2013/06/15

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  Rue Ste-Catherine (Village Gai) – 2013.06.13
  Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes
  

  Out of order

  What an awful Spring. Here and most everywhere. Floods near Québec Ciity and, I heard, most of western Canada, also in Germany, in Budapest, not to mention one tornado after another in the U.S. and waterspouts (trombes) over the seas. I have a cinch this Summer will not be one we’ll remember with a tear in the corner or the eyes. The best is not to think about it, so techniically this section of my post is totally out of order.

  

  Ridicule does not kill, it heals

  It’s amazing what props they use in physiotherapy or ergotherapy. Often games you will find in kindergartens, you know, little pegs of different sizes that you must insert in matching holes on small board, and the likes. Or doughnuts of different sizes and colors you have to stack on a cone while holding your hand backwards. Or hold a paint roller and paint the wall with no paint, that sort of thing. When you first enter a room and see others using those props in the course of their treatment, you first find it a little ridiculous, until you realize all the benefit these simple props bring. The therapists also take hold of your arm and do strange movements with it, all the while holding it and your shoulder so close to their bosoms that in other circumstances it would be called sexual agression. In those cases, I thank gawd I’m not hetero. Especially that those girls are young women in their mid to late twenties and all look and dress like amazons. A contrario, I was also thankful that my therapists were all women, cause the three male therapists working there… omg, like I said, thank gawd I ended up with women. It does not, however, prevent me from eyeing them discretely while I’m being bosomized.

  I’m now at the stage where I have to resensitize some parts of my forearm and hand. To do this requires to apply each day, for 5 to 10 minutes, a small vibration to those areas. For this, they asked me to buy an electric vibrating toothbrush. I found one (Oral-B) for less than 10$. Since I’m not in the bathroom when I use this.. er.. physiotherapy instrument, I kind of arranged to let my upstairs and downstairs neighbors know that I was into this kind of skin revival. This house being a century old and all wood, noises spread easily especially when it’s calm, that is in daytime and nightime (aka when the kids are either out at the daycare or sleeping), so I wouldn’t want them to think that noise came from another kind of vibrating equipment, if you know what I mean.

  Music is also a prop at times. Many people in the readaptation hospital where I was must relearn to walk or simply stand up by themselves, often following a a stroke or the likes (I fitted in the ‘likes’ section). One prop I’ve seen them using for this is music. Dancing, in fact. Once a while during my physiotherapy sessions, there’d be an elderly woman (strokers are rarely young) who’d be helped by a therapist holding her by the waist and making that woman’s day by helping her dancing [or trying to] on this music. By her gleeming face, you could tell see how much the therapy was not only effective in unfreezing her leg muscles, but also her morale. The song is “C’est bon pour le moral” (It’s good for the morale) by the Compagine Créole.

  On the last (12th) floor of that readaptation hospital, there’s a small library (books, videos, etc) and also the three computers available for patients. Once when I went there around noon time to check my emails, I faced about twenty or so patients, men and women, plus many therapists, having a good time dancing on this other well-known song (also known as the Club Med song). Some of them could barely follow the steps, held by therapists, while others less disabled were giving a go at it. It smelled good of human warmth.

  

  Acting like a Turkey

  What goes on in Turkey reminds me so much of last year’s events during the student uprising right here in Montreal. The same approach: a well defined problem pops up (student tuition fees here, unwanted urban development there), a government thinking it holds DA TRUTH and over-reacting or not reacting at all, depends, discounting the protests as some thingie fueled by extremists, and which should die by using police repression. Then you have a population, already fed up to the hilt with a bunch of other issues, taking sides with the protesters, turning the whole thing into a major social crisis. Nothing new mind you. Examples of this type of stupid governental approach are a dime a dozen.

  

  Acting like rats

  New York’s administration has implemented the BIXI in Manhattan. They are called CitiBikes and are painted a nice blue. The reaction of some New Yorkers we’ve seen on television just boggles the mind. Listening to them, it’s like civilisation is under attack. One thing is for sure, on the list of bicycle-friendly cities, New York is in the sewers.

  

  PUT that IN your pipe

  Thursday, after a medical appointment at St-Luc Hospital, I elected to go for a stroll in the Gay Village, just to check things out compared to last year. And also maybe to have a coffee with Friend while he had lunch, if I could reach him, which I couldn’t. Just finding a payphone was an adventure all on its own. They are disappearing faster than global warming is setting in. When I did find one, I called but it landed in his answering service. Since I had used the only two quarters (aka 25 cents, for Europeans) I had, that was it. I don’t want to carry a portable phone with me all the time but it seems I soon won’t have any other choice. Unless telepathy makes dazzling progress in a short term, which I doubt.

