tell me I don't strike you as the ignorant hipster type...

...cause I just got scouted to be an "employee" of American Apparel and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

it's an extremely shallow process, in which they take your picture and get your e-mail address so they can invite you in for a "training session".
I wonder what goes on there?

-How to look bored and ironic on the job?
-How to colour-coordinate neons?
-How to get away with wearing sunglasses inside, at work?
-How to convince customers that a 40 dollar strip-of-cotton "scarf" made by illegal immigrants in LA is JUST the thing they need?

yeah, probably.


(also: they don't even ask you if you speak french! cause it's not even necessary! which is completely illegal in quebec, where a customer is supposed to be addressed in french first!)

return

(via ffffound!)

my bicycle bell is loose.
it rings inadvertently whenever I cycle over bumps and potholes.
My street is especially bumpy, and quite busy. I bike down it during the day and everyone thinks I am ringing to get their attention. They turn their heads as I bike by.

The worst part is when it's friday night, the beginning of Shabbat, and the Hasidic Jews are solemnly walking home from shul...one long line of black hats and long cloaks and there I go, ringing like I'm the midnight ice cream truck of Outremont.

beautiful losers

“In Montreal the cafes, like a bed of tulip bulbs, sprout from their cellars in a display of awnings and chairs. In Montreal spring is like an autopsy. Everyone wants to see the inside of the frozen mammoth. Girls rip off their sleeves and the flesh is sweet and white, like wood under green bark. From the streets a sexual manifesto rises like an inflating tire, ‘The winter has not killed us again!’ Spring comes into Quebec from Japan, and like a prewar Crackerjack prize it breaks the first day because we play too hard with it. Spring comes into Montreal like an American movie of Riviera Romance, and everyone has to sleep with a foreigner, and suddenly the house lights flare and it’s summer, but we don’t mind because spring is really a little flashy for our taste, a little effeminate, like the furs of Hollywood lavatories. Spring is an exotic import, like rubber love equipment from Hong Kong, we only want it for a special afternoon, and vote tariffs tomorrow if necessary.”

-Leonard Cohen

happy days.

Free lentil soup and bread from the friendly French man at my neighbourhood deli makes me content with the world.

Does this happen in other places, that are not Montreal?
Sometimes I wonder.

Clues that indicate you may be on an Air Canada flight to the maritimes

1. The security guards ask "why the long face?" when you stomp through the metal detector. They then ask if you'd like to watch television while you wait alone in the departure lounge.

2. The plane resembles a tiny icebox more than it does a plane.

3. The plane is filled with teenage army brats returning from Basic Training for the first time. They are ferociously afraid of flying and discuss the necessity of "packing a bowl at 2400 feet to ease the nerves there boys".

4. The flight attendant says "toodley-doo!" at the end of her loudspeaker message.

5. They serve Maized and Confused corn chips.

Fur found in Montreal this week

1. Woman on St. Viateur wearing a hat made of raccoon, with the raccoon's face on the front. It was real. I kid you not.

2. Gal on the 80 bus with a hood/hat made out of rabbit, or something.

3. Student in the library, wearing the largest, most ostentatious fur coat. Made of mink. I think.

4. Other 80 bus rider, midnight...wearing a fucking silver fox around her neck. As in, I could see the tail and the dangle-y legs. I don't know if there was a face, cause that part was facing the window.


I have no problem with fur in fashion, in fact, I think it can be pretty great...but when it looks like you put a limp animal around your neck or on your head, then it gets a little weird.