Paul and I were walking down the street.

Paul Communication is gone, Mama.

Sage What?

Paul It used to be here, but it isn’t here anymore.

Sage What?

Paul Communication, Mama.

Sage Whaaaat? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Paul I’m talking about communication.

Sage That didn’t help. I’m still bewildered. Use other words.

Paul At the Science Centre, the communication display.

Sage Ohhhhh. No, it’s still there.

We walked on in silence for awhile, then Paul looked up at me and grinned.

Paul See, though? Communication is gone. You had no idea what I was saying.

Todd had to rent a car recently.

Since I had to go on a business trip, I picked up a rental car two nights ago and I have to say that if anything I like driving even less than I did when I first gave up the car. Driving just takes far too much sustained focus and attention that I’d rather put to a podcast or my book.

I think this is why sitting in the backseat of a car for six hours is exhausting. Everyone in the car is consciously or unconsciously trying to make sure that the car arrives at the destination in one piece.

Not only that, I don’t feel nearly as maneuverable in a car as I do walking or riding transit. When I used to drive I felt like my car was something of an extension of me. Now it feels sort of like an injured limb – bigger than it should be with deadened sensation. The combination of that sensation and the fact that it goes at high speed makes for a really bad combination.

Well, he used to drive a 1968 Chevelle seventy miles an hour down the backroads of Vermont, blasting Van Halen on his cassette player. Luckily, that was before we met.

And of course I also really dislike how isolated I feel. It is lonely driving a car. Sure, I’m not someone who talks to everyone around me as I travel to or from work on transit. But there are little exchanges, gestures for one person to get off the bus before you or to take your seat, giggles as you try to hold the same spot on the subway pole twice as you try not to hold the same spot, listening to the sound of independent musicians, or even just sneaking a peek at what your neighbour is reading.

And a six foot tall man with Popeye muscles wearing nothing but shorts and a Santa hat would never hop into your car uninvited.

(Todd encountered Zanta on the subway Sunday afternoon.)

Zanta Grrrrr, yes yes yes, grrrrr, yes yes yes, grrrrr, pew…yes yes yes, la la la la la MERRY CHRISTMAS! CHECK IT OOOAT! Mother! Check it oat! YES YES YES!

Little kid Merry Christmas?!

Zanta Thank you, Mother. Here.

Little kid Merry Christmas…it’s not even Christmas!

Zanta I’m not Santa. I’m Zanta with a zed. Like that. Pewpewpew! With a zed! Pewpew! Difference between Santa and Zanta? He has a white beard, I have a black goatee. He has a beer belly, I have an eight pack. He celebrates once a year, I celebrate 364. He gets those who are good, I get those who are naughty. Yes yes yes! I do push-ups, he don’t. He hands out presents, I hand out cash. Yes yes yes! He’s at the back of the parade, I lead the parade out at the front. Yes yes YES! Like THAT! Yes! And I go to every single parade in Toronto. He has one parade a year, I have two. Yes yes yes! Be sure to be there for my first annual parade held this summer. First man ever in the world, the history of mankind, to have a one man parade, just meeeee. Yes yes! MERRY CHRISTMAS! Check it oaaat! Thank you! Yes! Thaaank you! Yes, yes, yes…

Little kid That’s the end of him.

Everyone on the subway car exploded in laughter. Nice laughter, cheerful laughter.

Little kid He didn’t make it on the train in time! Did he! Now he needs to go on the next train!

Mother That was perfect. Perfect.

You know, if a six foot tall man with Popeye muscles wearing nothing but shorts and a Santa hat DID hop into your car, you’d have a pretty interesting drive into work.