Friday, January 06, 2006

Corn Dog Wisdom

I feel like a corn dog. Like... eating one. I want one. I am sitting here in London, wanting a frickin'corn dog. They don't have corn dogs here; they don't even know what they are!! It's crazy. I was talking to Ned the other day, just shootin'-the-shit as it were... Anyway, the subject got onto food, as it does when to guys are sitting around bored and hungry. We started to talk about foods from Australia (like vegemite -- nasty!) and then I had a revelation! Corn Dogs?! Had he had them? No! He didn't even know what they were! Fish sticks?! Nope. Tater tots?! Not by that name... but he'd had potato cakes and things... it seems like half of my childhood was spent eating hamburger helper, tater tots, fish sticks with applesauce, or corn dogs. They were all very excellent, and looking back very, very American. Crazy. Kind of a stupid post, but just thoughts I was having...

This might make it more meaningful... I actually do have a written journal which I write in when not near the computer and about 4 weeks or so ago when I was waiting to meet Stephanie in Trafalger Square I met a man. I was just wandering the square, Steph and I were slated to go and purchase tickets for Patrick Stewart in a Christmas Carol (amazing!) and while I was aimlessly traversing the square, people watching, enjoying the fountains and the anonminity I wandered near the monument...

There was a man standing there. He had a long white beard, a white turban, dark skin, and smiling eyes. I looked him over from a distance, he had a puffy black coat on with white pants proturding from the bottom and was holding a single candle in a clear class ball with both hands. I walked around to the side of the monument and got closer; he was singing softly, repeating the same phrasing in what I assumed was his native language.

I stood nearby listening and watching this man standing in this vey public place, with a candle, watching the other tourists eyeing him as they passed in the darkness. After several minutes of listening I managed to catch his eye and he smiled at me. I took the opportunity to walk closer and engage him in coversation, hoping to discover the meaning of his singing... I asked what he was doing in the least invasive and culturally ignorant way I could muster.

"Singing of love, peace, and god," he said with a smile.
"Excellent," I managed, not knowing exactly what to say but smiling back at him.
"Today is the birthday of my master- my holy teacher."
"So you're celebrating his teachings?"
"All of us are one," he started, smiling again, "allah, god, all are different names for the same, divide outselves, but we are all one."
I agreed with him verbally, and told him that I hope he keeps up what he is doing; he said he was there on the birthday of his holy teacher because he's been assassinated. His smile faded then...
"People who did not belive the same; did not like what he said,"
I was speechless, who could assassinate someone who spoke of peace, love, and god?
"I am singing for peace, love, and god [to remember him]," he coninuted.
I told him it was good to remember someone who meant a lot to him.
"Are you American," he questioned with a grin.
"Yes," he must have liked the answer because he found a larger grin.
He started to tell me that he was from India, but had lived in England for 30 years. At this point the conversation seemed like it was heading for an end. I wanted to shake his hand but he was still holding the candle-in-a-bowl with both hands.

After I walked away I felt really strange. I'd never had a conversation like that, and it was really creating all sorts of a fireworks in my head. The thoughts were flying around like clay pidgeons. I walked to the oher side of the square and wrote down the whole thing. What a strange and wonderful conversation. It really made me think.

So this post was not about anything, but I thought it would be worthwhile!

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