Why do they speak English on Star Trek?

Living in a city like Montreal that sits firmly on the fracture between two glacial language formations is without doubt an interesting experience. For those that have grown up here it may be hard at times to see the forest for the trees, but for a starry eyed prairie boy there are trees a plenty.

Language is a hot issue here, and why not? Language afterall may well be the root of consciousness, certainly the root of culture and society. How we communicate with each other is almost more important than what we actually say and here there are so many ways to say so many things.

Montreal isn’t strictly French, nor is it strictly English, nor do those two languages even begin to represent the city and all of its other languages. I know many people who are fluent in three or four languages. I know a few who really only know one. I have felt what its like to be kicked back to the minors in terms of the ability to communicate and understand - something that few of us experience if we don’t venture out of our native culture for an extended period and try to make a life for ourselves.

Montreal tries pretty hard to get bilingualism right though there are of course people on either side who just can’t bridge the divide and some that are vehemently opposed to even trying.

A report was recently leaked from a government taskforce in Quebec that seems to say that in order to make it in our increasingly integrated world Quebec needs to increase its tolerance and understanding of immigrants’ cultures and probably most nettling, learn more English. Of course the shouting started early and loud. And then I found a thread of comments trailing after a blog entry by people espousing the use of Esperanto as a universal language.

Of course I’ve heard of Esperanto, the attempt a century ago to create a truly universal language for politics, commerce and universal understanding. Needless to say it never really took off. I’ve only ever met one person who spoke Esperanto, a fellow from Brussels while playing pool in a dingy old pub in the Australian outback. So it was interesting to hear from the old language again more than five years later.

I watched a video on the language and read through those comments. Everyone claims that its ridiculously easy to learn and so, rather than making snap judgments based on little to no first hand experience I made a decision. I’m going to try and learn it.

Why not?

The Pound

Just got back from a Bruleurs get together, and love ‘em as I do I have to say things are slow. I know there are a lot of burners in town, but the critical mass of a bunch of them all in once place at one time doesn’t seem to happen much. Which brings me to…

The Pound

This is my place, the greatest place I’ve found so far in Montreal. The Pound is so fucking magical its hard to describe. Anything can happen. Its so open and chaotic and bubbling with potential and creativity. I’m seriously bummed that I’m not going this week due to work. It truly is the highlight of my week.

So, the plan is to try and mix the ingredients. Get Burners to the Pound. Get people from the Pound involved in Burner kind of stuff. Heck. If I can mix some UE into it all who knows what’ll happen!

Party at my place. Soon.

Nuit Blanche

Seeing as I’m a bit too lazy at the moment I’ll let someone else do the talking on this particular subject. If you close your eyes and wish the cold away you can almost imagine that its Burning Man. Something of the same vibe. Sorta.

Nuit Blanche by Midnight Poutine

Irregular Operations - March 8th, 2008

“Armageddon!” came the cry through the radio amidst the roar of gale force winds. “Armageddon!”

It was the desperate voice of one of the ground crew at Pierre Elliot Trudeau airport last night as we were hit by the most intense storm I have ever seen. A wall of snow barrelled into the airport at a hundred kilometers an hour and didn’t relent in its onslaught for the entire night. Visibility was zero, the windows shook and the wind whistled through every microscopic crack and opening. It goes without saying that nothing was taking off or landing.

The storm was so intense that at least one major highway connecting the airport to downtown was shut down. Shuttle services stopped and the line for taxis downstairs was over four hours long. All hotels within ten miles of the airport were booked solid, not that it mattered since you couldn’t go anywhere anyways.

We were up problem shooting with guests until two am, hours after all the other airline staff had given up and gone into hiding. All around us the stranded were sleeping, playing cards, one young man was even meditating. There were people everywhere, on benches, the floor, on the baggage belts, behind counters, then when we finally went upstairs to escape from it all, it went on. All through the hallways of the administration building people sleeping on the floor, clutching greedily to blankets from the fire department. It was an obstacle course to get to the office trying not to hit a blonde woman in the head when you opened the door.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It felt like a war or a natural disaster.

The morning crew was having trouble getting in, many weren’t going to make it at all so having no sleep and witout much idea of what we were going to do for people we set out again at 5am to face the hordes.

By 7:30 a few other employees had made it in and we’d managed to deal with the guests who had immediate flights though hundreds were still for the time being stranded. With the help of some coworkers we dug my car out and headed out onto the eerily vacant freeway. Then in the rearview mirror I saw something terrifying. Right behind me in a deadly phalanx of steel were five snowplows bearing down. Sleep deprived and barely gripping the surface of the road I never the less punched the gas since a potential spinout on concealed ice was better than a guaranteed snow plow enema.