  Anyways, Ste-Catherine in the Village is like it was last year: closed to cars until September for about 1,5 km, the overhead pink balls are there again, so are about a hundred tents/booths occupied by artists of different disciplines. While I was walking eastbound, I saw coming in the other direction a bunch of toddlers, all holding those snake ribbons so as to not get lost, and accompanied by two or three day care workers. Let me just say that by definition, in this kind of gay area, those artist booths did not necessarily put on display images of Mary or selling home-made rosaries, if you understand what I mean. That’s when I thought about Putin, Vladimir that is, and the bunch of homophobic Russians populating his Douma, and much of Russia also apparently. It also came to my mind that under that new law they voted recently, those booths would simply not be tolerated, and that those day care workers would be sent to prison faster than Vladimir would get an erection riding bare-breasted on one of his horses.

  That’s when in my mind, I uttered a silent but well sent «UP YOURS, VLAD! AND PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE (OR YOUR ASS, IF IT MAKES YOU HAPPY).»

  

  No brainer

  Remember that girl who fell between two metro wagons and was dragged for a while, suffering a horrible death? You’d think that all those iPhone addicts would have taken notice. Well, you overestimate humans. This week again, and again a girl, fell between two wagons, and again because she had all her attention concentrated on her portable thingamagig. This time around, someone saw a hand passing in front of a window and ensuing cries of terror. Luckily, some people managed to find and pull the handle to prevent the train to leave the station. I say luckily, because strictly on merit, she did not deserve to survive. Once is an accident. Twice is being irresponsible.

  

  No brainer, but possibly excusable

  There’s a railroad lining Rue de la Commune in the old port. It’s not used frequently but it is used. The other day, there was a train on it, and it was night tme. A group of people tried to cross on the other side by using the space between two wagons. Unfortunately for a woman of about 30, when she crossed is when the train started to move again. She lost foot, fell, and lost two legs by the same token. Maybe her life also if she doesn’t survive. Anyone having lived near railroads knows that when a cargo train starts to move, it makes a gigantic sound resulting from each anchor snapping one after the other, and that the last place to be when this happens is between two wagons, especially if standing on one of those anchors. That’s why I say this was excusable, but only if that woman was a “city girl”. City people, those born and having lived in big cities all their lives, are often clueless about these things.

  

  Anniversaries

  I was listening to the Swiss radio this afternoon and I learned that “Djeuuny” turns “septante ans” today. That’s how they pronounce Johnny in French-speaking Europe, when they are referring to Johnny Hallyday. Over there, for half the population, there’s God then there’s Johnny. For the other less religious half, there’s Johnny. It’s not very important since practically no one in English-speaking North America knows who he is. Even in Quebec, if he is known, it’s often by hearsay or a few old songs that made it to the Top Something. Since he often sang French versions of English-language songs, I guess we rather listened to the original in this patch of land. He’s a rocker by the way, for those who don’t know him. The motorcycle type of rocker, a specimen rather popular in Europe I think. Here motorcycles are more associated with the Hell’s Angels and others who, despite their name, are not as close to God as one may think. BTW, septante is another form of soixante-dix (seventy) coming from popular latin. It’s still much in use in Belgium and in the French part of Switzerland and in a lesser occurence in eastern France.

  Incidentally, I learned also this week that Mick Jagger and myself were born on the same date, July 26. Not the same year obviously. I’m a 1950 model, he’s the older 1943 one. A war child, so to speak.

  

  Rolling roaches

  The Rolling Stones were here Sunday. They also gave a concert here Sunday evening. I think the two events are related. . Anyways, it was apparently a very good one, so says the music crirtic of my paper who’s an unconditional fan of the Stones, and this is an understatement. Ticket prices, however, were steep enough to make a stone roll on itself.

  On a side note, I heard someone say that if ever there’s a world nuclear war, the only survivors would be cockroaches and The Stones.

  

  Sixties II

  Speaking of the Stones, their arch-rivals The Beatles also were here but in the early sixties. It was a big event then so they are staging an exhibit underling the fiftieth anniversary of that Beatles visit to Montreal (at Musée Pointe-à-Callière in old Montreal). John Lennon’s yellow hippyized Rolls Royce is also part of the exhibit. http://pacmusee.qc.ca/en/exhibitions/the-beatles-in-montreal-50-years-later

  

  Asylum

  I don’t know if I would be allowed to give political asylum to Edward Snowden. But I do know what I’d want to do with him if I could. Nuff said. Besides, he’s into pole-dancing bimbos, of what I read so my chances are as dim as not having the NSA lurking this post. After all, I’m a foreigner using an American-based program, am I not?

