TV is on its way out. The last leg it has to stand on is as the de facto entertainment of choice for lazy couples the world over looking to spend some qt together without actually *doing* anything.
In my most recent partnership we did like, five seasons of Lost as a couple and half of the last season in the torturous purgatory that follows most young relationships. Season six has yet to be watched to its completion.
Sometimes I (and perhaps everyone else on this planet) find myself honoring past moments in time in strange ways...
Last night I was approached my a drunk man in his late twenties, early thirties. He walked right up to me and started talking, gesticulating wildly with a lit cigarette as though the conversation had had a beginning, a middle and an end and I wasn't just being dunked into the incoherent stew of his mind for a few blocks on College street.
He ranted on and on about getting arrested at a Pickle Barrel in Markham last night while watching two of the eight kids his 45 year old biker friend Pork Chop had. Accused of public drunkenness, robbed of the $350 in his wallet, keys thrown in the gutter, and forgotten about in his overnight cell for a whopping 13 hours which were "incomprehensible to mankind" with a dying cell phone.
...To be fair, that does sound like a rotten night.
The odd thing was that this dude looked almost exactly like the character Desmond from Lost (a hands down favorite of my former), and I found myself walking along with him because he was keeping me company in memories.
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