The Québec Bridge (1917)

Things were starting to boom in Québec City, in 1851, when some local officials asked engineer Edward William to study the possibility of bringing the railroad into town. William came up with the conclusion that if Québec City passed on this one, cities on the south shore would grow and eventually eat out the old town in sheer business power and value.

Train ferries were set up, helping trains cross the river in a rather long and complicated process. The "Compagnie du Pont de Québec" was formed in 1888, to decide if it would be worth it to build a bridge somewhere near. Another engineer, named Gauvin, was chosen to locate the best spot to set up the structure. He chose the location we all know of now, near the Chaudière river. The contract was signed in 1900 and he was given 1 million $, which is an incredible sum for the era.



The construction began on October 2nd. The sections of the bridge were constructed in Pennsylvania by Phoenix Bridge Co. and then carried to Québec and assembled there, mainly by native americans, who were reputed not to be too afraid of heights.

In August 1907, at the beginning of the month, designer Theodore Cooper inspected the premises and found some irregularities in some plates near the tower bases. He noticed John Deans, chief engineer of Phoenix Bridge Co, by telegram, urging him to seriously inspect the structure. Deans did not. Another telegram was sent during the afternoon, on August 29th, asking that the building be stopped. Deans ignored it. At 17h15 sharp, the whole structure collapsed, killing 76 workers.



Rebuilding began in 1910. The workers had to dig 27 meters deep into the river bank to reach a solid ground on the south side of the bridge. A cantilever bridge was opted for. It would feature two railroad tracks with enough space between them to accomodate cars if needed. Back then, only 786 cars were populating the province. In 1916, the central part of the bridge was ready to be added - hence completing the bridge - but while lifting from sea level to hook it up with the rest of the structure, it abruptly collapsed. Catastrophe !

On September 20 of 1917, the bridge was finally completed. It was officially inaugurated by the Prince of Wales some time in 1919, and it still stands today, tho it no longer is the main bridge used to go into town; the Pierre-Laporte bridge was built later on, with a much more modern structure, just besides the old one. If you go from Montreal to Quebec via highway 20 at night, you know you've reached your destination when you see the two impressive illuminated structures side by side, just waiting for you to cross over.



To this night where I crossed the bridge with you for the first time in ages, Caron.

Séraphin Poudrier

"Poudrier, mon ostie d'gratteux, veux-tu ben m'dire pour quessé faire que l'gaz coûte cher de même au Québec, sacrement ?"

Je ne pense pas que c'est la faute de Séraphin. Voilà ce que j'ai appris aujourd'hui. En septembre 2005, en dollars canadiens, le prix de l'essence était fort variable dépendemment de la région du globe dans laquelle on se trouvait. Par exemple, aux USA, il était de 88 cents le litre. Au Québec, 1.21$, et à Londres, sommet du palmarès, à 2.02$ du litre. Gros écarts ? Si l'on retranche de tous ces prix le montant de taxes perçu par litre, le prix du gaz oscillait partout entre 73 et 75 cents du litre. Donc, de par le monde, ça coûte à peu près la même chose, et le facteur de variabilité, ce sont les taxes.

Eh ben. Puisqu'un gouvernement a rarement été reconnu pour mettre une croix sur les taxes qu'il perçoit, on peut dire aurevoir au gaz cheap. Les prédictions vont bon train et s'entendent pour supposer que le litre de gaz, au Québec cet été, oscillera autour de 1.50$. Bonnes vacances !

Autre statistique intéressante et qui parle d'elle-même : à Vancouver, on consacre 10 cents de taxes sur l'essence par litre perçues au financement du transport en commun.

À Montréal ? 1 cent.

On est vraiment une province de winners.

*

Là, le soleil commence à nous donner envie de fuir toutes nos responsabilités. Les jupes sont de retour en ville, et semblent être là pour rester, ce qui me traumatise quand même un peu. C'est frisquet, mais on sent que ça ne va pas durer. La météo annoncée pour demain ? 18 degrés celsius. C'est à se pitcher en bas de son bureau.

Mr. Finances devait nous faire l'honneur de sa présence en ville, mais des sentiments contradictoires envers l'apparition de Misstress Barbara au Parking ce soir l'ont forcé à rester chez lui, à Québec Shitty.

Ça, et les heures de départ abominables que lui proposaient les demoiselles d'Allô Stop. Le fonctionnaire devrait s'acheter un char. J'en ai justement un à vendre. L'acheteur devra cependant, et c'est écrit en caractères de deux milimètres dans le contrat de vente, posséder de sérieuses aptitudes pour réparer des vieilles transmissions européennes automatiques.

*

Le Pont de Londres ou le Pont Jacques-Cartier ? Laviolette ? Avignon ?

Allons, c'est ma résolution de gars grippé de la semaine : j'inaugurerai demain une série de déblatérations sur divers ponts, existant ou non, à travers le monde. Des méga-structures aux autres, des projets en cours de construction ou d'oubli, je suis assez fasciné par le sujet pour vous en rabattre les oreilles pendant des lustres.

S'il y a un pont en particulier dont vous avez envie d'entendre parler, manifestez-vous maintenant ou taisez-vous à jamais.

Party Down With the Seriously Sick

I'm not terminally sick, just seriously. No energy, lazy, feverish... Still, I managed to do a couple of things today. Maybe not what "priority" would normally drive me to do, but what the hell, it's not what you do that counts, it's what you WANT to do, right ?

So I got up seriously late. I need to get as much sleep as I can, to recover. And drink lots of water. Which is why I swallow one giant cup of tea every hour. I researched some things on the internet. I'm working on two things right now : a media analysis of Zaha Hadid's Rosenthal Center for the Performing Arts, in Cincinnati, and an argumentary piece about Highway 30's construction. I have two courses (a typo made me write "curses") remaining and these both are my final term paper subjects. Thing is... I'm running late ! Didn't plan on being sick and all.

Afterwards, I went to sit outside with my Powerbook but couldn't do anything next because my landlord came to sit with me to have a chat. We calmly argued about the rent hike he had given me and I made him lower it the best I could. Then my mother picked me up so we could get sumthin' to eat.

We went to Kilo and I ate a Sky sandwich. You know how big these mofo's are. Couldn't fit the sandwich in my mouth. Avocado + tomatoes = allergies !! Big lips. You know the drill. Went to pick up my free passes for SLITHER once we were done. Dunno what the movie'll look like. I ain't afraid but I heard I should be ? Afterwards, I drove myself to Boîte Noire, where I rented a Fassbinder western, a documentary about the WTC, and the dud SAN-ANTONIO.

*

I've always been a pretty big fan of Frédéric Dard. If you set aside his mysoginy, the guy's alright; fun, playful, prolific. He wrote hundreds of San-Antonio books - reportedly one every two months. In the summer, he'd "take a break" and write a "more serious" novel under his real name. Lots of movies have been shot, based on his books. Joël Séria made a one in 1981 (SAN ANTONIO NE PENSE QU'À ÇA) and Guy Lefranc also shot SALE TEMPS POUR LES MOUCHES in '66.

And now that. This... piece of crap ! Litterally. I could find no redeeming value, except Michel Galabru being so very cabotin. Gérard Lanvin plays the lead, and Gérard Depardieu is Bérurier. Is it me or does his career start to stink ?



