Despite the obvious signs of gentrification in my 'hood, it is still a high crime area.  There are murders and robberies - just like any large metropolitan city.  Tonight, I was reminded of how my beautiful neighborhood with its galleries, restaurants, pubs, shops (clothing, pets, cards, books, furniture, bags / knapsacks) can clash with the seedier side of life.  I was walking home carrying my groceries when I noticed people scurrying about in the street corner ahead of me.  I was still a bit of a distance away and was only thinking about getting home.  As I got closer, I noticed one guy started to slump down against the wall while two others were trying to figure out what to do.  A man rushed out of a restaurant with a table cloth.  Another man from the restaurant was on the street corner with his cell phone talking animatedly.  By this time, the man was lying on the sidewalk. 

As I crossed the street, I noticed the man on the sidewalk was bleeding badly.  One man knelt over him with the tablecloth pressed against the wounded guy's abdomen.  I put my groceries down to see what I could do.  The restaurant staff came out with more towels and a bucket of ice.  The man pressing against the wound told the guy to turn over so he could check his back.  I could see a wound there but it wasn't that deep.  He told the guy to lie back down.  I asked the man administering first aid if he saw what had happened, he said no.  I grabbed one of the towels and started to see if there were any other open wounds.  I looked down at the guy.  He looked like he was used to life in the streets.  He asked if his lips was busted open.  One of the man standing said no.  I looked closer and there was 2 deep gashes.  I put some ice in the towel and told the guy I was going to put it on his lip.  He didn't say anything. 

I don't think I was there for more than 2 minutes when sirens started to wail.  I looked up and could see the police cars screaming to halt in front of us.  The 2 cops jumped out.  The man holding the tablecloth against the wound and I moved away as the police took over.  One of policeman said there was something going on down the street and he disappeared down the street.  In a blink of an eye, there were 3 or 4 police cars had crammed into the street corner.  As I walked away, I could see an ambulance screeching to the scene. 

When I got home I noticed a bit of blood on my shoes where the man had touched me as he flayed about.  I was careful when I took it off.  I got some rubbing alcohol to wipe it down but the stain won't come out.  It's an old shoe and I was going to get a new one anyways. 

Another day in the city.  Another statistic.  It wasn't me.  I'm thankful.  I hope the guy recovers and I hope guardian angels will watch over our police and our first respondents. 

I have no shame... food porn, Japanese porn (don't even ask) but the best porn is airplane porn.  I blame my dad for this.  When we were young, he would take us to the airport and watch planes land and takeoff.  I think the best place to have sex is probably just off the runways so I can double my pleasure. 

I got into our condo elevator from the parking garage with this other guy.  I don't know a lot of folks in our building.  So we nod and smile politely even though we don't really mean it.  It's a slow elevator and I just stared at the numbers as it slowly made its way up.  All of a sudden I feel something push and rub against my crotch.  This always happens to me at elevators.  The stupid dogs always like to sniff my crotch. 

"Finlay - get back here!"  The guy pulled his dog back while I politely brush the dog's head and let him sniff my hand instead. 

Only dogs find me sexy.  When I was 13 years old, I was at a friend's house.  They had some small poodle like puppy.  I was eating at the kitchen table along with my friend and his mom.  The dog comes up to me.  So I put out my hand to to pet it.  It liked my hand and decided to stand up and leaned against my hand.  So I'm sitting on the chair, talking with my friend and his mom while the dog is leaning against my left hand.  I absentmindedly started to rub the dog's chest a bit.  Before I know it, I feel something odd against my fingers.  My friend is giggling but didn't say anything.  I look down and the dog is bouncing back and forth on my hand.  At that time I didn't know what he was doing.  Then it dawned on me, he was humping on my hand! 

I stopped the hand job and tried to discreetly rejoin the conversation.  But the mom had already saw what was going on.  I just played dumb.  I had no idea how talented I was in playing dumb.  But I think that horny poodle left some scent on me permanently.  Which is why I will never want a dog.   

A couple of weeks ago, dad told me that he wanted to visit the cemetery for Mother's Day.  He has only been there a handful of times since mom passed away.  It affects him so much after each visit that he decided not to visit.  So I was surprised when he made the request.  I carefully inquired if he was up to it and he assured me that he was.  My sister and I picked up some flowers and we all piled into my car.  There was a bit of small talk on the way there but otherwise it was a quiet trip. 

