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.

Rue Sherbrooke – 2013.06.03
Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes

Above

Across the street not far from the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. (see below). I was waiting for the return bus when this young woman, pregnant to her eyeballs, came to sit on the sculpture’s bench, but facing the street. She was also waiting for the bus. The way she was sitting and her using some kind of iphone, her hair was falling down and it was impossible to see her face. It would have made a fantastic photo. I asked her if it bothered her if I took a pic including her, telling her why. She didn’t answer but got up. I asked her again and this time she replied «Yes, it bothers me». I told her she could sit because I could take a pic without her in it but by that time I guess she saw the bus coming and walked towards the bus stop. I quickly took my two pics and took the bus after her. She wasn’t agressive or anything. Just plain asocial. Strange encounter.

Turkey

Now it’s Turkey’s turn to live a Turmoil 2.0. What is it exactly that the middle-ages Islamists don’t understand?

History? What history? And whose?

Stephen Harper’s federal government is trying all it can to rewrite Canada’s history, putting much emphasis on the military aspects after 1812, all the while neglecting the almost 300 preceding years. Because, whether he likes it or not, its a Frenchie who coined the name Canada. It was Jacques-Cartier, and it was in 1534 that he, as we used to say, ‘discovered’ Canada. However, it’s after Harper’s Canada was officially created in Westminster in 1867 that Amerindians were headed straight into a cultural genocide spearheaded by the federal government. Today, of course, things would be different. Amerindians would claim, rightfully, what is theirs.

Caption: IF WE COULD CHANGE HISTORY…
On the protest sign: CITIZENS COMMITTEE AGAINST THE DISCOVERY OF CANADA
Cartoon © A.-P. Côté – Le Soleil

The large cross refers to the one Jacques Cartier alledgedly planted on the shore of Gaspé in 1534, claiming Canada in the name of France.

I may have mentioned this before, but our most famous stand-up comic (Yvon Deschamps) used to say about Cartier discovering Canada: «It’s a pity that he didn’t put the cover back on again because we’ve been freezing ever since.»

Don’t take my breath away

Starting June 8, the Musée des beaux-arts de Montreal (Montreal Museum of Fine Arts) features an exhibit by American blown-glass artist Dale Chihuly, born in Tacoma, Washington State. It’s an exhibit custom-tailored for the museum in part, in the sense that it is put together and displayed to go with its inside architecture. They’ve shown some of it on the cultural segment of Radio-Canada’s news and on this, they are not lying. On the museum’s site they say that this exhibit is “utterly breathtaking”. I hope its not too breathtaking since I still don’t have that much of breath to put in the balance. I wouldn’t want to die of admiration. If I don’t get to see it, I will still the same have seen a nice appetizer which, being outside, was much safer for my breath (not losing it). I had come one hour too early for my physio treatments so I took back the bus and dropped off near the museum to hang around a while. I fell on this. I thought it was a new permanent work of art (the museum is surrounded with such) but it’s probably temporary now that I know it’s related to that exhibit. Unless the museum bought it, of course, or already had it, for all I care.

Note: Anyone recognizes that bird which was near City Hall and which had disappeared and had looked for? Apparently it’s been bought by the Museum, or this is one of its siblings.

Laterz Note 2: From another pic, I read the sign in front of the sculpture, which is called “Sun”, and it says «Let Dale Chihuly’s Sun touch you but please don’t touch — it is extremely fragile. You are more than welcome to take photos and to share them with your friends: #CHIHULY [..] Please note these premises are under video surveillance.» So I guess it still belongs to Chihuly and my question is: why did he accept to let it put there??? It would be nice to take a pic a night when it’s illuminated by the lamps illuminating the building. I didn’t see any wires so I guess there’s no lights inside the sculpture.

