The Lone Super Spartan

It was a thrice-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My good amigo *The Betrayer* loves running muddy obstacle courses, so he jumped at the opportunity to run the Super Spartan Obstacle Course Race, which was for quite a hefty price tag. Alas, he was the only one out of his friends who signed up, and later on, more attractive engagements presented themselves for that weekend time slot, so he decided not to run it anymore. *The Betrayer* asked me if I wanted to go in his place, free of charge. What were the odds of someone paying for an event, and then backing out and allowing someone to replace him? Not only was I going in his place, but nobody was going with me. I would be attending Wolfe’s Pond Park alone.

In the past obstacle course runs I’ve done, I’ve always ran it with a team. We often waited for each other and even crossed the finish line together. Going by myself presented me a unique opportunity to go at it full blast and test my own limits. I calculated the odds of all of these events occurring with this coming to fruition. The conclusion I reached? The number of opportunities one would have similar to this in an average American lifespan? It came out to thrice in a lifetime; I’ll take it.

Parking was scarce so I parked quite a ways away from the venue. I brought my phone to navigate my way to the event, knowing that I would have to go back to the car again later to drop off the race packet stuff, t-shirt, as well as my phone. However, once I registered and everything, I learned that we would get our t-shirt after the race, and there really was nothing to bring back to the car except my phone. It was a long walk back, and I had three plastic bags with me already… two of which were Ziploc bags.

Last time I ran in the mud, we put the car keys inside two plastic bags, and they did not get wet at all and were fully functional afterwards. I thought, if I kept my phone in THREE bags (TWO of which were Ziploc), it will certainly be dry and be fully functional after this muddy water run, so that is what I did. I was antsy to start running and did not want to walk all the way back to the car and then back to the race.

The race started off well. Like most other races like these, the first portion was an uphill run to weed out the weaklings, as well as those who blow their load right away. Up next was a soft sand run on the beach; now we’re talking! I passed quite a few people here, who would eventually pass me. Ah, the balance of life.

The entire run was quite a blur, but there are a few highlights I should mention. I recall running alongside a person wearing a headband and black tights. During the mud crawl under the barbed wire, the tights must have gotten caught and ripped, because every time I looked at this person, I caught myself staring at one bare cheek of a two-cheeked ass. It was like looking at a zebra; blackness, and then with a slight shift of gaze, it was complete and utter whiteness.

Yep, just like that, except less stripey and more solid.

I remember watching this person climb over a wall as I yelled out encouragement. I wasn’t sure if this was a man or a woman at first… the tights and curvy nature of the body told me it was a woman, but the short hair headband style shouted out “man!”

Come on... that can be a man or a woman...

At first, I made up my mind that it was a woman, but later on I decided it was a man. It was not until later when we met again and I gave her a high five or pound (can’t remember which), and said “Good job man” that I concluded that she was a young lady. The “thanks” she responded with in her delicate lady voice was all the proof I needed. She was an inspiration to me during the race; she could have quit because half of her bare ass was showing, but she was a champion and plowed on through, leaving a solid memory of half a pasty white ass for those trailing behind her (like me).

Parts of the race had us runners crawling through an underpass filled with water connected to a sewer. I confidently went through, knowing my phone would be safe. We waded waist-deep through muddy water, ran through mud, did everything imaginable through mud, with certain exceptions. At one point during one of the long trail run portions, I felt it was a good time to slow down and take a little break. If I was going to take a little break, why not check if my phone was working? The first sign of my Blueberry’s doom for me was trying to press a button; it would not even compress. Uh oh. (I’m guessing the water somehow sucked some of the buttons in so that I couldn’t even press it). I had not turned my phone off, so I tried pressing all the other buttons to see if the black screen would light up. Alas, no, it did not. Hundred(s) of dollars, down the drain. I spent a good minute or two mourning over the loss of my phone.

I took my time to dwell on it, and then went on with my life. I wasn’t going to let this setback ruin my race; sure I may have added a few extra minutes to my time in my short depression, but I still had to go at it, and hard. Before the race, I was excited to see how I would do in the race if I really pushed myself; just because my beloved Blueberry smartphone was dead did not mean I was going to trudge through the rest of the race dejectedly.

Fortunately there were many water stations during the race, so runners could keep hydrated. Unfortunately, sometimes these water stations can be misleading. At one point, I went to a water station and continued on with the race, only to realize I had left the trail path and was walking among the suburbs of Staten Island. It took me a good minute before I realized I had went the wrong way, and started heading back, where the water station employees were motioning to me where appropriate continuation for the race was located.

Obviously, many parts of the race were physically challenging. The most challenging parts were the long mud runs. You would be running on muddy uneven ground and you would try to go as fast as you possibly could but it wouldn’t be very fast because not only was the ground extremely slippery, but the uneven ground with rocks made you prone to roll an ankle. The desire for self-preservation would hold you back from going FULL full speed.

The mental challenge was immense. I had no idea how much of the race was left, so I had the dilemma of pushing myself just the right amount. If I walked, I faced the fear of walking to the finish line with everything left in the tank. If I all-out sprinted it, I faced the fear of burning out far before the race was over.

Seeing as how one had to go through mud, water, and everything in between, it was only natural to have rocks get into your shoes. When this happens, one has to make a decision: Continue running with the pain and brave through it, or stop and get the rocks out.

