I had a really, really good week. No dancing, since Conseil des Arts screwed up their scheduling and double-booked people, but lots of good writing, good work, and fun people.
For instance. Yesterday after work, Caspian and I rented a car and drove in the rain with Manasvi and her man to Burlington, VT. It was extra fun, because we drove through a whole slew of little podunk towns with bars/gyms (literally half-bar, half-gym), super-dubious strip joints and fruit/veggie stands that could have been picked up by a tornado in northern Indiana and placed there in southern Quebec... Only everything was in French. Manasvi and... Bah, what should his name be? Anyway, Manasvi and Her Man were amazed at these towns, and also the little ones in Vermont. Being from Norway, they've seen these little places in movies and games and things, and were shocked to suddenly realize that they truly, really exist in all their glory. I've seen so many little towns up and down the east coast and in the midwest that I wouldn't give them a second thought, unless my Norwegian friends were so amazed by them!
Also, visiting Vermont makes me realize that while Americans are fat, racist, prejudiced and care nothing about the social welfare of those less fortunate, they are truly nice, gregarious people who like to laugh. Quite the difference from Montreal, where even salespeople are only marginally nice. Marginally. People look at you weirdly if you happen to strike up a conversation with a stranger in the metro, or linger overlong to chat with a cashier. The rule is "ignore or be ridiculed" here in this North American bastion of Frenchishness. Sure, French Canadians are attractive and fashionable, but sometimes I want earnest, honest friendliness and connection with strangers. I grew up in the south. But! I don't want to disparage the French Canadians too profligately, as one of my bestest friends is of this heritage, and he is honest, affectionate, thoughtful and willing to do almost anything to take care of me. But... He's not a stranger, and I had to earn this right! In America, strangers will offer you their onion rings as you wait for your club sandwich and tell you their life stories, AND be eager to hear YOUR life story.
So, we drove to Vermont, laughing and telling stories and commenting on the populace and our jobs and things of that ilk. We were on our way to see my favorite band in the electronic alternative/post-rock genre, possibly my favorite band ever, Mutemath, which is touring to promote their new album, Odd Soul. (Watch their unique 2007 music video, Typical) It was warm and raining and as the countryside changed from flat with low trees to rolling hills with deep forests, I felt weirdly content. I say I love Canada, and I do... But I still love the United States, too, even with all of its problems. Alas, I lost quite a bit of that glow of contentment when I saw the song and dance routine that my poor Norwegian friends had to go through at the border to get into the country. Getting back into Canada was basically a quick, friendly chat and a wave. Going into the US with foreign nationals through Canada is like pulling teeth. Where are you going? Give me the address. How long will you be there? What band are you seeing? When do the doors open and when does the show start? What did you have for breakfast and how many times did you get up to pee over the past twelve nights, total? BAH!
We made it to Burlington in the rain, which is a little burg on Lake Champlain. We found the venue, a tiny little concert hall, and then walked across the street to Al's Diner, famous for its "frys," and got a whole pile of fresh fried chicken, hamburgers, onion rings and those very same "frys," which were awesome. It's been years since I've thrown all caution to the wind and splurged, calorically-speaking, on the essential American small town dining experience. The Norwegians were ecstatic.
We were a little late back to the show, but... I was so happy to see Mutemath again. I love them. I love how completely demented they look when they are performing, I love how they slowly lose their poppish veneer and dissolve into experimental shit as soon as they are sure they've sold their act to the little backwoods crowd. I danced so wildly that I pulled muscles in my neck and latissimus dorsi and slapped my thigh so hard that I burst a bunch of blood vessels close to the surface. I got a $45 Mutemath hoodie to support the band and got their demo CD for free.
After the show, to top off the American experience, we stopped at Dunkin Donuts and got fresh decaf, one boston creme, one jelly-filled and one strawberry frosted donut. And then it was back through the rain to Montreal. The view of the city in the weeping mist from the apex of Pont Champlain was a beautiful, melancholy sight to me. Mont Royal was a hulking blackness behind the shimmering lights of the centre-ville skyscrapers, and the mighty St. Laurent barreled its way beneath us, probably a mile wide at that particular point of its course. I love the city.
It was a successful adventure, in my opinion.
I was up early this morning. Felix picked me up and we made our way to Studio 2720 for a 1.5 hour lesson in jive... And paso doble. It was my first time with paso - the very first time in my life. The attitude comes easily to me compared to rumba. It's so fun to me because I get to posture and be aggressive and dramatic. In times previous, it was Felix's least-favorite dance, but after our lesson today, he amended his assertion, saying it's a lot less fun "quand tu danses avec un mur," (when you're dancing with a wall) his previous partner. I think P (coach) was shocked and pleased when I quickly puffed out my chest, arched my neck and scowled, trying to both affect and mock the paso doble attitude. I've learned that my definition of "mocking" the attitude of a dance usually results in me achieving the attitude of the dance, whatever that means. I guess that it's just so over-the-top. I think I like paso. No, I'm sure I like it.
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