Da food section

For some people, a guacamole is barely an entrée. For me it’s pretty much a full meal. Those totopos^[1] (tortilla chips) are made by a small company located near Marché Jean-Talon and called MAYA. They are the best in town. Some days, you can get them so fresh that they are putting them in the plastic bags right in front of you. BTW, I found out that Beck’s makes a beer with no alcohol at all in it, not even “less than 0,05%” as is the case for dealcoholized wines. It’s not the greatest beer on earth but it’s palatable. Something like those blond beers which don’t taste much all the while having that little bitterness…

^[1] I think I’ve mentioned before that “nachos” are a Tex-Mex invention by someone managing a stadium food outlet in southern United States. It consisted originally of totopos served with that yellow cheese found in Cheez Whiz and the likes. The real name for the chips is “totopos” and that’s the way they are called in most of Mexico. MAYA has the word Totopos appearing on their outside sign, but on the bags they printed Nachos. I guess they want to sell to non Latinos also and since most of them ignore what are totopos, they went with the crowd. As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them…

This is one of those weird North-American sweet and sour recipes mixing brown sugar with ketchup and mustard and Worcestershire and onions and garlic and which are called BBQ although they are cooked in the oven. Worse, this here recipe is intended for chicken, but since I’m not chicken for one bit, I dare make a pig of myself by using it also with pork chops (which were waiting for deliverance in the freezer since early January – not GITMO, but still…). I guess that also blows my cover: yes boys and girls, I’m neither Jewish nor Muslim.

Musée des Beaux-Arts de Montréal / Montreal Museum of Fine Arts – 2013-06-03
Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes

Busy

Untll the middle of the month, I have few days without some sort of activity (mostly medical). This is somewhat untimely because it prevents me from putting some time on a decision about what to do after the July 15 armageddon. All I know is that if I move, I’ll most likely have to change my username and finding another one is not obvious, especially that I’d like to give it a French [language] aroma, so to speak. And I can’t ‘test drive’ WordPress before I open an account there so…

Cycles

Last weekend was held the annual Féria du vélo. Friday night was the night tour. On Sunday, the regular tour garnered 26 000 cyclists of all ages. It started in 1984 or 1985, I don’t remember, but I did it about 6 or 7 times back then. This year, they did a series of [humorous] ads going a contrario to some well known interdictions: “No antidoping tests required”, “Legal driving age is abolished” and “It is recommended to drink on the road”. They are available on the site liked above but ‘en français’ only. I’m sure it’s no accident that the one about doping is themed on the colors of the “maillot jaune”, which we’ve seen so many times Lance Armstrong wearing.

Some weeks ago, according to Mikael Colville-Andersen, considered the “Pope of urban cycling” and the Copenhagenize firm, Montreal would be the 11th best cycling city in the world, and the only one from North America in its top 20 list. Positive pluses included the immense popularity of the BIXI, and the consultative commitee joining at the same table all those involved with cyclinig. Montreal was however warned that it could be surpassed by other North American cities should it stay sit on its steak (my words).

Vroom Vroom Bimbo!

Next weekend is the F1 (Formula One) race on Ile Notre-Dame. In my area, or Little Italy’s rather, Boulevard St-Laurent will be closed to traffic. As each year, they’ll be showing dream cars (for those who can’t afford them. and other stuff related to Italy). There may be a bimbo or two here and there, but these latest are rather seen by the stockpile on Crescent Street downtown, which is also closed for the event. They may find it a little fresh in their small attire, the weather channel predicting maximums of 17°C for Saturday, with rain, and 21°C for Sunday.

I don’t know why Boulevard St-Laurent is named such because it has nothing of a boulevard. Maybe because it used to be some kind of border between French and Anglo Montreal? It’s also the “0″ marker for street numbers going eastbound and westbound.

Roller coasters

Weather is stlll going as it has been for quite some time now. Drastic changes in little time. Last week, it was 32°C (38 or 39 with the humidex) and this week down to 17, or maybe 20 if we’re lucky. We get to never know what to wear. Can be quite cold in the morning, then more seasonal in mid-day. We have lots of wind, and some parts of the province have received so much rain (not in Montreal) that they are all flooded. Crazy weather. But I’ve mentioned this before, and apparently we’re certainly not the only ones having to cope with this.

