2012/07/29

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  Rue Ste-Catherine - Village - 2012.07.22
  Scènes de Montréal - Montreal Scenes
  

  Above

  At two places in the Village, where the pink balls garlands are hung, they have installed this year observation points (accessorily) but which are really places where you can press on a button and have your pic taken by a camera and posted on a site called Memorama. They call it a post card service. You take that pic and then tell people at home to go on the site for a post card which features you. It's a nice idea, for those who don't mind having their pic out on the internet (which is not my case). You can see the camera (yellow) in the header pic, on top of an aluminm pole on the right, about where that brown bricks building starts. My pics were taken on the 22nd, after coming back from the march/demonstration. There are two other Memorama points with cameras, one at ground level featuring large wooden lounging chairs, and the other featuring throne like seats.

  The site MEMORAMA.ME with the daily visitor pics is -> here [oops... link now fixed]. Info on the project (in English) on the Aires Libres site, -> here.

  The guy now at the bottom of the stairs in the second pic is trying to photograph the three girls he was with and who were now next to me up there and to whom I had to show the button and what it was for. I was going up when he was going down, so I was where he was in the first pic. They were more the overexcited endlessly giggling teenage type, more interested in having fun than wondering why those stairs were there in the first place. I didn't care to be in his photograph and since I had finished taking my pics, I left shortly afterwards.

  

  

  The first pic and the header are looking eastbound on Ste-Catherine. they were taken between St-André and St-Timothée streets, almost at the west end of the Village. The second one from the same location is looking westbound, towards downtown (well, the core of). Metro Berri-UQAM and Place Émilie-Gamelin are on the right, just past that big grey building (Place Dupuis), where we see the green of some trees. The west part of Place Dupuis is a hotel and its side facing Place Émilie-Gameliin is where are projected those animations I've posted about last winter. The colored glass panes and the manipulating blocks are gone for the summer and I don't know if they will be back this fall. Animations are still projected on that wall, however.

  

  Numbers

  I turned 62 on Thursday, which was the 26th. I don't know if it means anything, that 62 is 26 spelled backwards that is. I'm not very much into magical thinking. I know that when I turned 26 on the 26th in 1976, nothing particular happened for me that year except that it was the first time I both voted in Quebec AND for an independentist Party. We'll be having elections early this fall so the second half will most likely be repeated. But since I read this week that half of Americans say they are ready to vote for Romney, some forms of magical thinking must surely exist. Unless they are dumb. I'll go for the magic for now.

  

  Pits, honey and chips

  The Olympics have started. The largest peace time British mobilization ever, with 40,000 people, military, police, security firms, in London and in the country, ensuring order during what is supposed to be a truce in the chaos, I read in my paper. Missile launch pads on residential buildings in the heart of London. Military ships on the Thames. London is not to be blamed for wanting to ensure everything stays on the safe side. It is now the price to pay since 1972 and Munich to stage Olympics. They are also the largest capitalistic sucking up of money in recent history, with 800 restaurants on the Olympic site being forbidden to sell fries (ever eaten mussels and fries with no fries? Friend says that fish and chips apparently got a derogation... I guess there's a limit to obscenity) because McDonalds's got the exclusive rights to sell fries. If corner shops try to sell flower arrangements of the five colors, or make bagels shaped like the O rings, or a granny makes a sweater with the O symbols which she wants to sell 4$ for a chartity, bang, one of the 280 inspectors of the Olympic Delivrance Committee, reminiscent of the Fahrenheit 451 firefighters whose job was to find and burn books, cracks down on them and orders the demolition of the "seditious work". Any profit brought about by the Olympics, however minute, is all funneled to a point of ridicule into the pockets of large corporations. For the ordinary British John Doe, scraps. And even then. The main editorial of my paper Friday started such: «Thanks to the London Olympic Games, to its organisation and in particular to its financial deformities, one understands as never before that Adam Smith, the father of modern economy, and George Orwell, the contemptor of police surveillance, could only be British. One understands especially that it is in England and nowhere else that Karl Marx could have written The Capital. Welcome to London, the capital of stalinian capitalism. At first glance, one could think that what precedes is an n^th journalistic sally lodging under the banner of exaggeration in the most closed-minded sense there is. Nonetheless... We'll give you a first example [..follows a list of which some of the above was taken from]. [..] Among those, any formula using two of these words, "Games, Two thousand twelve, 2012" will be considered an infraction. The combination of one of them with "London, medals, advertisers, summer, gold, silver and bronze" will also be sanctioned. Athtletes who have sweat for years and years, were forbidden to upload audio or video recordings of their own performances. At this game of massacre, of negation of individuality, Facebook and Twitter will participate. Indeed, the e-Holy Grail of the young generations will integrate the Fahrenheit 451 batallion. This frenzied drift has been made possible by the putting into parentheses, for the duration of the Games, of the Rule of Law. Indeed, since Sydney in 2000, the IOC compels, to use the words of The Guardian, the candidate countries to adopt ad hoc legislation to supply a supplementary bundle of legal sanctions for the sole benefit of private enterprises. Obviously, Lord Coe and his accomplices have insulted the memory of a very great British man, John Locke, the conceptor of the Rule of law. 'No comment!' ^[1]

  ^[1] In English in the text.