Anyway, there's not much to say : every actor does the minimum, and the script is soooo bad it hurts. Mysoginy unfortunately finds it way onscreen one too many times. I couldn't believe how mediocre everything about this movie was. The music, the "action" scenes, the punches... Holy fuck, there's even a scene in Rio, towards the end, where the DOP cannot even let us see a bit about the city. I know it's not a tourism documentary. But when the best thing about your movie is the breathtaking city you're shooting in, you'd better make good use of it, no ?

Well, no. I'm sorry to report I feel cheated :-)

Les nids-de-poule de Montréal sont dérisoires...

...lorsqu'on les compare aux nids-de-poule que l'on retrouve à New York :



Hier après-midi, un Ford Explorer est tombé dans un trou causé par une fuite d'eau, dans Brooklyn, à New York. Il s'en est sorti sans blessures graves.



Quand même, ça doit être assez surprenant...

(Photos volées dans le New York Times)

Repos sous l'eau & autres considérations futiles

Confession plate de la semaine : je n'ai jamais mis les pieds à l'intérieur du bâtiment qui constituait anciennement la Bibliothèque Centrale de Montréal, au 1210 Sherbrooke Est. Je fus longtemps abonné à la bibli Frontenac - où je vais encore de temps à autres - en raison de sa proximité géographique et de son faible taux d'abonnés, faisant que la plupart des bouquins que je convoitais s'y trouvaient sans problème disponibles.

Je visite épisodiquement la bibliothèque Mont-Royal mais je suis loin d'être un fan.

Bref, une annonce a été faite cette semaine que l'édifice situé sur Sherbrooke, vacant depuis le déménagement de sa collection vers la Grande Bibliothèque, deviendrait un édifice à bureaux accueillant cinq associations locales : le Conseil des Arts de Montréal, le Conseil du Patrimoine, le Conseil des Montréalaises, le Conseil Jeunesse et le Conseil Interculturel de Montréal.



L'opposition (en d'autres mots : Pierre Bourque) conteste cette décision, arguant que le prestige de l'édifice se prête à un destin plus prestigieux que celui de simple "immeuble à bureaux". Bien d'accord, mais que propose-t-il ? D'y installer les Grands Ballets Canadiens, ou le conservatoire de musique et d'art dramatique.

Toutes les associations en cause, rappelons-le, ont déjà des locaux. Est-il vraiment pertinent de promouvoir une institution vieillissante comme les Grands Ballets Canadiens, dont le public rétrécit sans cesse ? Ils ont déjà un siège, non ?

Tout ça me rappelle l'époque où on avait délogé du quadrilatère Jeanne-Mance / Ste-Catherine / Bleury / De Maisonneuve des institutions d'avant-garde comme la S.A.T. et le Sona pour y construire un nouveau bâtiment pour l'OSM. Bâtiment qui n'a finalement jamais été érigé, rappelons-le. Ce genre d'anecdotes nous fait vraiment souhaiter voir, un jour, de jeunes politiciens changer cette habitude gouvernementale poussiéreuse de soutenir des institutions qui ne tiennent qu'à un fil ultra-mince de subventions.

*

Ma grippe, ou bronchite dégénérative hypocondriaque, a atteint un certain plateau. Plateau qui se trouve bien entendu au sommet de son efficacité. Sans vouloir devenir scato, disons que j'ai la cervelle qui baigne dans le mucus et que j'ai l'impression que quelqu'un me tire sur les gencives tellement mes sinus se révoltent. On a ouvert une autoroute souterraine dans le fond de ma gorge et il n'y a que des véhicules extrêmement polluants qui y circulent. Merci la vie !

Je me suis quand même présenté au bureau, tel un kamikaze, malgré mon état déplorable et le soleil de plomb qui trône dehors. Faisant fi de ma fièvre délirante, j'ai attendu l'autobus en t-shirt. Cependant, avant de partir de chez moi, j'ai pris un bain. En écoutant BUGNOLOGY 2, le nouveau mix de Steve Bug.



Pour ceux qui le considéreront inférieur au premier volet, voici ce que j'ai à dire : je ne peux pas confirmer, parce que j'ai entendu ce même premier volet une seule fois. Mais étendu dans un bain, la tête sous l'eau, le corps à l'agonie, la house minimale aquatique de Bug trouve tout son sens.

*

Le tramway à Montréal, pensez-vous vraiment que ça va se concrétiser ? Avec la récente annonce de la ligne de train de banlieue la plus ridiculement inutile de toute l'histoire urbaine de la ville (une sorte de zig zag sans bon sens qui partirait de Mascouche, pour crocheter par Repentigny, revenir à Laval et passer par le nord de Montréal pour aboutir au centre-ville après avoir passé dans le tunnel creusé sous le Mont-Royal) et le niaisage administratif dont on a été témoin avec les dossiers du métro à Laval et du "boulevard urbain" Notre-Dame, je ne serais pas surpris que l'idée s'éternise et que l'inauguration de cette fameuse ligne "du Parc" ait lieu tard en 2028.



Je ne suis pas pessimiste, ni volatile de mauvais augure, mais je "connais" le gouvernement. Pas personellement, bien sûr, mais je sais à quel point les labyrinthes administratifs et la paperasserie à n'en plus finir a le don de faire d'un dossier "chaud" quelque chose qui sent le refroidi.

On n'a qu'à penser à la loi anti-tabac dans les endroits publics, dont l'entrée en vigueur est planifiée pour le 31 mai. Puisque ça fait presque deux ans qu'on en parle, pourquoi avoir tant attendu ? Lobbying des compagnies de cigarettes... plaintives lamentations des fumeurs qui n'ont "pas envie de se les geler dehors pour fumer leur clope cet hiver"...

C'est à pleurer. Une société doit faire des choix et les assumer. Ces choix doivent, autant que possible, être faits dans une optique de bienfait de la collectivité. Les fumeurs polluent leur atmosphère immédiate, un point c'est tout. Qu'ils fument entre eux dans des camps de concentration jusqu'à ce qu'ils s'étouffent mutuellement, et que l'on fasse appliquer au plus sacrement cette loi qui vient ma foi un peu trop tardivement à mon goût.



Si ça a fonctionné à New York et Ottawa, pourquoi pas chez nous ?

Bronchite Happens

I'm sad to report that I'm sick as a dog. But I've never seen a sick dog in my life. Is that a common thing to cross path with ? Let's just say I'm as sick as an office worker, sick like a lad who spends his life inside, gets no sun, breathes A/C all the time and has a nice, yellow-ish neon tan. I'm also quite sleepy, feverish and dizzy, and my headache just left me for a better place when I swallowed two Advils some hours ago.

My brain feels trapped in another dimension, too far for me to use it today. I feel spaced out. My body walks the earth and my soul's somewhere, wandering, lost. Sinus incident, headless monsters. I am bronchite's Godzilla, a green lizard aiming to destroy your hometown whenever I sneeze. I personally prefer to snooze, but the body dealer my mother bought me at didn't get that.

*

Miss Bijoux left for Toronto this morning and it feels strange. She just moved in and she's already leaving. She'll be gone for just a week but still, I'm mourning. She's such a wonderful person to live with that you get used to her real quick.

I keep my fingers crossed for her. The jewellry trade is not an easy business. And being away from home that often is not always easy. If you ever are in TO reading this, give her a shout out : she'll be at the One of a Kind show from Wednesday to Sunday. Missy Industry, white and pink booth with a skull logo and a real cute, smiling blonde with huge blue eyes.