I ran with the pain for quite some distances. Eventually, I felt that the pain was making me go slower, at which point I stopped and removed the most troublesome rocks. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until more rocks made their way under my feet and inside my shoes again, which meant I had to run with the pain again. Though it hurt physically, it was a mental triumph to keep going despite the pain.

The whole time I tried to keep a good jogging pace at the very least. I motivated myself by telling myself that *The Betrayer* was counting on me. I had to do it for my friend, my people. There was NO room for walking during an obstacle course like this; I knew that the race would be won or lost on the trails. The obstacles were easypeasy, if you weren’t going reasonably hard on the running, you weren’t going to do well, period.

Towards the end, we ended up running on the beach again. Unfortunately, I started cramping in my left quadriceps and biceps femoris, making running very difficult. I was forced to walk as fast as I could on the sand, keeping my memory of *The Betrayer*’s with me the entire time.

At last, I saw the familiar warriors with gigantic Q-tips at the finish line. They were my last obstacle. There were three people ahead of me so I quickly formulated a strategy. I would hide behind them and let them take the brunt of the punishment and distract the Q-tip gladiators while I escaped unscathed.

It wasn’t until later that it hit me that this was a stupid plan. I should have just ran past those three people and finished ahead of them. I realized this too late, as this thought came into my head just before they crossed the finish line. The gladiators did very little damage to me and I was all smiling when suddenly I thought “… Wait…” and then “FUCK!” just as the people ahead of me finished.

Overall, I went pretty hard for this race, but I feel I could have gone harder. I am disappointed that I did not bring honor to *The Betrayer*’s family name, but suchness is life.

Cheers

Town Square Musings

Yesterday started off like a day similar to any other. My good ole buddy *PunkSmashRoyale* who is from N.E.W. Jerzzz, was going to be in Flushing for a Mets game with a friend and asked me if I wanted to hang out afterwards. I don’t see this guy very often, and he is very loveable, so I agreed. Also, my good ole buddy *Platypuss* and I had been texting and she mentioned how she was having dinner with her mom (who I guess we shall call *SmileyWileyWina*) and her brother (the infamous *Homiecakes*). She asked me if I had ever been to Minado’s and about its selection of consumables, and I promptly answered her to my utmost ability. After a while, the conversation extended itself to other topics, but as dinner time drew near, I wished *Platypuss* a happy dining experience as part of the trio. She thanked me for my well wishes, but I still felt a little empty inside. After all our talk about restaurant choice(s) and food selection(s), I wanted to know what her ultimate decision was in the end. The following is the verbatim exchange between us:

“You gonna tell me where you are eating? Lol”

“Ohhhh haha didnt know u wanted to know. Divino ristorante. You want to come or something” - (Obviously a joke)

“Yeah, can I?” - (Obviously a joke calling of her bluff)

“Lol really? K dinner resys at 630,but I think everyone's going to be a little late. Just make it there before 7 so we can do the prefixe” - (…)

Never one to back down from a challenge in relation to edible food, I called her bluff. Your funeral, *Platypuss*, your funeral. I will admit that I had some qualms of guilt. It is not often that *Platypuss*, *Homiecakes* (also known as BIGBOI), and *SmileyWileyWina* can sit down and have a nice dinner together as a family. But if you know me, and I know you don't, I love to (whether I like it or not) throw myself into awkward situations, and seeing as how I had never met *SmileyWileyWina* before, this was the most perfect awkward situation ever. Ruining a lovely heartwarming family dinner; what I do best.

At an opportune moment when the professor called a break for our class, I bum-rushed out of there, and everyone was none the wiser. I took the train and ran to the restaurant in time to make it before 7pm, but at the cost of my personal hygiene. I was sweating profusely by the time I shook *SmileyWileyWina*’s hand. The dinner that followed was the most upturned-corners-of-mouth dinner conversation that ever took place or will ever take place. It would be impossible for me to coherently go through the entire dinner in a logical and cohesive fashion, so I will just throw out random bits of what I remember about it:

*Platypuss* threw me under the bus right away without wasting any time. She told her mother that I was cutting class, completely destroying any good impression I could have made. I salvaged whatever I could of the situation by saying “I don’t get to see *Platypuss* and *Homiecakes* too often, and this is my last course of school, so I decided it was worth the sacrifice to see my two good friends” and gave a big smile.

I was worried that my shirt would be inappropriate for the restaurant, but I was allowed in despite my jackass demeanor. My shirt was of a sprinkle hose (a hose that emits sprinkles) emitting sprinkles into the summer air as an ice cream cone and donut were frolicking in happiness. *SmileyWileyWina* seemed to like my shirt and as I returned from the restroom, she mentioned that it was cute. Me, being the jackass that I am (probably the most commonly used phrase on this blog), said “Yeah, I am kinda cute!” and she, with the sternest face, immediately said “No, I was talking about the shirt.”

While we were eating our entrees, I was giving some of my food to my fellow tablemates. As I was giving some of my salmon to *SmileyWileyWina*, I asked her “Do you want some more fish?” (because she had ordered a different fish dish herself). Apparently, according to *Platypuss*, I had actually said “Do you want some more fish, mom?” and she totally called me out on it.

That was pretty awkward. However, *SmileyWileyWina* is a lot like me in that she wants/wanted/likes a lot of kids (of her own I’m guessing?) so she said it was okay if I called her mom. I gave her a look and said “Uhhh… That’s okay!” and laughed. We then talked about children and how I wanted at least four, preferably five. We also talked about how my mother was a lot like her, in that they both like to give fruit to their children.

