Chicoutimi/La Baie Image Update

The La Baie Pyramid, constructed entirely of yield signs. The actual signs are quite large up close. ARTSY ANGLES GO

A creepy painting found at the head of the stairs at the auberge (bed and breakfast) up the street. Encountered this when our house flooded for the second time and the land lord hooked us up with a place to stay. Unfortunately, I was kicked out at 10 in the morning the next day.
The painting’s red due to the Emergency Exit sign directly above the stairs.


Fun with the aperture.

Michael T. Kowalsky

An interesting evening
Went to Le Pub, met up with Kate, Ian, Mike, Mark, two other French guys. Green Day cover band. Went to dance floor, four of us started with no one around us. Fun. Creepy old guy who smelled funny tried to dance with us. Not fun.
Went back to terrasse side, Ian and Mike left.
See a funny gentleman in a fuzzy wool sweater and a bow tie playing the air guitar, except with his leg, and he’s drunk and people are staring. We’re laughing. His utter insanity, aside from chugging beer, is so foreign to these people they are terrified of him. A gentleman walking past makes a face at me, as if we’re all in it together to laugh.
Except I think I started laughing with guitar legs.
He then came over to us and pushed himself really close to me, yelling “It’s really hot in here!” before running back to his corner with his other calmer counter-point, a gentleman with long hair and a little beard. We laughed, then he ran back – this time, he grabbed my ankle, stood behind my leg and began strumming wildly on my new guitar. This was no light strumming. He said nothing more, then ran back to his friend again.
Creepy old dude had come out to the terasse as well so Denise and I decided to return into the “club” to dance again. I walked passed bow tie and told him straight up I was in love with his perfectly done up bow tie, the one I had watched him do up moments before despite being drunk as a skunk. He then sort of invited himself to dance with us.
The floor was empty once more, perhaps because we were no longer holding the base down. Denise, bow tie and I started dancing on the stage. His dancing quickly attracted a crowd of bemused, annoyed, and smiling patrons. Most made faces of disgust while he slid up and down with his back against the wall, his arms holding into the rafters, the walls, anything while his hips gyrated in a way that awoken sexual desires in latent homosexuals and made insecure straight males angry. He would reach out randomly in an attempt to grab other girls near the stage, and they all moved away from him, making faces at each other, their noses scraping the ceiling. The gentleman who made a face at me earlier came to high five me twice, yelling something unintelligible in my ear in French.
There was a light outskirt of people watching from the bar and the other parts of the club. And some of them were laughing, taping. The DJ got a real kick out of it, watching him and laughing. He turned the spotlight on him for a few moments, possibly made dedications into his mic that was much too loud for articulation.
Laura and Kate came into the club for a bit, then motioned to us that they were leaving. Denise and I decided to stick around, I, mostly because I had no work the next day, she, possibly for the calm counter point whom she was dancing with on the stage.
Bow tie left the stage for water, and I hopped off the increasingly crowded stage. One boy took my hand and danced with me, then spun me into his arms. We started dancing (uncomfortably, mind you) with him spinning me out and in a few times, before he tried to kiss me, his face in the nape of my neck, on my cheeks. I pushed him away, but he insisted on dancing again. His hands wandered, I pushed him away and he finally got the point.
I ended up hopping on the stage again, and bow tie joined me shortly after. We danced until the very end, and the final song was a slow one. Most people left the dance floor, but a taller chubby gentleman who had been watching the dance floor came forward and asked me to dance. We swayed like awkward high schoolers and talked. His name was Patrick and he was from Quebec City, simply traveling in the area. Nothing of great importance was said, and after the dance we parted ways.
We met up on the terrasse and talked a while before security kicked us out.
Boys across the street on the fourth floor in a building hollered and waved at the leaving patrons, hoping for an after party. The four of us ended up sitting in an alcove, avoiding the rain, sitting and talking. Bow tie boy, whose named we learned is Mike, had a mandolin on his back. Anton, the calmer gentleman, was carrying around a small xylophone. Mike sang some jazz songs, I sang along with him. A gentleman about to drive away in a car joined us to watch, impressed and amused by Mike’s musical ability. We stood around and we talked for a while, and he then invited us to his studio for a jam session. His car was full, however, and his friends wanted to go, so he ended up leaving, but not before getting Denise’s number. After sitting around and talking for a long while about what everyone wanted to do with their futures (Mike, politics, Anton, idealist doctor in a Latin American country) we got into a cab and drove to their car near Vieux Port at a parking lot near the pedestrian bridge. The tab was 5 dollars as it definitely wasn’t far, but it was raining.
We hung out in their car for a little while, and Mike showed me his washburn Ukulele. It was pretty damn nice, despite being very out of tune and a little sticky around the body. More talking, about politics, things I have no inclination for at 5 in the morning.
Denise was hungry, so we decided to look for food. Anton drove Mike’s car since Mike was still quite drunk and possibly out of his mind. Watching him sober up into the morning, one realizes his insanity has little to do with his alcohol.
After getting “lost” (as lost as one can get in a town where there is only one real main street), we ended up at the 24 hour restaurant in the Intercar building. We shared poutine (with just shredded cheese versus cheese curds). And it was horrible. Pogos were involved but Anton took it. Mike tried to teach me how to do a bow tie, and he did it up for me; unfortunately, I couldn’t watch him do it so I just ended up wearing a bow tie. However, instead of adding class as one would hope, it made me look like a playboy bunny since I was wearing a dress.
His voice is sheepish; he told us a million stories about himself, singing class presentations, trying to date his teacher, his virginity story. He’s nervous and totally unconcerned, has a conflicting relationship with women, comes from a Eastern European family that does not verbalize love. A family relationship constructed like business: reared, groomed, prepared for society and let out. His father is dead.
And they ended up with an awkward son who thrives in awkward situations, goes to a club in a wool sweater and a bow tie. His hair is wiry and floats about his head as if his thoughts alone are electrifying. He has glasses, he wears shorts, and he’s skinny. His shoes didn’t have laces. And throughout the night he made awkward and sheepish advances, taking rejection in stride a if one were commenting on the weather. While he was doing up my bow tie (and was quite close out of necessity for he had to do it as if it was his own neck) he said I smelled good, apologizing.
Afterward, we returned to the house and they came in with us. I played ukulele softly for Mike, Denise disappeared into the living room with Anton. Mike fell asleep on the kitchen floor. I took a shower and finally crawled into bed at about 7:40 in the morning.
They left shortly after in the morning and I never saw them out. I wish the two the best in their adventures.