*



Sir Norman Foster's on fire these days. After designing the world's tallest bridge in France's Massif Central, a huge structure that heaps over the Tarn river and is 23 meters taller than the Eiffel Tower, construction of his emblematic Hearst Tower, in New York, is going well. It will be his first skyscraper in New York, and is the most hyped structure these days, while we're still waiting for Freedom Tower's construction to begin. A recent New York Times article detailed the 27 meters tall indoors waterfall that will stand in the lobby. Sure looks like a place to visit when it is launched later this year, in September.



He also unveiled the design of his "Russian Tower", an impressive structure that will pose as a "vertical city" and stand 50% taller than the Empire State Building. It should be erected in Moscow. It's rather puzzling that this structure will stand in piss poor Russia, but we shouldn't ask any questions with the "new great divide" between the very poor and the very rich. It just keeps getting larger & deeper. Like a bottomless pit.



I snatched this picture from lifewithoutbuildings.net, an excellent blog about, well, buildings... and I suggest you check it out !

Trouble in Montreal, Trouble in Dubaï

Along with Spring often comes multiple colds. I woke up every morning of the week with an ashtray in my throat. I can't eat anything unless I've had my giant coffee mug. Then the day goes on OK, and when night comes I'm short breathed. I feel like an elderly looking for his long lost dog in a never ending staircase.

I haven't been very cooperative with my health lately : I barely dress to go out, I drink like a pig, and I sleep about 5 hours a day. This régime de vie keeps me sharp and on the edge, as Pacino would say in Michael Mann's HEAT, but after a few days of sleep deprivation, I simply crash. That's what happened yesterday : I was watching L'AGRONOME, the french version of Jonathan Demme's heartbreaking documentary about Radio Haïti's Jean Dominique, and I died.

I woke up in heaven this morning : smooth weather, blue sky, sun. Still a sore throat, but a clear brain is a bonus. My brain cells are no longer swimming in mucus and even tho I am stuck at the office on this beautiful day, I'm still pretty satisfied, thanks.

*

Drinking with friends and getting wasted to go out can always be fun, but when it becomes a habit it tends to sound bad. I have a drinking problem. Ever since I discovered champagne at the tender age of 13, I have been struggling to achieve the correct level of drunkeness for any given situation, and this fight isn't always victimless.

Most of the time the more important factor to consider is money. We're not in the US and the booze isn't cheap. With taxes on alcohol and its business being regulated by the provincial government, it's kinda hard to get away from the "fixed market prices", unless you want to drink terrible homemade piss. Or beer. Which tastes pretty much the same for me. Not that I don't like beer, but drinking more than 1 or 2 can be a difficult task for me. The taste isn't the greatest, and you know it - and it's kinda hard to stomach.

So, getting wasted costs money. It also damages the liver. And the brain, mostly. I don't want to be the drunk fool everybody's tired to see everywhere. I go out a lot and when I don't remember most of the evenings, it means something. It means I might say things I don't really endorse, or behave in an overall stupid way.

I went to see the Glimmers on Thursday, at SAT. These two belgium DJ's know how to get a party movin' and their visit in Montreal was long-awaited. And at 10$, it was quite a bargain. However, I started the evening the usual way : by drinking at my place with friends. The night before, I had seen Norway's Annie with a crowd of about 30 peers at Club Lambi, because the Arctic Monkeys were also in town, and a show on a Wednesday night, even in a crowded metropolis like Montreal, is not easy to pull. Annie got us drunk, and even tho I didn't go to bed too late, I had to work early the next day + go to my Planification of Transports course afterwards at UQAM. So Thursday was a LONG day.

Shit happened : I was too drunk even before we left my place. I continued drinking once inside the SAT, and we stayed until the lights came back in, at 3:15. We left the place and went to Resto du Village to eat something, since we were starving. But there were way too many people, just one waiter, and we would have waited forever. So we left. And I forgot my camera there !!

On the way home, we saw one of the rabbits that live around Usine C. I had seen them with Mr. Bérêt last autumn and our speculations were that they would freeze to death over the long winter. Apparently they didn't ! This is heart warming. But seeing the black rabbit jump around made me realise that my camera was left somewhere.

Call me brainless, but know that this doesn't happen to me very often. I got the camera back the next day, but some of the things I said in my drunken stupor cannot be taken back.

My apologies.

*

Burj Dubaï, the world's tallest structure, is currently being built in the United Arab Emirates. Dubaï is host to a construction boom that ressembles a miracle, and borderlines on megalomaniac. Skyscrapers are rising everywhere, fast, and you have to see their waterfront to believe it :



They have so many impressive projects going on that I'll post something about that later on. But what catches our attention right now is a strike trend among Dubaï workers. People laboring to build the Burj are reported to be paid about between 5 and 10$ US a day, and have to live with less than 200$ a month. They work 12 hours shifts and their camps are set up far away in the desert, which makes the ride to their workplace a fun 1 or 2 hours trip. They mostly are from India and the Philippines, poor, and hopeful. A dream was sold to them, and this dream is slowly evaporating in the desert dust.

Lots of landmarks have been built through slavery, in the history of mankind, and societies were able to evolve when "thinking heads" were relieved from the task of cultivating their own food - which meant that a select few had to cultivate more than their share to supply others. However, now that we have evolved, cheap labor has became unacceptable. A country such as UAE, with a city such as Dubaï, wants to show the world how modern they can be, and how leading they are in any field. Why not start with the human field and treat their migrant workers with respect ? If locals aren't even dirtying their hands to help, and workers have to come from other countries, they should be compensated for the sacrifices they make and the long hours they work.

If labor wasn't so cheap, however, would the building boom be as huge ? I'll let you meditate on that while you take a look at what the Burj will look like once completed. Will this be the economic symbol of a powerful nation, or a monument to the sad and heartless exploitation of third world workers ?

Exilés

My friend "Le Prof" is stuck in Kapuskasing. I can see the tears in your eyes from here. This far-off land in Northern Ontario doesn't have much to offer : a tiny-ass university where he works as a teacher (hence his name), some lumberjacks, and lots of jocks, chicks & bears. It's still winter over there, even as we montrealers have to look very hard to locate some snow - elsewhere than in some coked-out clubber's nose. Let's all share a thought for him.



Another of my friends, Expat, aka Mr. Finances, is stuck in Québec City. He didn't ask for that to happen. After his master's degree, he found a job at Ministère des Finances and had to move there. He's been a montrealer all his life and now spends his time in a dead town where nothing much happens. It's not as northern - or snowy - as Kapuskasing but I'm sure that the two places can be compared in boredom levels. Let's all share a thought for him.

We wouldn't want to be stuck in their situations. But these sacrifices they're making are necessary. Workers cannot always work at the location of their choice. Some work needs to be done, and we're not all so lucky and able to do it wherever we feel like it. Think for a moment about Montreal being the host of all of Province of Québec's workforce : it would be unbearable.

We would have to expand the island. Fill the water with sand, and let the land rise between île Ste-Hélène and here. No boats would go past here.

We could build écluses or use a canal. The St-Lawrence river would have to slow down at our level, as if it was walking on the tip of its toes not to wake us up at night. We no longer would have a beach that nobody's using anyway.

That said, some guys & girls need to work away from the ones they love. There are some workers in Northern Alberta, contributing to the province's growth, spending entire months away in the woods installing gas pipes and making the big bucks. Some things are worse than Québec City or Kapuskasing : Afghanistan, for instance, could be your choice destination if you were a Canadian Forces soldier.

