Excuse Me, I'm a Junkie

I'm a communication junkie.

I'm a social junkie.

And now I'm on Facecrack.

To paraphrase my friend Shane Murphy, who I hope to see play tomorrow night at Hurley's, "I want the rock, I need the rock, have you got some Facecrack?"

So, even this post is stilted and stunted and I just want to finish typing fast so I can get back over to Facecrack.

Me thinks only my new mp3 player and a fresh load of laundry could make me sink deeper into any other sort of addiction.

See you around!

New Orleans, en espanol

A fines del siglo XVIII Nueva Orleans era española. (Yo le decía “Nuevo” hasta que vi que en el francés original es “Nouvelle”.) Así lo aprendo por las placas que hay aquí en las calles (Bourbon Street era realmente la calle de Borbón, y ahí entiendo de repente que se refieren a la familia y no al alcohol, aunque quizás estas dos cosas estén relacionadas también…)

El French Quarter tiene toda la onda de Anne Rice y su vampiro Lestat: el aire es húmedo, aun cuando esta fresco, y la oscuridad envuelve los faroles a gas que cuelgan de las casas con balcón (como en Iquique, un poco). Me recuerda al cementerio general, aunque es una zona residencial. En todo caso, el cementerio siempre me hizo pensar en un pueblo de muertos vivientes, así que es como igual. En alguna parte de esta ciudad tiene que haber una gigante escena gótica, pero no la encuentro.

En New Awlins, como lo pronuncian los sureños americanos, si que saben comer. Claro que es pesadísimo, pero que manera de comer mariscos, carnes, arroces, y trago, trago y mas trago te ofrecen. Cocktails to go! dice un letrero fuera de un bar. Según mi mama que aun en 1963 era así la cosa. Me pregunto si en esa época ya tenian el famoso Hurricaine, un trago servido en vasos de 500 ml en el bar de Pat O’Brien. Si compras uno, te regalan el vaso.

Hasta ahora nada ha sido tan terrible como me lo hicieron imaginar mis compañeros de trabajo que ya habían estado aquí. No huele mal; nadie me ha tratado de levantar la polera; no me he sentido en peligro de ser asaltada tampoco.

Post el huracán Katrina, la parte turística esta reconstruida, y continúan haciendo mejorías. Las palmeras de la avenida Canal, por ejemplo, se notan nuevas por los soportes. Pero sabemos por las noticias que en los barrios pobres –los negros, los latinos- las cosas están mal. Poca gente ha regresado, la plata gubernamental para reconstruir casas es mal usada o no llega nunca. No es la primera vez, pero ha quedado mas que nunca en evidencia como este país trata a sus pobres, lamento decirlo. En mis viajes he aprendido a conocer y a querer a la gente común y corriente americana y encuentro que alguien les esta haciendo un flaco favor en alguna parte.

Volviendo a lo mas turístico, fuimos a buscar la casa de Brad y Angelina una noche. Encontramos varias posibles, siempre en el French Quarter, pero la que yo mas pensaba que era, parece que no es, porque no coincide con las fotos que hay en Internet. Turismo stalker. Comimos beignets, que se supone que son los donuts franceses pero a mi mas me recuerdan a los churros españoles. Es masa frita con harta azucar flor encima. Delicioso, con café au lait, latte, o cortado, como quieras llamarlo. A mi pesar, fuimos a comer al Bubba Gump la ultima noche. El mismo de la película Forrest Gump, si me pueden entender. Anyway, pedi el pescado mahi mahi y no toque mis camarones. No puedo comer mas camarones!! En realidad, quizás no deberia comer mas, punto. Para hacerse gorda, hay que puro visitar la Nueva Orleáns.

Quick and cryptic update:

I’m leaving on a jet plane… again… to New Orleans on Monday, hopefully with no more snow cancellations or delays. Although without that extra long travel time last week, I would probably not have logged any overtime (cynicism dripped from her tongue).

Anyhoo. Amy P, who is the person I’m going to see in TO next weekend, is actually here in Montreal this weekend. We had “breakfast” (it was almost 3pm) with her, Steve (formerly of Amy & Steve), and Amy’s two friends she brought to visit. Amy looks fantastic, as usual, and I can’t wait to see her again next weekend on her home turf. I can tell her all about Kaybeer.

Kaybeer is my new favourite, er, drink. It’s a tall drink of water that packs a good, solid wallop. It’s made to make me happy, and, hey, I don’t even normally believe in happy! Kaybeer is currently being subjected to a series of, um, tests, to ensure that it meets the highest standard of quality (I have no doubt it does, based on recent taste tests).

Sarah and I were talking about… beer… the other day, and we decided it’s sooo nice to know there are nice, normal… beers… out there. Beers that don’t fall flat and then blame you for it. Ahhh… I would say Drink Kaybeer, but I don’t want you to.

Just because I like it so much

you can hum along.