Da food section

If Americans have invented Tex-Mex, I have just invented Ital-Mex. Not by sheer extraordinary creativity, but simply by bare necessity. The first necessity being to put something in my stomach, the others having to do with getting rid of a few items which I had leftovers of, namely flour tortillas, a piece of Monterey Jack cheese and a rapidly saying goodbye red bell pepper. They weren’t leftovers but I also had in the fridge some dried San Marzano tomatoes (why in the fridge? search me!) and kalamata pitted olives.

They all ended up of course in another (it’s my third in five days) quesadilla. Or maybe more a tortizza, or a quesadizza, while we’re at it. I had Monterey Jack for about 80% of my needs. I had also a bigger leftover of mozarella which I used to fill the remaining 20%, adding another Italian touch to its Ital-Mex nature. I dry heated the tomatoes a bit in a pan to render them more soft, a trick I learned about using hard-shell dried Mexican peppers, then I cut them in bits and pieces. I added the olives, sliced, and the bell peppers cut in small cubes and also heated beforehand in a pan. A drizzle of hot olive oil (ok more than a drizzle, it’s Ital-MEX after all) topped everything before depositing the top tortilla. Luckily, I also had a can of San Pellegrino aranciata rossa (blood orange soda) which replaced the wine I have been estranged from by naughty doctors.

Rue Laval – 6 mai 2013
Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes

Abyss

I was working on cleaning my rear balcony (and accessorily summer living quarters) last evening, it was past 19h00, the sun was still scorching with its 32°C, and suddenly the bandage I have covering the hole in my back started to unpeel and soon to fall apart, leaving the wound completely exposed. Since the next bandage replacement was only scheduled for Monday morning, I had to have a nurse come by and make a new one (there’s a special number to call for this type of event). She came a little after 20h00, and after she left, I went on the net to check things out and learned that Xanga was also falling apart, leaving a gaping hole in my life.

[repost from March 29, 2007]

LA CROQUEUSE DE 222

When I feel blue, baby
When I feel blue
I gobble a couple of 222s
Then everything’s blue, baby
Everything’s blue
I am the gobbler of 222s

When I feel blue, baby
When I feel blue
I gobble a couple of 222s
And I’m on fire, baby
Yes, I’m on fire
The future belongs to the 222s

If I get up in the morn’, say
With my head in a vise
With one of those morning-after headaches
If my brains
Are heavy like a truck^*
I open my hand bag
I pick up my little bottle

There’s all sorts of ‘em
They come in all sizes
Small pocket packs
Bottles of 200s
Me, personally, to see in color
Twelve tablets is exactly what I need

When I feel blue baby,
When I feel blue
I take a couple of 222
Everything’s blue, baby
Everything’s blue
The world belongs to the 222

When I feel blue, baby
When I feel blue
I gobble a couple of 222s
And I’m on fire, baby
Yes, I’m on fire
The future belongs to the 222s

When friends come by, there
They allways have lots of fun
Watching me rambling with my tube
But me, really, I wonder what’s in it for them
To go hopping from a fancy bar to the next
I found my happiness
Right here in my house
Twelve little pills in a tiny little bottle
Why go out, there’s no reason
And everybody, everybody, should do the same
Everybody must get stoned!

WOW!

I become all weird, I become all crooked
I’m cold, I’m hot, and I feel good
I hold my happiness in the bottom of my pocket
There’s nothing like the pills
Believe me, no there’s nothing

When I feel blue, baby
When I feel blue
I gobble a couple of 222s
I have a love, a friend, I ache high
I am the gobbler of 222s

When I feel blue, baby
When I feel blue
I gobble a couple of 222s
And I’m on fire, baby
Yes, I’m on fire
The future belongs to the 222s

The future belongs to the 222s

^* Bold = In English in the text.

Sung (1977) by Pauline Julien, author, actress, songstress, Québec independence passionaria and lifetime companion of poet, writer, journalist, and government minister Gérald Godin. Both were imprisoned without warrant or accusations by the Québec motherfucker in chief Pierre E. Trudeau during the 1970 October Crisis. Godin died of cancer at 55 in 1994, and Pauline Julien, suffering from a degenerative disease, committed a planned and known by close friends suicide in 1998 after having lost what was the most important thing for her in life, the faculty of speech.

