Thursday, June 18, 2009

2 Live Roo


Bonnaroo! Such an epic start to my summer of 2009. Manchester, Tennessee in mid June is like Mecca in the year 600 or so.

Highlights of this year's festival include a little known band called Hockey, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were sharp. The guitarist, Nick, either broke his electric guitar or it was out of tune for Maps. He ended up swapping instruments and they played the acoustic version. Then he broke his electric guitar at the show's end. TV on the Radio rocked the house. They started the set perfectly by going right into Love Dog. Phoenix is a band full of rock stars. They know what the fuck they're doing. Listzomania is also a very appropriate way to start a show. The lead singer ended the show crowd surfing (right by me). I missed the Crystal Castles who followed Phoenix (I hear their show was even better). Girl Talk finished up. CRAZY! Jessica Lea Mayfield autographed my t-shirt. The Heartless Bastards played a masterful Sunday afternoon set. Moe. rocked until 6 in the am. MGMT was packed to the gills. Booker T. made a fat white guy in the bleachers say "Damn!" And Vertigo made everyone shake like the Parkinson's ward during the '88 earthquake.

I got more shit to throw up here, but this is it for now.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Gone Phishing


Dearest reader. Your fearless egocentric blogger (that's me) is road tripping into the wilds of the US Interstate system and won't be back for well over a week. I intend to be 'off the grid,' as those of us in the know say, for at least a couple of those days.

Fear not, upon my return, I hope to whelm you with tales of forlorn love and skulduggery. Until such time, feel free to click on all the masterfully contrived links to the right.

Godspeed.

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Staying outta trouble


So it turns out bike co-op volunteer is Papa Smurf. She likes to caution folks to "stay outta trouble." Such good stuff, she is. We hung out all day yesterday. We ended the day drinking a beer in the park, Boris Bold no less. And we chatted and laughed and made fun of things. I wish I were 23. I'd have asked her out. Did I just type that?

Yeah, yeah. And I meant it too. She's just so smurfin' cute and cooooool. She wanted like a hand shake or some shit when we left the park, but I gave her a big smurf instead. Seriously, she makes Montreal so much sweeter... and she's an American.

Alright, enough with the dreamy shit. Montreal seems to be in full festival swing. The Jazz Festival starts soon, and they've got a beer festival going right now. So as part of the beer fest, which you can assume I'm all about, I show up to hang out with this other chick. She's crazy, and a wreck. So I get there when the thing ends and we Metro it to her place for an indoor bar-b-que (that's how much of a WRECK she is). The beer fest, in case you're wondering (which, for obvious reasons, you weren't), was not warranting of my visit. They pour about 2 ounces of beer per $1 ticket. That's just highly inconceivable. I'd only ever go to check out drunk Quebecoise chicks. Anyway, the indoor bar-b-que was in a part of town called Snowdon or something. I live in a part of town called Verdun. Google Map it. In fact, Yahoo! Map it! Because, inevitibly, the metro closed on me and I had to walk that distance. With plantar faciistis, no less. Good thing I was sufficiently drunk.

Damn! I just wrote, to one of the most aloof human beings I've ever met (who is a teacher) that one has to be, in the classroom, more Hillary Clinton than Albert Einstein sometimes. In other words, I was suggesting she temper knowledge with diplomacy. Man, can I toot my own horn!

Alright. So I know I'm no good for anyone. I'm marginalized by weak self efficacy, advancing age, and a lack of charm. But I have a crush on a girl and it feels so good.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

The Creature Feature


What a fiasco!!!

So I had my first shift as a bike cooperative volunteer. There's bound to be some sort of gaffe, right?

Of course I'm expecting NOTHING to run smoothly. Yeah, ideally, I'd be in this dimly lit room with a bunch of grease monkeys toiling away for a few hours and working those wrenches. I get there on time after sucking down a cup of coffee. I throw on an apron. People throw bikes up on the racks and know most of what they're doing. I point, nod, agree, etc, etc.

Then the problems strike. Women! They show up, they grab tools, and they go to work on their bikes. Problem? Yeah, they're all so cute. Wait. Wait! They're way cuter when they've got grease all over their hands and grit on their cheeks. It's problematic. It's Chernobyl. Free Tibet!