  Britain is capable of the very best, as we know. It can also be capable of the worst. Of what I read, the opening ceremonies were undoubtedly of the first category. The moral ethics of the Games' organisation would fit in the second one I suppose. As is that awful indecipherable 2012 logo.

  I missed most of the opening ceremonies because at the time I was on a scanner table. I saw parts of it later in a re-run, including the flag raising and the long lighting of the torch and the final sizzling fireworks. I missed the Queen doing her debut as an actress and being dumped from an helicopter over the crowd, like Stephen Harper dumps her over the Canadian scene. Speaking of Canadians, they once again chose to show the world that in matters relating to bad taste in Olympic garments, they are the world champions, wearing the drabbest outfit on earth. Kaki pants, for gawd sakes! The job of designing them was apparently given to a large department store chain, Hudson's Bay known as The Bay/La Baie. It shows. All there was missing was a horse-driven cart with the athletes throwing barrels in them and William would have thought he was back in that last year's nightmare all over again. They could have worn a Tim Horton doughnut on their heads but that would have become a problem with the 451 guys I suppose. They also had a large white band across their chest like on prisoner's outfits, with large "CANADA" letters instead of a prisoner number. Mind you, for someone like me, Canada or prison, pretty much the same... That large CANADA band, like a zit in the middle of the face, diverted all the attention away from the athletes themselves (as persons). For a second there, like it was the case for most of their previous outfits, I thought we were in some Jame Bond movie and our athletes were a bunch of Soviets in those days when the USSR was so great and fabulous and fighting the bad Westerners in the great wilderness of the endless white steppes of Siberia! Anyways, I find that this way of spitting out one's country in such large letters is rather tacky if not boldy arrogant. Of an arrogance matching that country's blandness (identity wise). Others apparently are not that hot either about the outfit. I have to agree with them about that 1992 Barcelona one. It was to die for. I mean literally. Or putting a large brown bag on one's head, at the very least. Oh, I forgot, they were also waving some of those mini plastic flags which people are given like candy back home. Maybe leftovers from Canada Day. Yay for Canada. the shit-hottest country on earth. You don't have to bother remembering this. They'll make sure you do.

  A Huffington Post Canada article about the outfits and a diaporama of previous years' horrors -> here.

  I did catch however that wonderful number with Mr. Bean and the London Symphony and the beach and some nice running people. . Of what I read, most of the ceremonies were loaded with such British humor, one of the top items on the British "best" list. British humor is surely one of the finest ones there is on this planet. When I say fine, I don't only mean very good, I mean fine like in finesse and intelligence. I missed Tubular Bells and Eurytmics but not Sir McCartney who looks more and more like his wax replica at Mme Tussot's.

  Update: Woke up this morning hearing on the hourly radio news that mind-boggling story about empty seats at competitions, and especially the reason why. Apparently they have to resort to the army to fill in the seats left empty by corpoarate complimentary tickets given to people who didn't show up. What about the ordinary John Doe who couldn't, him, get a ticket because of this? If what they say is true, it would be a new summit in the corruption of the olympic spirit by financial interests. Coincidentally, about 15 minutes earlier on the program, they were talking about the 1948 London Games and how Britain was instrumental back then in there even still being Olympic Games today. What a downfall. However, this seemingly never-ending rise in the mercharndising and turning into a giant advertisement campaign of the Olympic Games, slyly called 'sponsorships', is not a British invention at all. It all started, if I remember well, in Atlanta in 1996, also head-office of Coca-Cola.

  Speaking of British, Friend took me out for supper last evening (Saturday) for my birthday. We couldn't on the day itself because I had to avoid big meals because of the next day scan. And the next day, having had to fast from 09h00 to 15h30 and then more during the three hours of the exam, when I got back home I didn't feel at all like going out to eat. There was this upscale Italian restaurant in old Montreal that popped up as a possible place to go. There was also nearby a British-style fish and chips joint which is considered one of Montreal's best, by that I mean most authentic, and to which we had previously said we just had to go there one day. Once in Old Montreal, it took a while to find a parking space for his motorcycle and once that happened it was almost in front of the fish and chips restaurant. It was more or less me who said hey, why not the fish and chips, for a change (with Friend, you often end up in Italian places). He of course ended up paying about half or even less of what it would have cost at the other place, but the fish and chips and the beer were good so all in all it was a nice supper. The place is mostly filled with long counters and stools but there are also about six two-seater tables and we sat at one of them.