Later on she asked me if I like fish, and I said I do, and she said she does too. I said “We have a lot in common you and I, we both like fish… and you don’t like wine, and… I like wine in moderation.” I had to stop there because unfortunately I forgot about our desire to have more children and motherly instincts.

I mentioned how I was going to be in Flushing later and *SmileyWileyWina* told me not to hang out too late because it is very dangerous at night in Flushing. Apparently there are Mexican and Hispanic gangs with weapons such as guns. I then proceeded to tell her, “I have guns too,” and then further proceeded to bring my arms into plain view and slightly flexed while looking at them. Yeah, that did not go over too well.

She said "Their guns will win over your guns" and proceeded to mimic a gun shooting into a bicep. Ouch, that hurt my pride more than it hurt my figurative bicep.

*Platypuss* wanted to throw me under the bus again by telling her mother how I shit my pants at work. I asked *Platypuss* if she was going to tell HER shit story too (not that she has one, *cough*), which apparently refrained *Platypuss* from telling her my story. I had no problem with my story being told; I was just wary of the fact that we were in a restaurant about to eat and shit probably wasn’t a good topic to talk about. However, I did encourage *Platypuss* to tell my story by telling *SmileyWileyWina* in my retarded robot Mandarin, that *Platypuss* had a story to tell. Didn’t happen, unfortunately.

I mentioned to *SmileyWileyWina* how I had met her youngest son (*Platypuss*’s youngest brother whom we shall call… *AmB*). The first words out of her mouth were “Yeah, he’s kinda slow, right?” and I gave her a very quizzical look. *Platypuss* started laughing uncontrollably and so did her mother. I was a little confused at what was going on but I continued with my story of how *AmB* and I met. It was the last night of Buddhist camp this year and we were right next to each other holding hands as we danced around the bonfire (not as bad as it sounds). *SmileyWileyWina* then tried to save herself from her previous condemning comment of her son by saying she meant he was a slow dancer. This “slow” comment and related comments about slowness actually made up the bulk of our conversation from that point on.

For a while, *SmileyWileyWina* kept on talking Mandarin to me, which I did not understand all too clearly. I tried to use my limited Mandarin at some points, but as I was told, I sounded like a retarded robot.

*SmileyWileyWina* kept on encouraging me to eat, and that I am a BIGBOIIII. This immediately ignited *Homiecakes*'s senses and he said "Yah, you BIGBOIIIIIII." I tried to explain that I am a small boy but it was too late. The yellings of "BIGBOIIIII" totally engulfed any argument I tried to make.

*Platypuss* kept on asking me if I wanted a bottle of wine, and she got to telling me a story about the first and only time her mother drank wine. Apparently it was very weak wine, so *SmileyWileyWina* kept on drinking it like it was juice and finished most of the bottle. She walked over to the sink and promptly collapsed and hit her head on the counter, and from then on she was never going to drink again. We started talking about wine and alcohol and why it is bad and *SmileyWileyWina*, probably sensing that she couldn’t communicate all that well with me, used some weird sign language where her index fingers tapped her temples passionately, followed by a shaking of her head. I gave her the most quizzical look I had ever given anyone, and my eyes shifted to *Platypuss* as if to say “What the fuck did she just say?”

It all made sense just milliseconds later; she was saying that alcohol fucks with your head. It was strange for me because she went from speaking, to passionately using other parts of her body to communicate, and it took time for me to adjust to what was going on, which is why my eyebrows were furrowed questioningly.

*SmileyWileyWina* said that I look very young, even younger than *Platypuss*. She later attributed this to the fact that I look very happy and was always smiling and laughing. I told her “No… I wake up every morning and cry.” Luckily, she didn’t take me seriously. I told her that I live a pretty good life and that “I may not have a lot of money, but I have a lot of heart” as I put my hands over my left chesticle.

Later, *SmileyWileyWina* said that I seemed very dumb and goofy. I was very excited about this, because we had hit a breakthrough. “That is exactly what *Plane Jane* said when she first me!” Now I was drawing closer to the truth; the true first impression that people get when they meet me.

Our conversations were very happy though because I felt bad about ruining her family dinner, so whenever *SmileyWileyWina* looked at me, I would do my best to make things pleasant and smile and she would burst out laughing and turn to *Platypuss* and tell her something embarrassing about me (I imagine).

As the dinner drew to a close and it was time to pay, *SmileyWileyWina* asked *Platypuss* if I came just for a free dinner. I vehemently denied this but in the end, I ended up not paying for anything. I owe *Platypuss* dinner next time, darn. *SmileyWileyWina* asked me if liked the food, and I said “The food was very good, but the company was even better.” Don’t judge me, I was trying to make a good impression!

After dinner, *SmileyWileyWina* dropped *Platypuss* and I off at *Platypuss*’s apartment. Turns out my friend from Jersey and his friend got lost in Penn station and never made it to the Mets game. I was just going to meet them in Times Square to hang out. (*PunkSmashRoyale* had called me to ask me the address of Times Square.) How was I going to get to Times Square you ask? Well, *Platypuss*’s (Oh god, don’t say boyfriend, please don’t say boyfriend or she is going to kill you) ummmm… GUY-friend, was going to come and pick her up to go back to his apartment which is kinda near Times Square, and I was going to hitch a ride with them. No, he did not sound pleased at all.

