And from above, I don’t mean heaven. I mean above you on the map. Right there by Vermont.
The conversion rate being close sucks ass. You see, in the days of the Canadian dollar being worth about fifty cents U.S., it had to be easy to do your expense reports online, But now, depending upon what method of payment you used, the totals are close to what you remember, but not exact. It’s just annoying, especially considering how ADD affects my ability to organize a two-week stack of receipts. I’m fairly confident that this trip may cost me about $800 Canadian, or $804 US.
I am now of the belief that these people either don’t know anything about steak, or they do and they’ve decided to suck at making them and cutting them.
Last night we went to a place called LeBiftheque, which apparently means “Purveyors of decent but too thin steaks.” Prices weren’t horrid, but for two guys to get dinner, one desert and one drink each, $90 with tip should have left me saying “Yes…now THAT was a good steak.”
Instead, I was left saying “Great Caesar sald and great garlic smashed potatoes, and the steak TASTES good, but again, it’s a fucking waffle house steak.”
Is it so hard to cut a one to one and a quarter inch thick ribeye? Is it a metric problem or something?
Next is the French problem. Not the French people. They’ve been very nice, or at least 99.9 percent of them have. It’s the talking French thing. When you are reliant on a cab for everything, you have to give a local an address, and even if you don’t speak French, the street names and shit are IN French. That leaves two options. You either read them in English and sound like an arrogant ass, or you attempt to read them in what is supposed to be a French accent and then you sound like an ass that’s borderline retarded or has just had a stroke.
I’m tired of the snow now. Or I guess I’m tired of how everyone’s indifferent about it. I mean, I am literally in what appears to be the Sahara desert of snow. I know that sounds stupid, but there are dunes of snow everywhere you look. Every undeveloped nook and cranny is piled high with layers of dirty but untouched snow. And the official snow storage areas (how ridiculous does THAT sound) are up to 80 feet high and hold heavy equipment that rides around on top loading semi trailers that haul the snow out into the vast wasteland that is, well, suburban Montreal I guess, and re-stack it there.
At home, snow is feared by drivers but revered by children and adults alike. No two square foot area is left untromped on, and here, there are miles and mile of pristine snow that would make my kids quite possibly go completely insane. And here? Meh.
Well, I’ve got one day and a wake up left before I head home. I gotta start thinking about packing and when my flight is, and I’m sure that flight isn’t nearly early enough in the day as I should have booked.
What say you?