Thursday, November 30, 2006

Barenaked Ladies gone planting!

Okay, some of you guys will probably say I should shut the fuck up and stop talking about treeplanting, so I'll follow your advice and let Ed Robertson, from the Canadian rock band Barenaked Ladies do it for me, from his OLN TV show Ed's Up. I've been planting in a few places in Canada, in land that was prepared differently, with different tools and with various transportation means to get there, but what Robertson goes through is EXACTLY the way planting is done in Manitoba and Alberta and many places in Ontario (Altough Ontarian planting varies. From a camp to the other, depending on the client). It was filmed at a Outland camp, Jamie Nicholls' Tolko camp, in northern Manitoba.

And listen carefully to what planter Cian McMahon (A member of the mustache club!) says about mental challenges around the sixth minute. It's exactly what you feel like when you're alone having a bad day out there.

Link to the YouTube video

So, watch this. Funny shit!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Not Your Usual Bible Story

I was cleaning a house this morning, and the whiteness and simplicity of the parent's bedroom triggered an old memory...Back when I was living with Ex-Girlfriend, in our minimalist white bedroom.

Towards the end of the relationship, Ex-Gf pushed the borders of her bisexual experimentation to a new level: An Oregon girl, raised in Japan slept a few times in our bed, with us. We've had some "ménage à trois" experiences before. This time, I couldn't get "involved", since the girl had a boyfriend and wanted to stay faithful (everybody has a different definition of faithfulness), but I could stay around. Well, when you've been there before and you can't do much, you give them the privacy to enjoy the new toys bought for Valentine's day and you go watch Star Trek in the living room. (Yes, watchin' Trek while my girlfirend was fucking a chick. I will never be allowed to say I'm not a geek!)

Sometimes, I'd be called back to the room for various reasons, one of them being to read them a bible story, to get to...Wait! Did you say read bible story?!?

Yep. I did.

A little before, I found an old, 1950-ish children bible stories book in our stuff. It was from Ex-GF's "This one time at Bible Camp..." teenage years. Don't ask me how, or why, but we started to read stories, for fun, before getting to bed. It was always, at least to me, a really weird moment: half enjoyable, half awkward. Not sinful, I didn't care. Just one of those moments where you put a name or a face beside the word judgement in your mind. For your convenience, here's one:


So, that night, a few weeks before I bought my one-way ticket to Banff, I read a bible story to two naked girls snuggling on each side of me.

I swear I won't try this with the Qur'an.

Time to go to hell in so many religions...

Monday, November 20, 2006

Je Me Souviens

This post's title means "I Remember". It's the Province of Québec's motto. It embodies Québec's and French-Canadian culture: Defending our difference, protecting our culture, remembering our history.

It hurts us sometimes, for we live too much in the past. Yes the past is important, and it helps us, or should help us deal with the future.

But I used this title for something much more personal. When not remembering the past equals no future.

Wednesday, I was cleaning a house in Lorraine, an upscale town on the north shore of the islands of Montréal and Laval. I visit this place twice a week. My favourite home to clean: I have plenty of time to do it, even though I have a little more chores, and it's set in the middle of trees of everykind. The house is well-decorated, but not over-the-top like some of the richer clients I've got.

I usually never answer the phone nor the door, I'm not a butler. But that day, I was vacuum-cleaning right in front of the door when an old lady knocked, seeing me. I had no choice but to answer, if only to explain I couldn't do anything for her.

The lady started to mumble something, half-french, half-portuguese. Since I couldn't understand much after my third attempt, and since she was shaking like an old leave trying to hold to the branch for a few more seconds, to see if anything would happen, I let her in. I was then able to understand some of her confused speech. She wanted to go back to her home in Montréal (A 30 minutes drive). Considering her less than appropriate clothing for the season, I assumed she must have had family really close to where we were. She then said her daughter was living in Lorraine, but she hasn't been there in years.

I offered to walk her back to her daughter's home. She pointed the neighbour's house, saying she thought it was there. It wasn't. There wasn't anybody home and there was no chances someone would have the heart to leave such a poor lady alone in their huge mansions.

