Le Premier Jour

I've been dispatched to Montreal for 9 days of shopping, schmoozing, boozing, and perhaps even a little bit of culture. Dynoness is up here to give a talk at the Sooper Cement Scientists Conference, and we decided it's as good a place as any to hang out, especially since I would reap the benefits of her corporate credit card and per diem.

Even with all of the freebies, I'm having a lot of trouble not busting out my credit cards and buying up everything Montreal has to offer. We spent yesterday hanging out in the Mile End section of the Plateau- full of lots of great p'tit boutiques and the clothes I'm always trying to find, but can only get the pale derivation from Urban Outfitters. My new favorite store in the whole world may be Moly Kulte, a shop by two Genevieves who recycle clothes and reconstruct them into masterpieces of deconstructed fashion. My favorites were the earrings made from old cassette tapes and the sugar pills from birth control packets.

After spending obscene amounts of money, Dynoness and I headed back to the opening ceremonies with the cement scientists. Ness made me wear a bra under my shelf bra camisole, since the only breasts here that the scientists have ever seen are the bitch-tits of their obese colleagues, and she's worried their heads would explode at the sight of anything resembling a nipular shape. Because most of the clothes that I packed were meant for hipster concerts schmoozing with Win Butler and Spencer Krug, I had to improvise to come up with something staid enough to wear to the conference- plain, straight-leg jeans without the bottoms cuffed, my camisole white sleep shirt (with a shelf bra, and yet, I was still forced to wear a bra), and an oversized brown cardigan. No make-up, eyes puffy from a day of sightseeing, but nonetheless, I was still getting hit on by skeevy Princeton scientists with wedding rings. Huz, huz, HUZZZZZ. My troubles were rewarded, however, with all the free wine I could ask for (and I asked for a lot) and enough mini-quiches that I won't need to worry about feeling too skinny anymore.

Then it was off to the Montreal Jazz Festival, where everyone, and I mean everyone rawked out to Arabian night with Rachid Tacha.

This kid and I hung out most of the night, empathizing with each other about the woes of being short. At any given concert, this is the view from the short people's point of view:
I woke up this morning to my second dreary Montreal morning, and so am off to find out what this whole underground city is all about. Details tomorrow, with a side discussion on Montreal's many signs.