Billy Joel: My Life

Got a call from an old friend, we used to be real close
said he couldn't go on the American way
closed the shop, sold a house, bought a ticket to the west coast
now he gives them a stand-up routine in LA

I don't need you to worry for me cos I'm alright
I don't want you to tell me it's time to come home
I don't care what you say anymore this is my life
go ahead with your own life, leave me alone

I never said you had to offer me a second chance
I never said I was a victim of circumstance
I still belong, don't get me wrong
you can speak your mind but not on my time

They will tell you you can't sleep alone in a strange place
then they'll tell you you can't sleep with somebody else
oh but sooner or later you sleep in your own space
either way, it's ok, you wake up with yourself

And you thought this was bad

This is something Karine and I were talking about on our way to Denver last week: the worst jobs we've ever had. Over the course of the conversation, I remembered a bunch of short gigs I had that I was beginning to forget about. For instance:

* I had a job where I had to wear a yellow jumpsuit. It was in the amusement park of a mall, and my "task" was to open the little gates for the kids to get on, and press the green button to start the ride (carousel, train, zeppelin across the ceiling). It paid well for an 18 year old looking only for extra spending money. But what made me quit was the fact that I was actually paid to *do nothing*. If I had a Tuesday 10am shift and there were no kids then I wasn't allowed to talk to other employees or read. I had to sit at my post and wait. Somehow, being paid to do nothing has not vanished from my life yet.

* I wore a cheap, ill-fitting burgundy mini skirt at a fast food burger joint in a mall for 2 weekends. I thought I had been hired as a cashier (a supposed childhood dream my family likes to poke fun at) but ended up wrapping the hamburgers. I wasn't *allowed* to pour the fries into their carton cups, because I hadn't been... trained to do it yet. Absolutely pathetic. My only friend there was a girl who couldn't afford to go to university but was teaching herself psychology through books a friend of hers would get at the library.

* I never worked retail, but besides the two examples above, I did one more thing at a mall: I stood in a booth, barely enough space for me and another kid, and promoted the newspaper magazine I worked for at the time. I learned the schedule of the mall: when there are less people; when there are too many. I swore I would never work in a place like that ever again, and I don't believe I have.

* For one night only, I worked at a bar. It scared me so much, I took the measly base salary for the night, declined the boss's offer to drive me home after work, and spent it on a cab. I can't remember how old I was, but I must have been young because those people really freaked me out.

* I couldn't get hired at a video rental store. They let me do the 2 or 3 day training but then decided I wasn't worthy because instead of wiping down shelves and taking out the trash I was more interested in recommending movies and working the computer at the cash. Like at the burger place, this was my lesson in the irony of the working world.

That's my story. Anyone else?

Like a rock through water

Two things you should know before reading the following: 1) I am on my way to Denver, for a conference, and 2) I am re-reading Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse. In the novel, Siddhartha says to the courtesan Kamala:

"Look, Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water, it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no daemons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast."

I barely made it out of Montreal at all this morning. I tried calling the airport to check on my flight's status before leaving my apartment (because I had a dream about it, and because of the snow) but the automated service wasn't able to provide me a clear answer and the taxi was waiting (but not blowing its horn, wink). The girl I am travelling with, Karine, and I found out at the airport that our flight was cancelled. We were given an 800 number to call and shooed away from Air Canada's ticketing counter ("no rebooking here! call the 800 number and book a flight for tomorrow if you can!"). I waited on hold for 1.5 hours... In the meantime Karine called our travel agent (this was at 6:30am) and left a message. When I finally got an Air Canada agent on the line I was told there were no flights before Monday (show opens Sunday); and "we can't do that" as a reply to my suggestion that we be sent on any flight, no matter how ridiculous, like Denver via LA, was the last thing I heard before the connection was dropped. That's right, after an hour and a half on hold.

Anyway, Karine called the travel agent again as soon as they opened at 8am and, right away, he gave us a flight via Las Vegas. Just like that. This is all going in my letter to Air Canada...

We sat in the plane for about 2.5 hours before it finally took off (de-icing, traffic, engine malfunction...) and passed through lots of turbulence. On the plus side, it was one of those with the movie/tv screens in the back of each seat. I watched Night at the Museum and -almost all of- The History Boys. Minus side (again, it's all going in the letter): we were in the back of the plane so they ran out of food by the time they got to us. Plus side: we had free $7 meals included in our tickets, don't know why. So, I had tuna (those packets with crackers), a chocolate bar, some roasted almonds and... Special K for lunch. :) I was unable, however, to get a muffin because "those are breakfast food" :S

Ok, so after a rollercoaster landing in Vegas (pretty bad, actually), we are on terra firma for a little while. Our connecting flight to Denver is late, so we should be at the hotel by 9:30pm local time, 11:30pm Eastern. That's.... 18 hours travel time... Phew!!!

I hear the snow was coming down like crazy today in Montreal so I'm feeling happy we even got out of there today. I had told Karine about the rock through water and that was our one goal: get to Denver today. Looks like we're going to make it. And that agent said not before Monday, HA!