So I got her in my old turquoise 1993 Sunbird, (AKA my brother's dump) and I decided to drive her to the local police station. There, we had to wait for a police officer to come to the station, since a recent merger of municipal police forces made it much more "efficient". While driving to the empty police station, and during our subsequent wait, I was able to gather more info. After rebuting a few requests to stop at the bank to pay me, I learned that her name was Mrs. Costa, that maybe someone drove her to Lorraine from Montréal, maybe it was her son, Luis (Doubtful: "Hey mom, I'm dropping you here, think you'll manage to get home?"), that her knees were hurting, that she forgets herself, that police will charge her, that she came from a small village in Portugal, that she was 84 years-old, that she had maybe 5 or 6 grand-children...

The police officer finally arrived, Constable Dumais. A little, brown-haired (cute) young woman with a vaguely familiar face. It's possible, I grew up on the north shore, a few suburb towns away and dated a girl in Lorraine that is still my best friend (after three failed attempts at being and/or living together).

It struck me how young she was. Younger than me. Not only physically, but mentally. Someone who looks, in my subjectivity, of course, as someone who did all her schooling in one shot, became a cop by the time she was 21, with not much life experience to assist her in the very important duty she has to do. No travelling, no experience of a different life than the one she probably expected when she decided she'd become a police officer. I might be wrong, but I grew to see that easily in people, even the older ones. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations doesn't come easily when your life has been a straight line. It's worse when that line was planned in the confused years that are teenagehood.

But I'm wandering. Constable Dumais, Catherine, was really nice and friendly. She was following the book well. She asked questions, she couldn't understand the answers, she got confused. She wrote Mrs. Costa's and her son's names like they were Québecois ones: Constant instead of Costa, Louis instead of Luis (Try to find Luis Costa when you're looking for Louis Constant) so I had to fill in some details. It's at this moment, when Constable Dumais was asking me to fill a witness report, just in case, that she got informed that Luis called the police.

No reports to fill anymore, the son got there minutes later. He was living two houses away from where I was working. His mother was living with his family and didn't get away in a year. He usually was quick enough to catch her, but "this time, she vanished".

I said bye to the lady, she got up to leave with me.

"No, you're staying here" said her son, with the worried, sad smile of someone who's used to all of this, who knows it's getting worse.

One day, soon, she'll leave again, forever. Nothing could stop it, she won't remember a reason good enough to stay. Her family, ironically, will mostly remember the years when Grandma couldn't recognize them and was running away...

Alzheimer kills you before you actually die. It steals your humanity.

Time to go create future memories...

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Run Tup Run!

One of my housekeeping clients invited me to stay for dinner.

Granted, she's an old lady and she's actually the mother of my client, but she's not insane. It was really nice of her, but it would have been FAR TOO weird...

Valérie asked me to help her paint and move to her new appartment. Apart from the fact I was one of the few, with Stéphane, to go help Marie-Michelle, Marie's boyfriend, Olivier, and Val paint their new home despite being ridiculously hung over from the two previous nights! And now I'd have to do that again? I mean, I clean houses as a job, if there's one thing I don't want to do when I'm off is to paint and move furniture!

I really need to bring my notepad to work, I have plenty of time to think and I usually get some interesting ideas like all the ones I'd give as examples if I had not forgot them...

And I need my damn iPod to get back from the "we'll call you back within 3 business four weeks!!!" repair man. Did I tell you I dropped it in the toilet bowl, after I've shat, when I came back, drunk, from my halloween party? No? Well, now I did!

And I didn't make it to LKP's party in Toronto. I'm quite pissed about missing that party, mostly since Adam Harris was apparently a giant LEGO minifig!!! I'll try to find a pic.

My costume, a McDonald's French Fry (I'd say a medium one). I'll try to get a pic from that too...

Tup, this was a really nice bitching and rambling post!

