So, I replied to my brother’s last email, the one in which he stated that I was a Montreal bagel. I said, politely, that I wasn’t sure what he meant by this. His response:
A Montreal bagel implies that you aren't posing, that the eye follows you around because it sees you and that you've taken a lot of care while making up your aura. Your aura. The reason you make the news and are seen by young adults (builders) in the lounge/airport bar/city. Soul, not white flour which is blown around by the wind, itinerant and has no ties to the community. You've got soul V., where'd you get it?
I am realizing that my relationship with my brother now consists largely of reciprocal acts of interpretation.
I have noticed certain recurring metaphors. For example, my brother conceives of the university as an airport lounge, something akin to Marc Augé’s non-places. The lounge is remarkably Platonic, a sphere of ideas that is at a remove from everyday life. It is weightless and arid; I can almost hear Eno’s Music for Airports playing over the PA system. It is where he thinks I spend my days.
I haven’t the heart to tell him what it’s really like.