round-up

Is it a bad thing that when I heard the two words 'round-up', I'm conditioned to think Arby's?

Mmmm... Arby's. Looks disgusting, tastes delicious... for two bites.

Realization, I've been conditioned.

Moving along, it's been an eventful week or two here in Montreal and I'm not sure I should really write about all the happenings, so a few highlights, I suppose:

First, had a great visit with Patch, who flew over for almost a week after visiting his bro in Halifax. The first night we hit up probably the nastiest sushi joint I think I've ever visited (for those keeping track at home, I've now been to four sushi restaurants in my life, pretty much making me an expert) and after chasing down some sticky, puddy salmon with a few Tsing-Taos, we went down to try to score tickets for the Habs/Lightening game. We knew full-well the odds were against us getting seats, seeing as two of the highest profile French-Canadian hockey superstars were coming to town (Vinny Lecavelier, and Marty St. Louis), it was a Saturday night and Habs tix are notoriously difficult to find. We spent maybe a half an hour patrolling the entrances, dealing and negotiating with the scuzziest, lowest, lime-stain, patchouli greezeballs you can imagine (ticket scalpers). We finally settled and I saw my first game in the Bell Centre... in the restaurant downstairs. The prices they were looking for were egregious (yes, folks. Egregious) and we had just as good a time in the restaurant (meaning, we spent all the money we would have used for tickets on beers.)

Later, we met up with some friends of Patchies, went on multiple bike rides around the city (which should by now be a definite no-no, considering all that has happened when I mix drinks and two-wheeled, self-propelled vehicles), I sang 'Cinnamon Girl' with a girl named Angel (pronounced Un-gelle), cheered on Patch as he stole the show when he broke out the Vanilla Ice slide while two people were lamely singing "Ice, Ice Baby" and finally got into the trademark, late night argument with the man on the way home.

The next night, we went down to Le National and saw Dan Auerbach and the Fast Five. Auerbach is the man behind the Black Keys and my boy Drewsif put me onto his solo album this spring (much obliged.). The show was killer, not only because the man, Auerbach -- who I thought sort of looked like Mankind from the WWF (I refuse to call it WWE) -- plays with such passion, but his rhythm (what a weird looking word: rhythm) section was so unorthodox. They brought out two drum kits and at different points, the two drummers would wail out these mouse-trap-style beats, like they had to hit each drum on their kits in sequence before they could start over again. And when they weren't both playing kits, one guy with this long frizzy hair, would play a triangle or maracas like he was demented. If I was on mushrooms that night I'd still be having nightmares about him,

The tambourinist kills it!

Me and Patch had been gearing up for the song Mean Monsoon and it tore the place down. Unfortunately, it -- or the sushi from the night before -- hit me harder than I expected. Do you know before an avalanche starts and the pack breaks free, a pressure builds and a little slide happens on a layer up top? Well, that's exactly how my bowels felt at the end of that song. I could feel the on-coming mudslide! I ran like Usain Bolt's adopted pet and found the shitter and ripped off my pants just in time to let loose some of the foulest matter ever witnessed in our cosmos -- or any parallel universe for that matter. It was basically the feces equivalent of the slimy ticket scalpers outside the Bell Centre. I swear, the toilet water was bubbling like a witch's cauldron afterward. Either way, I thought I was going to die for about 10 minutes, whilst doubled over on the John, crying into my shoes. I was sweating like I'd just given birth -- or more appropriately, Satan's afterbirth. And the worst part? I could hear a couple other of my favourites from Auerbach, pounding through the wall. Finally, when I felt safe, I gingerly ventured back outside -- but not before suggesting a staff member call a priest or someone to exorcise that washroom. I probably looked like someone who'd just witnessed a massacre.

The openers were pretty cool that night. Jessica Lee Mayfield started things off and I immediately decided I wanted to marry her and move to an Alberta foothills town and sip coffee and whiskey and listen to her play guitar as storms rolled off the Rockies down onto the plains.

And Justin Townes Earle came up after, looking a little bit like Steve-O in appearance and tattoos, but also a little bit Steve Urkell, with the horned-rimmed glasses and tight jeans. The guy was pretty gimmicky for a bit, but damn could he belt out a tune, whether it was honky-tonk, folk or some old school, story-telling country. Turns out he's Steve Earle's son, too.

Went out after to the Distellerie, where we decided that Montreal is home to the highest concentration of pretty girls on the planet. Sorry, New York and London. You have quantity down, I'll give you that.

Next night, we went with my roommate and her friends to see a German techno DJ. I know, I know, what was old biberous doing seeing a German techno DJ? You're probably thinking people were shitting all over each other or something, right? Well, no actually. We danced (yeah, I know. I danced) for about two hours even though it was balmier than Kramer's lap in there. The night ended when the girls left because they had class the next morning.

I walked to meet Patch at the bar and made my way through a crowd of people. One guy wouldn't get out of my way and as I politely tried to push by, I felt a real steamy feeling on my neck and forced past. I got to the bar to see Darcy laughing like crazy.

"Did that guy just try to kiss me?"

He kept laughing. And laughed. So I started to laugh. Then we took a look around. We got out of there when we noticed that there weren't too many girls around. But a lot of guys.

All in all, it was fucking great to hang out with Patch and chat and eat and drink with a close bud. For the past three months, with all the coming and going, it felt like I hadn't been able to just sit back and feel completely comfortable in conversation, because it still feels like I'm always on my toes, while I try to get to know people. It was nice to not have to feel that for a couple days. Just what I needed. And great to catch up with the Patch man, who I hadn't spoken to in months, it felt.

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Other than that, been trying to stay busy, on my budget of pennies. Still not working and I've started to look around for another job. But in the meantime, I've seen a couple really interesting performances at a venue called la Sala Rosa.

On Wednesday, there was an Artists Against Apartheid concert, where I got to see a pianist and trumpet player perform a jazz score over a slideshow, an experiment seven-piece group complete with a harp and slide guitar play what I could only describe as 'snow falling in the ocean music' and a three piece group playing experimental Middle Eastern stuff.

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Tonight, I just got back from a documentary about two of the world's best World of Warcraft players, called Beyond the Game. Since I had a roommate back at university who played for 16 hours a day sometimes (Mac Deezee!!!) I've always wondered what the appeal was. While that was never answered in the flick, I did find it compelling, by the way the game is so popular in China and Korea. In the film, scores of Chinese kids would show up at the competitions and watch with their jaws hanging, as their heroes battled it out on big screens. Security would hold them back from the players, who would sign autographs and pose for pictures afterward.

Yesterday, I went with my roommate to listen to Norman Finklestein, who has spoken up against the Israeli occupation in Palestine. I enjoyed what he had to say and really thought a lot about the sacrifices radicals make in their lives, as they pursue their causes. I had more to write about the contradictions in his life, but I'm kind of wiped. Maybe some other time.

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Other than that, it's beginning to become business as usual.

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It's an odd feeling leaving home and so many people you know and love for no reason in particular other than a need to.

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Got some news last night, which effectively closes a chapter in my life, I think. No regrets.

And while I've spent an inordinate amount of time recently thinking about what I want, really, when it all comes down to it, all that I want is an Easy Plateau.