Time to go wash all those cleaning products off my hands...and try to think of something interesting to post for next time. This blog is becoming suburban, soon I'll post about reality shows...

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Woo! Woo! Tadadadadadada do dun dun...

Thoughts on modern society (WARNING: It's a LITTLE fucked up):

-Listening to others is a favour you give them.

-When your partner is having a physical orgasm, your ego got one much bigger!

-You don't have to talk to your friends on MSN.
Just read their personal messages!

-Hell, you don't even have to know them! "Who are you, nambla47?"

-Loving means lying. You don't want to hurt them.

-Hate means honest truth. Maybe just not in their faces.

-It means telling your life to strangers on the web, but censoring yourself because someone you know is reading.

-Follow rules and steps to seduce him, sleep with her, lose weight, cook sushis, make a fortune selling "How To Become-Rich in Only 93 Months!" over the mini-mart intercom but go with complete free-will when it comes to killing your business partner because he caught you doing crystal meth with his wife in a fund-raising for the KKK.

-Use any tactics to get funds for your cancer association instead of the one accross the street (Get bent, Colon Cancer Care!)

-Dying is for others, sickness too. I wear condoms because I don't want to spend money on a baby!

-I'd love to be popular. What do you mean by "go on"?

-I can spit on a beggar with no legs on the sidewalk, but I'll spend ten bucks on Lotto Billion. I'm not dumb, I know I wont' win, but just in case... (I'm dumb and I already made plans to be bitterly disappointed to not have any of the required 27 numbers in the correct order).

-My dreams should be my life! Let me stay in bed, incapacitated, numb, sedated while I'm getting closer to hunger.

-Let me be racist when I know I can.

-Let me be myself when I know I'm alone.

-You've been judged unfairly. Don't insult me! You don't even know me!

-Do you know who you're talking to? Yes, another suburban kid. You're the majority! I've already seen your MySpace profile more often than my chances to win Loto Billion!

-My sufferings are huge enough on humanity's priority list to forget about the rest of humanity, for a brief instant, playing Doom in a school...


-I'm aware of the rest of the world. (Even if I prefer when they look like us).

-I can get what "Waste Wages War With the World" means. Maybe.

-My grand-parents don't drive that damn flying-car, but they can build websites using HTML tags and Flash, send JPEG pics on MSN and post videoblogs on YouTube to ramble about the fact that none of their grand-children commented on the Gay Marriage thread featured on the familly message board.

Then, they'll go check if maybe someone replied.

-I understand what someone I used to disagree with means, and I think she might be right!

-Hell, I might even drop the cynism.

-Not really, but I can use it wisely.


-The best thing about my job is the exit door.

-The best thing about my future family is the entry door.

-I started thinking about the fact that "Humanism" could one day be seen as racism towards aliens.

-I evolved enough to prove it.

-But still, I really, really don't get Life, the Universe and all...

Time to go drink water.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Drunken Times...

Woah, I was fucking drunk when I wrote the last post!

Melancholic drunkness!

Still, that melancholy is part of me, drunken words might be uncontrolled, might be incoherent to a point, but they still come from your mind and will probably say a few truths about you.

My last post was of that kind.

But you know what, it's not that bad, the girl, Amy, is definitely in the past and usually remains there. And the delays between her "apparitions" are longer and longer so I'm not too worried.

Also, I met a girl last Friday in a bar. Didn't make out with her (nor was she 17 years old...Wait, I didn't tell you that story, see below), didn't do anything stupid. Just had fun and asked for her phone number. It was her real one and I had a nice chat with her tonight.

It was just that I didn't feel that kind of interest in a while. I've been going around a lot in the last two years, not interested by relationships whatsoever and I became quite the slut. Not that I have anything against it, just that I recently started to feel I needed something else.

As bad as it is, I never thought Stéfanie was a serious relationship. I thought she was worth more than a "one night stand" and I really liked the girl, but there is just someting that never worked. When you meet someone, know it won't work, are aware of it as soon as you kissed the person for the first time but still think you should give it a chance, just because you need more than the basic sex.

