Fun - July 4, 2006

Tom told me maybe I should try to have more fun. I defended myself by saying that if by “fun” he meant drinking and not caring about what I did, it was a “tired” activity for me and no fun at all. He said that’s not what he meant. So I think I’ve been successful, actually. Yesterday I spent the day where Montrealers ages six to 60 go for fun: La Ronde. I rode 4 roller-coasters: The Vampire, The Cobra, The Monster and The (pathetic) Dragon. Julian, Justine and Weitse also rode the new Goliath, which I skipped. Too much headbanging and stomach turning for one day, thanks. The Goliath has an initial drop that reminded me of my closest experience to skydiving. I wasn’t ever going to dive, but I was up in the little plane to see what it was like for an article, and to accompany my photographer, Bubi. When we were half way up to the optimum height, it didn’t look so bad, but when we reached max altitude, every molecule of my being screamed, “don’t jump!! You would be CRAZY to jump!” It was quite powerful, and I wasn’t jumping anyway, so I’m kind of glad I didn’t go on the Goliath to get thrown from those heights forcibly. As Julian wondered: would you rather die skydiving (your parachute doesn’t open) or on a roller-coaster (goes off the track)? Oh my god, they had nets on the side of the rail up there. I don’t even want to imagine why.

Over the course of the day, we all screamed our lungs out; I protected my poor body as best I could (pictures would look tragic as I crouched and hid from… what?) and laughed when not fearing for my health. Like Justine said while we were on the quieter (but still dizzy-fying) ferris wheel, if aliens landed at La Ronde they would think it was a human torture ground.

I’m sorry if I seem not be enjoying myself by not laughing audibly at everything. I think it’s just because I can’t help but see the tragedy as well as the joy. And I don’t mind it. But maybe it annoys others?

Besides the bodily tragedy of being whipped upside down at high speeds, yesterday was a going away activity. I’m currently waiting for my flight to Honolulu and by the time I come back to Montreal, Julian and Justine will be gone. It’ll all be over: Amy, Armand and now the J&J, back to their homes forever. We said our goodbyes in the metro. If you knew these people… I wish we could go back to September and start all over again. I’m getting lousy at goodbyes. My theory is, I’ve said goodbye to so many people thus far, that I can’t ignore what I know: that you never see half these people again; that you don’t really know who’ll you’ll ever see again; and that you never stop missing them. Maybe I just suck at letting go.

But like I said to Tom: I’m sure it’s a skill that’ll come in handy some day.

More fun adventures: on Sunday night I went to see The Fabulous Lolo Sings Rocksteady at the Jazz Fest. Really great! I’ve been known to have a short attention span, but I thoroughly enjoyed the whole show. Bumped into Brian’s cousin Nat, too. Julian and Justine, and later Button, Nick and Sarah Rosenfeld met me there and we saw the surprise show of the night at the big stage: the Australian band Cat Empire. Also, amazing! (it’s funny: I don’t actually use this many exclamation marks in real life). It’s really too bad I’ll miss Shane’s show on Thursday. I think the Paul Simon tribute will also be cool. But hey, I’m trying to be more positive about my business trip to Hawaii. Looking forward to fresh fish and fruit, and the laid-back attitude. Also, and possibly most important of all: MY OWN ROOM!

Later that day:

Forgot to mention: I saw Leonard Cohen! He was walking up St. Laurent, close to Rachel, on the arm of a beautiful young woman who was taller than him.

The great benefit of being a mope is being pleasantly surprised. Hawaii has been a good surprise. Yes, it’s similar to Florida in some ways, as I expected. The crabgrass is there, the weather, the Americanized version of the tropics. But it’s also incredibly different, because there’s a culture here. It’s the locals; the Japanese; the 10-year old girl riding a longboard; the every-single-guy-is-ripped-oh-wait-it’s-a-military-beach; the girl carrying her surfboard on her bike. I hate myself for not getting every photo op on the digital camera my father’s friend Juan lent me.

For now, I have the view from my room (ocean everywhere, a marina directly below me) and my, ehem, ride from the airport (white stretch limo, mais oui).