Stories from the Post
Friday April 15, 2005
4:00 - 6:00 pm
Transcript of a conversation overheard in the park. The subjects in question: four kids about 9 to 11 years old.
"Who are you talking about?"
"Jamie!"
"Who's that?"
"The guy I like"
"The one from camp?"
"No, that's Alex"
(other kid) "The counsellor?"
"Ewwww!"
"No, Alex was in my cabin group. I made him a bracelet."
"ooooOOOOHHhhhhh!"
"Or at least I taught him how to make a bracelet"
This new information caused a bit of a kafuffle within the group. Apparently, it was okay for a warm-blooded eleven-year-old male to wear a bracelet, but it was not okay for him to make one himself. There was some debate over whether or not Alex asked the girl to show him how to make the bracelet. This issue was never settled. The boys concluded that if Alex asked for a bracelet-making lesson, then he surely must be gay. However, if he simply made the bracelet without asking to be shown how, then he was only possibly gay. This matter was soon overshadowed by an involved discussion about who they thought was hot in their school, with the stipulation that they didn't have to actually like them as people.
Man in a maroon car: "Hi"
Me: "Hi"
Slightly awkward pause…
Man: "Are those your…readings that have been put up all over the neighbourhood?" I told him they were.
"What are they…are they from some relative of yours?" This question led to a brief description of the project, which you already know.
"I walk my dogs all over Markham and I noticed them. I've read every single one of them." I told him about the website that was coming soon and he said that he was looking forward to it. He asked me what my name was, he told me his was Gus and he wished me good luck. Then he drove off down the street.
Guy in a hoody: " 'Sup?"
Me: "Not much, what's up with you?"
Guy (as he hurries down the street): "Oh. I thought you were someone else."
I postered on a new street today. To get to it directly from my Grandparents' old building, you'd have to take a shortcut through the schoolyard.
My Grandpa would go for a walk every day until he was in his late 90s. A daily walk was one of his prescriptions for long life. I remember accompanying him on one of his walks when I was about 9 or 10. Grandpa may have been wearing a suit jacket and a dress hat. I can't exactly remember. In any event, I can guarantee you that he was wearing slacks, a button-down shirt and dress shoes. That was always a given. We walked through the school grounds and onto this street. The school building seemed to go forever. On the street, we stopped to talk to a man who was out on his front yard. I can't remember what we talked about, but what I do remember is that Grandpa introduced me to the man as his niece. As my Grandfather was about 90 years old at the time, it was pretty obvious that I wasn't his niece, unless he had an especially virile and spunky brother. The man looked at us a little funny, but didn't say anything. I didn't say anything either because I didn't want to embarrass Grandpa. We never talked about it, but I'm pretty sure that Grandpa realized his mistake as well and wasn't willing to admit that he was wrong.
I only had four or five posters to go when a women getting out of her minivan in her driveway called out to me from across the street: "Excuse Me! Are those your posters?"
"Yeah," I yelled back.
"What are they about?"
"Wait - I'll cross the street and tell you." She didn't look like she wanted me to do this, but I did it anyway. She seemed to be in a bit of a rush. I told her briefly about the project and went into the concerns of my general art practice, about death and our need to preserve and document ourselves. Then she really looked like she wished I was standing across the street.
As I was about to put up my last poster of the day, I noticed that someone had taken the time to chew up some red liquorish and spit it all over what remained of one of my posters from last week. I was touched.