Getting to know the freaky metro busking girls

A few nights ago I worked late, so was not exposed to my usual repertoire of Metro buskers on the way home.

Instead of my usual favourites (heroin addict pan flautist, lesbian pop duo or quebecios jacques brel, to name a few...) there were these two girls doing a bizarre, art-folk-fiddle-singing-step-dance thing.

I honestly couldn't tell if they were crazy art groundbreakers or just really, really bad.

I was confounded enough that they made their way into my dream:

J and I were hosting a party and this troupe of famous Slovakian folk artists showed up. Naturally, two of the eight or so musicians were these two girls. We were making idle conversation about where they were from, etc...

Then I noticed a newspaper article posted on the wall. It said that these very musicians had come to Canada on tour, and had suddenly gone missing. They had gone underground. Yet here they were standing in my living room.

They explained that it would be easier to live in Canada if they were anonymous.

I then took the two art-folk-fiddle-singing-step-dance girls aside and explained that they would be better off not busking in the metro if they wanted to stay anonymous. Now that they had been mentioned in the paper, someone was bound to recognize them.

Our friendly, neighbourhood Quebec celebrity

I dreamed that this down-and-out guy who I see around the neighbourhood was actually a famous Quebec movie star. I saw him in a movie, and he looked exactly the same as he does when I see him in the street... bloated and spaced out.

Doing time for short skirts and hijinks on the bus

My old friend Popi and I were on the bus, wearing short skirts and being really obnoxious. There were some old ladies nearby who were getting particularly crabby.

Later, it was clear that we had been very naughty on the bus and were going to get into trouble. I ended up at a trial where the old ladies described our transgressions.

I knew that what we did was not a big deal, and was hoping for a chance to defend myself. But when I started to speak, the judge said that we both had to go to jail.

I was astounded that girlish misbehaviour could have such a harsh punishment. I began to wonder just what it was like to be in jail and how I would handle it. In the next scene, I was in a jail cell, bored and confounded that my life had come to this...

Does more sleep = more dreams and a higher I.Q.?

After something like three years of less-than-perfect sleep, last week everyone in our house -- age one to 43 -- began to sleep all night.

It's beautiful... to wake up at 6 a.m., think it's the middle of the night and then realize: "OMG... I actually slept all night."

I'm waiting for the corresponding leap in my I.Q.... and the realization that maybe we've all been mentally retarded for the past three years.

Or... does lost sleep damage you forever? If that's the case, then add it to the list of irrevocable damages I've inflicted on myself. What's done is done.

Oh yeah, and all this to say, get ready for a fresh crop of dreams...

Visiting the heart of the festival

I was at some kind of giant festival, with lots of crazy things going on, when I got a glimpse into the inner circle. I climbed a fence and looked down on a vast, grassy farm.

High above the grass, young people in twos and threes were swinging on giant, wooden swings. There were little gardens, high in the trees. Each garden was rough hewn, but lovingly cultivated on little tree balconies.

I knew that I was witnessing something very special and I wanted to be a part of it. I also understood that these people earned all these pleasures: the garden, the swings... They worked hard.

I so badly wanted to know more that I scaled the fence and jumped down into the grass on the other side. The festival behind me seemed empty compared to what I was about to experience.

I followed a path to the farmhouse and went inside. There were animals and gardens inside the house. It was a kind of commune, with nice, wholesome kids tending animals and preparing vegetables.

An old woman greeted me, and I understood that this was the true heart of whatever good things the festival had to offer. And I knew that these kids worked hard, year round, to build their paradise.

And I knew that I didn't belong, but was welcome to earn my place there if I worked hard, not to be part of the festival but because I was part of something bigger.

The G spot: Giacondi Nero d'Avola 2007

Every time I try to post about this wine, this little guy dressed in green comes into the room and tries to climb on my lap. Really. I think he's trying to tell us something. Something about temperance, maybe.

