Good coffee, edamame, Welch’s grape juice, San Pellegrino Chinotto, wasabi peas, listening to my cat Emma say, “maht!”, loud, obnoxious music that only a hair farmer could enjoy, secretly doing my best imitation of Pete Townsend playing guitar while no one is around, Miss Vickie’s potato chips, Mac OS X, stealth smooches, McSweeney’s, the surprised look francophones sometimes get when I start speaking French when they were just talking about me (in French), waking up every morning even more in love and feeling like the luckiest bastard ever, CSI (but only the original - David Caruso is a punk), Amelié Poulain, butter chicken roti from Ghandi Roti on Bathurst, being a big, goddamn softie on the inside but pretending to be a hard-ass because it’s the manly thing to do, wearing the pocket protector in the family, riding the subway while listening to A Girl Called Eddy and pretending I’m a pensive ne’er-do-well living in Paris, working from home in my underwear (just because), laughing so hard I can’t breathe while watching The Family Guy, attempting to grow a scraggly, David Suzuki beard and failing miserably, feeling mildly superior whenever a Windows user starts complaining about how much spyware they found on their machines, chewing way too much Trident White in the futile hopes it will erase fifteen years of coffee and cigarettes.
You?
