But what is so crazy about enjoying yourself? People, in general, don't enjoy themselves enough. Not enough fun, too much work and responsibility. "Grow up" we say to those who act silly.
I am not a native Torontonian - I came originally from elsewhere where if you're waiting for a light at a street corner to change, you can actually make small talk with the person waiting with you. I tried this when I first moved to Toronto - the woman looked at me like I was an axe murderer and gave me a horrified look before scurrying away. Geez, calm down already. I am hardly a threatening person.
Part of the problem in Toronto, it seems, is that the only people who actually speak to you on the street are either panhandlers, insane, trying to pick you up, want to rob you or want to convert you to their religious sect. But when I say something innocuous about the weather and wait for a response, I don't expect a freaked out reaction.
So I people watch in the subways and streets instead. I can't talk to anyone because people think you're a threat of some sort. I'm not tall enough to be a threat. Honest. And I have my iPod. MP3 players are a great invention. I love mine. And the best thing about listening to my iPod on the subway platform, is the look of total bewilderment from other people when I start dancing. I don't do the crazy iPod dancing from the iPod commercials, but I do shimmy and shake in time to the music.
I dance to just about anything. Like Nietzsche, I consider a day lost if I have not danced at least once. Lately, I've been listening to tango music on the subway. And I keep having the same scenario running through my head - dancing the stereotypical tango that we all sort of know - the one where you throw your head back, stride to one side with one arm flung out in the direction you are moving in. I do this in my home sometimes. And I'm trying to work up the nerve to tango on the subway platform. I can just imagine how people would outright gawk at me, point and whisper to their neighbor. Well, at least they'd be speaking to each other. After all, everyone seems to love a spectacle.
I keep thinking that this would be the funniest thing or at least it would be until the men in the white suits put me in a straight-jacket and ship me off to a padded room.
So maybe I have danced my last tango in Toronto. On the subway plat form anyway.