Never too late to learn

Michelle Bachman says she won’t go for re-election in Congress. Now that’s a fine move girl! The best way to clean the air is to get rid of the trash, isn’t it?

Explosives I

Read in my paper this morning that youth unemployment in the Euro Zone is at an all time high, like for example 62% in Greece, 56% in Spain, 42% in Portugal and 45% in Italy. It does not take a wizard to understand that such a situation is unbearable and could easily degenerate into social turmoil, to say the least. I don’t know what game Merkel is playing, but playing with matches is rarely a good idea.

I don’t know if the pic [© Louisa Gouliamaki, AFP] heading the article is related to a protest concerning this situation, but what strikes me is the total absence of women.

Explosives II

They’ve opened a gay friendly mosque in Paris. Oh my!

Yay! It’s summer time!

Thursday, I took a stroll in the Quartier des Spectacles after another of those vampire sessions at the hospital. For some reason, Ste-Catherine and Jeanne-Mance streets were closed to traffic in that area and people were lazying all around.

Both pics taken from the same standpoint: Ste-Catherine looking eastbound and then Jeanne-Mance and Place des Festivals looking northbound.

Da food section

I made this the other day (I guess it would be Thursday by the photo’s date stamp). It’s Pasta with anchovies and red bell peppers and a ton of garlic and olive oil. Quite basic but I managed to screw it. First, I used too much anchovies. Normally the sauce is clearer. Then I overcooked the peppers a little. Maybe the anchovies were not fresh enough. They were those sold in a small glass container and bathing in oil. I think they were from last year but that doesn’t matter since they are salted so much that no bacteria can survive. The quality of the anchovies is important because they must disintegrate in the olive oil heated at just the right temperature. If the oil is too hot, they just burn, and if it’s not hot enough, they just play dead.

What’s worse is that I wanted to do this recipe because it uses penne lisce pasta, or so I thought. In fact, I don’t have penne lisce at home for the simple reason that the only recipe I had a use for them was this one, initially, and that with time I had moved to penne rigate because it was better and I even put a note about this in my cookbook. Oh well…

As forecasted, I made myself a quesadilla last evening. It was my first summer meal outside. The flour tortillas, bought at the supermarket, were not that great: too thin and flaked during cooking. Next time, i’ll buy them at a latino shop. I got my lesson. Inside, I put Monterey Jack cheese, bits of chipotle and sliced kalamata olives. Turned out good.

Rue St-Denis – 2013.05.16
Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes

Indochine

I learned on Friday afternoon that the French group Indochine was to perform that evening at the Bell Center, for a special single concert in North America. I didn’t know at all that they would be coming here when I posted about them recently. Insight? They didn’t have all the extravaganza props they have in outdoor concerts, but those who where there and just about all the music critics said it was a top notch concert, and a long one at that.

After-party clean-up

The new provincial government, the one elected the same day I was first operated on, Sept 4, 2012, has created a three-member commission to analyze the events of last Spring (the 2012 “Printemps érable”). Not an easy task. For info, number 728 (she’s known this way now – Matricule 728) is the Police ID number of that woman who pepper-sprayed a student at point blank, and who is also involved in various force abuse incidents.

«Where do we start?»
Cartoon © A-P Côté, Le Soleil

Kissing in the animal farm

This morning, I found in my paper this column by Jean Dion, humoristic sports columnist. I’m not usually interested in sports, team or individual, but I thought his column raked much more than the sports field in giving a face to all those stupid gimmicks we are subjected to everywhere, trying to lure people into buying whatever these people peddle, and to which the generic “stupid idea” fits like a glove.

«[..]
In the category “no way anymore to watch a game of ball in peace”, there is the Kiss Cam, a serious candidate for the title of the dumbest invention in the history of sport. The principle is as simple as ridiculous: during a pause in the action, a camera finds is a couple in the stands. Their image is shown on the stadium’s large score indicator, and both must kiss, which earns them the applause of the crowd. If they don’t, they are usually copiously booed.