Mobility is a quality not all of us have. Are we ready to move for our careers ? Could we leave all we have behind ? Personally, I don't know. I'd have to try to find out, but I don't feel like it.

Montreal's too cozy.

So, with the sun in my face, reflected from another high rise building near where I work, I declare that TODAY is the first day of Spring '06. Not yesterday, not tomorrow. So start thinking about the next terrace you'll visit, sipping sangria and staring at mini-skirts and high heels passing by, because the season's here and there's no escaping it.

Unless, of course, you're an escapism artist.

I Have Seen the Land Beyond

Spring has come to our houses yesterday. Not much to say. He sat at the table, silent, and stared straight at the wall with a stubborn look. He left the door of our place open, so we froze our asses. He told me he was uptight, and confessed something was stuck up his bum.



"You know I will warm you up and make you smile", he said. "I'm in a terrible mood today so you'll have to wait a bit". He then argued that he had already took care of the snow, and I had to admit he was right.

Let's take the trash out and clean the streets, so we can walk barefoot all summer long on Sherbrooke East without feeling like a goddamn fakir.

*

I have seen Bertrand Blier's TENUE DE SOIRÉE. Funny and theatrical, it's typical Blier, with a disrespect for manners and a fantasy of its own. However, one can't deny there is a certain homophobia sweating through every frame. The movie may be about some "homosexual conversion", but there is nothing but mépris in the way it is narrated.

There is a very "french" obsession with anal sex, the ass itself, and cross-dressing. As if there was a mandatory man and woman in every gay couple. As if, at one point or the other, a gay man would end up dressing as a woman. The term "fiotte" is used, and I think it's the most degrading one I've ever heard. It's on the verge of being offensive, and believe me, I'm not easily offended.

More often than not, homosexuals like manliness. They sleep with men because they like men. Most of the fags I know aren't into effeminate guys, they prefer straight-looking jocks that bend.

Blier might be a great filmmaker, but he's losing points here.

*

I have also seen Claude Fournier's JE N'AIME QUE TOI, a very strange drama involving a really cute hooker (Noémie Godin-Vigneau) and an aging writer (Michel Forget) falling in love. Forget finds inspiration in the dirty stories he's told by Noémie, and ends up paying for every word she says.

Now that is something odd. Very crude verbally, the movie is not explicit in its images, but you get a good glimpse of Godin-Vigneau's hot body. The acting isn't always perfectly coached, and as in many québécois movies, the language isn't totally controled, oscillating between the written and the talked, sometimes feeling as if the actors were just reading their lines and looking for a way to ring true without finding it.

Jean-Nicolas Verreault, who I like to call "the beef", plays an editor in what is the worst casting choice ever. As if the guy could impersonate an intellectual.

At 105 minutes, the movie drags a bit, but it's always nice to see Michel Forget elsewhere than in Lance & Compte and to see Fournier come back to a more virulent form.

Oddly, Fournier also directed, a couple of years ago, a comedy about homosexuals that was filled with clichés : J'EN SUIS. It involved a character pretending to be a fag just to get hired in a good firm. There was nothing as mean in there as in Blier's feature, and in fact many notorious homosexuals cameo'ed (including Claude Rajotte), but we still felt as if, once again, homosexuals were the "dindon de la farce", the ammunitions to make the "petit peuple" laugh. Just like the black man once was, homosexuals have become the "friendly comic relief element" that is required in popular film making.

So Easy to Forget

Here's what keeps me going when I'm a working monkey...



The downtown skyline... people walking aimlessly like little ants on the sidewalks... Up in the tower, I watch. I also answer the phone, and speak with more and more retards every day.

This is what the world is coming to : retards domination. Fasten your seat belts : the future will be just that.

I'd love to help but my hands are tied by greed.

Et Pataki Et Patata

Just because nothing's happening these days - except for this cold ass, never ending winter refusing to go away - is not a reason to stay silent. Scream, jump up and down, and be heard. If you have nothing to say, sing. And if you can't sing, shut the fuck up.

This week-end is the most quiet I've seen in a while. I was out at Miss Kim's place yesterday to eat one of the best meals I've recently had, spiced up with many exotic drinks lovingly prepared by our hostess. Miss Bijoux was with me, of course, as well as Mr. Moto, Mr. Bérêt & a few others. We listened to music and drank until I started slipping away, and it was time to leave. Tonight, nothing's going on, and tomorrow we're bringing Miss Bijoux' furniture in. Sounds like an official, final moving move ? It is. She's in.

*

Things are looking tempestuous in NYC. Anybody who read Phillip Nobel's SIXTEEN ACRES, a book about the behind-the-scenes battle to gain control over Ground zero, since it was reduced to what it is now on 9/11, is now following the Silverstein saga through various press organs in the US, most notably the New York Times.

Silverstein is "working" on a $7 billion project that will include the Freedom Tower, but only disposes of $2.9 billion in insurance proceeds. His negociations with Port Authority are dragging and observers - and direct players, including governor George Pataki - strongly doubt that he'll be able to begin, as he is supposed to, construction of the tower in April.



On March 15th, no deal was reached between the Port Authority and Silverstein over the control of the site. The Port will examine their legal options and if Silverstein fails to act in April, they'll tell him to "move out of the way".

Pressures from Pataki and mayor Michael Bloomberg - who talked about the matter during his weekly radio show - are also applied on Silverstein Properties.

On March 17th, after Silverstein launched a new negociations offer, Port Authority refused it and released a statement saying they would unveil their own proposal for the site next week. Now that sounds like another life-long battle for what's going to be built there. Will we see the tower rise one of these days ?! With the fundraising problems regarding the World Trade Center Memorial, there's a dead weight in Manhattan and the fact that the building process takes so long to start is a disgrace.

When "all talk and no action" get in the way of architecture, Spahn Ranch spokesman Athan Maroulis might not like it. And you don't really want the guy to get out of anonymity and come back on the front of the scene.

Un Mal de Tête Constant

Oui, c'est pour ça que je suis silencieux depuis quelques jours. Ma tête va exploser et je le sais. J'ai ramassé une grippe solide qui traînait je ne sais où, et elle s'est déclaré hier soir, après à peine 2h de peinture. J'ai tout d'abord cru que j'étais sous l'effet des vapeurs toxiques du "primer", avec un mal de tête assurément bizarre et une mini-nausée pimentée d'étourdissements, mais même après avoir pris l'air et bien mangé, je me sentais encore comme de la marde et ma gorge enflait jusqu'à prendre des proportions épiques.

Je passerai donc mon tour pour Ellen Allien au Parking ce soir, alas. De toute façon, je n'ai jamais vraiment apprécié cette berlinoise autrement que pour sa belle gueule, car musicalement, elle et moi ne connectons pas trop. La "hype" qui entoure chacun de ses passages en ville m'énerve. L'an dernier, je l'ai ratée au Parking, mais j'étais à Québec le lendemain, alors je me suis dit que j'allais me reprendre à la Gallerie Rouje.



