the surreal life: rigaud

one week left to moving day and i am nowhere near ready, packing-wise. the admin related to selling/buying/moving house is far greater than i anticipated - pretty much a full time affair. i am having a very hard time fitting in paid work stuff, let alone doing any prep for the move. procrastination is not to blame (anymore). there's just too bloody much to do. and i'm doing none of it well, so basically we're fucked.

i damn near snapped when my car broke down last night en route home from seeing the melua/sinclaire concert in montreal. it may be where jack layton grew up and the first municipality in canada to ban cosmetic use of pesticides. but hudson is noplace for your car to die (though i'm super glad it happened under the dayglo lights of a petro can station and not at the side of the highway in the dead of night). the car died at around 11. what ensued after that can only be described as a fucking gong show. let me just say you have not lived until you've spent a night at the hotel capri in rigaud. think valentine's decorations and a charming brown man excessively delighted by this hindi-speaking strandee. s'all i'm sayin'.

many thanks to claude - a vaudevillian castmate in the surreal events. he did a "terrific" job of keeping things light: breaking into a little soft shoe on the asphalt, chatting up the barely comprehensible tow truck driver (even joining him in a rendition of the french version of the theme song to gilligan's island), shaking me a stranded-in-the-parking-lot nightcap, distracting me this morning by reading from the 1993 issue of good housekeeping found in our hotel room. i can't make this up.