I ran across this passage in Life of Pi yesterday. I like it a lot:
I know a woman here in Toronto who is very dear to my heart. She was my foster mother. I call her Autieji and she likes that. She is Québécoise. Though she had lived in Toronto for over thirty years, her French-speaking mind still slips on occasion on the understanding of English sounds. And so, when she first heard of Hare Krishnas, she didn’t hear it right. She heard “Hairless Christians”, and that is what they were to her for many years. When I corrected her, I told her that in fact she was not so wrong; that Hindus, in their capacity for love, are indeed hairless Christians, just as Muslims, in the way they see God in everything, are bearded Hindus, and Christians, in their devotion to God, are hat-wearing Muslims.
I took off for a solo walk this afternoon. I started off by paying our apartment rent, and dropping the car insurance in the mail.
My next stop was the library, where I paid a one-day overdue fine on the Heathers DVD – which we never got around to watching. (I saw most of the movie, for the first time, at Sam and Colin’s party. I tried to renew it, but someone else had a hold on it.)
The woman at the library seemed to be trying to talk me out of paying the 25¢ fine up front – and suggested that I could add it to my account. But I insisted on giving her a quarter today.
My next stop was the Starbucks on Broadway. (One of the Starbucks on Broadway, anyway.) I bought a Venti Java Chip Frappucino®. (This is my absolutely favorite thing to order at Starbucks.)
As I made my way up to 12th Avenue, to pay the rent on my storage unit, I had the feeling that I was leaving a trail of money behind me. (It wasn’t a bad feeling. It was just an impression.)
After paying the rent on my storage unit, I cut through a corner of Cal Anderson Park, and around the Capitol Hill Station construction site, on my way home. There was a group of women taking photographs of the artwork on the construction wall. That’s uncommon, but not unusual.
But then, as I walked along, there was another group of people photographing the artwork, and then another group, and another. My guess was there was a photography assignment for a nearby college involved.
I got to John Street and turned behind a group of people walking down John. We got to the metal tunnel next to the construction site. There was a white sheet draped over the entrance, and a man standing in front of it. The group ahead of me started to walk around the tunnel, into the street. The man in front of the sheet looked inside the tunnel for a moment then pulled a corner of the sheet aside, and waved us all through – while making it clear that he wanted us to hurry.
On the other side of the sheet was a camera on a tripod, a photographer behind the camera, and a woman standing between the camera and the sheet. There was definitely some sort of photography event going on.
When I got home, Phillip was taking a nap.
When Phillip got up, he wanted to go somewhere for dinner. I suggested we try Nacho Borracho – the new Mexican restaurant that took over the old Ooba Tooba space. We’d never been there before. Phillip agreed to that.
Nacho Borracho turned out to be an interesting place. It’s not exactly a restaurant – more like a bar with food. The decorations left no doubt that they served Mexican food – and most of the menu was Mexican-themed (taco salad, nachos, along with chicken wings and a hot dog). The music was mostly hard-core hip-hop. There was graffiti on the booths. There was a hockey game on the TV behind the bar.
Nacho Borracho, in my opinion, is trying to be a hard-core bar, with young white-collar patrons, and a sports bar, disguised as a Mexican restaurant. That’s not saying it’s not a place we’d go again. The food was good, and Phillip’s frozen drink was delicious.