Obviously, such an exercise has its share of disadvantages. For one, it is possible that we have to deal with people very embarrassed to have to kiss in front of thousands of people. Two, if only one member of the couple refuses to comply, it may generate tensions, as is often seen. Three, it may be total strangers simply occupying neighboring seats. Four, let that the man and the woman are married, but each with someone else (yes, there are people who spends quality time with her lover / mistress at baseball games). Five, the Kiss Cam squarely discriminates against same-sex spouses since it would never stop on two guys and two girls.

The Kiss Cam is essentially a North American phenomenon, but however has been around the world last year when none other than the President of the United States of America and the First Lady themselves in person were being aimed at at a basketball game in Washington. The first time, Barack and Michelle Obama just smiled. Booes, of course. So when, later in the game, the camera returned on them, he gave her a soft kiss on the lips. That’s what popular pressure is able to do.

So Sunday, we end up at the Dodger Stadium, and a young man and a young woman are isolated by the Kiss Cam. The woman immediately puts her hand over his face, while the man gets up and runs away climbing the stairs of his section. A shock investigator was subsequently sent on location to enquire about the reasons which prompted James not to kiss his girlfriend Kristy. “It’s not my girlfriend. It’s my sister”, answered James.

Therefore, as the saying goes, a tie game is like kissing one’s sister. And there are no tie games in baseball. Too bad there isn’t also a ban on stupid ideas.»
© Jean Dion, Le Devoir

In the same category, I’d dump also the “wave” and the “floating over the crowd gig”. Especially the “wave”. One spectator leans on his neighbor and then 50,000 morons feel compelled to do the same.

Da food section (warning: partly horrific – may also induce drowsiness)

On May 2, I didn’t feel at all like preparing supper and it was a while (last summer) since I had gone to the Smoked Meat restaurant on St-Hubert, corner St-Zotique. They have a take-out option which I usually use. I returned there later this month with Friend but we then ate on the premises. Anyways, I passed in front of the large IGA supermarket before getting there and entered (normal behavior for a food slut like me), just in case I’d see something to buy. There they were, twin mini-pizzas, and at a price hard to beat. The smoked meat would have cost me 12$ to 13$ with the tip. I gave a quick look at the ingredients (I always do) but it was past 21h00 and I was hungry and what the heck! Back home, I had a better look at the ingredient list. Frankly, the next morning, I was surprised to still be alive.

Somewhere between May 2 and May 5, they had pieces of boneless ham (jambon blanc) on special at my corner supermarket and I bought a small piece. Good for two or three meals. On the 5th, I made this, mostly because it’s easy. And good also which ruins nothing. Fettucine, butter, ham, garlic (lots), italian (flat) parsley and parmesan. When I’m really into it, I buy snow peas and make a crown around the pasta, in which case I use a regular plate. This is a re-run since there is another pic about this dish in my Xangan Photos.

May 5th (a Sunday) I went to Milano on boul. St-Laurenet and came back with a pack of fresh raviolis, these stuffed with cheeses. The next day, I made a bit of tomato sauce to go with them and voilà! Of course, sprinkled also with grated parmesan.

May 8th, I had leftovers of both ham and mixed salad. I checked the internet for some ham salad recipe and found two or three which had bits I liked and bits I didn’t like. What I did is take only the bits I liked, ending up with an improvised salad which I probably won’t be able to reproduce because I kept neither links nor copies of those recipes. I think it was good but I’m not 100% sure. It was cute though. The eggs were not a success, although they were just as mentioned in the concerned recipe, that is cooked just below the fully cooked barrier. I don’t know how they cut them, maybe just in half with a wet knife, but I had a recently bought egg slicer I wanted to try out and the yellow parts just clinged to its wires. I had to do some plastic surgery to reunite the yellows and the whites. Not an easy task since those yellows were also sticking to my fingers.

On the 15th, I still had a final leftover of ham, under the form of a nice slice. Usually I would pan fry it, adding maple syrup in the end, and serve it with pasta, like farfalle and maybe some cream-style corn. That day, I had no envy to indulge in anything fancy. But to bring a little zest of spice in an otherwise somewhat boring life, I decided to make something I hadn’t done in quite some time: pilaf rice. Pilaf rice is a risotto which took the wrong exit. I made this one with Basmati rice.

