am alone.

Thinking about manifestos

One night a couple of years ago, | got home late from work, and my family was already in bed. | was super hungry as usual, and went straight for the fridge. Posted to the fridge door was a lengthy and formal notice, which had apparently been draft- ed by my Dad. It was entitled:

THINGS WE DO TO KEEP OUR HOUSEHOLD RUNNING SMOOTHLY

There were approximately 12 to 14 items listed below. Although most have long since eluded my memory, | will never forget item number one (because it was there to greet me every night for the next several weeks). It read:

#1. We do not leave our shoes by the front door.

Aside from this, The List touched on many subjects pertaining to the importance of cleaning up after one's self, and other forms of contributing to the household. As | read through the list, | recall feeling a vaguely guilty, and also remarking to myself that my Dad must have been fairly pissed.

As the weeks went by, | eventually (inevitably?) stopped noticing The List. | can't be sure, but | imagine that around that same time my shoes surreptitiously began loiter- ing by the front door. However, | sure as hell noticed the night | got home and my Dad's list was nowhere to be found, and in it's place THERE WAS A NEW, MUCH SHORTER LIST.

8

| went to Sakae yesterday in downtown Nagoya. | took the train because it was raining and | didn't want to get soaked on a 15km mama chariot ride. | wandered around all day watching people watching me. When night fell | decided to get hammered, as | couldn't bear to go back to my depressing cell in suburban Komaki (Whalley). | went to the circle K and bought three tall cans of Super Chu Hi - which are similar to ciders, but they are interlaced with crack cocaine. In short, they fuck you up. | down these speedballs in a dank, dark doorway, and then proceed to my favourite bar. | have befriended some regulars there and they seem like nice people. Also, there are no annoying Gai Jin, so | can try to talk Japanese. It is a small bar and it has cheap 300 yen cocktails. Some Korean business men buy me some volcanoes, which is a shot of whiskey immersed in a beer. | like to call them queasy. Of course time passes and | become increasingly late for my train ride home. | hightail it to the station, but | miss my second train regardless. The first train deposits me about 13km from my hole, and onto an endless vacant (King George) highway. Dejected, but drunk, | begin walking. | quickly become bored and impatient, so | search for a bike to steal. My stealing is unsuccessful, as for some reason all of the bikes are locked. My rooting is starting to stir the locals, and | begin to fear the authorities. So | scram. Eventually | come across a junked mama chariot under an overpass. It has no tires. | proceed to ride home on the steel rims. It is shaky at best, and | only bail once. | am too drunk to notice. | scrape myself up of the road and keep on keeping on. The mama chariot is a bicycle which is built for someone who is four foot eleven or shorter, in short, for an old shrunken Japanese woman. Oba Chan ; part of the very prominent and efficient grey army ( Dangerous and slow on the road, and relentless in creating supermar- ket aisle obstructions). | continue to ride home and finally make my destination ; the train station where my own glorious mama chariot awaits. | can barely stand, but | still manage to hoist the junk chariot up over my head and spike it onto the Gomi pile of similarly conditioned bikes. | let out a drunken triumphant yell ... but |

by David Greer _ copyright 2000

J this story about my family came to mind:

On a small, square piece of paper, numbered, untitled, were three hand scrawled items:

#1. we put in dizness #2. we keep our hustle strong #3. we never let a perpetrating mark front

Needless to say, on the next occasion when we were all home at the same time, my Dad noted, "| see my list is gone", and then: "What does dizness mean?"

Although it was never officially discussed, The New List was accepted by our family collective. It remains on our fridge to this day, subtly wielding it's way into our psy- ches and serving up a small reminder of coolness and courage with each bowl of our breakfast cereal.

Thankyou for reading. Sarah White

| went to Sakae yesterday in downtown Nagoya. I took the train because it was raining and I didnt want to get soaked on a 1km mama chariot ride. | wandered around all day watching people watching me. When night fell | decided to get hammered, as | couldn't bear to go back to my depressing cell in suburban Komaki (Whalley). 1 went to the circle K and bought three tall cans of Super Chu Hi- which are similar to ciders, but they are interlaced with crack cocaine. In short, they fuck you up. | down these speedballs in a dank, dark doorway, and then proceed to my favourite bar. | have befriended some regulars there and they seem like nice people. Also, there are no annoying Gai Jin, so | can try to talk Japanese. It is a small bar and it has cheap 300 yen cocktails. Some Korean business men buy me some volcanoes, which is a shot of whiskey immersed in a beer. | ike to call them queasy. Of course time passes and | become increasingly late for my train ride home. | hightail it to the station, but I miss my second train regardless. The fist train deposits me about 13km from my hole, and onto an endless vacant (King George) highway. Dejected, but drunk, | begin walking. | quickly become bored and impatient, so | search for a bike to steal. My stealing is unsuccessful, as for some reason all of the bikes are locked. My rooting is starting to stir the locals, and I begin to fear the authorities. So I scram. Eventually I come across a junked mama chariot under an overpass. It has no tires. | proceed to ride home on the steel rims. It is shaky at best, and | only bail once. | am too drunk to notice. | scrape myself up of the road and keep on keeping on. The mama chariot is a bicycle which is built for someone who is four foot eleven or shorter, in short, for an old shrunken Japanese woman. Oba Chan ; part of the very prominent and efficient grey army ( Dangerous and slow on the road, and relentless in creating supermar- ket aisle obstructions). | continue to ride home and finally make my destination ; the train station where my own glorious mama chariot awaits. I can barely stand, but [stil manage to hoist the junk chariot up over my head and spike it onto the Gomi pile of similarly conditioned bikes. | let out a drunken triumphant yell... but am alone.

David Greer _ copyright 2000}

T this story about my family came to mind:

Thinking about manifestos

‘One night a couple of years ago, | got home late from work, and my family was already in bed. | was super hungry as usual, and went straight for the fridge. Posted to the fridge door was a lengthy and formal notice, which had apparently been draft- ed by my Dad. It was entitled:

TO KEEP NIN THLY.

There were approximately 12 to 14 items listed below. Although most have long since eluded my memory, | will never forget item number one (because it was there to greet me every night for the next several weeks). It read:

#1. We do not leave our shoes by the front door. ‘Aside from this, The List touched on many subjects pertaining to the importance of

cleaning up after one’s self, and other forms of contributing to the household. As | read through the list, | recall feeling a vaguely guilty, and also remarking to myself

that my Dad must have been fairly pissed. ‘On a small, square piece of paper, numbered, untitled, were three hand scrawled items:

As the weeks went by, | eventually (inevitably?) stopped noticing The List. | can't be

sure, but | imagine that around that same time my shoes surreptitiously began loiter- #1. we put in dizness

ing by the front door. However, | sure as hell noticed the night | got home and my #2. we keep our hustle strong

Dad's list was nowhere to be found, and in it's place THERE WAS A NEW, MUCH #3. we never let a perpetrating mark front

SHORTER LIST. Needless to say, on the next occ: Dad noted, “I see my list is gon:

ion when we were all home at the same time, my . and then: "What does dizness mean?"

Although it was never offically discussed, The New List was accepted by our family collective. It remains on our fridge to this day, subtly wielding it's way into our psy- ches and serving up a small reminder of coolness and courage with each bowl of our breakfast cereal

Thankyou for reading. Sarah White

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