Bonne St. Jean!!

Okay, I have to be honest here, St. Jean - a.k.a. "Quebec Day" - was last week.  And Canada Day (July 1st) is actually the secondary holiday.  As I mentioned before, Canada Day in Montreal is better known as moving day.  I think this has something to do with the fact that many Quebequois are separatists.  They want to separate from Canada.  This is a source of entertainment for me.  

Where have I been?  Why haven't I written?  These are very good questions.  I continue to be unemployed and homeless.  But for whatever reason, this is easier to sustain in Asia.  Now that I'm back in North America, my status seems a bit untenable.  Some might even say "irresponsible."  Who could have predicted this?

Yes, with food prices somewhat higher than my 20 rupee bag of veggies, I'm feeling the pressure.  Sometime in the preceeding weeks I had a fabulous job interview at a language school downtown.  But without a proper work permit, I am relegated to the underworld of Black Work.  Here I'm just a dirty immigrant.  Speak French to me and watch me stare blankly.  Happily for me, the Quebequois are not hateful peoples.

I would complain more, but it's not my style.  In some way, I appreciate being the dirty immigrant with no papers.  Keeps me humble.  And keeps me appreciating the kindness of others.  And let me assure you, my friends here have been extraordinary; letting me sleep on their pull-out, feeding me, letting me use their bicycles and not complaining about the pile of crap that has taken over one corner of their tiny living room.  You know you're with a tolerant group of folks when everyone seems to have a story about the friend who came for a week and stayed eight months.  Not that I plan to do this, mind you, just that in my hometown that "friend" would have been kicked out by week three. 

Just being here gives me the opportunity to view my country through yet another lens.  People here are subject to the same immutable forces of corporate greed and government control, but, well, it's somehow different.  The cosmopolitan nature of this city provides a level of awareness and acceptance that allows someone like me to be/say/think whatever I want without shocking or offending those around me.  Maybe this is freedom?

Just yesterday I was chatting with a DC transplant about the differences between Our Nation's Fine Capital City and Montreal.  We agreed that while most district peoples are well-travelled (i.e. having personal experience of five or six foreign countries), the people here seem to exist on another plane entirely.  Not only have they visited numerous foreign countries, they have lived and worked in them, have family all over the world and speak five or six languages.  Seems fairly normal to hear someone mention an upcoming trip to India or Jordan or Egypt in casual conversation.  Without the follow-up question "why?"

So my awareness is slowly increasing as well.  My neighbor Conrad has taught me much about unions, the history of black peoples in the US, the 9/11 conspiracy and in general why America is such a fascinating country.  

Speaking of 9/11 conspiracies, I have already become bored with the topic.  I no longer need to discuss whether it was an inside job (it was), I'm more interested in supporting efforts to properly investigate it.  I watched a film called "Zeitgeist" (go to videos on Google and search it) and learned that all of the major wars have been orchestrated.  That is, provoked by business interests and bankers looking for Profits.  As far as I'm concerned, 9/11 is just the latest in a string of these.  No, what I'm fearing now is the tracking chip that lives in my shiny new passport.  I can't get far enough away from it.  Even if I take it down to the bank for storage, it still identifies what city I'm in.

Something else really creepy?  As part of my ongoing sociological studies, I went to Montreal's one and only casino the other night.  One hundred percent implemented by The Government, I was immediately transfixed by a youngish woman simultaneously operating two slot machines.  She was just sitting there pressing the "maximum bet" buttons over and over, inserting a ticket for hundreds of dollars in credits when she ran out.  We wandered up to the third floor where we found roulette tables, video surveillance cameras (looking like ominous black eyeballs on the ceiling), and "pit bulls," people who stand there watching the dealers like hawks.  I wanted to take pictures but I'm sure they would have had me surrounded in seconds.  

I have never actually been to a casino (except once when I stopped at the Golden Acorn Casino for gas) and can safely say that I have no desire to go back.  While I was clear from the beginning that I wanted no part in placing any actual bets, my friend insisted on taking out $5 worth of casino coins for the horse races: tiny mechanical horses running round and round a mechanical track.  Fascinated by the people screaming for certain horses to win (these are computer programs, people!!), I decided to investigate "the odds" by holding an informal interview with the guy that worked there.  While I distracted myself, my friend lost his first bet, and annoyed that I showed no interest whatsoever, put his remaining $3 on the worst horse combination.  Jackpot!  In roughly five minutes my friend won $875!  I wandered back to see buckets of quarters spilling from the machine and my friend shaking from the rush of adrenaline.  "Great!" I said supportively, "now let's get the h--- out of here."  We were so astounded by our luck that I walked out with my coffee cup in hand.

And, for all you people out there that so callously dismissed my Obama fervor, I'll concede that he is, after all, a Politician.  And Politicians are, by nature, sell-outs.  So now I'm back to my original assessment of the situation; that Obama guy is hot!

In conclusion, The Government runs the gaming, sells the alcohol, lies about war activities and puts tracking chips in out passports.  Should we make a list?

La la la, blah blah blah, there's nothing new under the sun and all that jazz.  I may be floating about aimlessly, dancing and drinking and generally not making Swamiji proud.  But the fat lady has not sung yet my friends.  And even if she sings tomorrow, well, the journey has been well worth it.

Signing out,

with love and appreciation

from the eternally, irrationally exuberant and optimistic

Lola Maria

PS: Things I forgot to mention: My French is improving in leaps and bounds (finally!), I'm navigating my permanent residency application (in French), I've got a new therapist starting tomorrow, I'm moving to the north end of the city (the only place I haven't lived yet) on the 11th, and I'm getting progressively more creeped out by my blahg.