Rejected!

Well, as the title of this post suggests, I got rejected… by McGill that is. It’s semi-official, I got a big fat refusal from that pretentious, euh… I mean prestigious, institution.

I’m saying semi-official because I found out by logging into my student account and saw “Refusal” as the decision. They didn’t even bother to send me a letter. If they did, I’m pretty sure it would sound like this:

“Dear wannabe student:

After reviewing your file, we regret to inform you that you suck and are unworthy of our attention. By accepting you, we’re loosing a spot that could have gone to a foreign student with lots of cash. Furthermore, your less than stellar academic record would have brought shame on our faculty; thus, we do not believe you will be able to contribute financially to our institution as an alumnus. Finally, but regretfully, we have already filled our ethnic quota.

We thank you for your interest in McGill, and non-refundable admission fee, and wish you the best of luck with your life…if you get one.

Yours truly,

Admissions MG

P.S.: If you still strive to be part of our venerable institution, we still have some spots left in sociology and other jobless subjects”

Ok… the wording would be much more diplomatic, but the underlying meaning, for me, would still remain the same.

Although it was a long shot, it still hurts to be rejected… especially that it’s my 2nd rejection from McGill: first, for Management and now for Law. Before you think that I’m some sort of a hopeless loser, for the record, I did get accepted in Computer Science there, BUT decided to go to ConU instead… (we all know how well that went!) It truly seems like a lifetime ago.

At the moment, I’m still on the waiting list at UdeM, and no word from them yet…

Stay tuned!

Summertime in Montreal

Summertime,
And the livin’ is easy
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high

- Lyrics form George Gershwin’s “Summertime” -

Summer… a season all us Canadians are longing for… it’s the period when our igloos start to melt and that we can now move in our tepees. In Montreal, there are 2 seasons: freezing cold and suffocating hot. Spring and Fall are concepts we learn about in books at school, but in real life, there are no such thing.

Although I believe Gershwin’s song was written as a jazzy ode to the hard-working African-Americans in the cotton fields of the Southern states early last century, I still think it applies to summer here. Living is easier: no snow to shovel, no ice to scrape and the sidewalks are friendly again. Fish are jumping off the shelves as the hot weather calls for cool foods to eat (ie: sushi!) and the cotton [skirts] are getting higher and higher on the thigh.

That’s a sure sign of summer here. The minute you see the first micro-mini-can’t-sit skirt going down the street, summer’s here. Being a Montrealer, we usually start to shed layers of clothing as soon as the snow starts to melt. I’ve seen people in T-shirts and flip-flops when it was still only 10C…shivering, but desperately wanting to be the first to show some flesh… Now that it’s finally really warming up (up to 29C today), you can image the different stages of nakedness people are in.

With the layers of clothing shrinking away, I witness all sorts of things I wish I hadn’t. It’s like snow… when it melts, we discover surprises that should better remain hidden. In the snow example, dog poo and trash are the most common yucky unsightly things exposed with warm weather. With diminishing clothes, it’s a hanging belly, visible butt crack, overflowing lard handles and the likes.

I can already hear the love-thy-body-love-thy self advocates yelling at me: “A woman can dress as she likes and as she feels! Liberate your body! Every one should be allowed to wear a micro-mini-skirt, even if she weighs 400 pounds! No one is allowed to comment and guys cannot look!”

To those folks, I say pish-posh (I’m being polite)! I am a girl myself and I can’t stand the sight of a 3-sizes too small under-dressed woman that bulges out everywhere and then complains about being fat and unattractive. Whether you weigh 50 or 500 pounds, if clothing is 2 sizes too small, you will still end up looking like a sausage and feeling fat. Some days, I wonder what would motivate these people to dress that way. First, it must not be comfortable. Second, it does them no service and it is, to me, is a form of visual pollution.

I clearly recall a sighting where a girl, probably 14-16 years of age, average height, average weight. She was wearing the mandatory how-low-can-you-go jeans and a belly showing shirt…the typical North American teenager uniform, quoi. What’s wrong with this picture? Well, her belly was hanging OVER her pants in the front! Not bulging out, but hanging down… It was as if someone stuck some Playdough on the tummy and pulled it down. I am not one to judge, but what’s the idea behind that? I doubt that makes her feel good about herself… Where’s the comfort? Now that’s visual pollution! Won’t anybody think of the children?!

