Our dirt bikes bring all the boys to the yard. Damn right, they're better than yours.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

We're a depressing bunch, aren't we?

Well, as long as we're on a sad post role—Dave, I'm really sorry to hear about your uncle—I certainly don't want to be the one to brighten things up.

Anyway, as I have no job to complain about like the rest of you "grown-ups," I'll complain about school instead. I know, wah wah wah, life as an undergraduate is so hard, etc., etc., but it really kind of is. And I don't mean hard in the "man, I sure am struggling to get good grades" kind of way; I mean hard in the sense of "my life sure is lonely and meaningless right now." I went to the Gateway to pick up my bound edition today, and I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. It's not that I want to be working there anymore, not even remotely, but being around the office reminded me of a time when I was someone, doing something I was interested in. Sure, I hated it about 85 percent of the time, but that was because I cared, dammit. And you know what I don't care about? Getting an honours history degree.

My life these days consists of getting up, going to class, coming home, working for six or seven hours (and this is without even having started on my thesis yet—in fact, I totally changed my topic last week, which means I have to start over again from scratch), and then stumbling down the street to the Garneau or the Sugarbowl, having a couple drinks, going to bed, and then waking up and doing it all over again. And speaking of "home," it doesn't help that my apartment is getting progressively slummier by the day (I know, Heather, I didn't think it was possible either). Exhibit A: someone dropped a large jar of mayonnaise outside the entrance about a month ago now, and it's still there, broken glass, increasingly hard/yellow mayo, and all. Exhibit B: while I was in Montreal, someone puked both in the elevator and outside the door to my old apartment. While either they or Buddy (our affectionate name for our landlord) obviously made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the puke in the elevator, the puke in the hall is still there, approximately a week later. When I told someone about this they said, "At least you don't have cockroaches," but I think I'd honestly prefer cockroaches to dried puke. Guh. Too bad I signed a lease this time around, hey?

Anyway, like I said, wah wah wah. On the plus side, Montreal was rad in a strange, "only the French" kind of way (for those of you who don't know, Chris and I spent Thursday to Sunday there so he could cover La Grande Mascarade, a giant Halloween party in the heart of Vieux-Montreal). Here are some photos:

Notre Dame!

Rue de la Commune, the seedy, suitably atmospheric part of town most of the festivities were held in:

Oooooooohh (that's supposed to be a scary ghost sound) ... the grounds:

A staged "public execution," on Friday:

Some art by H.R. Giger, at the horror-themed ball:

Lizard man! (He spent most of the night creeping around this guy dressed up as the grim reaper, who was just kind of sitting there.)


At the same ball, there was a live "human sacrifice" involving a guy who looked suspiciously like Trevor. In the second photo, that transvestite is holding his heart on a plate:

And yes, Chris and I were forced to dress up. Zombies and vampires: together at last?

All in all, it was a strange yet good time. But I have homework to do (shockingly enough), so I'll let Chris elaborate for you guys.


Blogger Dan-O-Mite said...

Yeah, the scat porn on people's computers, impromptu random banging on coke bottles and yelling while playing radketteball are sure awesome compared to boring history!

I don't know if that was snide, sarcastic or sad. I'm tired.

12:22 AM

Blogger mike w said...

First the smart looking dinner attire. Now Chris is wearing eyeliner?

Tres Sexuale.

4:21 AM

Blogger Heather said...

Wow, Buddy is even lamer than before? While I find this unfortunate, it's not all together suprising. Cockroaches, however, just aren't right. I didn't even think those fuckers survived climate this far north. Hey, at least once winter comes and he keeps the furnace off to save on heat, they'll die in the cold. So will you, but, you know: No roaches!! Wooooo!!! SUMMER!!!

9:23 AM

Blogger Kristine said...

There aren't actually cockroaches, retard. I was just saying I'd prefer cockroaches to dried puke, is all. Also, this all started to make a lot more sense when I ran into my friend who lives on the second floor, who told me that Buddy fucked off around August, and we've had a new, apparently Down-Syndrome-afflicted landlord since then.

Down Syndrome jokes are still acceptable, right?

6:08 PM


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