When we got to the cemetery, I drove up as close to the columbarium and stopped the car (the columbarium is outdoors).  Dad was already trying to pull himself out of the car.  I quickly walked over to his side and helped him out of the car.  I held on to him (as I always do since he is not steady) and we walked about 30 feet to where mom's spot was.  Her spot is eye level so he didn't have to bend down.  He stood there and declined my suggestion to sit on the nearby bench.  I let go and gave him a bit of privacy.  My sister was already arranging and watering the flowers.  I helped my sister a bit with the flowers & went back to stand beside my father.  He said "The script is very nice." referring to the writing on mom's plaque.  "Yes it is dad, you wrote it."  He nodded. 

He looked down at the flowers we selected and watched as my sister continued to fuss over them.  It was one of the few times he didn't object to my sister taking her time.  He took a couple of steps back and looked around.  "I like this spot.  It's quiet and shady."  He looked back and noted the small reserved signs around mom's spot.  I didn't know what to say.  I hoped he remembered the spot beside mom was already reserved for him.  Finally my sister was done and we all agreed that our flowers are always the best.  He started to move and I helped him back to the car. 

During dinner, I watched him carefully for any signs of distress.  But he ate well and pronounced himself self stuffed.  I drove him home afterwards.  The peace didn't last long.  Soon he and my sis started to disagree when he should take his eye drops.  I just sighed.  I didn't need to be reminded that mom was always the glue that held us all together.

Maybe I was tired.  Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.  Maybe it was just an illusion. 

I was reheating some soup for dinner in my microwave.  The microwave is one of these oven hood units & it sits at eye level.  It has a glass door and the door reflects part of the living room.  I have a small unit and it's also open.  I placed the bowl of soup inside, closed the glass door and reached up to press the reheat button.  Just then I saw a reflection of a shadow dart across the living room.  I quickly turned around and of course I'm just by myself.  I was surprised at my reaction.  I wasn't scared - the shadow didn't feel threatening. 

But I think I'll sleep with the lights on again tonight.  

I was working late in my dimly lit home office.  (ed note:  Matt's home office is just a desk in the corner of his condo.)  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move on the wall.  I looked over and saw this huge spider.  WTF - it was the size of a toonie!  It must have known I was looking at it because it just stopped.  I grabbed a couple of tissue and growled.  I hate killing big spiders so I have to get a bit angry first.  I slammed the tissue against the spider and pulled it back.  I slowly open the crunched up tissue and it was empty!  It must have fallen into the pile of boxes underneath my desk.  I hunted for that thing and can't find it. 

Now I can't sleep.  I have a pissed off spider looking for revenge.  I just know once I doze off, it's gonna bite me or do something nasty.  I also figured even if I somehow killed it and the body fell behind the desk, it'll turn into a zombie spider.  I really need to sleep with a gun or a can of Raid.  

I took dad to the bookstore the other day.  He's always told me his books are his friends since he doesn't have any close friends.  The last time I took him there, he leaned on his cane as he crouched gingerly looking for books that would interest him.  He hated the cane and didn't want to use his walker.  He staunchly declared "I'm not like those other old folks."  I would suffer minor heart attacks as he shakily bent over and peer at the titles.  This time though, he came prepared with a list.  I was surprised.  We soon found a salesperson and my dad gave her the list.

The list was carefully written with his must have books by 10 authors.  He was also clear that if that book wasn't available, he would consider others.  The sales clerk looked at the list.  The first name was Albert Camus.  She asked "Albert Camus is the first author?"  "Yes, Alber-kamu", my dad gently corrected her (and me too).  She went to the computer and searched.  His handwriting was clear despite a couple of fingers gnarled by arthritis.  I see the others on the list  Descartes, Gibbon, Cicero and more.   While I recognized some of the names - the others were a mystery to me and I have already forgotten them by now.  I feel like such an illiterate idiot.  

Some of the books were at the store and some weren't.  She went to the shelves to get the books while we sat down and returned within a few minutes.  He got his prized "The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire - Volume 1 to 6".  I warned him that the price was a bit steep (over $150 for the 6 volumes).  But he said it's six books so it's not that bad.  I lugged the books with one hand, held his arm with the other and we both shuffled over to the cashier.  The bill was over $200.  He feigned surprise and hinted at a seniors discount.  I almost told the clerk that he buys these books with what's left from his measly pension.  He pulled out his Amex and signed it with a deep sigh.  But I knew he was almost giddy with joy. 

