Kaldi, The Great Discoverer

One of my very favourite things in the whole world is coffee. More specifically, really good, hot, strong coffee. Even more specifically, excellent espresso. Sometimes, before going to bed, I dream about coffee. I think about how good it's going to taste in the morning and I can't wait to have it. I get so excited about really good coffee! I could have one now!

Years ago I had been an actor. I don't like talking about it, so I don't tend to talk about it. I don't do it anymore unless there are wackos that actually hunt me down, begging me to do "this one little production" of such and whosit. I don't like the business. It's full of false people.

The Comrade put an absolute halt to doing commercials, even though it's made her some money in the past. She doesn't like to be part of the problem. That, and she can't/won't sell anything she doesn't believe in. That's right, Guiseppe, the boss whom I adore, the canoli sucks!

Last year I was asked, without auditioning, to be in an income tax preparer's commercial spot. Well, I was so flattered by what the really lovely producer, a rare breed indeed, had said. I won't get into it, as I feel uncomfortable tooting my own horn. This was to be the last commercial the Comrade would be in. An internal was promise made.

The reason anybody does commercials is because they pay. A lot.

At the time I was still married to Ack, the current ex-husband/ best friend. With the proceeds, I had planned to have a espresso/cappuccino maker built into the kitchen's WALL. Once the cheque came in, I noticed that the accountant had made a critical error. There were obviously some missing zeros at the end. After calling my lovely agent/very good friend, she confirmed my worst suspicion. The numbers were correct.

Ah, crap. I needed to revamp my coffee fantasy.

On set, I worked a minding numbing 12 hour day, filled with gas. If I am sedentary, eating particularly high carb food, without drowning it in a good deal of water, an inordinate amount of pent up gaseous matter collects inside me. Chicks that fart with any degree of audibility get sent into an entirely different echelon of girldom. My little body is capable of whoopy cushion proportions. I am convinced this is the reason why I have many platonic guy friends. I'm truly foul sometimes.

The absolute worst thing about doing commercials is the waiting around for your turn in front of the camera. It drives me crazy. If I'm not busy, totally engaged and active while working, I have a tendency to disturb others around me. I become like an annoying child on too much sugar, no crash in site.

I just realised I haven't gotten back to the coffeemaker yet.

Yes, well... the coffee maker. On Ebay, I purchased a silver Baby Gaggia, semi-automatic (the weapon of choice), pump driven. In few words, a sexy little espresso/cappuccino maker. It's the one thing on Earth that Ack and I fought over during the division of worldly possessions. He lost. I think it was the "You're going to have to pry it out of my rigor mortis hands, hovering over my cold, dead body" comment that got him. And anyway, he made off with this.

I was on Day 4 of absolutely no heat in my mainspace. It went down to 8˙C or 46.4˙F in here during the night. A nice, hot coffee would be lovely. Dang, I'm out!

Throwing on my new hooded white parka jacket and snowpants, something I can't seem to take off, I headed out.

I have not been in public for about a week. Not really. I've gone over to Ack's to eat and visit over the holidays, but he's more like family, not company. It was such a nice day. Cold, but sunny. I decided to walk the 2kms (1.24274 mi). Walking briskly certainly creates a good deal of internal heat in the old central core region. I was walking on a green light that had just turned yellow, making me step up my pace a little, when a car, turning right, nearly plowed into my legs.

I hate shrill sounds. The worst thing happens when I spontaneously yell at someone and my voice pitches 3 octaves higher.

The Comrade (yelling and sounding like one of the Lollipop Guild): Dude! What the fuck?! I'm wearing white! [demonstrates her coat by running mittened hands up and down the front of her jacket] I'm kind of hard to miss!

Well, not really. It's been snowing lately and there are piles and piles of snowbanks that apparently look just like me. Kind of hard to miss... I'm an idiot sometimes.

I continue walking.

In Toronto, there is this stupid new law, with few exceptions, that dictates a ban on smoking in bars and restaurants. Apparently it is for the good of our health. It is a ridiculous law and should be abolished. This isn't just from a girl who smokes and smokes often... and loves smoking. No, no! Well, yes, yes. My problem is no one ever polled the town to see what the majority vote was. My boss' business has suffered over this year. My business suffers consequently. And the business of me going out to a bar now is very unappealing as I have to don jacket and various accessories just to enjoy a haul. And I don't get to bring a drink with me. The liquor laws don't allow it. This is another reason I like being at home. No one will narc me out.

I passed an old greasy diner. Once matte white walls now a glossy beige from Ye Olde nicotine stains, scrumptious deep fryer grease and generous human spittle. The windows haven't been cleaned since its date of inception. 1975. There is a rummy standing outside smoking. On his head is a red and white Canada flag toque. He has a Toronto Maple Leafs scarf tightly wound around his neck. He has an enlarged, pockmarked nose, bursting with pressure from its sheer volume.

I smiled.
I like smiling at people.
Specifically at strangers.
That lesson my mother kept hammering into me, of not talking to strangers, never really took.

Rummy with the Nose: Well-hell! Happy New Year to ya!
The Comrade: Happy New Year to you, darling!
RWtN: [drunk and slurring] Thanks, sweetheart! That's swell. You're beautiful!