Let’s call this guy *Leather Tile*. So he’s driving, and he asks me the optimal place to be dropped off, to which I say “42^nd and 7^th.” “Alright,” he says, “so I’ll drop you off there.” Keep in mind, we’re starting off on the Upper East Side, and somehow we end up on West End Avenue. I ask him “Dude, how did you end up on West End?” to which he replies “I don’t know, I planned on just driving west until I hit 7^th avenue… but I never hit it.”

I found this to be ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS and burst out laughing. He wasn’t going to hit 7^th avenue because there was no 7^th avenue in the area; it was part of Central Park. I immediately tell *Platypuss* that I like this guy. So we end up near the garage and *Leather Tile* says “Do you mind if I just drop you off at 42^nd and 9^th?” to which I wholeheartedly agree.

*Platypuss*, you have my approval, but coming from me, it probably doesn’t mean much.

I meet up with *PunkSmashRoyale* and his friend *WekeFurest* at Toys’R’Us (*Platypuss* was going to say hi to *PunkSmashRoyale* with me but she ended up not doing that; lame.) and they are HUNGRY. They are from New Jersey and have never heard of Shake Shack, so I take them there and of course I recommend the double shack stack. They each get one and since they are very hungry, both feel that it is one of the best burgers they’ve ever had. SCORE!

We then plan our next move. I had wanted to watch “Winnie the Pooh”, but we decide on whatever movie we can fit in before they have to take the NJ Transit back home. We decide on “Crazy Stupid Love”, which *PunkSmashRoyale* searched for on his phone. I ask him “Which theater?” and he says “The Times Square one!” to which I respond “Which one? There are two!”

We figure out that it is the AMC, and we get to the theater, and… “Crazy Stupid Love” isn’t playing at all. At this point I am a little confused, was *PunkSmashRoyale* actually looking at the list of movies playing at Regal across the street? I confront him about this and he says “Yeah! Let’s go across the street and look!” At this point (and at several other points before in my life) I started to get the feeling that he had no idea what he was talking about, so we started looking on his phone at the listing he was looking at before. Sure enough, the theater he was looking at was AMC, but I noticed it was in Vestal, NY.

Now, I admit that I am semi to severely retarded, but I was pretty sure that we were not in the town of Vestal. I then look at the theater name, and it is in TOWN square, NOT TIMES square. We had a good laugh about this retardedness, and decide to watch “Friends with Benefits.” So there we are at a self-serve kiosk, and *PunkSmashRoyale* tries to pay with a $100 bill. Unfortunately, the machine did not accept $100 bills, or any form of cash in general, so we had to go to the actual counter.

The movie was actually pretty good; much better than I expected. These romantic comedies are usually cliché, but “Friends with Benefits” did the whole cliché routine in what I felt was a refreshingly new way with lots of laughs throughout the film. I recommend it.

It is time for my friends to go home and we arrive at the NJ Transit station. As we are looking at the schedule of departures, we see that the Trenton train (the one they are supposed to be on) is departing at 1:22. “WAIT A MINUTE” says *PunkSmashRoyale*. “WE’RE NOT GOING TO TRENTON!”

“Yeah, but that’s the direction our train is headed to” says *WekeFurest*. “Oh.”

And so as they set off to hell, I rode off into the sunrise.

Merde est dingue...

Well, how do I begin? My buddy J-Boogie had just quit his job being a champion for the poor in order to become an even bigger champion for the poor. (This is my jackass way of saying he worked in non-profit and will still be working in non-profit or some kind of place where the main objective is not profit.) He had some time in between the end date of his old job and the start date of his new job, so he planned a short trip to Montreal. My boiiii J-Boogie is a natural loner and backpacker, so he planned on going on this trip by himself. He had original intended on going in the fall, but that did not HAPPEN (you might even say, the plan FALLed apart (hehe)), so he had about a week or two to plan this trip.

On the night before he is due to leave by Greyhoud bus, he asks me “any chance you [wanna] steal away to Montreal on a whim?” I express to him that I would love to but I would be missing two classes, and that is far too much for a summer session course. I joke that if he would buy my $180 textbook, I would go. (I wasn’t planning on buying the textbook if I was going to attend every class. However, if I missed two classes, I would definitely need to have the textbook to maintain minimum comfort levels necessary for Kwok-sanity.)

He says the book is $30 on Amazon. Yeah, obviously his cheapass would spring for the older outdated edition. He tries to get me to buy the textbook instead of him, since it is only $30. I tell him that there really is no negotiating this; I’m the one who is going to miss two classes, and he’s the one who wants me to go on this trip. I was not going to pay $30 just to miss two classes. I know that I may not seem like a scholarly dude to most of you, but I have always made it a point to, at the very least, SHOW UP to every class in school, no matter what subject it is, so missing class was a big deal to me.

We argue back and forth a little more and finally come to an agreement. J-Boogie will buy the textbook, and if after the trip, I feel my Montreal experience wasn’t worth it, then I would give him half the money for the book. What started off as a joke suddenly got a lot more serious. Oh snap, did you guys just feel that? Shit just got REAL!

I start booking everything right then. After some confusion and a lot of frustration, I booked my bus ticket heading there, my hostel, and my train ticket back. This trip was so spontaneous and ghetto; J-Boogie and I were not even staying at the same hostel.

Day 1:

Our bus leaves at 11:00 PM, so I got there a little before 10:30 PM. J-Boogie came a little later due to trouble notifying his credit card company on his travel plans. Apparently the credit card representative asked J-Boogie things about J-Boogie that J-Boogie could not answer, but I digress.

