Cheeza Louisa... Today was supposed to be my big day to visit Saint Cat at the studio so I could watch her in her blazing glory at work in "The Gallery." However, with the horrific attacks in Mumbai both yesterday and today, things have been crazily frantic, what with 9.5 hours of continuously rolling, breaking news coverage and Murphy's Law-worthy crashing tech equipment and servers. While it is in the maadhaus environment of breaking news that SC is most in her element, the anomalous factor of tech failure has taken the production dynamic from the realm of mere chaos to sheer hair-tearing fiasco. Needless to say, it wasn't an ideal environment to go visit Mommy at work today.
So we'll try again for tomorrow, when SC might hopefully be back to doing her regular news programming, thus indicating some slowdown or resolution in explosive drama over in India and no other massive act(s) of violence elsewhere. Needless to say, though, this is all excruciatingly depressing. To be honest, I only wish today was my studio day, because that would've meant no breaking news involving mass killings or hostage-takings anywhere in the world.
However, I do have The Mumbai Incident to thank for something, though this is going to sound incredibly callous. Y'see, the shit was really splattering the walls of AJE with a cruel and heartless vengeance yesterday as a result of so many things crashing down at once ~ the brunt of which Saint Cat took as the senior producing programme editor. Thus, when she came home after midnight to a dry house ~ completely exhausted but still buzzing with adrenaline ~ I bundled myself into a coat and scarf, and we hit the Marx Café for some imperative unwinding time.
After briefing me on the fresh hell that was her workday, SC also mentioned that she and an old friend of Supe's and mine ~ Uncle Giggles ~ had been texting each other over the course of the afternoon. (Supe and I have been championing his cause to work at Al Jazeera as he's become quite disenfranchised with the frustration of freelance photojournalism and documentary film-making. If you're interested in Middle Eastern history and politics, or simply in gorgeous photography and beautiful and informative writing, here's his work and blog.)
Quite frankly, I think they'll be lucky to get him, as he's someone who totally rocks in his work, is a wonderful person to collaborate with, and is entirely trustworthy and ethical... in any given situation. After I waxed rhapsodic to SC at the Marx on how fabulous, fascinating, brilliant, humble, street-smart, quirky, funny, capable, kind, ingenious, loyal, multi-talented, quadrilingual, compassionate, and hot Uncle Giggles is, she dialled him up without any warning and passed the phone over to me with a mischievous glint in her eye.
So here's the funny thing: Uncle Giggles and I haven't chatted properly in well over eight years. There have been the odd email here and there ("Yeah, the highway I took to the airport in Beirut got bombed less than 45 minutes after I was on it, so that was pretty lucky"), but nothing really juicy and in-depth. In fact, the last time we actually talked/saw each other was when Supe and I crank-called him when I was visiting her in Toronto:
"Hello, my name is Ovarious Weevil from Principle Bloodworks Research Labs in Brampton, and we have an order from you for, ah... let me consult my chart, here... da, da~da... 500 used syringes? That's a big order, but we finally have them ready for you now!"
We then proceeded to pick him up from where he was temporarily staying, drove him to a deserted industrial park in the Torontonian wastelands during sunset, let him out for a gander, and we hopped back into the car and slowly took off without him. Then he jumped-sprawled on the hood of the car and we drove around with him clinging to it all Hollywood action film-style for a while before we let him back in. (Yes, it was crazy and I have no fucking clue what the hell we were doing, but it was hysterical in a really surreal kind of way with the quality of light we were getting and the crappy amount of sleep we got the night before... and we weren't going fast, okay?) He was pissed off, yet exhilarated, and I also think he was secretly pleased by the unexpectedness of getting An Experience that night. And of course, he eventually forgave us, because if anyone's up for a psychotic, trippy adventure, it's our Uncle Giggles. I mean, look at what he does for a living.
Anyway, it was heartwarming to have a quick catch-up with him, and so reassuring to see we haven't lost the fabulous rapport we enjoyed 14 years ago when we first met. Unfortunately, he was convinced I was rat-arsed drunk for how much I was giggling during that call, but that was only in response to how infectiously he was giggling (hence, why I called him "Uncle Giggles" all those years ago) and cracking things in various accents that made me laugh helplessly.
Hearing the massive smile in his voice completely took me down the plushly verdant paths of Thou Yond'r Halcyonn'd Memory Lane: Many was the time we'd stay up all night walking and talking along the Saguenay riverbank in Chicoutimi after hours spent dancing... to the point where we'd watch the sun rise and have breakfast together before going to our respective French classes. He and our friend, Nate, became my self-appointed guardians to make sure that no one got too close to la petite chinoise (as people in that very small, very white, and very separatist town would come to call me)... especially one particular hot-kissing French dude with a great taste in music and a lovely way with his lips. Then either one ~ or both ~ of them would insist on walking me home every time we were out late, no matter the hour and despite how far away they were billeted; it was sweet of them to be so protective of me. Chocolate ice cream sundaes at 3:30am were my reward for being very, very good and not going home with the gorgeously frustrated Frédéric, and they renewed their strength in man-sized piles of poutine. Ah, those were the days of milk and honey...
Hopefully, life will do its thing of coming full-circle with perhaps the long-term reason we met (aside from he and Nate potentially having saved me from dicey situations with sketchy Frenchmen) and he'll be able to put down some employment-with-benefits roots at last... without getting himself killed. And who knows? Maybe SC will be able to find a lovely new colleague and lifelong friend in our wonderful UG, because he is indeed a prize.
And I've gotsta say: I'm so relieved to finally be back in touch with him, because I've really missed him. He's one of the treasures in my life I was sad to see slip into long-lost status for so many years. So this was all meant to be... and if weren't for the catalyst of The Mumbai Incident and Saint Cat cold-calling him while I was visiting (if it were a regular night, we probably would've just gone to sleep after a little catch-up chat about our day), maybe we would've still remained out of touch for a few more years.
What a funny, roundabout little life we live.
In different, exciting news: Did you know? Housed in one of the 19 Smithsonian museums is *Seinfeld's puffy shirt*! Diiiiing how!!!
(The photo above was taken yesterday at the Freer Gallery. This is the Kongorikishi (also known as Ni-O), carved of wood in the early 14th century during the Kamakura Period. There was absolutely no way to take it without a flash without it being blurry, but with the flash, it looked really weird because the tree-rings made it hard to discern his features. I'll show you all about it in another post some other time.)
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