It's June and my patio bar is calling

Gabby and I tried to go 737 yesterday after work only to find the bar doors (elevator) open but no one inside, no booze behind the bar and no staff to be seen anywhere. I don't know what the owners are thinking but now are the weeks when we start building our summer routines. And if they don't want us drinking on Varga's patio all summer they had better be open next week.

737 is a bit over crowded some weeks, and their no jeans policy on Thursdays is a bit of a turn off for some of my friends who don't even own an iron, let alone know how to press a pair of slacks.

And the no sandals rule sucks when it is 27 degrees in the shade. But the cheap beer and office babes make up for it. And it is fun to pretend, even for a few hours, that we are responsible adults. Sipping beer out of plastic cups and leaving our ties on so they whip around in the wind 737 feet above the streets of downtown Montreal.

Varga's has food, though, and their beer specials are just as good as 737's but you get served your drinks in pre-frosted mugs the size off your head. Bonus-their bar whiskey is cheap with your mix on the side in those little vases. There's really no dress code but the staff get wary when we show up there. We get loud and drunk by 8PM and only have one round past happy hour. And we never stay for a full dinner (who can afford to pay $40 for a steak?? Not me yet).

There's no music at Varga's- and dancing is strongly discouraged. But you are at street level with decent traffic so the people watching is a bonus. Unfortunately I see a lot of my ex-coworkers there that I really have no use for. And the washrooms have those tiny little towels and good lighting in case you need to get something small out of your pockets and into your body (which is also looked down upon by the staff LOL but fug 'em).

On any random night at 737 you can buy coke in the washrooms and maybe get some VP of Short Skirts from a tony law firm to do some with you in the VIP lounge. Then maybe down to her office for a scotch and a board meeting (wink wink).

I think 737 is going to win the summer patio war this year. There's enough time to drink at Varga's in the winter.

"These are bad times for people who like to sit outside the library at dawn on a rainy morning and get ripped to the tits on crank and powerful music..."

On the occasion of Richard Nixon's death:

"Nixon had the unique ability to make his enemies seem honorable, and we developed a keen sense of fraternity. Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.
Nixon laughed when I told him this. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'I, too, am a family man, and we feel the same way about you.'"
from Better Than Sex- Confessions of A Political Junkie by Hunter S. Thompson (1994)

The good Doctor decided to take his own life last night, in Aspen, Colorado, while his wife was out to the store. His son Juan is reported to have had found him- and I guess it must have been a gruesome sight. I feel deeply for his family for their loss.

I always hoped his end would involve the firearms he was so enthusiastic about. He loved "high-powered weapons" more than he did the drugs. I'm glad he didn't overdose in some strange opium den- that would have been a shame. I wouldn't have liked that media storm- was it a suicide or an inadvertent overdose? His enemies (and he still had quite a few- memories in the Doctor's business are long and the kind of stakes he was playing with were huge...) might have twisted his death into some sort of morality play.

Too bad the film version of Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas was so popular- it really is clouding the media focus on his death. His most important work began with his next book, Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, 1972. This tome follows Hunter through the mind, body and soul wrenching experience of covering the '72 election all the way from the first Democratic primary right to Nixon's Coronation Inauguration. He threatened petty officials on crowded Cessna's with physical harm for asking him to extinguish his Dunhills, he called respected politicians Rats, madmen, and perverts. He snorted drugs in the back of the press bus.

And in it all he made dramatic exposure of what lies beneath the veneer of respectability displayed as the US electoral process. It is a mad power grab for the highest stakes- and it is not for the weak of heart.

From then on, Hunter was called on repeatedly by Rolling Stone to cover, explain, and make palatable the electoral process for their tuned in and dropped out readers. How successful he was in bringing American youth to some comprehension about "How It All Works" in American politics is too difficult for me to judge- but I know that the choir he did convert will be singing his praises for decades to come.

As writers, and specifically as bloggers, I think we owe a huge debt to this man for escaping the confines of "objective journalism" some forty years ago and playing fast and loose with decorum, drug and firearm laws, community standards and libel laws. The written word can paint a much more diverse picture thanks to him, and he will be sorely missed.

Mtlanglo, February 21, 2005
Montreal

Crunkfest

Continuing my long quest to reclaim the word "crunk" for speed freaks all over the word- I like to check on the progress of the war. It seems that there was some hip hop event down in Memphis called Crunkfest 2004 that got a tad nasty when it ended too soon (from Indie Musician):

"When you do a rap show there are always problems, but nobody got shot," said Rickey Cole of S&S Entertainment. "The crowds at these shows have got to learn to control themselves. Beefed up security is a must."

No one was seriously injured in the parking lot fight or three fights that broke out during the show." (emphasis mine)

Now, the closest thing I've seen at a house/electronica event is a bit of booing and hissing when DJ Heather stopped one of her sets at Stereo at 9:30 in the morning. I have some theories about the lack of violence:

• the lack of alcohol makes things a bit more mellow
• it's just not part of the culture around that music

Rickey Cole is this close to saying "Yeah- we were expecting at least a few of the kids to get shot...how can you have a hip-hop show without someone getting capped?"-

Christmas morning

Ok- gifts have been opened, a light breakfast of bagel and yogurt has been consumed (New York style bagel vs. Montreal- nice change!) and I caught the end (Thank GOD!) of White Christmas.