We get on the bus and there aren’t too many single seats left, much less two-seaters. We had walked to the back, and J-Boogie wants to go back to the front to see if there are any singles available but I say “There are seats open here, let’s just sit here.” Obviously J-Boogie takes the seat next to the mildly attractive young lady because he is a HORNDOG, while I get a seat next to the bathroom, which is actually an open two-seater. J-Boogie actually asks me if the seat next to me is free, and I tell him yes, but he stays within his own seat. HORNDOG.

A nice young man eventually sits next to me and we start talking. He has a very heavy French accent so he was a little hard to understand at times. He says he’s been living in “Moriel” for a year and I’m like “What is Moriel?”

He tries several attempts to explain it to me, obviously thinking that I am a dumbass. Finally, as a last ditch resort to get me to understand, he says “the direction this bus is going” and I’m like “OHHH!” and I start laughing like a jackass. “Montreal!” Yeah, I am an idiot.

When we reached Albany, everyone had to get off the bus for some odd reason. We all go out and as I walk through the bus door and then past the driver, the driver angrily yells at me, ”YO! Were you asleep?” and hands me a reboarding pass. I was like “… Yeah….” Dude, it was 1:45 AM!

From about 11 PM to 7 AM, I was for the most part on a bus trying to sleep in uncomfortable positions. We finally arrive in Montreal, and it is time to get busy. That’s right; there is only one stop on our minds when we first arrive on this royal mountain; we had to pay homage to our motherland. You guessed it baby! CHINATOWN.

On our way there, we passed by some interesting sights, one of which was a place called “Hopital Chinois de Montreal.”

I thought racism was a thing of the past, yet here we have it in full bloom; a hospital (purportedly) that only serves Chinese people (purportedly). We went inside to inquire about this peculiar place. We ask the nice young lady inside what this place is all about. According to her, it is a long-term care center. I ask “Is it just for Chinese people?” She responds, “90% of our population here is Chinese, with the other 10% being mostly Asian (such as Thai, Cambodian, or Vietnamese), and then there are some other odd ones out.”

She also mentioned how this facility was very unique and is the largest one of its kind in a certain geographic area. She then let us know where we could find Chinatown and we were off on our merry way.

Montreal is mostly a French city, and the French colonized Vietnam, so with my brilliant detective skills, I deduced that there would be an abundance of Vietnamese people in the city, and you know what that means; PHO! And where can one find pho? CHINATOWN!

Let’s take a second to pay tribute to this delectable beef noodle soup dish.

Whoops, false alarm.

We looked around for a foreign exchange place to get the highly valued Canadian dollar, but no such luck. It was still way too early; not too many stores were open.

I imagined us starving and wasting away while sitting on the sidewalk, waiting until a foreign exchange place opened so we could get some money and then some breakfast. Alas, J-Boogie walked into a Vietnamese restaurant and asked if they accepted US dollars. Thankfully they did. It was time to eat!

The food was very good and came in large portions (bigger than Thaison!), which is a very important factor for me when it comes to pho. However, the beef was not as tender as one would have hoped. On the other hand, the chili sauce the waiter gave me was quite the complement to this Indochinese dish.

Next, we wandered around Chinatown a little bit more. I saw a delightful hat inside a store and I got so excited that I bought it without a fifth thought. Now, J-Boogie and I were both rocking hats! However, the hat I bought was made in China, and indeed the string used to secure it to my head broke within a few hours. Fortunately for me, my resourcefulness allowed me to configure alternative ways of tying the string and securing the hat to my head.

Wearing the hat was difficult because it acted like a parachute; whenever there were strong winds, the hat would be caught in the wind and the string would most likely break and the hat would fly away unless I held onto the hat. Being the jackass that J-Boogie is, he bragged about how HIS hat was perfect in that he simply had to put it on and it would be secure no matter what winds came.

Shortly after his douchebaggery, we decided to go to the island of Parc Jean-Drapeau. Along the way, we got sidetracked numerous times. For example, I saw this really small (possibly man-made) island that was accessible by a small bridge, where people could sit on the edges of the island and let their feet dillydally in the water. Must-do.

We finally get to Parc Jean-Drapeau where J-Boogie really wanted to swim in a gigantic pool. That was fun for a bit while we cooled off, but I really did not see the appeal for the two of us to go to a humungous pool in Montreal. Afterwards, we went to the nearby Biosphere where J-Boogie critiqued every picture I took of him. That guy has some very deliberate tastes when it comes to photography. Anyway, we freeloaded inside the Biosphere by recharging our electronic devices while milking the free wi-fi, until they kicked us out.

We noticed from walking around the city so far, that there are A LOT of people napping outside in public; on the streets, on benches, basically wherever one can lie down. And at least 10% of these people were most likely not hobos. They were dressed relatively moderately well, so one can only assume that napping in public outdoor spaces is part of the culture here.

Why do I mention all of this? To give socio-cultural support and backing for our next decision. Do I really have to say it? Yes, at one point we got very tired and sleepy. Well, when in Rome!

At one point, J-Boogie napped on a bridge. That guy sure loves to nap!

Next on our agenda was one of my must-see/go destinations; Habitat 67; an unusually looking architectural work of art. We found that Habitat 67 was walkable from Parc Jean-Drapeau, so that is what we did. I believe we walked on the Pont de la Concorde, which is a mighty long and WINDY bridge. I held onto my farmer’s hat like I was holding on for dear life so it would not break nor fly away. Enough about me though, here is a picture of J-Boogie as we are walking along the Concorde.

