Yes, friends, as I was drawing up the mock obituary in lecture, it seems that Christine Sirois has resurfaced. After informing me that she is, in fact, in the Canadian equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle, Ottawa, it all made sense. I have lost many a good soldier to this Ottawa that I hear so much about, but they are all coming back to me, like lost sailors to the North Star, I am an integral part of everyday life. Actually, I am not that full of myself. And I am ecstatic that Sirois has emerged. I am even more ecstatic at the prospect of my reemergence.
The good news just keeps pouring in, I suppose. Well, by pouring I mean it comes in intervals, usually intercepted by 15 minutes on hold. After getting through to both Bell and Puralator today, I have found my Internet modem. It’s in Lachine, the Bermuda Triangle of Quebec. I have been to Lachine before, I was there for 15 minutes because my father, sister, and I got lost on our way to the Hotel St James. It is essentially a wasteland. If I stopped at stoplights, stop signs, yield signs, really if I stopped for anything, I’d be worried about stopping for longer than a second. For fear of someone much like Ben Derksen (I’m talking height and body type-wise, jeez) coming out from behind an abandoned gas station with a cleaver… I think it’s pretty clear that, for once, I am not excited for this bike ride.
Since we want to keep on the warm and fuzzy train, guess what I’m getting next week? Other than the wheels for my fixie, that is. A press pass! Like, holy shit. I hope they don’t have to take my picture for this pass, because we all know how those turn out. Yikes. Anyways, this press pass is definitely exciting. I’m thinking about writing for The Link, and if I can do some sort of music feature, I hope to drunkenly interview everyone from every indie band who comes through Montreal. Which is every band worth mentioning. And this has just come to me, but with this press pass, I feel as if I could stalk Sara Quin. Only when I tell people about it, I would omit the word “stalk” with “track down for research purposes” in order to make people feel at ease. But really, it would be a feature on what Sara Quin is like in bed. Now that is what I call undercover journalism. I’m stopping with that terrible pun.
(First posted: 10/09/08)