Montreal often boasts about being the city with the best looking girls. Well, some of them can actually pull off the barely-there look. However, when they do so, I hope that they are fully aware and expect to be looked at and drooled over when underdressed. If they have conscience of that, I have no problem… If they want to feel like objects, let them be. I’m all for freedom of choice and expression. It’s the false-modesty I can’t stand. If you want to flaunt it, do so, but do know that people will be staring at you.

Grand Prix coming to town next week… that’s when the best Eurotrash end up on our shores and with them, the start of the “Skankier than thou” contest…

So here, guys, a piece of advice: when the weather gets really hot and sticky, save a few bucks and go walk along the downtown streets (especially Friday and Saturday nites)… you’ll get an eyeful… for free!

(By the way, this observation applies for both guys and gals…)

The French Interlude

I know… It’s been quite a while since my last posting… For this delay, I blame my cousin Lan. She came over from Paris to spend 10 days with our Phamily to visit my ailing grandfather, to get a bit of R&R and of course, shopping!

I love having family over… All of a sudden, good food gets cooked and we’re actually allowed to eat it! We get a truce from the argument: ”Don’t touch it! It’s for guests only!”. During her stay, we indulged in a decadent foodfest: a welcome dinner with the whole Phamily, a mandatory brunch at the all-you-can-eat buffet, and the best, my uncle’s incomparable termidor lobster… As you can see in the picture below, I *cough* reluctantly obliged =P

Above: Lan and I eating Pinchy's relative

For every visiting European, one of the best activities to do in Montreal is shopping. Not willing to be the exception, Lan has also put this activity on the top of her list. Being gracious hosts, we took turns taking her shopping. Having lived here in the past, she had requested a visit to Winners. I also took her to the giant 3-floor La Senza and to my favourite store, the overpriced Lululemon in Westmount.

We stocked up on (lacy and racy, you wish!) unmentionables (thanks to a great sale at La Senza!) and she brought back a selection of Quaker oatmeal packets for her bf, including plain. I don’t really like oatmeal (especially plain oatmeal!), so for me, it was kind of amusing to see that this particular item was actually worthy of luggage space… Then again, I asked her to bring me some Chipsters, a popular kind of potato-flake snack (ie: Chips) that is not sold here…

After 2 solid days of succumbing to impulses of pure capitalist consumerism, I must say that I was pretty shopped out =P Can you imagine, me!? Getting tired of shopping?! Who thought this could ever happen? But, do not panic, I recovered quickly and can now be found strolling along St-Catherine Street daily…

Since all good things must end, we took her to Trudeau (the old Dorval) airport on Sunday and as I soon discovered, it’s the best place to see Quebec “stars” (I am using the term very loosely since they fly coach).

In line at the Air Transat (aka Air Sardines) counter for check-in, we saw Chantal Petitclerc (the award-winning wheelchair racer) and Stephanie Lapointe (that ordinary-looking gal that won Star Academie 2004 – She used to work at the petshop next to Wal Mart in Brossard). As we were standing in line, we were joking that she had a star filled flight and the only celebrity missing was Garou, her favourite Quebec singer.

Well, it almost came true… we were at the bookstore and who was behind us looking for a book? Garou! We couldn’t believe it! Being a very popular singer in Quebec and France, I was kinda surprised to see how well he blended in with us commoners, minding his own business. Nobody was harassing him and it was as if no one recognized him. I pride myself on the fact that, in Montreal, we respect other people’s spaces, celebrity or no celebrity… Let me rephrase that: we were too shy to ask him for a picture…

It was a packed 10 days of eating, spending and star gazing… Lan went back to Paris with her Quaker oatmeal and tons of underwear in her bigger-than-me suitcase as well as the sweet souvenir of a close encounter with the better-looking-in-person Garou…

Now that this interlude is over, it’s back to boring and harsh ordinary life and I am now on the “tomates et endives” diet to give my liver a break from the rich, and oh so delicious, foods we overstuffed ourselves with…