We ate a ridiculously large breakfast at a funky little breakfast cafe and bubbled in a strange sleep deprived haze of post-traumatic hysteria. Somehow I managed to make it the rest of the way home, carve out a little parking space out of the mountainous snow drifts on my street, crawl up to my room and into a ten hour coma.

I’d write so much more about the absurdity, the Lord of the Flies at the airport, but people deserve some respect for making it through a harrowing experience of winter’s wrath when all they were planning for was a week on some southern isle. I’m also in need of some sleep. I need to try and get my body back on track if I’m to function at all tomorrow. Lots to do, lots to get done. Okay. Let’s go.

Just some stuff

There are many things I could write about tonight, so the question becomes, where is my passion right now? What is burning to get out? What needs to be released, or lost, aflutter on the breeze or buried in the long term memory banks, not to be seen or heard from again until some night as an old man a thousand miles from here? What indeed.

I suppose the quickest and easiest thing to do, if not necessarily the most insightful is just to make note, tick off the items that I’ve accomplished lately. How about that? That’s a reasonable start at least.

• My application to Concordia University is ready to go. A bit of a revelation behind that. Its due tomorrow. I finished it today. See what I’ve discovered about myself, or rather accepted is that I work best under stress. That’s a positive way of saying that I procrastinate. And why not be positive about it? I mean if that’s the way I am, why be any other way? Planning, preparing, taking your time and being careful - that shit’s for chumps. Give me a three alarm deadline in half an hour - that’s when I shine. Ask for the impossible and you’ll get it. Ask for the possible and I’ll probably sleep in.
• I bought a Macbook Pro. Now this is kind of a counter to the prior point because I planned the hell out of this one. Extensive research into Apple’s product rollouts told me that something was going to happen at the end of February, so I waited, and fastidiously kept track of the pricing on my particular model of choice. Sure enough when I looked today I found rumours circulating that Apple was upgrading its Macbooks to a new processor and a push was on to get rid of the old. When I looked at my model there it was… $650 cheaper. Bang! Sold! Should arrive sometime next week. Did I mention I hate Macs?
• Carmella asked me to go to Cuba with her. She found a great deal and she’s going stir crazy and needs to get off this big glob of dirt we call North America. Fair enough. Trick is she wants to go SOON. How the heck am I going to get the time off? How the heck am I going to pay for it? Sure I just saved $650, but does that entitle me to blow it on a week in Cuba? Then again, she has a good point - once Castro’s gone things will start to change down there very quickly. Tempting…

Nuit Blanche is Saturday night. Best English translation is all night city wide art party. I have no idea where to go or what to do, but hell, its going to be fun. Chriz might even drop in for the night. Tomorrow night is the more pressing concern. Which of two or three parties to go to? I wussed out on the Pound tonight since I’ve got to deliver my application before work tomorrow and see if I can get an April 1 takeover for one of the St. Henri lofts. I still wussed out. Whatever. There’ll be plenty of time to boogey. I need to get some things done first.

Wow. What an efficient blog post. Not entirely profound or entertaining, but it gets the job done. Perhaps a 20/20 travelogue in hindsight for Chriz and I’s little Dominican adventure next. Why not?

No Such Thing as a Wasted Trip

It would be understandable if I were upset. After all getting a projector is a big part of my plan to create the Living Room Cinematheque. Without a projector the whole thing kind of falls apart, unless I can manage to convince people that staring at a blank wall is somehow entertaining.

Today I ventured out across town to meet the seller of the projector, do a little demo and hopefully seal the deal, giving me a super cheap solution to the projector problem. I got on the metro and headed out, almost to the end of the line, went to the designated meeting spot and ordered myself a coke. Five to ten minutes later my phone rang and the seller informed me that A) he was running late and B) he had just tested the projector and it was “acting funny.” He told me he’d call back in fifteen minutes trying to resolve the problem.

The night before I’d done some research on the projector, obsessively googling it and also checking out the alternatives on eBay. There were some misgivings from “the experts” about the video performance of the unit though consumers didn’t seem to mind. In terms of alternatives there wasn’t much in a comparable price range. It was either this or something substantially more expensive. I figured for the Living Room Cinematheque pilot project a cheap projector that wasn’t perfect would do just fine - at least until such time as I could afford something better.

Waiting for the seller to call me back I decided to explore the neighbourhood since its a part of Montreal I haven’t been in before. My interest was quickly piqued by a rather tall old smokestack and a large circular tower a few blocks away. I set out to discover what exactly this architectural marvel was. As I drew near I figured it out, the smokestack was the physical plant for Hôpital Louis-H. Lafontaine. Trying to get a closer view of the impressive old tower I ventured into one of the buildings. Immediately upon stepping onto the grounds though a strange feeling tingled at the back of my consciousness. As I walked the corridors I began to figure it out.

