrought by these small publicity stunts is naive. The rich will continue to get richer, the police, for reasons unknown even to themselves, will continue to use whatever tactics they deem necessary (read brute and abusive use of force) to ensure the status quo remains unshaken, nothing will change.
It's sporting of the 99% to give notice of their dissatisfaction like this, but don't expect the wealthy and ruling 1% to give up their share of the pie so easily. Revolution always involves bloodshed, and until the heads of the greedy, the corrupt and the unjust are raised upon pikes the cycle will continue.
Still, the boy and I wander around, look at the tents, read the feeble protest signs, take some photos, it's good at least for him to come to some awareness of these issues, although I'd protest these aren't the demonstrators I'd want bringing it to his attention. Maybe I need to make my own sign?
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Russia
I'm in Russia, close (I'm guessing) to the Russian/China border, there are high mountains, I've a half hour walk ahead of me, I'm on the way to some monastery.....
And I'm walking down some shady lanes on the side of the mountain (thinking I should have perhaps walked a bit further and taken a more direct route) when I come across some stately clapboard homes fallen into disrepair, I look through the window of one, inside there's fine furniture, wood floors, antiques, it's as if somebody still lives there, from the outside they look like abandoned farm outbuildings...
The sun is dappling and I continue on my way, I have to get to the monastery soon or I'll be late, another time, perhaps, I'll return....
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