Friday, June 27, 2003

Random Thoughts
* With this heat wave that we're going through right now, I now find that I end practically all my sentences with, "In this weather."
* Had lunch at Cirque du Soleil headquarters yesterday. Nothing better to keep your ego in check than being surrounded by really attractive, very fit young men and women walking around in body-hugging clothes, which is needed in this weather. Oh, and the food they serve is really good also.
* Whale Rider. Great movie. Go see it. Not only did I shed a few tears, I actually sobbed at one point. (The last time that happened was when I watched Dancer in the Dark. Oh, and Ponette.) At least the theatre had air conditioning, what with this weather.
* My appartment is full of cat hair. In this weather, the cat is shedding like crazy, hiding out under the dresser to escape the heat. I have tiny follicles hugging the bristles of my face. It's driving me nuts. That and the weather.

Friday, June 13, 2003

Hey chickie chickie
I admit it, I fucking hate the F1 weekend in Montreal. With a passion. With every bone in my body, those that are screwed or wired together and those that are still intact.
Every year, it's the same: the downtown core is filled with overweight, middle-aged, middle-class white men, their pudendous bellies rolling over their leatherette belts and stretching against their WalMart/Kmart polyester-blend t-shirts, proudly strutting around with knockoff Ferrari or Benetton baseball caps shoved firmly upon their male-pattern-balding heads. Of course, those who have spent the next month's beer money on VIP seats will also have their passes slung proudly around their necks.
They hang around Crescent street (evil, but good enough for the tourons), they hang around the subway, they hang around the Old Port, all engaged in one activity: ogling, stalking, and trying to pick up anything that walks and has a pair of breasts. Because, hey, we all know that Montreal girls are easy, right? The younger the better. My ex-"sister-in-law," 15 at the time, was cruised more than Cathy Lee Gifford on a Royal Princess liner a few years ago.
This lasts a whole fucking week, culminating in a ridiculous spectacle of waste on a Sunday, where all us good Québécois bemoan the fact that our favourite son of the moment, that little piss-ant whiner Villeneuve, crashed his billion-dollar car on the third turn, only to jump into his private helicopter and get his bony ass outta Cheyenne.
Afterward, if you have the misfortune of being on the Décarie, you will undoubtedly be practically forced off the road by some testosterone-filled troglodyte in his souped-up Honda Civic racing his yo-yo-bro in his souped-up Civic-with-tinted-windows, both emulating their heroes from the Formula One.
Nothing but bread and circuses.
Well, that's my rant.

Thursday, June 12, 2003

Mind if I play through?
Okay, things are getting waayy ridiculous on Everest. Close the mountain down, I say. The BBC has an article today about a British climber who had an American climber fall on him near the summit. The Brit ended up with a broken leg. The American? Well, he continued on his merry way, because he had reserved a tee time reserved on the North Col, where he planned to hit a few golf balls.
My question is whether he replaced his divots.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003

Lazy weekend in Mtl
I'm normally away at least one day out of every weekend, so it's always kinda neato cool to waste two whole days in the city. Granted, I have the rest of the week to do the same thing I would do on the weekend, what with being sans job and all, but regardless.
Anyhow, Saturday the milliner circus freak and I hung at my place for a while, eating tomatoes and boccocini on the balcony, before heading off to meet her folks, who treated us to an amazing supper at Ouzeri. We then drove them down to the Old Port for them to see the Cirque du Soleil's Dralion show. Got to hang in the VIP tent, drinking free booze and chewing on little crudités. Gosh, there are advantages to having a honey-bunny who works at the circus.
Sunday, I come home, do a bit of stationary cycling while the Tour de l'Ile is passing in front of my place, and then we head off for Ikea to look for furniture. Since it's a nice day, I'm thinking that sangria would go down well. On further thought, we opt for margaritas, which turned out to be incredibly strong. Made tandoori chicken for supper, drank, made salty buttery popcorn, and settled down to watch "The 25th Hour."
Yeah, I could get used to this.