Oh Claude

I’ve always had long hair, except when I was seven and solo-parented by my father, whose barber gave me the go-to ’70s bowl-cut. More recently, I wore it short when I thought it was faux-pas to have long hair over 50 and worse, long and gray. Then, with my growing indifference to everything, the mane flourished. Claude judged me—I’m trying too hard, wrote he. I was planning to home-chop it, when I ended up in a random conversation with a human on Bloor carrying a Gucci under her silver flow. 
     Leave it and love it, she said. 

Inspired by Being Judgey (or, Okay Boomer!) Image from The New Knew.

At The Pearly Gates

Something had happened below. There was an ungodly crowd at the Gates. A burly man with a red tie pushed to the front. 

     “Table for one.” 

     St. Peter was taken aback. “This isn’t―” 

     “This guy’s low IQ, I can tell you that,” the man told his followers. 

     Peter exchanged glances with the Archangel Michael. “Sir, we aren’t―”

     “Check your list. They’re expecting me.” 

     Michael whispered something to Peter, who nodded. “Ah, yes,” Peter told the man, pointing. “Our golden escalator will take you straight there.” 

     They watched him descend. “‘They’re not sending their best’,” Peter muttered. Michael shrugged.

Inspired by Being Judgey, and the numerous versions of Heaven I've imagined, the first one being on this link. Image by Marjorie at NightCafe.

Being Judgey (or, Okay Boomer!)

I don’t understand selfies. Who needs so many pictures of themselves? I don’t understand taking a selfie while pulling down a branch laden with cherry blossoms (right beside a sign that says: “Don’t pull on the branches please. It damages the trees”) and then getting into a car and leaving. I don’t understand people who post a picture of their food before every meal. I don’t understand spending every second of your vacation taking photos (most of which you delete eventually) instead of just being there. Are these experiences not real unless they’re recorded? Do we only exist on screen?

Inspired by The Rule of Turds. Image by Nancy not understanding.

The Rule of Turds

Our neighbourhood is beautiful. And Judgey. For flavour, have a look at the Roncy/Parkdale Friendly Neighbours Facebook page which boasts a toxicity rate of three. Feeling spicy? Write something about dogs . . . or kids . . . or kids interacting with dogs. Here’s how it works:

(1) The Micro-aggressive Opener: “Hi gentle neighbours, just a PSA to pick up after your floofs!”

(2) The Axe-grinding Second: “My toddler stepped in dog shit yesterday at Sorauren Park . . .”

(3) The Closer: “Dogs should be banned from public spaces!” (Followed by an AI-generated image of a Rottweiler chasing a terrified child). 

Grab your cortado, and watch the fur fly.

Inspired by Judge Not. Photo—Placement—by Laurie.

Judge Not

Sure, I hadn’t shaved for days; and maybe I hadn’t had a haircut in months. And yes, I’d most definitely fallen into the habit of wearing my jeans till the knees wore through—though in my defense, it was sort of the fashion at the time. Still, I was my own boss, making good money—and so, who really was I trying to impress?

Turns out it was the social worker outside the Metropolitan United Church downtown, who met my eyes with such a bald expression of Christian love that I knew in that instant he thought I was homeless.

Inspired by Devastation. Image cropped from an ASOS fashion shoot.

Devastation

The #20 bus rolls along East Hastings Street like the Mars rover across an alien landscape. We passengers, safely behind glass, are like scientists observing previously unimaginable life forms. We pass shabby storefronts, Edwardian hotels fallen to flophouses, crumbled hoardings, junk-strewn alleys, and on the sidewalk, piles of filthy garments, soiled sleeping bags, broken personal effects, and humans: brothers, daughters, sons. Some are slumped in unconscious disarray. Some stagger or shuffle desultorily, bent at the waist in the fentanyl fold. Others huddle in conversation, a community despite everything. We pass through blocks of devastation, en route to pristine Stanley Park.

Inspired by Now That’s Customer Service and a recent ramble through Vancouver's Downtown Eastside. Photo from r/UrbanHell.

Now That’s Customer Service

On a train from Ottawa, we’re told, due to maintenance, there’ll be an hour-long detour towards the Toronto end of the line. We slow to a crawl—stop for minutes at a time—than inch forward again.

     An announcement comes on: “Attention passengers, the detour today isn’t going very well. Thanks for your understanding.”

     We erupt in laughter. Then the train starts going backwards. 

     Another announcement: “In case you were wondering, we’re not heading back to Ottawa, we’re just backing up to merge onto another track. Thanks for your understanding.”

     When we finally make it to Toronto, we’re still laughing.

Inspired by a recent train trip. Photo by Via Rail Canada.