On the 19th, Mexican nostalgia pitched an El Jardín sandwich on my menu. I call it that way because the restaurant where I first ate that sandwich was called El Jardín (in Puerto Escondido, State of Oaxaca, Mexico). The rest of their menu was mostly veggie, not my cup of tea. But this sandwich had chipotle in it, and that’s enough to wake me up. Starting from the bottom, slices of tomatillos, pieces of chipotle, Oaxaca cheese, then lettuce and finally mayonnaise. Must be done with whole wheat buns (says me). Bottom bun up to the cheese are put in the oven to heat. Upper bun is placed in the oven a little later, on the side. When cheese begins to melt, add the lettuce, the mayonnaise and the top bun. Nice with a Mexican apple soda (Sidral Mundet). Oaxaca cheese is expensive so I often use Montery Jack instead. The former is a ball of filamental fresh cheese and doesn’t conserve well, not mentioning that its leftovers are not obvious to use. The Monterey Jack I use is made by Kraft so it’s good for centuries.

Tomatillos are tomato-like fruits except there is no soft part in the interior. They come in a husk which sticks to them with some kind of glue and which is easily dissolved under tap water. The husk is to be removed beforehand, should I add. Chipotles, here in adobo sauce, are smoked jalapeños. Depending on the company, they will be either red like here, or very dark, almost brown. These chipotles are whole meaning that their seeds and veins are still inside. These buggers are really hot. For this sandwich, I use only one cut in 3 or 4 smaller pieces and I remove the seeds, which is a waste of time since the ‘hotness’ has already transferred to the skin.

May 23rd was the rock bottom pit of laziness, or blandness, or boringness, make your pick. Merguez with Pilaf (again )

I’ll stop here because I don’t remember what I had the other days (except that time with Friend at the restaurant) which means that I probably had an idea what to eat on those days but engaged in all sorts of activities resulting with me starting to be hungry and simultaneously noticing it was past 22h00. This is what you call a grilled cheese type of circumstance.

Tunnel Champ-de-Mars – ­2013.05.14
Scènes de Montréal – Montreal Scenes

Above

Beginning of the pedestrian tunnel joining the Champ-de-Mars metro station (the one with a stained glass artwork) to the actual Champ-de-Mars behind City Hall. It passes under Autoroute Ville-Marie (720) and rue St-Antoine (for which there is an exit mid-way into the tunnel).

Lack of something…

Gee, no post since May 12. I’m not sick or anything. I’m just tired all the time and occupied by other stuff which I always put off to later which in turn stresses and tires me. It’s what we call here the Hygrade syndrome, a wiener sausage tv ad slogan which incrusted itself in everybody’s mind: More people eat them because they are more fresh; they are more fresh because more people eat them. That can be applied to just about anything. Found in an article from my paper on the net: More people leave Montréal because taxes are too high. Taxes are too high because more people leave Montreal.

I have no idea if this slogan was used and settled as a popular expression in English Canada, but in Québec, anyone over 25 or 30 knows what you are talking about when you mention the “syndrome Hygrade”. Maybe some of the younger ones too.

UPDATE: I found a video of one of the ads, from 1982.

Reminder

It’s mentioned in the header, but just in case, I’ll remind that the pics I take with my camera are available in a larger version than the one displayed. Being way too large, I start by saving them in half their original format. This takes less bandwidth for those with slower connections. This new format still the same remains large enough to fill an average screen so I post it in a smaller display. The larger one remains available by clicking on the picture, once, or twice if a (+) is then displayed. I mention all this in case one would like to see parts of a pic in more detail and didn’t know the above.

Incongruity

A former city on the island of Montreal and now one of its boroughs since 2002, Verdun, issued a permit last week for the opening of a beer outlet, some kind of pub producing its own beer. Yeah, so? Verdun was a dry city. No bars whatsoever, and since like forever. Something quite strange for a city located at a stone’s throw from downtown Montreal which during the American prohibition was the mecca for those of them who were thirsty of both alcohol and skimpy dressed girls. It is even more strange for me that in Wikipedia they say that Verdun harbors the largest concentration of “Madelinots”, that is people coming from the Iles-de-la-Madeleine (Magdalen Islands) located in the Gulf of St-Laurent (Lawrence). For having had some of them as classmates in university and having been there myself a couple of times, I can say without the shadow of a doubt that, as most islanders, they have no stiffness whatsoever in the elbow as far as alcoholic beverages go.