Checking up on Google when I got home confirmed it, Hôpital Louis-H. Lafontaine is a psychiatric hospital. The old halls were permeated with that distinct aura that inhabits these places. The people I saw in the halls had that forlorn, confused and in some cases totally removed look. Some hunched and uncommunicative, others alert to things that nobody could see but them. Electric maintenance trolleys and floor polishers rushed through the facility like busy worker ants, almost oblivious to the patients around them as they slid around with their quietly eerie electronic hum. Most of the hospital was quiet, forlorn, except for the area underneath the tower, the apparent nerve centre of the facility. Here a freight elevator waited to ferry supplies up and down the imposing structure and staff scurried back and forth. Temptingly one of the first doors I walked through was right next to a door marked “Tunnel Access” (in English no less), but psychiatric hospitals probably have more vigilant security than most, and I’d hate to be mistaken for a patient while trying to talk my way out of a sticky situation.

At the end of the day it was an inspiring backdrop with incredible story potential. Sad to think of what it was in reality though, with its fenced off outdoor yards and that panopticonic tower. Suffering from paranoia and delusions I’m sure that tower’s iconography and symbolic power did more to push patients to lurking paranoia then to stability and peace of mind.

With perfect timing the seller called me back as I was walking off the grounds and informed me that the projector still wasn’t working right and that it might be an issue with the fan. He apologized profusely but was glad it’d happened before he sold it rather than afterwards, and this in part is why I’m not upset.

Buying the projector and having it subsequently break on me would have been a much bigger hassle than going out and having a coke and home fries this morning. The projector probably wasn’t my best buy for my purposes despite the excellent price anyway, now I don’t have to worry about it. Not only that but I got to see things in the city that I haven’t yet seen - the eerie mental hospital and the science fiction inspiring Radisson metro station. It got me up and out of bed before noon which is something I haven’t done in… weeks. In the end much more good came of the experience than bad and I’m sure that before you know it I’ll find the perfect projector at a price I can live with. No worries.

So… I have every reason to be upset. But I’m not. I’m actually quite happy. Let’s see what else the day holds in store!

A Guide is Required

I was thinking about doing up a video guide to parking in Montreal, because quite frankly its confusing. Today confirmed that. As a public service, to help all those who will come after me. I think its only fair. It could save hundreds of people hundreds of dollars each. That’s worth something. No better way to get revenge against the City of Montreal than to prevent thousands of dollars from making it into their coffers. Fuckwits.

So here’s the deal. When your car gets towed due to snow removal they don’t take it to an impound lot. That would require far too much resources, towing hundreds if not thousands of cars after a snowfall. Instead all they do is tow your car a few blocks away, whatever’s available that isn’t being plowed. My car was moved two blocks north. In fact if I’d widened my net a little bit last night when I went wandering around I would have found it sitting there, waiting for me, $92 fine fluttering in the wind underneath the left windshield wiper. Its frustrating, but its better than having to trek across town to get it released from an automotive prison. I get a bit of time to pay the fine as well.

So the parking in Montreal video is a go. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of all the victims of remorquage.

They took my car

The goddam bastards. They came and they took it. I can’t decide which I’d prefer, if someone outright stole the thing or if the fucking city towed it away. Unfortunately its almost certainly the latter.

I’m perfectly willing to admit when I’m wrong and to pay the consequences - its only fair. But this is scandalous, ridiculous, infuriating even. I can’t find my license plate number in the online “where is my car” system which is bad because according to the site my plate should show up there within an hour of being towed. That hasn’t happened, though being a governmental thing and this being the most dysfunctional government in North America I shouldn’t be surprised.

I noticed during my blistering cold walk around the block, hoping I just forgot where I parked it that my street has been plowed. That would imply that sometime between yesterday afternoon and this evening when I noticed the absence of my car that they plowed. Either that or my little segment of street experienced a bizzare spontaneous vanishing of snow - which I consider unlikely at best. So, chances are they towed me in order to accomplish that.

Now the way they do this is a bit… Well. About a day before plowing they come around and plant little signs in the snow informing you that you can’t park there the next day, and thus is our little problem. I did not see any signs of this nature. Generally they’re pretty noticable, but yesterday afternoon I don’t recall seeing any. The trick is I don’t actually know the required interval between their planting the signs and them doing the plowing. I should think you get at least 24 hours so its feesible that they planted the signs just after I parked and plowed just before I went outside for the first time today. Possible. But I have the nagging suspicion that they just do whatever they please, knowing that fighting it would cost more than the $92 fee to get your car back from the pound.