  
  «What makes you think we are listening to your conversations?»
  Cartoon © BADO, Le Droit

  

  More about cheese…

  I went to marché Jean-Talon this afternoon because I went yesterday. OK, maybe this could be expanded upon somewhat. I did go yesterday to buy some potted fine herbs, for transplanting purposes. I had a little list of the four I had settled on: basil, thyme, rosemary and sage. When I was there I saw some chives which I always plant also when I lose it in the winter. So I took one of them, along with thyme, rosemary and sage. I deposited them on the tray where you pay the grower. I looked on my little list and quickly counted four items, then looked at the tray and, yup, four items there also so I paid and left. It’s only when I got back home that I noticed the conspicious absence of the basil, the most important and the very reason I had been to the Marché. So today, it was take two. To make the pill less hard to swallow, I also added to the list some tarragon.

  What’s all of this got to do with cheese? Well, nothing really.

  However, since I was there, I decided to enter Capitol just in case I’d be tempted by something (the food slut thing…). That’s when I noticed a square soft rind cheese which I had never seen before. It’s Italian, made with cow and sheep’s milk, and called Robiola. It had nice scents and would it not be for its price, I may have been tempted to try one. They were 250 gram squares I think (I didn’t check but by the size that would about be it). What I did check was the price. This one didn’t steal its name: 72,99$ a kilo.

  I went on Google images and search to try to find more about this cheese. I found this American site selling it in 8 oz format for 16,95$ a piece. It was Italian so I figure it’s the same, even if not the same brand. I say this because apparently some American companies make a local version of it which, as everyone knows can’t be the same since Italian grass can only grow in Italy, unless I missed something important in my education. I was also curious about price comparisons, especially that 73$/kg is unusually high for cheese. Bad idea. Trying to convert information stemming from the mickey mouse American weights and measures sytem into the sane and way too logical metric system is simply looking for trouble. But had I the choice? (this is the answer -> no)

  So here is how I figured it out. There may be simpler algorythms (really?) or more complicated ones (I’ll buy that).

  Problem to solve: Is this cheese cheaper in the U.S. or in Canada (not taking into account exchange rates which since some time put both dollars pretty much at par).

  Put A: 8 oz = 16,95$ (in U.S)
  Put B: 1 kg = 73,00$ (in Canada)

  Operation A – Determine if [oz] is volume or mass (can be both). Result by empirical induction: mass
  Operation B – Find how many ounces in a kilo. If Einstein is not a common name in your genealogical tree, an external calculator is required for this. Result: 35,273 oz
  Operation C – Find out how many 8 oz there are in 35,273 oz. Same condition as above applies. Result: 4,409
  Operation D – Find out the price for 4,409 times 16,95$. Same condition still applies. Result: 74,734$ (74,73$ for shorts).
  Operation E – Compare Put B and Result E. Result: cheese is cheaper in Canada

  Of course, if those American squares were sold in the universal format of 250g, they would sell for 18.67$ US (give or take a few cents, I calculated this quickly) and the price comparison would be infinitely easier.

  Now let’s restart.

  Put A – American 250g square = 18,67$
  Put B – Canadian 1 kilo = 73$

  Operation A – Convert to same unit. a) 250g is 0,25 kilo, or b) 1 Kg is 1000g. If you don’t know this, move to a Borneo jungle because this takes for granted that the U.S. has adopted the metric system. For no reason at all we’ll choose b)
  Operation B – Find out how many 250g you have in a kilo. If you can’t figure this one out, reconsider your cancelled move to Borneo because it’s precisely to spare you that Borneo move that they use formats like 250g, 500g, 1,5 Kg etc. In this case, the answer is 4.
  Operation C – Calculate American price for one kilo – 4 times 18.67$ (external calculator may be needed – or paper and a pen). Answer: 74.68$
  Operation D – Compare Put B and Result C. Result: the cheese is still cheaper in Canada. but you save 5 minutes and since in Ahmerica time is money… mucho savings in the long run.

  OH, I forgot, I bought a piece of Asiago Vecchio instead. Vecchio means “old”, “aged” in the case of cheese and maybe other foods. I gather that this means it is older than the more common (and cheaper) Asiago Pressato. According to the wiki link above, the ‘vecchio’ is between 9 and 18 months old. On the other hand, the Pont-Neuf in Paris (New Bridge) is in fact the city’s oldest. I don’t know about the Ponte Vecchio in Firenze (Florence) and am too tired to check it out just right now.

  

  Dads

  Happy Father’s Day to all those who are fathers. I saw in Wikipedia that for some it’s another date so make these wishes yours also.

  

  • 20:47
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