Got some good advice last night at a Concordia Alumni function. When asked where I am from, they suggested I say "Montreal" -- never, ever Ottawa. As I have already blogged, Albertans hate Ottawa. Come on, people, I'm neither related to Pierre Trudeau, nor automatically a bloody Liberal. Get over yourselves, but it was still good advice. And I can get away with it because I know Montreal very well.
All this took place at a book reading in a smart, downtown book store. Reading about it, I thought it might be quite interesting, afterall, I fancy myself a writer, albeit a hack. But no, sadly not. First of all, as usual I was over-dressed. Can't seem to get it right here and, believe me, I know I'm the one out-of-step not the Calgarians.
So, in I foolishly and imprudently prance, only to be greeted by the usual jeans, sweatshirts, t-shirts, sneakers and ugly shoes. I had figured since all these people went to school at Montreal's Concordia they might not quite yet have gone "native". Afterall, Montreal is Montreal when it comes to fashion. So I struck out then and there on that file.
Note: Maybe the Ranchmen's Club will suit my style better? I did notice several very well-dressed women when we were there the other day. I live in hope.
Then it was on to the food. Low and behold, instead of wine and hors d'oeuvres, we had smoked meat sandwiches and canned soft drinks. Ugh. Things were taking a turn for the worse.
Overhearing one of the female authors start ordering everyone around about the readings, the discussion groups, the Qs & As, where she would plant herself, where the microphone should be, where everyone else's ass-s would be...I was seized with dread. No way could I sit there and be hectored by this "very liberated" woman. You know the type of 40-ish university-educated woman who knows everything? Well that was she in spades.
So, I gave B the cue and we discretely snuck out. I'd rather come home and do laundry.
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