Je me suis rendu compte, en arrivant là, qu'il me fallait payer 20$ pour entrer, alors que le cover la veille était de 5$, pour un club où une véritable "vibe" existe - contrairement à Rouje, où il est légendairement difficile d'installer quoi que ce soit d'autre que des "piquets de dancefloor". De toute façon, la fille de la porte ne voulait pas me laisser entrer, parce que c'était présumément "sold out". En sortant, j'ai vu Robert Lepage et ses amis qui se demandaient visiblement ce qu'ils allaient faire de leur soirée. Pourquoi ? Parce que CETTE PETITE CONNE LES AVAIT REFUSÉS, EUX AUSSI !!

Devant cette aberration, je suis retourné à l'intérieur et j'ai chialé en haussant le ton jusqu'à ce qu'on me laisse entrer. J;ai eu droit, une fois en dedans, à l'ambiance typique de Québec : tout le monde danse mollement, le regard tourné vers le DJ, comme dans un spectacle rock, comme si Ellen allait se mettre à faire le moonwalk ou à spinner sur la tête. Et c'était plate, honnêtement, en tout cas, vraiment pas ma tasse de thé musical. I was out the door after about an hour of sonic torture.

*

Le sauve-écran d'une demoiselle "pas trop mince" au bureau : la phrase "I like cake" qui se promène.

*

Courte mention d'un film visionné hier soir : 36, QUAI DES ORFEVRES. Un "drame policier" français du plus bel effet, sombre et prenant, avec des grosses pointures : Depardieu et Auteuil dans un combat titanesque. Ils sont flics, chefs de deux brigades "en compétition", qui cherchent à mettre la main sur des braqueurs de fourgon particulièrement dangereux. C'est glauque à souhaits, et rares sont les scènes de jour. La photographie est prenante, nous donnant à voir un Paris "noir" comme on l'a sans doute rarement vu. Si le niveau de langage n'était pas si "chébran" et le déroulement de l'action un peu plus réaliste, on serait face à un classique, certain.

*

Les bonnes âmes volontaires qui passent une soirée complète dans un kissing booth, à frencher des centaines d'étrangers, rentrent-elles à la maison sans microbes ? Je me suis toujours demandé de quoi avait l'air un événement agrémenté d'un "kissing booth" et surtout, quel genre de gens désespérés s'y prêtent ?

*

Il y a un sans-abri qui dort dans mon portique depuis quelques jours. Don't get me wrong : je peux concevoir que des gens aient envie de tout abandonner et de se déresponsabiliser à l'extrême, tant qu'ils le font dans les limites de la décence. J'ai un problème avec les gens qui ne se lavent pas, qu'ils soient sans-abri ou français, et avec les gens qui ne respectent pas certaines règles sociales, par exemple le concept qu'il faut "gagner" sa vie, et que "gagner" n'inclut pas "quêter".

Il y a des bums tout l'été au coin de ma rue qui lavent les pare-brise des voitures passant par là, et soit ils font semblant de ne pas me reconnaître, soit ils sont trop "brain dead", mais ils me demandent de la "monnaie" chaque fois qu'ils me voient, à peu près six fois par jour.

Le gars qui nous intéresse aujourd'hui s'est mis à son aise : bouteilles de jus sur la boîte aux lettres, lecture qu'il laisse sur place pendant la journée... Il fume ses cigarettes et profite de la vue offerte sur Sherbrooke de sa verrière. Mardi soir, en revenant de Lambi où nous avions vu Hot Chip, il était là, et a fait sursauter Miss Bijoux. Il nous a dit : "Excusez-moi d'emprunter votre portique, ça ne sera pas pour longtemps".

J'espère bien, car hier matin, j'ai découvert des cendres partout dans le portique. Ce crétin s'est fait un feu pour se réchauffer !! Et ça m'a bien sûr laissé sans voix. Je ne suis pas propriétaire mais si je le revois, je le câlisse dehors.

Pluie sur la ville

Il n'est pas toujours intéressant de se retrouver assiégé par la pluie pendant plusieurs jours de suite. La neige disparaît lentement, et une goutte de pluie dans ma fenêtre est un indice assez fiable de la température clémente, mais mon humeur et celle des autres semblent affectées par la météo, qu'on le veuille ou non.

Sujet de conversation inépuisable, recours des "petites gens" quand ils n'ont plus rien à se dire, la météo est aussi variable que difficile à prévoir, et j'ai depuis longtemps renoncé à planifier mes activités en fonctions des prévisions souvent foireuses de nos météorologues favoris. De toute façon, par ce temps dégueulasse, qui a envie de faire quoi que ce soit à l'extérieur ? C'est le moral miné et l'énergie basse que je renonce.

*

Many things ce soir : Audion a.k.a. Mathew Dear ce soir à la S.A.T. ! Avec un live de Matéo Murphy + Pheek, ça risque d'être assez délicieux merci.

Ensuite, le roi de la house de Chicago, mister Felix da Housecat, sera au Aria pour faire tourner ses disques et - espérons-le - nous donner une leçon de funk. Son dernier passage au Space 32 était bien sans être mongoloïde, et cette fois-ci c'est toute la nuit, enfin, jusque vers 7h AM du moins !



See you there ?

How Bad Can Bad Be ?

There are some guys working in my basement. They've been there since Monday, loudly listening to CKOI, singing along to songs, and screaming their lungs out as if they were currint themselves into little pieces every goddamn time they please. They left cigarette fags in my building's lobby, and an empty, crushed can of beer. In other words, they're rude, loud & uneducated. So in the last few days I've been keeping away from my place to work on stuff. Can't concentrate when they're around.

I don't know what they're repairing exactly, but that involves cutting & ripping off everything there is to be found in the basement. So, of course, some guy has cut a gas conduct yesterday.

When I got in front of my place, after getting out of the bus, the three guys were standing on the doorstep. I was heading for a breakfast, a shower, and an entire day of homeworks. They told me I'd better not come in since there was a gas leak.

I still went ahead and called my landlord, who told me he was heading over. Then I put my laptop in its bag, and some firemen knocked on my door. They told me they were evacuating. So I got out and saw several firetrucks, and the boys were sealing the perimeter with their trademark yellow tape. I was so disgusted at the turn of events that I took the bus and left.



Not only do these guys stink up the place with cigarette smoke & their loud voices, making it impossible for me to work while they're there, but on top of that they force me out of my own place with their incompetence.

I still managed to regain my traditional good mood afterwards; I went for breakfast with Miss Bijoux, and we ended up walking in the sun, I got a haircut, we bought magazines and went to her place to watch SIX FEET UNDER EPISODES. We also finally rented her place to an old friend of mine, coming back to town after spending two years in Quebec City, and ate ice cream. What about that ?

*

There's a vomit-inducing publicity in the current issue of ICI. On page 15, a pregnant woman is seen holding her belly, and next to her we can read : "Cherche bungalow dans le (450)". Micasa.ca is what it's about. It seems to be an online search engine to help you find your dream house in the fuckin' suburbs.

How sickening is it when some FUCK working in publicity decides to spread clichés so old they're practically DECOMPOSING ? Yeah, as soon as you get pregnant, you HAVE to move to the suburbs. That's right. Poor you who are staying in town. What kind of education will you give to your children in THE CITY, where everybody is a clone of the BIG BAD WOLF ?

Whoever are responsible for that would be well advised to GO FUCK THEMSELVES.

Thanks again Québécor, for making me puke...

Short Rants About Mental Health - Or Its Lack

Everytime I see my cleaning lady, at the office, Claude Gagnon's REVIVAL BLUES and the Seinfeld episode called "The Red Dot" spring to my mind. Bad porn, too. Except that she's not hot. She's just plain answering to every cliché about cleaning ladies : hispanic, a bit too rounded, aging, with nasty-looking hair.