As soon as we got home, I put the books on the table by his chair.  Within minutes, he pounced on the first book.  I went off to the kitchen to make dinner for him.  During dinner, he told me about the author Edward Gibbon.  He practically gave me his bio.  I checked online afterwards and was it matched.  He has a lot of books so I asked him if he might already have these books somewhere.  He said he didn't.  He told me he came across an article about one of the books and realized how much he wanted to read them.  He said a lot of these books are classics that scholars have prized.  He was kicking himself for not getting these books earlier.  I keep thinking though that he probably has some of these books before.  But I didn't really mind.  I realized in some ways, this was his bucket list and he was happy getting these books.

He lamented to me that none of his neighbours were serious scholars and readers.  After dinner, I washed the dishes while he went back to the living room sofa to be with his new friends.

I was at the Chinese supermarket the other day and ran into the same clerk (the one who seems to only speaks Mandarin).  See here for my previous encounter:  http://elusivewords.xanga.com/748874894/a-minority-within-a-minority/.  In my broken Cantonese, I asked for 7 chicken legs.  He looked puzzled.  I said "7" in English and then Mandarin and held up 7 fingers.  He nodded and went to fill the plastic bag.  I took a quick look at the meat section to see what else I needed.  When I turned back he was still filling the plastic bag.  I thought that was odd and when he lifted the plastic bag onto the scale, it was jammed pack with chicken legs.  I didn't know what to do when he handed it to me.  I just took it and placed it in the cart.  I figured I would not be able to make myself understood. When I got home, I counted 17 chicken legs.  I put some in my stockpot and the rest in the freezer.

While my fragmented Cantonese and almost non existent Mandarin is a minor inconvenience at grocery stores here, I'm sure it will get me into trouble if I was in China.  I can just imagine myself at a gay bar, surrounded by curious Chinese gays who aren't sure what to make of me.

I'm sure at some point in the night, fueled by hormones and alcohol, someone will ask me "So how big is your thing?"

I proudly declare in Mandarin "It's 7 inches."  (please note - this part of the entry is completely fictitious). 

"Ai ya!  17 inches?" 

I smile and nod politely because I won't have a clue what he said.

I'm sure the rest of the evening will just be a disaster.  When I leave the gay bar, I'll run into the clerk from the supermarket and he'll be laughing at me. 

I feel as if I got a nice little coffee shop here in Xanga. Some days I'm open for business and people drop in. Of course,  I'll be the guy in the back room, with sunglasses and a disguise.  After all, I'm anonymous.  Most days (especially lately), the shop is closed but people still wander by to see if I'm around.  They will knock at the door, peer through the windows and wonder what is going on. 

It's a nice community here.  When I need support, you don't hesitate to give me encouragement, advice, a gentle nudge, a prayer or two, a pat in the back, a hug and a supporting shoulder to lean on.  Sometimes when I'm not blogging, I'll get a message or email asking if things are ok.  It's a wonderful and supportive gang here at Xanga. 

Despite not knowing who I am, you don't hesitate to cheer me on.  I don't know what to make of it sometimes.  I have nothing to compare it to in real life.  Sometimes in the middle of the day, I'll stop and wonder about certain folks in Xanga - especially if they are going through some tough times.  I wonder if they are coping with the challenges from life.  We know life can be unfair. 

Work has eased up just a bit.  After working almost 7 days a week for a few weeks, I'm starting to reduce my weekend hours.  The pressure at work continues.  Any mistakes that people make get amplified and distorted.  The culture of fear and pessimism is getting a foothold.  I try not to let it get to me but inevitably it does.  

But it's nice to know I have a lot of support here.  I'm thankful and grateful. 

Thank you for your support and encouragement.  This Xanga community has always been able to make me smile.  It has been a very difficult and tense few weeks at work.  It looks like it will continue for quite some time.  To sum it up, my manager and I don't get along anymore.  I've worked my ass off these past few weeks including weekends.  I even skipped dinner with my dad last Sunday.  But I did swing by to say hi and picked up some dimsum for him.  This weekend was my first Saturday off although I did put in a couple of hours. 

But every day is just filled with anxiety.  Ever since I was a kid, my stomach would get upset if I was tense and anxious.  My stomach still treats me like a kid.

But really, all I can do is just be professional, do my best and stay positive.  A change will be good. 

I will try to catch up on your updates.