Since J is on antibiotics, all responsibility for finishing this bottle of Giacondi Nero d'Avola 2007 has fallen on my shoulders. And naturally I'm taking this responsibilty pretty seriously.

Made from what they call "the black grape of Avola", Giacondi starts out with a blast of almost agressive goodness, then drifts away, like a wallflower at a party. But this little fade tempers the first bite with class... like it knows what it's doing.

Breaking cats legs...?

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed a strange dream. Swirling chaos dream. Nancy Neamtam was in it. I was involved in some kind of competition. I had to cross rivers and fight wild animals that wanted to kill me. I found myself fighting very savage very large house cats, that wouldn't stop trying to scratch me savagely and I had to break their legs and paws to keep them from ripping into my flesh. Walking in water. Struggling. Was this the Amazon, or Northern Quebec?

Grenache at 8$, woah, yeah, I like that.

Despite my being under the weather for the last two weeks, we managed to drink a little wine in the between spaces. I have resolved only to buy bottles of wine that are under 10$. The cheaper the better. This ToCADo was about 8$. Mr. Finn likes it too. I guess you could call it: bargain hunting. But since we know nothing about wine, here at wineanddreams, we wouldn't know a bargain if it banged us up the side of the head. Bargains? We get those at garage sales. Oh, that reminds me, we bought a fine Elektra expresso machine, an industrial motherofamachine, for 400$ yesterday. The man at the store sells reconditioned ones for 4000$. But for details on that, you should read our other blog, coffeeandnightmares...

"Hell if I know what they're singing about"

I was hosting a dinner party, with some old friends and some new friends. The new friends were mostly new to Canada -- from China, India...

In the background, a Tragically Hip record was playing. I started to take the piss out of the music. My friends asked what the song meant.

I remember the lyrics went: "tonight we take the bridge..." I sang along, and then laughed, adding: "this is a famous Canadian band and I don't know what the hell they're singing about."

It's different... Stone Cellers Zinfandel

Remember kids... enjoy responsibly! Hahahahahaha...

Since we never review California wines, I'd never seen that little box before that makes me verify that I'm over 21. So flattering! That they'd think I was so young. Here in Quebec we start drinking when we're 8.

Back to the wine. J decided it was time we had some Zinfandel. So we headed for the Stone Cellars by Beringer. It's so smooth, it almost isn't there. And that's a compliment. It tastes kind of white, without the tang.

I just... well... It's not that I don't like it. I DO. But there isn't much to go on. It's really nice. It always says "yes" and never crosses over into contentious topics. Never disagreeable.

Grenache: 100 year old vines

A-iiiite. We are (finally) watching all those Wire episodes that all the cool kids watched back in 2006. So famously included in What White People Like, but hey. We like it anyway. So we are onto the last season, 6th episode. Dude just jumped out of the window in a hail of bullets. I figure either Marloe dies or Omar dies: one of them has to die. And Marloe can't die, because then justice isn't done. But maybe Barksdale springs from prison to kill Marloe and then Barksdale gets nailed.

Anyway, to help smooth us in these difficult days of not-knowing, pre-season finale jitters, we are swilling some FINE wine from Spain. Krstn will take a photo and post a picture of the label. All's I know is it's 100% pure grenache vines, and only cost 15$. I think it was a 2006. Nice colour. Instant joy as it goes in the gullet.

Bubbles: Krstn thinks he will make it. Me too.

Cozy like a little tongue blanket: Langlois-Chateau Cabernet Franc 2006

We're newly resolved to be... organized about the wines we're trying. So, introducing St Florent Domaine Langlois-Chateau, Saumur Rouge, Cabernet Franc 2006.

It stretched over my tongue like a little blanket, tickling new places way down the sides of my tongue. But it needs to breathe first... and warm up a little... I drank it in the bath.