I love drunk people. I do. Some of my fondest memories come from The Beer Store. Yes, it's really called that. It used to be called Brewer's Retail, but I think revenue has seriously increased after the namechange. Sometimes, in the summer particularly, I'll ride my bike over and buy beer. I love beer. The Beer Store is the only place I actually look forward to waiting in line. It's the best part! Someone's always up for a little conversation, or a little statement, a pronouncement.

Random Drunk Guy #1: Hee hee! I don't see too many GIRLS in here. But a Chinese girl?! You never see that! I can't wait to tell Bob about this!... Hey Bob!! [falls over himself]

Random Drunk Guy #2: [loudly] You know something? [pointing and totally slurring] You're beautiful!

I am accused of being beautiful by every drunk man I've ever met. Even the drunk chicks give me the big eye. Who would wonder why I love drunk people?

Continuing down the road I am caught behind and in front of 3 hacking humans. Just walking down the street, open mouthed hacking. I hold my breath and hurriedly walk past them.

I had my nose briefly pressed up against a jeweller's case. I'm half looking for a moonstone ring. I hear the gem has emotionally calming properties. I don't wear rings, or a lot of jewellery, but once I was shown a Tiffany's catalogue and there was a light blue rainbow moonstone ring in silver that really caught my eye. Not at all Tiffany's or knockoffs, but Ebay's got a couple around the $20 mark. Just in my price range! I do think I'll opt to find it in my journey, though. I do love cheap baubles. The only things in the jeweller's case were timely pieces not unlike the gems found on the Home Shopping Channel.

I fled with no new decoration.

Ack! Not the ex-husband/best friend this time. There was another case of hacking in front of me!

I haven't had anything to eat yet. Since being single this time, I really haven't felt much like cooking. I really do like cooking, but I don't really like cooking just for me. I do like eating, though.

Ooh! Curry!

There is a place called Stratengers which is, to me, a triple threat.
1. Wood oven cooked pizza with toppings like goat cheese and rapini.
2. Wonderful curries.
3. With a one time $10 membership to their "Private Club", which they accept everyone, you can smoke until your face turns grey.

The Comrade: Hello!
Employee: Hi!
The Comrade: I was once here and had a FANTASTIC curry, though I've forgotten the name. Could you help me?
Employee: Sure! What did it taste like?
The Comrade: It was delicious! And very dark brown, with lamb bits in it.
Employee: Did it have any vegetables?
The Comrade: [frowning] I don't remember.
Employee: You don't remember?!
The Comrade: No... wait... yes... YES! There were vegetables!
Employee: Oh, so now there were vegetables.

After much deliberation... the curry was found.

Oh, I have to say, I like 'em surly.

Stepping into the place I buy coffee, Tango Palace Coffeehouse, is like stepping into some old drag queen's parlour. Feather boas are everywhere: on oversized cherubs in half pirouette, strung along baby carriages suspended from the spray gilded tin ceiling, along the tops of corset shaped silk lampshades. It's Aunt Mary's Big Gay Extravaganza replete with the best coffee in the east side.

I am a neighbourhood girl. I love neighbourhoods. I love working in my neighbourhood. I've always thought, since moving here, that this neighbourhood feels like a small town infested with really cool people.

At the Extravaganza, I enter into 4 separate conversations back to back and overlapping. I tried to initiate a 5th, but he wasn't biting. Everybody knows my name. I love this and I despise this at the same time. I only despise it because I never remember anyone else's name. Well, that and when I haven't run a comb or fingers through my hair yet, with no make-up on, I'm convinced I look like a different person altogether, rendered unrecognisable. Apparently not.

Person #1: I visited you at work. I heard you went overseas.
The Comrade: What?!
Person #1: That's what they told me.

People are always inventing the craziest things about me.

Person #2: Has the marsupial from Australia come in to visit you yet? He's so excited!

I have no idea who he's talking about.

Person #3: It's [insert my given name], right? I haven't seen you since my first day here! I kept hoping you'd come in all the time!

I explain my coffeemaker to him and how I can't possibly justify spending money on coffee I can make better at home. And at home I can smoke with it. Indoors. He understands.

Person #4 = Valentine! Valentine always knows how to grind my coffee! This is not a sexual metaphor. He's gay, just like everything and nearly everyone in there. He just knows how to grind my coffee!

My impromptu poll informs me that a good percentage of folk have had an uneventful Christmas. The rest had spent it like any other, filled with guilt, remorse, hangovers and poor gift choices. The overriding sentiment: Well, it's done for another year. I tell them about mine. Most leave the conversation predominantly depressed, yet thoughtful. Person #1 had made a mental note to graft something I'd said onto his resolutions list.

I am starting to sweat beneath my parka. My body has strangely started to adapt to the arctic conditions at home.

The streetcar was a block away from the next stop. I ran. My good-to-40-below boots make me run like Chewbacka. The driver stops. I'm grateful. I sit behind another hacker. I hold my breath again.

I go inside the fridgerator I call home and prepare my spoils. I feel like a King!