I found a new reason to love Quebec that has nothing to do with Montreal, courtesy of Costco. Spending a perfectly shitty Easter weekend in Ottawa turned out to actually have perks this time. On my friend's advice to "Shut the fuck up with the questions and just go buy booze in Quebec while you're up there", I scurried over to Hull's Costco and found beer. In cases of FIFTY-FIVE. Sure it's Coors Light, but this thing looks (and is almost the size of) the bottom half of the Stanley Cup. It's sheer awesome, just in time for the nice weather. Why can't we have shit like this in Ontario? WHY?!?! TELL ME!!!!!!!! I'll post a picture as soon as I can.
Let me preface by saying that in this area when you're introduced to someone new the introducing party will give a complete line of your lineage like you are a show pony or something. If the person meeting you knows any of your relatives, you're golden and immediately part of their family. I was introduced to an old man with vacant eyes today who had to be just shy of Methuselah's most recent birthday. He seemed disinterested in the pleasantries of the introduction until he heard my grandfather's name. His eyes lit up in recognition and he asked me "You're Murray's boy?" "No sir," I replied "He was my grand daddy." "I remember him. He was a mean bastard." And then he went back to staring at his plate of stewed peas or whatever the fuck it was he was attempting to eat. I've grown kind of used to that reaction and hopefully one of these days I'll get someone to elaborate and actually talk about my grandfather.
My grandfather orphaned at least 16 children in five seconds in WWII, and for the rest of his life was jovial, funny and street-smart. I'll tell you this: when somebody his age says that your grandfather was "a mean bastard", hide. BY the way, my grandfather's name was Murray.
I met my grandfather when I was 2, but that was a long, long time ago and I don't have any lasting memories of him. All I have to go by is stories from my father, his siblings, and the old folks down here. Thus far I've ascertained a few facts: Granddad was uneducated and never learned to read or write. I have a few documents that he signed with an "X" because he couldn't write his own name. Granddad was also horribly racist. I'm sure it was more a case of him being ignorant then actually hating people of different races, but Grand Daddy was apparently the stereotypical hate slinging southerner. When I first moved down here I commented to my father about my discomfort of the older black gentlemen removing their hats and looking at the ground when I spoke to them. He told me "They still remember Daddy." I'm still wondering what kind of monster I'm related to if he created such a legacy of stupidity and hatred. All I get out of the old timers around here is them telling me "He was a mean old bastard," and then they clam up like my grand daddy is going to rise from the grave and bitch slap them. My grandfather died 39 years ago. He couldn't have been that nasty as to scare people from beyond the grave nearly 4 decades later.
Have you ever watched a man go into a shower sober and walk out druink? My roommates just did. Sunday, bloody Sunday.
Aside from a nice lunch of lamb chops, a salty ham, and gnocchi, I scored some of my mom's apple crisp on the way home. Cheah. Say what you will about the historical pros and cons of Jesus, at least the guy had good taste in resurrection food.
So that was probably the best Easter ever, until the very end. Me and a bunch of friends went over to a friend's house, we had a cookout with lots of drinking, fireworks, and couch burnings. We also played a game that none of us actually know the name of that we ended up calling "Stump." It entails standing in a circle around a couple of tree trunk slicings stacked on top of each other with nails in it, one nail for one person. You had to toss the hammer end over end, catch it, and then smash in an opposing player's nail. If you hit it, they drink, you miss, you drink, if you hammer it all the way in they have to shotgun a beer. I'm not sure of the proper way to play because we made up rules the entire time, but needless to say I was the motherfucking champ. Oh, and then we watched the first Mortal Kombat movie. Dear Jesus, that movie is so great. And for the bad ending, my roommate ended up being the only fucking guy there who was so blitzed out of his mind that he could hardly function, so now I have to take care of his drunk ass. Oh well. Other than that a fine, fine day.
I've had meat like six days in the past two weeks. I think I officially count as not vegetarian anymore. yaaaaaaay
Well, the paper is done. I'm officially stoned, cooking a California pizza kitchen buffalo chicken pizza, about to watch some Trailer Park Boys. And not think about the French test I have tomorrow that I'm not studying for. I'm guessing you guys are all in bed or something lame, right?
Just got back from seeing SlaughterHouse (Royce 5'9, Joe Budden, Crooked I and Joell Ortiz) and Pharaohe Monch and it was one of the best shows I have been to in a long ass time. After seeing Masta Ace and Edo G last month, these guys tonight and MOP next month, I must admit that Halifax has been stepping up its Rap show game as of late. I am loaded drunk, smoked a pile of some incredible chronic and got the amazing surprise that my landlords left a bag of easter eggs tied to my doorknob that I am about to devour, life is good. Happy Zombie Jesus day to everyone.
Normal weekend for me-pass out drunk in my clothes. What is unusual is that everyone is still talking to me, and my text/email/facebook message outboxes are empty-I usually do something stupid and regretful when drunk, so I suppose whatever I've done this time must be a new level of evil for me. Nevermind. More beer.