"Done, done, done and DONE!"

I am going to nap now and when I wake up I am going to make a pot of coffee that will RIP MY TITS OFF. Lack of speed/ephedrine/Amphetamines/crystal meth and no espresso anywhere in the city is MAKING ME DISTURBED*. I might have to start throwing myself bodily into traffic for the adrenaline rush or something. Nope- 2 problems with that:

1. there is no traffic
2. even if there was they would actually stop if it remotely looked like I wanted to cross the street. Damn polite drivers.
   

I know- I'll fill the coffee filter normally, but in the pot I'll add this small bottle of INSTANT COFFEE my folks have, along with some cocoa...THAT SHOULD DO IT. (or- could put the pot on now and let the water boil off the concoction and then take the resulting powder and RAIL IT? What would my pharmacist say?)

BBC coke head

It might keep me pleasant and alert until dinner is over at 7-8 PM tonight and I can hit that bottle of Xmas Jager I got (my little brother's girlfriend ROCKS!)

Hmmm- doing shots with the family- a new Christmas tradition? Or a bad idea?

*dear readers- you do realize that I am not a complete crank head- I just play one on the internet...

The Cast- Sabs

Sabs is the Queen of Crunk, the Stereo High Priestess. These are her legs:



Here's the story: I'm at the Typhoon Lounge for happy hour one Friday and talking to one of my coworkers about Stereo. Suddenly, one of his friends whips around and says:

"You go to Stereo? How often?"
"Uh, yeah- once every two weeks, sometimes more..." I respond- trying to remember this guy's name...
"I've never seen you there...what night do you go?"
"Saturdays."
He says- "Ahhh- I go on Fridays, I'm heading there tonight if you want to meet some of my friends."

Needless to say- that was how Turbo started going to Stereo on Saturdays and Fridays. (It nearly killed him that first month we hung out. Then Sabs showed me how to party 4 nights a week, then 5- then the blur.)

That's also the night I met Sabs. She was the first person Brian introduced me to. She hung out with us and introduced me to 100+ people; Stereo has been my house away from home ever since. She is a promoter and VIP Hostess and general PR machine for Stereo and some local DJs to boot. At one point last summer she was promoting for 4 nights out of the week. And she can dance like an angel- all night and all day, in serious stilettos if she wants.

And she is one of the warmest, brightest people I have met in the scene. This is an excerpt from an email she sent before my trip:

Just wanted to wish you a safe trip. Have a good time, and don`t miss us too much. I
will be sure to party like crazy while you`re gone. After all, someone is
going to have to pick up the slack that your absence will create. Although
being the holidays and all, I am sure that Turbo will be out in full force.
Hope you had a good time @ Pat Boogie. I`m really sorry I had to miss that,
but I`m kinda glad I did. I`m still tired and yucky feeling today. Oh well...
Guess I`m getting old. Having a real job sucks in some ways I tell you!!!
Anyway, keep us updated on how your vacation is going.
Sabs

And to top it all off she lives with two real cool guys (who I'll get to later) in a brilliant 2 storey apartment that we affectionately call The Crunk Mansion. And her passion for and knowledge of house music is astounding.

PS- Sabs- Pat Boogie rocked but our Ferrari speed was a bit on the light-weight side and we were all home by 7 AM.

Sloooow Saturday

Ok- so there are just some nights you aren't meant to be fufilled- like a night when all you want to do is shake your booty with your friends and the opening DJ is a local hero and he just smokes crack for the first 2/3rds of his set- then the headliner comes on and plays soft beat electro-house (if there is such a term) all night.

Your "e" is questionable but your speed is too strong- but with no "up" kick- just keeps you awake for 40+ hours for $10-- who the fuck invited this shit? They deserve a Noble Prize in Chemistry.

The hot girl that's been sending you signals all night is too shy to carry on any conversation, and the other one is being shadowed by a 300 pound plus sumo wrestler type (I kid u not!) at a pace of 3 feet; which is almost his radius...

Go home- fucktard- fight again another day.

The Long and the Short of it

People came to the Phoon- some of them I didn't want to see- not even my friends, close to enemies.

One guy got cranked on coke and was randomly talk shit to people- another guy was so drunk we had to have security take his keys and call .08 to drive him and his car and his SCARED SHITLESS date home (first "date"- friend of his roommate- I'd feel sorry for him but he is so clueless as to how un-appealling he is that it wouldn't be worth my time).

And Cynthia- on a coke rage- being loud and self righteous- I had to ask her to use her inside voice. And me- in the middle of this- sketched out- up for 40 hours, "e"-tarded, been drinking for 12 hours and hopped up on speed- and the only halfway normal person there.

Except Linda- sweet, sweet woman- gave me a baggie of weed! Love that woman- it's the only gift I got!

Went home- changed- went to stereo (second gift- free tickets from Sabrina!! Thanks, hon!) Turbo is back- we buy drugs at my house- get into the club and NO ONE WE KNOW is there.

