easy like a sunday morning

(quick aside, i absolutely LOVE the faith no more version of easy like a sunday morning. check it out if you haven't already...)

i'm lost in a day of blessedly mind-numbed tasks after a beautifully but excruciatingly full week. i've gone out every night this week, and it's been all about theatre. without getting into it too much, cuz that's not what i felt like blathering about, i have seen two really good (dare i say great? yes! great i say, GREAT!) plays. if you're in toronto and are into the theatre thing, i absolutely recommend little dragon at theatre passe muraille and trout stanley at factory theatre. absolutely spectacular.

so back to my brain, fuzzy wuzzy brain. i'm smiling stupidly, glazed-eyed and doe-souled, imagining what i wish i could be doing this sunday.

i'll wake up lazily, deep into the morning. out of respect for my schedule, the sky will have spent the morning showering its onlookers, ready finally to don its sun dress as i awake and open the curtains. as i look out onto the still-shiny streets, i'll almost hear the trees and sky breathing a sigh of relief as they towel themselves off, fresh and awake. i'll glide over to the radio and set it to the Q for some psychedelic sunday action, which i've become a little addicted to. who knew there was a psychedelic rocker lurking deep within me? ok, so it's not that much of a stretch...

after a long hot shower (highlighted by a soulful rendition of Kaen's Shower Favourites - now available on k-tel records), i'll gather some essentials and prepare to meet my friend (who as of yet doesn't actually exist - not this particular friend anyway) at some tiny restaurant. somewhere i don't even know about yet, with walls draped in textured wallpaper and grease and populated by smiling, toothless patrons. we'll eat too much food for too little money, and talk about cognitive liberty and the power of hope. we'll make jokes about pop culture while slurping down thick milkshakes. we'll sink into quiet reverie as we gaze at the lumbering traffic.

bellies distended and minds expanded - however slightly on this slow sunday, we'll stroll over to his place. see, he'll have an extensive neil young music collection that i'll be as anxious to discover as he'll be to share. the walk will be quiet as he tries to pick which songs he'll start with, and in which order he'll allow neil to seduce my senses. see, i've never been a neil young fan. not that i disliked him! in fact i've always hated the song "sweet home alabama" (despite its admittedly killer riff) because it insults neil young in favour of redneck ignorance. (grumble grumble) i've just never really listened to all that much neil. well, since stumbling onto psychedelic sundays, and surely also aided by my shop experiences where neil or neil-esque songs are adoringly crooned, i've discovered a sudden hunger to listen and learn more about this fella. and this is how i would want to do it. ok, back to the fantasy...

we'll sink into his weathered leather sofa (which had been left for dead in some alley 6 years earlier) and light a joint, savouring each delicious huff of haze as though agni himself had come down to pour his holy smoke into our gaping mouths. we'll decant decadent doses of cheap red bulgarian wine into mismatched glasses, and then the music will start. moody then electric, wrenching then fierce, i'll be swept through mountains and valleys of the universe of young. when not mesmerized by the lyrics or chords, he'll tell me about the tree house he and his father built when he was 8. he'll tell me about the long conversation he had about jungian philosophy with an old man in vienna. he'll tell me about jessica phelps, with whom he was desperately in love from grade 3 to grade 10, but who only ever thought of him as a friend. and i'll tell him my little stories of delight or horror. and the hours will melt away smoothly until the dawning street lights and our grumbling stomachs tell us that day has stealthily slipped into night.

we'll trundle into the kitchen to throw wilted beauty queens and starchy soldiers into pots, creating a mess of sustenance. we'll toss snow peas at each other, create warfields littered with utensil corpses and savour our frugal feast over wine and laughter.

oh poo. my lunch hour's moments away from being a memory. best to get back to work... well, it's about as far as i'd gotten anyway...

have a glorious weekend my ducklings! don't do anything i wouldn't do...