Of course I don’t even know which impound lot to go to because my car doesn’t show up in the computer system!

Normally I’m calm and accepting of these things, but tomorrow I expect there may be a bit of yelling. As much as I like this province the bureaucracy and bungling does begin to wear on you. I can learn a lesson from this about checking on my car more frequently, though its ridiculous that I can’t leave it unattended for even a day! But they need to learn a lesson as well, about serving the people, because the people are the ones who foot the bill.

It all gives me more reason to hate having a car. I haven’t been thrilled with it for a while now. But there are enough reasons to keep it, largely the two hours it saves me commuting to and from the airport plus the ability to haul gear from point A to point B when I need to. But still there’s a fine line between convenience and overwhelming hassle.

I guess this is the universe’s way of balancing out the hubris from the last couple of days victories. Fine. I’ll try and be a bit more humble.

Oh, found another potential loft space. That’s four buildings I have in my sights. I’m bound to get one of them.

And what have you done?

Today was destined to be a productive one. After I got up. At noon. Well it happens. That’s how I roll. The whole process of waking up is sacred, and besides, I was having some delightfully weird dreams. If I’m going to start lucid dreaming I’ve got to really get into my unconscious state now don’t I?

Anyways. I hopped into the car and whipped a quick 180 in front of a disbelieving Aveo, which has the distinction of being in the awkwardly un-cool category of bigger than a SmartCar or Mini but smaller than any other “real” cars. Dweeb. Rolled east, then north to get to Sono Video which had been recommended to me by the production guru at Mainfilm. This now is the true test of my French speaking skills. Describing the technical problems I’ve been having with the CommandoCam to the degree that I can get the little soldier fixed to fight another day - before I break her again. The PD-150 is probably one of the most robust DV cams out there, but she’s still not really designed for hour long alkilai dust storms, humid sewer air, dirty mine tailings or breaking the fall of a videographer trying to climb a fence next to Niagara Falls in January. She’s survived it all with only some minor glitches, but those glitches are becoming annoying enough that its time to fix her.

Next I dropped the car off at Canadian Tire, again trying to ask for a cleaning of the fuel system, and oil change and engine diagnostic all in French. For some reason not all of the appropriate terminology was a part of my grade school French education - considering I wasn’t even of legal driving age before I left French immersion. Even so I managed to get the oil changed, though there wasn’t time to do the other stuff today so I’ll have to go back. I hate spending all this money on the car, but if doing all of these different things to it can bring up the fuel economy by 2% here, 5% there it could work out to saving me lots in the long run, not to mention the environmental benefits and such.

While I was waiting for the car the dude at C-Tire called me to inform me that the battery was pretty crappy - trying to incite me to buy a new one no doubt, which eventually I will do but not now. I mean let’s not blow all my money in one visit! Anyways I didn’t really understand him at first and I gave a pretty akward reply. Immediately after hanging up I figured out the better way to say it. And so it goes with learning. Those neural pathways got a little workout, figuring out how to say that one phrase better, so that next time it comes up, chances are better that I’ll get it right, more natural.

This is the essential thing. Making myself operate in French despite the opportunity to do so in English. I could probably have done both transactions in English, but I chose not to. I even went so far as to use the Canadian Tire to the east, knowing that it would be more French. So… personal immersion continues.

Anyways, some decent stuff accomplished today. Some photo/video work prospects finally coming up. My goal for 2008 is to almost double my take home monthly income by the end of the year. If that’s the goal I’ve got some work to do. Ta.

Tick Tock

With every six degrees the little red hand twists on the clock I get a second closer to departing Calgary for Montreal. Three months. That’s all that’s left, and here’s the shocker. Ready? I think I’m going to miss Calgary.

Its oft been said by naively optimistic Calgarian artists that this city’s on the cusp of reaching some sort of cultural maturity, a revolution of activity and appreciation that’s been so sorely lacking in this social backwater of a town. The thing is in the past couple of years I think its actually begun to happen. There are cool events going on all around me and I’ve met dozens of really interesting, quirky, artistic people recently.

I also feel like I’m finally starting to get that firm base that you need to pursue artistic endeavors. I’ve got a great apartment, I’ve got a car, I’ve got an amazing work situation, some wonderful contacts. Really I’ve got the makings of something great, and here I am about to leave it. Seems crazy.

Yet, when I start thinking that way I just have to remind myself that however artsy and open minded Calgary has become, it can’t hold a dandelion seed to the artistic behemoth that is Montreal.

So here I am counting the days, and somehow every one of them seems that much more precious to me now. When you have an expiry date everything takes on a new light, a new significance. I suppose its my duty to make this the best damn summer I’ve ever had in Calgary and hope that one day I’ll enjoy and work with many of these wonderful people again…