Enter section of randomness...I'm in my mid twenties, living in Windsor (AKA the armpit of Ontario) with my fiance, mother, two friends and one kid. We also have six cats and a ferret.
I'm originally from Toronto (Etobicoke for 12 years, Downtown for 13 years, with some overlap between the two when my parents got divorced).Here are some random facts about me and my philosophy, in no particular order. I...Play the saxophone.Am a semi-professional photographer with many years of experience both studying and practicing the art.Believe what Jean-Paul Sartre says: "Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."Have yet to meet a Libra I didn't want to punch in the face.Tend to throw up when I hear about animal cruelty.Am very laid back, unless you really piss me off.Don't let go of friends very easily.Will freely speak my mind on any issue and have no problems confronting people, unless they are very close to me.Hate waiting for public transit.Love chocolate, Mexican food and exotic mushrooms.Suffer from S.A.D. every winter.Cherish memories and tend to live in the past.Have worked in retail, and thus have lost a lot of faith in the intelligence and goodness of humanity.Think too much.Worry about the future... both my own, and the human race.Don't like very many horror movies.Could care less about politics, yet find economics fascinating.Would ideally love to be a photojournalist for National Geographic as a career.Still wish on shooting stars.Am a smoker.
...and that concludes my long winded ration of vanity...
The History of the World Through Toilets an epic poem??
British: British toilet paper. A way of life. Coated. Refusing to absorb, soften, or bend (stiff upper lip). Often property of government. In the ultimate welfare state even the t.p. is printed with propaganda.The British toilet as the last refuge of colonialism. Water rushing overhead like Victoria Falls, & you an explorer. The spray in your face. For one brief moment (as you flush) Britannia rules the waves again.The pull chain is elegant. A bell cord in a stately home (open to the public, for pennies, on Sundays).
German: German toilets observe class distinctions. In third-class carriages: rough brown paper. In first class: white paper. Called Spezial Krepp. (Requires no translation.) But the German toilet is unique for its little stage (all the world's a) on which shit falls. This enables you to take a long look, choose among political candidates, and think of things to tell your analyst. Also good for diamond smugglers trying to smuggle out gems by bowel. German toilets are really the key to the horrors of the Third Reich. People who can build toilets like this are capable of anything.
Italian: Sometimes you can read bits of Corriere della Sera before you wipe your ass on the news. But in general the toilets run swift here and the shit disappears long before you can leap up and turn around to admire it. Hence Italian art. Germans have their own shit to admire. Lacking this, Italians make sculptures and paintings.
French:
The old hotels in Paris with two Brobdingnagian iron footprints straddling a stinking hole. Orange trees planted in Versailles to cover cesspool smell. Il est defendu de faire pipi dans la chambre du roi. Lights in Paris toilets which only go on when you turn the lock.I somehow cannot make sense of French philosophy & literature vis a vis the French approach to Merde. The French are very abstract thinkers- but they could also produce a poet of particularity like Ponge, who writes an epic poem on soap. How does this connect with French toilets?
Japanese: Squatting as a basic fact of life in the Orient. Toilet basin recessed in the floor. Flower arrangement behind. This has something to do with Zen.