Jeanne, O Jeanne

Krstn had a sexy-time dream last night, but I doubt she will blog it. That's private. Anyway, we both attribute our weird dreams to the massive quantities of potatoes-and-cheese that we ate last night. I had a whole series of weird ones, but I will only mention one, that features Jeanne, a professor emeritus that I will not name fully here, to protect the innocent. Well, not that there is anything scandalous about what happened with Jeanne, in my dream. Just that we were going to co-write a book about owning your first dog. 'Nuff said.

Anakena, anaconda, akela

This Chilean snake is a leader among boys. Just 11$ a bottle, the label states "carefully handpicked", and indeed, Krstn did handpick it off the shelves. This wine is made from a variety of grape called the Carménère, evidently not much cultivated anymore in France, but increasingly so in Chile. A deelite-full wine. Bubbles just like the band: ooooo lala la la laaaaa.

Cabernet Sauvignon 33% more

My first effort at posting this failed.

It will try again in a few moments, but if the First Evar Video Commentary on this outstanding Cabernet Sauvignon fails, then it must be so.

The most important thing about this wine is the 33% more aspect of it.

Cabernet Sauvignon 33 % More

What a hell of a deal. Got me some good drink on with THIS baby. For the first and only time, here is my video review of this extraordinary wine. This exclusive footage was filmed on Salt Spring Island, at the outstanding bed and breakfast Talasan that I hope you will find time to unwind at, like we did. Talasan: like Talahasi, only different. While the video uploads, which can take a while, I will babble on about the raspberry overtones of this outstanding value wine. Let me just say now for the record, what drew me to this wine was not the extra 33% but the clear demonstration of ecological awareness of this small Australian winery. The label lists the various ways in which they support the environment. It brought Breugles to me eyes. Just the thought of it makes me want to have another glass. Jesssus, only 7M of 80M uploaded. I am gonna be here all night.

Meat fest at my old friend's house

I was visiting a friend at her apartment. I was really happy to see her again, but had stayed a long time, perhaps even days, and was hoping to leave soon. I felt uncomfortable about leaving, but felt some urgency to move on (where to, I'm not sure).

At the same time as I was going to say my goodbyes, she started getting her place ready for a big party. She had these huge pieces of meat, sides of beef and other, more fancy things that she was going to cook for the party.

I had to leave but realized that she needed help with cooking what looked like very complicated meat dishes. The apartment was chaotic. I remember feeling overwhelmed and guilty. Then friends started showing up at her place; the atmosphere was warm and friendly despite the disorganization all around us.

Apartment noise makes bombs

Now that J and I are on vacation, we're going to try, sweet mother of god, to revive this blog. So I'm going to get back on the horse with a dream that J had last night...

Over after-work snacks, he told me and his sister that he had a dream about walking around with bombs strapped to his chest. To which she replied, "oh yeah, that's because you slept at mom's house last night and it's really noisy outside her apartment."

Imogen drives a motorcycle

In this dream, Imogen is still a baby but is driving a motorcycle and I am sitting directly behind her. Turning right on Parc Avenue, by Fletcher's Field, she drives up over the rise past the tam-tams site, in full traffic. Krstn is coming along behind us on her own motorcycle. Imogen has trouble braking and I am nervous as the bars are a bit high for her. The traffic is slowing down and as we cruise through the traffic, the middle lane opens up and we take that route, curving under the Park-Pine Interchange which has been rebuilt (again). We follow the road under to a worksite, filling with water. The city has built an incredible water-park underground, under the Park-Pine Interchange, and it is almost completed. All tiled with fake islands and stuff. A few homeless people are standing around in water about a foot deep. We slow to a stop and take in the scene.

The Gruesomes seek funds from the CDEC

With an earnest face, Little John is explaining how their event went over budget and they were going to apply to the CDEC for funds to help with the deficit. The thing had taken place in a church basement or something, and the main expense was a fruit salad, a massive fruit salad. In my dream, my old boss Claude had forwarded my own notes to me, with his scrawled comments and questions and I was going through them, while John and Bobby explained in way too much detail what had happened, why it had gone into deficit, and why they needed the money so bad. I immediately spotted the reason for the deficit: they hadn't budgeted to pay the musicians, and the hip-hop band were insisting on getting 1500$. They were nervous. I woke up.

