Monday, March 28, 2005

Easter

Sometime between the student strikes and union meetings and drunken manifestoes, the city of Montreal finally succumbed to spring. A season’s worth of snow and ice is rapidly melting, and the detritus of the previous fall, hitherto buried, has resurfaced with an odiferous vengeance. In a day or two’s time, I anticipate being able to free my neglected bicycle from its icy tomb and have promised myself that I will immediately wheel it to the bike shop for its annual tune-up. I can almost taste the prospect.

The surest sign of spring must be the late-night carousing of the neighbourhood cats, which have emerged from the staticky warmth of their owner’s apartments to keep their first noisy trysts of the year. Tonight, the scene in the alleyway behind my apartment is positively Dionysian, with at least a dozen slow-moving felines moaning and hissing their way through a spectacular ballet of unselfconscious kitty-fucking. Can their human counterparts be far behind?

Earlier this evening, I had dinner with James at Beau Village, a newish Indian restaurant that has courageously broken the psychological barrier that is rue Jean-Talon. The food was both delicious and plentiful, even if the patrons – i.e., us – were not. The restaurant is located at the corner of Parc and Jean-Roby; please dine there if you can.

After dinner, we set off in search of an open bar – most are devoutly observing the Easter holiday, as we discovered – and wound up at Spanish Social Club, where we met up with James’ friends Cy, Bill, and Jonathan. These three are what are commonly referred to as “tight”: longtime friends whose friendship encircles them like a smoky, familiar halo. I think I impressed Cy by discussing my childhood fascination with Dr. Who, although I refrained from admitting to the near-obsessive crush I had on Tom Baker. Yes, I was the geekiest eight-year-old girl on earth.

Tomorrow, I will pose for a portrait for Arit, who is taking a class in corporate photography. As her choice of subject makes abundantly clear, Arit has a delightfully subversive sense of humour. Will it be cheesecake next time, Arit? You know I'm up for it...

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