Saturday, July 29, 2006


Okay, I ended up turning this post into an edition of my music editorial in Montreal's The Mirror. To see the final version, which reads a lot less like the drunken rant that this is, check my other blog HERE (Disco Volante)

Ah, Montreal! My heart swells to hear her name! Montreal! The only city where, instead of getting chased down and given a fine for skateboarding, cycle-cops give you props on your slicin’ manhole-gap-to-intersection-manual. True story. I ask of you: where else can a guy get bought a $200 bottle of champagne for thoughtfully complimenting an errant economist on his smashing socks-shirt match? Never mind that I was rolling with the sweetest chicas in the bar; that’s just details. Indeed, when thousands of queers flood in town for grand-scale debauchery and general fuck-wittery, how many other business communities take the laudable official policy of, “Word up. Let’s get stoopid.” Yes, Montreal, penultimate location to find crotch-bustingly beautiful people, second only to downtown Barcelona. Orrelay, gato! Yup, here and only here does a guy get heard rockin’ !!! and LCD Soundsystem at an all-night rager, then subsequently get asked to DJ a wedding. Seriously. It’s been a wild month, I tell you.

Today I met the guy who did all the hairstyles for the X-Files series, and a bunch of Hollywood movies. WHO GIVES A FUCK ABOUT FUCKING TV!!!??? Interesting enough chap, though. He came in wondering where we got our elegant sofas. Yeah, that’s how we roll. You might think, by reading this post, that I am a self-interested coke-monger. You might think, by seeing the way I bash my head against the wall, metaphorically and otherwise, that I am touched by dark gods. You might think, following a search, that I am a lush. Anyone ever heard “crap kraft dinner” by Hot Chip?