Hot competition at j-school... for a house

I was back at school... journalism school... For some reason, our teacher was telling us about this house that was for sale. It was part of our schoolwork, kind of. After the class, everyone wanted to buy it. They were lined up at the phone, trying to call the seller/agent.

One student in particular was being very annoying, wheeling and dealing in order to get an edge on the other students. This whole scene is pretty reflective of my time at j school... classmates competing for leads and jobs.

I also, desperately, wanted to buy this house. Something about a barn and 1950s decor... I went out of our department and down the escalator, to use a different phone. Someone was using a really loud machine next to the phone, so I went down another level and called about the house.

Then I went to go see it. It was a small, kind of ugly bungalow. Nothing special... Still, I wanted it.

Less wine, more dreams

It's confession time.

J and I drank a lot of wine this winter. And we forgot to post.

Well... we talked about posting, but every morning we couldn't remember the wines well enough to write anything. And there were too many wines, after a while we couldn't distinguish one from the other.

So a little over a week ago we decided: No more gratuitous wine drinking. The party's over. This doesn't mean the end of wine postings, but it does mean that the wine postings will be fewer and farther between for a while.

We will however post reviews from everyone and anyone who wants to pipe in and tell us about a bottle. Now how's that for democracy?

Unpacking and packing and rushing for the train

Weeks have gone by and I haven't been able to remember one dream... well, except for a couple creepy ones, which I'd rather keep to myself...

Then last night we moved the baby out of the bedroom and *pow* the dreams came hard and fast. Which probably means I had a good night's sleep.

This is actually a variation on a recurring dream... I landed in Amsterdam with a bunch of friends, en route to taking the train to Brussels. We got off the plane and made our way to some kind of intermediate spot where we were going to rest. It was a kind of indoor/outdoor picnic area...

And then everyone started to unpack their stuff. Lots of stuff: toys, clothes, lots of useless things... we spread our stuff out over this kind of hillside and then relaxed.

Suddenly I realized it was time to pack up and get to the train station or we would miss the last train to Brussels (in real life I missed last the train from Amsterdam to Brussels and had to spend the night in Antwerp).

We were in a big hurry and had to pack up all our stuff. This was a tricky project... very chaotic. I realized that we probably weren't going to make it and started to think about low budget places to stay near the Amsterdam train station.

Frontera: tonight I'm being a bad girl

It's like this: if J brings home a bottle, I always wait until I can share it with him. Out of, you know, politesse. But tonight he came home, left the wine behind, and then went out again.

So what's a girl to do? In particular, what's a girl to do who has steak to eat? She drinks the wine, bien sur. Not all of it, but some. And then a little more.

Tonight's web surfing companion is called Frontera Cabernet Sauvignon Merlot, by our old Chilean friends Concha y Toro.

The verdict: creamy delicious, when combined with a piece of rare flesh; but a little strange when paired with Cherry Nibs. Live and learn.

Oh so Montreal... the sublime loft space

After many weeks of sleep so deep or broken that I can't for the life of me remember a dream... just the flavour of a dream here and there... This morning I actually slept late enough to get a really long, deep dream on.

I was trying to rent this amazing loft space from a friend's sister. She was currently living there, but told us she was leaving. It was on the ground floor of this huge warehouse. Rather than distinct apartments, each space was delineated by an alley or maybe curtains. One wall was all windows -- old, giant, freaky factory windows. There was a bohemian feeling to the space... it was really wild and crazy and I couldn't resist its appeal.