Here is a picture of him a few minutes later, while we are still walking along the Concorde:

Yes, his hat flew off and is currently being worn by Nemo of Great Neck, who has now made a home in the St. Lawrence River:

I trust he will not be as much of a douchebag as the hat’s previous owner. If any of you need a reminder of who Nemo is, here he is in a Flushing restroom:

We get to Habitat 67 and admire its structure as well as take lots of pictures. As we were sitting down and enjoying the view from within the complex, a rabid dog on a leash tried to eat us. He/she was salivating and making hungry noises, but thankfully for us, the power of the leash won out in the end. Here is a picture of part of Habitat 67.

Next on our journey was paying our first visits to our respective hostels. The plan was to get settled in, and then meet up for dinner. Luckily for J-Boogie, his hostel was very close. Unfortunately for me, mine was very far. Carrying a heavy bag, walking uphill after walking all day; by the time I reached my hostel I was an even bigger mess than when I was born. I would be staying in a room with seven other people; four bunk beds.

I walk into my room and greet a nice fellow who appears to be fluent in French. Later on I meet someone who appears to be the first guy’s friend but looks and seems kinda like a douchebag. I meet an older gentleman who appears to be very nice. At this hostel, it appears that most everyone likes to mind their own business and keep to themselves.

I was so sweaty that I had no choice but to shower, lest I become a designated hazardous waste zone. J-Boogie and I meet up later and were able to catch some off-in-the-distance fireworks (apparently Montreal was involved in some fireworks competition with other cities).

We then started looking for a suitable place to eat, but by then, it was so late that scarce places were open. We ended up eating at a Chinese restaurant, with plans to meet up with J-Boogie’s newfound hostel buddies at a bar afterwards. However, after dinner, that guy was so tired and wanted to call it an early night. I made him promise that we would get splifficated tomorrow night and he agreed.

That night’s sleep was very hot and sweaty. There was no air conditioning, so our only cooling came in the form of an open door to the balcony. I slept well enough.

Day 2:

The next morning, I enjoyed my hostel’s complimentary breakfast of breads, jams, peanut butter, and heat (for toasting). While eating, I met a nice Irish fellow (no idea he was Irish until well after he started talking), who was here on a working visa. He said that this hostel was a very interesting and old building, and reaffirmed my view that this was not the best hostel to meet people when compared to the other hostels he’s been to. We talked about a wide range of things but the only thing I can seem to recall with any respectability was this; we were talking about speaking French and how French people are a very proud people (especially in their language) and would much rather speak French than English. Germans, on the other hand would rather speak English than German because they want to practice it. He told me about a German fellow he had met who learned all his English in Australia, so when he spoke English he had a very strong Australian accent. I found the thought of a German sprangen speaking English with a strong Australian accent so absolutely hilarious and mind boggling that it completely erased any memory of the rest of the conversation that I had with this nice Irish fellow. Quite a shame.

After breakfast, I walked to J-Boogie’s hostel. The walk isn’t bad at all when you’re not carrying a huge bag. Everyone in his hotel was very nice, and one of the workers there even showed me an amazing path to bike (which we unfortunately did not have the time to do).

We left the hostel and rented bikes from the government (really an amazing system) and biked to the Botanical Garden, where we went to a Biodome. There, we saw what I thought were penguins, but in fact were puffins.

Then, we saw actual penguins which coincidentally enough are very good at freezing (in place). Here they are being fed:

We also saw a short film about the delicate balance of nature and the fragility of Mother Earth. It goes without saying that J-Boogie was ASSED OUT during this brief yet informative movie. That guy has no respect for nature.

Next up was lunch at Jean Talon Market. We consumed some nice fruit, then bought a whole rotisserie chicken as well as a ham/mushroom/cheese crepe. We then got some more fruit.

Afterwards, it was time to head to the Underground City, which we were told is a huge underground system of malls. We started going in and making our way through the underground, and then decided to turn around and head back outside for seemingly no apparent reason.

Next up; Mont Royal; the mountain in Montreal that the city is named after. We wanted to go to the top and get a panoramic view of the city. We biked as close as we possibly could to the bottom of the mountain and along the way we got to see a bit of McGill University.

We walk up the mountain a little and we are a bit confused as to which path to take. I decide to ask a seemingly nice fellow how we can get to the top of the mountain.

He asks us where we are from and we tell him “New York.” He then tells us how he used to be a police officer in Greece, how he used to live in Chicago, and how he is now some kind of security in Montreal. He says “I’ll tell you how to get to the top of the mountain, but first I must ask a favor from you guys. Do you have one American dollar? I would love to have an American dollar with both of your names written on it as a souvenir.”

Fair enough, I think. He’s been a bit entertaining so far, so I agree. He then starts telling us how to be safe; “Whenever you go out, you should wear socks. Put your money in your sock along with identification." I think he mentioned how he got robbed once, but I’m not sure.

He then starts giving us directions; “Go outside over there, make a right. Keep on going until you hit a hospital; it’s a mental hospital, you know, for the crazies. You go a little past that, and then you make another right. OR, if you guys wanna wait, I can give you a ride up there for free,. You guys wanna go to Beaver Lake right? I am an ex-police officer so I can get a coupon for a taxi ride, and then I can take you up there for free.”

We consider his offer, but ultimately decide to walk. Our newfound friend then said “It’s getting pretty dark now. It will be dangerous to go up to the mountain. If you want, I was a police officer in Greece, I can get a coupon because I used to be a cop, then I can drive you up there for free.”

