<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517210586853211665</id><updated>2011-07-07T22:36:59.156-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversations I hear</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Bloggy Seasons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07522629642475178700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517210586853211665.post-3322872794867559417</id><published>2010-07-18T16:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T16:01:42.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coversation 2.0</title><content type='html'>I'm in the social lounge/bar area of a theatre festival. A woman, maybe  58 years old,  who must be in (or associated) with one of the  productions has obviously had a few glasses of red wine (over the years  and this evening). She is taking the lead in a social interaction  between her, a director and another actor. She is the center of  attention and absolutely must express her deepest, most complex reading  of some production she had participated in however long ago. For 20  minutes she does not stop speaking; she is loud, overly gestural and  full of sauce and this is her time to prove that she has an unique and  valid opinion about what happens on and behind the stage. The director  and actor stare at her and nod their heads silently. I sensed they were  itching to get up and leave. Maybe not, but probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So these fucking lines are just so.... Blah!  I don't know. This poor  man is trying to find his deepest, most profound understanding of his  Grandfather. Now, why do we care? If it was anyone else's Grandfather we  wouldn't give a flying fuck. But since we know it's his grandfather, we  care. And the elegance and prestige Sarah gave to her character (the  women looks over her glasses and tilts one eyebrow to the ceiling and  pauses)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;was ,    to fucking,    die for!     It was to bloody die for, I assure  you. And Sarah, despite herself, really listened to me and delivered a  version of the Patricia that I swept me from my disposition completely.  And so I misjudged her. Although Henry, bless him, might tell you a  different version"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.  -she spills a little wine on the floor. She is now cross legged on  the ground while the other sit on a couch. She continues to rant as the  other are obviously looking beyond her at the rest of the schmoozers in  the general social zone. I thought to myself, this is her moment, let  her take it to the moon. Please world, just let her shine tonight, she  needs this. Deliver her home safely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517210586853211665-3322872794867559417?l=conversationsihear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/feeds/3322872794867559417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/coversation-20.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/3322872794867559417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/3322872794867559417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/coversation-20.html' title='Coversation 2.0'/><author><name>Bloggy Seasons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07522629642475178700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517210586853211665.post-6624885189899914658</id><published>2010-07-18T15:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T15:41:53.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coversation 2</title><content type='html'>I am in the Victoria airport preparing to board a plane to Edmonton and  then onto Regina. Moments before they announce pre-boarding I overhear a  conversation that a man is having on his cellphone sitting behind me.  The man is seated so his back is to my back; he has strawberry blond  hair and beach-like attire. He speaks in your typical “sup dude, wanna  grab a pint” kind of tone.  His vocal presence was comparable to  California surf culture meets Western Canadian “broseph” culture.  (are  they even different? inform me) Young people and the beach, let me tell  you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, the body of his conversation painted me a picture of a young  man who just got dumped by his girlfriend and is heading back to Alberta  to visit family and friends, desperately looking for drinking buddies  that can make him feel better about his heavy heart. (which is he is too  masculine to reveal)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey John, what’s up buddy?  Aw not much, I’m on my way to Edmonton  right away here.  Ya, its kind of hard to leave Vic, it’s so nice here.  No doubt, no doubt.   Ya, so you heard me and Jen broke up?  Ya. ya.....    oh ya.   Ya, we haven’t even seen each other yet. But whatevz,     s’al good. She’s just a chick right? ha, ya. You interested in a drink  later?   Oh ya, fuck. Bumber dude, I really wanna see you, pound a few  back, have a conversation.    Aight, ya.     Right.       Alright,  well....if you change your mind just give me a ring. Ya, I’m thinking of  hittin’ up White Ave for some Bevy’s, you know, seein’ some peeps.     Cool bro, get at me”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looks depressed all of  a sudden. He redials....   He leaves a  message....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Hey man, it’s Pat, just wondering what’s up. I’m going to be in town  for a couple weeks, we should get together for some drinks. Not sure  what your work schedule is, holla at me dude.     Alright, take care.    Peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He redials....    leaves a message&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Amber, its Pat, just wanted to let you know I’m in town for some time,  we should get together, REALLY talk about our feelings (he says in a  playful and satirical voice).   Anyways, text me or call back and let me  know w’sup.”   Alright, peace out.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He redials, get’s a hold of some guy.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tom?   Right on buddy how goes it?  Fuckin’ rights bro...    what’s  that?    ah ya, fuck man, It’s rough.   haha, ya.  Ya we just broke up  dude.  Fuck, whatevz brother we got each other.   You work tomorrow?     Fuck.... aight, aight, well just give me a shout whenever duder.     Aight, peace”.....ya for sure bro, alight, peace”.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked so broken and alone. I  wished I could have been his drinking  buddy. Maybe we could have talked about some poor server’s breasts and  flirt with young girls that don’t even do their own banking yet.  