Sure- Sara, Mel and the kids are in force- but the crowd is thin and looks like no one has actually paid to get in tonight as Morales is tomorrow and that will be FUCKED.

As this is Turbo's first night back in MTL since Europe- he's been drinking and did some speed and we have a new batch of G- he's WIRED in the first hour- which is a good thing- since he and I are the only people dancing out of the 200 peopel milling about Stereo.

It's Big Al's fucking birthday gig! And it is beginning to look like a junior high sock-hop, the boys and girls are seperated, the gays off in their corner, no one is dancing!

My body is killing me from lack of sleep and the hard work out I gave it the night before- but somehow I get dancing for an hour and eventual the crowd warms up (read: their E hits them). I vanish to the side to jsut listen to the music.

Then- I see it- two girls are rubbing water all over some guy who's convulsing near a speaker stack... then I look again- IT"S FUCKING TURBO- I run down to see what the fuck, his face is so contorted I barely recognize him, and every muscle in his body seems to be clenching and un-clenching in unison.

He's gotta sit down- oddly my first thoughts aren't about his health- it's about his pride: would he like to be known as one of the guys who's wiped out at Stereo- or can I get him off to a corner where he can G out with some dignity?

Turb's a big guy, though- I call Ian over to help- but he just laughs at him. Turbo can't speak- he doesn't even seem to recognize me. He keeps putting his hands to his mouth like he is about to vomit, which is the ony real hazard. If he inhales his own vomit he will sufficate on it...

On our way to a corner he grabs ahold of one of the pipe columns and won't let go- this is getting scary- so I relent and get security..they take him downstairs and watch him for an hour until he passes out- I leave my number in case he needs a lift or his condition changes and go hame at 6 AM- Pass out.

Sleep until Morales' birthday- Saturday- 1 AM- Stereo Bar so I don't have to wait in line. Excellent- what more can I say- God Damn excellent night- 16 hours of dancing- if you didn't see me there there's no way to describe it.

(every once-in-awhile if I was talking to someone and Morales would play a new tune I would yell " FUUUUCCCKKKK MEEEEE" and shoot back to the dance floor- amazing!)

And that was that.

Monday on My Mind

How much is there to do on the Main on a Monday night? Not a whole hell of a lot!

Met Turbo for drinks at Reservoir at 6- which got stale pretty quick. Don't get me wrong, we had lots of catching up to do after his Amsterdam/ Geneva trip- and he has the following day off of work----so we decide to make an adventure of it.

After leaving the relative safety of the Reservoir we decide to look for some snow- we look in for Tony at some fo his haunts- no go, it's not even 8 PM yet. So, we are puzzled when we notice we are standing in front of the Miami- which Brian has never been too. Not that it is a great bar by any means, but it is totally a Montréal landmark and the completely sketchiest, sleaziest dive on the Main.

In we go- the pool table is empty and stained, a few cigarette burns on the felt- the bar looks like it was handmade out of wood lot remnants by Cro-Magnon man. The waitress is suitably attired, yet has that late afternoon heroin-chic look down pat. Her casual disinterest in us is almost seductive. Two Boreal Blonde. One game of pool. A brief stint on the patio (which now sports a 6 foot tall fence, too dissuade "jumpers")

Next- stop in at a friends- where I am plied with a quick joint- we almost get sucked into watching "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas", but we resist, and continue our mission.

The Go-Go lounge is as pretentious as the Miami is unassuming. It is made up of low sung plastic seats that were designed more for looks than for comfort- poor lighting, expensive faux martini's and surly, inept waitresses who make a living being professionally size 3.Mind you- the drinks are good. And we run into someone- Allan from Stereo. Allan was with Anne the first time I met her on the mountain. He's a nice enough guy- he's forgotten my name- he's with two thin little teen-age girls. He's trying to pick one of them up- he keeps giving me the look to stop talking about partying (he is trying to explain she doesn't do drugs)

They split- Turbo and I get smashed sitting in the window seats. They've installed two metal/wire cords across the window opening, supposedly to keep drunks like us from dashing on our tab.

We proceed to take note of some great one liners- Turbo threatens to use them on the message boards:
"How come no one is walking close enough to spank?"- blkshrt
"I lost my moral compass at Beach Club"- blkshrt

I can't remember them all right now...we knew this would happen but the waitress thing would not give us a pen, or anything sharp for that matter.Stay tuned- part 2 coming up.

And another episode of "Gravity Kills"

Some poor 9 year old girl has tragically died whilst skiing.

Well, it wasn't the skiing part that killed her, really- it was the sudden stopping against an immovable object. And since the news wires all mention a lack of helmet being a contributing factor, I can assume it was a head-blunt-trauma injury that got her, rather than a branch-soft organ-piercing internal bleeding kind of death.


Why stories like this continue to make the news is beyond me- skiing is a rather hazardous activity involving:

1. speed
2. gravity
3. a slippery surface, or two if you waxed your skis properly
4. nature in general- specifically- sheer drops and various rocks and trees

How this can be considered a "safe" sport by parents is beyond me, but I guess it beats keeping your kids indoors all winter reading and doing calisthenics.