November 06, 2005

Doe Boy

Evidently, one of my neighbours is having a Monty Python marathon; I keep hearing laughter, Sousa, and tinny, falsetto screeching through the walls.

I spent the weekend here (yeah, that's right):



It's a beautiful little log cabin (actually, it's a pretty freakin' huge log cabin), settled atop a grassy hill, by a private lake. The next nearest sign of civilisation is Groundskeeper Angus (hmm, Simpsons rip-off, anybody?), a few minutes drive away; another few minutes from there is the little Quebec town of Lost River (which is so terrifyingly tiny, even Google can't find it).

Saturday night the Habs were playing, and since the cabin has no TV, we ventured into 'town' to see if the local bar was showing it. We pulled into the parking lot and were more than a little disturbed to see a full row of pick-up trucks, one of which had a dead deer lying in the back. This was clearly not a place I was going to fit in wearing my H&M overcoat.

When we walked in, there wasn't quite that stereotypical lull in music and/or conversation that one sees in movies about precocious city folk visiting rural bars, but boy!, could those people stare! Old men with hunting knives strapped to their belts lolled around the room, gulping from quart-sized bottles of Labatt, and looking us over from underneath worn trucker hats. The bartender watched us incredulously as we picked a table and sat down. The fatigues-clad drunk at the end of the bar belched. The hockey game played quietly on a small TV in the corner of the room.

Then, they evidently decided we weren't interesting enough, so they cranked up the karaoke system and watched with glee as my drunken friends professed, Man, how much they Felt Like Women. This seemed to go over well with the management, who were soon digging out all the karaoke CDs they could find, and bringing them earnestly to our table. Soon, the regulars even began to join in the singing, and all was well again in Lost River.

The Habs won, as it happened, though by that point we had all pretty much stopped watching. We thanked the remaining stragglers for their hospitality, and retired to the parking lot for a spirited bout of drunken dead deer poking.

*contented sigh*

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