I was visiting a friend who does a lot of gondeh goozi and poz and always likes to pretend he knows (and owns) everything. So he had bought this weird looking painting that I thought was horrible and had hung it on the wall and asked me what I thought about it. Just to mess with him I decided to make up some nonsense and said, "Someone with your artistic sense should know that the horizontal striations of the painting is totally at odds with the representational tonality of the fireplace and thus nullifies the vertical extension and harmonious solidity of the chandelier." The proper response would have been to ask me what the hell does that even mean as it meant absolutely nothing but being the person that he is he simply nodded and said "Oh, so you noticed that too?"
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

Comments
Post a Comment