montreal

It's a funny thing.

I've been keeping this here blog as a record of my life for the past year and a bit, but lately, I've tired a bit of the old record keeping. Not to sound like a tiresome old old-timer, but over the past week, where I've been waiting on work to call me and send me off to make some much needed money, I've become somewhat bored and struggled to find things to write about and that's caused me to ponder the purpose of this thing.

No doubt, it's fun to get on here and rant and rave and know that a couple of people come here and spend a minute or two while they sip coffee before work each morning and digest the words. It's honestly an honour. But I've felt over the past little while, I've been keeping this thing up for the sake of keeping it up and I'm not sure I've been doing this for the reasons I originally intended, which was to provide my honest take of wherever I was at or of whatever I was doing. There really is no unifying theme in this blog -- it's not like I'm writing about one topic and since Oil Can left over a year ago, I have been without gimmick... mostly. Recently, I feel like I've been more of a fiction writer than a blogger.

So...

I feel I should unleash my unabashed impressions of Montreal.

Guys and gals, I'm doing my best. Every cafe I enter, I start the conversation in French. Every Metro ticket I buy, I do it in French. I see the same ladies at Dunkin' Donuts every crusty-eyed morning before work at the Berri-UQAM station and I start off in French. I swear.

But you know what, no matter what I say or how I say it, they always reply in English. Without exception.

I'm sure it's my accent. I probably sound like I'm reading the French words phonetically, but honestly, I'm trying my best.

When I was in France a zillion years ago -- it was 2003, but that's how long ago it really feels -- I spent two and a half days getting zinged and singed by the French for not speaking the language -- although I was trying -- and then by day three, in Dieppe, after being fully submerged in the language for nearly 72 hours, it was like that early Simpsons episode where Bart finally realizes he can speak French and rats to the police about his shitty exchange foster parents. I was fluent as a river is fluent (not at all creative but nearly a palindrome) speaking with the Parisian mafia folk like we were old buddies over a campfire (story for another time) and I figured my French would be with me forever after. It is not.

It's not like I'm doing badly. I can communicate. But it's unfortunate that Montreal does not offer the opportunity for full immersion like France does. I fucking swear man, I want my French to improve. My roommate is from just outside Marseilles and I speak French with him all day, but still, I'm not getting any better.

If you don't believe my devotion, for the first month I was here, I stuck strictly to the East (French) side of Montreal, like the city was a music store and I chose to browse the cool, indie section exclusively and shun the rest. St. Denis was my world, to hell with St. Laurent.

But lately, I've been wandering downtown and I'm a little taken aback by the English-first communication at cafes and stores and on the street. I do my best to keep the French up, but when they keep coming back with English, I break down. And lately, I've capitulated at West-side cafes and just started up in English.

I feel guilty. I feel like a quitter.

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Ah, much better.

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I know how my brain works -- even though I will say on the record right now that I honestly feel like I'm one bright light away from a migraine and even a strobe light away from a stroke.

(Another story for another time.)

I know my limitations. I like to sit back and observe human happenings at concerts and sporting events and make my corny little commentaries. I like making poop jokes. I like one-liners. I think I have a mind that's suited to process the relevance of things that happen in front of me. Or at least, I think I think I do.

But one thing I'm sure I have no clue about is business. I have no idea how people or ventures make money. I can't wrap my mind around how some people can come out in the black owning a cafe, where say, 200 people buy $2 coffees each day, creating a couple hundred and perhaps a thousand in revenue, though the owner has to pay employee salaries, supplies, utilities, rent and advertising. I break these things down non-stop and they never make sense.

Take for instance, the cabbies that line up on St. Hubert street, near my place. I don't understand how these guys come out at the end of the day making any money. They spend hours on end -- I'm not kidding -- bullshitting, chatting, arguing in line and then they finally get their fare. Well, say this fare is $20 (and I'm being VERY generous -- a lot of the people who grab these cabs are deadbeats) and you wait an hour and do that all day. How do you make your cash, mon? How do you support your family? If you work 12 hours, that's $240 MAX! and that's being generous. You still have your license to pay for, your fee to your employer and then gas money. I just don't understand how these guys make money. I'll have to ask next time I'm in a cab.

(By the way, earlier this week, I saw a cabbie FREAK OUT at another cabbie. I'm not talking horn-honking, or getting out and asking what's up... I'm talking both those things and then some arms flailing, some cab kicking and some yellin' like Magellan (who I'm not sure ever yelled, it just rhymed.) And my favorite part: the guy receiving the FREAK OUT, just smiled and laughed. Is there anything more infuriating than freaking out at somebody and getting nothing but laughter thrown back at you? I don't think so.

I wonder if that would hold up in court.

"But your honour, when I freaked out, he just smiled back at me. So I popped him."

Judge (stroking whiskers on chin): "I see. Justifiable homicide. Case dismissed.)

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I'm a little jarred, since it feels like I haven't seen a pick-up truck in almost two months. I mean, they are such a staple in the North that you forget once you leave that, perhaps they aren't needed when all you do is drive from your suburban home to the parking lot adjacent work and home again, with intermediate stops at the grocery store or the kids' soccer games. You can't scratch your nuts in the NWT without seeing a pick-up truck, but here... I've seen four or five in a month. Honestly.

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The Novaks were AWESOME! Thanks Lillie Mae. I'm sure I wouldn't have done wrong by seeing Elliott Brood tonight, but really the Novaks ripped it.

I was a little choked that the set wasn't too packed for them, since they were opening for the Arkells, who play songs that sound like they should become the theme for sitcoms or the OC or something. Not to sound like too big of a douchebag, but no one will remember the Arkells in a year or two. Honestly, they are just another Hamilton band -- like the Marble Index -- with catchy songs. More than half the crowd for them tonight was from Hamilton, I bet.

The Novaks, on the other hand, produced more energy with three people than the Arkells' five. (Another clincher: the Arkells had two band members with shoulder-long hair covering their eyes throughout most of the show. That's emo. Not cool.)

Really, check out the Novaks. They should have been the main event tonight. And they're from Newfoundland. When was the last time you heard a rock band from Newfoundland?