Let me start off by saying that I thought the music from last night's Fleetwood Mac episode of Glee was delightful. Rumors. What a great album to pull from. I'm such a fan of the 'themed' Glee episode. Too many of them lately have not followed this formula, and I find myself less tolerant of the show when it strays. And I really could have done without Blaine's random and overly intense piano number in the courtyard last week.
It was election day in Canada on Monday, and a Canadian friend of mine gathered some people downtown to the Greenhouse Tavern for an authentic Canadian dish. I was familiar with the Greenhouse Tavern, a strange but comforting blend of hippie and chic, but I was not familiar with the dish. Poutine sounds so fancy and foreign that I may have actually raised an eyebrow to see a plate of gravy-covered fries set down in front of me. Fries? Really, Canada?
And while commiserating yesterday with an ex of mine about our respective loneliness, he surprised me by soliciting advice about what might make him a more worthy companion. What luck! It had been a rough day, and it seemed like the perfect activity. I immediately launched into a brutally honest reply, because believe me, I can think of many, many things this man could and probably should change about himself and his philosophies on dating. But for some reason I can't explain, I stopped myself. Here it was, the opportunity I'd long been awaiting, and I couldn't go through with it. When did I get to be so noble? I'm not sure, nor am I sure why the whole idea suddenly seemed entirely unproductive. But what good would it really do to unleash the here-are-all-the-things-you-should-change-about-yourself beast? Like there aren't several things I should change about my own self, you know? It just seemed best to leave it unsaid and remain friends. Or, at the very least, leave it unsaid and remain a nice person. If only I attended McKinley...I could just sing him a song. And I could also meet Mike Chang.
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Camping at Pine Flats July 2025
10 months ago
4 comments:
Hm. I remember my first poutine. I tried to convince myself that it would taste better if the restaurant had only...
I crave it now. What a strange food combo.
Poutine is very close to the word "whore" in French, only it's more vulgar than that. I still remember my mission trainer meeting a Canadian in the street and asking her if she had tried something very much unlike a plate of gravy covered fries.
Isn't it interesting as we learn and grow and things that in our minds we can formulate so well, yet in the end...we just don't do it. Because we've become better than that. I miss you friend. I love to see you growing out there in Cleveland, but you are welcome to return to good old Provo, if only for a visit. :)
That really was a great Glee episode.
And good for you for being noble. Sometimes it is just better to bite your tongue. I've learned that the really hard way.
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