One of the volunteers is so super cute and mentioned something about me being cute (which was obviously her way of being funny), but super nice and it was all exactly what I envisioned of my trip to Montreal (see tags, below).

So, problem? Yes! Yes, yes, yes. So very, very troubling. I'd ask, rhetorically, for someone to shoot me, but Canadians don't wield guns the way Americans do.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Home Slick


Wow! Bonnaroo is fast approaching and the folks I'm traversing the US Interstate system with to get there are completely excited. I'm more excited about my couple hours return to Brooklyn, but the adult obligations of my Bonnaroo pals are severely limiting my time at home. Alas, my car IS the red eye.

I get a hunch mother dearest is a bit bored or lonely from our phone conversations. She lingers on the horn and grasps at new topics to chit and chat about. I miss my cats. I often find myself playing with the cats at the homes I visit here in Montreal.

But one thing that remains constant between the two, both Brooklyn and Montreal: the miscreants. My first week here, waiting for the night bus that never came, I stood in a bus shelter in the pouring rain next to a homeless man smoking crack out of a pipe. I don't have that keen a sense of smell and couldn't tell you what it smelled like, but had I not seen the rock sizzling in his apparatus with my own eyes, I would have enjoyed my first ever contact crack high.

The peddle crank of my free bike broke yesterday, and today I start working at a bike cooperative. I know zilch about bottom brackets and how a crank set can make a bike better. I went to a meeting of the co-op yesterday and they were bandying bike mumbo jumbo about and cracking bike nerd jokes and all I could think to myself at the time was; "this IS why I came here."

Sunday was free museums day, apparently. I took it upon myself to visit a couple of the city's most obscure. The Darling Foundry and the DHC/ART Museum of Contemporary Art. Seriously, the day was packed with deleriously cute Francophone girls. Now if I could only find it within myself to be more... "forward" with these specimens...

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

The bagel verdict...


A Canadian man hopped aboard a NASA rocket and finds himself in outer space. No big deal, yeah? Well, it is a big deal... if you're from Montreal. The guy ordered a boat load of bagels from this place on Fairmount near St. Urbain and the rest is history.

Did you know that little anecdote? Not likely, if you're from bagel-loving New York, where the city undoubtedly boasts the world's best. The Canastronaut was destined to bring Canadian bagels. Seriously, would he have brought maple syrup or Canadian bacon? Only bagels would keep long enough to be consumed at some point down the line and you wouldn't expect him to bring AMERICAN bagels now, would you? For all we know, perhaps he's never even had a New York bagel up until that fateful point in Bagel history. It's sheer bagelnomics my dear, Watsonheim.

Being that I am not moneyed and far from my beloved Brooklyn (and consequently the financially subsidized confines of my mother) I've embarked on quests by the handful in search of cheap and filling foods here in Montreal. Then it hit me! After enduring taunts by various Montrealers about how great the bagels here are, I seem to recall that bagels are quite filling and cheap. Bagels are quite filling and cheap (repeated because someone somewhere thought to him/herself "phew, you could say that again").

The thought hit me at an hour fast approaching midnight, so I summoned my old friend; these here Internets. Apparently, Rocketboy, eh's bagel shop was a 24 hour establishment and with narry a hesitation I entered my coordinates and headed out ("oat"). Yes, the bagels were reasonably priced (less than C$1 each) so I picked up a few and headed to a Provigo for some peanut butter and strawberry preserves. When I got home I reached into my bag of bagels and pulled out a cinnamon-raisin and a plain. Hard as stones! Still, barely deterred, I reached for a breadknife and sliced them in two, popped them in the toaster and applied ample amounts of peanut and strawberry matter. That's the stuff! Like my mother says "You butter your bread real nice, man. All sides."

