Observables #39
on the SUP sign, and Honeybea and the brilliance of Ocean Vuong
The “SUP” sign in my local coffee shop. I consider what is, in fact, up with me. The sign begs a response.
Already, I’m distracted as I try to wade back into the world of coffee shop sessions. Ocean Vuong says he can work anywhere. He wrote some of his best work in a Popeye’s. He finds weird places to write where other people aren’t. In Popeye’s people are just ordering chicken—they’re not sitting around bringing their earnest writing energy. I have it now—that energy—the energy that wants to be good. Also, I want to know what everyone else is writing. I could stop everything and run a poll: WHAT’S EVERYBODY ELSE WRITING IN HERE?
Vuong says: “To be a writer is to traffic in failure.”
I notice that my table is shaking and soon my back will be too as I try and stabilize with no back support. (Our backs need support, my physiotherapist says, so the muscles can drape. I try to laugh with him about his phrase— “muscles draping.” He doesn’t see the humour.)
The man beside me just came back to his table newly perfumed; two police offers walk through the cafe to access the back door—clearly on a mission; a woman orders while continuing a stream of consciousness barrage about how the NDP are violating us. The baristas stopped listening a long time ago.
This jacket. Soon. My girlfriend introduced me to Toronto brand Honeybea over the weekend. So I took a dive into the brand. This jacket is (as they say) made of a “sacred stack of sunny salvaged quilts all destined for landfill and deserving of a second spin.” I like this approach to fashion and would consider saving up for something like this come fall. Violet would definitely call me fancy and ask me WHY. She is more comfortable with me in sweat pants.
Violet’s chatter. Sometimes it oppresses me because “Mommy, look” is her number one phrase.
Mommy, look. She shows me the walk of a fancy person. Then a regular walk. I say the regular one looks like the walk of a sad person. “Hey, that’s my walk,” she says.
Mommy, look at my marble box. Now, pick a selection of marbles. Blue, green and clear. Which clear? That clear. This clear? That clear? How about this clear? Sure. Now, watch me shoot them down the marble run. Now, watch me again.
Mommy, look. Just look.
In other news…I aways like to tell you about our weekly podcast episode. This week Nat talks about reframing divorce. I decided to participate in this one as a listener.
Last week I guest posted on my friend Dave’s substack, Shuffle Synchronicities, what he calls “a spirited mix of music and memoir.” It’s an ongoing project where he shuffles his music and then makes connections to his own life. I had fun writing for him and discovering how the songs I “shuffled” intersected with my LA trip. Do give Shuffle Synchronicities a read! He’s wise and willing to be vulnerable and you will discover some new music along the way.
Finally, if you haven’t given Observables a vote for the People’s Voice Webby Awards, there’s still time. Voting ends on April 21. Thank you for supporting my work.
Thanks so much for guesting! Everyone is going to be like “look” at that jacket!