Does anyone know of a good realtor in Montreal? (to help buy a place)

Thanks!

Alex rightly complains (en français mes chéris) that the towns of Hampstead and TMR are handing out free poop bags to dog owners… Whilst any purchase of anything is accompanied by a free plastic bag. Need we have more? Boneheads.

My borough is moving from the recycling bin to the recycling bag next week. At first I thought that the people who’d decided this had probably thought it through (yeah, sometimes I’m Zen like that, but it doesn’t last). However, the main reason seems to be that recyclables in bins tend to fly away (and all end up on my terrasse). Why then, can’t they give us a bin cover and pick up recycling more often, so the bins aren’t so full? (see what I mean about the Zen?) But my main gripe is that one has to pick up the recycling bags at the eco-quartier (open, like, 11-3 on alternate Wednesdays), and starting next year, pay for them. Bravo, way to make it much harder for people to recycle. You’re going the wrong way… BONEHEADS. 

On the upside, today I noticed that I’m actually down to two plastic bags (from this many) in my cupboard, all others having been reused. Happy Earth Day all. Write to your local boneheads, please.

pis ça suce en maudit.

Eidos Interactive (Tomb Raider, Hitman) is setting up shop in Montreal in March.

A gunman opened fire in Dawson college today in Montreal, down the road from my place of work. As we madly dashed to fix the last of the bugs on our game, we heard the sirens rushing to the site of the shootings down the road.

Despite this, the events seemed unreal, perhaps because we got our updates from the Web, which fails to distinguish down the road from the Middle East. It all seemed like something that had happened strictly on the news, until I came out of work at 8 PM to a rainy night and decided to take the underground home. You could feel what had happened in the air, the commuters quiet, subdued and sad. Not Montreal.

I grew up here, thinking of the city as my own Tattooine, the backwater I needed to escape in favor of more exotic destinations. At 27 I finally moved to Sweden, and there I realized what a Montrealer I was. I listened to CHOM and read the Mirror over the net, and hung out mostly with fellow French Canadians. I moved back after a year and discovered a city I’d never really known. After spending the summer watching an out-of-towner discover Montreal, I’ve myself fallen for the city more than ever.

I’m sure there is a positive light in which to see this. I’m sure the city will prove resilient. But tonight, the fact that something like that would happen in my beloved home is shocking, sad, and it pisses me off. I don’t want this here.

Votre hôte sur Hippopocampe vous parle du Mondial de la Bière 2006. Pissant.

I notice how much of a particular culture Montreal has, and how much of a Montrealer I am, whenever I’m away from it. Getting home to my own life, bed and timezone on Friday night was absolute rapture, and I wanted to take it in all weekend.

So Saturday night, Z and I shared a Mont-Royal street triple-play, namely the Barraca, the Boudoir and Plan B. Over mojitos, she regaled me with her recent tales of singles woe. In the crowded ladies room of the Barraca, as we shuffled and turned to let each other squeeze through to the paper towels, one girl hummed the theme to Tetris. It always makes me warm and fuzzy when the mainstream geeks out. Minutes later, when one of the barroom Romeos decided to make his move and approach Z, I hummed the theme to Jaws and she caught the reference. Another small victory.

Sunday, I met A at the doggie café, and over lattés, he regaled me with his recent tales of singles woe. Then, as I’d promised my ex, I worked up the courage to ask the girl at the counter if she was single. I had good news for him on the way out, and he’s now borrowing Comet next weekend to go to the doggie café and chat her up. Are we modern or what.

That night I met K for dinner, and over tapas, he regaled me with his tales of singles woe.

My favorite weekends are the ones when the city feels like a cozy village filled with friends; the days when you just walk down the street confident you’ll see many familiar faces. It’s a complete mystery to me how Montreal manages to be familiar but never feel parochial, but it’s one I’m happy to live with.

And while we’re on the topic of Why-Oh-God-Why… My hero Saku is out for the series.

For those of you Montrealers who have been living under a rock, our Finnish captain got a stick to the left eye last night (despite wearing a visor).

It was shocking to see him grasping blindly to find his way on the ice, blood pouring profusely from his face.

He is out for at least this series, a great detriment for the team (despite what the naysayers would have you believe). It’s currently unknown if the damage is permanent.

There was no penalty called.

For those of you who may not be aware, Saku won a battle with stomach cancer a few years ago, eventually to come back and lead Finland to the silver in Turin. A friend recently told me, extremely sweetly, that when she’s having difficulty pushing herself when running, she thinks of me. I myself think of Saku… and tell myself to GET. UP.

Once again, we’re holding our breaths and hoping for another triumphal return.

Best of luck Saks.

Lucky me, I got to go to both Canadiens games this week, both of which they won. Random observations:

- If I ever want to really simplify my life, I’ll quit my job as a producer and become a Molson Ex bimbo. I can clap, clap, cla-cla-clap, cla-cla-cla-clap, cla-clap and use a tambourine like they do. Work 42 nights a year, see all the home games. Not bad.

- It doesn’t matter where you sit, seeing the Habs live rocks. Having every little “Yeah-yeah go! Go! Skate! Skaaaaa- AWWWW!” reaction simultaneously with 20000 other people provides a great sense of community. It doesn’t get much more Montreal than this.

- It sucks that everything about the game has to be branded (”who the lucky Pom bread fan tonight?”), but I have to say the show was so good that I managed to tune most of it out. Except the PSP commercials, which were actually fun to see.

- Youppi, honey, I loved you as a kid, but it’s over. The Expos are gone. I only gave a shit about them for one year, and that year ended in a strike. Time to go.

- Exchanging contact info with coworkers by beaming PDA to PDA at a game is reassuring. You may be drinking bad beer and screaming yourself hoarse like a hooligan, you’ll still be a geek in the morning.

- Seeing my hero score the winning goal on a breakaway in overtime, like I did tonight… well, it will never get old.

What wholesome fun it is to go to a pub, meet perfectly friendly strangers, and hand them their asses.

Michel, Suzanne and I had a jolly time partaking in the Hurley’s Pub Quiz this evening. We kept a slight lead for seven of the eight rounds, throughout which I was haggling by SMS with our missing companion over the name of the tenth planet of the solar system. Had we had him with us, our victory would have been crushing indeed.

As it was we won by a narrow margin, but it was still a struggle for Michel and I to avoid being snarky to our opponents, who were taking things relatively seriously. We were poker-facedly gracious when we were handed our prize gift certificates, but as soon as we left, the three of us spontaneously burst into effusions of victory like frat boys at a homecoming game.

Can’t wait for next month, when we get to eat and drink for free!