Okay, so here's the verdict. The bagel itself has so much hole to it and as previously mentioned, it's a hard piece of wheat. Also, if you paid close attention, I had to slice my own bagel. Bagel stores where I'm from have contraptions (expensive, but classy looking things, really) what slice your bagels for you. Also, bagel stores in my parts toast AND do the buttering/jellying/peanutbutter et. al. for you. Fairmount Bagels only bakes you bagels and sells you bagels and bagel provisions (cream cheeses and stuff). Oh yeah, the hole industry works against the bagel consumer. The bagels, too, are smaller. So this all equates to a more expensive, though indirectly so, bagel. There is less bagel and you have to work harder to get it ready for your tongue. But, it IS delicious. They are really, really good. A little sweeter, tougher and chewier, but gumptious. I will say, the New York bagel is the better value. There is less hole and more bagel. New York bagel shops will customize your bagel however you fancy it. New York bagels are softer though I'd imagine a Montreal bagel is easier to tolerate once it has staled. A stale New York bagel is a brick with more practicality as an implement of violence than nutrition. Still, based solely on deliciousness, value and quality, the New York bagel is better in my subjective, Brooklynite mind. A valiant effort by Montreal Jews is not, however, to be ignored. They are delicious and both the main bagel bakers are 24 hour establishments. I've only ever been to Bagelsmith in Williamsburg for a bagel at 3am (but they are an ill representation of the New York bagel as they are overpriced and, frankly, not all that delicious).

It must be noted that I bought better bagels at the supermarket just a couple blocks away from me, but still they are a half notch below a good New York bagel (even a New York supermarket bagel). They're less tough and a slight bit bigger. They're still sweeter (which is nice) and very delicious but probably less edible when not toasted.

It should also be noted that I tend to only eat toasted bagels with stuff on them. I have been able to eat really good New York bagels without any toasting or stuff. I'm afraid to try it with the Montreal bagels as they are much tougher than New York bagels.

While eating my 2am Fairmount Bagel bagels it occured to me what my mother would say. She'd quip that I left New York and drove hours to the Great White Franco for tiny, hard bagels with huge holes. I'd be embarrassed. They're delicious, but certainly no New York bagel.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Growing pairs...


I wish I truly had a pair. A golden opportunity showed its delightful, glittery face to me today.

I got a bike for free yesterday, but it needed work. So I run to the free bike cooperative at McGill University to look about fixing up my fixer-upper.

I get there and sign in. The volunteer on duty is a little awkward, but I'm one to talk. What with my outward, outgoing personality, I sequester his aid. He helps me and at first seemed to know EVERYTHING. Then, slowly but surely it became evident that he knew lots, but was filling in the blanks as he went. But that's perfect at a do-it-yourself bike cooperative. He gets you started and you get handy and fix your stuff yourself, because the blanks always far outnumber the stuff empirical evidence can support.

The best part, folks... the ladies! They come in droves and they're all hot. And the best part, they're all using tools and have greasy hands and are fixing the hell out of their bikes. Damn, they're so hot. One had an amazing tattoo of musical notes on the back of her hand. Another must've been about 6'2". Then there's the girl from the Scooby Doo cartoons. Well, she shares a name with a character from the Scooby Doo cartoons.

Right, so I notice her working on something. She's there just trying to wrench her heart out, but the bolt isn't budging. I know exactly what that's like. Sometimes elbow grease just does not cut it. So I suggest to her my favorite mechanic's pastime; the cheater rod. That's when you throw a longer bar over your ratchet/wrench and pull! It usually double the amount of torque you apply, depending on the length and in no time we were twisting bolts like no tomorrow on her bike. Thing was, it wasn't benefiting. Nothing was coming apart. Turns out, we were wrenching to the right. "Righty tighty, lefty loosey." Mr. Awkward said I'm wrong, so I go about my business. Scooby Doo comes back over and we exchange quick notes. Turns out, Mr. Awkward was wrong. But I was already too embarrassed to assert myself anymore in that place. I'd already broken the chain on my bike with a half broken tool. Then I broke the tool that broke my bike (accidents). And that was the only such bike chain remove clamp doohickey in the place.

So I opted to courteously remove myself from the premises before being killed. THEN! Ohhhhhh, then... Then the Scooby Doo girl informs me that I owe her a hug upon my departure. Me, sans a pair, was too shy/embarrassed and what have you to get her number. Ouch.