Hopping back on the wagon

When people ask me, 'What do you do in Montreal?' I usually respond by throwing a few titles around, one of which is 'a writer.'
This is complete bullshit.
You see, there are people who call themselves writers, and there are people who actually wake up every day and write. Hitherto I am the former, but as I tap away at this keyboard I become the latter.

Did I tell you? I'm in Thailand. I've just begun working as an entertainer at a swanky night club.

It's hot. Humid. Tasty. Chaotic.
Did I mention it's impossible to find a fucking good cup of coffee anywhere in this city of 12 million people? It's Sunday morning. I'm off to buy a sequined bra at the market. I'll be scouring the streets for non-instant coffee on the way.

EDIT:
I have mixed feelings about instant coffee. Actually, no I don't. Simply, there is only one person in the world who I deem worthy of making a cup of it, and that is Katharine Ross. Everyone else should hang their head in shame and direct me to the nearest socially conscious, independent version of Starbucks.

Day Zero

Today I sought yet another job as a bartender. Luck I had not, but I DID manage to get a new library membership! Now I sit and wait as the hour nears 9, at which point I will saunter up the street to see the 70's Gothic tale, The Stepford Wives. I am trying to contain my excitement but cannot.

First, if you have seen the contemporary Nicole Kidman re-make and it induced dry-heaving, know that you are not alone. That film is an abomination.

HOWEVER- 90 minutes of Katharine Ross is worth your while. Have I mentioned how much I love her? Perhaps not, considering this is only my second post. In part, I think it's because she looks a lot like my mother. I like to imagine my mom in her total babe days ripping it up as a bra burner and aspiring photographer... I'm not sure if this reassures me that all yuppies were once hippies, or if it is merely a reminder of the inevitability of my personal fate as a sell-out with a fucking amazing shoe and handbag collection. Regardless, look at how cute she is:



She is making instant coffee. The only person in the world from whom I would accept a cup of instant coffee is Katharine Ross circa 1975.