While she empties my waste basket, she tells me about life, and fatigue, and I'm always wondering why on earth some office workers are bored at the point of maybe banging her.

*

I have been looking all over the city for my copy of the New Yorker, this week. Not that much, but seriously, the great wide "magazine distribution world" is one I can't fully understand at times.

Back in the good old days, there was a Maison de la Presse Internationale just across the street from the Eaton Center, on Ste-Catherine. So during my breaks, I'd go there and shop a bit, and they always got all I needed. But the place closed & turned into a sports shoes store and now I have to go to this small and busy convenience store near the doors leading to the metro, where today they still had last week's issue in the newsstands. The guy at the cash told me they'd get their stash only tomorrow.

A few steps away was the magazine stands of the Promenade de la Cathédrale, and the current New Yorker was just there, waiting for me. If the "distributor" went there today, why didn't he go to the other goddamn place ? That is simply beyond me.

*

In the New Yorker's movie notes, I learned that an adaptation of Jon Fante's ASK THE DUST was being released. Directed by Robert Towne and featuring Colin Farrell and Salma Hayek. While that disturbingly sounds like sacrilege, am I really surprised ? Hollywood is getting used to butchering anything and anybody's work, to convert gold into turds, and to reasonably remake every good idea some other countries have, and in the process turn it into complete, utter shit. Can't speak for this one because I haven't seen it, but well, you get my drift.

In other cinema news, Alexandre Aja's new movie, his Hollywood debut actually, after the hard-hitting HAUTE TENSION, come out this Friday, at last : THE HILLS HAVE EYES ! A remake of Wes Craven's early hillbilly effort, it does sound very promising, according to the Fangoria team who saw an advance screening. If everything remains that way and the MPAA doesn't cut away too much meat, it promises to be a shocker for sure, and you might see me waiting in line to get in a theater near you shortly !

*

I saw some confusing headlines on "Métrovision", the STM's baddest move ever, on my way to work this morning.

During the same "3 minutes newsflash", two subjects were layed out almost one after another. The first one was : "Within 25 years, the survival hopes might rise to 100 years old". Wow, good news. I guess that if you eat well, exercice and don't exagerate on crap for most of your life, that makes sense now.

The next one : "Number of obese children expected to double in the next four years".

Told you it made sense.

*

Speaking of something related to the STM, my good friend Caron, who writes Eternal PMS, reminded me yesterday of one of their weirdest - but most heart-warming - policies. After 7 PM if you're on a bus and you're a lady, you can get off in between stops to get home more quickly and safely. That's good. STM wants you to feel like a woman.



But what about guys ? Aren't they going to be attacked too ?

And what about the fact that not every goddamn street has a bus passing on it ? So if you get off in between two stops but your place is still a couple of street corners away, in any given direction, what gives ?

*

Une compétition pilotée par la Fondation N7W de Zurich, en Suisse, est en ce moment en train de "sonder" l'opinion publique afin de décréter, à la fin de 2006, quelles sont les sept "nouvelles" Merveilles du Monde. J'ai quelques idées architecturales derrière la tête, mais les édifices sont souvent là pour rester, et rien ne presse en ce qui concerne leur nomination.

Toutefois, je crois qu'il serait grand temps que l'on nomme des êtres humains, qui mériteraient amplement cet honneur. Mon premier vote irait indubitablement à Miss Bijoux, mais ensuite, qui sait, y aurait-il une frontière à mon admiration ? Jesus Franco Manera pourrait marcher en diagonale sur le tapis rouge avec une cigarette insérée dans chaque oreille. Jesper Dahlback arriver en Alfa Romeo avec son cousin (neveu ?) John sur le siège passager parce qu'il est trop jeune pour conduire... Rem Koolhaas surgirait du sol tel un Houdini hollandais avec à son bras Riccardo Boffil...

Vraiment, il n'y a aucune limite raisonnable à ce jeu.

Everybody's fed up with snow, but not with "Informer"

Spring looks like it might be here to stay, but you never know. Last year, lots of snowstorms made March a hellish month, sending hopes to burn in a pizza oven and making my eyes cry rivers. My car was stored at the time, and I was just waiting for the snow to slowly melt to take it out for a grand tour. But every time it looked like we were reaching solace, it snowed. It fuckin' snowed so much that I walked the streets singin' "Informer".

Hope this year won't be a "redux".

*

During winter, there are some weird things going on. Some people disappear, emerging only when the snow has entirely melted, as if they were buried by the first layer some months before. These people might be hiding all winter long, living elsewhere where the sun shines harder, or simply lament the absence of Piknic.

To these people, I have only one thing to say : please come back to the world of the living, it's gettin' hot in here.

*

My buddy predicted a "Emerge" revival. Fischerspooner's track played so often when it was initially released that I personally puked on the dancefloor whenever I would hear, it after a while.

The most likely place to hear it & suffer was, of course, Parking's Overdose, at the time conducted by DJ Frigid. The track was a mandatory piece in his playlist. And he's so good natured that maybe, some nights, it wasn't part of his plans to play it, but some cute jock would show up at the booth and request it : a "no" was out of the question.

I remember being at Sex Garage three years ago, during the Pride week, at final day's t-dance. Some guy shows up with his girlfriend while I'm sitting in the sun and sipping on my glass of Heinekken, and they don't look like they're familiar with the vibe at all. "Emerge" comes into Frigid's mix and the guy, after a few seconds, turns to his girl and says : "This is my favorite song !". It sounded more like a thought than an exclamation, and he seemed puzzled. His GF told him : "Why don't you go and dance, in that case ?"

The guy looked even more puzzled, seemingly weighting the pros & cons of such a decision, and finally opted out. They stayed there a while, staring at the freaks, and left.

*

I got so drunk on Saturday night that I am still wondering if it was a good thing or not. I usually invite a few persons over to my place, before a big event, to have a few drinks and listen to music. My "pre-party" almost turned into a full blown fiesta when some guests showed up with more alcohol we could handle, and most of us lost control at some point, thanks to the numerous shooters generously handed over.



I wasn't sick but I was pretty drunk, and the thing with me is that - for most people, at least - it doesn't show very much when I'm utterly wasted. So some girls & boys may have mistaken me for sober, and I can't, for fuck's sake, remember what I babbled about for the whole evening. So... if I told crazy stuff to some of you, folks, don't worry.

I still had a blast at S.A.T. but I can't remember everything. Which makes me wonder : is an evening still considered "fun" even if you don't remember lots of it ?

Metaphysics applied to drunks : a new fashion trend ?

La section "musique classique" du Voir me donne envie de lire le Miroir

Sérieusement, pourrait-on tomber plus bas ?  Le VOIR, depuis une certaine restructuration rédactionnelle il y a environ deux ans, est quasiment devenu digne de passer directement du présentoir au bac de recyclage, malgré son prix qui fait plaisir aux sans-abris.  Que peut-on faire avec cette feuille de choux, outre l'utiliser comme couverture contre les intempéries ?

La chronique de Martineau est certes acceptable, mais qu'en est-il du reste ?  VOIR râtisse tellement large qu'ils couvrent tout.  Aucune sélection n'est effectuée, et un focus questionable est mis sur les artistes "contemporains adultes", nous faisant grincer des dents en pensant à l'âge moyen du "lectorat souhaité".  Il y a même une section "musique classique"...  Je ne me souviens pas si j'ai ramassé l'hebdo dans le métro ou dans une maison de retraite.

