Hey Preacher Man!

December 23rd?? DECEMBER 23?????

How can it be that the last time we ranted and moaned and threw all our viscous head-nasties into cyberspace was half a year ago? What have we done since then? Read some good literature (so much pleasure from shoving your nose in a book) and watched many movies (some of them actually entertaining, which made up for the rest of them). Listed to music and saw a few concerts (Arcade Fire! White Stripes! TV on the Radio! ..... Could we be more indy? So gross.) Hosted a birthday party, finished educating ourselves (apparantly) and got ourselves a "real" job. Was a good thing too, since the old job gave us the boot.

OOH OOH We went to London. That was wonderful. We left our hearts in London. Our hearts and our money. Sweet Jesus, that place is expensive. We saw as much of the city as we could in six days, and capped off the whole trip by stalking our favourite rock star through the West End. To Mr. Carlos Barat, formerly of The Libertines: We sincerly appologize for our squealish and relatively hyserical behavior that other night, but you really only have yourself to blame. You can't expect to walk around London looking the way you do and NOT get slightly molested.

Let's see, what else... lost a roommate and gained another, mended some broken ties, gained a few pounds around the waist, cut the hair, paid rent, cooked some new meals, slept....

We're about up-to-date now, right?

We waited in line at Fantasia and wrote:
The line snakes around Concordia all the way up to Sherbrooke, filled completely with horror junkies, like ourselves, waiting to get our fix of gorey death scenes and cheap scares. There's a preacher man standing next to the line, on the outskirts, standing on his litte plastic crate and preaching to us, us decadent siners, the word of the mormons. We can't tell what he's saying - he's speaking in french, even though he's obviously english. A shame, really, mabe people would be listening to him more if he could actaully speak properly. He's telling us his life story, how he's struggled and fought and taught himself multiple languages (ah, that explains it), all so he could preach the word of the lord to as many people as possible. He's handing out free Mormon bibles (which are shockingly different from the ones the rest of us are used to) and apparantly there is a new prophet named Gordon. We think Gordon Lightfoot, Gord Downey, Gourds, Gouda, anything to keep ourselves from looking at the strange, sad man standing on his plastic crate in front of us. No one is looking at him - he's two feet, if that, from the closest person, and everyone is suddenly occupied, pre-occupied, distracted. No one can bear to look at him. He truly believes in what he's doing, while we decadent sinners busy ourselves waiting in line for a gorey movie.

Eli

Bah, that was a bit of a preachy note (ha! irony) wasn't it? No good no good. The real end of the story is that the guy was a little locco, since he leached himself onto any of the few curious souls who asked him for a bible, asking for all their personal contact info and what not. Montreal's got all types!