Since when have I become a yuppie? It’s like I went to bed one night and woke up wearing a jean jacket, eating sushi and talking on an expensive cell phone. The whole thing just sort of sneaked up on me. I blame Toronto for at least the last of these. You absoultely cannot live in this city without owning an expensive phone; it’s like it’s a new citizenship requirement or something. I never owned one in Kingston…I mean, I had no need for a cell phone, despite the fact I knew about a billion times more people there than I do here. Yet as soon as I arrived here I was demanding one like it was a basic human right. And now that I’ve got it, I never use it. Ever. It’s really more of a prop than anything else; I’m pretty sure Sarah Fleming has used it more often than I have. I’ve also got the ring tone set so low that I couldn’t hear it even if it were ringing…which it seldom is, since I think I’ve given the number to like eight people and none of them ever call.

Which leads me to one of my many issues with the University in Toronto. At Queen’s, people would leave class and talk to one another–just your typical, run-of-the-mill social interaction. At U of T, people leave class and whip out their cellphones. It’s like they’re at the OK Corral or something: failure to wield an expensive phone replete with camera will result in an immediate loss of half your monthly minutes. Maybe that’s why I carry my phone with me: so I won’t feel left out. I mean, as soon as I walk out of class I pull out my phone. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe I’m just attracted to shiny things…I really don’t know. What I do know is that I seldom use the stupid thing–and yet it’s become an indispensable appendage, like a third arm or something.

As for the jean jacket, I’ll blame Darren for that one: I borred his a couple times in fourth year (even wore it to a Springsteen concert) and got hooked. How this explains the Tommy Hilfiger jacket currently resting on my chair back I do not know…but I don’t leave the house without it, even if I’m wearing jeans. (Ah yes, the dreaded “double denim”. It was a conscientious decision when I went double denim to Springsteen; I’m worried it’s about to become routine…and I know Paul is reading this and just loving the thought.) The sushi, meanwhile, is Miragh’s fault. (See, Darren and Miragh? You’re both to blame! Yes, I know I’m going to hell.) She took me to this place up on Bloor Street earlier this summer; this culminated, logically, in the two of us going out to lunch yesterday and me actually requesting we eat sushi. Sushi, a jean jacket and a Motorola cell phone…just part of the process by which a boy from Northwestern Ontario, raised on a steady diet of Hoito pancakes, ski jackets and snowmobiles, is turning into another Toronto yuppy. Good times, lemme tell ya.


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