Les critiques de film sont souvent des résumés tièdes des dossiers de presse, et les erreurs abondent dans plusieurs textes.  La "critique" du nouvel album de Malajube a été publiée trois semaines de file dans la section "Voir recommande".  Avec tous les albums dignes de mention qui sortent chaque semaine, est-il essentiel de prendre de genre de décision éditoriale ?

Le Voir s'épaissit... son contenu rétrécit... les publicités mangent tranquilement le contenu... et les lecteurs s'abrutissent.  Des milliers d'arbres sont abattus pour que chaque semaine, Georgette Pichette puisse se munir de sa copie d'un HEBDO CULTUREL qu'elle ne lira pas, pour avoir l'air "informée" en rentrant dans son 2 1/2 de Longueuil Beach en autobus.

*

Les élections fédérales sont révolues depuis quelques temps mais je continue de me demander comment diable les citoyens de Québec sont parvenus à voter conservateur et faire élire des députés Harperistes dans quatre comptés sur cinq.

J'ai quelques ouvre-bouteilles ici, avec tire-bouchon intégré, et je suis disposé à en faire don à une équipe de mercenaires afin que ces derniers puissent retirer tout le liège qui bloque le rectum des conservateurs de la vieille capitale.  On vous savait ennemis du progrès, messieurs-dames, mais vous dépassez nos espérances !  Respirez par l'urêtre.

J'aimerais proposer ma vision personnelle du "séparatisme" : pourquoi le Canada ne se sépare-t-il pas de la Ville de Québec ?  On pourrait évoquer une impossibilité de relation, de trop graves différences sociologiques...  Un complexe d'infériorité qui dure depuis trop longtemps et qui pousse désormais certaines personnes à poser des gestes inexpliquables.



On n'a qu'à se souvenir de la récente croisade de certains (plusieurs, en fait) retardés dans le cadre de l'affaire "Radio X".  Les auto-collants "Liberté" étaient beaucoup plus que minoritaires sur les voitures de la région pour que l'on croit à un mouvement isolé ou même à une blague.  Quand tout un pan de la population s'élève pour défendre un crétin congénital et offensif, on est en droit de se poser des questions.

La césure frontalière me semble la seule solution.  Le mur entourant la ville est déjà bien parti, on n'a qu'à ramasser une équipe de maçons fiables et à leur payer un voyage avec Allô Stop, et le tour sera joué.  Plus personne ne s'échappera de ce hâvre de fonctionnaires de droite.

Tout ce que vous avez toujours voulu savoir sur l'eau potable sans jamais avoir osé le demander parce que vous êtes muet et manchot

J'ai raté un jour dans mon éternelle quête éditoriale de justice littéraire pour cause de paresse intensive. J'étais en semaine de relâche et je n'avais toujours par profité d'une journée sans but précis. Voilà qui est fait. Magasinage, écoute de musique & conversations métaphysiques avec Bruce Benson, et contemplation de mes murs furent quelques-unes des activités que je pratiquai ce vendredi, 3 mars de l'an 2006.

*

Je ne savais pas qu'un remake pouvait être si efficace. Les films de George A. Romero sont devenus légendaires au fil des ans; sa trilogie des morts est récemment devenue une quadrologie, avec la sortie l'an dernier de LAND OF THE DEAD, qui prouvait à la suite de BRUISER que Romero s'essoufle. On avait déjà vu Tom Savini refaire NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD dans les années '90, et voici maintenant qu'un remake de DAWN OF THE DEAD était lancé l'an dernier.

Maintenant sorti sur DVD, il s'est retrouvé dans mon lecteur suite à une longue route à partir de sa Boîte Noire. Et ce fut un visionnement assez intéressant, je dois dire. Outre le caméo de Savini - tout comme dans LAND OF THE DEAD où apparaît aussi sa tronche si caractéristique - et les effets spéciaux d'une brutalité surprenante, quelques changements ont été apportés à la mythologie des zombies, le plus notable étant sans doute que ces sales bestioles, désormais, COURENT. Plus de lente marche vers des victimes éventuelles !

L'action est assez constante, prodiguant un vif rythme à l'ensemble, mais quelques "amourettes" viennent fromager le tout, amourettes auxquelles il est un peu difficile de croire. En temps de crise, disons par exemple quand votre mari vient de se faire à moitié bouffer par votre fille, et que celui-ci vous attaque sauvagement malgré le sang qui pisse, ayant malencontreusement été transformé en mort-vivant, vous êtes en droit de vivre un deuil, non ? Apparemment pas quand vous êtes un personnage de fiction.

*

L'ambiance était à la fête au AMC Forum ce jeudi. Cinématographiquement parlant, ce complexe ayant déjà abrité un club poche appelé INDUSTRY et une édition de Rave Montreal - en plein lobby, croyez-le ou non - est situé dans l'ancien Forum des Canadiens, et propose des titres d'intérêt moyen à nul dans sa programmation. Au métro Atwater, pas besoin de vous dire que ça commence à faire loin.

Mais qui suis-je pour cracher sur des billets gratuits pour DAVE CHAPPELLE'S BLOCK PARTY, un "feel good documentary" réalisé par Michel Gondry et mettant en vedette l'ami Dave ?



Je n'ai certainement pas regretté le voyage. La salle était pleine, et malgré l'aspect "documentaire" du film VS l'aspect "populaire" de l'assistance, ça a quand même bien fonctionné. Le comportement des cinéphiles ayant reçu des billets gratuits ou payé un prix dérisoire - par exemple dans les cinémas à 2$ florissant ici et là - a tendance à dégénérer, généralement, car certains se croient dans leur salon entre amis ou considèrent que, puisque l'investissement financier dans l'expérience est mineur, ils peuvent se comporter comme des idiots. Ce qui n'était pas du tout le cas.

On appréciera l'humanisme de Chappelle, le montage elliptique de Gondry, la capture de quelques moments de simplicité extrême entre "stars", et les performances musicales des invités, qui incluent The Roots, Talib Kweli, Mof Def, A-Trak, Dead Prez, Erika Baduh, Jill Scott, Big Daddy Kane, et même une réunion spéciale des Fugees pour l'occasion ! Rien de trop agressif ou "gangsta", juste des "good vibes" ! Même en n'étant pas particulièrement fan de hip hop, j'ai apprécié, c'est tout dire !

*

Ce soir, vous êtes conviés à une célébration fortement alcoolisée et électrolisée, pas de séance d'arrachage de poils, mais une soirée dansante forte en style où vous pourrez espionner des demoiselles en chaleur et des gars saouls : Voyeur 02, à la S.A.T., 22h, 10$ à la porte, avec Roméo Kardec, Jordan Dare & Sean Kosa.

We be waitin' 4 ya.

Ordinary Gossip

The Mirror's offices are located at 465 McGill, on the third floor. Which is, if you think about it more than a second, fuckin' far.

I don't know if the rent is cheaper because it's in the middle of nowhere (even if you get out at Square-Victoria, you still have a never-ending corridor to go through before you get out in the open & walk some more) or if the rent is higher because it's a "chic" business neighborhood. Whatever the case, folks, it would be really nice if we could reasonably WALK to your offices when we're downtown, without wasting our whole fuckin' lunch hour to do it.

