Montreal 2008: Words and Pictures 6 - Say Hello to Mon Petit Ami (photo dedicated to Al Pacino)

I couldn't find the word dépanneur in my French phrase book (though dépanneuse is in there and it means "tow truck").

I've a pretty good hunch dépanneur translates roughly to something along the lines of "bodega" (for us New Yorkers) or "grocery store" or "convenience store" or whatever. Because that's what a dépanneur looked to be once I stepped inside: cigarettes, beers, chips, snacks, lottery tickets, etc.

I did not dare set foot in this one, labeled as it was as "Scarface". Hey, what can I tell you? The sight of a woozy proprietor snorting coke off of a baguette wasn't on my list of Montreal must-dos this time.

Maybe next year!

Montreal 2008: Words and Pictures 5 (photo dedicated to my brother Chris)

The reference to Toe Blake by the cretinous Hansons in the film Slap Shot never fails to send me into hysterics, almost as much as when one of the brothers complains about that "stinkin' root beer."

When I decided to finally get my ass to Mount Royal (the mountain for which the island city is named), I knew I would have to visit Blake's grave site and spend a few quiet moments to acknowledge the man's greatness.

Little did I realize that reaching Mount Royal Cemetery (Cimetière Mont-Royal) would nearly put me in an early grave. The mountain is quite steep, and I undertook the jaunt on foot. The sprawling cemetery is pretty much right in the middle of the mountain, which is otherwise covered with acres of splendid park lands.

Once I got to the cemetery gates I figured the rest would be cake. After walking for what was probably at least a couple of miles, I happened upon the cemetery office. The receptionist was very nice and helpful, and even though she only had a vague notion of who Toe Blake was, she was able to map out the location of his final resting place for me.

So I headed out, after taking quite some moments to consider which road the out of scale map actually referred to. The trek seemed like countless hours and miles. Consider: I was constantly passed by cars along the cemetery's winding roads - cars presumably en route to visit with departed family and friends. As I made my way along those roads as a pedestrian, I would see the same cars pass by in the opposite direction on their return trip, visits presumably finished.

Eventually I found Blake's grave, after doubling back more than a couple of times, by climbing a set of wooden bleacher-like stairs that brought me to the cemetery's highest point. In this remote and slightly desolate area, among a few rows of graves, I found the Blake family's plot.

I also found, sitting in a police cruiser nearby, a female officer of the law—Quebec style. My thoughts immediately turned to the uncomfortable shake downs I am witness to when my Amtrak train crosses the Canadian border. I'll never forget the time I was stupid enough to wear short sleeves and had to endure the question: "Sir, what is the significance of the tattoos?"

Like the touristy dope that I am, I actually ambled over and asked if it was okay to snap a few pictures (following the dictum of one Sidney Fields: "Politeness costs you nothing"—more on that some other time). The response was exactly what a touristy dope should receive under the circumstances, a completely indifferent shrug.

Montreal 2008: Words and Pictures 4 (photos dedicated to MsHellion)

A huge statue of Montreal Canadiens legend Maurice "The Rocket" Richard, that I somehow stumbled across downtown. I was actually looking for Montreal's Underground City which, it turns out, is pretty much a mall.

The weird part, though, is that I found this statue several floors above ground level. I got into an elevator after my disappointment with subterranean Montreal, and began looking for a big multiplex movie theater I knew to be in the vicinity. Upon alighting from said elevator I walked smack into The Rocket.

It's quite the impressive monument to a man who arguably defines Canadiens hockey: Richard was the first NHL player to score 50 goals, the first to score 50 goals in 50 games, and the first to reach the 500 career goal plateau.

I can't help but wonder about the oddball (read: disrespectful) location. I mean, shouldn't this be in a slightly more hallowed place than a mall? According to Wikipedia, it (or a statue that bears an eerily striking resemblance to it) resides in Jacques Cartier Park in Gatineau, Quebec.

Perhaps the statue is on loan, and maybe the mall is where the old Montreal Forum used to stand, who knows? Such an explanation would make me feel a little better.

I present his image and motto "Ne jamais abandonner" which translates to "Never give up" to MsHellion - friend, roller derby woman and never giver upper.

Montreal 2008: Words and Pictures 3 (photo dedicated to MsAPhillips)

This year I finally made it to Montreal's Chinatown.

Funnily enough, it's quite close to where I have stayed the past three years - I just didn't realize it.

I had a great dinner at the Jade Jardin (or Jardin de Jade, or something like that) - an all you can eat buffet at a fixed price. Naturally, after two heaping platefuls I was given the old heave ho.

Which is just as well, I suppose, as I was definitely getting the death glare from not only my waiter and the owner of the joint, but other more well-behaved patrons.

Waiter [handing me the bill, unbidden]: "Okay, $12.98 plus tax [pointing out each figure, and then the total]."

"And you leave tip [hand clasping my shoulder] on the table."

MY BEAUTIFUL GRINDHOUSE

—for Richard Lopez

Blue smoke, a tear
In the wind.

Bumping bodies, torn
Celluloid, burning joints.

"Shut that mother-
Fucker up!"

Bigger fights!
Better stories!

Kung fu humping in
The balcony, 2 a.m.

Finding it there,
Always waiting....

Anyway, that's all
Finished now;

It isn't like that
Anymore.