Also, woke up this afternoon to the sound of two cats howling outside my window, very likely screwing. Uncomfortable and unnerving way to awaken.

Today

Today, today
I woke up, I made breakfast, I had eggs. My spatula destroyed my sunny side up so it looked a bit like scrambled eggs minus the yolk. Scrambled egg whites? Is that still scrambled?
I walked to work, gravitating to the side of the street opposite the buildings which robbed half the street of its sun light. The walk is short and consists of steep downward hills. I weave between the restaurant patrons dining on the patios and the waiters floating in and out of their restaurant hives.
I make a right after the large rainbow sign of the Chez George restaurant, start descending the hill so steep I have to jog a little just to keep my feet ahead of the movement.
When I get to work there I’m breaking out in a light sweat that sticks to my neck, the heat of the sun that stays with me while I’m forced indoors.
Work isn’t overwhelmingly busy but business is adequate. The people smile, mill about calmly, speak softly, are genuine. The fresh fruit market is busy. Bushels of fresh tomatoes with smooth skins, baskets of fresh local strawberries so red and full of juice their fragrance permeates the air of the halls. Flowers line the walls, hang from the bars that criss-cross the wooden beams. Bright pinks, forests of green, red roses, and people who steal soft kisses from the flowers.
I talked to the girl at the Fromagerie next door, the twin with the boyfriend. We shared a remaining basket of strawberries Benoit gifted myself and Ian with. We stood around in awkward conversation, comfortable silences, watching Ian eat his strawberries in all kinds of creative ways.
Ian left early to partake in the Wine tasting festival before it closed. I had walked along the street earlier with Kate, watching the people tasting wines, sharing, laughing, serious faces and indifference. A small artist booth piqued my interest, and I ended up buying a slightly over-priced drawing of Racine street done with wine.
I ended up staying at work until 10. When I left, Benoit gave me permission to take the remaining strawberries home.
The sun had not gone entirely, but the night air was cool. So I went home, with a basket of fresh strawberries hooked in my arm, only the sound of my sandals and my backpack rubbing against the cloth on my dress keeping me company. Not a lot remains, but I have saved a few for Laura and Denise.
Racine is still filled with people. Perhaps I shall return.
What have I deserved to live in a dream?

Wolverine Poster

To decorate my walls while I’m here. I spent way too much fucking time on this, but I’m very happy with it. And I only used a 50/50 grid. BABY STEPS

Source image credit to Jim Lee. <3

Hmm.

The first day in my life I paid rent. It wasn’t a large sum by any means, but still. MARK’D

Intense Stop Motion

Death in the Family

Good evening, my fellow generation.