And  the hockey score. Oh wait, it’s not hockey season.... I mean we could  talk about how much money we make and what province is calling us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517210586853211665-6624885189899914658?l=conversationsihear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/feeds/6624885189899914658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/coversation-2.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/6624885189899914658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/6624885189899914658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/coversation-2.html' title='Coversation 2'/><author><name>Bloggy Seasons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07522629642475178700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517210586853211665.post-7683814928924436194</id><published>2010-07-18T15:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-18T15:41:04.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mUzWTljZlc/TEOC4LQ8jrI/AAAAAAAAAOw/JbE6hwCvers/s1600/IMGP1416.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mUzWTljZlc/TEOC4LQ8jrI/AAAAAAAAAOw/JbE6hwCvers/s320/IMGP1416.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495379871930289842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversations I hear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Conversations I Hear" is a new project of mine that involves me  inadvertently picking up on what I consider to be interesting  conversations in social space and jotting-down the most interesting  highlights. Later on I will type these highlights into a 're-telling' of  the conversation online. These conversations will initially be posted  on facebook (because that's where all my friends and acquaintances will  see them immediately without a link) , and then to be formally plugged  into a blog. Maybe one day it will be an extended publication with a  forward by an academic hero,  who knows, but for now....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Conversations I Hear"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversation number one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walk into an all you can eat sushi restaurant in Kitchener, Ontario.  There is a wide selection of seats available to the left of the  restaurant but since I am alone the waiter seats me at a 'single' table  that is in close parallel proximity to another table of teenagers. There  were three females and a male. The male was dressed in a seashell  necklace with his his blond hair gelled up in the front, 1997 style. He  had a  blond goatee. The women were in skimpy summer clothes. If it were  not for the sectional wall dividing us, we would all be sitting at the  same table. At first I was annoyed by this dynamic of space, and then I  started to listen to what they were saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first dialogue that caught my attention was this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can you spell D.U.I"? says the male&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Shut up Derek, you drink and drive all the time" responds one of the  females&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I haven't drank and drove since last week. Wait, I did on my birthday.  haha. I'm baaad..." (baaad is said in a  very cute, Gabbo form the  Simpsons kind of voice)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the females adds to the conversation in an equally cute and  non-confrontational tone-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" You lied to me on you're birthday. You said you didn't drive home  silly".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm baaaaad" responds the male&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was that the night my cousin bitched you out?" asks one of the females&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ordered my first barrage of sushi and tuned back into the conversation  to hear the following fragments. Keep in mind, I didn't have a tape  recorder so I had to write as fast as possible, thus producing these  fragments as they are. There may be some minor transmission due to this  factor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I remember in grade 10 I had a decent amount of shoes, like 9 pairs.  And Nikki Damanski deliberately bought like, 3 pairs of the same ones I  had in different colors"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of females begins to talk about her fake I.D-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When I go into the LB I twirl my car keys around my fingers so I look  older"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That looks nothing like you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" I also have Anna's visa. I'm like...shoppinnnng!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of a sudden several text signals go off in short proximity to each  other (weird) and each individual becomes immersed in their own phone.  Eventually the male begins to read his message- " It's Sean, he's  like...still working, off at 9, let's go drinking'. Fuck ya, right on  buddy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation then switches back to the question of whether or not  the female looks old enough to buy alcohol. The male blurts out-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Just show them your tits. I walk up into the place gangsta. I'm like,  whaddup shawty, let's get crizzle".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on, several spicy tuna rolls later I take a quick glance at the  male as he has finally shut up for a few moments. I Iook into his eyes  and strangely imagine a more sensitive and reflective side to this  individual. His distracted and somber gaze briefly put my character  judgements aside; I convinced myself that perhaps he had a soul. And  then he spoke again in response to whatever someone else was saying-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll stab you in the jugular, huh huh".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517210586853211665-7683814928924436194?l=conversationsihear.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/feeds/7683814928924436194/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/conversations-i-hear-conversations-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/7683814928924436194'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3517210586853211665/posts/default/7683814928924436194'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://conversationsihear.blogspot.com/2010/07/conversations-i-hear-conversations-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Bloggy Seasons</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07522629642475178700</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/__mUzWTljZlc/TEOC4LQ8jrI/AAAAAAAAAOw/JbE6hwCvers/s72-c/IMGP1416.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
