Ben

Copying Emily's Biography Style (EBS)

Benjamin Borden roomed with me for 84 days. He hails from Texas, but moved to Washington D.C. to attend boarding school before starting bouncing around and ending up at McGill University. Ben had many great stories, partially because he was older than I, and partially because he always was himself. Ben worked in the McGill Islamic Studies department, and therefore had a few samples from ancient hymns, which he always incorporated into his music. Anytime he was on his computer, he was always compiling his samples into new sounds and songs. He was the only real hipster I've ever known. He built his pink fixie and always whined that he wanted to go back to Montreal to ride that damn thing. He worked as a bike messenger back in D.C., and got hit by a car. He was never afraid to be himself. I remember about the 20th night of our encounter, he came back after a long night complaining about how he was dancing in south Beijing and injured his foot while jumping. I shrugged him off, but 3 days later we were at the hospital and the doctor molded a cast for him and gave him crutches. (It cost about $25 CAD for all that work). Thus Ben was now on crutches, but that didn't stop him from attending concerts, going around town, and just enjoying life. It seemed as thought all his clothes were just the surpluses from old conferences of times past, and he once told me that he only wore black skinny Levi'ses. He bought his glasses at this budget shop in South Texas for $40, everything included. Often he would walk out of the door with the same clothes he slept in. Surprisingly, his girlfriend was from Calgary, and I managed to briefly Skype her to reminisce about how close MacEwan was to Sandstone. She made modern art for a living, being funded by the Government of Canada and having some of her work being put in exhibitions. Ben studied in Urban Planning, and talked to me about his friends in Architecture: about the hierachy of the business, how to free-lance in China, and designing bathrooms in highrises. I was fascinated by everything he had to say. He looked 5 years younger with no beard, like his innocence was replaced every time he shaved. His favorite snack were those purple taro biscuits: spheres of taro goodness, wrapped in a flaky crust. I remember we once went to a bakery and just ate Taro for dinner. He was always in and out and I sometimes didn't see him for a few days, and he would reappear suddenly, telling me of a crazy story of him in a spa filled with naked men in some part of town. I remember when we went to a random metro stop and got off. To the left were grandparents doing Tai Chi in a park. To the right was an enormous building with the highest of brand names, only solicited by the richest of the rich. We danced until it got dark and then cabbed home. He once told me he doesn't use shampoo for his hair, however once I told him he could use mine, he admitted that he had snuck a little from time to time. When it was time to go back to Canada, we said our goodbyes and promised to meet up in Montreal. But as way lead on to way, we never did. He went to Toronto, and then Montreal, and then to Europe with his band to tour for a few months. I never really thought much of it until today. But when he comes back to Montreal to put on a show, I will be there, watching from the back.