I have bad news. Grave news. It’s been a long-time coming, and I think both you and I sort of knew at the back of our minds, ever since she went missing, that she probably wasn’t safe and sound in another country living a new life. In fact, I think we both sort of knew that someone had drawn and quartered her and scattered her mangled, bloody body parts in the river, embedded in the walls, through a wood chipper. And we know because we lived in the houses that held these family-friendly activities. We smell the stench of dry blood seeping through the walls, we can see the strange bits of mangled flesh that certainly don’t recall any wood types we know embedded in the blades of that wood chipper out back.

Well, I hate to be the bearer of news, because she is dead. Because I no longer bear the burden of her weight, the weight of truth, of sobering, heart-breaking truth. She has been removed, bound and gagged in front of a live-studio audience, dragged behind curtains and slaughtered where laugh tracks drown out her screaming.

Every once in a while someone will take the torch, pry it from her dead hands, to once again and inevitably suffer at the hands of The Men. But he or she is but one torch-bearer. A single bullet, the signing of a contract, the sale of things that should bear no price, and once again the dim torch is snuffed.

Once, long ago, we were much too young to understand the things we witnessed, the horrible and the happy blurring together alike, bright colours and moving pictures. Our parents and elders, their minds firmly encased in boxes, unable and unwilling to grow, they no longer see it. Somehow genuinely fooled that thinking must cease after university education has thrust you into the work force. But now we understand why. Because the thinking ask questions, the keen can hear and see the struggling behind the curtains, behind the spectacular show. They will hear none of it.

It only gets worse for you, I’m afraid. You see, now the Internet exists. And to everyone’s great disdain, you know how to use it. Thankfully, you rarely use it for its most powerful purpose. You use it to wrap yourself up in your world, where the immediate happens, the instant reaction and gratification you’ve grown so comfortable with can be found.

But just so you know, somewhere in the deeper recesses of the Internet, buried underneath a million pages with a million words that say nothing, there is another torch bearer. And this time, the torch bearer is not alone. She is 5 strong in one fold, 10 strong in another. They whisper quiet truth, only amongst themselves, to maintain sanity in a world that exists on deception. The responsibility has now made its rounds, and it’s resting in your hands. Do not trust the news anymore you would a vicious rumour in your high school. Both share many likenesses. Curiosity killed the cat, but who wants to live in a world built entirely on deceit? Ask questions, find her, find the fold. If you hear it, research it. Do not run to the others and spread the wild-fire rumours. Ground yourself, use your weapons. It’s the least you could do.

July 3rd

These posts can get pretty tedious. Going to keep the blagging personal and post only when I squeeze out a rare gem.

Silly blags.

Ooo pretty pictures:

Night time walk next to the river.

Sometimes people ask me where the hell Chicoutimi is, or how I could possibly love the middle of nowhere Quebec as much as I do.  Sometimes words can’t do justice.

Riviere Aux Sables in Jonquiere.  If you get tired of swimming, have a seat.

July 1st: Hell on Earth - Ice Cream Stand Form

July 1^st

Hell on Earth

It comes in the form of an ice cream shop. When I woke up, the sun was shining through (the top part) of my basement window. It was making me feel pretty good, possibly so it could watch me crash and burn later in the day a lot harder.

I had cereal and toast and headed out. As soon as I arrived it was already pretty busy. The rush stopped only once. The rest of the time, there were two lines at both ends curling around the store. All things considered, things went pretty well. I did accidentally explore a red slushie all over myself, and despite donning an apron, the new white tank top I bought is essentially ruined.

I was taken entirely by surprise. I was told by several assumingly reliable sources that Quebec does not celebrate Canada Day. Alas, there were a great deal of activities organized for the water front with concerts and basketballs and children. My feet ache from running around. The people are really laid back here which was a bonus. The patience and kindness here is virtually unheard of in Toronto.

I had two people ask me if I was Japanese today, and another who tipped me 50 cents and said “because you’re Asian,” with a creepy little wink.

At around 5:30, Benoit let Ian and myself escape for dinner since the rush had temporarily died down. Benoit then told me it wasn’t possible for me to leave earlier tonight. I was feeling bummed for about 5 minutes before I had to rush home, cook, eat, and return at 6:15. I hung out with Laura for a bit while I ate, but I had to leave soon after.

Ian was 45 minutes late because he couldn’t distinguish 15 from 50. The rush started again, and it was non-stop for the rest of the night. The guy who gave me a ride from the airport came by as well – he told me his name but I’ve forgotten already. I hooked him up with some free ice cream, and he asked when I was off. I said 10, not being entirely sure.