But the person is not right for you, what did you expect, really?

The contact was cut quite suddenly and I'm responsible. I would have preferred another end, but it was inevitable. I thought I was not ready for a relationship, but let's face it, if I meet the "right" girl, I'd be fucking ready!

I'm not saying that the girl I met two days ago and had one phone talk with is the one, that I'm in love. Just that it's been a while I felt this way. A while I've been curious about a girl. Not curious to see her naked, but wanting to see what's behind those eyes. And the eyes themselves are worth as much as the butt, the boobs, the pretty face, the general beauty: They are nice to look at, they are obviously necessary to find someone interesting, at least by your own standards. When you're house-shopping, you'll have to be attracted by the exterior enough to visit the interior, but it's that living space inside that will make you decide whether to buy it or not.

External beauty is sufficient when you're just looking for sex, but when you want more, what you're trying to see is life, exploding through eyes, words, gestures, smells, anticipation, stupid grins...and the stress to call the person back!

And it's exactly the feeling I've been completely missing in the last two years. And when I was longing for something akin, usually when I was drunk, the most recent memory I had of such a thing was of my relationship with Amy, thus explaining my unfrequents outbursts of melancholy towards her.

I felt it again, for someone else.

Now, that 17-years-old story...

A few weeks ago, I went to a bar with my Banff friends (Let's call them "the Circle", since I didn't even meet most of them in Banff!) and noticed a cute girl was looking at me while talking to her friend, probably saying something like "don't turn around now 'cause he's looking but that guy is cute". Of course the friend turned around and looked at me for a fraction of a second. After a while, we met and we started to dance. I was aware she was young (In my mind, probably around 19, give or take a year) but we were in a bar, and here in Québec, she had to be at least 18 to get in, so... you know! She was fun, we danced and flirted and ended up making out. A little later, I asked a friend, rhetorically (but I probably had a hunch, nevertheless):

"That girl was young, wasn't she?"

"Fuck yeah!"

So I got worried and asked what he meant. He told me he has been talking to her friends and they were all 17! Flashback: I realized they were the bunch of girls back in the line that the bouncer had let in despite commenting on them borrowing their sisters' ID...

I made out with a minor, 10 years younger than me! Now, just imagine her doing the same thing!

Time to go find a nice little drawer for that memory, lock it and swallow the key.

Friday, November 03, 2006

It Was You...

It was you who broke my heart again
It was you who broke my heart again

I used to womanize tell you lies
More times give you bad vibes
Antagonize, chastize

I guess that's why I lost my prize
I always had crotches and dollars on my brain
And now that I've changed it's too late to explain

It was you who broke my heart again
It was you who broke my heart again

I think about you every passing day
It's like the pain of the past will never go away
The deceit the lies the games the heart plays
And now I'm dying because you didn't stay

And this is no love song
For the thrill is gone
But the vibe is ever strong
Old flames burn on and on

It was you who broke my heart again
It was you who broke my heart again

Do you know how sad it is to see
Destruction of the greatest love that be
Left with you and me
Drowning in a hateful sea

Kinda sad but true...

-It Was You, RACE

This reggae/ska song was in my head for a while but I couldn't find it anywhere. I finally did, and now I know why it was so hard. The band, Race, did just one album back in 1997. They are from Toronto but got recorded on the Montréal scene, thanks to Indica. Their music is mostly reggae, but with strong punk/ska influences and when I hard that song again, despite sounding quite cliché, the sound is just great. I understand why it was stuck in my head for so long.

It's the way I feel.

Despite all my efforts, everywhere I went to avoid her, everybody I've been with to forget her, there's still one girl I can't forget about. I miss her, I love her and it pisses me big time! She's in my dreams. But not those ones you're conscious about, the ones you wished you'd sleep through...

But there's nothing I can do, she's gone, she's with someone and she's done. I made mistakes, I'm paying for it and, well, I believe you can miss the love of your life if you're not responsible/conscious/aware/intelligent enough.

Too bad.

It was me...