By the way, Verdun has nothing to do with the 1916 Verdun Battle (WWI). It was named such in 1671 by Zacharie Dupuis who was conceded a bit of territory which he named Verdun in remembrance of his native town of Saverdun, in the Ariège region of southern France.

Dry city – Take 2

Two-thirds of those living on the island of Montreal, roughly 1,3 million people, learned this morning that for at least 24 hours they had to boil their tap water for one minute before drinking it. That is for those where the water was still clear. For example, in forementioned Verdun, it was looking more like liquid mud. The thing is, they did this morning some major upgrade work on one of the two main Montreal pumping stations, which incidentally is located in Verdun. They were supposed to lower the water level in one large reservoir but something (or someone) screwed-up and the basin was emptied much more than it should and all the crap (they call these ‘deposits’ ) lying in the bottom was granted a new life, so to speak. Needless to say, it didn’t take long before finding bottled water in a store became a space oddity. Hospitals, child care centers and the likes didn’t find it funny.

Defacedbook

After going at the hospital for blood samples last week, since it was very nice outside, I elected to go for a stroll in Old Montreal rather than returning home. I stumbled on an ex-colleague who was outside for his afternoon break. He’s got a Twitter and a Facebook account. I checked his Twitter. Opened in 2010. Same trajectory as a North Korean rocket. Smashing start, one tweet after the other, then slow fall down until early 2013 with a single tweet a month. None yet in May. I read somewhere a few days ago that Facebook stock market shares are still valued at 31% less than their start value. Some people must be biting their nails (I won’t cry). I don’t understand those companies that spend lots of dough to open and manage a Facebook account while neglecting the corporate website approach. I’m convinced Facebook is doomed sooner or later. Teeny boppers who posted pics of their asses for the world to see have now grown and realize that what they posted back then, and now, is in Facebook’s hands for eternity. They will leave. Advertisers will also flock to better pastures when they find out that most of the new potential users work for a dollar a day in Bangladesh. On the other hand, Twitter of what I hear and read, would have a promising future, for different reasons.

Monkeying with Twitter

Somebody knows what happened to Justin Bieber’s monkey?

note: this section is Twitter compatible [55 characters]. Hey, I’m practicing…

Alexandre [le Bienheureux] is back

Somebody heard about that Sardinian postman who had 400 kg of undelivered mail stashed in his garage? People of his village of Mores in northern Sardinia don’t think he’s a bad person:

«He is a good person. Even if at times he came back late and drank a little too much» told Fidel, owner of an hotel in Mores. And, according to the village’s hairdresser, the postman was not trying to control their lives: «I think that he is simply lazy.»

I like people who put their priorities at the right place.

AFP story (en français) here.

Another freak

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/18/pete-santilli-hillary-clinton_n_3299247.html

Some days I think that American-style democracy SHOULD NOT be exported. There are limits to free speech.

Georges Moustaki 1934 – 2013 – In Memoriam

© Uncredited in Youtube – Video however was shot on Ile Ste-Hélène facing Montreal.

IL Y AVAIT UN JARDIN (There was a garden).
Georges Moustaki

This is a song for children
Born and living between steel
And bitumen between concrete and asphalt
And who may never know
That Earth was a garden

There was a garden we called Earth
It shone in the sun like a forbidden fruit
No it was not paradise or hell
Or anything already seen or heard

There was a garden, a house, trees
With a bed of moss to make love
And a small stream running without a wave
Came to cool it before pursuing its course.

There was a garden large as a valley
Where we could find food in all seasons
On the burning ground or the frozen grass
And discover flowers that had no name.

There was a garden called Earth
It was large enough for thousands of children
It was once inhabited by our grandfathers
Who themselves got it from their grandparents.

Where is it this garden where we could have been born
Where we could have lived carefree and naked
Where is that house all doors open
Which I’m still looking for and find no more.