Last night I celebrated Christmas Eve with lemon pepper chicken and a Rashomon dvd. Not quite the festive party with sweaters and friendship and Frank Sinatra that I envision, but oh well. I also went to Trader Joe's (friendliest staff ever), and the cashier asked me to tell her a story to entertain her. I didn't have any stories so I just started in on the Brady Bunch theme song. She picked up the ball and ran with it, belting out the entire song, only to be interrupted by me, adding in "they didn't know about birth control". We also talked about the weather and how it hasn't snowed in Toronto yet. She said it's on account of Al Gore Global Warming. He may be trying to warn us about it, but the constant association makes me feel like it's his fault.
This morning I woke up to find out James Brown, the godfather of soul, is dead. Just the other night I was watching his great cameo in Undercover Brother with Natalie. Did you know the movie was filmed in Toronto? Yuhuh, it sure was. I spotted them at Graydon Hall and then proceeded to watch the rest of the movie frame by frame, pointing out evidence of the movie's Toronto-ness. But I digress. James Brown was an inspiration to me as a black man. He made me want to get up in here and do my thang all of the time. He made me want to dance like a madman while hardly moving my upper body. I don't know what I'll do from here on out, but whatever it is, I got to make it funky.
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