I had a few experiences with the general rude “jeunesse” as well. A few of them would just say “tu ne comprends?” and ignore both myself and Ian after discovering we were learning French. Otherwise, the people were still very kind and patient.

Fireworks started going off at around 11ish – I went out to throw some garbage away, and the hitchhike gentleman was still there. He asked me when I was done and I told him I was still closing. When I got back from the dumpster, he was gone. I sat on a bench with Ian and watched the fireworks for a little while. They were quite small and unassuming, although there were a few neat ones. We finished closing at around 11:30, and our final tip-out total was 30 odd dollars. I walked with Ian back to our place and called Tristan. His game had been canceled, but he still practiced. I made plans to meet up with him avant Le Pub in what I thought he said 15 minutes. So, I rushed home, changed my clothes, got my crap together and left ASAP. I later found out he meant 15 minutes after 12.

Therefore, I waited an extra 10-15 minutes but it really wasn’t a problem. The night was beautiful. Once he arrived, I hopped into his truck and he parked literally one street down. We walked to my workplace, along the river, then to the crappy restaurant near the bus terminal. The food there is tellement shit. Tristan hadn’t eaten dinner so he ordered a hot dog and fries. Once you’ve gone to Chez Pauline you can never go to any other place ever again.

Our conversation there turned to white socks. He told me another gentleman once told him that girls hated white socks. He aked me to confirm or deny this, to which I replied, the socks are not as important as the person who’s in them. Although white socks with too short dress pants is always funny.

Tristan and I had a lovely night. We walked around the near-empty streets, sat on benches, lay in the grass, watched the stars. We talked about a lot of random crap, but there was also comfortable quietness. He lent me his jacket, then took it back when it was cold. We eventually went back to his truck and he drove me home. After all that, it was about 3 in the morning. We sat in the car in front of my house, shooting the shit, talking nonsense. I then finally wished him the best on his trip back to Quebec (to see Van Halen that lucky bastard). We made plans to meet again once he returned, for more walking, maybe eating, maybe cooking. He wished me a good night and gave me two kisses. I ordered him out of the car again for a hug, which he laughed at and complied. It was a running hug because I have developed a fondness for them. We then talked a little more – I teased him about the hitch hiking dude.

Long story short, he’s willing to be my fallback “chum” if I need one. We hugged again, he kissed my cheeks again, and I gave him a little peck. We said our goodbyes, and he was off.

I am utterly exhausted right now. I have to work tomorrow too. I just took a shower and my hair is wet.

Too bad.

Goodnight.

June 30th

June 30^th

Uneventful workday. Woke up, had cereal, called in to work. It was pouring this morning but thank God we no longer have the leak. The sun did decide to show up, however, so I went in to work at 1. I worked until around 4:45 and it was agonizingly slow. AGONIZING. We barely had any customers, and time just took way too long. I sketched a little bit and I’m not happy with it. I went home for an hour and a half to make some dinner – I forgot to defrost my fish, so I had to toss it into the microwave. Made some minute rice as well. That stuff cooks way better than that stupid Sushi rice I bought. All that stuff knows how to do is stick to the bottom of the pan and not fill my stomach. My broccoli refused to cook so I ended up shoveling it down raw-tasting and mildly soft on the outside. I returned to work at 6:30, and stood at the edge of a small dock watching the river for a little while. The rest of the night went by considerably faster. I met Benoit’s son as well; he’s a bit dorky but seems like a nice guy. He says my oral French is pretty good. I have a hell of a time understanding him though. He thinks it’s funny.

It started pouring, and people I’m assuming coming in from the rain wanted ice cream so we had quite a rush that made time pass by considerably faster. The people here are so forgiving and kind, it’s touching. Most are very patient with me and are willing to repeat their order for me slowly which I appreciate greatly. We finished up at around 9ish and Benoit let me go.

Once I got home, I called the number Tristan had left me. A woman picked up and insisted she was Tristan. She thought I was saying Kristen. When I said Tristan again, she switched to English, and said no, no Tristan lives here. Oh well.

Several minutes later, the phone rings. Jared picks it up. It’s for me, and Tristan’s roommate’s girlfriend apparently couldn’t understand what I was saying. God I SUCK at this. I had a very painful conversation with him in French and bits of frustrated English. His soccer game’s at around 8 tomorrow but he has to be on the field by 7:30. I’m hoping Benoit will let me go a bit early. Tristan offered to come pick me up if I got off early enough.

Spent some time trying to read my French book. It ended only in frustration and learning a few words.

Hmmm. The regulars, the workers, everything about the workplace is quite romantic. I may do character sketches of a few of them.

I am NOT looking forward to Canada Day in an ice cream shop tomorrow.

A demain.