(Free time)

Had a less than great day... the other day. I got "paid" (In Canada, nearly everything gets quotations). Apparently, I make less than minimum. That, friends and obscene blog voyeurs, is an oxymoron.

I had a massive craving for MSG-er-Chinese fried rice. In New York, you just look for the bullet proof glass and a store front with luncheon specials listed. At such greasy spork establishments, you can easily score a pint of salty, yummy vegetable or beef fried rice for under $4. I figured Montreal is full of Chinese (come on, there ARE billions of them running around, right?), so I should be able to find something analogous, within reason. I query my mate Cody who directs me to Marc and Ste. Catherine. There I find Cafe Wok (or was it Wok Cafe?) which had the cheapest prices of the several restaurants of Asian persuasion in the area.

I walk in, find a seat, grab a menu and peruse. Dudes (and dudettes, where applicable), fried rice in Montreal starts at $6.95. I know, it's play money (what's a Canadian Dollar??) but money nonetheless. Alright, so they've got a special on the General Tso's chicken. Comes with a spring roll, rice and... uhm, chicken. I ask the waiter if the chicken was white meat. "Yes" came his reply. Fuck that, I'll have one. Even agreed to chip in an extra $1.50 to make the steamed rice, fried (which only means they sprinkle soy sauce on it to brown it, and crack an ostrich egg or something into it). Well, I'll never eat there again, and I might only never try Chinese in Montreal again. The "white meat" was all skin and fat and dark. The fried rice was all egg (hence the ostrich crack, if you didn't get it). I ate around the chicken and egg, and was still hungry. Waste of $10 (came up to $8.45 and didn't stick around for my change).

Upon walking away from the worst restaurant experience in my life, I nearly cried. The rain was pouring something fierce and I am poor and starving. And no one in Canada is reliable (like waiters) so I had no one to call up and get to come to a good, cheap place with me. Alone. Me.

But I didn't cry. I've too many testicles, apparently.

In the end, Cody found an art vernissage with free cheese, veggies and wine, it stopped raining, and the yoga teacher rang with the most illest idea; a free concert (K-OS) at the Olympic where weed was smoked out in the open while 30 or so burly, strapping security guards stood and inhaled very, very deeply.

Then Friday pops up, the weather is splendid, I worked for ALL of it and the new boss man with the pregnant-pack-a-day-smoker-girlfriend buys me lunch and pays me more for two days work than the other job did for about 4 or 5 days.

St. Hubert has a half sandwhich and soup for $5.55. Got to try that. Maybe that'll be lunch on Sunday.

Basically, my life has devolved into hunting and gathering (beer and food).