  Friend has had for around seven years an Aprilia SR50 50cc scooter (Carlo may know that brand) but has also had for two years now an 800cc BMW motorcycle. He's been pestering me for quite some time to go for a drive on it with him. The last time I've been on a motorcycle was some 40 years ago and the experience was not conclusive, to make it short. It was a big bike which I tried and hardly rode a few seconds before it and me were on the ground. That was the end of it. But today he insisted again, coming this afternoon for an ice-breaking test, just a few blocks around my pad. In the evening we used it to go downtown, which was a much longer ride, needless to say. I wouldn't go for a long distance on that as a passenger. Not really comfortable. It's not the seat, that is pretty comfy enough although I can't get to sit on it if he's already on the bike. Those leg stretching athletic prowesses are out of my reach so I have to get on first, which then complicates things for him to do the same. The problems lies rather in the frequent frontward or backward jolts when the transmission shifts, or at sudden stops or resuming of speed, etc. When someone is holding a handle bar, all those jolts are neutered because the arms restrain the body and absorb the shock, not to mention that person is generally the one initiating them. But when you're a passenger you're like a rag doll. Your hands are used to hold yourself on the bike and you have to be on constant alert to be able in a fraction of a second to stop your body from pitching itself forward or backward after an unexpected jolt (they all are when you're not the driver). That is rather physically stressing after a while. One second of inattention and a jolt happens, chances are you'll end up being thrown off the bike. He's a careful driver however. And from the back seat, the view of what's ahead is total so one can at least anticipate some of those jolts. The view is total because his part of the seat is lower, but also because he's short to start with. Maybe 1m68 (5' 6), I'm not sure. The kind you wonder how they can handle such a big bike.

  It happened in the afternoon, and again driving downtown in the evening. We are near an intersection and someone, from a passing car or on the sidewalk, cracks a remark akin to Yay! or something like that. My take is that they thought Friend was my son and he was driving his dad around. Friend is almost 44, but always looked younger than his age and since he's not tall and with a small build, it also helps in that perception. Then again, maybe these people just thought we were an odd couple (in a good way) on a nice motorcycle.

  

  Da food section

  Last Wednesday Friend came for supper and I made again a "salade niçoise", my version of it that is. Maybe one egg for the two plates would have been enough... Like that it looks like a merry-go-round. Friend set the table, not his specialty, especially as per placing placemats go.

  

  The day before, I had a second go at the chicken with tarragon and mushrooms in a creamy sauce. This time around I put much more tarragon and it made a world of difference. Great recipe, and quite easy to make. But imo, fresh tarragon is a must. I may try it later on with the dried version, just to prove me right. As I mentioned before we have a large selection of rosé wines especially in summer. This one was a new try and lived up to my expectations. Very pale, just a hint of orangy pink. It's a Domaine Le Pive Gris de Grande Camargue. The Camargue is a large region in southern France where is found the delta of the river Rhônes. This wine is from the protected region appellation (IGP) Sables de Camargue, which means it's grown in that sandy region of the delta which I have had the chance to visit in 1995 and which is a must, with places like Saintes Maries de la mer, Aigues-Mortes, Sète, and all those other places shown on this map. Aigues is a very ancient form of eaux, which means waters. Literally, Aigues-Mortes translates into dead waters, but it means still waters (enclosed I suppose). Check this Google map to see how fabulous this region is, geographically. The Camargue and all the immediate regions around it are loaded with extraordinary vestiges of the Roman empire, the Pont du Gard, the cities of Nîmes and Arles, and much, much more.

  

  Friday, I finished late in the evening by finally gaining some appetite. I have a plant of sage on my balcony which is thriving, and roaming the internet to find recipes using sage (not many), I found this one: a risotto with sage and pancetta, and parmiggiano of course. Not bad tasting but the prescribed method needs fine-tuning. It calls for putting most of the butter right at the start. You can't sizzle onions or brown pancetta if you dump them in a ton of butter. They just boil instead. And although I put three large leaves of sage, seemed to me its presence was not that obvious. The recipe calls, to make it optimal, to add bits of pan-fried salted lard at the end. Next time I'll part with that. There's enough fat in that recipe without adding more, especially that I didn't see too much what it added tastewise, and besides if I always have pancetta on hand, I never have fresh salted lard. This time around it just happened that I had bought a small vacuum-packed piece a week or so before, for no specific reason. I just thought it was a nice way to not having bought it for nothing. Like I said, needs fine tuning. The good news is that I'm willing to try it again so it's not ditched yet.

  

  

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