Espousing Buddhist biker wisdom

The dream is fading already so I need to get down what's left of it. It was inspired partially by a man I saw on the bus. He was 60-ish, rumpled and had the friendliest face. Everyone on the bus was grumpy except for him. He had this calm, nonchalant way of chatting with the other passengers that genuinely engaged them and wasn't at all creepy or insincere.

The dream was also inspired by a radio program I heard last week about various kinds of evangelist bikers, who used to be criminals but then turned to religion or other ways of supposedly clean living.

In my dream, I was at some kind of biker seminar or conference. People were sitting in rows, in chairs. It was either a classroom, or a bus or both. He was one of the attendees. At one point he stood up and started to espouse Buddhist philosophy as it related to the nomadic lifestyle of a biker. I realized that he was a kind of prophet, explaining how you could give yourself up to the road without losing yourself.

A visit to my old apartment

J and I were visiting my old apartment, except that this apartment was completely different. We were just stopping by, en route to spending some time with a friend. She was with us, and came into the apartment to wait for us.

Once in, we found a lot of stuff that belonged to me and realized that we had to recoup anything we wanted before another tenant came along. Weirdly, I had been away from that apartment for a few years, so didn't know why there was so much of my stuff still there: clothes, food, weird knickknacks, etc...

I felt guilty because J and I were taking a while to put everything in plastic bags. Our friend waited patiently but I was acutely aware that we were being selfish and probably wasting her time.

Suddenly J ran over to me, very agitated and said, "Call an ambulance... X is sick." She was in the bathroom, vomiting blood. There was no phone in the apartment, so I ran outside and rang the neighbour's bell.

The neighbour lived in a huge apartment up a steep flight of stairs. There were many children and other people in the apartment's many rooms. I called an ambulance and went back downstairs.

While we waited, J and I continued to pile clothes into old plastic bags. I kept looking for the ambulance, and wondered why it was taking so long.

Viejos Robles, te amo

Last week we took home another bottle of Viejos Robles. It was there, it was fast and we had some foggy memory of liking it sometime in the past.

So we took home two more bottles tonight -- a menage a trois with last week's bottle and the fourth bottle from a few weeks ago looking on, voyeuristic and just a little bit jealous.

Now it's love. Los Robles, I love you, and I'm not afraid to say it, my Argentine beauty.

Let me count the ways... Los Robles, you are:

1. Dark, deep and rich
2. Full bodied (if you know what I mean...)
3. Smooth... a completely well rounded experience, from nose, to wet lip to back of the tongue
4. Full of little nuances: espresso, black cherry
5. Cheap! Only $8.50 CDN

La Pigole: Never again too good for dep wine...

Here in Montreal you can go to the corner store and buy wine.

If you're in the US, you might think this isn't such a big whoop....

But you can't buy wine outside a government-sanctioned store anywhere else in Canada. It's all part of Quebec's loose moral character: our booze is cheap and readily available... and we like sex.

And when people describe the good things about this city, inevitably one of them is "you can buy your wine at the corner store."

But then, something happens. You decide that you're too good for what we call "dep wine" (depanneur = corner store in Quebec, handyman elsewhere in the French-speaking world).

Too good for readily available, cheap, fairly decent wine? WTF?

With this now empty bottle of La Pigole from Cotes-du-Rhone (un "grand vin de France") I declare myself officially never too good for dep wine.

Tractors in the sky and bones on the ground

Part of a larger dream, I was sitting at an outdoor cafe when I noticed a tractor flying at airplane height above us. To my horror, the tractor was coming closer... it was falling, straight toward us. It smashed down at a neighbouring table. Tractor pieces and body parts flew everywhere.

Apparently, a woman had been driving the tractor. Someone explained that she was a kind of courier making a delivery. Bones and body parts were scattered all over the cafe tables. I was horrified, and left. Then I noticed that people were attentively, even reverentially, cleaning up the body parts. I had a lot of respect for these people, that they could be so kind to the dead woman. So I went back to my table and attempted to do the same.