Montreal City, where the grass is dead with frost and the girls are pretty

Much like yesterday's, today's entry is intrinsically tied to a caffeinated, scholastic environ. Today, however, I've moved north of queens, to the province of quebec. I'm typing in a cafe on McGill campus, where I readily made two observations worth noting: 1, that Canadian students feel perfectly invulnerable, so much so that they fall asleep in campus cafes with their computers and purses exposed; and 2, that i inexplicably wandered into a place where students feel perfectly invulnerable, so much so that they fall asleep in campus cafes with their computers and purses exposed. i've only been here for an hour, but i'm already up two packs of contraceptives, three wallets, a travel-size bottle of bayer, and a textbook called, "Hawking: in the blink of an eye." Evidently, astrophysics is extremely popular in Montreal.

there is much to which i can look forward, despite the coarse cold and the early sunsets. there is a return trip to willie the barber, who will have me arrested if i make one more gratuitously sexual comment while he's cutting my hair. once i'm shorn, i will be off to an imax, for which i will certainly not be sober. following the multimedia intake, existence will consist in microbrews and a shitty french-canadian cover band, the type that opens and closes every show with a distorted "no woman no cry," or, better yet, with the "lead" guitarist playing the american national anthem with his teeth. or--and this takes a really terrible band, but it's exceedingly enjoyable--the "blues jam" that ultimately yields to jump jive n wail, which, if all goes accordingly, the singer won't be able to sing. so he'll stop after 1-and-a-half verses, completely panic, and turn it over to the unsuspecting drummer, who will suddenly and unexpectedly solo badly for 32 bars while the rest of the band huddles on stage, assumes a falsified non-chalance, and decides that they'll close the show with a crappy stone temple pilots cover. but they'll forget to tell the drummer, so when the rest of them hit the opening chord for "vasoline," the drummer will still be soloing, everybody will get really confused, and the show will implode to a halt.

then everybody will clap, put on their thermals, don gloves, put up hoods, and wrap scarves just to withstand the 30 outdoor seconds it will take to hail a cab. this is a quirky city, if nothing else, but there's something irresistably charming about a major urban center in which you can get off a plane, hail a cab, and repeat over and over to the driver, "pineapple fondle dildo," and still get to where you're trying to go.

Stay frostbitten, right middle toe

MC Montreal