He starts to say random things, such as asking if cars need to be inspected in the US. J-Boogie immediately says “We didn’t drive here! We took the bus!” and I’m thinking “What the fuck? What does that have to do with car inspections?” I do not recall why our new friend asked about car inspections, I’m pretty sure he was just curious.

At this point, J-Boogie is shitting his pants. This ex-popo has got him very unnerved. After yet another offer of a free ride, we say that it is okay; we prefer to walk. He then proceeds to give us the directions again and restate his former career as a police officer.

“Okay, so you go down there, make the first right, and keep on walking. You will pass a mental hospital; watch out because there are a lot of crazy people there. You walk a little past that and then make another right. I used to be a police officer in Greece, I can get a coupon and then I can drive you guys up to the lake for free.”

Although our new buddy was entertaining, I was started to get a little irritated at hearing the same thing over and over again. The funny thing was, despite the fact that we heard him repeat himself a billion times, I still didn’t quite understand him. He would get a coupon for a free taxi ride? But didn’t he say he was going to drive us? So if he got a coupon he wouldn’t have to pay himself? During the course of our conversation, I gradually came to the conclusion that this guy is the crazy one; probably a mental patient they let outside, whether intentionally or unintentionally. We noticed that his arm had a bandage around it, possibly applied on him after the mental hospital administered some kind of medicinal or plasmic transfusion. He once again mentions his coupon and potential free ride.

“It will get very dark soon, it will be very dangerous. It is not safe for two young boys to go up to the mountain by yourselves when it is dark. Who knows what might happen? It is very dangerous.”

Hold on, did he just insinuate that we might be homosexual? I think he did! Well, I can see where he is coming from. I respond, “Yeah, two young guys like us going up to a mountain alone together in the dark… not just dangerous, it’s suspicious!”

At some point during our conversation, I give him the dollar bill with both of our names written on it, but before I do, I ask him for his name, which is Costa Labos. As entertaining as he was, after all the bullshit he fed us, I wanted something in return, so I ask him if he has a souvenir for us.

Indeed he does, as he searches for it in his pockets. He tells us that he has a Greek icon for us. As he frantically tries to find it, he says “I made a promise to you guys that I would give you a Greek icon, so that is what I am going to do.” That was the fastest I have ever witnessed of someone referring to a promise after they had just made the promise.

At last, he takes out what appears to be a damaged bookmark, with a picture on it.

“This is a Greek god,” he says.

“Oh, it looks like Jesus!” I say.

“It IS Jesus.”

“Oh.”

What the fuck? He could have just said “I have a Jesus bookmark.” instead of making me look like a jackass. Costa Labos was far too misleading with the words “Greek icon” and “Greek god.”

For no reason at all, Costa Labos suddenly shares his life with us. He talks about how he quit the police force because he witnessed a police officer shoot and kill an innocent psychiatric patient. He also says he is in Montreal investigating something involving a mental patient. (This is why I thought he was literally insane; this guy just cannot stop talking about the crazies!)

Costa Labos then wants to show us a picture of his wife. He reaches into his pocket and I’m thinking “Oh god, he is going to pull out a gun. But I already gave him all the money I had, what else does he want?”

In actuality, he pulls out a cell phone and shows us his wallpaper, which was of a woman sitting on a bus. “Nice pair of legs eh?” he says while nudging us and winking. The picture looks exactly like the kind of picture a stalker on the train or bus would take. I am positive that picture was not of his wife, but of a moderately attractive woman (can’t tell because the time was blocking her face) sitting across from Costa Labos while he secretly took a picture.

Yet again, for no reason at all, he then proceeds to show us documents to prove his police officerness to us. He did this in such a way, such that we could only get a glance. For example, from one piece of paper he showed us, I saw a picture of him, and that was pretty much it. He also showed us a letter, which was indeed written by a police officer, but said police officer was definitely not our buddy Costa Labos.

I imagine the piece of paper with the picture was most likely a “WANTED” poster and the letter probably was addressed to Costa Labos and said something along the lines of;

“Dear Costa Labos,

You are crazy. Please let everyone you come into contact with know that you are crazy.

Sincerely, A real police officer.”

At this point, I ask J-Boogie to take a picture of Costa Labos and I, and J-Boogie becomes wide-eyed and gives me the most terrified look as if to say “What the fuck are you doing? Are you fucking crazy?”

We get a nice young lady to take a picture of all three of us. The whole time, Costa Labos is saying and repeating “Yeah, take a picture of a Greek police officer with two American boys!”

After the picture taking festivities, Costa reminds us that it isn’t safe to go up to the mountain right now and we should just have a coffee tonight and go tomorrow. It got pretty dark during our conversation, so I was inclined to agree. I felt it was time to leave, so I said “nice meeting you” and shook his hand. As we are shaking hands, he talks AGAIN about police officers, psychiatric patients, darkness, investigations, and how his brother George Labos owns a restaurant in New Jersey. It was the longest, most kwokward handshake to have ever occurred, or will ever occur.

I forget what happened next, but we somehow ended up outside a bar called “La Distillerie” to fulfill our sloshy goal of getting sloshed. However, there was a line outside filled with Hippies and Yupsters. Hell no, we are not going to wait in line to get into this place. We went next door to Pub Quartier Latin. First round on me.