*

The reason I went there is that I won tickets to see DAVE CHAPPELLE'S BLOCK PARTY. While this is not the kind of movie I would go see, and AMC Forum is definitly not a place I'd go, period, I usually do not spit on a free movie here and there. And I'm kinda lucky these days, so I guess I might as well use that chance to good effect.

I know nothing about Chappelle, being neither a fan of stand-up comedy or simply TV. I don't even know if this is the same guy that shot the movie RISE, or if there is an entirely different Dave Chappelle shooting music videos. Or if I'm quite simply put "retarded" and mixing up names right now, making an ass outta myself - something I'm no stranger to.

Anyway, the movie is shot by Michel Gondry, and has a mixed review in today's ICI, and a raving review in today's MIRROR. Who can I believe ? Myself. I'm taking Miss Bijoux there and I hope we'll have a good time. I will also be sipping on some Rev through a straw because I need to get myself drunk before we head over for the S.A.T. where Robeat will mix session our asses !

*

I'll be throwing out some furniture tomorrow morning. If you're interested, you know what to do. Here's a fast list of what's going to some waste dump fuck knows where :

-A greenish sofa straight outta the 60's. My parents received it as a gift sometime in the 70's. It has become a party fixture, was really popular at some point in my life, and the theater of some memorable romps.



-A small white table ? I don't know how to describe this. It was in my appartment when I moved in. I'm soooo glad I finally decided to let it go for a few "cennes noires".

-A big micro-wave stand in white mélamine. It belonged to an ex roommate who probably isn't interested in getting it back. I don't know what I'll do with the hundreds of CD's hiding inside but the thing is GOING.

-A yellow 1 place sofa with wheels that I got from my grandma some time ago. Nobody, in the history of mankind, ever sat there.

Big news : Miss Bijoux is moving in ! She promised to repaint everything, throw away all the furniture she doesn't like, and make the place hers. I kinda like the idea ! Hope I don't get too fat tho... she's a wonderful cook ! My slim days may be over !

Porn Stars & Layer Cakes

In my rock n' roll days - while we're at it - I always had a connection with other bands, and although my main band's goal was to be hated by all, we were pretty good buddies with then Grand-Mère's trash kings of fuzz rock, the Meteor 77.

It all began with Izaël Pépin & Pat Météor around a campfire.  I can safely narrate that now that the guys are on tour, somewhere deep in rural US, gettin' their ass kicked by rednecks because of their long hair.  We were pretty much all rock n' roll slackers at the time.  Later on, Izaël would move to Trois-Rivières and deliver pizza with his crap car.  I was there the morning he got fired for being to hung over to report to work; we had partied all evening with the Nashville Pussy, who had performed in a jock shit hole.  We went backstage to have a few drinks with them, drink all their beer in fact, and listen to their groupie stories while listenin' to the Devil Dogs' latest live CD.

So Izaël didn't stay in Trois-Rivières too long, and finally moved his ass to Montreal alongside Pat Météor to start a vinyl buying frenzy - Pat later DJ'd, for a very brief period, at a place on Park Avenue called the Playhouse.  I ran into them a couple of times and they told me they were gettin' a new band, the Demon's Claws.  Having just released their Meteor 77 album, I thought it was a pretty strange move, but now any well advised rocker knows the rest of the story : they're kinda big.  I say kinda because I don't know if some bluesed-out southern swamp rock n' roll can really be that big, but they're on a nice label and they're touring the US non-stop, which is not bad at all.



Pat Meteor, who had once played a few notes on my guitar with his cock, at the third edition of Troustock where he also played with his Meteor 77 - if you don't believe me, I have it all captured on video - introduced me to Dan Lang, a tall dark guy who had all it took to make it big in the beer drinking circles of Grand-Mère.  Seriously, the guy had good looks, and some nice hooks.  We started hanging out together after I stole his girlfriend, who was rather voluptuous and liked opera.  She left me for a guy 10 years younger than her - which is VERY young considering she must have been around 27 at the time - and got pregnant with the little fucker.  Case closed - almost : I ran into her at my "10 years later" high school reunion and she is now the mother of four kids... impressive !  She still looks pretty good, tho.

Hangin' out with Dan was like stripping my soul bare of any ego; we just sat there, chatted, drank beer, and played guitar.  We decided to come up with a band concept and found out that a "fake" mythic band called the Porn Stars was a good start.  They were "big" in South America, and were also big on screwing so many groupies that if you knew how many, it would make your head spin.  Of course, your head wouldn't spin for real because it was all fictionnal, but we started writing songs to record their 7 albums and launch a new one once we'd be done.

For songwriting purposes, Dan & I spent a few days in his father's house, deep in some woods east of Grand-Mère.  We bought enough beer to last a while, and I didn't have anybody to report to : I was on chômage, a jobless bum, with no girlfriend and a rock hunger.  We chatted, drank, and wrote songs.  We were playing acoustic guitar by the lake, watching the horizons, and thinking about sleazy lyrics and glam hooks.  We designed a web site and started recording the songs in the same St-Tite studio as the Ratés' unborn album was conceived.

Seven songs were recorded and they all became classics... in my small circle of rocker friends.

A short while after that, Dan Lang vanished from the face of the earth.  Nobody knows where he is now.  There are rumours he's a big shot in a suit for Hydro-Québec somewhere in Montreal.  He was adopted, and had started to look for his biological parents.  He had found his mother when we lost touch, and some people claim he found his father afterwards, had his hair cut, and became a completely different person.  Dan, if you're out there, somewhere, you know there's some porn star stamina left inside your heart : get in touch !

I was beginning to listen to EBM & industrial music back then, and was hangin' out at Krashtess, the Foufoune Électrique's industrial evenings.  I was pals with DJ Achtung, who was constantly jealous cuz of the chicks I dated.  I was some kind of "bridge" between the rock n' roll scene & the industrials.  Xavier Caféïne, who always liked glamour & people that dress well, considered that the rock scene wasn't glam enough, back then, and started going out at Foufs with me.  He hated the demo of Les Ratés that I had given him, so when we were done recording about 7-8 new songs with my band, I made him a tape, and included, on the B-side, some Porn Stars songs.

I gave him the tape at Foufs and told him there were some songs from my new band on the B side.  His eyes shined and he told me : "The Porn Stars, that's a fuckin' good band name !!".  He also told me, later on, that one of these days I'd be on all fours in front of him, moaning.  That hasn't happened yet.  What happened, more than a year after that, is that he released an album called Porn Star.

Do you believe in coincidences ?

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I saw LAYER CAKE a few days ago.  I told myself I'd never rent british crime flicks again, and there I was in Miss Bijoux's living room, sliding in this DVD.  It's funny enough - I thought it was a spankin' new release, and my GF told me she had seen it already, once the credits started rolling.  My bad ?

The film's about a guy who thinks he controls everything until it all explodes in his face.  Things couldn't get worse, really, and you have to see it to believe it because I frankly don't feel like explaining it all to y'all.  In the end, the guy doesn't control everything, but I hope that he got to screw Sienna Miller at least once.  Cuz she's the bomb.  Of course, she's a smoker, which takes away a part of the sex appeal, but I'd still pick her if she was next to a chimpanzee and I had no other choice.

British crime flicks, old tired genre.  I am in the process of watching the first season of SIX FEET UNDER and of THE OFFICE, because I'm a pretty late news type of guy.  Didn't watch TV for nearly 8 years now, and I'm not about to begin !