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Lemon Fresh Prosopagnosia

Lemon Fresh Prosopagnosia

I know what you’re thinking. This is a blog about lemons and freshness. How fresh lemons are. How lemons make things fresh.

And there you’d be semi-right. It’s a blog about my lemony fresh friend Boo Boo Kitty Fu (although Denis Leary shows up later.. in spirit) whom I saw this past weekend.

You read that right: I left the house and went to a public space.

Just my going out into the public sphere is blog-worthy enough but this time it’s a bonus because I was meeting someone (by the way, I went out in public a fortnight ago with Bueller formerly known as Melody, but I haven’t written that up yet for a very good reason to be explained later).

Why is it so significant that I was meeting someone, particularly my lemony fresh friend Boo Boo Kitty Fu? Because I am slightly tetched in the head. Yeah, I said “tetched.” The technical term is acquired prosopagnosia.

Lemon Fresh Prosopagnosia

Sometimes a lemon is just a lemon. I think Freud said that.

In short, I bonked my head when I was a kid and have some impairment when it comes to recognizing faces. Voices? I rock. How you walk, your gestures? Awesome. I can name any of those tunes in one note. Faces? I’m sunk. I don’t have full impairment. It just takes me a really long time.

Yeah, dating was a nightmare.

But my beloved Boo Boo Kitty Fu whom I’ve seen only a few times (we usually text or “meet” on FartBook)… I knew I was in for trouble. I knew the basics: brunette, longish hair. Bespeckled and tattooed. I know her voice like I know anyone else’s. Even if she did a cartoon voice, tried to hide it, I’d see through that cheap trick.

Eric Northman: You Me Whipped Cream HandcuffsBut she cut her hair and it was bloody cold Canada so most of her tattooos were hidden. She must have thought I was nutso because I approached her tentatively after having discarded all the other persons in the cafe. Unfortunately, her back was to me (clearly she had never read Dune by Frank Herbert or she would have known better)… so I had to walk over to the last table and take my best shot…. all the while thinking “this woman, her hair is too short.”

Fortunately I saw the hole for one of her piercings, a peak of tat on her chest and arms, and she recognized me (which always amazes me because I barely recognize myself half the time).

Thankfully Boo Boo Kitty Fu loves me both despite and because of my insanity.

I guess you’re wondering about the lemons. Boo Boo Kitty Fu loves lemony things. When I think of lemons, I think of BBKF. She’s a super crunchy without being obnoxious. Essential oils, environmentally friendly cleaning products. Cloth diapers and hand-sewn mama cloth. She’s the crunchy dream.

And like me. she’s wildly introverted. So when she agrees to drag herself into the public sphere, I am honoured. I know it is not without some sacrifice that she’s come to a busy cafe on a Sunday to be almost not recognized.

Himalayan salt lamps. Image linked from http://www.himalayansaltshop.com/natural-shape-himalayan-salt-lamps.html

Another thing about Boo Boo Kitty Fu? She has one of those Himalayan salt lamps and I know that she’d let me lick it if I visited (get your mind out of the gutter, people).

As I sat with Boo Boo Kitty Fu, I realized two things:

1) I was glad my New Year’s Resolutions included “getting out” more (that’s not hard to do, actually) and

2) I really do make better coffee at home but thankfully, having coffee is not about the coffee.

Facebook has its charms but its overuse means I will more often message people rather than see them. Having said that, the bulk of my friends live in other countries. This goes to another point about social media, it separates more than it joins. True, it can bring people together who otherwise might not have “met” but then, one is left with the mourning and melancholia that one may possibly NEVER meet.. freals. 

And another thing? Although sound and visuals have transcended the boundaries of social media, lemony freshness has not. It is one thing to see and hear the words “lemony fresh” but another to experience it. To continue down my path of isolation is to deprive myself of sensory delights; and since I can’t recognize faces for poop, I should at least “see” a few people if only because I can recognize the smell of their laundry. FB doesn’t let me taste, smell, or touch (yeah, the “feelies” never really happened although there are “4D” films out now… whatevs).

No wonder one of my resolutions is to stay off FB as much as possible (I work in social media though, so complete abstinence is impossible). The sensory deprivation is making me insane (not to mention the level of banality of some discourses floating around); and I just can’t bring myself to reduce my social and political discourse to clicking “like,” little hearts, plus symbols or thumbs.

If I see one more photo of a shirtless Justin Trudeau I shall surely throw up in my mouth.

My NYR includes more Skype, more coffees, more face-to-face meetings with clients. I keep thinking of Denis Leary/Edgar Friendly’s eerily prophetic words in Demolition Man:

I’ve seen the future. Do you know what it is? It’s a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in his beige pajamas drinking a banana-broccoli shake, singing “I’m an Oscar-Mayer weiner.”


Now that I’ve made kale pancakes, I fear I’m already there. 

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