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Day in the Life

By early evening, we went out, relaxed, at the end of the Plains. We walked a little, perhaps 5 or 10 minutes to reach a promontory sparsely populated, which is overhung by a few feet of the "Plains" as such - the "Area A" as she was called on to explain the plans Logistics to manage the crowd - and it crashed very comfortable to stand Stills, impatiently tolerate Pascale Picard, Paul McCartney and finally cheer. Delirium. People who were cooling their heels in front of the gates of the Area A since the day before were released in waves, we were in front row to hear them scream and watch them run and undignified scramble any attempt to reach the best seat or foot stage. Imagine a continuous stream of hundreds of people running for 5 minutes, then break for 3-4 minutes, and another human wave, break even break even break ... Hallucinating. We were glad to be sitting comfortably on our buttocks, we, because in the bottom, it was said, would be the average of four persons per square meter ...

The evening was warm, the clouds slowly emerged that swept the sky projectors. An intense white light lit: McCartney arrives, we yelled. Cheers. False alarm. Take two, yelling. Re-false alarm. Third test: the delirium, McCartney on stage. "Hello whole gang!" (The newspapers have made their bread and butter of that famous phrase of greeting). The crowd goes wild, I get chills down to the toes.

Accuracy: I do not know the solo repertoire of McCartney. I am a Beatles fan, period. So I pointed at the Plains in the hope of hearing, perhaps, Hey Jude, Let It Be, Michelle, Yesterday ... "It's supposed to do 1 / 3 Beatles" I warned my boyfriend. I am therefore delighted when my car Drive begins, telling me that I enjoy everything we provide the directory of the Fab Four, but but but! It never stops! Michelle, Eleanor Rigby, Good Day Sunshine Penny Lane, Birthday, Give peace a chance, Let it Be, Hey Jude, Lady Madonna, Yesterday, Back in the USSR, Jojo ..... Happiness, I tell you. Wrapped in a blanket, lying in the Big Dipper, the stars and I had tears in her eyes.

And what about the time when the "peak" Live and Let Die, a ball of fireworks exploded in the sky! What about the roar of the crowd, completely mesmerized, delighted, ecstatic! And the huge cry from the heart of that crowd, singing with one voice the tribute to John Lennon's Give Peace a Chance! And the same voice, repeating the endless chant of "Hey Jude", to lose the vote, losing the head, heart ready to explode!

And what about the star of the evening, Paul McCartney to sixty years sounded well and contagious energy, magnetic charisma! This incredible stage animal we have kept in suspense for more than two hours, allowing the stroke of midnight to ring before we say "Come on, all in bed!".

"A historic moment," gargle senior leaders responsible for the arrival of McCartney on Quebec soil. Historic yes, but above all, magic, really. While Quebec has a head full of happiness today, and it is beautiful, what a beautiful gift for that "great lady of 400 years! Happy Birthday.

Itching After Gallbladder Operation

Anonymous

That's it, I have a secret admirer.

Monday, after work, I found a flower on the handlebars of my bike. Not a daisy or a dandelion picked in haste, no! Carefully wrapped a white carnation. Wikipedia emergency consultant (that means in the language of flowers, a white carnation?), I find myself divided ...

"In the language of flowers, the carnation is a symbol of love. The white carnation symbolizes passion faithful [But] in Southern Europe, the white carnation flower was long dead. It is used in Italy to make funeral wreaths. "

Considering that I do not" love faithfully "with any of morticians and embalmers others that I frequent at work (incidentally, the average of age of my fellow workers is around 57), and considering the fact where I work, I guess the second symbol of the white carnation is more appropriate.

Do I conclude that under air terribly trivial This Caryophyllaceae lies a subtle threat of death? Seduce better slay?

That's it, now I'm going to be wary of all these old chaps who claim that "perceiving is the best time of [their] day." Old crazy psychopaths. I'm gonna hang out pepper spray on my bike, stick to the words.

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Fragments without moral or conclusion

In what national holiday on June 24, I listened to a movie with my boyfriend, both our own beer in the basement. It has left people on the plains you get wet-only.

***

In what national holiday on 1 July (and I speak here of the Feast of the move, because the other BOAF), patriotism requires, I moved. Without boxes. Without trinkets wrapped in newsprint. Without garment. Without moving truck. Without even changing my set of keys. I moved my stock a good ... um ... 5 meters ... in the room opposite. Both doors open, I took my books from a library to go and sit in the library the other room. Ditto for my computer desk to another. Ditto for the teddy, bed to another. In short, you get the idea: a moving ideal, and relax, because the girl who will occupy my ex-room has not arrived yet, so I take my time and I have two rooms for the price of one.

***

In this holiday-slash-provincial city-slash-slash-national-world that is July 3, 2008 (400th anniversary of Quebec city ... you heard?) I worked at the hotel, and having thought long and hard the day before (car or bike? Bottling or rain?), I chose the lesser of two evils, and I have broken my floor for Bike go home at 11am. I take the path that is usually my own, in the pouring rain which I do not see anything, and I find myself trapped. On Grande-Allée, barriers across the street from the sidewalk separating and isolating pedestrian path that will soon take the parade. You see, it's always like this: path reserved for cars, road reserved for pedestrians, but cyclists, nada. Bibi and accidentally find themselves on the road reserved for cars (read: the parade). No way out of the road barriers everywhere. Hundreds of people behind the barriers, waiting for the parade. And me. On the road. Wringing wet. My grumbling coronations most colorful, smiling through my teeth to the public should find that, as a pre-parade, I was hard dirty. Oh joy, what a great humiliation. I have done more than 200 meters below 300 pairs of eyes before hitting a police charity that has passed my bike over the fence to me from shameful growing.

***

Today is the feast of nothing, but it is nice and I'm on leave. It's like a party, at the bottom ...