At some point during our fucked upness journey, we heard “Live life without fear, put a 5-karat in my baby girl’s ear.” J-Boogie found it fascinating that they were playing Biggie in a bar in the Latin Quartier, in Montreal. I told him to write that down on a napkin.

As we were drinking, I convinced J-Boogie to read my blog out loud. That was a blasted while it lasted. Also, us being cheapasses, did not want to pay roaming charges on our calls, so we asked the bartender if we could use their phone to try to make reservations at a famous restaurant in Montreal called “Au Pied de Cochon.” The following is J-Boogie’s conversation with the restaurant:

“Hi, good afternoon, I mean, good evening… wait, this is an answering machine.”

No luck making reservations; answering machine each time.

After two and half pints, J-Boogie stumbled to the restroom and notified me that he could not walk. I told him “it’s okay man, I’ll hold your hand, we can do this!” He continually notified me that he was “fucked up”, “drunk”, and “holy shit.”

Our plan was to go to Schwartz’s Deli (which closes at 12:30 AM). We were starting to run out of time, so I finished my beer as quickly as I could, then we ran out onto the rain-soaked streets. It was quite a homo walk as we walked as fast as we could, with me holding onto his wrist at some points, and him constantly leaning on me like a drunk TLIG.

We finally get to Schwartz’s, but it is closed, at 12:15 AM! J-Boogie tries to argue with the people inside, but apparently they ran out of meat (they are famous for their smoked meat).

For dinner, we had to settle on a place that was open; a noodle specialist store.

Day 3:

We went to Schwartz’s for breakfast; their smoked meat was good but a little too salty. Their black cherry soda however, was delightful.

We then went to the Notre-Dame Basilica, which is a breathtaking church with some beautiful stained glass. J-Boogie and I sat down in a pew and bonded as amigos so often do. We talked about a variety of topics, which involved jackasses, harsh words, pushing/pulling, carrying beauty, and a broken jaw among a whole slew of other things.

We each then went to a separate confession booth. In mine, I confessed “Forgive me father for I have sinned” and then immediately walked out. J-Boogie cowered in the darkness in his booth for a while, apparently in awe at the lack of light.

"It's SOOOO dark in here!"

Next, we biked a lot more, crossing two bridges and witnessing some amazing scenery. After all this biking, it was time for some food! J-Boogie was really set on eating at “Au Pied de Cochon” and after a whole lot of trouble finding it, we finally found it. We both understood that this was a very popular restaurant, and since we were unable to secure reservations, there was a good chance we would not be able to eat there.

We walk in and J-Boogie immediately starts talking. “We’re two… we tried to call in advance for a reservation but it kept on going to the answering machine. Come on, there’s only two of us. And we’re early… I’m sure there’s a small table somewhere, anywhere! We’ll sit at the bar, anything!”

“Oh God J-Boogie…” I think. The lady asks him, “… Are you just saying you want to sit at the bar because you prefer to? Or because you think that’s the only place that would be open?”

I say to J-Boogie, “You know… you didn’t have to sound so desperate…”

The lady says that she has a table for us and even mocks J-Boogie a little bit by saying “I’ll take anything, ANYTHINGGG!” Hah, a good sense of humor, I like it!

We sit down and order calamari squid-ink poutine,

the Cochon melting pot, and “Duck in a Can.” The food was all very good. I just wish I didn’t fill myself up on butter and bread before the real food came out. When the calamari was brought out, J-Boogie had the most horrified look on his face, which many people noticed. Needless to say, he did not eat much of it.

After dinner was our next trip to Mont Royal; this time we were going to make it count. We went up, and up, and up! At one point we had to stop because J-Boogie wanted to collect some Montrealite soil to give to a dear friend. He sat on a log and dug ferociously while I lingered nearby as a lookout. Everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY, who walked by J-Boogie stared at him and gave him the dirtiest looks possible. Imagine the population of a small town had all eaten Mexican food, and the whole town only used one toilet. Now imagine that toilet got so heavy that it collapsed into itself and fell into the sewage system. Now imagine that a family of rat-infested skunks stuffed themselves in the toilet area in order to make it their new home. Now imagine the toilet exploding after a proper marinating time period. Yeah, THAT dirty.

After all was said and done though, J-Boogie gathered a very decent amount of soil. We then headed to as high as we could go on the mountain and witnessed an awe-inspiring view.

Walking out of the mountain was quite the bitch; it took us a long time to get down the mountain, realize we were on the wrong side of the mountain, and walk to some bikes. All part of the journey…

To end the night, we visited City Hall (which just so happened to be right next to J-Boogie’s hostel, a fact that neither of us knew… or at least so I think), and biked around some more. That night, while most of my hostel roommates were asleep, I ate kettle chips while reflecting on my experience. Is that bad etiquette? I know just the person to ask.

This was a very active trip, as we walked and biked to most places. Being in a hostel without any friends was very interesting; I had no trouble sleeping in a room with a bunch of guys in their underwear.

Surprisingly for me, there was a young mother and her even younger son who stayed in the same room as me. Sleeping in the presence of a woman was entirely new to me and threw off the whole dynamic and ambiance of the room. The first day that she was there, she changed in the room, which was a little awkward for me, but the next day, she went outside to change. There is no doubt in my mind that I kweeped her out.

Well, better end this with some good news. You know how J-Boogie took soil with him over the border? No, he did not report it to customs, and no, he did not get caught, imprisoned, and/or anally probed by the Transportation Security Administration. All’s well that ends well.

Here’s a nice mural I saw.